"Yes, sir."

"Can you show me?"

"Yes," said Leather, smiling sadly; and he looked about till he found a tree with some of its seed-vessels full of fine silky cotton, smeared one end of a twig with a bead of gum from another tree, and then walked on, followed by Nic, till they came to a patch of bushes, whose fragrant blossoms had attracted the bees by the dozen.

One pollen-laden fellow was soon caught, the gum stick touched its back, the white cotton was brought in contact, and the uninjured insect set free.

Up in the air it went at once, regardless of the yellow flowers among which it had been buzzing, and then flew away in a straight line, with its white patch on its back, to be traced some forty or fifty yards, before it disappeared among the trees.

"Gone!" said Nic, who was in advance, for he had followed the insect on horseback. "Think there's a tree here?"

"No; these are not the kind of trees they nest in. They do not go hollow."

"What will you do, then?"

"Repeat the process, sir."

And this was done four times, till the last bee was traced to a quarter of a mile from where they started, and a tiny hole was made out sixty feet from the ground, about which scores of little dark insects could be seen darting.

"Now how to get the honey?" said Nic.

"Send or bring Bungarolo here to-morrow with an axe and a bucket, and you shall have plenty."

Eager to see the taking of the spoil, Nic was over in good time next morning, the black trotting by his side; and upon reaching the tree the Australian savage took the axe from his waistcloth, while Leather lit a great piece of touchwood by means of a burning glass. This wood began to burn, emitting a dense white smoke, and as the convict waved it about, the black took off his waistcloth, passed it through the handle of the bucket, and tied it again about his middle, so that the bucket hung behind. Then, axe in hand, he began to chop notches in the soft bark, to make steps for his active feet, and climbed steadily up and up, Nic watching him the while.

"It looks very dangerous," said the boy. "Think he is likely to fall?"

"Not in the least, sir. They begin doing these things when children, and they don't seem to have any nerves."

It seemed indeed as if the black did not know fear, for he went on up and up till he was fully sixty feet from the ground, and here he held on with his legs while he undid his waistcloth once more and tied it now to a branch, so that the bucket hung close to the hole where the bees buzzed in and out, as if feeling in no wise incommoded by the black face so near.

And now Bungarolo stuck the axe into the soft bark and rapidly descended, grinning hugely at his success. Leather handed him the smoking torch, and he went up again, holding the end of the soft wood in his teeth.

On reaching the hole, the smoke which had accompanied him in his ascent became thicker, and being held just below the entrance, scared away the bees coming back, and those coming out into pouring forth faster and faster, till there was quite a cloud darting about above that of the blinding wood smoke.

Then a few cleverly directed strokes of the axe made a big opening through the bark, the axe was thrown down, and the black's arm thrust in right up to the shoulder, and his hand drawn out bearing a great cake of honeycomb.

This he deposited in the bucket, pausing now and then to give the smoking wood a wave, or to hold it inside the opening, to drive out the bees before bringing out more and more comb, till the bucket was pretty well full.

And now the most difficult task seemed to await the black; but he held on again with his legs, untied the waist cloth, rested the bucket on his chest, while he knotted the cloth ends together again, and slipped it over his head. Then, taking the smoking wood from where he had placed it inside the hole, he threw it down and descended safe and triumphant, to begin cleaning his sticky hands after the fashion of a cat, before bearing the bucket back to the station, where Mrs Braydon gave him a lump of damper for a reward.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

LEATHER SPEAKS OUT.

Another day, it seemed as if Sorrel felt with his master, and took him straight to a fresh part of the great sheep run, near where the vast gorge was fenced at its edge with mighty trees, beneath one of which Leather was seated, looking hard and stern.

Nic was very thoughtful that day. There was something he wanted to ask the convict, but he always shrank from satisfying his curiosity; and this time he showed that he had something upon his mind so plainly, that Leather after their abrupt salutations had passed, said:

"Not well, sir?"

"Yes, quite well. Why?"

"Looked queer, sir."

"Oh, nothing," said Nic hastily, for he had made up his mind to question the man, and now the opportunity had come he felt that he could not speak.

"I was thinking about you a little while ago, sir."

"About me? Why?"

"You were saying the other day that you had seen so few snakes. I've seen four this morning. Two of them are poisonous; you may as well have a shot at them."

"How do you know that they are poisonous?"

"Partly from the bad character they have, sir, partly from the shape of the head."

"Let's see, I've heard something about that before: poisonous snakes have a spade-shaped head, haven't they?"

"That's what they call it, sir. It is really a great swelling at the back of the jaws on either side of the neck. This swelling is made by the poison bags which communicate with their hollow fangs. You'll see if you shoot the big gentleman I saw crawling back into his hole this morning. I dare say he's out again now, to be in the hot sun. Why, what's the matter, Master Nic?"

"Matter?"

"Yes, sir; you keep going off in a dreamy way, and not listening."

Nic frowned and was silent.

"I beg your pardon, sir; it is like my impertinence to ask you. I forget sometimes, when you are ready to treat me like a human being, that I am only a convict."

"Don't take it like that," said Nic hurriedly. "It was only because I was thinking, Leather."

"Yes, sir, I see: some little trouble at home."

"Oh, no!" cried Nic, ready to blurt out everything now. "You see I like you, Leather."

The man's eyes flashed and then softened for a moment, while his lips quivered; but his hard, cynical, bitter aspect and tones came back—the manner born of years of misery and degradation, and he cried mockingly:

"Why? Because I behaved like a brute to you, and made believe to throw you down into that gully?"

"Don't bring that up," cried Nic angrily; "and don't talk in that way, Leather. It isn't you. It's only put on."

"Indeed," said the man bitterly. "Well, I didn't put it on, sir. It was fate."

"There, I didn't like to speak to you," continued Nic; "but I must now. I've long wanted to, for of course I can't help seeing how different you are from Brookes and old Sam. You are always showing me that you are a man of good education, and what a deal you know. It makes me ashamed sometimes."

"Why?" said Leather sternly.

"To ask you to do all kinds of rough work when I feel that you are better educated than I am—that you must have been quite a gentleman."

"Ah, don't, boy!" cried Leather passionately, and with his face convulsed. "For Heaven's sake hold your tongue."

"I can't now," cried Nic, as excitedly. "I feel as if I must know. I do like you, Leather—I do really; and it worries me. I think of it at night when I go to bed, and it makes me wild to hear Brookes talk to you as he does."

"Brookes is an honest man, sir; I'm a convict," said Leather bitterly.

"There you are, going back to your old way!" cried Nic; "and it isn't fair, after I've told you I liked you."

The convict caught the boy's hand, and his eyes softened again; but he dropped the hand and drew back, sending a pang through Nic, who felt that he must have been guilty of some terrible crime, and they stood looking in each other's eyes for some little time. Then the boy spoke in a husky whisper—for he said to himself, "Poor chap, he must be very sorry for it now,"—"What was it you did, Leather?"

"Nothing."

"Then why were you sent out here?"

Nic started, and repented having spoken, for the convict drew himself up, with his eyes flashing and his face convulsed by rage, scorn, and indignation.

"Why was I sent out here, boy?" he raged: "because a jury of my fellow-countrymen said I was guilty, and the judge told me that I deserved the greater punishment because I—a man of education, holding so high and responsible a position, and who ought to have known better— was worse than a common ignorant thief; and that he must make an example of me, that the world might see how government servants found no favour when they sinned. He said I had had a fair trial, that my countrymen condemned me, and that he quite agreed with their verdict; and he sentenced me to twenty-one years' transportation,—he might as well have said for life."

Nic stood looking at him in pain and misery, and the convict began pacing up and down in the agony evoked by this dragging up of the past.

"I'm sorry I spoke," faltered Nic.

"No, no: I'm glad. It is like stabbing me, but if I bleed, boy, it is a relief. Transportation for twenty-one years, and to what a life of horror, misery, and despair! Companion to the greatest scoundrels and wretches that ever breathed; loathed and hated by them, because I was not what they, called their sort. Then, when sent out for good behaviour as an assigned servant, hated and scorned and trampled upon by every honest man. You have seen—you know. The convict from the chain gang, a branded felon. Nic, boy!—I beg your pardon, sir," he cried bitterly—"Master, your slave wonders sometimes that he is alive. I tell you I've prayed night after night for death, but it would not come: no spear, no blinding stroke from the sun, no goring by the half-wild bullocks which have chased me; no fall when I have desperately climbed down the side of that gorge. No! spite of all risk I have grown stronger, healthier, as you see—healthier in body, but more and more diseased in mind."

He stopped and threw himself down upon his breast, to bury his face in his hands; and just then there came a low, chuckling sound, as of laughter, from one of the great grey kingfishers in the tree above them, followed by a wild, dissonant, shrieking chorus from a flock of parrots, as if in defiance at the cruel laugh.

"I don't mind your speaking to me as you did, Leather," said Nic at last, as he turned his head aside to hide his emotion, and he sat down to watch his beautiful horse quietly cropping the grass, thinking how much happier the dumb beast was. "I only mind when you talk in your bitter way.—I'm sorry for you."

"God bless you, my lad!" said the convict, in smothered tones: "I know it. You've shown it to me a score of times. My life has not been the same since you came here."

"And I can't help seeing that you are sorry too. How could you have done so bad a thing?"

"I? Did that!" cried Leather, springing up on one arm. "I tell you I am innocent as a child. Dominic Braydon, mine was a high position, and large sums of money passed through my hands. There came a day when a heavy amount was missing. It was gone, I could not explain how. Everything seemed against me. My explanations were ridiculed, and until I had been out here a couple of years I could not see the light. It came one day, though, like a flash—when it was too late."

Nic looked at him inquiringly.

"My subordinate was the guilty man: the meek, amiable wretch who broke down in the witness-box and wept at being forced to tell all he knew. Even I believed and liked him at the time—poor weak fool that I was! If it imposed on me, who listened to every word he spoke, seeking for some way of escape, how could I wonder that judge, jury, and counsel were deceived? But it was too late when I read the truth, and that to save himself he sacrificed me—me who had helped him in every way."

"Then you really did not take this money?" cried Nic.

"Not one penny. I? But, there, why did you drag this all from me, boy? You made me speak. I do not say it to excite your sympathy. It is my fate, and I have tried to bear it like a man. I have borne it like a man, boy, though it has made me hard, callous, and brutal. Dead to all who knew and loved me, I have still lived, thinking that perhaps some day the truth may rise like the sun and throw its light around. Then I know it will be time to join the only one who believed me what I am."

"And who was that?" said Nic hoarsely.

"She who was to have been my wife. It was her death."

There was the hot stillness of the Australian midday around them, and for some time neither spoke.

Then all at once Leather sprang to his feet.

"There, sir," he said, "you are the first who has heard my tale. The law has branded me a convict, and I can only say 'Please let all this be as if it had never been said.' And yet I don't know," he continued, with his eyes softening; "it has done me good. Still I don't ask you to believe me, sir. There is plenty of deceit out here, and I have met some clever actors of innocent parts in the different gangs."

"But I do believe you," cried Nic earnestly—"every word. Oh, I felt that you could not have been so bad."

"Thank you, my lad," said the convict, smiling; and Nic thought what a fine, handsome, manly fellow he was when his face lit up. "No: I cannot shake hands. Some day, perhaps. I should like to help you, not drag you down. It is master and servant, you know. Yes," he added, after a pause, as he gazed earnestly in Nic's eyes, "you do believe me. There, I shall work more easily now, for life is brighter than it was."

He sprang to his feet now, and moved to go, but came back.

"We were forgetting the execution of the poisonous snake, sir," he said, with a little laugh. "This way."

"No," said Nic quietly; "let it live another day."

He walked to his horse, lifted the rein and threw it over the animal's neck, then sprang upon its back.

"Master Nic!"

"Yes."

"This is our secret, sir, and you must keep your place."

"Secret? Why shouldn't I tell my mother and father that you were condemned for that which you did not do?"

"I'll tell you, sir," cried Leather. "Because they cannot listen with your ears, nor see me with your eyes."

"My father is everything that is just," said Nic proudly, "and my mother all that is gentle and true."

"God bless her! yes, my boy," said the convict softly; "but if you speak, Mrs Braydon, knowing me for what I am, will say, 'This man has wormed himself into my son's confidence—he has obtained an influence over him that is not healthy—he had better go,' and I should be exchanged, Master Nic, as they would exchange a horse or bullock. Don't speak, sir, and have me sent away!"

Nic looked in the pleading eyes, and saw that the man's lips were quivering from the strong emotion which animated him.

"Our secret, then," he said; and at a touch of the heel the horse bounded away, with its rider feeling that every word the convict had spoken must be the truth.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

NIC TAKES THE HELM.

"Bad news," said the doctor, about a couple of months' shepherding and track riding later, as he held a letter out to his wife before coming to where a couple of men were carefully rubbing down the heated horses they had hitched up to the fence kept for the purpose.

"Come in, my lads," he said. "I'll have your horses seen to. They must have a couple of hours' rest. There'll be a meal ready for you directly."

"What is it, mother?" said Janet and Hilda; and Nic looked at her eagerly.

"It is bad news indeed," said Mrs Braydon. "The letter is from Lady O'Hara, who is in the deepest distress about Sir John. She says he is dying, and that there is only one man in the colony she believes able to cure him."

"Father!" cried Hilda, flushing.

"Yes, my dear; and she begs that he will come to her in her great distress. Here he is."

For the doctor, after showing the men round to the stable, where they preferred to attend to their horses themselves, re-entered the room.

"Well, my dear, what do you think? Lady O'Hara forgets that I have not practised for so long."

"Lady O'Hara knows that she has spoken the truth," said Mrs Braydon proudly.

"Then you wish me to go?"

"No," said Mrs Braydon sadly; "but it is a duty you must fulfil."

"It means going and leaving you all in a couple of hours' time," said the doctor.

"Yes, you must go at once," sighed Mrs Braydon.

"Yes, I must go," said the doctor. "Perhaps I can save him." Then cheerfully, "Now, Nic, my boy, you must step into my shoes and play the man. I leave the Bluff and all that is dear in your charge. You manage old Samson and Brookes better than I do, and as for Leatherhead he has become twice the man he was since you have been here."

Nic flushed a little, for the secret pricked him.

"And I am glad to see, my lad, that you keep him in his place with a tight rein. I was afraid at first, and Brookes dropped a few unpleasant hints about the way he said that you were making friends with him. I am glad to see, however, that all this is at an end."

"But, father—" began Nic, whose conscience was uneasy.

"No, no: I don't want to hear any explanation. You will do your best, I know. Now help me to pack my saddle-bags, all of you. See to the gun and ammunition, Nic; hobbles for the horse, and what is necessary. Hilda, my dear, haul the meal bags in, and see that we have plenty of flour, tea, and sugar for our ride, What's the matter, mamma dear?"

"I—I was thinking about the blacks," said Mrs Braydon nervously; and then, in an apologetic tone; "You made me speak, dear."

"Yes, and I'm glad you have. The blacks for miles and miles are friendly to us, for we have done them no harm. There is not the smallest likelihood of any evil-disposed tribe coming near. If one did, you have a brave son and trusty men to defend you till one of our own fellows went over to Mr Dillon's for help. Now are you satisfied?"

"Yes, my dear, quite."

"And Janet and Hilda, both of them to fight for their mother, if there is need."

"Of course," said Hilda merrily.

"Janet had better use the poker," said the doctor, taking his cue from his younger daughter, and laughing too, so as to hide the pang he felt at the near-at-hand parting.

"You know I can fire a gun, father," said Janet.

"To be sure: yes," said the doctor. "But, Hilda, my dear," he continued, "if you have to shoot at a blackfellow, be sure and remember that it is the wooden stock you hold to your shoulder, not the muzzle of the gun."

"Oh, father, what a shame!" cried Hilda. "Did I point the stock at that big hawk I shot for coming and stealing my beautiful little chickens?"

"No: I remember now. But bustle! those men want a good tea meal."

Two hours had not elapsed when, with the two government messengers well refreshed, and their horses dry and ready for a long afternoon's work, saddle-bags and blankets strapped on, guns and ammunition ready, the doctor sprang upon his horse, and Nic moved toward Sorrel, whose rein was thrown over a post, the boy meaning to ride a few miles of the way.

But the doctor took his hand.

"No," he said; "your place is here. Keep about the station, except when you take your daily rides round to see to the stock. I leave you in charge, my boy, so take care. I'll be back at the earliest moment I can."

The next minute he had embraced Mrs Braydon, touched his horse's sides, and cantered off after the men, turning twice to wave his hat to the watchers by the door.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY."

The girls, seeing how pale and depressed Mrs Braydon looked at breakfast next morning, began by way of a diversion to banter their brother by solemnly asking him for orders—whether he was going to be very strict and severe in his rules; whether he intended to put the station in a state of defence, and drill them or train them in the use of their weapons.

Nic took it all in good part, as he made an excellent breakfast, his appetite being sharpened by two hours' busy work with the men and inspecting some of the stock, ending by finding for the three Englishmen tasks that required performing close about the house, and others for the three blacks, who had promised to be very industrious while the master was away, were also found close at hand.

"They'll all be here if wanted," Nic confided to his sister Janet; "for I must go a very long round to drive in some of the cattle on the far run. Father meant to have gone with me to-day."

"It is hardly necessary to be so particular, dear," said Janet; "but it will make mother more comfortable. I don't think I would say that you are going far."

"No, I did not mean to," replied Nic. "I shall go round and see that the men are at work all right, and then mount and be off just as if I were only going a little way."

"When will you be back?"

"About three or four o'clock at the latest."

Directly after breakfast he went and saw that the men were at work, said a word or two of praise to the blacks, whose faces shone with satisfaction; then going to the stable he saddled his horse, led it to the fence while he fetched his gun, mounted and rode off, unconscious of the fact that Brookes, who was busy in the wood-shed, was watching him.

Samson also rested upon his spade in the garden, and gazed with a smile at the lithe, active lad as he cantered easily away, looking as if he and the beautiful little highly bred horse were one.

Then Leather caught sight of the lad, and his face darkened, as he felt low-spirited and had an intense longing to go with him somewhere far away from the work about the station.

Just at the same moment Bungarolo, who had been busy weeding, raised his keen eyes, noted the direction Nic had taken, gave his trousers a hitch, grinned, dropped upon his chest, and began to creep rapidly like a slug toward the gate in the fence, through which he passed, and continued his way to where the other two blacks were busy cleaning out the cow-shed.

What followed did not take long. There was a whispered jabbering, a happy grin upon each face, and then, as if by one consent, the three blacks stripped off their shirts, unbuttoned and kicked off their trousers, and stood up in their native costume of a waistcloth.

The clothes were bundled together into a corner, three spears and as many nulla-nullas and boomerangs drawn from where they were tucked in the rafters, and the trio astonished a cow tied up in a corner with her tender calf by going through a kind of war dance, and all in silence.

Then the cow felt better in all probability, for there was no sign of the calf being stunned with a club to be cooked for a holiday, the performers of the dance stepping lightly to the door, out of which Bungarolo peered cautiously before dropping down upon his breast and crawling rapidly off to the garden fence, without disturbing the two collies, though Nibbler, who lay as if asleep, opened one eye, lifted his tail, and brought it down with a rap and closed the eye again.

He opened it, though, twice more as the other two blacks passed him in the same way, gave two more sharp raps with his tail, and then sniffed at the last black as if wondering how he would taste. But as he had had a pretty good piece of a drowned sheep, he subsided and closed the eye, not even turning his head to gaze after the three blacks as they glided on right under the fence on the side farthest from the house, and close by where old Sam was contentedly digging, in perfect unconsciousness that the three great children were off to the bush for a jovial day, hunting for fat grubs, honey, snakes, and other picnic delicacies in the glorious open wilds.

Half an hour had passed, during which Brookes went to the door of the wood-shed three times to scowl at Leather; but the convict was hard at work at the end of the wood-yard, chopping away at rails which he was splitting, tapering at the ends and piling on a heap, ready for some fencing that was to be done as soon as there was a little time.

Brookes felt ill-used. He would have liked to find the assigned servant yawning and doing nothing, or taking advantage of the master's absence to have a nap, and give him cause, as he was in his own estimation head man now, to let loose his tongue at the man he hated intensely.

But there was no excuse, and Brookes went back into the shed.

"I shall catch him yet," he muttered. "Only let him give me a chance."

But Brookes could not rest. He pitched the soft bundled-up fleeces about irritably, for they annoyed him. He wanted something hard, and growing more restless from a desire to show his authority, he went to where the two blacks should have been cleaning out the cow-shed.

Brookes had come out of the blinding sunshine, and the shed was dark and cool. He did not see the blacks, but he was not surprised, for their faces would naturally assimilate with the gloom.

"Here, you two," he growled, "nearly done?" an unnecessary question, for he knew that their task to be done thoroughly would take them some hours at their rate of working.

"Do you hear, you charcoal-faced beggars?" he shouted; but of course all was still, and satisfying himself, by picking up a manure fork, that they were not asleep in a heap of straw by jobbing the handle in savagely, after making an offer with the tines, he uttered a low growl, and, fork in hand, went out to look sharply round about the yards; but not a soul was in sight.

"Ah!" muttered Brookes, "that's it, is it? Cuss 'em, I might have known." Then, urged by a sudden thought, he went back into the long cow-shed, and looked round till he caught sight of the old trousers and shirts lying in a heap.

"Hah!" he ejaculated, shaking the fork handle, "just wait till they come back. I'll make them see stars."

Then, striding out, he made for the garden, where, with his sleeves rolled up and the neck and breast of his shirt open, old Samson was digging away, turning over the moist earth, and stooping every now and then to pick out some weed that was sure not to rot.

"Hi, Sam!" cried Brookes.

"Hullo!" said the little old fellow, going on with his digging, whistling softly the while.

"Where's Bungarolo?"

"Down yonder weeding."

"Nay," he cried.

"Yes, he is. I saw him ten minutes ago."

"He's started off with the other two."

"Nay!"

"He has, I tell you!" cried Brookes. "They've left their rags in the cow-shed, and all gone."

Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.

"Just like 'em," he said; "just like 'em."

"I don't see anything to grin at," growled Brookes.

"Nay, you wouldn't, my lad; but I do. 'When the cat's away the mice will play.' I wonder they've stopped steady at work so long."

"What?"

"They're on'y big savage children, lad," said the old man, "and you can't alter 'em. ''Tis their natur' to.'"

"Natur' or no natur', they shan't play those games while I'm master here."

"Eh? Didn't know you was, Brooky."

"Then you know it now. P'r'aps you're going to give yourself a holiday."

"Having one," said the old man, breaking a refractory clod.

"And going to take yourself off to the bush to have a corroborree with the blackfellows."

"And if I was I shouldn't ask your leave, Snaggy," said the old man, showing more of his teeth. "There, let 'em go. They'll come back and work all the better after."

"Heugh!" cried Brookes, giving vent to a final grunt; and he turned away and stalked out of the garden, striking the fork-handle down at every step.

"Lookye here," said old Samson, taking up a spadeful of earth, and addressing it as if part of the dust of the earth of which he was made, and therefore worthy of his confidence: "sooner than I'd have old Brooky's nasty temper I'd be a kangaroo or a cat. I'm sorry they sloped off, though. Hang the black rascals! Master Nic'll be so wild, an' nat'rally, when he comes back."

Brookes turned and glared once at old Samson, who occupied the position about the place that he felt ought to be his; and, going straight back past the various sheds, he looked round toward the wood-yard, and then his eyes glistened with satisfaction. Short as the time had been, Leather had left his work.

He paused for a moment or two, to make sure that there was no regular chop-chop at the end of the rails, and with a grin of satisfaction he walked quickly to the spot where he had seen the convict at work.

He looked about the stacks of wood, stepping softly and peering round into shady corners, expecting and hoping to see his fellow-servant asleep; but he was disappointed, and five minutes elapsed before the convict came back, axe in hand.

"Seen either of the blacks about, Mr Brookes?" he said.

"Why?" snarled Brookes.

The convict looked surprised, but he said gently: "I want one of them to come and turn the grindstone handle. This axe is getting very dull."

"You lie, you lazy hound!" roared Brookes. "I've had my eye upon you. Your master's out, and so you think you're going to skulk, do you? If there's any more of it, over you go to Dillon's for a taste of the cat."

The blood flushed through the convict's bronzed skin and his eyes glistened, but only for a moment, and he said quite gently, for he saw Nic in his mind's eye: "It was the simple truth. I was wasting time."

"Yes, I know you were wasting time!" roared Brookes. "You're always wasting time, and I won't have it. Your master's out, and I won't have it. Get on. I'll have that pile o' rails done before you leave off to-night; so no more shirking, do you hear?"

A feeling of fierce resentment made the convict's nerves quiver; but he thought of Nic, and, controlling his anger, he took a step or two to the block on which he cut the rails, picked up one, and gave it a couple of chops.

"Quicker there, lout!" roared Brookes; "and none of your sulky looks with me."

The convict took up another rail, while Brookes stood over him with the fork-shaft playing up and down in his hand; while, emboldened by the other's meekness, he went on with a brutal tirade of abuse, calling up every insulting expression he could think of, and garnishing them with bad language, till the convict winced as if under blows.

"Trying to humbug me with your lying gammon about the axe. It's as sharp as sharp."

"It is not, sir," cried the convict, angrily now. "Take it and judge for yourself."

He held it out so quickly that Brookes started back, and brought down the fork-handle with all his might, striking the axe from the man's hand.

"What!" he roared. "Would you, you murderous dog? Take that—and that—and that!"

As he spoke he struck again savagely with the stout ash handle, the second blow falling heavily upon the convict's shoulder, the third coming sharply upon his head and making the blood spurt forth from a long deep cut.

Then the fork was raised for another blow; but, quick as lightning, the convict flung himself forward, and his fist, with all the weight of his body behind it, caught his assailant full in the face, sending him down to strike the back of his head against the edge of the wood block, and lie there yelling for help.

"Murder! help! Sam!" he roared, as he lay there, a ghastly object, with the convict's foot planted upon his chest, he too bleeding freely from the wound in his head.

At one and the same time Mrs Braydon, her daughters, and old Samson came running up in alarm.

"Here! what's the matter?" said the latter, while Mrs Braydon turned sick at the horrible sight, and caught at her elder daughter's hand.

"Can't you see what's the matter?" cried Brookes. "Get a gun, Sam, quick! He tried to murder me."

"No, no!" cried the convict, startled by the charge, and shrinking from the horrified and indignant-looking Mrs Braydon and the two girls.

"He did, missus," cried Brookes, struggling to his feet. "I had to speak to him for idling, and he struck at me with the axe. There it lies, and if I hadn't had this fork he'd ha' killed me. You see, he's most mad: why don't you get a gun, Sam?"

"I don't want no gun," said old Sam snappishly. "He didn't cut your head like that with the chopper, did he?"

"Yes, yes: look! I'm bleeding 'most to dead."

"Looks more as if you'd gone down on the block. There, missus: hadn't you and the young ladies best go indoors?"

"No; not yet," cried Mrs Braydon indignantly. "In my husband's absence too! Man, man, have you not been well treated here?"

"Yes, madam," said the convict hoarsely.

"Such an outrage—such a cruel outrage on Dr Braydon's trusted servant!"

"What he said, madam, is not true," cried the convict, recovering himself now from the giddiness produced by the stunning blow. "I did not, I could not raise the axe to him."

As he spoke he turned his eyes from Mrs Braydon to her daughters, and he shivered as he saw Janet's indignant look.

"I tell you he did," cried Brookes, holding the fork now threateningly, as soldiers would bayonets. "He tried to murder me. Sam, are you going to fetch a gun?"

"Yah! I'm going to fetch a bucket o' water if you won't do it yourself. Missus—young ladies, why don't you go? This ain't the place for you."

"No," said Mrs Braydon, taking Hilda's hand. "Come in, Janet."

But for a moment Janet did not stir, held as she was by the convict's imploring look as he said, addressing Mrs Braydon, though as if for her:

"Indeed, madam, it is not true. This man struck me brutally: I forgot myself—I did strike him in return."

"Yes," said Mrs Braydon coldly; and; uttering a sob, Janet gave the convict a reproachful look and followed her mother into the house.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

BROOKES STRIKES BACK.

"That's better!" said old Sam. "The masters both out, and we're having a nice day here."

Leather stood as if turned to stone.

"Let's look at you," continued the old man, as he roughly spun Brookes round. "Where's yer 'ankycher?"

Brookes made a movement to seize the axe, but old Sam kicked it away.

"Let it alone, stoopid! What did you want to tell that lie for? He didn't hit you wi' that."

"I swear he did," cried Brookes fiercely.

"Then you'd swear anything," said Sam, binding up the rough cut. "But do you think I'm a fool? Any one can see that wasn't made with the edge of a chopper. Did he give you that lovely crack in the mouth with the chopper too?"

"I'll let him see—I'll let him see!"

"I wouldn't till I'd washed my face. Sarves you right: you're allus letting out at somebody. If I warn't a nat'ral angel in temper I should ha' let you have it years ago."

"I'll let him see—I'll let him see," muttered Brookes savagely.

"Better shake hands like a man," said old Sam.

"Convict or no convict, he's only give you what you asked for."

"I'll let him see," snarled Brookes; and he went off toward the stable.

"Gone there to one of the buckets," growled old Sam. "I was going to take you there. Here, let's have a look at your head."

"Oh, it's nothing—nothing," said Leather hastily.

"Nothing! when you're bleeding like a pig. Come along to the bothy, and let's bathe and tie it up. Why, Leather, this looks as if he'd used the axe! Reg'lar clean cut."

"No, it was with the fork handle. There, it will do me good. Let out some of the hot, mad blood."

"Ay," said old Sam, guiding him, for he staggered, to the men's bothy, and bathing and tying up the wound. "It's a pity, my lad. I wish you hadn't hit back, for you see if he should turn nasty and complain—"

Leather looked at him wildly.

"And him like that, there's no knowing what might come."

The convict uttered a groan, and caught the old man's arm.

"I'll say all I know, my lad; but you see—"

"Yes, yes," said Leather hoarsely, "I know"; and he sat there on a block of wood which served as a stool, while the old gardener finished the dressing.

"There, that's a spontanous bit o' grafting," he said, "and—'Ullo! what's that mean?"

He turned to the doorway, through which they could see Brookes mounted upon one of the horses and cantering straight away.

"Leather, my lad," said the old man sharply, "he's our fellow-servant, but he's a cur. What'll you do, my lad? He's gone to Dillon's, for a silver pound; he'll make up his tale, and it means the cat."

Leather sank back against the wall, and gazed wildly toward the house.

"If it was me I'd take to the bush, and—"

"What! not face it out!" cried the convict fiercely. "Own that I was in the wrong! Not if they flog me and send me back to the gang."

The sudden excitement passed away, and the convict sank sidewise to the floor, perfectly insensible, for he had fainted dead away.

"And I thought I was going to have a good quiet day's gardening!" said old Sam. "There's hundreds o' things wants doing badly, and I'm 'bliged to give up my time to cultivate convicts. I wish to goodness the master was at home; then all this mess wouldn't ha' took place."

But as the old man muttered he kept on acting. Taking some fresh water, he bathed the convict's temples and tried hard to revive him.

"Give you a clean face if it don't give you a clean character, my lad. I don't like you because you're a convict, that's all. You're a good, manly sort o' chap, and if you'd ha' been a honest man I should ha' said you were as good a fellow to work as ever was. Nothing never comes amiss to you, and you and me never had a word in our lives. But you see you are one of the gang and a blackguard and a thief; not as you was ever a blackguard here, nor stole so much as one o' my taters, which I will say has been big enough and fine enough to tempt any man as was digging 'em, as you was. I know they tempted me, Leather, for I took a dozen nubbly ones and roasted 'em three at a time in a bit o' fire as Bungarolo made for me; but then I did grow them taters and had a sort o' right in 'em."

Old Sam left off talking to the insensible man, and looked at him anxiously as he kept on bathing his face.

"I don't want to be hard on you, my lad, even if you are a convict. 'Temptation sore long time you bore,' p'r'aps before you took it, and your head maybe wasn't as strong as your hands. But I say, are you a-coming to? None o' that nonsense! Here! Hi! Leather! Don't die! Don't be so stoopid as that just for a whack on the head as'll heal up in a fortnit."

He gave the insensible man a shake in his excitement, but it made no impression.

"What am I to do? If I goes and tells 'em at the house it'll frighten the women, and they can't do no good. They'd want to burn feathers under his nose. Here, Leather, rouse up, man; don't be a fool! D'yer hear? Wait till you get back to town, where you can be buried properly; don't die here!"

Sam began to mop and splash the water almost frantically, as the motionless features before him seemed to grow hard and stem.

"Well, I thought you had more good stuff in you, Leather—that I did," said the old man piteously. "I don't wish no harm to nobody, but I wish to goodness you were old Brookes lying here instead o' yourself, for he's the wiciousest warmint as ever lived. I never see things go so orkard: it's worse than locusts or blight. Master going off like that, too, just when he's wanted. Poor lad! and I can't do nothing for you, or I would. There, I don't care what you done, Leather," he said, "convict or no convict, I forgive you, whatever you did, and here's my fist."

He took the strong labour-hardened hand in his, and then dropped it hastily, for just as he pressed it there was a deep sigh and the convict opened his eyes to stare blankly in the old man's face. Then, as recollection came back, he struggled up into a sitting position, rose to his feet, and stood with one hand resting against the boarded side of the bothy.

"Come, that's better," said old Sam. "You're a-coming round now. I tell you what you do: just you lie down in your bunk and get a good sleep; you'll be all right then. I began to think as you'd had a lob just a bit too hard. Here, what are you going to do?"

"Go on with my work," said the convict.

"Yah! That's foolishness; you can't do it, Leather."

"I must," said the man gravely. "Thank you for what you've done, Samson. It was not true. I did not raise the axe against Brookes."

"I know that, my lad. He'd say anything when he's nasty. But I'm sorry you hit back—very sorry."

"Yes, I know," said the convict; and he walked slowly out of the low wooden building, and five minutes later the regular chop, chop of the axe was heard, and the rattle of rails as they were laid back in a heap.

"Well," said old Sam, "that's better than him being as I thought I suppose I may go on with my work now, and get that garden in a bit of order. Well, all I've got to say is this: if Brooky's gone to lay a complaint before the magistrate he's no man."

Man or no man, midday had not long passed before old Sam, as he raised himself up from his digging to give his back a bit of a rest, caught sight of a flash of something bright, and there was another flash—the sun glinting from the barrel of a gun; and turning his eyes, there about a mile away, spurring across country, he made out a party of five mounted men advancing at a trot.

The old man drove his spade savagely into the ground and trotted out of the garden and round to the wood-yard, where Leather was going on slowly and laboriously with his rail trimming.

"Leather, my lad," he said, in a quick whisper, "they're a-coming over the hill: hadn't you better go off for a month or two?"

"To be hunted down by the dogs and blacks?" said the convict bitterly. "No, old man; I shall get Justice Day, here or—in the next world."

"But, my lad," pleaded the old fellow, "they're close here."

"I am ready," said the convict quietly; and there was a pause.

Then he spoke again.

"Perhaps I shall be sent somewhere else, old man. I shall be marked as dangerous now, and not fit to be at a station where there are ladies. But you'll tell young Mr Nic the whole truth?—you know what I've had to bear."

"Ay, my lad, I do know."

"Thank you, Samson. You've always been a good fellow to me. Good-bye."

He passed the axe into his left hand and held out his right, but quickly placed the axe back and stood up firmly, as a heavily built, florid-looking man, mounted upon a fiery horse covered with foam, cantered up, followed by four more men, three of whom, like their leader, bore guns, while the fourth was Brookes with his head tied up, his face swollen, distorted, and still smeared with dried blood— altogether a horrible-looking object—but he sat his horse firmly enough.

As the leader rode up he lowered the gun he carried and spurred his hesitating horse close up to the convict, as if fully prepared to drive in the spurs and ride him down.

"Surrender!" he shouted. "Down with that axe, quickly, or I'll send a charge of buckshot through you."

Leather looked him straight in the eyes and threw down the axe.

"Here, Belton: handcuffs."

One of his men dismounted, handed his gun and rein to a companion, took a pair of heavy handcuffs from the strap which held his blanket to the saddle, and advanced to where the convict stood with folded arms.

These were dragged roughly apart, and click!—one iron was about a wrist. Then the other arm was seized, dragged downward, and click! the convict's wrists were secured behind his back, just as Mrs Braydon and her two daughters came hurrying out; and seeing what had taken place, Janet uttered a low cry, and would have fallen but for her sister's arm.

The convict saw it, and his lips quivered for a few moments. Then he stood up with his head erect, gazing straight before him.

"Mr Dillon!" cried Mrs Braydon.

"Your servant, my dear madam," said the new arrival, raising his hat as he rode forward. "Young ladies, yours. Don't be alarmed, Miss Braydon: there is no danger now. I am very sorry that this outrage has taken place in the doctor's absence. Your poor man rode over, and I came instantly.—Too glad to have been of service."

Mrs Braydon's lips moved, but no word was heard.

"Where is the young squire?" continued the visitor.

"My brother has gone out on a round, I suppose, Mr Dillon," said Hilda quickly. "But—but what are you going to do?"

"What a neighbour should, my dear young lady. What your father would do for me or any of our friends. See that wives and daughters are protected in every way."

Then, turning quickly, he rode back a few yards.

"Go on, my lads," he said to his followers. "I'll overtake you directly."

The man who had handcuffed Leather loosened one end of a hide rope from his saddle-bow, and secured it to the irons on the convict's wrists.

"Say, Mr Dillon, sir," said old Sam, who had been dividing his time between scowling at Brookes and watching what was going on. "That there poor chap can't walk ten mile over to your place. He's only just come out of a swound."

"Indeed!" said the visitor, with a laugh. "We shall see. Now forward!"

The little procession moved off; Belton first, with his prisoner, and the two others with their guns across their saddle-bows following.

Then Mr Dillon rode back to the ladies.

"I am very sorry, Mrs Braydon. I wish you had kept away from this painful scene."

"Yes, it is very terrible," said the trembling woman. "But—it was in a fit of passion, I suppose, Mr Dillon. You will not be very severe?"

"I have a duty as a magistrate to perform, ladies, and I must be just. Your man has been barbarously attacked; and living as we do with these convict servants about, more in number in places than we are ourselves, any hesitation would be stamped by them as weakness, and our very existence would be at stake."

"But he has always been a good, hard-working man, Mr Dillon," pleaded Janet.

"And so long as he behaved, my dear Miss Braydon, the government said, 'You can have almost your freedom.' He and other assigned servants know the bargain with the government. Good behaviour—liberty; bad behaviour—punishment."

"But till my husband returns," faltered Mrs Braydon, "you will wait?"

"These things cannot wait, madam. The law here must be administered firmly and sharply."

"But you will investigate the case?"

"It has been investigated, Mrs Braydon," said Mr Dillon stiffly. "Your man came to me, with witnesses who cannot lie, branded upon his face. Ladies, I respect your gentle, merciful feelings; but if you had the governance here, in a short time the Crown Colony would be a pandemonium, ruled over by a president too vile to live."

"Hear him!" growled Brookes.

"D'yer want me to kick yer?" whispered old Samson savagely.

"But you will wait? Keep him a prisoner for a time, Mr Dillon," pleaded Mrs Braydon, as she saw her elder daughter's agonised look.

"My dear madam, I must study your husband and the commonweal of this colony," said the magistrate firmly. "Good morning."

"But—you wish refreshments?" faltered Mrs Braydon.

"Some other time, madam. My visit now must be very painful to you all."

He raised his hat, spurred his horse, and galloped off after his men; while, as Mrs Braydon stood gazing after him, Janet uttered a low wail, flung her arms about her sister's neck, and whispered, "Take me in, dear. I cannot bear it, take me in."

"Janet, my child!" cried Mrs Braydon; and in an agony of suffering she helped to lead the agitated girl into the house, while old Sam trotted off into the stable, and came back with a halter in his hand to where Brookes stood, shading his swollen-up eyes with one hand, holding the rein of his horse with the other.

"Thank ye, mate," he said, as he saw the halter, "but I dunno as I want it. Take the horse in for me; I want a wash. Don't s'pose Mr Leatherhead'll hit at me again."

"Yes," said old Sam in a husky voice, "I'll take the poor horse. Here, ketch hold. How are you a-going to face Master Nic when, he comes back?"

"Face him!" cried Brookes savagely: "I'll face him and show him what his fav'rite has done. He shall see my face, and then he may go and look at his convict's back and see how he likes that."

"Here, ketch hold," cried old Sam, shaking the rope.

"Tell you I don't want it," cried Brookes savagely.

"And I tell you you do," said the old man fiercely. "Take it and go right off to the first big green bough in the bush."

"What for?" cried Brookes, with his swollen eyelids opening wide.

"To use it—on yourself; for such a man as you ain't fit to live."



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

AND ALL IN VAIN.

"Cooey—cooey!" shouted Nic, as he came cantering up over the soft, fine grass a couple of hours later toward the house; but no one was in sight, and he turned off toward the stables just as Brookes came out of the wool-shed.

"Why, hullo! What's the matter? Had a fall?"

"Had a fall!" cried the man savagely. "Look here." But old Sam had been watching for his young master's return, and he hurried up.

"Won't you listen to me, Master Nic?" he cried. "Let me tell the tale."

"Nic! Nic! come here quick!" cried Hilda, running from the house.

The boy looked wildly from one to the other, threw the rein to old Sam, and ran to his sister.

"Hil dear, what is the matter?—mother?" For answer she threw her arms about her brother's neck, and sobbing out told him all.

"And Janet—fits of hysterics?"

"Yes; I don't understand her, Nic. Mother can't leave her. What shall you do?"

"Go in to them!" said Nic firmly; and giving his sister a push toward the house, he ran back to where the two men stood growling at each other and the horse impatiently stamping as it stood between them and tugged to get away.

"Here you, Brookes," cried Nic imperiously, "tell me how it happened."

"He was as nasty as nasty, because the blacks—" began old Sam.

"Silence!" roared Nic. "I did not speak to you." Old Sam started in amazement, for it seemed to be a strong man speaking, not a boy.

"Now you, Brookes."

Brookes told the same tale he had told Mr Dillon when he rode over to Wattles Station, embellishing it with cuts—that is to say, showing his wounds.

"No chopper would make a place like that!" cried Nic fiercely. "I don't believe a word of it, you brute. It's a lie."

"So it is, Master Nic," cried Sam, showing his teeth. "He give it to the poor fellow brutal."

"Tell me, then—all you know. Quick, man, quick!"

"Oh, if father had been at home!" as soon as he had heard the old man's tale. Then snatching the rein, he threw it over Sorrel's head, touched the beautiful little creature's sides and went off at a gallop.

"Who's that?" cried Janet, starting up wildly as the hoofs were heard beating on the turf.

"Nic!" cried her sister, running to the window to look out. "He has gone off at a gallop."

"Gone!" cried Mrs Braydon—"and at a time like this!"

"He has galloped off. I know: he has gone over to save that poor fellow."

Janet uttered a low sigh, and as Mrs Braydon turned to her wonderingly the poor girl fainted away.

Meanwhile, urged now as he had never been urged before, by voice and heel, Sorrel forgot his long morning's ride, and stretching out like a greyhound skimmed over the soft turf like a swallow in its flight.

Nic rode on with his heart a prey to varying emotions. He knew perfectly well that the convict's fate would be that of all unruly assigned servants. He had heard it from old Sam again and again,—how that if Jack did not behave well, he was sent by his master to another station, where he would have so many dozen lashes of the cat-o'-nine-tails and be sent back; while another time Joe, who had behaved ill at that next station, was sent across to the first. So the masters avoided the administration of punishment to their own men, but punished those of their neighbours. It was the rough-and-ready custom in the early days of the colony, and common enough for small offences. Where a convict servant's offence became a crime, he was returned to the prisons—marked.

To Nic, then, it was horrible that the man for whom he had gradually grown to feel a warm sense of friendship should suffer this horrible indignity. It would be, he felt, an outrage; for he was as fully convinced as if he had been present that Leather had been maddened by Brookes's ill usage until he struck him down.

The boy felt old as he galloped on in the direction of the Wattles Station. He had never been there, but he knew it lay some ten or a dozen miles away to the north, and he hoped to find it by riding on and on till he came upon flocks of sheep, and then going up some one or other of the eminences, and looking about till he caught sight of white buildings, which would be the place. This would come the easier from the fact that stations were built close to water, but high enough up to be beyond the reach of floods.

When he had gone three or four miles he began to repent not bringing Nibbler, who would, in all probability, have been there in his time, and consequently might take it for granted, when going in that direction, that his young master was aiming at this place. But in his excitement he had thought of nothing but getting over there; and faint, hungry and hot, he began now to find that he had done a foolish thing.

A chill ran through him at the idea of missing the place, and he was about to change his direction and ride up a hill to his left; when it suddenly struck him that after once starting he had done nothing in the way of guiding his horse, which kept right on in one direction, merely deviating to avoid great trees or patches of scrub.

Then he uttered a joyful cry, for gazing down he could see hoof marks faintly on the thick grass, and it dawned upon him that these were quite fresh, and the horse was following them as steadily as if going along a main road.

Elated by this he slackened the rein just sufficiently to feel the horse's mouth, and left it to itself. And then it galloped in its easy, swinging pace, with its rider leaning forward, heart-sick where the footprints were invisible, and exultant as he caught sight of them again and again, after feeling that all was over and the trail entirely lost.

"If I only were clever as one of the blacks," he thought. "Bungarolo, Rigar, or Damper would follow the faintest trail."

But their services were needless here. The sorrel nag had been to the Wattles more than once before its young master's time, and, besides, its natural instinct led it to gallop along where its fellows had been before.

Two great ostrich-like birds started up from right and left, and though he had not come across them before Nic knew that they must be emus; but he only glanced at them as they raced away, with the rapid motion of their legs making them almost as invisible as the spokes of a running wheel. Twice over, too, he saw a drove of kangaroos, which went flying over the bushes in their tremendous leaps; but they excited no interest now. He must get to the Wattles soon, or he would be too late.

It was a long ten miles—more probably twelve—and Nic's heart was low, for he seemed to have been riding three hours, and he began to fear that the horse would go on following tracks until rein was drawn, so he stopped; when all at once, as they turned a clump of magnificent gum trees standing alone upon a beautiful down, there below him, and not a mile away, was the place he sought—a group of buildings, with the sheep and cattle dotting the country as far as his eye could range.

And now he checked his horse's speed to a gentle canter, and thought of what he should do.

He knew that he would be most welcome as a stranger, much more so as Dr Braydon's son; so he rode straight up to the fence, leaped down, and hitched his rein over a post close to where several saddles rode upon a rail, and was going up to the door of the house, when Mr Dillon himself appeared, and came to meet him with a friendly nod.

"Dr Braydon's son, for a wager!" he cried.

"Yes," said Nic; and before he could say another word the big, bluff-looking squatter shouted:

"Hi, Belton! Come and rub down and feed Mr Braydon's nag. Now, my lad, come in. We're just going to have a meal, and you must be hungry after your ride."

Nic was hungry after his ride, which was a far longer one than Mr Dillon guessed, for the boy had had nothing since the morning, and the mention of food struck a responsive chord in his breast. But he had not come to visit, and, flushing slightly, he spoke out at once, plunging boldly into the object of his coming, though he felt that the magistrate knew.

"Thank you, no, Mr Dillon," he said. "I have come over about our man."

"So I supposed," said Mr Dillon, smiling; "but we can talk as we eat."

"I can't at a time like this, sir," said Nic. "I've come for him, please, to take him back with me."

"Indeed!" said Mr Dillon, smiling. "Do you know all that happened?— while you were out, I presume?"

"Yes, everything, sir, and how you were misinformed."

"Misinformed, was I?" said Mr Dillon pleasantly. "I think not."

"But you were, sir, indeed. I know both the men so well."

"I suppose so, my lad. Let me see, you have been in the colony quite a short time?"

"Yes; but I've seen a great deal of them," cried Nic, whose face burned with annoyance at the magistrate's look of amusement.

"And you are, of course, a good judge of convict servants?"

"I know nothing about any but our own men, sir. But I have heard everything, sir, and I am sure that our man Leather does not deserve to be punished. It would be unjust."

"You think so?"

"Yes, sir: I'm sure of it."

"And you want to take him back with you?"

"If you please, sir—now. I know the man so well, and I am certain that I can answer for there being no more trouble."

"That's speaking broadly, my boy," said Mr Dillon, slapping Nic on the shoulder; "but comes tea—dinner's ready, and we can continue our argument as we have it."

Nic shook his head.

"I couldn't eat, sir, with that poor fellow in such trouble," he said.

"Well, that's very kind and nice of you, my boy," said Mr Dillon, "and I like you for it; but come now, let's be reasonable. You see, I am the magistrate of this district, but I want to talk to you, not like a man of law, only as your father's friend and neighbour."

"Yes, I felt that you would, sir," said Nic, who was encouraged.

"Your father has, I suppose, left you in charge of his station?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, boys out here have to act like men, and I like your manly way about this business. You came back, found out the trouble, and rode over directly to set it right?"

"Yes, sir—exactly."

"That's all very right and just; only as a man of long experience, young Braydon, you see, I know better how to manage these troubles than you possibly can—a lad fresh over from school."

"Yes, sir, I suppose so," said Nic, "in most cases; but I do know our man better than you."

"You think so, my lad; but you are wrong. He was my servant first."

"Still, you will let our man come back with me, sir?"

"In your father's absence, my boy, I have too much respect for him, too much interest in the safety of your mother and sisters, to send back unpunished a desperate man."

"Don't say that, sir. You don't know Leather indeed."

"'Nothing like Leather,'" said Mr Dillon, smiling. "Yes, I should think he was a great favourite of yours. But, come now, my boy; you have done your part well. Here, come in and have a good meal. Your man has done what many more of these fellows do—broken out in a bit of savagery. He is shut up safely in yonder, too much done up for me to say anything to him to-night; but tomorrow morning he will be tamed down a bit, and kept for three or four days to return to his senses, and then he will come back and go on with his work like a lamb."

"Mr Dillon, you don't know him, sir!" cried Nic earnestly. "Such a cruel act would drive the poor fellow mad."

"I know him, and I know you, my boy. There, you are young and enthusiastic; but I see, plainly enough, you have been too much with this fellow. There, frankly, you have been with him a good deal?"

"Yes, sir," said Nic.

"Precisely. And he has not corrupted you, but he has made you believe that he is an injured, innocent man. Frankly, now, is it not so?"

"Yes, and I do believe," said Nic quietly.

"Exactly. Well, my dear boy, you see I do not; and if you will take my advice you will have nothing to do with him in the future."

"Mr Dillon, you are mistaken," cried Nic. "Pray—pray do not punish him!"

"My dear young friend, pray—pray don't you interfere with a magistrate's duties."

"Then you will not let him come, sir?"

"Certainly not, for at least a week."

"But, Mr Dillon, promise me that—that you—you will not flog him," said Nic, in a husky whisper.

"I promise you, my good lad, that tomorrow morning I shall have him out in front of my men and my four assigned servants—convicts, and have him given a good sound application of the cat. Now that business is settled in a way that ten years hence you will agree is quite just; so come in like a sensible young neighbour, have a good feed, and I'll ride part of the way back with you after."

"Do you mean this, sir?" said Nic hoarsely.

"I always say what I mean, boy, and act up to it. Once more, come in."

Nic walked straight to where the man was rubbing down his horse, stopped him, picked up and girthed his saddle, saw to the bridle, and then mounted, while Mr Dillon stood watching him, half amused, half angry.

Then a thought struck Nic, and he bent down as if to reach the cheek-piece of the bit, and slipped a shilling into the man's hand.

"Where's our man shut up?" he whispered.

"In the big shed behind the house," said the man, staring.

Then at a touch Sour Sorrel started off.

"Going now?" shouted Mr Dillon.

Nic raised his hand to his hat as he galloped off, but he did not turn his head.

"The conceited young puppy!" cried Mr Dillon angrily, as he watched the boy's receding form; "and he wouldn't eat bread and salt. He deserves to be flogged himself for his obstinacy. I don't know, though: I wish I'd had a boy like that."

He re-entered the house, and Nic rode on homeward, the slowest, saddest ride he had had since he entered the colony, for as soon as he was out of sight of the house he drew rein and let Sorrel walk.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A NIGHT'S WORK.

"What shall I do?" said Nic to himself.

Being faint, and feeling half stunned, no answer came; and he looked round at the beautiful country, which appeared newer and more beautiful than ever in the orange-gold of approaching evening, while all within was black with misery and despair.

He never knew before how much he liked the stern, manly fellow who that next morning was to be tied up and flogged; and the more Nic thought of the horrible punishment the deeper grew his misery, as he felt what a helpless boy he was in the matter; and a number of wild plans began to enter his head.

He had no gun with him now, but he could ride back, fetch it, and wait till morning. Then he would ride up to the Wattles just when they were going to tie up Leather, take his place beside him, and, with presented gun, dare any one to touch his father's servant.

Then the weak tears came into the boy's eyes, and he laughed a piteous, contemptuous laugh at himself for harbouring such a silly, romantic notion.

And all the while Sorrel went on at his steady walk, growing cool and comfortable, refreshed too by the light feed he had had and the rub down.

They went slowly on till sunset, when Nic drew rein, and sat gazing at the large orange ball sinking away beyond the mountains.

"So beautiful!" he said, forced into admiration of the glories of the coming evening; "and poor Leather lying there handcuffed and waiting to be flogged."

He leaped from his horse and threw the rein over its head.

"There!" he cried, patting the soft arched neck, "eat away, old chap. You needn't be miserable if I am. I can't go and leave poor Leather like this."

He threw himself down on the grass to think—to try and make out some plan, while the birds winged their way overhead back to their roosting places, and here and there the kangaroos and their many little relatives began to steal out of the woodland shelters they had affected through the heat of the day, to lope about like huge hares, look around for danger, and then begin to browse.

At first the only idea that would come to the boy was that he would wait there till daybreak, and then ride the three or four miles he had come in his homeward direction back to the Wattles, getting there in good time; and when the preparations were being made for punishment he would ride boldly up and make a final appeal to Mr Dillon to either let Leather off or to defer everything till the doctor returned.

"Poor Leather!" he said to himself: "he'll see that I have not deserted him."

Crop, crop, crop; the horse went on browsing away upon the rich grass, but keeping close at hand, as if liking its master's company, and raising its head now and then to whinny softly.

The sun had gone down, and the glorious tints were dying out on and beyond the mountains. Then a great planet began to twinkle in the soft grey of the west, which rapidly grew of a dark purple, lit up again with a warm glow and grew purple once more, with the planet now blazing like a dazzling spot of silver hung high in the heavens.

Soon after, it would have been dark but for the glorious display of golden stars which now encircled the vast arch overhead, far more beautifully in that clear air than Nic ever remembered to have seen at home.

And all this splendour of the heavens made him the more miserable, for it seemed to him as if at such a time everything ought to be dark and stormy.

The night birds were out, and strange cries, wails, and chuckling noises reached his ears, mingled with the whirr and whizz of crickets and the soft pipe and croak of frogs in and about a water-hole not far away.

Once or twice, half startled, Nic thought he saw dusky, shadowy figures stealing along, and his heart beat fast; but he soon told himself that it was all fancy, for if any one had approached the horse would have been alarmed, whereas it was close at hand cropping the grass contentedly, its loud puff of breath with which it blew away insects upon the grass sounding regular in its intervals.

It was restful lying there, but Nic's faintness increased, and he was glad to pick a few leaves and blades of grass to chew and keep down the famished feeling which troubled him. But that calm night-time was glorious for thought, and before long he had determined that, come what might, he would wait for another hour or two and ride back to the Wattles and set Leather free.

For he knew whereabouts the convict was imprisoned. The man who attended to Sorrel had said it was behind the house. Then what could be easier than to ride round, and, close up, find which was the big shed, and give Leather a signal; and then, with one working outside, the other in, it would be easy enough. Why, if he could not get the wooden bar away with which these big sheds were mostly fastened, he could guide Sorrel alongside, stand on the saddle, and remove some of the bark or shingle roofing.

Nic forgot hunger, misery, and despair in the glow of exultation which came over him, and he felt contempt for his readiness to give up and think that all was over.

"More ways of killing a cat than hanging it," he said, with a little laugh, and lying upon his back in a thoroughly restful position he set himself to watch the stars, till all at once they turned blank, and he leaped to his feet in alarm and went to pat his horse.

"That won't do," he muttered. "Done up, I suppose, and it was the lying on my back and leaving off thinking. But I couldn't have slept for many minutes."

For the matter of that the time might have been two or three hours, for aught he could have told; but as it was he had not been asleep a minute when he sprang back into wakefulness, and, determined now not to run any more risks, he stopped with his horse, resting against its flank and thinking of what a great solitary place he was in, and how strange it seemed for that vast country to have so few inhabitants.

His aim was to wait until everybody would be asleep at the Wattles, and then ride softly up, when he felt that there would be light enough for his purpose, which ought not to take long.

The time glided away slowly, but at last he felt that he might start, and after seeing that the bridle was all right he proceeded to tighten the girths. But Sorrel had been pretty busy over that rich grass, and Nic found that if he did anything to those girths he ought to let them a little loose.

"You greedy pig!" he said, patting the horse affectionately, "eating away like that and enjoying yourself when your master starves."

The horse whinnied.

"Ah! don't do that," said Nic in alarm. "You would spoil everything."

He mounted and cantered back for a good two miles, finding no difficulty, for the horse went over the same ground again. Then Nic drew rein and walked on and on till he thought he must have missed the place in the dark; but all at once below him he saw a faint light move for a few moments, and disappear.

Evidently a lantern which some one had carried into the house.

Nic checked his horse for quite a quarter of an hour, and then walked it slowly down the slope, till there, dimly showing up before him, he could make out building after building, looming all dim and ghostly-looking, but plain enough to one whose eyes had grown accustomed to the dark.

But there were fences to avoid, and there was an enclosed garden; so the boy felt that the wisest plan would be to take a pretty good circuit round and then go up to the back.

Starting to do this, he was very nearly thrown, for Sorrel suddenly made a tremendous bound and cleared a large tree trunk, which had been felled and lay denuded of all its branches right across his way.

This was a shock; and it had other effects, for at the heavy beat of hoofs a deep-mouthed dog suddenly set up a tremendous bark, which was taken up by half a dozen more in chorus, accompanied by the rattling of chains in and out of kennels.

Nic paused, with his heart beating, but the barking went on, and a voice was heard to shout faintly:

"Lie down!"

But the dogs still barked, and a window was opened and a loud voice, which Nic recognised, shouted:

"Hullo! What is it, my lads?"

The barking turned to a burst of whimpering and whining, and after a few sharp commands to lie down Nic heard the window closed; and the rattling of the dogs' chains began again, a whimper or two, and then all was silent once more.

Meanwhile Nic had peered carefully round, and became aware of the fact that there were several pieces of timber lying about, as if a group of trees had been felled where he stood, and cautiously dismounting and leading his horse, he began to guide it out of the dangerous place.

But he had hardly achieved this when the barking broke out again, making Nic mount and ride slowly off, while the window was once more thrown open, and the voice the boy had recognised as the magistrate's cried sharply:

"What is it there, boys?" the dogs barking wildly in reply.

Just then a shrill whistle rang out, and directly after a man shouted.

"All right, sir, here!"

"What's the matter with the dogs, Belton?"

"Dunno, sir. Dingo, perhaps."

"Or something else. Here: go and see if that scoundrel's all right."

"He's all right, sir. I've been twice. Just come from there now."

"Humph! That's right, my lad. But they seem very uneasy."

"Well, yes, sir, they do," said the man; "but they often have a fit like this. Lie down, will yer!"

There was a general rattling of chains at this, while every word had come distinctly to Nic's ears in the soft silence.

"Good night."

"Good night, sir."

There was shutting of the window, and then the man said slowly:

"I'll bring a whip round to some on yer directly. Hold yer row!"

One dog barked as if protesting.

"Quiet, will yer!" cried the man. "Think nobody wants to sleep?"

Then silence, an uneasy rattle of a chain, the banging of a door, and Nic wiped the perspiration from his brow.

The case seemed hopeless, but he would not give up. Twice over he tried to get round to the back of the house, but the dogs were on the alert; and the last time, just as he drew rein closer than he had been before, the window was opened, two flashes of light cut the darkness, and there came the double report of a gun, making Sorrel bound and nearly unseat his rider.

"See any one, sir?" cried the man, hurrying out.

"No; but I'm sure there's some one about. Get your gun. I'll be down directly, and we'll keep watch."

The window closed, and Nic heard the man growl at the dogs:

"You've done it now. Keep watch, eh? But I'll pay some on yer to-morrow."

The dogs burst out barking again, for Nic was guiding his horse away in despair, feeling that he could not accomplish his task; then he waited till he was a few hundred yards distant, and cantered on, feeling that in all probability some of the dogs would be loosened and come after him.

As he rode he listened, and there was the yelping as of a pack, making him urge Sorrel into a gallop; but the sounds died out, and at the end of a mile he drew rein, for there was no suggestion of pursuit.

Nic walked his horse beneath one of the great trees, and sat there like a statue, thinking, and trying hard to come to some determination. To get at the building where Leather was imprisoned was not the easy task he had thought. In fact, he felt now, that with all those dogs about, that he had not noticed the previous afternoon, when they were probably away with the shepherds, it was impossible.

"What shall I do?" he said to himself again; and he cudgelled his brain in the hope of some idea coming, but all in vain.

And so a good hour passed, when, sick and in despair, he determined to make one more essay, for he argued, with a bitter smile, "The dogs may be asleep." At any rate he would try, and if he failed he would ride up in the morning, and they should not flog the poor fellow while he was there.

"Yes," he said, "the dogs may be asleep; but suppose Mr Dillon or his men are keeping watch."

He had put his horse in motion, and was riding out of the black shadow, but drew rein sharply, and Sorrel stopped short, for away in the distance came the loud yelping and baying of dogs in pursuit of something, just as he had heard them in the Kentish woods at home when laid on the scent of a fox, but not with the weird, strange sound heard now on the night air.

"What does it mean?" thought Nic, as his heart seemed to stand still and then began to beat with heavy throbs; for the idea came that Leather had broken out—was escaping—was coming in his direction; and at that moment there was a pause—a silence which jarred the boy's nerves.

Had they got him?

No; for the dogs were in full pursuit once more, probably on the fugitive's scent, and faintly heard there were shouts as of some one urging the pack on.

How long what followed took Nic never knew, for he was listening, intensely excited, and agitated as to whether he should go or stay, when the thought came that perhaps the dogs were on his scent; but he cast that idea away as foolish, for he had been mounted nearly all the time.

Then all at once, as the hounds were evidently coming nearer and the shouts plainer, Nic felt that he must sit out the affair and hear what had happened; when Sorrel drew a deep breath, there was a heavy breathing, and a man came on at a steady trot straight for the shadow in which Nic sat, so that the next moment he was upon him.

"Back, for your life!" came hoarsely, as the man raised his arm.

"Leather!"

"You here!" panted the convict. "But quick—they're after us. Canter right away."

As he spoke he took a firm grip of the nag's mane, and as it sprang off ran easily by its side, the docile beast making straight for home.

For some minutes they went on like this, with the sounds growing fainter; and then the convict broke the silence.

"Master Nic," he whispered, "I am innocent, my lad. I did not use the axe. That ruffian struck me with the fork handle till my manhood revolted against it, and I knocked him down with my fist, boy—my fist."

"Yes, I know: Sam told me," said Nic hoarsely. "I came to try and get you away."

"God bless you, my lad! I couldn't bear to stay there and be disgraced more than I have. It was too hard."

"How did you escape?"

"Broke the handcuffs apart, climbed to the rafters, pulled open the bark thatching and let myself down; but the dogs gave the alarm."

"Well, they shan't have you now," cried Nic, pulling up. "Jump on and ride home. I'll run beside you. They can't take you away again."

The convict laughed bitterly.

"You foolish boy," he said gently, "the law is on their side. No. Good-bye, lad. Don't forget me. You know the truth, but you must not be mixed up with my escape. You have done nothing yet. Off with you— home!"

"But you, Leather, what are you going to do?" said Nic huskily.

"Escape if I can, and I think I shall."

"But where—what to do? Wait till father comes home?"

"No. What can he do? Dillon will send me to the chain gang as a dangerous man; and I am now, boy—I am, for it shall only be my dead body they shall take."

"Leather!"

"No, Nic. Frank Mayne, an honest man. Home with you, boy!"

"But you?"

"I? There's room enough yonder. To begin a new life of freedom—a savage among the blacks."

There was a smart blow of the open hand delivered on the horse's neck, and the startled beast sprang forward into a wild gallop, which the boy could not for the moment check. When he did, and looked round, there was the darkness of the night, the cry of some wild bird; the baying of the dogs had ceased, and he was quite alone.

"He can't be far," thought the boy, and he whistled softly again and again, but there was no reply. He tried to pierce the darkness, but it was very black now, and he noticed that the stars had been blotted out, and directly after there came pat; pat, pat—the sound of great drops of rain, the advance-guard of a storm.

It would have been useless to try and follow the convict, and at last Nic let his impatient horse move on at a walk, then it cantered, and then galloped straight for the Bluff, as if trying to escape from the pelting rain, while it quivered at every flash and bounded on as the lightning was followed by a deafening roar.

"There'll be no trail to follow," cried Nic exultantly; "it will all be washed away, and he'll shelter himself under some tree. But hurrah! I shall see him again. Let old Dillon flog the whipping-post, or, if he's disappointed, let him have old Brookes."

For a peculiar feeling of exultation had come upon the boy, and the storm, instead of being startling, seemed grand, till he rode into the enclosure, seeing that lights were in three of the windows, and a trio of voices cried:

"Nic, is that you?"

"Yes, all right," he shouted. "So hungry. In as soon as I've seen to my horse."

Five minutes after he ran in dripping wet, and had hard work to keep Mrs Braydon from embracing him.

"Not till I've changed, mother," he cried.

"But where have you been?"

"Over to Dillon's, to get him not to punish Leather, and let him come away."

"Yes, Nic?" cried Janet excitedly.

"He wouldn't let him come."

Janet heaved a piteous sigh and sank back in her chair, while Nic hurried to his room to get rid of his soaking garments.

When he came out to go to the room where the meal had been kept waiting all those many hours for his return, he met Janet.

"You coward!" she whispered: "you have not tried."

"I did my best," whispered Nic. "But, I say, Jan, can you keep a secret?"

"Yes: what?" she cried excitedly.

"Old Dillon must be as mad as mad. Leather has escaped, and has made for the myall scrub."

Janet uttered a peculiar sound: it was caused by her pressing her hands to her lips to suppress a cry, as she ran to her own room.

"Poor chap!" said Nic to himself. "I'm glad she likes him too."



CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE QUEST.

As Nic had supposed would be the case, hoof-marks were either obliterated or looked faint and old from the heavy soaking they had received in the storm, while those made by a man were invisible, unless to the ultra-keen eyes of some natives.

He noted this when he went out that same morning in pretty good time, for he felt convinced that Mr Dillon would give him the credit of helping Leather to escape.

It was a glorious morning, the dust being washed away by the storm, and everything looking beautifully fresh and green in the sunshine.

When he went out he was soon aware of something else being wrong, for Brookes was rating the three blacks, who had thoroughly enjoyed their truant holiday, and would have stayed away for days in the myall scrub, but the bush in wet weather is to a blackfellow not pleasant, from the showers of drops falling upon his unclothed skin. Consequently the storm had sent them back, and they were all found clothed and curled up fast asleep in the wool-shed by old Sam, who had roused them up.

His words had brought Brookes on the scene, armed with a stout stick, with which he was thrashing them, while the rascals were hopping about in a peculiar shuffling dance, whose steps consisted in every one wanting to be at the back and pushing his fellow to the front.

Bungarolo was the least adept player, and Damper and Rigar managed to keep him before them as a kind of breastwork or shield, behind which they could escape the threatening stick.

"Baal mumkull! baal mumkull! (don't kill)," he kept crying piteously.

"But that's all you're fit for, you lazy rascals. Where did you go?"

"Plenty go find yarraman. Budgery yarraman (good horses). Plenty go find. Run away."

"I don't believe it. What horses ran away?"

"Kimmeroi, bulla, metancoly (one, two, ever so many)," cried Rigar, from the back.

"It's all a lie. Come: out with you!"

"No, leave him alone, Brookes," said Nic sternly. "I'll have no more quarrelling to-day."

The man faced round sharply.

"Look here, young master, are you going to manage this here station, or am I?" he cried.

"I am, as far as I know; and I won't have the black-fellows knocked about."

The three culprits understood enough English to grasp his meaning, and burst out together in tones of reproach:

"Baal plenty stick. No Nic coolla (angry). Black-fellow nangery (stay), do lot work."

"Work! Yes," cried Nic. "Go away with you, and begin."

The three blacks set up a shout like school-children who had escaped punishment, and danced and capered off to the work that they had left the day before.

"Look here, sir—" began Brookes again.

"Why don't you hold your tongue, Brooky?" cried old Sam. "You ain't looked in the glass this morning, or you'd see enough mischief was done yesterday."

"Who spoke to you?" cried Brookes fiercely.

"Not you, or you'd get on better. Young master's quite right. You can't deal with the blacks that way."

"Breakfast!" cried a clear voice; and Nic turned to find his sister Janet coming to meet him, looking very pale, but quite contented.

"I shall keep it a secret, Nic," she whispered. "I'm so glad, for all that seemed so dreadful to me."

At that moment Mrs Braydon appeared at the door, she too looking pale, but eager to welcome her son; and no allusion was made during breakfast to the previous day's trouble.

But hardly had they finished when Nibbler burst into a deep-toned volley of barking, which immediately started the two collies, and they rushed round to the front.

"Some one coming," cried Hilda. "Oh,—they're bringing back poor Leather!"

Nic sprang to the window, to see Mr Dillon, followed by five of his men, three blacks, and seven or eight dogs, among which were three gaunt, grey, rough-haired, Scottish deer-hounds.

The boy had expected that Mr Dillon would come, but his sister's words staggered him and gave him a sharp pang.

The next moment, though, he saw that she was wrong; and turning from the window, he exchanged glances with Janet, as he said quite coolly, "What does he want so soon?" and made for the door, thinking that he knew well enough that they were on a man-hunting expedition, but congratulated himself on the convict's long start.

"Good morning, Mr Dominic," said the magistrate, riding up, while the two collies ran on to investigate the strange dogs, and Nibbler tore furiously at his chain.

"Good morning, sir," said Nic. "Here, Rumble—rumble! Come here, both of you! Hi, Samson! Shut these two dogs up in one of the sheds."

"Yes," said the visitor, "or there'll be a fight." Then, as Sam came running up and relieved Nic of his task of holding the pair by their black frills, "Will you be good enough to walk a little way from the house, young man? I want a word or two with you."

"He can't know I was there," thought Nic; and he walked beside the visitor's horse till it was checked, and the rider looked down sharply at the boy.

"Now, young gentleman," he said, "I don't want to quarrel with your father's son, but I am a man who never allows himself to be played with. You played me a pretty trick last night."

"I, sir? How?"

"Do you want telling?"

"Of course, sir."

Nic felt the magistrate's eyes piercing almost into his very thoughts; but, at the same time, he saw those armed men and that pack of dogs ready to hunt down the convict, and if he could avoid it he was determined not to say all he knew.

"You came over to my place last night and broke a way out for that fellow to escape."

"I did not," said Nic firmly.

"Do you mean to tell me that you did not bring over a handcuff key which your father has, and climb in at the roof and unlock the bracelets?"

"I do tell you so!" said Nic. "I did not know we had such a thing."

"On your word as a gentleman?"

"On my word as a gentleman," said Nic. Then to himself: "If he asks me if I came over, I must say Yes."

"Then I beg your pardon," said Mr Dillon. "But you have him here?"

"No," said Nic, "he is not here."

"I must ask your men. Will you summon them?"

"The blacks too?" said Nic.

"Yes, all of them, please."

"Hi, Sam!" cried Nic, as the old man banged to and fastened the door where he had shut up the dogs. "Call Brookes and the blacks; then come here."

"Right, sir," said the old man; and Mr Dillon went on:

"He got away somehow, and the dogs were after him till the storm spoiled the scent."

"Then you can't flog him," said Nic in triumph.

"Not this morning, of course," said Mr Dillon good humouredly. "All right, my young friend, you'll come round to my way of thinking."

"Never," said Nic firmly.

"That's a long time, squire. But don't you look so satisfied. You really do not imagine that our friend can get away?"

"There's plenty of room," said Nic.

"To starve, my led. But, mark my words, if we don't run him down this morning, he'll come back before long to ask for his punishment, if the myall blacks have not speared him and knocked him on the head."

Just then the men came forward, and the magistrate's attention was taken up, so that he did not see Nic's shudder.

"Oh, Brookes," said Mr Dillon, "that fellow broke out and ran for the bush last night?"

"What?" cried the man, changing colour.

"Has he made you deaf?" said Mr Dillon. "Your Leather got away last night. Have you seen him?"

"No, no," said Brookes, who looked unnerved. "But you'll run him down, sir?"

"Of course. And you, Samson?"

"No, sir, he hasn't been back here. Here, you—Bung, Rig, Damper: have you seen Leather 'smorning?"

"Plenty mine see Leather chop rail."

"Yes, yes, that was yesterday. 'Smorning?"

The three blacks made a peculiar sound, and threw up their chins.

"No good, Belton," said Mr Dillon. "Back to the bunya clump. I have an idea that he struck off there, so as to keep up by the river. Don't care to mount and come and see a convict hunt, squire, I suppose?" said the magistrate inquiringly.

Nic gave him a furious look, and Mr Dillon nodded good humouredly and rode after his men, the dogs beginning to bark as they started back, to be answered by Nibbler and the collies, who thrust their noses under the bottom of the door.

"Won't take them big stag-hounds long to hunt him down," said Brookes, trying to hide his nervousness with a grin.

"Think they'll catch him, Sam?" said Nic.

"Well, sir, it's just about like a pair o' well-balanced wool scales," said the old man rather sadly. "Dogs has wonderful noses of their own. But there, I 'spose we shall hear."

Nic went off to the stables, for he had not the heart to go indoors. And as he stood by his horse the desire came upon him strongly to mount and ride after Mr Dillon's party, so as to know everything that happened, but he felt that it might appear to the poor fellow that he was with the party trying to hunt him down, and he stayed and hung about the station all day.

"Bung," he said toward evening, "you like Leather?"

"Plenty mine like damper."

"No, no; I mean did Leather ever knock you about?"

"Baal, no. Budgery (good)."

"Go over to the Wattles, Mr Dillon's, and find—did catch Leather. You pidney? (understand)."

The man gave him a sly look, laughed, and ran into the cow-shed, to come out directly after in his dress clothes, and armed. Then with a shout he ran off at a long, quick trot toward the track.

It was getting toward midnight when he returned, to cooey under the boy's window.

"Well, did you find out?"

"No catch. White fellow plenty run along myall bush."

"Here, catch," cried Nic, and he pitched the man a big piece of damper and the blade-bone of a shoulder of mutton; and then, as he closed the window, he fancied he heard whispering outside his door, and another door closed.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

BLACK SYMPATHY.

Nic found the next day that in their tiny world of the Bluff there were others sufficiently interested in the convict's fate to have been making inquiries about the proceedings instituted by Mr Dillon; for on going round the place in the fresh early morning to see how the live stock was getting on, the first person he met was old Sam, who saluted him with one of his ugly smiles, and a chuckle like that of a laughing jackass— of course the bird.

"They didn't ketch him, Master Nic," he cried.

"Why, you ought to be vexed, Sam," replied the boy.

"Yes, I know that, sir; but I ain't. I don't like Leather 'cause he's a convict, and it ain't nice for honest men to have them sort for fellow-servants. But I don't want him ketched and flogged. Not me."

"But will they catch him, do you think, Sam?"

"Ah, that's what nobody can say. Most likely yes, because if the dogs get on his scent they'll run him down."

"But the rain?"

"Ay, that's in his favour, sir. But, then, there's another thing: the blacks will be set to work again."

"But they can't scent him out."

"Nay; but they can smell him out with their eyes and run him down. Bound to say, if I set our three to work, they'd find the poor lad."

"They are very keen and observant."

"Keen, Master Nic? Ay! It's a many years now since I shaved; but if I took to it again I shouldn't use rayshors, sir, but blackfellows' sight. Steel's nowhere to it."

"But how do you know they didn't catch him?"

"I sent Damper and Rigar to see the fun, and they came back to me grinning, and told me."

"But did Mr Dillon set his blacks to work tracking?"

"Ay, that he did; but it strikes me they didn't want to find the poor chap. It's like this, you see, Master Nic. Yes'day morning, as soon as our three found out, from Brooky's face looking like a bit o' unbaked damper, and his tied-up head, that he'd been having it, they asked me how it was, and I told 'em. Next minute I goes into the cow-shed to see what the noise was, and them three chaps—for they're just like little children—there they were, with jyned hands, having a crobbery sort o' dance."

"Why?"

"Why, sir? Just because they were precious glad that Brooky had found his master. They didn't say so, but I knew. You don't suppose, because a chap's face is black, he likes to be hit with sticks, and kicked, and sneered at. They're little children in big black bodies, master; but they like the man who shares his damper and mutton with 'em and never gives 'em a dirty word a deal better than him as treats 'em as if they was kangaroos."

"Of course, Sam."

"They get their likes same as little children do. The lazy black rascals!" continued the old man, grinning; "they always want to be at play, and I give it 'em well sometimes, but they know they deserve it; and, after all, they'd do anything for me, Master Nic, and so they would for you."

"Oh, I've done nothing to please them, Sam."

"Oh yes you have, Master Nic, often; and just you look here—they didn't show their white teeth for nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you, sir. They was along with Dillon's blackfellows yes'day most o' the arternoon, and Dillon's blackfellows didn't find old Leather."

"No; you said so before."

"Ay, I did, sir; but don't you see why they didn't hit out Leather's track?"

"Because the rain had washed it away."

"Nay!" cried Sam, with a long-drawn, peculiar utterance; "because our fellows wouldn't let 'em. They belongs to the same tribe."

"Ah!" cried Nic.

"That's it, sir. Our boys give 'em a hint, or else they'd ha' found him fast enough."

"Then he'll escape!" cried Nic eagerly.

"Nay! There's no saying. Government's very purticlar about running a pris'ner down. 'Bliged to be. Soon as it's reported as Leather's jumped for the bush, some o' they mounted police'll be over, and they'll bring blackfellows with 'em as don't know him and don't belong to our boys' tribe, and they'll find him. 'Sides, there's black tribes in the bush as'd take a delight in throwing spears at him. And then again, how's a white man going to live? He ain't a black, as'll get fat on grubs, and worms, and snakes, and lizzars, and beadles, when he can't get wallabies and birds. But there, we shall see. I'm sorry he jumped for the bush; but don't you go and think I want to see him caught and flogged."

"I don't, Sam."

"Then you're right, Master Nic; on'y raally you mustn't keep me a-talking here. I say, though," he whispered confidentially, and chuckling with delight all the time, "Brooky won't enjy his wittles till Leather is ketched."

"What do you mean?"

"He's going about, sir, in the most dreadfullest stoo. He walked over in the night to the Wattles, and come back all of a tremble, and he's got a loaded gun behind the wool-shed door, and another behind the stable."

"Yes; I saw that, and wondered how it came there."

"He put it there, sir," chuckled the old man. "Just you watch him next time you see him. He's just like a cocksparrer feeding, what keeps on turning his head to right and then to left and all round, to see if Leather's coming to pounce on him and leather him. The pore chap don't know it, but he's sarving out Mister Brooky fine. There, now I must go, sir, raally. One word, though: Brooky's doing nothing but grumble, and look out for squalls, and the master away—not as that matters so much, for the way in which you're a-steppin' into his shoes, sir, is raally fine. But I want things to look to-rights when he comes back."



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A FALSE SCENT.

Two days, three days glided by, and the convict was not found. Then a week passed, and another, and he was still at large; but a letter was brought up from the post, a couple of the mounted police being the bearers. This letter, from the doctor, told that Sir John O'Hara was dangerously ill, and that his life was despaired of; it was impossible to leave him till a change took place; and the letter ended affectionately, with hopes that Nic was managing the station well, and that all was going on peacefully.

The mounted police were going on to Mr Dillon's, and on their return in three days they were to take back Mrs Braydon's answer.

The men had just ridden off after a rest and a hearty meal, when, as Nic turned to re-enter the house and hear the letter read over again, he saw old Sam's head over the garden fence, and the handle of his spade held up as a signal.

"Want me, Sam?"

"Ay, sir; come in here. I don't want Brooky to see me talking to you as if I was telling tales. We has to live together, and we're bad enough friends without that."

Nic went round by the gate, and the old man sunk his voice.

"He's been at 'em, sir."

"Who has been at what?"

"I don't mean what you mean, sir. Brooky got at them two police. Know what that means?"

"About Leather?" cried Nic.

"That's it, sir. There'll be another hunt 'safternoon and to-morrer; and if they don't ketch him then, when they go back they'll take a 'spatch from Mr Dillon, and we shall have a lot of 'em down here."

Nic's face contracted from his mental pain.

"Don't you look like that, my lad. They ain't got him yet. Do you know, I shouldn't wonder if he's gone right away with Bung's tribe, and they won't get him. But I say, Master Nic, you won't go over to the Wattles, will you?"

"No, certainly not."

"But you'd like to hear?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then I tell you what, sir: just you tell our three that, as they've been very good boys, they may have a holiday and go and get a good lot o' bunya nuts."

"Get a lot of what?" said Nic, in a tone of disgust.

"Bunya nuts, sir: grows on them trees something like firs. They ain't half bad, I can tell you."

"But I don't want to send them out nutting," said Nic. "They're better at work."

"You don't understand, sir. I saw them staring over the fences at the perlice. You give them leave, and off they'll go and watch everything, just as if they were on'y playing about. Then we shall know everything."

In the result, there was very little to know; for when the three blackfellows came back that night, they could only tell that there had been a long hunt for the convict. They got to know, too, that there was to be another next day.

Then the police returned, received their letters for the doctor, and as they rode off for their long journey to the port they told Nic in confidence not to make himself uncomfortable, for they would be back soon with a little troop and some trackers, and that then they would soon catch the escaped man.

"I don't suppose he'll venture near the station, sir; but if he does, and don't surrender, you're justified in shooting him down."

Nic drew his breath hard as he went back to the house very thoughtfully, but he said nothing indoors.

That afternoon he mounted, and sent the two collies nearly frantic by whistling to them to come after him; and as they dashed on Nic rode after at an easy canter, to take a long round amongst the grazing, off-lying cattle, and carry out another project he had in mind.

It was very pleasant riding there through the far-stretching, park-like place, and that afternoon the number of birds he passed was enormous, but Nic did not shoot at them. A large iguana, a hideous, dragon-like creature, ran to a big tree, making Sorrel start as it crossed his path, and then the great lizard crept up among the branches, puffing itself out, waving its tail, and looking threatening and dangerous. But Nic paid no heed to it, instead of shooting it for the blacks' supper. And twice over large snakes were left unmolested, in spite of the furious barkings of the dogs, and their reproachful looks, which seemed to say, "Why didn't you shoot?"