A Lad of Mettle

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A LAD OF METTLE

The thrashing of Bully Rakes gave Edgar Foster a hold over the affections of his schoolfellows, and he never lost it. In twelve months he became captain of the eleven, and led them to victory on many occasions. Edgar worked hard, both at lessons and play. He found it much easier to study when his body was in good order, and his athletic exercises helped to make his school tasks the easier. He could not be called a brilliant scholar by any means, but he was endowed with an amount of perseverance that generally pulled him through.

‘It’s got to be done, and I’ll do it,’ Edgar thought to himself when pondering over a difficult task, and he generally succeeded.

The Redbank lads took a defeat from their great opponents, the eleven of Fairfield College, with a very bad grace. Not that they allowed their successful opponents to see their chagrin, they were too manly for that, but they felt the defeat keenly.

Edgar Foster determined to win the return match if possible. He had taken great care to select his eleven, and felt confident of success. He was the more eager to win because his father was coming to Redbank to watch the game. Dr. Hook too was anxious his boys should regain their lost laurels, and he encouraged Edgar by his kindly advice.

It so happened that Raymond Rakes, despite his many bad qualities, was a very fair cricketer. He had not been chosen to play in the first match against Fairfield, and he put his being left out of the team down to Edgar’s animosity.

Edgar Foster, however, was not actuated by any such motive. He thought Rakes hardly good enough, and therefore did not select him. Since this match Rakes had shown such good form that Edgar decided to include him in the eleven for the return match.

Bully Rakes was much surprised when Edgar asked him to play. He said he would think over the matter, and complained about not being chosen in the first match.

‘You had not shown good enough form then,’ said Edgar; ‘you have come on wonderfully since, and therefore I ask you to play. It is for the honour of the school we are playing this time, so you ought to have no hesitation.’

‘Then I’ll play,’ said Rakes, in his usual surly manner.

‘And I hope you will make a good score,’ said Edgar.

As the captain of the Redbank eleven walked away, Rakes looked after him with no friendly eyes. He had never forgotten the humiliating defeat he sustained when Edgar first came to the school. No opportunity had yet occurred of paying off the grudge he owed Edgar on that account.

‘He’s set his heart on winning this match,’ muttered Rakes to himself; ‘he’d have left me out again if he could. I’ve a good mind to spoil his plans. What does it matter whether we win or lose the match? I don’t care much which way it goes, and I’d like to see Foster taken down a peg or two. I’ll wait and see how our side shapes. I may be able to carry out a plan of my own.’

Had Edgar Foster doubted Rakes, he would not have asked him to play; but he could not understand any lad throwing away a chance of victory merely to spite the captain of the team. Such conduct Edgar would not have suspected even in Raymond Rakes.

‘So you’ve asked Rakes to play?’ said Will Brown, who had become a stanch friend of Edgar’s ever since the fight with Bully Rakes.

‘Yes,’ said Edgar. ‘He’s not a bad bat at all; he’s a fair field, and will do to put on for a change bowler. We must win the match. I’m awfully anxious about it. My father will be here, and there’s sure to be a big crowd of people. We have a good team, and I’m pretty confident this time.’

‘All the same, I should not have played Rakes,’ said Will Brown.

‘Why?’ asked Edgar.

‘Because I don’t trust him. He’s never forgiven you for licking him, and if he gets half a chance he’ll throw us over in the match, just to spite you,’ said Will.

Edgar looked at his schoolmate in surprise. He could not believe in any lad doing such a thing.

‘He’ll never do that,’ said Edgar. ‘Even if it is as you say, and he still bears me a grudge, he would never be such a cad as to throw the school over in order to annoy me.’

‘I hope he won’t, for your sake,’ said Will; ‘but all the same, I have my doubts.’

Will Brown’s words made Edgar feel uneasy for a time, but he soon forgot them. It was universally agreed that a better eleven could not have been chosen to meet Fairfield College. Masters were not to play; it was to be purely a boys’ match.

Early and late Edgar was at the cricket nets watching the practice and debating how he should send his team in to bat. For such a young lad, he had keen powers of observation, and he made a pretty accurate calculation as to the pluck and nerve of each boy. Edgar’s father arrived the day before the match, and saw the final practice.

‘You have a real good team,’ he said to his son, ‘and ought to win. Remember, a good deal depends upon the captain.’

‘I’m not likely to forget that,’ said Edgar. ‘You have often told me a good captain wins many a game at cricket.’

Robert Foster was proud of his son, and naturally felt anxious to see him successful.

‘How’s my lad doing?’ he had said to the head-master.

‘Well—very well,’ said Dr. Hook. ‘He is not a brilliant scholar, but he will get on in the world. He is like his father in one respect. He is about the best cricketer and all-round athlete we have in the school.’

Robert Foster’s eyes brightened, and he said:

‘I’m glad of that. I’m not a rich man, and my lad will have to fight his own battles. He has a great inclination to go abroad, and I don’t know that it will not be a good thing for him. His sister will be able to keep me from feeling lonely.’

Dr. Hook looked at Robert Foster with his kindly eyes, and replied:

‘Travel expands the mind. If a lad has plenty of ballast, he will take no harm in any part of the world. Your son is a lad of mettle, and you need have no fear about his future. If I am a judge of character, I should say Edgar Foster is a lad who will surmount difficulties and dangers, and he is bound to be a leader of men.’

Robert Foster was proud of the way in which the head-master spoke of his son. How little do thoughtless schoolboys know the pleasure a father feels in hearing praise bestowed upon his child, or of the pang he feels when the son he loves strays from the right path. Robert Foster loved his son devotedly, although he made very little demonstration of his affection, and Edgar thoroughly understood and appreciated the manly qualities of his father.

The eventful day arrived, and a glorious day it was. The sun shone brightly, and there was a slight cool breeze. Redbank cricket ground was charmingly situated. The pavilion was small, but there were several large trees growing at the back which afforded ample shade. The ground was level and well-kept, and the pitch had much care bestowed upon it. It was a great day at Redbank when this return match with Fairfield College was to be played. Flushed with the triumph of their previous victory, the Fairfield lads were eager for the fray, and had invited many friends to come and witness their further triumph. The captain of the Fairfield eleven, Harold Simpson, was almost as popular at Fairfield as Edgar Foster was at Redbank. The two captains had a mutual liking for each other, although each one was determined to beat the other in the great game they were about to play.

Edgar Foster lost the toss, and, as the ground was in such good order, Harold Simpson elected to send his men in first.

‘They are a strong batting team,’ said Edgar to his father. ‘It will take us some time to get rid of them.’

‘It is a one-day match, so you must do your level best to get them out quickly,’ said his father.

As the boys filed on to the field they were cheered by their comrades and the Redbank supporters, who had mustered in strong force.

Edgar Foster came in for a special share of applause, and he felt his pulses tingle and his heart beat high with hope as he bounded over the springy turf towards the wickets.

The two Fairfield batsmen were wildly cheered by their mates, and Harold Simpson decided on this occasion to go in first.

Will Brown and Sayers junior were put on to bowl.

An anxious moment is that during which the first ball in a match is delivered. The bowler goes back from the wicket, measuring his men; for a second or two he hesitates and looks round, then he glances at the batsman, sees all is ready, and prepares for the delivery. As he takes his run to the wicket the spectators hold their breath. Will this first ball be fatal? A sigh of relief goes round as the batsman plays it well forward.

Harold Simpson failed to score in Brown’s first over. Sayers junior then took the ball, and his first delivery made the bails fly, much to the delight of the Redbank boys, who shouted and cheered vociferously.

Edgar Foster felt they had commenced well, and was anxious for the good-fortune to continue. The Fairfield boys were determined bats, and a long stand took place before the second batsman was got rid of.

Harold Simpson still kept his wicket up, and runs came freely. At the fall of the fifth wicket Fairfield had put a hundred runs on, of which the captain had made forty.

Edgar Foster went on to bowl. He was not such a good bowler as Rakes, who thought he ought to have been tried before, and looked sullen.

In his first over Harold Simpson skied a ball to Raymond Rakes. It was an easy catch, but Rakes missed it, and so clumsily that the boys jeered at him.

Will Brown, who had been watching him, thought:

‘He dropped that on purpose, because Edgar bowled it.’

Nothing daunted at this stroke of bad luck, Edgar sent another similar ball down. Harold Simpson hesitated for a moment as to what he should do with it; then he struck out, and, strange to say, the ball went to Rakes again.

It was not such an easy catch as the former one, but, still, there ought to have been very little difficulty in a good fielder securing it. Rakes fumbled it badly, and again missed the catch.

Edgar Foster could not help thinking of what Will Brown had said to him. He was very much annoyed, and at the conclusion of his over said to Rakes:

‘Those were two easy catches to miss; they may cost us the match.’

‘They were not as easy as they looked,’ said Rakes. ‘You don’t suppose I dropped them on purpose, do you?’

‘I should be very sorry to think that,’ said Edgar; ‘but be more careful next time.’

At last Will Brown secured Harold Simpson’s wicket, and the others followed rapidly, the innings closing for a hundred and thirty-four, a good score in a one-day school match.

‘What do you think of it, Edgar?’ asked his father. ‘Shall you be able to wipe that off?’

‘I think so,’ replied Edgar. ‘We should have had a much easier task had Rakes held those two catches off my bowling.’

‘He made an awful mess of them,’ said Robert Foster. ‘How he dropped the first puzzles me; he had it fairly in his hands.’

‘Look here, Edgar!’ said Will Brown. ‘It’s no use mincing matters. I’m sure Rakes missed those catches purposely. When are you going to send him in?’

‘About seventh,’ said Edgar.

‘Put him in last,’ said Will.

‘That would only make matters worse,’ said Edgar; ‘he would know I doubted him, and act accordingly. He shall go in sixth wicket down. It will give him a chance of making up for missing those catches.’

‘As you wish,’ said Will. ‘Mind, if you are in with him, he does not run you out.’

‘No fear of that,’ said Edgar, laughing.

And he crossed over to speak to Raymond Rakes.

‘You go in sixth wicket down,’ he said.

‘All right,’ replied Rakes, ‘that will suit me.’

‘We’ve not been very good friends,’ said Edgar, ‘but you know it is not my fault. We want to win this match, and it may be that your batting will turn the scale in our favour at a critical point of the game. I shall rely upon you to do your best for the honour of the school. You missed two very easy catches; try and make up for it by playing your best when you go in to bat.’

‘I always do,’ said Rakes sulkily, and walked away.

Edgar Foster felt rather sorry he had included Raymond Rakes in the Redbank eleven.

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As Edgar Foster walked to the wickets he felt much depended upon him. He was going in first, taking first over, and if he failed to play with confidence it would set a bad example to the remainder of the team. It was, however, at such moments as these that Edgar Foster’s courage and spirit did not fail him.

As he took his position at the wicket he looked round him with a confident air to see how the field was placed. He saw Harold Simpson had so placed his men that not a chance would be thrown away, provided the bowlers were in good form. After a few moments’ delay Edgar handled his bat confidently, and prepared to receive the first ball of the over.

A lad named Winter was bowling, and Edgar knew he was a promising youngster. The first ball pitched short and then shot forward at a tremendous pace. It was a ball that might have deceived any batsman, and Edgar had only just time to change his mind and block it. The escape was narrow, and the boys saw it, but they knew the ball was well played, and cheered.

‘Thought it had him,’ said Robert Foster to one of the Redbank masters.

‘It would have been a stroke of bad luck for us if he had gone out,’ was the reply.

Off the next ball Edgar scored a couple, and the fourth ball of the over he skied on to the pavilion.

‘That first ball put him on his mettle,’ thought his father.

Strange to say, in the next over Edgar’s partner was dismissed first ball in a similar manner to that in which the Fairfield batsman was out.

Will Brown was next in, and he and Edgar made things lively. They fairly collared the bowling, and gave the Fairfield team plenty of leather-hunting. Fours came freely, and Harold Simpson began to look rather downcast. However, when Will Brown was bowled with the score at eighty, the Fairfield captain brightened up again. He knew how often a collapse followed a long stand, and how ‘glorious’ was the uncertainty of cricket.

Will Brown’s partnership with Edgar had put the Redbank boys into an excellent humour, and they were prepared to cheer every hit. What they were not prepared for happened. This was the collapse of the next four batsmen. Three of them were bowled in one over, and the fourth had his bails sent flying when he had scored two. Eighty for two wickets, and eighty-two for six wickets altered the game completely.

It was now the turn of the Fairfield boys to give vent to their delight. The prospect of defeat had not been pleasant, but this sudden change mended the fortunes of their side, and they were wild with the sudden revulsion of feeling. They chaffed the Redbank lads unmercifully, until at one time there was danger of a fistic war.

This was, however, happily averted by the appearance of Raymond Rakes, who was cheered as he went to the wickets. Although Rakes was unpopular, the boys knew he was a fair bat, and they wished to encourage him to make a stand with Edgar Foster.

As Rakes came to the wickets Edgar went forward to meet him.

‘Play steady,’ said Edgar; ‘I feel I am well set. If you play carefully for a few overs you will soon master the bowling. Remember how much depends upon you. We shall have to win the match between us.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Rakes. ‘It’s precious bad luck four of our best bats going out like this.’

‘Don’t think of that,’ said Edgar. ‘Try and make up for it by piling up a good score.’

Raymond Rakes followed Edgar’s advice, and soon found he had very little difficulty in playing the bowling. He knew how anxious Edgar was, not only to win the match, but to make fifty because his father was present.

‘I’m well set,’ thought Rakes. ‘I’d like to get him out. It would cut him up terribly to be run out. Even if he got out we have a chance. I can make a fair score, and our tail-end is not a bad one.’

Still harbouring such thoughts as these Raymond Rakes batted steadily, and Edgar was immensely pleased to see him scoring freely, and the Redbank boys were cheering every stroke. They watched the scoring-board intently, and grew more and more excited with every run. Suddenly there was a loud cry of dismay from the boys. Some shouted ‘Run, Rakes!’ others ‘Go back, Foster!’

Edgar Foster hit a ball forward, and called to Rakes to run. Had Rakes come at once it would have been an easy but smart run. Rakes started late, and then when Edgar Foster was three parts of the way down the pitch shouted to him to go back, and ran back himself. This left Edgar in a most unenviable position. The ball was smartly fielded, and as Edgar ran back he saw it flash past him straight for the wicket-keeper.

‘I’m done,’ thought Edgar, but he ran on as fast as possible.

It was a critical moment. The wicket-keeper in some unaccountable way fumbled the ball, and only knocked the bails off as Edgar reached the crease.

‘How’s that?’ came from wicket-keeper, bowler, and fielders in a general chorus.

They were anxious to see Edgar out, for he had given them a lot of trouble, and seemed likely to give more.

‘Not out!’ promptly came the decision of the umpire, and a roar of applause echoed over the field as the Redbank lads danced with delight, and flung their caps high into the air because their captain had another chance given him. Edgar knew the decision of the umpire was correct, and he thanked his lucky star that the wicket-keeper had fumbled the ball. When he thought of Raymond Rakes he felt inclined to give him a bit of his mind, but he determined to treat the matter as a pure accident until the close of the game. As for Raymond Rakes he was savage at the non-success of his plan. He had deliberately tried to run Edgar out. It was a dirty trick, and he knew it, but he was bitterly disappointed that it had not been successful.

‘Hang the fellow! he seems to have all the luck,’ thought Raymond. ‘I wonder if he suspects anything?’

The idea of Edgar Foster suspecting he had acted in such a manner made Rakes feel uneasy, for he had not forgotten the punishment Edgar gave him when he first came to the school. He did not bat with such confidence, and Edgar put this down to its proper cause. Runs came freely again, for Edgar felt the result of the match depended almost entirely upon himself. When his score reached fifty the cheering broke out again, and made Rakes turn green with envy.

‘He shall have a new bat for that,’ said Robert Foster. ‘By Jove! he deserves it. He’s batting splendidly. I’m glad that big hulking fellow did not run him out.’

Before the score reached a hundred Rakes was caught. He was not very warmly greeted as he returned to the pavilion. The boys knew how matters stood between him and Edgar, and they had a shrewd suspicion Bully Rakes had tried to get Edgar run out.

Rakes flung his bat down in a corner of the dressing-room and took off his pads.

‘You didn’t manage to run him out,’ said Will Brown.

‘Who wanted to run him out?’ said Rakes angrily; ‘I didn’t. It was his own fault. There was no run, and I didn’t want to get out through his foolishness.’

‘You’d better tell him that when the match is over,’ said Will Brown. ‘He’ll probably want an explanation. If he believes you, well and good; if not—oh my, won’t you just catch it!’

Bully Rakes took up a pad and hurled it at his tormentor.

‘Get out of this, you little beast!’ he said. ‘You know I can’t touch you here, or you’d not be so cheeky.’

‘Mind and keep clear of Edgar’s left if it comes to war,’ said Will Brown. ‘I fancy you know he’s a good fist at the end of his left arm.’

Bully Rakes jumped to his feet and made towards the speaker; but Will Brown was too quick for him, and shot out at the side door.

Meanwhile the game was at a critical stage. Edgar Foster was playing at his best. He did not give a chance, nor did he throw away an opportunity of stealing a run. He knew that every run was of vast importance. A run lost might mean the match lost. Sayers junior was in with him, and blocked steadily while his captain made the runs. The fielders were on the alert, and were smart and active, and many a run was saved. Harold Simpson was a good general, and handled his men well.

‘It does one good to watch a game like this,’ said Robert Foster to Dr. Hook. ‘I have seldom seen lads field better, and Edgar is batting really well. Who is the little chap keeping his end up so well?’

‘Sayers junior,’ said Dr. Hook. ‘He’s helping your son famously.’

‘Playing a most unselfish game,’ said Robert Foster. ‘That is how matches are won. A selfish player at any game is a big handicap on his side.’

A burst of cheering from lusty throats stopped the conversation. It was caused by Edgar Foster hitting a ball over the pavilion—a mighty stroke for a lad.

‘Well hit!’ ‘Bravo, Foster!’ ‘Three cheers for our skipper!’ And the Redbank lads shouted until they were hoarse.

The match was, however, not yet won. Sayers junior played a ball on to his wicket when ten runs remained to be got to tie and eleven to win.

‘I am afraid we shall lose,’ said Dr. Hook, as the ninth man was clean bowled and the last of the team went in.

‘Can he bat at all?’ asked Robert Foster anxiously.

‘He is uncertain, but at times he shapes well,’ said one of the masters.

‘Then I hope it is his day for shaping well,’ said Edgar’s father.

‘Block them, Bull,’ said Edgar, as the lad came to the wicket.

‘I’ll do my level best,’ said Bull, ‘and I don’t feel a bit nervous.’

‘That’s right,’ said Edgar. ‘Then, between us we must win the match.’

Fortunately Edgar was batting, and he hit the first ball sent him after Bull came in for a single. It was fielded smartly, thrown in swiftly, the wicket-keeper could not quite reach it, and there was another run for an overthrow. This gave Edgar another chance before the over was finished, and he promptly took advantage of it, hitting the next ball round to leg for three. The excitement was intense. Would Bull be able to keep his wicket up during this over? The Redbank boys vowed they would make Bull a presentation if he managed to do so. It was a surprise to them when Bull fluked a ball past point, and another run followed. Edgar determined to finish the game if possible, and a couple of runs were got by a somewhat lucky stroke. This left three runs to win, and the boys of both schools were in a fever of excitement.

‘If Edgar can only manage to hit a three,’ said Will Brown, ‘then we shall be all right. He’s done wonders, considering everything.’

The next ball Edgar could do nothing with. It puzzled him, and nearly got past his bat.

Then came a comparatively easy ball, and Edgar lifted it over the ropes, amidst a perfect hurricane of cheers. This hit won the match, and the Redbank boys rushed wildly over the ground and, surrounding Edgar, bore him shoulder-high to the pavilion. It was a scene seldom witnessed even on this famous school-ground, and as Edgar’s father looked on he felt the moisture well up into his eyes, and his heart beat with pride. He knew what this moment of triumph would mean to his son, and he gloried in it. He made his way to the dressing-room, and as he came the boys stood on one side and cheered him again and again. They were proud of the father and proud of the son, and were not slow to show it.

‘Splendidly done, my lad!’ said Robert Foster, as he placed his hand on Edgar’s shoulder. ‘It was a plucky, uphill fight, and your schoolfellows are enthusiastic about it. I never saw you play a steadier or better game.’

‘It was hard work,’ said Edgar, ‘but I did not feel a bit nervous. We have won, but it was a narrow shave. I think it ought to have been an easier victory had Rakes done his best.’

‘Then, you think Rakes behaved badly? I should give a boy like that a wide berth.’

‘We are not friends,’ said Edgar, ‘but I bear him no animosity.’

The Redbank boys could do nothing but talk over their victory, and Edgar Foster found they gave most of the credit to himself.

Edgar gave Rakes to understand he believed he had tried to run him out.

‘I may be wrong, but that is my opinion,’ said Edgar.

‘Your opinion is worth nothing to me,’ said Rakes, ‘so you may keep it to yourself.’

‘That may be,’ replied Edgar; ‘but the honour of the school ought to be worth something to you. I shall not ask you to play again during the time I am captain of the eleven.’

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Hundreds of people hurrying to business in Sydney at an early hour in the morning cast anxious eyes at the dull leaden sky, across which heavy clouds rolled, hanging over the harbour and the city. They also gazed in wonderment, and with feelings not devoid of awe, upon a mass of peculiar white clouds banked up in an exactly opposite direction to the harbour. These clouds were of a fleecy whiteness, balloon-shaped, and clung together until they were heaped almost mountains high.

There was a peculiar stillness about the atmosphere—the calm that usually precedes a storm. All day long the clouds hung suspended overhead, and towards the middle of the afternoon it grew much darker. People residing at harbour suburbs hurried home as fast as possible, and were glad when they were ferried safely across the water.

The Watson’s Bay ferry-boat was throwing off from the landing-stage as a well-built man in a pilot’s coat jumped on board.

‘Nearly missed it, Wal,’ said the skipper of the Fairy. ‘The next boat will have a rough passage, I reckon.’

‘Yes; it’s been brewing all day,’ replied Walter Jessop. ‘We shall have a terrible night, I fear. It will be dangerous near the coast to-night. Luckily, there’s no vessel been sighted anywhere handy.’

The speaker was evidently a seaman. He had an honest, open face, weather-beaten and tanned with exposure, and his hands were hard and big and used to hard work.

Pilot Jessop was well known in Sydney. In years gone by he had done good service as a pilot, and he still followed his calling, but fortune had favoured him in the shape of a windfall from a rich relation, and he only took on work when he felt inclined.

Walter Jessop knew the coast of Australia as well as any man, and he had sailed up most of the harbours and rivers between Adelaide and Normanton. Such a man was not likely to make many mistakes about the weather, and he knew what these lowering clouds that had been hanging about all day meant.

The Fairy was one of the smallest ferry boats on the harbour, and at this time Watson’s Bay was not such an important place as it is now. Pilot Jessop, however, found it handy to live at Watson’s Bay, as it was under the great shadows of South Head, beyond which lay the open sea. Many a ship had he piloted to a safe anchorage in the harbour.

When the landing-stage was reached, he bade the skipper of the Fairy good-night, and walked to his home, which nestled in a sheltered position high up above the harbour.

A bright little woman, clad in a homely dress, gave him a hearty welcome. Mrs. Jessop was just the wife for such a man, and they had only one regret: they had no child to lavish their affection upon.

‘We’re in for a storm,’ said Wal Jessop, as he was generally called. ‘I hope there’s no vessel making for the harbour; they’d better keep away from our coast to-night.’

‘I’m right glad you have no occasion to go to sea on such nights,’ said his wife. ‘It would make an old woman of me before my time if you were out in these storms.’

‘I weathered a good many storms before I met you,’ said Wal Jessop, ‘but I don’t feel much inclined for it again when I come to such comfortable quarters as these.’

A low murmuring sound could be heard, a door banged, and the windows creaked ominously.

‘It’s coming,’ said Jessop. ‘Make everything snug, my lass; there’ll be a perfect hurricane before morning.’

As Wal Jessop sat at the well-laden tea-table, he suddenly put down his knife and fork, and drew a paper from his coat-pocket.

‘I’d quite forgotten,’ he said. ‘I hope they’re not making for Sydney in such a gale as this will be.’

‘What ship do you mean?’ asked his wife.

‘The Distant Shore is due here early next week. It’s Saturday, and the agents expect her on Monday at the latest. I hope Captain Manton has not made an extra quick passage. She’s a clipping sailer, is the Distant Shore, and he’s a bit venturesome—likes to make a rapid run. I shouldn’t wonder if she’s not far away to-night.’

‘I hope not,’ said Mrs. Jessop.

Captain Manton often paid a visit to the Jessops when in Sydney, and the pilot and his wife were very fond of his company.

As the evening wore on the storm raged in all its fury. Every hour seemed to add to the velocity of the gale. A great roar like distant thunder could be heard in the cottage as the waves dashed against the mighty rocks of South Head, and then rushed back, baffled and angry.

‘It’s beginning to rain,’ said Wal Jessop; ‘I’ll just see if the pony’s all right before it comes on faster.’

‘Be quick in again,’ said his wife, ‘or you’ll be drenched.’

A fierce gust came in as he opened the door and quickly shut it again.

‘It doesn’t rain after all,’ he said, as he looked up at the dark clouds through which the moon occasionally shone in fitful gleams.

As if to convince him he had made a mistake, and that his first surmise was correct, a shower of heavy drops fell upon him. He stood still and thought for a moment; then he touched the wet on his coat and tasted it. It was salt, and he knew the waves outside were running high and dashing showers of salt spray over the top of the rocks, and the wind carried it across the village.

‘Such a sea is worth having a look at,’ he thought. ‘I’ll have a walk up to the cliffs before I turn in.’

He told his wife it was the spray from the waves being dashed on the rocks, and she knew it must be terrible out at sea.

Walter Jessop could not rest. He felt uneasy, and had an undefinable feeling that some dire catastrophe was about to take place. He sat down and tried to read the evening paper, but nothing in it interested him. His pipe continually went out because he was so deep in thought he failed to draw sufficiently to keep it alight. His wife watched him with anxious eyes. She had seen him like this before when he had been affected by a presentiment of evil. He got up from his chair and restlessly paced about the room.

‘Have a glass of something,’ said his wife. ‘It’s getting on for bedtime.’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what it is, lass: I fear there’ll be something awful happen before the night’s over.’

‘It’s the storm makes you feel like that,’ said his wife. ‘This will do you good.’ And she handed him a glass of toddy.

Wal Jessop drank it with evident relish. Then he looked at his watch, and said:

‘Ten o’clock. I’ll just go up on the cliffs, and have a look out to sea; I’ll never rest if I don’t.’

‘If you say you’ll go I know you mean it,’ said his wife; ‘but do be careful. You might get blown over the rocks.’

‘There’s a moon,’ he said; ‘and I’m more likely to be blown away from the rocks than over them. I’ll not be gone long. You go to bed.’

He put on a thick coat and slouch hat, kissed his wife, and then went out into the stormy night.

‘If he fancies I’m going to bed until he comes home he’s mistaken,’ said Mrs. Jessop to herself. ‘Oh, these sailors! A furious gale seems to tempt them outside when other folk are only too anxious to hide their heads under the bedclothes.’

Wal Jessop felt the full force of the wind as he made his way up a narrow path towards the top of the cliff. He battled with it, and seemed to take a fierce delight in overcoming it. A terrific gust nearly swept him off his feet, and he muttered:

‘Nearly had me that time, but I’ll beat the winds as I have done before. There’s some satisfaction in fighting a gale like this, but I’d sooner be doing it here than out at sea yonder.’

At last he reached the roadway, which he crossed, and then climbed up again towards the top of the rocks. As he made his way slowly the salt spray dashed into his face, and wetted him all over. He could hear the waves thundering against the rocks, and every roar was followed by a dense shower of spray. When he reached the top of the rocks the moon came out from behind a cloud, and shed a pale light on the scene.

Wal Jessop looked out to sea, and saw nothing but a black mass of tumultuous water and fierce waves chasing each other in mad sport. Then he looked down below and saw masses of foam tossed about and flung high into the air. He saw the great waves roll across the jutting rock, then dash furiously against the solid mass opposed to them, and cast up spray like a waterspout. This battle between the waves and the rocks had been going on for centuries, and would, he knew, continue for centuries more. The waves, constantly baffled and defeated, had to retreat, but they returned again and again to the charge, bringing up reinforcements from their mighty reserves, until at last the rocks seemed to give way inch by inch, and their jagged, worn fronts bore unmistakable testimony to the fierceness of the onslaught.

Pilot Jessop could not tear himself away from this scene of tumult and fierce war. He stood alone upon the rocks, the spray drenching him, and the wind whistling and whining in his ears. He knew there was a warm bed awaiting him at home, and yet he could not leave the spot. He peered out to sea, and saw an empty space. The moon was again hidden, and all was black and desolate. Suddenly he started, and gave vent to an exclamation. He thought he saw a tiny light sparkle far away out in the gloom. He looked again and again, but could see nothing. Could his eyes have deceived him? What could he have mistaken for a light so far out at sea? There it was again. He could not mistake it this time. There were two lights like stars; now he saw three. A cold, dull feeling came over him, and froze the blood in his veins; his heart beat loudly, and he put his hands to his head to think.

Was it a ship out at sea and heading for the harbour on such a night as this? Surely no captain would be so mad and foolish as to risk passing through that narrow strait between the Heads in such a gale! He looked again and again, and the more he looked the more he was convinced it was a vessel being driven on to the rocks. He knew if it was a ship she would be dashed into a thousand pieces and not a soul on board could be saved. Hoping against hope, he looked again. The light had gone, and he breathed more freely. His eyesight must have deceived him.

He felt a tug at his sleeve, and turning quickly round, faced his wife.

‘I could bear it no longer,’ she said; ‘you have been out over three hours. The suspense was terrible. I thought you were blown over the rocks. Come home, Wal, you are wet through.’

‘Three hours!’ he exclaimed, then, knowing how he had been compelled to struggle to reach the rocks, he took his wife in his arms, strained her to his breast, kissed her fondly, and said:

‘You are a brave little woman, and I’m a brute for causing you anxiety. We will go home at once. This is no fit place for you.’

‘Wal, Wal!’ she cried as she stared over his shoulder with wide, terror-stricken eyes; ‘look, there’s a light; two lights, three! It’s a ship! Lord have mercy on ’em!’

‘Good God, she’s seen it! Then my eyes have not deceived me. That’s what I’ve been watching this hour,’ he said.

They looked together out across the furious ocean, and saw the lights plainly now.

Mary Jessop hid her face on her husband’s shoulder and sobbed aloud. She knew not a single man, woman, or child on the ill-fated vessel could expect to live when the ship was shattered to pieces. As she stood there in the rocks with the wind roaring around her, safe in her husband’s strong arms, she offered up a prayer to the God who rules the seas to save the ship from destruction.

As for Pilot Jessop, he seemed for the moment incapable of action. He quickly recovered, and said in a hollow voice:

‘Suppose it’s the Distant Shore?’

His wife shuddered and said:

‘Can nothing be done to save her?’

‘No, Mary; she’s beyond control. No captain would be here on such a night if he had control of his ship. She’s helpless, and we are helpless; but we can rouse the folk and do all we can. Come.’

They went down the rocky path and hurried to the village, where, despite the gale, the people were sleeping soundly.

They roused two or three men, and telling them to pass the word on, they fought their way back to the top of the cliffs.

---

The Distant Shore made a quick voyage towards Australia, and her captain felt sure of beating the sailing record by two or three days. Captain Manton had taken a great liking to Edgar Foster, who spent many a pleasant hour in his cabin with him. On this voyage Captain Manton was accompanied by his wife and child, a bright little girl about three years of age. The child was very fond of Edgar, and he played with the little one on deck for hours at a stretch.

‘I never remember a more favourable voyage,’ said the captain to Edgar one morning; ‘we ought to be in Sydney harbour in the course of two or three days. Looks as though we are going to finish with a squall,’ he added, pointing to the restless clouds overhead.

‘I am quite anxious to weather a storm before we get to our journey’s end,’ said Edgar, smiling, ‘or I shall fancy I have not been to sea.’

‘Your wish is likely to be gratified,’ he said; ‘but the Distant Shore is a good ship, and it will be an uncommon bad storm she cannot sail through safely.’

‘With a good ship and a clever captain we have not much to fear,’ said Edgar. ‘Here’s little Eva coming for her morning romp. I should have been quite lonely on board without her.’

Edgar held out his arms, and the child ran into them. He lifted her above his head, where she laughed with delight, and looked at her father with merry eyes.

‘Pass her on to me,’ said Captain Manton; and Edgar tossed her into her father’s arms.

‘Back again,’ she cried, and she was tossed to Edgar again.

The captain watched them for a few moments as they played on the deck, and then cast an anxious look at the sky. He knew they were in for a storm, probably a bad one.

During the night Edgar heard the vessel creak and groan, and her timbers strain in a most unusual manner. The sailors were hard at work on deck, and he knew the storm must have burst upon them. He turned over in his berth, and felt thankful the Distant Shore was such a safe vessel, and her captain a trustworthy seaman.

Edgar had some difficulty in reaching the deck next morning. Not a single passenger was in the saloon as he staggered through, holding on first to one thing, and then another.

‘You had better keep below, sir,’ said one of the stewards; ‘you’ll stand a good chance of being blown overboard if you venture on deck. We are finishing up with a real bad storm.’

‘That’s just what I want to see,’ said Edgar.

‘You can’t get out that way,’ said the man; ‘the hatches are down. Come this way, and I will show you how to get on deck.’

Edgar followed the man to the fore-part of the ship, and was well knocked about during the journey.

‘Go up there, and you’ll be able to see what it’s like before you go on deck,’ said the steward.

‘Just as well to look before I leap, I suppose,’ said Edgar.

‘I don’t think you’ll want to leap on deck when you have had a look out,’ was the reply.

Edgar climbed up the steep steps, holding on with all his might. When he reached the top he saw there was a thick glass with bars across it. He could see well enough through the glass, and the sight almost took away his breath.

A huge wave towered high above the ship, and Edgar thought if it came over the deck the vessel must surely go down. The Distant Shore gave a mad plunge, and he nearly lost his foothold. The ship seemed to dive down into the depths of the sea, and then, coming up again, shook herself all over. On second thoughts Edgar decided to remain where he was, or rather down below in the saloon. Captain Manton entered a few minutes after Edgar succeeded in finding his way back.

‘Well, my lad, you’ve got a storm at last,’ said the captain; ‘I hope you are satisfied. My wife and Eva are in their cabin, and I don’t think they are quite so pleased as you are about the weather. It will get worse before it mends.’

‘Worse?’ said Edgar. ‘Why, it’s blowing a regular hurricane, and the sea is running as high as the ship.’

‘How did you find that out?’ said Captain Manton. ‘I gave orders no one was to be allowed on deck.’

Edgar explained, and the captain was satisfied.

‘So you did not like the look of things?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Edgar. ‘I think I am safer here, although I confess I feel a little queer.’

Captain Manton smiled as he replied:

‘Sea-sickness will soon cure you of a longing for storms. I’d advise you to turn in before you have to be carried to your berth.’

‘Oh, it’s not so bad as that,’ said Edgar. ‘It will pass off.’

‘No doubt,’ said the captain with a meaning smile.

All that day the storm raged, and the Distant Shore battled with it. As night came on, Captain Manton became anxious. He knew they were nearing the coast of New South Wales, and the wind was driving them straight in that direction. He tried in vain to alter the ship’s course, but he could not keep out to sea; some uncontrollable current appeared to drive the vessel along. As the night wore on there were no signs of the storm abating; in fact, the gale was worse than ever.

A terrible crash made everyone on board quake. A huge sea dashed over the ship, sweeping her deck well-nigh clear. The boats were smashed to atoms; two sailors were washed overboard, and Captain Manton was dashed against his cabin and almost stunned. Before the Distant Shore could right herself another merciless sea swept over her, and at the same moment the rudder chain snapped, and the vessel swung helplessly round.

Captain Manton at once realized the danger they were in. By the fitful light of the moon he saw the terrible havoc the waves had made on deck. Then he saw something that made his heart quail; it was the flashing of the light from South Head lighthouse. Well might a brave man tremble at the thought of being dashed to pieces on those great rocks. His ship was no longer under control, and he could do nothing to save her from being driven to destruction. Had the steering gear held firm he might have tried to dash through the Heads into the harbour. That would have been a mere chance; but even this, small as it was, had gone. Despair seized upon him, and held him in chains; but he burst the bonds at the thought of the lives of those on board. They were still some distance from the Heads; the light flashed out many miles to sea. He must prepare them as quietly as possible to await their fate.

Leaving the mate in charge of the vessel, he went below. He made for Edgar’s cabin and entered without knocking.

Edgar was wide awake and dressed, and he knew there must be something wrong when he saw the captain.

‘What is it?’ said Edgar. ‘Any danger?’ and he tumbled out of his berth.

‘You are a brave lad,’ said Captain Manton, ‘and I have come to you first. There is no time to lose. We are in deadly peril. I have no control over the ship, and we are being blown straight for the rocks.’

‘What can I do?’ said Edgar.

He was pale, but perfectly calm.

‘Very little,’ said Captain Manton; ‘but you can set a good example. A panic will only make matters worse. If the passengers are kept under control, it may be possible to save some of them. Will you call them up in the saloon cabin? Tell them to dress, and try and calm them. I will tell my wife and take her and Eva up with me. You will find them in my cabin. If it comes to the worst, do what you can for them. I must stick to the ship. I’ll save her if I can, but I see no chance at present. Good-bye!’

He held out his hand and Edgar gripped it hard. They looked firmly into each other’s eyes. They were not afraid of facing death. Edgar seemed to have grown older, and Captain Manton saw the look of determination on his face and thought to himself:

‘This lad will not fail me. He will give his life to save those I love.’

‘Good-bye,’ said Edgar, and without another word he went to rouse his fellow-passengers.

So well did he accomplish his difficult task that, although the peril they were in was understood, there was no panic. Happily there were very few women and children on board, and the men behaved well.

It was an awful sight, Edgar thought: the saloon filled with people hastening to their death, awaiting the summons from the captain, ‘All hands on deck,’ which meant they were to sell their lives as dearly as possible. The very suddenness of the danger appeared to have taken all sense of fear away. Not a word was spoken; the sobbing of children, and the half-smothered, heart-rending groan of some poor mother, could alone be heard.

A great rush of wind, followed by a loud shout, aroused them:

‘All hands on deck!’

Edgar led the way, and then stood by while the women and children were helped up the stairs. The men followed. Edgar was the last to leave the saloon. Once on deck he saw what their danger was, and from whence it came. The lighthouse stood high up on the rocks, flashing across the sea, and they were so near now that the rays lighted up the faces of those in deadly peril on the doomed ship. Edgar forced his way towards the captain’s cabin, and found Mrs. Manton and Eva crouching down, overcome with fear. He spoke a few words of encouragement, and little Eva looked up into his face with wistful eyes.

Then Edgar looked round the ship as the light flashed on it again. He saw pale, blanched faces all round him, men clinging in desperation to ropes and bars, and women holding their children fast, themselves held by strong men’s disengaged arms. It was an awful sight, but Edgar felt no fear for himself as he looked at it. He thought of the grand voyage they had gone through, and how near they were to their destination. The good ship was struggling on, and after going these thousands of miles was to be dashed to pieces at the very entrance to the harbour of safety. His mind wandered to those at home, and he seemed to see his father and sister sitting in the dear old room at Elm Lodge, as on that last night in the home he loved so well. Their voices seemed to ring in his ears, giving him hope and encouragement. He smiled faintly as he imagined he could hear his father say:

‘You’re in a tight fix, my lad, but never despair; be brave and fight to the end.’

A loud cry of despair echoed through the night. It was wafted to the watchers on the rocks, who stood there helpless, unable to lend a hand to save the men and women going to sure destruction. Again it rose above the roar of the sea, and Edgar shuddered as he heard it.

Well might the doomed ones cry aloud. To the right of them, not many yards away, yawned a large opening between the gigantic rocky Heads. Through that opening lay safety and rest, and yet no power on earth could drive the Distant Shore through it. Facing them was another gap, but there was no opening there; the solid rock rose straight out of the sea. On came the Distant Shore through the boiling, seething mass of waters.

Captain Manton stood at his post. Once he cast his eyes in the direction of his cabin, and a satisfied smile played over his face as he saw Edgar there.

‘My life for theirs, O God!’ he cried.

He was not a man given to many prayers, but he believed his cry would be heard.

Edgar looked ahead. He saw the vessel heaved high upon the waves; he saw the merciless rock in front. There was not a moment to spare. He rushed into the cabin.

‘Give me Eva,’ he said. ‘You will have a better chance alone.’

The mother pressed her child to her heart and smothered her with kisses.

Edgar snatched the child away and sprang out of the cabin. At the same moment there was a terrific crash, a rending and splitting of timbers, cries and groans, shrieks for help, and strange, unearthly sounds.

Edgar, with the child firmly clasped in his arms, was hurled against the side of the vessel. He felt it give way, and as he glanced round he saw the ship shattered into a thousand pieces, and great timbers hurled high into the air. Then he felt the water rush over him, he was lifted off his feet and flung into the furious waves, with little Eva still clasped firm in his arms.

---

And what of the watchers on South Head? Wal Jessop’s summons had been obeyed, and a small knot of men, and one or two women, stood looking out to sea at the doomed ship.

‘What is she, Wal?’ said one man. ‘Do you know her name?’

‘Not for certain; but I’m afraid it’s the Distant Shore,’ replied Jessop.

‘Captain Manton? I hope not,’ was the reply.

‘She’s helpless,’ said Jessop. ‘There’s no control over that ship. It’s awful! Here we are, and cannot lend a helping hand. No boat could live in such a sea; no man could swim near those rocks.’

They saw the ship lifted upon the top of the waves, and then sink out of sight again. The large vessel was no more to the merciless sea than a mere cork.

‘It will not be many minutes now,’ said Jessop to his wife; and she shuddered, and stepped back from the cliffs. ‘Go home, Mary,’ he said; ‘this is no place for you.’

‘I’ll face it now I’m here,’ she said; ‘the crash will be awful. Can nothing be done to save them?’

‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘We must wait and see what the morning brings forth; the sea may have gone down by then. There’s very little hope that anyone will be saved.’

They crowded dangerously near the edge of the cliffs, and strained their eyes in the direction of the ship.

Suddenly the vessel shot upright under them, deep down below. She was heaved forward with tremendous force on the waves, and then came the crash, which seemed to shake the rock upon which they stood. It was an awful sound, this rending of timbers, the grinding and splitting to pieces of a fine ship, with her living freight, within a few yards of the harbour.

Cries came up from this abyss and made strong men tremble and weep. Cries for help, and they could not help, although there was not a man amongst them but would have risked his life cheerfully had he thought there was the slightest hope of saving those on board.

They heard the ship grinding on the rocks, they heard groans and shrieks, and in a few moments there came an awful stillness. Even the waves seemed awed by this terrible disaster, and there was a lull in the storm. The wind dropped quickly and moaned dismally.

Wal Jessop lay flat down, and, while a man held his legs, peered into the depths below, but he could see nothing but the white foam from the waves. There was not a trace of the vessel, so far as he could make out.

‘We must wait till morning, but it’s weary work,’ he said. ‘Would to God we could do something to help them! They’re beyond help now, I’m afraid. Poor Manton!’

‘Then, you feel sure it’s the Distant Shore?’

‘I have a presentiment it is. She’s due shortly, and Manton always liked to make a quick passage. If it is the Distant Shore, it will be the last trip he will ever make,’ said Jessop.

‘What shall we do as soon as it’s light?’

Wal Jessop was always the man addressed; the others recognised him as the guiding hand in this trouble.

‘We must have ropes ready,’ he said. ‘I’m going down the rocks as soon as it’s light.’

‘No, no,’ said his wife; ‘you must not, Wal. It will mean death to you, and then to me. If the rope broke you would be dashed to pieces. Wait until you can row round through the Heads.’

‘Nay, my lass,’ he said kindly; ‘even if the gale drops, the sea will be too rough for any boat to reach the rocks below. I must go down. There’ll be no danger, with a stout rope and sturdy arms to hold me. Think of it, lass—I might save a life. It’s worth the risk, if only for the chance.’

She knew it would be useless to try and dissuade him; but she determined to remain and watch.

It was weary work waiting for the light to come. Ropes had been procured, and a heavy crowbar driven firmly down.

‘No danger of them breaking,’ said Wal Jessop as he handled the ropes. ‘You must keep the rope well away from the rock as you lower me down; if it frays on a jagged sharp edge it might break.’

At last daylight began to appear, and in these climes there is not long to wait before it is quite light.

As the men looked over the cliffs they could see no sign of any living creature. Spars and timbers had been dashed upon the rocks, and remained there, but they were the only signs of the wreck.

‘If timber can lodge there,’ said Jessop, ‘maybe some poor fellow has managed to be cast up out of reach of the waves. Make ready quickly; we must lose no time.’

The men set to work with a will. The stoutest rope was not long enough to reach to the foot of the rocks, and another long one had to be fastened on. The end was made fast to the iron bar, bags were put along the edge of the cliff to prevent the rope fraying, and, when Wal Jessop had inspected everything, and found all right, he tied the rope round his waist, and stood ready to make the descent. It was a perilous task, for the wind was still high and the face of the rocks dangerous, having so many sharp projections against which he might be knocked as he was lowered down.

He kissed his wife, and bade her think only of the duty he had to perform; and if there was a spice of danger in it, why, so much the better, and the more credit to a man for undertaking it.

‘You ought to be proud I’m going to do it,’ he said; ‘there’s not a man here who does not envy me the job, and would like to take it on himself.’

‘That’s so,’ said one of the men. ‘It’s because we have such respect for your husband that we’re letting him have first turn. If he wants to go down a second time, I reckon there’ll be a dispute about it.’

Wal Jessop crawled to the edge of the rocks, and then, taking a firm hold of the rope, slipped quickly over. Two men held the rope near the edge, the others were behind, and one man stood watching Jessop, giving the signal when to stop and when to lower.

The wind was blowing strong from the sea, and it took Wal Jessop all his time to keep himself clear of the rocks. He dared not push off with his feet because the wind swung him back violently. He was bruised and scratched, and his clothes were torn, when he reached a rock above the level of the waves, and signalled to stop lowering.

‘He’s down,’ said the man giving orders to the others, ‘and in a safe place, too.’

Mary Jessop felt thankful for this, but she would not be at rest until her husband reached the top again.

Wal Jessop unfastened the rope and left it dangling. He then sat down and looked around him. Those above could merely see a small figure contemplating the scene. On all sides there was ample evidence of a wreck, but it seemed to Wal Jessop the vessel had been shattered to atoms.

‘Not much chance of anyone being saved,’ he thought sadly. ‘How could they be dashed against these rocks and live?’

He scrambled along from rock to rock and found very little. A hat or a coat he came across, lodged high up on some projection. There was plenty of timber and odds and ends, but not a sign of any living soul. He searched in one direction, towards the Heads, for about an hour, and then began to make his way in the opposite direction. It was hard work, for the sea was still rough and the wind high, and it was difficult for him to obtain a firm foothold on the slippery slabs and slanting rocks.

He was about to give up his search, when he caught sight of something white lying on a high level piece of rock some distance away.

‘Wonder what that is?’ he thought. ‘A white jacket, or something of the sort, I expect. Anyhow, now I am here, I may as well go and see.’

He scrambled along, and as he neared the object that had attracted his attention, his heart began to beat fast. The white garment he fancied covered a human form. Could it be possible? Had some poor fellow been cast up by the sea on to a ledge of safety? He hurried on, in the hope that after all he might be able to save a human life. What a feeling of exultation comes over a man when he snatches a fellow-creature from the jaws of death! Wal Jessop had saved men’s lives before this time, but he was anxious to save someone from this fearful wreck if possible.

As he struggled on over the uneven rocks, he saw that the ledge upon which the white object lay was out of the reach of the waves. His practised eyes saw at a glance that, if a man had been cast up on to this ledge, he would not be washed back by the receding waves. He reached the foot of the rock, and found it a difficult matter to get up the side. He walked round and found a better foothold on the other side. It was not long before he reached the top, and there he saw a sight that brought tears to his eyes.

Stretched on the rock lay a youth, calm and still—so still that Wal Jessop thought him dead. It was a comely face he looked upon, a face he knew would be fair, indeed, if life still remained to bring back light to the closed eyes. Clasped in the left arm of the youth was a child, and she also lay insensible.

Wal Jessop looked down upon them with great sorrow in his heart.

‘A brave lad this,’ he thought. ‘He must have fought hard to save that little lass—a brave lad, indeed, to risk his life for a little child.’

He stooped over them. He had a flask of brandy in his coat-pocket. He placed his hand on the youth’s heart and felt there was a slight pulsation. He could not resist a loud cry of joy.

‘He’s alive yet!’ he shouted. Then he felt the child’s heart. Yes, it still beat faintly.

‘Both alive!’ he cried. ‘Thank God, they may be saved!’

He forced some brandy into the youth’s mouth, and a few drops he gave to the child. Then he pulled off his coat, wrapped the little girl in it, and began to rub the youth’s limbs and body to try and restore animation.

‘Not a case of half-drowned,’ he said. ‘They’ve been thrown up on to this ledge and stunned. They must have been insensible for some hours. He’s got a nasty cut at the back of his head, and the little one has a big bruise on her temple.’

After rubbing the youth’s hand for some time Wal Jessop saw signs of returning life. The sight gladdened him, and he redoubled his efforts. Presently he heard a faint sigh, the youth’s eyes opened, and he gazed wildly about him as though thinking of and looking for something. In a few minutes he gasped:

‘The child! Little Eva—where——’

‘Safe, my lad. She’s here,’ said Wal Jessop.

A satisfied smile passed over the youth’s face, and he sank again into insensibility.

‘A brave lad,’ muttered Wal Jessop again. ‘Thinks of naught but the saving of that little one.’

A faint cry made him turn his head, and he saw a movement under his coat.

‘The warmth has brought her round,’ he thought. ‘I’ll attend to her first. He won’t come round again yet awhile.’

He took up the girl and she opened her eyes wide.

‘Where is I?’ she lisped. ‘Where’s my daddy and my mammy? Where’s Eddy? Who is you?’ Then, as she caught sight of the sea and the rocks, she began to cry.

‘I’ll take care of you, my lamb,’ said Wal Jessop. ‘Eddy’s asleep—look.’

The girl looked at him and said quickly:

‘No wake him. Eddy very tired. He carried me long way.’

‘Then, I’ll take you home and come back for him,’ said Wal. ‘Give me a kiss, little one.’

She put up her face and he kissed her tenderly. Then he took her up in his arms and carried her as gently as possible over the rocks back towards the rope. Tired and worn out, the child was soon fast asleep.

‘That’s well,’ said Wal Jessop as he hurried on; ‘she’ll not be frightened as we are hauled up. There’ll be something for Mary to do here. We’ve no young one of our own. Perhaps we are to have this one from the sea. We’ll see about it when the lad can tell us all.’

When Wal Jessop reached the rope he gave a loud hallo, and held up the sleeping child. He could hear the ringing cheers from those on the top.

Having made the rope fast and tied the child firmly round the waist, he gave the signal to haul up, and soon reached the top without any mishap.

‘Here, lass, there’s a present for you,’ said Wal, as he laid the sleeping child in his wife’s arms.

Mary Jessop kissed it fondly, and could find no words to express her feelings.

‘There’s a lad down yonder,’ said Wal Jessop. ‘I must go back for him. You take the child home, Mary. I’ll not be long. There’s no danger. It’s a safe trip. I’ve been once, and I know the way. Now, lads, lower me down again, and we’ll soon have the young fellow up here. He’s a fine-looking chap, and I’m glad I’m the one to rescue him. Lower away, boys!’

---

Edgar Foster accompanied Wal Jessop to Sydney, in order to give evidence before the Marine Board as to the cause of the disaster to the Distant Shore. He found he was the cynosure of all eyes on the ferry-boat, for the morning papers had given a glowing account of his bravery in saving Eva.

Wal Jessop felt proud of the fine lad by his side, who had so quickly recovered from his exertions, and seemed to have almost forgotten the horrors of the wreck in looking at the beautiful scene he now saw for the first time.

As the ferry-boat left the landing-stage at Watson’s Bay, Wal Jessop pointed out the narrow passage through the Heads, and Edgar saw with wondering eyes how near the ill-fated ship had been to the harbour of refuge.

‘If we could only have been driven through that passage instead of on to the rocks,’ said Edgar, ‘we might all have been alive now.’

‘It was a terrible thing to go down so near home,’ said Wal Jessop. ‘This is one of the best and safest harbours in the world.’

‘I have heard a good deal about it,’ said Edgar, smiling, ‘but I am not surprised at the enthusiastic way in which people praise its beauties. All I have heard or read gave me a very faint idea of the reality, which is far beyond any expectation I had formed.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ replied Wal Jessop. ‘People at times are apt to consider we “blow” too much about our harbour.’

‘Too much praise cannot be bestowed upon a scene like this,’ said Edgar.

When they arrived at Circular Quay, Wal Jessop took his companion to the Marine Board offices, where he left him, and went to send a cablegram to Edgar’s father.

Edgar gave his account of the wreck in a manner that at once won the respect of Captain Fife and the members of the Board. He modestly put his own courageous conduct in the background, and spoke of Captain Manton in such a manner that it left no doubt upon the minds of his hearers that everything had been done that was possible to save the ship. Edgar’s description of the wreck and the bravery of Wal Jessop was given in a simple, straightforward style.

Captain Fife watched Edgar narrowly, and came to the conclusion he was a lad to be trusted, and also a lad who had received a good education. After the Board meeting he took Edgar into his private office, and asked him what he intended to do.

‘I hardly know at present,’ replied Edgar, ‘but I have no doubt I shall be able to obtain some kind of work until I can look round.’

‘Your name seems familiar to me,’ said Captain Fife.

‘Probably,’ said Edgar, smiling, ‘if you are a lover of cricket.’

Captain Fife jumped up from his chair, and said in astonishment:

‘Surely you are not the son of Robert Foster, who captained the last English eleven against our team at Lord’s?’

‘I am,’ said Edgar, ‘and proud of it.’

‘And well you may be, my lad,’ said Captain Fife. ‘The son of such a sterling, manly cricketer as Robert Foster will not lack friends in Australia. I suppose it is needless to ask if you play?’

‘I am very fond of the game,’ said Edgar, ‘and was captain of my school when I left.’

‘We must give you a trial here,’ said Captain Fife, ‘but in the meantime I must try and find you something to do.’ He thought for a few moments, and then said: ‘How would you like to go up country for a time? I have an interest in a station in the West, and I think you would enjoy the life. It is very quiet, but the change would in itself be a novelty to you.’

‘I should like it immensely,’ said Edgar; ‘I do not care much for a town life.’

‘I believe you lost everything in the wreck?’ said Captain Fife.

‘Yes,’ replied Edgar. ‘Wal Jessop has sent a cablegram to my father, stating I am safe, and also that I lost all, so I have no doubt he will send me out a draft by an early mail to cover expenses. I do not wish to draw upon my father continually, and I came out here to earn my living if possible.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Captain Fife. ‘We have too many young fellows out here who live upon money sent them from home. It is a mistaken kindness, as it causes them to rely upon others instead of themselves, and self-reliance a man must have to get on in this world.’

Edgar was much impressed with what Captain Fife said, and knew it was sound advice he gave.

‘My father always taught me to hold my own,’ said Edgar, ‘and to do what is right. Of course I got into scrapes sometimes at school, but I never shirked the consequences. I fought a lad called Bully Rakes, and beat him, the first week I was at Redbank. I was in the right, and therefore I felt confident of success, although he was a much stronger lad.’

‘So you can box as well as play cricket,’ said Captain Fife, smiling; ‘you’ll get on all right here, I can see. Can you ride well?’

‘Fairly well,’ said Edgar. ‘I followed the hounds during the holidays when I had an opportunity. I should like to have a chance in the cricket-field here.’

‘So you shall,’ said Captain Fife. ‘I will take care your going up country does not injure your prospects in that line. We have a very good team on the station, and you will have plenty of practice to keep your hand in. Some of our best men have been drawn from up country.’

It was decided that Edgar, after a week’s stay in Sydney with Wal Jessop, should go up to Yanda, and try how the life suited him.

‘I will advance you enough money to keep you going,’ said Captain Fife, ‘and you can repay me when you have “knocked up a cheque,” as we say here.’

Edgar left Captain Fife’s office feeling he had been most fortunate. His heart was heavy when he thought of the Distant Shore and those on board who had lost their lives. He could hardly realize, as he walked the streets of Sydney, how near he had been to death, and that only a day or two ago. He met Wal Jessop, and told him what Captain Fife had done.

‘He’s a good sort,’ said Wal—‘a regular out-and-outer. You’ll have a real good time at Yanda. It’s different to many stations, for the hands up there all pull together, and, my eye! don’t they turn out some good sports. Why, Tom Trundle, one of the best fast bowlers we ever had in the New South Wales team, came from Yanda. How he learned to bowl up there, blest if I know! but that he had learned he quickly proved when he tried his hand on the Association Ground. I’ll never forget that match,’ went on Wal, warming to his work, as this was one of his favourite topics. ‘Tommy was picked to play for the country against the town, and the way he made some of the crack players’ stumps fly was a caution. Frank Rarey was a good bat—about our best—but the country chap sent Frank’s middle stump turning summersaults in the air like a clown in a circus. It was as good as a pipe of ‘bacca after a day’s hard graft to see the expression on Frank’s face when he saw that stump fly. He looked at Tom, and he looked at the shattered wicket. Then he walked into the dressing-room and meditated. When the innings was ended Frank went up to Tom and said:

‘“You’re a wonder, Trundle. You’ll have to play for the colony next time.”

‘Sure enough he did,’ added Wal; ‘and bless me if he didn’t come off first pop. He took seven of the Victorian wickets in the very next match we had against that colony.’

‘Something like a triumph,’ said Edgar, who listened to Wal’s recital with all the ardour of a schoolboy. ‘I only hope I may come off as well as he did when I have the luck to play for the colony.’

‘Did Captain Fife say anything about it?’ asked Wal. ‘He’s a rare one for cricket, and, in fact, all sorts of sport.’

‘He said if I went up country it would not prejudice my chance in the cricket-field,’ said Edgar.

‘Nor will it,’ said Wal. ‘It will be far better for you to go up country than remain hanging about town.’

‘I shall have to leave Eva behind until some of Captain Manton’s friends have been communicated with. My father will probably see to that when he learns the news. I must write him a long letter by the next mail, and tell him all about the wreck and how bravely Pilot Jessop acted.’

‘Ay,’ said Wal, with a smile, ‘and if I were you I’d just send him a few papers in order to let him see how well his son behaved. That would only be fair. As for the little lass, she’s welcome to stop with us as long as she’s allowed. It will be a sore trial to my wife to part with her. You see, we have no bairn of our own,’ added Wal, with a wistful sigh.

‘She could not be in better hands,’ said Edgar. ‘I suppose,’ he asked, as a sudden idea occurred to him, ‘there is no possible chance of anyone being saved from the wreck? I mean, do you think it possible anyone could have drifted out to sea on a portion of the wreck and been picked up by a passing boat?’

‘That’s not possible, I think,’ said Wal. ‘No boat left the harbour next day, and the storm was so bad, I hardly think anyone could have lived through it out at sea.’

‘It was just a thought occurred to me,’ said Edgar. ‘I know every search has been made, but one clings to hope, even after all hope has gone.’

Wal Jessop took Edgar round Sydney, and showed him several sights. The more Edgar saw of the city, the more he marvelled at its wondrous growth. He had been taught much at school about the colonies, but he had no idea such vast cities as Sydney lay on the other side of the world. Young though he was, he saw at once how greatly such possessions as Australia must enhance the power and importance of the mother-country. He saw how widespread the influence and example of England was, and every name and building tended to revive some association with the old country.

As he sat in the Botanical Gardens with Wal Jessop, looking over the lovely expanse of harbour before them, and the hills and bays of the opposite shore, he said:

‘It is only a lad’s opinion, but I think we are not taught sufficient about our country’s great possessions abroad when we are at school.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Wal; ‘but on this side of the world our youngsters are taught more about old England than Australia.’

‘That should not be,’ said Edgar. ‘Every child ought to have a thorough knowledge of his own country, and, from what little I know of it, the history of Australia must be vastly interesting.’

‘It is,’ said Wal, ‘and I have managed to scrape together a good deal about it. The early settlers here had no easy time, but they did well, and laid the foundation of a promising colony upon a lot of bad material. You would hardly think to look at it now that Sydney, a century ago, was a convict settlement of only a few huts, and inhabited by desperate criminals, many of whom were more like fiends than human beings.’

‘There are not many traces of those days left?’ said Edgar questioningly.

‘No,’ said Wal, ‘and it is far better they should be obliterated. Now, in Tasmania you see more of it. You would find Port Arthur a curious old place. It gave me the horrors the first time I saw it.’

They chatted on for some time. Wal Jessop was a good talker, and interested a lad of Edgar’s age. Edgar Foster was a manly boy, not a boy developed into a man before his time by a forcing process, as too often is the case in this age of rapid progress.

On reaching home again, Wal Jessop explained to his wife how Edgar had been received by Captain Fife.

‘You’ll not object to keep the little lass here,’ said Wal, ‘while Edgar goes up country for a few months?’

‘I should like to keep her for my own,’ said Mrs. Jessop. ‘She is a dear child, and will be a joy to our home.’

‘She is a lovable little thing,’ said Edgar, ‘and I am sure will give you no trouble. I do not know whether Captain Manton had any relations in England, but I imagine he had. In any case, we shall hear something before very long. I know I shall leave her in safe hands.’

‘That you may rest assured of,’ said Mrs. Jessop; ‘and I hope you will have a good time up country. Captain Fife has evidently taken a fancy to you, and he’s a man worth knowing.’

‘That he is, Mary,’ said her husband; ‘and many’s the good turn he’s done me.’

‘Which you thoroughly deserved,’ said Edgar, with a smile.

---

Yanda Station was situated in a wild country, and when Edgar Foster arrived there he thought he had never seen such a dreary spot. Accustomed to the green fields of old England and her charming rural landscapes, Edgar found the barren plains and scraggy trees monotonous. Instead of miles upon miles of green, undulating pasture-land, he saw brown, hard-baked ground, the stunted grass growing in patches, and looking parched and dry for want of water.

Although the first glimpse of Yanda disenchanted Edgar of the ideas he had formed of ‘up-country’ scenes, the reception he met with from the station hands reconciled him to the prospect before him. Captain Fife had written to Benjamin Brody, the manager at Yanda, informing him who Edgar Foster was, and how he had behaved at the wreck of the Distant Shore. He also stated that Edgar was the son of the famous cricketer, Robert Foster. This was quite sufficient to ensure Edgar a hearty reception, and his arrival was quite an event on the station.

Ben Brody was a born colonial, a man accustomed to take the rough with the smooth of life and weld them into an even existence. Brody’s temper was none of the best, but he kept it under control. He was a sober man in the accepted sense of the word; that is, he never took more liquor than he could conveniently carry. There was no better rider at Yanda than Ben Brody, and the toughest buck-jumper generally found he had met his match when Brody got on to his back.

Fearless and determined, he was the very man to manage the somewhat mixed lot of hands on Yanda Station. They had some ‘queer customers’—Brody’s expression—on Yanda. It was a wild country, and far out of the beaten track. The wonder to most people who took the trouble to think about such an outlandish place as Yanda was how it was kept going, for they would never have been so rash as to argue that Yanda paid its way.

But Yanda, thanks to good management, did pay its way, and Captain Fife and others were perfectly satisfied with their investment. Yanda was bought cheap at a time when station property in the far West was going begging, and the installation of Ben Brody as manager had resulted in its turning out a good bargain. Brody was a great believer in sheep, but he had not much faith in cattle on Yanda. The hands firmly believed that Ben Brody had been reared from a very early age upon lean mutton, and that the taste for any other kind of meat was foreign to him.

Ben Brody had a horror of fat sheep. He preferred sheep “all wool,” because wool was worth considerably more than flesh. The slaughtering of a bullock at Yanda was the signal for much joy on the part of the hands. When Ben Brody received the news that Edgar Foster would arrive on a certain day at Yanda, he resolved to duly celebrate the event, just to give the ‘new chum’ a better idea of the country.

‘What’s come over Brody?’ asked Will Henton. ‘He’s actually ordered the slaughtering of a bullock. I am overwhelmed with joy.’

Will Henton was a young fellow who discovered town life too fast for him, so had found his way to Yanda, and turned out a useful man.

‘There’s a new hand coming,’ said Harry Noke. ‘Brody’s told me about him. He’s the young fellow who rescued that little lass at the wreck of the Distant Shore, and he’s a son of Robert Foster the cricketer.’

‘No!’ said Will Henton. ‘You can’t mean it. What a slice of luck! He’s sure to play cricket well, and we’re short of a man or two.’

‘You know the reason of the slaughter now,’ said Harry. ‘I must confess beef will be a change from Brody’s everlasting mutton.’

‘We must give young Foster a good reception,’ said Will.

‘He deserves it,’ said Harry, ‘and he’ll be able to spin us some yarns about the wreck.’

‘Plucky young beggar,’ said Will. ‘I’m open to bet you a trifle he can box.’

‘You’re mad on boxing,’ said Harry. ‘It would be a blessing if some disguised fighting-man came here to knock the conceit out of you.’

The hands at Yanda talked the matter of Edgar’s arrival over, and agreed to make things pleasant for him; occasionally they made matters rather rough for a new hand, until he paid a substantial footing.

So it came about that there was much feasting and rejoicing when Edgar arrived, and he thought them a set of jolly good fellows.

‘The hospitality makes up for the barrenness of the land,’ thought Edgar.

There were a good many blackfellows about Yanda, and they were as keen on the scent of fresh-killed meat as a hound after a fox. Towards night, when the feasting was over, and Ben Brody, Edgar, and several of the hands were sitting on the wide veranda running round the homestead, dusky forms were seen advancing across the open plain.

‘Have you black men about here?’ asked Edgar in some surprise.

‘Thousands of ’em,’ said Brody, without moving a muscle of his face.

Edgar looked at him, smiling, and said:

‘They must be pretty tame if there are thousands of them. I suppose when you first arrived here you brought an army to conquer the country.’

‘We’ll say hundreds,’ said Brody; ‘I must have been thinking of sheep.’

‘Mutton again!’ whispered Will to Harry Noke. ‘He lives on mutton, consequently he thinks of sheep.’

‘How many hundred blacks have you on Yanda?’ said Edgar, who had been somewhat prepared for Ben Brody’s exaggerations by Wal Jessop.

‘Well, really, I couldn’t say for certain,’ replied Brody; ‘I’ve not had ’em mustered lately. When we’ve a bit of spare time I’ll have ’em counted for you.’

‘Thanks,’ said Edgar; ‘it is always interesting to ascertain what likelihood there is of the original inhabitants of a country becoming extinct.’

A roar of laughter greeted Edgar’s reply, and Will Henton said:

‘The young un’s a bit too much for you, Brody. You had better not spin him any of those well-seasoned aboriginal yarns of yours, for I fancy they won’t wash.’

‘You swallowed some of them, anyway,’ said Ben Brody.

‘Merely to oblige you,’ said Will.

Ben Brody glared at him, and then said:

‘Meat is bad for you, Will; I must in future restrict you to a mutton diet.’

‘What are these fellows coming for?’ asked Edgar, as about thirty blacks, including a few females, advanced to within a dozen yards or so of the veranda.

‘They are on the war-path,’ said Will Henton. ‘The slaughtering of a bullock at Yanda is an event of such magnitude that even the natives of the country assemble to give thanks on the occasion.’

‘Never mind his chaff,’ said Ben Brody to Edgar; ‘you will have plenty of it if you remain here very long. Would you care to see these fellows dance, hold a “corroboree” as they call it?’

‘Yes,’ said Edgar, ‘I should very much like to see it.’

‘Then you shall. They have not given us anything in that line lately,’ said Brody.

He called a big, powerful-looking black, and spoke to him, and made signs.

‘I’ve promised them a good square meal if they give us a dance,’ said Brody.

Edgar thought it a wild scene as he looked at the dusky forms in the moonlight. As far as he could see the endless plain stretched out before him. The white, gaunt trees were ghostly and weird, and the hum of many insects was in the air.

In a few minutes Edgar heard a low, crooning sound, which gradually swelled into a hoarse roar, and then, with a loud shout from their leader, the black fellows commenced to dance. They stamped upon the hard ground with bare feet until the sound became like the tramp of soldiers. Having worked themselves up to a proper pitch of excitement, the wild fellows threw their limbs about in the most extraordinary fashion. Some of them leaped high into the air, and the women sat and clapped their hands and beat them on the ground.

The black men whirled their arms, and waved heavy sticks over their heads. Their faces became most repulsive. Most of them had thick, curly black hair, which hung down in shaggy locks. Their noses were big, coarse, and wide, and their cheek-bones high, while their mouths were of great size, and their lips thick.

As Edgar watched them dancing in this strange fashion in the moonlight he thought it was the wildest scene he had ever looked upon.

‘Do they never get tired?’ he asked, as the dance continued, and the efforts of the blacks did not relax.

‘They have great powers of endurance,’ said Ben Brody. ‘You see the big fellow there, to the right? I’ve known him go ninety miles between sunset and sunrise without so much as a halt. They are treacherous fellows, some of them, but Yacka is a cut above the others. He’s a strange fellow. He hails from South Australia, and the blacks around here seem afraid of him. Strange to say, he speaks English well, and is far better looking than the others. My own impression is that there’s a bit of white blood in his veins, although his skin is black. Eh, Yacka, come here!’ he shouted.

The black, who was standing alone looking at the dancers, who were now slowing down, stepped quickly on to the veranda without an effort.

‘This is Yacka,’ said Brody to Edgar, and then turning to the black, he said: ‘A new hand, only arrived to-day. You’ll be able to show him a thing or two about Yanda, I reckon.’

Yacka nodded and, holding out his hand towards Edgar, said:

‘He says true. I know much about this country. Much about other country far off. Ah, you shake my hand! Good fellow! Yacka your friend.’

Edgar had taken the black’s proffered hand, giving it a hearty shake; this he did without a moment’s hesitation.

‘You’ve made friends with Yacka,’ said Brody; ‘that is the way he tests a man. I’ve known fellows come here and refuse to shake hands with Yacka. Not a blessed black in the whole tribe would help the man who declined Yacka’s hand. I dare say it’s quite as clean as a good many white men’s hands.’

‘I like the look of him,’ said Edgar, ‘and how well he talks! Have you ever tried to make him work as a hand on the station?’

‘Bless you, he wouldn’t demean himself to work like these fellows, and if he did they’d buck against it,’ said Brody.

‘Quite right, too,’ said Harry Noke; ‘we don’t want a lot of infernal blacks doing station work; they are good for nothing but thieving and every sort of iniquity.’

‘Perhaps white men have driven them to it,’ said Edgar; ‘I dare say they managed very well before Australia was discovered by Captain Cook.’

‘You cannot make these black fellows understand what civilization means,’ said Brody.

‘Rum,’ grunted a quiet-looking man, who had scarcely spoken during the evening.

‘When Jim Lee offers a remark, which you may have observed is seldom,’ said Brody, ‘it is generally to the point. Undoubtedly rum and civilization go hand in hand where the blacks are concerned. Apart from rum, however, the beggars are too infernally stupid to learn anything.’

‘Yacka seems fairly intelligent,’ said Edgar.

‘I make an exception of Yacka,’ said Ben. ‘He’s sharp enough, and the way he carves emu eggs and boomerangs is a caution. The ideas that chap can put on an emu egg beat creation. But he’s a thorough wild man, although he does talk English well, and has ideas above his fellows. You could no more get Yacka to conform to our idea of civilized behaviour than you could train a monkey to keep out of mischief. Yacka is full of mischief, but it’s a humorous sort of mischief, and does not do much harm.’

‘Yacka’s the only useful black we have around here,’ said Will Henton. ‘He’s a splendid fag in the cricket field, and when he’s extra good we let him handle a bat. He shapes well, too, and I’m inclined to think Yacka might be developed into a decent cricketer. He rides well, and that’s more than the other fellows do; and when he’s handled my gun I’ve seen him make some fair shots. The rummy part of the business is that Yacka won’t be civilized, as Ben says, and you can’t get him to leave the camp.’

Edgar Foster thought a good deal about Yacka that night, and resolved to try and make friends with him, and learn something of his past life, which he felt sure would be interesting.

---

Edgar Foster, after six months’ experience on Yanda Station, liked the life very much. He was popular with the hands, and Ben Brody had taken to him in a manner that caused men to marvel. It was seldom Brody made a chum of anyone, but he had done so of Edgar, who was young enough to be his son.

It was an intense relief to Edgar when he received letters from his father and sister. They were letters such as might have been expected from them, and the way in which they referred to the terrible loss of the Distant Shore brought tears into Edgar’s eyes. His father enclosed him a draft, and said he was proud of his son, and knew he had risked his life to save Captain Manton’s child. Inquiries had been made in every direction, but no relations had been found to claim little Eva. Captain Manton had not saved much money, and what he had was in the hands of the shipping company to which the Distant Shore belonged.

Robert Foster wrote that he had consulted the chairman of the company, and it had been arranged that if no relation claimed Eva she was to remain in charge of Wal Jessop and his wife, and a sum of money would be paid annually to them. In concluding his letter Robert Foster gave his son good advice, telling him to go on as he had commenced, and to brave dangers if by doing so he could help others.

Doris Foster wrote Edgar a loving letter, in which she gave him the news that Will Brown had sailed for Australia, and also that she had heard Raymond Rakes had turned out badly, and been sent to sea:

‘Will has promised to try and make a small fortune in Australia,’ she wrote, ‘and when he has done so he is to return to England and ask me a certain question which I leave you to guess. Please do not tell him, if you see him, that under any circumstances the answer will be “Yes.” It might make him lazy if he knew the capture was certain. You are a dear, noble, brave brother, and we are very proud of you. I am posting you a Graphic. You will see therein a portrait of a certain young fellow who is styled “The Distant Shore Hero,” which is no more than he deserves. Give little Eva a lot of kisses from me. I long to see the child you saved so splendidly. I am sure Wal Jessop must be a grand man, and his wife a dear, good woman. Please do not marry a black lady, and come home as civilized as when you left.’

Edgar read these letters again and again until Ben Brody said:

‘You are a lucky beggar to have such interesting letters. Those I get are never worth reading twice. They’re mostly about sheep, and the price of wool, and you cannot knock much romance out of those articles.’

Before he had been at Yanda a month, Edgar had shown them how he could bat, and also use his fists; and, much to Will Henton’s surprise, he had found his match with the gloves on.

‘You’re a hard hitter,’ he said to Edgar; ‘no wonder you made Bully Rakes sing small.’

Edgar related many tales about his schooldays, and worked the hands up to a pitch of enthusiasm over the celebrated match with Fairfield.

‘Blest if I don’t feel as though I’d seen it!’ said Ben Brody.

‘Good yarn!’ exclaimed Jim Lee, the silent one.

‘What a brute that Rakes must be,’ said Will Henton. ‘Fancy a fellow going against his own side. You say he’s gone to sea? I hope he won’t come over here; we want none of his sort.’

‘I’d like to meet Will Brown,’ said Ben Brody. ‘Suppose you ask him to come up here and try his luck? He’ll not make a fortune very quick, but it will keep him out of mischief.’

‘I’ll write to his ship in Sydney when she arrives, and ask him,’ said Edgar; ‘I think it would just suit him.’

‘We can always find room for an extra hand or two on Yanda,’ said Brody, with a wink, ‘provided they’re the right sort.’

‘You’ll find Will all right,’ said Edgar.

‘If he comes up to your standard he’ll do,’ replied Brody.

There was not much variety in the life at Yanda, but it was new to Edgar, and he found much to interest him. He had the usual experience with a buck-jumper, and felt the peculiar sensation of being hurled into the air, with no certainty as to where he would come down. This is how Edgar described his first throw from a buck-jumper to his father:

‘You suddenly feel his back arch, and it nearly cuts you in two. Then you discover he has all four legs off the ground at the same time. Finally you are shot into space, much in the same way as you would go if a gigantic catapult propelled you. The sensation is not pleasant, and the knowledge that all your mates are enjoying the undignified manner in which you are unseated adds to the general discomfiture. However, I am a fair rough-rider now, although there’s one horse—“Brody’s buck-jumper,” he’s called—I cannot tackle, and no other man on the place with the exception of Brody himself. There’s a history attached to this animal which you may hear some day. Brody once got him into a horse-box, I believe, and the passengers on the train sent a deputation to the guard at the first stopping-place to have the horse removed. Someone suggested the animal ought to be shot, but Brody’s wrath was so great when he heard this that no further mention was made of it. Anyhow, Brody’s buck-jumper had his own way, as he always has, for the remainder of the journey.’

Yacka the black had taken to Edgar Foster from the moment he took his hand, and during the six months that had passed he was constantly about the homestead asking what he could do for him.

‘Bless me if I don’t think you’ll civilize Yacka in time!’ said Brody. ‘I never knew him come round here so much before. It’s all that handshake did it.’

‘He’s a good fellow, although he is black,’ said Edgar. ‘I’m very fond of Yacka, but I cannot quite make him out. He seems to have something on his mind. I hope he has done nothing very dreadful.’

‘You never know what these black fellows are up to,’ said Brody; ‘but I do not think Yacka is deceitful. Revengeful they all are, and if anyone harmed Yacka or others belonging to him, I believe he would make it particularly warm for him.’

Yacka followed Edgar about with dog-like devotion, and never tired of doing odd jobs for him. Edgar watched the black carve wonderful scenes on emu eggs, and it was extraordinary the faithfulness with which he depicted birds and beasts on these brittle shells.

After taking particular care to carve one egg, Yacka, with a look of fear in his eyes, handed it to Edgar.

‘Why, it’s a cave surrounded by rocks and shrubs,’ said Edgar. ‘Where did you see it? There is nothing at all like that about here.’

‘No,’ said Yacka, ‘long way off. Tramp, tramp, for miles. Lonely desert where no white man ever been—wonderful place. Like to see it?’

The black spoke eagerly, and Edgar saw there was something he had left hidden, which he did not care for him to know.

‘It would be no good going such a long journey, Yacka,’ he replied, ‘because there are no people, and what is to be found when we get there? We might starve on the way, or die from want of water.’

‘Plenty water,’ said Yacka. ‘I know the track; no one else knows it. There!’ he exclaimed, as he smashed the emu egg he had been at so much trouble to carve, ‘no one find it now, not even you.’

‘I should remember the place if I saw it,’ said Edgar. ‘You carve so well, and I am sure what you carved on that egg is true to Nature.’

‘Come with Yacka, and I will show you much,’ said the black. ‘Make you rich—richer than Master Fife, richer than your Queen; but you must go alone with Yacka.’

The black spoke earnestly, and his eyes glistened.

‘I don’t see much chance of making a fortune or finding riches in a desert,’ said Edgar. ‘Where is this wonderful cave that contains so much wealth?’

‘Many miles,’ said Yacka; ‘over Great Desert in Northern Territory. It is not all sand. No white man has been there; but Yacka has, and knows there is grass and water, and food, plenty food.’

‘Are you certain no white man has ever been there?’ asked Edgar.

Yacka hesitated a few moments, and then said:

‘No white man.’

‘And no white woman?’ laughed Edgar, who noticed the stress Yacka laid on man.

Yacka sprang to his feet, and waved his arms about wildly.

‘Come and see!’ he cried. ‘Come to the White Spirit’s Cave! I am the son of Enooma!’

The last word he said in a soft, liquid tone, far different from his usual rather harsh mode of speech; and he lingered over the name with evident fondness.

Edgar became interested, and the spirit of adventure began to stir within him.

‘Who is Enooma?’ he asked, endeavouring to speak the word as Yacka pronounced it.

‘The White Spirit of the Great Desert,’ said Yacka, in a solemn voice. ‘She rests in the cave in the land I came from. She is beautiful and white as clouds; and I am black as the thunder-makers—and her son.’

‘How can that be?’ asked Edgar. ‘Yacka must be mistaken; he cannot be the son of Enooma the White Spirit. How can I trust him if he deceives me?’

The black looked round, and, seeing no one about, said:

‘Yacka speaks true, else how would he know the cave where no white man has been?’

‘Suppose I promise to go with you to the cave,’ said Edgar, ‘how would it be possible for us to go alone?’

‘We have guns,’ said Yacka, relapsing into ordinary speech, ‘and there is much to shoot where I go. We follow tracks through big white man’s country, and cross rivers. I came from there, and can return. Yacka knows a track once he has followed it.’

‘Give me time to think it over,’ said Edgar. ‘I trust you, Yacka, but I have others to think about. I have a good sister, and a kind father, in far-away England, and there will be dangers to encounter on our journey.’

‘Yes,’ assented Yacka, ‘dangers, but we shall not die. The White Spirit will watch over us when she knows we are coming towards her. Enooma rests and waits for us. Speak no words to them,’ he added, and pointed towards the homestead.

‘All you have told me I promise to hold sacred,’ said Edgar.

‘It is good,’ said Yacka, and calmly commenced to carve a snake on one of the boomerangs, which he picked up from the ground where he had thrown them.

Edgar Foster felt he was about to embark upon strange adventures. He knew Yacka was no ordinary black, and Ben Brody had said he believed Yacka had white blood in his veins. Who could this White Spirit Enooma be, whom Yacka called his mother? Could it be possible a white woman had penetrated to the unknown parts of the Northern Territory? If so, how had she reached there? and how could it be that Yacka the black was her son? Probably it was some superstition Yacka had inherited from his tribe.

Edgar pondered over the story of riches Yacka had related. Gold was dug out of the earth in most unlikely places. Barren wastes had been found to teem with the precious metal. The possibilities of the country Edgar felt were not yet known, and in a new and unexplored part of the vast land he was now in what might not happen? He knew he could trust Yacka, but he would have preferred to take a mate with him. Will Brown would be just the one, and if he could persuade Yacka to take Will along with them it would be glorious. He thought over the excuses he could make to Captain Fife and Ben Brody for leaving Yanda. If he stated he was prompted by a love of adventure they would believe him, and it would be the truth. There would be no difficulty in getting away, and no time for returning need be named.

Eagerly Edgar awaited the arrival of Will Brown in order to give Yacka a chance of making friends with him.

---

In due course Will Brown arrived at Yanda, and he was only too glad to have the opportunity of meeting his chum, Edgar Foster, in the new country to which he had come. As for Edgar, it was with unbounded delight he welcomed Will Brown. They had much to talk about, and it was a source of much joy to Edgar that he could listen to one who had so recently seen those dear to him in the home he loved so well, on the banks of the Thames.

When Edgar made known to Ben Brody his intention of leaving Yanda for a time in search of adventures, the manager evinced no surprise.

‘I didn’t expect you would be here long,’ he said. ‘Young ‘uns like to roam, and I don’t blame you. I’ve had enough wandering about to last me a lifetime, and I’m settled for good here, so long as they will have me. I shall be sorry to lose you, and I wish you had chosen to remain. You have picked a good guide in Yacka. What that black chap knows is beyond credit. He’s never said where he came from, but if I’m a judge it is somewhere in the region of the MacDonnell Ranges. There are some powerful savage tribes over there, and I’d advise you to steer clear of them, that is, if you get so far; but you are a precious long way from there, you bet.’

‘I do not know where we are going,’ said Edgar; ‘but Yacka has made great promises, and if he fulfils them there will be something to talk about when we return.’

Yacka, with some show of reluctance, agreed to Will Brown accompanying them. He yielded when Edgar said he would not go without Will, for the black was determined Edgar should undertake the journey.

The night before their departure they had a great ‘send off,’ all hands coming into the homestead for the occasion.

The general opinion seemed to be that Edgar and Will were about to follow Yacka purely for the sake of adventure, and the good fellows thought all the better of them for their pluck and spirit.

Ben Brody had given each of them a good horse, and they had the pick of the best guns on the station. Will Henton gave them a revolver each, expressing the hope that they would clear the country of a few blacks.

‘I hope we shall not have to use them for any such purpose,’ said Edgar; ‘but if it comes to a fight we shall be all there.’

‘You are going on a fool’s errand,’ said Harry Noke; ‘much better remain where you are. I would not trust Yacka, or any other blackfellow. It’s like enough he’ll lead you into danger out of pure devilment.’

‘You are wrong,’ said Jim Lee; ‘Yacka’s square.’

‘Jim’s right,’ said Brody. ‘You’re riled, Harry, because you have not pluck enough to go with them. As it is the last night, we must have Yacka in and give him a drink.’

Ben Brody went into the veranda and gave a peculiar whistle, which sounded shrilly on the still night air. In a few minutes Yacka appeared.

‘That’s fetched him,’ said Will Henton; ‘Brody’s a wonder at all sorts of signals. I believe he’s a different call for every man on the place.’

‘Have a drink, Yacka,’ said Ben Brody. ‘What’s it to be, rum or beer?’

Yacka smacked his lips, and said, ‘Beer.’

‘That’s better,’ said Jim Lee; ‘rum’s a curse.’

Yacka drank the beer with evident relish.

‘Like a square meal?’ said Brody.

The black nodded, and Brody helped him plentifully to the remains of the feast.

‘Where are you going to take these youngsters?’ said Ben Brody.

‘Long way,’ replied Yacka. ‘Bring them safe back.’

‘I hope so,’ said Brody. ‘Going in search of the lost tribes?’

Yacka grinned, showing his gleaming teeth.

‘All tribes lost since the white men came,’ he replied.

‘Guess you’re about right there,’ said Brody. ‘Black and white cannot live side by side; one of them’s bound to go, and it’s the black. Now, if they were all like you, Yacka, we could get on well together. Bless me if I don’t believe you are half a white man!’

A peculiar look came into Yacka’s eyes.

‘Think so?’ he said. ‘Black skin, white man’s heart.’

‘Bravo!’ shouted Brody. ‘You shall have another glass for that. Fill up, lads! Here’s to our mates, and a safe journey along with Yacka!’

All hands were becoming hilarious, and began to sing ‘For they are jolly good fellows.’

When the noise subsided, Brody said:

Do you want a horse, Yacka?’

The black shook his head, and slapped his legs.

‘Yes, I know,’ said Brody; ‘your legs will carry you quite as far as any of our station nags. You’ll accept a gun, eh?’

The black sprang to his feet, and said:

‘A gun for my own! Very good, Master Brody; I like a gun.’

‘Then you shall have one,’ said Ben. ‘I know you can shoot.’

Yacka went through a performance of shooting an imaginary object in such a realistic manner that everybody laughed.

It was a merry night, and all slept soundly. In the morning Edgar and Will made a start from Yanda with Yacka, who was on foot, and the black looked the picture of a trained athlete.

Yacka had discarded his ordinary loin-cloth, and wore instead a peculiar arrangement in which he could stow away a variety of articles. He declined to wear any other clothing, and his body shone in the sunlight, and the muscles stood out on his arms, chest, and lower limbs. His curly hair was sufficient protection to his head from the burning sun, and it was in much better condition than the shaggy locks of the blacks who were looking on. Yacka had evidently told the blacks he was leaving Yanda, and they looked as disconsolate as their expressionless faces would permit.

As for Edgar and Will Brown, they were in high spirits, and, mounted on two very fair horses, thoroughly equipped for a journey, they looked a fine pair of young fellows.

‘You’ll strike a station about sundown, I reckon,’ said Ben Brody. ‘They’ll be glad to see you if you say where you hail from, although it makes very little difference about that round here. Take care of yourselves, my lads, and I hope Yacka will bring you back to Yanda soon.’

After hearty handshakes all round, the trio set off amidst cheers and the loud, peculiar cries of the blacks. Ben Brody watched them for a long time, and waved his hat in response to the salutes of Edgar and Will.

‘Lads of mettle, both of ’em,’ said Brody. ‘Such a wild-goose chase as they are on would just have suited me in my young days. Good luck go with you, my lads! You’ll always have a warm corner in Ben Brody’s heart.’

As the homestead they had left behind became fainter and fainter in the distance, Edgar and Will turned round in their saddles and waved a parting salute to Ben Brody, whose figure was just discernible on the veranda.

As the morning wore on, the heat became intense, and in the afternoon it was so hot they decided to camp under the shade of some trees. Towards evening they went on again, and that night slept in the open, with their saddles for pillows and the bare ground for a bed. Had it not been for the constant singing and stinging of the mosquitoes, they would have had a pleasant night, as the air was soft and warm, and they needed no covering.

Yacka stretched himself out near them, and slept like a dog—half awake and ready to spring to his feet at the slightest sound. At daybreak they made a slight meal, and then proceeded on their journey. Yacka went ahead, and at such a pace that the horses often had to break into a canter to keep up with him. They arrived at Bardo Station that night, and met with a hospitable reception.

Charles Brunt, the manager, was rather amused at the idea of a couple of lads going in search of adventure, with a blackfellow as guide and companion. He knew Yacka, and was of the same opinion as Ben Brody, that the black had white blood in his veins.

‘This is a hospitable land, anyhow,’ said Edgar, when they had been away from Yanda for about a fortnight, and had managed, through Yacka’s guidance, to fall in with comfortable quarters almost every night.

As they went on, however, Edgar saw they were gradually getting into a wilder country, and farther away from the beaten track. Yacka said, when questioned, he was taking a short cut, and that he knew the way.

‘Where are you steering for?’ asked Edgar.

‘South Australian border,’ said Yacka. ‘Then we work up to the MacDonnell Ranges, past Alice Springs. You’ll see wild country then, when we get through the ranges.’

‘How long will it take us to reach the ranges?’ asked Will.

‘Long time yet,’ said Yacka. ‘Many miles’ tramp a day. Horses will knock up, but not Yacka, then you have to walk it.’

‘A pleasant prospect,’ said Edgar. ‘We may have to tramp hundreds of miles. However, we are in for it, and we may as well see all Yacka has to show us. I shall be sorely cut up if he has deceived us.’

‘Do you think he would do so?’ asked Will.

‘Not intentionally,’ replied Edgar; ‘but what may appear wonderful to him may be commonplace to us.’

Having got out of the beaten track, they had to rely upon their guns for food. They had an ample supply of ammunition, preferring to load up their horses in this way to carrying provisions. Edgar was a good shot, and seldom missed his mark.

‘We must be careful and not miss,’ he said, ‘for every shot is of importance.’

One afternoon they had an exciting chase after kangaroos, and Edgar and Will thought it excellent sport. Yacka followed the hunt, and when he suddenly vanished, Edgar in a few minutes saw him ahead, waiting for the kangaroos to pass.

‘By Jove! how Yacka can run!’ said Edgar. ‘Look where he is now. He’ll get a kangaroo sure enough, without firing a shot.’

They reined in their horses, and watched him. When the kangaroos found the chase was not so hot, they slackened their speed, and leapt along at a steadier pace. Yacka was concealed behind a huge tree, and as a large kangaroo went past he slipped quickly round and dealt it a terrific blow with a heavy knobstick he carried in his hand. The kangaroo fell down stunned, and with a whoop Edgar and Will rode forward, in case any of the herd should make an attack on Yacka. When they pulled up, they found Yacka had cut the animal’s throat, and was contemplating it with satisfaction.

Will, having dismounted, picked up the stick Yacka had struck the kangaroo with. It was smooth, hard wood, with a notched handle, and gradually swelling larger until, at the end, there was a sharp, smooth knob, which was so heavy it might have been weighted with iron.

‘A formidable weapon,’ he said, holding it out to Edgar.

‘That is a nulla-nulla,’ said Yacka. ‘Crack a man’s skull easily.’

‘What is it weighted with?’ asked Edgar.

‘Nothing,’ said Yacka. ‘Very hard, heavy wood, all smoothed down with sharp stone and rubbed with coarse sand. Never break it. Hard as iron.’

‘Are they used in your tribal wars?’ asked Will.

Yacka nodded and said:

‘Terrible blows from them. Split a man’s head right open. See!’ He took the weapon from Edgar, and with one blow shattered the dead kangaroo’s skull. It split in two, and Yacka scooped out the brains. He then cut off the tail, and said, ‘Have good soup to-night. This fellow make better soup than ox-tail.’

They shook their heads sceptically; the tail did not look very inviting then.

Yacka selected a spot to camp in near a small spring of water. He then proceeded to make a fire, collecting sundry dry pieces of wood and a kind of moss for the purpose. He filled the large ‘billy’ can he carried during the day slung across his back with sundry other articles, and, having skinned the kangaroo’s tail, cut it up into small pieces, and put it in the can.

How he managed to make it so tasty Edgar could not imagine, but it was delicious, and they voted Yacka was right when he said it was better than ox-tail.

‘Yacka’s a capital cook,’ said Will, ‘and the beauty of him is that he wants so little to cook with.’

‘He’d rather surprise some of the modern cooks,’ said Edgar. ‘They appear to contrive to do away with the genuine flavour of everything they cook, and Yacka makes a point of retaining that flavour.’

How they did enjoy this wild life! and, so far, their powers of endurance had not been severely tested.

---

They had been more than a month away from Yanda, and Edgar began to wonder where their march would lead them. Yacka did not vouchsafe much information, but kept steadily on his way at a pace that astonished them. Mile after mile was traversed, and their guide showed no sign of weariness or flagging.

One beautiful moonlight night they camped by the shore of a large lagoon, which reminded them of a small lake in their own country. It was a magnificent sight, this sheet of still water glistening in the moonlight, the trees which overhung it reflecting weird shadows on the surface.

‘I had no idea there were such lakes as these,’ said Edgar. ‘There must be a lot of good shooting about here.’

‘Plenty of ducks and herons,’ said Yacka. ‘I will get you some ducks without firing a shot.’

They were interested in watching Yacka catch wild ducks. The black crept cautiously into the water, and then sat down amongst a lot of cover, which hid his head from view. Presently they heard a call such as the wild duck makes.

‘That’s Yacka,’ said Edgar. ‘He can imitate the cries of all kinds of birds and animals. Look! there’s a flock of wild ducks coming over.’

The birds flew right into the lagoon, and settled down on the water not far from Yacka. In a few minutes there was a flutter in the water, and the flock rose quickly and flew rapidly away, leaving three of their number struggling entangled in a fine-meshed net Yacka had thrown dexterously over them. Yacka stood up, and, seizing the ducks one by one, quickly killed them, and brought them to the shore where Edgar and Will were sitting.

‘Cleverly done,’ said Edgar. ‘If we run short of ammunition there is little fear of starving when Yacka can effect such captures.’

The ducks were spitted and roasted, Yacka as usual acting as cook, and they were thoroughly enjoyed. Wild bees seemed plentiful, and Yacka went in search of honey, which he soon found in the hollow of a tree.

So pleasant was it by the lagoon that they rested there for several days, enjoying bathing in the lukewarm water, and finding plenty of birds to supply their daily wants. Yacka captured a native bear, a curious little fellow with a woolly skin, and a sharp, inquiring face. When tucked up he looked for all the world like a big ball. Huge lizards were occasionally seen gliding about, and the shrill cries of parrots were heard overhead. At night the peculiar cry of the laughing jackass was heard. A flock of black swan passed by, but did not settle on the lagoon. They also saw pigeons, wild geese, plover, and quail, and a couple of pelicans.

So interesting was the wild life of this lagoon that Edgar was loath to move on into less hospitable country, but he saw signs that Yacka was becoming impatient, so decided to resume their march. They left the camp by the lagoon with much regret, and cast many a wistful glance behind.

‘It will be a long time before we strike such a good camping-ground again,’ said Edgar.

‘Wait until you reach Yacka’s country,’ said the black; ‘find plenty sport there. My tribe help you hunt and fish in big lakes and rivers.’

‘To which tribe do you belong?’ asked Edgar.

‘MacDonnell Ranges,’ said Yacka; ‘but we have gone miles and miles further north to the land of Enooma, the White Spirit, across sandy desert. My tribe very old and warlike. Their country goes far into the Northern Territory.’

‘So your tribe is known as the MacDonnell Ranges blacks,’ said Edgar; ‘but you have a native name, I expect. What is it?’

‘The Enooma,’ said Yacka. ‘We are the favoured tribe of the great White Spirit.’

‘And you are the son of Enooma,’ said Edgar. ‘Then we are safe with you.’

‘No one will harm the friends of the son of Enooma,’ said Yacka.

‘Why did you leave your own country?’ asked Edgar.

‘To wander far and learn much. It was the wish of Enooma, and she must be obeyed. I have been in big cities—Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide, and Brisbane, and have learned many things and seen much evil,’ said Yacka.

‘And how did you get on to Yanda Station?’ said Edgar.

‘From Queensland. I went to Adelaide first, and then walked to the other big cities. From Brisbane I went on until I came to Yanda, and there I camped.’

Yacka went on ahead, and Edgar said to Will:

‘It will be worth all our travels if we can clear up this mystery about Yacka’s birth. He must have been taught by white people, or he would not speak as he does. It is getting more and more interesting. Who would have thought when we were at Redbank we should in so short a time be tramping over the wilds of Australia with only a black for our companion?’

‘I wonder what they are up to at Redbank now?’ said Will.

‘The usual routine work,’ replied Edgar. ‘We had some jolly times there.’

‘I wish I could make a fortune!’ said Will suddenly.

Edgar laughed as he replied:

‘It does not look much like it at present, but there is no telling what may happen. Yacka says he can make me rich, and if so you will have a share in the plunder. Why do you wish to make a fortune? You were not always such a mercenary fellow.’

‘Because I love your sister, and I want to be in a position some day to ask her to be my wife. Now do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Edgar, ‘and I wish you luck. Doris is a lovable girl, and I know you will try and make her happy. It is a long time to look ahead, but there is nothing like having an object in life to make a man successful.’

‘You know my object,’ said Will. ‘What is yours?’

‘To earn a good name, and to make my father proud of his son,’ said Edgar.

‘Then you will certainly succeed,’ said Will, ‘even if you have not done so already.’

Edgar laughed as he said:

‘I have not done much at present to earn a name for myself. If ever I become a rich man, I will try and do good with my money. I have always found there is a lot of pleasure in helping other people.’

‘You always manage to get on with people,’ said Will. ‘You have even made a staunch friend of Yacka. How did you manage it?’

‘By treating him more like a human being than a dog,’ said Edgar. ‘Of course, Yacka is not like most of the natives. They are a dull, stupid lot, what I have seen of them so far, and it would be almost impossible to teach them anything. I believe Yacka could be taught just the same as a white man.’

One night, as they were camping under the shade of some bushes, Edgar was awakened by something cool touching his face. He put out his hand and felt a cold, smooth substance, which he at once knew must be a snake. He sprang to his feet, clutching the snake and flinging it from him. The noise roused Will, and Yacka was quickly on the alert. It was too dark to see anything, but Yacka shifted their camping-ground. In the morning Yacka came across a venomous yellow snake, which he killed and brought to Edgar.

‘Yellow snake,’ he said; ‘dangerous! Deadly poison! Almost as bad as a death adder! Yacka skin him,’ which he at once proceeded to do.

Edgar congratulated himself upon a lucky escape, for had the snake bitten him there would have been but little chance of his continuing the journey. For breakfast Yacka was busily engaged in roasting strips of flesh, but neither Edgar nor Will could think what animal he had killed to provide their meal.

‘What have you got there?’ asked Will. ‘I hope you’re not toasting that snake.’

Yacka shook his head and said:

‘You try it first, then I will tell you what it is. Very good indeed!’ and he smacked his lips.

They enjoyed the tasty morsels, and Yacka informed them it was the flesh of a species of iguana, one of the lizard tribe.

Will shuddered as he said:

‘I confess it tasted all right, but I do not think I should have eaten it had I known what it was.’

They were about to resume their journey, when they heard someone ‘cooeying’ loudly, and the sound proclaimed the person was some distance away.

Yacka had carefully avoided meeting wanderers in the country they had come through, and when he heard the ‘cooey’ he held up his hand, and they stopped.

‘Let us see who it is,’ said Edgar. ‘It will be a change to meet a stranger.’

‘All right,’ said Yacka; ‘I know where that comes from. We are near the telegraph route. Send news from Adelaide right across the country to Port Darwin. It is men, perhaps, looking after the line.’

‘Bravo!’ said Will. ‘We shall at least be able to hear some fresh news.’

They proceeded in the direction of the sound, and in the course of a quarter of an hour came upon a camp, where four white men were sitting down smoking and chatting.

‘Hallo! what have we got here?’ said one of the men, as he saw Yacka advancing in front of Edgar and Will.

‘Glad to see you,’ said Edgar, stepping forward. ‘We have not had any company but our own for such a long time that we are thankful to have fallen in with you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said the man. ‘Where do you hail from?’

‘We have come from Yanda station, in the west of New South Wales.’

The man stared at them in amazement.

‘What, just as you are? You two youngsters, with this blackfellow!’

‘Yes,’ said Will. ‘My friend was going alone with Yacka, but as I wanted to be in it if there were any adventures, they decided to take me along with them.’

‘Well, upon my word,’ said the man, ‘you’re a couple of good plucked ’uns! Do you know where you are?’

‘I have not the faintest idea,’ said Edgar, ‘but Yacka has.’

‘You seem to have a good deal of confidence in this blackfellow,’ said the man, eyeing Yacka closely.

‘We have,’ said Edgar. ‘He’s a fine fellow.’

‘That’s more than I can say for some of his kind,’ said the man. ‘It was only the other week one of our fellows was murdered beyond the Ranges by some of these blacks.’

‘Revenge!’ said Yacka quietly. ‘How many of the black men had he killed?’

‘Blest if the fellow can’t speak English as well as I can!’ said the man in astonishment. ‘Maybe it was revenge, but we don’t allow black men to kill white men without making an example of them.’ Turning to Edgar he said: ‘I like the look of you, young fellow, and your mate. My name’s Walter Hepburn, and I’m in the Government service, and stationed at Alice Springs, where the telegraph office is. We’ve been repairing on the line, and are on our way back to the Springs. If you care to come on with us, I have no doubt we can show you some fun.’

‘How far are we from Alice Springs?’ asked Edgar.

‘A couple of days will take us there.’

‘Then we shall be very pleased to go with you, and thank you heartily for your invitation. My name is Edgar Foster.’

‘What! the young fellow who saved the skipper’s baby from the wreck of the Distant Shore?’ exclaimed Walter Hepburn.

‘Yes,’ said Edgar sadly; ‘we were the only two saved.’

‘Give me your hand, lad,’ said Walter Hepburn; ‘I’m proud to shake it. Here, lads, give three cheers for Edgar Foster!’

The men gave three ringing cheers, that echoed far and wide.

It made Edgar’s heart beat fast to hear them in this wild country.

Good deeds make themselves known and felt the wide world over, and their influence can make men better even in a wilderness.

Yacka was pleased at the reception given to Edgar, and his black face was all smiling.

‘That blackfellow’s uncommon fond of you, I reckon?’ said Walter Hepburn.

‘He is,’ said Edgar. ‘Yacka planned this expedition for us, and we are in search of adventures, and want to see the country.’

That night Edgar and Will enjoyed a hearty supper with their newly-made acquaintances; and Edgar had to relate how he was rescued, and how he saved Eva from the wreck of the Distant Shore.

When Edgar mentioned to Walter Hepburn that they were going far beyond the Ranges with Yacka, he looked serious.

‘If you’ll take my advice, you will make for Adelaide from Alice Springs. It is over a thousand miles from there to Adelaide. If you go on north, to Port Darwin, that is over nine hundred miles. Where does Yacka, as you call him, want to take you on the other side of the Ranges?’

‘That is his secret,’ said Edgar, ‘and I cannot tell you what he has told me. Before we started from Yanda I meant to go through with this business, and I’ll do it if I live.’

‘I admire your pluck,’ said Walter Hepburn; ‘but what is the use of risking your life when there is no object to be gained?’

---

A couple of days after their meeting with the telegraph repairers the party arrived at Alice Springs—the most interesting of all the stations on the overland telegraph line. Alice Springs stands high above the sea-level, and there is magnificent and interesting scenery in the district, the valley in which it lies being of exceptional beauty.

As Edgar looked at the scene mapped out before him, he could not help expressing astonishment at what he saw. Alice Springs he had imagined as a bare, desolate spot, and here he saw the great MacDonnell Ranges lying to the north, the source of rivers, creeks, and springs, the valley stretching far away to east and west. The River Todd, running close by, lends a picturesque charm to the scene.

There were numerous people about when the party arrived, as Alice Springs is the repeating station on the line, and consequently a considerable number of officers were employed. The buildings were not particularly enchanting, but they were useful and commodious. Several trees were scattered about, affording a comfortable shade, and the hot winds had not scorched up all vegetation.

The officers employed at Alice Springs Station were a genial, jovial lot of fellows; and when Edgar and Will had been duly introduced by Walter Hepburn, they were at once made at home. After travelling so many miles, and living on the produce of their guns and Yacka’s ingenuity, it was a treat for them once more to come across civilization. They were feasted and made much of, and the inevitable race-meeting was got up in their honour.

Edgar noticed there were a good many men about besides the officers employed on the station, and he did not like the look of some of them. They had a hang-dog expression on their faces, and a lazy, loafing way of idling about that spoke ill for the manner in which they managed to knock out a living.

‘You have some queer customers about here,’ said Edgar to Walter Hepburn.

‘You mean those fellows over yonder,’ he replied.

‘I guess you’re about right—they are queer customers. They are out-and-out “spielers,” and you generally find them loafing about in the interior wherever there is a new settlement. They are always in fairly strong force around here, and when we have races they are only too ready to make wagers which they have no intention of paying. Some of our fellows are foolish enough to bet with them, and out of sheer despair at getting up a game of cards, I have known them play with these men. Needless to say, our fellows never win. These “spielers” know too much for them. In my opinion, they are worse than the blacks, and a greater danger to settlers. Horse-stealing and swindling they are always ready for; but they are cowards when fairly tackled, and soon seek fresh fields when a place becomes too hot to hold them.’

‘Strange how such men can find occupation here,’ said Edgar.

‘Well, you see, it’s this way,’ said Walter Hepburn. ‘Settlers in a new country, where white men are scarce, and blacks are dangerous and hostile, are only too glad to give a white man a welcome. No questions are asked as to who or what the white man may be, but they take it for granted his company must be an improvement on their black, quarrelsome neighbours. I’ve known blackguards like those you see over yonder stay at a place for a week, and then clear out with the best horses and anything else they could conveniently take away.’

‘I saw a couple of them eyeing our horses over a short time back,’ said Will Brown, who came up and heard the conversation. ‘Yacka says we had better leave our horses behind when we go beyond the Ranges, and call for them as we return; that is, if they will care to have them here.’

‘You can leave them with pleasure if you wish,’ said Walter Hepburn, ‘and I’ll promise to look after them for you as well as I can. You will certainly not have much use for horses if you are going west after you cross the ranges. It is, so far as we know, very little else but desert between here and West Australia. As I told you before, I am afraid you are undertaking a great risk, and all to very little purpose. You may as well remain here a week or two, and then return south towards Adelaide. You’ll have had enough of it when you reach there, without going farther north.’

‘I’ll consult Yacka, and hear what he has to say,’ said Edgar, and walked towards the black, leaving Will with Walter Hepburn.

Edgar explained what Hepburn had said, and Yacka replied:

‘I will go with you to Adelaide, if you wish; but you will be sorry for it. We have come so far, let us go on. These men know nothing of Enooma’s country. They have been lost in the desert and never found the green land. Come with me, and I will show you much. Yacka has said he will make you rich. Come and see if the son of Enooma speaks true.’

‘You say we had better leave our horses here until we return,’ said Edgar. ‘How far have we to go beyond the ranges?’

‘Long way,’ said Yacka, ‘but fine country. We soon leave the sand behind, and then you will see much better place than Yanda.’

‘I will go with you,’ said Edgar, and Yacka was pleased. ‘We will leave here in a few days.’

During the time they remained at Alice Springs there was plenty of amusement. Local races, and a cricket match filled in the time, and Edgar managed to impress it upon them that he could handle a bat.

Yacka amused himself in various ways. He kept aloof from everyone, and sat looking on at the various games in a contemplative style that amused Edgar.

The numerous ‘spielers’ about the place found time hang heavily on their hands, and two or three of them thought to pass a few hours away by teasing Yacka, and trying to work him into a frenzy. These vile wretches were adepts in the art of ill-using and insulting not only blacks, but white men, when they got the chance, and when there was but little danger connected with it.

Yacka was quietly carving a stick, when three of these vagabonds came up to him. One jerked the stick out of his hand and flung it away, another upset the log upon which he was sitting, and the third kicked him in the ribs as he lay on the floor.

Then these three white men with black hearts got a surprise from the black man with a white heart. Yacka sprang to his feet with a yell. He seized the nearest man round the waist, lifted him off his feet, and flung him over his shoulder, as easily as only a practised wrestler could. The man fell with a heavy thud upon the ground and lay there. Yacka bounded upon the next man before he had recovered from his surprise, and would have treated him in a similar way. The noise, however, attracted the attention of the ‘spielers’ mates, who came running up, and Yacka was surrounded by enemies.

The black’s eyes fairly blazed as he looked round at the cowardly crew hemming him in on every side. He could not see a loophole of escape, so he determined to fight for liberty. Yacka knew well enough if these men got him down he would probably be kicked to death.

A blow on the back of his head warned him his persecutors meant business. Yacka could see no weapon handy, so he used his fists, and struck out right and left with tremendous effect. Three of the crew measured their full length on the ground in almost as many seconds. Yacka’s blows fell fast, but he could not guard himself at the rear as well as in the front. Blows fell upon his head and made him dizzy, and he knew he could not hold out much longer.

‘There’s a row going on outside,’ said Walter Hepburn, as he got up from the table where they had just been refreshing themselves, and went to the door.

‘Hang me if it is not that black chap of yours! The “spielers” are on to him. Come along, quick, or they’ll do for him!’

Edgar and Will jumped up, and the three ran towards the scene of the encounter.

They were only just in time. One of the gang of cowards attacking Yacka struck him a severe blow on the head with a heavy stick, and the black fell on to his knees. No sooner was he down than a brutal assault was made upon him. Edgar outstripped his companions and was first on the scene. He said nothing, but he began to knock the ‘spielers’ about in a manner that left no doubt as to his hitting powers.

Will Brown and Walter Hepburn were not slow to follow his example, and although they were opposed to more than double their own number, the trio quickly drove the ‘spielers’ away, some of them much the worse for the encounter.

Edgar knelt down beside Yacka, who was lying on the ground half stunned.

‘The brutes!’ said Edgar. ‘They have mauled him badly. How do you feel, Yacka? Any bones broken?’

The black smiled feebly and said:

‘No bones broken, Master Edgar, but I have got a bad head. I could have beaten the first three, but more came up and they got at me from behind.’ Seeing Hepburn, he added significantly: ‘That is what causes revenge, and the killing of white men.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Will. ‘You cannot expect a blackfellow to stand such brutal conduct as this.’

‘No,’ said Hepburn, ‘but the worst of it is the innocent suffer for the guilty. These brutes get off scot-free, and some poor settler meets with his death.’

‘Yacka has never killed a man what you call a settler,’ said the black.

‘No one supposes you have,’ said Edgar. ‘Can you walk?’

Yacka managed to stand on his feet, but his head swam, and he felt dizzy.

‘Bring him into my shanty,’ said Hepburn. ‘I can’t stand even a blackfellow being knocked about in this style.’

The ‘spielers’ were hanging about as they led Yacka into Hepburn’s house. As he entered the door the black turned and shook his fist at them, and a cruel look came into his eyes.

Hepburn saw it and whispered to Edgar:

‘I would not give much for one of those fellows’ chances of salvation if Yacka got him alone.’

Had it been a white man the ‘spielers’ had set upon, they would have been hustled out of the place quickly enough, but a blackfellow more or less did not seem to matter with the bulk of the men. The majority of them would have knocked a ‘spieler’ down with the greatest of satisfaction, but even in such a case as the assault upon Yacka they were inclined to regard the black as the aggressor. This feeling naturally aroused Edgar’s indignation. He had not lived amongst savage blacks as most of these men had, and gone with his life in his hands every time he went a few miles up country. The blacks in many cases undoubtedly attacked peaceful settlers and murdered them in a treacherous manner. This naturally aroused a feeling of intense hatred against the original inhabitants of the country, and all blackfellows were treated alike. When the settlers treated the blacks kindly it was regarded by them as a sign of weakness, and an encouragement to attack them. Arguments such as these Hepburn used to convince Edgar the white men had good reason for hating the black.

‘The Finke blacks,’ said Hepburn, ‘are a peaceable lot; but when you get into the Musgrave and MacDonnell Ranges, and farther north, it is necessary to be well armed if you wish to come back again. I have been there and know, and that is the main reason I have endeavoured to persuade you not to go with Yacka.’

‘It would be cowardly on our part to desert Yacka now,’ said Edgar, ‘nor have we any inclination to do so. I would sooner trust a whole tribe of blacks than the brutal fellows who attacked him.’

Hepburn saw it was useless to argue more, so he said good-naturedly:

‘If you are bent upon proceeding, you must let me supply you with more ammunition. You will want it, I am afraid, unless Yacka is well-known to the northern tribes.’

‘You’re a brick!’ said Will enthusiastically, ‘and I for one will accept your gift.’

‘It’s a good while since I heard that expression,’ said Hepburn. ‘It reminds me of my school-days.’

‘Where were you put in training?’ asked Edgar with a smile.

‘At a grand old school, which I dare say you have heard of,’ said Hepburn. ‘I was educated at Redbank.’

Edgar and Will gave a whoop that startled Hepburn, and before he could realize what had happened, he felt both his arms being worked up and down in a rapid style that took his breath away.

‘Hold on, lads!’ he gasped; ‘you’ll have my arms off. What the deuce is the matter with you?’

‘This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of,’ said Edgar.

‘I see nothing very extraordinary in my having been educated at Redbank,’ said Hepburn, ‘except the fact that I might have done the school more credit, considering the training I received.’

‘We are Redbank boys,’ said Edgar.

It was Hepburn’s turn now, and the pumping process recommenced. They almost danced for joy, and Yacka, who was lying on the camp-bed, thought they had gone suddenly mad.

‘Bless my soul! it is remarkable after all,’ said Hepburn. ‘To think we Redbank fellows should all meet in this outlandish spot! The world is very small.’

What a night they made of it, and they were still talking over the glories of Redbank when the morning light made the lamp grow dim.

---

Edgar Foster learned that Walter Hepburn had gone to Redbank a term or two after his father left the school. Hepburn was therefore well acquainted with the prowess of Edgar’s father in the cricket-field. It seemed very strange that they should all meet at Alice Springs, and it was a date to be noted as a red-letter day when the discovery was made. Had Walter Hepburn been free to leave his post, he would, after finding out they were Redbank boys, have joined them in their travels farther north. School ties bind men fast together, especially when such a good feeling existed as always did amongst Redbank lads.

The time came for parting, and when Yacka was sufficiently recovered they left the station amidst general regret, and a universally expressed wish to see them safe back again.

Yacka was quite himself as soon as all traces of civilization were left behind. Once in the ranges he revelled in the mountain air, and appeared familiar with every pathway. In one place they had a difficult task to perform. Yacka led them up to a gigantic cleft in the rocks, which towered high above them on either side. Between these high, rocky walls flowed a river, and up it Yacka said they must swim.

‘It will save a big climb over the rocks,’ he said, ‘and I can take your clothes on my head.’

There was nothing for it but to strip, and Edgar and Will were not averse to a good swim.

Yacka tied their clothes in a bundle, and placing the guns on the top, put them all on his head, far out of the reach of the water. He had tied the bundle under his chin with a strap, and it was marvellous to watch how he swam up the river with such a load on his head.

Edgar and Will plunged in after him, and found the water very cold; but the exertion of swimming kept the circulation of their blood up.

‘By Jove! it was a cold bath,’ said Will, as he stood drying himself in the sun. ‘It must be the rocks make it like iced-water.’

‘Very refreshing on a hot day,’ said Edgar. ‘They would give a trifle to have such a cool bathing-place at Yanda.’

As they proceeded they came across a number of watercourses and hills and valleys. They climbed to the top of high rocks, and descended again into level lands. At sundown they were tired out, and could hardly eat the supper Yacka prepared for them. No sooner had they finished their meal than they were sound asleep. But Yacka did not sleep; he stood looking down at them with his big eyes, and seemed to be in deep thought. The moonlight showed his black form standing over the two sleepers, and his attitude was one of dejection.

‘How white they are,’ he muttered, ‘and Yacka so black! but they are not as white as Enooma, and Yacka is her son.’

He sat down, and commenced to reason in his own way as to why he should be black, and the two sleepers white. He could find no satisfactory solution to the problem. Yacka knew naught of the white man’s God, but he had a wonderful amount of superstition in his nature, and a firm belief that the White Spirit watched over him. Yacka had no fear of death; he would have laughed at such a thought, and yet he did not understand what death really meant. Had the blackfellow been able to express what he really thought about death, it would have been to the effect that it was merely the White Spirit’s way of rewarding him for his work here by carrying him off to a country where he would be happy for ever. Yacka slept but little that night, but he was awake early, and ready to start again.

The ranges were passed, and they were now in more open country. On the lowlands were numerous bushes, mulga on the hills, and gum and tea tree in the creeks. Plains of salt-bush could be seen, but on to the west they descried grass-land.

For several days they tramped on, living on the simplest fare, and yet feeling strong and well, and fit for almost any exertion.

‘Where are all the blacks we heard so much about?’ said Edgar. ‘We have met none yet.’

‘We shall be in the Enooma country by sunset to-morrow,’ said Yacka; ‘then you will see men of my tribe.’

Yacka spoke truly. The next night they came across a blacks’ camp. To Edgar’s surprise there were between two and three hundred of them. As they approached Yacka made a peculiar sound like the shrill cry of a parrot, only with quite a different note, which roused the blacks, and several rushed forward to meet them.

When they saw Yacka the effect was astonishing. At first they looked at him in amazement, then an old man cried aloud, ‘Yacka! Yacka! Enooma! Enooma!’ and the whole of the blacks, surrounding him, knelt before him.

There was a proud look on Yacka’s face as he motioned them to rise. Then he spoke rapidly in the native tongue, and pointed to Edgar and Will.

The blacks gave vent to warlike cries, and, shaking their wooden spears high in the air, drove them into the ground with terrific force.

‘That means they will kill any man who does you harm,’ said Yacka. ‘You are safe here, and the whole tribe will protect you.’

They moved towards the camp, and at their approach the blacks stood up and awaited their coming with eager and excited looks.

Yacka was known to them, and was evidently an important man with the tribe. Edgar fancied they regarded him with something akin to fear, and said to Will:

‘We were right to trust Yacka, for these blacks stand in awe of him, and we shall be safe with them.’

‘They are a savage-looking lot,’ said Will, ‘and I should not care to have come amongst them alone. If these are the men who molest the settlers, I am not surprised at the white men hating them.’

The blacks were tall, powerful men, of a far different stamp to those in the west of New South Wales. Yacka was small beside some of them, and many were six feet high and over. They were all armed with native weapons, and were well prepared for any encounter. As they were in such strong force, Edgar came to the conclusion they must be on the war-path, and questioned Yacka.

‘They are always armed,’ said Yacka. ‘The Curracoo tribe are their deadly enemies, and when they meet they fight.’

‘I never heard of that tribe,’ said Edgar.

‘The Enooma and the Curracoo are not known except in this part of Australia,’ said Yacka. ‘They are tribes of the MacDonnell and Musgrave blacks. They fight savagely. The Curracoo wish to seize the white spirit of the Enooma, and think to capture her; but they know nothing of our country, nor of the caves we are going to.’

The blacks regarded Edgar and Will with much curiosity, and from the manner in which many of them pointed at their own bodies and then at Edgar’s, he thought they could not have seen many white men. It was a strange sensation for the two friends to lie awake in the midst of a camp of over two hundred savage blacks, and wonder what was about to happen.

Early in the morning they were aroused by loud warlike cries, and Yacka hurried up to them and said:

‘Follow me; the Curracoo are at hand, and there will be a fight.’

‘And if the Enooma are beaten, what will become of us?’ said Will.

‘The Enooma will win,’ said Yacka. ‘If beaten, Yacka can save you.’

He led them to a small hill not far distant from the camp, and bade them remain until his return.

‘You can see the fight,’ he said, ‘and there is no danger.’

‘This is a lively situation,’ said Edgar. ‘With all due respect to Yacka, if his tribe is defeated, the Curracoo will make short work of us.’

‘There they are!’ said Will, pointing excitedly to a dark mass moving across the open country.

‘It seems to me there are some hundreds of them,’ said Edgar; ‘far more than the Enooma. This is a poor look-out, Will. We must be prepared to fight for our lives.’

As they stood on the rising ground they had a splendid view of the plain below, and were soon absorbed in the scene before them. The two bodies of blacks were approaching nearer and nearer, and neither tribe shirked an encounter. They could see Yacka standing some distance apart, and evidently directing the movements of the Enooma.

‘Yacka has learned something in the big cities,’ said Edgar; ‘look where he has sent about fifty men round that clump of trees, where they are hidden from the enemy. They intend to make an attack on the rear that will prove successful.’

Suddenly, and without a moment’s warning, the whole scene changed. On the plain, that a moment before had contained two bodies of blacks advancing towards each other, there was now a confused mass of figures, uttering terrible cries and fighting like furies. The sound of blows could be heard above the din, and the grass was dotted with the forms of fallen blacks. They were at too close quarters for spears, and were using heavy nulla-nullas, and warding off the blows with wooden shields.

They saw Yacka quietly surveying the scene, and wondered why he did not join in.

‘He is waiting for a favourable opportunity,’ said Edgar. ‘Those men behind the trees have not moved yet.’

The cries of the fighting blacks became more and more wild and furious. They looked like fiends dancing about in a frenzy, and dealing blows on every hand. One huge fellow, a chief of the Enooma, did terrible execution with an enormous weapon which he whirled about like a battle-axe, and Edgar and Will watched him with a fascination that deadened all sense of their own danger if the tribe suffered defeat.

‘Look at him!’ said Edgar. ‘He’s mowing them down like grass. No one can stand in his way. His wrist play is splendid—it reminds me of club exercise at school.’

‘It’s a trifle more exciting than that,’ said Will. ‘What strength the fellow has! He could fell an ox with one of those terrible blows. Nothing can stop him.’

As though to give the lie to his words, a black, nearly as big as the Enooma chief, barred his way, and a desperate combat took place. Both men had wooden shields with which they dexterously warded off the blows. They were evenly matched, although the Enooma black was a shade taller than his opponent. Both were mad with rage and thirst for blood, and it was a duel to the death.

‘He’s down!’ shouted Edgar, as the Enooma chief slipped; but it was only a feint, as the black, dodging a blow aimed at his head by his opponent, suddenly raised himself. The Curracoo overbalanced himself with the force of the blow, and fell forward. As he stumbled along, the Enooma, raising his huge club on high, brought it down with tremendous force on the back of the Curracoo’s head. Where they stood they could hear the blow, and Edgar shuddered as he saw the black’s head split open, and he fell dead on the ground.

Seeing their champion killed, the Curracoo wavered; and, seizing this favourable opportunity, Yacka, uttering a loud war-yell, sprang forward and called upon the men in ambush to follow him. In a few minutes the Enooma blacks were furiously attacking the Curracoos in the rear. Unaccustomed to these tactics, the Curracoos were terrified, and at once tried to run away from the danger. This, however, was impossible; they were hemmed in on all sides, and by merciless foes who knew not the meaning of the word ‘quarter.’ It was a fearful sight to see these blacks felled to the ground by the heavy blows rained upon them on all sides. The Enooma were bent upon slaughter, and killed their enemies without mercy. The plain had every appearance of a battle-field, and in some places half a dozen blacks were piled in a heap, dead.

At a signal from Yacka the Enooma ceased fighting, and, surrounding the blacks still left alive, held them prisoners. These men were disarmed and marched off towards the camp. A few of the Curracoos could be seen flying from the scene of the battle which had proved so fatal to them, but comparatively few of them escaped.

Yacka came to Edgar and Will, and they saw he was almost covered with blood, and his club was dripping dark-red drops. The black’s eyes shone with the light of battle and thirst for blood. All the savage nature of this strange being was roused, and the cruelty in him was uppermost. He shook the blood-stained club over his head, and said:

‘Victory to the Enooma. There has been a terrible slaughter. Come and see. Yacka will show you how the Enooma strike their enemies.’

Edgar and Will descended from the hill where they had witnessed the fight, and followed Yacka on to the field of battle.

---

It was indeed a terrible sight the two friends gazed upon. On the ground where the fight had furiously raged lay scores of dead blacks in all attitudes, just as they had fallen. It made them shudder to look at the scene. The terrific nature of the blows dealt was apparent, for most of the dead had their skulls fractured, and their features were ghastly and distorted. Their weapons lay near them, and Edgar picked up the club which the powerful black who fought the Enooma chief had used. It was a great weight, and fully three feet long, and capable of dealing a fearful blow, even in a weak man’s hands. The end was covered with blood and hair, showing that the Curracoo had killed many enemies before he was slain.

‘You will bury these men?’ asked Edgar.

‘The Enooma must have burial,’ said Yacka; ‘the Curracoo are not fit to be hidden away;’ and he struck a fallen black, who still showed signs of life, over the head with his club.

‘That was a cowardly thing to do,’ said Edgar.

‘They are not fit to live,’ said Yacka, and went on.

‘What a brute he is, after all!’ said Will, in a low voice. ‘He is no better than the others.’

‘He is a savage at heart,’ said Edgar, ‘and we must make allowances for him.’

‘If he kills defenceless men like that,’ said Will, ‘I would not give much for our lives if he felt disposed to turn upon us.’

‘He will not do that,’ said Edgar. ‘We are his friends, these men his enemies. Had the Curracoo won, they would have treated the Enooma in the same way. This savage warfare is the same the world over, I expect. It is a horrible sight.’

‘Over a hundred killed,’ said Yacka, with a savage smile; ‘and we have many prisoners.’

‘Shall you kill the prisoners?’ asked Edgar.

‘Yes; and leave them as a warning to the tribe.’

‘How will they be put to death?’ asked Edgar, who had read of the tortures inflicted by savages in Africa and elsewhere.

‘That will be decided,’ said Yacka. ‘The Enooma know how to kill their enemies.’

After a gruesome tramp over the battle-field, they returned to the camp. The victorious Enooma were already commencing to celebrate their triumph.

Edgar saw a group of prisoners, about forty or fifty in number, bound with thongs made of some kind of reed or long grass. They all looked terror-stricken, and evidently knew what was in store for them.

‘Poor wretches!’ said Will. ‘It would be a kindness to shoot them.’

‘We must not interfere,’ said Edgar. ‘It would be risking our lives to do so. Even Yacka would not stand that.’

‘You saw a dance at Yanda,’ said Yacka. ‘You will see a genuine war dance soon.’

Towards night the big men of the tribe assembled round Yacka, and all squatted on the ground.

‘They are deciding the fate of the prisoners,’ said Will. ‘I hope it will not be very awful.’

The consultation did not last long, and Yacka came towards them. He seemed pleased at the prospect before him, and laughed harshly.

‘It is good,’ he said. ‘All die a dog’s death.’

‘Will they be hanged?’ asked Will.

‘Some,’ said Yacka. ‘Wait and see.’

There were many trees near the camp, and they had big white branches a good height from the ground. Ten of the Curracoos were brought forward and thrown down under the trees. They were then raised feet first, and bound with their heads downwards round the trunks of the trees. Others were drawn up, feet foremost, over the branches, and left hanging with their heads touching the feet of the others.

Edgar protested to Yacka, but he took no notice. The black was looking at the fearful scene with savage delight. There was no mercy to be got out of Yacka, so Edgar did not speak to him again.

Other blacks were brought to these trees, cast down on their faces, and spears were driven through their backs, pinning them to the ground in such a manner that they could not get free. Their cries were fearful, and made the place seem like a hell upon earth. Some of the cruelties were too fearful to relate, and yet Yacka watched it all with fiendish glee. When the last prisoner had been tortured and left to die a lingering death, Yacka was satisfied.

‘We cannot trust you after what we have seen,’ said Edgar. ‘We shall go back. Guide us to Alice Springs; if not, we must risk it, and go alone.’

Yacka was dumfounded. He could not understand the reason of their distrust in him. He had acted according to the customs of his tribe, and knew, had the Curracoo won, the Enooma would have been treated in a similar way. It was the fortune of war. The Enooma had gained the victory; why should the white men mistrust him because the tribe had taken their just revenge?

‘Yacka is your friend,’ said the black. ‘You have come to no harm. We make war in our own way. You kill many men with big guns. I have seen them fired. They kill many at one shot. It is more terrible than our wars.’

‘We do not torture prisoners,’ said Edgar. ‘You are no better than these savages.’

‘I am the son of Enooma,’ said Yacka; ‘therefore I am the head of them. The head guides the body. I am the chief, the king, and I am above them all.’

‘You are as cruel as they are,’ said Edgar. ‘If you are the King of the Enooma, why did you not kill these men at once, not torture them?’

‘It is the will of Enooma,’ said Yacka, ‘and she must be obeyed.’

‘The White Spirit would never allow men to be tortured,’ said Edgar. ‘There is no White Spirit over the Enooma; it is a black spirit, and full of evil.’

‘You saved Yacka’s life,’ said the black, ‘and he is grateful. If my tribe know you call Enooma a black spirit, Yacka could not save you. Follow me. It is not far. Yacka will lead you back when you have looked upon the White Spirit, and seen the gold and beautiful stones.’

The agonized groans of the tortured blacks sounded terrible, and Edgar said:

‘Kill these men, and we will go with you.’

Yacka hesitated, and Edgar, noticing it, said:

‘I took your hand in friendship; now it is stained in blood. Kill these men, and I will forgive you, and the White Spirit will be glad.’

‘It shall be,’ said Yacka, and moved away towards the camp.

How he prevailed upon the tribe he did not say, but the tortured men were killed, and their groans ceased, much to Edgar’s relief.

After this experience, there was no telling what might happen if another encounter took place with a hostile tribe, and the Enooma were defeated. Yacka, however, had no intention of proceeding alone, and Edgar and Will found the tribe was to accompany them. Marching many miles a day in the company of a tribe of warlike blacks was a novel experience. Edgar had many opportunities of noting how they lived and their habits. He soon learned that the Enooma were excellent marksmen, and could throw a spear with as great accuracy as he could shoot. They used their boomerangs dexterously.

Yacka was an adept at throwing this peculiar weapon, which is almost in the shape of a half crescent, and is made of very hard wood, smooth and shaved down to a sharp edge on the inside curve. Yacka could throw his boomerang high into the air, until it appeared a mere speck, and it came down in a series of curves until it fell at his feet. No matter how far he threw the boomerang, it invariably returned to him.

The first time Edgar attempted throwing a boomerang he was rather astonished. Instead of going high into the air, it gave a few curves, then flew rapidly backwards, and Edgar had to duck his head quickly to avoid a blow.

‘It is not so easy as it looks,’ he said to Will. ‘Have a try?’

Will took the weapon and tried, with no better result; in fact, he came off worse than Edgar, for he got a severe blow on the shin. The blacks were amused at the white men’s clumsy attempts to throw the boomerang, and their grins of satisfaction exasperated Edgar.

‘They imagine we can do nothing in this line,’ he said to Will. ‘We must undeceive them, or they will have a very poor opinion of us. We have not many shots to spare; but it may be as well to show them how deadly a gun is.’

Edgar explained to Yacka that it was not fair the blacks should have it all their own way.

‘Throw your boomerang, and I’ll engage to hit it in the air,’ said Edgar.

Yacka did not care to risk his own boomerang, which was carved in a fantastic manner, so he took another, and, after telling the blacks what Edgar was about to do, he flung it into the air.

As it came circling down Edgar fired and hit it, but it did not split with the shot; the marks, however, were plainly visible, and the blacks were not only terrified at the noise, but amazed at the result. It was Will’s turn next, and he elected to try his luck with the revolver.

Yacka fastened one of the blacks’ loin-cloths to a tree, doubling it into a small space. These cloths were made of thick skin, probably kangaroo, and when doubled it offered strong resistance to a bullet.

Will fired at twenty paces. The bullet passed through the skin and flattened against the tree. On seeing this, the blacks regarded the revolver with much interest, but would not handle it.

The Enooma blacks were athletic fellows, and could run, jump, and wrestle in a manner that surprised Edgar, who knew a good deal about such sports.

In his Redbank days Edgar had run his hundred yards in even time, and he was in splendid condition now.

One of the Enooma, called Ouwana, they noticed was a fine runner, and Will suggested Edgar should try his speed against him.

Yacka, as usual, arranged matters.

Ouwana was a tall, lithe-limbed black, about twenty years old, and with a less repulsive cast of countenance than many of his tribe. He was quite willing to run Edgar, and Will measured out the distance as near as he could stride it.

Yacka acted as starter, the signal being a loud clap of the hands, and Will was judge. The blacks grew quite excited over the race.

Yacka’s hands met with a crack like a pistol, and, trained as he had been to start smartly, Edgar gained a slight advantage. He ran his best, but before he had gone fifty yards it was a hopeless case, as Ouwana passed him like a flash, and simply won hands down.

Edgar was amazed, not so much at being beaten, as by the easy way in which it was done.

‘He’s a champion,’ said Edgar.

‘He would be good enough to win one of those big handicaps we saw advertised in the Sydney paper before we left Yanda. How much was the prize money?’

‘About six hundred pounds, I think,’ said Will; ‘I wish we had Ouwana there.’

‘So do I,’ said Edgar; ‘it would be rare fun to see the black fellow “down” the cracks.’

The days passed quickly, and Edgar and Will had no thought of time. They did not even know what month it was, and were dead out of their reckoning as regards the days of the week.

What surprised them most was the fertile nature of the country. They had passed across a vast sandy plain, and taken some days to do it, but ever since they left it behind they had been tramping over what Edgar knew would not only be excellent sheep country, but would also carry cattle. Grass was plentiful—not brown, dry grass, but green and juicy—proving there had either been recent rain, or there was plenty of moisture in the earth.

It was not a flat, dull, and uninteresting country, for there were hills and valleys, and trees and shrubs, and beautiful wild flowers and blossoming trees were found in many places. Wild berries and fruits they found, and running streams of water, which seemed to find their source in the many caves with which the mountains were honeycombed. In some of these streams, which at times were sufficiently large to be called rivers, crocodiles were found, both large and small. The larger crocodile was voracious, and it was not safe to bathe when any of them showed their ugly heads, but the smaller species was harmless, and never ventured to attack them.

The Enooma blacks were fond of the water, and often risked their lives bathing and swimming where crocodiles were to be seen.

Ouwana was especially venturesome, and often speared a crocodile in the water.

Yacka said he had seen Ouwana fight a crocodile, with a shortened spear like a dagger, for the mere excitement of the sport.

Edgar managed to further earn the goodwill of the blacks by saving Ouwana’s life.

The black dived into the stream, and was swimming in the centre, when a huge crocodile appeared close beside him. The hideous creature opened its monster jaws, showing great ugly teeth, and in another moment would have ended Ouwana’s career. Edgar luckily had his gun with him, and, taking a steady aim with the barrel used for ball, fired. The crocodile sank like a stone.

Ouwana was unaware of his danger, and at first thought Edgar had fired at him. This roused all the ferociousness in the black’s nature, and it would have gone hard with Edgar had Yacka not come up and explained.

When Ouwana found out what Edgar had done he showed his repentance for doubting him, and his thankfulness for his delivery from a fearful death, by kneeling down and putting both arms round Edgar’s legs. He then looked up into his face with such sorrowful eyes that Edgar patted his woolly head, much as he would have done that of a big dog.

---

‘Look!’ said Yacka, pointing to a range of hills in the distance. ‘There you will find the cave of the White Spirit, and your journey will be ended.’

Gazing in the direction the black indicated, they saw hill upon hill towering one above the other like a number of huge pyramids. It was a strange sight in this wild country, where it was doubtful if ever a white man had set foot before.

They were all eagerness to continue the journey, but Yacka said this could not be. Certain forms and ceremonies were to be gone through before he could venture with them into the hills and caves where Enooma, the White Spirit, lay at rest. Only the head of the tribe was permitted to enter the cave, and so superstitious were the blacks upon this point, that they believed it meant certain death to anyone of their number who disobeyed. Consequently Yacka would have no difficulty in showing Edgar and Will what the cave contained, as he alone could enter.

Yacka had stated to the tribe that the white men were come to see Enooma, who was of the same race, and therefore they must be permitted to enter the cave.

At the foot of the nearest hill—it could almost be called a mountain—they halted, and the blacks commenced a wild, weird chant which sounded like the wail of lost spirits. They prostrated themselves upon the ground, and made signs with their spears.

Yacka stepped on ahead, and beckoned to Edgar and Will to follow, which they did without hesitation. The other blacks came on at a respectful distance, and seemed afraid that something was about to happen. In the side of the hill they were approaching, Edgar saw a large cleft in the rock wide enough to admit half a dozen people to pass in abreast. These hills were all solid rock, not merely mounds of earth, and were bare in many places, while in fissures grew trees, and wild creepers hung down in great profusion. Orchids were growing of exceptional beauty, and Edgar, as he looked at them, thought of the price they would bring in the old country. As they entered the cleft in the rock the blacks remained behind, and squatted down on the ground.

‘They guard the entrance,’ said Yacka. ‘When no one is here this opening in the rock closes up, and no one can find the cave of Enooma.’

Edgar wondered how Yacka knew the cleft closed up if no one was there to see such a strange thing happen.

‘How can you tell that,’ he said, ‘if you have never seen it?’

‘Rest and listen,’ said Yacka: ‘You never believe I speak truth because I am black. Once the Enooma were defeated by the Curracoo, and fled before them to these hills. They were so hard-pressed that they had to rush through the cleft in the rock, and when the last of the tribe passed in the cleft closed and shut the Curracoo out. This is true, for men of the tribe have told me, and they do not lie to the chief.’

Edgar believed this to be another superstition of the blacks, but he could not resist looking behind him towards the cleft they had entered by. With a loud cry he sprang to his feet, for behind them there was a solid rock, and he could see nothing of the blacks they had left. Will looked, and turned pale as he saw they were shut in.

‘How is this?’ said Edgar. ‘What has happened?’

‘Enooma has closed her gate,’ said Yacka. ‘She knows of the approach of her son and the white men, and she wishes to be undisturbed.’

Edgar walked back to where he imagined the cleft in the rock by which they entered had been, but he could see nothing but a solid mass in front of him. He felt the rock and it was hard and firm, and must have been there for ages. How had this strange thing happened? Yacka must have suddenly turned as they walked along, and the opening become hidden, but as they entered the black appeared to have gone straight on.

‘I give it up,’ said Edgar. ‘We seem to be blocked in here, and shall have to trust to Yacka to get us out. It makes a fellow feel queer when such strange things happen, but I have no doubt there is an explanation of it if we can find it out.’

The place they were now standing in was a narrow defile between rocks towering up perpendicularly to a considerable height. These rocks were bare and smooth, and not a plant or fern could be seen growing on the sides. Before them was the mouth of a cave, and inside seemed dark as pitch. Yacka walked to the mouth of the cave, and they followed him. When they became accustomed to the gloom, they saw a faint glimmer of light, about the size of a bull’s-eye lantern glass, in the far distance. So far as Edgar could make out, the sides of the cave were rocks, but smoothed in a similar way to those on either side of the defile they had left. The floor of the cave was hard and even, in some places so smooth that it became slippery and dangerous. Yacka did not speak, but kept moving slowly forward, and they could see the dim outline of his figure.

‘It must have been the action of water for ages that has made the floor so smooth,’ said Edgar. ‘How cold it is after the heat we have had! Reminds me of a petrifying cave. I believe if we remained here long enough we should be turned into stone.’

‘I have no desire to be turned into a petrified mummy at present,’ said Will laughing; ‘but you’re right about the cold—I am chilled to the bone.’

‘How much more of this is there, Yacka?’ said Edgar, speaking loud enough for the black, who was some way in front, to hear him.

The sound of his voice echoed through the passage, and gradually died away in the distance.

‘Wait,’ said Yacka. ‘Be careful here.’

They had need of the warning, for they were now treading upon something soft and slimy, and the sensation was not pleasant. They slipped about and made but little progress, and were glad when the ground felt hard and dry again.

The round ball of light at the end was gradually widening, and they could now see more plainly the nature of the passage they were traversing. Looking up to the roof Edgar saw thousands of glittering stars, which flashed and twinkled even with the faint light from the opening.

‘Look, Will,’ he said; ‘how lovely this roof would be if there was more light! They might be diamonds, they sparkle so.’

‘Wish they were,’ replied Will. ‘A few diamonds would help a fellow along—you know in what direction I mean.’

‘Yacka has promised to make us rich. I wonder if he will let us take what we like if there is anything to take?’

It was a mass of various-coloured stalactites on the roof that had attracted Edgar’s attention, and as they got more light in the passage they were seen in all their beauty. The sides were also covered with curiously-twisted and gnarled designs. As they neared the opening they saw the sun was shining brightly, and that they were about to enter an open space. They were not, however, prepared for the sight that burst upon their astonished gaze as they stepped out of the darkness into the full light of the sun. Yacka watched them with a delighted expression in his eyes, and had evidently anticipated the surprise he was about to give them.

They were so charmed with the scene that they sat down and looked upon it without saying a word. The spot they were in was like a large basin hollowed out of the solid rocks. The sides sloped down gradually, and were hollowed out at the base. Had there been tiers of seats round, it would have resembled in shape a vast amphitheatre. There was, however, something far more picturesque than bare seats round this wonderful circle. The whole of the basin was covered with a kind of green moss, which looked like velvet as the sun shone upon it.

This velvet bed was studded with a profusion of flowers of all colours, shapes, and sizes. Brilliant orchids selected the most shady nooks to fix their abode in. Huge white convolvulus spread over projections and clumps; lilies of great height filled in spaces where water lodged, and gently trickled down into a pool in the hollow of the basin. Great nest ferns surrounded the water, their fronds, over six feet long, spreading out like large fans. The miniata had its large carmine blossoms showing to perfection, the colour being dazzling. Pandanus and screw palms also grew amongst the giant ferns and lilies. Floating on the water in the basin were gigantic water-lilies.

So scooped out was this basin, that there was an ample shade for the numerous ferns and lilies that do not flourish with the full light of the sun upon them. Surrounded by such lovely flowers and ferns, and with a cool pool of water to make everything refreshing, it is small wonder, after their recent experiences, that Edgar and Will fancied themselves in an enchanted spot. How it all came here no one could fathom. Nature fixes upon strange spots in which to work at her best. All they knew and cared about was that in an unexplored part of Australia they had come upon such a wonderful scene.

Yacka assured them this was a mere nothing when compared with the cave of Enooma.

The place they were now in he described as the bathing-place of Enooma, and said the waters from the caves did not run into this place.

‘You can drink this water,’ said Yacka, ‘but not that in the caves. It is bitter, and will turn the tongue hard, and you will have no taste.’

It always struck Edgar as curious that, no matter where they happened to be, Yacka could invariably procure them a good meal. Even in this spot, where it did not seem likely they would be able to find much to relieve their hunger, Yacka got berries and roots, some water from the pool, and made quite a pleasant, and what proved to be a strengthening, drink. He also gave them a root which he said would appease hunger for a time whenever tasted.

Yacka would not allow them to linger here, but walked round the basin.

Edgar saw no outlet except the one by which they had entered. At the far side Yacka pulled aside the dense masses of ferns, and they saw an opening large enough to admit of a man crawling through. Yacka went first, and they followed on their hands and knees.

This passage was about fifty yards in length, and at the other end was an open cave, which was lighted by a hole in the roof, naturally formed. Gliding down the walls were glistening drops of water, and the floor was very uneven, and covered with masses of rock that must at some remote period have become detached from the roof. Some of the tracery on the walls Edgar looked at with wonder. It was of a rich cream colour, and almost like the texture of a cashmere shawl.

All sorts of shapes and figures could be seen caused by the action of the water, which must have taken thousands of years to perform its work, and would take thousands more years to complete it. Hanging from the roof were large pendants like icicles, and the water ran slowly down them and dripped off at the end. The hollow underneath caused by these drips showed the extreme age of the cave.

Leaning against the side of the cave Edgar saw close to him what at first looked like a bunch of grapes; but when he observed it closely he found it was a peculiar formation in the rock.

‘That is one of the secrets,’ said Yacka. ‘It is a guide to the inner cave we must enter. Watch.’

Yacka pushed the bunch of grapes, and a large slab of rock moved slowly round, and through the opening they saw another large cave beyond.

‘Enter and wait,’ said Yacka.

‘Are you coming?’ said Edgar.

‘I will fetch you,’ said Yacka; ‘but I must enter the White Spirit’s cave before you, or harm may befall.’

‘I don’t half like it,’ said Edgar. ‘We are not afraid, but you had better go on with us.’

Yacka said: ‘You must remain alone.’

‘All right,’ said Edgar, sitting down on a projection from the rock; ‘but make haste back.’

Yacka went away, and when they looked round they found the rock had swung back into its place, and they were imprisoned in the cave.

---

It was not a pleasant sensation to find themselves alone, shut up in a cave, only a faint glimmer of light being visible, and from which there appeared to be no means of escape. There was a peculiar clammy dampness about the atmosphere, and a strange vault-like smell. It might have been an old tomb, so weird was everything surrounding them.

‘The stone must have swung back into its place,’ said Edgar. ‘Yacka will open it when he returns.’

‘All the same, I don’t like it,’ said Will. ‘Suppose he could not move the stone again. If anything happened to him, we have very little chance of getting out.’

‘There is no occasion for alarm at present,’ said Edgar. ‘I trust Yacka, and he will soon return. To pass away the time we may as well examine the cave. It is evidently only one of many. The whole of these rocks and hills are honeycombed.’

They stepped cautiously, and felt the sides of the cave, finding them smooth and even.

‘Here is another of these peculiar formations like a bunch of grapes,’ said Edgar. ‘Perhaps there is another stone that swings round. We can try at any rate.’

He pushed the hard knob, as he had seen Yacka do, and cried out excitedly:

‘It moves, Will; come and help me! Push hard! I can feel it giving way.’

Slowly the huge stone moved, and there was an opening wide enough for them to pass through.

Edgar went through first, but came back quickly when Will called out the opening was closing up again and the stone swinging back into its place. Edgar had just time to step back into the cave when the stone swung to.

‘That is the way the other must have closed up,’ said Edgar. ‘It made no noise. Let us have another try, the cave on the other side is much larger than this.’

‘If we get through,’ said Will, ‘the stone will swing back, and we shall be worse off than before. Yacka will not be able to find us when he returns.’

‘He will follow us,’ said Edgar. ‘He must know of this cave and the way to enter it.’

‘If you mean going on, I will follow you,’ said Will.

They moved the stone again, and this time they both stepped quickly through before it swung back.

The cave they entered was, as Edgar said, much larger than the one they had just left. It was lighted by the same dim light, but they could not see from whence it came.

‘Here is another knob,’ said Will. ‘They must have been made by the blacks. Perhaps we are on the way to the cave of Enooma. I wonder what Yacka will think if we reach it before him.’

‘He will think we have been guided there by the White Spirit,’ said Edgar, ‘and will regard us with superstitious awe. It would be a good thing if we could come across the cave he spoke of without his help.’

The stone turned in a similar way to the others, but this time they found themselves in a long passage, like an old mining tunnel in a rock.

They walked cautiously along, but there was more light here than in the cave they had left. Edgar kicked a loose stone and it rolled some distance in front and then vanished, and they heard a splash. The stone had fallen into a deep hole, and as they peered down they saw the water rolling slowly along at a considerable depth.

‘It must be an underground river,’ said Edgar. ‘We have had a narrow escape.’

They shuddered to think what would have befallen them had they not been warned by the stone. Round one side of the opening was a narrow pathway, and along this they passed safely to the opposite side, looking well ahead in case there should be more of these death traps.

The passage wound through the rock in a tortuous manner, and after they had gone a considerable distance, they sat down to rest and wonder where it would lead them. Will wished they had remained in the cave and waited for Yacka’s return, and Edgar began to think he had ventured upon a foolhardy journey.

‘We are in for it now,’ he said, ‘and shall have to go on, for we cannot find our way back, and even if we did, we could not push the stones round from this side. It looks very much like the workings of an old mine, but there can have been no mining done here, because the blacks know nothing of such work. What’s that?’

They listened intently and heard a faint sound in the distance like someone in pain and wailing aloud.

‘Come along,’ said Edgar, ‘there is someone ahead of us.’

They walked on as fast as they were able, and presently came to the end of the passage. Here they found another stone blocking the exit, but it had been partly pushed aside as though someone had just entered, and it had not swung back into its place. Edgar passed through, and as he did so held up his hand to caution Will not to make a noise.

It was a strange, weird sight they saw. They had entered another large cave, but it was of a totally different formation to those they had seen. At the far end of the cave was a beautiful crystal wall nearly thirty feet high. The stalagmites were short and thick, and the stalactitic formations extremely long, many being over a hundred feet in length. Massive deposits could be seen on all sides heaped up in the most curious manner. Many of them were of a wondrous salmon colour, others were deep red, and brown, and several glittered with a dull blood-red glow.

They were awed by this grand, majestic freak of Nature. To the left was another passage, full of magnificent columns of stalactites and stalagmites, all pure white and diamond-like in brilliance; they seemed to be coated with sparkling and lustrous gems. These columns rose from floor to roof like huge pillars in some vast cathedral. They were of different formations, but all about the same height. All the colours of the rainbow sparkled in the various pillars, and the effect was dazzling.

Passing down this magnificent column passage, untouched by the art of man, and marvelling at its strange beauty, they came to a beautiful shawl-like formation of the purest white, which hung suspended from the roof between two massive pillars until it reached within a yard of the floor. This curtain was of the most delicate pattern, the tracery being very fine, in some places almost as fine as a spider’s web. There were designs on it of flowers and leaves unlike any they had ever seen in reality. It was evident this curtain shut off some chamber beyond from the passage of columns they had just passed through.

Edgar was about to speak, when they again heard the wail that had before startled them.

This time it sounded nearer, on the other side of the curtain, and Edgar stooped down in order to pass underneath. Will followed him, and both clutched their revolvers.

They were now in a richly-stocked chamber of large size, the colours on the rock and the roof being of a dazzling white, like alabaster. In a recess at the end was a white recumbent figure, resting on a huge salmon-coloured slab, from which hung down like drapery a yellow-tinted curtain of stone, with red-veined tracery running through it in all manner of intricate shapes and ways.

Before this stone figure, resting upon its hard bed, knelt the black figure of Yacka, standing out with extraordinary distinctness from his white surroundings. Yacka prostrated himself before the white figure, and from time to time gave a low, yet piercing, wailing cry.

They stood looking upon the strange scene in silence, and neither felt inclined to break it.

Yacka suddenly seemed to be aware that someone was present, for he rose to his feet and, turning round, faced them.

He did not seem at all surprised to see them, and beckoned to them to advance.

When they reached the stone upon which Yacka stood, the black said:

‘Kneel, kneel. This is the White Spirit of the Enooma. This is Enooma, and this is her cave. She dwells here. She has lived here from the beginning, and Yacka is her son. Kneel before the White Spirit.’

To humour him they knelt. There was something solemn about the proceedings—something it was difficult to understand. As they knelt, Yacka wailed again, and the peculiar cry echoed through the white, vaulted chamber.

‘I knew you would come,’ said Yacka. ‘Enooma told me you would find your way. She whispered to me that you were of her race, and her people.’ The black’s voice had a sad tone in it. ‘She has found her white sons, and the poor black must know her no more; Yacka is no longer the only son of Enooma. He has brought you to her, and she claims you as her own. You are of her race and her people. Rise and look upon the face of Enooma, the White Spirit, and say did Yacka speak false when he brought you here.’

Edgar and Will rose to their feet, and, standing on a large slab which Yacka pointed out to them, they looked down upon the figure before them.

To Edgar it looked like the figure of a very beautiful woman carved in alabaster. She lay on her back, with her hands hidden beneath the folds of a fine piece of stone lacework. The lower part of the figure had a similar covering, so that the actual part of a woman visible to them was the face only. But the lace covering of the body was of such fine work that the figure could almost be seen underneath.

The face of Enooma wore a calm and peaceful expression, such as is invariably found upon the carved monuments of the dead, and bearing but little sign of the mind that worked within before death.

‘Can this be the image of a being that once lived here?’ said Edgar to Will.

Yacka stood some distance away, and could not hear them.

‘Impossible,’ said Will. ‘No white woman has ever been here.’

‘It may not have been a white woman,’ said Edgar. ‘Carved as this is, one could not tell whether the original was black or white. It is an alabaster figure, or looks like it.’ He touched the figure on the face with his hand, and drew it back suddenly. ‘It feels quite hot,’ he said.

‘Probably so intensely cold that you imagined for the moment it burned you,’ said Will.

Edgar touched the face again, but, strange to say, could not keep his hand upon it.

‘You try,’ he said; and Will put his hand out.

Yacka saw the motion, and called out:

‘Touch her not! Only one must touch her.’

Will smiled as he said:

‘I will do her no harm, Yacka.’

‘At your own risk,’ said the black, ‘touch her, but do not blame me; I warned you.’

Will put out his hand again, and then a strange thing happened. Before he touched the face his feet slipped, and he fell off the slab with such force that, his head coming into violent contact with the stone, he was stunned.

Edgar jumped down and held up his head, and in a few moments Will recovered his senses.

‘I warned you,’ said Yacka.

‘It was a pure accident,’ said Will.

Edgar made no remark, but he thought it a strange coincidence.

A peculiar rumbling sound was heard, and Yacka listened intently. In a moment there was a terrific crash. The rock upon which they stood shook, and the sides of the cave seemed to rock.

The slab upon which rested the White Spirit of Enooma rocked to and fro, and the figure seemed to move.

Crash followed crash, and roar upon roar. The forces of Nature seemed to have suddenly burst loose, and a general upheaval was taking place. So violent became the oscillation, that they were compelled to lie down on the floor of the cave.

‘It is Enooma’s welcome to her own people,’ said Yacka, who was not in the least afraid.

‘It is an earthquake,’ said Edgar in an awestruck voice.

‘What is an earthquake?’ said Yacka.

Edgar made no reply. He could not. For the first time he felt a strange fear creep over him. With a trembling hand he pointed to the white figure of Enooma.

They looked with wondering eyes, and on Yacka’s face was an expression of absolute terror. The slab on which Enooma rested cracked and split, and the white figure disappeared from view.

With a terrible cry of rage Yacka sprang to his feet, and looked down the opening into which the White Spirit of Enooma had disappeared.

---

As Yacka stood on the height above them, his black figure seemed to grow and expand until he looked a giant in stature. His rage was terrible, and his whole frame shook with wrath. Shock followed quickly upon shock, but Yacka maintained his foothold, despite the violent concussions that rocked the cave.

A huge piece of rock crashed down at Edgar’s feet, the broken portions flying in all directions. They at once looked round for some place to hide in, and some protection from the falling stones. Crawling along on their hands and knees, they crept under a portion of the slab upon which the white figure had rested, and which had fallen upon two large rocks that upheld it. Under this they had a safe shelter, providing the ground held firm. Above the roar and din of falling rocks they could now hear the peals of thunder, which sounded like salvos of artillery. A crack in the roof of the cavern admitted the lightning, which darted in and out incessantly.

From where they were hidden they could see Yacka, who still stood a solitary black figure amidst this chaos. The black was lost to all sense of danger, even to the nature of the surroundings. One thought alone absorbed him—the sudden vanishing of the white figure of Enooma. He peered into the depths below him, but could see nothing; he waved his hands wildly, and uttered loud cries.

Watching him intently, Edgar and Will were afraid every moment he would jump into the fissure, or be hurled into it by a sudden shock. After a few moments’ pause in this battle of the forces of Nature, another shock was felt. They heard the same dull, rumbling sound, and felt the vibration of the earth beneath them. The movement increased in force, until they were rocked to and fro, and had to cling to the edge of the slab for support. Another rush of fallen rocks and stones took place, and after a terrific and prolonged peal of thunder a dead silence reigned. After the deafening noise the sudden silence could almost be felt; the change was marvellous.

‘It is all over,’ said Edgar. ‘Thank God, we are alive!’

They crept out of their hiding-place and looked for Yacka, but he was nowhere to be seen. Hastily they scrambled on to the fallen slabs, and looked down into the dark hole where the figure of Enooma had fallen.

‘Yacka, Yacka!’ shouted Edgar.

There was no answer, except a loud echo of his voice. Again Edgar shouted, and this time there was a faint response.

‘He has fallen down,’ said Will. ‘How are we to reach him? He may be fatally injured.’

They looked round for some means of descending in safety, and after peering down the hole for some time Edgar said:

‘There is a light at the bottom, and now I can see better; the rocks seem to be piled up in heaps. We may be able to descend by slipping from one to the other. It is our only chance, and we must try it.’

They prepared for their perilous descent; they had no rope, and nothing out of which a support of any kind could be made.

Edgar knelt down, and Will caught hold of one hand as he glided over the edge.

‘All right,’ said Edgar, ‘I have a foothold here.’

Will followed, and the same operation was repeated, and Edgar again found a firm footing lower down. He stood still, and helped Will to follow him. It was slow work, but by degrees they neared the bottom.

Edgar looked down from the ledge upon which he was standing, and saw Yacka lying near the foot of the rock.

‘Are you badly hurt?’ he called out.

‘Not much hurt,’ replied Yacka. ‘My leg pains, but is not broken.’

‘It is a big drop from here,’ said Edgar, ‘but it does not look a dangerous place to fall on. I’ll chance it.’

He let himself down to his full length, and then dropped.

‘It is quite safe,’ he shouted to Will.

Will followed, and they found they were on a bed of moss and ferns that had flourished in the darkness, and had been kept green by the dampness.

Yacka was not much hurt. He had slipped, and fallen a considerable distance, and his descent had been checked by a projection in the rock. From this he had gradually descended, much in the same way as Will and Edgar.

‘Where are we?’ said Edgar. ‘This cavern must have been in its present state a long time.’

‘It has,’ said Yacka. ‘This is the place I was to show you. The White Spirit of Enooma guarded the entrance. The place where she rested formed the opening. She fell down here, and is gone; Enooma will be seen no more. When her treasure is gone there will be no need for her to guard it. Her task is ended, and she will watch no more.’

‘If the figure fell on the moss and ferns it would not be much injured,’ said Edgar; ‘we will search for Enooma while you rest here.’

‘It is not good for Yacka to remain; he will search with you,’ said the black.

‘She must be near here,’ said Will. ‘See, there is the opening down which she fell.’

They searched in every direction, but could find no trace of the figure. Edgar felt they were treading on some soft substance like sand, and, stooping down, felt it with his hands. It was like powder, quite white and fine.

‘The figure must have crumbled away,’ said Edgar. ‘Look at this powder’; and he handed some to Will.

Yacka looked at it curiously, and said:

‘Enooma has gone; the White Spirit has left her cave, and has shown no sign.’

‘This is a sign,’ said Edgar. ‘Your white lady has crumbled to dust. The figure must have been one of Nature’s freaks, and having become decayed and rotten with age, has been ground to powder by the fall.’

‘I should like to know how the figure came where we found it,’ said Will.

‘It was placed there by the Enooma years and years ago,’ said Yacka. ‘It was a pure block of white stone then, and no figure on it. The White Spirit formed the figure, and Yacka is the son of Enooma.’

‘Was Enooma, your mother, a white woman?’ said Edgar.

‘I knew no mother,’ said Yacka. ‘She left me before I could speak. The tribe knew she was white, and her spirit lived in these caves. Now the spirit is gone, and the Enooma will seek a new country. It is good; we have lived here too long. We shall go north, and be near the sea; that will give strength to the Enooma, and make them strong big men.’

‘How are we to get out of this place,’ said Will.

‘Easy way out,’ said Yacka; ‘but hard way in.’

Edgar thought this strange, but waited to see what Yacka meant.

‘Come,’ said Yacka, limping along. ‘I will show you the riches of Enooma.’

He led them along a dark passage into another cave, and here the light streamed in from a cleft in the rock. Gold glittered in heaps on the floor. There were nuggets of gold almost solid, and some as large as a goose egg. They were scattered about in reckless profusion. There were diamonds of small size, uncut, and great rubies of pigeon-blood colour. It was a cave of riches, and Edgar and Will feasted their eyes on it in amazement. They held the rubies in their hands, and gloated over their wondrous colour. They handled the gold and felt its weight, and were bewildered with the nature of the discovery.

‘How did all this come here?’ said Edgar. ‘To whom does it belong?’

‘It is mine,’ said Yacka. ‘I am the son of Enooma, and the tribe collected it. None of them know its value. They do not wish for gold or stones. All they wish for is to live a savage life, and to have a country of their own. They cannot be taught what such things as these mean. Yacka has been in great cities and knows. He has seen the white man kill for love of gold; he has seen the women of the white men sell themselves for these,’ and he held up some rubies and diamonds. ‘It is better for the Enooma to remain as they are. Gold would make them fight amongst themselves, now they fight their enemies.’

‘You may be right,’ said Edgar. ‘All the same, I should like a few samples of your wealth, Yacka.’

‘Take what you will,’ said Yacka. ‘It is far to carry it. Do not take too much, or you will not reach Yanda again. Water is more precious than gold sometimes.’

‘May we return and take away more?’ asked Will.

‘If you can find the place,’ said the black; ‘but Yacka will show you no more.’

‘Then I am afraid we shall not have much chance,’ said Will. ‘It is a pity all this wealth should be wasted.’

‘Others may find it, and take their share,’ said Yacka. ‘It is not good for one man to have too much.’

‘We can carry enough away with us,’ said Edgar, ‘to give us a start in life, anyhow. Perhaps Yacka is right. It is not good for a man to have too much. Will you help us, Yacka?’

‘To carry gold for you?’ said the black.

‘Yes,’ said Edgar.

‘I will carry some, and stones for you, but I will not use any,’ Yacka said.

‘You’re a strange being,’ said Edgar; ‘but the black man lives not as the white man.’

‘No,’ said Yacka; ‘he does not slay his friend for gold.’

Edgar dropped the subject. Whatever the cruel, cowardly conduct of the blacks might be, he knew enough about the pursuit of wealth to refrain from arguing with Yacka.

‘The tribe will be waiting for us,’ said Yacka. ‘We must return.’

‘Perhaps the earthquake has frightened them away,’ said Will.

‘They would not feel it so much as we did, being underground,’ said Edgar.

‘It was no earthquake,’ said Yacka. ‘It was the White Spirit welcoming you.’

‘A strange welcome,’ said Edgar.

‘Had it been an earthquake you would have been killed,’ said Yacka. ‘I have seen what an earthquake does. It swallows up mountains and trees, and heaves up other mountains in their place. All the plains of Australia were formed by earthquakes, and the mountains were thrown up to make that part smooth.’

‘How long will it take us to return to the tribe?’ said Edgar.

‘Not long,’ replied Yacka. ‘We will go now. We can return for the gold.’

‘We had better take some now,’ said practical Will.

Edgar was nothing loath, and they filled what pockets they had left in their torn clothes with gold, rubies, and diamonds.

Yacka watched them and said:

‘I will return for more. You need not come again.’

‘You mean you do not wish us to return,’ said Edgar.

‘That is it,’ said Yacka. ‘I will return alone.’

To this they agreed, acknowledging that Yacka had the right to do as he pleased, as it was undoubtedly his find. They were not long in getting out of this strange labyrinth of caves and passages, and Edgar wondered why they had not come in this way. Before they reached the exit Yacka said they must be blindfolded. To this at first they protested, but as Yacka was firm, and they were in his power, they consented.

Yacka led Will by the hand, Edgar holding Will’s other hand. They tramped in this way for a considerable time, and then Yacka removed the covering from their eyes.

They were on the grassy plain once more, but the whole scene had been changed by the wondrous forces of Nature. Huge masses of rock were strewn about, and trees were felled and torn up by the roots. Where they had entered the mountains there was no other means of passing through. The blacks had retreated before the terrible storm, and were encamped a long way off. They could just see the camp fires in the distance. Several dead blacks lay around, evidently killed by falling rocks, but Yacka took very little notice of them. Death ended all for these men, and, being dead, Yacka thought no more of them.

When Edgar looked round to see where they had come out of the caves, there was no opening anywhere. Yacka smiled as he said:

‘You will never find the entrance. It is known only to me, and once I lost it and never found it again.’

‘Then that is the reason we went in the other way,’ said Edgar.

‘Yes,’ said Yacka. ‘Now I have the way out, I can find the way in again.’

They marched towards the camp, and the Enooma rushed to meet them, uttering loud cries of delight. They had never expected to see them return alive after such a terrific earthquake. These blacks were strange people. Terrified as they had recently been, they had in a very few hours forgotten their experiences. The sudden changes in this climate had made them familiar with the working of the forces of Nature, which are truly marvellous.

In the stillness of the night, as Edgar and Will sat side by side, they returned thanks for their merciful escape. It was an experience they would never forget, and now that it was over both felt untold gold would not tempt them to brave it again.

---

Before they were awake next morning Yacka, true to his promise, went to the cave and returned with some of the finest rubies and purest lumps of gold. He roused Edgar and Will, and showed them what he had done.

‘It is as much as we can carry,’ he said, and they agreed with him.

The gold was heavy, and they had a long tramp before them.

Without further delay they collected their treasure, and made it secure in a strong skin loin-cloth, which was fastened by dried strips of leather, so that none of the stones could fall out.

‘This is like putting all our eggs in one basket,’ said Edgar. ‘I think we had better carry the best of the rubies about us.’

This was done, and the bag again fastened securely.

The Enooma accompanied them, and left them about a couple of days’ journey from the ranges.

At this point Edgar and Will bade them farewell, and Yacka promised to return and travel with them further north. The black had explained to them all that had taken place in the caves, and they did not care to remain longer in that district.

Yacka led them safely through the MacDonnell Ranges, and they reached Alice Springs, where they had a hearty welcome.

‘We never expected to see you alive again,’ said Walter Hepburn. ‘You have been away close upon six months, and we thought you were gone for good. I hope you are satisfied with your experiences.’

‘We are,’ said Edgar. ‘We have seen many strange and wonderful sights.’

‘You must tell me about your adventures to-night,’ said Hepburn. ‘I have kept your horses safe, and they will be ready for the journey.’

It was a relief to Edgar and Will to obtain fresh clothes, for those they wore were almost in rags.

The night of their arrival they related to Walter Hepburn all that had befallen them, and he was amazed. He could hardly credit the account Edgar gave of the wealth found in the cave of Enooma; but when he saw the precious stones and gold spread out before him, he was completely overwhelmed.

‘This is pure gold,’ he said, as he handled a large lump of the precious metal. ‘And these rubies are exceedingly rich in colour, and worth a heap of money. We have found rubies in the creeks here, but nothing to be compared to these. Of course, you will return with a properly equipped expedition, and carry the bulk of it away?’

‘I am afraid that will be out of the question,’ said Edgar. ‘Yacka will not guide us there again, and I am sure we could not find the place.’

‘Yacka must be forced to act as guide,’ said Hepburn. ‘Such a treasure as you have discovered cannot be allowed to remain buried.’

‘I shall not be the one to use force against Yacka,’ said Edgar. ‘The black has acted honestly by us, and we must do the same by him.’

‘If you fellows do not have another try to find the place I shall,’ said Hepburn.

Edgar laughed as he said:

‘You are welcome to do so. For my part I have had enough of it, and am glad to have got back again with a whole skin.’

‘You must be careful not to let anyone know about here what you have with you. There are some desperate characters, and a mere hint as to the wealth you have, and your lives would not be safe,’ said Hepburn.

‘We have told no one but yourself,’ said Edgar; ‘and we know we can trust you. You are an old Redbank boy.’

After some persuasion Walter Hepburn agreed to accept a couple of fine rubies and a heavy nugget in return for the keep of the horses, and as a remembrance of their visit. As well as he was able Edgar described the country they had traversed and the appearance of the place where the caves were.

‘Even if you reach there safely,’ said Edgar, ‘you will not be able to find the entrance. We could see nothing of it, and even Yacka lost the run of it once.’

‘It is worth the risk,’ said Hepburn. ‘I wish I had gone with you. I am used to these wilds, and once I had been over the ground I am sure I could find my way back.’

They did not remain long at Alice Springs, as they were eager to return to Yanda and learn how their friends had got on during their absence.

The return journey passed in much the same way as their ride to Alice Springs from Yanda.

They had a plentiful supply of ammunition, which Walter Hepburn had given them, and consequently were not afraid to shoot when in need of provisions.

Edgar noticed Yacka was restless, and did not seem at his ease during their journey, and he questioned him as to the reason.

‘I have a fear we are being followed,’ said Yacka. ‘I have seen no one, but still I fear it. Did anyone know you had gold and stones at Alice Springs?’

‘Only Walter Hepburn,’ said Edgar. ‘We were careful not to tell anyone else.’

‘You showed him the stones?’ asked Yacka.

‘Yes,’ said Edgar; ‘we spread them out on the table in his house, but no one else was there.’

‘But there are windows,’ said Yacka, ‘and someone may have looked in. It was foolish.’

‘I think you are wrong about anyone following us,’ said Will. ‘They would have attacked us before now.’

Yacka explained that he had not slept at night since they left the Springs. He had watched and waited and heard strange sounds. He felt sure they were being followed, but at some distance.

‘You must have a sleep to-night, anyhow,’ said Edgar, ‘or you will knock up. We can keep watch in turns.’

Yacka assented, for he felt much in need of sleep.

They camped on a level patch of ground, where there was not much surrounding shelter, and where they felt secure against any surprise.

Worn out from want of sleep, Yacka stretched himself on the ground, and quickly fell into a deep slumber.

‘He’s dead tired,’ said Edgar. ‘I have never seen him drop off into such a sound sleep. He generally has an eye open, and his ears catch every sound.’

‘Are you going to take first watch?’ said Will.

‘If you like,’ said Edgar. ‘I will rouse you when I become drowsy.’

Will soon followed Yacka into the land of dreams, and Edgar, leaning his back against the trunk of a tree, watched them. The treasure was close to him, and the sight of it brought back to him the scenes they had witnessed. From these experiences his thoughts wandered to Wal Jessop and Eva, and he wondered how they had gone on during his absence. He was anxious to see them again, and when he reached Yanda meant to take a trip to Sydney as early as possible.

Then he thought of home, and his father and sister, and hoped to have letters from them at Yanda. They would be anxious to hear how his exploit had turned out, and what a glowing account he would give them! Lost in these pleasant reflections, he did not hear the stealthy tread of two men behind the tree.

These men kept well in the shadow of the trunk of the tree against which Edgar sat, all unconscious of their approach. They were desperate-looking fellows, dressed in bush fashion, and had evidently ridden after Edgar and his companions from Alice Springs. Cautiously they approached, avoiding the loose twigs on the ground, and halting to listen intently at every few yards. Each man had a revolver in his hand, and a knife in his belt.

The taller of the two motioned to the knife at his side, and pointed to Edgar. The other nodded, and drew out his formidable blade. He then crept, knife in hand, towards Edgar, and his companion made towards Will.

Edgar, who began to feel drowsy, rose to his feet and leaned on his shoulder against the tree, his back still to the man stealing up, knife in hand. Edgar little knew the peril he was in, and dreaded nothing.

Nearer and nearer drew the man with his murderous weapon. He was now close to the tree, and had his knife uplifted ready to strike.

Suddenly a laughing jackass, perched in the branches above Edgar’s head, gave his mocking laugh. The sound startled him, and he turned round; as he did so he saw the man, and the knife he had in his uplifted hand flashed in the faint moonlight.

He shouted, ‘Yacka! Yacka! Will! Will!’ and sprang backwards.

The man rushed upon him just as Will opened his eyes in a half-drowsy way, and dimly realized that a man was pointing his revolver at him.

‘Move, and I fire!’ said the man to Yacka, as he saw the black spring to his feet.

Yacka dared not move; he knew it would be instant death to Will.

Meanwhile Edgar grappled with his assailant, and a desperate struggle was going on.

The man covering Will called out to his mate and Edgar:

‘Drop struggling, or I fire!’

Edgar glanced at him, and saw the danger Will was in.

‘Hands off!’ he said, and the man ceased to struggle with him.

Unfortunately, neither Edgar or Will had their revolvers handy, and their guns were against the trunk of the tree—the revolvers being luckily hidden from sight in the long rank grass.

‘We want that bag,’ said the tall man, still covering Will. ‘Let my mate get the bag and your guns, and then you can go.’

In a moment it flashed across Edgar that if the men took the bag and the guns there would still be the revolvers, and that gave them a chance before the thieves reached their horses. He was not, however, too eager, and said:

‘You are a cowardly pair to rob us like this.’

‘You are three to one,’ said the man with a grin. ‘Nothing very cowardly about that. Will you “ante up” the “boodle”?’

‘How do we know you will not fire on us? We shall be unarmed,’ said Edgar.

‘We want the plunder, not your lives,’ said the man. ‘Come, be quick. We have no time to waste.’

The man was evidently impatient, and Edgar thought: ‘Perhaps they are afraid of someone following them from the Springs.’ Aloud he said:

‘We agree. Take the bag and our guns and go.’

The man who had attacked Edgar picked up the bag and the two guns. It was an anxious moment for Edgar. The revolvers were lying near the tree, and the man might kick them as he went along. With a sigh of relief, Edgar saw the man had not discovered them. Yacka was on the alert, but saw no chance of making a move without injuring Will, and Edgar was in the same fix. The tall man ‘bailed’ them up until his companion returned with their horses.

Having fixed the bag firmly in front of the saddle the man mounted, placing the guns also in front of him. He then led the other horse up to the man covering Will, and levelled his revolver at him while his mate mounted.

Yacka stood at the other side of the horses, and for a brief moment the man covering Will could not see him, and the taller man was mounting with his back to Yacka. In an instant Yacka bounded between the man with the revolver and Will, and jerked the horse’s bridle, which caused the animal to suddenly back. The man fired, but the movement of the horse spoilt his aim and the shot did no harm.

Seeing how matters stood, Edgar ran for the revolvers, and reached them before the thieves could realize what had happened.

A desperate fight now took place. The mounted men, whose horses plunged at the sound of firing, aimed at Will and Edgar, and the former felt a sharp pain in his left arm.

Yacka still hung on to the horse’s bridle, and the man on it fired point-blank at him, the bullet grazing his head.

Edgar approached this man, and when close to him fired. The shot told, and the man’s right arm fell to his side, his revolver dropping on to the ground.

‘Winged!’ shouted Edgar. ‘Hold on, Yacka!’

But Yacka had let go of the horse and pulled the man out of the saddle. The horse, finding itself free, galloped off, with the bag still fast to the front of the saddle.

The other man, seeing how matters were going, and knowing the loose horse had the bag still fast to the saddle, turned tail and galloped after it.

‘The horses—the horses! Quick, Will!’ said Edgar. ‘We must be after them.’

Will brought up the horses, and they were quickly in the saddle.

‘You keep guard over this fellow, Yacka,’ said Edgar. ‘Don’t let him go.’

For answer Yacka smiled savagely, and gripped the man by the throat so hard that his eyes started from his head.

‘He’s in safe hands,’ said Edgar. ‘Come along, Will, or we shall lose our treasure after all.’

They rode away after the other man and the runaway horse as fast as their nags could carry them.

---

It proved an exciting chase they had commenced. The thief knew he need expect no mercy if caught, and rode desperately. He knew the country better than Edgar and Will, which gave him a decided advantage; moreover, he had a good horse, probably stolen, and knew how to ride.

‘He is gaining on us,’ said Edgar. ‘I am afraid we shall lose him. There is no chance of hitting either man or horse from this distance.’

Mile after mile was traversed, and still the chase went on. The riderless horse stuck close to his companion, but when he began to flag the man took hold of the bridle and urged him on. Edgar took no heed where they were going, nor did Will. They were too excited to take much notice of the country they passed through. At last the fugitive turned his horse to the left, and plunged into a much more difficult country to travel. The undergrowth became denser and tangled, and it was with difficulty the horses could be forced to go through it. It was not long before they lost sight of the man they were in pursuit of.

‘Where can he have got to?’ said Will. ‘He would never hide here with two of us after him.’

‘We must ride on,’ replied Edgar. ‘It is easy to miss a man and come across his track again in a very short time.’

They rode on at a slow pace, and presently came to a narrow opening in the scrub. Here they halted and found recent tracks of horses, so they determined to follow in this direction. The tracks led them in a roundabout way, and presently they came to the conclusion the man had doubled back.

‘He must be heading for our camp again,’ said Edgar. ‘Strange he should do this unless he fancies we are put off the scent, and he is riding back to rescue his mate.’

‘If that is his game,’ said Will, ‘we must follow him hard. He might shoot Yacka before we arrive.’

It was, however, difficult for them to find their way. They were not experienced bushmen, and had failed to notice certain signs by which they would know they were on the right track. They saw no signs of the man, nor could they now observe in which direction the horses had gone. To ride on and trust to chance was their only hope. It was quite light now, and this aided them. As time passed they became anxious, and wondered what would become of Yacka if they did not arrive on the scene in time, for they had not the least doubt now that their man was heading for the camp to rescue his mate.

‘This chase he has led us has been a blind,’ said Edgar. ‘If we had taken ordinary precautions we ought to have found out he was doubling back.’

‘Only a bushman would have found that out,’ said Will. ‘I do not see how we can blame ourselves.’

‘We have had enough experience the last few months to have found that out,’ said Edgar. ‘By Jove! there he is, I believe.’

There was a horseman in front of them, but they could not see the second horse. They rode on faster now, but did not gain much ground. A rise in the land hid the man from view, and soon after he disappeared they heard a shot. This made them ride all the faster, and they quickly reached the top of the rise, and had a good view of the plain beyond.

‘He fired that shot to warn his mate,’ said Will. ‘We cannot be far from the camp now.’

‘I’ll fire,’ said Edgar; ‘and if Yacka hears the two shots he will probably divine we are in pursuit.’

He fired a shot from his revolver as they rode on.

‘There’s the place we camped at,’ said Edgar, pointing to two or three tall trees: ‘but I see nothing of Yacka or the other men.’

They rode up to the place, and found the camp deserted. There was blood upon the ground and signs of a struggle, but they imagined this must have been caused by Yacka dragging the wounded man along. Edgar called out ‘Yacka!’ and gave a loud ‘cooee,’ and after waiting a few moments they heard a faint response. They rode in the direction of the sound, and, rounding a clump of trees on a mound, came upon a strange sight.

Stretched on the ground was one of the robbers, the man they supposed they had left with Yacka. This man had been strangled, and was dead. Near him sat Yacka with a strange expression on his face. When the black saw them he gave a faint moan, and pressed his hand to his side.

‘Good God! he’s shot!’ said Edgar, dismounting and running to the black. He found blood streaming from a deep wound in his side evidently inflicted with a knife. ‘How did this happen?’ asked Edgar, as he endeavoured to stanch the flow of blood with a neckerchief he had rapidly pulled off.

Yacka pointed to the dead man, and Will, who had come up, exclaimed:

‘This is not the fellow we left with Yacka. It is the man we have been chasing all this time.’

‘Where is the other man?’ asked Edgar, who could hardly believe his eyes.

‘I killed him,’ said Yacka faintly.

‘Where is he?’ asked Will.

Yacka pointed to some bushes, and Will went across and found the body of the man they had left with Yacka. This man had also been strangled.

They managed to stop the flow of blood from the deep wound in Yacka’s side, but it was some hours before he had sufficiently recovered strength to relate what had happened.

When Yacka heard the shot fired, he at once thought the man’s mate had doubled back to rescue him, and had given Edgar and Will the slip. He knew how easily it could be done by an old hand, and his surmise was confirmed by the expression on the man’s face when he heard the shot. In a moment Yacka had made up his mind how to act. He had no gun, for he found that all three had been taken, instead of only those belonging to Edgar and Will. He seized his prisoner by the throat, and strangled him. Then he propped the dead man up with his back to a tree, and tied him to it with one of the tethering ropes. He hid himself behind the tree and waited, and in a short time the other robber came on to the scene. When this man saw his mate bound to the tree, he dismounted and came towards him, evidently thinking Yacka had made him fast, that he had fallen asleep, and Yacka had gone away.

Yacka awaited his coming, crouching down behind the tree. No sooner did the man see his mate was dead than he realized that a trap had been set for him, and ran back to the horses. Yacka was quickly after him, and before the man could reach the horses had caught him up. Finding Yacka at such close quarters, the man drew his knife instead of his revolver, no doubt thinking it would be more effective. A desperate struggle ensued, which Yacka described graphically.

‘We rolled over and over,’ said Yacka. ‘I had no knife, and he was a powerful man. I caught him by the throat, and he lost the grip of his knife. I clung to him with both hands, and he managed to get his knife and stuck it in my side. I did not let go my hold. I became fainter and fainter, but clung to his throat. Then I fell across him, and when I came to my senses again, which could not have been long, he was dead. It was their lives or mine, and they were not fit to live.’

As they listened to Yacka’s story of this terrible struggle and awful end of the thieves, they wondered if many men would have had the courage to act as he had done.

‘The horses will not have gone far,’ said Yacka. ‘They were dead tired, I could see, when the man dismounted.’

While Will attended to Yacka, Edgar went in search of the two stray horses, and found them about a couple of miles away, quietly cropping the scanty herbage. He secured them without trouble, and was glad to see their precious treasure was safe, and also their guns.

They had to remain in this spot for a week before Yacka was fit to be removed, and during that time they buried the bodies of the robbers as well as they were able with the primitive means at hand.

Their progress was slow, because Yacka could not ride far, and had to be helped off one of the horses at different times to rest. It was lucky for them they had the two captured horses in addition to their own. Yacka guided them, and seemed to take a delight in hiding from them how far they were from Yanda.

‘Surely we must be somewhere near Yanda by this time,’ said Edgar. ‘I almost fancy I can recognise the country.’

‘You ought to,’ said Yacka, ‘for we are on Yanda Station now, and we shall reach the homestead to-night.’

They could not suppress their feelings, and gave a loud hurrah.

Yacka had spoken correctly, for towards sundown the familiar homestead came in sight.

Yacka wished them to gallop on and leave him, but this they declined to do, saying he had done so much for them, it was only making a small return to remain with him.

As they neared the homestead they noticed several figures moving about, evidently in an excited way, on the veranda.

‘There’s Ben Brody!’ said Edgar eagerly. ‘He has recognised us. What a time we shall have to-night!’

Ben Brody was standing leaning against the door-post when he saw something moving across the plain in front of him. He went inside for his glasses, and, after looking through them for several minutes, he gave a loud shout.

It was such an unusual thing for Ben Brody to shout, except when issuing orders, or expressing his feelings to some unfortunate new-chum, that the hands about the place fancied the homestead must have caught fire. Several of them rushed round to the front, and found Ben Brody executing a kind of war-dance on the veranda.

‘What’s up now?’ asked Will Henton. ‘Something stinging you?’

‘No, you fool,’ roared Brody. ‘Do you think I’m as tender as you? It’s them lads coming back!’

‘Not Foster and Brown?’ asked Will.

‘That’s just it, you bet,’ said Brody.

Off ran Will Henton, and in a few moments Harry Noke, Jim Lee, and two or three more came round.

‘Give me the glasses,’ said Noke.

‘No need for that,’ said Jim Lee. ‘I can spot ’em from here.’

‘We must go and meet them,’ said Will Henton.

‘Right you are,’ said Brody. ‘Boys, we’ll have a terrible night of it.’

They mounted their horses, and in less time than it takes to write it down were galloping towards the home-comers.

The scene was one to be remembered. They sprang from their horses, and pulled Edgar and Will out of their saddles, and shook them by the hands, cheered and hallooed until the plain rang with their hearty shouts. Yacka stood quietly looking on, and when they had almost wrung Edgar’s and Will’s hands off they tackled him.

‘Don’t handle Yacka as roughly as you have handled us,’ laughed Edgar; ‘he’s got a bad wound.’

Then came a string of questions as to how Yacka received his wound, and who had given it him. Such a rain of questions was showered at them that at last Ben Brody said:

‘Give them breathing-time, lads. We shall hear all about their adventures later on. We’re right glad to see you back again safe and sound.’

A general chorus of assent followed this remark.

‘Expect you have not come back loaded with wealth?’ said Will Henton.

‘Wait and see,’ said Edgar. ‘I rather fancy we have a surprise in store for you.’

‘Have you had a good time?’ said Ben Brody.

‘It has been a wonderful time, and we have seen many strange things, and gone through a good deal of hard work. I’m heartily glad to see Yanda again, but I would not have missed our experiences for the world.’

‘Same here,’ said Will Brown, ‘but I never wish to go through such a time again.’

Yacka rode quietly behind, a lonely black figure, the pain in his face showing how he still suffered. He was glad to see this hearty welcome, but it made him feel lonely. He had no friends such as these men at Yanda were. He was a wanderer, an outcast, a black, a despised native of the country these white men had taken from his people. But Yacka was, through all this, white enough at heart to know it was all for the best. His people could never become like these people, and the country in the hands of blacks, he knew, would still have been wild and desolate.

---

The hands at Yanda marvelled greatly at the tale Edgar told of their adventures, and they marvelled still more when the treasure they brought with them was shown.

‘And to think that black fellow knew all about it, and kept the secret so long,’ said Ben Brody. ‘I can hardly believe it is true. You must have travelled thousands of miles. All I can say is you deserve what you have got.’

After staying a few weeks at Yanda, where he received letters from home, and from Wal Jessop, Edgar decided to go to Sydney and see Eva again. Will Brown remained at Yanda, in order to gain more experience of station life.

When Edgar arrived in Sydney, he at once went to Watson’s Bay. Wal Jessop did not know Edgar had left Yanda. Eva had constantly inquired for Edgar during his absence, and been comforted by the assurance he would return to her.

Edgar walked up the steep path to the cottage, intending to give the inmates a surprise, but Eva, who was looking out of the window, recognised him, and gave a joyful cry that brought Mrs. Jessop to her. Together they rushed out to greet Edgar, and he soon had little Eva crowing delightedly in his arms, Mrs. Jessop looking on, her motherly face beaming with satisfaction.

‘How you have grown, Eva!’ said Edgar, holding her up in his arms to have a better look at her. ‘You have had a good home, and Mrs. Jessop has taken great care of you.’

Eva began to prattle in her pretty childish way, and asked Edgar numerous questions, some of which he found a difficulty in answering.

When Wal Jessop returned home and found Edgar installed in the cottage he was delighted. He had been longing to see him again, and to hear all about his adventures. These Edgar had to relate over and over again, and little Eva, too, was interested in hearing about Yacka and the blacks, and the White Spirit in the wonderful cave. When she saw the precious stones and gold Edgar brought with him, she clapped her hands with joy, and wanted to play with all the pretty things.

‘You’ll not be short of money for a time with such rubies as these to sell,’ said Wal Jessop, as he took some of the stones in his hand. ‘They are the finest I ever saw. You’ll get more for them in London than you will here.’

‘I shall keep the bulk of them,’ said Edgar; ‘but we must dispose of some of them, Wal, in order to keep things going.’

‘Captain Fife will be able to do that for you,’ said Wal. ‘He knows the best market for such things. What a wonderful chap that black must be! There are not many like him here.’

‘You will see him before long,’ said Edgar. ‘He has promised to come to Sydney when his wound has quite healed.’

‘A knife-thrust like that will take some time to get well,’ said Wal. ‘I wonder if he will ever take you back again to find more of the treasure?’

‘I shall not go,’ said Edgar; ‘but I have no doubt there will be search made for it, even if Yacka declines to lead the way.’

The evening of Edgar’s arrival at the cottage he had a walk on the cliffs with Wal Jessop, and again looked down upon the terrible rocks where the Distant Shore was dashed to pieces, and himself and Eva were so miraculously saved. As he looked into the depths below, the scene came vividly to mind again, and he could not resist grasping Wal Jessop by the hand, while the tears stood in his eyes.

Wal Jessop knew what he meant better than if he had spoken, and returned the pressure of his hand. They walked back to the cottage, and once more talked over the scenes of that awful night.

When Edgar saw Captain Fife that gentleman received him cordially, and promised to dispose of some of the rubies to the best advantage.

‘They are wonderfully good stones,’ said Captain Fife, ‘and there will be no difficulty in obtaining a stiff price for them. By the way, what are you going to do with yourself now? Are you returning to the station, or would you prefer to remain in Sydney?’

‘If I can obtain a suitable billet,’ said Edgar, ‘I should like to remain here.’

Captain Fife had been on the look-out for a private secretary for some time, and he offered Edgar the post, which he willingly accepted, thinking himself fortunate, as indeed he was, to gain such a position.

Time flies quickly, and when Edgar Foster had been private secretary to Captain Fife for over two years, he had become quite at home in Sydney, and was recognised as one of the best of good fellows. Edgar was fond of sports of all kinds, and he liked fun as well as any young fellow of his age, but he shunned the fast sets in the city, and one of his constant companions was Wal Jessop. Two or three times a week he went to Wal’s cottage to see Eva, who was rapidly growing into a very pretty girl. He heard regularly from home, and also had news from Yanda—for Will Brown was still there. Yacka had tried Sydney life, but quickly tired of it, and returned to the West.

Two or three expeditions had been fitted out to try and find the Cave of Enooma, as it was called, for the adventures of Edgar Foster and Will Brown had been related in the Sydney Mail, and naturally there was a desire to obtain the wealth stated to be there. These expeditions had, however, been failures, and nothing came of them. Yacka refused to lead anyone into the Enooma country, and Edgar and Will, when approached upon the subject, expressed their inability to do so. When the second expedition failed in its object, people said the discovery was a myth, but others knew better, and Edgar only smiled when he heard disparaging remarks made.

Although Edgar stuck well to his work during the time he had been with Captain Fife, he found ample opportunity to indulge in his favourite pastime, cricket, and, much to his delight, had been selected captain of the South Sydney team. In this capacity he not only proved himself a good all-round cricketer, but a splendid leader, and no one, it was generally acknowledged, placed his men to more advantage in the field. He was selected to play for New South Wales against Victoria, but, like many a good cricketer before him, he failed at his first attempt. There was, however, no doubt about his ability, and he now stood an excellent chance of being selected as one of the next Australian eleven. This is the height of every cricketer’s ambition in the colonies, and Edgar felt anxious as to whether his performances during the season would warrant the selection committee including him in the team. So far he had done fairly well. There remained one inter-Colonial match to play against South Australia, and Edgar knew upon this match would depend the final decision as to his being a member of the Australian eleven.

He had practised steadily, and felt confident, and was encouraged by Wal Jessop and Captain Fife. Will Brown wrote from Yanda, saying they were coming down in force to see him play, and Ben Brody added a postscript to the effect that the honour of the Yanda boys was in Edgar’s hands.

When the eventful day arrived Edgar’s feelings can be imagined. The match took place on the Association ground at Sydney, and the South Australians placed a formidable team on the field. Several men on either side were on their best mettle and playing for a place in the Australian eleven.

Ben Brody appeared on the ground resplendent in a new cabbage-tree hat, which he had bought in honour of the occasion. He was as anxious as anyone to see Edgar successful. Will Brown vowed if Edgar Foster went home with the team, he should go by the same boat. Will Henton, Harry Noke, and Jim Lee all came up from Yanda for the match, and consequently there was a family party on the ground. In Wal Jessop Ben Brody found a man after his own heart, and they got on well together.

Edgar felt encouraged by their presence to do his best, and something seemed to tell him he would succeed.

The New South Wales captain won the toss and elected to bat. This gave Edgar a chance to sit and chat with his friends. He hardly knew how popular he had become in Sydney, owing to his numerous adventures and his sterling character, until he saw the number of people who were only too proud to recognise him.

‘You must be a favourite with the ladies,’ said Ben Brody. ‘All the pretty girls are smiling at you. Lucky dog!’

It was true Edgar knew several nice girls, but he had not yet found one he preferred to any of the others. He thought there was time enough for that in another five or six years.

The home team commenced badly, and lost two wickets for thirty runs. At the fall of the fourth wicket Edgar Foster went in, and his appearance on the ground, from the pavilion, was the signal for a loud outburst of applause. As he walked to the crease Edgar vowed he would do his utmost to merit this reception. He was cool and collected, and had seldom felt so confident. He commenced well by making a couple of boundary hits in his first over. His partner, Frank Highdale, was well set, and the pair looked like making a big stand.

Edgar roused the spectators by hitting a ball into the pavilion, and Highdale had completely mastered the bowling. Runs came rapidly, and the South Australian captain seemed puzzled to know how to effect a separation.

Although Highdale had been batting some time before Edgar came in, the latter was first to reach the coveted fifty. When this number of runs appeared to Edgar’s name on the scoring-board, Ben Brody, to use his own expression, ‘broke loose.’ He cheered in the most frantic manner, and waved his huge hat in delight.

The New South Wales eleven were at the wickets all day, and when stumps were drawn Edgar Foster was ‘not out, one hundred and nine’! He was congratulated on all sides, and Captain Fife said, as he shook hands with him:

‘Your place in the team is assured. I shall cable to your father as soon as the selection is made. He will be mighty proud of his son.’

On the renewal of the match next day, Edgar added another fifty to his score, and was clean bowled, after making one hundred and fifty-nine, a magnificent innings.

The match ended in a win for the home colony by two hundred runs. In the second innings Edgar Foster placed fifty-six to his credit; he also bowled well during the match, and came out with a very good average.

Consequently, it was no surprise when he found his name amongst the favoured thirteen cricketers picked to make up the Australian team. He received a cablegram from his father congratulating him, and this gave him more pleasure than anything else.

As usual, there was some grumbling about the composition of the team, but no one had anything to say about Edgar Foster’s inclusion.

‘We are to go home in the Cuzco,’ said Edgar to Will Brown; ‘so you had better book your passage.’

‘You bet!’ said Will; ‘and who do you think is going home for a trip with us?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Edgar. ‘I wish we could take Yacka. He would create a sensation there.’

‘Yacka is far happier camping out at Yanda,’ said Will. ‘Ben Brody is going home with us. He says he has never had a holiday since he was a lad, over forty years ago, and he thinks it is about time he took one now.’

‘I am glad,’ said Edgar. ‘Ben Brody is a real good sort; he’s a rough diamond, but I like him better than if he were polished.’

The hands on Yanda were in high glee about Ben leaving them for a time. They fancied the mutton diet would be knocked off, but Ben said he should leave strict injunctions behind about that.

The time passed quickly, and the morning the Cuzco was to leave Circular Quay a large crowd of people assembled to see the New South Wales members of the team leave for London. There was so much hand-shaking, and so many parting good-byes, that Edgar felt sure some of them would be left behind.

Wal Jessop and his wife brought Eva down to see Edgar off, and the child did not like to see him leave her in the big steamer.

‘I will come back for you, Eva,’ said Edgar; ‘I promise you I will come back. Be a good girl while I am away, and I will bring you back the best doll I can find in London.’

‘With brown hair, and blue eyes?’ said Eva.

‘Yes,’ said Edgar. ‘It shall have bonny blue eyes, and bright brown hair like yours, Eva.’

He took her in his arms, and kissed her over and over again, and then handed her to Mrs. Jessop. Just as the gangway was about to be raised they saw a tall figure flying up it with long strides. It was Ben Brody.

‘You nearly missed us,’ said Edgar, laughing. ‘Where have you been? I thought I saw you on board some time back.’

‘So I was,’ said Ben, gasping for breath; ‘but I left my ‘bacca behind in a box at the hotel, and I’d sooner have gone back to Yanda than been on board without my usual brand.’

The Cuzco had now cast off, and as she left the wharf Edgar singled out Eva, hoisted high on Wal Jessop’s shoulder, and waved her a hearty farewell.

---

An Australian team bound for England always has a good time on board the steamer, and the eleven of which Edgar was a member was no exception to the rule. At Melbourne and Adelaide they were joined by the members of the team hailing from Victoria and South Australia.

On arriving at Colombo they went ashore to play a match against a team selected from the leading local cricketers. Being out of practice they did not play up to their usual form, and the Colombo team nearly defeated them, and were much elated in consequence.

At this time the mail steamers did not pass through the Suez Canal at night-time, and the Cuzco anchored off Ismailia. A run ashore to pass away the time was only natural, and Edgar, accompanied by Will Brown and other members of the team, made up a party. This night ashore at Ismailia was destined to effect a change in Edgar’s future life.

The population of Ismailia is a mixture of different nationalities, some of them being of a rather desperate and fierce nature. An Egyptian wedding-party passed through one of the streets; it was a curious sight to unaccustomed eyes. The men, swathed in long white garments, with turbans on their heads, and sandals on their feet, carried long poles, at the ends of which lanterns were fixed. Their brown arms and faces shone in the reflected light, and offered a strong contrast to the colour of their garments. Fierce eyes gleamed from under dark, bushy eyebrows, and as the men marched, uttering a wild chant in peculiar tones, the effect was somewhat weird. The bridegroom, who was being escorted to his bride, was a tall, powerful young fellow, of a better caste than his friends.

All went well until the procession approached the bride’s house, when a party of young fellows from the Cuzco, who had been revelling not wisely but too well, barred the road. It was a foolhardy thing to do. To stop such a procession was exceedingly dangerous, and could only be construed as an insult by the natives, who are not slow to avenge any slight put upon them.

Edgar and those with him saw the danger, and shouted to the obstructionists to move out of the way. It was, however, too late, and the warning would probably not have been heeded in any case. Seeing how matters stood, the Egyptians grew furious. Knives flashed in the light, and a rush was made at the foolish young fellows, who so recklessly hindered the procession.

‘Come on,’ shouted Edgar, ‘or there will be murder done!’

He rushed forward, followed by his companions, but they found it impossible to render much assistance, owing to the confusion. Edgar became separated from the others, and was drawing back from the crowd, when he heard a cry for help, followed by a woman’s shriek.

Rushing in the direction of the sound, he saw a girl of about eighteen struggling in the grasp of a powerful Egyptian. He recognised her as Miss Muriel Wylde, a passenger on the Cuzco, with whom he had had pleasant chats on deck. In a moment Edgar had the ruffian by the throat, and forced him to loose his hold. No sooner, however, was the girl free, than another man seized her and attempted to carry her off. She struggled violently, and shouted again for help. Edgar had his work cut out with the man he first tackled. He was unarmed, and had to rely upon his fists. The furious Egyptian rushed upon him with an uplifted knife in his hand. Edgar did not flinch, but caught the fellow by the wrist, and the knife flew from his grasp. Then, with his left fist, he dealt the man a savage blow between the eyes that well-nigh stunned him.

Turning to see what had become of Miss Wylde, Edgar saw that she had fainted, and her captor was hurrying away with her. Edgar gave chase, and quickly came up with him. The Egyptian dropped his burden, and turned on Edgar, aiming a terrific blow at him with his knife. Edgar sprang backwards, and the man over-reached himself. Before he recovered, Edgar had him on the ground, and stunned him by knocking his head on the hard road.

He then sprang to his feet, and went to the assistance of Miss Wylde, who had luckily been thrown on the soft sand by the side of the road, and found she had recovered from her faint.

‘Can you walk?’ said Edgar; ‘are you much hurt?’

She was trembling and alarmed, and could hardly answer him.

‘We must make our way to the quay,’ he said, ‘and get a boat back to the ship as quickly as possible. These fellows are frantic at being interfered with, and are in a dangerous state. Lean on me, and try and walk.’

She put her hand on his shoulder, and Edgar supported her by placing his arm round her waist.

They had not gone many yards before Edgar heard loud shouting behind them. It was evident some of the Egyptians were coming that way, and they must be avoided if possible. A few paces straight ahead Edgar saw a high wall, and what looked like a doorway. He lifted his companion off her feet, and ran as fast as he could towards the archway.

On reaching it he knocked loudly. The door was opened by an old native woman, who peered curiously into his face.

Without saying a word Edgar stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.

‘What do you here?’ asked the old woman, in broken English. ‘Are you from the ship?’

‘Yes,’ said Edgar, not knowing what else to say, or what excuse to give for his conduct.

The old woman’s eyes gleamed, and her wrinkled, parchment-like skin seemed to crumple up and almost crack. Her mouth expanded in what she no doubt meant for a smile, but Edgar thought it a diabolical grin, and Muriel Wylde shrank back.

‘Money—gold!’ said the woman hoarsely, her skinny hands extended like a couple of claws. ‘Gold, and you shall hear your fortune. The oldest Egyptian in Ismailia can speak truth.’

Edgar felt relieved; had the old woman guessed they were fugitives she might not have been so friendly. He looked at his companion, and said:

‘We shall be glad to hear our fortunes from you, mother. That is what we came for,’ and he took a sovereign out of his pocket.

The old Egyptian’s eyes fastened upon it, and her hand was stretched out.

‘Give me your hand,’ she said to Miss Wylde.

The girl put out her open hand reluctantly, and the Egyptian gazed at it so attentively that she appeared to have forgotten the coin.

‘You have been in trouble, and he has saved you,’ croaked the woman.

The girl started, and the Egyptian smiled at this corroborative evidence. She had hazarded a guess at the situation, and hit the mark.

She then proceeded to give an account of what would follow this adventure, and caused Muriel Wylde to blush, and wish she was safely on board again.

Edgar’s future was soon told, in the usual strain. He was the hero of the story, and would be rewarded in due time by the hand of the lady he had rescued.

Edgar gave the fortune-teller the sovereign, and asked her to direct them to the quay. She cautiously opened the door, and peered out into the darkness, listening attentively. She beckoned them to step out, and then pointed in the direction in which they should go.

They walked for some distance, and then reached the part of the town where the cafés were still open, and men and women were drinking coffee, seated round tables under the verandas and trees.

They sat down at one of the tables and rested, refreshing themselves with some excellent coffee.

‘We must hurry back to the ship,’ said Edgar. ‘Your party may have returned, and if so your mother will be very anxious.’

She was eager to go, and they rose from the table. As they walked away a tall Egyptian followed them. It was one of the men Edgar had knocked down. They were not out of danger yet.

A long avenue led down to the quay, where the boats were generally waiting to sail or row passengers back to the ship.

The Egyptian followed them, keeping within the shadow of the trees, his bare feet making no sound.

Muriel Wylde was still weak from the effect of the shock she had received, and Edgar had to support her. He seemed nothing loath to do so, and his companion felt a sense of pleasurable security with his strong arm round her waist.

On reaching the quay Edgar called out to a boatman, who came slowly towards them in his tiny craft.

He explained that he wanted to be taken to the Cuzco, and the boatman agreed.

Edgar handed his companion down into the boat, and as she stepped on to the seat she looked up and gave a cry of alarm. Behind Edgar stood the tall Egyptian, who had crept stealthily up, and was about to stab Edgar in the back. At her cry Edgar looked round, and, seeing no other way of escape, he sprang into the water. The Egyptian sprang after him, and grasped Edgar by the arm. A terrible struggle then took place, and in the water the Egyptian proved the more powerful.

The man in the boat made no movement until Muriel Wylde seized a round pole, and tried to hit Edgar’s assailant on the head. The boatman then took the part of his countryman, and attempted to seize the pole and wrench it out of Muriel’s hands. The girl, however, was now thoroughly roused. Edgar had rescued her, and she must do the same for him, for he was in deadly peril. The Egyptian dragged Edgar down and got his head under the water, with the evident intention of drowning him.

A struggle commenced in the boat, but by a lucky stroke Muriel managed to hit the boatman in the chest, and he fell overboard. The Egyptian was not far from the boat, and Muriel, raising the pole, brought it down heavily on his head, causing him to loose his hold of Edgar.

Half suffocated, Edgar came to the surface, and struck out feebly for the boat.

Muriel leaned over the side and grasped him by the arm. Pulling with all her strength, she managed to give him sufficient assistance to help him to scramble into the boat.

The two Egyptians in the water were on either side of the boat, and were trying to upset it, and Muriel kept them from clambering in by hitting at them with the pole.

Edgar was well-nigh exhausted, but he managed to set the sail, and, as the breeze was blowing from the shore, the boat soon made headway and left the Egyptians behind. Finding pursuit hopeless, they swam ashore, and stood there gesticulating furiously.

Muriel, turning round to look at Edgar, saw he was unconscious. She was accustomed to sailing-boats, and, having placed her jacket under Edgar’s head, she steered with one hand and guided the sail with the other. The boat sped along in the direction of the Cuzco, whose lights were seen shining in the distance.

Muriel Wylde sat watching Edgar, and when she thought over their night’s adventures, she was thankful they had escaped with life. Edgar was a handsome young fellow, and Muriel Wylde felt her heart beat fast as she looked at him. They had been good friends on board during the voyage, and Edgar’s mates had chaffed him about ‘pretty Miss Wylde.’ Her mother had noticed her daughter’s partiality for Edgar’s society, and did not discourage it, as she had taken a fancy to the young fellow.

Before they reached the steamer, Muriel Wylde left the stern of the boat for a moment to attend to Edgar. As she bent over him, he opened his eyes and looked into her face, which was very near to his own. Their eyes met, and they suddenly felt that something had been revealed to each of them.

Edgar took Muriel Wylde’s hands, and drew her towards him. She did not resist, and when he kissed her she was not surprised or startled. It seemed a fitting climax to the dangers they had passed through.

So lost were they in each other, although neither spoke, they did not notice they were close to the Cuzco. A loud ‘Ahoy!’ from the deck roused them, and in a few minutes they were alongside the steamer, and friendly hands were assisting them up the gangway.

---

Their adventures at Ismailia formed the subject of conversation for several days between Edgar and Muriel Wylde. With her mother’s consent, Muriel accepted Edgar’s offer of marriage, and when the engagement became known on board they were regarded with romantic interest by the passengers. The remainder of the voyage proved uneventful. Muriel Wylde and her mother left the steamer at Naples, and proceeded overland to London, but Edgar remained on board with the team.

On arriving at Tilbury, the eleven received a hearty welcome from a large number of influential cricketers and lovers of the game. To Edgar, all this was as nothing to the joy he felt at meeting his father and Doris again.

Elm Lodge looked much the same as when he went away, and the old home was so peaceful that Edgar began to wonder how he had ever made up his mind to leave it. He had much to relate to his father and sister, and, needless to say, Will Brown entertained Doris in a manner agreeable to that young lady.

The wreck of the Distant Shore was described again, and Robert Foster noticed with pride how modestly Edgar spoke of the part he took in saving Eva.

‘Poor Manton!’ said Robert Foster. ‘I am sorry he was drowned, for a better seaman could not be found. I should like to meet Wal Jessop, and we must try and have little Eva over here, for we cannot spare you again, Edgar, now we have got you at home.’

‘It would be splendid if Wal could be induced to bring Eva and his wife home,’ said Edgar. ‘I must write and ask him. You have to meet Ben Brody, who came over with us, and I am sure you will be amused at him. He is a character, and a rough-and-ready customer, but a genuine good fellow.’

When Edgar spoke of his engagement to Muriel Wylde, his father was pleased he had found a girl after his own heart, for his son’s happiness always held a foremost place with him.

‘And what about the Australian eleven?’ said Robert Foster. ‘Are they a strong team? It is rather too bad of you to play against the old country. It places me in an awkward position. Of course, I am patriotic enough to wish to see England victorious, and yet I shall be highly delighted to see you pile up a big score.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Edgar; ‘and every member of the team will try hard to win the matches. I think we stand an excellent chance, and you will have to put your best eleven in the field to beat us in the test matches.’

‘Your men generally play well, and with constant practice they know each other’s play thoroughly, but we have some splendid cricketers now, and they will take a lot of beating,’ said his father.

‘All the more credit to us, then, if we win,’ said Edgar.

The members of an Australian eleven have plenty of hard work to go through when in England, and Edgar could not remain idle at home. He went to Mitcham to practise on the famous common, and his father accompanied him to see how the men shaped. To two or three of the older members of the team, who had been in England before, Robert Foster was well known, and his appearance with Edgar was hailed with delight.

William Murch, the captain of the Australians, shook hands heartily with Robert Foster, and said with a smile:

‘We have had you against us on many occasions, but I think we can cry quits now we have your son on our side.’

‘How does Edgar shape?’ asked Robert Foster.

‘I consider him one of our best bats, and expect great things of him. He has a happy knack of making a big score when it is most wanted. He is a smart fielder and a good change bowler. In fact, I cannot pay him a higher compliment than to say he is as good a man as his father,’ said Murch.

Edgar was now at the nets, and making the balls fly about merrily.

‘He does not seem very stiff after the voyage,’ said Robert Foster. ‘His wrist play is good, but his style could be improved a bit. I must give him a wrinkle or two.’

‘That will be going over to the enemy’s camp,’ said Murch, with a laugh; ‘but we shall be glad of such a valuable coach.’

‘By Jove! so it will,’ said Robert Foster. ‘But I cannot resist the temptation, all the same. We cricketers, I am glad to say, are always ready to help each other, and I have had many a good wrinkle given me by Australians.’

‘Ah! it is a game that stands ahead of all other games,’ said Murch enthusiastically. ‘It is a genuine sport, and a manly sport. It not only gives pleasure to the players, but to thousands of people in all parts of the world. Lovers of cricket, no matter where you go, are always willing to help each other.’

‘You are right,’ said Robert Foster. ‘Cricket will never take a back seat to any other game.’

‘Look out!’ said Murch, as he dodged a ball hit by Edgar. ‘Your son is evidently bent upon letting us know he is at the nets.’

When he had finished his turn with the bat Edgar joined his father and Murch.

‘How do you think I shape?’ said Edgar.

‘Very well,’ replied his father, ‘but your style is rather faulty. I think I can give you a hint as to what I mean when we reach home.’

‘Now then, Will, it’s your turn,’ said Edgar, and Will Murch went to the nets with his bat under his arm.

‘You have seen him play before?’ said Edgar.

‘Many times,’ said his father. ‘He is a splendid bat, and I should think he will make a good captain. Is he popular with the team?’

‘Very,’ said Edgar. ‘I believe every one of us thinks he is the best man that could have been selected.’

‘That is the proper feeling to start with,’ said Robert Foster. ‘If you have no confidence in your captain, defeat is almost certain.’

When Robert Foster had seen the Australians at practice on several occasions, he came to the conclusion it was the strongest team that had yet come to England.

‘The test matches will be a treat,’ he said. ‘If honours are divided in the first two matches, what tremendous excitement there will be over the final!’

‘Which I hope we shall win,’ said Edgar.

Doris Foster was quite as interested as her father in the probable result of the tour. Although Will Brown had not returned from Australia with enough wealth to warrant him in setting up an establishment of his own, Doris thought she would not be risking much in accepting him as her lover. With Robert Foster’s sanction they became engaged, and the family circle at Elm Lodge increased.

Ben Brody came to Elm Lodge, and soon made himself at home. Robert Foster discovered that men of Brody’s stamp are to be trusted, and although he might have been out of place amidst the sham and humbug of a society drawing-room, Ben Brody was in his element at Elm Lodge.

His quaint remarks caused roars of laughter, and he drew some amusing pictures of station life in which Edgar and Will Brown were conspicuous figures.

‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ he said to Edgar one day as they sat on the lawn enjoying the fragrant weed, ‘this beats Yanda hollow. What a trump your dad is! Talk about colonial hospitality, it is a mere trifle to the way in which I have been treated here. I have lived on the fat of the land, while those poor beggars at Yanda have been stifling their ill-feelings with the usual mutton. Then there’s your sister—but she ought to have a whole vocabulary to herself and not be mixed up with such matters. Will Brown’s a lucky fellow, and so for the matter of that are you. Girls like Miss Muriel Wylde are not found every day. I wonder if you will ever return to Australia.’

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Edgar. ‘After the tour will be time enough to think about that.’

The opening match of the tour was played at Sheffield Park against Lord Sheffield’s eleven. Ever ready to assist in promoting honest manly games, H.R.H. the Prince of Wales honoured them with his presence. Will Murch was introduced to his Royal Highness, and was naturally much elated. The match resulted in a win for the Australians, but Edgar did not ‘come off’ on this occasion.

As the weeks rolled by and the tour progressed, it was easy to see the Australian eleven was a fine team. So far they had only been twice beaten—once by an M.C.C. eleven, and in the first match against England.

Their second struggle with the cracks of the home team had resulted in a win for the Australians. Edgar played well in these matches, but had done nothing particularly wonderful. Against several of the county elevens he had made good scores. He astonished W. G. at Gloucester by the way he knocked the champion’s bowling about, and the hero of a hundred fights warmly congratulated him on his performance.

‘I always thought W. G. was a jealous man,’ said Edgar.

‘Not a bit of it,’ said Robert Foster. ‘He’s one of the first to recognise merit in a cricketer. I’ll tell you what he is jealous about.’

‘And that is?’ asked Edgar.

‘The honour of the game, and the honour of his side when he captains a team,’ said Robert Foster.

The final test match was to be played at Lord’s, and the greatest interest was manifested in the result. Throughout England enthusiastic cricketers waxed eloquent over the forthcoming struggle. In Australia every item of news was eagerly read and discussed. It might safely be said that millions of people anxiously awaited the result of this great match. The picking of the England eleven was a difficult task, but at last it was done, and Robert Foster could not find a fault with the team.

‘They ought to beat you, Edgar,’ he said. ‘It is the best team that could have been selected. Grace has had a large finger in that pie, and no fault can be found with it. I cannot pick out a weak spot.’

‘They have not won yet,’ said Edgar; ‘and all our men are in splendid trim. Murch is sanguine, and he’s not given to over-estimate our chances. Lord’s has been our unlucky ground, but that is no reason why we should not prove successful.’

‘What a sight it will be!’ said Robert Foster. ‘I hope you will pile up a big score.’

‘So do I,’ replied Edgar. ‘This is my chance, and I shall do my best.’

The great match was to commence on Monday, and on the Sunday quite a party of cricketers assembled at Elm Lodge. Will Murch, Bannman, Black, Royle of the Australians, and two of the English team enjoyed Robert Foster’s hospitality and listened to the yarns spun by Ben Brody.

Muriel Wylde and her mother were in London for the match, and came to spend the day at Elm Lodge. Muriel and Doris were great friends, and found much to talk about. It was an eventful Sunday, this day before the great match, which formed almost the sole topic of conversation. Many were the surmises as to who would make the big scores, and which bowler would secure the best average.

‘We count upon you this time,’ said Murch to Edgar. ‘It is your turn to knock up a big score against England.’

‘I mean to try,’ said Edgar, ‘and I feel very fit.’

‘Muriel will be terribly disappointed if you make less than a hundred,’ said Doris.

‘That is rather a large order,’ laughed Edgar, ‘but I must do my best to execute it.’

Late hours were not kept that night. Robert Foster packed them off in good time.

‘You shall have a night of it when the match is over,’ he said to Will Murch. ‘Win or lose, you must come here to celebrate the event. Remember I am equally interested in both sides.’

As Edgar bade Muriel good-night, she said:

‘I am quite anxious about you, Edgar. I feel sure you will succeed. I shall be terribly excited during the first over, but when you are firmly set and making a score, it will be glorious.’

---

In due course Edgar Foster arrived in Sydney again. He thought it better to take Wal Jessop into his confidence, and related to him the real reason of his return to Australia.

Wal Jessop remembered the circumstances, and said he did not think Edgar would easily find the man.

‘He spoke of sailing for America,’ said Wal; ‘and as I have seen nothing of him for some time, I think he must have gone away.’

‘I mean to have a cruise in the South Seas, at any rate,’ said Edgar. ‘I have never been there, and it will be interesting. I am sure to hear something about this man from the natives and traders.’

Wal Jessop thought for a few moments, and then said:

‘I have a schooner that would suit your purpose, and I should not mind making a voyage with you. It would be better than going alone, and I have been in the South Seas several times.’

‘That would be splendid!’ said Edgar, overjoyed at the prospect of having Wal Jessop with him.

Wal Jessop communicated his intention of accompanying Edgar to his wife, and although she did not care for him to leave her again to go on a cruise, she raised no objections when she heard what object they had in view.

‘How strange it will be if you find Captain Manton there!’ she said. ‘Even if such a thing happened I am afraid he would not return with you.’

‘We shall persuade him to do so,’ said Wal, ‘if we find him; but that is more than we hope for. Still, more extraordinary things than this have happened over shipwrecks, and truth is often stranger than fiction.’

Wal Jessop’s schooner did not take much fitting out for the voyage, for both he and Edgar were used to roughing it. A couple of good men were engaged to go with them, upon whom Wal Jessop knew he could rely.

They set sail early one morning, and were soon outside the heads, going along at a fair rate of speed in their small craft.

‘She sails well,’ said Edgar.

‘Many a craft twice her size does not skim over the sea so fast,’ said Wal.

Edgar thoroughly enjoyed being on board the schooner. It was vastly different from the life on an ocean liner. They had on board a stock of goods to trade with the natives, and hoped to make the trip profitable. The wind and weather being in their favour, they sailed merrily along, and there was every prospect of their making a fast trip.

Wal Jessop suggested going to Fiji first of all.

‘It’s a jolly place,’ he said, ‘and will not be out of our way, and we are not tied for time.’

‘It is a good thing your wife cannot hear you,’ said Edgar, laughing. ‘I fancy I heard you say we should return as quickly as possible.’

‘So we shall,’ said Wal; ‘but we made no stipulation as to the course we should take.’

They made sail for Levuka, the former capital of Fiji, Suva being the present capital. Levuka is situated on a narrow strip of beach, from which the backbone of Ovalau rises precipitately to a height of 2,500 feet, and falls in a similar manner on the other side.

Levuka, Edgar found, consisted of one main street about a mile in length, which runs along the beach from old Government House to the native village at the other end. The ground ascends rapidly on leaving the beach, and the hills around are dotted with pretty villas. The stores and hotels face the water, and here Edgar and Wal took in a fresh stock of provisions for the schooner.

After leaving Levuka, they sailed along the coast and saw a number of small native towns dotted about at varying intervals, usually among a little grove of cocoa-nuts or bananas.

They landed near one of these native villages and obtained a supply of yams and sweet potatoes, also bananas in any quantity. The village was surrounded by filth and garbage of all sorts, and among this highly-scented mess a number of scraggy pigs, thin hens, and young children were rummaging. The stagnant water lying about attracted swarms of mosquitoes and flies.

Edgar entered one of the houses and was almost choked with the smoke, and was glad to get a breath of fresh air. The earthen floor of the house he could just discern was covered with dry grass over which were spread a few mats. The men seemed a lazy lot of fellows, passing the bulk of their time in smoking. They went inland for several miles, but found the country hilly and uninteresting.

They saw numerous inland villages nestling in the valley or perched on the top of a hill. After leaving Fiji they sailed for the New Hebrides, rather an inhospitable country, so Edgar understood. Wal Jessop had, however, been to Tana before, and meant to steer for that place.

‘What sort of a place is Tana?’ asked Edgar as they sat idly in the schooner with the blue sky shining brilliantly overhead, and the blue water of the ocean all around them.

‘It is a volcanic island,’ said Wal. ‘There are several of them in the group, and on many of them the natives speak different languages. It is a circular island, with a high mountain in the centre which we ought to see before long. The mountain is constantly in eruption, and answers the purpose of a lighthouse. It is covered with vegetation almost to the top.’

‘I hope we shall not have an earthquake during our stay on the island. I have experienced one already, during our exploration in the cave of Enooma, and I should not care for the experience to be repeated,’ said Edgar.

Next morning the island of Tana came in sight, and Edgar marvelled at its beauty as seen from the schooner. In the centre of the island rose the high mountain, as Wal Jessop had described it, and smoke and fire were issuing from the top. They were not long in reaching a landing-place, and on the beach they saw a number of native canoes, some about fifteen feet long, and others from twenty-five to nearly fifty feet in length.

When the natives saw the schooner let go her anchor, two canoes put off and were quickly paddled alongside. The natives in them were rather under the middle stature and the colour of old copper. Their faces were painted a reddish colour, and looked oily and sticky. Their hair was frizzy and of a light-brown colour, and was twisted and curled into numerous tails, which were thrown back from the forehead and hung down the back. It looked for all the world like a wig made of whipcord, Edgar thought.

‘These fellows are Tanese,’ said Wal. ‘I must try and make them understand a few questions.’

He spoke to one of the natives, who was taller than his companions, and asked him to come on board the schooner. Without the least hesitation the man did so. As he stood on deck, Edgar saw that he was a well-made, athletic young fellow. The septum of his nose was pierced, and through it was inserted a reed horizontally, but not so as to project beyond either nostril. He had tortoiseshell earrings in his ears, about half a dozen hanging down on each side, and the weight had enlarged the aperture until a child’s hand might have been passed through. He was not tattooed, but on his breast a rude device of a fish had been either cut or burnt in, and on the upper part of his arms was a leaf done in a similar way. He had no clothes on except a matting bag round the loins. He had armlets on, and also three large whale’s teeth on three strings hanging horizontally on his breast.

‘He’s a chief,’ said Wal. ‘I can tell that by those teeth he has on his breast.’

‘He is a formidable-looking savage,’ said Edgar. ‘I should not care to have a hit with that club he carries.’

Wal Jessop motioned the chief to sit down, which he did, and was presented with a necklace of bright-coloured beads which delighted him immensely.

The other natives in the canoes were looking at the schooner with eager eyes, evidently with the expectation of getting a few presents.

The chief, whose name was Meri, spoke a few words of English, and as Wal Jessop knew a little of the Tana language, they managed to understand each other.

Although Edgar could not make out what they were talking about, he knew Wal Jessop was questioning him as to the white men who visited the island.

‘Psan Aremama,’ said Meri.

‘There is a white man on the island,’ said Wal to Edgar. ‘We must go ashore and try and meet him. Meri knows where he is to be found, but he avoids the coast.’

‘Strange a white man should be here,’ said Edgar. ‘It may be the very man we are in search of.’

‘If it turns out to be Manton, it will be stranger still,’ said Wal.

Meri agreed to take them ashore in his canoe, and to make room for them ordered two of the men to jump out and swim back to land.

Wal Jessop asked if there were sharks about, for he saw the natives were frightened, but dared not disobey the chief.

Meri laughed, showing his even teeth, and hinted that it would be good sport to see a shark or two hunt the natives.

‘Pleasant sort of man to work for,’ said Edgar, when Wal had explained.

The canoe shot away from the side of the schooner. Wal and Edgar had their rifles with them and also a number of beads, trinkets, and pieces of bright-coloured cloths, with which to propitiate the natives.

As they neared the shore one of the natives who was swimming dived, and before he came to the surface the water was dyed with blood.

‘Laumasan! [good],’ chuckled Meri.

The native came to the surface, and they saw he had dived and stabbed a shark that had been in pursuit.

‘That was cleverly done,’ said Wal.

‘They must have some pluck,’ said Edgar.

‘Good fighters, many of them,’ said Wal. ‘We must try and get them to give us an exhibition of spear-throwing and stone-slinging. It will interest you.’

They got out of the canoes and waded through the surf to the beach. Here a number of natives, men and women, were gathered. The women were fairly well covered with long girdles reaching below the knee. These girdles were made of rolled dried fibre of the banana stalk, which was soft to touch and very like hemp. They also wore a few ornaments, and their hair was shorter than the men’s, standing erect in a forest of little curls about an inch long.

The chief conducted them to his hut, which was rudely constructed, but large enough to hold half a dozen persons comfortably. This hut was built amongst the trees, and there were huts of a smaller size for about eight or ten families.

The chief gave them to understand that they must join them at the marum, or place of public meeting.

This meeting was held under a banyan tree in a large clear space. All the men assembled here at sundown for their evening meal.

A bowl of kava was prepared by chewing the root and ejecting the contents of the mouth into a bowl, which was filled up with water, then mixed and strained. In addition to the kava, there were raw yams served, and cooked food consisting of figs and fowls. The women had their meal apart from the men.

Meri repeated a short prayer before the meal, wishing them success in their crops and in the battles in which they were often engaged.

Edgar, having seen the kava prepared, did not relish tasting it, but at a sign from Wal Jessop, he took the bowl and sipped a little.

‘They would have been greatly offended had you refused it,’ Wal explained.

After the meal, which, with the exception of the kava, Edgar relished, the men made speeches and danced, flourishing their clubs. It amused Edgar to watch the children, of whom the men seemed very fond. The copper-skinned little ones imitated their elders with precocious dexterity.

It was a curious sight to see these natives holding a marum under the huge banyan tree, and as the shades of night quickly fell their figures loomed in the light with a peculiarly weird effect as they danced and chanted their monotonous song.

Meri sat between Wal Jessop and Edgar, and as the dance proceeded, he caught them one by each arm and nodded across the opening. Edgar and Wal looked in the direction Meri indicated, and saw a strange figure standing looking at the scene.

Edgar sprang to his feet and shouted:

‘The captain or his ghost!’

‘The very image of him,’ said Wal.

The stranger had, however, noted their movements, and, suddenly turning, darted back into the shadow of the trees.

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Wal Jessop hastily explained to Meri that it was their intention to go in pursuit of the white man, and the chief said he would accompany them. The meeting came to an end, the savages dispersing to their various huts.

Meri, beckoning to Wal and Edgar to follow him, led the way across the marum into the forest beyond. They were soon in richly-wooded country, and found progress difficult. Edgar constantly stumbled over some tangled, twisted root that lay hidden in his path; thorns, growing on some of the bushes, pricked him and tore his clothes, and Wal Jessop was in no better plight. Meri, however, did not appear to mind the thorns, but walked on at a rapid pace.

They continued their tramp for some time, but saw nothing of the white man who had so quickly and mysteriously disappeared.

When they halted to rest Wal Jessop questioned Meri, and learned that the white man had been on the island for some time. He came in a trading vessel, and was left behind, either wilfully or through his own desire. The natives regarded him with superstition, and thought him scarcely human. Meri himself was evidently a believer in the white man’s powers over the natives for good or evil.

On resuming their search they came upon a pathway evidently cut in the bush, and along this Meri led them.

He halted at the entrance to a small clearing, and here they saw a strange sight.

Standing straight up from the ground were several large trunks of trees, that had been hollowed out and rudely carved in the shape of hideous heads at the top. They appeared to be idols, and Meri regarded them with a look of awe.

‘This is a Sing-Sing ground,’ said Wal; ‘I have heard of them before, but never seen one. This is where their gods live, and it is regarded as a sacred grove. If the white man is here it easily accounts for the fear with which he is regarded. No native would remain here alone; in fact, they dare not venture except upon special occasions. I’ll ask Meri about it.’

Wal questioned the chief, who said he could enter the sacred grove as chief of his tribe, and they walked into the clearing. Raising his club Meri struck one of the hollow trunks a blow, and it echoed through the forest with a sound like a drum.

Edgar looked into the hollow of each tree, but saw nothing. Presently a tall figure glided into the grove, and stood still regarding them.

They were at once convinced it was the unfortunate captain of the Distant Shore standing before them, but he showed no sign that he recognised them.

He was strangely altered from the fine, stalwart seaman they had known as Captain Manton of the Distant Shore. His figure was gaunt and thin, and his arms and hands were mere skin and bone. His hair was white, his beard of the same hue, and his eyes looked vacantly from under his bushy eyebrows. He wore an old coat, which reached to his knees, and his legs and feet were bare. As he advanced slowly towards them Meri fell back, but Edgar and Wal stood their ground.

‘Begone!’ said this ghost-like figure of Captain Manton. ‘This is no place for you. Begone, and leave me in peace! I harm no one. I am quite alone—alone in a world of my own, peopled with the ghosts of the drowned!’

Edgar stepped forward, and, looking him straight in the eyes, said:

‘Do you not know me, Captain Manton? I am Edgar Foster. I was saved from the wreck with your daughter Eva.’

At the mention of Eva’s name a momentary light of intelligence came into the man’s eyes, but it quickly died away, and left them dull and vacant.

‘Poor fellow!’ said Edgar sorrowfully; ‘his brain has given way under the strain. He must have suffered severely.’

‘Do you think he is mad?’ asked Wal.

‘Not a dangerous form of madness,’ replied Edgar; ‘but I have no doubt he is not in his right mind. We must humour him, and question him. He has a strange story to relate, if he can be persuaded to tell it, and if he remembers all he has gone through.’

Edgar took the unfortunate man by the hand, and persuaded him to sit down.

Meri looked on, his curiosity evidently being excited.

Edgar tried as gently and simply as possible to lead the wandering mind of the captain back to the wreck of the Distant Shore, and found, to his delight, that he succeeded in rousing his dormant memory.

Captain Manton began to talk in a strange, monotonous way. He was evidently recapitulating what had happened to him after the wreck of the Distant Shore, and he seemed almost unconscious of anyone being present.

From time to time during the course of the strange tale he related Edgar refreshed his weak memory.

‘If we can lead him on to tell us everything,’ said Edgar, ‘he may recognise us in the end.’

‘I hope so,’ said Wal; ‘it is terrible to see him like this, but it may be caused through not having any white men to converse with.’

Captain Manton—for, indeed, it was that unfortunate seaman—commenced by telling them, in a somewhat incoherent way, that he was on a big ship when it went on to the rocks and crashed to pieces.

‘It was the captain’s fault,’ he said; ‘he ought to have made for a harbour; he is responsible for all our deaths.’

‘You were saved,’ said Edgar. ‘You are not dead, and you ought to be thankful. It was not the captain’s fault, for he was a brave man, and a good seaman. I knew him well, and he was incapable of a cowardly action.’

‘I knew him once,’ said Captain Manton, ‘but it must have been a very long time ago. He’s dead now, and you say I am alive. Strange how little I remember of Manton, for I must have known him well.’

‘You did,’ said Edgar. ‘Have you forgotten? Can you not remember that you are Captain Manton, and that I saved your daughter Eva?’

‘Eva,’ said Manton, with a deep sigh, ‘I know the name very well—Eva; yes, I once knew little Eva.’

He spoke in such pathetic tones that both Edgar and Wal Jessop were affected.

Suddenly Manton began to talk rapidly.

‘I remember now,’ he said; ‘the captain went down with the ship. I was tossed about on the rocks—washed on and then off again. A huge wave rolled me back into the sea, and I clutched a broken spar. The captain clutched that spar, too, but I pushed him off—ah, ah! I pushed him off because there was only room for one; but he came up again and sat beside me, and I had not strength to push him off again. He did not try to push me off. Out to sea we were taken, and then I recollect nothing until I awoke on board a small craft, and the captain was not there. He must have fallen off the spar, and been drowned. I was starved on the boat, for they had very little to eat. When they landed on some island, they went away and left me. The natives were kind to me and gave me food. I have lived here many years. I do no one any harm, and I want to stay here. You will not take me away?’ he said suddenly, turning to Edgar and Wal, with an imploring look in his eyes.

Edgar evaded the question, and said:

‘I will tell you what happened on the night the Distant Shore was wrecked, and how Wal Jessop here saved me and your daughter Eva.’

‘My daughter Eva!’ said Manton, with a soft smile—‘my daughter Eva!’

He lingered fondly over the name, and Edgar said to Wal:

‘I believe if I relate all that took place he will remember. His sufferings have caused loss of memory, that is all.’

‘I hope so,’ said Wal; ‘it is pitiable to find him like this.’

Edgar then told him as briefly as possible all that took place at the wreck of the Distant Shore. As he described how Wal Jessop found himself and Eva on the rocks, and at great risk got them to the top of the cliffs, Manton’s eyes brightened, and he listened with intense interest.

‘Eva is now a beautiful little girl,’ said Edgar, ‘and she has been expecting to see you. We have always told her you would come back to her, and I am sure you will do so. You remember me now, do you not?’ said Edgar; ‘and also your good friend in Sydney, Wal Jessop?’

‘Ay, you’ll remember me, skipper,’ said Wal, in a hearty voice; ‘I’ve towed you safely into port many a time. Come, give me a grip of your hand, and say you know me.’

Manton looked, first at Edgar, and then at Wal Jessop. He was wrestling with the memories of the past that had so long been absent from him. Gradually they saw his memory was recovering its power. The mind was only clouded, and brighter days would chase the gloom away.

‘My God! can it be true?’ said Manton, as he gazed at them. ‘Am I dreaming, or am I mad? Can this be Edgar Foster, and my old mate, Wal Jessop? Where am I, and how did I come here?’

He was wrestling with his memory, and gradually drawing it back to life. With the return of reason he failed to comprehend what had happened to him, and why he was on this wild island in the New Hebrides.

‘True, true, true!’ he murmured; ‘they are indeed my friends!

He grasped their hands, and his frame shook with the intense emotion he felt. He was in a very weak state, and the reaction was too much for him. The change from darkness to light overpowered him, and he sank back in a dead faint.

Meri, when he saw Manton fall back, to all appearance dead, sprang forward and brandished his club in a savage manner. He thought Edgar and Wal must have practised some witchcraft upon this white man, who had been so long amongst them.

Wal Jessop, leaving Manton in Edgar’s care, explained, as well as he could, what had happened. Meri looked displeased when Wal said they would take Manton away with them, and said evil would fall upon their tribe if they allowed him to go.

It was some time before Manton recovered, and when he did so he was too weak to walk. Wal Jessop persuaded Meri to return with him to the village, and obtain help to carry Manton to the beach.

Edgar remained with the captain, and did all in his power to cheer him. He knew it would be some time before they returned, and Manton was not in a fit state to be left alone. With the return of his memory he had become nervous and excited. For the first time since that fatal night when the Distant Shore was wrecked, he began to remember clearly what had taken place.

Edgar saw what it was preyed upon his mind, and said:

‘Everyone will be glad to hear you have been saved in such a strange and marvellous way. You will be heartily welcomed in Sydney when we return; and think of little Eva waiting and watching for you.’

‘The ship was lost,’ said Manton in a hollow voice, ‘and I am responsible. Did all on board perish with the exception of three?’

‘Yes,’ said Edgar; ‘but you were not to blame. Everyone praised your conduct, for I told them how you stood by your ship, and went down with her. Nothing could have saved her. You did all that man could do.’

‘And my poor wife?’ he moaned.

Edgar was silent. He knew words would avail nothing.

‘How did you find me?’ asked Manton.

Edgar related how his father received a letter, and his own determination to set out in quest of him in order to ascertain the truth.

‘And you did this for my sake?’ said Manton.

‘I must not take too much credit for that,’ said Edgar. ‘A love of adventure prompted me, and, although I hardly credited your being alive, yet I knew it was not impossible.’

‘And where am I, and how long have I been here?’ asked Manton wonderingly.

‘You are on the island of Tana, in the New Hebrides,’ said Edgar. ‘You were no doubt picked up by a schooner on its way to the South Seas from Sydney.’

‘It is all very strange,’ said Manton. ‘I must have been near to death when I was rescued from the sea.’

‘Your sufferings were so great that your mind became deranged,’ said Edgar. ‘With complete rest, and amongst your friends, you will speedily recover.’

Manton shook his head despondingly. He was in a melancholy mood, and his mind was not quite balanced. As Edgar looked at him his heart was full of pity for him, and he fervently hoped it would not be many weeks before Captain Manton was fully recovered both in mind and body.

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