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Title: The Gilpins and their Fortunes
       A Story of Early Days in Australia

Author: William H. G. Kingston

Illustrator: Archie Webb

Release Date: May 15, 2007 [EBook #21464]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GILPINS AND THEIR FORTUNES ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Gilpins, A Story of Early Days in Australia, by William H G
Kingston.

________________________________________________________________________

The story opens with a couple of school-leavers discussing what they
will do with their lives.  One of the boys, a Gilpin, whose father is a
hard-working farmer, is determined to go along the same route, but in
Australia, as he and his brother have often dreamt of doing.

They reach Australia, and an incident on the Quay in Sydney, where they
save a family from destruction in a carriage whose horses have bolted,
makes them valuable friends, leading to an appointment as managers, or
overseers, of a cattle and sheep station somewhere out beyond the Blue
Mountains.  The previous manager had let the place get run down, and was
actually rather a crook.  Some of the other workers on the station were
as idle and crooked as he.  Not surprising as most of them had been sent
to Australia for some offence in England.  A few of the men were decent
enough.  There is such resentment among the idle men that they prevail
upon some aborigines to attack the buildings and set them on fire, a
plan which is foiled by one of the better workers.

Eventually the great Australian bubble bursts (the Australian economy is
always a bit overheated) and the Gilpins are ordered to slaughter the
cattle and sheep.  They discover a source of salt on the station, so
they are able to salt down some of the meat, which was otherwise going
to waste.

Using the opportunity of buying valuable stock cheaply, they acquire the
station and start the business again.  They rescue a drowning man, only
to find he is the other schoolboy in the conversation that starts the
book.  We will leave it to you to find out what his adventures had been.

It takes about 3.5 hours to read this book.

________________________________________________________________________

THE GILPINS, A STORY OF EARLY DAYS IN AUSTRALIA, BY WILLIAM H G
KINGSTON.


CHAPTER ONE.

Arthur Gilpin and Mark Withers walked down the High Street, arm-in-arm,
on their return to their respective homes from the well-managed school
of Wallington.

They were among the head boys, and were on the point of leaving it to
enter on the work of active life, and make their way in the world.  They
had often of late discussed the important question--all-important, as it
seemed to them--"How are we to make our way--to gain wealth, influence,
our hearts' desires?"

"For my part, I cannot stand a plodding style of doing things," said
Mark.  "It is all very well for those without brains, but a fellow who
has a grain of sense in his head requires a more rapid way of making a
fortune.  Life is too short to be wasted in getting money.  I want to
have it to spend while I am young and can enjoy it."

Arthur was silent for some time.  At length he remarked, "It strikes me,
Mark, that the object of making money is that we may support ourselves
and families, and help those who are in distress.  My father often says
to James, and to me, and to the rest of us, `I don't want you, when you
enter business, to be thinking only how you can make money.  Do your
duty, and act liberally towards all men, and you will have a sufficiency
at all events, if not wealth.'"

"Oh! your father's old-fashioned notions won't do in the world, and
certainly won't suit me, that I can tell you," answered Mark, in a
scornful tone.

"My father is considered a sensible man.  What he preaches he practises;
and though he has a very large family, no one calls him a poor man,"
argued Arthur.  "He says that, considering how short life is, it cannot
be wise to spend the time, as many men do, in gathering up riches and
setting so high a value on them.  But here comes James!  Let us hear
what he has to say on the subject."

"Oh! of course, James has got the same notions from your father that you
have, and I am not going to be influenced by him," answered Withers.

James, however, was appealed to, and answered, "Even if we were to live
for ever in this world, I should agree with Arthur; for, from all I see
and hear, I am convinced that wealth cannot secure happiness; but as
this world is only a place of preparation for another, it is evident
folly to set one's heart upon what must be so soon parted with."

Withers made a gesture of impatience, exclaiming, "Come, come, I won't
stand any preaching, you know that; but we are old friends, and so I
don't want to quarrel about trifles, when we are so soon to separate!
You stick to your opinion, I will stick to mine, and we'll see who is
right at last."

"If this matter were a trifle I would not press it, but, because I am
sure that it is one of great importance, I do press it upon you most
earnestly, though, believe me, I am sorry to annoy you," said Arthur
Gilpin.

"Oh!  I dare say you mean well," answered Withers, in a contemptuous
tone.  "But don't bother me again on the subject, there's a good fellow.
You, James, are so above me, that I don't pretend to understand what
you mean."  Saying this with a condescending air, he shook hands with
the two brothers, and entered the house of his father, who was the
principal solicitor of the town.

The two Gilpins walked on towards their home.  Their father possessed a
small landed property, which he farmed himself.  He had a very numerous
family, and though hitherto he had been able to keep them together with
advantage, the time had arrived when some of them must go forth to
provide for themselves in the world.  James and Arthur had long turned
their thoughts towards Australia, for which part of the British
possessions they were preparing to take their departure.  Mr Gilpin, or
the squire, as he was called, was looked upon as an upright,
kind-hearted man.  He was sensible, well educated, and a true Christian;
and he brought up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord.

A year passed by: a long sea voyage was over, and James and Arthur
Gilpin stood on the shores of Australia.  Two other brothers, with their
sisters, remained to help their father in his farm at home.  James and
Arthur had left England, stout of heart, and resolved to do their duty,
hoping to establish a comfortable home for themselves and for those who
might come after them.  Their ship lay close to the broad quay of the
magnificent capital of New South Wales.  They had scarcely been prepared
for the scene of beauty and grandeur which met their sight as they
entered Port Jackson, the harbour of Sydney, with its lofty and
picturesque shores, every available spot occupied by some ornamental
villa or building of greater pretension, numerous romantic inlets and
indentations running up towards the north; while the city itself
appeared extending far away inland with its broad, well-built streets,
its numberless churches, colleges, public schools, hospitals, banks,
government buildings, and other public and private edifices, too
numerous to be mentioned.

The Gilpins, as they were put on shore with their luggage, felt
themselves almost lost in that great city.  They were dressed in their
rough, every-day suits, and looked simple, hardworking country lads, and
younger than they really were.

Large as Sydney then was, it was still diminutive compared to what it
has since become.  Founded by criminals, it was unhappily as far
advanced in crime and wickedness as the oldest cities of the old world,
though efforts were being then made, as they have ever since continued
to be made, and, happily, not without some degree of success, to wipe
out the stain.  The two brothers stood for some time watching the
bustling scene before them.  Huge drays laden with bales of wool were
slowly moving along the quay towards the ships taking in cargo, while
porters, and carts, with ever-moving cranes overhead, were rapidly
unloading other vessels of miscellaneous commodities.  Irish, Negro,
Chinese, and Malay porters were running here and there; cabs and carts
were driving about, and other persons on foot and on horseback, mostly
in a hurry, evidently with business on their hands.  There were,
however, a few saunterers, and they were either almost naked black
aborigines, with lank hair, hideous countenances, and thin legs, or men
with their hands in their pockets, in threadbare coats and uncleaned
shoes, their countenances pale and dejected, and mostly marked by
intemperance.  Many of them were young, but there were some of all
ages--broken-down gentlemen, unprepared for colonial life, without
energy or perseverance, unable and still oftener unwilling to work.  The
brothers had not to inquire who they were.  Their history was written on
their foreheads.

"What shall we do next?" asked Arthur.

"I should like to get out of this place as soon as possible."

"So should I, indeed," said James; "but we must go to an inn for the
night, ascertain where labour is most wanted in the interior, and how
best to find our way there."

"You and I can scarcely carry our traps any way up those streets;
perhaps one or two of those poor fellows there would like to earn a
shilling by helping us," said Arthur, beckoning to some of the
above-mentioned idlers.

The first summoned walked away without noticing them, another stared, a
third exclaimed, "Egregious snob! what can he want?" and a fourth walked
up with his fists doubled, crying out in a furious tone, "How do you
dare to make faces at me, you young scoundrel?"

"Pardon me, sir," said James, quietly; "my brother made no faces at you.
We merely thought that you might be willing to assist in carrying our
luggage."

"I assist you in carrying your luggage!  A good joke!  But I see you are
not quite what I took you for; and if you'll stand a nobbler or two, I
don't mind calling a porter for you, and showing you to a slap-up inn to
suit you," said the man, his manner completely changing.  "You'll have
to pay the porter pretty handsomely, my new chums!  People don't work
for nothing in this country."

While they were hesitating about accepting the man's offer to get a
porter, thinking that there could be no harm in that, a country lad, Sam
Green by name, who had come out as a steerage passenger with them,
approached.  As soon as he saw them he ran up exclaiming--

"Oh, Master Gilpins, there's a chap been and run off wi' all my traps,
and I've not a rag left, but just what I stand in!"

Sam was, of course, glad enough to assist in carrying their luggage.
James apologised to the stranger, saying he would not trouble him.

"Not so fast, young chum!" exclaimed the man.  "You promised me a couple
of nobblers, and engaged me to call a porter.  I'm not going to let you
off so easily!  Down with the tin, or come and stand the treat!"

The Gilpins were rather more inclined to laugh at the man than to be
angry; certainly they had no intention of paying him.  Perhaps their
looks expressed this.  He was becoming more and more blustering, when a
cry from several people was heard; and looking up the street, an open
carriage with a pair of horses was seen dashing down towards the water
at a furious rate.  There was no coachman on the box, but that there was
some one in the carriage James discovered by seeing a shawl fluttering
from the side, and by hearing a piercing shriek, uttered apparently as
if then, for the first time, the lady had discovered the imminence of
her danger.  In a few seconds the carriage would have been dragged over
the quay and into water many fathoms deep.

"Stop the horses!  Fifty--a hundred--five hundred pounds to whoever will
do it!" shouted a man's voice from within.

Right and left the people were flying out of the way of the infuriated
steeds.  There was not manhood enough left apparently in the idle,
dissipated-looking loiterers who were standing near.  Two or three took
their hands out of their pockets and ran forward, but quickly returned
as the horses came galloping by them.  The young Gilpins heard the
gentleman's offer.

"We don't want that!" cried James.  "Come on, Arthur!"

They sprang towards the carriage, one on each side; and then turning,
ran in the direction it was going, grasping the head-stalls of the
animals as they passed, but allowing themselves to be carried on some
way, their weight however telling instantly on the galloping steeds.

Sam Green had remained standing by the luggage, having made up his mind
that the suspicious-looking stranger would decamp with it, if left
unguarded.  When, however, he saw that the horses, in spite of his young
friends' efforts, would drag the carriage over, unless stopped, he
started up, with his hands outstretched before him, uttering with
stentorian voice a true English "Woh! woho!" and then, with an arm from
which an ox would dislike to receive a blow, he seized the heads of the
horses, already trying to stop themselves, and forced them back from the
edge stones of the quay, which they had almost reached.  Undoubtedly the
horses had been broken in by a trainer from the old country: Sam Green's
"Woh! woho!" acted like magic; and the pacified though trembling animals
allowed themselves to be turned round, with their heads away from the
water.  While the elder Gilpin and Sam held them, Arthur ran to open the
door, that the lady and gentleman might alight.  The one was of middle
age, the other very young--father and daughter, Arthur surmised.

"My brave lads, you have nobly won the reward I promised," said the
gentleman, as he lifted out his daughter, who, pale and agitated, still,
by the expression of her countenance, showed the gratitude she felt.

"I am sure that my brother and I require no reward for doing our duty,"
answered Arthur, blushing as he spoke.  "Besides, without the aid of
that other lad, our fellow-passenger, we should probably have failed."

"What!  I took you for labouring youths, I beg your pardon," said the
gentleman, giving a glance of surprise at him.

"Our intention is to labour," said Arthur, unaffectedly.

"Ah! you have the stuff in you to command success," said the gentleman.
"But I must request you to accompany me for a short distance, as my
daughter prefers walking; and if I once lose sight of you in this
straggling city, I may not easily find you again."

"Thank you, sir," said Arthur; "we have our luggage with us, and must go
to an inn; but if you will favour me with your address, we will call on
you before we leave Sydney."

While they were speaking, the coachman, in consequence of whose
carelessness in letting go their heads the horses had run away, came up,
and released James and Sam.  Not a word of scolding was uttered--the
gentleman thought a moment.

"Here, Sykes, lift that luggage into the carriage, and drive these young
gentleman home; leave them there, and come back for Miss Fanny and me to
the club."

In vain the young Gilpins expostulated.

"I am a determined person, and will have it so," said the gentleman.

Before they looked round, Sam had stowed away their luggage in the
carriage, greatly to the disappointment of the bully, who had, it
seemed, been watching for an opportunity to make off with a portion.
The stranger then, almost against their will, forced them into it; and
writing a few lines on the leaf of a pocket-book, gave it to the
coachman.  "Come, my friend, you must go in also," he added, taking Sam
by the arm.

Sam drew back, and, touching his hat, exclaimed, "Noa, sir--noa, thank
ye.  It 'ud ne'er do for me to ride wi' the young squires; I know my
place better nor that."

A mob such as Sydney, of all British ports, perhaps, can alone produce,
had by this time collected round the carriage.  Sam's remark produced a
loud guffaw laugh from among them, and a variety of observations came
rattling down on him, such as "Go it, young Touch-my-hat; the nob will
pay you--he's a nigger with a white face.  I wonder where he was raised?
His mother was a dancing mistress--little doubt of that."

Sam's temper had been irritated from the loss of his property, which he
very naturally concluded had been stolen by some of his tormentors.  He
now looked as if he were going to give way to his temper.  Instead of so
doing, however, he turned calmly round with his double fist, and said
slowly, "I'll tell you what, young chaps, a man who respects himself
keeps his own place, and when he meets a gentleman he'd think himself
without manners nor character if he didn't touch his hat to him.  Did
any on ye ever see two gentlemen take off their hats to each other?
Well, then, I have; and I should just like to know which was the worst
man of the two?  I'll say another thing--I have mostly found that when I
have took my hat off to a gentleman he took his off to me; and I wonder
if his friends laughed at him.  But I suppose some of you are great nobs
yourselves, and know all about what nobs do."

Having thus delivered himself, Sam, giving a contemptuous glance at his
opponents, slowly mounted the box by the side of the coachman.  The
gentleman, who had walked on with his daughter, bowed to the Gilpins as
they passed.

"I am afraid that, from taking us to be ploughboys, he now believes we
are young noblemen in disguise," observed Arthur.  "This is a very
different style to that in which we could have expected to have entered
Sydney half an hour ago."

"Perhaps he thinks more of the service we have rendered him than we
should," answered his brother; "however, it's a curious adventure,
certainly."

"Well, muster, there be rum jokes in this town o' yours," observed Sam
to the coachman, after keeping silence for some time.

"There be, young man," was the laconic answer; "and rum things done."

In this Sam agreed, informing Mr Sykes--for this, he ascertained, was
the coachman's name--how he had lost his property.

"Be thou the young man who stopped the 'osses?" inquired Sykes.

"The young squires did it, and I helped 'em," said Sam.

"And saved my bacon," observed Sykes.

"I say, Muster Sykes, what's the gen'l'man's name?" asked Sam,
discovering, perhaps, by the tone of the coachman's voice, rather than
by any perceptible change in his mask-like features, that he was not ill
disposed towards him, and preparing therefore to be confidential.

Sykes informed him that his master's name was Prentiss, that he was a
large squatter, that there were other brothers all well off, and an old
father; and that, take him all in all as masters went, he was not a bad
one.  Sam, in return, told him all about himself, and all he knew about
the Gilpins, by which time the carriage had reached the door of Mr
Prentiss's residence, in one of the best parts of Sydney.  It was a
handsome house; and a respectable-looking servant-woman, after a few
words from the coachman, showed the Gilpins into a well-furnished
dining-room, their luggage being placed in the hall.

"You'll go with me, young man," observed Mr Sykes to Sam; "you'll be
more comfortable than with the gentry."

To this Sam agreed; and drove round to the back of the house, where he
was introduced to Mrs Sykes, who lived over the coach-house, and
numerous Masters and Misses Sykes, thin, sallow, and remarkably
precocious young people, the eldest not being more than ten.  Among this
hopeful family Sam in a few minutes made himself a great favourite.

The young immigrants waited the arrival of their host with no little
curiosity, for they knew less of him than Sam had contrived to learn.
In a short time, however, the servant, placing a tray with meat, bread,
fruit, and light wine, begged them to refresh themselves.  This occupied
their time till the arrival of Mr Prentiss.  Perhaps James was
disappointed at not seeing the young lady when her father entered the
room.  Mr Prentiss put out his hand, cordially welcoming them to
Australia and to his house; and, begging them to make it their home
during their stay, he quickly drew out from them a statement of their
plans and wishes.  "You can make a fair start," he observed.  "You have
the five hundred pounds I promised, very nobly won, too; and I may give
you a few hints besides as to the purchase of stock.  You will, of
course, become squatters--by far the best business for young men of
enterprise and activity.  What do you say to it?"

"We should like nothing better, sir," answered James.  "But--I speak
again for my brother as well as for myself--we cannot accept payment for
performing a mere act of duty; your advice and assistance may be of the
greatest value to us, and of that we will gladly avail ourselves.  The
young man who helped us to stop the horses must, of course, speak for
himself."

"Well, well, I admire your independence and high feeling," answered Mr
Prentiss.  "I doubt, however, that you will find many in this country to
consider that you are right; but perhaps I may be of service to you in
the way you desire.  You, of course, will make my house your home while
you remain in Sydney; when you wish to commence your life in the bush, I
will send you up the country to my father and some brothers of mine, who
will put you in the way of a fair start.  Your young shipmate fairly
earned a portion of the reward; he also deserves my gratitude.  He looks
as if there was work in him, and to such a person I can be permanently
of use.  Unhappily, numbers of men come out here--they may be counted by
hundreds or thousands--who will not work, or who cannot work; nothing
suits them.  They come with pockets full of letters, expecting
first-rate situations with nothing to do.  How can such people be
assisted to any advantage?  Give them money, and they squander it; place
them in situations of trust, and they are dismissed as incompetent, or
they throw them up as uncongenial to their tastes.  All we want in this
magnificent country are people who will try to work, and if they do not
succeed in one thing, will turn their hands to something else.  There is
ample room, I say, for persons of every possible description, provided
always that they belong to the `try' school."

Mr Prentiss insisted on taking his guests round the town to visit its
lions; and greatly surprised they were to see the wonderful progress it
had already made.  "Wool has done it all!  Well may the golden fleece be
our emblem!" he observed.

At the late dinner hour they were introduced to Mrs Prentiss and two
daughters--the young lady they had before seen and a younger sister.
All awkwardness soon wore off, and they felt themselves perfectly at
home.  Mr Prentiss had a conversation with Sam, the result of which
made him supremely happy; his satisfaction was not decreased either
when, two days afterwards, Sykes brought him his bag of clothes.

"Don't ask questions, young man," he observed, as he handed them; "there
are few of the old hands I don't know, and I guessed who had your
property."

Pleasant as the two young Gilpins found their stay in Sydney, they did
not disguise their anxiety to be off into the country; and their new
friend accordingly made arrangements for their journey.



CHAPTER TWO.

A dray, similar in construction to that used by brewers in England, but
drawn by oxen, and laden with all sorts of stores, such as are required
on an Australian farm--tea, carpenters' tools and agricultural
implements, groceries and casks of liquor, clothing and furniture--was
making its way towards the north-east from Sydney.  There was the
bullock-driver in charge, with his chum, a newly hired hand, and Sam
Green, who walked or sat on the dray; while the two Gilpins rode
alongside on horses, provided by Mr Prentiss.  They were dressed more
in the Australian style than when they landed, and in a way much better
suited to the climate.  The road had been excellent for a hundred miles
or more, with numerous villages near it, and a large proportion of
houses of entertainment, so that they had no want of accommodation when
they halted.  They had now for some time left the high-road, and though
there were inns, and occasionally villages, and farms, and stock
stations, they had sometimes to depend on their own resources, and to
bivouac in the bush.  This the young immigrants found by far the
pleasantest part of their journey.  The oxen were turned loose to graze
at leisure; sticks were collected, and a fire lighted for boiling the
tea-kettle and cooking the damper.  The old hands troubled themselves
very little about their night's lodging; they, like Sam Green, were
satisfied with the bare ground under the dray if it threatened rain, or
anywhere near it if the weather was fine.  A small tent had been
provided by Mr Prentiss, which, with some ticking filled with dry
grass, gave the Gilpins a luxurious lodging for the night.  They could
scarcely go to sleep on turning in for their first real night in the
bush, from the novelty of the scene and the prospects opening up to
them.  Before dawn they both started up, awoke by the strangest and most
discordant sounds.

"What can it be?" cried James.

"An attack of the blacks," said Arthur, rubbing his eyes.  "But no!
Listen!  They are birds, I verily believe; but the strangest birds I
ever heard."

He was right: there was the hideous, unearthly cry of the
laughing-jackass, called often the bushman's clock; the screaming cry of
thousands of parrots flying here and there through the forest; there was
the cackle of the wattle-bird, the clear notes of the magpie, and the
confused chattering of thousands of leather-heads; while many other
birds added their notes to the discordant chorus, and speedily banished
sleep from the eyes of their hearers.  The stockmen started to their
feet, and hurried off to bring in the oxen and horses; a fire was
lighted, tea boiled, breakfast discussed with considerable rapidity;
and, before the sun was up, the party had recommenced their journey
along the dusty dray-track--for as yet it deserved that name rather than
a road.  The scenery was varied, and often very beautiful when viewed
under a clear blue sky and bright sun.  The beds of streams were
frequently passed, but they were either dry altogether, or occasional
holes only with water in them could be seen here and there along the
course, or, if nowhere dry, they were easily forded.  The Irish
bullock-driver, Larry Killock, told Sam that, in the rainy season, these
were often foaming torrents, rushing on with terrific noise, and
sweeping away everything they meet.

"Many a poor fellow has been drowned in trying to cross on horseback
where, perhaps, he went over with dry feet a few days before," said
Larry.

"That's after the snow melts," observed Sam.

"Snow! man alive!  It's a small matter of snow comes down from the sky
in this beautiful country, except, now and then, on the top of the Blue
Mountains out there; though, as for frosts, it's cold enough on the high
ground in July and August, when the south wind blows, to make a fellow
blow his fingers to keep them warm, and to think a blazing fire and a
blanket pleasant companions."

Sam thought that Larry was quizzing him, but still he did not like to
accuse him directly.  "It's a strange country this, then, muster, I'm
thinking," he remarked cautiously.

"Strange!  It is a strange country, faith!" answered Larry.  "It is
summer here when, by all dacent rules, it should be winter; the south
wind is cold, and the north blazing hot.  There are creatures with four
legs which have ducks' heads; and birds, with long legs and no wings, as
tall as horses; while some of the animals stow their young away in a bag
in front of them, instead of letting them follow properly at their
heels, as pigs and ducks and hens do in the old country.  The trees shed
their bark instead of their leaves; and it's only just surprising to me
that the people walk on their feet instead of their heads, and that the
sun thinks fit to rise in the east instead of the west; and it's often
when I wake in the mornin' that I look out expecting to see that he's
grown tired of his old ways, and changed to suit the other things in the
land."

Sam, who could appreciate an English style of joke, was unable to make
out whether or not the Irishman was in earnest; but he thought it wise
to wait till he could learn the truth from his young friends, when they
camped in the evening.

"It's only just come out, ye are?" asked Larry.

Sam told him all about himself, as he had told Sykes, expecting an equal
amount of communicativeness in return.  "You've been some time in the
country, master, I'm thinking?  How did you come out?"

Larry looked at him with a twinkle in his eye.  "Faith, that's just a
sacret between myself and them who knows all about it," he answered,
with a laugh.  "It's my belief that the big-wigs across the fish-pond
had just an idea of the mighty great value I'd be to the country, and
sent me out free of all charge to myself and family intirely."

The scenery improved as the travellers advanced, and contrasted
favourably with the dusty, stony, and worn-out region through which they
had passed nearer the capital.

"Horrible farming!" observed James; "if such were practised in England
universally, the whole country would become a desert in a few years."

Sometimes they passed through scenery like that of a park in England,
with open green pastures sprinkled with clumps of trees; some deserving
the names of woods, others consisting but of a few trees.  The greater
number were _Eucalypti_ the evergreen gum, and stringy-bark trees; but
on the banks of streams and on the hillsides, and sometimes in rich,
alluvial valleys, such as are found in the northern hemisphere and in
less sunny climes, were to be seen flowers, of great size and beauty,
such as flourish only in greenhouses in England; while a great variety
of the orchis tribe, and geraniums, both large and small, were found in
great profusion.  The trees, the names of many of which were given by
Larry, bore little or no resemblance to those of the same name at home.
Among the most common were the box, wattle, and cherry; but undoubtedly
the most prominent everywhere in the landscape were the old gum trees,
and the huge iron stringy-bark trees, which, now with shattered and
weird appearance, had braved the fierce storms of winter and the hot
blasts of summer for centuries.  Many strange birds flew by overhead,
and still stranger wild animals started up from beneath some sheltering
bush, and ran off along the fresh glades, all reminding the new-comers
how far distant they were from the home of their childhood.

The old settled district had been left far behind before the animal they
most wished to see started up near them.  He was a large creature, full
five feet in height as he sat upright under the scant shade of a
venerable gum tree, contemplating apparently the scene before him.  His
long tail was stretched out on the ground behind him--an important
support, and his little fore-paws tucked up in front.  James and Arthur
were ahead of their party, and so quietly had their horses trod over the
soft ground that he did not appear to have heard them.  They possessed
guns, parting gifts from Mr Prentiss; but, not being required as a
means of defence or offence, they had been left in the dray.  The
kangaroo ("an old man" Larry called him) at length, hearing a sound,
turned his mild, intelligent countenance towards them, and as he did so
instantly gave a spring forward, startling them by its suddenness and
the extent of ground it cleared.  Away he went, moving with similar
springs, at a rate fleet as that of the deer.  In vain Larry and the men
with the dray shouted and ran after him with their guns.  He was out of
range before they could lift them to their shoulders.  Larry said that
possibly a mob might be come upon before long.  In another hour or so,
as they were travelling along a somewhat stony ridge, a large number of
creatures were seen in the fertile valley below them.  Some were lying
stretched at length on their sides, some were frisking about, round and
over each other, and others were sitting up, sedately watching the rest.

"Hurra, now!  There's the mob I told you of!" shouted Larry.  "If we had
but the dogs and the master's rifle, we'd have more kangaroo steaks for
supper than we'd eat in a week."

He could scarcely restrain himself from leaving his bullocks and giving
chase; he made a start indeed, but checked himself in time, seeing that
the probable result would have been the upsetting of his dray and the
destruction of most of its cargo.  The young Gilpins with Sam found
their way down the hill, hoping to ride down one of them; but the quick
scent and keen eyes of the animals discovered their approach, and in an
instant all were up on their feet and tails ready for a start--the
mothers picking up the young joeys and putting them into their pouches--
and off went the entire herd down the valley, springing along in the
most curious fashion, till they were out of sight.

Sam Green's open eyes of astonishment were very amusing.  "Well!  I
always did think that animals had four legs, and there they go just two
and a tail, a-skipping like grasshoppers over the ground.  Well, well,
well!" he continued ejaculating till they disappeared.  "There they go;
there they go!  There's nothing I won't believe after that!"

Their adventures as they travelled on were to be singularly few, they
thought.  Now a dingo or wild dog, now a toombat or opossum, made its
appearance, and created matter of interest and inquiry.  One evening,
after they had camped on the borders of a wide plain, containing fine
sheep-runs, which they were to cross the next day, the brothers led on
their horses to find better feed than appeared near at hand; and, having
tethered them, they sat down to talk over the future, and to commune
with themselves.  Their heads had been resting on their hands for some
time, when Arthur, looking up, saw a creature approaching from a
distance.  That it was an emu they guessed at once.  They sat still,
afraid of frightening it away.  It stalked leisurely on towards their
horses, not noticing them.  Its head seemed fully six feet from the
ground, at the end of a long neck; its legs were thick, to support its
fat, tub-shaped body, of a brownish-black colour.  Reaching the horses,
it stopped, made a curious noise, which sounded like "Boo!" in their
faces, and which caused them to start back.  James and Arthur, thinking
that their steeds would have broken their tethers, jumped up, when the
emu, having satisfied his curiosity, turned round and trotted off, at a
pace which showed that he had no fear of being pursued.

Towards the close of the day the travellers, after crossing an elevated
down, saw before them a silvery stream running through a wide valley
towards the east, its banks fringed by a variety of trees; while not far
from them, amid a grove of fruit trees, appeared a pretty
dwelling-house, with a verandah running round it, and near at hand,
barns, sheds, stables, and other outhouses.  A closer inspection showed
them that there were carpenters' and blacksmiths shops; indeed, it was a
complete farm establishment on a large scale.

As riding on, in advance of the dray, they reached the door, a stout,
hearty-looking old gentleman came out to meet them, and welcomed them in
the most cordial manner.  Their horses were quickly unsaddled and turned
into a paddock, and they themselves conducted into the house, and
introduced to the members of the family as late arrivals from the old
country.  All welcomed them; and they were soon seated at a well-covered
supper-table, surrounded by the various inmates of the house.  The young
strangers were surprised to find that the letter of introduction they
brought had not been read, and that the kindness they were receiving was
quite independent of anything that might be said in their favour.  It
was not till the next day that the old Mr Prentiss alluded to it.  "We
received you, young gentlemen, as strangers," he remarked; "but I little
thought how much I owed you for saving from injury, if not death, those
so dear to me."

James and Arthur Gilpin agreed that their "lines had fallen to them in
pleasant places."  They were treated as members of the family, and, what
was of the greatest consequence to them as intending settlers, they were
shown all the operations taking place on the farm.  As they gave
diligent attention to everything they saw, they rapidly acquired a
sufficient knowledge of agriculture and of the management of sheep and
cattle, as practised in Australia, to enable them, with their previous
experience as farmers in England, to commence farming on their own
account.

While, however, they were in search of a station to suit them, Mr
Prentiss received an application to find a gentleman capable of taking
the management of a sheep and cattle farm, about a hundred and fifty
miles off.  "Quite in our neighbourhood, as we measure distances in this
country," he remarked.  He proposed to the young Gilpins that they
should accept the post.  "You will be allowed to keep a proportion of
sheep and cattle on your own account, and receive wages for looking
after those of your employer, so that you will gain in both ways.  You
will find also an established system by which, if it prove a good one,
time and labour may be saved.  I would gladly find you employment, but
this will be far more to your advantage.  It was hoped, I believe, that
one of my own sons would take it."

The brothers at once agreed to accept the offer.



CHAPTER THREE.

The Gilpins no longer felt like newly arrived immigrants when they found
themselves on their way to Warragong, the station of which they had
undertaken charge.  They were far, however, from being over-confident of
success, or of pleasing their employers; but they had resolved to make
up by diligence and perseverance for their want of experience, and Mr
Prentiss assured them that he had no doubt of their doing well.  Sam
Green had thrown in his lot with them, and though receiving good wages
from Mr Prentiss, he begged that he might be allowed to accompany them
on the chance of their being able to give him permanent employment.
Knowing by this time the value of a thoroughly trustworthy servant in
Australia, they were very glad to accept his offer.  They, as well as
Sam, had been furnished with excellent horses; and, much to his own
satisfaction as well as theirs, Larry Killock was sent with a light cart
to convey their luggage and various luxuries, which had been provided
through the kindness of Mrs Prentiss.  A native black, partly
civilised, and able to speak broken English, accompanied them as guide,
and formed the fifth person of this party.  He either travelled in the
cart or ran on foot beside it.

"I should think that very few settlers begin a life in the bush with so
many advantages as we possess," observed Arthur, as he rode on with his
brother, a little ahead of the cart; "we appear to have jumped over all
difficulties, and to have arrived at a point which many only reach after
years of toil."

"I am not quite certain that it will prove to our permanent advantage,"
answered James.  "I would rather have begun as we proposed, and worked
our way upward; we should the better be able to encounter difficulties
or mishaps which may occur."

"Well, I vote we do not grumble with our good fortune," said Arthur,
laughing; "we shall have plenty to do, depend on that."

There was no great variety of scenery in that part of the country over
which they travelled, but for the want of it the beauty of the climate,
and the sense of present freedom which they enjoyed, made ample amends.
Without luggage they might have performed the journey in three days, but
with the cart, twenty or, at the most, thirty miles could not be got
over in the day.  Even supposing that they could have found their way
alone, it would not have been altogether safe to leave the cart without
protection.  Bushrangers were occasionally, though rarely, heard of, and
would probably, if they fell in with the cart, make no scruple of
running off with it, and perhaps murder the driver.  Any wandering
blacks from the interior might also pillage the cart, and most probably
kill poor Larry.

Larry had been entertaining Sam Green with an account of the
depredations committed by such gentry in the bygone days of the colony,
when the Dick Turpins, who had obtained a short-lived celebrity on the
highway of Old England, laid the settlers in this new land under
contribution; and the white stockmen shot down the black natives with as
little compunction as they would kangaroos; the blacks, in retaliation,
murdering them or any white men they could meet with.  Larry, observing
the wide-mouthed interest created by his narratives, went on till poor
Sam began to wish himself safe out of the country again.  They were
crossing a wide plain, with a light soil thickly covered with grass.  A
cloud of dust was seen to the right of the direction in which they were
travelling; it increased in extent, and rose higher and higher.

"Be them the niggers coming to murder us?" asked Sam, in a fright.

"If them are niggers, they're big ones, my boy, anyhow," answered Larry,
evasively.

A dull, regular, pounding sound was heard, and at length dark forms were
seen issuing from the cloud of dust--a few first, and then more and
more, resolving themselves into bullocks, black, white, and dun,
galloping on and bellowing with might and main.  Horsemen appeared on
either side, like officers on a parade, and with their long whips, which
they kept on cracking like pistol-shots, they kept order among their
unruly charge.  Shouting and shrieking, they galloped round from the
rear to the side to bring back any beast which showed an intention of
straying away, their dogs sagaciously rendering them assistance by
barking at the heels of the animals, and turning them back into the
herd.  What with the thunder-like bellowing of the cattle and the tramp
of their feet, the shouting of the drivers, the cracking of their whips,
the barking of the dogs, the dust from the ground, and the steam from
the creatures' backs, as, lashing their long tails, they tore onwards,
jostling each other in their course, their sharp horns lowered for the
charge, the approaching herd appeared like some vast army of savage
monsters, rushing on to meet their foes in battle.  To draw up out of
their way was impossible, and the travellers soon found themselves
surrounded by the herd; the creatures, however, turned their horns
aside, while the shape of their own heads and the width of their backs
prevented them from running them into their companions in front or on
either side, in spite of the seemingly confused way in which they were
hurrying on.  The herd had passed, when two of the principal drivers,
who, in spite of their rough dress and hair-covered countenances,
appeared to be gentlemen, drew up and saluted the Gilpins with "Good
day, friends; whither bound?"

"To Warragong, to take charge of the station," said James.

"I wish you joy," remarked one of the strangers; "you will have no easy
task, I take it.  A sad scoundrel has had the management of it for some
time, as we know to our cost, having once employed him.  I am afraid,
also, from the sort of men he always gets about him, that you will have
no small trouble with them."  The strangers informed them that they were
bound south to the Port Philip district, where there was a great demand
for cattle.

As the evening was approaching, the parties agreed to camp together.
Fires were lighted, the triangles erected, and the pots were soon
boiling, while the quickly made damper was placed under the ashes to
bake for the coming meal.  None of the party, however, could keep their
seats by the fire long, without being often summoned to their feet, and
sometimes to their saddles, to drive in the straying bullocks.  It
seemed as hard work to keep them together when resting as to drive them
forward, but neither master nor men were disconcerted; they rushed here
and there with shout and song and laughter, till they had brought back
the straying cattle, and then they sat down by the fire, or rolled
themselves up in their blankets, as if nothing had happened.  The
Gilpins were sorry to part from their new friends, whose frank, hearty
manners had won their regard.  The morning meal of tea, damper, and pork
having been discussed, they rode off in opposite directions.

"Not pleasant information this, our friends gave us last night," said
Arthur.  "What can we do?"

"Wait events," answered his brother; "forewarned is forearmed.  We will
keep our knowledge to ourselves, though it will be necessary to advise
Green not to trust to any of the men, so as to be led into mischief by
them.  Perhaps the accounts of their misconduct may have been
exaggerated."

Travelling in Australia has its disagreeables as well as its agreeables:
there are heavy rains and fogs and sharp winds in winter; and in summer,
scorching blasts and stifling heat, and biting or stinging insects,
flying, and crawling, and hopping, and dust and smoke from bush fires
and the burning trees, and want, at times, of water; but,
notwithstanding these occasional drawbacks, so delightful is the perfect
freedom to be enjoyed, the pure, bright atmosphere, and the general
healthfulness of the climate, that in the opinion of most people the
advantages very greatly preponderate.

The brothers had expected to reach the station in the afternoon, but an
accident to the cart caused some delay, and the sun set before it
appeared in sight.  Their black guide, however, assured them that the
intervening country was tolerably level and easy, and that as there were
certain woods he knew well, and a river on the other side, they could
not miss their way.  Accordingly they pushed on, though it became so
dark that they began to wish that they had camped at the usual hour.
Suddenly, as they reached the confines of a wood, their horses snorted
and started, and refused to proceed--those in the cart very nearly
upsetting it by turning rapidly round; and, had not Sam caught their
heads, they would have galloped off in an opposite direction.  Directly
afterwards, a bright light burst forth from the wood and a spectacle
appeared sufficient to make even a stout heart, with any tendency to
superstitious feelings, tremble.  From among the trees, just beyond the
light, appeared, flitting in and out, some twenty or thirty blanched
skeletons, throwing their bony arms and legs with the greatest rapidity
into every conceivable attitude.  Now they disappeared in the darkness,
now again they darted into light; round and round they went, now seeming
to sink into the ground, now leaping into the air, and often turning
head over heels.  All the time not a sound proceeded from the
phantom-looking dancers.  The Gilpins could scarcely help fancying
themselves under some delusion.  They rubbed their eyes.

"What is it?" exclaimed Arthur.  "Horrible! most horrible!  Do you see
the skeletons?"

"Indeed I do," answered his brother; "but such things cannot be--are
not--at all events."

Sam Green had hitherto been engaged with the horses; he now came up to
the point where the hideous spectacle was visible, and no sooner did his
eyes rest on it than he exclaimed, "Run, squires, run!  If it was mortal
foes I'd stick by ye; but that's more than any mortal man can dare to
face.  Oh! this is a terrible country, where the people cannot lie quiet
in graves, but must needs go skipping about without any flesh on their
bones."

"The hoighth of ondacency!" cried out Larry, in a voice which showed
very little, if any, alarm.  "Murra, go and tell your ugly countrymen
that they are frightening the horses, and that they must turn their
other sides to us till we have passed."

This order was given to the guide, who ran fearlessly up to the spot
where the skeleton dance was proceeding, and no sooner did he reach it
than the whole vanished like magic.

"It's only some black fellows dancing a Corroborry," said the Irishman,
laughing; "you needn't be in such a mighty tremble, Sam.  We haven't the
shred of a ghost out here; there may be some in the old country, but
they're not fond of the salt sea, and couldn't cross it, not if they
were paid for it, except they came out at the expense of the Government,
like some other honest gintlemen I've heard spake of."

The horses, however, were still very unwilling to proceed, and it was
some time before they could be coaxed past the suspicious spot; they
then set off at increased speed to get away from the object of their
dread.  The party pulled up for the black, who came running up.  "No
good people," he said, in a low voice; "come here, do bad."

The Gilpins, hearing his remarks, endeavoured to discover the reason of
his supposing that the party of natives they had just passed were badly
disposed, but could elicit no further information from him.  It was more
than an hour after this that a glimmering light appeared ahead, which
Murra, the guide, assured them must proceed from the station.  It
appeared to be somewhat above them on the hillside, and they soon
afterwards found themselves ascending slightly towards it.  They had not
got far, however, before several large dogs flew out, barking furiously,
towards them.  They and Larry shouted loudly to the hut-keeper to call
the animals off, but no one appeared, and, the dogs contenting
themselves with barking, they proceeded on to the hut, from the window
of which the light gleamed out.  The dogs, still loudly barking, at
length roused up a couple of rough-looking men, who staggered out of the
door, and, one of them holding a lamp, stared stupidly at the
travellers, at the same time that, with loud oaths, he shouted to the
dogs to be quiet.

"Oh! you are strangers," said the least tipsy; "well, you shall have a
stranger's welcome in the bush; and so you may just go and turn out your
horses, and then come and get what you can inside."

"We've come to take charge of the station," said James, rather nettled;
"so, my men, I rather think that it is your duty to see and make
yourselves useful to us."

"Ho! ho!  Pretty sort of masters you'd make over us!" cried the man,
holding up the light in their faces.  "To my mind, you'd better go back
to them that sent you."

This was even a worse reception than they had expected; but, perceiving
that the man was very drunk, they saw that it would not be wise to
irritate him.

"Well, my man," said James, calmly, "we have pushed on here in the hopes
of being welcomed, but all we will ask now is a supper and a night's
rest."

"As you speak us fair, we'll treat you fair, whoever you may be," said
the man.  "Come in; the kettle is boiling, and there's a damper or two
ready under the ashes."

The cart having been placed close to the hut, the horses were
unharnessed and unsaddled and turned out to pick up their supper, and
the whole party were soon collected in the hut.  The interior showed
evident signs of a late debauch.  There was a rough table in the centre
covered with tobacco-ashes, a broken black cutty, or pipe, some battered
tin mugs, and a couple of empty spirit bottles on their sides, while
under it lay a couple of men fast asleep, and another in the corner.
Some kicks from the shoe of their more sober companion, who had brought
the newly arrived party in, roused them up; and he then proceeded to
eject them, telling them to go to Bateman's hut, where they would find
shelter.  Grumbling, they staggered out, except two, who were too far
gone to move.  The hut was, as might have been expected, in a very dirty
and untidy condition--so dirty, indeed, that the Gilpins were
contemplating camping outside, when Larry, going out, reported that a
storm was brewing, and proceeded forthwith to bring the contents of the
cart inside.  A plentiful though roughly cooked supper was soon on the
table to which all hands did ample justice.  The hut was a long, narrow
building, with the entrance door towards one end, where the mud-built
fireplace was formed and the table stood.  In the further end were some
bunks, or standing bed-places, and the stores were piled up.  Larry
placed the articles he had brought in the cart across the hut, so as
more effectually to screen off the inner end.  He and the hut-keeper,
whom he addressed as Jonas Knoll, appeared to be old acquaintances, but
very few words passed between them.  For the first time since they had
landed, the Gilpins lay down to rest with a feeling that they were not
as safe as they would have been in their own home in England.

Before Larry lay down, after the hut-keeper had gone to sleep, they
observed that he put fresh grease into the lamp and trimmed the wick.
More than once James awoke and looked around; everybody in the hut
appeared to be sleeping soundly.  The two stockmen and the hut-keeper
especially were snoring loudly, and not a sound from the outside was
heard.  "It is wrong to be giving way to fear," he said to himself.
"These coarse fellows have been indulging, according to their tastes, in
a debauch, and were annoyed at being interrupted.  They would scarcely
dare to harm us even if they wished it.  We must keep a tight rein on
them and a careful watch on their proceedings, without allowing them to
discover that they are especially observed, and we shall do well."

The next morning the hut-keepers and stockmen belonging to the
headquarters of the station made their appearance, sobered, and
tolerably respectful in their manner; though there was an expression in
their eyes and a tone in their voices which made the young managers
believe that it would take but little to make them break out into open
mutiny.  They were, however, surprised at Larry's changed manner.  There
was an impudent swagger in all he did, and when ordered to perform any
duty, he invariably replied in a way which made his companions laugh,
though he executed the order with promptness.  He seemed to be on
familiar terms with all the people on the station, and to be a favourite
among them.  The brothers at once saw that there was much to do, and
many alterations to be made in every direction about the station.  The
huts were in a dilapidated condition--the one intended for their
residence was so dirty as to be scarcely habitable; the stock-yards
required repair; and, worse than all, the books were so badly kept that
it was almost impossible to ascertain the number and state of the stock,
either of cattle, sheep, or horses, or of the stores.  The overseer was
absent--gone to a distant run--so they took possession of the books,
which had been left carelessly out, with the intention of verifying them
with the actual state of things.  Having made the necessary extracts,
they locked them up and started on horseback, accompanied by Sam, whose
practised eye was likely to prove of great assistance in numbering the
flocks of sheep and herds of cattle which were to be inspected.  They
had not made their intention known, and, just as they were starting,
they summoned the most civil-looking of the stockmen, and ordered him to
mount his horse and accompany them as a guide.  As every flock is named,
they had no difficulty in indicating the flock they wished to visit; but
they did not tell him till they had got some way from the station, so
that he would have no opportunity of communicating with his companions
should he suspect their designs.  Arrived at a run, they immediately
called the shepherd, and ordered him to make his flock pass before them,
when they took careful note of their numbers, appearance, and general
condition.  Having done so, they put spurs to their horses and galloped
off to the next run.  As they had a pocket compass and had been
furnished with a rough map of the country, they had no difficulty in
assuring themselves that their guide was conducting them aright.  The
shepherds and stock-keepers looked puzzled, and as not a single remark
of approval or disapproval was uttered, they could not make up their
minds how to proceed.  Several of them would have given much to peep
into the notebook which those quiet-looking young men held in their
hands.  Refreshing themselves and their steeds at a stock-keeper's hut,
they returned home late in the evening, satisfied that a large amount of
rascality had been going forward, and that it would require great
judgment and determination on their part to put matters to right.  The
next day and the following were employed in the same manner.  Each day
confirmed them more and more in their opinion.  For the present,
however, they could only watch the proceedings of the men under them.
They could not dismiss the whole of them, nor could they ascertain who
were the most guilty.  That the overseer was a great scoundrel they had
no doubt, and they therefore agreed that he must at once be got rid of.
James had written an account of the state of things to Mr Prentiss, but
doubted whether to entrust it to Larry Killock, who had so completely
identified himself with the other men, that they thought it probable he
might give it to them to read, and so put them on their guard.  They
were still in this state of doubt when the time arrived for Larry to
take his departure.  They were sitting in the hut at supper, the work of
the day over, no one but Sam being near, when the Irishman put his head
in at the door.  Looking round, and assuring himself that they were the
only occupants of the building, he approached them with his former civil
manner.

"It's all pretence, yer honours," he whispered, with his hand to his
nose.  "They're big rascals, every mother's son of them; and I'd give my
right hand to be allowed to stop, if I thought that they'd be doing you
any mischief; but I don't think they'll dare to work you harm.  The
worst of them hasn't come yet, and when he does, he'll try to make you
believe that he's the most honest man alive.  But, whist, there's some
one coming.  If you'd have the goodness to kick me out of the hut, and
call me an impudent thief of the world, it would keep up appearances."

The brothers heartily thanked the Irishman; but were not obliged to
fulfil his last request, as he managed to run out of the hut before any
one appeared.  The following evening, while they were sitting as before,
at supper, a horse's hoofs were heard approaching, and soon afterwards a
man of middle age, dressed in the usual rough costume of the bush,
unceremoniously entered the hut, and, eyeing them with a scrutinising
glance, drew up a stool and seated himself at the table.

"The new managers, I presume, Mr --- I beg your pardon--I forget your
name," he began, in a supercilious tone.  "You have stolen a march on
me, and I conclude that I am to be superseded."

"That probably will not rest with us," said James.  "I suppose that if
the trustees of the property find that we can manage it to their
satisfaction without help, they will not consider themselves justified
in retaining your services."

The overseer, Mr Basham, as he was called, was very unlike the person
they expected to see.  The shape of his features was remarkably good,
though the expression was unsatisfactory; his figure was light and wiry,
and capable of enduring considerable fatigue; and his manners were those
of a gentleman, marred somewhat by rough companions and the hard life he
had led.  He saw at once that the young men with whom he had to deal,
though inferior to him in knowledge of the world, possessed an
uprightness and firmness of character with which he could not trifle.
He would much have liked to have entrapped them by offering them a share
of his profits, but that plan, it was evident, would not answer with
them.  Still he trusted that some way might be found of securing what he
had obtained, if not for making more.

"Well, well, gentlemen, I have always been an unfortunate person, and so
we'll drop the subject, and discuss what is taking place in the great
world."

Without more ado he did turn the subject, and showed that he was a man
of considerable information, and had received a superior education.
This only made him the more difficult to deal with.  Though he was now
free, they suspected strongly that he had been a convict.  They could
scarcely believe that with his abilities he would not otherwise have
been employed in some higher position.  After their inspection of the
runs, they had been engaged for a day in turning everything out of the
hut, and in having it thoroughly cleansed.  They then re-arranged the
furniture and contents, according to their own taste.  For several days
after Mr Basham's return they saw him hunting about the hut in search
of something, and at last he asked them if they had seen his books.
James at once replied that he had, according to the direction of the
trustees, taken possession of them, and should keep them till he
received directions to the contrary.  He shrugged his shoulders as he
observed, "My hard fate again!  And so, I suppose, if anything goes
wrong, those books are to be brought as evidence against me, though I
may be as innocent as the babe unborn."  There was a sinister expression
in his countenance as he spoke, of which he was probably unaware, but
which convinced the young managers that they must be careful how they
dealt with him till they could receive authority from Sydney to dismiss
him.

In spite of all their vigilance and activity, things continued to go on
wrong.  Sheep disappeared, carried off by dingoes, or by the native
blacks; the shepherds asserted that cattle strayed, and could not be
recovered; and two valuable horses, intended to be sent to Sydney, for
shipment to India, were missing.  More than once the brothers were
inclined to wish that they had commenced as squatters on their own
account in a small way, with only a few honest men around them; yet,
having undertaken their present task, they were not the men to shrink
from it.  They came to the determination, however, not to embark any of
their own small capital till they had got everything to rights, and men
under them in whom they could place confidence.  At length the
looked-for authority arrived to dismiss, not only Mr Basham, but any of
the men who might behave ill, or be suspected of malpractices; it being
suggested that, as trustworthy men were difficult to procure, it would
be injudicious to proceed on light grounds, at the same time, as proof
positive would in many cases be impossible, it would not be necessary to
wait till it was found.  This was throwing a large amount of
responsibility on their shoulders, but they determined to do their duty.
Mr Basham received his dismissal with great coolness; but again his
features assumed the expression the Gilpins had before observed.  He
claimed as his own a couple of fine horses, and, placing his personal
property on one of these and bestriding the other, early the next
morning he rode off, the last glance of his cold, grey eye leaving an
impression which for many a day remained fixed on the minds of the
brothers.



CHAPTER FOUR.

The Gilpins found that the superintendence of a large station did not
afford a bed of roses.  All day long they were in the saddle,
overlooking twenty stockmen and shepherds, examining the herds and
flocks, and often themselves doctoring any which were found diseased or
injured.  This they were obliged to do, in consequence of the ignorance
or carelessness of the people in charge of them.  These, with few
exceptions, had been convicts.  Of those who had been convicts, some
were still working out their sentences with tickets-of-leave, while
others, who were free to go where they liked, were too old and destitute
of energy to venture on a change of occupation, and remained as before,
hut-keepers or shepherds.  At each inferior station there was a hut with
a hut-keeper, whose duty was to look after the hut, to cook the
provisions, and to tend the sheep or cattle brought for any special
purpose into the fold or pen.  The office was usually held by some old
convict or other person unfit for hard labour.  Though occasionally
there is enough to do, it is considered an idle, lazy life.

The brothers often rode together to the stations, to assist each other;
but they had lately, for the sake of covering more ground in the course
of the day, taken separate districts, that the stockmen might be kept
constantly on the alert, not knowing any moment when the active young
managers might pay them a visit.  Notwithstanding this, cattle and sheep
continued to disappear as before, and they came to the resolution of
making every man responsible who lost an animal, and stopping his wages
till it was replaced.  One day, after a hard morning's work, Arthur
Gilpin found himself approaching the rear of a hut, on an out station,
at the extreme end of the territory over which the cattle ranged--the
whole being considerably larger than many a German principality.  The
ground was soft, and his horse's hoofs making no noise, it was not till
he got in front of the hut that the dog, ever found as its guardian
(either well-bred deer-hound or cur of low degree), came bounding up
towards him, barking loudly.  In this case the animal was a remarkably
handsome deer-hound, of a size and strength sufficient to drag him from
his horse.  The hut-keeper was seated in a rough sort of easy-chair, and
was apparently fast asleep.

"Hillo, my man, call off your dog, or he and I may do each other an
injury," shouted Arthur; "he is a noble brute, and I should not like to
hurt him, if I could help it!"

The man started up, a book dropping from his hand.  "Come back, good
Brian; come back, sir!" he cried out.  "I must apologise, Mr Gilpin,
for not hearing you; but I was overcome, I believe, by the heat," he
added, as he took the horse from which Arthur had just dismounted.

As the stock-keeper unsaddled the animal, Arthur's eye fell on the open
page of the book from which he had been reading.  It was a superior
edition of Horace, well used.

Roughly clad and unshorn and haggard in his looks as the man was, Arthur
could not but conclude that he had once moved among the educated classes
of society.  The ever-ready damper and pot of tea were produced; and
Arthur, having satisfied his appetite, made the usual inquiries about
the station.  Everything seemed to be satisfactory.

"You appear to be fond of reading," said Arthur, glancing at the Horace,
which had been placed on a shelf among a few other books.

"Ah! a friend of my early days.  He serves to beguile many a weary
hour," answered the hut-keeper, with a sigh.

Arthur did not like to ask questions.  "We brought a few books with us
into the bush; I shall be glad to lend them to you," he said.

"They will be most acceptable, sir," said the hut-keeper, his
countenance brightening; "my own stock is small, and I have read each
volume over and over again till I know them by heart.  I believe that if
a chest of new books were to reach me, like the half-starved wretch who
suddenly finds himself in the midst of plenty, I could sit down and read
till my eyesight or my wits had left me."

"I can enter into your feelings," said Arthur kindly.  "The life you
lead must indeed be dull."

"Ah! it might be far worse, though," answered the hut-keeper; "poverty
out here can scarcely be said to pinch.  I often ask myself what might
it have been, or what certainly would it have been, had I remained in
London till my last shilling was gone.  To rot in a poorhouse or to
sweep a crossing would have been my lot, or there might have been a
worse alternative.  I had enough left to pay my passage out here.  It
was a wise move--the only wise thing I ever did in my life.  My
expectations on landing were foolish, and before I could realise them I
had the chance of going to gaol or becoming a hut-keeper."  The last
remarks were made as he stood holding the rein of Arthur's horse.

Arthur rode round the run, inspected the flock, and had to pass near the
hut again on his return homeward.  The hut-keeper, Charles Craven he
called himself, was on the watch for him.

"I must have a word with you, Mr Gilpin," he said.  "You are the first
man I have met since I landed on these shores who has sympathised with
me.  I would do something to serve you.  First, I must warn you never to
be unarmed, either in your hut or out of it; and especially advise you
and your brother, when you ride out, always to keep together.  Many of
the hands on the station are exasperated with you for your style of
proceeding, and they think that if they could get rid of you they would
have things their own way."

Thanking Craven for his advice, Arthur pushed on towards home as rapidly
as his grey would carry him.  He was relieved on finding that James had
just before arrived.  He told his brother of the warning Craven had
given him.

James was at first inclined to laugh at it.  "The scoundrels dare not
injure us!" he exclaimed.  Then he remembered Basham's revengeful looks,
and the surly manner of several of the hands, and finally agreed with
his brother that it would be wiser to go armed, and keep together.

They had removed the hut-keeper to another post, and placed Green in
charge of their abode.  This would have been necessary, if for no other
reason, for the purpose of having it kept clean and habitable, which the
dirty habits of the former occupant rendered impracticable.  The exact
situation of the hut has not been described.  It stood on a hillside,
the ground immediately round it cleared, but with bush both above it and
on either side, extending to a considerable distance.  In some places
the trees were fine and lofty, in others only stringy-bark or low
bushes.  A river passed in front at the distance of less than a quarter
of a mile, full and flowing in winter, but after the heats of summer
consisting of a succession of water-holes connected by a trickling rill.
During the shearing season the river was a scene of the greatest
animation, as all the flocks from far and near were driven up to it,
that the sheep might be washed before being deprived of their fleeces.
After a sudden downfall of rain, the quiet stream became a roaring,
boiling torrent, sweeping onward with terrific force, now forming a wide
lake, and, once more confined by high and narrow banks, whirling along
with rapid eddies; and at spots, where a few hours before a person could
pass on foot, the current would test the strength of the strongest
swimmer or most powerful horse to cross; at other times it relapsed into
a state of silence, not without much picturesque beauty of a tranquil
character.  The hut commanded a view of the river, but it, as well as
the sheds, sheep-folds, and stock-yards, were placed far too high above
it to be reached by the widest inundation it could cause.

Arthur did not forget his promise to Craven, and, as soon as he was
able, he rode toward his hut with several books in his pockets.  The
hut-keeper was very grateful, and expressed himself in a way which
showed that he was really a gentleman and a man of feeling.  The
brothers, as they rode away, agreed that it would be but an act of
common kindness to ask him to visit them, and that they might send
another man to take his place.

Craven considered a moment.  "No; I had better not," he answered; "the
men about here look upon me as one of themselves, and if I were seen
with you, I should no longer be trusted by them.  They are mischievously
inclined; and if I can turn them from their purposes, or give you
warning of their intentions, and help, if needs be, it will afford me
the satisfaction of believing that I have been of some little use in the
world."

They could not but agree with him, and expressed a hope that an
employment more suited to a person of his education might be found for
him.

Craven gave a sickly smile.  "You are young, and think change is easy,"
he said.  "The sapling is quickly bent, but when an old tree has long
grown in the same direction, it cannot be straightened again.  Supply me
with books and tobacco, and, a few years hence, perhaps, a pair of
spectacles, and I shall have no desire to quit these wilds."

"Perhaps you will change your mind," said James, putting out his hand,
which the broken-down gentleman shook warmly.

Many years had passed since his palm had pressed that of an equal in
intellect and education.  It seemed to raise him out of the state of
hopeless apathy into which he had fallen.

The hut at headquarters had greatly improved in appearance since it had
become the residence of the Gilpins.  There were three glazed windows,
and it was partitioned off into a bedroom, a sitting-room--where books
and papers could be arranged on shelves and kept clean--and a kitchen,
which served as dining-room and hall.  A good-sized storeroom had been
built at the back, with a door opening into the kitchen.  They and Sam
Green were the only inmates of the building.

It was late at night, the Bible had been read, and family prayers had
been offered up--when two or three were gathered together that custom
was never departed from in that rude hut in the wilds of Australia--
thanksgivings for past, petitions for future protection.  Sam had thrown
himself on his bed in a corner of the hall, and his loud snoring told
that he was fast asleep.  The brothers had been reading in their
sitting-room, and were on the point of retiring to bed, when a slight
tap was heard at the window.  They thought it was some night bird
attracted by the light, and took no notice.  A louder tap was heard;
Arthur opened the window.

"Wisht! mister, dear; just let me in, for I've something to say to ye,"
said a voice, which he recognised to be Larry Killock's.

"I will let you in by the door, Larry, unless you like to jump through
the window," said Arthur.

"The quickest way's the best," was the answer, as Larry leaped through
the opening, adding, "shut the shutters, lest any one's eyes should be
looking this way."  Larry was out of breath, and looked faint and weary,
as if he had come a long distance.

"What brings you here, Larry?" said Arthur, in a tone of anxiety, which
it was natural he should feel.

"It's bad news I've to tell yer honours; but if I'd had to lose my life,
I'd have come to tell it," he answered.  "No matter how I found it out,
but I did find it out, that the people on the station, just because you
have put a stop to their robberies and rogueries, have determined to do
away with you.  As villains is mostly cowards, there's none of them
dares to bell the cat themselves, and so they've engaged some of them
black fellows--the thieves of the world--to do the job for them.  It was
to be done quickly, and I came along, ignorant entirely if I'd be in
time or not to save yer honours' lives; but they've not killed you yet,
and we'll see if we can't be a match for them."  The Irishman went on to
say that the plan proposed was to set fire to the surrounding bush, and
that while they ran out, as they naturally would, to stop the flames
from approaching their dwelling, by cutting down the surrounding grass
and bushes, they were to be knocked down with boomerangs by the blacks,
and their bodies dragged into the fire.

The brothers immediately decided what to do.  Waking up Sam and telling
him what they had heard, they bade Larry take care of the house and make
a good supper; and, reaping-hooks and axes in hand, they sailed out to
clear the ground of all fuel capable of bringing the flames up to the
hut.  Beginning at the back of the building, they worked away
energetically, gradually extending their circle till they had cut down
and raked away all fuel, almost up to the woods, when they heard Sam's
voice calling them--

"Come back, come back! the black fellows are close upon us!  I wasn't
comfortable in my mind, and went out to listen.  I heard them calling to
each other, and their dogs barking."

Although they believed that the bullock-driver's anxiety or fears might
somewhat exaggerate the danger, they felt that it was, at all events,
prudent to retreat to their hut.  All remained quiet: they were
beginning to hope that the alarm might be a false one.  Arthur again
went out, and as, rifle in hand, he was pacing as sentry round the hut,
he saw a bright light burst forth above the trees, half a mile or so off
to the south-west.  He watched it for some minutes; it increased,
extending on either hand, the forked points of the flames appearing high
above the intervening trees.  There could be no doubt that the wood was
on fire.  Thus far the information obtained by the bullock-driver was
correct.  There was too much reason, therefore, to fear that their
destruction would be attempted by the savages.  He hurried into the hut
to consult what was best to be done.  Their horses were at hand; they
might mount them and ride away from the danger; but such a proceeding
was not to be thought of.  If, however, they were not secured, they
would be carried off by the blacks.  Arthur and Sam accordingly went out
and brought them up to the hut; there was just room for them to stand in
the kitchen by removing the table; the door was then closed and barred.
None of the party, however, felt inclined to wait inactive till the
conflagration reached their neighbourhood without knowing what progress
it was making.  There was no window at the back of the hut.

"We will make holes in the roof," said Arthur; "we shall be able to see
through them what is going on, and if we are besieged in our fortress by
the savages, we shall be the better able to defend ourselves and annoy
them."

A stool, placed on the top of the table, enabled them to reach the roof,
and by stringing some boards to the rafters, they found convenient
standing places.  The square holes cut in the shingles forming the roof
gave them a look-out.  There was enough in the spectacle they beheld to
try the courage of the stoutest hearted.  In front of them, that is to
say, at the back of the hut, was a narrow neck of forest, which was as
yet intact, but above the branches--between the stems which stood out in
bold relief--the flames were seen raging furiously, devouring, as they
advanced, everything in their course, both to the right and to the left.
Strange sounds, too, were heard: there was the roaring, hissing, and
crackling of the fire, and ever and anon a report like that of heavy
guns, as some tall tree was riven in two by the intense heat which
surrounded it; the air also came like a blast from a furnace, laden with
smoke, ashes, and often sparks, which threatened to ignite the dry roof
of the building.  The danger was increasing, for the flames were
advancing towards the confines of the wood nearest them.  Now the fire,
snake-like, would be seen creeping along the grass, then catching hold
of some bush, which would speedily be wrapped in its deadly embrace;
next the lower boughs of the trees would catch, or the dry wood and
twigs round the stumps, and upward it would mount triumphant, roaring
and crackling--the slighter trees falling prostrate before it; the older
and thicker still withstanding its fierce assault, though left
branchless and blackened, with all vitality destroyed.

As yet the hut remained uninjured, though a semicircle of fire raged
furiously close to it, and here and there, where a bush still stood, or
some tufts of grass had not been closely cropped, the flames made
advances, and, winding along the ground, rose up, flickered, and died.
From the first outbreak of the conflagration various animals had been
seen crossing the open ground, as they escaped from the burning forest.
Birds innumerable, of varied plumage, aroused from their roosting
places, flew by, some uttering discordant screams of terror, many, with
scorched wings, falling dead before they reached the hut.  As yet no
human beings had been seen.

"I trust that the savages will not venture to attack us," said James;
"only in the last extremity could I feel justified in firing at them."

"Arrah! it's but little of that sort of treatment they have received
since the white man first put his foot on their shores," observed Larry.
"I've heard tell of their being shot down by scores at a time, like
vermin.  Many and many's the black fellow I've seen killed, and no
notice taken of it, and no thought by the man who did the deed, any more
than if he had fired at a wild beast."

Arthur interrupted Larry's remarks by exclaiming, "There they are,
though, and in no small numbers too, just coming round the edge of the
burning wood to the south-east!"

The rest of the party looked in the direction indicated, and there, seen
clearly by the light of the flames thrown on their dark bodies, armed
with spears, clubs, and boomerangs, was a numerous body of savages.
They appeared to be looking cautiously about, as if expecting to find
their intended victims engaged in extinguishing the flames round the
hut.

"The black chaps are no cowards, Mr Gilpin.  We shall have a fierce
fight of it, and our three firearms won't do much against all them, I'm
thinking," observed Larry.

"There are still more of them coming!" exclaimed Arthur; "and see!
there's a fellow has just joined them who looks like a chief.  They are
pointing this way.  We may look out to be attacked in a few minutes.  We
may fire surely, James, if they come on?  A few shots will probably send
them scampering off.  They have no firearms among them."

"Not so sure of that, yer honour," said Larry.  "Look, the fellow you
called the chief has a gun of some sort, and he is showing it to the
rest to encourage them.  He handles it like a man who knows the use of
it, too."

In spite of the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, the little garrison
resolved to maintain their position.  Little could be gained by flight,
and all their property would inevitably be destroyed should they desert
the hut.  The risk they ran in either case was very great.  They might
pick off some of the savages, but there were so many that they might
easily surround the hut and burn it to the ground.

"If we had two or three more fellows with us, we might bid defiance to
the whole mob," said Arthur.

"To my mind, if we was to shoot down that chap with the gun in his hand,
the rest would show us their heels," observed Sam Green, who had not
before spoken since the appearance of the savages; "they none on 'em
shows much stomach for the fight."

Sam's remark was correct.  The savages were evidently aware that the
defenders of the hut possessed firearms, and even the chief showed no
inclination to expose himself.  From their movements, however, it
appeared that they were about to make a rush towards the hut.  At that
instant the tramp of horses' hoofs was heard approaching, and a voice
cried out--

"Open the door!  Be quick!  Let us in!"

James and his brother, who had been watching the savages from the roof,
jumped down at the moment that a rifle-ball whistled by.

"That bullet was never fired by a black chap," said Larry to Sam, as
they also descended from their perches to receive the new-comers.  The
Gilpins, without hesitation, opened the door, and Craven with a stranger
appeared, just dismounting from their horses, whose foam-covered bits
and reeking backs showed that they had ridden at no slow rate.

"No time for words.  If you have room for our poor brutes, take them in;
if not, they must run their chance outside," he said.  "Here, we have
brought arms and ammunition.  We knew that you would be hard pressed,
and have come to share your fate."

"Come in, come in," said James, leading in the horses, who, trembling
with fatigue, were quiet enough.

The new-comers had brought a rifle, a musket, and two fowling-pieces,
with powder-flasks and bullets.  This reinforcement raised the
confidence of the little party in the hut.  The blacks, discovering
Craven and his companion, made a rush to intercept them.  They sprang in
after the horses; but before the door was closed, a shower of darts and
boomerangs rattled against it, and again a shot was heard, and a bullet
flew by among them.  Those inside hurriedly closed the door; but, almost
before the bar could be replaced, the blacks were thundering with their
clubs against it.  James had been strongly averse to shed blood, even
the blood of savages endeavouring to destroy him and his companions, yet
there was no longer any other alternative; the blacks must be driven
off, or they would burn down the hut.  It became James's duty to take
the command, and to give the word.  Loop-holes were speedily cut in the
walls.

"Be ready, friends; pick off the leaders, each of us those more
immediately in front as we stand.  Do not throw a shot away.  Fire!"

Three of the blacks were seen to fall to the ground, the rest ran back
in disorder, two of them wounded.  This gave the defenders of the hut
time to reload and to make some fresh loop-holes.  The blacks were again
met by the chief, who was seen urging them to return, though he showed
no inclination to place himself in danger.  Craven, seeing the look-out
places in the roof, proposed getting up there.

"I think that I might bring down that fellow if I could get a steady
shot at him," he said, taking up his rifle.  "The fellow has
disappeared!" he exclaimed.  "I cannot make it out, yet the rest obey
him, for they are coming on again, and with fire-brands, too.  We must
beat them, or they will roast us."

The spectacle was indeed appalling.  There were from fifty to sixty
blacks, each with a burning brand in his left hand and a spear or club
in the other, all leaping and shrieking in concert, as they sprang on
towards the hut.  The defenders waited till they got within thirty
paces, and then all together fired.  The result was the same as before.
Several fell, others ran howling back wounded, the rest, throwing down
their brands, followed.  Another volley was sent after them, in the hope
that it might induce them to abandon the attack.  Craven reloaded, and
sat watching at his post.  The crack of his rifle was again heard.

"I have hit the scoundrel!" he exclaimed.  "He is no black man; he is
ordering them to lift him up; they are carrying him off.  I have not the
heart to send another bullet through him, but he deserves it."

"We may capture him, though," cried Arthur.  "Let us jump on our horses;
we shall soon overtake them."

The proposal was instantly adopted; no one was more eager and full of
animation than Craven.  The horses were led out, and, Larry remaining
with the spare firearms in the hut, the party urged on the animals in
the direction the blacks had gone.  The flames of the burning forest
lighted up the country, and enabled them to ride at full speed, though
it was with difficulty they could make the horses keep near the fire,
edging along which the blacks had gone, hoping probably, if they could
get round the furthest end, to place it between themselves and those
they had so ruthlessly attacked.  Mounting to the top of a ridge, the
horsemen caught sight of a party of natives on a hill before them, with
a valley intervening.  The blacks got to the top, on some open ground,
when it was seen that they were carrying a burden among them.  The white
men dashed down into the valley, and, making their way across it, urged
their horses up the opposite height.  The blacks saw them coming; in
vain the man they were carrying ordered them to remain by him.  Oaths,
entreaties, promises were of no avail.  Putting him down, they ran off
as fast as their legs would carry them.

The last exclamations he uttered showed his pursuers that he was no
native.  They were in English, and too horrible to be repeated.  The
Gilpins reached him.  He glared fiercely at them as they dismounted, and
seemed to be feeling for a pistol in his belt.  They grasped his hands
to prevent his using it.  The oath he uttered betrayed him.  Though his
face and arms and the upper part of his body was blackened, they at once
recognised him as Basham, the late overseer.  The wretched blacks had
already suffered so severely that the settlers had no desire to overtake
them.  Dismounting, therefore, one of the party led the horses, and the
rest, lifting up the wounded man, bore him back towards the hut.  They
frequently looked behind to ascertain if the blacks were following for
the purpose of recovering him, but no attempt of the sort was made.  It
was hard work carrying him, for he was a heavy man.  Some deep groans
which burst from him showed that he was suffering much pain.  From a
feeling of mercy they stopped, and found that the bullet had entered his
leg, and had probably grazed, if it had not broken, the bone.  Craven
had a knowledge of surgery, especially valuable to a bushman; and while
all were stooping down round the injured man, he probed the wound, and
extracted some of the black cloth which had been carried into it.  Had
Basham been a friend who had been fighting for them, he could not have
been treated more tenderly.  He, however, scarcely spoke, and displayed
no sign of gratitude.  At length they reached the hut in safety.  The
horses were tethered outside, ready for instant service.  The wounded
man was placed on Sam's bed, and such restoratives as the brothers
possessed administered to him.  These arrangements concluded, the whole
party thankfully sat down to a meal, which was rather breakfast than
supper.  The Gilpins now learned from Craven that he had heard a rumour
of the proposed attack of the savages, instigated by the stockmen,
though he did not understand that Basham was the prime mover; that there
was only one man whom he could trust, and that, having invited him, they
had both set forward to their assistance.  His companion was evidently,
like himself, a man of superior education and fallen fortunes.  In
Craven the necessity for unusual exertion had worked a marked change,
and he no longer appeared the spirit-broken man he had seemed when
Arthur first met him.

The fire continued raging, but made no further progress, and, in spite
of its dangerous neighbourhood, all the party except James, who insisted
on remaining on watch, were fast asleep.  The hours of darkness passed
by slowly and anxiously.  He kept his ears ever ready to catch any sound
outside, and he occasionally looked forth, thinking it possible that the
blacks might return, or that some of the white companions of their
prisoner might come to look for him.  The nearest police-station was
about thirty miles off.  It was necessary to convey their prisoner
there; but then it was very possible that they might be attacked on the
road, and that he might be rescued.  Knowing the bad feeling of the
people around them, it would be imprudent to weaken the strength of
their party at the hut.  James therefore resolved, if Larry was
sufficiently rested, to send him off, as soon as it was daylight, for a
sufficient force to escort the late overseer to prison.  Scarcely had he
formed this plan when Larry jumped up, and exclaimed--

"Now, yer honour, you have had watching enough, and I'll just take my
spell.  I'm as fresh as a daisy with the dew on the grass."

James declined doing this, and told him of his proposed plan.

"Nothing like taking time by the forelock!" exclaimed the Irishman.
"I've my raisons, and I'll be off--as soon as I can stow some food in my
inside and catch the horse--before it is daylight, so that it will be a
hard job for any of them fellows to find me, even if they have a fancy
for that same."

As there was no time to be lost, James went out and brought in Larry's
horse, to which he gave a sop of damper and spirits and water, while
Larry was refreshing himself.

"It's good luck I'll have on a good errand, I hope," he exclaimed, as he
leaped into the saddle; "for though the police and I weren't over
friendly once on a time, I can now face them like an honest man, thanks
to yer honour."

Larry was soon lost to sight in the gloom which prevailed at a distance
from the yet burning wood.  Daylight came.  All hands were on foot.  The
wounded man appeared to be no worse.  A sad change had taken place in
the once picturesque appearance of the surrounding scenery.  In the
place of the green wood, with many noble trees, a few blackened stems,
gaunt and branchless, with still smouldering ashes at their base, were
the only objects to be seen on the hillside.  The Gilpins scarcely liked
to keep Craven and his companion from their posts, though at the same
time they felt the importance of having a sufficient guard over their
prisoner.  They were surprised that none of the stockmen or hut-keepers
from the neighbourhood had made their appearance.  It proved but too
plainly that all were disaffected; and it made them resolve not to quit
the vicinity of the hut till the arrival of the police.  They could not,
however, come for some hours.  Breakfast was just over, when Green, who
had gone down to fetch some water from the river, came hurrying back,
and reported that he had seen several men collecting, with arms in their
hands, on the opposite side.  "Who could they be?  What could be their
object?" was the question.

It was decided that while every precaution should be taken to prevent
surprise, they should be treated as if they could only have come on a
friendly errand, and that every attempt should be made to conciliate
them before resorting to force.  Scarcely five minutes had passed before
several men were seen approaching, from the direction of the river, in
single file.  They were all disguised, either with blackened faces or
masks, while they wore either kangaroo or sheep skins over their
shoulders, or were covered with the thick-leaved branches of shrubs, so
as completely to conceal their figures.  It was evident that they
intended mischief.  They halted at about twenty paces from the hut,
seemingly surprised at finding the windows barricaded and the door
closed, with the muzzles of firearms protruding from the walls.  Seeing
their hesitation, James instantly went out, and, with his rifle in his
hand, confronted them--

"Men, you have amused yourselves seemingly with what might be a harmless
mummery, were it not for the weapons in your hands," he began, in a firm
tone; "put them down, and let me hear what you have got to say."

The leading man, after consulting with his companions, replied, "You
have got shut up there a friend of ours, and you must give him up to us,
or take the consequences."

"I am not at all likely to yield to demands made by strangers in the
tone you make them, or to tell you whether or not we have any one shut
up inside this hut," said James; "you will risk your own lives, and gain
nothing by persisting in such folly."

"Yours is the folly, master, in refusing our demands!" exclaimed the
man.  "You can gain no good by keeping the man a prisoner, but will do
him and us harm!"

While the man was speaking, he and his companions advanced still closer
to the hut.

"Stand back!" cried James, endeavouring to bring his piece to his
shoulder; but before he had done so, the men, stooping low, sprang
forward, keeping him between themselves and the hut.  Those inside
opened the door to admit him, but instead of retreating he stood fast,
till the leader of the ruffians had struck up his rifle, and, grasping
him by the throat, bore him backwards.  Arthur, rushing out to his
rescue, was seized likewise, and the whole party dashed together into
the hut, overthrowing Green, who came out to help his young masters.
Fortunately their eyes first fell on the wounded man as he lay on a bed
in the outer room.  The stretcher of boughs, on which he had been
brought to the hut, still remained outside.  A few words passed between
them.  They lifted him on the litter, neither the Gilpins nor Green
being able to prevent them, and, with a shout of triumph, they carried
him off towards the river.  The Gilpins and Green were quickly on their
feet.  For an instant they stood irresolute whether to follow.

"Do not attempt it," cried a voice from within; "the villains will not
scruple to fire if you do."

It was Craven who spoke.  James was inclined to accuse him of cowardice
till he reflected at what risk he had come voluntarily to their
assistance.  Craven himself, too, explained that being assured the
outlaws would murder him and his companion had they seen them, they had
retreated into the storeroom, where they lay hid among casks and cases.
It was provoking to have lost their prisoner, but at the same time they
had reason to be thankful that no life had been sacrificed.

"If they find out from Basham that we are here, they will to a certainty
return," observed Craven; "and we must be prepared."

"The police will be here by that time," was Arthur's remark.  "If they
come, we may follow, and we should have our horses ready."

"None of them said a word about the police," observed James; "I don't
think that they were aware that we expected them."

"Then, depend on it, when they find out that Richards and I are away
from our posts, they will return to punish us.  Basham will not say
anything, however, till he thinks that they have placed him in safety,
and then, of course, he will tell them of our being here."

In consequence of Craven's very just apprehensions, the party set to
work to fortify the hut more completely, by putting stronger bars to the
windows and doors, and by placing a stockade outside at the weaker
parts, so as to make it more difficult for any assailants to reach the
roof.

These preparations were scarcely completed, when Green, who happened to
be on the roof, cried out--

"There come the chaps again, and twice as many as before!"

This was serious news; for it was not likely that the ruffian band would
have returned, unless with the intention of destroying those who had
offended them.  It is very probable that they hoped to make it appear
that the blacks, having set the wood on fire, had afterwards killed
them.  The whole party in the hut felt, therefore, that they must fight
to the last extremity.  A line was drawn round the building, and it was
agreed that if an enemy passed it they would fire; but they would
refrain as long as possible from shedding blood.  They had scarcely time
to barricade the door and windows before the outlaws appeared, mounting
the hill from the river, not as before, in single file, but scattered
over the ground, so as to take advantage of the shelter any inequalities
might afford.  Some were disguised, but there were several blacks who
were in their usual unclothed state, and were evidently not
masqueraders.  It might have been difficult to identify even those, as
their faces and bodies were bedaubed with pigments in strange and
hideous devices.

This time James took care not to show himself.  "Stand back, men!" he
shouted in a loud voice.  "If any one advances across the line we have
marked out, we must fire.  We do not wish to shed blood, but the
consequence be on your own heads.  Back, black men! you get killed."

The outlaws hesitated, and even the natives seemed to understand what
was said.  Whereabouts the magic line was drawn, at which some of them
would be certain to lose their lives, they could not tell.  Soldiers in
battle will dare any danger, but villains engaged in a criminal act are
always cowards, unless driven to desperation.  Such was not the case at
present.  A white handkerchief was shown on a stick, and a voice cried
out--

"We don't want to hurt you, Mr Gilpin, or your brother, or man, but
there are two fellows there, and we must have them; give them up to us,
and we will go away."

"I ask you, would you give up people who had put confidence in you?"
said James.

"We have nothing to say to that; give up the men, or we will burn down
the hut and you in it," was the answer.

"Remember the warning I have given you," said James; "however, we will
just talk the matter over, and let you know what we decide."

"Be sharp about it, then," said the first speaker; "we did not come here
to shilly-shally, and we shall advance directly the time is up.  We give
you five minutes to settle the matter."

"We must take ten; and recollect that our rifles will be kept ready for
use," added James, firmly.

"I am afraid the fellows will put their threat into execution," said
Craven.  "Now, you see, our lives are of no use to any one, and so, when
the ten minutes are up, tell them that we will go with them, if they
will take their departure quietly, and not injure you."

"On no account would we do so!" exclaimed the brothers in the same
breath.  "I would not trust them, even if we should be base enough to
give you up."

"Noa, sur; I'd sooner cut out my tongue than give ye up to them arrant
knaves!" exclaimed Green, doubling his fist, and shaking it in the
direction he supposed that the outlaws were collected.

The minutes passed slowly by.  They were doubtful whether the outlaws
would begin the attack at the end of the five minutes, or wait till the
termination of the ten.  The dread of the fatal line, however, seemed to
keep them back.  The muzzles of the firearms were kept protruding from
the walls, and, as there were several pistols as well as rifles, they
made a good display of force, rather damping the courage of those who
came expecting, probably, an easy victory.

The ten minutes came to an end, and fully another five had passed by,
and the outlaws did not advance.  It was very clear, therefore, that
they had not intercepted Larry, nor were aware that he had gone for the
police.  How long it might be before they could arrive it was impossible
to say; perhaps when Larry reached their quarters the larger number had
been sent in an opposite direction, and considerable time might be lost.
However, the importance of gaining as much time as possible was very
great; for though the little garrison did not despair of beating off the
enemy, they earnestly desired to avoid the bloodshed which must ensue if
fighting once began.

James therefore waited with a sad and beating heart to give the fatal
order, should the outlaws overstep the prescribed boundary.

"Well, what are you going to do?" shouted one of the men; "are you going
to give up those fellows?"

"Who is it you are looking for?" asked James, glad of any means to spin
out the time.

"Gentleman Jim and Sulking Sam," was the answer.  "Come, turn them out;
you've got them."

"I know no men by those names," said James.

"The rogues are right enough, though.  I have the honour of being
designated as `Gentleman Jim,'" said Craven, with a smile.

"I say, what are the right names of the chaps?" asked one of the outlaws
of a comrade.

"I never knowed 'em by any other," was the answer.

"Come, come, master, you hand them out, and be done with it!" cried
several of the men together.

"Supposing they were with us, and that we were to deliver them into your
hands, what would you do with them?" asked James.

"Hang them up on the nearest tree, as we will you also, if you don't
come to terms pretty quickly!" shouted the first ruffian who had spoken.

"I won't help you to be guilty of so great a crime," said James; "think
better of it, and go away."

"No more of this; time's up!" cried a loud voice.  "Charge, lads!"

The whole body sprang forward towards the hut.  The whites instantly
began firing their muskets or fowling-pieces, the blacks at the same
moment casting their spears.

"Hurra!  Here come the police!  Look out for yourselves!" cried Sam
Green, who had been keeping watch at a hole near the roof, looking
eastward.

The words, uttered before any one had time to reload, had a magic
effect.  One of the outlaws, springing on one side to ascertain whether
the announcement was true, shouted out the fact to his comrades.  Down
the hill they rushed, as fast as their legs could carry them.  Their
bullets had either passed over the hut or had lodged in the thick
planking which formed the sides, without injuring any of those within.
The sound of the shots, however, made the police put spurs to their
horses' sides, and they came galloping up as the last of the outlaws
disappeared across the river.  Their steeds were pretty well knocked up
with their long and rapid journey, but Lieutenant Graham, the officer in
command, was most anxious to catch some of the men.  "We will join you!"
cried Craven, running out.  Their horses were found in a grassy nook to
the left.  Craven, with his friend Richards, and Arthur Gilpin, and ten
of the police, led by their officer, joined in the pursuit.  Before long
they came in sight of the outlaws, scattered far and wide over the
country, each man endeavouring to make his escape by himself.  Most of
them had thrown away the boughs and the skins with which they had been
covered.  Three men kept closer together than did the rest.  Craven, who
thought he recognised them by their figures as stockmen belonging to the
station, recommended that they should be followed.  The men soon
discovered that they especially were pursued.  When they saw that all
chance of escape was gone, they turned round and stood at bay; but as
the troopers advanced with drawn sabres, they threw down their arms and
cried out for quarter.  Their lives were of course spared, but their
hands being lashed behind them, they were conducted back to the hut.
Another man was caught, but the rest were allowed to escape.  "We can
always get any we require," observed one of the police.  The prisoners
were the men Craven supposed.  He himself was the chief cause of their
being taken.  Except that his dress was rough, as usual, his whole
manner was changed as he galloped across the field.  Graham looked at
him more than once with astonishment.

They were all once more collected in the hut, doing justice to the fare
Sam and Larry had provided.

"I am nearly certain that I know you!" said the police officer,
addressing Craven.  "My name is Graham, and yours is--"

"All right, old fellow!" cried Craven, jumping up and grasping his hand;
"it is pleasant, indeed, to meet a near relation out here.  I never
heard of your coming."

"Nor did I know of your being here.  However, we will not lose sight of
each other again," said the lieutenant.

As scarcely any of the stockmen or hut-keepers could be trusted, the
Gilpins begged that some of the police might remain, while they went
round to drive in and concentrate the herds of cattle and the flocks of
sheep, now probably without keepers, and subject to the depredations of
the outlaws.  It was very hard work; but, with the help of Craven, a few
of the better-disposed men, who were found at their huts (having
probably returned there after the ill-success of their expedition), were
selected, and the task was accomplished.  Fresh hands were sent for.
Craven was appointed overseer, with his friend under him.  Graham set
off with his prisoners for headquarters, Norfolk Island being, without
doubt, their ultimate destination.  No tidings could be gained of
Basham.  He was probably hid away in the mountains, but it was not
likely that he would make any further attempts on the station.  The
disorderly servants were dismissed, fresh ones arrived, and for some
time the affairs entrusted to the young settlers went on quietly and
prosperously.



CHAPTER FIVE.

The Gilpins found Craven a great addition to their social circle in
their remote station.  They, more than ever, required support and
assistance, for depressing news began to reach them from Sydney.  The
financial affairs of the colony had for some time past been in an
unsatisfactory state.  Money for paying the men was often considerably
in arrear; and stores and provisions were sent up only in small
quantities and of an inferior quality.  At length, a letter arrived from
the agent, directing them to send produce to Sydney, to meet certain
heavy liabilities.  As wool was not forthcoming, they were to boil down
both cattle and sheep, to dismiss a large number of the men, and to
practise the most rigid economy.  The requisite boilers and casks for
the tallow soon afterwards arrived.  It was most disagreeable and
painful work.  Flock after flock of sheep were driven in and
slaughtered; the carcases were put into the cauldrons, the fat was
packed in the casks, and the hides roughly dried; while the meat, which
might have fed thousands of the starving poor in the old country, was
allowed, of necessity, to rot uselessly on the ground.  Theirs was no
solitary instance of the consequence of want of capital to carry on
business, for such was the condition to which the greater number of
squatters throughout the colony were reduced.  Fortunately, tallow and
hides were in demand, and realised high prices, and thus many of the
settlers were soon able to get out of their difficulties, though left
with sadly diminished flocks and herds.  The Gilpins and their overseer,
Craven, spared no exertion to save, as far as possible, the loss of
property.  One day Arthur had gone in search of some cattle, which had
strayed among the range of mountains to the west.  After looking for
them in vain, he was returning, annoyed and out of spirits, when he
observed a stream issuing from the side of a hill, with the banks on
either side encrusted with a glittering white substance.  He tasted it,
and found it perfectly salt.  Collecting a pocketful, he returned home
with his spirits completely revived.  All the party were of opinion that
it was a salt spring; that others would be found in the neighbourhood;
and that salt could be manufactured with which the meat, which was now
lost, might be preserved either for sale or for future consumption.  The
next morning they eagerly set out for the spot.  They were not
disappointed.  Other springs were found.  By evaporation alone, a small
supply could be procured; and with some simple apparatus they hoped to
produce as much as they would require.  A cauldron and some pans were
sent up, and after a few experiments they succeeded to their
satisfaction; and they were able to send into Sydney, with the next
dray-load of tallow, a cask of salted hams and tongues.

About this time, they received a letter from their first friend in the
colony, Mr Prentiss, saying that the losses of his family had been so
great, and that his father had so taken it to heart, that he was
completely prostrate, and not likely to survive.  He had, therefore,
himself come up to take the management of affairs, accompanied by his
children.  He requested James to come and pay him a visit without delay.
Leaving Arthur and Craven in charge, he at once set off.  He rode
alone, though he would probably have to camp out one or two nights.
There were stations on the road, but they were at inconvenient
distances; and unless compelled by bad weather, he did not purpose
stopping at them.  He had a gun as a protection; but he had no fear of
bushrangers.  They were now seldom heard of in the colony.  From wild
beasts to be dreaded by a traveller, Australia is, happily, free.  He
was not likely to meet any blacks inclined to be unfriendly.
Occasionally the natives murdered hut-keepers and stockmen, but in most
instances they had been provoked to do so by ill-treatment.  With
saddle-bags and holsters well filled, a blanket, a tin kettle and pot,
strapped to the saddle before him, he set forth on his journey.  There
is an elasticity in the atmosphere and a freedom from restraint which
makes travelling on horseback in Australia most delightful.  James
Gilpin enjoyed it to the full.  He also found it good to be alone
occasionally, to commune with his heart; and this journey gave him ample
opportunity of being so.  The first day passed over pleasantly.  He had
arranged to spend the evening with an acquaintance on the road.  As his
own shadow and that of his steed were lengthened out on the grass, the
smoke of his friend's hut, curling up among the gum trees, appeared
before him.  He called out as he rode up to the door, but no voice
answered; the distant sound, however, of tinkling sheep bells told him
that the flock of the station was being driven into a pen for the night,
where the new-born lambs could be better protected from the dingoes and
hawks, their chief enemies, than if left on the open.  Unsaddling and
turning his horse into a paddock near at hand, he entered the hut.  The
kettle was hissing on the fire, and the damper was baking under it.
There were signs that the hut was the residence of a gentleman (though
all was in the rough), and evidently that of a bachelor.  Every spot on
the walls was covered with shooting and fishing gear, sporting prints,
and some of a better description; and there was a book-case, with
thoroughly used volumes, and coats and hats hung up, and shelves loaded
with all sorts of articles, and chests below, and casks, one with flour
ready open; the corners also were crowded.  There was a bed-chamber
boarded off for the owner, a refinement not very often indulged in, and
a bunk at one end of the general room, for the hut-keeper.  The cheery
voice of the proprietor addressing his dogs announced his return.  He
warmly greeted his neighbour (their abodes were only forty miles apart);
and tea, damper, cold beef, and pork were speedily on the table.

The two settlers were merry and contented, in spite of misfortunes.
Johnstone had also been compelled to boil down.

"Now is the time for a fellow with five or six hundred pounds to lay the
foundation of a fortune," he observed; "both cattle and sheep can be
bought at a mere nominal price.  I must sell or boil down still more of
mine; but I see my way clearly out of my difficulties, and keep up my
spirits."

The hint was not lost upon James.  He had been unwilling to take any of
his employers' cattle, lest it might throw him open to suspicion; but he
now resolved to offer to purchase some, and, at all events, to take all
that Mr Johnstone might wish to sell.  Local subjects were of course
discussed.

"By-the-by," observed Mr Johnstone, "we were surprised some days ago at
seeing a white man lurking about here, dressed in skins and rags.  The
people thought he must be mad; for whenever they approached him, he ran
off howling into the bush.  I ordered some food to be placed for him at
a spot where we could watch him.  He saw us, and would not approach; but
after watching for some time we went away, and he then must have darted
out from his concealment and carried off the food, for when we returned
it was gone.  From that day he disappeared, and whether he has been
drowned in some river or water-hole, or has been starved in the bush, I
cannot say."

James Gilpin started at an early hour the next morning, intending to
make a long day's journey, and to camp out, as he must in that case do.
His horse, a peculiarly fine and strong one, bore him well through the
early part of the day.  In the afternoon he entered a forest, extending
on either side to a considerable distance.  The track through it was
less defined than usual, still, by constant reference to his compass,
when he had any doubts, he had no fear about making a mistake.

He had ridden on for some distance, when he observed that the sky was
overcast, and the wind began to moan among the trees.  Suddenly, with a
spring which would have thrown a worse rider, his horse started at a
vivid flash of lightning which darted from the sky, struck a huge tree
near him, tearing off a large limb, and then ran hissing along the
ground.  A crash of thunder, such as he had really heard, followed, and
he found it impossible to prevent his affrighted steed from setting off
at full gallop among the trees.  It was with the greatest difficulty
that he could guide the animal, so as to save his legs from being dashed
against the trunks and his head against the branches.  Crash succeeded
crash in rapid succession, and at times so vivid was the lightning that
the forest seemed one blaze of fire.  In vain he searched for an open
space where he might, at all events, be free from the danger of being
crushed by falling branches.  Now he thought he saw an opening on one
side, now on the other; but each time he was disappointed.  He
discovered, however, that he had got out of the track, and when he began
to consider in which direction he should go, he was under the somewhat
painful feeling that he had lost his way.  He put his hand in his pocket
to examine his compass; it was not there.  Again and again he searched
for it; nowhere was it to be found.  It had undoubtedly been jerked out
of his pocket during some of the violent springs his steed had made when
frightened by the lightning.  He had not the remotest hope of finding it
on the ground, and would therefore not waste time in looking for it.
Just as he had made this disagreeable discovery, the fury of the storm
abated, and he was in hopes that it was about to cease altogether.  He
rode forward, he believed, towards the east.  If he could get out of the
wood he might still reach a station before dark, considerably short of
the distance he hoped to have made good that day.  On he went, his horse
starting and trembling, not having yet recovered from its fright.  The
rain was falling in torrents, and he was already wet through--no
uncommon occurrence, however, for a squatter, who is in the saddle many
hours every day of the year.  Down it came, harder than ever.  Another
vivid flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder, made his horse
again start forward.  He galloped on till an open space was reached;
here, at all events, he might be secure from falling branches, though
not from the lightning, which was darting in every direction.

He had almost lost hope of getting out of the wood that night.  Wet as
he was, he must camp out on the bare ground.  He was searching for a
spot where he might dismount and tether his horse, when again the animal
started; this time, however, it was not at a flash of lightning.  James
looked round, when, about a dozen yards from him, he saw, as if
endeavouring to conceal himself behind the gnarled stem of an aged gum
tree of gigantic proportions, the very figure Johnstone had described to
him the previous evening.  At first he thought that his imagination must
have deceived him; the light was uncertain, and his eyes had been
dazzled by the lightning.  Still, he could not be mistaken: there was
the human face, the glaring eyeballs, the matted hair and beard, and the
dress of skins and rags.  The figure moved its arms and made threatening
gestures at him.  "I must know whether this is reality or imagination,"
he said to himself, again urging on his horse towards the tree under
which the seeming figure stood.  As he did so, the threatening gestures
became more vehement, and, as he continued to advance, a loud, unearthly
shriek rang through the forest, and the unhappy maniac, for such without
doubt he was, fled away into its depths, his cries echoing amidst the
trees till they grew faint in the distance.  This incident did not
contribute to make the prospect of camping out in that wild spot
pleasant.  Still, James Gilpin had no choice, and his mind was too well
trained to allow him to be made anxious by unnecessary apprehensions.
The only thing he dreaded was the possibility of the maniac returning,
and, perhaps, should he drop asleep, committing some violence on him.
Both rain and lightning had ceased, and having tethered his horse in a
grassy spot, where the animal might find food, he bethought him of the
possibility of lighting a fire.  Under the trees there was no lack of
fuel, and with the last remnant of daylight he collected enough to serve
him till the morning.  Under the lee side of the trees, also, he scraped
together enough dry leaves and small twigs and bark to raise a blaze and
dry the wet wood.  He looked up very frequently, as was natural, to
ascertain that the maniac was not near him.  With flint, steel, and
gunpowder he quickly raised a blaze; his kettle was boiling, his meat
toasting, and his damper warming up, while his blanket and clothes were
drying; and had it not been for the spectre he had seen, he would have
been well content with his lot,--not that he much feared what the poor
creature could do to him, but it was the feeling that at any moment he
might rush out on him which was so painful.  By the look of the sky he
saw that the weather was still unsettled, and the state of the
atmosphere, judging by his sensations, told him that there might still
be more thunder and lightning.  He consequently considered it imprudent
to seek for greater shelter under the trees.  His clothes and blankets
were now tolerably dry, and having shifted the tether of his horse, that
the animal might have fresh food, he wrapped himself up, with his feet
to the fire and his head on his saddle-bags to seek that rest of which
he stood so much in need.

He, of course, intended to keep his eyes open, and turned in the
direction where the poor maniac had disappeared.  As might, however,
have been expected, he closed them and fell fast asleep.  Weariness made
him sleep, but anxiety prevented him from sleeping soundly.  He was
dreaming, it seemed, all the time; and his dreams were painful and
confused in the extreme.  The strange figure of the maniac was
constantly before him, while his unearthly cries resounded in his ears.
His chief idea was that he was engaged in a desperate struggle to get
out of some fearful difficulty--now swimming in a roaring torrent, now
climbing a precipice with savage animals raging below, now flying for
his life across a boundless plain; the maniac was mocking him on the
banks of the stream, or present among the wild beasts, or following him
with a troop of savages across the plain.  A loud noise sounded in his
ear.  It was a peal of thunder.  The storm was again raging with
redoubled fury.  He started up to secure his horse, lest the frightened
animal should break loose and escape into the depths of the forest.  He
must have slept long, for a few glowing ashes only remained of his fire,
which the rain would soon quench, unless a supply of fresh wood were
added.  He felt for some he had placed in readiness, and threw it on the
ashes.  As he did so, a vivid flash of lightning lit up the forest
opening, and by its light he saw, with a gleaming axe uplifted in his
hand, the wretched maniac stealthily approaching him.  He sprang to his
feet, seizing his rifle, when again all was darkness.

"Stand back, whoever you are, or I must fire!" he shouted, at the same
time leaping on one side, away from the spot where he had been lying.

There was the sound of feet, as if a person was springing over the
ground, a shriek, and the crash of a weapon descending.  Yes, he was
certain it had struck his saddle-bags.  The next instant, the wood
igniting on the fire, a flame burst forth, revealing the figure of the
maniac retreating across the glade in the direction of the old tree,
where he had at first appeared.  He must have just reached it when
another flash of lightning came down in a zigzag course from the very
clouds overhead.  It struck the huge tree, which was riven into several
portions, and its knotted limbs scattered around.  The thunder at the
same moment crashed and rattled with almost terrific sound.  He seized
the tether rope of his horse, as the animal, having torn the pin from
the ground, was about to dash off through the forest.  The poor creature
stood as his hand stroked its head, but trembled violently.  He brought
it up to the fire, looking round as he did so for his late assailant,
but the maniac was nowhere to be seen.  He had the greatest difficulty
in keeping his horse quiet; for the storm continued raging as before,
the rain came down in torrents, the wind howled and whistled, and the
lightning flashed; the thunder roared and rattled, and the rending of
boughs, and the crashing of falling trees was heard on every side,
warning him of the danger of attempting to pass among them.  As may be
supposed, he did not again lie down: having saddled his horse and thrown
his blanket over his shoulders, he employed the time in quieting the
animal, throwing wood on his fire, and keeping a vigilant watch for the
approach of the maniac.  The most weary night must have an end.  The
storm ceased completely; the dawn came at last.  He looked around.  The
sight which most attracted his attention was the blackened stump of that
huge tree which had stood there the previous evening--the monarch of the
forest glade.  He approached it.  Under one of the limbs lay a human
form--it was the maniac's body; life was extinct.  He examined the
features.  There could be no mistake; though haggard by starvation and
exposure, and distorted by his violent death, he recognised them as
those of the former overseer of Warragong, the outlaw Basham.  A small
black mark on one side of his head showed that he had been struck by the
electric fluid, and that his death must have been instantaneous, and
must have immediately followed the attempt on his life.  To bury the
body of the wretched man was impossible.  All he could do was to drag
the heavier boughs of the trees torn off by the storm over it and leave
it thus entombed, and then to escape from the scene.  The rising sun
showed him the direction he should pursue, and in half an hour he was
out of the wood, and had regained the track with which he was
acquainted.  He reached a station in time for breakfast, when he
narrated to the occupant what had occurred, and learned from him that
Basham had more than once been there asking for food.

A rest of a few hours restored James's strength; but instead of camping
out as he had intended, he was glad to take shelter that night in
another squatter's hut.  It was thus that the traveller in those days
was able to traverse the province from one end to the other, with the
certainty of finding food and shelter, and a welcome at any hut where he
might call.  He was most cordially received at Prentiss Town, where he
arrived late in the evening; but he went to a house of mourning.  Old
Mr Prentiss, under the belief that his losses were far greater than was
the case, and that the whole country was about to be ruined, had sunk
broken-hearted into the grave.  He had trusted in riches, and they had
failed him.  An apathetic indifference to everything around him had
seized his eldest son, who had the same belief in the ruin impending
over the colony.

Notwithstanding this, there was sunlight in the dwelling: there could
not fail to be so, James thought, where Fanny and Emily Prentiss were to
be found.  They received him as an old and valued friend, and expressed
their sorrow that his brother could not have accompanied him.  He
naturally expected that they would complain of the dulness of the life
they must now lead in the country, and regret all the gaieties and
amusements they had left behind in Sydney; but, on the contrary, they
seemed much pleased at having escaped from its unsatisfactory
frivolities.  Everything in the country delighted them, and they had no
fear of no having ample occupation.  They proposed to study the natural
history of the district--the trees and flowers, the birds and insects,
and the wild animals, of which there were not a few; then the farm would
of itself afford ample occupation, along with the improvements in the
house, into which they were about to move, on another part of the
estate, where a garden was also to be formed.  And there were also
several settlers with wives and grown-up daughters, who lived somewhat
far off, to be sure; but the young ladies were good horse-women, and
thought little of a ride of thirty miles or so.  There were likewise
numerous families of the lower orders, who had no means of obtaining
religious or secular instruction.  Among these they circulated books and
tracts, and would often stop and read the Word of God to those who were
unable to read themselves.  Thus every moment of each day was fully
occupied.  James Gilpin could not fail to admire the manner in which his
young hostesses spent their time, or to discover how many objects of
interest they had in common.  Even under ordinary circumstances he would
have been interested in them.  As it was, the interest he felt increased
the longer he remained in their society.  He was of much use to Mr
Henry Prentiss in arranging the affairs connected with the property; and
at length, with new hopes and aspirations, he returned to Warragong.
The arrangements for the purchase of the cattle and sheep were soon
complete.  The brothers did not even now lay out all their capital, but
allowed a portion to remain in the bank to meet any unexpected demands.
They had from the first been allowed a percentage on the increase of the
stock under their charge; but this, owing to the mismanagement of the
persons employed, and the depredations of Basham and his associates, had
hitherto been small.  The boiling-down process at length being no longer
necessary, and the management in every department being greatly
improved, the increase was so much more rapid than at first, that they
found themselves, a few years after landing in Australia, the owners of
very considerable flocks and herds, while no men in the district were
more respected.  Their visits to Prentiss Town became more and more
frequent; sometimes one brother went, sometimes the other--as they were
unwilling to leave the station together--and they both met with a
reception which made them wish to return.  The Prentiss Town property
was now divided, and the house inhabited by Mr Henry Prentiss was
considerably nearer to them than that of his elder brother.  They also
had secured some runs lower down the Warragong river; and having fixed
on a site for a house in that direction, somewhat similar, but far more
picturesque than the spot where the old hut stood, they built a hut
which they could inhabit till their new residence could be erected,
leaving Craven in charge of that up the stream.  This change enabled
them to leave their own abode early in the morning, and to reach that of
Mr Prentiss before sunset.  There was the house of a new settler about
half-way, and several huts where refreshment could be obtained, so that
their visits became still more frequent and expected.  Even in the bush
gossip is not impossible, and it became pretty generally reported that
the two Mr Gilpins were about to marry the two daughters of Mr Henry
Prentiss.



CHAPTER SIX.

The Gilpins had not attained to the prosperous condition they enjoyed
without persevering toil and constant exertion both of mind and body.
Some stirring incidents had occurred; but, at the same time months
passed by in a comparatively monotonous manner.  Every day they were in
the saddle, sometimes from morning till night; but however delightful
that style of life may be--and that it has its attractions to most men
there can be no doubt--men of educated minds must at times feel an
almost insupportable weariness, and earnestly long for a change.  There
can be but little social intercourse; some suffer materially from the
want of public worship and religious instruction, and all must feel its
absence.  Still, those who are fitted for a life in the bush, and have
led it for any length of time, quit it generally with regret, and return
to it with satisfaction.

Never had the Gilpins been more busy.  Their house was nearly finished.
It was rather large for two bachelors, to be sure; but their ideas must
have expanded of late.  They had much more assistance than formerly
rendered by Craven, their most efficient and active overseer, and his
assistant, Larry.  No one would have recognised the dispirited, almost
broken-hearted hut-keeper in the fine, active, intelligent man he had
now become.  Gentlemanly even in his poverty, he had always been.  He
now looked more fit to set a squadron in order, and lead them against
the foe, than to keep sheep; yet to superintend the keeping of sheep he
was well content.  He had greatly enlarged and improved the old hut,
having converted it indeed into a comfortable house, with a
flower-garden in front and one for vegetables in the rear.

One of the greatest matters of interest to the bushman, who has loved
relations in the old country, is the arrival of the post.  Often with
trembling, always with eager, hands the packets are opened; sometimes
they give satisfaction, and afford subjects for pleasant conversation
for many a day; but at others, and too often, they bring news to grieve
the hearts of their readers.  Such had been the case with the Gilpins,
some time back, when a letter with a broad black border arrived, and
told them of the death of a father they had so much reason to reverence
and love.  Several changes had taken place in their family circle.
Their eldest brother had married; and their two sisters seemed doubtful,
when they last heard from home, whether or not they should continue to
reside with him.

The two brothers were sitting together in their nicely furnished
dining-room.  The dark wainscoting and the proportions of the apartment
reminded them of the one they had loved so well in their far-off home in
the old country.  A dray had just arrived from the west, and Green made
his appearance with the letter-bag in hand.  Eagerly the contents were
glanced over.

"Arthur, they are coming--both the dear girls, Jane and Susan--and
Willie as an escort!" exclaimed James, in a tone of great satisfaction.

"Oh! it will be delightful.  How pleased Fanny and Emily will be!" cried
Arthur.

Indeed, no event could by possibility have caused the brothers more true
pleasure; and, as may be supposed, it formed the subject for
conversation for the remainder of the evening and for many evenings
afterwards.  Of course it was necessary for James to ride over to
Prentiss Town to announce the event.

"As soon after they arrive as it can be arranged," was the reply made by
Fanny to a question put to her during his visit.  It seemed highly
satisfactory, and was received with strong marks of gratitude.

When James returned home, Arthur was not happy till he could set off to
Prentiss Town.  He must have put a question to Emily, not unlike that
which James put to Fanny.

"Perhaps the same day that my sister is," was her reply.

Not long after, James set off for Sydney.  Arthur would gladly have gone
also, but what with their own flocks and herds, and the numerous ones
over which they had charge, it was, they thought, scarcely fair to
Craven to leave him so long alone.  Of late, too, there had been reports
of wonderful discoveries of gold--nuggets to rival those of California;
and some of the shepherds and stockmen had already gone off to the
region where the gold was reported to have been found, and it was feared
that others might follow.  James had not been in Sydney since his first
arrival in the country.  The whole city was in a ferment.  There was no
doubt of the truth of the reports of the discovery of gold, not only in
one, but in several directions.  Nuggets of all sizes and heaps of
gold-dust had already been brought in.  The gold fever had commenced,
and men of all ages, ranks, and professions were fitting themselves out
with knapsacks, spades, washers, and other apparatus for the
gold-fields.  People were surprised that James took matters so calmly.
"I prefer that others should dig for me--an occupation for which I never
had a fancy, except for an hour or two in my garden in a morning," he
answered.  "If people rush out of the colony, as it is expected they
will, the price of stock will rise very greatly, and I shall have ample
fortune for all my wishes."  It did rise, far higher than he expected,
and he was not disappointed.  His heart throbbed with anxiety as he went
down to the harbour to visit the ship on board which his sisters had
taken their passage.  He singled them out among a large number of
passengers, though they did not recognise the strongly built, bearded,
and well-browned man as their brother, who had left them a fair, slight
youth a few years before.  News of the gold discoveries had reached
England some time before the ship sailed, and a great number of her
passengers were intended gold-diggers--a mixed and ill-matched
assemblage, all inspired, however, with the one ruling passion, an eager
to grow rich suddenly.  There were young men--still mere lads--who had
time before them to make themselves independent by steady industry; and
old men who, it might be supposed, had little else to do than to prepare
for another world.  There were nominal representatives of all religious
faiths, but drawn together to worship one god--Mammon, yet not as
brethren, for each seemed eager to supplant the other.  The Miss Gilpins
told their brother that the universal subject of conversation during the
voyage was gold, gold-digging, gold-washing, gold-scraping.

"Like the old man in the `Pilgrim's Progress' with his muck-rake, always
scraping with downcast looks, never gazing upwards," remarked James.
"Ah! it is sad work; and yet, when a person gets down in the world, and
feels the want of the wealth he once possessed, it must be a severe
trial to him to prevent his mind from continually dwelling on the means
by which he may regain it."

The greater number of the passengers were eager to set off immediately
for the diggings; and every vehicle to be found was secured at a high
price, many giving promises of breaking down before half the journey was
performed.  Many talked of trudging it on foot; and of these, several of
them never reached their destination, having either lost their way and
died from fatigue and starvation in the bush, or being drowned when
crossing some river, by being carried down by the current.  The lions of
Sydney were soon visited; and James, with his two sisters and young
brother, set off in high spirits for Warragong.  He had a lightly-built
covered waggon, with strong springs--the best style of vehicle for
travelling in the bush.  The journey was performed, if not rapidly, yet
with great ease and comfort; and there were so many objects of interest,
all new to the strangers--the birds, beasts, reptiles, and scenery, the
very look of the people, and the characters they met--that no one was
weary.  As may be supposed, they called at Prentiss Town on their way,
and, of course, spent a few days there; and, naturally, Arthur arrived
to escort them home.  The daughters of the English farmer had been more
practically brought up than the Australian young ladies, educated in a
school in Sydney.  They could teach them much connected with the dairy
and numerous household duties, of which they had never heard.  Not that
the Miss Gilpins were, in the slightest degree, less refined or less
educated than their new friends.  Of course, the visit was to be
returned; there was some joking, however, on that subject, which a
stranger might not very clearly have understood.  On the road, the party
were met by Craven, well mounted, and dressed in the most approved
fashion.  He came, as in duty bound, to escort his friends' sisters to
their new abode.

"And is this the hut you spoke of, dear brothers?" exclaimed the
sisters, in the same voice.  "What a delightful house!  And this room,
the very model of the dear old parlour.  We are sure you intended it."

And Jane and Susan kissed their brothers, who were more than amply
repaid by the happiness they felt for the years of toil they had
endured, and all the exertions they had made to get the house ready.
They had an idea that those sisters would not remain long under their
roof, sorry though they would be to lose them; that is to say, not if
their bachelor neighbours had a particle of good taste or judgment.
Willie was delighted with everything.  His great ambition was to become
a first-rate stockman.  He was rather young to begin active life; but he
had made good use of his time at school, and he promised, when he left
England, that he would not give up reading and study.  The Gilpins had
found the time pass quickly before the arrival of their sisters, they
now found it pass still more quickly; and it was only by managing it
with the greatest care that they could accomplish what they had to do.
The Miss Gilpins entered warmly into all Fanny's and Emily's plans--
which had, indeed, now become their brothers'--for giving religious
instruction to the surrounding population, which had of late years
considerably increased.  Though many of the men went off to the
diggings, the women remained, hoping to see them return, loaded with
wealth.  Not a hut nor a residence of any sort remained unvisited by
these six active young missionaries, who left tracts or books wherever
they went.  They procured some Bibles from Sydney, and many a cottage,
where the Word of God had never been heard, was supplied by them.  They
had great reason to believe that a blessing attended their efforts.
They had often made application in Sydney for an appointed minister of
the Gospel.  One at length came, but he had a wide circuit, so that he
could not come to any spot within the Sunday morning's journey more than
six or eight times in the year.  He went his rounds, preaching on
weekdays, from station to station, and holding a service every evening
where he rested.  Such is the only human agency by which spiritual life
can be maintained in the wide-scattered sheep and stock stations in
Australia, and it behoves all those connected with that magnificent
land, who love the Lord Jesus Christ, to aid in sending missionaries of
the Gospel through its length and breadth.  There are many who have
scarcely ever heard the glad tidings of salvation; many have passed
away, sunk almost in heathen darkness.  At length, a regular place of
worship was built, to the satisfaction of many, which satisfaction was
by no means decreased by an interesting event which took place there
shortly afterwards, namely, the marriages of Jane and Arthur Gilpin.  It
would be difficult to find a more united, contented, and happy family
than that now dwelling at Warragong, and certainly, if steady,
persevering, industry and uprightness of conduct should be rewarded, the
Gilpins richly deserved their success.  Sam Green, too, had followed his
young master's example, and had taken to himself as a wife the eldest
daughter of his old acquaintance, Sykes, the former coachman of Mr
Henry Prentiss, who had followed his master into the country, and
settled near him.  Larry Killock won the heart of another daughter; but,
although Mr Sykes had himself come out at the Government expense, he
objected to the alliance, because Larry was not yet entirely a free man.
Larry was, however, able to prove that his crime was having joined some
popular outbreak; and being at length freed completely from bondage, his
wishes were no longer opposed, and he settled down near the friends to
whom he had, with good reason, become so warmly attached.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

Some time had passed since the events just mentioned.  It was winter,
not Christmas, however, but the period which in England is considered
the warmest and sunniest in the year.  Frost and snow are not looked
for, but the wind blows from the cold south, and rain comes down in
plentiful showers, filling the water-holes, and turning the sluggish
streams into roaring torrents.

One evening, as Arthur and Willie were riding homewards from a distant
station, their course not far from the Warragong river, a cry reached
their ears.

"It is some one shouting for help!" exclaimed Arthur.  "From what
direction does it come?  Listen!"

"From up the stream!" cried Willie, spurring on his horse.

"Stay! there's a man in the river," said Arthur; "he is floating down.
We may pass him if we don't take care."

They rode directly down to the bank of the now rapid river.  Every
stockman rides with a rope attached to his saddle.  They looked out
anxiously as they now rode up the stream.  Again the cry was heard, but
fainter though near; and through the thickening gloom of evening a man
was seen clinging to a log, which was borne swiftly down the current.
He had lost all power of guiding it, and from the way his head hung
down, it was evident that his strength was exhausted, and that he must
soon drop off and sink.  To leap from their horses and to secure them to
a tree was the work of a moment.

"Here, hold one end, Willie!  I think I can reach him!" cried Arthur,
binding the two ropes together, and fastening one end round his own
waist.

Throwing off his coat, and without waiting for any expostulation from
Willie, he plunged into the stream, and swam boldly out towards the
drowning man.  The whirling eddies of the torrent bore the log along,
now carrying it towards one side of the river, now towards the other.
This much increased the difficulty of reaching it.  The man clinging to
it had still sufficient consciousness to be aware of the effort made to
save him, but had no strength to help himself.  Arthur had swum out very
nearly to the extent of which the rope would allow, and yet he feared
that he should not reach the man.  He doubted whether he should be
strong enough to return to the shore without the aid of the rope.

"Stretch out your arms, Willie; give me all the rope you can, but don't
fall in.  In mercy take care!" he shouted.

Willie stood on the very edge of the bank uncoiling the whole of the
rope, and keeping only the end in his hands.  He dreaded lest, his feet
slipping, he should be dragged in himself; and though he did not fear
for himself, he knew that, if he was dragged in, Arthur would in all
probability be lost.  He found that he could not stand still either, but
had to move down the stream, as his brother was swept on by the current.
"If it is difficult to hold him now, what will it be when he grasps the
drowning man?" he thought.  He would have shouted for help had he
believed that any one was near to afford it.  Arthur, meantime, saw the
drowning man approaching.  An eddy seemed to be carrying him off towards
the opposite bank.  Should he venture to swim across without the rope?
Had he a right to run so great a risk of losing his life, and bring
grief and sorrow to the heart of his young wife?  He prayed for strength
and aid.  He was about to loose himself from the rope, when again the
log was whirled near him.  The moment for the greatest exertion had
arrived.  He sprang forward.  His right hand grasped the drowning man,
but the log on which he floated escaped from his hold, and was borne
onwards by the current.  As he caught the man, the spring he made and
the additional weight almost overbalanced Willie, who was on the point
of falling into the water, when he found himself close to a young tree,
of the willow tribe, bending over the stream.  He grasped it with his
left hand, hauling with all his might till he drew in a sufficient
length of the rope to pass it round the stem.  His dread was lest his
brother should sink before he could reach the shore.  He then feared
that the man for whom Arthur had risked so much might be torn from his
grasp before he could get him in.  The fact of the willow growing there
showed that there was a permanent water-hole at the spot, and that,
therefore, the depth must be considerable.  He dragged in the rope
slowly, for Arthur seemed scarcely able to support his burden.  "Keep--
keep up, brother!" he cried out, considering whether he should not make
the rope fast and jump in to help him.  Just then he discovered that the
current itself was doing what he wished; scarcely had he secured the
rope than Arthur was swept close up to the bank.  He sprang on to help
him.  The bank, happily, shelved, and together they dragged the nearly
drowned man to the shore.  He was dressed as a labourer, and his rough
hands showed that he was accustomed to hard work.  It was too dark to
distinguish his features.  After they had rubbed him for some time, he
gave signs of life; and on his further recovering they placed him on
Willie's horse, and, supporting him on either side, led him up to the
house, which was about half a mile distant.  The stranger scarcely spoke
all the way; indeed, he was but partially recovered from the effects of
his immersion.  The ladies of the family, who had been expecting them at
an earlier hour, ran out as they reached the house.  Emily hurried off
her husband to change his wet clothes; while Willie, briefly describing
how bravely his brother had behaved, conducted the stranger to his room,
that he might go to bed, while dry garments were got for him and some
hot potation was prepared.  Had he been of the highest instead,
apparently, of the lowest rank, he could not have been more kindly
treated.  Willie was delighted to be of use, and having collected some
clothes from his brother's wardrobe, brought them to the stranger, who,
having taken the remedies prescribed for him, insisted on getting up.

"Why, whose house am I in?" exclaimed the stranger, his eye falling on
the mark of some of the linen brought for him.

His young attendant told him.

"Then you surely must be little Willie Gilpin!" cried the stranger; "and
that fine fellow who jumped into the river and pulled me out is Arthur,
and those are your sisters.  I thought I knew their faces."

"And who are you?" asked Willie.

"An old friend, though I think it likely a forgotten one," answered the
stranger.  "Do not say that I know your people.  If they recollect me,
well and good; if not, it matters little: I am not worth recollecting."

It was evident that the stranger did not belong to the rank of life his
appearance had at first betokened.  James, who had been at a distance,
now arriving, came to the door, and invited him in to supper.  The
stranger followed him, and with a bow to the ladies, which was certainly
not like that of a mere countryman, was about to take a seat at table,
when Arthur entered.  The stranger's colour mounted to his cheeks as he
said--

"I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and I am most thankful, as it
enables me to enjoy the present society, though I fear my life is not
worth the risk you ran to save it."

Arthur had been earnestly examining the countenance of the stranger
while he was speaking.  "I thought so," he exclaimed, coming round to
him and taking his hand; "Mark Withers, of Wallington?"

"The same, though somewhat wiser; rather further down the hill than when
we parted," returned the stranger.  "But I'll own it does my heart good
to meet so many old friends together."

Kind and warm greetings saluted the wanderer; his heart softened, and
for a time he laid aside his cynical, discontented manner.  The
well-furnished rooms, the handsome arrangements of the supper-table, and
the servants in attendance, all spoke of ample means.  A feeling of
jealousy might possibly have passed through his heart as he made these
observations.  He remarked, however, when left alone with the brothers,
"Well, you fellows seem to have fallen on your feet; and I'm heartily
glad of it, indeed I am."

"We have been working pretty hard, though," said James; and, after
giving a brief sketch of their career in the colony, he asked, "And you,
Withers, I hope that you have got a comfortable home in Australia
somewhere."

"Home!" exclaimed Withers; "I haven't a wigwam I can call my own, and my
whole property consists in the damp duds I had on my back when I pulled
them off in Willie's room."

"Where have you been, then, Mark, all this time?" asked Arthur.

"Been! why, my dear fellow, all round the world, exemplifying the truth
of the saying, that `a rolling stone gathers no moss.'  My father did
not much fancy my giving up his business; and indeed I had to take
French leave at last, and then write and ask his forgiveness.  He told
me, in reply, that I was a graceless vagabond; but that I might follow
my own devices, if I was so minded, without opposition, though without
help from him.  I fancied that my own devices were full of wisdom, so
resolved to follow them.  I had fallen in with a man bound for the Cape
of Good Hope Colony, and, listening to his representations, agreed to
accompany him.  Out to the Cape I went, but soon discovered that a
farm-life was not to my taste; and so, meeting with some sporting
companions, I spent my time in shooting elephants and lions, and other
beasts of the forests and mountains of that wonderful land.  As my
expenses at this sort of work were far greater than my profits, I spent,
in time, all the money I possessed, and had at length to engage as a
labourer on a property of which, on first landing, I might have become
the owner.  This was not what I had bargained for; and hearing that
fortunes were to be made rapidly in South Australia, I saved enough
money to carry me to Cape Town, where I found a ship calling in on her
way to that colony.  I shipped on board her to work my passage; but
finding the work I had to do and the treatment I had received very far
from my taste, I resolved never again, if I could help it, to place
myself in the same position.  I found, on reaching Adelaide, that if
fortunes were to be made in a hurry, they were to be lost still more
rapidly--not that I had myself any opportunity of making the experiment
I tried all sorts of plans which I thought would prove short roads to
what I so much desired--to become rich; but, somehow or other, none of
them proved satisfactory.  At length I had struck out something new
which would, I really believe, have been a great success, when the news
of the wonderful discoveries of gold in California reached the colony.
Wonderful to relate, I had made enough money to pay my passage, which I
took on board one of the first vessels sailing for those regions I
considered myself wonderfully fortunate to get there, for I had now no
longer the slightest doubt of success.  San Francisco was already a
wonderful place.  Everybody on board hastened to the shore as soon as we
entered the harbour, and in the course of two or three days the whole of
the crew, except the captain and first mate, had deserted the ship.  The
central part of the city consisted at that time chiefly of
lodging-houses, gambling-houses, and houses of entertainment.  The
lodging-houses, fast as they could be put up, were crowded, and were of
the most wretched description.  The best to which I could gain admission
was a long barn-like edifice, with bunks or berths like those on board a
ship, arranged along on either side with straw, hay, or leaves as a
mattress, and a horsecloth as a coverlet.  The gambling-houses were the
most attractive.  There was music gratis, and spirits without limitation
for all who chose to play.  I felt sure that I should make my fortune in
that way.  How was I to get enough to stake?  I must work.  I found no
difficulty in obtaining employment as a labourer at high wages.  In a
short time I had saved about twenty dollars.  I walked into the largest
gambling-house, with my few dollars jingling in my pockets.  The hall
was brilliantly lighted.  It was hung with coloured silk or calico, and
adorned with mirrors and pictures.  There was a gallery with a band of
music, and a bar where all sorts of viands could be obtained.  There
were small tables for cards on either side, and several larger tables in
the centre, at which sat the bankers, the professional gamblers, the
owners or renters of the saloon.  I walked up to one of these tables and
staked five of my hardly gained dollars against a thousand or so, and
won.  I won again and again, until I found myself the owner of twenty
thousand dollars.  I had never been so rich in my life, but yet it was
not a sum which would allow me to leave off.  I played on all night,
losing and regaining; and at length, when the saloon was closed, I had
but a quarter of my first winning remaining.  This would never do.  I
determined to go the next day, and I persuaded myself that if I could
win as much as I had done the first night, I would never bet on a card
again.  I returned to that hall of horrors--for so it was, in spite of
its gilding and mirrors and music.  The haggard, pallid countenances of
the professional players, almost Satanic in their calmness; the excited,
eager looks of those who had come in the hopes, by staking their all, of
clearing themselves from difficulties, or, by rapidly acquiring wealth;
of being able to return to their far-distant homes!  To a considerable
number, I believe, the scene was thoroughly distasteful; and yet,
infatuated folly led them, as it did me, there.  I won at first; but
fortune turned against me, and I went on losing rapidly.  If I staked
high, I lost; if low, it was the same.  Every instant I expected to have
my first good luck come back, till I discovered that, to the very last
dollar, my pocket was cleared out.  But I saw a terrible sight that
evening--I spare you the particulars--the suicide of a poor young
Englishman, who, like me, had lost every shilling he had.  I trembled
lest I should be tempted to commit a like act; for I found that hardly a
week passed by but some wretched victim of gaming thus plunged into a
fearful eternity, while numbers took to drinking hard, and brought
themselves speedily to the grave.  Sickened for the time of gambling, I
worked hard again, till I had saved enough to take me up to the
diggings.  I found one of my shipmates about to start.  We agreed to go
together.  We were bound to each other, not by mutual regard, but that
we required companionship, and believed we could trust each other.  I do
not much like to think of all the hardships we underwent.  We had some
distance to go up the river, on the crowded deck of a vessel; then, with
our packs on our backs, we commenced the toilsome part of our journey,
over mountain and valley, across rivers and plains, on the highlands,
exposed to sharp winds, which pierced bitterly through our light
clothes, while on the plains we were scorched with the fierce rays of
the unclouded sun.  A large party had collected at the foot of a rugged
mountain.  Before us lay a plain of vast extent, which must be crossed.
We had heard that there was a scarcity of water.  Some had filled their
water-skins and jars and kegs; others laughed at the notion of not being
able to go a few hours without water, even should we not find any; and
some carried flasks filled with rum or brandy, boasting that that was
the best stuff for quenching thirst I never felt greater heat in the
tropics; the air was filled with the finest dust, which got down our
throats, stopped our nostrils, and filled up the pores of our already
parched skins.  The first night we stopped for very weariness--no water
was to be found.  Those who had some would not part with a drop to their
comrades: they might want it themselves.  All night the wolves howled
round us, as if scenting their prey.  There were reports, too, that
hostile Indians had been seen; and several times the camp was aroused by
an alarm that the redskins were on us.  The next day, when the sun rose,
the sky was cloudless, and there was not a breath of wind.  Greater than
ever was the heat, and more intense the thirst of those who had brought
no water.  I had a small flask full; but though I kept wetting my lips
occasionally, I suffered dreadfully.  Almost certain destruction would
be the lot of those who dropped behind; yet, one by one, several poor
wretches sunk down exhausted, in vain imploring the rest to carry them
on.  Sad were their cries; but our breasts were steeled against their
appeals.  We had our own safety to consult, and the gold mines were
before us.  Among those who sunk down were several who carried flasks of
spirits.  Our guides declared that we should reach water before sunset.
This kept up the spirits of the stronger men.  They were mistaken, or
had purposely deceived us to encourage us to proceed.  Again we slept on
the burning sand, with our pistols in our hands, and our water-bottles
under our heads, ready at a moment's notice to defend ourselves against
either Indians, wolves, or our own companions, who, tempted by thirst,
might endeavour to steal the water we found so precious.  The howling of
the wolves in the distance, and the groans, and often the imprecations
of those suffering from thirst, drove away sleep; and I, with others,
started up to reach the river, which we were assured was not more than
fifteen miles off.  In four or five hours it might be reached.  We
pushed on at a rapid rate, our mules following willingly, instinct
telling them that relief was at hand.  The green trees appeared in
sight, and the water, bright and limpid, was seen between them.  We
hurried on--men and animals together rushing into the stream, the men
lapping the water up like dogs, and dipping their whole bodies in
without even stopping to pull off any of their clothes.  It is a wonder
the sudden change from heat to cold did not kill some of us; but the
fact is, that our pores were so completely closed up with dust that the
bath, by removing the dirt, allowed the perspiration to escape and saved
us from fever.  A few turns in the sun soon dried our garments, and then
delightful indeed was it to throw ourselves on the grass, in the shade
of the tall trees, and to rest after our fatigue.  One man proposed that
we should load our mules with water and go back for our poor comrades
who had dropped in the desert, if the caravan would camp for a couple of
days; but the proposal was instantly negatived with derision.

"What! did he forget that we were bound for the diggings?  Lose two
whole days which might be employed in collecting the gold of which we
were so eagerly in search!  Scarcely had our companions came up than on
we pushed.  The diggings were at hand; the nearer we got to them, the
more eager we became to commence work.  We reached at last the principal
diggings.  It was a fearfully wild spot--mountains on all sides, almost
destitute of trees, with the river running between them; the ground in
every direction was full of burrows, as if the habitation of rabbits;
but the chief work was going forward by the banks of the river, where
hundreds of men were labouring away from morn till night with very
varied success.  My partner and I set up a hut; it was a wretched
affair, but not worse than many others; then we turned to with eager,
beating hearts.  We dug and washed hour after hour, but, toil as we
might, we had not, at the end of the day, obtained more than would pay
our expenses; sometimes not so much.  We toiled on.  We had no choice;
we must find gold or starve.  With the cold wind descending from the
mountains at night, and the chill fogs; the hot sun by day striking down
on our heads while we stood up to our knees in water--no wonder that all
suffered more or less from ague and fever.  Many died from disease, some
went mad, some committed suicide.  There was no one to care for them, no
one to mourn them; bowie-knives were in constant requisition, murders
frequent.  One day I heard shots fired, and ran to see what was
occurring.  Some strangers, that is, natives of various countries, had
trespassed on the ground claimed by a company of Americans.  Without
giving any warning, the latter assembled and fired on the new-comers,
killing several; then rushing on them with bowie-knives, axes, and
revolvers, they desperately wounded or killed several more, putting the
rest to flight.  `There, I guess they'll not try it on again,' I heard
one of the victors say, as he kicked the dead body of one of the
conquered party.  I could describe many other similar scenes.  At night
we always slept with our pistols under our pillows, and our knives at
our sides, ready to start up at a moment's notice.  Several successful
diggers were murdered for the sake of their wealth, and others were cut
off by Indians, while prospecting beyond the chief diggings.
Altogether, I don't think that any place on earth could have been more
like Pandemonium than were those Californian diggings at the time I was
there, for I have not mentioned half of its horrors and abominations.  I
resolved to get out of them.  An unexpected run of success gave me the
means; the news of the discovery of gold in Australia expedited my
movements.  My partner agreed to share my fortunes.  We got back to San
Francisco, though not without great hazard of losing our gold and our
lives, and got on board a ship bound across the Pacific to this country.
The ship, however, being caught in a gale off this coast, drove on
shore, when half the crew and passengers lost their lives--my partner
among them--while I only saved my life and the clothes on my back.  I
had learned by this time not to be surprised at any misfortune which
might overtake me.  I was far better off than in California, for I was
among countrymen, I begged my way up to the diggings, or rather I had
not to beg it, for I was passed along from station to station.  I was
much better off, too, at the diggings than I had been in California, for
I was now one of the ruling faction; and, though things were bad enough
in some respects, people were generally civilised and humane, compared
to gold-diggers I had met on the other side of the globe.  My luck,
however, was much the same.  All I could do was to keep body and soul
together, till at last I had to come to the conclusion that I was not
cut out for a gold-digger.  On my way up to the diggings, I had rested
at a station owned by an old gentleman, who seemed to take an interest
in me.  At all events, as I was going away, he promised to receive me
when I got tired of gold-digging, if I would come back to him, and to
put me in the way of making my fortune.  Utterly disgusted with my
ill-success as gold-digger, I bethought myself of him, and was on my way
to his abode, when, on attempting to cross your river, I was carried off
my feet, and should have become food for fish or water-rats had it not
been for your courage, Arthur and Willie; and I can say, with sincerity,
that you deserve great credit for it.  As to thanking you, I do not
fancy that thanks from such a wretched vagabond as I am are worth
anything, and so I'll say nothing about that."

"We are too glad that we have succeeded in saving your life, old friend,
to care about thanks," said Arthur.  "And now you are here, we hope that
you will stay and try if you cannot follow our occupation.  It is the
one that succeeds best in Australia in the long run, depend upon it."

Mark Withers said that he would think about the matter; but the next
morning he declared his intention of proceeding to the farm of the old
gentleman, a Mr Elton, who had invited him to his house before he went
up to the diggings.  "The fact is," observed Mark, "I have an idea that
he intended to leave me his property, and that would not be an
unpleasant way of making a fortune, you'll allow."

"It would be a way of getting one, certainly," observed James; "though I
doubt if your expectations will be realised; and I think that you would
enjoy it far more if you make it yourself by honest industry."

"Every man to his taste," said Mark, with a careless laugh; "if I fail
in my expectations, I can but try on plodding industry at last, you
know, and little harm will be done."

"It is difficult to stop a rolling stone when it has gained an impetus
downhill," said James; "remember that, Mark.  However, I can only say
that my brothers and I shall be glad to welcome you back, should you
find yourself mistaken in your hopes, and to find some employment for
you which will put you in the way of becoming independent in the end."

In so great a hurry was Mark to assure himself that he should obtain the
expected fortune from Mr Elton, that he insisted on setting forth on
his journey the next day.  He did not object, however, to borrow a horse
and a few pounds from his old friends.  This he did with the air of a
man conferring rather than receiving a favour.  When Craven, who arrived
soon afterwards, heard of this latter circumstance, he predicted that
the face of Mr Mark Withers would not be again seen at Warragong,
unless he might have the assurance to return and borrow more.

Charles Craven had become a very constant visitor of late at Warragong.
By his intelligence, activity, and knowledge of mankind, he had
contributed greatly to the prosperity of the Gilpins own property, as
well as to that committed to their charge.  They had obtained permission
to make over a considerable portion of the latter to his management, so
that he had now a comfortable, if not a handsome, income.  There seemed
to be no doubt that he admired Miss Gilpin, though he had not proposed
to her.  Perhaps he considered that she was indifferent to him, or
regarded him merely as a valued friend of her brothers.

Nothing had been heard of Mark Withers since his departure.  One evening
a horseman was seen approaching the house, dressed in rough bush
fashion; and soon afterwards, into the room where the ladies were
seated, walked Mark himself.  He had assumed a careless independent
swagger, peculiarly distasteful to those into whose society he had
introduced himself.

"Your brothers were right!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair.
"Old Elton was a humbug.  He has cheated me abominably.  Got me to
labour for him, and then laughed in my face when I told him why I had
done so; telling me that, as I worked for love, I required no wages; and
that, as I was not worth my salt, he should give me none.  However, here
I am, not much the worse for the adventure, with a few months experience
of bush life, and ready to become your brothers' chief stockman, or
overseer, or anything they like to put me to, not derogatory to the
character of a gentleman."

The Miss Gilpins and their sisters-in-law would have been inclined to
laugh at this speech, had it not been for the impudence of Mark's looks
and tone.  On the arrival of the gentlemen he softened his manner; and
James and Arthur, ever kind and thoughtful, began at once to consider
how they could employ their old companion, so that he might not feel the
weight of his obligation to them.  He decided that he would be employed
as a stockman, without considering his fitness for the occupation, but
preferring to ride about on a good horse to walking on foot or sitting
in the house with account-books before him.  He acquitted himself,
however, more to his employers' satisfaction than they had expected.  He
learned to ride and manage his horse well; and by the time he had gained
a knowledge of the country, he had attained many of the requisites of a
good stockman.  He showed no inclination, however, to consider himself
of the rank of one, but, assuming on his early friendship with the
Gilpins, was constantly appearing at the house, and at length it became
tolerably evident that he proposed to better his fortunes by marrying
one of the Miss Gilpins.  Jane had reason to believe that she was
honoured by his preference.  Suddenly, after this discovery, Craven
ceased to pay his visits at the house as usual, or, if he came, went
only to the business room, and declined stopping to luncheon or dinner.
Whether or not Jane was in any way concerned at this, she let no one
discover.  Mark came oftener than ever, boasting that he should soon
become a stockholder on a large scale, and that he intended to introduce
great improvements in the management of cattle in Australia.

Where cattle are so apt to stray, as in the Australian bush, herds of
different proprietors may occasionally get mingled, and therefore it is
necessary to brand them carefully.  When this operation is to be
performed, the animals are driven into a pound.  Ropes are then cast
over the horns and legs of the bullock to be first marked, he is thrown
to the ground, and the hot iron is applied.  This is often a work of no
little danger; for when a young bull, who has been roaming at liberty
since his calfhood, finds himself thus treated, he is apt to turn on his
tormentors, and to attempt to retaliate.  A considerable mob of cattle
had to be branded at Warragong, and all the hands who could be collected
were employed in driving them into the pound.  To get them there was
difficult; to hold them quiet while being marked was still more so.  One
young and very powerful bull had resisted all the attempts made to catch
him, when Mark Withers--who at that instant caught sight of the Miss
Gilpins riding by--declared that he could manage the animal; and,
leaping over the paling, lasso in hand, approached it with unexpected
hardihood.  The animal's rage appeared excited to an ungovernable pitch
at seeing him, and, lowering his head with a loud roar, he dashed
towards him.  While attempting to spring on one side, the unfortunate
man's foot slipped, and before he could recover himself, he was
transfixed by the animal's horns.  The bull then, lifting up his head,
bore his victim as if in triumph round and round the pound.  In vain
Withers struggled to release himself, and shrieked for help.  James and
Arthur and Willie, followed by several men, leaped into the pound,
regardless of the risk they ran of being set on by other animals.

"Oh! horrible!  Save him! save him!" simultaneously cried the Miss
Gilpins, who had ridden up.

At that moment Craven, who heard their cry, rode up, and, seeing the
state of affairs, ordered the gate to be opened, and dashed in.  The
next instant he had thrown the lasso over the bull's head, clearing the
man, and while he drew it tight round the creature's neck, the rest of
the party came up and were able to get theirs round his legs and to
bring him to the ground.  Mark breathed, but had received some severe
injuries.  Whether they might prove fatal it was difficult to say.

"Oh!  Mr Craven, we are indeed grateful for the way in which you
released that poor man from his horrible position," said Jane, in a
sweet, yet unfaltering voice, as, on riding out of the pound, Craven
bowed stiffly to the sisters.

He looked at Jane's countenance earnestly, and then rode up alongside
her horse.

"I have some slight surgical skill, perhaps I may be of service," he
said quietly.

Withers was being carried at this time towards the house.

"Oh! try what you can do.  My brothers will be most thankful.  It would
be dreadful were he to die in his present, as I fear, unprepared state,"
she replied.

Craven drew a deep breath.  Susan echoed her sister's words.  They were
approaching the house.

Craven's skill was not very great, but he was gentle and patient, and
contributed to relieve the sufferings of the injured man.  Many hours
passed before the surgeon, who had been sent for, arrived.  In the mean
time, Craven was as assiduous in his attention as he could have been had
Mark been his dearest friend.  The surgeon would not pronounce a decided
opinion as to the case.  Though the injuries were severe, if the man's
constitution was good he might recover, but if not, they would probably
prove fatal.  James, as a true friend, felt that it was his duty to tell
Mark the truth.

The injured man groaned and muttered, "Yes, it was good; but I have done
my best to destroy it."

James spoke to him earnestly, and urged him, without delay, to make his
peace with God, through the only means open to sinful man--the blood of
His dear Son.

Mark listened, but a veil seemed on his understanding.  "The fact is,
old fellow, I haven't thought about the matter, and I would rather not
now," he replied.  "I don't intend to die just yet, if I can help it;
and who knows but what I may take up your notions of things, and become
as good as you are?  You mean me well, I know you do; but just let me
alone."

But a faithful man is faithful in all things.  Arthur persevered, and at
length a perceptible change took place in Mark's manner when he spoke of
sacred matters.  The fear of death in him became great.  More than once
Arthur heard him muttering to himself those awful words: HEREAFTER!
ETERNITY!  At length the surgeon began to speak more favourably of
Mark's condition.  He thought he would recover, he said, but would be a
cripple to the end of his life.  It was a heavy blow to Mark, and caused
him many bitter tears, although it was evident that it was a wonderful
relief to his mind to be told that God had given him time for
repentance, and not cut him off in the midst of his sins.  Arthur was by
his bedside continually, and it filled him with deep joy to be able to
believe that Mark was a changed man.  He spoke penitently, sorrowfully,
of the past, but cheerfully and hopefully of the future.  One day, as he
was lying on a sofa, to which he had been lifted from his bed, he said
to Arthur, "I remember long ago, in the old country, Arthur, when you
and I were discussing what was the object in life most worthy of our
aim, I thought wealth, for the sake of spending it on pleasure--on
myself.  I could not make out exactly what your aim was; but you and
your brothers seem to me to have got all you can desire to make life
pleasant, while I have lost all I had, and gained nothing."

"I held, I believe, that all we should aim at is to do our duty, and
that openings for the employment of our energies will always be found
for us," answered Arthur.  "We certainly have found this to be true in
our own case."

"Yes, that you have," said Mark, without, however, any bitterness in his
tone.  "I should have called it luck once, but I won't now.  I will try,
by God's mercy, poor helpless creature that I am, to find some means of
usefulness, that so I may not be a mere cumberer of the earth, but may
repay in any way that may offer itself some little portion of the
kindness of my benefactors."

The Gilpins had truly been fruitful fig trees.  All they undertook
prospered.

Far and wide they were a blessing to their neighbours, for as such they
looked upon all those--rich or poor--whom they could reach.

Through their efforts and instrumentality the glad tidings of great joy
were carried to all around them, many of whom would never otherwise have
heard the Gospel sound.

The contrast between the career of the brothers and their quondam friend
was great, but not greater than will usually be found between those who
set the Lord always before their eyes, and seek him early while yet He
may be found, and those who turn aside from His ways and refuse to
follow them.

Craven declared that it was impossible any one could reap more benefit
from his friends than he had.  It seemed probable, indeed, that, but for
them, he would have remained a hut-keeper to the end of his days.  As it
was, he became not merely an upright man in the eye of his fellow-men,
but also a sincere Christian.  He married Jane Gilpin, and with this
event we close our narrative.

THE END.






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