"Down yonder, by one of the pools."

"Oh, then you must go that way home."

"Yes, father, and I have two fish."

"Well done."

"I say, father, I feel sure that Leather did not kick that sheep."

"Who did then?" said the doctor.

"I don't like to say, father."

"That is suggesting your belief that it was Brookes, a man whom I have always found to work well in my interests, Nic. He has no spite against me."

"Do you think the other man has?"

"I don't know, boy. There, go on your way, and I'll go home. One word, Nic. I want you to enjoy yourself, but I cannot have my men taken away from their work, mind that."

The doctor cantered after the men bearing the sheep, and as Nic stood for a few minutes watching them, he heard the sheep give a piteous baa, as if protesting against its treatment, after which the men halted and changed shoulders.

Nic was too far off to see the expression of the men's faces, but he felt pretty certain that Brookes's was anything but pleasant, and he felt glad.

"I believe he did that out of spite against Leather," thought Nic, "so as to make it seem as if it was through neglect. I don't know, though, a man could hardly be such a brute."

Nic descended into the little valley once more, and made his way along by the stream to the pool where he had left his rod.

"There's one more locust," he said to himself; "and I'll try and catch another fish. Three will make a much better show. I dare say one would bite directly;" and determined to spend a few minutes in adding to his brace, he hurried on, thinking how beautiful the great, dense clump of trees on the other side of the stream appeared, many of them drooping gracefully over the water.

"The beauty of a place like this is," he thought, "that you can leave things about and there is no one to take them."

He smiled as he picked up his rod, drew the line through his fingers, and baited the hook with the great insect ready to cast right over into the stream so that the locust might be washed naturally into the sunlit pool.

"Now, if I can catch another as big as the--Hullo! where are those fish?"

Nic did not cast the locust, but stared hard at the spot where the fish had been laid down upon some fern leaves; but though the latter were still glistening with slime, the prizes were gone.

"They must have flopped their way back into the water," said Nic to himself; "they went that way because it was all on a slope. Well, of all the tiresome nuisances I ever knew, this is about the worst. I wouldn't have lost those fish for anything. They must have flopped to and fro down here and over that soft place."

Nic's thoughts stood still. The soft place he alluded to was close down to the shallow where Leather had waded in, and the water which had dripped from his legs lay upon the herbage and soft, dank, moist earth; but there was something else--footprints! Not Leather's, made by broad shoe-soles, but newly impressed marks with wide-spreading toes, the big toe in each case being rather thumb-like in its separation from the others.

For some two or three minutes Nic did not stir, but bent down staring at those footprints. Then he glanced sharply over the shallows at the thick foliage, fully expecting to see a spear come flying at him.

"That's the way my fish went," he muttered as he turned and fled, feeling a sudden check the next minute, as if some one had seized the rod which hung over his shoulder, and a thrill of fear ran through him as he turned sharply round, when snap went the line, and he saw that the hook and locust were sticking in an overhanging bough, and about a yard of the line was hanging down.

That was enough to drive away some of his fear, but not all.

"One can't fight blacks with fishing-rods," muttered the boy as he again began to run, and he made his way homeward more quickly than he had come, and did not pause once to look back, though if he had it was doubtful whether he would have seen the cunning black face peering from out of the wattle scrub, watching him as he ran in and out through the trees, and then disappearing as soon as Nic was out of sight.

The fugitive did not pause till he reached home bathed in perspiration, just as his father rode slowly in side by side with the laden men, they having taken a shorter cut while he had followed the wanderings of the stream.

"Ah, Nic," cried his father, "you shouldn't run and overheat yourself like that, boy. Now, men, carry the poor beast into the stable and rest the pole on the rails; its hoofs will then be about five inches from the ground.--What?"

"Blackfellows, father," said Nic, as soon as he could get his breath; "I saw their footmarks, and they have carried off my fish."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A SQUATTER'S LIFE.

Nic's announcement caused a little panic. The three blacks who came and went about the place were summoned and sent out searching, the house was placed in a state of defence, and Samson, Brookes, and Leather all furnished with guns and ammunition to stand ready for any emergency, taking it in turns though to keep watch, while horses and cattle were driven into the south enclosures by the house, and everything possible done to secure their safety.

Knowing his mother's nervousness, Nic could not help staring in wonder at the calm way in which she and her daughters behaved at what might, for aught they could tell, be a dangerous time, for neither showed the slightest trace of fear.

In a couple of hours, though, the black known as Bungarolo came back to announce that, "Blackfellow all agone," and he pointed away toward the dense bush, miles from where they were standing.

The explanation of the other two blacks when they returned cleared away the rest of the alarm, the doctor concluding that a few of the many wanderers had been near and gone away again, blacks probably belonging to a friendly tribe.

Consequently the next day matters went on as usual, save that Nic had to mount with his father, and, accompanied by two of their blacks, made a wide circuit about the station, touching the edge of the great gorge at one point and then riding round for miles.

Twice over the men, who trotted along easily enough step for step with the horses, pointed out tracks going and coming; and as the party was made out to be three only it was felt that there was no cause for alarm, and toward evening they rode back to the station with the glad news.

"But wouldn't it have been very awkward for them if the blacks had come while we were away, father?" Nic ventured to ask on their way back.

"Yes, but they would have shut themselves in at once," said the doctor; "two of the men would have been with them, and the other would have followed us, firing signals as he came. If the danger had been imminent, he would have seized the first horse and galloped over to Mr Dillon's station."

"I see," said Nic.

"It's mutual help out here, Nic. If one station is in danger, those nearest are always ready to gallop to its help."

Then came days and weeks of busy life, with Nic finding little time for amus.e.m.e.nt, but enjoying the novelty of his new career. There were long rides to drive in cattle; visits to be paid to flocks miles away from the station; messages to be taken to Samson, Brookes, or Leather, who in turn were far away with the roaming sheep or oxen; and the boy was joked at home by mother and sisters for the way he ate, slept, and seemed to expand.

During this period he saw little of Leather, and the incident of the injured sheep and Brookes's apparent enmity toward the convict was for the time forgotten, these two rarely being together.

Still, at different times Nic could not help noticing what a rooted dislike there was in the regular men against their convict fellow-servant, even old Samson shaking his head and expressing his belief that the station would be far better without "such as he."

"I don't want to be hard on anything 'cept blight, Master Nic," said the old man one day; "but it comes nat'ral to a man to feel shy of a gaol bird who may rise agen you at any time and take to the bush."

"Oh, but Leather is not that sort of man, Sam," said Nic.

"Ah, that's very nice, young gentleman; but you don't know, and I don't know. All I say is if there's a bull about on that side o' the fence it's best to walk on this."

"But the bull may not mean to do you harm, Sam."

"P'r'aps not, sir; but bulls have mad fits now and then, so does convicts. I've know'd two stations 'tacked and every one killed, and they said it was the blacks; but they very soon found that it warn't, for in each case a lot had escaped from the chain gang, took to the bush, and every 'signed servant as they come across jyned 'em."

"That's very horrible," said Nic. "And what became of them?"