"But there's no one behind with a furze or bramble," thought Nic, who began to find the trot not so very bad, when, to his horror, his father cried out "Canter!" and, with the horses snorting and enjoying the motion, away they went in and out among the trees, the docile animals keeping pace together, and avoiding the dense parts by instinct.

"Now I am off," said Nic to himself; but to his surprise he kept on, finding the canter a delightfully easy pace, and that it was far less difficult to keep his seat in the saddle, the swing was so pleasant, elastic, and rhythmical.

This went on for a good quarter of a mile, until the trees grew more open and patches of scrubby bushes appeared in their way, when, before he knew it, Nic's steed, instead of avoiding a clump about three feet high, rose at it, bounded over as lightly as a kangaroo, and came to a dead stop on the other side, for it had lost its rider.

"I didn't mean that," said the doctor, pulling up and turning back.

"Here, Nic, where are you?"

"Here, father," said the boy dolefully, as he rose from where he lay-- down among the thick brush.

"Hurt?"

"I--I don't know yet. No; I don't think so, father. Here, my gun's gone."

"There it is, sticking up among the bushes. I'll get it," said the doctor; and pulling his horse sidewise, he reached over and drew out the gun.

"Now then, where are you hurt?"

"Nowhere," said Nic, forcing his way out to where the nag stood, taking the reins, and after pulling down the near side stirrup, climbing into the saddle.

At that moment there was a clapping of hands, and he turned to find his father applauding him.

"Bravo! Good!" cried the doctor, with his eyes flashing. "I like that pluck, Nic. Why, boy, you did wonderfully well. You are as rough as can be in the saddle. But really, you only want confidence: you can ride."

"Can I, father?" said Nic dubiously.

"Can you? yes. You must have had some practice."

"Only playing tricks on the donkeys, father, down in Kent."

"Of course. That's it! Why, Nic, I have only got to polish you.

Ready?"

"Yes, father."

"Then let's canter on."

Oddly enough--paradoxically as it may seem--that tumble on to the elastic bush took away all Nic's nervousness, and now he began to enjoy the delightful motion of the easy-paced nag, with the wind fanning his cheeks, the sun seeming to flash by him, and the soreness about the knees forgotten.

Everything about looked bright and glorious; and when, about eleven o'clock, they cantered up to the midday halting-place in a clump of gums, where the oxen had just been unyoked, Brookes and Leather stopped from their tasks to stare, and the black was so surprised that he forgot to stand on one leg, but watched the hors.e.m.e.n with wide-open eyes, standing upon two.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A BLACK PERIL.

At the end of six days, though a long way from being a horseman, Nic had reached a pitch when he could mount without fear, and enjoy thoroughly a trot, canter, or gallop; and his father used laughingly to say that now he would not be ashamed to show him to his mother and sisters.

"It's a long, slow, monotonous journey, Nic," said the doctor, at the end of that sixth day; "but I don't think we've been idle."

"Idle? oh no, father," said Nic; "and I've enjoyed it thoroughly."

"In spite of the rough way of living?"

"I haven't thought of that," replied Nic. "It has all been so fresh and interesting, and there has been so much to see."

"Well, you have been well introduced to the country, my boy, and you have mastered riding--a strong part of a settler's education, for you will have to help me hunt up the sheep and cattle, and save me many a long round. Feel ready to see your mother and sisters?"

"Ready? I'm longing to see them, father. Are we getting near?"

"Yes; all being well, we shall sleep under our own roof to-morrow night, and have the waggon-load of stores and treasures under cover."

That last night in the waggon was the most uncomfortable Nic had pa.s.sed.

It was hot; there was a chest beneath him which had suddenly developed a hard edge and an awkward corner; the dogs, too, were uneasy, and barked a good deal at the moon. Then some kind of animal in the plural number seemed to be holding a meeting up among the branches of the huge tree under which they encamped, for there were endless squealings and skirmishes about, which woke the boy again and again, to lie and listen, and think about his new home in the great Australian wilderness, of his mother and sisters, whether they were much changed, and ending, just before dozing off again, by wondering what they would think of him.

It was, then, with a feeling of no little satisfaction that he woke again to hear the magpie piping, and hurriedly scrambled out, fully convinced that he was up first that morning, but found, as usual, that the fire was already burning brightly, and that some one had been on the watch, not one of which had he been allowed to keep.

This time it was the man Leather whom Nic joined, towel in hand, on his way for his regular morning swim.

"Morning! You're first, then?"

The man gave him a nod, and by the light of the fire his face looked surly.

"Has my father been out yet?"

"Sleep in the front of the waggon."

Nic felt disposed to go on, but he was in such high spirits that he was obliged to say a few words more.

"We shall be at the Bluff to-night."

"Oh?" said the man indifferently.

"Well, ain't you glad to get home?"

"No: I'm only a servant."

"But it's your home for the present."

The man threw a few more sticks on the fire, and said nothing.

"I say, Leather, what sort of a place is it?"

"Station's like other stations."

"Yes, but is it pretty--beautiful?"