"Tell you what I'll do. Half-a-crown for the two of yer," said she.

"All right, missus," said Hil, laying down her luggage.

"No, it ain't all right. Not that I doubts you, but you'll have to sugar up afore you touches it."

"Here you are then," answered Hil, handing her the money.

"Want anything to heat!"

"No, thank you. Good-night."

"Suppose you are new chums, ain't you?"

"Yes. Good-night, we're going to bed."

"Well, good-night!" she answered, disappearing reluctantly.

"What a relief," said May, as she took off her large boots and divested herself of her male attire.

"How do you like being a man?"

"Oh, it would be all right when you got used to it, I suppose, but I must say it is a little awkward at first. I'm chafed all over."

"I'm out of practice, too, but on the whole I consider we did very well. I don't see that we can do much good by getting up early to-morrow. The first train does not leave before half-past eleven."

"I think eight o'clock time enough," said May, who was completely tired out, although she would not give in.

"Well, we'll have a well-earned rest," said Hil, turning in alongside her friend.

"Do you gentlemen want breakfast?" said a voice at the door, the next morning.

"What's the time?"

"Past eight o'clock."

"All right. We'll be out in a few minutes."

When they appeared breakfast was in full swing, and a large proportion of the men round the table wore the railway uniform. As they entered, Hil heard one of them say:

"He was the greatest card I ever saw in all my life."

"Who's that, Joe?" asked another.

"Why that cove as went by the six goods. He was wearing togs that did not belong to him, and if I don't mistake he had old Bill Adams's hat on."

"What did he do, Joe?"

"Do," said Joe, laughing. "He comes to the office in a fluster and says: 'First, Rome.' I says: 'There ain't no first Rome, Roma you mean.' 'You know what I want,' says he, and when he took his change I noticed his hands was snowy white: he had a ring on and I could hear the gold chinking in his pocket."

"What's his name?" asked the landlady.

"I don't know, but I'm going up to the 'Royal' to enquire about Bill's hat."

The girls had listened greedily to all this, and after breakfast they disguised themselves further by changing their wigs, in case they should meet the boys, and went on to the "Royal" to hear the name of the passenger to Roma.

"We'll follow by the 1.50," said Hil, when her enquiries were answered.



CHAPTER XXII.

DALBY.

As the 1.50 train was preparing to start, four men stood round the ticket-office. They were the boys and the girls. The former had chosen clothes similar to those Hal had used with so much success, while the latter assumed a dress that might be worn by anyone without being conspicuous.

There is no country in the world where it is more difficult to judge a person by his dress than Australia. You may sit beside a rough, vulgar-looking fellow, with an old cabbage-tree hat and a dirty pair of moles, with all the appearance of a tramp; yet he may be a squatter, who could write a cheque for twenty thousand. To a casual observer, the boys would easily pass as shearers or men on the look-out for work, and the girls would pass as easily for new chums. There were plenty of both classes scattered over the country, and neither party was likely to attract exceptional attention.

"You can only book to Dalby," said the ticket-clerk. "There has been a break-down beyond that point."

"When?" asked Hal.

"Last night. I fancy it is due to some of the shearers, who are out on strike, so, if you are going for a job, you had better look out and join the union."

"We won't trouble them," answered Hal. "We are going for cattle," and he took two second-class tickets for Dalby.

"Two second, Dalby," said Hil, following close behind him.

As the train started May laughed and said:

"Wonder where the boys are now?"

"Probably in Brisbane still. We ought to have returned good for evil, and wired them where Wyck has gone; but I think they had better find out for themselves, as they fancy themselves so much."

"I wonder what our lady detectives are doing," said Reg to Hal, lighting his pipe.

"In bed, asleep, I suppose, dreaming of Wyck."

"We ought to have wired them at Sydney, and given them a hint."

"No, not at all. It would be ridiculous to think of women in this country. But where's the stick, Reg?"

"It's in my swag. I had to cut it in two, but I reckon now that we have that, we shall soon have the owner, and when we do, God help him."

"Yes, he'll stand in need of all the help he can get," said Hal, looking musingly at Reg's resolute face.

The railway station at Dalby presented an unusually animated appearance on their arrival, for the word had been given that a large number of non-union shearers were coming to take the place of those on strike, and the latter had collected to give the newcomers a warm welcome. As soon as the train stopped a crowd gathered round the carriage in which the boys and the girls travelled.

"Here they are," shouted a burly, red-headed fellow, who appeared to be their leader.

"What's your game, gentlemen?" asked Hal, boldly stepping out, followed by Reg and the girls.

"Are you the black-legs?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you shearers?"

"No, decidedly not. Why?"

"Because we heard some black-legs were coming. That's all."

Two of the passengers were injudicious enough to say they were shearers, one of them calling out—"I'm a shearer, and I'm going to work, for I've a wife and family to keep. D—n your unions."

With a war-whoop the whole body, headed by the red-headed bully, made for the two men, who, in spite of the presence of six constables, were doomed to be knocked about severely, if not in danger of being killed, when Hil, in an impulsive moment, rushed forward to their rescue.

"Stand aside, you cowards," she called out, producing a revolver. "I shoot the first man that touches them again." Then the crowd fell back for a moment.

"You dirty cowards," said Hal, coming forward with Reg.

"Who the devil are you?" said the red-headed leader.

"I'm a man, and I'll see fair play. What right have you to kick these fellows?"

"You're very plucky, all because your mate has got a shooting-iron."

"I can use my fists, too," said Hil, putting up her revolver and standing forward.

"Here put up your hands," interposed Hal and, pushing Hil aside, gave the fellow one from the shoulder that staggered him.

"A fight, a fight," yelled the crowd. "Go it, stranger."

Hal faced his man squarely and, watching his opportunity, landed him one in the mouth that stretched him flat on his back.

"Any more?" asked Reg, looking round, as if he would like his share. But the crowd had had enough and, as the two men who had been the cause of the row had taken advantage of the fight to slip out of the way, Hal and Reg and the girls got away without further adventure.

They found the town a very small one, which had once, like most inland towns, been in a fairly prosperous condition so long as the railway kept away from it; but the advent of the iron horse had caused it to fall, like scores of similar towns, into a deserted condition. Luck favoured the boys, for on calling at Condon's Hotel they got into conversation with an old swag man.

"Seen any strangers about to-day?" asked Hal.

"What do you call strangers—men like yourself?"

"Yes."

"Well, I see one come with Joe Brown by the train this morning."

"What sort of a looking fellow was he?"

"He had old togs on, but didn't seem used to them."

"Where is he now?"

"Don't know. Last I see of him he was in a buggy."

"What was he doing?"

"Why, driving away, of course. Seemed in a blooming hurry, too, and looked as if he was going a journey by the stuff he had aboard."

"Where did he get the turn-out?"

"Don't know; but this is awfully dry work, boss."

"Sing out then: a pint, eh?"

"Rather, boss."

Ten minutes later, the boys were in conversation with the proprietor of the livery stables, if they could be called such.

"Well, all I know is that he paid me thirty pound down for the whole turn-out, and I see him driving away with an old shearer, named Joe Brown," said the owner, in answer to their questions.

"Which direction did they take?"

"Looked as if they were going to follow the river: in fact, they'll have to, as water is scarce."

"We want to overtake these fellows. Have you another trap?"

"Not to sell. I've got a fine buggy and pair here. They could prick spots off the others. I want a pound a-day for them."

"Then hitch them up as fast as you like, and put a good stock of feed in, while we go and get ready."

"By George, this is good business," said the man to himself, as he hastened away to get the horses ready.

The boys hurried off to one of the stores, and purchased a stock of provisions, a small tent, and some cooking utensils. An hour later, they drove away in pursuit of the fugitives, following the road along the creek.

The girls had been unsuccessful in finding out anything. As they walked along the street, they noticed a trap with two men in it drive out of a yard.

"I wonder where they are off to," said May.

"Some squatter's turn-out, I suppose. Let's go to the yard they came out of," answered Hil.

"They've gone after a gent who started this morning," said the proprietor, in answer to her enquiry.

"Which way are they making?"

"Along the river, I think."

"I suppose you have not another trap and horses ready."

"No, sir. I've only got the two, and one of them I sold this morning to the first gent."

"What's on there?" asked Hil, pointing to a crowd round some stockyards.

"Auction, that's all."

"Are they selling horses?"

"Yes, some scrubbers, I think."

"Come on, May. Let's have a look: we can do with a pair of saddle-horses, for we must follow on horseback, or we shall never overtake them."

"I'm agreeable."

"That's not a bad hack. Rather weak in the fore shoulder. Thirty bob, eh?" "Well it's cheap at that," said Hil, examining the horse. "Now this looks better. Come closer, I like the look of this one," and strolling into the yard she opened the horse's mouth.

"I'll give you a couple of notes," she said to the auctioneer.

"Two pounds, two-ten, three, three-five, three-ten. It's gone. You've got a bargain, young fellow. What name?" sang out the auctioneer.

"Cash," said she, promptly planking down the money.

Several other lots had been disposed of, but nothing seemed to suit Hil, whose practised eye could pick out a blemish at a glance.

"Now then, stand aside. Look out. Hallo there, look out," shouted several of the runners-in, as they drove an untameable colt into the yard.

"Look out, young fellow. Come out," shouted the auctioneer to Hil, who was quietly leaning against the post fixed in the centre of the ring. "Look out," said he again, as the colt ran open-mouthed at her, but a smack on the nose sent him back, and letting fly with his heels, just missed her, as she stepped quietly on one side.

"Now then," said the auctioneer, with a wink at the crowd, "the breeding of this horse is well-known. What shall we say for her? A tenner? Well then, a fiver."

"Six," said Hil.

"Six, six-ten, seven, seven. Gentlemen, is there no advance? Seven once, seven twice. It's yours, young fellow. What name?"

"Cash," answered Hil, calmly paying up.

"And now, young fellow, that you have got him, might I ask what you are going to do with him," said the auctioneer in a jocular manner, which the crowd greeted with roars of laughter.

"I'll ride him, I suppose," said Hil, quietly.

"You're not the man," answered the auctioneer, emphatically. "I'll bet you a fiver you're not game to ride him now."

"It's a wager. Where's a saddle?" said she.

"I'll find a saddle quick enough," said the auctioneer, smiling; then he added to the crowd, "Gentlemen, we'll adjourn the sale till this youngster mounts the colt."

"Right you are! Two to one he don't stick," shouted an excited farmer by the auctioneer's side.

"I'll take it," said May, handing a fiver to the auctioneer, which the farmer reluctantly covered.

A saddle and bridle were brought and carefully examined by Hil. When she had satisfied herself they were strong enough, the colt was driven into a race, and after some delay the bridle was fixed on him. It was a considerable time before the saddle could be got on and girthed to Hil's satisfaction. Then the colt was led out.

The excitement now was intense, more especially as the colt began to lash out furiously, to buck and pig in his efforts to dislodge the saddle, for although dozens had tried to ride him he had as yet come off best, and was known as incurable to the country round.

One man held the reins and tried to keep him still, as he danced about, while Hil, with one hand gripping the colt's ear and the other on the saddle, stood watching her chance. The instant the slightest weight was put on the saddle, up went the horse in the air. Hil leaned heavily on him several times, and then stood aside till the colt began to become cunning and stood perfectly still the next time she leant upon the saddle. Hil seeing her chance leapt into the saddle, grasped the reins, and fixed her feet in the stirrup-irons in an instant. The colt was looked upon as a champion bucker, and he deserved the honour, for rising into the air with all four feet off the ground, he gave a twitch that must have dislodged most riders, but Hil and the horse were one. After bucking and pigging all he knew, without succeeding in upsetting his rider, the wary animal tried a new dodge. He reared suddenly and fell back, trying to crush his rider, but Hil was on the alert, for few knew the ways of buck-jumpers more thoroughly and, as the horse came down, she coolly stepped on one side, and was on his back again the instant he had recovered himself. That was too much for the obstreperous animal; he knew he was conquered and gave in to the inevitable, allowing himself to be handled and put through his paces with suspicious docility.

"I'll trouble you for the stakes," said May, pocketing fifteen pounds.

"I want five from you, sir," said Hil. "Thank you. Now then, boys, if you will come over to the pub we'll blue this fiver."

They adjourned to the public-house and had drinks round. Hil, turning to the auctioneer, said:

"I'll tell you what it is, boss. I'd not take ten times what I gave for him. Mark my word, you'll hear something of that colt some day."

"Well, I don't mind losing my fiver at any rate, for you certainly have earned it. That colt has been looked on as a terror to the neighbourhood. Nobody would have him at a gift, and it was only because you looked like a new chum that I ran him in."

"I'm very glad you did. Can you fix us up with a couple of saddles and bridles."

"Certainly. Come on over here."

Saddles and bridles were bought and put on their new purchases. Then the girls rode their horses to the hotel stables, where they were putting up. They groomed and fed them themselves, and went off to purchase a stock of provisions and a small tent. These were all rolled in a blanket and fixed to the front of each saddle; quart pots were slung at the side, and they were at last ready to start.

"I'll christen my colt Wyck," said Hil, as they turned in for the night.

"And mine shall be Liffe," said May.

Daylight the next morning saw them on the track of the two conveyances.



CHAPTER XXIII.

CAMPING OUT.

When Hil mounted her colt the next morning, that fractious animal could not resist having another set-to, just to convince himself that his master was really on his back. Hil was quite agreeable and having satisfied the creature on that point, she and May started at a brisk canter along the road, following the wheel-tracks, which were still clearly defined. Hil was not disappointed in either purchase, for both horses settled down to their work admirably, and by eight o'clock they considered they were twenty miles away from Dalby. They therefore pulled up at Jimbour Creek, dismounted, hobbled their horses, and let them roam for a feed, while they prepared breakfast. Both had excellent appetites after their ride, and did full justice to the meal their own skill had prepared. During the repast, they heard horses' hoofs approaching, and shortly were joined by two young men of the bush type, probably shearers.

"Good-day, mates," called out one, as they came near.

"Good-day to you," said May. "Have a cup of tea, the water's just boiling."

It sounded more like an invitation in a lady's boudoir than from the bush, but putting them down as new chums, the pair dismounted and accepted the offer.

"Where are you young fellows making for?" asked one.

"Going along the river. Did you come that way?"

"Yes, we've come in from Condamine station."

"See anything of a buggy along the road?"

"Well, I'm blowed! Yes, we did. Why?"

"We are trying to catch up to one," said Hil.

"We camped alongside two fellows with a buggy last night, and they told me they were after two other fellows, and now I suppose you fellows are after them?" said the stranger, with a laugh.

"Are there two buggies ahead?"

"Yes, one is broken-down at Campbell Camp, and the other ought to be there by this time. Are you policemen after them?"

"No, not at all. They are friends. We have missed one another. That's all."

"Well, come along, matey," said the younger of the two to his companion. "Good-day to you, and much obliged," and they mounted and disappeared.

"Time to get on, Hil," said May.

"Yes, I think so," and a few minutes later they were on the track of the fugitives once more.

The roads now became rough and hilly, and the travelling much slower. About three o'clock they reached Campbell Camp crossing, and there they found the buggy, broken-down as described. An old man was camped close by, and seemed in possession of the turn-out, as he had the horses tied up close at hand.

"Had a smash?" asked Hil, greeting him.

"Yes, axle bent," said he, coming towards them.

"Seen anything of another buggy go by?"

"Yes, one drove across to the station this morning, with two men in it. They drove a pair of bay horses."

"We may as well camp here for the night," said Hil, "the feed seems pretty good, and water's scarce ahead they tell us."

"Are you coves going to camp here?" asked the man.

"Yes, we are thinking of doing so."

"That's the style, it's a bit lonely here all day."

"Who's trap is that?"

"It belongs to a young chap going to Chinchilla. He's gone on ahead."

"What sort of a fellow is he?" asked Hil.

"A youngish chap. Seemed like as he was in trouble, for he sweared a lot when we broke down."

"What's your name?"

"Joe Brown."

"What time did he start from here?"

"About eight o'clock this morning: but what do you want to know for?"

"Oh! nothing, he's a friend of ours."

"That's just what them other coves said who drove up in a buggy, only they was more inquisitive."

"Could they be the boys?" said Hil, turning to May.

"No, impossible; and yet they may be, like us, in disguise for all we know."

"Which way did they go?" said she, turning to the man.

"They went to Chinchilla after him."

"Oh, well, I expect we shall catch up with them to-morrow. Come along, May, let's get our tent rigged up."

While they were fixing their tent, a hawker's van, drawn by four horses, drove up. Beside the driver sat a man and a boy. Pulling up alongside the creek, the driver walked towards Joe Brown.

"Are you Joe Brown?" he called out in a loud voice.

"Yes, that's me. What's up?"

"Well, I met a young chap going to Chinchilla this morning, and he told me to try and straighten the axle of his buggy, and take it back to Dalby."

"I've got no objection," said Joe, looking significantly at the other man in the cart.

"Then come and give us a hand to get my team out, and we'll set to work at once," said the hawker, whose name was Abraham Abrahams.

The girls having rigged their tent and seen to the horses, strolled down to the hawker's trap, and volunteered their assistance.

"Quite welcome, chaps," said Abrahams.

"Come on, Tom, fly round now, you're going to sleep," said he to the man with him, who was trying to unharness a horse, but did not know how to set about it.

"Let me help you," said Hil, pushing him aside and taking the harness off.

When everything was done to the satisfaction of the hawker, all hands were directed to the buggy. While they were engaged on that two more fellows appeared on the scene. They carried their swags on their shoulders.

"Hallo there! What's the game?" said one, as he came up to them.

"A bit of a smash, that's all," answered Abrahams. "Now then, twist her a bit more. Hang on, let's look now," he sang out, as he directed the operations.

"Yes, that'll do now," he added. "Let's get it back in its place before dark, so we can have an early start."

The axle replaced, all adjourned to their respective tents to prepare a meal. The two latest arrivals chose a camping-ground some twenty yards from that the girls had selected, and soon had a fire lit and their billy boiling.

When all had finished their meal Abrahams suggested they should make a big fire and sit round it and spin yarns. The idea was readily taken up, and a huge log was selected, round which a rope was fixed and harnessed to one of the horses, when it was at once dragged into the required position. Some light wood was gathered, and soon the log was well ablaze, and they disposed themselves in a circle round it. Old Joe was inclined to be a little bit selfish and directly the log was in position, he took a seat on one end of it, and obstinately resisted all efforts to dislodge him. Now it happened that that log had been the home of a large swarm of the ants known as "green-heads." These, as most campers-out know, can sting pretty sharply, and while Joe was disputing his right to the seat, they were gradually being driven by the smoke to the other end of the log. They found Joe's coat-tails an excellent bridge, and swarmed up them. Presently Joe began to feel uncomfortable; then he gave a jump, and finally yelled with agony, and starting up began to fling his clothes off as quickly as possible. The girls found it necessary to retire to their tent to fetch something they had forgotten.

"How very awkward if they had attacked us," said May.

"Very," answered Hilda, laughing heartily at May's look of alarm.

They gave Joe time to rid himself of the pests, and returned to the fire. Nobody now disputed the right of ownership to the log, for it was fairly alive with ants. Joe was sore all over and in a bad temper, until some one offered to give him some whiskey to rub in his wounds. Joe bargained he should drink it in preference, which he did and was soon restored to good-humour.

For the second time the five people who are on the search for one another found themselves in each others' company and were unaware that this was the case. The two men with swags were the boys. They had left their trap in charge of a man camped half-a-mile down the creek, and disguising themselves a second time, in order not to be recognized by Joe, appeared as tramps. They had started for Chinchilla, but missed the road and had not found out their error until they had gone some fourteen miles out of their way, when they met a tramp who told them. Picking him up, they returned to the creek, hoping Wyck might have come back for his buggy.

When Wyck's buggy broke down he was in a terrible rage, but he did not take long to form fresh plans and, having told Joe enough to put him on his guard, he went on his way, but not to Chinchilla. When the boys drove up, he was hidden in a hollow log about twenty paces away, where he could see and hear all that took place. Joe was up to snuff and sent the boys on what he considered a wild-goose chase. When he had let the boys get fairly out of sight Wyck walked along the road in the hope of coming across a Jew hawker, whom a horseman had told him was travelling that route. Nor was he disappointed, for Abrahams came in sight. A five-pound note was exchanged, and Abrahams agreed to take him and his buggy back to Dalby. Wyck then got up alongside the driver. Although he was very uneasy, he had no idea his enemies were so close to him, neither had Hil any conception who the man was she had shewn how to unharness the horses. Wyck had palled up with Joe in the train, and retained him to shew the way. Joe in return had improved Wyck's get-up, so that he now looked quite the bushman, as he lounged by the fire.

In the interval between the yarns all had been spinning, Wyck said to Abrahams, with a wink:

"Wonder how that poor devil is getting on?"

"Which, that fellow who owned the trap?"

"Yes. He'll never see Chinchilla to-night, if I'm not mistaken."

"Where did you meet him?" asked Joe of Abrahams.

"About two miles from here."

"What was he like?"

"Tall, dark, and about twenty-eight," put in Wyck.

"That's my boss," said Joe, taking the cue. "I tried to persuade him from going, but he would go."

"Well, he asked me to take his buggy to Dalby for him, and I am going to do it," said Abrahams.

"Quite right!" said Wyck.

Four people greedily took in this conversation, and made their plans accordingly. As the fire died low, first one, and then another went to their tents, and the camp was deserted. Wyck slept in the van with Abrahams.



CHAPTER XXIV.

FRED PHILAMORE.

When the following morning broke, the sky was dull and heavy and the atmosphere close and oppressive. This did not seem to trouble the girls, who packed up their swags, saddled their horses, and were away on the road before the others were astir.

The boys were the next to move, and their surprise was great when they found their new chum neighbours had disappeared.

"They're early risers, and no mistake," remarked Reg, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes. I wonder which way they've gone. However, that's easily settled," and he looked for hoof-marks, which he found, setting in the direction of Chinchilla. But neither attached any importance to the matter.

"We'd better make for the buggy," said Hal. And they shouldered their swags and made for the river once more.

Wyck, camped in Abrahams' van, found it difficult to sleep on account of the owner's loud snoring. At day-break he lay looking out on the camp through a crack in the cover. He saw the girls rise and depart, and the boys follow them. Thinking it about time for them to be moving, he woke Abrahams and went off to Joe's tent.

"Now then, Joe," he called out at that worthy's tent. "Get up, and let's get off to Dalby. I've had enough of the bush."

"Hullo! where's the other coves?" asked Joe, in surprise, gazing round the camp.

"Gone long ago."

"Which way did they go?"

"Along the river, I expect."

"Now then, boys, harness up. We must make Dalby to-night," said Abrahams, appearing on the scene.

"Do you know what time the train goes?" asked Wyck.

"There's one early in the morning, I think," said Abrahams.

"I must catch that."

"I am just as anxious to get back as you are. I don't like the look of the weather, and I should not be surprised if we had a big rain."

"You're right there, boss," chimed in Joe. "I've been thinking the same."

After a hasty breakfast, they made a start and reached Dalby about seven o'clock the same evening. On enquiry, Wyck found a train left at eight and, making Abrahams a present of his turn-out, he left by that train, feeling sure he had attracted no notice whatever. Before leaving, he told Joe to wire him any news to "Grosvenor, Sydney," or "Gaiety, Melbourne," under a false name; and Joe, who had lined his pocket considerably during his acquaintanceship with his chum, promised to keep a sharp look-out.

When the girls left the camp, they followed the tracks of the hawker's waggon, and after a couple of hours' ride pulled up at a water-hole for breakfast. The road was very rough, and they did not reach the station until late. The manager gave them a cordial welcome, considering they were strangers, but could afford no information about anyone resembling Wyck. As they naturally did not care to accept the hospitality offered them, that of the single men's hut, they turned their horses and rode some way back, till they found a good camping-place for the night. The next day looked even more threatening than the day before, and large drops of rain fell before they started.

"I think we are in for a drenching, May," said Hil, looking anxiously round.

"So do I. Let's clear to Dalby as fast as we can."

As they proceeded on their journey the rain fell steadily, and when they reached Dalby, at a late hour, they were wet to the skin. They saw to their horses, dried their clothes, and made themselves comfortable for the night at the hotel.

"If this keeps on much longer we shall have a flood," said the landlord to them.

Dalby presented a picturesque appearance the next morning, for the Condamine was overflowing its banks and all the low-lying country was flooded. As a wash-away seemed imminent, the railway people suspended all traffic. Twelve inches was measured in twenty-four hours, and by the evening of the second day the country for miles round was a sheet of water. Many houses in Dalby were flooded, and several had been washed away.

The girls were now locked up, for boats were plying in the streets. The delay made them very wild, but nothing could be done but wait. They were lucky, however, in comparison with the fate that befel the boys.

When the boys arrived at their camp, they found their man still asleep, and waking him up they had a hasty breakfast and started on their journey for Chinchilla. Dobbs, the tramp, said he knew a better road than the one they were on, and they let him have his way. But Dobbs was one of those gentlemen fond of experimenting at others' expense, as the boys found out to their cost, for after hopelessly wandering Dobbs acknowledged he was out of his reckoning. Fortune favoured them, however, for they met a stockrider of the Nankin Run.

"Chinchilla? Why you are out of it altogether," said he, in answer to enquiries. "You are a long way from Dalby, too, and if you take my advice you'll follow me, for it looks like rain. When it rains here, it does so with a vengeance. We've had none for twelve months, and it looks like a flood."

The invitation was offered in a rough, genial way, and the boys were only too glad to accept it. After an hour's drive they came to the station. The boys had been puzzling themselves as to what position the man held there, for he looked more like a shepherd than anything else, in his greasy pants and shirt and dirty, old, cabbage-tree hat, but on their arrival they found he was no less a person than the Honourable Mr. Tomkins, owner, not only of that station, but many more.

"Now then, boys, make yourselves quite at home. We don't live in style here, for I don't like it. I get enough of that in the cities, for, take my word for it, no tea tastes so well as that brewed in a billy," said he.

The next day the rain set in and, by Tomkins' advice, they did not start, for all the creeks they would have had to cross were now swollen, and on the following day they themselves were living on an island.

"You see, I took the precaution to build my place on high ground. But we shall be kept busy with visitors now," Tomkins said, as a huge snake crossed the floor.

Insects in great numbers and reptiles of the most venomous kind began to make for the house as the waters rose, and all hands turned out to build a wooden barrier round it, which was saturated with kerosene and set on fire. This proved an effective barrier, but, nevertheless, they were kept pretty busy, and their sleep was not of the most comfortable kind. After six days of this kind of life, they were able to start on their return journey, and once more arrived at Dalby.

There had been numerous cases of drowning during the flood, and the first one to come to their ears was that of a young fellow whose body was found at Campbell Creek crossing, and who had been identified by Joe Brown as a young man who had accompanied him from Toowoomba, named Wyckliffe.

Going to the Police Station to make enquiries, they found the facts as stated. In addition to Joe Brown's identification, they had found a "W" tattooed on his arm. The body had also, they said, been identified by two young fellows who had left for Brisbane a day or two before.

"Then we are to be cheated after all," said Reg, savagely.

"Won't you forgive the fellow now?" asked Hal.

"I can't, old fellow. I can't. I feel some satisfaction in having his stick, though. However, Hal, we've done our duty, and he has met his fate. God knows, he deserved it."

They squared up their accounts, and took train direct to Sydney, with the intention of hunting up the Goodchilds.

When the police reported that the body had been identified by Joe Brown and two other men they stated the literal fact. A stock-driver crossing the creek had seen the body floating there with the face battered beyond recognition. He had pulled it out of the water, and rode into town to report to the police, who brought it in. Joe Brown was one of the first to hear of the discovery, and a brilliant idea struck him that he might make a good thing out of Wyck by reporting the body to be his. As soon as the girls heard it they reluctantly went, too. There was a decided resemblance in the build of the dead man to Wyck, but the features were too bruised for them to be certain. However, Joe swore positively to the tattoo on the arm, and that settled the matter, and the corpse was buried as that of Villiers Wyckliffe, a young Englishman out to gain colonial experience.

The same evening the girls left for Brisbane, but not alone, for Hil was taking the colt with her. Tom, the old groom at the hotel stables, had taken a violent fancy to both horse and owner, that she decided to take him with her to Sydney. At Brisbane they had to explain to him that his master was a mistress, and they sailed without delay for Sydney, none the worse for their experience, but feeling rather subdued at the tragic disaster which had robbed them of the spoil after which they had started.

When Wyck arrived at Toowoomba the first person he looked out for was Bill Adams, whom he found in the yard of the "Royal."

"Hullo, boss, back again! I've got all your togs stowed away," said he, as he led him to his room.

"I had a small black stick," said Wyck to him, after he had inspected the contents of his portmanteau.

"That's all you had, governor," said Bill, with emphasis. And Wyck, seeing it was useless to argue with him, had to accept the inevitable.

"All my luck will desert me now," he said to himself, when he was safely in a train bound for Sydney. "I've lost my fetish."

At Tenterfield he bought a paper, and saw to his delight that heavy rain had set in in the Western district, and that all the country was flooded.

"I hope those two bloodhounds may be drowned too," he said, as he lay down to sleep.

Nearing Sydney, the next morning, he heard the newsboy crying out "Herald. Dreadful floods!" and jumping up, he bought a copy. Opening it, he received a shock, for his eyes caught the broad head-lines:

HEAVY FLOODS IN QUEENSLAND.

27 LIVES LOST.

THOUSANDS OF STOCK DROWNED.

TERRIBLE SCENES.

DALBY COMPLETELY FLOODED.

RAILWAY LINE WASHED AWAY.

He eagerly read the detailed account of the flood from the beginning.

"Hallo, what's this?" he cried, jumping up. "By Jove! I'm drowned! I'm dead," and he read the paragraph again.

"This afternoon a man rode in and reported that the body of a young man was in the creek at Campbell Camp Crossing. The police were informed, and they brought the corpse into the town, which was in a terribly battered condition. It was immediately identified by a shearer, named Brown, as the body of a young English gentleman, named Villiers Wyckliffe, who was touring the back blocks and was bound for Chinchilla station. The body was buried this morning."

"Joe Brown, you are a brick. I'll drink your health," said Wyck, producing the flask. Then he sat down and read the paragraph again, scarcely believing his eyes. Fortunately he was alone in the compartment; otherwise, fellow-passengers might have thought him mad. He paced the car, whistled, and sang, and called out over and over again:

"By Jove, I'm dead! Hurrah! Hurrah!" Then he sat down again and thought it all out. At last he rose and unscrewing the cap of his flask, cried:

"Fred Philamore, I drink your health. Villiers Wyckliffe is dead, and Fred Philamore, a young English gentleman, out for colonial experience, arrives in Sydney. What a good job I shaved. No one will recognize me now; at least they won't when I've done. I always had a fancy for red hair, and mine will dye beautifully. I'll make the acquaintance of Mr. Morris and his amiable friend, Winter, and if I don't have some fun, it's a caution. I'll make it warm for you, Reg Morris, before I'm done. I'll teach dirty colonials to hunt an English gentleman. Fortunately I know friends of the different Governors. Fred Philamore will have no difficulty in getting into Society: an Englishman is a welcome change to the colonials—at least they always say so. Hurrah, Wyck! Good old Wyck, you're dead, and good old Fred Philamore stands in your shoes."

With a lighter heart than he had known for many a day, Wyck stepped out of the train at Sydney.



CHAPTER XXV.

BLUE GUMS.

"Why wasn't I born a boy, Hil? I never felt so comfortable before in my life as when I wore trousers, and now we have to return to these abominable petticoats."

"You don't regret your sex half so much as I do, for I have been regretting it ever since I was a child," answered Hil, giving her skirts a vicious twitch.

"Shall we go to Teasdale's this afternoon?"

"No, don't. I hate garden-parties."

"It's to be a very fashionable affair, and the Government House party will be there."

"That settles the matter then. We stay away," said Hil, decisively.

When the girls returned to Sydney they found Goody still at the "Grosvenor," seemingly quite happy. At first he had been feeble and despondent, but he knew a large number of people, whose visits kept him from brooding and, on his daughter's return, she found him quite a Society man in his old-fashioned way. Hil asked him to come out to Blue Gums, but he preferred the hotel, so both she and May left him there, perfectly content. Hil found an accumulation of letters and invitations waiting her arrival. Callers were numerous, who made curious enquiries about their long absence, but their curiosity was unsatisfied, and it was generally assumed that Hil had been on a visit to one of her stations.

"Two gentlemen are below, and wish to see you, miss," said the maid, entering the room when the girls were engaged in bemoaning their lot.

"Did they give their names?"

"No. I asked, but they said it did not matter."

"Shew them up." Then, turning to May, she said, "I don't mind betting they're the boys."

"Good-morning, Miss Goodchild," said both Hal and Reg, advancing to May.

"Good-morning, gentlemen. This is my cousin."

"Delighted to meet you," said Hil, shaking hands cordially.

"We called at the 'Grosvenor' this morning, and Mr. Goodchild told us we should find you here, so we took the liberty of coming over," said Hal.

"No liberty, I assure you. A pleasure."

"On both sides, I hope," said Reg.

"We have only recently returned from Brisbane, and Mr. Goodchild told us you, too, had been out of town."

"Yes, we went for a trip. I hope you weren't inconvenienced by the floods."

"We were; very much. The mere mention of them makes me look round, expecting to see a tribe of ants, or two or three snakes on the floor."

"Do tell us about your adventures," said May.

"When we left Brisbane we went on to Toowoomba and got on Wyck's tracks and chased him out West as far as Dalby. From there we set off in a buggy for Chinchilla, and we caught up his buggy, but found it had broken down, and that there was no trace of Wyck. We suppose he lost his way and was drowned in the creek, where his body was found."

"How did you manage in the bush? Did you have to camp out?" asked Hil, with an appearance of great interest, and gently touching May's foot.

"Oh, of course, and it was great fun," and they both laughed.

"Do tell us about it. I am so fond of hearing tales of the bush," said May.

"Well, when we reached the creek, we found an old fellow, named Brown, in charge of the buggy, and from him we learnt that his boss, as he called Wyck, had gone on to Chinchilla on foot, so we started after him, but, losing our way, had to return to the creek. Now, it struck us that Wyck might possibly return to his buggy during the night, so we camped about half-a-mile away, and, leaving a man in charge of our trap, we dressed up as swagmen and joined the party at the crossing, which had now been increased by the arrival of two new chums and a hawker's van."

"Tell them about the ants, Hal," said Reg.

"Oh, yes. Joe and the hawker had a dispute as to who should have a seat on the log used for the fire, but Joe had possession and determined to stick to it, which he did until a swarm of green-heads climbed up his back, and then he jumped up with a yell and flung off his clothes. Joe frightened the new chums, for they cleared off to their tent."

"What kind of fellows were these new chums?" asked Hil.

"Oh, nothing out of the common. Very ladylike in appearance and namby-pamby looking. I felt really sorry for them, but they ought never to have left their ma's apron-strings."

"Yes, I fancy this flood will send them back," said Reg, laughing.

"How very interesting: but you have been spreading the story about well," remarked Hil.

"Why, what do you mean? I have never spoken to a soul about it. Have you, Reg?"

"Well, I heard the same tale, yesterday, about old Brown and the ants," said Hil.

"You did?"

"Yes, and I fancy I can recognise you two in the story I heard, since you say you came as tramps."

"I don't understand," said Hal, looking at her in astonishment.

"I'll tell it you as it was told to me, then. It appears Joe Brown recognised in the two tramps the two men who had driven by in a buggy and he passed it round the camp, and while you two were acting as tramps everyone was laughing at you."

"Miss Mannahill, where did you hear that?" called out Hal, thunderstruck.

"That's not all," continued Hil, imperturbably. "We heard about you in Brisbane, and how you were good enough to discuss May and myself in a public saloon."

Hal looked at Reg in astonishment, and unable to say a word.

"Can you deny saying that, from all accounts, that cousin of May Goodchild's was a bit of a star?" asked Hil.

"And that I was a jolly girl?" struck in May, both of them now laughing heartily at the nonplussed appearance of the two men.

"Excuse me, I—" said Hal, with an uncanny feeling that there was witchcraft somewhere.

"No, we won't. We want an apology."

"For what?" said Reg, seriously.

"For speaking ill of absent friends."

"Did we speak ill?"

"Yes, of those two new chums, who were—"

"Not yourselves."

"Certainly," said Hil, smiling. "And I am glad we seemed ladylike and I hope you'll do us the justice to say we have got back to our ma's—or the equivalent."

"You two ladies were the new chums!" said Reg, not quite sure if he heard aright.

"Yes. How did we look?"

"Splendid."

"Oh, you traitors, but we'll forgive you," said Hil, ringing for refreshments.

The girls then told their adventures and were equally amused to find they had all been at cross-purposes the whole time. It took the boys some considerable time to get over their astonishment.

"We went for a man, and returned with a horse," said Hil.

"And we went for a man, and returned with a stick," added Hal.

"Which stick? Not the famous one with all the notches cut on it?" asked May.

"The very same. There are several fresh notches added, and one of them may refer to you."

"Oh, let us see it. Where is it?" said Hil, excitedly.

"I have it safe under lock and key," answered Reg.

"You can scratch out my notch," said May, "for though I had a narrow squeak, my heart is not quite broken, thanks to you two."

"For one thing, I am glad it occurred," answered Hal. "It has given us the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

"New chums, eh?"

"Now, that's not fair. But did that old fellow really recognise us?"

"No, I don't know that he did. Certainly we did not. I only said so because you were rather hard on us," answered Hil.

"What are you gentlemen going to do now?" asked May.

"We are going to have a holiday. I have done my duty, and my dear old friend here has sacrificed all his time for me. We propose staying in Sydney for a short while, and then taking another trip to Tasmania, as the people there were so nice," answered Reg.

"All Tasmanians are nice," put in May.

"Don't fish, May," said Hil, chaffingly.

"Present company always excepted," said May, unwarily.

"Oh, that's worse than ever," retorted Hil, and all joined in the laughter which followed.

"Now, if you gentlemen are doing nothing to-day, we shall be very glad of your company on our drive," said Hil.

"We shall be delighted," said both together.

"Then that's settled. Now let us go to lunch. Quite impromptu, you know, billy and pannikins," she added, with a light laugh, as she led the way.

And a happy quartette they made, these four young people, sensible to the full of the enjoyments of life. Joke and anecdote were interchanged with good-humoured camaraderie and, if Mrs. Grundy was not present, she ought to have been, only in the capacity of spectator, that she might but learn how possible it is for youth of both sexes to meet together in wholesome social enjoyment without the watchful eye of a chaperon. After luncheon, the boys were invited to light their cigars, the girls apologising for not joining in, because they had given up male vices with male habiliments.

"You must come and see Wyck," said Hilda, taking them to the stables. "And here is old Tom. I don't know if you remember him at Dalby. I brought him to look after Wyck, because they seem to understand each other so well."

"How's Wyck getting on, Tom?" she asked, as the old fellow came forward and saluted.

"Oh, he's doing well, miss. I've had him entered for the Sydney Cup, and I doubt there won't be many to beat him," said Tom, proudly, as he led the way to a loose box in which his favourite was kept.

"Well, Wyck, old boy," said Hil, and the horse, hearing her voice, turned round and put his head over the rail, and sniffed at her as if in search of something.

"Here you are," she said, giving him a piece of sugar, and rubbing his nose.

"We heard about your doings at Dalby; how you took the auctioneer and the farmer down," said Reg, "but we little guessed who the new chums were."

After wandering round the extensive stables, Hil called one of the grooms, and told him to put Fan and Tan in the dog-cart.

"They are a bit skittish, miss," said he, being a new hand.

"All the better," answered she. "Go and put them in."

A handsome dog-cart was wheeled out, and two beautiful dappled grey cobs harnessed to it, who by their prancing and restless antics looked like mischief. The wheeler was the more quiet of the two, but the leader seemed to prefer a more picturesque attitude than that of standing quietly on four legs, and elevating himself on his hind-legs remained pawing the air like an heraldic beast. Twice did the groom pull her into line with the wheeler, but she preferred dancing round and gazing at the driver.

"I think she has had a fair look at us now," said Hil, quietly taking up the whip. "Straighten them again, please."

The opening of the gate was not a wide one, and the boys confessed they felt a trifle nervous in their seats. But they did not know their driver. With a sharp, "Now then, let go," she gave the leader a couple of smart smacks with the lash, and he dashed forward and they passed through the gate at a hand-gallop, and were soon flying along the beautiful roads round Sydney.

The boys thoroughly enjoyed themselves. What more could heart desire than to be driven behind a pair of handsome horses, beside a pair of handsome girls!

"Will you ladies come to the theatre to-night?" asked Reg. "There is a new star just arrived from London."

"What do you say, May?"

"Delighted."

"Yes, we'll go with pleasure," said Hil, and arriving at the "Metropole," where the boys had taken up their residence, the cart was pulled up, and they alighted.

"Shall we call for you?" asked Reg.

"No, we'll call for you at 7.30. Good-bye."

Standing on the pavement, the boys gazed first after the cart disappearing round the corner, and then at each other. But words failed them, so they turned on their heel towards the hotel.

"By-the-bye, we had better call on old Goody. He might like to go," said Reg, and Hal being of the same opinion, they turned back to the "Grosvenor."

They found Mr. Goodchild in conversation with a young man, whom he introduced to them as Mr. Philamore.

"We are going to the theatre to-night, Mr. Goodchild, and we came to see if you would join us."

"Well, Philamore and I had agreed—"

"Oh, both of you join us, won't you?"

Philamore having expressed himself as quite agreeable to the arrangement, it was settled they should all go to the theatre.



CHAPTER XXVI.

MARJORIE WILLIAMSON.

Punctually to time, the girls arrived at the "Metropole," and, picking up the boys, they drove on to the "Grosvenor" for Goody and his friend. It was a tight squeeze to find seating room for all, but the Criterion Theatre was not far away, and Hil laughingly insisted on taking all of them. Thus, for the third time, the five chief characters of this veracious history were in each other's company, though on this occasion four were known to each other, and the fifth a stranger, but knowing well himself in whose company he was. They were comfortably settled in their box as the curtain rose, and all eyes were turned to the stage in eager anticipation of the appearance of the actress who had been so much talked about. When she did appear, two of the party gave a start; Reg in wonder where he had seen the face before, and Wyck in astonishment, for the familiar face and voice recalled old memories.

"I have seen that face somewhere before," said Reg to Hil, "but I can't think where. The programme styles her 'Mrs. Montague,' but that does not give me a clue."

"You may have seen her in London," she suggested.

"Wasn't her name Marjorie Williamson?" whispered Mr. Philamore, as he laid aside the opera-glasses through which he had been gazing intensely.

"That's she; the very same. By Jove, I am glad," added Reg, excitedly.

"Hush," said Hal, for Reg had raised his voice, and unpleasant glances were cast in the direction of their box.

During the first act, Reg remained so engrossed in his thoughts that he left the play unheeded. He was only roused from his reverie by the vociferous applause that brought the actress twice before the curtain. Her success was now assured, much to his delight.

The boys, accompanied by Goody and Philamore, left for the saloon during the interval and the girls found themselves alone.

"What do you think of him?" asked Hil.

"I can't say. I don't like red hair," answered May.

"He can't help that. I thought him rather pleasant."

"How strange that Reg should recognise this lady."

"And Mr. Philamore knows her too. He said her name was Marjorie Williamson."

"Marjorie Williamson! Why, that is the girl he told me about. She was one of Wyck's victims," said May, in surprise.

"They're coming back," said Hil, as the gentlemen entered the box.

"Too bad of us to go and leave you," observed Philamore, with a smile.

"Oh, we don't mind."

"Did you know Miss Williamson in London?" asked Hil of him.

"Slightly. As much as one knows the leading stars," he replied.

"Was she a star there?"

"Yes, she was rather successful, but I believe she got into some trouble and had to retire, contrary to the general rule, for it usually adds to their celebrity."

"What trouble?" asked May, curiously.

"That's more than I can tell. You see we never notice these things in England, they are every-day occurrences. I don't think I should have recognised her but for her voice," answered Philamore, indifferently.

"Where did you meet your friend, Mr. Goodchild?" asked Reg, when they stood outside the box.

"At the hotel. He only arrived from England a few days ago. He seems a very pleasant young fellow and is well connected at home, knows the Governor, and moves in good society."

"I don't care about him," said Hal. "I have taken an unreasonable dislike to him. I have a certain repellent feeling when he speaks to me."

"It's strange he should know Marjorie Williamson, too," said Reg.

"Oh, I suppose everybody about town, who sees an actress on the stage, thinks himself entitled to claim acquaintance with her."

"Yes, I suppose so. I must call on her. I wonder where she is staying."

"No idea, but we can soon find out," and walking to one of the attendants, came back and said: "Petty's Hotel."

"Why that's close to the "Grosvenor." We will call to-morrow. I shall be awfully glad to see her again."

"And she'll be glad to see you, old chap, I should think."

At the close of the performance, the boys saw the girls to their carriage and, promising to call on the following day, bade Goody and his friend good-night, and walked to their hotel.

The boys strolled along in silence, and each guessed that the same thing occupied their thoughts. At last, Hal said:

"Look here, Reg, ever since I had that dream in which I saw Wyck and Dick laughing over our failure, I cannot forgive myself for not stopping at Toowoomba, and seeing Bill Adams, and making sure that Wyck is dead, for we have only old Brown's word for it, and he is the kind of fellow that would do anything for money. How do we know his death was not a put-up job?"

"Quite right, Hal, I think we ought to settle that point at once. If Wyck is dead, his clothes will still be at Toowoomba; if he is alive, he will have called for his stick, and we must find him."

"The express leaves at eight to-morrow morning. You can make an excuse for me to the girls, but let's keep the business to ourselves until it is settled," said Hal.

"You'll wire if you hear anything?"

"Of course. I don't think I shall, but at any rate we'll settle the question, and have done with it."

The next morning Hal left for Toowoomba, and at mid-day Reg called at Petty's Hotel, and sent in his card to Mrs. Montague. He was at once shown in and met with a hearty reception.

"Mr. Morris," said she, "you see I have fulfilled my promise."

"Yes, and I don't know of anything which has delighted me more. I was there last night, and never enjoyed a play more."

"I saw you. You were in a box with two ladies and two gentlemen."

"Yes, they were my friends."

Here a gentleman entered the room, and to Reg's surprise Marjorie ran to him and said:

"Arthur, this is Mr. Morris."

"Morris!" said he. "What! the real Morris? My dear sir, I am delighted to see you."

"That's my husband," said she, in answer to his look of enquiry, then added in a sad voice, "poor old Jones died a month before my leaving, he sent a short message to you,—it was: 'Tell Mr. Morris that he made me happy.' Poor old chap!"

"I am heartily glad to see that Mrs. Montague took my advice. It would have been a thousand pities had she buried her talent because of a scoundrel."

"Have you came across him yet, Mr. Morris?"

"No, not yet," said Reg, slowly, "for months I have been on his tracks, and the other day he was reported to be drowned, but I can hardly believe it, so my friend has gone off to find out the truth."

"Who was that red-haired gentleman in your box?"

"His name is Philamore, he knows you."

"Philamore? I don't remember the name, but there was something in his face which seemed familiar."

"Fancy, my dear, only fancy," said Mr. Montague. "But you, Mr. Morris, you will join us at lunch. I want to drink your health, for it is to you I owe my meeting with my wife."

Reg was persuaded to stay, but he did so reluctantly, as he had half promised to lunch at Blue Gums.

"Will you let me introduce my lady friends to you?" he asked.

"I should be most happy to meet any friends of yours," she answered, smiling.

"You'll find them true Australian girls, and I venture to say you will be good friends."

"Well, I shall be at home all this afternoon."

"If I can, then, I'll bring them to you," said Reg, taking his leave, and setting out at once for Blue Gums. His arrival alone caused some enquiries.

"Where's Mr. Winter?" asked Hil.

"He's gone to Toowoomba."

"Toowoomba! What for?"

"Well, to tell the truth, we are not satisfied that Wyck is really dead, and Hal has gone to enquire at the hotel he stopped at and interview Bill Adams; but mind, to anyone else, he has gone to Albury for a couple of days."

"I see," said Hil.

"Do you know," asked May, "that Mr. Philamore has lately been in Queensland?"

"No. Is that so?"

"Well he started telling us a story about camp-life, and suddenly stopped and, though we both tried to persuade him to continue, he would not."

"And what do you make of that?"

"Nothing, except it seemed curious, considering he has only just come out from England."

"I have just left Mrs. Montague. Will you ladies go and call on her? She expressed a wish to make your acquaintance."

"When?"

"Well, she's at home this afternoon."

"We'd go if we only had an escort."

"Won't I do, Miss Goodchild?"

"If you will honour us," she said, with a mock curtsey.

"And we will both go and put on our brand-new dresses in honour of the occasion," said Hil, following May from the room.

Reg sat down and fell into a brown study. His lost Amy held the first place in his thoughts, but unconsciously of late he had found the form of May Goodchild, not usurping the image of his dead love, but appearing as it were by her side. He did not know whether to take himself to task for want of loyalty, but in the midst of his cogitations he was interrupted by the return of the ladies, costumed in the latest fashion.

"Understand," said Hil, as they walked out to the carriage, "You are to be our chaperon, and keep us in order."

"Trust me, I'll sing out if I see any lapse," he answered, laughing.

Mrs. Montague and the girls became fast friends from the outset, and when Reg and her husband left for a smoke they became quite confidential. She told them all her experiences and how Reg had come to her rescue.

"You see, here I am with a husband who worships me; a successful career; my sisters at school and well cared-for, and wherever I go I am so well received; and all this I owe to Mr. Morris."

"Yes, he is a fine fellow, and had it not been for him I should not have been here to-day," said May, telling her tale of rescue by the boys.

The girls enjoyed their visit, and had extracted from Mrs. Montague a promise to make Blue Gums her home for the remainder of her stay. As the carriage was taking them down Pitt Street, Reg started in surprise as his eye caught sight of a man crossing the street.

"Joe Brown!" he cried. "That's him for a certainty, in spite of his store clothes. If you'll excuse me I'll follow him. I'll keep you informed," he added, as the carriage was stopped, and he raised his hat.

Hastily hurrying in the direction taken by Joe Brown, Reg soon caught sight of him again. He shadowed him to Market Street, where he entered one of those cheap restaurants, at which one can get a bed or a three-course meal for sixpence. Reg sauntered about for fully an hour before he re-appeared. At last his patience was rewarded. Brown appeared, and walked in the direction of George Street, and halted at the corner of a cross-street, and waited as if expecting someone. Presently a hansom pulled up and Joe stepped in and sat down by the side of another man, and the cab drove rapidly away.

"The plot thickens," said Reg to himself. "Now, what the devil has he to do with Joe?" and he called a cab and had himself driven to Blue Gums.

"Well, did you see him?" asked Hil, eagerly.

"Yes, and who do you think picked him up in a cab?"

"Mr. Philamore?"

"Yes, but how did you guess that?" said Reg, in surprise.

"I'll tell you what it is. I fancy that red-headed gentleman either knows something, or is not exactly what he professes to be."

"We'll wait until we hear from Hal, before doing anything further," said Reg.

"Yes, it would be just as well. But you will stay for dinner, as Mr. Goodchild and some Tasmanian friends are coming to-night."

Reg did not refuse, needless to say. On his return to his hotel he found two telegrams and a letter waiting for him. Opening one of the telegrams, he read:

"Toowoomba. Wyck called here day before flood. Left for Sydney.—Hal."

The other read:

"Albany, W.A. Self and wife arrive Adelaide Monday. Wire address.—Whyte."

The letter contained a cheque for L150, with the photo of Mr. and Mrs. Montague enclosed, on the back of which was written:—"May God bless and prosper Reginald Morris is the earnest prayer of the originals!"



CHAPTER XXVII.

FOILED.

Reg passed a restless night, turned himself out of bed early, and went for a stroll in the Domain before breakfast. He was ill at ease and full of self-reproach, for it seemed to him he had neglected his oath. He had given himself up to the pleasure of the hour, while Wyck was still at large. He blamed himself for believing rumours and not satisfying himself of their truth, and altogether worked himself into a miserable frame of mind.

After a hasty breakfast, he hurried round to the "Grosvenor," and asked for Goody, and shewed him the telegram.

"That's funny, very funny," said Goody.

"Is that friend of yours here still?" asked Reg.

"No, he has gone to stay at Government House for a few days. He shewed me a most pressing invitation."

"When was this, Mr. Goodchild?"

"Last night. He told me he knew a lot of the Governor's friends, and that the Governor had asked him almost as a favour to go, as he complained of being bored."

"Did he tell you this?"

"Yes, he seemed to sympathise with his friend."

"Poor devils, how badly we treat them," said Reg, with mock commiseration.

"Now I don't agree with you there, Mr. Morris. I think we treat the Governors right royally;" said Goody, mistaking his tone.

"You try to do so in your straightforward, honest way, and such are the thanks you get for it. But good-bye for the present, I have some work to do."

Reg hurried away to Blue Gums where he produced the telegram, which the girls read with surprise. All agreed that nothing could be done until Hal returned.

"You'll keep your appointment with Mrs. Montague," said Reg, rising to go: "but you must excuse me. I want to look round."

"After Philamore?" asked Hil.

"He's staying at Government House."

"What!"

"So your father told me this morning."

"Then he can't be Wyck," said Hil, emphatically.

Meeting Hal on the arrival of his train, they drove together to their hotel, to take up the thread of their abandoned plans. Hal told his story:

"On my arrival, I went to the 'Royal' and saw Bill, who, of course, said he knew nothing; but when I threatened to arrest him on a warrant he changed his tone. He told me Wyck had called for his things on the day before the flood, and then started for Sydney. Bill said he had complained about the loss of a black stick, of which he knew nothing. I wired to you, and caught the next train back."

"I expect Mr. and Mrs. Whyte. They arrived at Adelaide on Monday," said Reg, handing him their telegram.

"What's become of Philamore?"

"Staying at Government House."

"We musn't lose sight of that chap."

"Oh, you remember old Joe Brown, who swore to Wyck's identity?"

"Yes; what about him?"

"I saw him here yesterday," said Reg. "I followed him, and he got into a cab, with whom do you think?"

"Not Philamore?"

"Yes."

"Then that settles it. Well, now we will get the girls to call a meeting at Blue Gums to-morrow. They must invite Mr. and Mrs. Montague, Goody and ourselves; then we can compare notes, for we all must go to the garden-party at Government House to-morrow afternoon."

Goody's tale to Reg was quite true. Fred Philamore had made the acquaintance of the Governor, and had mentioned so many London friends that were known to both, that His Excellency, finding him so interesting, had invited him to Government House. This invitation he was glad to accept, as he was still uneasy about his pursuers. The boys, however, little guessed that all this while they were themselves being watched: yet this was so, as the pseudo Fred Philamore had two retainers on their track, who reported all their movements. Consequently he knew all about Hal's journey to Toowoomba, and guessed its object. He was engaged in forming a plan by means of which he could be revenged on Morris, but as he did not consider the time was ripe to put it into practice, he accepted the chance offered him by the Governor to enjoy himself at the expense of the Colonial Government.

The next morning the party of seven interested in the doings of Villiers Wyckliffe met at Blue Gums to discuss matters.

"Of course," said Hal, "we are only surmising that Philamore is our man. We have no direct proof of his identity yet."

"When I last saw him he had dark hair and moustache," said May.

"Well a moustache is easily shaved off, and hair can be as easily dyed," said Reg.

"I suppose nobody noticed his hands, for he has a white scar on the fore-finger of his right hand, plainly visible," said Mrs. Montague.

"Why, I noticed that only yesterday on Philamore's hand," said Goody.

"Then it is he," said Reg, excited. "Now how are we to get at him?"

"Leave that to me, old chap," answered Hal. "You've got your die ready; you shall be executioner, I will bring him to the block."

"You are not really going to brand him?" put in Mrs. Montague.

"I am, indeed."

"Well, I can't say he does not deserve it," she added, stopped from further remark by Reg's determined face.

"Well, it is understood that we all meet this afternoon at Government House," said Hal. "We will now adjourn the meeting."

Hil and May had already refused the invitations to the party, but a private note despatched to the Secretary had the desired effect, as that gentleman held a very high opinion of Hil and her fortune.

Government House is a palatial residence, and situated in the midst of lovely gardens. It was the height of the season, and a large number of people were assembled in the grounds, including a good proportion of mammas, each with a bevy of daughters. At the appointed time Hil's carriage drove into the grounds, followed by a cab, and the occupants of both were set down to be presented to His Excellency, who stood with a forced, dignified smile on his face, and bowed to each visitor with the accurate regularity of a machine. Close observers only would notice that the smile was supercilious and the bow perfunctory. Both the girls and boys, as a matter of form, passed before him and then wandered together round the grounds. They did not wander far before they came across the bishop's son, who was paying elaborate attention to the daughter of a squatter who could count his sheep by millions. With ill-concealed satisfaction, her fond mother watched her daughter's flirtation with one of England's nobility, as she supposed him to be. Further on, they met their man, evidently in the full swing of enjoyment. He was talking to a young English lady with whom he was seated under a spreading eucalyptus, and satirising colonial manners. The lady herself was on the look-out for a colonial millionaire and often sighed to herself over the disagreeable necessity that the millions could not be obtained without the millionaire.

Seats had been placed on both sides of the tree, and Philamore and his companion were quite unaware that the seat at their back was occupied, until the former was startled by hearing a familiar voice say:

"It's Wyck for a certainty. We shall have to waylay him."

"It's a matter of time, Mr. Morris. Do not distress yourself so much. We'll catch him before long."

Peering round, he saw May and Reg were the speakers, and a longing to get out of the way seized him. He took the earliest opportunity of excusing himself and calling a cab drove rapidly into the town, to the same restaurant into which Reg had seen Joe disappear. He sent a boy in to ask for Mr. Brown.

"Come and get up," he called out as Brown appeared. "You must get ready at once, Brown, and do it to-night, for I am off by the express. They have found me out. But, mind, no murder."

"Oh, no, just bruise and lame 'em a bit, eh!"

"Exactly, and don't let them catch sight of your face if you can help it."

"I understand, boss."

"Now you can get out. Here's a tenner to go on with and I'll send you another when I hear the job is done."

"All right, boss," said Brown, as he got down.

"Address George Thompson, P.O., Melbourne," shouted Philamore to him.

"Ay, ay. Good-night."

Philamore drove to the Imperial Hotel, and wrote a note to His Excellency, saying he had been called away to Brisbane on important business and promising to call on his return. The remainder of the time left to him he devoted to preparations, and when the Melbourne train left Sydney it carried an elderly man with grey hair.

Both the boys and the girls left the garden-party early, and on the return of the former to their hotel, they found that a young woman had been enquiring for Mr. Morris and had promised to call again. While they were speculating as to whom this new visitor could be the lady herself appeared. She had a sad tale to tell. She had been employed as barmaid at a hotel, and had met Wyck and fallen in love with him, and after arranging to be married, he had thrown her over.

"But why do you come to us?" asked Reg.

"I heard you were after him for a similar thing," she said, bursting into tears.

"And where did you hear that?" said Hal.

"Well, my friend the housemaid at the 'Metropole' heard you talking about Wyck, and she told me."

"What do you want us to do."

"I don't know, sir, but I thought you would like to know that he has made an appointment with another girl in the 'Domain' at eight to-night."

"Where's he to meet her?"

"I'll show you, sir."

"Look here, my girl," said the astute Hal, "you are not telling me the truth."

"What do you mean, sir?" she asked, indignantly.

"Do you mind pulling the bell, Reg?"

"What for, Hal?"

"To send the waiter for a policeman. He will investigate this lady's statement."

"Oh, don't do that, sir."

"Will you tell us who sent you here then?" said Hal.

"You'll not touch me if I do."

"Not if you tell the truth."

"Well, there were going to be several men behind the bushes, where I was to take you, and they were going to thrash you."

"Who sent you here?"

"Mr. Brown gave me ten shillings to come."

"If you take my advice, you won't have anything more to do with Mr. Brown. Now you can go," and Hal dismissed her.

"A very clumsy plot indeed, Mr. Wyckliffe, very clumsy! You must be losing your wit," said Hal, smiling.

The next morning, Reg amused himself by reading the sarcastic account in the Bulletin, of the doings at Government House, which were served up in the spicy style of that journal, and to his astonishment the account wound up with the astounding statement that Mr. Philamore had left for Brisbane.

As Hal read the paragraph aloud, he looked at Reg whose face seemed to contract with rage, he caught Hal's glance, and then both turned away in silence to engage in their own thoughts.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

PREPARATIONS.

When Wyck, or Fred Philamore, left Sydney, he did so without leaving a trace behind him, for Joe Brown had returned to Queensland, after sending a detailed account of how the boys had been caught, and had received a tremendous thrashing. Wyck was overjoyed, and had sent him his other tenner. Now his intention was to get to England without delay, but as no boat was starting for a week, and feeling secure in his disguise, he gave himself up to enjoyment in Melbourne, and, becoming bolder every day, allowed the boat to start without him. The boys had visited Adelaide and Melbourne, and scoured the county, but could find no trace of the fugitive, and as Mr. and Mrs. Whyte had now arrived, they had gone to Tasmania with them and the girls for a short stay at Goodchilds'. They had only been there two days when Hal received the following telegram:

"Melbourne, Come over. Quick.—Terence O'Flynn."

They at once started for Melbourne, where Terence met them and gave them an account of his proceedings.

"You see, gents, ever since I last saw you I have been keeping a sharp look-out on both Dick and the 'Gaiety,' but I never see any one at all like our man. On Tuesday I was on my cab as usual and Dick was in the same rank, when I see an elderly gent, clean-shaved, and with rather grey hair, wearing a bell-topper—a regular howling toff he looked—stroll along the rank, 'Cab, sir,' says I, but he shook his head and walked on. Seemed as if he was in thought, for when he came to the end of the street he came back again, and beckoning to Dick, got in his cab, and drove off. I didn't take much notice of that, but I did notice that Dick didn't come back until nearly twelve, and when he did he seemed pleased with hisself. Next day morning I was passing the 'Gaiety,' when I'm blowed if I didn't see Dick's cab a-waiting outside, so I drives down a lane a bit and watches, and sure that elderly gent comes out again with one of the young ladies, and drives away. When Dick comes back to the stand that night, I says to him—'Got another soft line, Dick'—'Yes,' he says, 'but he's going away soon!' Well, I tried all I knew, but Dick he was fly, and as this chap seemed to carry on just like Wyck, I thought it would do no harm to send for you."

"He's got grey hair you say, Terence?" asked Hal.

"Yes, but he don't look old, and I know he's a toff, too."

"It's worth risking, Reg. Let's make all preparations in case it is, for we do not intend to let him slip again."

"What shall we do first?"

"We want a furnished house, Terence."

"Sure you can get hundreds of 'em, sir."

"Do you know of one close handy?"

"I saw one in Nicholson Street only yesterday, for I drove a gent to look at it, but he said the rent was too much."

"How much was it, Terence?"

"Two pounds ten a week."

"Let's go and have a look at it."

Calling a cab they drove up Collins Street to Nicholson Street, and half-an-hour later they had the receipt for two weeks' rent of an eight-roomed house.

"The next thing for you to do, Terence, is to swell up a bit," said Hal.

"What do you mean—put my Sunday togs on?"

"Yes, that's the idea. How long will it take you?"

"About an hour, sir."

"Then go and do it, and meet me at 'Menzie's,' in an hour's time. Here's a sovereign to go on with."

The boys then drove to "Menzie's," engaged a room and locked themselves in.

"The only way we can satisfy ourselves as to his identity is by means of that stick."

"The stick! How are you going to do it? I cannot part with it on any account," said Reg, grasping it firmly, as if in fear that it would vanish altogether; he had had it made so that it could be put together in one, or taken apart.

"My idea is to send Terence to the 'Gaiety' at a time when this man is there, and carry the stick openly in his hand."

"What then?"

"Why, if he really is Wyck, he is almost certain to shew some interest in the stick."

"Yes?"

"Well, that will put Terence on his guard, and he can tell him some yarn about it, and make an appointment with him at our house."

"What then?"

"Then you can make use of your die, my boy."

"It's a glorious idea, but I don't like parting with the stick. Having it by me is a great source of satisfaction to me."

"We can trust Terence. He's no fool, and knows well enough what success will mean to him."

"How about the doctor?"

"I wired young Aveling to come over with Goody and the girls. The boat's due at mid-day to-morrow. Come on down now, Terence ought to be here."

"Then I am to bring the stick with me?"

"Yes, certainly, old chap. It's our only chance."

They found Terence below, rigged out in his Sunday best, and looking very smart. The stick was handed to him, with full instructions how to act, and what to say, should the gentleman recognise the stick.

"You can depend on me, gentlemen," said Terence.

"Be off now, Terence, and don't drink anything strong. Stick to light stuff, and report to us directly you have seen him."

"Right you are, your honour, and be jabers, if he's the man, we'll see him at 345, Nicholson Street," said Terence as he left.

About nine o'clock Terence called at their hotel, in a very excited state, and quite out of breath.

"It's Wyck, it's Wyck," he said, sinking down on a chair and wiping his forehead. They gave him time to recover his breath, and then he told them his story.

"When I left your honour," he said, "I went to the 'Gaiety,' but he was not there, so I waited on the other side of the road, as I didn't want Dick to see me togged up. Just about seven, I see Dick's cab drive up, and out jumps the old gentleman. When Dick had driven off again, I followed him into the saloon. There he was, larking with Miss Harris, but I took no notice of him at all. 'A glass of lager,' says I, throwing down a sovereign carelessly, like as if I was a toff, and as I counted the change I put the stick on the counter. The old gent he gives a start directly he sees it, and he looks quite hard at me, but I took no notice and called for a smoke. Well, I lights up, says good-night, and was just off, when he calls out—'Have another drink with me?'

"'I don't mind,' says I.

"'That's a curious sort of stick,' says he, pointing to it.

"'Yes,' says I.

"'Had it long,' says he.

"'Some months now,' says I.

"'What's them notches on it for?' says he.

"'I don't know. It don't belong to me.'

"'Whose is it then?' asks he, getting interested.

"'Oh,' says I, 'there's quite a history belonging to that stick.'

"'What sort of a history?'

"'Well,' says I, 'it's like this. My sister, she was staying at Toowoomba up Queeensland way; she's the sister of the landlady at the 'Royal.' Well, one day a new chum named Wyckliffe came there to stop. She told me he seemed a decent sort, but he left early for out West the next morning, and he never came back, poor fellow! for he was drowned—so the papers say. Any rate, he left some old clothes at the 'Royal,' and this stick was found amongst them, and she keeps it, for she said he was such a nice fellow.'

"'But it's yours now,' says he.

"'No such luck,' says I. 'She don't know I have it out, else there'd be a row.'

"'I'll tell you what I'll do,' he says, 'I knew the chap as owned this stick, and I'll give you ten bob for it.'

"'You won't,' says I, 'nor ten pound neither.'

"'Why?' says he, surprised.

"'I'm living in her house,' says I, 'and if she knew I was taking liberties with her goods I'd get the run.'

"'Would she sell it?' he asks.

"'There'd be no harm in asking her,' I says, 'if it's worth anything to you.'

"'It is for old acquaintance sake. Where does she live?'

"'At 345 Nicholson Street,' says I.

"'What time is best to see her?' says he.

"'About four in the afternoon.'

"'Tell your sister I'll call at four to-morrow,' says he.

"We had another drink and he wished me good afternoon, and I ran all the way down here," said Terence, evidently immensely pleased with himself.

"You have done well, Terence," said Hal, and Reg shook him warmly by the hand.

"Look here, Terence, we shall want a lady to take the part of your sister to-morrow and receive him. Do you know of a respectable girl who would do it?"

"Well, that all depends. What would she have to do?"

"Nothing more than to receive him."

"Well, I think I know of a lady that will suit. She is my sister. She is a nurse, but is not doing anything now."

"A nurse. That's the very person we want," said Hal, quite pleased at the way things were going.

"She'll come, I suppose, Terence?" asked Reg.

"Yes, sir. She'll do anything I tell her," answered Terence, proudly.

"Then you can tell your sister to call at the house at ten to-morrow, and we'll meet you there to arrange matters," said Hal.

"Right you are, your honours. I reckon he won't get away this time," said Terence, leaving them together.

The following morning the boys took possession of their house and planned out details. Terence duly brought his sister, who, they were surprised to find, was an extremely good-looking Irish girl, quite ready to do all she was told, without asking any questions.

Hal drilled her instructions into her thoroughly, and then they both set out for the wharf, and met the Pateena, which arrived with all their friends on board, including Dr. Aveling, a friend of Goodchild's.

Hil was briefly informed of all that had been done, and the boys hurried back to Nicholson Street, taking the doctor with them.

"Now, doctor," said Reg, "just look at this die and see if it is fit for the job."

"Yes, it will do very well," he replied, examining the edges.

"We want you to have all your tools ready, for though Reg will do the deed, you will see that the wounds are properly dressed, won't you?"

"Certainly, I have brought all that is necessary, and, provided you are sure of your man, I am ready to help you."

"Rest assured we won't brand the wrong man," said Hal, who was as cool as a cucumber.

"There's a cab pulling up at the door," said Reg, excitedly. He had scarcely spoken when there was a loud knock at the door.

Miss O'Flynn opened the door, and the visitor entered.



CHAPTER XXIX.

EAR-MARKED.

The room into which the gentleman was shewn was in the centre of the house, and was furnished as a sitting-room. Miss O'Flynn followed him in and closed the door, which was immediately locked on the outside. A second door which led into another apartment, was screened by a heavy curtain. The door it hid was kept ajar, so that the people interested, who were waiting in the room, could hear all that passed. The first thing that caught the visitor's eye was the notched stick lying on the table, which he eagerly picked up.

"Ah, here we are, miss. Yes, this is the very stick," he said, as he examined it carefully.

"The poor fellow who owned it was drowned, I believe," said Miss O'Flynn.

"I want this stick as a memento of him," answered the gentleman, sweetly.

"But I can't part with it on any account."

"I'll give you five pounds for it, though it is not worth a penny."

"No, sir, I cannot sell it. My brother knew that."

"Where is your brother?"

"He's in the town."

"And are you all alone in this large house?" asked he, with an insinuating smile.

"Yes, why?"

"Oh, nothing. But really, miss, you must let me have this stick. You must. You must, I say you must," and he came close to her and stared her straight in the face.

"Ah, you will then. I can have it," said he, picking up his hat and the stick. "Now, good-bye."

"Miss O'Flynn, will you leave the room?" said a voice behind him that made him start round as he was making his way to the door.

He paused thunderstruck, as his eyes rested on Reg's pale face with its look of fierce determination.

"Villiers Wyckliffe we meet at last."

The silence in the room was profound, broken only by the fall of Wyck's hat on the floor, as his trembling fingers lost their power of grasp.

"Morris!" he gasped.

"Yes, I am Reg Morris."

At this announcement Wyck's first idea was flight, and he made for the door.

"Don't trouble yourself, the door is locked. There is no escape for you now," said Reg, sternly.

Wyck watched his adversary for a moment. Then he came forward, smiling, and said, "My dear Morris, I was most sorry to hear of your trouble. Believe me, I beg your pardon, sincerely, for any wrong I did you."

"Stand aside, you scoundrel. You killed the girl I had loved for years. You made it your sport to break our hearts. Your chosen device is a broken heart. See I have provided you with an excellent reproduction of it, and, in order that you may carry it with you wherever you go, that it may always be in evidence, I am going to brand your charming device on both your ears."

The relentless, menacing tone chilled him and sapped his self-control. At heart Wyck was a coward, but he was a calculating villain as well. His lips quivered and his face paled. His voice shook as he whined:

"Mercy, Morris. Mercy! I'll forfeit anything, I'll do anything you like, to make amends. I never meant—"

"But I do mean it, you grovelling coward. And if you take my advice you'll submit, for it has to be done."

Again the cold, cruel tone made him shiver, but the bully in Wyck's nature reasserted itself as he shouted:

"You won't. You won't, for I'll shoot you, you hound," and he levelled a revolver he had taken from his pocket at Reg's head.

Reg laughed a hard, unnatural laugh, as he sprang forward and, knocking his arm up, planted a blow well between his eyes. The bullet lodged harmlessly in the ceiling and Wyck lay in a heap on the floor.

"Come, doctor," cried Reg, as between them they hauled the struggling man to a sofa. Reg smothered his cries, and a few minutes later he was under chloroform. Reg's stern determination acted like a spell on his assistants and swiftly all the accessories for the operation were brought. A small block was placed under each ear; Reg firmly held the die upon the piece of flesh, and with a single blow from a mallet calmly branded the device on each ear. Then he handed his victim over to the doctor to dress the wounds and, giving a deep sigh, sank into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. A wave of relief that his task was accomplished, that his oath was fulfilled, passed over him. Pity for his victim he had none, only satisfaction that an act of stern, pitiless justice had been done. When the doctor had finished his bandaging Reg straightened himself.

"We'd better keep him a week here to give the wounds a chance to heal," said Hal.

"Yes, it would be as well to do so," said the doctor. "When the bleeding stops I will dress them so that they heal quickly."

"I wonder what he'll do now," said Reg.

"Probably give us in charge," laughed Hal.

"Let him do so, I'm agreeable. At any rate we will stop in Melbourne to give him a chance."

Terence and his sister were left in charge with full instructions, and the boys left for their hotel, where they found all their friends awaiting them.

"Father, I've kept my word," said Reg, taking Whyte's hand.

"Amen," said the old man.

"Kiss me," said Mrs. Whyte, coming to him with tears in her eyes.

"And shake hands with us," said Hil and May.

Goody also came forward and gave him a hearty hand-clasp.

"I thank you all," said Reg, much affected. "But here is the man to whom the success is due. He offered his services to me, a complete stranger, and all these months he has been my constant companion. Hal, old boy, give me your hand."

"I only helped a friend in need," answered Hal.

"As any Australian would do," said the doctor.

The girls and Goody took to the Whytes at once. Goody and old Whyte had many opinions and pursuits in common, while the girls openly called Mrs. Whyte, mother. Amy's death had left its mark on both the old people, and the Mia-Mia had become intolerable to them, so that when an opportunity occurred of selling it they accepted it eagerly. Whyte had had enough of England. It held only one small spot sacred and dear to him, which was Amy's grave.

That evening Reg was seized with a fit of melancholy. Now that his revenge was accomplished the inevitable reaction had come. In spite of his conviction that he had done his duty, still his conscience pricked him for wilfully maiming a fellow-creature. He had separated himself from the others and was brooding sadly in the twilight when he was roused by the touch of a small hand being laid on his.

"Don't fret, Mr. Morris," said May, in her gentle, sympathetic way. "Think how you have saved others now from the fate you saved me from."

"You make too much of it, Miss Goodchild."

"No, I can never do that," she answered, simply.

"Ah, here you are. We've been looking for you everywhere," called out Mrs. Whyte, coming upon them.

"I've been trying to console Mr. Morris, mother," said May.

"And she has succeeded, for now I am quite over it," said Reg, lightly.

"Mr. Winter suggested going to the theatre to see that friend of yours."

"That's a splendid idea. We'll go."

They were fortunate enough to get a box, and gave themselves up to an evening's enjoyment. Between the acts Hal and Reg sent their names round to Mrs. Montague, and were immediately received.

"Shake hands, Mrs. Montague," said Reg.

"He's branded," said Hal.

"Who, Wyck?" asked the lady, surprised, and both nodded an assent.

"Well, he has deserved his fate," she said, with a little sigh. "And now you will let him go." The completion of the revenge awed her.

"Will you and Mr. Montague join us at our hotel this evening?" asked Hal.

"Where are you staying?"

"At 'Menzie's.'"

"Why, I am there, too. Certainly we will, with pleasure. But there is my call. Good-bye till then."

Later on, the doctor returned and gave a favourable report of his patient. He said Terence had had a good deal of trouble to keep him quiet. But though he was sullen and restless no serious consequences had arisen, and he could be removed in two days' time.

They had a gay supper-party that night, and two days later a cab was sent to 345, Nicholson Street, and Wyck, with his head bandaged, was released to go whithersoever he would.

"Where to?" asked the cabby.

"To Dr. Moloney's," said he, having heard of that gentleman's name.

"I want you to examine my ears," he said, when he found himself in the doctor's consulting room.

"What's the matter?" replied the doctor, removing the bandages. "Phew "—he whistled, when he saw the damage.

"What is it, doctor?"

"You're branded for life. Who did it?" and the doctor passed him a hand-mirror to see for himself.

The sight that met Wyck's eyes nearly made him faint with rage and terror.

"Who did it?" asked the doctor, again.

Then Wyck told him the story, at least his own version of it, and in such a manner that the doctor's indignation was at once aroused.

"Come down to the Police Station and I will go with you. It's horrible that such a thing should be allowed. You must punish these ruffians."

The doctor drove him to the nearest Police Station and shewed the branding to the Inspector, who was thunderstruck at the sight and would scarcely believe the details told him by Wyck.

"Will you issue warrants?" asked the doctor.

"No, we can't do that. You must charge them with inflicting grievous bodily harm and we must issue an information."

"Where are these men now?"

"I have no idea. They kept me prisoner for three days and I daresay are far away by this time," answered Wyck.

The Inspector took down full particulars, to be forwarded to the detective department with instructions to wire details all over the Colonies without delay.

The Melbourne Press is as enterprising as that of other cities, and scarcely an hour had gone by since Wyck laid the information, when the news-boys were shouting, "Terrible assault on a gentleman. Ear-marked on both ears." The boys bought both the Herald and the Standard, and read the following paragraph:

ASSAULT ON A GENTLEMAN.

At a quarter to five this evening a gentleman named Villiers Wyckliffe, accompanied by Dr. Moloney, called at the police-station and reported himself as being the victim of a terrible assault by which he will be marked for life. It appears from particulars to hand, which are very meagre, that two men named Morris and Winter have followed him for some months in order to be revenged for some fancied wrong. They decoyed him into a house and committed the assault complained of. We learn that information has been sworn, and the matter is in the hands of the detectives.

"Shall we call for the warrants, Hal?" asked Reg, playfully.

"No; let's give the detectives a chance."

At dinner they discussed their probable arrest, but no detectives appeared, so quite unconcerned they went off to a theatre with their friends.

The following morning both the Age and the Argus had each long columns referring to the assault. Both had interviewed Wyck, and that gentleman had glorified himself and posed as the martyr of a horrible conspiracy. The affair became the sensation of the day. Telegrams were sent the length and breadth of the Colonies; ships' passenger-lists were examined, and no trace of the fugitives from justice—so the papers called them—could be discovered. On the next afternoon, the boys called on the Inspector, sent up their cards and coolly asked for the warrants. The Inspector's face was a study when he was told where they had been staying. They were then formally served with the informations.

Each newspaper vied with the other in giving their readers as many particulars, real or imagined, as possible and the boys were besieged with reporters. The public were informed that the charge was not denied, and that the accused considered their action fully justified. Details were given of the curious type of ear-mark, which was stated to be Mr. Wyckliffe's device. The Sydney correspondent telegraphed the surprise felt in the highest circles, and the indignation expressed at the dastardly act, as Mr. Wyckliffe was well-known there. The Brisbane correspondent sent all that could be gleaned from their Dalby and Toowoomba agents, and the romance and the excitement grew in equal proportions. Later editions reported that the eminent Q.C., Mr. Qurves, had been retained for the prosecution, and that Dr. Haddon had undertaken the defence.

Next day the case was called in a crowded court, but the defendants asked for, and obtained, a remand of a week to allow witnesses to be brought.



CHAPTER XXX.

THE TRIAL.

At length, the day of the celebrated trial of Wyckliffe v. Morris and Winter dawned. Never since the days of the trial of Ned Kelly had popular excitement been so keen. The newspapers were full of the case. It was the absorbing topic throughout the colonies, and the conjectures as to the result were numerous.

The Melbourne Law Courts are housed in a huge building, which cost hundreds of thousands of pounds, and is acknowledged to be the largest in the Colonies. But it was not in this palatial building that the great case was tried, but as is usually the way in a dilapidated, stuffy, little police-court, with dingy walls, bad ventilation, and greasy seats.

Long before the commencement of the trial, large crowds had gathered round the doors, not one tenth of whom could have found seats in the miserable building, that would scarcely hold two hundred people. The boys had secured passes for their friends to the gallery.

The bench was overcrowded with gentlemen who could tag J.P. on to their names. This is usual when an exciting case, particularly a breach of promise case, is on. At ordinary times great difficulty is experienced in getting anyone to attend.

When the Court was duly opened the Inspector read out the charge against Reginald Morris and Allen Winter, for inflicting grievous bodily harm and endangering the life of Villiers Wyckliffe.

"How do you plead—Guilty or Not Guilty?" asked the Clerk of the Court.

"Not Guilty," said Reg.

"Not Guilty," said Hal.

"I appear to prosecute, your worship," said Mr. Qurves, rising.

"And I for the defendants," said Dr. Haddon.

Wyck sat by his counsel's side. His head was wrapped in bandages and the expression of his face was forlorn and miserable. The boys were permitted to sit at their counsel's side and both appeared quite contented and serene.