"Oh, that darned stuff? Mates, it weren't worth much after all. There war' two young fellows in the Wilcannia coach with me, an' they told me that it war' no good. They war' Jews of course; but they went down all the way with me an' took me round all the buyers in Sydney, an' none o'

them would look at it. I didn't know what to do; and I was mighty glad when the two Jews gave me two hundred pounds for the lot. I spent the money as quick as I could, an' here I is back again, an'---- But has ye got no tucker?"

For full five minutes the air was filled with the most powerful words in at least four different languages, during which entertainment Satan unconcernedly ate the piece of damper which Ted had handed to him.

"I suppose you do not remember the names of your two kind friends, Satan?" I said, pa.s.sing him the tea billy.

"No, but they both wears a chain with a most 'culiar pendant, something like what the Parson showed us one night."

"Ah!" I cried. "Gentlemen, our business is settled. We will sell our claims to-morrow: we cannot refuse the kindly, disinterested offer of Satan's two benefactors."

"But I reckon the price has risen, hasn't it?" inquired Bill.

"Yes," answered the Parson grimly. "Satan's opal was worth 8,000."

Next morning the two Hebrews came out from town a full hour earlier than usual, and without more ado the Parson, as spokesman, informed them that having considered everything and being desirous of going out West, we were willing to sell our joint claims for three thousand pounds in cash.

"But two tousant was the agreement," remonstrated one.

"There was no agreement," replied the Parson. "Candidly I can't imagine why you wish to have the claims, for opal seems to have fallen in the market, but if you still desire them that sum is our price until we hear from other possible purchasers."

While he was speaking, Mac and Hoskins were a.s.siduously painting the address of a famous Sydney firm of jewellers on a well-roped candle-box, and after eyeing them intently for a minute, Aaron ---- said--

"Vell den, we don't cares, we is speculative business men. No, we do not want to see your drives. Ha, ha! we vas not built to go through rabbit-holes. Here is de money, sign this papers all of you, an' come and dine with us in the Australian Thirst saloon."

The above is the history of the finding of the "forty-four" feet level, and the selling of "Block 91." The money was equally divided among the men interested, after which most of them pegged out fresh claims elsewhere, but Bill, Ted, Satan, Black George, Scottie, the Parson, and I, procured bicycles and water-bags, and started off on our Western prospecting trip that same afternoon. It is unnecessary to repeat the details of our journey. The country was at first a hard, sandy plain dotted here and there with spa.r.s.e growths of the ubiquitous mulga scrub, and occasionally broken by outcrops of silver lodes; but as we advanced, all forms of vegetation disappeared, and on the third day we found ourselves on an undulating sea of ironshot sand bounded only by the horizon. We had not as yet seen any signs of surface opal formations, and of course had no intention of sinking shafts to investigate, in the heart of such a desert. On the fourth day we calculated that we had now reached a point one hundred and forty miles west from White Cliffs, and that night we camped on the edge of a dry clay-pan and considered the advisability of returning. Bill and Ted, however, persisted that we had not yet gone far enough to see the place of which they had spoken so often, and although I could not understand how they had managed to travel such a distance, nor how they knew whether we had pa.s.sed their farthest-out camp or not, I had implicit faith in the correctness of their observations.

"I reckon we has to go 'bout thirty miles yet. We was jest a day off here," said Bill.

"You must have been quite close to Lake Frome then," I said.

"Never seed it, nor knowed of it, nor don't believe there ever was any lake in this part o' the world," replied Bill, and I wondered greatly, seeing that Lake Frome was distinctly marked across our path on the Government map in my possession. We had no fire that night, there being nothing that would burn within at least a day's journey, and consequently our supper was not of a tempting nature.

"Well, men, I don't know that I care to be responsible for taking you further west," I announced. "How much water is left in the bags?"

"There war' six gallons between them all after supper," answered Satan, "but Ted took a drink since then."

"Let us try another day yet," advised the Parson, "we can go back over our tracks in two days, and the opal might only be an hour ahead."

All expressed their approval of these remarks, so soon after, we sc.r.a.ped the top off the hard sand and went to sleep. The pests were unusually energetic that night, and several times we were awakened by their voraciousness. The Parson and Black George seemed to be affected even more so than the others, but it must have been an exceptionally large and active centipede that bit our dusky comrade in three places before he could discard his garments. At any rate, his yells aroused four evil-eyed crows from their dreams of the gorge they expected to have soon, and a skulking dingo also started in affright, emitting as it retreated a blood-curdling howl, that instantly brought us all to our feet.

"Lor'! n.i.g.g.e.r! Has ye not never been bit before?" cried Satan in a reproving tone of voice, as he cast a sand-snake from under him.

"Who does ye expect can sleep with you on the corroborree, Nig? Darn it!

An' you a black fellow too. I reckon you oughten 'pologise," grumbled Bill.

George's answer was picturesque, but three bleeding wounds on his back showed where the venomous creature had got in its work on him. He was a hardy piece of humanity, however, and after the Parson had lanced the rapid swelling flesh and applied ammonia, he went to sleep again.

Shortly afterwards the Parson himself rose to his feet with an exclamation of annoyance, and began kicking up his sandy sleeping place.

"What's wrong?" I inquired.

"I don't know. There seems to be a boulder or something hard under me.

Hallo! What's this--Great Scott! Opal!"

Again the party sprang up, and as the glistening stone was rolled out on the surface and examined by match-light, many and various were the comments made on the poor Parson's ignorance, for the boulder which had sought out the soft corners of his body was a ma.s.s of green copper sulphide.

"And has this material no value?" asked the object of the unkind remarks.

"None; it's worse than potch," roared Bill. "See, Scottie's got more.

Lor'! it's everywhere."

"It is really worth a considerable amount," I said, "but the expense of treating it properly out here would be too much for us. That is an outcrop, and to all appearance it is one of the richest ever discovered."

We slept no more that night, and before sunrise started off across the clay-pan. The surface was smooth and hard, and with the aid of a slight breeze which arose with the sun we skimmed along at an almost incredible pace.

"Hallo, Ted! There's our old stakes," suddenly yelled Bill, steering for the crest of a broken piece of ground, and following in his tracks, we soon were standing round a broken pick-handle standing upright in the ground and on which was inscribed: "C.B. and S.T. Pros. Claim. Corner Peg."

"How on earth did you manage to lead us here, Bill?" cried the Parson wonderingly.

"Easy enough; this is the same season as when we were out, so we jest ran the ole sun down an' at night ye can always git the bearin's from the Cross."

The Parson's surprise might have been greater had he known that my compa.s.s had been useless since the second day out, and that but for a few haphazard observations taken, Bill had been our only guide.

Meanwhile Ted had unstrapped a pick and set to work, and before I had fully realised that we stood on what--in the rainy season, if such a season existed in those parts--was an island in the centre of Lake Frome, and that it was its salt-encrusted bed we had been crossing since morning, he handed me a piece of some scintillating substance, inquiring, by the shape of his face, my opinion as to its value.

"Why, that's opalised wood," I exclaimed. "But what have we struck now?"

"The opal we told ye about, of course," grunted Bill. "The sand's blown over it, and Ted's dug it up again; that's all."

Truly we had encountered a marvellous formation. Great ma.s.ses of fiery and orange opal were uncovered on every side, and for a day we did nothing but gather the best. It was evident that a forest had at one time occupied the site of the lake, for most of the opal showed the grains of wood throughout its structure, and many opalised leaves were found embedded in a matrix which looked uncommonly like bark. This latter fact was most puzzling, for the trees with bark in Australia are few indeed. We pegged out seven prospector's claims, and after a final look round prepared to move, our intention being to arrange for suitable transport for stores and water, and then come back.

"Ye talk about the effeeciency o' the steam engine," muttered Scottie, as he examined the liquid contents of our bags, "but it's far oot o'

date now, for we've each got to run a hundred miles a day on a pint o'

water, and if onything can beat this----"

"No doubt your remarks are the result of much study, Mac," I said, working out an elaborate calculation on the sand, "but we are not more than ninety miles from civilisation straight ahead, and if we care to travel over what remains of the lake by moonlight and the ground continues pa.s.sable after that, we will strike the South Australian railway somewhere near Beltana siding to-morrow afternoon."

And so it proved. We reached the S.A. line on the following afternoon, and an hour after sundown stopped the Port Augusta-bound train by kindling a fire in the middle of the track. Thirty-six hours later we found ourselves parading Rundle Street, Adelaide, in quest of some of Scottie's friends who resided there.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DINGOE OR NATIVE DOG.]

A week later I was in Sydney, and while crossing on the _Kirribilli_ from Circular Quay to Milsons Point I came face to face with Aaron----.

"How vas you?" he cried effusively.

"As usual," I replied. "How are the claims turning out?"

"Oh, not too bad," he answered, but his flushed face told another story; "but tell me," he continued, "who vas it bought your opal in Sydney?"

"No one. We sent no opal to Sydney."