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 THE LIBRARY 
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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 By CONRAD H. SAYCE a 
 
 MELBOURNE : ALEXANDER McCUBBIN 
 
 NUMBER ONE -FIVE -TWO ELIZABETH STREET :: MCMXX
 
 
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 ■1 T]l 
 
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 TO 
 EMMELINE SAYCE PIERSON, 
 
 MY FRIEND.
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 The following pages were written on a horse 
 and cattle station in Central Australia. 
 
 My study is a wurley made of broom-bush , 
 lashed with green-hide to mulga posts and rails. 
 It is the station "dining-room." Hither come the 
 lowing of yarded cattle, the squeal of frightened 
 horses, the thunder of galloping hoofs, the bray- 
 ing of donkeys, the racket of stock-whips, and the 
 yabber of excited blacks; and, when tin plates 
 are pushed back and pipes well alight, it is here 
 that Bill and Johnny and "old man" Ted tell tales 
 of "when 1 was a young feller." 
 
 My companions are all old bushmen, and their 
 speech is coloured with picturesque and expres- 
 sive profanity, which is inseparably part of the 
 life they lead. In only this respect have I not 
 been true to my mates. I value the vividness of 
 their phraseology, but know that, away from 
 these great plains, it would give offence. But the 
 men, the scenes, and the life have not been al- 
 tered, and are told from personal experience.
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 
 
 The author wishes to record his gratitude to 
 J.H.E.-W., who through 27 years of pioneer station 
 life in Centralia has preserved the culture and 
 bearing of a gentleman. But for his kindness, the 
 following pages might never have been written.
 
 "Where is Australia, singer, do you know? 
 
 These sordid farms and joyless factories, 
 Mephitic mines and lanes of pallid woe ? 
 
 Those ugly towns and cities such as these. 
 With incense sick to all unworthy power, 
 And all old sin in full malignant flower? 
 No! to her bourn her children still are failing : 
 
 ^he is a Temple that we are to build: 
 For her the ages have been long preparing: 
 
 She is a prophecy to be fulfilled!" 
 
 BERNAED O'DOWD.
 
 GOLDLN BUCKLL5 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Ida Hennessy. 
 
 Eleven had boomed from the Melbourne Town 
 Hall clock nearly twenty minutes ago, and the last 
 of the late church-goers had hurried along the 
 St. Kilda Road. 
 
 Children and old men sat on the lawns and 
 under the trees of the Domain; nursemaids 
 chatted with their cavaliers, many of whom were 
 wearing military uniforms; lovers whispered on 
 the benches, and a few solitary idlers strolled up 
 and down, hardly knowing what to do with them- 
 selves, so used were they to shop and office 
 routine. 
 
 The asphalt tree-lined road had shed its work- 
 a-day garment of noise, and for once in a while 
 the songs of little birds were heard all the way 
 from Government House to Prince's Bridge. 
 
 But no birds sang outside the grim pile of the 
 Barracks. The sentry paced his beat to and fro 
 through the gates, and though he was a young 
 man and good looking, he might not even wave to 
 the nursemaids who kept tantalisingly within 
 sight on the far pavement. 
 
 Suddenly he brought his rifle to the salute as 
 two riders passed down the St. Kilda Road. One, 
 to whom the private's salute was directed, bore 
 the stars and crown of a colonel's rank upon his
 
 T2 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 epaulettes, while his lady companion was dressed 
 in a stylish riding-habit. 
 
 Both rode blood horses, which pranced and cur- 
 vetted at the restraint put upon them, eager to 
 break into a canter, but the gloved hand of the 
 girl was equally master of the bridle-rein as the 
 large sunburnt one of the man, and snatches of 
 conversation passed between them from time to 
 time. 
 
 Just past the gates of Government House, both 
 riders instinctively shortened rein, as their 
 mounts' restlessness increased at the sound of 
 hoofs approaching behind them. A young man in 
 civilian dress rode up and passed, turning in his 
 saddle to respond to the lady's greeting. Short 
 as was the sight thus gained, the colonel's eye 
 brightened with appreciation of the superb animal 
 the stranger rode and of the man's ease in the 
 saddle, but jealousy quenched all kiiicliness as he 
 caught the look of pleasure on his companion's 
 face. In answer to his question as to the rider's 
 identity, the girl replied: 
 
 "That's Doctor Byrne. He always rides on 
 Sunday morning." 
 
 "Do you know him well?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. This is the first Sunday we haven't 
 ridden together for ever so long." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes," was the reply, and then, becoming con- 
 scious of the military man's mood, the girl turned 
 the conversation, asking: 
 
 "Did you notice what a lovely horse he was 
 riding?" 
 
 Conversation was checked for a time by the 
 sudden determination of both horses to follow the 
 one ahead, and when the riders finally turned down 
 Alexandra Avenue, and let the animals have their 
 way, the mounted doctor was out of sight. 
 
 Colonel Gerald Bathwick had recently arrived
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 13 
 
 back in Australia from Europe. At the outbreak 
 of war, he h,ad been put in charge of one of the 
 first battaHons to leave the Commonwealth, and, 
 in the flush of enthusiasm which accompanied the 
 call to arms, he had had little difficulty in develop- 
 ing an almost casual acquaintance with Ida Hen- 
 nessy into an engagement. He had sailed, and the 
 girl was left, pledged in marriage to a man she 
 hardly knew, and once the dazzle of military 
 splendour was gone, who knows what demands 
 upon her sense of duty were necessary to stifle 
 regret at the step she had taken? 
 
 Mrs. Hennessy was frankly glad. 
 
 "You know, Edward," she said to her husband, 
 "nothing would please me more than to see dear 
 Ida nicely settled. Her engagement was rather 
 sudden, but it seems so very suitable. Don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 "Quite so, quite so. Capital fellow. Knows a 
 good horse when he sees one, but's damnably 
 weak on the putting green ; damnably weak. Why, 
 I was telling Major Smithson only last Thurs- 
 day " 
 
 "I'm glad you like him," his wife broke in. 
 "You know, I was so afraid dear Ida was going to 
 be wild. But there's nothing like being engaged 
 young, is there?" 
 
 "Jove, no! You're right, Maud; quite right. 
 Wild, you were saying. She rides a pretty loose 
 rein now, I think. Gad! they'll be a pair when 
 they're well mounted. Wild, eh!" 
 
 "I didn't mean wild in' that way, Edward. I've 
 never forgotten what happened on the beach that 
 awful day, and I never shall." 
 
 The incident which had taken such a tenacious 
 grip of the good lady's memory occurred when 
 Ida was twelve, and was probably her last bid for 
 freedom before her admittance to a "very exclu-
 
 14 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 sive" private school doomed her to a life of re- 
 spectability. 
 
 The Hennessys had taken a house at Morning- 
 ton for the summer months, and on this particular 
 day there was a large garden party on the beach 
 in front of the house. Afternoon tea had been 
 served, and the children had gone off on their 
 ponies with a nurse to bathe. Ida had been 
 troublesome in the water, and the nurse's rebukes 
 had only made her worse, till the spirit of revolt 
 rose beyond control. As the nurse was rubbing 
 her down and scolding her at the same time, the 
 child chanced to look in the direction of the garden 
 party. The well dressed nonentities suddenly 
 appeared in a new light to her. With a bound, 
 she knocked the nurse over, and ran towards her 
 pony. Quickly unhitching the bridle, she sprang 
 on the animal's bare back and galloped madly 
 across the sands towards the party, leaving the 
 horrified nurse shrieking, "Miss Ida' Miss Ida! 
 You've got nothing on !" 
 
 Right through the crowd she galloped, wheeled 
 and back again, her bare heels kicking the pony's 
 flanks, and her wet hair streaming I ehind her. 
 
 That night, after having sent Ida ^o bed in dis- 
 grace, her mother crept upstairs and listened at 
 her daughter's door. Softly opening it, she called, 
 "Are you awake, Ida?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Tip-toeing to the bedside, she saw her child 
 wide awake, staring at the window. 
 
 "Ida, why didn't you answer me? Why are you 
 such a naughty girl?" 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 "Why ever did you behave like that this after- 
 noon, Ida? I can't understand it." 
 
 "Oh," came a tired voice from the bed, "I just 
 wondered what God would do; and," she con-
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 15 
 
 tinued, as if disj^ppointed at the non-success of 
 an experiment, "and He didn't do anything." 
 
 Never again had she tried for herself to see 
 what God would do. Her training robbed her of 
 such curiosity, and it needed a very strong 
 stimulus to make her break the rules which applied 
 equally to gods and men.
 
 i6 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 Doctor Byrne. 
 
 Some months after the departure of Colonel 
 Bathwick, there arrived on the scenes, just the 
 man who could supply that stimulus. Behind the 
 spare, athletic figure of James Tynan Byrne, with 
 his brown hair and keen, cold eyes, the most 
 casual observer would have suspected an unusual 
 personality. His father, an Edinburgh-trained 
 surgeon, had shown the attitude of his mind in 
 a scene which has become historic in the annals 
 of his University. Dr. Byrne, senior, was giving 
 a course of operating theatre demonstrations at 
 the time when a religious revival mission was oc- 
 cupying people's thoughts. Everyone was think- 
 ing of his soul, and the mission bid fair to be a 
 huge success, when one 'day the doctor looked 
 up from the operating slab and said quietly, 
 "Gentlemen, I see no soul here. I must refer the 
 body to the revivalists.' 
 
 His son was also an Edinburgh-trained surgeon, 
 having gone home to matriculate into his father's 
 University. Just after completing his course, he 
 received the following letter from Australia, to- 
 gether with others confirming the news of his 
 father's death: 
 
 "Dear Jim," it ran, "by the time this reaches 
 you, the old clock will have run down. My affairs 
 are in the hands of Messrs. Todd, Son, and 
 Nephews, who will confirm the news that you are 
 a rich man." 
 
 Here followed details of successful dealing in 
 shares. Then the letter went on : 
 
 "I have known of this for years, but did not 
 wish to hamper your training, as nothing clogs
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 17 
 
 the wheels of ambition like wealth. Luckily, you 
 will never have to doctor up the imaginary ail- 
 ments of fussy old men and women, as I have 
 done, for a fee. Every branch of medical and 
 surgical research is open to you, and you have 
 the means to enter which you will. 
 
 "It is usual in such cases to write 'God bless 
 you,' and to- drop a tear to show that the writer 
 doesn't believe He will. Instead of that, I hand 
 on what has been the finding of my life : the only 
 God is the mind of man; it is capable of being 
 omnipotent and omniscient, and is apprehended 
 by study, not by faith. 
 
 "So, now that you have all the theology neces- 
 sary to salvation, I will say good-bye. 
 
 "Your affectionate father, 
 
 "Donald Tynan Byrne." 
 
 With his father's wealth, James also inherited 
 his almost cynically analytical mind, which, how- 
 ever, was saved from utter coldness, by a tempera- 
 ment gained from his mother, who died so young 
 that the doctor did not remember her. She was 
 Irish, a lover of horses, of music, painting, and 
 literature, and the man who had dissected a body 
 to find a soul, gave the lie to his own materialism 
 by the tender passion with which he loved his 
 wife. With a capacity for deep emotion which 
 he kept severely under control, young Doctor 
 Byrne came into the circle in which Ida Hennessy 
 moved as an impersonal spectator of life. 
 
 In the small hours of the morning following a 
 dance at which Dr. Byrne, at that tmie almost a 
 stranger, had markedly preferred the company of 
 Ida to that of any other, two girls discussed him 
 as they prepared for sleep. 
 
 "My dear," said one, as she coiled up her hair 
 for the night, "did you notice Ida Hejmessy? She
 
 i8 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 had three dances, one after the other, with that 
 man in civiHan dress." 
 
 "Don't you know who that was? That's Doc- 
 tor Byrne." 
 
 "Never heard of him. But his being a doctor 
 does make a difference." 
 
 "Yes, dear, of course it does;" and instinctively 
 each girl drew her gown closer with a delighted 
 little shiver. Few things please a girl of this 
 sort more than the presence of a doctor or a sol- 
 dier. 
 
 "It makes you feel so delightfully naughty." 
 Soldiers and doctors! Just as in ancient Rome 
 it was the women who kept open the Arena, so 
 to-day war would be robbed of all its romance but 
 for the adulation of women. As a sex they are 
 bloodthirtsy, and failing soldiers, they dance with 
 doctors. 
 
 "Well, even if he is a doctor, I don't see why 
 she should keep him all to herself. She's engaged, 
 too. Why, I wasn't even introduced." 
 
 In spite of the condemnation of her friends, Ida 
 continued to see more and more of Doctor Byrne, 
 and on the ground of a mutual love of horses, a 
 firm friendship sprang up between them, which 
 was in danger of becoming something more in- 
 timate, when news came of the death of Colonel 
 Bathwick. 
 
 Why the young man with the keen eyes had 
 singled out Ida Hennessy, it would be impossible to 
 say. The reason lay as deeply hidden as their 
 two natures. Perhaps her dark hair and eyes, 
 and the sight of her riding along Alexander 
 Avenue one Sunday morning, may have reminded 
 him of a photograph of his mother; perhaps not. 
 Anyhow, when his eyes appraised her, he was 
 conscious of little inward stirrings that had never 
 come under his microscope or dissecting knife, and 
 which were so desirable that he yielded to them;
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 19 
 
 and that was the reason for the three successive 
 dances which Ida's friend so bitterly complained 
 of. And Ida? Byrne's presence troubled her. 
 He had broken the calm, the matter-of-course 
 habits of her mind. Happenings that had 
 hitherto been accepted without question now ap- 
 pealed to her: dawn, the song of birds, the colour 
 and perfume of flowers, and once, when she found 
 a sparrow with a broken wing, she cried over it, 
 and would have appealed to her doctor friend for 
 help, had it not died too soon. 
 
 Whether or not she would have ultimately ex- 
 changed the betrothal ring of the dead soldier for 
 one which Byrne might give her, will never be 
 known, for while he was quietly waiting till the 
 tight, self-centred bud of Ida's life should open 
 into the beautiful flower that he knew was only 
 waiting for the sun — his sun, as he hoped — news 
 came that Colonel Bathwick was not dead, but a 
 prisoner in Germany ; and, later, that an exchange 
 had been made, and that he was on his way back 
 to Australia. 
 
 So the young doctor's ring was not placed on 
 her finger, and she settled back into the path 
 which others called her duty, and thought herself 
 happy because they told her so. A breath of 
 spring had come before its time; winter claimed 
 her again.
 
 20 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Golden Buckles. 
 
 About half-way along the Avenue, the riders 
 were compelled to draw rein, for some people 
 were crossing the road from the Botanic Gardens. 
 Ida's breath was coming in short gasps, her 
 cheeks were flushed, and 'her smile of pleasure 
 after the gallop made her look so charming that 
 her fiance's cold brain glowed for a moment at 
 the thought that such a glorious girl was his. 
 But, chancing to look ahead, he caught sight of 
 Dr. Byrne returning along the tan, and at once 
 all sentiment was focussed in a desire to flaunt 
 his possession before this man, who, as he had 
 heard, would have forestalled him had he not re- 
 turned when he did. 
 
 "I'd like to meet your friend," he i^^aid, turning 
 to the girl. 
 
 "Certainly," she answered, and, a.^ the young 
 doctor came level and was about to pass, she hailed 
 him. 
 
 He pulled in his horse beside the other two, 
 and sat there, turning in the saddle with his hand 
 on the animal's rump. 
 
 "I want to introduce you to Colonel Bathwick. 
 Gerald, this is my friend, Dr. Byrne " 
 
 The men shook hands, and if to either or both 
 of them it was like the preliminary to a duel, 
 there was no sign of it on their faces. Casual 
 questions were asked and answered, and in re- 
 sponse to Miss Hennessy's appeal, "Won't you 
 ride a little way with us, Dr. Byrne?" the young 
 man turned his mount, and the three riders pro- 
 ceeded at a walking pace towards Anderson's
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 2T 
 
 Bridge, and up the hill to the right till they came 
 to the white gates on to Domain Road, 
 
 "Colonel Bathwick is taking lunch with us. If 
 you have no prior engagement, perhaps you would 
 join us," suggested Miss Hennessy to the doctor. 
 
 "Thank you. No engagement couH be prior to 
 your invitation. I should like to come very much." 
 
 The answer was given with more warmth than 
 the jealous Colonel liked, and as thoy walked on 
 up Domain Road, he turned the conversation to 
 the subject of horses. 
 
 "That's a fine animal you have there, doctor," 
 he remarked. 
 
 "Yes," was the reply, and the owner patted the 
 glossy bay neck. 
 
 "What is he?" 
 
 "He's one of Zubeir's foals; the Arab stallion 
 that Sir James Beaucout sold a few years ago, 
 you remember." 
 
 "Yes, I remember. But how did you manage to 
 get hold of it? I understand that Sir James Beau- 
 cout's stock is very difficult to obtam." 
 
 For answer. Dr. Byrne leant over and pointed 
 to the brand on the near-side shoulder: "X.T.X." 
 "He's a Territory horse," he said. "I bought him 
 in the Dukeland Park sale yards a couple of years 
 ago. By his size I should say that his mother 
 was one of those stock mares for which the back 
 stations are famous." 
 
 "You're a lucky man," commented the colonel. 
 "Isn't he, Ida?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed. And he's lovely to ride," replied 
 the girl, enthusiastically, "Dr. Byrne and. I often 
 used to exchange mounts, didn't we, Jim?" 
 
 Bathwick looked round suddenly at the girl as 
 she referred to her friend as "Jim." He raised 
 his eyebrows in astonishment, and his fiancee 
 answered, to explain her blushing confusion: "I
 
 22 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 beg your pardon, Gerald, but Dr. Byrne and I 
 
 know one another so well." 
 
 "So I see," he answered, and the light laugh 
 which accompanied the remark was not wholly 
 pleasant. 
 
 "You've got harness worthy of the horse," said 
 the military man, breaking the awkward silence 
 that ensued. "What's that engraving on the 
 buckles ?" 
 
 He indicated the cheek-strap buckles which 
 were made of gold with the bottom bar wide 
 enough to bear a coat-of-arms. 
 
 "Oh," laughed the young man, "that's a picture 
 my great, great, great and few more used to wear 
 on his shield. You know," he added, "we're all 
 either robbers or descended from them." Then, 
 quite suddenly, his voice became serious, and he 
 said gravely, "It's an Irish coat uf -arms. My 
 mother was Irish. She used to ride with those 
 buckles on her bridle." 
 
 Talking thus, they reached the house and 
 handed their horses to a groom. Dr. Byrne 
 seemed more at home than was the Colonel, but 
 the latter noticed with satisfaction that his own 
 reception was that of a returned member of the 
 family, whereas the parents' demeanour towards 
 the younger man was never more intimate . than 
 that accorded to a friend. 
 
 After lunch. Dr. Byrne pleaded an engagement, 
 and went out to the stables. Colonel Bathwick 
 followed, and for a few minutes the two men were 
 together. 
 
 All the time that his tongue had been uttering 
 the pleasing nothings that make up meal-time 
 talk, the keen brain of the scientist had been ana- 
 lysing the soldier and his lady-love's attitude to- 
 wards him, and he had come to the conclusion 
 that Ida Hennessy was giving up what might have 
 developed into love, solely from a mistaken sense
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 23 
 
 of duty. The two were to be married in a week, 
 and Dr. Byrne knew he had not even a fighting 
 chance of winning the girl's hand. Man-hke, 'he 
 had not reahsed how much he cared for the girl 
 till all chance of possessing her had gone, yet he 
 bowed to the inevitable, and his words had no 
 lurking barb as he turned to his companion and 
 said: 
 
 **I suppose you're a bit fed up with public con- 
 gratulations on your safe arrival back in Aus- 
 tralia. Iwant to add a personal one on the .event 
 of your marriage. My friendship with Miss Hen- 
 nessy enables me to know that you are a fortu- 
 nate man. No doubt she is equally to be congratu- 
 lated." 
 
 "Thanks. Thanks. It's good of you. I hope 
 your friendship with Ida will not be discontinued, 
 and that it will be extended to me. ... By the 
 way," he continued, after the pause that suc- 
 ceeded his words; "By the way, may I talk shop 
 for a moment or two? I should so much like to 
 see you professionally some time next week. 
 Could it be arranged?" 
 
 "Oh yes, I think so. I'm mostly doing research 
 work, and could more or less suit you as regards 
 time." 
 
 "One day is as good as another to me," the 
 Colonel assured him, "and almost any time. The 
 afternoon preferably." 
 
 "Right. I'll ring you up. The St. Kilda Road 
 Barracks, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes. If I'm not in, leave a message." 
 
 Meanwhile, the groom had led the horse out 
 and had saddled up. Byrne ran his fingers under 
 the girth, and after a few caresses and kind words, 
 mounted lightly. 
 
 "I'll ring you up to-morrow," he said, as he 
 turned out of the yard. "Good-bye."
 
 24 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER IV./ 
 
 A Doctor's Consulting Room. 
 
 James Tynan Byrne, M.D., was not a regular 
 medical practitioner. After passing first in his 
 year at Edinburgh, he had studied lor a time in 
 Germany, but returned to Australia at the out- 
 break of war, narrowly escaping internment. 
 Since then he had given himself almost exclu- 
 sively to research, and was usually to be found 
 in his laboratory at the top of Collins Street, in- 
 vestigating the action of poisons on the human 
 system, and their various antidotes. In the short 
 time since his return, he had established a name 
 as an authority on his subject, and only very 
 occasionally treated a private patient. 
 
 On Monday, as arranged, he had telephoned to 
 the Barracks, making an appointment with 
 Colonel Bathwick for 3 o'clock next day, and now, 
 on the Tuesday afternoon preceding the marriage 
 of Ida Hennessy on the Saturday, he was waiting 
 in his sitting room for the bridegroom-elect. 
 
 A motor car drew up at the kerb outside, the 
 bell rang, and in a few minutes his visitor was 
 entering the room. 
 
 "It's awfully good of you to see me. Dr. Byrne," 
 he began, taking the proffered chair. "It was not 
 till after I made the appointment that I learnt you 
 are not a regular practitioner. Perhaps you 
 would rather not be bothered with my case." 
 
 "On the contrary," smiled the young man, "I 
 shall be delighted to offer you any advice I can. 
 Where and what is the trouble?" 
 
 For a quarter of an hour the conversation 
 became more and more intimately personal. A 
 doctor's consulting room is as truly a confessional
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 25 
 
 as places more usually known by that name, and 
 if the military commander had any idea that he 
 could obtain from the young scientist the advice 
 he needed without an exposure of incidents in his 
 private life which he would rather have left 
 hidden, he was completely disillusioned. Conse- 
 quently Colonel Bathwick wore rather a sheepish 
 expression when he was left alone for a few 
 minutes, while the specialist went into the labora- 
 tory for a few tests. 
 
 When Dr. Byrne returned, his face was pro- 
 fessionally non-committal. 
 
 "You are to be married next Saturday, I under- 
 stand?" he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, Saturday, the fifth." 
 
 **H'm!" 
 
 This irritated the Colonel. "I- — I don't under- 
 stand," he blurted. "What has my marriage to 
 do with the subject in hand?" 
 
 "A great deal." 
 
 "What in the devil d*you mean ?" 
 
 "I mean," said the doctor, tapping a small 
 memorandum card which he held in his hand, "I 
 mean — or rather the result of my tests means, 
 that you ought not to be man'ied on Saturday." 
 
 "Oughtn't — to be married!" The Colonel rose 
 to his feet. He was scared, but^he tried to hide 
 it from his companion's clear, grey eyes. "Look 
 here, doctor! A joke's a joke. But don't take 
 this one too far. It's rather a serious matter to 
 treat lightly." 
 
 "I know it is. A very serious matter. That's 
 why I say that you ought not to be married on 
 Saturday." 
 
 "Rubbish!" retorted the Colonel. "I know 
 what's wrong with me as well as you do. Known 
 it for years. I've always taken my pleasure
 
 26 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 where I found it, as any other sensible man would 
 do. What I came for was physic, not platitudes." 
 
 "You came to me for advice, and I've given 
 it to the best of my ability," returned the doctor 
 calmly. 
 
 "Medical advice, man ! Medical advice was what 
 I came for. It's not part of a doctor's job to tell 
 a man he ought or ought not to marry." 
 
 "On the contrary, I consider it one of his most 
 important duties." 
 
 Doctor Byrne looked straight into the flushed 
 face of his visitor, and saw anger give place to 
 cunning. 
 
 "You're bluffing, Byrne, that's what you're 
 doing. You can't put off my marriage as easily 
 as that." 
 
 His companion did not answer, but quietly 
 tapped the memorandum card. The Colonel tried 
 again. 
 
 "Why, dash it all, man. I'm years older than 
 you. I've known chaps absolutely — " 
 
 "Don't go into details," broke in the doctor. 
 "It's not necessary." 
 
 " and yet they've been fixed up and got 
 
 married." 
 
 "The more's the pity," remarked the young 
 man. 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes, then 
 Colonel Bathwick altered his tactics. 
 
 "Assuming you're right, how long would it be 
 before I could marry? According to your idea, 
 I mean." 
 
 "Six months or a year. It's dif!icult to be 
 exact." 
 
 His visitor laughed. "And in the meantime 
 you'd step in and carry off the blushing bride, 
 eh?"
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 27 
 
 Doctor Byrne's patience showed signs of giving 
 way. "We'll confine ourselves strictly to the 
 point," he said sharply, "which is that you must 
 not marry in your present condition." 
 
 "Must ! Must ! I tell you, young man, it's a long 
 time since anyone's dared to say 'must' to me." 
 
 "I'll put it stronger if you like. You shall not 
 marry." 
 
 "How in the devil will you prevent it?" 
 
 The doctor's finger tapped the card. 
 
 "You'd give me away, eh?" 
 
 "I'd save an innocent girl from being given 
 away, if that's what you mean." 
 
 Colonel Bath wick laughed again, a fierce animal 
 laugh.. 
 
 "Why, you are a young 'un, and no mistake. 
 They'd see through you in a jiffey. They know 
 you're after the girl. ... I could get a clean 
 doctor's bill in half-an-hour if I wanted to." 
 
 "I'm sorry to say that I beUeve you could." 
 
 Dr. Byrne walked to the window and looked out, 
 but he did not see the area wall opposite, nor the 
 little strip of sky above the tall building. He was 
 occupied with thoughts which he doubted his 
 ability to hide from his visitor. At last he 
 turned. 
 
 "I know you could get a clean bill," he said 
 quietly. "It would be be a false one, and would 
 neither cure you nor safeguard your wife. . . . 
 But I happen even now to be experimenting with 
 an antidote that will counteract the poison in three 
 days if you follow my instruction:. ' 
 
 "Now you're talking sense," exclaimed the 
 patient, unable to restrain a sigh of relief. 
 
 "Do you agree to carry out the prescription?" 
 
 "Of course I do. What d'you think I came here
 
 28 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 for? Why in the devil couldn't you come to the 
 point straight away? Three days, you said?" 
 
 "Yes. In three days there will be no cause to 
 fear for your wife's safety." 
 
 "You put it in a deuced unpleasant way, but 
 I'm obliged to you. When does the treatment 
 start. To-day's Tuesday, you know." 
 
 "I'll make up the antidote and let you have it 
 with full instructions before noon to-morrow. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 "Thank you. Good-bye"; and with a formal 
 hand-shake the men parted.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 29 
 
 t 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Lady's Boudoir. 
 
 Dr. Byrne did not leave his laboratory that 
 night. During the few minutes in which he had 
 looked out of the window before telling Colonel 
 Bathwick of his discovery, he had decided he 
 must leave Melbourne till after the day of Ida 
 Hennessy's wedding. So he quietly brought some 
 of his experiments to a stage where he could leave 
 them without losing the result of past work, and 
 made up his notes to date. He indulged in no 
 heroics; yet beneath that studious non-committal 
 face was a mind made up to the supremest sacrifice 
 of which it was capable. When the grey morning 
 light was paling the electric bulbs, he collected 
 those books in which were the results of his 
 researches, destroyed one or two others, and set 
 his laboratory to rights, among other things re- 
 labelling several bottles. A few days later, when 
 strangers broke into his sanctum, they found that 
 some of these labels were wrong. Had the young 
 man's clear mind failed under the strain ? Perhaps 
 so. 
 
 When everything was put away in its place, 
 Dr. Byrne turned his attention to the Colonel's 
 prescription. From a filing cabinet, he took out 
 the memorandum card referring to «his recent 
 patient, and a plain one on which he wrote the 
 names and quantities of the drugs he prescribed. 
 Finally he mixed the medicine and bottled it. 
 Those strangers who noticed the mis-labelling, 
 noticed also that the doctor had occasion to use 
 one of the wrongly named bottles. Had they been 
 familiar with the methodical habits of the young 
 man, they would also have remarked that, contrary
 
 30 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 to his wont, he left on the dispensing table, not only 
 the balances, bottles, and test-tubes which he used 
 for mixing Colonel Bathwick's medicine, but the 
 two memorandum cards as well. He did this 
 purposely. 
 
 Still in pursuance of his determination to leave 
 Melbourne, Dr. Byrne went to his rooms, and after 
 breakfast, packed a travelling bag. Later in the 
 morning he paid a visit to his solicitors, with 
 whom he arranged some money matters and left 
 his manuscript books for safe keeping. 
 
 On coming out of the legal offices, he looked 
 towards the Town Hall; it was nearly half-past 
 ten. Indecision was a weakness which the young 
 man despised, but now he found himself a prey 
 to it. Twice he opened his bag to see if the medi- 
 cine bottle was there, and twice compared his 
 watch with the Town Hall clock. He was ready 
 to leave Melbourne; everything was in order; he 
 could easily kill time at the Club till 4.30, when 
 the Adelaide Express left Spencer Street. Why 
 not run down to the Barracks, leave the medicine, 
 and cut adrift? Or why not send a Club mes- 
 senger with the medicine? Still he hesitated. 
 Finally he jumped on a Toorak tram and was 
 taken past the Barracks and round the curve into 
 Domain Road. He would say good-bye to Miss 
 Hennessy before he went away. 
 
 Ida received him in her own little sitting-room. 
 Byrne had been there before, but now that he was 
 going away, it seemed to him as if nothing could 
 be more sweet and dainty than that room. But 
 when Ida herself appeared, dressed in a pretty 
 neglige, he knew that the owner was more charm- 
 ing than anything she could possibly possess. 
 
 "Why, Jim !" she exclaimed. "Whatever brings 
 you here so early?" 
 
 "Early!" he replied. "Why, it's nearly eleven." 
 
 "I don't believe you," she laughed. "See, I've
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 31 
 
 only just got out of bed. . . . But anyhow, 
 won't you sit down?" 
 
 As he looked at her, the young man knew that 
 she must have risen an hour ago, for in no less 
 time could the elaborate simplicity of her fragrant 
 dishabille be achieved. He knew also how charm- 
 ing such little untruths can be, if the lips which 
 utter them be as desirable as hers. What he had 
 to say seemed like crushing a frail flower. 
 
 "I'd rather stand," he said, in reply to her invi- 
 tation. "I've come to say good-bye." 
 
 "To say good-bye ! You're not going away, Jim, 
 are you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I don't know. A good long way, I think." 
 
 "And you won't be at my wedding?" 
 
 "Not at your wedding with Colonel Bathwick." 
 
 There was a minute or two's silence, broken by 
 Ida's entreaty. 
 
 "Jim, I do want you to stay. Won't you — for 
 my sake?" 
 
 Byrne saw the girl was frightened, and drew 
 his own conclusions — correct ones. 
 
 "Ida," he said earnestly, "I'll stay if you ask 
 me, but not to see you marry Colonel Bathwick." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Dr. Byrne sat down. Somehow he felt he could 
 keep himself under control more easily if he had 
 the support of a chair, and he had decided that 
 emotion must play no part in this interview. 
 
 "Ida," he began, "we've been friends now for a 
 couple of years, but it's not only as your friend 
 that I will explain why I don't want you to marry 
 Colonel Bathwick. Will you listen?" 
 
 "Yes, of course." 
 
 "Well, let's get rid of the sentimental side first. 
 Interpret love in whatever way you like, you don't 
 love that man. In our profession we learn to
 
 32 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 diagnose mental states as correctly as physical 
 ones ; in fact the latter are often the direct result 
 of the former, so I know I am right when I say 
 you are marrying Colonel Bathwick merely from 
 a sense of duty." 
 
 "Duty?" broke in the girl. "Oh, Jim! how can 
 you say such a horrid thing?" 
 
 Byrne held up his hand to check her, "Yes, 
 duty. You were only a girl of 19 when war broke 
 out, and were carried away by the sentiment of 
 the hour. You would have become engaged to 
 almost any decent military man then, and have 
 lived to rue it as you do now. Why, you know 
 absolutely nothing about Colonel Bathwick. 
 
 . . . I leave you to imagine what a marriage 
 founded on a mistaken sense of duty will lead to." 
 
 "Doctor Byrne!" exclaimed Miss Hennessy in- 
 dignantly, "please don't continue if that's the sort 
 of thing you're going to say. I'm marrying a man 
 whom I have a great admiration for." 
 
 "But your admiration will fall like a house of 
 cards, Ida. You simply admire his uniform and 
 what it stands for. You know nothing about him 
 as a man." 
 
 "What in the world do you mean? Surely I 
 know him much better than you do." 
 
 "No, Ida, you don't. I know all about him that 
 I care to know, and that has shown me clearly 
 that you shouldn't marry him." 
 
 "Jim! Jim!" exclaimed the girl in evident dis- 
 tress. "I thought we were friends. Whatever 
 makes you want to hurt me by saying such ter- 
 rible things? Why shouldn't I marry the man 
 I — I — so much admire?" 
 
 Byrne smiled as a man might smile who is on 
 the rack, and who knows that his control is proof 
 against any torture. 
 
 "I'm awfully glad you stammered at that word, 
 Ida," he said. "I want very much to be your friend,
 
 GOLDCN BUCKLES 33 
 
 especially now, and that's why I've come to see 
 you. . . . Now, will you let me talk to you 
 like a doctor for a minute or two without inter- 
 rupting? . . . It's not easy, I assure you." 
 
 "I'll promise not to interrupt," she said. 
 
 "Well, this is what I want to say. Colonel 
 Bathwick came to see me professionally yesterday 
 afternoon. Doctors ai'e sometimes mistaken, but 
 it was impossible to be so in this case. He is not 
 nearly as well as he looks. In fact, he is very ill. 
 If you marry one another you will be sure to catch 
 the illness from him. I told him all about it, and 
 he quite understands, but he wouldn't listen to 
 the idea of putting off his marriage." 
 
 " But couldn't you cure him ? You're so clever, 
 you know. I'm sure you could if you really tried." 
 
 "It would take a long time, Ida. More than a 
 year, perhaps. And he says he won't wait." 
 
 "Of course he won't." 
 
 "But, Ida, I'm thinking of you." 
 
 If there had ever been the slightest chance of 
 Ida consenting to postpone her marriage, that 
 sentence banished it. 
 
 "You want me to disappoint Gerald just simply 
 to save myself?" she exclaimed indignantly. "If 
 you were really my friend, you wouldn't insult me 
 by suggesting such a thing. When I think of all 
 he's been through, I feel as though I would do 
 anything to make him happy. And" — her indig- 
 nation found vent in tears — "and I don't think it's 
 at all kind of you to tell me all these horrid 
 things." 
 
 Doctor Byrne rose from his chair and reached 
 for his hand-bag. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry if I've hurt you, Ida," he 
 said. "Some day you'll know I really did try to 
 be your friend. . . . Now please don't cry. 
 
 . . . Aren't you going to say good-bye to 
 me?"
 
 34 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 She raised her tearful eyes and saw that he was 
 standing ready to go. 
 
 "Jim! Jim!" she -cried in a broken voice. "I 
 don't want you to go. You musn't leave me. I 
 want you at . . . when . . . when . . . 
 Fm married." The last words came with a jerk. 
 "Oh, Jim ! You will, won't you. Promise me you 
 will." 
 
 She stretched out her arms to the man she could 
 so easily have loved. He took one of her hands in 
 both of his, and hesitated. Then he said, quietly, 
 "Alright, Ida. I promise." But the wedding 
 which he was thinking of was not the one with 
 Colonel Bathwick. 
 
 Dr. Byrne's mind was now fully made up. His 
 reputation as a scientific man, his career, perhaps 
 even his life, weighed as nothing against his de- 
 termination to save Ida Hennessy from her own 
 misguided sense of duty. He decided to murder 
 Colonel Bathwick. It is an ugly word, yet the 
 young man was a prey to no disturbing emotion 
 as he walked quietly to the Barracks and handed 
 in the fatal dose. He was convinced that the deed 
 was just, and this conviction robbed it of any 
 repugnance, and entirely freed his mind from any 
 chance of future remorse. 
 
 The die was cast. He lunched at his Club for 
 the last time, settled a few outstanding accounts, 
 and then caught the interstate express for 
 Adelaide.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 35 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 Oodnadatta. 
 
 Some days later, a group of passengers stood 
 on platform 11 of the Adelaide Railway Station 
 and watched the North train back in. At that 
 early hour, there were not many women in the 
 crowd, and the few exceptions bore the weather 
 marks of a hotter sun and a sterner life than that 
 of the southern city. Some of the men were 
 evidently bound for the suburbs, others would 
 alight at one or other of the inside farming 
 stations, whilst a small group, who bundled their 
 luggage into compartments near together, were 
 returning to the Far North. 
 
 No peculiarity of dress or manner marked them 
 out, and if their conversation was principally 
 about horses and cattle, and was strongly flavored 
 with profanity, it was not apparent to the passer- 
 by. An Australian bushman might bring a mob 
 of cattle from north-west Queensland, through 
 perils by drought or flood, starvation, accident, 
 the ill-will of natives, or the countless dangers 
 that ambush "the road" ; he might daily face and 
 conquer death, yet when his cattle are trucked 
 and he himself "off to town" with them, he is in 
 no way different in appearance from his feUow 
 passengers. Of such dogged, unassuming, prac- 
 tical stock the Australian Nation is being made. 
 
 "Excuse me, could I put my swag up there ?" 
 
 The question was asked by a young man as he 
 entered one of the compartments of the men from 
 the North, and hoisted his bundle into the rack.
 
 36 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "Right you are, mate, plenty of room," was the 
 answer. The newcomer sat down. 
 
 It was Dr. Byrne, or, as the label that hung 
 over the rack above his head declared, James 
 Tynan, passenger to Oodnadatta. He had 
 attempted no disguise save that given by clothes 
 more suitable for his destination than those in 
 which he left Melbourne, and instead of a travel- 
 ling bag, his belongings were rolled in a couple of 
 grey blankets and a chemical-duck camp sheet 
 fastened with swag straps. 
 
 As the train steamed out of Adelaide Station 
 and ran quickly through the suburbs and out into 
 the country, he sat back and read a newspaper 
 account of the death of Colonel Bathwick and the 
 events arising from it. 
 
 Out of the mass of journalistic jargon, these 
 facts emerged: Death was proved to be due to a 
 certain poison, and an analysis of the contents of 
 the bottle of medicine bearing Dr. Byrne's signa- 
 ture, showed that they contained that poison. 
 From the death chamber to the laboratory was 
 only a step, and at once what the newspaper chose 
 to call "the mystery" was explained ; the prescrip- 
 tion, the balances, and test-tubes which still con- 
 tained traces of the deadly drug, and finally the 
 mis-named bottles, all clearly showed that the 
 young scientist had made a fatal blunder. Instead 
 of a health-giving antidote. Colonel Bathwick had 
 received from his doctor a death-dealing poison. 
 
 Tynan smiled when he noticed that no mention 
 was made of the terrible disease from which the 
 patient was suffering. It was clear that powerful 
 influences had been at work to suppress that part 
 of the story. Powerful influences indeed! for, 
 lest the real reason for the. so-called "accident" 
 should be used in defence, the whole matter had 
 been kept out of the Courts. 
 
 "The name of Byrne," so ran a letter from a
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 37 
 
 prominent doctor, "a name, honorably famous in 
 Australian scientific circles, has been struck off 
 the medical rolls, and it is with deep regret that 
 the faculty closes its doors upon one so gifted and 
 giving promise of such a brilliant future, yet one 
 who has been guilty of such criminal neghgence." 
 
 In another column he read: "Touching reference 
 was made by the Archbishop in his sermon to the 
 fact of the deceased's approaching marriage. 
 Truly In the midst of life we are in death !' This 
 paper adds its sympathy to that already ex- 
 pressed. . . ." 
 
 Tynan crumpled the paper in exasperation and 
 looked out of the window. "Touching reference," 
 he thought. "I wonder if the old buffer would 
 have been so touching if he had known that the 
 scoundrel was killed to prevent him committing a 
 dastardly crime." 
 
 At that moment the train rushed past a group 
 of workmen, who shouted to the passengers. 
 "Paper! Paper!" 
 
 "Here goes," said the young man aloud, as he 
 tossed the newspaper on the line, adding to him- 
 self: "That's the last of James Tynan Byrne, 
 M.D." 
 
 At Terowie they changed to the narrow gauge 
 line and sped on through less and less populated 
 country to Quom, where Tynan was glad of a good 
 meal and a comfortable bed. 
 
 Next day all signs of settlement were left behind 
 save the iron buildings at the sidings, with perhaps 
 a grog shanty not far away. Even these signs of 
 civilisation became gradually fewer and further 
 apart; the train throbbed across hundreds of 
 miles of unfenced country flanked by the gaunt 
 slopes of Flinders Range to the east and the hills 
 around Lake Torrens to the west, to Hergott 
 Springs, where the traveller first feels the romance 
 of the Far North, for Hergott Springs is the
 
 38 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 terminus of the great overland tracks to Queens- 
 land and up the east side of the salt lake, Eyre. 
 
 At the end of the third day from Adelaide, as 
 the sun was setting in unveiled pomp, the engine's 
 warning whistle roused the few remaining pas- 
 sengers, and Tynan, looking out of the carriage 
 window, saw the scattered lights of Oodnadatta. 
 
 An unmade street on each side of the railway 
 and telegraph office, an hotel, three stores, a 
 school, and perhaps a score of houses; such is 
 Oodnadatta, the metropolis of the Far North. Yet 
 through that telegraph office throbs the news of 
 the Eastern Hemisphere, that rough hotel some- 
 times entertains men owning thousands of square 
 miles of country on which run cattle almost with- 
 out number, and from that little school young 
 men who are to be the sires of the coming nation 
 go out to the far back places of Central Australia. 
 
 In back-country townships, while the presence 
 of a stranger is at once noted and becomes a sub- 
 ject of conversation in surroundings where such 
 subjects are rare, the object of interest is never 
 made to feel awkward, so that, as Tynan sat on 
 the bench outside the Transcontinental Hotel the 
 morning after his arrival, he was apparently ac- 
 cepted as part of the place. 
 
 He watched a string of camels file into the 
 station yard, kneel, and with many groans of pro- 
 test receive their load. Later in the day he saw 
 them stagger to their feet again and disdainfully 
 file away in charge of a white man and a black- 
 fellow. It was His Majesty's Great North Mail. 
 A woman drove in with a 4-horse buggy followed 
 by a cavalcade of loose horses shepherded by two 
 blacks. He learnt, to his surprise, that she had 
 been three weeks on the road ; what was to Tynan 
 an adventure, was accepted by the woman with 
 more unconcern than accompanies many a city 
 lady's shopping. In the afternoon he saw a string
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 39 
 
 of thirty camels tied nose to crupper, each carry- 
 ing two little bags of wolfram from a field 600 
 miles north. He was fascinated by it all : the sense 
 of vast distances conquered, of hardihood becom- 
 ing routine, of an outlook unbounded by any 
 horizon ; these, and also the lounging men in white 
 suits who seemed possessed of unlimited leisure, 
 the blacks who lived in camps outside the town- 
 ship boundary, the tall dignified Afghans who did 
 most of the camel carting, the spirit of prosperous 
 goodwill which pervaded everything, and espe- 
 cially the yellow sun-drenched plains which sur- 
 rounded the township on every side and stretched 
 away to the northern horizon which beckoned to 
 him so alluringly. 
 
 And if, during that day, he thought of Ida 
 Hennessy, it was as a scientist might think of the 
 action of a stimulant on an organism. Sentiment 
 had played its part; he wanted the controlling 
 effect of action.
 
 40 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Tom Lawson. 
 
 Towards evening, a man rode down the main 
 street from the north, dismounted at the hotel 
 verandah, and went inside for a drink. The horse, 
 a dark bay, was a typical stock-horse, bigly made, 
 short in the back and well coupled, deep-chested, 
 and with strong- shapely legs. As Tynan was idly 
 admiring it, he suddenly started with amazement. 
 On the near-side shoulder was the brand X.T.X. 
 With a strange feeling of friendship, he went up 
 and laid his hand on the animal's wither and 
 stroked the shoulder to make sure of the brand. 
 As he did so the owner came out and looked at 
 him in surprise. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Tynan, smiling, "but 
 I could hardly believe my eyes." 
 
 "Why! WTiat's wrong with the horse?" 
 
 "It's not the horse, it's the brand," answered 
 Tynan. "A friend of mine in town had a horse 
 with that brand on. I used to ride him, so the 
 brand's familiar." 
 
 "Oh," answered the stockman, in a tone which 
 implied that he didn't see much in a brand to cause 
 surprise. "You'll see a couple of hundred of them 
 to-morrow morning. I've got a mob at the Angle 
 Pole now, all X.T.X." Saying which, he mounted, 
 and with a "Good-day," rode off. 
 
 On inquiry, Tynan augmented the stranger's 
 scanty information, and found that soon after 
 daylight, the horses would water at the troughs 
 behind the town and be yarded, and would be 
 trucked and sent away before six the same day. 
 
 Next morning Tynan was at the troughs early, 
 and, knowing something of the ways of horses, he
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 41 
 
 stood behind the storage tank so as not. to frighten 
 the animals as they came in. Presently a vague 
 tint of brown came into the bright sky between 
 two clumps of mulga on the northern horizon, so 
 faint that if he had not been watching, Tynan 
 would never have noticed it. It gTew higher and 
 broader and more dense, till presently the trees in 
 the distance were blotted out. Then, far carried 
 on the keen air, came a faint report — a pistol or 
 a whip; then more reports, and, like an organ 
 accompaniment, the low rumble of hoofs. Indis- 
 tinct forms broke now and again from the front 
 of the moving cloud of dust, and on the outskirts, 
 other fomis rushed hither and thither, and it was 
 from them there came the staccato music of the 
 whips. The horses were coming! 
 
 Suddenly from the distant dust and noise, a 
 horseman galloped towards the troughs, wheeled 
 his horse round them to see that everything was 
 right, and drew rein. For a couple of minutes 
 he watched the ears of his drinking horse 
 as they moved each time the animal swallowed, 
 then the man looked up and caught sight of 
 Tynan. 
 
 "Good-day," he said. "You here? Come to see 
 the horses? Keep well behind that tank; they're 
 as scared as scalded cats." 
 
 And he was off, taking up a position away from 
 the troughs, ready for any emergency. 
 
 The horses were evidently used to troughs, for 
 they came straight in, cut up into lots of about 
 fifty, which were all the troughs could accommo- 
 date at one time. Tynan noticed that out of the 
 whole mob there were not more than ten of the 
 type^he had ridden in Melbourne, and not one of 
 these showed the same breeding. They were nug- 
 getty, medium-siz^d geldings for the most part, 
 with slightly feathered legs and showing distinct
 
 42 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 signs of Clydesdale blood. Just the type, as he 
 found out later, for the military market. 
 
 But though he was disappointed at not seeing 
 more roadsters, his heart went out to them all. 
 They were horses, and the X.T.X. brand formed a 
 link of association. As they walked away, he 
 envied even the blackfellows who rode so easily 
 behind the mob. 
 
 Tynan watched them shepherded towards the 
 yards till the leaders were within the wing. These 
 yards, used for probably the wildest cattle in the 
 Commonwealth, are built right against the main 
 line, and the young man was soon to see the 
 folly of this. With nervous haste, ready to fly 
 at a moment's notice, the mob was working in, 
 when there came a toot! toot! from the shunting- 
 yard, followed by a rush of wheels and the 'crash 
 of trucks one into another. 
 
 The stockman and boys wheeled like a flash to 
 enlarge the circle, hoping the frightened horses 
 would quieten if they were given more space, but 
 another series of toots completed the mischief. 
 With a wild rush which nothing could check, the 
 horses broke from the yards and dashed for the 
 open country. In vain did the mounted men try 
 to turn the lead; brumbies were in the mob, as 
 one boy learnt to his cost, for, managing to gain 
 a place ahead of the fugitives, the rider was 
 overturned by the mad charge, for a galloping 
 brumby, unlike other horses, will never turn. 
 The stampede went right across the plains to the 
 west of Oodnadatta, till the mob was finally 
 rounded up and held in the scattered mulga of a 
 dry creek six miles away. 
 
 Tynan met the stockman returning from the 
 creek about an hour later. 
 
 "Got them all?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, I've got the blighters. Did you see the 
 break?"
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 43 
 
 "Yes, I saw it." 
 
 "What did you think of it? Did you ever in 
 all your born natural see such a thing as that 
 blasted yard ? Stuck bang up against the line. It'd 
 be all very well down country with *Mary-had-a- 
 little-lamb' and *Gee-up-Dobbin' sort of cattle, but 
 they're as wild as mosquitoes up here. It's touch 
 and go every time a hoof goes through those 
 gates. . . . They'll take some stuffing out of us 
 to-night, or I'm a Chinaman." 
 
 "Are you short-handed?" asked Tynan. 
 
 "Yes. My mate's tanking up at the pub. Silly 
 fool ! He's going down on the special. The nigger 
 that got chucked won't be much good. We'll 
 manage, though, somehow." 
 
 "Could I give you a hand?" 
 
 Keen eyes looked into ones equally keen, and 
 the men liked one another. 
 
 "Not used to the job, are you?" 
 
 "No, but I can ride." 
 
 The stockman shook his head. "Thanks for the 
 offer," he said, "but it wouldn't do. It's not work 
 for a new chum. . . . But I tell you what I would 
 be glad of. If you would give me a hand to tmck 
 them. . . . Are you staying at the pub?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, if you've nothing better to do, I'd be glad 
 if you'd help. I reckon to tail the mob till about 
 three, then work in slowly and give them a drink, 
 and yard and truck them straight away. Could 
 you be at the yards about four ?" 
 
 "Yes, I'd hke to." 
 
 "Thanks. Care for a drink?" 
 
 By evening, when the horses were trucked and 
 on their way to Adelaide, Tynan had made up his 
 mind. 
 
 "Do you want a man for Marnoola Station?" 
 he asked his new friend, as they sat and looked 
 at the moonlit street.
 
 44 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "You bet your life, we do," was the answer. 
 "Jack Donay, the bloke that's with the horses, 
 drunk as a lord, he's gone down to enlist. He's 
 sure to get through; he's as tough as a whip, 
 though he's as slow as a darned wood-heap. Why 
 d'you ask? Did you think of taking it on?" 
 
 "I'd like to," replied Tynan. "Could I go up 
 with you?" 
 
 The stockman looked at his companion for a 
 moment before replying. 
 
 "You'll find it darned rough, but I'd be glad of 
 your company. You're not used to the road, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 "No. But I can learn to get used to anything." 
 
 His companion thought a while, and as is the 
 habit with many bushmen, did so aloud. "Reckon 
 old Bill'd take him on. Even if he doesn't, he 
 couldn't swear at a few weeks' rations. I've got 
 Jack's saddle and the pack he used coming down." 
 Then, to Tynan, "Alright then. What luggage 
 have you got?" 
 
 "I've just got a swag that I can lift quite 
 easilv " 
 
 "Right. We'll call it a do." 
 
 "How about provisions?" asked Tynan. 
 
 "Oh, leave that to me. I'll see to the rations. 
 If there's any row, you can square Bill Dookie. 
 He's manager, you know. ... By the way, what 
 shall I call you?" 
 
 "My name's James Tynan. My friends call me 
 Jim." 
 
 "And mine's Tom Lawson, and you can forget 
 the Lawson. They'll tell you lots about me up 
 the track. You can believe what you like. . . . 
 We'll spend to-morrow in Oodnadatta and get all 
 the packs ready in the evening for an early start 
 about daylight next day. . . . Have you got a rug 
 and a camp-sheet?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 45 
 
 "And a quart-pot?" 
 
 "No, I haven't got a quart-pot?" 
 
 "You'll want one. That's the lot I think. You 
 won't want to buy a butcher's knife ; you can use 
 Jack's." 
 
 For a time they sat in silence, listening to the 
 click of billiard balls and the exclamations of the 
 players in the room behind, till a couple of men 
 sauntered out of the hotel and joined them, and 
 conversation became general.
 
 46 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 On the Road. 
 
 Day after day the plant rode north — two 
 whites, three niggers, and about twenty horses; 
 first came Tom Lawson and the new chum riding 
 abreast and setting the pace, behind them five 
 horses packed and the rest loose with hobbles 
 jangling at their necks, brought up by Jack, 
 Scarry and Albert. It took Tynan several days to 
 distinguish Jack from Scarry, though their fea- 
 tures were very different; to him, the fact that 
 they were black obscured all distinguishing 
 marks. But when he noticed that, of the finery 
 they had bought in Oodnadatta, Scarry wore a 
 pale pink hatband, whereas Jack's was white with 
 blue spots, he felt he had advanced one step in 
 knowledge. Albert caused him no trouble from 
 the start, for he wore a waistcoat even on the 
 hottest days. 
 
 It was summer. The sun rose clean eyed and 
 fierce, and looked down all day without pity on 
 the cringing earth. Panting beast and bird sought 
 the shade of withered trees, and tiny reptiles 
 crawled for sanctuary beneath the stones ; mirage 
 quivered on the horizon and filled each hollow 
 with a mockery of limpid water edged with trees ; 
 while the shadow of a wheeling bird of prey was 
 upon the tracks of every stumbling beast. The 
 cruel sun sank slowly to the west, satiated with 
 the lust of another day, and his reeking jaws drip- 
 ped blood upon his couch. But when the pomp- 
 stained curtains were drawn, the tired earth 
 sighed and little creatures came without fear from 
 their hiding-places and lived beneath the cool 
 stars.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 47 
 
 To the men journeying north, however, the cool 
 nights meant nothing else but sleep. In spite of 
 the unaccustomed hardship, Tynan found that 
 novelty conquered the weariness of the road, and 
 his great desire to get further and further away 
 from his old hfe made the longest day too short. 
 He was not fleeing from justice, but towards it — 
 to a court where man is judged as a man, not as 
 to his ability to clothe himself with shams. He 
 panted for the open air like one who has been 
 confined for a long time in a closed room. He 
 wanted, too, perhaps more than anything else, to 
 let absence, the isolation from men of his stamp, 
 and the fatigue of arduous work, test his feelings 
 for Ida Hennessy, which, breaking suddenly 
 through the ice of his self-control, had led to 
 the death of Colonel Bathwick. 
 
 Tom Lawson cast many a questioning glance at 
 his silent companion who sat on his horse so up- 
 right and yet with so much ease. The mask which 
 is habitual to professional men gave no indication 
 of the young man's thoughts, and Tom was too 
 true a bushman to intrude any question upon the 
 privacy of another man's life. 
 
 All surface water, except that in the largest 
 water-holes, had dried up long ago, because of 
 the drought. The track wandered from one of 
 these oases to another, across country more bar- 
 ren than Tynan had ever seen; ridges of soft red 
 sand crowned with tussocks of spinifex-grass ; 
 plains, bare save for a few wisps of gaunt dry 
 grass that sparsely covered them like hair on the 
 head of a corpse ; dry creek beds full of loose white 
 sand and edged with box-trees that told of water 
 running below the surface. 
 
 When Tynan passed that way again, some 
 months later, the country was hardly recognis- 
 able. Grass waved across the plains, hiding the 
 stones in a caiijet of green; the sand-hills were
 
 48 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 gay with shrubs and tender flowers; while, in 
 gutters where the rain had run, water-melons 
 were to be found. He understood then why travel- 
 lers gave such conflicting accounts of Central Aus- 
 tralia. 
 
 From time to time they passed Government 
 bores, which gave water, often warm and brack- 
 ish, to travelHng stock: Wire Creek, The Ten 
 Mile, Hamilton, Blood's Creek, and Charlotte 
 Waters, which latter bore was reached on the 
 sixth day and was their first camp in the North- 
 ern Territory. 
 
 Each evening, Tom and his companion rode 
 ahead and chose a spot for camp. When the plant 
 came up, packs were pulled off, horses hobbled, a 
 fire lit, and the quart-pots set in a row to boil. 
 Tynan soon learnt to make damper and cook it in 
 the ashes, and also to use his slice as a plate for 
 his chunk of salt beef. Black tea, damper and 
 meat, morning, noon, and night ; such is the tucker 
 carried in the packs all over the Territory. After 
 tea, the two white men unrolled their swags, lay- 
 ing the camp sheets so as to avoid the bindey- 
 eyes and goat-head prickles that abounded, lit 
 their pipes, and lay down, the blacks doing tne 
 same a little distance away. 
 
 They talked at times, not personal talk, but 
 Tynan listened to tales of cattle-camps, brumby- 
 running, musters in flood time, and long overland 
 journeys in drought; for Tom had come "into the 
 country" as a lad, and had known it before the 
 railway was as far north as it was then, in the 
 days when rations and mails were sometimes 
 eighteen months on the road. And the young 
 man, in his turn, told of student exploits in "the 
 old country," which, although they seemed very 
 tame to him now, delighted his listener beyond 
 measure. 
 
 One evening Tom was deploring the fact that
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 49 
 
 he was so uneducated, when Tynan remarked 
 quietly — 
 
 "Why, Tom, you're one of the best educated 
 men I've met." 
 
 "Go on! You're pulling my leg!" denied the 
 bushman. "Educated! Me! . . . Lord! I can 
 read a bit and sign me blooming name, and add up 
 a bill. D'you call that educated?" 
 
 "I reckon I'm one of the least educated men 
 north of the Charlotte," continued Tynan, ignor- 
 ing the other's question. 
 
 "What in the hell d'you mean, Jim?" 
 
 "Why, this. What's the use of Latin, Greek, 
 and Algebra up here, Tom? I've got those, but 
 beyond the fact that I can ride a quiet horse, I 
 know nothing useful. In almost all the occasions 
 you've mentioned — camps, musters, floods, and 
 droughts — when you've won through by sheer 
 knowledge, sheer education, I should have 
 perished. Not from lack of pluck, mind you, but 
 from downright ignorance. . . . I'm out to learn, 
 Tom, old man; to be educated in the alphabet of 
 real life." 
 
 They lay quietly, at other times, and looked at 
 the stars, listening to the faint clink, clink of 
 hobbles and the lilt of a neck-bell as the horses 
 fed near by ; or to the coroboree-chant of the three 
 black boys, which sounded like the very loneliness 
 made vocal. 
 
 Each morning, at the first faint signs of day, 
 Tom rolled out of his blankets. 
 
 "Daylight!" he shouted to the boys, and, if 
 there was any reluctance on their part, he fol- 
 lowed it up with, "Quickfella, you there !" 
 
 Last night's fire was blazing again in a few 
 minutes, and the pots were in a row beside it, 
 while the boys went off with their bridles to round 
 up the horses, tracking them unfalteringly in the 
 grey light. Breakfast was quickly disposed of,
 
 50 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 and the horses packed and saddled, and then, when 
 Tom had given a keen glance to every harnessed 
 animal, with an occasional query as to hobbles, 
 the tightness of a girth, or whether the canteens 
 had been filled that morning at the water-hole, the 
 two white men mounted and rode away, followed 
 by the plant. 
 
 Tynan woke one night at the touch of a cold, 
 smooth body on his leg. His camp sheet had come 
 unwrapped at the foot, and something had crawled 
 in. He lay still as a corpse, and felt it gliding 
 further and further up his leg. It was a snake, 
 and to have moved would have courted hideous 
 death. He did not want to die. The problem 
 of his life would not be solved that way, and it 
 was worth living if only to see the tangled skein 
 unwind. 
 
 Very cautiously he called to his sleeping com- 
 panion. 
 
 'Tom!" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Tom !" louder still. 
 
 "Tom! For God's sake wake up!" as loud as 
 he dare. 
 
 "What's wrong, Jim?" 
 
 "There's a snake in my bed." 
 
 The bushman was instantly wide awake. 
 
 "Don't frighten it, Tom," whispered Tynan. 
 "It's crawling up my leg. Its head is about op- 
 posite my hip on your side." 
 
 "Right, old man. Don't stir, whatever you do. 
 Which side does your swag open ?" 
 
 "Your side." 
 
 "Right. You leave it to me." 
 
 Tom got up quietly, grasped a stick, and called 
 to the sleeping boys. 
 
 "Jack! Scarry! Albert!" 
 
 The urgency of his voice was unmistakable, and 
 three heads bobbed up in the grey light.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 51 
 
 "Bring um up stick, three fella. Bring um up 
 longa me!" 
 
 The boys obeyed, and the four men, armed with 
 sticks, stood round Tynan as he lay, hardly daring 
 to breathe. 
 
 "What for?" asked Jack; but Tom cut him 
 short. 
 
 "You no yabber," he said, sharply; then added, 
 in explanation : "Flurry snake sit down longa white 
 fella," pointing to where he reckoned the rep- 
 tile's head was. "Me chuck um camp sheet, quick- 
 fella. You kill um, kill um, kill um. See?" He 
 made demonstrations with his stick. 
 
 The trio grunted ui^derstanding. 
 
 "Are you right, Jim . . . I'll count three and 
 then fling the blankets off. You leap for your life. 
 . . . Ready?" 
 
 "Right," came the answer, and Tynan knew how 
 slender was the thread that bound him to life. 
 
 "One!" 
 
 The slippery coils were nestling down beside his 
 thigh. 
 
 "Two!" 
 
 Without the flicker of a muscle, he gathered 
 himself for the greatest effort of his life. 
 
 "Three!" 
 
 The blankets were flung aside. Tynan leaped. 
 .Fierce yells of excitement broke the tense silence 
 as the sticks fell again and again upon the writh- 
 ing form that sought refuge in vain within the 
 folds of the blankets. 
 
 It_was a snake about six feet long, black and 
 very deadly. 
 
 "Did he get you ?" Tom was at his companion's 
 side with an anxious face. 
 
 "No, Tom. I'm alright. . . . Thanks to you," 
 he answered, holding out his hand. 
 
 The bushman took it. "To me be damned !" he 
 exclaimed. "My word, Jim, you've got pluck."
 
 52 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 And praise from such a man as Tom did more 
 to restore the new chum's shaken nerves than any 
 tonic could have done. 
 
 **Just look at those dirty niggers," said Tom, 
 to change the subject, for a bushman hates any 
 show of feeling. 
 
 The boys had taken the snake and thrown it 
 on the ashes of the fire. In a few minutes, be- 
 fore even the skin was properly charred, they 
 pulled it out again and began devouring the 
 savoury morsel with grunts of satisfaction. 
 
 "Get to hell out of this!" shouted Tom, as he 
 drove them back to their swags. "If you must be 
 pigs, grunt in your own sty." 
 
 "Him plurry good," mumbled Jack, as he 
 chewed vigorously at his portion of the reptile, 
 which hung out of each corner of his mouth. 
 "Plurry good." 
 
 "There's no accounting for taste," said Tynan, 
 arranging his blankets again. But, try as he 
 would, there was no more sleep for him that night.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 53 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Jack. 
 
 Another incident which occurred on the road 
 must be recorded, because of its far-reaching re- 
 sults. 
 
 At dawn one morning, Tom told Jack to be 
 careful to fill the canteens before starting. This 
 was always done in case of emergency, but on the 
 day in question it was particularly important, as 
 they would probably not strike water till the mid- 
 dle of the next day. 
 
 When the packs were pulled off at noon, Tom 
 found, to his amazement, that the canteens were 
 almost empty. 
 
 - He went up to Jack in a rage and demanded an 
 explanation. 
 
 "What for you no fill um canteen longa water 
 hole, same as me yabber?" he asked. 
 
 The black boy had evidently forgotten, but for 
 some reason oi- another he resented Tom's tone, 
 and replied: 
 
 "Plurry white fella! What for he no fill um 
 canteen ?" 
 
 Tom's fist shot out like a flash, and the man 
 fell. As he rose, he groped for a stick, but the 
 stockman's whip whistled through the air and cut 
 his arm from shoulder to wrist, and the nigger 
 sank ba'ck, whining. 
 
 There v/as just enough water in the canteens 
 for four quart-pots, so the delinquent went 
 thirsty, which was no light punishment after six 
 hours in the sun and with a prospect of many 
 more before the next drink. Jack was made to 
 ride ahead of the whites all that afternoon, and
 
 54 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 they travelled on far into the night till they 
 reached water. 
 
 Lawson said casually to his companion as they 
 turned in that night : 
 
 "Got a revolver, Jim?" 
 
 "No. I didn't know one was necessary." 
 
 "It is sometimes. . . . Good-night." 
 
 Exhausted by the long day, Tynan soon fell 
 asleep, and so did Tom; but the latter, with the 
 habit bom of years of bush life, woke to com- 
 plete consciousness some hours afterwards at the 
 sound of a breaking twig. 
 
 The moon was an hour off setting, and by her 
 light he saw Jack, stripped of all his clothing, 
 crawling forward towards the two white men. 
 
 Lawson did not move, for his revolver was at his 
 belt, and he had taken the precaution of wearing 
 it that night. Nearer and nearer came the figure, 
 and, as the man turned his head to look for the 
 axe, Tom slipped his hand out from the blankets 
 and lay there with cocked revolver, apparently 
 asleep. The blackfellow grasped the axe, and 
 again began crawling forward. When about three 
 yards away, he knelt up and rested the axe-head 
 on the ground, preparatory to his last spring. 
 
 A shot rang out ! There was a yell of pain, and 
 the axe dropped from the man's broken wrist. 
 
 Tynan leapt to his feet almost at the same time 
 as Lawson, and both saw the howling nigger dis- 
 appearing in the scrub. 
 
 "I don't think he'll come back," remarked Tom. 
 "I've smashed his wrist, anyhow." 
 
 "Why didn't you kill him, Tom ? He would have 
 killed you if you hadn't spotted him." 
 
 "You mayn't kill these vermin," he answered. 
 "It's called murder. But if one of them does for 
 a white man, he only gets about a year in a 
 Government camp down country, petted by the 
 ladies and missionaries, and fed on the best of
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 55 
 
 tucker. He's brought up here again when his 
 time's up, with a new blanket and tomahawk, to 
 murdeij- another of us if he wants to." 
 
 "Does that sort of thing often happen?" asked 
 Tynan. 
 
 "They're pretty out of hand now-a-days. The 
 whites put the fear of God into them in the early 
 days, and things were better. But since they've 
 been protected, and taught by missionaries and 
 all that rubbish, they're getting very cheeky. 
 . . . Here, you two-fella. Scarry, Albert," he 
 called out, as he saw the other two black boys 
 standing undecided what to do. "You no walk 
 longa Jack. Him silly fella." 
 
 "Yah, Him silly fella alright," came back the 
 relieved answer, as the boys saw that the stock- 
 man was not angry with them. 
 
 The two white men took alternate watches for 
 the rest of the night, but Jack had disappeared. 
 
 When they had been several weeks on the road, ^ 
 they were riding towards a low range of hills one 
 afternoon. 
 
 "See that toe of high country?" asked Tom, 
 pointing to where the hills sloped away to the 
 plains. "We'll round that about dinner-time to- 
 morrow. From that on we'll be in Mamoola 
 country." 
 
 "I see," answered Tynan. "Has the range any 
 particular name ?" 
 
 "Not that I know of, but those two little peaks 
 that stand up are called 'Blood' and 'Water'." 
 
 " 'Blood' and 'Watfer' ?" echoed Tynan. 
 
 "Yes. Some call them 'The Brothers,' but 
 mostly 'Blood' and 'Water.' " 
 
 "However did they come to be called such 
 names ?" 
 
 "Well, it was before I came into the North," 
 answered Tom. "I was just a lad on Blanch water 
 at the time. Two brothers, called Dan and Archie
 
 56 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 McLeod, were trying to make across country to 
 the Bartonga gold field. The field was all in the 
 boom those days, and I reckon more men pegged 
 out on the way up than ever got there. These 
 two were some of them that died. No one knows 
 how it happened, but their luck was clean out, for 
 a mustering party passed that way with water 
 and tucker the very next day. Dan fell down 
 an old well. I'll show it you to-morrow. He must 
 have been too weak to pull up water. Archie was 
 found at the foot of that first peak. Poor beggar, 
 he had tried to drink his own blood. So they 
 named the peaks after them — 'Blood' and 'Water.' 
 You see, it was the best they could do for them." 
 
 Tynan saw the .staging of the old well next day. 
 It was one of the boundary-marks of Marnoola. 
 
 Tom was right about Jack; the blackfellow did 
 not return. 
 
 "He's a bad nigger, anyway," said the bushman. 
 "Old Bill Dookie followed him for nine days with 
 a cocked rifle on his saddle. He'd have got him 
 sure, if the beggar hadn't made into the ranges 
 where a horse can't travel." 
 
 "Would he have shot him? I thought you said 
 it was punishable as murder for a white to kill a 
 black." 
 
 "So it is. But cattle-killing is just plain cattle- 
 killing. Out West here we're amongst wild blacks, 
 and a damned long way from the telegraph line, 
 and further still from a police station. . . . He'd 
 have plugged him alright. Who'd give evidence? 
 None of us, you bet your life." 
 
 By the old well at the foot of the Blood and 
 Water peaks, the travellers had turned west, and 
 now the country was far looser than any Tynan 
 had yet seen, and the stages between waters were 
 longer. At each water-hole was a stock-yard, and 
 every vestige of grass had been eaten around it 
 for miles. Tracks of cattle and horses leading in
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 57 
 
 and out showed that many hundred head of stock 
 were watering at each of the holes. 
 
 But ten to twenty miles away from the yards 
 there was an abundance of dry grass, and Tynan 
 soon rid his mind of what Tom called "the green 
 pastures and still waters" idea, and realised that, 
 in the Territory, stock may have to travel twenty 
 miles from water to find feed. Tom pointed out 
 the parakelia to him, a little plant with watery 
 leaves and a purple flower, growing in the dryest 
 soil, and on which cattle can live for months with- 
 out a drink. But the parakelia was drying up 
 and the full number of Marnoola stock was on the 
 waters. 
 
 At last the names of landmarks were reckoned 
 in miles from Marnoola Station: Thirty Mile 
 Creek, Eighteen Mile Hill, Fifteen Mile Creek, 
 Three Mile Claypan; till, one afternoon, Tynan 
 saw the first length of fencing he had seen for 
 several weeks — the Marnoola horse -paddock, 
 where the working horses fed. 
 
 All day the horses had walked at top speed, 
 and showed an inclination to break into a canter 
 as the paddock gate was reached and passed 
 through. A sandhill hid the station buildings, 
 but a great lowing of cattle came from the yards 
 where a group of men were working. 
 
 "Good-day, Tom!" shouted a gruff, jerky voice 
 from the hubbub. "Leave packs to niggers . . . 
 give us hand. Got twenty more 'fore dark. . . . 
 Who's the bloke? Bring him, too." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, the speaker 
 stooped over another prostrate calf, and as the 
 two white men rode on to a hitching rail in front 
 of the harness shed, Tynan heard the same voice 
 shouting, "Brand-o !" 
 
 "That's Bill Dookie," said Tom, as he dis- 
 mounted.
 
 58 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Impressions. 
 
 From the sand-hill near the gate, the station 
 looked like a collection of brush wurleys, with 
 here and there an iron roof. To the north was a 
 two-roomed building made of slabs and pug, and 
 roofed with iron. Tom called it "Government 
 House," and explained that the manager lived 
 there with his lubra mistress and child. The 
 men's quarters and buggj^-shed were in a row, and 
 both walls and roof were made of broom-bush 
 lashed to mulga posts and rails with strands of 
 green-hide. Facing these was another row of 
 rough sheds, consisting of kitchen, store, meat- 
 house, and harness-room. 
 
 Nothing was here but the barest necessities of 
 life ; not the slightest inducement for men to stay 
 for any other reason than a wage. In his first 
 sight of Mamoola Station, Tynan sensed one of 
 the curses of the Northern Territory : it is a place 
 where life is kept at the efficiency point for mak- 
 ing money and nothing else. That men live as 
 bushmen all their lives under such primitive con- 
 ditions is not a commendation, but a tragedy; 
 they often become unfitted for any other life, and 
 die where they have struggled to live. 
 
 The future will give more honour than the pre- 
 sent to the memory of the pioneers of Central 
 Australia: men who lived and died at privation 
 noint with no encouragement thd,n that given by 
 their own stout hearts. They dreamt of homes 
 and the voices of women and children, on the spots 
 where they had built their own rough shelters. 
 But, alas ! The prosperity for which they laboured
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 59 
 
 has been taken to cities, and the country is as 
 desolate and man's hfe in it as primitive as ever. 
 Central Australia is being exploited, not settled. 
 
 While the seeds of such thoughts as these were 
 genninating in Tynan's mind, the horses had been 
 unsaddled, the packs pulled off, and the tired ani- 
 mals led down to the troughs before being hob- 
 bled. 
 
 "Hi, you there! What the hell you doing? 
 Lend a hand !" This in stentorian tones from the 
 yards. 
 
 Tom smiled grimly as he and Jim walked up the 
 hill. 
 
 "The old man's a Tartar," he said, "but he's not 
 a bad sort when you get to know him. The syn- 
 dicate that owns this run and dozens more, always 
 pick hustlers like him and give them commission." 
 
 By this time they had reached the yards, and 
 were greeted by the manager. 
 
 "Hullo, Tom! Thought you . never coming. 
 Good-day," as Jim was introduced. "Tynan's 
 name, is it? Hold leg-rope. Hang on." 
 
 Such was the new man's introduction to Bill 
 Dookie, manager of Marnoola horse and cattle sta- 
 tion for the Two Continents Meat Syndicate. 
 
 For the next two hours Tynan hardly knew 
 whether he was on his head or his heels, but he 
 was successful in carrying out Bill's instructions 
 to "get a hold of that leg-rope and hang on." 
 
 The receiving yard contained about 200 cows 
 and calves, from which the unbranded youngsters 
 were drafted off in lots of about ten into the 
 branding pen. Here they were lassoed and drawn 
 to the rails with a long green-hide rope, on which 
 three nearly naked blacks were pulling. Tom 
 was given charge of the front leg-rope, and a 
 blackfellow, after securing the back leg, handed 
 the rope to the new chum, who passed it round a 
 hitching post and held on. In this way, the calf
 
 6o GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 was thrown and a blackfellow loosened the lasso 
 and caught another in readiness. With almost 
 incredible quickness, Bill cut and ear-marked the 
 steers, then called out, "Brand-0!" and the red- 
 hot iron was handed between the rails. Again 
 and again Tynan saw the familiar "X.T.X." 
 pressed on the quivering rump of the prostrate 
 animals, to the accompanying of smoke and some- 
 times flame, and usually much bellowing. 
 
 So insistent was the work, and so necessary 
 was it to keep keenly alert, that Tynan forgot 
 his weariness, his thirst, the miles of new country 
 he had traversed, and the multitude of new ex- 
 periences that had come to him — everything, in 
 fact, but grasping that green-hide rope and see- 
 ing that it was tight on the post. 
 
 "How many more?" asked Bill at length, 
 straightening his back and looking with approval 
 at the new-comer, who, in spite of his awkward- 
 ness at the unaccustomed work, showed a certain 
 clean activity that pleased the manager. 
 
 "How many, mob?" he repeated, to the black 
 who was using the lasso. 
 
 "Ner," grunted the man, "close up finish um." 
 And sure enough there proved to be only three 
 more heifers to brand. 
 
 During the pause, Tynan noticed for the first 
 time that a girl was looking after the brands, 
 keeping them hot in the fire and handing them 
 between the rails; a big girl, but still in her 
 teens, with the skin and hair of a half-caste. 
 
 At last the third heifer staggered to its feet 
 in a dazed fashion and trotted off to join the 
 others. 
 
 "Callar!" shouted Bill to the men on the rope. 
 "That's the lot. Now you get tucker. . . . Moo- 
 cher!" he called to one of them, a tall, nearly 
 naked black, who seemed more intelligent than 
 the rest. "You walk longa kitchen. You get
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 6i 
 
 bacca, tucker, three-fella." He held up three 
 fingers. 
 
 "Yah !" grunted the man, and at once explained 
 to his two friends that all three of them were to 
 have a stick of tobacco and a feed. 
 
 Bill rubbed his hands, which were covered with 
 blood and grease, in the sand, and then on his 
 trousers, and turned to Tom, as he consulted a 
 battered note-book. 
 
 "Two hundred . fifty one since dinner. Hundred 
 . twenty-nine steers . . hundred . twenty-two 
 heifers. . . . Not bad . . old bloke like me. . . . 
 Good trip?" 
 
 Bill Dookie looked by no means old. Young 
 men in the bush quickly become withered and 
 wrinkled with the hard life, but years seldom 
 bring the aspect of old age. The manager was a 
 tall, upright man, with grey hair and beard and 
 a hard face, which was saved from appearing 
 brutal by a pair of penetrating but kind eyes. He 
 had a name for severity with the blacks, but it 
 was noticed that a good boy usually stayed with 
 Bill, for, in reality, he was an absolutely just man. 
 With whites also he was strictly just, and, as 
 Tom had said, "Not a bad sort when you know 
 him." 
 
 In answer to his question about the trip, Tom 
 answered, "Not bad. The horses had plenty of 
 condition when I trucked them." And then he 
 began to tell of his exigencies of the road. 
 
 They were walking away when Tom said a few 
 words which made the manager turn to Tynan. 
 The young man was leaning against the rails, be- 
 ginning to realise how tired he was. 
 
 "Better come down . . . drink of tea . . tucker," 
 said Bill. "Feel like a spell, don't you? . . . 
 Worked in a yard before?" 
 
 "No," answered Tynan.
 
 62 . GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "Ugh! Come on down. Can talk after, if 
 you want to." 
 
 Bill Dookie walked over to Government house, 
 and reappeared in about a quarter of an hour with 
 clean shirt and trousers, while Tom showed his 
 companion a place where he could wash and 
 change. 
 
 The men's quarters consisted of two little 
 rooms with a passage between, and, as Jack Donay 
 was not coming back, Tom offered Jim the room 
 this man had formerly occupied. 
 
 There was a bed made of a bullock-hide 
 stretched on a packing case frame, two kerosene 
 boxes nailed together for table and cupboard com- 
 bined, and an improvised stool. Nothing else, save 
 cockroaches and dirt and a pile of cast-off xags 
 mouldering in one corner. 
 
 Tynan unrolled his swag, washed and changed, 
 and sat on the bed waiting, too tired to notice 
 the disrepair of the brush roof and walls. 
 
 Presently a camel-bell clanged, and Tom called 
 from his room across the corridor: "Ready, 
 Jim?" and the two went over to the kitchen. 
 
 The place was almost unbearably hot. The 
 stove had been alight all day, and the room was 
 full of flies and the odour of boiled fat beef. As 
 they entered the room, a lubra stuck a fork into 
 a big billy-can, pulled out a chunk of salt meat, 
 and put it on the table with a loaf of bread, a 
 saucepan of tea, and a bottle of tom.ato sauce. 
 Such was breakfast, dinner, and tea on a station 
 which, in the past year, had sent to market 600 
 beef cattle and 200 horses, the profit on which 
 was more than £5000. 
 
 Tynan was almost too tired to eat. During the 
 fatigues of the road, he had looked forward to 
 sitting down to a meal, and now he came to this: 
 the lubra, the dirt, the flies, the heat, and the
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 63 
 
 almost uneatable food set out on bare, unscrubbed 
 boards. 
 
 One other was present at the table besides the 
 manager, Tom, and the new man: a girl about 16 
 years old, with blackfellow features, pale brown 
 skin, and fair hair, dressed in one garment only: 
 an overall. She was the girl who had been at 
 the yards. Bill Dookie addressed her as "Ruby," 
 but she spoke very little to him, and when she 
 did, it was in the halting pidgin-English of the 
 blacks. At times she turned and addressed the 
 lubra, who stood idly at the stove watching the 
 men eat, and her talk was then in dialect. 
 
 Ruby seemed very interested in the stranger, 
 as she sat there like some timid animal, taking 
 furtive bites at her food. She was Dookie's child, 
 her mother being the lubra in the kitchen, who 
 herself was of mixed blood, having had an Afghan 
 father and a native mother. Bill had been a man- 
 ager for the Two Continents Syndicate for many 
 years, but had only been five at Marnoola, the 
 lubra and child coming with him from further 
 North and living at Government House. 
 
 "Bill's terrible go"ne on Ruby," explained Tom, 
 later. "He's taught her to do most things on a 
 station, breaking colts, cutting and branding, and 
 all that sort of thing. They do say he's tried to 
 teach her to read and write, too, but it's no go." 
 
 "Poor kid," mused Tynan, aloud. "What's 
 ahead of her?" 
 
 "The black's camp," replied Tom, with convic- 
 tion. "It's a damn waste of time and money edu- 
 cating anything with black blood in it. They go 
 there sooner or later:" He pointed to a red sand- 
 hill beyond the water paddock, where the blacks 
 had built their low wurlies. "I've known men," 
 he went on, "... why . . . there was old Peter 
 Dawson's boy — a half-caste from The Tennant.
 
 64 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 They put him to school at Port Augusta, and then 
 to a college affair in Adelaide. He was a smart 
 lad, and did very well. Old Peter was no end 
 proud of him, and what m.ust he do but bring him 
 up to The Tennant for a holiday. 
 
 "Within a fortnight the lad was living naked 
 in the black's camp. When his father tried to 
 get him back, he went for old Peter with a boo- 
 merang and then cleared out." 
 
 "Then you don't agree with missions up here, 
 Tom?" 
 
 They were sitting outside the men's quarters 
 when he asked the question, and, before answer- 
 ing it, Tom spat on an ant with great accuracy. 
 
 "You can't change a blasted nigger's skin," re- 
 plied the stockman, with ehiphasis. "You can 
 teach them to wear trousers, and blow their noses 
 on a bit of rag, and sing hymns, and all that, but 
 first chance and they're off. Why, almost all the 
 cattle-killing since I've been in the country has 
 been done by mission station blacks. They learn 
 the ways of the whites and turn them against 
 us." 
 
 He smoked for a while in silence, and then con- 
 tinued: "If you're in these parts long, Jim, you'll 
 learn that the plain, straight-out, wild nigger is 
 far better than the educated one. A half-caste is 
 the worst of the lot." 
 
 "Are there many half-castes?" 
 
 "Thousands." 
 
 "But women?" persisted Tynan. "How does 
 the mixture of blood affect women?" 
 
 "I'll tell you. A bloke working on a line-party 
 at the Alice had a kid by a half-caste jin— same 
 as Susan, Bill's jin, half black, half Afghan. The 
 kid was a girl with fair skin and fair hair, just 
 like a white, and Ted — ^that's the father, Ted
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 65 
 
 Hindley — was uncommon proud of that girl. He 
 got a billet in Oodnadatta and the kid went to 
 school and grew up with white children till she 
 was nineteen. Then a young plate-layer, Dick 
 Abbott, married the girl. It was a fair and square 
 deal, mind you, real straight-out marriage. They 
 lived together for ten years, and had a home at 
 William Creek and three kids. One time, Dick 
 was away with the repairing gang for four days. 
 When he came back, his wife had gone. She was 
 last seen sitting in the William Creek blacks' 
 camp as naked as the day she was bom. After 
 that she cleared. 
 
 "I've only heard of one solitary case where a 
 half-caste has not gone back, and that was a boy 
 who went to England with his father and stayed 
 there." 
 
 Tom laughed, and seeing Ruby coming from the 
 house, asked : 
 
 "Have you had a talk with Bill ?" 
 
 "No, not yet. Do you reckon I ought to go 
 over?" 
 
 "P'raps that's what Ruby's come for." 
 
 The child came up, walking with the grace 
 which only natives have, and stood before the 
 men. 
 
 "Bill want um yabber longa white-fella," she 
 said, hesitatingly. 
 
 "That's you," remarked Tom; then to Ruby: 
 "You tell um Bill alright," and away went Ruby, 
 glad to be out of the presence of the stranger. 
 
 Tynan's "yabber" with the manager was soon 
 brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Bill wanted 
 a man to take the place of the one who had en- 
 listed, and would engage Tynan if he could ride. 
 
 "Can you ride?" he asked.
 
 66 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "I rode up from Oodnadatta," answered Tynan, 
 "and did some riding before that." 
 
 "Oh," said the manager, "that's not riding. 
 Have some quiet horses in the yards to-morrow 
 morning. Soon see what you're like on a horse." 
 And the conversation drifted off to other sub- 
 jects.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 67 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Bush Horses. 
 
 The station was astir at daybreak, and it was 
 not yet six when the camel-bell rang for break- 
 fast. The morning was clear, after a cool night, 
 and as Tynan stood under the shower-bath be- 
 neath the overhead tank, he felt hungry and 
 healthy with that glow of inward well-being which 
 comes from a strenuous life in the open air. 
 
 "Stiff?" queried the manager, as the new man 
 entered the kitchen. 
 
 "Not a bit," answered Tynan pleasantly, sitting 
 down to his fried salt meat and bread with a good 
 deal of relish. "Riding never makes me uncom- 
 fortable." 
 
 "Never been in a muster, that's clear," re- 
 marked Bill. "Ridden a good bit in my time, yet 
 chasing horses tunes me up like the devil. . . . 
 Did Albert close . water paddock gate? he 
 asked, turning to Tom. 
 
 "Yes. Are you going to trap some horses?" 
 
 "Yes. Want good big plant go out West in 
 couple days. May 's well quieten beggars before 
 we start." 
 
 Two windmill pumps with storage tanlcs and 
 troughs were enclosed by a fence, and the stock, 
 coming in and out to water, had to pass through 
 an open gate. When horses were needed, this 
 gate was closed, till perhaps two or three hun- 
 dred thirsty animals were waiting outside. When 
 the gate was opened, these would rush in to 
 water and find themselves trapped. From there 
 it was an easy matter to drive them up to the 
 yards. 
 
 After breakfast. Bill turned to Tynan.
 
 68 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "Can you use a whip ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then meet me down at gate in about quarter 
 'v hour. Drive mob up to yards for drafting." 
 
 It was a new and keenly interesting experience 
 for Tynan to see a mob of bush horses. He was 
 down at the gate some time before the/nanager, 
 and sat on the fence watching the beautiful 
 .nervous animals restlessly pawing the ground, 
 wheeling and snorting, and showing off to best 
 advantage their beautiful limbs and glossy coats, 
 for no one can groom a horse to compare with 
 the bush animal in a good season. 
 
 Mares were there with foals, and yearlings also, 
 some of them not at all willing to be weaned to 
 make room for the little strangers; young colts 
 in all the rough and tumble of boyhood; and in 
 and out, each separating his particular mob from 
 the others, pranced the stallions. It was a brave 
 sight, with a strong morning sun in the clear sky, 
 which had not yet assumed the pitiless glare of 
 noonday and early afternoon, and Tynan felt fit 
 for any test of riding ever given. 
 
 "Not bad lot, eh?" said a voice behind him, and 
 he turned and saw that the manager had come 
 down. 
 
 "By gad, no!" Tynan exclaimed, with enthusi- 
 asm. 
 
 "That's only little lot. Should see beggars 
 roll up after few showers. Run around looking 
 for surface water, . . . only find sip here and 
 there, . . . when they do turn up they're pretty 
 thirsty. Last muster . . . about two thousand 
 horses on run, . . . since then most mares got 
 foals. Been good year for foals. . . . See that 
 chestnut stallion . . . white star? Suffolk Punch. 
 Damned good stock he gets, too. . . . Clydesdale 
 over there. Been here a year. Owners want to
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 69 
 
 heavy up mob a bit. . . . Had Arab entire few 
 years ago. His stock sold well at the time. 
 . . . Suffolk Punch stamp wanted now — chunky, 
 not heavy, suitable for army . . . farming, de- 
 livery cart work." 
 
 Bill spoke in a gruff, disjointed way, due to a 
 hfetime spent with blacks. He seldom used many 
 words, and his remarks to Tynan sprang from 
 a fondness for horses which he saw was shared by 
 the new-comer. 
 
 "I used to ride a half-bred Arab with the X.T.X. 
 brand," said Tynan, eagerly. 
 
 "Mare?" 
 
 "No; a gelding — a six-year-old." 
 
 "Ugh! There's troughs. . . used to water, 
 . . . yard where he was branded. Marked him 
 myself. . . . Yarning here won't yard them 
 horses!" He broke off the conversation fiercely, 
 as if ashamed of himself for indulging in it. 
 
 The water paddock gate was opened, and after 
 feints and retreats, a few horses came through 
 very gingerly, galloping and bucking as soon as 
 the fence was passed. Gradually the whole mob 
 followed and Tynan closed the gate. Two hun- 
 dred heads bent over the water which gushed 
 through the ball cocks on the three sets of 
 troughs, showing how quickly the animals were 
 drinking. 
 
 "Aren't they nervous of the mills?" asked 
 Tynan, pointing up at the broad metal sails which 
 whirled around in the wind, clanking the pump- 
 rods up and down. 
 
 "No. Used to it. . . . Even got over scare at 
 the engine." The manager pointed to a pile of 
 tarpaulin at the foot of one of the mills. "Put 
 her on when wind drops. . . . Horses terribly con- 
 servative. . . . Always water here . . . mothers
 
 70 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 did before them. . . . Pine when they're taken 
 away. . . . Homesick. . . . Put jam tin on that 
 post, . . . silly beggars make hell of fuss. . . . 
 Nervous . . , get used to it." 
 
 Now and again one of the foals would start 
 away, or one yearling would playfully nibble the 
 back of another. At once the whole line would 
 break and scatter, only to return again to the 
 troughs. But gradually their thirst was quenched, 
 and the horses gathered into groups, just as men 
 and women do on similar occasions. Some few 
 strolled towards the entrance, but found it closed. 
 
 Presently the manager put his fingers to his 
 lips and blew a shrill blast, and at once three 
 mounted blacks appeared at the top end of the 
 water paddock. 
 
 "Coax these beggars up a bit, will you?" he 
 asked. "Don't hurry . . . till . . . clear of 
 troughs. Brutes kick them to pieces . . . not 
 careful. . . . Steady there! Whey, lads! Now 
 into them. Woa! . . . Hoi! Hoi! Use your 
 whip, . . . want to see good riding, watch that 
 girl of mine up there." Bill's sentences became 
 more complete as his excitement increased. 
 
 Crack ! Crack ! Stock-whips sounded like rifle- 
 shots, and in a cloud of dust and to the thunder 
 of hoofs that made the ground vibrate, the mob 
 of horses was hurried up the water paddock to- 
 wards the yards. Twice they tried to break be- 
 fore the rails were reached, but the mounted nig- 
 gers checked them, and the girl in a blue overall 
 wheeled and galloped and stemmed the rush as 
 well as any. 
 
 "Draft this mob right away," said Dookie, as 
 he dropped the last slip-panel into its place be- 
 hind the yarded horses. "Here's Tom. He'll take 
 bush ... you take workers." 
 
 From the big receiving yard, the horses were
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 71 
 
 driven to a smaller one in lots of thirty or forty. 
 This yard opened out to a short lane ending in 
 several gates into different yards. At the top 
 of the lane stood the manager, and as the horses 
 came past him, he shouted "Bush" or "Worker," 
 according to whether the animal was to be allowed 
 to go free to the bush again or was to be retained 
 for station work. So Tynan was stationed at one 
 gate and told to swing it open whenever "Worker" 
 was called, whereas Tom controlled one of the 
 other gates for the bush horses. 
 
 Simple as was the task entrusted to him, Ty- 
 nan found that all his wits were necessary to 
 keep pace with the work which, to the other men, 
 was mere routine. He was so interested in tne 
 horses themselves that the shout, "Worker!" 
 often woke him as from a trance. He noticed that 
 many of the animals that came through his gate 
 had white marks on their backs where a saddle 
 had rubbed them at one time or another, and their 
 general behaviour in the yard confirmed his 
 opinion that most of them were broken-in horses 
 which had been having a spell. 
 
 "Worker !" shouted Dookie, as a beautiful chest- 
 nut gelding came through the gates with a great 
 show of spirit. "Tom!" he called, "that's 
 Prince." 
 
 "So I see," answered the stockman, as the ani- 
 mal curvetted through Tynan's gate. "Who's go- 
 ing to ride him this time. Bill?" 
 
 "Dunno," was the laughing answer, but further 
 conversation was impossible, as more horses came 
 into the lane. "Bush. . . . Bush. . , . Bush. 
 . . . Worker. . . . Bush. . . . Bush." 
 
 At last the whole mob was drafted. 
 
 "How many . . ." began the manager, turning 
 to Tynan. "Here, not . . . call you Mr. Tjman. 
 What name. . . . Eh?"
 
 72 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "Jim's as good as any other," laughed the young 
 man. 
 
 "Ugh! How many . . . through your gate?" 
 
 "Twenty-two." 
 
 "Good . . . plenty. . . . Hi, Scarry!" he called 
 to one of the boys who had been hunting up the 
 horses. "Let um that mob go bush. By'm by 
 you bring um up two fella saddle, hobble, side 
 lines, ropes. See?" 
 
 "Ya. Me know," was the answer.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 73 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 A Riding Test. 
 
 The three white men walked down to the kit- 
 chen for a cup of tea and a smoke, and returned 
 to the yards in about half an hour. The twenty- 
 two horses were in a yard that opened out into 
 the biggest of all, which had a strong breaking-in 
 post in the centre, and, at one corner, a gate lead- 
 ing to the crush and branding pen. The main slip- 
 rails led out to a hard flat piece of open country. 
 
 "Now, Jim," said the manager, "see what . . . 
 can do. Scarry, put um saddle . . . that fella," 
 indicating a mare with a small white mark on 
 her back. 
 
 The new man rode one horse after another for 
 half an hour, giving each a couple of turns round 
 the big yard, and then out on the flat. Some 
 were quiet, some awkward, one or two bucked 
 badly, but he stuck to each one till he was able 
 to hand it over to a nigger, who took off the sad- 
 dle and fastened on a pair of hobbles. 
 
 The manager's quarter-caste daughter was sit- 
 ting quietly on the fence watching each movement 
 of horse and rider, and, though Tynan would have 
 repudiated the idea, her presence may have stimu- 
 lated him to his best efforts. For, to be thrown 
 when a girl was looking on, and a girl who, as 
 the manager expressed it, "can ride any blessed 
 thing with hide on," would have been too humili- 
 ating. 
 
 When the young man was riding the fifth 
 horse, Dookie stepped up to the girl and spoke 
 to her in a low voice. With a laugh, she called 
 to Scarry in his native tongue, and he answered 
 her in the same, laughing also.
 
 74 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Prince, the big chestnut gelding, was next led 
 out, saddled and bridled. Tynan swung the reins 
 over the beautiful animal's neck, took a short grip 
 on the near-side rein with some of the mane, and 
 watched for an opportunity to mount. The horse 
 backed away, snorting, so Tynan let him have his 
 way till he was against the fence. Suddenly the 
 animal wheeled round and started to back again. 
 
 The man was tired. He had been through a 
 severe test for one not used to riding rough 
 horses, and some of them had thrown him about 
 a good deal. But the presence of those silent 
 spectators, and more especially, perhaps, of that 
 girl on the rails, nerved him to beat this animal. 
 - He wedged it into a corner at last and mounted. 
 He dug his heels into its flanks, but was totally 
 unprepared for what followed. Prince was in the 
 centre of the yard with one bound. Before Ty- 
 nan realised he was out of the corner, the horse 
 had reared straight up, and was turning round 
 on its hind legs, pawing at the air and roaring 
 as if in pain. Then followed quicker and more 
 violent movements than Tynan had thought pos- 
 sible for a horse. Heaven and earth seemed shat- 
 tered to a thousand whirling fragments, and his 
 body seemed to be jerked every possible way at 
 the same time as he clung to the maddened ani- 
 mal. Now he was high in the air, with the horse's 
 hunched back beneath him, bent tightly as a bow ; 
 then he was along the animal's rearing shoulder, 
 or leaning far back like an oarsman at the end 
 of a stroke, while Prince's heels struck lightning 
 blows behind him. 
 
 This went on for two whole minutes, and then 
 for a couple of seconds the panting horse stood 
 quivering. Finally, with a mighty rear, up went 
 the lashing front legs, higher and higher, till the 
 animal lost his balance and crashed backwards 
 to the ground.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 75 
 
 Tynan was thrown clear, and was on his feet 
 before Prince recovered. His blood was up. 
 Rushing in, he grabbed the bridle, and when the 
 horse staggered to its feet, the rider was again 
 firmly in the saddle. 
 
 "Bravo!" came from the manager, "Good man! 
 Good man!" from Tom, and above the shout of 
 approval from the watching blacks, the young man 
 heard the excited laugh of the manager's daugh- 
 ter, and somehow that primitive praise struck an 
 equally primitive chord in his nature, and he was 
 glad. 
 
 But Prince had thrown him once and knew how 
 to do it again. It wasted no time in useless buck- 
 ing. Rearing again, it toppled over, and as it 
 fell, turned quickly, throwing its rider many yards 
 away. Tynan rose more slowly this time, and as 
 he did so the horse rushed at him with open 
 mouth, and the young man only just saved him- 
 self by climbing th& fence. 
 
 In spite of his sudden danger and the terrible 
 contest he had been through, perhaps because of 
 these things, Tynan's mind was singularly clear 
 and alert. The riderless horse careered round and 
 round the yard, bucking and rearing, and lashing 
 out with its heels at the rails, roaring all the time 
 with anger and pain. The young doctor's trained 
 ear caught that note of pain and wondered what 
 was the cause. 
 
 Prince was detemiined to get rid of that 
 accursed saddle at all costs. Suddenly it lay down 
 and began to roll, and finally broke the tackling 
 and stood up quivering and free. 
 
 Tynan leapt down from the rails, and, disregard- 
 ing the warning shout of the two white men, 
 walked up to the horse. 
 
 He looked at the saddle. It was smashed beyond 
 repair. Then at the horse. A deep recent sore 
 showed just where the waist of a riding saddle
 
 76 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 rests on the back. He looked again at the broken 
 saddle for an explanation, and saw, lying- on the 
 sand of the yard, a sharp stone. It had been put 
 underneath the saddle cloth when the horse was 
 saddled up! 
 
 He picked up the stone and flung it out of the 
 yard. Prince was standing with heaving sweat- 
 foamed flanks. Tynan went up to him, speaking 
 quietly and rubbing his hand over the trembling 
 shoulders and back. He set the bridle straight 
 after a few minutes, led the horse half way round 
 the yard, then jumped on him, bareback. The 
 animal made no objection, and the new chum rode 
 past the spectators and out on the flat amidst a 
 silence of astonishment. 
 
 Returning, he met the manager. 
 
 "Good! Jim," he said. "Makings of rider"; and 
 he held out his hand. 
 
 But Tynan pretended not to see the overture of 
 friendship and busied himself with the broken 
 saddle. 
 
 "I'm afraid it's smashed to pieces," he said. 
 "Waist and gusset both cracked." 
 
 The manager dropped his hand. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, as Tynan and Tom 
 were walking down from the yards, the latter 
 turned and said, 
 
 "Didn't you see Bill's hand, Jim?" 
 
 "Of course I did. But he had no right to treat 
 a horse like that." 
 
 "You did a risky thing, mate. Yet I think 
 you've won. Anyhow, he'll never try to bully you 
 again. He always gets a man's fighting weight 
 early, does Bill."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 'j'j 
 
 CHAPTER XIJL 
 
 On the Run. 
 
 Tom was right. Bill Dookie had keen eyes for 
 a man, and he saw one in the new station hand, and 
 consequently treated him with respect. Had 
 Tynan taken the proffered hand, it might have 
 been different, for Bill was too much a lover of 
 horses to excuse his own action in putting a stone 
 under Prince's saddle, and he would have secretly 
 despised Jim for not being man enough to show 
 his displeasure. Moreover the new man had the 
 makings of a rider, and horsemanship is the sine 
 qua non of the bush. 
 
 All hands were busy preparing for a muster 
 during the next few days. The few unbroken 
 colts which had been drafted into the workers' 
 yard were put in the crush, handled, saddled, and 
 ridden by the black boys under the manager's 
 supervision. Tynan and his friend Tom damped 
 a couple of bullock-hides and cut them up for 
 hobbles. This was new work for Jim, but when 
 he had got over the initial distaste of working 
 with greasy hide, his well-trained surgeon's 
 fingers soon mastered the intricacies of the rose 
 and crown knot, and he was able to beat his com- 
 panion at his own game. When the hobbles had 
 been well greased, stretched, and hung up to 
 mature, the two men turned their attention to the 
 pack saddles and bags, and found repairs enough 
 to keep them very busy. 
 
 Sitting underneath a rough brush verandah in 
 front of the men's quarters, engaged in patching, 
 stuffing, and rivetting, the two men — so different 
 in birth and breeding — were drawn close together. 
 Tom guessed that Tynan was escaping from a
 
 78 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "past," for what other reason would send a man, 
 so able to hold his own in the more congenial 
 circles of his upbringing, to that God-forsaken 
 comer of the vast continent ? But what Tom sur- 
 mised he kept strictly to himself, and accepted his 
 mate for what he then was, a man with a lithe 
 active body, plenty of pluck, and clean straight 
 thoughts. 
 
 For his part, Tynan found the life to be a great 
 relaxation. It was true that the inexcusable 
 roughness of board and lodging was not to his 
 taste, but youth and health and a determination to 
 go through with his self-imposed sentence made it 
 bearable. His bushman friend's acceptance of him 
 as a man was a great delight to him, and the frank 
 comradeship which was robbed of all secondary 
 motives. Cities breed caution and unremitting 
 suspicion, which, when it becomes habitual, 
 hardens itself into that thrice-accursed system 
 known as business. When streets and shops and 
 houses in set rows are left behind, much of this 
 disappears also, and here in the bush, the true 
 brotherhood of man was a daily unconscious prac- 
 tice, not needing the multitude of words with 
 which city-dwellers too often disguise its great 
 simplicity. 
 
 At dinner, a week after Tynan's arrival at 
 Mamoola, the manager turned to Tom and asked, 
 
 "How are packs, Tom ?" 
 
 "Four of them are fit for the road," was the 
 answer. "Two others want new boards. They 
 weren't sent up with the last loading." 
 
 "Four packs quite enough. Got hobbles done ?" 
 
 "Yes, twenty-five pairs. That ought to be 
 enough. By the way, we're nearly out of hobble 
 chains." 
 
 "Ugh! . . Order next loading. . . Got couple 
 water bags ... at house. . . Two you brought
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 79 
 
 . . . Oodnadatta. Plenty. . . . How about can- 
 teens ? Want take leather. . . Galvanized too." 
 
 "I'll test them after dinner," said Tom. 
 
 "Ugh! . . How about riding saddles? One 
 Prince broke .... bit short." Turning to 
 Tynan, "Got good sliding seat. That suit you ?" 
 
 "Sliding seat?" queried Tynan. 
 
 "Yes, No knee-pads." 
 
 "Oh, I know what you mean ; I've always heard 
 them called hunting saddles. . . Yes, one of 
 those would suit me very well. I never used knee 
 pads till the trip up." 
 
 "How you feeling?" 
 
 "First rate, thanks." 
 
 "Ugh! Start morning. . . Toolooroo Springs. 
 Muster west country first. Parakelia still bit 
 green there. Cattle scattered to blazes. All 
 hands." 
 
 "How about the mills?" asked Tom. 
 
 "Kitty and Big Dick," grunted the manager. 
 "She knows . . turn mills off and on. . . If 
 wind drops . . . use donkeys in whip. . , She 
 knows." 
 
 "A bit risky, isn't it. Bill ? There's close on five 
 hundred horses watering at these two wells," said 
 Tom. 
 
 "What else?" asked the manager. "Station's 
 short-handed . . bosses in town want cattle 
 . . . mob . . . made up somehow. . . . Must have 
 three whites, . . two mustering, one tailing. . . 
 Niggers alone no good. . . . Proved it." 
 
 Mamoola station was astir early next morning, 
 and, after breakfast, the tucker bags were stocked 
 with a supply of meat, flour, tea, sugar, and 
 tobacco; swags were rolled, quart-pots, canteens, 
 water-bags, and all the gear of a muster-camp 
 packed in the quick secure method which at once 
 distinguishes the bushman from the man from 
 inside.
 
 8o GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Tynan rode ahead with the manager and Ruby, 
 for the girl was her father's constant companion, 
 and the plant of twenty horses, packed and loose, 
 followed, driven by Tom and the two black boys. 
 A good wind was turning the mills as the men 
 watered their horses, and Bill gave final instruc- 
 tions to Big Dick, an old black fellow, what to do 
 in case the tanks became empty and the wind 
 failed. 
 
 They struck due west across spinifex-crowned 
 sandhill after sandhill, divided by flats where 
 scanty mulga grew, and dry buck-bush rolled in 
 the wind, and where a belated parakelia flower 
 bloomed here and there between occasional tufts 
 of dry grass. 
 
 Dinner camp was made under a tall desert oak 
 whose foliage drooped like matted hair and whose 
 bark was wrinkled as if with great age. Packs 
 were pulled off and the horses hobbled for the 
 night on a small plain sparsely covered with dry 
 grass. The quart pots were boiling in front of 
 the fire before dawn next day, and the journey 
 was resumed just as the sun spilt its red splendour 
 over the horizon. 
 
 A small clay-pan of water gave the horses a 
 drink late that afternoon, but Dookie did not camp 
 beside it, but pushed on into the night, travelling 
 in the cool till the moon set, for he knew there was 
 no chance of finding water before reaching Too- 
 looroo Springs. 
 
 On the afternoon of the second day, Bill called 
 his companion's attention to the cattle-tracks 
 which were converging more and more on the one 
 they were following. 
 
 "Sure sign water," he remarked gruffly. "Find 
 fresh tracks meeting . . . follow. . . strike 
 water. . . No need perish ... fresh tracks 
 about." 
 
 A few little birds began to flit about the bushes,
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 8i 
 
 and a couple of flocks of crows, one from the north 
 and another from the east, converged on the hne. 
 
 "That's another sign, I suppose," said Tynan, 
 pointing to the birds. 
 
 "Ugh ! Not sure at all . . . Crows after dead 
 beast . . likely. . . . Little birds . . . 
 herbage . . water miles away. . . Good sign 
 sometimes." 
 
 For the next hour they rode across several dry 
 salt lakes where the distance was filled with mir- 
 age in which the surrounding sandhills were re- 
 flected in perfect illusion. The glistening treacher- 
 ous surface of caked salt was broken here and 
 there by the light tracks of dingoes, but the cattle 
 had all kept to the well-worn pads which the 
 mustering plant was following. 
 
 Presently Dookie turned sharply south out of 
 the bed of a lake, and struck across a high stoney 
 hill covered with mulga. From this vantage-point, 
 the view on all sides was dark with scattered 
 scrub, whilst the tops of a few bare sand-hills 
 broke the monotony with vivid terra-cotta red. 
 But the track led down again almost at once, and 
 Dookie pointed with his stock-whip to what in the 
 distance looked like a thicket of young trees. 
 
 "That's a yard, he said, "mulga spars against 
 rails. . . . Not much of a place . . does well 
 enough . . . mustering cattle." 
 
 The mulga yard was on a patch of hard ground 
 above the level of yet another salt-pan. A couple 
 of hundred yards away, Tynan saw a line of black 
 troughs, and investigation showed that they were 
 filled from a short bore pipe. 
 
 "There used to be three mud springs before Bill 
 put down that pipe," explained Tom, "but they 
 weren't much good for cattle. The whole flat was 
 bog, and stock couldn't get near the water. We 
 sunk about 10 feet of piping and tapped the
 
 82 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 supply. There's only just that bit of soft ground 
 at the overflow now." 
 
 Between the yards and the troughs was a rough 
 bough wurley, and the packs were quickly stacked 
 in it, and the tucker bags hung from the roof out 
 of the way of ants by day and dingoes by night. 
 The manager was an old bushman, and when out 
 on the run never left his pack-bags unprotected 
 at night. A hundred times there might be no 
 need for this precaution, but, as he expressed it, 
 "Habit . . no weight. . . Good thing. Proved 
 it," and it was well worth while for the sake of 
 the hundred and iirst time. A man's life in the 
 bush depends on the safety of his packs.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 83 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Tailing. 
 
 In spite of the long tiring day under the cruel 
 sun, with the added discomfort of thirst, and the 
 constant harassing of flies, Tynan could not sleep 
 for some hours after the others had turned in. He 
 lay on his camp-sheet staring up at the night-blue 
 sky crossed by the blur of The Milky Way, with 
 the Southern Cross slowly marking out the hours 
 of revolution round the pole. The clink of hobbles 
 and the occasional lilt of a bell came from the hill- 
 side as the horses moved about amongst the scanty 
 grass, whilst the solitude seemed at times to 
 become vocal in the high-pitched wail of wild-dogs 
 far away. Cattle bellowed at the troughs, and the 
 sound of running water was a ceaseless accompani- 
 ment to his thoughts. 
 
 West of that lonely mustering camp lay country 
 known only toi;he few men who occasionally rode 
 over it in search of cattle, and beyond their tracks 
 was a thousand miles of No-man's Land, marked 
 perhaps here and there by the bleached bones of a 
 venturesome prospector. 
 
 The soft majesty of the night, and a sense of 
 vast and primitive simplicity, seemed to reduce 
 life to its Least Common Multiple. The flower 
 which the young man had vainly sought in the 
 cultivated gardens of the mind was here blooming 
 wild; wisdom, which is the unconscious goal of 
 all learning, was vocal in the breeze that sighed 
 over the heat-tired earth ; the door of which every 
 religion professes to hold the key was here flung 
 wide, and creeds died out like the camp fire which 
 was slowly crumbling to grey ashes. 
 
 For a brief hour the young doctor saw the vision
 
 84 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 that comes once and again to most men : the abso- 
 kite unity of all creation, the inexorable law that 
 guides it, and his own portion therein. Yet sud- 
 denly, at the apex of this consciousness, came 
 thoughts of Ida Hennessy. So sharply incessant 
 was his sudden need of her, that he involuntarily 
 cried out and started up. At once there was a 
 patter of running feet, and a marauding dingo dis- 
 appeared into the scrub. 
 
 "Anything wrong?" asked Tom, turning over 
 in his blanket. 
 
 "No," rephed Tynan; "but I think a wild dog 
 was after our meat." 
 
 "That all ?" grunted the sleepy stockman. 
 
 The vision had passed. Tynan lay down with a 
 weary sigh. His former mental self-sufficiency 
 was slipping from him little by little, and, whereas 
 at one time he had prided himself on the emotional 
 experiment he was trying on Ida Hennessy, he 
 realized now that his interest in the result was not 
 merely scientific. Some day he might call these 
 feelings "love," but though he did not do so that 
 night, he knew that the whole creation was empty 
 for him if it did not hold that one girl. His drowsy, 
 waking thoughts merged into dreams, in which all 
 her guessed perfections had burst into glorious 
 bloom. Who can say what thoughts of future 
 bliss were his, for the strong man is weak at the 
 glance of a woman, the wise a fool, and the 
 meanest. wretch a king? 
 
 Tynan was left alone in camp next day with 
 instructions to have damper and meat cooked by 
 dusk. The manager went one way with Ruby, 
 and Tom went another, each taking one of the 
 boys. 
 
 Tynan walked round the yard in the morning, 
 and saw that it did not need repairing, and made 
 the wurley a little more sun-proof. He mixed up a 
 damper in the afternoon, and was scooping a hole
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 85 
 
 for it in the hot ashes, when his attention was 
 taken by something moving in the scrub on the 
 other side of the flat. There are so few animals 
 in the bush that the sHghtest movement at once 
 catches the eye, and the young man was sure he 
 had not been mistaken. He went on with his 
 cooking, however, strongly conscious that some- 
 one was w^atching him. The dough rose under a 
 light sprinkling of ashes, and Tynan was just about 
 to heap on some more, when four blackfellows 
 came out of the scrub, walked in single file to the 
 spring, stooped to drink, and then walked back 
 again in their own tracks ana disappeared. They 
 were absolutely naked, and wore their hair 
 bunched at the bac^k with grass and fat, and each 
 was carrying a boomerang and two spears. They 
 walked as if entirely unconscious of the white 
 man's presence, and though they did not seem to 
 hurry, they crossed the distance from cover to 
 cover in an incredibly short time. Tynan felt that 
 no detail of the camp had escaped their notice, 
 and after they were lost to sight, he again had 
 that uncomfortable sense of being watched. 
 
 A few crows had come round during the day, 
 and, seeing one perched on a post about a hundred 
 yards away, Tynan took a rifle from the wurley 
 and shot it. At once he knew that those four 
 pairs of eyes had ceased to watch him. He was 
 right. The savages had fled at the report. 
 
 Towards sunset a cloud of dust appeared behind 
 a sandhill south of the camp, with presently the 
 sound of lowing cattle. Bill and Tom had met, 
 and a mob of about a hundred cattle came slowly 
 towards the troughs. Some calves broke back at 
 the yards, and the horsemanship of the quarter- 
 caste girl was again equal to the best. 
 
 On subsequent days Tynan and Ruby tailed the 
 mustered cattle, releasing them from the yard in 
 the morning, and shepherding them all day to pre-
 
 86 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 vent their breaking away to the bush, and in the 
 evening, watering and yarding them again with 
 the Kttle mobs that the stockmen brought in. 
 
 On the fourth day, Bill and the nigger came in 
 late with a few cattle, but Tom did not turn up. 
 
 "How much water did he take?" asked the 
 manager. 
 
 "Just a water-bag." 
 
 "Might strike water -. . west," suggested Bill. 
 "Can't tell. . . Tom going . . far as grass 
 goes.. . . Hills out there .... perhaps rock- 
 hole . . likely. . . . Good man . . Tom . . 
 good bushman." 
 
 Nothing could be done that night but build a big 
 fire on a high sand-hill near, and keep it burning 
 all through the hours of darkness.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 87 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The New Chum to the Rescue. 
 
 The night was just tingeing with grey in the 
 east, and the camp was beginning to stir next 
 morning, when Scarry rode into camp. 
 
 "Where's Tom?" asked the manager. 
 
 "Him sit down," answered the black-boy. "Him 
 no more walk longa camp." 
 
 "What name you yabber?" demanded Bill in 
 amazement. "Tom no more walk longa camp?" 
 
 "Yah. Him sit down alright." 
 
 "Which way him sit down?" 
 
 The boy pointed west. "Longa stones," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "How long him sit down?" 
 
 Scarry pointed to the rising sun, and then to 
 the western horizon. 
 
 "Since sunset?" asked Bill. 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 "What for him no walk longa you?" 
 
 "Him no more walk longa me. Him break um 
 leg." 
 
 "Then why in the hell didn't you say so at first ?" 
 exclaimed the manager, then turning to Tynan, 
 who had just put on the quart pots for breakfast, 
 he explained: "Tom . . under that range . . . 
 broken leg. Don't know how . . can't find out 
 from Scarry. . . Nigger's head no good . . . 
 too hard." 
 
 The boy in question was busy drinking pannikin 
 after pannikin of water, apparently quite uncon- 
 cerned that a white man was lying wounded thirty 
 miles away. 
 
 "May I go out and see what I can do?" asked 
 Tynan,
 
 88 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 The manager looked enquiringly at the speaker, 
 and, in order that he might be allowed to go to the 
 help of his friend, the former doctor lifted one 
 corner of the veil that covered his past. "I've had 
 some experience with broken limbs and that sort 
 of thing," he added. 
 
 "Have you?" A keen glance passed between 
 them. "You're the man. . . . Know more about 
 cattle . . me . . always did. Take Ruby . . . 
 good tracker. Better'n blackfella. . . Take 
 pack-horse, tucker, canteen." Then, the urgency 
 of his request rendering his words more connected, 
 he added, "For the Lord's sake, don't waste time. 
 Late with mob already." 
 
 It was on the tip of Tynan's tongue to reply 
 that Tom's safety was of more importance than all 
 the cattle on Marnoola, but he checked himself 
 and ate his breakfast of damper, meat, and tea 
 hurriedly. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, Tynan rode out of 
 camp, with Ruby in the lead, followed by Scarry 
 with a pack horse and a couple of spares. They 
 emerged from the scrub towards noon, on a wide 
 plain dotted with thickets of mulga, and obtained 
 a clear view of the barren hills near which Tom 
 was said to be lying. 
 
 Suddenly a pair of eagles rose ahead of 
 them, and almost immediately Ruby's sharp eyes 
 caught sight of a dead bullock on the plain. It 
 had evidently not been there more than a couple of 
 days, for not much of it had been eaten, although 
 dingo tracks were all round the carcass. 
 
 "Black fella bin kill um," said Ruby. 
 
 "How ever d'you know that?" asked her com- 
 panion in amazement. 
 
 The girl pointed to some tracks. "Tom bin 
 follow um up," she continued. 
 
 "You mean that Tom saw this and went after 
 the blackfellow who did it?" asked Tynan.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 89 
 
 "Yah," she assented, as though it was too 
 obvious to admit of doubt. 
 
 The young man looked back. He and the girl 
 had out-stripped the plant by several miles, and he 
 saw three horses — one packed and two spares — 
 just coming over a rise, but no mounted man was 
 following them. With the h^bit of old workers, 
 the horses had followed the tracks of the leaders, 
 not needing to be driven. 
 
 "Where's Scarry?" asked Tynan. 
 
 "Me can't know um," answered Ruby in per- 
 plexity, and, digging her heels into the horse's 
 flank, she cantered to the top of a small hill and 
 back again to the dead bullock. 
 
 "Scarry no come up," she said. "Me think him 
 'fraid.'** She pointed to the carcass and then to 
 the tracks of bare feet. "Him Jack's tracks," she 
 remarked. 
 
 This deduction seemed almost impossible to the 
 new chum, and he exclaimed, "D'you mean to say 
 you know who made those tracks. Who is Jack, 
 anyway ?" 
 
 "Blackfella go longa Oodnadatta. Him no come 
 back," she explained, and Tynan remembered that 
 the nigger to whom Tom had dealt out such sum- 
 mary justice on the way up to Mamoola, was 
 named Jack. 
 
 One thing, however, was apparent and needed 
 no bushcraft to decide. Scarry was not following, 
 so there was nothing to do but go on without 
 him. 
 
 "Scarry can go to the devil!" he exclaimed, 
 angrily. "We must find Tom quick." 
 
 For nearly another hour they followed the 
 tracks of bare feet with those of two horses run- 
 ning beside them, till Ruby suddenly pulled up and 
 pointed to some confused marks in the sand just 
 where a clump of thick mulga grew on a stoney 
 rise north of the track. The marks meant nothing
 
 90 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 at all to Tynan, but his companion read them 
 clearly. 
 
 "Tom fall off um horse," she said. 
 
 "What! Fall off his horse! Did it trip?" • 
 
 The girl dismounted and examined the area of 
 pressed sand. 
 
 "Me no think it," she answered. "Tom, he lay 
 down long" time." 
 
 Very willingly did the university-trained man 
 acknowledge the leadership of this child of the 
 bush. She hitched her horse and walked in a 
 big circle round the tracks. 
 
 "Scarry, him 'fraid alright. Him ride back 
 longa camp quick-fella," she announced. "Jack, 
 him no come up. Him walk long way," she waved 
 her hand to indicate that he had gone away and 
 had not molested the fallen man. 
 
 Suddenly a streak of excitement flashed across 
 her expressionless face. "Look!" she cried. 
 "Old man Tom walk longa scrub ;" and she pointed 
 to where a displaced stone or two told her that a 
 man had dragged his body along. 
 
 Following this discovery, Tynan heard, for the 
 first time, the real Australian Coo-ee. Many a 
 time in inside country he had heard whites send 
 out the shrill cry, but he had never thought it 
 possible that the human voice could penetrate 
 so far. 
 
 "Car-r-r-weh !" The call was not loud, yet Ty- 
 nan knew that it was almost as clear at two miles 
 as it was at two yards, whereas on that still after- 
 noon the clear notes could probably be heard still 
 further. 
 
 "Car-r-r-weh I" 
 
 Silence. Then an answering shout came from 
 the scrub, as if a man was waking from sleep or 
 from the numbness of pain. It was not a hundred 
 yards away.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 91 
 
 In his excitement, Tynan forgot all about the 
 horses. There in the wilderness was a white man 
 needing help, and he spurred frantically towards 
 the sound. But his companion, combining the 
 bloods of two races, was wiser. She rounded up 
 the straying horses before she followed.
 
 92 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 Bush Surgery. 
 
 Ruby had correctly interpreted the tracks. 
 Tom and the black boy had come across the tracks 
 of a small mob of cattle about the middle of the 
 previous afternoon. These had led them to the 
 freshly-killed bullock. 
 
 Cattle-killing in the bush is the crime of crimes. 
 Many thousands of pounds of public money are 
 spent yearly in sending the police on fruitless 
 errands after such delinquents. It may take 
 weeks or months before the news reaches the 
 police camp, and the blacks are away in their 
 desert fastnesses long before the slow arm of the 
 law is stretched out. Even if a cattle-killing nig- 
 ger is captured, his trial is delayed by a long jour- 
 ney to the court, and the sentence is often such 
 as to encourage rather than check wrong-doers: 
 a few months of well-fed idleness, to be finally 
 released with a new blanket and tomahawk. Like 
 children, the tracks understand reward and 
 punishment only when it directly follows the act, 
 so some of the far-out bushmen do not wait for 
 the law. 
 
 When he had seen the dead bullock and ex- 
 amined the tracks, Tom had loosened his revol- 
 ver in its holster and had followed. The recent 
 tracks had led him, as they did Ruby and Tynan, 
 to where a thick clump of mulga grew upon a 
 stoney rise. Here he had drawn rein, for the 
 tracks had turned into this scrub and were not 
 easy to follow. 
 
 Blacks seldom fight in the open. Theirs is the 
 warfare of the wild cat, the snake, and of all
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 93 
 
 cowards, creeping from ambush in the dark upon 
 an unsuspecting foe. But he fights for his life 
 when he is cornered, and fights to kill. 
 
 Jack had been cornered. Beyond that thicket 
 lay the plains upon which he would have had no 
 chance against a mounted man. Suddenly he 
 had let fly his boomerang with deadly precision 
 at the stockman. 
 
 Quick as thought, Tom had wheeled his horse, 
 but the missile had struck his lower leg as it was 
 pressed against the saddle-flap in turning, and it 
 had snapped like a match. He had fallen, and his 
 frightened horse had galloped off, to turn up at 
 the Marnoola troughs a week later, rid of both 
 saddle and bridle. Tom had risen to his knees 
 in an instant, and had fired into the scrub, but 
 his assailant, with an almost superstitious fear 
 of a wounded and armed white man, had made off 
 through the mulga and away across the plains. 
 Tom had kept his kneeling position of defence for 
 an hour, but gradually the pain had worn him 
 down, and he had lapsed into unconsciousness. In 
 the cool night he had come to, almost delirious 
 with thirst. Scarry had gone, perhaps mistaking 
 unconsciousness for death. No water, no food, no 
 horse, with a broken leg in the untrodden wilder- 
 ness ! Before unconsciousness again claimed him, 
 he had dragged his aching body up into the scrub 
 where the shade was thickest, so that the next 
 day's sun should not hasten his death and destroy 
 the chance of rescue. 
 
 His next memory was of Ruby's call. 
 
 Tynan stooped over his prostrate friend and 
 tried to pour some brandy down his throat, but 
 the injured man's tongue was so swollen with 
 thirst that most of the draft was spilt. Some 
 little, however, did trickle down, and Tom opened 
 his eyes. They were glazed and without intelli- 
 gence, and soon closed again.
 
 94 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 By this time Ruby had come up. 
 
 "Water," said Tynan ; then, reahsing their posi- 
 tion, added, "Hobble the horses, quick." 
 
 The g-irl handed Tynan the bag of water, and 
 soon the packs were off and the horses hobbled. 
 Then for an hour they bathed the unconscious 
 man's lips with a moistened rag till at last some 
 of the precious brandy was forced down his throat. 
 Again his eyes opened, and he tried to speak. At 
 first it was like the rattling of dry pebbles in a 
 can, but after a time, words shaped themselves 
 slowly and indistinctly. But he was still oblivious 
 of his surroundings, for his sentences were dis- 
 jointed and apparently irrelevant. 
 
 "That must be Poison Peak," he muttered ; then, 
 with growing excitement, "and there's that white 
 gum . . . and there . . . My God ! it's the tobacco 
 tin! ... I knew I'd find my way right back . . . 
 some day . . . here's that bit I broke off . . . 
 ounces to the ton . . . that's the talk . . . ounces 
 to the ton." He burst into an hysterical laugh 
 and began all over again, jumbling up the peak 
 and the tree and the tobacco tin in a hopeless 
 manner. 
 
 At all costs the man must be restored to con- 
 sciousness before the broken leg was set, for Ty- 
 nan could not tell what other injuries there were. 
 
 Gradually their efforts were rewarded, and rea- 
 son came back like a dawn. No complications had 
 arisen; the break was a clean one, but the cir- 
 cumstances had been sufficiently terrible to re- 
 duce the tough bushman to delirium. 
 
 He was able to answer questions after a time, 
 and confirmed the story that Ruby had con- 
 structed from the evidence of the tracks. He 
 was even able to take a little food and hot tea. 
 
 "Can you bear me to handle the leg?" asked 
 Tynan at length. 
 
 "Try me," was the answer. "I'm a damned fool
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 95 
 
 to crumple up like this. ... By gad, I'm thirsty ! 
 Got any more in that flask?" 
 
 "Just a nobbier. I'm saving it till you're ready 
 for me to set the leg. . . . Ruby!" he called, "you 
 cut um . . ." but he broke off in a perplexed 
 laugh. "Tom, old man, you ask her; you know the 
 hngo; I don't. I want a couple of good straight 
 boards for splints. There's a tomahawk in the 
 packs." 
 
 Tom laughed at his friend's discomfiture, and 
 gave the necessary order. His recuperative 
 powers were marvellous, and, stimulated by the 
 last drop of brandy, his leg was well and truly 
 set at last. 
 
 "Why, Jim!" he exclaimed, when the job was 
 finished, "you're as good as a doctor, any day," 
 and he tried to smile, but the pain made it rather 
 a forced one. 
 
 "I only brought a couple of canteens of water," 
 said Tynan, after a time. "One of them's empty 
 and the other's not quite full. Do you know of 
 any water near?" 
 
 "There's a spring more than thirty miles west 
 over those hills. But I can ride back to the camp 
 all right if we go slow. What horses did you 
 bring?" 
 
 "I rode Prince, and Ruby rode Stalwart. Marie 
 earned the pack, and we've got two spares. Ginger 
 and Mick . . . that is, if the beggars haven't gone 
 back." 
 
 "Horses no go back," broke in Ruby. "Me hob- 
 ble um short. They sit down alright." 
 
 "Ginger's a quiet old thing," said Tom. "I guess 
 we'd better be moving pretty soon. There's no 
 water between here and camp. By gad, Jim! I 
 do feel a helpless fool with this leg." 
 
 Probably the injured man forgot that moon- 
 light ride before his companion. He was used to 
 taking everything as it came with almost fatalistic
 
 96 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 philosophy, his body being trained to endure hard- 
 ship. He sat stiffly on his horse, and if the pain at 
 times numbed him to a state bordering on uncon- 
 sciousness, he never uttered one word of com- 
 plaint. Tynan gave him an allowance of water 
 every hour or so, and when he reckoned they had 
 travelled about twenty miles, he called a halt, and 
 made his friend a bed of broom-bush, whilst Ruby 
 rode ahead for more water. The exhausted men 
 and horses arrived at Toolooroo Springs about the 
 middle of next morning.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 97 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 ^adaitcha. 
 
 Bill Dookie was away tailing the cattle, and the 
 deserted camp appeared very desolate. Tynan 
 made the sick man as comfortable as possible on 
 a couch of wheat bags stretched between two 
 poles, and then, all claims upon him being over 
 for a time, he began to realise how deadly tired 
 he was. 
 
 He sat down on the ground in the shade of the 
 wurley, and let his exhausted mind drift where 
 it would. Lately, when not occupied with some- 
 thing of absorbing interest, his thoughts had 
 flowed more and more often in the channels that 
 led to Ida Hennessy, and he found them lingering 
 around her now with great longing. Absence had 
 made him forget much that was artificial in the 
 city-bred girl, and remember only the traits that 
 were desirable — how desirable, he had travelled 
 more than a thousand miles to learn. How ridicu- 
 lous now seemed his boast that he would force 
 Ida Hennessy to love him while he watched her 
 development with impersonal, scientific interest. 
 Into the pit of love he had digged for her he had 
 himself fallen. 
 
 The murder of Colonel Bathwick also occurred 
 to his mind, but with no sense of remorse. His 
 absolute and unimpassioned conviction of the jus- 
 tice of his deed robbed its memory of any power 
 to disturb him. His thoughts hovered around the 
 living, not the dead. 
 
 The sound of voices gradually penetrated his 
 reverie. Two people were talking in the wurley. 
 It could not be Ruby, for she was still down at
 
 98 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 the troughs watering the horses. Perhaps Tom 
 was dehrious again. 
 
 Tynan got up and looked into the wurley. 
 Scarry was there with Tom! 
 
 "Where in the devil !"i)egan Tynan, but the 
 
 injured man checked him with a sign. 
 
 At the sound of Tynan's voice, Scarry had 
 flashed round with a startled look, followed by 
 an appealing one to Tom. 
 
 "Scarry say he sorry he no walk all day longa 
 white fellow and Ruby," Tom explained. "He 
 very much 'fraid." 
 
 "Yah!" assented the nigger, eagerly. "Me 
 'fraid Kadaitcha." 
 
 "You keep longa white man. Kadaitcha no 
 jump up. You no more 'fraid?" asked the stock- 
 man. 
 
 "Ner! Kadaitcha he go long way." Scarry 
 waved his hand west. 
 
 "Alright," .said Tom. "You walk. You get 
 tucker by-'m-by." The boy walked away very 
 much relieved. 
 
 Tynan turned to his friend for an explanation. 
 
 "What's all this damned rot, Tom, about Kada- 
 itcha ? That blasted nigger left you in the lurch, 
 and me too." 
 
 "He didn't leave me in the lurch," objected the 
 stockman. "He came back to camp and raised 
 the alarm." 
 
 "Alarm be bio wed! He came back to save his 
 miserable hide." 
 
 "Perhaps. But he saved mine, too." 
 
 "Well, why did he leave me?" 
 
 "Kadaitcha," answered Tom, and seeing that 
 the word conveyed no meaning to his friend, he 
 explained. "You hear that blasted word 'Kada- 
 itcha' all over the place up here. It's the one 
 thing you can't knock out of the silly beggars' 
 heads. You see, Jack was out after me, and got
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 99 
 
 rne. Scarry belongs to the same tribe, and must 
 Mther help the other beggar or clear out. He 
 cleared out. . . . See? Same with you. He saw 
 you part of the way, but as soon as there was a 
 chance you might meet Jack, he cleared again. 
 He couldn't help you against Jack. It all sounds 
 rot to us, but they stick to it always." 
 
 "Yes, but what is Kadaitcha?" 
 
 "Oh — that's a kind of avenging spirit — devil, 
 if you like — who deals out stoush to anyone who 
 breaks the rule. He's supposed to enter into one 
 of the niggers, and the poor b.eggar can't rest 
 till the other chap is avenged." 
 
 "A kind of blood-avenger," suggested Tynan. 
 
 "Yes, something of that kind. It may seem 
 childish to you, but it's better not to run up 
 against it unless you have a bally good reason. 
 And, after all, these niggers are only children." 
 
 "But I don't see why a dashed nigger should 
 be able to do what he likes," said Tynan, indig- 
 nantly, with all the assurance of a new-chum. 
 
 "Perhaps not. On the telegraph line the blacks 
 are more civilised. You could hunt Scarry away 
 and get another boy in his place. But out here 
 you can't do that. We need the beggars too 
 much. It's rotten, but it's a fact. Some of them 
 are beginning to know it, too ; that's the trouble." 
 
 "Why not have more whites?" asked Tynan. 
 "The niggers could then go their own way." 
 
 "Ask the syndicate that owns this run. Ask 
 any station-owner who lives in a swell house in 
 town and supports his wife and family with 
 luxury. But there!" Tom's tone was disgusted. 
 "What's the good of asking them; they've never 
 been up here. They never bother their heads 
 about us. All they cafe about is the bank balance 
 going up and up from the sales of cattle and 
 horses. What do they care if a chap dies out
 
 100 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 here from a nigger's spear, or if he slowly kills 
 himself on damper and salt beef?" 
 
 "What wages does a nigger get ?" asked Ty|ian. 
 
 "They don't often get money. It's no good 4o_ 
 them. Their wages are worked out in tucker an( 
 clothes and tobacco. It'd be worth about a quid 
 a week. Rations and stuff are pretty expensive 
 by the time they get up here." 
 
 "There's some newspaper talk about giving the 
 blacks the same wages as the whites for the same 
 work," suggested the young man. "What d'you 
 say to that, Tom?" 
 
 "It'll be a damned good day for the Territory 
 when it becomes law." 
 
 "How's that?" 
 
 "Why, instead of having one or two whites and 
 the rest niggers, they'll have all whites. No man 
 would employ a nigger if he could get a white 
 man at the same price. . . . God! Jim," said the 
 injured man, drearily, "when you've been thirty 
 years in the bush, as I've been, you'll know that 
 niggers are just animals; and lazy, filthy, thiev- 
 ing animals at that." 
 
 He lay back with a weary sigh. "I wish I could 
 change places now, just for a couple of hours, 
 with those soft-fingered, sentimental old men and 
 women who get laws made to pet and coddle the 
 blacks. It'd be the stone end of the Aboriginals' 
 Protection Society, or whatever the affair calls 
 itself." 
 
 "Look here, old man," said Tynan, "I'm awfully 
 sorry I started you on that subject. You want 
 to rest and not talk to a fool like me." The 
 young man suddenly felt how ignorant he was of 
 the conditions that had seared the heart of his 
 friend. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose I ought to rest," agreed Tom, 
 "though how that mob of cattle are to be taken 
 to Mamoola and then on to Oodnadatta, I don't
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES loi 
 
 know. . . . How long before I could take a mob 
 of cattle on the road, Mr. Doctor?" 
 
 "Cattle be damned!" exclaimed Tynan, indig- 
 nantly. "I'm not the Syndicate. . . . I'm your 
 pal," he added, quietly. 
 
 The injured stockman made no response to his 
 friend's remark. Men of his character have deep 
 emotions, but very seldom show them. Tom was 
 particularly appreciative of his companion's over- 
 tures, for his mind had not been degraded by his 
 rough life. 
 
 As he sank back, his mind must have wan- 
 dered to his fanciful idea of changing place with 
 one of the wealthy members of the Aboriginals' 
 Protection Society, for he smiled and asked, "How 
 would a long, cool swig of beer go, Jim ?"
 
 102 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 A Stockman's Last Stand. 
 
 Dookie came in with the cattle, and yarded them 
 about sundown. The casual way in which he 
 treated Tom's injury contrasted unfavorably in 
 Tynan's mind with the concern he showed over 
 the disposal of the cattle, their transference to 
 Marnoola, and subsequently to Oodnadatta. 
 
 "Close on three hundred," he grunted. "Wild 
 as hares . . . difficult shift them ... lot o' 
 damned calves, too . . . Cutting and branding 
 . . . hell of a job. . . . Short-handed. . . . Truck- 
 ing two hundred. . . . Can't leave station. Im- 
 possible . . . me . . . Tom! How about young 
 Jones ? . . . Offer good price." 
 
 "Sid. Jones, you mean ?" replied Tom. "I heard 
 in Oodnadatta that- he'd left Myoon and gone 
 down to enlist." 
 
 "Then who in the devil . . .?" exclaimed the 
 manager, irritably. 
 
 "I don't reckon there's a spare man on any sta- 
 tion between Charlotte Waters and the Tennant," 
 said Tom. "The war's drained the back-country 
 dry." 
 
 "How in the hell can I manage? Blasted nig- 
 ger's put me . . . devil of a hole." 
 
 "I say, Bill!" Tynan had been trying to re- 
 strain himself, but now blurted out: "I say, Bill, 
 let the cattle go to blazes. Tom's sick." 
 
 "Sick!" exclaimed Bill, in anger. "Sick! Who 
 isn't sick?" He looked into the keen face of the 
 young man, and his anger died. He knew that 
 high words were useless here. 
 
 "Jim!" he said, more earnestly than Tynan had 
 ever heard him speak. "Tom sick ... so am I
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 103 
 
 . . . You'll be sick . . . stay here long . . . 
 damned sick. Everybody. Sick!" The word fas- 
 cinated him and expressed the result of all the 
 years of his strenuous life, and he went over it 
 aloud, as if to himself, in jerky words and phrases. 
 "Lord! . . . how sick . . . years and years . . . 
 forty years. . . . Drought . . . flood . . . hungry 
 lots o' times . . .Close up perish. ... Oh hell! 
 Lot of idlers . . . don't know my name. . . . 
 What have I got?" 
 
 He stood up. "Got these togs . . . this chunk 
 . . . damper." He threw it into the fire. But his 
 eyes lit on Ruby, who was squatting on her 
 haunches drawing blackfellow diagrams in the 
 sand. His expression softened as he muttered 
 quietly : "Got that girl. So help me God ! I have." 
 
 Night came with its cool comfort, and the flies 
 gradually ceased to worry the sweat-damp faces 
 of the men. The yarded cattle bellowed cease- 
 lessly, and the sound of water again made itself 
 heard. The sky was nowhere darker than the 
 blue of wood ashes, for the moon shed a silvery 
 radiance over everything. A saddled horse, ready 
 for any emergency, crunched his bit some little 
 distance from where the manager was sleeping 
 on the ground with Ruby beside him. Tynan had 
 unrolled his swag at the entrance of the wurley, 
 so that he might be near if his sleeping friend 
 needed him. 
 
 Suddenly there was a yell from the yards ! Then 
 the sound of a bucket being beaten with a stick. 
 The bellowing of the cattle instantly rose to a 
 wild crescendo of fear. Cries of pain mingled with 
 the sound of hoofs thundering on soft sand, as 
 the frightened beasts goaded one another in 
 terror. 
 
 Bill Dookie was out of his blankets in an in- 
 stant, and ran to the tree where his horse had 
 been hitched. The animal was not there ! Some-
 
 I04 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 one must have let it go since dark. He paused 
 for a moment. Then the sound of splintering tim- 
 ber increased the pandemonium, and he ran for- 
 ward recklessly. Down went one side of the mulga 
 yard and three hundred frenzied cattle rushed 
 over it. 
 
 The yelling and beating of the bucket still 
 went on. 
 
 Like one possessed, the old stockman ran to 
 stem the tide. Rage blinded him to the useless- 
 ness of his task. He was just in time to gain 
 the lead of the charging beasts, and stood there 
 shouting and cracking his whip, insolent in the 
 face of such terrible danger. He might just as 
 well have tried to check a tornado. The leading 
 cattle could not turn, for the maddened crowd 
 behind forced them on. Bill's eyes blazed with 
 frenzy, and volleys of shouted oaths came from 
 his lips. A man against three hundred charging 
 cattle! It was splendid! Bill Dookie's last stand 
 had a truly epic grandeur. 
 
 A leading bull saw him, and lowered its head. 
 The manager's whip whistled through the air and 
 flicked the animal's eye with fiendish skill, 
 whereat the man broke into a wild laugh. The 
 bull screamed shrilly with pain, and its broad curl- 
 decked forehead caught the man and tossed him 
 high in the air back amongst the mob. Bill's 
 limp and battered body rose above the gleaming 
 horns again and again before it lay quietly on 
 the trampled sand. 
 
 All was over in less than three minutes. Then 
 followed silence, on which, as on a sheet of white 
 paper, the little creatures of night etched the tales 
 of their lives in a pattern of tiny sound. The 
 gentle splash of water was as if the moonlight 
 had found speech, and the peaceful splendour of 
 the night seemed all the greater by contrast with 
 the foregoing strife.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 105 
 
 * 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 A Stockman's Death. 
 
 Tynan had also rushed to the yards, but, in the 
 confusion, he had not seen Bill Dookie. As he 
 was standing looking- at the wreck of broken rails, 
 he was startled by hearing a girl's cry. Running 
 towards the sound, he saw Ruby stooping over 
 the body of her father. 
 
 Bill Dookie was not dead. Tynan could only 
 guess the internal injuries, but he soon found 
 them to be such as to make it impossible for the 
 man to linger more than a few hours. The white 
 man and the girl brought their unconscious com- 
 rade back to camp very gently, and laid him beside 
 Tom Lawson in the wurley. 
 
 There was little that could be done. Now that 
 the young doctor's skill was most needed, it was 
 practically useless. The most illiterate could 
 have done all that he did equally well, and it was 
 merely to make a liberal use of fresh water. 
 
 The cause of the disastrous cattle rush was 
 easily decided. On the side of the yards from 
 which the yelling had come, were native tracks, 
 which the black boys and Ruby readily identified 
 as Jack's. He had evidently been with white men 
 long enough to know how best to wreak his re- 
 venge, and had succeeded this time beyond his 
 wildest hopes. 
 
 Dawn heralded a cloudless day. The hours of 
 heat passed slowly by as if reluctant to give even 
 the satisfaction of their passing. Never had Ty- 
 nan experienced such utter weariness. He had 
 not slept for two nights and had eaten little, and 
 had scarcely energy to combat the flies that filled
 
 io6 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 the wurliey and buzzed round the dying man. It 
 was only the condition of his two helpless com- 
 panions that kept him from collapsing altogether. 
 He fell asleep in the afternoon from sheer ex- 
 haustion, and when he awoke, the westering sun 
 was shining in his eyes through the branches of 
 the shelter. 
 
 Bill Dookie's condition was unaltered. The old 
 bushman was making as valiant a stand against 
 death as he had against the charging cattle. 
 
 Night fell, and Tynan and the three natives 
 made a range of fires around the camp. In spite 
 of the heat, he felt he could not pass another night 
 in darkness, for the moon was now late in rising. 
 Tom's revolver was loaded, and so was his own 
 and the manager's, and he saw that the magazine 
 of the rifle was full. After a meal — if such it 
 could be called — of stale damper, salt beef, and 
 tea, he settled down to his vigil. 
 
 Dookie's breathing became more and more 
 laboured ; he was still unconscious. The night was 
 disturbed with the sound of cattle tramping 
 around the troughs and lowing at the ring of 
 fires. A dingo gave tongue near the ruined yard 
 as it scented human blood on the sand, and a 
 chorus of wails answered it from the distance. 
 It seemed to Tynan as if the desolation was 
 eagerly waiting for the passing of a soul ; another 
 conquest for grim Nature over the invader. 
 
 Presently these accustomed sounds penetrated 
 the dark mind of the dying man, and his eyes 
 opened. 
 
 "Hi! Scarry, Jack. Yard them cattle!" He 
 tried to shout the order, but his voice was weak, 
 and ended in a groan as pain racked him through 
 and through. 
 
 Tynan was at his side instantly ; and Ruby, who 
 had not left him since the previous night, was 
 there also.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 107 
 
 "Alright, Bill," Jim said, soothingly. "I'll see 
 to the cattle. You lie still." 
 
 "Why in the hell . . . can't get up?" he asked, 
 weakly. "What's up? ... Oh, Lord!" 
 
 "You're just a bit bruised, Bill," answered Ty- 
 nan. "You had a fall, you know. You'll be bet- 
 ter in the morning if you lie still." 
 
 "Blasted cattle . . . not in yard," he objected, 
 hearing them wallowing in the mud of the over- 
 flow. "Who in the devil . . . them fires?" 
 
 He was silent for a time, and the firelight shone 
 on his closed eyes and marred face. Then he 
 looked up again, and Tynan saw that a brief period 
 of intelligence had come back to the dying man. 
 
 "Jim," he said, quietly, in a tone quite different 
 from usual. The rough and almost angry manner 
 had left him. It gave Tynan the same pleasant 
 shock of surprise as when a man, who is just go- 
 ing for a swim in the sea, takes off ragged, dirty 
 clothes and reveals a clean, well-knit figure. "Jim, 
 I'm passing in me alley. I remember now. The 
 cattle broke from the yards and I went mad. 
 What frightened them, Jim? Did you find out?" 
 
 "Jack," answered Tynan. 
 
 "I see." There was no bitterness in his tone. 
 "He got home on Tom, too. How is old Tom?" 
 
 "Asleep." 
 
 "So you're alone, Jim? ... I told them down 
 below it was too hot to muster cattle, but they 
 said they must have them, as the market was 
 high. . . . Don't bother about them now, Jim." 
 
 Tynan did not smile. The man was faithful to 
 the last. 
 
 "Right-oh, Bill !" he answered. "I won't bother." 
 
 "I'm passing in me alley," he repeated. "You 
 know well enough I am. . . I've lived up here for 
 over forty years, and I've seen lots of men die. 
 There's a big mob of us gone bush; gone to join 
 the brumbies. The parsons say they'll muster
 
 To8 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 us all some day, and yard and draft us, and put 
 on a brand for heaven or hell. They'd say I was 
 a dead cert for hell, because . . . because I'm a 
 bushman and a bit of a rough cuss, I suppose. 
 But I don't know. . . . Some of those beggars on 
 the salvation racket have been paid by cattle I've 
 sent down, so I guess I'll be alright somehow. 
 
 "Jim, I've tried to ride straight. Maybe I've 
 sometimes come a buster, but I've never let go 
 the reins. 
 
 "You rang true metal in the yards that day, 
 and ... I like you, Jim. 
 
 "No one will want to know I'm dead . . . ex- 
 cept the bosses of the Syndicate, and they don't 
 know my name. . . . I've nothing to leave to any- 
 one but a saddle and bridle and whip. You can 
 have those, Jim. And . . . 
 
 "Jim, I've got one thing I care for more than 
 anything else. You're new to this country, and 
 perhaps you think it queer a white man should 
 take a lubra. But I don't like leaving Ruby." 
 
 He called the girl in a voice that was little 
 louder than a whisper. His sight was failing, or 
 he would have seen that she was close beside him. 
 
 "Ruby," he said, putting his hand, with an 
 effort, on Tynan's arm, "this white fella alien same 
 father longa you. Him alien same old man Bill. 
 See?" 
 
 "Yah. Me know." 
 
 "There a couple of geldings watering at the 
 station that belong to me, Jim. Tom knows them. 
 Send them down with the next town mob and buy 
 Ruby something with the money; clothes and 
 boots and that sort of thing. . . . 
 
 "So long, Jim ... so long, Ruby. Me plenty 
 walk. You stay longa this fella. Me go big fella 
 corroboree." 
 
 And a few minutes afterwards he was gone.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 109 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 A Stockman's Burial. 
 
 A miistering-camp in Central Australia, forty 
 miles from the nearest settlement, an injured 
 man, a new chum, a quarter-caste girl of fifteen, 
 two blacks, and a corpse ; it was upon such a pre- 
 dicament that the sun rose next day. 
 
 Tynan awoke late. The re-action had set in, 
 and after Bill Dookie's death he had fallen asleep 
 as though he would never wake again. Tom had 
 not disturbed him at daylight, but had given 
 orders to the boys to hunt up the hobbled horses, 
 and to Ruby to light the fire and put on the quart- 
 pots. By the time the young man was ready for 
 breakfast, another misfortune had been added to 
 the rest. The horses were nowhere to be found. 
 
 Albert had come across a bunch of hobbles 
 hanging in a mulga, and had learnt from the 
 tracks that the blackfellow who startled the cattle 
 in the yards had first unhobbled the working 
 horses. Probably they were by now well on their 
 way to Marnoola. Jack had planned his revenge 
 well and cunningly. 
 
 "It's just as I told you, Jim," said Tom, when 
 the news was being discussed. "Give me a wild 
 nigger and I'll make something of him. But these 
 beggars that have been spoilt up there at the 
 Mission Station are the cause of most of the mis- 
 chief done in this country. No warragal would 
 have the sense to keep at us like this. He would 
 just have one go and clear out. I wouldn't be at 
 all surprised if we don't hear from Mr. Jack again 
 some day." 
 
 "Well, there's one thing to be done first of all,"
 
 no GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 said Tynan, pointing to the shrouded figure in 
 the wurley, "and I'll start right in at it now." 
 
 The Marnoola plant always included an old 
 shovel for raking the ashes round a damper, and 
 Jim set out with this to select a spot for Bill 
 Dookie's grave. He found a sheltered piece of 
 ground under a sandhill, and set the boys to work, 
 while he went back to attend to some necessary 
 cooking. He knew that, with the horses away, 
 their position was pretty serious, for it would 
 take several days for a boy to walk to the station 
 and return, and a cattle-camp in the middle of 
 summer was no place for a man with a broken 
 leg. The meat supply was running short, and he 
 had to throw away some of the few remaining 
 pieces because they had gone bad. But his mind 
 just then did not seem capable of solving any 
 future problems; he just mixed up a damper with 
 flour and baking powder and water, and boiled the 
 last of the salt meat to satisfy present needs. 
 
 By the time the grave was dug it was noon, 
 and such a noon as dwellers in inside country 
 can hardly imagine. Pitiless heat, with a dust- 
 filled north wind which was not strong enough to 
 blow away the clouds of flies that did not give 
 the men one moment's peace from before dawn 
 till long after sunset. 
 
 Bill's camp-sheet was spread out on the ground 
 with his blanket and pillow — a sugar sack stuffed 
 with horsehair. Then the dead man was lifted on. 
 Blacks and whites were knit together with a 
 strong bond during these sad offices, and though 
 the boys had many a grudge against the late 
 manager, all these were forgotten in the presence 
 of death. 
 
 The dead man was fully dressed, with his leg- 
 gings and boots and even spurs, and his pouch 
 with tobacco and pipe and matches was left on 
 his belt. The blanket was folded over him, and
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES in 
 
 finally the camp-sheet, which was turned over at 
 the ends and fastened with three swag straps. 
 A bundle lay on the sand at last, containing all 
 that was mortal of a man who for forty years 
 had faced death in the bush, laying the founda- 
 tions of the great Australian nation that is yet 
 to be. 
 
 The corpse was carried to the grave and slowly 
 lowered with stirrup leathers, girths, and sur- 
 cingles buckled together. When these were pulled 
 up, Tynan stood bareheaded for a moment. No 
 muttered words spoilt the simple act of re- 
 verence, and suddenly the continuity of all life 
 came to the man as clearly as it had done on that 
 first night at the Springs, since which so much 
 had happened. 
 
 "Good luck. Bill, old man," he said, with a 
 smile. "I'll follow your tracks some day." 
 
 Then the grave was covered in.
 
 112 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 Poison Peak. 
 
 That evening, when the heat of the day was 
 moderating, Tynan shot a bullock, skinned it, and 
 brought as much of the meat as they could use 
 up to the camp. As he was lying at the entrance 
 of his wurley about an hour later, Tom said to 
 him: 
 
 "Jim, old man, you're being broken in rather 
 suddenly." 
 
 "I wish to God I had been broken in a year ago," 
 was the dismal answer. "I'd be some good by 
 now. I told you I was an uneducated chap, Tom." 
 
 "Be damned!" was the indignant answer. "If 
 anyone ought to curse at himself, it's not you. 
 Look at me — no good at all." 
 
 "Oh, you'll be alright in a short time," said 
 Tynan, his self-condemnation disappearing at the 
 chance of cheering his friend. 
 
 "And even if I could get about," continued the 
 injured man, "I couldn't do anything more than 
 you're doing." 
 
 For several minutes they were silent. So closely 
 had the rough' bushman and the cultured scientist 
 come to understand one another since first they 
 met, that they could enjoy one another's company 
 in silence. Presently Tom said : 
 
 "You're being damned good to me, Jim; damned 
 good!" 
 
 Tynan laughed. It is embarrassing for one 
 man to say such a thing to another, particularly 
 in the bush, where such expressions are rare. 
 
 "Oh, I'll send in a bill for professional services, 
 you bet," he answered with a smile.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 113 
 
 "I'll pay alright," answered his friend, quickly. 
 "At least I know where the money is." 
 
 "Gold, mind you, Tom," laughed the other. 
 "None of your bally cheques for me." 
 
 "Yes, gold!" was the answer. "Gold!" He 
 repeated the word as if it were food from which 
 he drew nourishment. 
 
 In a flash, Tynan's mind reverted to the jumble 
 of delirious words he had listened to when he had 
 first found Tom with a broken leg, and, not think- 
 ing what he was saying, he quoted, "Poison Peak 
 ... a white gum . . . tobacco tin." 
 
 Tom stopped him with a shout. "Good God, 
 Jim! You know the place, too? How in the 
 devil . . .?" He was very excited, and Tynan 
 put a restraining hand on his arm. 
 
 "No, old man. I don't know the place. I was 
 only joking. I'm sorry." 
 
 "But Poison Peak and the tobacco tin?" 
 
 "You were delirious when I found you with the 
 broken leg, and j'^ou talked about some peak or 
 other and a white gum and a tin. That's all." 
 
 "What did I say, Jim?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing but what I've told you. I had 
 forgotten all about it till just now." 
 
 The sick man was silent for a few minutes, and 
 then said quietly: 
 
 "That's what I meant by paying your bill, Jim." 
 
 "Tom, old man, don't be a fool. I was only 
 joking about the bill. You know I was." 
 
 "Yes, I know. But I'm not joking about the 
 gold." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Mean, man ! Mean ! I mean I've seen with my 
 own eyes enough gold to ... to make everyone 
 in Adelaide drunk for years. With my own eyes. 
 Do you believe that?" 
 
 "Of course I do," answered his friend, more to 
 calm the excited man than from conviction. "But
 
 114 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 look here, Tom, I'll clear right out and camp on 
 the sand-hill unless you drop that excitement. 
 You can tell me about the gold some other time, 
 can't you?" 
 
 "No, I can't. I want to tell you now. I'll be 
 as quiet as you like if you'll promise to listen. 
 You must listen, man ; you must !" 
 
 "Alright, I'll listen. But, mind you, Tom, if 
 you get excited, I'll clear." 
 
 "You'll be a blasted fool if you do," commented 
 the stockman in an undertone, and forthwith be- 
 gan: 
 
 "It was four years ago — the year that Bill 
 Dookie came here as manager. I had been about 
 three years on Marnoola at the time, but had 
 never been far west. Things were pretty slack 
 here before the Syndicate took it over. Immedi- 
 ately Bill came, he wanted a docking muster of 
 all the cattle, and I went west with two niggers. 
 When we were at this place, some wild blacks 
 came in, and they told me there was water under 
 that range of hills about ten miles on from where 
 you picked me up. Do you remember the hills I 
 mean ?" 
 
 "Yes, low, barren-looking hills — I remember." 
 
 "Well, I understood the blacks to say there was 
 water on this side, so I started out, for a water- 
 hole might mean cattle, and I knew a lot of X.T.X. 
 cattle had gone to blazes west of the springs. 
 
 "I took plenty of flour and tea and sugar in 
 the packs, and enough water for two or three 
 days. Luckily it was winter, and there were 
 patches of green feed about, so I reckoned the 
 horses could stand two dry days. 
 
 "I got to the hills on the afternoon of the 
 second day, but didn't strike any water. There 
 were plenty of cattle tracks about, but it was 
 parakelia country, and, you know, the beggars 
 can go for weeks without a drink if that stuff
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 115 
 
 is at all green. When I couldn't find the water- 
 hole, I thought perhaps the niggers had meant 
 there was water on the other side of the hills, 
 so I pushed on till dark and camped, as I reckoned, 
 about sixty miles from here. That night I was 
 debating whether to turn back. I had a little 
 water left in the canteens for myself and the nig- 
 gers, but I guessed I would perish some, of the 
 horses if I wasn't careful. .1 had short-hobbled 
 the poor, thirsty beggars on a bit of green feed, 
 but they just licked it and nosed round for water. 
 
 "I roused the boys before daylight, and sent 
 them after the horses. In about a quarter of an 
 hour one nigger brought them all back except two, 
 and after a couple of hours the other one returned 
 alone from the north-west. 
 
 " Two-fella horses break um hobbles,' he told 
 me. 
 
 "'Which way walk?' I asked. 
 
 "*Dat way!' He pointed north-west. 'Me see 
 plenty tracks dat way. Me think um water.' 
 
 " 'Water !' I exclaimed. 
 
 " 'Yah !' he answered. 'Big mob cattle all day 
 walk dat way!* 
 
 "Well, I tried it. It was worth the risk. I 
 don't know how the horses did it, but we fol- 
 lowed the tracks of those two horses for more 
 than ten miles. We got down on a plain again, 
 and then into some sandhills. At last the poor, 
 knocked-out beggars we were riding began to get 
 excited, and I noticed several big pads leading 
 into the main one. Sure enough, we found water, 
 and the other two horses were there, too. It was 
 a spring at the comer of a salt lake, something 
 like the springs here, only the lake was bigger. 
 
 "I gave the horses two whole days' spell, then 
 started mustering round, for close on four hundred 
 cattle must have been coming in to water there.
 
 ii6 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 I couldn't handle that mob with only two boys, 
 but I wanted to get an idea of how many were 
 there, so that I could come back with more 
 tucker and a bigger party. I also pushed out 
 west to a high peak I saw in the distance. 
 
 "God! Jim, I've always been a fool for new 
 country. It was that wanting-to-know-what-was- 
 ovei:-there sort of spirit which first sent me up 
 north here. I had no earthly reason for going 
 there, for all cattle tracks stopped twenty miles 
 west of that water, but I reached that peak, 
 though I reckon it was close on eighty miles away. 
 I found water there, too ; good, permanent water." 
 
 He paused for a moment, and then went on : 
 
 "I found gold there, too, Jim. When I was a 
 young chap, I did a bit of prospecting, so when I 
 found alluvial traces in the bed of a little mulga 
 creek there, I followed it up. There's a white 
 gum where the creek turns a bit, and I wedged a 
 tobacco tin in the fork of an old mulga just by 
 the reef. 
 
 "I think I must have gone mad for a bit, but as 
 true as I'm sitting here, Jim, I saw gold sticking 
 out on each side of a little rift just opposite that 
 tobacco tin. It must be like a jeweller's shop 
 window inside that rock." 
 
 "Did you bring away any samples?" 
 
 "No. I didn"t want to do anything that would 
 make the station chaps suspicious. I had cut 
 things a bit fine already, and when two of my 
 horses were poisoned, I just looked at that peak 
 and all around it so hard that I could never forget 
 it, and cleared right out. I named the place 
 Poison Peak after the two horses. 
 
 "I got back to the salt lake alright and mus- 
 tered about two hundred head of cattle. I reckoned 
 I could handle that lot. But I was wrong. I only 
 yarded fifty-three at this yard here ;. the others
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 117 
 
 went to blazes. You see, I had seventy dry miles 
 to travel, and I daren't take more than two and a 
 half days. The cattle were alright for tucker; 
 there was parakelia all the way. But I've never 
 handled a wilder mob in all my life. I lost another 
 horse — clean knocked out with galloping- and no 
 water — and a fourth was so done when she got in, 
 that she died next day." 
 
 "Did you go west again ?" 
 
 "Never till three days ago." 
 
 "Why in the hell didn't you?" 
 
 "Well, Bill was wild at my losing those four 
 horses. We were short of workers at the time, 
 and he needed all he could get for mustering the 
 rest of the run. The cattle I brought in were the 
 very devil to yard, and precious little good when 
 yarded — wild as blessed brumbies. So he decided 
 to leave that outside country till some other time." 
 
 "But why didn't vou go out there yourself? 
 Surely . . " 
 
 "How? On foot?" broke in Tom. 
 
 "No. With horses or camels and rations for six 
 months. Good heavens, man — " 
 
 Tom laughed a little bitterly. "A man gets 
 a quid a week up here, Jim, or thirty bob, if he's 
 lucky. When he does manage to scrape a cheque 
 together, there's only one way of spending it, only 
 one blessed way : and that's in forgetting all about 
 how it was earned." 
 
 "You mean in a spree?" 
 
 "Yes. And that's where I am, Jim, and always 
 shall be." 
 
 "But why didn't you tell a chap that had money, 
 and go shares?" 
 
 "Because I'd never get my whack, Jim," was the 
 immediate answer, which displayed a suspicion of 
 business methods which Tom shared with most 
 of his fellow bushmen. "They'd fool me right and
 
 ii8 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 left. No, I found that gold, and no one but me's 
 going" to get it. God! Jim, the inside of that 
 rock must be like a jeweller's window/' he 
 repeated. 
 
 "But you've told me, Tom." 
 
 "Yes. But I know you're straight. Perhaps 
 some day we'll go out west together." 
 
 Fate was not entirely against "~1;he new chum 
 and his helpless companion, for on the third day 
 after the manager's death, two working horses 
 came to water at the springs in daylight. They 
 were old camp horses, and had not made back to 
 Marnoola, though for the first two days they had 
 not come to the troughs till after sunset. 
 
 This solved the question of moving Tom, and 
 Tynan at once sent the two black-boys to the 
 station on foot for fresh horses, while the three 
 others packed up also and started on the home- 
 ward track.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 119 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 Golden Buckles. 
 
 - Those who have paid flying visits to back- 
 -country cattle stations, give very different accounts 
 of them. Some say that the life is an idle one, and 
 they wonder why station hands do not die of 
 ennui; others express the opinion that stockmen 
 lead a most strenuous existence in very primitive 
 surroundings. Both cannot be right. 
 
 At times on a station, a whole week may go by 
 when there is little else to do but water the stock, 
 grease the tackling and hobbles, and do odd jobs. 
 A chance visitor at such times decides that the 
 hardship of station life has been very much 
 exaggerated. Following such a lull may come a 
 month when, from dawn till dark, every white man 
 and nigger on the place is working at top speed. 
 Stations farthest from the track are more subject 
 to these variations than those near the railway, 
 for the latter can send down four or five mobs of 
 stock in the year, and thus keep the station 
 machinery in constant motion, whereas the former 
 must concentrate on one big town mob each year, 
 and it may be as long as three months on the 
 road. 
 
 Between these extremes came Marnoola, the 
 station with the X.T.X. brand. 
 
 Immediately on his arrival back at the station, 
 Tynan despatched a warragal nigger from the 
 black's camp, to The Cliff telephone station, a 
 hundred miles away, with two telegrams. One 
 was to the Syndicate directors in Adelaide, and 
 the other to Kate's Well, the nearest police camp. 
 At Tom's request he put his name to both tele-
 
 I20 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 grams for, as the former expressed it, "I've got 
 no education to answer all their flaming ques- 
 tions." 
 
 The nigger waited at The Cliff for the ansv/ers. 
 The one from the town was characteristic. "Still 
 waiting for the cattle. Wire when likely to reach 
 Oodnadatta, Impossible replace manager imme- 
 diately. Carry on as usual." 
 
 The one from Kate's Well was equally unsatis- 
 factory: "Macintosh gone east on case. Will 
 attend your message later." 
 
 Tom was very much better by the time these 
 messages were received. Tynan and he had taken 
 up their quarters at Government. House with 
 Ruby, and, lying in the shade of two pepper-trees, 
 the injured stockman bade fair to make a quick 
 recovery. He did not take to the life of idleness 
 kindly, however. 
 
 "There's absolutely nothing for you to do," said 
 Tynan, in ansv/er to one of his protests. "The 
 mills are working good-0. You stay where you 
 are." 
 
 "But I'm pointing on you, Jim," he objected. 
 Tynan was wearing overalls, and had just come 
 up from greasing the mills, and from a long morn- 
 ing mending some troughs which the horses had 
 broken. 
 
 "You're not," was the answer. "But you'd be a 
 big nuisance if you used that leg before I give you 
 leave." 
 
 "Well then, I'm pointing on the Syndicate." 
 
 "My son," said Tynan, with a gravity that was 
 not wholly mockery, "if you were supported in 
 affluence for the rest of your life — cool beer and 
 all that — you would not be pointing on the Syndi- 
 cate, Look at this telegram. 'Still waiting for 
 cattle.' Indeed! And they know Bill Dookie's 
 dead, and you're knocked up." 
 
 "What do we count?" asked Tom bitterly, "Who
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 121 
 
 is Bill Dookie ? Not half as important as a mob of 
 cattle." 
 
 "But surely ..." 
 
 "Jim, Jim, old man. Don't tear your sRirt! If 
 you stay in this country you'll see that a man's 
 life is only studied if it'll increase the price of 
 cattle in the auction yards." 
 
 Tynan wanted to change the subject and turned 
 to the other telegram. 
 
 "Our luck's right out," he said. "When do you 
 reckon Macintosh will come along?" 
 
 "Ask me another. If he catches any nigger 
 out east he'll have to take him up to Port Darwin. 
 If Ransome, the trooper, comes out here, he can't 
 possibly start awav till Mac gets back." 
 
 "And by that time . . ." 
 
 "Jack will have gone to blazes." 
 
 Tynan made no immediate answer to the two 
 telegrams, but, by the six-weekly mail, he wrote 
 a full description of the cattle-killing, of the attack 
 on Tom Lawson, and of Dookie's death, to Kate's 
 Well, and added, in his letter to the Syndicate, 
 a statement of the utter impossibility of carrying 
 out a muster till Tom's leg was properly mended. 
 
 Meanwhile the routine life of the station went 
 on and summer cooled to autumn. 
 
 More and more often did Tynan's thoughts 
 turn to the girl in Melbourne. His months in the 
 bush had simplified him a great deal. To face 
 untouched nature is to subject oneself to a refin- 
 ing process which it is impossible to resist. No 
 pretence can long exist under such circumstances : 
 vices stand out in vivid colors, and heroism and 
 comradeship become as rugged as the weather- 
 tanned faces of the men who practise them. In 
 Melbourne, the young doctor had worn many of 
 the shams from which he thought himself 
 free, but in his case they were largely intellectual.
 
 122 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 But these were slipping away, and he now acknow- 
 ledged that he loved Ida Hennessy. Had it been 
 j^pssible to estimate the pride of young Dr. Byrne 
 — and it was perhaps his strongest trait — some 
 idea of his love for this girl could be gained, for 
 he overcame it sufficiently to give her a chance 
 of finding out where he was. 
 
 Before his hurried departure, he had taken 
 from his bridle the buckles bearing his mother's 
 crest, and they were amongst his few possessions 
 at Mamoola. How vividly did they recall the 
 pleasant rides with the lady of his choice, and 
 he knew that, even if she had ceased to have any 
 regard for him, she could not fail to recognise 
 the buckles. 
 
 So he made a bridle and used the golden buckles, 
 and sent it down by mail to Ida Hennessy. He 
 put all the skill he could command into the work, 
 and though he was not vised to the needles and 
 the awl, he allowed no false stitch or crooked line. 
 He stitched with fine copper wire across the fore- 
 head band the station's brand, X.T.X. 
 
 "That ought to be hint enough," he thought. 
 "If she wants to, she can easily find out what 
 
 station has the X.T.X. brand. Otherwise " 
 
 He did not finish the thought. 
 
 Tynan did not forget Bill Dookie's last charge 
 to him. Every evening he devoted a couple of 
 hours to teaching Ruby. Also, during the day, 
 the two friends talked as much as possible to the 
 girl, not in the pidgin-English used with black- 
 fellows, but in simple sentences about everyday 
 affairs. 
 
 His self-imposed task was by no means easy, 
 for her black parentage was an almost impass- 
 able barrier, behind which her small intelligence 
 seemed to hide. The names of concrete things 
 were readily learnt, being merely an association 
 of sound with shape; the days of the week fol-
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 123 
 
 lowed, and questions and answers about what she 
 had done and seen. But any abstract considera^ 
 tion left her with a vacant expression, and she 
 often lapsed back into the native, "Me can't, know 
 um," beyond which it seemed hopeless to try to 
 go. 
 
 When at last Tynan had taught her the four 
 compass points, and she could tell from which 
 direction the wind came, and whether the Dulana 
 gate into the horse paddock was north or south 
 of the station, he felt as if he had passed one 
 milestone on the long road of her education.
 
 124 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 , CHAPTER XXIIL 
 Bad Petrol. 
 
 Routine did not remain uninterrupted. As 
 long as there was sufficient wind and nothing 
 went wrong with the mills, the tanks could be 
 filled each day, and the hundreds of horses that 
 came in to the Marnoola troughs could be 
 watered. But once let the wind drop for a few 
 hours, and the stock were entirely dependent on 
 the little petrol engine. Tynan was used to deli- 
 cate machinery kept scrupulously clean, and the 
 sight of this engine out in the open at the head 
 of the well, with only a piece of canvas to pro- 
 tect it, was not comforting; but Tom laughingly 
 assured him that the more the sand blew into 
 the bearings, the more the engine seemed to like 
 it, and that it had never given the station any 
 trouble whatever. 
 
 But when Tynan returned one day from a trip 
 to The Cliff for mail, Tom met him with a very 
 long face. The mills had been still for two days, 
 the tanks were nearly empty, and there were 
 over two hundred horses waiting for a drink, and 
 — to crown it all — "that blasted engine's jibbed." 
 
 Tynan had broken camp that morning at four, 
 and had ridden hard, but the urgent need gave 
 him new strength. He quickly confirmed his 
 companion's report. A windless sky, tanks gap- 
 ing wide and deep, and an engine that had "jib- 
 bed." He made a few tests, and found that every- 
 thing seemed in good order. 
 
 "She seems alright, Tom," he said. "I'll give 
 her another try." 
 
 In vain. He turned on the petrol and worked
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 125 
 
 the handle till he was red in the face. Nothing 
 happened ; not the faintest explosion. 
 
 "I'll take her to pieces and clean her," he said; 
 and, with leggings and spurs still on, he proceeded 
 to his task. When Tom saw the parts of the en- 
 gine strewn on a clean piece of canvas, he be- 
 came alarmed, for he regarded machinery with 
 a kind of superstition. 
 
 "Will you be able to put her together again, 
 Jim?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, that'll be easy enough," said Tynan. "But 
 the bally thing doesn't seem dirty. These valves 
 certainly don't require grinding." 
 
 He had drained the petrol tank, and was using 
 the spirit for his work, when Tom remarked: 
 "That's the new petrol you're using. I opened a 
 fresh tin a couple of days ago. They sent it up 
 in five-gallon oil drums. It's supposed to be safer 
 on the camels that way." 
 
 Tynan said, "Yes," but had really paid no at- 
 tention to Tom's remark, for he was busy insert- 
 ing the piston at the time, and was having some 
 difficulty with the rings. 
 
 In a couple of hours the engine was reassembled 
 and connected with the pump. 
 
 "Now for some petrol," said Tynan, reaching 
 for a bottle that was standing near. 
 
 A quick turn, an explosion, then another. He 
 forced the speed lever over, and the engine 
 picked up faultlessly. 
 
 "Gad! she's going," sighed Tom, with great re- 
 lief, as he watched the water being jerked out of 
 the pipe into the empty tank. "Jim, old man, I 
 was more cut up about this than when my leg 
 was broken. It's a good job you came back when 
 you did. In another day I'd have had to shift a 
 mob of thirsty horses forty miles. I'd have lost 
 no end of mares and foals." 
 
 The petrol gave out towards the middle of the
 
 126 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 afternoon, and Tynan filled the tank with the new 
 supply. He cranked up, but nothing happened. 
 Again; still no result. The engine seemed to be 
 dead. For half an hour he tried, made the tests, 
 then gave it up and went to the kitchen for a cup 
 of tea. 
 
 "I'm beaten, Tom," he said. "We'd better get 
 relays of niggers to draw water in buckets. That's 
 all we can do. The whip's gone absolutely bung, 
 too." 
 
 "I wish we had a windlass," said Tom. 
 
 For a quarter of an hour they sat and smoked. 
 Tynan went over the parts mentally one by one, 
 but could find nothing amiss. "She'd have gone 
 just as well if I'd put water in the petrol tank," 
 he said. "There was no mixture. The spark's 
 alright." 
 
 "What d'you mean by no mixture, Jim?" asked 
 Tom. 
 
 His friend explained, and was more than ever 
 convinced that no petrol vapour had passed into 
 the cylinder at all. 
 
 "Did you say you opened a new tin of petrol ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Yes. It came in an oil drum. They put it in 
 at The Cliff. It's safer." 
 
 "But why in the hell did it work so well this 
 morning?" 
 
 "What d'you mean?" 
 
 "Why, I mean that the petrol must be at fault. 
 I don't see any other solution. Though why it 
 acted this morning beats me." 
 
 Suddenly Tom sprang to his feet. "It didn't," 
 he exclaimed, excitedly. "You used some of the 
 old petrol that was in a bottle, didn't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, and I drained the other out." Tynan 
 was also on his feet. The fate of five hundred 
 horses might depend upon their finding the cause 
 of the failure of the engine.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 127 
 
 . "Are you sure it was the old stuff I used ?" 
 "Dead sure. I left it in that bottle for clean- 
 ing the engine. I thought the new petrol sure 
 to be better." 
 
 "Is it all gone?" 
 
 "Yes. I emptied the tin right out." 
 "That's a dashed pity. If we had some, we 
 could test it." 
 
 "I've got half a bottle I used to clean my town 
 togs last time I came up." 
 
 "Let's have it, Tom. Quick as you like." 
 Tynan put two spoons on the sand in a sheltered 
 spot, and filled one with the old petrol from Tom's 
 bottle and the other with what was then in the 
 engine. He lit a match and held it gradually 
 closer to the first. When the flame was about an 
 inch and a half away, the fumes caught fire and 
 the spirit flamed violently and left a clean spoon. 
 To the second the flame needed to be held very close 
 and combustion was comparatively quiet and the 
 spoon had oil marks on it when the experiment 
 was over. 
 
 "Well ?" asked Tom, hardly understanding what 
 it was all about. 
 
 "The new petrol has a flash-point too low for 
 our purpose. It is not much better than kerosene. 
 It was probably put into an oily drum and is no 
 good to us." 
 
 "What had we better do?" 
 
 "Test this little drop in the engine to make 
 absolutely sure, and then send in like mad to 
 The Cliff for some good petrol." 
 
 The test proved that the engine was in good 
 order, for it ran for a time till it had used up the 
 half bottle of petrol, but refused to go when the 
 new spirit was put in.
 
 128 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Scarry was despatched post haste to The Cliff 
 with a spare riding horse and one carrying a pack, 
 and was told to bring back two canteens of good 
 petrol. 
 
 All hands were then put on the two wells, with 
 ropes and buckets to keep the troughs full, while 
 Tom stood at the gate and admitted the thirsty 
 horses in batches of about fifty. It was. terribly 
 slow v/ork, for blacks soon tire, but at all costs 
 those horses must be watered. By dint of many 
 brews of tea and pipes of tobacco and the biggest 
 tuck-out at dinner some of them had ever had, 
 the work continued till dark. 
 
 Fortunately the weather was cool, so that be- 
 fore the last bucket of the day was drawn up, 
 all horses that had come in had had a drink and 
 had gone to the bush again. 
 
 But the tanks were still empty. Side by side, 
 Tom and Jim watched the sun set in a cloudless 
 sky. The red turned to gold, and it again to 
 orange, and then to yellow, which stained the 
 horizon with its pure colour half-way round to 
 the east. 
 
 "Wind to-morrow, Jim," said the stockman. 
 "Yellow sky." 
 
 "I hope you're right," was the answer. 
 
 Station breakfast was at 5.30, and in case Tom's 
 forecast was wrong, all hands were again at the 
 buckets before six. The water-paddock gates had 
 been shut at night, and a big mob of horses were 
 waiting for a drink. 
 
 "Full-O!" shouted Tynan when one line of 
 troughs was full, and at once his friend swung 
 open the big gate and admitted a few horses. 
 
 Tynan was busy urging the boys to keep pace 
 with the diinking horses, when he heard shouts 
 from the gate.
 
 •GOLDEN BUCKLES 129 
 
 "She's going, Jim! She's going! Oh, my 
 grandmother, the bally thing's going!" 
 
 "What's wrong?" called Tynan, jumping over 
 the troughs and running to the gate. 
 
 "Look! Look! you blind bat!" shouted Tom, 
 waving his arms in the direction of the mill and 
 behaving like a maniac. 
 
 The other man looked. The sails were begin- 
 ning to move. Slowly at first, then faster, till, in 
 a couple of minutes, a stream of water gushed 
 into the empty tank. 
 
 "God! What a beautiful sound!" said Tom. 
 
 The blacks continued to haul up water for 
 another hour, but the wind was steady. The 
 X.T.X. horses were saved. 
 
 Before things at Mamoola were again on a 
 normal footing, a tragedy occurred on the track 
 from The Cliff. 
 
 Scarry was returning with the petrol, and 
 camped on the last night in a clump of mulga. 
 Whether a sharp bough pierced one of the can- 
 teens, or whether the noz^e came unscrewed, 
 will never be known, but one of the vessels evi- 
 dently began to leak. The black boy had pulled 
 up for the night, hobbled the two saddle-horses, 
 and had lifted off one of the canteens and put it 
 under a tree out of the way. As he walked round 
 to the other side of the pack-horse for the other 
 canteen, he struck a match to light his pipe. In- 
 stantly there was a flash and an explosion. By 
 a miracle the nigger jumped back and was not 
 touched. But the horse! Petrol drenched it in 
 flame from head to tail. It bolted wildly through 
 the scrub, blind, deaf, and maddened with pain, 
 squealing and dashing itself against trees, rolling 
 in the sand, rearing, plunging, and bucking in 
 vain efforts to get rid of its terrible burden.
 
 I30 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 It was a very scared black-boy who arrived at 
 the station next day empty-handed. He had left 
 the other canteen at the camping-place, for pack- 
 saddle, gear, and horse had gone up in one roar- 
 ing, shrieking mass of flame.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 131 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 A Child is Bom. 
 
 In the course of time, two letters arrived from 
 the Two Continents Meat Syndicate. The first 
 was in confirmation of the telegram — an indignant 
 enquiry why the cattle had not been sent. No 
 notice was taken of the death of the late manager 
 or Tom's injury, save the remark that the hitch 
 had occurred at a very unfortunate time, as it 
 was impossible to find a man to take Dookie's 
 place. A hope was also expressed that Lawson 
 would soon be able to attend to his duties. 
 
 The second — in answer to Tynan's — was more 
 mild. His letter was so evidently that of an edu- 
 cated man, and he had been particular to point 
 out that the accidents had occurred whilst carry- 
 ing out the Syndicate's orders with a short- 
 handed staff. The directors were used to dealing 
 with men who expressed themselves but poorly, 
 and they bullied them accordingly, so this letter 
 came as a great surprise. They expressed regret 
 that they had evidently misunderstood the serious 
 nature of the case, mentioned the unsatisfactory 
 nature of telegraphic communications, and their 
 satisfaction that such a man as Tynan had taken 
 the affair in hand. Quite at the end, they asked 
 that, if possible, a mob of either cattle or horses 
 should be sent down, and volunteered the infor- 
 mation that they were already in touch with a 
 new manager. 
 
 Tynan laughed as he handed this letter to his 
 friend. 
 
 "Mild, that," he remarked. 
 
 "Oh," said Tom, "if they can't get what they
 
 1^2 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 want in one way, they try another. But, in any 
 case, old man, the end's the same." 
 
 "What end?" 
 
 "Wealth for the man who doesn't do the work, 
 
 and when the chap who does the work is worn 
 
 out — the Old Age Pension from the Government." 
 
 ."Well, how about a mob of horses? Will it 
 
 need a muster?" 
 
 "Oh, no. About five hundred horses water here, 
 and we can trap them at the gate." 
 
 Accordingly, the gate into the water-paddock 
 was closed night after night, and opened again 
 in the mornings to admit the waiting horses. 
 After they had had a drink, they were driven 
 up to the yards and drafted, those suitable for 
 sending to town running into one yard, the foals 
 into another, and the horses that were to be al- 
 lowed to go bush again, into a third. 
 
 In three or four days all the horses watering 
 at Marnoola had been through the yards, and a 
 mob of one hundred and fifty were being tailed 
 by Scarry and Albert preparatory to the journey 
 down to Oodnadatta. 
 
 Working horses were also mustered, and a few 
 colts broken-in, before everything was ready for 
 the road. The pack gear had been brought from 
 the Springs, and new water-bags and green-hide 
 hobbles made, and, finally, one night at tea, Tom 
 announced that he would start away at daylight 
 next day. 
 
 "I'll wire to the ofiice from The Cliffs. That'll 
 give them plenty of time." 
 
 Breakfast was over before dawn next day, the 
 hobbled workers brought in and watered, and the 
 town mob started in charge of Tom and two 
 blacks, Scarry and Albert. It was a very short- 
 handed plant, but nothing else could be done. 
 
 The third boy, Big Dick, waited until the mid-
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 133 
 
 die of the morning, and then followed with the 
 packs and spare horses. 
 
 Tynkn watched the plant of twenty horses dis- 
 appear over the sand-hill, then turned back to the 
 station. He was alone with Ruby, the native cook, 
 and an old warragal who chopped wood and did 
 odd jobs. 
 
 Those who, in city comfort, write the biogra- 
 phies of great men, often remark that greatness 
 is developed in solitude, and in support of their 
 statement instance that many of those who have 
 given to the world something of enduring worth 
 have spent some part of their lives away from 
 their fellows, and say that it is to these years of 
 formative solitude that their greatness is attri- 
 butable. That may be so. 
 
 The time of self-enforced banishment was often 
 very wearisome to Tynan. He had never con- 
 sented to the false standards of city life, and in 
 the company of bushmen, who judged their fel- 
 lows on the basis of manhood, he had be^n im- 
 mediately at home. As he told Tom, he needed 
 to learn the very A B C of bush language, but 
 he had always had the voice to speak it, the voice 
 of sincerity. 
 
 But he was very lonely. Tom and he were pals, 
 but there were many notes in his nature which 
 found no echo in that of the simple-hearted stock- 
 man; and now even Tom had gone away. So he 
 threw himself more strenuously into the task of 
 teaching Ruby. It was a charge laid on him by 
 a dying man. He had no illusions as to the ulti- 
 mate destination of the girl: the black's camp; 
 but he continued her education to keep his mind 
 from brooding upon many things, chief of which 
 was a girl in Melbourne. 
 
 At first he had been actuated by a hope that 
 if once Ruby could read and write, she might ob- 
 tain a situation down country away from her
 
 134 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 people, and manage to make good there, but even 
 before Tom left for Oodnadatta, he had given up 
 that hope. 
 
 Ruby was going to have a child. 
 
 Tom had been gone from Marnoola for several 
 weeks, when he put the horses on camp one night 
 near Red Creek, and strolled up to the store in 
 the morning. 
 
 The settlement consisted of a galvanised iron 
 store with an old stone barn attached, and a house 
 a few yards away, where lived Bob Nugent and 
 his wife. These, with the inevitable wood pile 
 and yards, were set at one corner of a vast stoney 
 plain across which ran the overland telegraph line 
 from Adelaide to Port Darwin. No traveller ever 
 passed north or south without calling there, and 
 beside drapery, grocery, and liquor, it was possible 
 to luxuriate in a meal cooked by Bob Nugent's 
 wife, and to hear all the scandal of Oodnadatta 
 and the Territory. 
 
 Tom telephoned his wire to the Syndicate, tell- 
 ing when the horses would arrive at Oodnadatta, 
 and when he had transacted a few items of busi- 
 ness, he leaned against the counter and drank 
 beer. Tom was a man of great self-control. 
 Periodically he drew his cheque and went on the 
 spree, deliberately, and entertained no regrets 
 when he had spent his money in the way he had 
 planned. But no man could make him drink to 
 excess at other times. So, for the sake of com- 
 pany, he drank beer. 
 
 He gave the news of Marnoola and such as he 
 had picked up on the road, and in return heard 
 of the doings in Oodnadatta and the south. 
 
 Presently Bob Nugent said: "I bet you two 
 drinks I've got later news of Marnoola than you 
 have." 
 
 "Done," said Tom. "What is it?" 
 
 "Tynan's lubra's got a kid."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 135 
 
 "Ruby?" 
 
 "Yes, that's the name." 
 
 "Holy sailor!" exclaimed Tom, in amazement. 
 
 "Didn't you know it was coming?" asked Bob. 
 
 "Never a word. Jim's a close un alright. But 
 how did you hear?" 
 
 "Oh, the Afghan — old Abul Mohammed, you 
 know — took the loading out to Mamoola. It's a 
 wonder you didn't pass him." 
 
 "I came round by Tunarla Soak. It's better 
 feed there than on the straight road. So old Abul 
 brought the news. Eh?" 
 
 "Yes. He told Dick at The Cliff, and he tele- 
 phoned it to me." 
 
 "Well, I'm damned! It's my shout, anyway. 
 We'll drink to the health of Mr. and Mrs. Tynan 
 and family."
 
 136 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 PART IIL 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Dukeland's Sale Yards. 
 
 Ida Hennessy received the bridle. 
 
 Grief was probably the most genuine emotion 
 she had ever experienced ; not her sentiments re- 
 garding the tragic death of Colonel Bathwick, for 
 these were on a par with her regard for him: 
 mere reflections of those about h6r. His death 
 affected her no deeper than a concern to fail in 
 none of the outward signs of mourning, and, while 
 the sudden light of publicity startled her a little 
 at first, she was more than compensated by hav- 
 ing her photograph in the society papers, and by 
 being referred to in them as "pretty Miss Hen- 
 nessy, the charming daughter of . . ." 
 
 But grief at the loss of the man who had gone 
 away came as slowly and unconsciously as the 
 unfolding of a flower. It was as gentle as mist, 
 but it wrapped her round and penetrated to those 
 inner recesses where the seed of love lay covered 
 over by the parched ground of convention. And 
 the little seed quickened and began to send out 
 roots. 
 
 This went on for months without influencing 
 her mind. That organ — so unnecessary to one 
 of her upbringing — was wholly absorbed in 
 fashionable war charities, gossip, dress, and or- 
 thodox gush about Art, with a big "A," for the
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 137 
 
 Hennessy's treated Art as they did God — with 
 patronage. So spring came to her heart before 
 she was aware of it; and that which made her 
 aware was the bridle. 
 
 The parcel containing it had been brought up 
 on a breakfast tray to her bedroom, together with 
 other mail. It had claimed her attention first, 
 and the strands of dark leather lay coiled on the 
 white bedclothes long* after the toast and coffee 
 had grown cold. She did not know that it was 
 Tynan's own work. Her life was so surrounded 
 with veneer that she failed to recognise the touch 
 of a man's hand. But the buckles! There was 
 no doubt about the sender of these. 
 
 What she did not know at the time, she had 
 made it her business to learn since: that her 
 friend had saved her from a life that is worse 
 than death, and as she picked up the golden 
 buckles and looked at the old crest, such a rush 
 of love came up from her heart that it broke 
 down all barriers. She covered the bridle with 
 kisses. 
 
 It was vain to search the wrapper for a note; 
 none was there. She looked at the post mark: 
 Charlotte Waters. It was only a name to her, 
 but it made her glad to know that her lover was 
 still in Australia. 
 
 Then her eye caught the lettering on the fore- 
 head-band — X.T.X. She remembered it was the 
 brand of his horse, the one she had so often rid- 
 den, and its presence on the bridle told her that 
 he too was thinking of those rides. It was some 
 time before it came back to her that Dr. Byrne 
 had said that his horse came from the Northern 
 Territory, and had pointed to the X.T.X. to con- 
 fiiTn his statement. Perhaps all Territory horses 
 were thus marked. 
 
 Gradually she reasoned it out. There was a 
 station in the Territory from which Jim's horse
 
 138 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 had come, and by some strange coincidence he 
 was now on that station. She knew at last why 
 he had taken this indirect way of telhng her his 
 whereabouts. Their last meeting made any clear 
 message impossible, and this hint — capable of be- 
 ing understood by her alone — left her open to act 
 or not, as she thought fit. 
 
 That afternoon she paid a visit to her saddler, 
 and whilst choosing one or two things, casually 
 asked him about brands. There was one on a 
 horse she had seen of which she would like to 
 know the origin. It really didn't matter, but she 
 just thought' that, as she was calling . . . 
 
 The saddler told her that her best plan would 
 be to go to a stock and station agent — Dalgety 
 and do., for instance — and find out what station 
 used the brand she had in mind. But couldn't he 
 be of service to her? 
 
 She thanked him. "Oh, no. It really isn't worth 
 bothering about." The secret was too precious 
 to entrust to another. 
 
 Trifling as was the act, when Ida Hennessy 
 came out of Dalgety' s office with the name and 
 address of the X.T.X. Station on a slip of paper 
 in her little gold purse, a big step had been taken 
 towards her liberation. She was accustomed to 
 having everything done for her, and considered 
 "helpless" and "ladylike" to be synonymous terms. 
 Taking her affairs into her own hands was, there- 
 fore, a signal of revolt. 
 
 In a few days, an answer came to a letter she 
 had written to Adelaide. 
 
 "Messrs. Larcher Brothers acknowledge the 
 favour of the receipt of Miss Hennessy's en- 
 quiry," it ran. "They beg to state that they are 
 the agents for the Two Continents Meat Syndi- 
 cate, one of whose stations is Marnoola, in the 
 Northern Territory. A sale of Marnoola horses 
 is to take place at Dukeland's Yards on Tuesday
 
 GOXDEN BUCKLES 139 
 
 next, the 18th inst., when they will be pleased 
 to see her and any of her friends." 
 
 Tom yarded the horses in good time at Oodna- 
 datta, and trucked them in sevens and eights the 
 same afternoon. In spite of the efforts of his 
 many friends in that hospitable township, he was 
 quite sober when he boarded the train as drover 
 in charge, but he had evidently imparted a start- 
 ling piece of news to some of them. As the crowd 
 turned away, some of the men remarked, "Fancy 
 that young chap having a kid"; and one young 
 lady was heard to remark to another, "Such a 
 nice young man, too. But, there, they all go that 
 way in the North," 
 
 The Tuesday of the horse sale dawned bright 
 and cool, with just enough wind to ensure that 
 the day would maintain throughout some of the 
 freshness of the morning. The yards at Duke- 
 land's are alwaj^s well worth a visit, but just be- 
 fore a sale they are doubly so. The seats rise 
 tier above tier round the amphitheatre of the 
 selling yard; to the left, the lane with its double 
 row of numbered pens for receiving the horses 
 of different buyers, to the right, another lane lead- 
 ing to the great receiving yard which, on this par- 
 ticular morning, contained 150 X.T.X. horses. In 
 front was the rostrum of the auctioneer, from 
 which every spot in the yards v/as visible, and 
 especially the little lurkmg-places where buyer 
 tried to hide from buyer. 
 
 When the auction opened at noon, the seats 
 were pretty well filled, and amongst the one or 
 two ladies who were there, one might have been 
 noticed who did not seem at home in her surround- 
 ings. 
 
 It was Ida Hennessy.' 
 
 Every detail of the journey that finished at the 
 Dukeland's Yards had been an adventure to a girl 
 brought up as she had been. Many of the faces
 
 I40 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 around her showed signs of perilous trips across 
 the wilderness, but her train journey had been 
 equally hazardous to her. Love is a great stimu- 
 lus, and under its influence nothing is impossible. 
 
 At twelve sharp the auctioneer mounted the 
 lostrum with Tom and two clerks. 
 
 After a few preliminary remarks about the his- 
 tory of the famous X.T.X. horses and of the 
 especial excellence of this picked mob, the proceed- 
 ings began. 
 
 Singly for the most part, but at times in well- 
 matched pairs, the horses were driven into the 
 ring, where a man, standing beside the big centre 
 post, kept them moving with a whip. 
 
 Brisk bidding was the order of the day, for 
 several Indians were buying for the Government, 
 and the horses were of the stamp they required, 
 with short and well rounded barrels, and sturdy 
 legs ; an active but strong horse, perhaps heavy for 
 the saddle, but ideal for gunnery and quick farm 
 work. Once or twice £30 was reached, but the 
 prices usually ranged pretty evenly between £15 
 and £20, one or two being as low as £8. 
 
 Ida screwed up her courage at the end of the 
 sale, and walked over to the auctioneer. He was 
 standing with a group of other men who made 
 way for her as she came up. 
 
 "Larcher Brothers kindly invited me to see the 
 horses," she explained. 
 
 "Did they?" was the reply. "We are always 
 delighted to see ladies here. Are you interested 
 in horses?' 
 
 "Oh yes, I'm very fond of them," she said. 
 "But my real reason is that I know the X.T.X. 
 brand so well." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes, my brother is on Mamoola." 
 
 "I see."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 141 
 
 "And I wondered if you would be so kind as to 
 introduce me to the man who brought the horses 
 down. He could tell me about my brother." 
 
 "Certainly. Certainly. Here, Tom !" beckoning 
 the stockman forward, "this lady's brother is on 
 Marnoola. She wants a word with you. This is 
 Mr. Lawson, madam; he came down with the 
 horses." 
 
 "Thank you so much," she said, to the auction- 
 eer, then turning to the embarassed bushman, she 
 smiled and held out her hand. "How do you do, 
 Mr. Lawson? It's too bad for me to bother you 
 V/hen you want to get away. But I do so want to 
 hear about my brother who is on Marnoola 
 station." 
 
 "Jim, you mean ? Jim Tynan ? Him that came 
 up last September?" 
 
 "Yes, that's right. I'm his sister, Miss Tynan." 
 
 Ida was amazed at her own audacity, but once 
 she had decided on her course of action, forces 
 that hitherto had been latent, came into operation 
 and carried her on almost in spite of herself. 
 
 "Oh, Jim's alright," said Tom lamely. 
 
 "That's nice. I'm so glad to hear it," she re- 
 plied, to encourage the man to go into details. 
 
 "Why, did you think he wasn't alright?" 
 
 "Oh, no. He gives the very best reports in his 
 letters," she said, lying cheerfully. "But you 
 know how much better it is to hear from someone 
 who has just seen him. That's why I came to you. 
 You don't mind, do you ?" 
 
 "No, Miss Tynan, I don't mind. Him and me 
 are cobbers — friends that is — up there.'* 
 
 'That is nice. I'm so glad you are my brother's 
 friend," and, though Tom had no idea how he came 
 there, he eventually found himself sitting at a 
 little table in the refreshment shed, and taking 
 tea with this charming young lady. He told her
 
 142 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 all about the muster, his accident, and the mana- 
 ger's death, the trouble with the engine, about 
 Jim's kindness to Ruby, and finally, quite simply, 
 about the child. 
 
 This last piece of news so affected his com- 
 panion, tUat he hastened to add : 
 
 "You see. Miss, that's nothing up there." 
 
 "Of course not," replied Ida, to hide the agony 
 of her mind. It was as if she had gone forward 
 into a strange country beaconed by a great light, 
 and it had suddenly gone out and left her in the 
 dark. 
 
 A few minutes later they parted, and the simple- 
 hearted bushman did not know that he had been 
 one of the actors in a tragedy. 
 
 "Had a good trip, Tom?" 
 
 Tynan asked the question as the two friends sat 
 in the Mamoola kitchen, drinking tea. Tom had 
 just come up with the plant from Oodnadatta, and 
 his clothes were travel-stained. 
 
 "Not too bad," was the answer. "But a chap 
 can't see much of Adelaide in a couple of days." 
 
 "Why didn't you stay longer?" 
 
 "The drover's ticket makes you return by the 
 next train. Besides, you were here on your own." 
 
 "Oh. I was alright," said Tynan. 
 
 "Tell you what, though," continued Tom. "I 
 saw your sister in town. Guess where I met her." 
 
 "My sister?" Tynan's amazement was genuine, 
 though his companion thought it feigned. 
 
 "Yes. A little lady as pretty as paint. Very 
 'anxious to hear about you." 
 
 Tynan grasped the situation, and his heart beat 
 fast with hope. "Oh, yes, of course. But how in 
 the world did you come to meet my sister? I 
 thought she was in Melbourne."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 143 
 
 "So she was till she heard of the sale of Mar- 
 poola horses. Then she came over." 
 
 "You met her at the sale yards ?" 
 
 "Yes, at Dukelands." 
 
 "By gad! I am surprised. What did she say?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Lots of things. That you 
 hadn't written lately, for one. You see, we had 
 tea together," Tom winked, "so I've mostly for- 
 gotten all she said. I'm rather out of practice 
 with pretty young ladies. Say, Jim, old man. 
 She's a thoroughbred, she is.'' 
 
 "But what more did she say?" urged Tynan. 
 "Surely you can remember." 
 
 "How do I know what she said? She asked a 
 lot of questions and I answered them ; that's what 
 we talked about. Oh, I remember. I was to thank 
 you for a bridle. Was that the thing you were 
 making here ?" 
 
 "Yes, that was it. Do you remember any of the 
 questions she asked?" 
 
 "Oh, you know the ones. About your health 
 and how you were getting on and if you weren't 
 coming down to see them soon." 
 
 "Did she ask that?" 
 
 "My oath, she did ! And not once either. I told 
 her you were well and getting on first rate, and 
 about the muster and Dookie's death and my leg 
 and . . . Oh, every bally thing I could think 
 of; about the engine and Ruby and the whole lot. 
 I never knew I had so much wind till I sat down 
 and began answering her questions." 
 
 Tynan was silent for a time and then asked, 
 "Did she send any message?'" 
 
 "Yes, even before I started in and painted you 
 red, white, and blue, she said she wanted you to 
 write more often, and that she was looking for- 
 ward to seeing you soon very much; I was to be 
 sure and say, 'Very much.* "
 
 144 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "I see. And when you left?" 
 
 "What d'you mean? We just said good-bye. 
 What else d'you suppose we did? I don't know 
 where she went, but I know I went straight in 
 and ordered a nobbier. You see, I'm handier with 
 cattle than with her kind, yet somehow it wasn't 
 bad." 
 
 The conversation drifted off on the price which 
 the horses sold for and other matters, till Tom 
 said, 
 
 "Larcher Brothers sent me up to the Syndicate 
 offices; they wanted to see me. I met the new 
 manager there, a chap with a face like a meat axe 
 — Angus Macfarlane. He reckons to be in Oodna- 
 datta the train after next." 
 
 How's he coming up ?" 
 
 "He wants the big buggy and a couple of packs 
 to be sent in for him." 
 
 "Good," said Tynan. "I'll take them down, and 
 I reckon I'll go on to Melbourne to see my sister."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 145 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 Face to Face. 
 
 Tynan stood waiting in the drawing room of 
 Gum Glen, the Hennessy's country house. 
 
 True to his purpose, he had taken the buggy and 
 plant of horses down to Oodnadatta, had handed 
 them over to the new manager, and had caught 
 the fortnightly train down to Adelaide. His jour- 
 ney from there to Melbourne was in strong con- 
 trast to the one he had taken over the same line 
 ten months before. Then he was paying the price 
 of his self-sacrifice; now he was on the way to 
 reap the reward. 
 
 It was entirely in keeping with the character of 
 the man that he was not afraid to visit Melbourne. 
 He retained his moustache and beard, but they 
 were not intended for a disguise, though they cer- 
 tainly altered his appearance beyond general re- 
 cognition; there was something about the natural 
 life he had been living that made it seem super- 
 fluous to shave. Simplicity is often audacious, and 
 Tynan's view of the murder was so impersonal 
 and straightforward that it gave him an almost 
 foolhardy courage, as if he hoped thereby to im- 
 pose his own conviction on other people. As a 
 matter of fact he hardly gave the matter a 
 thought, for he was intent upon the more vital 
 issue of his visit. 
 
 City dwellers are apt to think that their streets 
 and buildings must appear huge and awe-inspiring 
 to any man from the country, whereas the reverse 
 is usually the case. Everything seemed dwarfed 
 to Tynan as he drove into the city from Spencer
 
 146 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Street Station ; the streets were short and narrow, 
 and the buildings not half as high as he had once 
 thought them. 
 
 The crowds certainly did strike him as larger 
 than he had ever known before, and the stolid dis- 
 regard of one man for another came as rather an 
 unpleasant shock. His standard of comparison had 
 changed. For ten months his vision had been 
 bounded only by the horizon or a distant range 
 of hills, and in such surroundings every man is 
 of necessity neighbour to every other. 
 
 He had been informed that the Hennessys were 
 out of town, and had followed them to a little place 
 in the heart of Gippsland, where, amongst deep 
 tree-fern gullies and gum-clad mountain slopes, 
 fashionable Melbourne is wont to recover from the 
 too strenuous labour of killing time. 
 
 And now he stood by the open window and 
 waited. 
 
 To one accustomed for the past months to limit- 
 less miles of plain and sand-hill with here and 
 there a scraggy mulga, to a sky of such fierce blue 
 that it seemed to be the domed roof of a furnace, 
 to the mocking mirage, dust storm, dry creek 
 beds, and to all the myriad pests that poison the 
 hours with their ceaseless worrying, the view 
 from the window \vas like a cool drink on a hot 
 day. 
 
 From a garden of well-tended disarray, a pad- 
 dock where cows and horses fed, sloped down to a 
 little torrent that glinted in the sunlight, before it 
 hid away in a tangle of bramble and fern, like the 
 coyly smiling lips of a girl hiding in a mass of hair. 
 A steep mountain side rose beyond the creek, 
 clothed nearly to the summit with tall straight 
 gums, and crowned with a cairn of stones. Higher 
 peaks still shut in the valley to the left, while to 
 the right, the crags fell away to gentler and
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 147 
 
 gentler slopes, till a view was obtained of a wide 
 river-watered valley. 
 
 The landscape was in strong contrast with Mar- 
 noola. Coils of smoke rose here and there on the 
 hill-sides, not from the hearth of some rail- 
 splitter or pioneer tiller of the soil, but of those 
 who, in houses of elaborate simplicity, bring into 
 the bush the make-believe of the town. 
 
 Somehow it did not please Tynan. He would 
 have found wild sincerity akin to his niood, but to 
 see Nature, tamed as it were to eat out of the 
 hands of hypocrites, made him long for the free 
 wastes where man and stark nature look fearlessly 
 into one another's eyes, and where pretence is the 
 herald of death. 
 
 He turned to the room, and the lavishness of its 
 display annoyed him. No money had been saved, 
 but no taste had been spent, for the Hennessys, 
 who possessed so much of the former, had none of 
 the latter; a not infrequent combination. The 
 kitchen at Marnoola came to his mind, and in spite 
 of all, heat, flies, dirt, the lubra cook, the rough 
 service, and the well nigh intolerably coarse food, 
 he would gladly have been there just then if only 
 he could have met Ida Hennessy. He felt that 
 those crude conditions were true, whereas every 
 detail of the room he was in was false. If only 
 he could have met her in the open air and on horse- 
 back. 
 
 Strange thoughts for a man about to meet the 
 girl he loved and who loved him ! Much longing is 
 apt to make the object almost undesirable when 
 nearly attained. Who has not ardently looked 
 forward to an event, and then, on the morning of 
 its fulfilment, wished it could not be? The ex- 
 treme of attraction borders on repulsion, just as it 
 is impossible to indicate the line of demarcation 
 between hatred and love. Tynan had dwelt for
 
 148 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 many months in an emotional desert, and his long- 
 ing for the oasis was so intense that he began to 
 be critical of the trees surrounding it. 
 
 A clatter of hoofs roused him. A girl was riding 
 down the gravel path, ^nd it needed no second 
 glance to assure him who it was. He watched 
 her dismount and hand the reins to the groom. 
 With that attention to trifles which often charac- 
 terises times of deep emotion, he noticed that she 
 was not using the golden buckles. Never mind; 
 to-morrow they would be riding out together. 
 
 He had given no name, and with his moustache 
 and beard there was no chance that anyone at 
 Gum Glen would know him. He heard the maid 
 announce that a gentleman was waiting for Miss 
 Hennessy, then footsteps coming towards the 
 door. He had never felt so agitated in all his life. 
 He tried in vain to recall his habit of self-mastery ; 
 deep waters were already rushing over the barrier. 
 The door-handle turned. Tynan faced away from 
 the window so that he was in shadow, and watched 
 the girl he loved enter the room. 
 
 She did not recognise him. 
 
 " If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll change my 
 costume," she said, glancing at her top boots and 
 riding-habit. "I won't be long." 
 
 "Please don't ; it reminds me of past pleasures." 
 said the man, making no attempt to disguise his . 
 voice. 
 
 The girl started back against the partly open 
 door so that it shut noisily. 
 
 "You!" she cried. 
 
 "Yes, Ida ; me." He made a step or two towards 
 her. 
 
 "What made you come?" 
 
 "Because you asked for me. Ida, aren't you 
 
 . . . ?" His voice was perplexed.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 149 
 
 "I, ask for youf" she broke in. "I've not written 
 a line to you since . . . since you went away." 
 Her voice was harsh with restrained emotion, 
 
 "You asked for me at the Dukelands Yards. 
 You know you did, Ida. So I came." 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "YOU!" 
 
 So far the dialogue had been conducted without 
 any show of feeling. Both were in the condition 
 of a man having received a violent blow : too dazed 
 to make any outward demonstration. From what 
 Tom had told him, Dr. Byrne had expected at least 
 a welcome. He had come prepared to open the 
 flood-gates of his heart to this girl and overwhelm 
 her with love. This chilly reception was a shock 
 to him. Ida Hennessy, on her part, was taken 
 completely off her guard. Her lover had not an- 
 nounced his coming, and at his sudden advent, 
 her love for him had struggled violently to break 
 through the hatred under which she had buried it. 
 She had still to learn that hatred is often little 
 more than a disguise for love. But at the word 
 "You" she seemed to gain posr..ssion of herself, 
 and strode out from the door as if to challenge his 
 statement. 
 
 "Me ! You surely do not want me !" 
 
 "I do. I came over a thousand miles for that 
 pui'pose." 
 
 "And did you leave your mistress well?" 
 
 "My mistress ?" 
 
 "Yes, your mistress. Or perhaps you have 
 already made her your wife. And does the child 
 take after you or her?" 
 
 The man picked up an ivory paper-knife from a 
 little table, and, holding it in both hands, seemed 
 to study it thoughtfully for some time. At last
 
 150 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 he looked up, and the tension of his mind showed 
 in Hnes upon his face. Suddenly the paper-knife 
 snapped. He dropped the pieces on the table with 
 a sig-h of resignation and looked up again. 
 
 "I see," he said simply. 
 
 "I'm glad you do. Now perhaps you will ga, 
 after having added insult to injury." 
 
 "Injury!" He caught up the word triumphantly. 
 "So you admit injury?" 
 
 "When "1 visited the Dukelands Yards, I con- 
 sidered you still a g-entleman. I did not know this 
 then. Now — ." She flicked a blot of mud on her 
 polished riding boots. "Won't you go before I call 
 someone ?" 
 
 "Yes," said the doctor, quietly. "I'll go. But I 
 want to say this first: You have dared to pass 
 judgment. I do not plead. I merely condemn the 
 outlook that makes such judgment possible. Along 
 with me, you judge the men who are laying the 
 foundations of a nation. What men are more to 
 be admired than those upon whose tracks civilisa- 
 tion will follow with healthy men and women and 
 happy homes? But these pioneers are rough, 
 with the vices as well as the virtues of full-blooded 
 men, yet I count it an honor to call any one of 
 them 'friend.' 
 
 "Many of them live incredibly lonely lives. I 
 know one who has not seen a white womaii for 
 fifteen years, and another who was tied to an out- 
 lying station with absolutely no white companions 
 for twelve. Because these men have endured 
 hunger and thirst, have fought bare-handed with 
 Nature, and have given up all which you and I 
 mean by the word 'civilisation,' must they also 
 give up the love of woman and child ? Your con- 
 demnation is as superficial as the life you lead. 
 
 "You thought, perhaps, that I'd deny your ac-
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 151 
 
 cusation or kneel to you and plead excuses as 
 though I were ashamed of being a man. No, no,, 
 indeed ! Before such pettiness as you have shown 
 my knees are stiff, for I have lately breathed the 
 same clean air as men. I'm going north. I'm 
 going back to be with men." 
 
 Ida Hennessy did not take her gaze from the 
 floor. This man who had scorned to plead for him- 
 self, had taken up the cudgels for his friends, and 
 she did not feel at all secure upon her pedestal. He 
 was speaking again. 
 
 "Before I go, I'll say one thing more. What you 
 and your set understand by love, I don't know. 
 Neither do I care. But as I mean the word, I 
 loved you, and perhaps I love you still. But you — 
 you have sold the woman in you for a sterile 
 respectability. Now, may I go?" 
 
 Ida Hennessy did not move from the door. 
 Presently, without raising her eyes, she said in a 
 low voice, "Perhaps . . . you love me still. 
 Did you say that, Jim?" 
 
 The young doctor's face lit with joy and passion 
 for a moment. Then he looked round the room 
 and at the broken paper-knife, and his eyes 
 became hard. 
 
 "Yes, I said it, and it's true. But, by thunder! 
 if you think I'm a man with whom you can flirt, 
 whom you can spurn and then call by one slight 
 movement of your dainty finger, you're wrong. 
 There are many poodles in your set; lead one of 
 those, but don't think I'll feed out of your hand." 
 
 He looked down at her. Her bent shoulders 
 were quivering. One step and he could take her in 
 his arms. But, coupled with his love for her, wr.s 
 a burning indignation at the attitude she had 
 adopted. He had yet to fling his pride upon love's 
 altar.
 
 152 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "May I go?" he asked again, though this time 
 his voice was all broken up with the strain he was 
 undergoing, and as she still did not answer, he 
 quietly opened the door and weiit out. 
 
 Ida heard the scrunch, scrunch of his feet on 
 the gravel, and ran to the window. Would he turn 
 his head? No, he was gazing north, to the great 
 free lands where men are men. He did not look 
 back.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 153 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 Another Visitor. 
 
 Ida Hennessy remained at the window long after 
 her visitor had disappeared round a bend in the 
 road. There was little in her appearance to indi- 
 cate what was going on in her mind. Perhaps her 
 hands gripped the riding-crop more tightly than 
 usual, and perhaps once or twice it bent slightly. 
 That was all. She seemed lost in contemplation 
 of the hillside of trees opposite. 
 
 Her mind was recalling with minute exactness 
 what had passed in that room during the last half 
 hour. Her lover had thought his appeal was fall- 
 ing on thoughtless ears, but had he known it, he 
 was writing his words upon a surface which would 
 retain them unblurred forever. So vividly had he 
 pictured the scenes of his recent life, so thrilling 
 had been his appeal for her to judge a bushman 
 by a bushman's standard, that in spite of the fact 
 that both scenes and standard were alien to her, 
 she felt that perhaps for the first time in her life 
 she had touched reality — the things that are at 
 the foundation of life, not the highly polished 
 veneer that was usually presented to her. 
 
 Irresistibly, that part of her to which Dr. 
 Byrne had appealed in the old days — that part 
 which the Colonel had failed to touch — was drawn 
 out in sympathy to those who in loneliness are 
 laymg the foundations of a great southern nation. 
 She was humbled also. Her own insignificance, 
 in comparison with these men, made her former 
 judgment of them appear presumptuous. 
 
 Sympathy is immediately reciprocal, and it
 
 154 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 acted on this girl like warmth on a chrysalis. She 
 felt wings opening within her, joyous wings, and 
 she laughed softly to herself as she knew they 
 would one day carry her to the man she loved. 
 Love had surmounted "the last barricade — pride, 
 and now hoisted its victorious flag over the citadel 
 of her being. 
 
 Then she turned from the window and saw the 
 broken paper-knife, and her lover's pain came back 
 to her with a rush. She took up one of the broken 
 pieces and covered it with kisses and tears. 
 
 She was not left long undisturbed. The gate 
 clicked, and a man's steps were heard on the gravel 
 drive. Slipping the broken piece of ivory inside 
 her habit, she ran to the window. He saw her and 
 waved. It was Philip Dennis. Her lover's sudden 
 appearance had driven the visit of this other man 
 completely out of her thoughts. 
 
 She opened the French window and waved back. 
 "Where are the others ?" she called. "Didn't you 
 meet them ?" They greeted one another with evi- 
 dent friendship. 
 
 "No. Did they go down to meet me?" 
 
 "Yes, and now they'll think you haven't come." 
 
 "I must have missed them," he replied. "I 
 admit I had eyes for only one person, and when 
 she wasn't there, I took a short cut." 
 
 "So it seems. Just look at your boots? You 
 must have come across the creek." 
 
 "Through the creek you mean," he answered 
 ruefully. "I slipped on that log and went right 
 in." 
 
 "Serves you right, you foolish boy," laughed 
 Ida. "That's what comes of being impatient. 
 Where's your bag?" she asked, looking down at 
 his muddy boots. "I'm not at all sure if father's 
 slippers will fit you; you've got such enormous 
 feet."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 155 
 
 "I left my bag at the station with James. But 
 don't bother about me. Tell me how you are." 
 
 "You can see for yourself," she answered. "I've 
 just come in from a ride." 
 
 "Then you must have passed that Johnny who 
 was standing on the platform as the train came 
 in." 
 
 "What was he like?" 
 
 "Oh, rather a good-looking chap, but awfully 
 brown. Looked as if he didn't belong round here. 
 Deuce of an expression he had though — hard as 
 nails." 
 
 Ida knew well to whom her visitor referred, and 
 laughed to hide her true feelings. "Good descrip- 
 tion, Phil.," she said, "good description. If you're 
 not careful you'll be a genius and disgrace us all." 
 
 "As long as I don't disgrace you, Ida, I don't 
 care," he replied with warmth. 
 
 "You'll certainly do so if I keep you standing 
 out here with wet boots. Come inside. I suppose 
 you want to wash. You know where everything 
 is. I'll send a pair of father's slippers and socks 
 into you. Now I must go and change, too." 
 
 Phillip Dennis was in every way a suitable 
 acquaintance for Ida Hennessy. His grandfather 
 would certainly not have been considered so, for 
 he was one of those rugged personalities that 
 hewed a way across a trackless continent. 
 Towards the end of his life, he had been engaged 
 carting stores from Port Augusta to Alice Springs, 
 living a rougher life than is probably possible in 
 any other part of the world. Philip's father would 
 also have been regarded with suspicion by the 
 Hennessys. He followed the occupation of his sire, 
 became the owner of several horse teams, dealt in 
 cattle, and finally settled down on one of the 
 largest cattle-stations in South Australia. He left 
 a fortune to his son, a youth who, beside his
 
 15(5 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 wealth, inherited none of his ancestor's quahties 
 except a superb physique. Philip Dennis was a 
 wealthy idler; a very desirable acquaintance for 
 Ida Hennessy. 
 
 Thus it came about that papa and mamma were 
 away when young Dennis turned up at Gum Glen. 
 
 "Well, well, we were all young once," said the 
 father, as an original contribution to the subject 
 under discussion. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," panted his stout partner. "How 
 nice it would be to get dear Ida settled after that 
 horrid affair in September." 
 
 As though the elements were on the side of the 
 parental match-makers, the cool day died to a 
 warm scent-laden evening. The sound of the little 
 torrent and the ever present voices of the trees, 
 came through the open French window. Ida had 
 been playing to the accompaniment of Philip's 
 rather fine tenor voice. His was by no means the 
 face of an idler. The strength that had made his 
 fathers what they were, had modelled his head. 
 It was full large and would have appeared almost 
 rugged if the hair had not been so perfectly 
 groomed. Here was an opportunity for great 
 things; but the will was lacking. Lips and jaw 
 were not in accord with the rest of the face, and 
 the eyes, although they were of the same steely 
 blue as those of his father, lacked courage. In fact 
 Philip Dennis had not, for years, faced any more 
 serious problem than the matching of a tie or the 
 ordering of a meal. 
 
 There are many such in Australia : grandsons of 
 pioneers — who are themselves mere triflers with 
 life. 
 
 At the conclusion of a song which Mrs. Hennessy 
 had especially asked for, Denis looked round and 
 saw that both parents had left the room. He and 
 the girl were alone.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES iS7 
 
 "Are we to take it as silent criticism of our 
 music?" asked Ida, when her companion had 
 drawn attention to the absence of the old peopk- 
 
 "I don't mind what it is so long as it leaves me 
 alone with you," he answered. 
 
 "Now that's not complimentary to father and 
 mother. You drive them away with your singing, 
 and then say you don't care," she said, laughing. 
 
 "You know what I mean, Ida. You know I love 
 to be alone with you." 
 
 " That's nice of you." She glanced at her ex- 
 pensively simple evening gown. "Is it because you 
 like my frock ?" 
 
 "I said nothing about the frock. Ida, you know 
 well enough why I like being alone with you." 
 
 "How am I to know?" 
 
 "Shall I tell you ?" His voice was eager, and he 
 stepped towards her. Knowing full well what he 
 wanted to say, and unwilling that he should say it, 
 she tried to turn it off lightly. 
 
 "That all depends. You don't notice my frock. 
 Perhaps you like being with me for some uncom.- 
 plimentary reason. To study my eyes, for in- 
 stance. Am I cross-eyed. Philip?" 
 
 "No, indeed," he laughed. "Your eyes are the 
 sweetest in the world.'* 
 
 "And my frock?" 
 
 "It couldn't be anything but perfect because you 
 are wearing it." 
 
 She laughed, thinking she had turned him from 
 his purpose. "What a testimonial ! What a testi- 
 monial! I'll take a position as mannikin right 
 away. Everything's perfect if only I wear it !" 
 
 But he would not be put off. "I mean that your 
 own perfection makes everything else not worth 
 looking at. Ida, I've never met a girl like you." 
 
 "I don't expect you have. Even poor weak 
 women are not all the same.'*
 
 158 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "I mean I've never met anyone I like better than 
 you." 
 
 "It's nice of you to say so." 
 
 "Ida, it's the truth. I want you to marry me." 
 His face lost its weak lines for a moment, and wore 
 the masterful expression of his fathers. 
 
 "How serious you are," said Ida, timidly. "You 
 almost make me afraid." 
 
 "I was never more serious in my life. Ida, will 
 you marry me?" 
 
 "Why, Phil., of course not. We've been such 
 good friends, and now you've spoilt it all with this 
 nonsense." She rose from the music stool, and, 
 without knowing it, stood with her back to the 
 door as she had done when listening to Dr. Byrne. 
 
 "Nonsense ? Ida, you know it's not nonsense. I 
 know lots of girls, but none of them come up to 
 you. Really they don't. I reckon we could have 
 a ripping time together. We'd go about just where 
 you liked, and you could have as much riding and 
 that sort of thing as you wanted. You know, I'd 
 make you awfully happy, Ida." 
 
 In his earnestness, his hands strayed over the 
 table, and he picked up part of the broken paper- 
 knife. Ida instantly saw the significance of what 
 he had done, and remembered where the other 
 part lay. 
 
 "Ida, you like me, don't you?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Phil., very much. You're one of my 
 best friends." 
 
 "Then won't you marry me ?" 
 
 "No, Phil., I can't do that." 
 
 "Can't! Why?" 
 
 "Now, Phil., it's not right of you to ask that." 
 She was not the least bit agitated. She was sur- 
 prised at the calm way in which she had taken 
 this very nice young man's proposal. Perhaps 
 she knew how shallow his protestations were,
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 159 
 
 because of the light that had recently shone 
 upon her own nature. "You really mustn't be 
 angry .... and don't you think it's nearly 
 time for bed ?" 
 
 Before she retired for the night, Ida took the 
 broken paper-knife from its hiding place inside her 
 gown, and with it on the table beside her, wrote a 
 letter to her lover. Without meaning to do so, she 
 included it in a bundle which Philip Dennis posted 
 next day when he strolled to the post office for the 
 mail. 
 
 That letter went astray. 
 
 It reached Oodnadatta two days after the string 
 of camels had left for the north-west. In due 
 course it arrived at Marnoola, where it lay un- 
 claimed for a time and was then sent back.
 
 i6o GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 In Search of Letho. 
 
 Dr. Byrne left Gum Glen, returned to Mel- 
 bourne, and at once caught the express to Ade- 
 laide and the North. His thoughts were bitter. 
 He had hardly dared to formulate in his mind the 
 hope that had brought him down so hurriedly 
 from Marnoola ; it was like a castle built of morn- 
 ing cloud on the summit of a crag, which the sun 
 of reality had dissolved away, leaving the rocks 
 upstanding grim and bare. 
 
 He bought a plant of horses and gear at Oodna- 
 datta, and persuaded a black-boy to join him. 
 Several large crates had come up with him from 
 Adelaide, and he left these for a time at Jepp's 
 store. There was a look of determination on his 
 face; he was no longer a new chum, hesitating 
 amid new surroundings. His mind had a forward, 
 not a backward, cast, and when he set out from 
 the township at daybreak two days after the 
 arrival of the train, he had the air of a man whose 
 thoughts were centred on definite plans. 
 
 He shortened the time which Tom and he had 
 taken to reach Marnoola by nearly a week. For- 
 merly he had travelled with tired horses, but those 
 he was now using were fresh, and he spared 
 neither them nor himself. A ruthless impatience 
 possessed him, and the boy, who had heard in
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES i6i 
 
 Oodnadatta that the white man had not been long 
 in the country, and who tried to act to his own 
 advantage in accordance with this knowledge, 
 found that Tynan's voice could be as curt as a 
 whip lash, and once, only once, he found that his 
 companion could use his fist. 
 
 In Tynan's mind, every mile was one added to 
 the number that separated him from Ida Hen- 
 nessy. He took an almost Spartan pleasure in 
 thus escaping from one who, in spite of all his 
 disappointment in her, he sincerely loved. To 
 crush that love was now his chief desire, and he 
 knew but one way: complete absorption in some 
 enterprise. 
 
 On the first evening at Mamoola, he revealed to 
 Tom what that enteiiDrise was. The stockman 
 was amazed at the change which had taken place 
 in his friend. Instead of the old spirit of enquiry, 
 he saw a mind definitely made up, and the very 
 speech of the man betrayed his irritation at any 
 inaction, any pause in the carrying out of His 
 plans. To pause was to think, and Tynan wanted 
 action, not thought. 
 
 "Look here, Tom," said the young man, when he 
 had answered his friend's enquiries about the trip, 
 "you remember that gold you spoke of out west." 
 
 "Do I what?" 
 
 "You said the difficulty was in financing the 
 undertaking. How long do you reckon would be a 
 fair test?" 
 
 "Six months would show whether there was 
 anything worth while. But what in the hell's the 
 good of asking that?" 
 
 "And what would be the cost of fitting out a 
 plant for two whites and as many niggers as are 
 necessary, for six months?" went on Tynan, 
 ignoring his friend's objection.
 
 i62 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Tom thought for awhile, adding up on his 
 fingers and muttering aloud, while Tynan waited. 
 
 Then he named a figure. "I've worked it out at 
 that lots of times," he said. "But, mind you, 
 that's an inside estimate, Jim." 
 
 "Double it," said Tynan emphatically. "Look 
 here, old man, if I supply the cash, will you come 
 in with me and test that find of yours ?" 
 
 "Will I?" said the other, jumping up. "My 
 oath, I will! But is that a dinkum offer, Jim?" 
 
 "Yes, Tom, absolutely. I'm talking dead on the 
 level. I could give you money proof right now. 
 Shall I?" 
 
 "Danin it all! No! I'll take your word. But 
 by the holy sailor!" Tom was more excited than 
 he cared to show. 
 
 Tynan breathed a sign of relief, but immediately 
 brought his mind back to the subject in hand. 
 
 "Do we want camels or horses, Tom?" 
 
 "Camels. Horses need a drink once a day. If 
 you break camels to it they can travel dry for a 
 week. That west country's pretty dry, though 
 we ought to strike a good time now. But are you 
 really serious, Jim ? D'you mean to start soon ?" 
 
 "Yes, right away. Where d'you reckon we 
 could get camels?" 
 
 "It's hard to say. You might be able to buy 
 an odd one or two up the line, but it's a dead cert 
 that some of the Afghans would sell you camels 
 at Oodnadatta." 
 
 "We'll have to go to Oodnadatta, anyway," said 
 Tynan. "I've got several cases of stuff there for 
 the trip. I bought it in Adelaide." 
 
 "The devil, you did ! You came up ready for 
 business then?" 
 
 "Yes, Tom, I did. Look here, don't ask me why 
 I'm doing this. It's not for the money; I'd take 
 it on if we were looking for bally fossils. I must
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 163 
 
 get right away and forget everything. I want to 
 be right up to the neck in something, and I'm told , 
 that the search for gold is pretty absorbing." 
 
 Tom touched his friend's arm, not sentimentally, 
 but just to emphasise his words. "Right, Jim, I 
 understand. . . . Yes, if you get what they 
 call gold fever, you'll sure forget heaven and hell." 
 
 "Well, that's settled. I've got a plant here of 
 ten horses, three riding saddles, two packs, and a 
 couple of pairs of five gallon canteens. I reckon 
 after a few days' spell those horses ought to be 
 ready for the trip down again." 
 
 So, in a week's time, Tynan and his friend, with 
 the nigger and plant, were on the road back to 
 Oodnadatta. 
 
 As Tom had thought probable, it was no diffi- 
 cult matter to buy camels from the Afghans in 
 Oodnadatta. The city man wisely left it to the 
 bushman to do the bargaining, for the Indian, with 
 true Oriental persistence, called heaven and earth 
 to witness that the price Tom insisted upon meant 
 ruination to him -and his entire family. Neverthe- 
 less, the bargain was concluded, and five camels, 
 two of which were broken in to riding, were finally 
 yarded at Jepp's store. 
 
 Tom's judgement in the matter of stores was 
 also invaluable. In spite of Tynan's assurance 
 that he need not consider expense, he cut the 
 luxuries — or what he considered as such — clean 
 out, and doubled or even trebled Tynan's estimate 
 of the more prosaic rations: flour, meat, sugar, 
 tea, baking powder, tobacco, and matches. 
 
 "Them's rations," said Tom emphatically, 
 pointing to his selection. "Take a whole camel- 
 string of the rest if you like, but they'll only be 
 a nuisance." 
 
 "But we won't be on the go the whole six
 
 i64 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 months," objected Tynan. "We'll make a decent 
 camp and have a chance to do a bit of cooking." 
 • "Yes, but not the time," said Tom. "But fire 
 ahead! What would you suggest that I haven't 
 got?" 
 
 "Well, jam for one thing," said Tynan. "And 
 powdered milk for another. It's awfully light, and 
 I can't stand black quart-pot tea. Coffee's nice 
 for a change, and I vote for a few tins of fish. 
 And how about tomato sauce ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, how about lots of things ? Don't think 
 I couldn't guzzle tucker I've not included in my 
 list. You see, the only Question is, what's abso- 
 lutely necessary? The other things aren't worth 
 the room they take up." 
 
 Finally a compromise was arrived at to the 
 satisfaction of both. 
 
 Of personal luggage there were blankets and 
 chemical duck camp sheets for sleeping on, which 
 could also be rigged against wet weather, a change 
 of clothes and boots, revolvers, cartridges and a 
 rifle, towels and soap. Tom saw to the few simple 
 cooking and meal utensils, and was firm in his 
 decision not to take along a camp bed which Tynan 
 had brought, but agreed to a hurricane lantern 
 and a small canteen of kerosene. 
 
 "You see, Jim," he said. "This is just a flying 
 trip of ours. We may not need to be away six 
 months, but when once we peg our claims and 
 settle down to work them, then you can have all 
 the beds and soft tucker you like." 
 
 The young man left the more important matters 
 entirely to his friend, looking on and helping so 
 that he would understand, but in no way inter- 
 fering. Every strap and fastening of the saddles 
 was subjected to rigid testing, and was in many 
 cases duplicated. He was especially critical over 
 the water canteens and bags, for on these the life
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 165 
 
 of three men depended. Spare ropes, hobbles, and 
 nose-lines were not stinted, and a few prospectors' 
 tools were secretly bought and packed away with 
 a case of gelignite and one of detonators. 
 
 Finally all was ready. The packs were loaded 
 and stacked in the yard, and the black-boy Banjo, 
 the same one who had gone up the road with 
 Tynan, received his order one evening to "Bring 
 um up camel, picaniny daylight."
 
 i66 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 Start of Expedition. 
 
 To the small resident population of Oodnadatta, 
 the fitting out of the expedition evoked no interest. 
 That which is romance in cities is routine here. 
 
 Cattle are trucked in these yards that have 
 travelled overland for a thousand miles. Men of 
 the territory, lean and brown, put up at the 
 Oodnadatta Transcontinental Hotel, spend a few 
 days in the bar and on the benches outside, and 
 then saddle up and return. Distance is spoken of 
 in days and weeks and months, not miles, and that 
 which makes travel possible or impossible is 
 water. Much wealth has come down that north 
 road, which, after all, is not a road, but a track 
 staggering from water-hole to water-hole; wealth 
 not in coin carried by sumptuously dressed women 
 or cigar-smoking men, but crude rough wealth, 
 the blood of the north ; cattle, horses, gold, rubies, 
 and now in these days, wolfram. 
 
 You cannot judge a rich man in Oodnadatta. 
 On any day a man may ride into the township, 
 travel-stained, loosely seated as is the way with 
 these superbest horsemen in the world, with un- 
 shaved chin, battered hat, and sun-burnt chest 
 showing through an open shirt, smoking a briar 
 pipe black with the commonest plug, a man who 
 could rig the markets of a continent. 
 
 Standards in that far northern township are not 
 the whiteness of a man's hands and the cut of his 
 clothes, but just this: the only thing that matters 
 in the whole wide world, manhood. 
 
 But Oodnadatta is not Utopia. Those who would
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 167 
 
 reconstruct the social fabric on ideal lines which 
 pre-suppose an ideal humanity, can set up no 
 colony here. Many and many a man, entombed for 
 years in the loneliness of some far out station, 
 with no companions but cattle and blacks — of 
 which the former are often to be preferred — has 
 drawn his cheque, come down to the head of the 
 line, and cashed it in a few days' wild carouse. 
 Gambling and drink are on a scale proportionate 
 to the size of the country ; nothing petty, nothing 
 mean; the very vices are those of full-blooded 
 men. 
 
 Oodnadatta was still asleep when the five camels 
 left the yards at the north end of the town and 
 made for the bore where they were to drink. 
 Similar expeditions have set out in an equally 
 unassuming manner; some have never returned, 
 and traces of them may or may not be found in 
 years to come. Others have caused the wires of 
 the world to buzz with news, and a township has 
 sprung up in the desert in a day. The true story 
 of Australian exploration will never be told. With 
 the reticences of true heroism, those who have 
 opened up this vast continent and given some in- 
 dication of its wealth, have gone down to death 
 unrecorded. 
 
 Tom had come north with a survey party when 
 he was a youth, and since then had driven many 
 thousand head of stock across the country. He 
 was not only a competent bushman, but he also 
 knew the country so well that he could afford to 
 do what a less experienced man would have at- 
 tempted only at great risk ; he kept off the stock 
 routes. Such a proceeding would have been im- 
 possible in summer, but good local rains had left 
 surface water about, so that no difficulties were 
 encountered for the first week. 
 
 Day after day the same routjne was followed.
 
 i68 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 At the first sign of dawn, Tom, who was leader 
 of the party, roused the camp, and Banjo, the 
 black-boy, started to track the camels. Last 
 night's fire was re-kindled and the quart-pots 
 filled and placed against the blaze. A roll of 
 American cloth served as a table, and the simple 
 constituents of the meal were spread out on it: 
 damper and meat usually, with an occasional tin 
 of jam. This close association on the march with 
 the old bushman, taught Tynan in a short time 
 more than he would have learnt during years of 
 station life. Tom was, as he himself expressed it, 
 "Just a meat and damper cook," but his friend 
 learnt how many different ways there were of 
 making even those prosaic items palatable, and 
 with his appetite sharpened by long days of travel, 
 he got to like tucker which when served in the 
 Mamoola kitchen had seemed hardly eatable. 
 
 For the time being he was satisfied. He was 
 doing something; he was facing primitive condi- 
 tions in a primitive way; he was driving down 
 into forgetfulness — at least he hoped so — ^an ache 
 which under easier conditions of life would have 
 been intolerable. 
 
 They struck the Sisters* Creek on the fourth 
 day, just south of Mount Randol, and followed the 
 dry sandy bed to Afghan Soakage, where they 
 camped for a day, as there was good feed for the 
 camels. Then on past the junction, follow- 
 ing the Oolanoo, a tributary of the main creek, 
 till their way led to a jungle of mulga swamps. 
 Tom shot half a dozen ducks here, and they made 
 a welcome change from tinned beef. To avoid 
 the swamps, the party took a more westerly line, 
 making for Tent Hill and up Emu Creek to Pros- 
 pect Hill on the 133rd meridian. Tynan walked 
 up this hill one afternoon and found a cairn of 
 stones on top and an empty tin match box, evi-
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 169 
 
 dently placed there by some surveying or exploring 
 party. West again, running north to the Shaw 
 Ranges, with good camel-feed and water all the 
 way to The Colonel, a dry cr^ek rising in the 
 Franklin Ranges on the border of the Northern 
 Territory, and losing itself in the unexplored sands 
 to the south. Their track lay along the bed of this 
 creek for nearly a week, and high in front of them 
 rose the Franklins, where so many men have 
 hunted for the elusive speck and have left their 
 bones to mark their failure. 
 
 One day, Tom, who rode a camel at the head of 
 the string, turned and pointed to the ground, 
 shouting back the word "Native." When Tynan 
 came up to the place, he saw the tracks of naked 
 human feet leading in the same direction in which 
 they were going. Right through the ranges they 
 came across such signs: the marks of a recent 
 fire or a broken pitchee near a water-hole, and 
 twice they saw smoke signals rising ahead of 
 them, but never once did they see or hear a black- 
 fellow.
 
 lyo GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 The Grave in the Wilderness. 
 
 On the same day that they first saw native 
 tracks, they topped the pass, and after a few miles 
 of level going, began to descend again towards 
 evening. They pulled off the packs at a native 
 well near a dry creek, and Tynan was surprised to 
 see, some little distance away, a few old mulga 
 posts and rails which had evidently once enclosed 
 a small square. He meant to ask his companion 
 whether natives were responsible for the work, 
 but unpacking the camels and preparing tea occu- 
 pied his attention at the time, and he forgot 
 about it. 
 
 The two friends were lying out on their swags 
 after tea, smoking and talking, when Tynan 
 asked: "How is it you know this route so dashed 
 well, Tom? We've struck water every two or 
 three days, yet since Mount Randel we've not even 
 crossed a cattle-pad." 
 
 "Yes, we're in unoccupied country here, all 
 right,** Tom answered. 
 
 "Then how in the world do you know the 
 waters ?" 
 
 "I've been out as far as this once before." 
 
 "You have? When ever was that, Tom?" 
 
 "Years ago. Just after I had chucked up the 
 surveying job." 
 
 "I see. What were you after? Gold?" It was 
 always difficult to get Tom started on a yam. 
 
 "No, not exactly gold, though traces have been 
 found in these ranges." He puffed at his pipe for 
 a time, and then continued : "One of the first chaps 
 to prospect up here was named Macartney, and he
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 171 
 
 came alone with two niggers. Pretty wild beg- 
 gars they were ; but Mac. had a name with blacks. 
 Still, nobody was much surprised when the nig- 
 gers returned three months later without the 
 white man. They said they came for stores, and 
 that he had sent them with a note, which they 
 had lost on the way. Raggan was police sergeant 
 in Oodnadatta at the -time, and didn't believe their 
 tale. For all that, you couldn't do anything but 
 send out some rations, on the off-chance of his 
 wanting them ; so my brother and I volunteered to 
 go back with the niggers. And those two sons of 
 the devil made it a picnic for us, I can promise 
 you. 
 
 "From the first day out we had to cover them 
 with revolvers all day and tie them up at night. 
 We pretty nearly perished. I don't want to do a 
 trip like that too often. The beggars led us off the 
 track, over a hell of a route, but at last we ham- 
 mered sense into them and found Macartney — 
 that is, we found all that was left of him: some 
 rags, a belt, boots, and things like that; no gold 
 or tools or any sign of a camp. He must have 
 been dead six or eight weeks. One of his legs was 
 broken, I reckon those two niggers knew more 
 about it than they chose to tell. 
 
 "We were burying him when they cleared. . . . 
 Some parts of what happened after that I don't 
 remember. I know we struck east, for it was 
 morning when we left the grave, and the sun was 
 in our eyes. After what seemed a long time, Mark 
 — that's my brother — gripped my arm and 
 pointed. He was stronger than I was, and not so 
 far gone. He was pointing to this well. But that 
 grip knocked me down, and it was some time be- 
 fore I could get up again. I just wanted to lie 
 there and die; you see, I hadn't caught sight of 
 the well. 
 
 "Then I heard him shout, and the next thing
 
 172 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 I remember was seeing him lying in the sand 
 writhing with pain. He had fastened his panni- 
 kin to his belt and braces, and was dipping down 
 the well when a snake must have bitten him. He 
 died very quickly. You see, he had no strength 
 left. . . . Did you notice some old forks and rails 
 as we came in to-night?" 
 
 "Yes, I meant to ask you what they were." 
 
 "That's his grave. ... I got water somehow. 
 The smell of it nearly drove me mad. You didn't 
 know water had a smell, did you? You wait till 
 you're so thirsty you'd sell your soul for one tiny 
 drop, then you'll know. ... I ripped up my shirt 
 and tied the strips together and weighted them 
 with a stone. Then I lowered it into the water 
 again and again, and sucked the end." 
 
 "How did you get on for food ?" 
 
 "I was just coming to that. . . We'd left the 
 horses; but one old chestnut mare — a good horse, 
 that, I broke her in myself — followed our tracks. 
 She had flour and tea in her packs." 
 
 For a few minutes there was silence, broken 
 only by the falling of embers into the heart of 
 the glow, and presently by the wailing chorus of 
 a pack of dingoes. 
 
 "So you see," said Tom, rousing himself from 
 the melancholy mood in which he had told the 
 story, "I ought to know the track. I found it on 
 the w^ back, alone with that old pack-mare." 
 
 Tynan lay staring at the stars that night long 
 after his friend had gone to sleep. He had never 
 been so remote from his fellows in his life, yet 
 somehow he never felt so near to them. Just as 
 on that first night at Toolooroo Springs, the unity 
 of all creation appealed so strongly to him that he 
 seemed for a time to lose his own individuality. 
 Space and time were annihilated, and the silence 
 seemed made up of the sound of what had been
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 173 
 
 both here and on the farthest star. Then a change 
 came over his consciousness, and it was as if all 
 the past had crystallised in him; as though all 
 those sounds had blended into one — himself. He 
 was alone, surrounded by the lifeless coldness of 
 a vacuum, and he tried to cry out, but there was 
 no air to carry any sound. As he struggled to 
 pierce the gloom of his utter isolation, a face 
 seemed to take shape very, very far away. It was 
 the face of Ida Hennessy. Surely she would hear 
 him. He gathered all his powers, and . . . 
 
 "Here, Jim!" Tom shook him roughly by the 
 shoulder. "Can't you let a chap sleep?" 
 "What's wrong?" asked the dreamer. 
 "Why, you've been kicking up a hell of a row." 
 "Sorry, Tom. I didn't know I was." 
 That face remained in his mind for a long time. 
 What if he had indeed isolated himself by his pride 
 from the woman he loved. Pride seemed merely 
 negative when looked at by the pale radiance of 
 the night sky. When he did fall asleep the ques- 
 tion was still unanswered.
 
 174 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 Smoke Signals. 
 
 From Mark's well — as Tom called their camping 
 place, in memory of his brother — the party struck 
 due north on the 132nd meridian. This bearing 
 led them far to the west of Mamoola, into the 
 country between Toolooroo Springs and the great 
 stretch of boggy salt known as Lake Deception. 
 
 With almost uncanny instinct — for he was in 
 country he had never seen before — Tom led them 
 from one water to another. He had what bush- 
 men call "a great eye for country," and when 
 they had camped dry for a couple of days, as they 
 had to do several times, Tynan was certain that 
 the leader of the party had not missed any water. 
 
 One day, towards the end of the afternoon, they 
 stopped beside a small spring which rose in the 
 sand at one corner of a large dry salt lake. There 
 was a very small supply of water, but judging by 
 the area of boggy ground below it, the spring was 
 evidently permanent. 
 
 "Do you know where we are, Jim?" asked Tom. 
 
 "No chance! Do you?" 
 
 "Yes. We're about 110 miles due west of Mar- 
 noola." 
 
 "How ever do you know that?" 
 
 "See that stoney rise east of us ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, you've seen it from the other side. That 
 time I broke my leg, you know." He laughed and 
 added. ' "But the chief reason I know it, is that 
 I've been here before. This is that spring I told 
 you about."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 175 
 
 "I remember. Then where's Poison Peak?" 
 
 "You can't see it yet. It's about eighty miles 
 west of us." 
 
 "Then we travel west to-morrow?" 
 
 "No. I reckon on three or four days' spell here. 
 We've passed through all the good country we'll 
 ever see on this trip. From here on we're into loose 
 sand, ridge after ridge running across us, and as 
 much chance of surface water as there is on a 
 beach." 
 
 "How do you propose tackling it?" 
 
 "Well, we'll give the camels a spell here on good 
 feed. We'll keep them away from water till just 
 before we're going to start. Then we'll fill the 
 canteens and dash across. There's water at 
 Poison Peak — a rock-hole with a spring in the 
 middle of it. Between here and there we'll be 
 going dry." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "I reckon on about twenty miles a day. It's 
 good weather now, but you can't tell how soon it'll 
 change. If it comes out hot, we'll travel by moon- 
 light." 
 
 For three days the camels were hobbled on the 
 good feed that grew in the neighbourhood of the 
 little spring. They were mustered each morning, 
 but not allowed to drink. The two white men 
 and the nigger lay all day under rigged camp- 
 sheets, rousing themselves only to eat and to 
 draw water. The afternoon of the third day was 
 spent in thoroughly overhauling the stores and 
 gear, in gradually filling the four canteens, and in 
 cooking damper for four days. "Shut-eye," which 
 was Tom's name for bedtime, was early that 
 evening, for he proposed making a start at dawn 
 next day. 
 
 Tynan was roused in the morning by the lilt 
 of a camel-bell, and saw, in the dim grey light, the
 
 176 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 five ungainly beasts coming to camp with that 
 aloof and unhurried dignity which is peculiarly 
 their own. Tom had already kindled a fire and 
 placed the three quart-pots in front of it. 
 
 "Come and give me a hand with these camp- 
 sheets, Jim," he called. 
 
 "Right-0! I'm coming." Tynan flung back his 
 blanket, slipped on his boots, and hurried out in 
 the cold air. 
 
 A trench was scooped in the sand near the 
 spring, about a foot deep, and long enough for 
 five camels to water there at once. Two camp- 
 sheets were spread over the trench, and water was 
 poured into them, forming quite a serviceable 
 trough. It was a tedious job, for there was a very 
 small flow of water, and the camels seemed never 
 to have had enough; but at last it was over, and 
 the men went to breakfast. 
 
 "I don't like this change of wind," remarked 
 Tom, as he cut himself a sUce of damper. It's 
 been due south for over a week, and now it's al- 
 most west. If it swings round any more, and 
 blows from the north, we're in for rotten 
 weather." 
 
 "Rain, d' you men ?" asked Tynan. 
 
 "Lord, no! Heavy, sultry weather. Hot as 
 hell. However, here goes!" and he gulped down 
 the rest of his tea, and stood up and shouted to 
 Banjo to bring the camels closer up to the packs. 
 
 Before six o'clock, they were filing away from 
 camp, heading due west. Tom went first on a 
 free cam.el, Banjo next, sitting sideways on top 
 of a light load, two other draft camels tied nose- 
 line to crupper followed, and Tynan brought up 
 the rear, also on a free camel. At times he rode 
 abreast of the leader, but for the most part kept 
 in the rear, both for the sake of urging the line
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 177 
 
 to keep up the pace, and to call out if a nose-line 
 broke — a not infrequent occurrence. 
 
 Within the first hour, the firm plains over which 
 they had travelled since crossing the Franklins, 
 changed to lidge after ridge of loose red sand. 
 Great tufts of spinifex clothed the slopes, and the 
 hollows between were often so filled with dense 
 mulga scrub that travelling was very slow. Tom 
 rode a quarter of a mile ahead to search out 
 the best track across these valleys, leaving Banjo 
 to follow his camel-tracks. 
 
 During the first afternoon, as they topped an 
 unusually high ridge, Tynan saw, or thought he 
 saw, a coil of smoke far away northward. The 
 distance was so great and the mulga so dense, that 
 it might have been a tall tree enlarged by the 
 heat which quivered over the landscape. Tom was 
 a good way ahead at the time, and his friend did 
 not mention the matter till after supper. 
 
 "Did you notice any smoke to the north about 
 three o'clock this afternoon?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. And I saw some almost due ahead of us 
 a bit later. They must be niggers' fires." 
 
 Next morning, just before they started, Tom 
 gripped his companion's arm, and led him to the 
 fringe of the camping ground. 
 
 "You remember that smoke you saw yester- 
 day?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, look there." 
 
 Tom pointed to the ground in several places, 
 and even the city-bred man had no difficulty in 
 understanding what he saw there. All around 
 were the tracks of naked feet. Their breadth and 
 the spread of the great toe apart from the others 
 proclaimed them native. Here and there it was 
 plain to see that someone had been sitting down. 
 Without a doubt, wild blacks had been within a 
 sr ear's thrust of them that night.
 
 178 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "You carry your revolver handy, I suppose?" 
 said Tom. 
 
 Tynan pointed to his belt, at which hung a re- 
 volver pouch. 
 
 "And at night?" 
 
 "I haven't up till now, but, by gad! I will in 
 future." 
 
 Many more smoke signals were seen that day, 
 often in front, but still on the north of their line 
 of march. 
 
 "How d'you feel?" asked Tom during dinner. 
 
 "Good," smiled Tynan, "though I must admit a 
 revolver's a great comfort." 
 
 "Yes. But I don't expect you'll have to use it. 
 The beggars are just curious, that's all. . ; . By 
 the way, it's a dashed good sign." 
 
 "Good sign! What? That warrigals are 
 about?" 
 
 "Yes ; for, don't you see, it means there's water 
 somewhere between that spring and Poison Peak. 
 We may be jolly glad of it before we're through."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 179 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 The Supposed Tree Stump. 
 
 A big fire was made that night, and the two 
 white men kept alternate watches. It was a new 
 experience to Tynan, knowing that eyes were 
 peering at him out of the dusky faces in the 
 shadows beyond the circle of flickering light. The 
 air was still and sultry. During the day the wind 
 had gradually changed to the north, and the 
 weather had become more and more oppressive, 
 till at night, in the gloom of the weird trees, it 
 seemed that the whole world was shut away and 
 lost beyond recall. 
 
 During the second watch, one of the camels be- 
 gan to roar, but its complaint died away to silence 
 again. 
 
 Banjo went after the camels as usual at day- 
 break, but only returned with four. 
 
 "What for you no bring 'um up other camel?" 
 asked Tom. 
 
 "Him bin break 'um leg," was the answer. 
 
 "Which way?" And both white men started 
 after the nigger. 
 
 What they found explained the sudden roar 
 which had broken the stillness of the night. One 
 of the draft camels lay dead, about half a mile from 
 camp. Tracks all around left no doubt as to the 
 perpetrators of the deed. The blacks were evi- 
 dently not following them out of curiosity. 
 
 The third day was one of constant tension. Tom 
 rode with a rifle over his knees, and every now 
 and again fired into the scrub to scare away any 
 lurking enemy. In spite of the fact that the 
 weather had become almost unbearably hot and
 
 i8o GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 that the two riding camels shared between them 
 the load of the one that had been killed, the party- 
 pushed on and did thirty miles before sunset. 
 
 "Hoosh-tar, Kabul! Hoosh-tar, Emir! Shah! 
 Sultan!" The four camels knelt, and Banjo at 
 once began to pull off the packs. 
 
 Tom checked him. "By-'m-by," he said. "We 
 get um tucker first time." 
 
 In explanation to his friend, he accused himself ^ 
 of being the cause of the fifth camel's death." 
 
 "However could you have saved it, Tom?" 
 
 "By doing what we're going to do to-night," 
 the bushman replied. "Camp here till dark, and 
 then go on for another hour. I'd like to go on 
 right through the night, but Sultan's feet are too 
 sore." 
 
 "But won't the niggers follow us ?" 
 
 "No. I don't think so. They usually watch - 
 where you camp, and then creep in at night. I 
 bet ^f we returned here to-morrow morning we'd 
 find a whole lot of tracks. We'll be as safe as a 
 house if we move on." 
 
 "But the camels?" 
 
 "That's the trouble. The poor beggars are 
 thirsty and may wander. I wish to hell I knew 
 where the niggers are gettmg water, but it's too 
 close scrub to run about looking for it. We're 
 cutting it pretty fine for ourselves, too. ... I 
 reckon we'll close-hobble the camels on as good 
 feed as we can find in the moonlight, and take it 
 in turns to watch them, like we do with a mob of 
 cattle." 
 
 Immediately it was dark, the men made a big 
 fire, as if preparing for a night's camp, but at 
 once set off west again through the scrub. After 
 about an hour, they found a little well-grassed 
 flat, free from trees, and short-hobbled the camels 
 on it, making camp in the scrub near by. Tom 
 took first watch, Tynan second ; no fire was lit.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES i8i 
 
 A sleep of utter exhaustion overwhelmed the 
 young man, in spite of all danger, and it seemed as 
 if he had only just stretched himself on top of his 
 swag when Tom shook him. Instantly he was 
 fully awake and, to the bushman's satisfaction, his 
 hand at once went to his revolver. 
 
 "Right, old man," said Tom, "it's only me. I've 
 just come off watch. Everything's quiet." 
 
 "What's the time?" 
 
 "About half past two." Tom ought to have 
 called him at one, but he had given the untried 
 man a little longer to rest. 
 
 "You're a damn good chap, Tom. Where are 
 the camels?" 
 
 "I'll show you." 
 
 The four tall beasts were still feeding in the 
 little open space, and seemed in no mood to stray. 
 
 "I'd just walk round the beggars every half 
 hour or so," explained Tom. "You'll easy enough 
 keep your eye on them in this light, and the moon 
 won't set till close on daylight. Keep them on this 
 patch if you can. ... So long!" 
 
 Tynan walked round the camels, drove them a 
 little closer together to let them know he was 
 there, and then sat down, with his rifle at full cock, 
 on a log where Tom had evidently been sitting. 
 The tall grey animals looked ghostly in the moon- 
 light, and in a few minutes the main details of the 
 scene were quite plain. 
 
 Not a breath of wind stirred. The watcher's 
 arms and face were damp with sweat, and a crowd 
 of tiny midges gave him no peace. But the weeks 
 of travel had made him disregard many discom- 
 forts, and he did not even bother to drive the 
 little pests away. 
 
 His mind was beginning to wander — and if it 
 was speeding on its way to Melbourae, who can 
 be surpiised? — when one of the camels lifted its
 
 i8r GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 head and looked intently at the scrub opposite to 
 the spot where Tynan was sitting. Then he im- 
 agined that he saw something move from one tree 
 to another, just where the camel was looking. He 
 watched it for several minutes with the rifle at 
 his shoulder, while his heart pounded away with 
 excitement. The thing was too vague to shoot at, 
 and it is impossible to sight properly in moonlight. 
 Nothing would be gained by firing at a shadow, 
 and a report would betray their whereabouts to 
 the blacks. At last he gave it up as a trick of 
 an over-wrought imagination. Moreover, the 
 camel had resumed its feeding. 
 
 Then from the east, and quite near, came a 
 feeling that someone was looking at him. For a 
 moment he did not turn round, but kept the rifle 
 pointing in its original direction. Taking a firm 
 mental grip of himself, he wondered whether this 
 growing sense of horror was merely nerves. No, 
 they were steady enough. He most decidedly was 
 being watched. 
 
 He wheeled and faced east suddenly. Silence. 
 Just twisted trees throwing tangled shadows on 
 the sand. It is marvellous how the mind records 
 objects even when no special attention has been 
 paid to them. Before he sat down on the log, 
 Tynan had glanced around, and now, as he looked 
 again, peering intently into the scrub, he felt sure 
 that he had not noticed before a short stump 
 about fifty yards away. 
 
 His mind was superlatively alert. A twig 
 cracked, and he looked away for a moment, then 
 back again at the old stump. It seemed to have 
 changed its position very slightly. He began 
 walking slowly towards it with his rifle pointed. 
 A night-owl hooted close by. He could not tell 
 till afterwards how long the ordeal lasted. The 
 owl hooted again, hut Tynan did not take his at- 
 tention from the stump. He seemed to know that
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 183 
 
 savage human lips had framed those ghastly bird- 
 notes. 
 
 The thing he was looking at suddenly collapsed. 
 Where formerly was a stump, there was none. 
 But at the same instant there was a report. 
 Tynan did not know he had' fired. The action was 
 purely reflex. Then he saw something black 
 writhing on the ground. 
 
 The silence was instantly full of a sound like 
 the rustling of leaves. To his horror every shadow 
 seemed alive, fleeing back into the scrub, of whose 
 mystery they seemed a part. He saw that writh- 
 ing thing go back and back till it, also, was lost in 
 the gloom. 
 
 He put his hand to his head. The thing was too 
 uncanny to be real. Then he heard Tom's voice, 
 anctJthat lusty shout restored him at once. 
 
 "Here, Tom! Here!" he answered. 
 
 "Are you alright?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Fm alright." 
 
 "What did you fire at?" 
 
 "A nigger, though I'm hanged if I knew what it 
 was when I fired. ... To tell you the truth, 
 I didn't know I had pulled the trigger." 
 
 "Did you hit him?" 
 
 "Yes. He was over here in the scrub." Tynan 
 began to go towards the spot, but his friend re- 
 strained him. 
 
 "Steady, Jim ! Steady ! I reckon we'd best wait 
 a bit." 
 
 So, side by side, the two white men watched the 
 camels till dawn. 
 
 When the light was strong enough to reveal 
 of any ambushed enemy, they went to the spot 
 where Tynan had last seen the nigger. Instead of 
 the body, they found marks where it had been 
 dragged away. They followed for a quarter of a 
 mile, but judged it best not to go further. There 
 were tracks of natives in abundance, but when
 
 i84 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Tom had been shown the place where the nigger 
 had stood so incredibly still in imitation of a tree- 
 stump, he suddenly called out, 
 
 "See, Jim! See that track?" 
 
 "Yes. I see it. Nice roots for a tree," he 
 laughed. 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered Tom in excitement. "Do 
 you know who you've shot, man? It's Jack. See 
 that cut across the heel? By gad, we've got the 
 devil at last." 
 
 "Jack?" queried Tynan, in amazement. "You 
 mean that nigger that caused so much mischief?" 
 
 "Yes, that's the chap. The one from the Mis- 
 sion Station." 
 
 "I wish I'd known," said Tynan. "I'd have made 
 a cert of him. . . . But there! The whole 
 bally thing was a fluke. I didn't even know it was 
 a nigger till I heard the report." 
 
 "Never mind, let's hope he's a gone coon. I 
 wondered why these niggers were so persistent. 
 They'd never have followed us after dark if that 
 blasted nigger hadn't led him. He's a good example 
 of trying to civilise blacks. Give a nigger his 
 tucker and clothes if he wants them, and teach 
 him just enough for his work, and he's right. 
 Anything more than that makes rascals of them. 
 . . . And it's not only me that says it," con- 
 tinued the stockman, as they walked away towards 
 camp. "You ask any man who has lived for any 
 time in this country, and he'll tell you the same."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 185 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIIL 
 A Sand-storm. 
 
 The remainder of the journey to Poison Peak 
 was accomplished without any interference from 
 blacks. No signal smokes were seen by day, no 
 mishaps occurred at night. The enemy seemed 
 to have been finally scared away. Constant watch 
 was kept, however, and this nervous tension added 
 to the strain of travel. But Fate did not allow 
 them to reach their goal without a further test. 
 
 Had everj'thing gone smoothly, the end of the 
 fourth day would have seen the travellers camping 
 in the shadow of the peak, with but an hour's 
 climb ahead of them. As it was, the fourth even- 
 ing found them still in thick scrub, with their 
 objective like a grey cloud against the brilliant 
 sunset. Tynan had turned suddenly sick that 
 afternoon, and when, with a call upon all his re- 
 maining strength, he had done his share of the 
 unloading, he lay down in the sand with his head 
 on his rolled-up swag, and fell into an exhausted 
 sleep. 
 
 The promise of the previous night had been ful- 
 filled. All day the men had travelled with sweat- 
 soaked clothes under a sky that was without the 
 mercy of a single cloud. Wind had come in hot 
 puffs like an oven door opening, but even these 
 died down at sunset, leaving a world gasping for 
 breath. 
 
 Tynan had experienced his first touch of the 
 sun. At tea he could eat nothing, and, though 
 Tom gave him a liberal allowance of water, his 
 thirst was as unquenched after two quarts of tea 
 as before. What sleep he gained that night was fit-
 
 i86 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 f ul and exhausting. Many a time in his almost de- 
 lirious dreams, he imagined himself with Ida Hen- 
 nessy. Sometimes he was riding with her along 
 tracks amongst tall trees whose foliage even the 
 noon sun failed to pierce; at others they were 
 boating together on a river edged with willows 
 which overhung the water, making canopies of 
 green where lovers idled; again, upon a wind- 
 swept cliff, they watched the grey sea beat itself 
 to spray, and laughed as it dashed past their faces, 
 leaving lips and cheeks cool and bitter-sweet to 
 kiss. Always this sense of coolness and of water. 
 And every time he woke, he saw the lifeless trees, 
 and the moon sailing in a cloudless sky, and was 
 conscious once more of his burning head and ach- 
 ing body. 
 
 Suddenly the clink of hobbles made him remem- 
 ber his watch. 
 
 "Tom!" he shouted. "Tom!" 
 
 "Hulloa!" came the answer from not far away. 
 
 "Why ever didn't you call me to watch the 
 camels ?" 
 
 Tom laughed. "You were making such a row 
 in your sleep, old man, that I reckoned you would 
 scare the beasts clean away." 
 
 "Was I? I'm sorry, Tom. But, you know, I 
 ought to do my share." 
 
 Tom became suddenly serious, and said almost 
 tenderly : "You're doing all your share, Jim ; don't 
 make any mistake about that. You've got a touch 
 of the sun, that's all. . . . Besides," and he 
 told a lie to satisfy his friend, "Banjo took most 
 of your watch." 
 
 Tynan got out of his blankets, and in order to 
 bluff away the deadly weakness that was master- 
 ing him, asked how far they were from Poison 
 Peak. 
 
 "It can't be more than fifteen miles," was the 
 answer. "There's a ten mile stretch of bare
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 187 
 
 sandy country to cross yet, and I reckon we'll get 
 out of this blasted scrub in a couple of hours. . . 
 But come and have breakfast. I've got a stew 
 going. It ought to be rather good." 
 
 So it was, considering the ingredients at hand, 
 and Tynan did his best to show his appreciation. 
 But all he could do was to drink as much black hot 
 coffee as Tom would let him have. His body 
 seemed to crave stimulants, although the satisfy- 
 ing of his thirst merely brought on sickness again. 
 
 Not a breath of wind broke the oppressive still- 
 ness of the morning. Every tree waited; every 
 insect was mute with wonder at that awful sultri- 
 ness. 
 
 "It can't last long," was Tom's opinion as he 
 tightened the girths round one of the camels, and 
 Tynan, whose little strength was nearly ex- 
 hausted by the easy task of rolling up his swag, 
 prayed that his friend might be right. 
 
 Morning held its breath till noon. An occasional 
 puff of hot wind was like the panting of a wrestler 
 preparing for a final throw. Seated on his camel, 
 Tynan lolled forward, unconscious of anything 
 but the necessity of holding on. 
 
 Some slight relief was gained when they 
 emerged from the scrub upon an absolutely barren 
 plain. In front of them was the short range of 
 hills of which Poison Peak was the highest fea- 
 ture; to north and south the mulga scrub ended 
 abruptly and gave place to level sand, unrelieved 
 by grass or shrub or tree of any kind. So bare 
 was it that, at Tom's direction, Banjo collected a 
 handful of sticks and carried them along to boil 
 the quart-pots at mid-day. Tom saw the useless- 
 ness of urging his companion to eat, and was 
 again extravagant in his allowance of tea. 
 
 "There's good cool shade up there, Jim," he said, 
 encouragingly, pointing to the west. "The shade 
 of rocks, and any amount of spring water. And I
 
 i88 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 reckon one sight of that gold would revive a dead 
 
 man." 
 
 Tynan had just enough strength for that after- 
 noon, and no more. He had reached his limit, and 
 when his friend helped him to mount, he clutched 
 the front of the saddle for some time before he 
 could trust himself alone. His head felt very light, 
 and any sudden movement made him sick and 
 giddy. Ahead of them. Poison Peak was almost lost 
 in a slate-blue haze which was hiding the horizon. 
 Northward, a few puflfs of white cloud showed like 
 browsing sheep, whereas the rest of the sky was 
 filmed here and there with gossamer grey. The 
 air was so still that it seemed as if the pad-pad 
 of the camels must break the silence for miles 
 around. 
 
 Slowly the flock of white clouds spread out over 
 the pastures of the sky. Behind them, and more 
 slowly, came a well-defined billowy mass of grey, 
 from which jutted out three shapes like the heads 
 of wolves with gaping jaws. A brown streak 
 began to show against the grey, low down on the 
 sky-line. It was the color of milky tea at first, 
 but as it rose with the clouds, it looked as if a fire 
 were burning in its heart, for an angiy red shone 
 here and there through the brown. The three 
 wolf-clouds rushed wildly across the sky, increas- 
 ing each moment in size and in the weirdness of 
 their outlines. The bank of grey rose higher and 
 higher, massed in thunder shapes, the deep blue 
 of whoge shadows was lit up from time to time 
 with hidden lightning. And, like a curtain bellied 
 with the wind, behind which were the fires of hell, 
 the immense brown cloud came sweeping on. 
 
 No sound. No breath of air. The ground 
 cringed in terror of the approaching storm. 
 
 The herald clouds crossed the sun, and at once 
 the landscape was wrapped in deepening twilight. 
 Then, as if to clear the way, came two or three
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES . 189 
 
 short shai*p puffs of cold wind. They ceased, and 
 again the oppressive stillness was unbroken. 
 
 The sound of rustling leaves came gradually 
 out of the silence, and grew so rapidly, that soon 
 a forest seemed to be lamenting at the chastening 
 of a gale. A faint rumbling echoed through all 
 that approaching mass, while flashes lit up each 
 towering column of cloud. The dark brown cur- 
 tain came tailing across the plain below. 
 
 It enveloped them suddenly. Wind sped howl- 
 ing past. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed, 
 so near that the very air was tainted. Sand! 
 Sand ! Sand ! A thousand men shovelling at once 
 could not have thrown so much dust into the air. 
 The darkness of utter destruction, the agent of 
 some merciless fiend whose power had blotted out 
 all light for ever, was tangibly flying upon the 
 wind. 
 
 In an. instant each man was alone. The head of 
 the camel he rode was lost to view, and even the 
 front of the saddle could only be found by touch. 
 Breathing was a struggle that absorbed every 
 power of mind and body. They had to definitely 
 will each breath, or life would have gone in com- 
 pany with the 'shrieking fiends that sped past 
 them. 
 
 All at once Tynan's camel swerved, and before 
 he had time to check it, even if he had had the 
 power, it was kneeling down. 
 
 What could he do? He was alone. He was 
 more afraid than he had been in his life before; 
 afraid of the ervil powers that were wrecking their 
 fury on the exhausted earth. Gathering the last 
 of his strength together, he shouted : "Tom ! Tom !" 
 But the wind caught his voice, tore it to tatters, 
 and strewed them far away to the south, and not 
 the tiniest shred of his shout reached even his 
 own ears. Then he must have fallen off his camel. 
 
 The storm passed by, as clean-cut as it came,
 
 I90 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 trailing over the landscape like the skirts of Death. 
 It left a clean, cool air and a sky marred by no 
 sultry vapours. No morning in spring could be 
 more joyous. ThQ earth appeared to be newly 
 awake and smiling, and all living creatures seemed 
 cleansed of weariness like a man cleanses his body 
 with water. This was true only by contrast with 
 what had gone before, and it had one exception — 
 the exhausted man — though even he yielded 
 quickly to the spirit of well-being that filled the 
 air. 
 
 "Come on, Jim. Drink this." 
 
 From somewhere very far away, Tynan heard 
 the words, and automatically obeyed. Almost at 
 once his lungs began to tingle, and then a fire of 
 new life coursed through his veins. He looked up. 
 Tom was kneeling at his side with a flask of 
 brandy. The bulk of his camel towered above 
 him, half buried in sand, and the other three 
 animals knelt quite close by. 
 
 "Better?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks, but—" 
 
 "Have another." 
 
 After the second draught, he sat up. The situa- 
 tion was easily explained. Tynan was riding the 
 last camel when the storm broke, and his animal 
 had knelt because those in front had done the 
 same. The only difference in their experiences 
 was that whereas Tom had got off his camel and 
 sheltered of his own free will, the other white man 
 had done it involuntarily, and had succumbed to 
 exhaustion for a time. 
 
 No rain had fallen, but the air had just the same 
 feeling of being newly washed that comes after 
 a thunder shower. The cool change brought 
 health and renewed spirits to Tynan. Half an 
 hour after the storm had passed, it was hard to 
 believe that he had been recently so near the limit 
 of his strength. He looked and saw the mass of
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 191 
 
 Poison Peak looming up, every detail clearly de- 
 fined through the sparkling atmosphere, and it 
 looked as if a half-hour's walk would bring him to 
 the foot of the hills. 
 
 "Nearly there," he said to Tom, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, only about five more miles." 
 
 "Five miles be hanged ! It's not more than two. 
 I bet I could walk there in three-quarters of an 
 hour easily." 
 
 "Don't you beheve it. See that line of mulga 
 trees out there ? How far do you reckon it is ?" 
 
 "Oh, about a mile. I should say it's half way 
 / between here and the foot of the peak." 
 
 "Well, I know for a cert that the trees are nearly 
 four miles from the hills. That makes it five we've 
 got to go ; it may be nearer six. You see, after a 
 stonn up here, it's absolutely impossible to judge 
 distance. . . . How do you feel now?" 
 
 "By gad, Tom, I'm hungry." 
 
 "That's good. What do you say if we put on the 
 pots right away? It's only about half -past four, 
 but that doesn't matter." 
 
 "Good," said Tynan. "This change has put new 
 life into me. I don't feel a bit sick now, but am as 
 hollow as a drum." He stood up. For a few 
 moments everything seemed to sway and toss 
 around him, then a horrible darkness came over 
 him, and he would have fallen had not Tom come 
 to his assistance." 
 
 "Thanks, Tom," he said feebly, when he had 
 recovered. "I had no idea I was so weak." 
 
 All he needed was nourishment, and a good 
 meal went far to completely restoring him. 'They 
 opened their first tin of fish, and while the cool 
 breeze kept off the flies, he ate with the relish of 
 hunger. Afterwards he lay back and sipped tea 
 with great content. 
 
 Tom was in high spirits, and sought to add to 
 his friend's cheerfulness. "By. the Lord, Jim, I
 
 192 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 like your pluck. I reckoned you were clean knocked 
 out last night, and here you are as chirpy as a 
 grasshopper." 
 
 Tynan took his hat off and let the wind play 
 with his hair. "It's this cool wind, Tom. Two 
 hours ago I thought I was about done, whereas 
 now . . . are we going to start soon?" 
 
 "Yes. Right away." 
 
 One after the other the great beasts rose from 
 the sand which had drifted around their loads, 
 shook themselves, and knelt down again, looking 
 round at the men with that disdainful glance of 
 theirs. 
 
 Tucker was packed away, nose-lines adjusted, 
 and as the party set out for the last few miles of 
 travel, Tynan shouted from the rear: 
 
 "All aboard! Not stopping this side of Poison 
 Peak."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES igj 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 Gold Madness. 
 
 The mass of rising ground of which Poison Peak 
 is the apex, runs roughly north and south. Behind 
 it is no distinct fall to the same level as the country- 
 east, but the high land continues for many miles 
 — how far, no white man knows, for no one has 
 ever had reason to cross it. The peak is nearly 
 central, and is cut off from the other hills by two 
 deep gullies which are just dry sandy creek beds 
 where they emerge on the plain, but grow rocky 
 and precipitous as they rise. 
 
 The only source of water in the district is a 
 small rock-hole, a spring which gurgles over its 
 basin and flows down one of the gullies in a silver 
 trickle till it loses itself in the sand. 
 
 The whole range is barren, save for the vegeta- 
 tion in these two gullies. From a distance, it 
 resembles nothing so much as the slag-heap of 
 some vast furnace, for stratum after stratum of 
 rock, coloured as if by the smelting of hell, rises 
 from base to summit. Rain might fall here con- 
 tinuously for a week, but when the sun shone out 
 again, it would swelter down on the same arid 
 waste. If wealth indeed is hidden here, it has a 
 grim keeper, for Death sits on the peak and his' 
 minions perch on every crumbling crag. 
 
 The caravan halted at the entrance to the 
 northern gully late on the afternoon of the sand- 
 storm, and the order was given for the camels to 
 kneel. 
 
 "Not going up to-night ?" asked Tynan. 
 
 "No, Jim. The gully's unfit for camels. They'll 
 have to go round about six miles and come to the
 
 194 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 water from the west. It's only about a mile and a 
 half up the gully." 
 
 "Why not walk up after tea, Tom. I feel as 
 right as pie, and by gad! I'm anxious to see that 
 gold." 
 
 "Not more anxious than I am, old man. No. 
 We'll take it steady. This sandy bed doesn't last 
 for more than a hundred yards. Then it's clamber- 
 ing over rocks and trees. I reckon we'd better 
 wait till morning." 
 
 Tynan's assurance that he was "as right as pie" 
 must be taken with reservations. He was very 
 restless, and quite unable to quieten his over-taxed 
 nerves; a condition which frequently follows ex- 
 haustion. In his excitement, he mistook this 
 activity, and his deception was made easier by the 
 fact of a healthy appetite. In reality, the keen 
 expectation of finding gold, which had supported 
 both men during the trials of the journey, took 
 advantage of his weakness, and became an obses- 
 sion. Fortunately for him, his companion retained 
 his self-control, or the young man might have 
 added one to the long list of prospectors who did 
 not "come back." He sat by the fire nursing his 
 knees after tea, and every now and again he looked 
 up the gully. 
 
 "There's gold within a mile and a half of us, 
 Tom. Think of that!" he muttered. 
 
 "Yes, old man. Nothing's surer except that 
 just now we want something more than gold." 
 
 "More than gold!" Tynan was easily startled 
 in his present state. 
 
 "Yes. We both want a dashed good sleep." 
 
 "Sleep be blowed!" exclaimed the young man. 
 "D'you think I'll sleep a wink to-night, Tom?" 
 
 "I don't like to think of it if you don't, old man," 
 said Tom, so seriously that for a minute or two 
 the obsession loosened its grip.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 195 
 
 "I'll try, Tom, really I will. . . . But my 
 brain's on fire. . . . You said a mile and a half, 
 didn't you ? Well, if we start at six, we ought to 
 be there by — " Tom made an exclamation of im- 
 patience, and the rambling finished with : "I think 
 a sight of that gold would cool my head." 
 
 "Gold never cooled a man yet," was the empha- 
 tic answer. 
 
 "But I think it would cool mine, Tom." Then 
 with a cunning smile, he asked : "Would you be sur- 
 prised if I went up there in the night, Tom?" 
 
 The bushman stood up opposite his crouching 
 companion. The firelight shone on his weather- 
 worn face and rough clothes, and seemed to 
 emphasise the rude strength of one who had 
 gained it in a daily struggle with Nature. 
 
 "Look here, Jim !" he said sternly. "You must 
 drop this, right now. We're mates, but you've put 
 me in charge of this plant, and by G — I am in 
 charge! You're to go to bed at once and not stir 
 till I sing out in the morning. See?" 
 
 Tom had not meant to be so positive, but he saw 
 the rising passion in his friend's face, and knew 
 that no half measures would suffice. 
 
 T3Tian sprang to his feet before Tom had 
 finished speaking, and confronted his companion 
 across the fire. 
 
 "Who in the hell are vou giving orders to?" he 
 demanded. "I'll do what I like. I'll—" 
 
 But the barrel of a revolver, pointed directly at 
 him, brought the sentence to an abrupt close. 
 
 "Sit down!" was the command, followed by: 
 "and hand me your revolver." 
 
 There was no alternative, so Tynan obeyed. Tom 
 kept him covered for about five minutes, till he 
 saw that the rage had died out of the other's 
 face, then he addressed him again. 
 
 "Jim, old man, you and me are mates. I've met 
 all kinds of men up here, but never one I liked as
 
 196 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 well as you. . . . But I know this country, and 
 the cursed grip gold takes of a man. It's worse 
 than whisky, and that's saying a lot. Jim, I've 
 seen it drive men stark mad. . . . Now you and 
 me have got to take this good and sober. You've 
 had a touch of the sun and are not quite right." 
 
 "Tom, I'm awfully sorry," said Tynan peni- 
 tently, "but I'm just all to pieces in my mind. You 
 don't know how near the edge of things I am." 
 
 "Then be a good chap and don't fall over it." 
 
 "Right. I'll go to bed." 
 
 For hours the weary man tossed on his 
 blankets. Body and mind ached, but both were 
 still at full tension. His friend's prompt action 
 had restored the balance that was being upset, 
 and he fought — of his own free will now — to keep 
 his thoughts from speculating on what would 
 happen next day. The lust that sends men out to 
 the ends of the earth in search of gold bears no 
 ratio to their need of it. Tynan was a wealthy 
 man, yet gold fever had attacked him so 
 strongly that if his companion had been less ex- 
 perienced, this one-time brilhant young doctor 
 would probably have died of exhaustion. 
 
 Skirting round the object of their journey in 
 search of a train of thought sufficiently absorbing 
 to occupy his mind to the exclusion of aught else, 
 it was inevitable that he should at last come to 
 Ida Hennessy. Why was he tossing restlessly at 
 the foot of Poison Peak instead of sleeping quietly 
 in his Melbourne bedroom? Not all the gold in 
 Australia could alter his position with her; but 
 the search for it was to drive her memory from 
 his mind. That it had not succeeded was apparent. 
 In pride he had come north and west into the 
 wilderness, and it had shown him what a pitiful 
 thing his pride had been. 
 
 But he could not run away from love. As all
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 197 
 
 the artificial props for his pride had been knocked 
 away — for nothing but what is real can live in the 
 bush — each mile had brought him nearer to the 
 naked truth, even as it had brought him nearer to 
 a lode of gold. He knew now that in losing Ida 
 he had lost what would have made his life worth 
 living ; but now .... 
 
 In sleep, the dreamer is always the central 
 figure, and always heroic. All wishes are fulfilled 
 in that magic land of make-believe. So when at 
 last Tynan's thoughts were of reconciliation, of 
 mutual love, and of unending vistas of happiness, 
 it is safe to conclude that he slept. 
 
 Tom watched the fire till nearly midnight, and 
 then tip-toed to the side of his friend. He listened 
 to the deep regular breathing for a moment, then 
 smiled and lay down to sleep. In his own quiet 
 way, Tom hked this city-bred man better than any- 
 one he had ever met. 
 
 Like all bushmen, he was awake at dawn. The 
 sun had still an hour or two to rise before it would 
 shine over the top of Poison Peak, so when Tom 
 saw that Tynan was still asleep, he signed to the 
 boy to lie down again, and did the same himself. 
 
 Now that the object of his quest was nearly 
 within his grasp, he was strangely indifferent to 
 it. Many times he had pictured this identical 
 morning, with its mad rush up the gully at the 
 first signs of day; and now he was lying idly on 
 his blankets. As a matter of fact, he was ex- 
 periencing one of those strange psychological 
 impulses which, when the object of a very strong 
 desire is almost attained, makes us stay our hand. 
 Probably many of the failures in the region of 
 high endeavour can be attributed to this. So much 
 energy has gone in anticipating achievement, that 
 when it is almost accomplished, there is not the
 
 198 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 necessary power to carry it to completion. Tom 
 lay and gazed at the brightening sky, at the trees, 
 at the weird colours of Poison Peak, and there was 
 no quickening of his pulse. In order to stir up his 
 mind, he went over the details of his previous visit, 
 when that reef had startled him almost to mad- 
 ness. But he could arouse no more interest than 
 to determine to go up the gully after breakfast. 
 He turned on his side and did what he could 
 scarcely remember having done before : he went to 
 sleep again after sunrise. 
 
 No one can predict what he will do or think in 
 a crisis. Both these men were on the top-note of 
 expectation, yet they reacted in entirely opposite 
 ways. 
 
 But two hours later ! With increasing difficulty 
 the white men had climbed the creek bed till it 
 narrowed to a steep gully. On each side of them, 
 the strata showed as clearly as if it had been pre- 
 pared for a geological specimen. What ages of 
 pohshing with wind-blown sand had gone by since 
 first, when the earth turned in its sleep, this rift 
 had been made ! On top was the slag-like forma- 
 tion, stratum upon stratum of vivid colours, but 
 lower down was grey granite veined here and 
 there like marble. This evidently constituted the 
 body of the range ; the other — who can tell whence 
 came that multi-coloured refuse pile on pile ? 
 
 When the rift up which they scrambled was 
 nearly closing in at the top, two smaller ones 
 joined it, one going north and of no great length, 
 and the other south extending for perhaps a 
 quarter of a mile up into the western footing of 
 the peak. At the junction of these stood a white 
 gum. 
 
 Tynan had been so busy keeping pace with his 
 companion that he almost stumbled against the 
 cree before its significance struck him. When it
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 199 
 
 did he leant against it and shouted till the gully 
 was full of echoes. 
 
 "Tom ! Tom ! Here's that white gum !" 
 But Tom was already crashing through the 
 bushes in the southern ravine. All apathy had 
 left him, and his face, usually so open and kind, 
 was fierce and set as he urged his body to do its 
 utmost to respond to the passionate impatience 
 of his mind. 
 
 Tynan followed. They dashed on, stumbling, 
 bruised, bleeding, with torn flesh and clothes, pant- 
 ing, swearing, shouting, while great sweat-drops 
 tinged with dirt and blood blinded their eyes. The 
 younger man managed to get ahead, and saw the 
 tobacco tin first, whereat he gave a yell of joy. 
 But his companion, with a sudden sprint, was 
 abreast of him, and flung him to the ground and 
 raced on. 
 
 On reaching the tin wedged in the fork of a 
 mulga tree. Tom made straight for the wall of the 
 gully as if he would dash himself against it ; but a 
 needle-bush hid the entrance to a crack in the 
 rock, and with a leap through the bush, he fell 
 down against a solid wall of rock, sobbing and 
 reaching up his torn hands, fondling the rock as 
 a man might fondle the face of a woman whom he 
 had braved many dangers to win. 
 
 Tynan was on his feet again m an instant, 
 gained the crumpled tin, and was just in time to 
 see his companion disappear behind the bush. He 
 followed with a shout, and fell exhausted beside 
 the sobbing man. 
 
 Their climb had brought them nearly to the top 
 of the range, and the loose, brightly coloured 
 strata showed a few feet above them. Below these 
 was grey granite, while the rock on which the men 
 lay was a bluish dolorite. But between the granite 
 and the dolorite, like a mineral sandwich, was a
 
 200 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 hard milky stone stained with dull red, and it was 
 this which Tom was caressing with such extrava- 
 gant affection. 
 
 "Gold!" he cried, with the tender tones of a 
 lover. "Gold! Gold! How beautiful it is. . . . 
 It's waited all the time for me. ... for me !" 
 
 Between his knees was a piece of the whitish 
 quartz that had broken off from the rest. It_ was 
 about the size of a man's hand, and was thickly 
 covered with red and yellow stains. Tom flung his 
 arms round it, kissing its rough surface, and finally 
 lay down with his head upon the hard mass, croon- 
 ing little words of endearment which sounded 
 strange from a bushman. Such display of emotion 
 would have been ridiculous, did not the excesses 
 border on madness, and turn the scene from 
 comedy to fragedy. 
 
 Tynan was too exhausted to give rein to his ex- 
 citement. He lay panting on the ground. Though 
 he had never seen gold in the rough before, he 
 knew the meaning of those reddish stains, and in- 
 deed the gold on the broken lump was apparent to 
 anyone. The sight of his friend steadied him, but 
 only for a time ; he was too weak to resist the con- 
 tagion. 
 
 Tom looked up, and the next moment the two 
 rnen were hugging one another almost to suffoca- 
 tion, using every possible term of endearment and 
 protestation of undying friendship, stooping to- 
 gether to fondle the broken lump, covering the 
 face of the rock with kisses, and at times breaking 
 away to wave their arms and shout with all their 
 might. 
 
 Here was gold! Power! The vitalising agent 
 of the world ! They did not know how much of it 
 could be taken to the igreat cities that smile so 
 affably on those who have gold ; but it was here, 
 and belonged to them, and no one in the wide
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 201 
 
 world was present to dilute the joy of complete 
 possession. 
 
 Complete possession? No one? There was 
 Tynan ! There was Tom ! Such was suddenly the 
 thought of each, and how subtly did they try to 
 hide it. Power cannot be perfect if shared, and 
 madness possessed these men for perfect power. 
 
 The paroxysm of delight passed almost simul- 
 taneously away, and as they lay back, their eyes 
 met, and each read the same tale in those of the 
 other. In order to cover their designs, they began 
 to quietly discuss the find, the sudden lull in the 
 emotion storm being more terrible than its out- 
 burst. 
 
 "What weight d'you think that lump ought to 
 yield, Tom?" asked Tynan, and as he spoke 
 casually, his hand stole round to his revolver- 
 pouch, while his eyes watched his companion as a 
 cat does a mouse. 
 
 "Oh, it's hard to say, till it's crushed," was the 
 answer, while he too felt for his weapon. Sud- 
 denly Tom laughed. It was a cruel, mirthless 
 laugh, and immediately the other man's face 
 blanched with fear. Tynan's pouch was empty. 
 Tom had forgotten to return his revolver. 
 
 At all costs the pretence must be kept up. 
 Tynan moved a little closer to his companion and 
 asked, with a forced laugh, "What's the joke, 
 Tom?" 
 
 A fierce gleam came into the bushman's lust- 
 maddened eyes, and he slipped his revolver out 
 of its pouch and laid it on his lap. "Oh," he said 
 casually, "I was just thinking of the things a 
 chap can do with money, that's all." And he idly 
 cocked the hammer of his weapon. 
 
 All at once Tynan sprang. Every particle of 
 strength in his well-knit figure went into that 
 supreme effort. But Tom had watched him
 
 202 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 closely, and leapt aside. Tynan tripped and fell, 
 and his head crashed into the lump of gold-stained 
 quartz. He lay still. Tom backed slowly against 
 the wall and took aim. It somehow did not seem 
 right to shoot a man at too close quarters. As 
 he stepped back, another piece of quartz tripped 
 him, and in order to get a firm stand, he kicked it 
 out of the way. The stone struck the forehead 
 of the unconscious man, and a trickle of blood 
 flowed over the milky surface and mingled with 
 the stains of gold. 
 
 He took aim carefully, then lowered the weapon. 
 No, he would not shoot; it would make a noise, 
 and the blackfellow might hear. Why not crush 
 the skull with that lump of quartz? It would 
 have the appearance of an accident, and he would 
 then have unquestioned right over this gold, this 
 power. 
 
 He took a step forward to carry out his design, 
 when a hail from the top of the ravine checked 
 him. Banjo was looking down. 
 
 "Which way me hobble um camel?" he asked. 
 
 That simple question saved the life of one man 
 and the sanity of another. Tom stood dazed for a 
 moment, looking down at his friend, as if he did 
 not know how he got there. 
 
 "Hi! Misser Tom! Which way me hobble um 
 camel?" came the question again, answered at 
 length by a shaky voice. 
 
 "You take um back longa camp. Good feed 
 there all about. You sit down longa camp. Me 
 came by-'m-by." 
 
 No wife could be more tender and devoted to a 
 sick husband than was Tom to his friend. Night 
 and day he cared for him, apparently giving no 
 thought to the object of their journey, till he had 
 nursed him back to health again.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 Blasting. 
 
 Long days of unremitting toil were succeeded 
 by nights of unbroken sleep. Camp was made 
 near the water-hole on the table-land, just above 
 the ravine where the men worked all day. A tiny 
 spring bubbled up, and after brimming over the 
 rock basin, the water fell into the gully and was 
 lost. Thousands, perhaps millions, of years of 
 scanty rain on Poison Peak had stored this sup- 
 ply, which was the only source of the precious 
 liquid in that arid district. 
 
 Every three or four days, the camels were 
 brought from their pasture at the mouth of the 
 gully, given a drink, then taken back and hobbled, 
 for there was no herbage on the plateau. 
 
 As a nightmare passes at the advent of day, 
 leaving a fainter and fainter memory of the time 
 of terror, so those first hours of madness gradually 
 faded like a dream. In fact, neither man ever 
 remembered clearly what had happened from the 
 time they reached the white gum to that later 
 time when, with water from the spring, Tom had 
 restored his companion to consciousness. 
 
 Mining toil came natural to Tom, for he had 
 been used to rough work and food from his child- 
 hood; but Tynan nursed blisters for days, and 
 knew more about muscles, because of the stiffness 
 of his own, than he had ever done in his student 
 days. 
 
 They had worked with picks, hammers, and 
 wedges, for several feet into the rock face. The 
 richest of the quartz had been roughly crushed 
 and washed, and the residue of sparkling metal
 
 204 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 scraped into a billy can. Every evening- the day's 
 find was weighed and stored in a leather bag. But 
 a point had now been reached when nick and wedge 
 had to be exchanged for more deadly tools. They 
 were satisfied that the lode was of high grade ore, 
 and it was now necessary to know how far it ex- 
 tended. 
 
 "You see," explained Tom, "what we really want 
 to know is whether it's just a pocket or whether 
 it goes further. If it does, I reckon we peg our 
 claim and go back right away and register it. If 
 not, we can get what's there and clear out. We're 
 both rich men, anyway." 
 
 "Then you propose blasting, Tom?" 
 
 "Yes. The sooner we know, the better." 
 
 Next morning, three holes were drilled at the 
 back of the adit, one pointing due west, one south- 
 west, and the third north-west. By thus splaying 
 their direction the full worth of each explosion 
 would be gained. Each hole was rammed with 
 gelignite and finished off with a detonator and 
 fuse. 
 
 "We're taking no risks on this journey," said 
 Tom, as he unrolled a coil of fuse for each de- 
 tonator, and brought them together at the en- 
 trance of the adit. When I fire these, we'll both 
 make into the gully for our lives. You've no idea 
 how far rocks carry." 
 
 The scraping of a match; the glow as it was 
 shaded in a^pair of hard hands; and a man stoop- 
 ing over the junction of three wires. A splutter 
 and a trail of smoke, then three trails crawling to- 
 wards the adit. Both men ran till an overhang- 
 ing rock offered them shelter, and they crouched 
 down. 
 
 Boom! Boom! A pause. Boom! followed by 
 the rumble of falling rocks. The air in the gully 
 seemed to strike the confining walls with a shock,
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 205 
 
 and both men, though they were expecting the ex- 
 plosions, staggered as if from a blow. 
 
 Tjman started back up the gully. 
 
 "Wait a couple of minutes, Jim. Some of the 
 rocks may be only loosened and may fall in a 
 minute or two; and besides, the adit will be full 
 of fumes. So they waited about five minutes and 
 then walked back to the scene. 
 
 "By gad! I never thought it would do that," 
 exclaimed Tynan, amazed. 
 
 "Neither did I," agreed his companion. "It 
 lifted more than I thought it would." 
 
 The little gully was full of a debris of huge 
 boulders which entirely covered the spot where 
 they had been working. The part of the cliff which 
 had been laid bare by the explosion, was hidden by 
 the accumulation of rocks which still smoked as 
 if the fires of the earth's centre had an outlet 
 there. 
 
 Tom began scrambling over the boulders in 
 haste to see what had been discovered, and Tynan 
 was not long in following him. 
 
 "Any good?" he shouted. 
 
 Tom had reached the wall face first, and 
 answered the question with a joyous shout. 
 
 "Jim! Jim! Look at that! Just look at that!" 
 
 The charges had lifted the top off the mineral 
 sandwich, and had broken far into the quartz. 
 What met the gaze of the two excited men was 
 indeed a marvellous sight. 
 
 A mass of quartz had fallen aw^y with . the 
 shock, leaving a surface literally studded with 
 gold. On this nobbly surface were many little 
 pockets whose convex sides glittered with the pre- 
 cious metal as brilliantly as a jeweller's show- 
 cushion by electric light. There, on that freshly 
 broken surface, was enough gold to satisfy any 
 man.
 
 2o6 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "What d'you think of that, Jim?" 
 
 "Good Lord ! Tom, if it goes on like that, we're 
 on a terribly rich thing. It's a couple of feet 
 broader here than on the face, and any amount 
 richer. I wonder how far it extends. 
 
 He tried to loosen one of the pieces of gold with 
 a knife, but it was too firmly embedded. 
 
 "Leave it, Jim," Tom advised. "We'll have to 
 clear the rubbish away before we can tackle the 
 face. I vote we go and have a drink of tea."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 207 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 Disaster. 
 
 As they reached camp, Banjo met them, ap- 
 parently with news. 
 
 "What name?" asked Tom. 
 
 "Camels no bin come up." 
 
 "What for camels no bin come up ?" 
 
 "Poison bin catch um." 
 
 "Poison?" 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 Tom looked at the nigger's expressionless face, 
 then at his friend who was stirring the fire into 
 a blaze, and then out across the plateau. He was 
 too deeply stirred for any but the one word 
 "Hell !" and his tone was made up of fear, anger, 
 and self-condemnation. Had he not given a name 
 to the peak because of the poison-weed which grew 
 there? In his eagerness to test the find, he had 
 become careless of the very means of life, for such 
 indeed were the camels. 
 
 "What's wrong, Tom?" asked Tynan, who had 
 not heard the conversation. 
 
 "Everything!" was the dejected answer. "This 
 nigger says the camels have eaten poison-weed. 
 He couldn't bring them up to water to-day. That 
 means they're dead or pretty bad." 
 
 How great a mockery did the gold seem now? 
 Wealth beyond their wildest imagination was here 
 waiting for them, but they were cut off from the 
 world as surely as sailors wrecked on an unchar- 
 tered island, with their boats — in this case the 
 rightly-named "Ships of the desert" — useless. 
 
 "Perhaps he's wrong,' suggested Tynan, 
 fnntly. "Let's go and see."
 
 2o8 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 They found the boy's story correct. Two camels 
 lay dead, the third could not rise on its legs, but 
 th > fourth, although stiff in the joints from the 
 same cause, did not seem to have eaten so much 
 of the deadly herb. By good fortune, the sur- 
 vivor was the stronger of the two draught camels, 
 and such was their relief after thinking that all 
 had died, that it was an almost cheerful party 
 which led the ungainly beast back to camp. 
 
 "I'd best clear right out to-morrow, Jim," said 
 Tom, summing up a conversation about their next 
 move. "I'll leave you most of the tucker, and 
 make straight for Marnoola, and bring back 
 horses." His tone was confident, but he remem- 
 bered with misgiving the eighty mile dry stage. 
 * Or perhaps Macfarlane would lend me a couple 
 of camels. Yes, he's sure to do that. Or would 
 you rather go and leave me, Jim? I'd just as 
 soon." 
 
 "I suppose we couldn't both go?" 
 
 "Impossible, Jim, old man." 
 
 "Then I'll stay." 
 
 It was an easy thing to say, yet even Tynan 
 realised a little what it meant, but not all. To 
 camp for weeks with a nigger in that desolate 
 spot, depending for life on a trickle of water, and 
 with no means of crossing the two hundred miles 
 which separated him from the nearest white man. 
 Hour by hour his mind would follow his companion 
 on his perilous journey, beset by blacks, thirst, 
 accident, a thousand dangers, with the bare chance 
 of being able to get camels and return. 
 
 He had not the faintest suspicion of his com- 
 panion's integrity. Those nightmare hours of 
 madness weighed not a feather's weight against 
 the months of comradeship during which Tom had 
 shown the good metal he was made of. He knew 
 that there was a chance of life for both of them if 
 Tom took the trip, so he repeated :
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 209 
 
 "Yes, Tom, I'll stay." 
 
 1 ou ve got plenty of good water, so you'll be 
 as right as rain." 
 
 Plenty of good water! 
 
 Tynan was first to see what had happened. He 
 walked over to the spring, with the quart-pots in 
 his hand. The rocky basin was empty! Like a 
 flaw in an earthenware pot, marred in burning, a 
 crack ran right across the bottom. Where the 
 water now flowed it was impossible to tell ; the ex- 
 plosion which made the men so amazingly rich, left 
 them desperately poor, for it had shattered the 
 bowl which held the water of life. 
 
 Disaster affects people very differently. To 
 Tynan it came with no sudden shock. He merely 
 thought he was mistaken, and after standing and 
 staring at the crack for some time, stooped down 
 to fill one of the pots. He must have stayed there 
 for some time, squatting on his haunches, wonder- 
 ing idiotically why the quart-pot remained empty. 
 
 "Hi! Jim! What in the deuce are you doing? 
 I could have filled twenty quarts by now," shouted 
 Tom. 
 
 Tynan heard his friend's shout, and turned his 
 head. Something in the way he did this struck 
 Tom as unusual. It was so slow, so tired ; the way 
 a man might turn in his sleep. So he walked over. 
 
 Each needed another witness before he could 
 believe that of his own eyes, but crouching to- 
 gether over the empty pool, they knew at last that 
 their fate was sealed. 
 
 One canteen of water, filled that morning by ttie 
 nigger for washing purposes, and a water bag 
 nearly full, was all that stood between them and a 
 most terrible death ; terrihV no. only because of 
 physical suffering, but also because Death
 
 2IO GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 whispers the hope of Hfe so long in the ears of its 
 perishing victim. 
 
 The remaining hours of Hght were spent in a 
 feverish search for water. The spring had been 
 above the gold reef, and the men groped about 
 with picks and wedges to see if the split in the 
 basin of the spring came out anywhere below. 
 Thousands of pounds' worth of gold mocked them 
 in their search. They would gladly have ex- 
 changed it all for a sign of water. Lumps of gold- 
 encrusted quartz were kicked out of the way as 
 rubbish. In vain. The fissure which drained the 
 basin had apparently no outlet. Whether or not, 
 with the accumulation of water, the spring would 
 someday flow out in another place, it was impos- 
 sible to tell, and they could not stay to find out. 
 By blasting they might have tapped the water 
 again, but every stick of gelignite had been used in 
 those three charges. 
 
 When all hope had gone, they would have turned 
 to fly like hunted animals, but saner councils pre- 
 vailed, and they decided to wait till morning be- 
 fore setting out to meet death. They were men, 
 and would die fighting. 
 
 Some gold, taken the day before, was standing 
 in a little muddy water in an old billy-can. How 
 eagerly the men peered down at it, measuring, not 
 the wealth below, but the wealth above; the 
 amount of muddy liquid, not the weight of golden 
 sand. The water was carefully decanted off and 
 the gold emptied into a cloth and squeezed so that 
 the last drop might be saved. Then the cloth was 
 shaken out and the worthless treasure scattered. 
 
 Hope came with the dawn, but as surely as 
 dawn became day, so did hope die in the light of 
 grim reality. 
 
 Tynan got up and went straight to the pool. 
 It was empty. Then he clambered down to see
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 211 
 
 whether the water had come through. He found 
 Tom there on a similar errand, and they returned 
 together dejectedly to camp. 
 
 Every ounce of weight was a subject for con- 
 sideration, for one camel cannot carry a big load 
 on a dry stage. The canteen of water and a six 
 weeks' supply of flour were of first importance. 
 Tom reckoned that in four weeks they would either 
 have reached Mamoola or ... he did not give an 
 alternative; he just said it would take four weeks 
 to reach the station, and added two more in case 
 of emergency. A few tins of meat were allowed, 
 tea, sugar, and tobacco, but all gear other than a 
 blanket apiece was left behind. Though Tom did 
 not explain the reason, he insisted that a small 
 bag of salt should be put into the packs. 
 
 After much hesitation, a small bag of gold was 
 added to the load, for the purpose — as Tom ex- 
 pressed it — "of buying a plant for another try," 
 though he knew well that he had seen the last of 
 Poison Peak, for not all the gold in the world could 
 buy back that little spring.
 
 212 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 Salt Meat. 
 
 Two haggard white men, a black boy, and a 
 famished camel! Tynan was lying full length 
 on the sand underneath a mulga, caring nothing 
 that the ants were crawling over him, and that 
 flies were buzzing round his closed eyes and gap- 
 ing mouth. His withered body could be 
 seen through rents in his tattered clothes. 
 The skin of his face was so dry, it looked as if 
 any movement would crack it across; his eyes 
 were feverish and unlit by reason ; and out of his 
 mouth lolled a swollen tongue. 
 
 His companion stood over him, leaning one 
 hand against the tree, and gazing hopelessly at the 
 desolate view of gnarled trees, sand, and un- 
 clouded sky. 
 
 The black-boy chewed parakelia stolidly, and 
 spat. He could not understand these men who 
 vomited at the juicy leaves and hoarded that 
 little drop of water in the canteen. 
 
 "You make um camp?" he asked. 
 
 Tom nodded, and the boy proceeded to pull off 
 the pack from the kneeling camel, and, having 
 with difficulty induced it to rise, led it away and 
 hobbled it. 
 
 How strange these fools of white men were. 
 When they looked into your eyes you saw 
 Kadaitcha there and were afraid, but when water 
 was gone they were no good any more. "Silly 
 fella, quite," he summed them up. 
 
 He wandered some little way from camp, col- 
 lecting wood and also a handful of parakelia for 
 himself. It was not good tucker for it pained
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 213 
 
 inside, but anything was better than having one's 
 longue loHing out. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped. A track arrested his at- 
 tention! He stooped down. A blackfellow had 
 made it only a short time before. Just then, this 
 meant one thing- and one only. Quatcha! Water! 
 He would have dropped his firewood then and 
 there and followed the tracks, had he not felt, in 
 his untutored mind, that a white master is a 
 master always till he is dead. So he took the 
 wood to camp, lit a fire, and then said to Tom: 
 
 "Me bin find um black-fella track dat way." 
 
 Tom looked up, but did not catch the boy's re- 
 mark. His senses were becoming dull and un- 
 reliable. So Banjo said again: 
 f"Me tink me find um quatcha, by-*m-by." 
 
 That magic word "Quatcha," water! 
 
 "Which way?" asked Tom, looking so fiercely 
 into the boy's eyes that the native almost wished 
 he had followed the tracks at once. 
 
 "Dat way." He pointed to where he had been 
 picking up firewood. "Me bin find um black- 
 fella track." 
 
 "You bin find um black-fella track?" 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 "You no bin find um quatcha?" 
 
 The one followed naturally on the other in 
 Banjo's mind, so he answered: 
 
 "Neh. Black-fella, him bin find um quatcha 
 alright." 
 
 The logic was simple and convincing. The 
 presence of a native meant that water was ob- 
 tainable somewhere. It might be a long waj'' 
 away, but if that niggei- could walk to it, Tom 
 felt that, in his extremity, he could do so too. 
 
 "Look here!" said he, forgetting in his excite- 
 ment that he was talking to the boy. "Look 
 here, if you fetch along that son of the devil,
 
 214 ' GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 I'll give you my pocket-knife;" one of the white 
 ?nan's possessions that Banjo coveted very much. 
 
 The boy looked puzzled for a moment, then 
 shook his head. 
 
 "What name you yabber? You yabber longa 
 me same as you all day yabber," he remarked. 
 
 Tom smiled. He could afford to smi^e now that, 
 a glimmer of hope had penetrated the darkness 
 cf despair. 
 
 "You track um up black-fella," he explained. 
 "You fetch um longa camp. Me give pocket- 
 knife longa you." 
 
 He took from his belt a big clasp-knife, pointed 
 to it, and then to the boy. 
 
 "You know um?" he asked. 
 
 "Yah. Me know um alright," was the ready 
 answer. "Me track um up quick-fella." 
 
 He was gone in a minute. 
 
 There were two pints of water left; two 
 precious pints. Tom debated. His companion was 
 in that lethargic state of exhaustion that might 
 at any time change to the madness of those who 
 die of thirst: a madness that makes the victim 
 fling his clothes away and walk, walk, walk, 
 usually in a circle where Death sits in the centre. 
 Or he might slip away into the unknown country 
 with hardly a flutter of the eyelids to tell of the 
 wing-beats of his liberated soul. 
 
 To hoard that water any longer would be 
 miserly, and with the faint prospect of help, they 
 might need just the strength that it would give 
 to take them to where help lay. 
 
 With far more care than he had taken over 
 washing gold, he poured the water into one of 
 the quart-pots, and waited. It was well to wait, 
 for Chance is a strange player with whom to 
 throw dice with life as the hazard. 
 
 After three hours he was still watching the pot
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 215 
 
 of water, when, with no sound to herald them, 
 two men stood by him. Banjo and another. 
 
 "Me bin find um ah'ight," grinned Banjo. 
 
 Tom handed over the clasp-knife without a 
 word. He knew that one must never break a 
 promise to a child or a nigger. Then he looked 
 at the black-boy's companion. 
 
 Tall, deep black, naked, and armed with a 
 boomerang, two spears and a small wooden shield. 
 The man, though evidently afraid, was held there 
 by a kind of shy animal curiosity which did not 
 mar a certain barbaric dignity in his bearing. His 
 massive head and face were nearly hidden with 
 hair, which on top was plastered with mud and 
 fat, and around his cheeks stood out in a thick 
 tangle. Broad nose through which a piece of 
 carved wood was thrust, and very bright black 
 eyes which glittered beneath overhanging brows. 
 On forehead and chest were many long scars — 
 tribal marks — and legs and arms showed signs of 
 many wounds. Standing there squarely on both 
 feet, he looked down at the unconscious man, at 
 Tom, at the camel-pack, and then at the black- 
 boy, to whom he said a word, showing a set of 
 perfect teeth which gleamed when his beard and 
 moustache parted for a moment and closed again 
 till the only features discemable were those bright 
 watchful eyes. 
 
 Tom held out a stick of tobacco. Instantly it 
 was snatched and hidden in the native's hair, 
 
 "Tell him we want quatcha," said Tom to Banjo. 
 
 "Him can't know um quatcha," was the answer. 
 "Him walk longa Barrow. Him can't know um 
 yabber longa me." 
 
 "Oh, he's a Barrow nigger, is he?" said Tom 
 to himself, then, standing up, he pointed to the 
 stranger and made the universal pantomime for 
 water.
 
 2i6 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 He raised his hand and turned the palm up, 
 which means "where is it?" Then he stooped 
 and pretended to scoop up water with his hands 
 and drink it, and again made the sign "where is 
 it?" 
 
 With a gleam of his teeth, the man showed that 
 he understood, but, watching him closely, Tom 
 saw a look of cunning come into the black eyes. 
 Warraguls usually run away from a white man 
 "quick-fella," but this man saw helplessness in- 
 carnate, and with the cruelty of his race, decided 
 to let it die. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 Tom went through the pantomime again, and 
 even poured a drop or two of water out of the 
 quart-pot into a pannikin and back again, 
 but though the teeth gleamed recognition of the 
 need, the man merely shook his head and squatted 
 down on his haunches. 
 
 Other methods had to be tried, and the reason 
 for including a bag of salt in the loading soon 
 became apparent. 
 
 Tom called Banjo and gave a whispered order, 
 at which the boy's eyes lit up with excitement. 
 A broad surcingle was lying near the fire, and 
 Banjo picked it up and ran it idly through his 
 hands. Tom leant forward and held out another 
 stick of tobacco. The supple hand of the native 
 was stretched out eagerly, and in that instant the 
 bushman summoned all his remaining power for 
 one great effort. He suddenly gripped the man's 
 extended wrist and twisted it with strength 
 enough to fling a heifer in the branding yards. 
 Instantly Banjo leapt on the struggling man, 
 whipping the surcingle round that slippery body, 
 and buckling it tight. The captive did not cry 
 out, but fought like the wild animal that he was, 
 but at last, bound hand and foot, he was propped
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 217 
 
 up ag*ainst a tree at some little distance from 
 camp. A fire was lit so near him that the hot 
 and thirst-producing smoke blew all around him. 
 
 Tom rubbed salt into pieces of tinned meat and 
 fed the man with them. He eagerly licked the 
 salt and swallowed thQ tasty morsels till he had 
 eaten as much as he could hold ; then the fire was 
 made up, and Tom returned to camp, feeling as if 
 he was at the very end of his endurance. Fiery 
 spots danced before his eyes, the trees seemed to 
 sway to and fro in a most sickening manner, and 
 his knees could hardly support his weight. But 
 he steeled his will and went over to the quart-pot 
 of water. 
 
 No sacramental wine was ever drunk so rever- 
 ently as that last pannikin of tea. Tom forced 
 his companion's share down his throat with great 
 difl^culty. It resulted in a flicker of the eye-lids, 
 a gurgling effort to speak, and lethargy again. 
 His own portion, while it brought strength to his 
 body and enabled him to swallow some meat, did 
 nothing to alleviate the awful thirst. 
 
 He intended to watch the captive all night long, 
 but sleep would not be denied him. It was fitful, 
 but the hours of darkness were cool, and in the 
 morning Tom's first thought was one of hope. 
 
 The position of the bound man caused him to 
 smile. There was Banjo sitting up on his blanket, 
 examining his knife with great interest. Around 
 his ankle was a hobble, connected by a chain with 
 one round the bound legs of the wild black. 
 Banjo had watched all night of his own free will, 
 fastened to the captive, so that any movement to 
 escape would at once arouse him. White men 
 might be fools, but a pocket-knife was a very 
 desirable possession. 
 
 Tom took another handful of salt and walked 
 over, giving a passing "Good fella" to his boy,
 
 2i8 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 praise which, coming from him, was praise indeed, 
 and made the boy show his teeth with pleasure. 
 
 The wild man must have been raging with 
 thirst. He eagerly licked the salt to get the tem- 
 porary relief which it afforded, but only created 
 a greater longing for water. Tom let the 
 medicine do its work, and when no more salt could 
 be forced on him, bound a green-hide hobble 
 around the man's neck, and attached a long rope 
 to it. 
 
 Before leaving camp, Tom built a rough bough 
 shelter over his unconscious companion and slung 
 the canteens and quart-pots on the camel. Then 
 he mounted, fastened the rope to the saddle, and 
 told Banjo to free the man's ankles. He leapt to 
 his feet at once and made a dash for liberty, but 
 the neck-rope pulled him up. Again and again, 
 with his hands bound behind him, he tried to 
 break away, but at last gave it up, and set out 
 sullenly to slake his overpowering thirst. 
 
 Tom cocked his rifle, and hung on, for he was 
 very weak. Once the man tried to fray the rope 
 against a tree, but a shot searing a hole 
 through his plastered hair effectually stopped 
 all such tricks. It was a strange procession and 
 a grim one, for the lives of two white men de- 
 pended on the issue. 
 
 They reached water in three hours, a rock-hole 
 in an unexpected outcrop, not deep, but contain- 
 ing enough of the life-giving liquid to save the 
 party for four or five days, perhaps more. The 
 desolate mulga scrub was all around it, and a 
 perishing white man might have passed within 
 five yards of the hole without knowing it was 
 there. Native tracks were seen in the sand, but 
 they were several weeks old. In all probability 
 this was one of the sources of water used by the
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 219 
 
 blacks who had harassed the party on their out- 
 ward journey. 
 
 Tom was an old bushman or he might never 
 have returned to his friend, but might have 
 vomited his life away on the banks of the rock- 
 hole. He drank very little at first; a few sips, 
 then filled the canteens ; then a few more sips, and 
 waited; and just before leaving, he put his face 
 and hands in the pool and took a drink. He gave 
 the wild black a drink also — as much as he needed 
 — but instead of setting him free, took him back 
 to camp, for the man might have poisoned the 
 water in revenge. 
 
 As soon as Tynan regained consciousness, he 
 was put on the camel and taken to the rock-hole, 
 and was left there while another trip was made 
 for the stores and gear. The warragul was still 
 bound to a tree when Tom and the black-boy re- 
 turned for the last time. For their own safety 
 they burnt his spears and boomerang before re- 
 leasing him and sped him on his way with some 
 parting shots, and Tom kept a sharp look out for 
 any revenge he might take. But the frightened 
 man made off as fast as he could, and they saw 
 no more of him. 
 
 As long as the water in the rock-hole lasted, 
 they camped beside it, to gather strength for the 
 next stage of that terrible journey. Finally they 
 filled canteens and quart-pots, gave man and beast 
 a drink, and started out again.
 
 220 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 A Bush Letter-Box. 
 
 At last they reached the httle spring from 
 which they had set out west on their adventure. 
 The water in the canteens had lasted, but the fati- 
 gue of travel on foot had reduced them both to 
 mere shadows of the men they were. Haggard un- 
 shaven jaws, sun-blighted eyes, scraggy necks that 
 seemed just bone and sinew wrapped in tanned 
 skin, and drooping frames on which hung tattered 
 clothes. Both men had worn their boots to the 
 uppers, and now trudged along with their feet 
 bound in rags and bits of leather. 
 
 They camped at the spring as long as they 
 dared. The camel was in a very low state, and, 
 though their supply of rations was strictly 
 limited, they had to give the poor beast an oppor- 
 tunity to pick up. For themselves, they knew that 
 the rest they stood in need of could only come at 
 the journey's end. 
 
 When they had been there for nearly a week, 
 Tom said to his friend: "Jim, I don't half like 
 tackling the 70 miles to the Toolooroo springs 
 without having a look round. You see, we can't 
 reckon on any water, and it's a long stage with 
 only one camel. Old Sultan's pretty well done for." 
 
 "What could you do by looking round, Tom?" 
 
 "Well, there's the south route through the 
 Franklins. There was water when we came up 
 about 20 miles away from here, and another lot 
 15 miles further on, but I reckon they'll be dry 
 by now. My brother's grave is further than the 
 springs, so there's just the chance of those two 
 clajHPans."
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 221 
 
 "And if they're dry, we'd have all that way 
 down through the ranges and . . . Why, Tom 
 we wQuld'nt have tucker for half the distance. 
 Let's take the shortest route and chance it." 
 
 "We might meet someone if we went south. 
 It's a thousand to one we wouldn't, but we're tak- 
 ing long odds anyway." 
 
 "So we might at Toolooroo springs, Tom. Some 
 Marnoola people, you know." 
 
 "Yes, that's right." 
 
 Tom puffed at his pipe for a few minutes. "If 
 I thought there was any chance of water at those 
 two camps south, I'd advise it, I would indeed, 
 Jim. If we're on water we'll get on somehow, but 
 neither" of us is fit to tackle another perish. . . . 
 How about if I leave you for a day or two and 
 cruise round with the camel?" 
 
 Courage is often due to physical well-being, and 
 cowardice to the reverse, so it must not be 
 thojught strange that Tynan replied : 
 
 "Why not send Banjo i" 
 
 "He couldn't do much good on foot." 
 
 "Well, why not let him take the camel?" 
 
 "That'd leave us absolutely stranded." 
 
 "Oh, he'd come back alright. He played the 
 game when he brought that warragul in." 
 
 "But he wanted my knife." Tom looked down 
 at his rags and laughed. "I've got nothing more 
 he wants now, I'll bet." 
 
 "Tom, old man," urged Tynan, and his voice 
 had a pleading note in it that told his friend he 
 had been taxed to his hmit; "Tom, old man, I'll 
 promise him my watch and pouch when he comes 
 back." 
 
 "As you like," was the response. "I'll bet he 
 comes back for that." 
 
 So Banjo was given his orders in the morning, 
 and was sent south with the camel, water, tucker,
 
 222 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 and tobacco, to see if there was water in the clay- 
 pans at which the party had camped coming up. 
 
 A week went by. No sign of Banjo. Another 
 one was nearly gone. The men looked blankly 
 into one another's eyes and saw death written 
 there. The black-boy had "slipped them up." 
 
 When the two men finally gave up trying to 
 deceive themselves and one another as to their 
 dilemma, and acknowledged that they had now to 
 make plans for a journey without either camel or 
 black-boy, they still had a fortnight's rations for 
 two men. 
 
 "We're not dead yet, by a long chalk," said Tom, 
 with forced cheerfulness. "Something may have 
 delayed that nigger. I reckon we give him 
 another day and then take water and tucker and 
 start out and let him catch us up. What d'you 
 say?" 
 
 "Yes, I reckon that's the best thing we can do. 
 was the answer, given in the same spirit, for 
 though both of them knew that probably they 
 would never reach the Toolooroo springs, they 
 realised that to give way to despair would lessen 
 what chances they had, so both of them put a 
 bold face on the venture. 
 
 Mutual danger had drawn these two men of 
 such different birth and training, very intimately 
 together. Failure and hardship make a far 
 stronger social cement than success and ease, as 
 is borne witness to by the almost proverbial clan- 
 nishness of the poor, and the travellers had had 
 a full measure of both hardship and failure. Tom 
 had grown to admire the way in which the young 
 man "stuck it out" under conditions entirely alien 
 to his disposition, while Tynan felt that no 
 grander type of man trod God's earth than the 
 Australian bushman. But beyond all particular 
 acts of heroism or endurance, sheer manhood
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 223 
 
 spoke to sheer manhood with a voice which is 
 seldom heard in the midst of the conventions of 
 hie. 
 
 Thus Tynan felt that he was breaking through 
 no manly reserve when he said to his friend on 
 the evening before they left the spring : 
 
 "You know, Tom, Fd like to leave a note here 
 before we go." 
 
 "A note? What d'you mean?" 
 "Oh, something to tell we've been here, that's 
 all," he answered casually. 
 
 Tom knew what he was thinking, but remarked 
 lightly : 
 
 "I see; so that when the Poison Peak gold field 
 is world-famous, and you and I are bloated mil- 
 lionaires, you can hand the note to the Melbourne 
 Museum as a relic." 
 "Yes, that's the idea." 
 
 "And who's this famous note to be addressed 
 to? Your sister or somebody else's?" 
 
 Tynan kept up the joke. "As I haven't got a 
 sister, I'm afraid it'll have to be to someone else's, 
 Tom." 
 
 "Not got a sister? Then who was that dainty 
 little piece I met at the Dukeland's Yards? Her 
 name was Tynan." 
 "No it wasn't, Tom." 
 Well I'm — !" Tom was prevented from giv- 
 ing an exact description of his feelings by a 
 sudden thought. What he had hardly noticed at 
 the time, seemed to him now of special signi- 
 ficance: the expression on the young lady's face 
 when she heard that Tynan had a child at 
 Marnoola. 
 
 The young man noticed his friend's perplexity, 
 and asked : 
 
 'Why, what's wrong, Tom?"
 
 224 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "If she wasn't your sister, Jim, Fm afraid I've 
 been and put your pot on. 
 
 "What way d'you mean?" 
 
 "Why, that kid at Mamoola. You know, old 
 man, I wouldn't have told her for the world if I'd 
 known. Yet it came out with the rest as natural 
 as possible." 
 
 "Yes. I suppose it did." 
 
 "Did she turn you down?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And now you're going to write a note to her!" 
 Tom knew very well that his companion thought 
 that note would be the last writing of a man about 
 to die. "By all that's holy, Jim ! If a girl I knew 
 treated me that way, I'd tell her to go to hell. I 
 would, straight." 
 
 "So I did," said Tynan, sadly, "only in different 
 words." 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry I messed things up for you, 
 Jim. I am indeed." 
 
 "But I'm rather glad you told her, Tom. You 
 see . . . well, I mean ... if a girl turns a 
 chap down for that, he's better without her . . . 
 at least, that's what I thought at the time. . . . 
 But, Tohi, she's never had the ghost of a chance. 
 She's never got out of the mud where her set 
 wallows. . . . She may not even have meant 
 to send me away. I've often thought that, since 
 I've come out west, especially lately. ... So 
 you see, I may be the one that's in the wrong 
 after all. Anyhow I'm going to write a note to 
 her." 
 
 "I see." Tom did not mean that he understood 
 his friend's attitude, but that he had just arrived 
 at a solution of what had often puzzled him: 
 Tynan's sudden return north and the reckless 
 energy with which he had thrown himself into a 
 hazardous undertaking.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES .225 
 
 Tynan wrote the letter that evening by the 
 light of the camp fire. When it was finished — and 
 it did not take long, for he had made it up to his 
 satisfaction long before he broached the question 
 to Tom — he tore the leaf out of the note-book and 
 put it in his wallet, addressing the package to Ida 
 Hennessy in Melbourne. A meat tin jammed in 
 the fork of a mulga tree served as pillar box, and 
 Tynan smiled at the irony of the thing, for was it 
 not a tin wedged in a mulga that marked the spot 
 which had lured him into the wilderness? 
 
 The letter ran as follows : — 
 "Dear Ida, 
 
 "I came into the wilderness to forget you and 
 have failed. I have failed, too, in the outward 
 quest, for whereas we found gold, we were 
 unable to bring it away because of the lack of 
 water. 
 
 "Both failures have taught me many things, 
 chief of which is that a woman's love is worth 
 more to a man than his pride. If mine stood 
 at bay and fought off your love when we last 
 met, I lost what I see now to be the most pre- 
 cious thing in all the world. 
 
 "If I am wrong, pardon me for thinking you 
 lOved me; if right, pardon me also for the wrong 
 I did you, and believe me that I wronged myself 
 as much more as I value your love more than 
 my own. 
 
 ■ In any case believe that the thought of you 
 has given me strength to struggle out of the 
 clutches of Death more than once, and that if I 
 die before reaching help, as seems likely, I can 
 look upon mv life as not entirely vain, seeing 
 that in it I met you. 
 
 "J.T.B." 
 Before consigning it to the meat tin, he wrote 
 a request on the package that if found it should 
 
 u
 
 226 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 be forwarded to the address within. There was 
 no chance of anyone passing that way for many 
 years, but Tynan felt easier in his mind when he 
 had accompHshed his task. Probably his confes- 
 sion had the same efficacy as prayer, which at once 
 blesses the petitioner in that it sets him to work 
 to answer his own request.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 22y 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 A Narrow Escape. 
 
 It was early ^afternoon. The unclouded sun 
 shone down upon a vast stoney plain, but for all 
 its strength, there was that in the air which pro- 
 claimed the season winter. Mirage filled every 
 hollow; a bush on the horizon was magnified by 
 the heat into a tree; the tinv desert creatures 
 kept in the shade of stones and burrows in the 
 sand; but the frost of the previous night would 
 not wholly relinquish its grip. 
 
 Two men shuffled over the western horizon, mak- 
 ing for a plateau that bulged in the east. They 
 walked with the doggedness of instinct more than 
 with the incentive of conscious volition, and every 
 movement told of extreme fatigue and thirst. 
 Neither of them wore a shirt, and in lieu of trou- 
 sers, a few strips of ragged cloth impeded each 
 stumbling step. One, the slighter of the two, lean- 
 ed heavily on a stick, while over the naked shoul- 
 der of the other hung an empty water-bag and a 
 flour bag, while a pannikin mocked his thirst each 
 time it jangled at his belt. 
 
 "Three miles," said the one with the pannikin, 
 pointing to a line of trees at the base of the 
 plateau, but his voice was so weak and choked 
 that his companion could not have understood. 
 Even if he did, he made no sign, but staggered on. 
 Any change of motion, any thought to break that 
 thin thread of resolve to go forward, would have 
 been fatal. 
 
 Those who desire to paint a picture of Young
 
 228 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Australia will choose just such a subject: the 
 indomitable spirit of man staggering towards the 
 future, dragging Death a captive at his heels. 
 
 The sun rolled on an hour, and the dust which 
 followed the shuffling figures was nearer now by 
 two miles to the line of trees. The older man was 
 now supporting his fellow, and over those tracks 
 in the dust, dingoes would howl that night, for 
 they were stained with blood. 
 
 What mocking irony is it that calls a bed of 
 sand a creek? They stumbled down the low 
 banks and into the loose white sand, where a thin 
 line of dead mulga trees proclaimed that rain falls 
 sometimes on the table-land. 
 
 But now! The men's feet sunk to the ankles. 
 Tynan stumbled and fell, rose and stumbled again. 
 He lay with arms stretched out, panting, having 
 hardly strength enough to keep his gaping mouth 
 from the sand. 
 
 Tom stood for awhile, leaning heavily against 
 a dead tree. He dared not sit. Into his weaken- 
 ing brain one thought had come, and he clung to 
 it as the last hope of life. 
 
 He remembered the bullock which had been killed 
 during the cattle muster, and his pursuit of the 
 culprit. Also that when Jack had escaped he had 
 gone west, not east. He must have subsequently 
 doubled back on his tracks, as was proved by the 
 disaster at the yards, but- — and this was the ques- 
 tion that occupied Tom's tottering mind — -where 
 had Jack got water? Not from the Toolooroo 
 Springs, for the Mamoola men were there ; unless 
 indeed he crept in at night. No, the bushman 
 would not admit that possibility, lest it weaken 
 the last thread of strength by which he hung to 
 life. 
 
 So he looked down at the bare blistered
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 229 
 
 shoulders of his companion and said: "So long, 
 Jim. You've been a good mate and have played 
 the game. But we're done. If I return I'll bring 
 water. ... So long, old man." 
 
 The voice was feeble, and the words muffled by 
 a swollen tongue, and the man gasping there in 
 the sand could not have heard. But the thought 
 penetrated to the brain standing on the border- 
 land of the unknown country, and Tynan held up 
 his hand. Tom took it and nearly fell, but recover- 
 ing, stumbled off through the drifted sand. He 
 was too weak to mount the opposite bank, so he 
 climbed it on hands and knees, and continued so 
 across the table-land, with the empty water-bag 
 strapped to his naked back, and the pannikin 
 rattling against the stones. 
 
 Banjo found him — coming backl Now walk- 
 ing, now crawling, with a bag of water clasped to 
 his breast. 
 
 Banjo had not "slipped them up." He had not 
 understood Tom's directions, being probably too 
 elated at the prospect of owning a watch to pay 
 strict attention. The first two water-holes were 
 dry, and he had gone on, according to his inter- 
 pretation of the instructions, to the well near 
 Mark's grave. Here he had filled the canteen, and 
 had returned to find the camp abandoned. So, 
 with a full supply of water, and the tucker and 
 gear which had been left behind, he had tracked 
 the two perishing white men. 
 
 In the creek, his camel had shied at the pros- 
 trate figure of a man. Tynan was still alive. 
 After doing all that lay in his power, he had gone 
 on in pursuit of Tom, and had found him, tem- 
 porarily mad on all points save the one that had 
 sustained him to endure such hardship for his 
 friend's sake. 
 
 Jack's water-hole was not a large one, and it
 
 230 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 contained not more than a couple of days' water; 
 but it saved two lives. It was remembered by 
 Banjo because it was here he became the proud 
 possessor of a watch.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 331 
 
 PART V. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 A Definition of Love. 
 
 With the coming of the bridle, the first breath 
 of Spring had blown over the winter-bound heart 
 of Ida Hennessy, and in the strength-giving glad- 
 ness of that breath, she had taken her first step 
 towards freedom. But, as is often the case in 
 nature. Winter had again clouded the sky and 
 hardened the ground. But its frigid rule was 
 nearly over. The seeds which had trembled for joy 
 at the voice of Spring, just hid again and waited 
 patiently. 
 
 Sorrow is often a surer self-revealer than hap- 
 piness, and in the weeks which followed Dr. 
 Byrne's departure from Gum Glen, sorrow held a 
 mirror before Ida's shrinking gaze. The founda- 
 tions of her life were subjected to the most search- 
 ing tests; most of them were found to be rotten, 
 and the edifice of her life came toppling about her. 
 Constantly before her mind's eye was the spare 
 sun-browned figure of a man who in every line 
 and movement emphasised the fervour of his 
 words. She began to realise that he was not 
 pleading for himself, nor for the northern men 
 •whom he so much admired, but for her, for a 
 girl who he saw was being strangled by hypocri- 
 cies. She compared him with the men of her set, 
 with Philip Dennis and other idlers about town. 
 She thought also of the girls she knew, and con-
 
 232 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 trasted them with the real girl whom Byrne had 
 in his mind when he made the appeal. Was it 
 made in vain ? No. One thing at least had been 
 achieved; she saw how false were the standards 
 by which she had judged life hitherto. 
 
 More definitions have been given of love than 
 of any other emotion, and each is true in so far 
 as it is the experience of one who has loved. 
 Therefore when it is said that love for Dr. Byrne 
 grew in the mind of Ida Hennessy, it is well to 
 define what is meant. 
 
 When first she met the young doctor, in the 
 days when her betrothed was fighting in France, 
 she had singled him out from her other men ac- 
 quaintances because he was the only one of them 
 that could be singled out. In her set the un- 
 pardonable sin is non-conformity to type; any 
 originality, any individuality, any insistence upon 
 the right of private judgment and action is con- 
 sidered "bad form." Some are exempt; men 
 either of great wealth or of brilliant attainments. 
 These can do and be what they like: it is called 
 "eccentricity," and, let him attempt to explain it 
 who may, in their cases it is rather admired than 
 decried. 
 
 Dr. Byrne came in with introductions which set 
 all financial and social considerations at rest, and a 
 record for brilliant medical research. Fashionable 
 women naturally sought his acquaintance. He was 
 a man of individuality, and stood out above the 
 idlers with whom he mixed in theatres and draw- 
 ing-rooms, and it was with a glow of pleasure that 
 Ida Hennessy saw she had claimed his attention. 
 
 Girls amongst whom Ida Hennessy had been 
 brought up are esteemed in inverse ratio to their 
 attainments. To be able to do things, even to 
 think them, is a mark of inferiority. Ignorant— 
 and if possible ornamental — idleness is the ffoal
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 233 
 
 aimed at, but by a strange chance, what is de- 
 cried in themselves, is admired in men. Conse- 
 quently there was much to be admired in Dr. 
 Byrne. That was the second stage of love. 
 
 The third was one of unrest. Sooner or later 
 we seek to emulate what we admire, if we have 
 strength to admire it intensely. The doctor was 
 no purveyor of polite nothings, and conversation 
 with him during the times they rode abroad to- 
 gether, made her want to follow the working of 
 his mind, if only that he might be encouraged to 
 open it more fully. Her education had turned 
 her out a "finished gentlewoman," and her 
 teachers were assured that she would think and 
 say and do the right thing on the right occasion, 
 because she had learnt from them what was the 
 right thing for every possible occasion. But, 
 listening to Byrne, she found hers«lf coming to 
 conclusions that were at variance with her train- 
 ing, and found herself even questioning the 
 premises upon which so much of her superficiality 
 was based. 
 
 The keen mind of the young man was conscious 
 of what he was doing. As remorselessly as he 
 would have acted if Ida's mind had been a living 
 organism upon his operating table, he cut away 
 layer after layer of tissue in order to expose 
 the beating heart. The experiment was a fasci- 
 nating one, but dangerous to both parties. With 
 the eyes of a surgeon he pierced the diseased 
 moral tissues that were choking her life, and saw 
 with the eyes of a man, that a woman was there 
 — and he desired her for his own. 
 
 Ida merely felt how clever, how strong, how 
 manly he was; how superlatively finer than any 
 man she had ever met. The flutterings which 
 might afterwards turn out to be reciprocal desire, 
 were too much hidden for her to be aware of their 
 presence.
 
 234 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 That was before Colonel Bathwick returned to 
 Australia to claim her as his bride. 
 
 Tragedy numbed the wound which Dr. Byrne had 
 made, but the cut flesh could never heal again; 
 it was not healthy. Many times he had made 
 her feel, not only the pulses of his own virile 
 mind, but the feeble struggles of her own. The 
 murder of Colonel Bathwick, though it shocked 
 her at the time, impressed itself so clearly, that 
 she found her mind returning to it again and 
 again, as to an event from which all others are 
 dated — before and after. Not that she fully un- 
 derstood the sacrifice he had made or the living 
 death he had saved her from; but she came to 
 know that he had made a sacrifice, and that it 
 was for her sake. 
 
 She found the triflings which previously she had 
 called pleasures, more and more distasteful. She 
 had eaten mental food and now yearned for it, 
 and knew of only one who could give it to her. 
 Everything that appeared to her worth while 
 began to be coupled with him in her mind. She 
 began to wonder what he would think of this and 
 that. In short, she wanted him. The rose had 
 grown to be a bud just waiting for the sun. 
 
 Then the bridle came, and Dukelands Park, and 
 Tom, and . . . and. 
 
 Only love could have prompted Ida to take that 
 trip to the horse-yards. It was a very eager, 
 very timid girl who sat there in the crowd. And 
 she received a cruel blow just when she was most 
 sensitive. Ida returned to Melbourne feeling that 
 she had asked for bread and had been given a 
 stone. 
 
 Old standards can only be lowered one by one, 
 for everybody must march under some banner or 
 other. The standard by which Ida condemned 
 the young man for being a father of a child and
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 235 
 
 at the same time sending tokens of love to her, 
 had not yet been lowered. 
 
 With the abandonment of despair, she threw 
 herself into many of the trivialities she had fore- 
 sworn. Friends welcomed her effusively, taking 
 her return as a justification of their own worth- 
 lessness, and a condemnation of the better way of 
 life which they had seen her struggling after. 
 
 Then Dr. Byrne himself had come, without any 
 excuse, pleading not for himself but for her. 
 While his voice was vibrating with all the in- 
 tensity of his nature, her standards had been 
 torn to ribbons. She had been so overcome that 
 he had gone before she realised it. Like a suc- 
 cessful operation, her womanhood had been laid 
 bare; fold after fold of false morality had been 
 cut away, till the last had gone, and there, ex- 
 hausted and bleeding, was the woman whom he 
 loved. 
 
 Dr. Byrne did not know how skilful he had been. 
 He had drained the cup of failure to the dregs 
 in the very hour triumph, and, intoxicated with 
 the drug, he had gone out to live a life of forget- 
 fulness. 
 
 And she ? One after another her standards had 
 gone, till now she acknowledged but one. The 
 man she loved; he was her standard.
 
 236 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 Love to the Rescue. 
 
 "Women are all very well in their way," Tom 
 had said in the days when Tynan first met him, 
 "but the bush is no place for them." 
 
 Fortunately for the world, the words "home" 
 and "woman" are still synonymous, and it was the 
 impossibility of making a home in the bush that 
 had led Tom to express himself in this way. 
 Whatever the difficulties may be — and most of 
 them could be overcome by wise administration — 
 it is a fact that the handful of white women who 
 live between Oodnadatta and Pine Creek, look for- 
 ward eagerly to the day when they will be able to 
 "go down," as to something so desirable, that the 
 thought of it sustains them through years of 
 hardship. 
 
 It was into this country that Ida Hennessy came 
 in search of the man she loved. Only those who 
 know the circumstances can appreciate the hero- 
 ism that stimulated the delicately nurtured girl 
 to face such a trip, for the North was to her what 
 it unfortunately is to most Australians, a totally 
 unknown land, over which the imaginations of a 
 popular novelist or two have roamed in search of 
 the extraordinary. 
 
 She told those whom she asked for advice that 
 she was on her way to Marnoola Station. She 
 feared the humiliation that would come if they 
 asked her any questions, but soon found that she 
 had no cause to be alarmed on that score. Never 
 by look or word did the few bushmen she met on 
 the road add to her discomfort. They simply
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 237 
 
 aided her to the limit of their powers and then 
 stood aside. That she was evidently rich mat- 
 tered nothing; that she was a woman, everything 
 No one knew, and no one inquired, her business, 
 content to let her hide behind the simple announce- 
 ment: "I'm going to Maraoola Station." The 
 Australian bushman is a gentleman. 
 
 Like a child's, her mind was open to every new 
 impression, and as, in her case, "perfect love had 
 cast out all fear," many minor discomforts went 
 unheeded because of their novelty. Her familiar- 
 ity with horses was a great advantage, but sleep- 
 ing on the ground under the stars, cooking food 
 at an open fire, and doing without the thousand 
 and one things which are only noticed when miss- 
 ed ; these were all strange. But she was stimulated 
 beyond her natural powers of endurance by love. 
 At one time she had thought love to be just a 
 pleasant recreation, something to be taken up and 
 put down according to one's mood; but now she 
 found it was the source of all her strength, and 
 without it she knew she would be like one of those 
 stars that have no sun — desolate, and condemned 
 for ever to despair. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that Ida Hennessy was 
 sitting one evening under the pepper-tree outside 
 the Maraoola Government House. The west was 
 flaming with color. The royal sun had hastened 
 all day across the desert of the sky to the palace 
 where his queen awaited him upon a couch, cur- 
 tained with splendour. Majestic banners of 
 cloud announced in symbols of gold and crimson 
 that the king had come, and all the pomp of 
 heaven was there to do him honor. The voices of 
 the stars arose and "all the sons of God shouted 
 for joy." Too pure for mortal ears, this heavenly 
 clamour appeared as color, staining the i^h- fvom 
 deepest crimson to keenest golden grey, and then 
 was lost in the blue of the darkening sky.
 
 238 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Softer came the music and more slow, as the 
 curtains were drawn around the kingly couch ; the 
 pageant faded like the sigh of one who falls asleep 
 within her lover's arms; till only one tiny lamp 
 announced where slept the royal pair. 
 
 Ida watched the sky with eyes which love had 
 anointed, and it is only such eyes that ever really 
 see beauty, for "beauty is in the eye of the be- 
 holder." She put her hand down and caressed 
 the head of a little child which lay in the sand at 
 her feet. It was Ruby's child, a boy with a dusky 
 skin and fair hair. 
 
 She had been at the station for nearly a week. 
 Her strength, already sorely taxed by the journey, 
 had given way at the blow of disappointment 
 which struck her when she found that Tynan was 
 not at Marnoola. Although she had given his name 
 as her own, pretending to be his sister, Angus 
 Macfarlane had guessed at once what had brought 
 such a dainty little lady north. The rugged Scot 
 had been kindness itself to her in her trouble. 
 He had vacated Government House in favor of his 
 guest, with Ruby to wait on her, and had taken 
 up his abode in the men's quarters. 
 
 But true love has remarkable powers of re- 
 cuperation, and a few days' rest and the delicate 
 consideration of Macfarlane had restored her 
 again to hope. She had not decided what her 
 next move would be, but her womanly instinct 
 assured her that her journey had not been in vain. 
 
 All the glowing colors of the west had been dis- 
 tilled to a band of pure primrose light, when a 
 camel stood out against the sky, as it came over 
 the sandhill which overlooked the station from the 
 west. A black-boy was riding it, sitting sideways 
 on a pack saddle. They came to the water pad- 
 dock, and, after both man and beast had taken a 
 drink at the troughs, Ida lost sight of them as the 
 buildings and stock-yards hid them from view.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 239 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, when she was pre- 
 paring to go indoors, the manager came to the 
 gate. He was evidently the bearer of news. 
 
 "May I come in, Miss Tynan?" he asked. 
 
 "Please do, Mr. Macfarlane. What a lovely 
 evening. Would you sooner sit outside or in?" 
 
 "Well, Miss, I mustn't stay. I just came up to 
 tell you that a nigger rode in a few minutes ago 
 from the west. 
 
 "Yes, I saw him. Did he say . . ?" 
 
 Macfarlane looked at the eager delicate face, 
 and wished he knew suitable words with which 
 to break the news. But he was no diplomat, and 
 blurted out: 
 
 "He came from Toolooroo Springs, about forty 
 miles from here. Your brother and his mate are 
 there, alive and well." 
 
 "My brother there! Oh, Mr. Macfarlane, how 
 glad, how very glad I am! Alive and well! 
 You're sure he said 'alive and well'?" 
 
 "Well, you see. Miss, it's certain he's alive, for 
 they sent in for rations. And if a man's alive in 
 this country we take it for granted that he's well." 
 
 "Yes, yes, of course. Oh, how happy I am! 
 Did the black-boy say anything else?" 
 
 "No. You see, they can't say much. But by 
 the look of things, I should gather that the party's 
 had a pretty rough trip. Anyhow, they've run 
 out of tucker." 
 
 "What can we do?" 
 
 The question sui'prised the manager. He had 
 expected hysterics, or, at any rate, a rush of 
 feminine emotion, and had been prepared to beat 
 a hasty retreat. But, instead, the girl had the 
 perfect self-possession to suggest that she could 
 do something. A second source of surprise was 
 when he found himself explaining to her in de-
 
 240 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 tail how he proposed to act, "just as if she was a 
 blooming man," as he expressed it to himself 
 later. 
 
 "Luckily I've got some working horses in the 
 paddock," he said. "I sent a boy after them right 
 away. I propose packing one with a week's 
 rations and sending it out at once. The camel 
 won't be much good for months by the look of its 
 feet. I'll send out to-morrow and bring in a team 
 of buggy horses. You see," he added, so as not 
 to alarm her, "I reckon they've done all the riding 
 they want for a bit, and would rather like a lift 
 in a buggy." 
 
 The girl put her white hand on the manager's 
 rough brown arm and looked up into his face. 
 "Thank you, Mr. Macfarlane. You're . . . you're 
 more than kind." 
 
 "Oh, a chap couldn't do any less," he said 
 casually, though the touch of that little hand made 
 it rather an effort to appear casual. He was 
 turning to go, when Ida checked him. 
 
 "Mr. Macfarlane, I wonder if you would add one 
 more to the favors you have done me," she asked 
 timidly. 
 
 "What d'you mean?" 
 
 "I wonder if you would let me go out with the 
 pack-horse." 
 
 "But!" He was too astonished at the sug- 
 gestion to find words. "Surely you don't 
 mean . . !" 
 
 •• f es, I do. Indeed I do. I know I'm a woman, 
 but I can ride, and. . . " the reason was very 
 feminine, "I want to so much." 
 
 "But I'll be sending out in an hour's time. You 
 can't ride through the night, and the Springs are 
 forty miles away." 
 
 Again that little hand was placed on his arm.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 241 
 
 and a voice full of the tenderness that love had 
 aroused, pleaded with him. 
 
 "Mr. Macfarlane, listen! I came from Mel- 
 bourne to find my brother. I rode up from 
 Oodnadatta, and no one can say that one day's 
 ride was shortened because I was a woman. And 
 now you won't make me wait till he comes, will 
 you?" 
 
 "You could go in the buggy if you liked." 
 
 "No. Oh, Mr. Macfarlane, I want to be the 
 first to see him .... You see . . he's my . . . 
 he's not my brother." 
 
 Macfarlane had ruled men with his will for 
 many years. He was reputed to be a man who 
 never changed his mind once it was made up. 
 But now, against his better judgment, he sub- 
 mitted. 
 
 "Very well, Miss . . er . ." 
 
 "Hennessy." Ida supplied the name. 
 
 "Very well. Miss Hennessy; though I don't at 
 all like /our taking it on. I'd go with you my- 
 self, only I must stay behind to drive the buggy. 
 I'll send Ruby with you; she's as good as any 
 white man on the road. . . . When could you be 
 ready?" 
 
 "In a quarter of an hour," she answered. "And 
 thank you very much." 
 
 Before the working horses were mustered, Ida 
 Hennessy was ready and waiting beside the hitch- 
 ing rail. Macfarlane, who thought that even the 
 best of women were useless creatures outside a 
 very limited sphere, received another surprise 
 when he saw this city-bred girl, dressed in riding 
 breeches and coat, mount and ride away into the 
 night. For some time he gazed in silence at the 
 spot where the darkness had swallowed up the 
 plant, then sought relief in words.
 
 242 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "Well I'm . ." He broke off suddenly, re- 
 membering that a lady had recently stood beside 
 him, and changed the express! )n, but not the 
 thought : 
 
 "Well I'm blest!" 
 
 Probably he was right. Most men are blessed 
 by contact with a woman.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 243 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 Golden Buckles. 
 
 A loaded steel bar will return to its origirial 
 shape when the weight is removed, so long as its 
 elastic limit has not been exceeded. But if too 
 great a strain has been put upon it, the bar will 
 never regain its former strength. 
 
 It is somewhat the same with men, and is illus- 
 trated by the two who finally arrived at Toolooroo 
 Springs. Tom Lawson, bom and bred to hard- 
 ship, recovered quickly from the fatigue of that 
 terrible journey, whereas his companion, not one 
 whit behind him in the dogged pluck that had 
 carried them through, had borne too great a 
 burden. All his subsequent life he would be a 
 weaker man because of what he had undergone. 
 One hardship had followed too quickly on another ; 
 thirst and hunger had again and again attacked 
 an already weakened body, and not all the will- 
 power in the world could bear up for long against 
 such persistent privation. 
 
 Tynan arrived at the Springs strapped to the 
 camel's saddle, for he was too weak to hold him-" 
 self on, and when he realised that they were with- 
 in reach of help, and that life no longer depended 
 on his power to keep going, he collapsed utterly. 
 
 Water was good and abundant, and there still 
 remained enough flour to make a couple of dam- 
 pers, but the exhausted man seemed suddenly to 
 have lost all interest in life. For weeks he had 
 struggled toward this spot ; his mind had focussed 
 itself on this bough wurley and had seen nothing 
 beyond; he had, as it were, told his body that 
 nothing more was required of it but just to reach
 
 / 244 
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 the Springs, and now it was as if he had no 
 further right to make any more demands upon it. 
 
 Perhaps, also, he had lost the will to live. His 
 recent prolonged struggle against death was due 
 to the working of the law of self-preservation, and 
 not a little also to pride which refused to be beaten 
 in the presence of another man ; but now that he 
 could afford to wait in comparative safety and let 
 others continue the struggle for him, he nearly 
 let go his hold on life. 
 
 Besides, why should he hve? In his present 
 state of utter mental and physical exhaustion, he 
 was open to the attack of the cowardly suggestion 
 that he should not again take up the challenge of 
 life. Such a thought never comes to a man when 
 lie is fighting against odds, but only when, bruised 
 and bleeding, he had been carried outside the 
 arena for a time. Gladly would he have buckled 
 on his armour and entered the lists again when 
 the trumpet called, if only he could wear a lady's 
 token in his helmet; but, in his pride, he had 
 scorned it when it had been offered, and now he 
 found that pride was not a strong enough incen- 
 tive to make him want to live. 
 
 Tom was also in a pretty exhausted state, 
 but allowed himself no rest until he had done all 
 that he could for the weaker man. 
 
 The sacking bed which Tynan had made for him 
 when his leg was broken, was still in the wurley, 
 and a few more bushes piled on the roof made it 
 tolerably sun-proof. Banjo carried up a couple 
 of kerosene tins of water from the spring and 
 warmed them at the fire, and the rough bush 
 nurse bathed his friend's body again and again, 
 to the sufferer's great relief. He managed to 
 shoot a couple of pigeons at the troughs that 
 evening, and had them stewing in a billy-can all 
 night, so that a rich broth was ready for the sick 
 man next day.
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 245 
 
 At dawn the faithful Banjo left with the camel 
 for Mamoola, carrying a note addressed to Mac- 
 farlane, and there remained nothing more for 
 Tom to do but wait. 
 
 All day Tynan lay with closed eyes, not sleep- 
 ing, for the aching of his body kept him awake, 
 but in a state of utter listlessness. He accepted 
 his friend's ministrations almost automatically, 
 and then sank back again, letting his mind swing 
 idly between the mortal and the immortal, having 
 no strength to concern itself with either. In this 
 condition, the mind is extremely susceptible to 
 any suggestion, as the eastern masters of Yoga 
 know so well. 
 
 About seven o'clock in the evening of the day 
 that Banjo left the Springs, Tynan slowly opened 
 his eyes and raised his head, and appeared to 
 listen intently. Then he smiled, and when he lay 
 back again, his face had lost its vacant expres- 
 sion. Let those who wish to ascribe it to coin- 
 cidence, do so, but the fact remains, that it was 
 about seven o'clock on that evening when Mac- 
 fi„rlane brought the glad news to Ida Hennessy. 
 
 A few minutes later, Tom walked up to the 
 wurley with three pigeons in his hand, and sat 
 down at the entrance and began to pluck them.. 
 It was dark inside, and the older man was sur- 
 prised to hear Tynan's voice asking : 
 
 •'Any luck, Tom?" 
 
 "Yes, I potted three," he answered. "They're 
 terribly shy." Then, as this was almost the first 
 sign of interest in anything that the sick man 
 had taken since their arrival, he added : "How are 
 you feeling, Jim?" 
 
 "Not too bad, Tom, thanks. I must have had 
 a bit of a sleep. . . I feel dashed hungry." 
 
 "That's good. Luckily I've got some of that 
 broth left. Will you have a drink of tea with 
 it?"
 
 246 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 "No thanks, old man. Just the broth." 
 
 It was very little that the patient could take, 
 but that little did him a lot of good, for soon 
 afterwards he fell into a deep sleep, which lasted 
 well into the following morning. 
 
 He awoke with such keen hunger that Tom cut 
 his own rations very short, for although they had 
 enough flour to last till the evening, and help 
 ought to have arrived by then, it was not wise 
 to run themselves right out. 
 
 "How long have we been here?" asked Tynan, 
 after a time. 
 
 "Nearly a day and a half. Don't you remember 
 coming in, old man?" 
 
 "No, Tom, I don't." 
 
 "I'm not much surprised. You were as close 
 up to the sweet bye and bye as it's safe to go." 
 
 "Was I? . . . I'm afraid I've been a dashed 
 nuisance to you on this trip, Tom." 
 
 "Go to blazes! If anyone in this plant ought 
 to be sorry, it's me, not you. I suggested the trip 
 in the first place ; then I hadn't the sense to know 
 that all that gelignite was sure to knock the bot- 
 tom out of the rock-hole; and then I jolly well 
 ought to have watched those camels better than 
 I did. . . . But what's the good of being sorry? 
 We've been mates, and have got through. We 
 won't shed tears over one another's graves yet 
 awhile." 
 
 "I don't see Banjo about," said Tynan, later. 
 "Where is he, Tom?" 
 
 "He ought to be on his way back from Marnoola 
 with stores by now. I sent him in yesterday 
 morning, and I reckon he'll make the pace. He's 
 a good nigger." 
 
 "Yes, he is. Couldn't we do anything for him, 
 Tom?" 
 
 "Yes, we could, if you like. I wouldn't advise 
 giving him money. It's no good to a nigger. If
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 247 
 
 we fit him out with new togs and a blanket and 
 new pipe, he'll think hin^iself just Christmas." 
 
 Tom, who knew how terribly his friend had suf- 
 fered, and had been inclined to fear the worst 
 when he had collapsed so utterly, was pleasantly 
 surprised at the way things were shaping. After 
 dinner, Tynan again fell asleep, and the sun was 
 only an hour or two off the western horizon when 
 he next opened his yes. 
 
 He was alone. Tom was hiding at the troughs, 
 waiting for the pigeons to come and drink. No 
 wind was stirring, and the foretaste of a winter 
 night had chilled the air. All fit once Tynan 
 leant up on his elbow and listened. He thought 
 he heard horses coming from the east. 
 
 Such a sound meant that help was near. Yet 
 the smile that lit Tynaii's face was not such as 
 the prospect of relief would bring. His eyes, 
 which had been either dull and listless, or bright 
 with fever, now shone with the tender light that 
 only bums on love's altar. The young scientist 
 had travelled far since the days when he had re- 
 jected everything but what his mind could grasp, 
 f'^r he was now drawing the breath of life itself 
 from what he once would have called an illusion. 
 
 Presently Tom' returned, empty-handed. 
 
 "The beggars are too cunning," he said. "I 
 bet they'll come in after dark. I only wish 1 had 
 some bird-lime." 
 
 "Any sign of Banjo?" asked Tynan. 
 
 "No, not yet. I went up on the sandhill. You 
 can see two or three miles of the track from 
 there. But he's sure to turn up some time 
 to-night." 
 
 So he had been deluded when he thought he 
 heard horses! But it seemed to make no differ- 
 ence to the comfort the young man derived from 
 it. 
 
 The last meal was just finished when a plant of
 
 248 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 horses came over the sand-hill. In the fading 
 light, Tom suspected nothing unusual when he 
 announced to his friend: 
 
 "Here they come ! By gad ! they've sent horses. 
 I wonder who's come along. A couple of them are 
 mounted." 
 
 Tom walked out to meet the riders, more excited 
 than he cared to show. It was his first contact 
 with civilisation, after so many weeks during 
 which he had wondered more than once whether 
 he had not severed the connecting link for ever. 
 But he was totally unprepared for what he saw. 
 A white woman and a half-caste lubra! He could 
 only stand and stare foolishly at the advancing 
 horses. 
 
 Ida rode straight up to the bushman, and did 
 not dismount. 
 
 Without any preliminary greeting, she asked: 
 "Is he inside?" and pointed to the wurley. Re- 
 ceiving an affirmative nod of the head, she rode 
 forward again, leaving Tom still staring at her 
 with astonished eyes. 
 
 "Well, I'm . . .. " and he also hesitated as to 
 an exact description of his condition, finally de- 
 ciding on the word "blest !" 
 
 Tynan had struggled to his feet, and had 
 tottered to the entrance of the wurley. For a 
 minute or two, the landscape was blurred and dark, 
 and he 'clutched at the two posts for support. The 
 low sun shone full on him as he stood there. From 
 a face covered with a scrubby beard, his eyes 
 looked out over gaunt cheek bones, and his hair 
 hung matted over forehead and ears. His neck, 
 so scraggy that it seemed abnormally long, stood 
 up from the collar-bone over which the skin was 
 tightly stretched, as dry and yellow as parch- 
 ment. His body was terribly emanciated and dis- 
 colored with bruises, while a few rags, clinging to
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 249 
 
 his waist, hardly hid the festering scars on his 
 legs. 
 
 Darkness went gradually from his eyes, and he 
 ceased to feel as if the earth was rocking. He 
 looked up. 
 
 Ida Hennessy stood before him. 
 
 He was dazed for a moment as if by a strong 
 light, and shaded his eyes with a shaking hand. 
 Then, like one who is certain that speech will dis- 
 pel a vision, and yet is unable to bear its presence, 
 he asked : 
 
 "Is that Ida?" 
 
 "Yes . . . Jim, it's me." 
 
 He lowered his hand, and stretched it out like 
 a man groping in the dark. "I can't see very well," 
 he said to himself. "When I can't touch it, I'll 
 know it's not there . . . and that it's all imagina- 
 tion. ... A chap doesn't like to made a fool of, 
 even if he's not very well." 
 
 Ida took the groping hand in one of hers. Tynan 
 tottered forward with a start, and would have 
 fallen if she had not caught him. 
 
 "Jim! Jim!" she cried, brokenly, "It's me. It's 
 Ida Hennessy." 
 
 Marvelling how light he had become, she 
 carried him unaided into the wurley, and laid him 
 on his blankets and knelt at his side. 
 
 "Jim," she said again. "It's really me. Feel." 
 She put her soft cheek against his rough hand. 
 "You must not think you're dreaming. All that 
 is over now." 
 
 "But I went away from her," he said, still think- 
 ing he was alone. "I was proud, and . . . and 
 perhaps I refused her love. . . I told her about 
 
 it in that letter. . . God knows I " 
 
 "Yes, yes, Jim," broke in the girl, almost in 
 tears. "You went away, but I came after you, be- 
 cause I loved you."
 
 250 GOLDEN BUCKLES 
 
 Hitherto he had been staring at the bushes on 
 the roof, but now he turned quickly and faced her. 
 The shock of her sudden appearance, though -sub- 
 consciously he had anticipated it all day, had 
 stunned his mind for a time, but now the light of 
 intelligence flickered back into his eyes, till at last 
 it burnt in a steady flame. 
 
 "Ida," he said, and his voice was no longer that 
 of a sleep-talker, "Ida, say that again, will you? 
 Perhaps I didn't hear it right." 
 
 At the sound of the voice she loved, the girl 
 broke down, but through her sobs came the con- 
 fession. 
 
 "I came to find you, because I love you." 
 
 "But Ida" ; he still did not fully realise what she 
 had said, "I refused your love when it might have 
 been mine." 
 
 "It was not love then, Jim. I too was proud. I 
 blamed you for a thing I didn't understand. A 
 girl who loved a man wouldn't do that." 
 
 "And you don't blame me now, little girl?" 
 
 She kissed his wrinkled brown hand. "No, dear, 
 of course I don't." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 For answer she lifted her face to his, and wdak 
 as he was, he held her to him in a first long kiss. 
 
 "Dearest," he said at last, "that child is not 
 mine." 
 
 "Not yours?" 
 
 "No. It was bom when I had been at Marnoola 
 barely six months." 
 
 "Tlien, Jim, why ever did you let me thmk it 
 was?" 
 
 "My dear, I wanted your love. And love covers 
 a multitude of sins, you know." 
 
 Ida hid her face in her hands. "Oh, Jim! Jim!
 
 GOLDEN BUCKLES 251 
 
 It's I who have sinned. Will love ever cover mine, 
 do you think?" 
 
 "It has done that, my darling, for both of us." 
 
 It was dark when Tom came up from the troughs 
 with a bridle in his hands. 
 
 "I didn't leave this with the rest of the gear, 
 Miss," he said, "thinking as you might want to 
 take special care of it." 
 
 Ida motioned him to speak gently, and tip-toed 
 out of the wurley. Tynan was fast asleep. 
 
 "Thank you," she said. "I do want to take 
 special care of it;" and -added, in explanation, 
 "This is the bridle he sent me from Mamoola, and 
 which told me where he was. . . You see, he's not 
 
 my brother Did you notice the golden 
 
 buckles?"
 
 '1 34 LONiDALE 
 
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