"One good step and down you would go, and be out of your misery."

"Oh, nonsense," cried Nic. "It's wonderful. Show me the way to go down."

"What, go first?"

"Yes."

The man uttered a strange laugh which made Nic shudder; but he mastered his shrinking and said: "Tell me: which is the proper way down?"

"They say there is no way down."

"What! is it so dangerous?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean to tell me that we could not get down to that beautiful place below?"

"The regular way is to go as the sheep and cattle do sometimes. They get grazing too close, and slip and fall. Most of them are killed, but some fall from shelf to shelf and get over it. Look!"

He caught Nic by the shoulder, roughly pressed him nearer the edge, and pointed with one hand.

Nic's heart began to beat heavily, but he drew a deep breath and would not shrink.

"Well?" he said, after a pause. "I'm looking. What at?"

"Can't you see sheep down below, and quite a drove of bullocks?"

"No," said Nic: "my eyes are not used to it--yours are."

"Yes, mine are," said the man. "Those were your father's cattle and sheep, and some of Dillon's from the next station, and other people's from farther still; and now they belong to nature. Don't you think your father is a fool to come and live where he loses his stock down a trap like that?"

"No, I don't," said Nic haughtily, for the man repelled him. "I think he was very wise to come and live in the most beautiful place I ever saw."

"I don't," said the man, laughing curiously, as if it hurt him and gave him pain. "I think the place hideous. Well, you want to go down," he continued, tightening his grip and showing his teeth as he thrust Nic forward. "There, I have only to give you one push and down you go; but you wouldn't see anything when you got down."

"Because it would kill me," said Nic quietly.

"Yes; and your old man would set us all to hunt for you, and one of the blacks would make you out at last, lying right at the bottom."

"And fetch me up," said Nic, without flinching, but with the cold perspiration standing out on his forehead and in the palms of his hands.

"No, even they couldn't get down to you; and your father would come every day with his gla.s.s to watch you till the birds and the ants had left nothing but your bones to whiten there, as the bones of bullocks have before now. Well, shall I throw you down? You asked me to show you the way."

"No, thank you," said Nic quietly.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you, a strong man, wouldn't be so murderous. And because I never did you any harm."

"No," said the man, drawing him back from the brink, and looking him full in the eyes, with the half-savage glare pa.s.sing out of his own to give place to an air of profound melancholy. "No, I wouldn't do you any harm, sir. You're a brave lad."

"No, I'm not," said Nic, letting himself sink back on the sunny herbage, for he felt sick and giddy. "It was horrible: it made me turn faint.

Why did you do that?"

He spoke now in indignant anger.

"Because I was a brute," said the man hoa.r.s.ely. "They've made me a brute. I thought I would try you and see what was in you. There, go back home and tell them," he cried, with his voice growing intensely bitter; "and you can have the pleasure of seeing me flogged."

"What!" cried Nic, forgetting his own feelings in seeing the way the man was moved. "You--flogged--for playing that foolish trick!"

"Yes; foolish trick, my lad. But there, now you've come home, keep away from me. You've a deal to learn yet."

"Well, you own it was foolish," said Nic, for want of something better to say.

"Yes, a piece of madness, my lad. You said you begged my pardon a bit ago. I beg yours now."

"Of course. There, it's all right," cried Nic. "But don't you think I should go and tell tales. My father would, of course, be put out,--but flog you! He doesn't look the sort of man to flog his people, does he?"

The man looked at him curiously. Then, drawing back sharply, his manner changed, and he began to look sullen, as he said in a morose voice:

"Didn't your father say anything to you about me?"

"No."

"Didn't he tell you what I was, sir?"

"No," said Nic, with's suspicion now dawning on his mind. "You are his stock man, are you not?"

"Stock man? No: Brookes is his stock man. There--keep away from me, my lad."

"Why?" said Nic.

"Because I'm only a sort of two-legged animal, a machine to do your father's work. I thought you knew."

"That you are--"

Nic stopped short.

"Yes, my lad--a convict, sent out of my country for my country's good."

"I know now," cried Nic eagerly. "I've heard--I was told on board. You are sent up the country for good behaviour. Then you are my father's a.s.signed servant?"

The man stood looking down at him for a moment or two with his face full of wrinkles. Then he turned quickly and walked hurriedly away, never once looking back as Nic watched him till he was out of sight.

Then the boy shuddered.

"How horrible!" he thought. "He might have thrown me down. No, it was only a mad trick. But what a man to have about the place! I ought to have bullied him well; but I can't go near him again. I wish I had not shown the white feather so."