"Very likely. An invalid--is he not? Something wrong with his lungs?"

"So I should imagine, now that you mention it. He was away on an excursion to the mountains when his father spoke of him to me."

"Git to sleep, chaps, for Gossake," murmured Cooper. "Guarantee there'll be none o' this liveliness in the mornin', when you got to turn out."

Thus sensibly admonished, we committed ourselves to what Macbeth calls 'sore labour's bath'--the only kind of bath we were likely to have for some time.

Among the thousand natural ills, there are two to which I never have been, and probably never shall be, subject--namely, gout and insomnia.

My immunity from the former might be difficult to account for, but my exemption from the latter may, I think, be attributed to the operation of a mind at peace with all below. Nevertheless, it used to be my habit to wake punctually at 2 a.m., for the purpose of remembering whether I had to listen for bells or not, and determining how long I could afford to sleep. So, at that exact hour, I opened my eyes to see the calm, splendid stars above, whilst merciful darkness half-veiled the sordid accessories of daily life below. Yet I noticed that the hammock under the rear of Dixon's wagon was empty.

All the other fellows were sleeping, except b.u.m, who seemed to have disappeared altogether. The two were probably up to something. No business of mine.

And I dropped to sleep again.

I had set myself to wake at full daylight. Just as I woke, I heard the distant patter of a galloping horse. Such a sound at such a time is ominous to duffing bullock drivers; so, as I sprang to my feet, you may be sure my companions were not much behind me. Along the track, a mile in advance of the wagons, we saw an approaching horseman.

And as if this was n't enough, we heard the sound of an axe in the selection.

"Holy glory! there's somebody livin' in the hut, after all!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mosey.

The house stood on a very slight rise, where the clump of swamp box terminated, a quarter of a mile away; and, sure enough, we could see, through a gap in the undergrowth of old-man salt-bush, a man chopping wood at the edge of the clump. But he seemed quite unconscious of the mult.i.tude of bullocks that, scattered all over the paddock, were laying in a fresh supply of gra.s.s.

"It's Moriarty," sighed Thompson, gazing at the horseman.

"He's been sent to catch us. It's all up."

Then, like the sound of many waters, rose the mingled sentiments of the company, as each man dragged on his boots with a celerity beyond description.

"You keep him on a string, Collins, while we coller as many of the carrion as we"----

"What use? It's a summonsing match already. Look at the fence!

And Martin lives in the hut after all. He's between us and the bullocks now-- laughing at us. What business had we to travel on"----

"Demmit suggest something. Make use of me in this emergency, I beg of you. Shall I"----

"Port Phillip, all over. Jist let me deliver this (adj.) load.

That's all I"----

"Comes o' young pups knowin' heverythink. I kep' mis...o...b..in'

all the (adj.) time"----

"Are you fellows mad?" shouted the young storekeeper, as he dashed past the group, and pulled his blown horse round in a circle.

"Out with those bullocks as quick as the devil'll let you!

Martin's on top of you! I've just given him the slip! We were sent from the station expressly to nip you. Fly round! blast you, fly round!"

At the word, Cooper and Thompson s.n.a.t.c.hed up their bridles and darted off, followed by Price and Willoughby. Dixon and b.u.m were not in the crowd, but no one had leisure just then to notice their absence.

"Len's yer horse, like a good feller," said Mosey hastily.

"To (sheol) with your cheek!" snapped Moriarty. "What next I wonder?"

Mosey s.n.a.t.c.hed up his bridle, and went off at a run. "h.e.l.lo, Collins!

I didn't notice you in the hurry. Bright cards, ain't they? Nothing short of seven years'll satisfy them. You've been travelling all night?"

"No; I camped here with the teams."

"I thought when I saw the saddled horse, that you had just turned him in to get a bite."

"He's not saddled. There's my saddle."

"I thought that was your horse--that black one with the new saddle on."

(I should explain that Moriarty, being mounted, could see across the old-man salt-bush, which I could not.) "But I say," he continued; "what do you mean by stopping here instead of making for the station?

I've a dash good mind to tell Mrs. Beaudesart. Why, it's two months since you parted from her."

"Where's Martin?" I asked.

"I left him at the ram-paddock, trying to track his horse.

I suppose you haven't heard that he lives here now?"

"Well, we heard that some one was being sent to live here. By the way, Moriarty, you better keep out of sight of that fellow at the hut"

"No odds. It's only Daddy Montague; he can't see twenty yards.

But I say--Mrs. Beaudesart is sorting out her own old wedding toggery; she knows you'll never have money enough to"----

"How does Martin come to be at the ram-paddock, if he lives here?"

I interrupted.

"I'll tell you the whole rigmarole," replied the genial a.s.s.

"Martin was at the station yesterday, crawling after Miss King, when up comes a sandy-whiskered hound of a contractor, name of M'Nab, to see about the specifications of the new fence between us and Nalrooka; and this (fellow)'s idea of getting on the soft side of Montgomery, about the fence, was to nearly break his neck running to tell him that Price, and Thompson, and a whole swag of other fellows, intended to work on the ram-paddock that night. That would be last night, of course.

Now, Montgomery doesn't bark about a night's gra.s.s out of the ram-paddock at this time of year, in case of emergency; but he does n't believe in people driving expressly for it; and besides, he badly wants to catch Price and Thompson, and make an example of them. Well, it happened that he had thought out early jobs for all the rest of the fellows, so what does he do--Sunday and all--but he rouses out Martin and me, and tells us to go to the ram-paddock, and quietly round up all the bullocks, and bring them to the station. No hurry, of course, so I got playing cards with some of the shearers, and Martin got yarning with the old wool-cla.s.ser; and we timed ourselves to be at the ram-paddock just before daylight.

Of course, the right plan would have been to go through the ration-paddock, and in by the Quondong gate; and that was what I wanted to do.

Then we could have made a circuit of the ram-paddock, inside the fence, and given it a good rough overhaul. But because I proposed this, Martin insisted on going by the main road, for better riding, and to see if we could find the wagons, as a sort of guide.

Sensible to the last. Well, he would have it his own way, and I didn't give a curse, so on we went; and just as we were crossing the sort of hollow at this near corner of the ram-paddock, the G.o.d-forsaken old fool thought he heard cattle in the timber.

So we tied our horses at the fence, and walked across to see.

Nothing there, of course, only imagination and kangaroos.

We stayed about ten minutes--me moralising about fools, and him sulking-- and when we came back to where we had left our horses, mine was there by himself. Martin was dancing mad, for his horse was never known to break a bridle, and he did n't know who to blame for making away with him.

However, I was n't any way interested in mustering the ram-paddock, and Martin wanted his horse, so we hunted round and round, but devil a smell of horse or saddle or bridle could we find in the dark.

After a while, daylight came, and I caught sight of the wool, and tumbled to the little game. Of course, I ripped across to give the fellows the office, praying and cursing fit to break my neck. What the d.i.c.kens induced them to run the risk of duffing here? Maddest thing I ever knew.

Martin has been living here since this day week; and his greatest pleasure in life is prowling round when he ought to be asleep."

"Warrigal Alf laid Mosey on," I replied. "At least, he said he had stayed here the night before last, and had taken his bullocks out after they lay down."

"Ah! the treacherous beggar! I'll tell you how that came.

Day before yesterday--let's see--that was Sat.u.r.day--Montgomery and Martin met Alf just at the station, coming along behind some other teams.

Montgomery was sorry in his own mind for a blaggarding he gave Alf last winter, for letting his bullocks get into our horse-paddock. Seems they got adrift from Bottara, while Alf was unloading, and had gone the thirty miles, right across country, with him after them full chase. Alf was too ill-natured to explain things at the time: and he never mentioned it when he loaded our first wool, a month ago. Montgomery heard the truth of it only the other day; so when he met Alf, he stopped him, and mentioned it, and told him to shove his bullocks in Martin's paddock for that night, as gra.s.s was so scarce. It must have cut Martin to the bone to see a kindly thing done, but he had to grin and bear it-- treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath, as Shakespear says."

"Then Martin may be here any minute?"

"Well, I left him a little better than two mile away, trying to track his horse, and he can't track worth a dash. Certainly, he was headed toward the station the last I saw of him. But if he's got a spare saddle at home here, he's pretty certain to come for a fresh horse, to hunt up the other. I'd give five notes, if I had it, to see these (fellows) yoked up and off; for if Martin catches them, there'll be (sheol) to pay, and no pitch hot; and, by George! there's not half a second to lose.

Just look at that fence! Ah! here they come! Good lads! Well, take care of yourself, Tom, and give us a call at the station as soon as you can. I'll keep out of sight till these chaps are started; then I'll have a bit of breakfast with Daddy Montague, and invent a good watertight lie, and do a skulk for an hour or two, and then dodge on to the station as slowly as possible. I want something to go wrong in the store while Montgomery has charge himself; it'll learn him to appreciate me better. I'll have to ram it down his throat that the fellows had their bullocks out before I got here."

"Wait, Moriarty--what's Martin's horse like? I might see him."