For Nic had been thinking that if he extended his round day by day, he would, sooner or later, come upon Leather, who must be in hiding somewhere near, for he would never dare to go right off into the wilds and seek starvation.

There were the dogs too; and in all probability they would scent him out, and he could warn him of the coming of the police.

But though Nic extended his rounds more and more, the days glided by, and neither in open glade, deep ravine, ferny gorge, hollow forest monarch, nor dense patch of bush did he come upon the slightest token of the convict ever having been there.

Then in despair he tried a new plan. He quietly got the three blacks together and explained to them what he wanted, and rode behind them in high glee as they trotted on, spear in hand.

"What a stupid I was not to think of this before!" he said to himself; full of confidence. But that night he rode back low-spirited and dull. The blacks had shown him holes in trees, out of which they chopped opossums; the lairs of kangaroos; the pool where a couple of egg-laying, duck-billed platypi dwelled; and trees bearing a kind of plum, and others with nuts: but no signs of Leather.

He tried the next day, and at another time would have been fascinated by the unusual-looking objects the blacks pointed out; but now he wanted to find the convict, and everything else was as nothing; for he felt certain that if the party came over from Port Jackson, the result would be that Leather would be hunted out, refuse to surrender, and be shot down.

But the trips with the blacks all proved to be dismal failures.

Oh yes, they understood.

"Plenty come along find Leather. Corbon budgery. My word, come along."

But they found him not; and when bullied, they smiled, looked stupid, or shook their heads.

"It's because they won't find him, Master Nic. They know all the time," said old Sam.

Acting upon this idea, Nic attacked the three blacks separately, telling them he was sure they knew where Leather was in hiding, and insisting upon being told; but the only result he obtained in each case was a stare of surprise and puzzlement. The man's face puckered up, and at last he mumbled out:

"No pidney (understand). Mine no take Leather fellow in myall. Mine no been see it mandowie (tracks)."

"Be off!" said Nic; and the others talked in a similar way, and went "off;" looking the quintessence of stupidity.

"You're all wrong, Sam," said Nic, the next time he ran against the old man.

"What about, sir—them calves?"

"No, no—about the blacks. I questioned each of them, and they were all as stupid as could be."

"No, I ain't wrong, sir. You get 'em all three together, and promise 'em plenty of damper, some sugar, and a pot each of your ma's jam; then you'll see."

"I'll soon do that," said Nic. "They're in the wool-shed."

"But Brooky's there, sir."

"No, I saw him go off toward the fern gully an hour ago, with a gun upon his shoulder."

"Look here, sir. You'd better lock up all the guns, and keep 'em till they're wanted, or maybe we shall be having mischief done."

"What do you mean?"

"Mean, sir? As Brooky's always going about with a gun, and on the watch. He don't want a gun to go and look round o' they cows. He feels as Leather's close handy somewhere, and afraid he'll take him unawares. If you was to ask him, he'd tell you he was sure the blacks knew where Leather's hiding. There, I'm sorry for him after all."

"So am I, poor fellow."

"Nay, I don't mean Leather: I mean Brooky. He can't even sleep of a night for fear Leather should come and pay him out. It sarves him right, I know, for he always was a brute to Leather; but there, he's being paid back pretty severe. You go and talk to them there black boys. You'll get it out of them with that jam."

Nic strode across toward the wool-shed, and found the blacks jabbering away hard, and evidently quite excited; but they heard his steps, and three rough black heads came softly into sight, one round each doorpost, and the other above a couple of broad boards which ran in grooves, used to keep pigs or other animals from entering to make a warm bed in the wool. But the moment they caught sight of their young master they disappeared, the middle man going off cart-wheel fashion, like a black firework, with arms and legs flying, so as to get behind a stack of wool.

"Here, you fellows," cried Nic, looking over the board, "come here!"

"Baal go floggee blackfellow," protested Bungarolo.

"No mine no flog," cried Nic.

"Mas Nic corbon budgery (very good). All come along."

This brought out the other two grinning.

"Mine come fish?" cried Damper.

"No; I want to find Leather fellow. You boys pidney where he is."

The faces ceased grinning, and looked as if carved out of some burned wooden stump, all hard, solid, and immovable.

"There, I know: so no nonsense. You all take me and show me Leather fellow's mandowie, and I'll give you plenty damper, plenty mutton, plenty sugar and jam."

"Mine no find mandowie (tracks)," said Rigar. "You pidney (know), Damper?"

"Mine no pidney," said Damper. "Mandowie myall. Bungarolo pidney?"

"Bung no pidney," said that gentleman.

"Yes, you all pidney—more sugar, more jam, more damper," cried Nic.

But the men only stared blankly; and growing impatient at last with the three ebony blacks, Nic left them to go back to Sam, but turned sharply, to see that they were all three watching him with their faces in a broad grin.

This exasperated him so that he made a rush back to look into the long dark shed, where he could see wool everywhere, but no traces of the blacks, who seemed to have disappeared.

"I'll bring a whip," he shouted, and then went away, laughing at the way the men were scared.

"Sam's right," he said: "they are like big black children. Here! Hi! Samson," he shouted, and the old man came to meet him. "They don't know."

"Don't know, sir? What makes you say that?"

Nic related his experience, and Sam grinned.

"And they laughed at you," he said, showing his teeth. "Why was that? On'y because they enjoyed being as they thought too clever for you, Master Nic. They know, sir; but it's no use—they won't tell. They like you and me; but if they'd speak out to us as they do to one another, they'd say, 'No mine tell Leather fellow, Mas Nic, plenty mine jam, damper. Leather fellow mumkull.'"

"Mumkull? Afraid Leather would kill them for telling?"

"That's it, sir, safe."

There was something to stir the pulses of Nic soon after, and he somehow felt glad that he did not know the convict's hiding-place, for a dozen of the colonial mounted police rode up, followed by half a dozen black trackers and a couple of chained and muzzled, fierce-looking dogs, whose aspect sent a shiver through Nic, excited the indignation of the collies, and drove Nibbler into a fit of fury, making him bound to the end of his chain so savagely that he dragged his tub kennel out of its place and drew it behind him, making him look like some peculiar snaily quadruped trying to shed its shell.

"Better shut up your dogs, sir," said the policeman who had been once before. "Letter for Mrs Braydon."

The dogs were quieted and shut away, so that they could not commit suicide by dashing at the powerful brutes held in leash; and once more, while the police were being refreshed, Mrs Braydon read her letter over to her children, who learned that the governor was no better, that the doctor was bound to stay, and that while he regretted this, and the bad news about the assigned servant, every assistance ought to be given to the police who had come to fetch him back to the chain gang.

Nic said nothing, but after a time he saddled Sorrel, and rode with the police leader as they started for their first search.

"Now, Mr Braydon," said the man, "your father said that we must take this fellow; so as in all probability you know where he is, perhaps you'll tell us which way to go and capture him."

"I don't know," said Nic quickly.

The man smiled.

"You needn't disbelieve me," said Nic warmly. "I tell you I haven't the least idea."

"And if you had, you wouldn't tell us, eh?"

"I'm not going to answer questions," said Nic. "But mind this: if you find him, I won't have him shot down."

"Then he mustn't shoot at us, sir," said the man, smiling, "so you'd better send him word if you know where he is. Forward!" he cried, and the party trotted toward the Wattles, but turned off a little over half-way there, and to Nic's horror he felt that they had hit upon the place where he and the convict parted that night just as the storm came on. And here, after a few words from the head of the little force, two of the blacks came forward and began to quarter the ground like dogs, their bodies and heads bent forward, and their eyes searching the grass with the keenest eagerness.

But it was a long time before either of them showed that he had found signs.

Then one stopped short, dropped upon his knees, uttered a cry, and his fellows ran softly up behind him, keeping close to each other, and being careful not to go near the track or whatever it was that he had found.

Then began a low excited jabbering, during which the mounted men sat fast, one of them holding the leash which restrained the dogs.

At last the quick discussion ended, and the first black rose from his knees and made a sign to the police leader to come forward, Nic without hesitation following and peering over the blacks, who gave way a little, while the first pointed down to something which Nic expected to find was a footstep, but which proved to be a big common knife, rusted by exposure to rain and air.

This was picked up now and handed to the leader, while Nic's eyes dilated a little, for he felt sure that he had seen the knife before; and in the convict's hands, when he was eating his cold meat and damper beneath a tree.

"Yes," he said to himself with a little shiver, "that is his knife. He must have dropped it here. It had a buckhorn handle, and on the other side three crosses had been filed pretty deeply." He remembered that fact well.

Just then the police leader turned round sharply, saw his interested look, and said, in a decisive, imperative tone of voice:

"You know that knife, sir?"

To gain time the boy held out his hand, drawing his breath hard, and striving to control his voice and make it firm.

Then, as he took the knife, he examined it as if in doubt, hesitating about turning it over, and then handing it back, saying firmly, "No."

"That's a lie," thought the man, as he retook the knife, "and my lord here is trying to keep the lair hidden. He knows."

But the knife had no crosses filed in the handle, and Nic was breathing freely, when he noticed that the black was pointing to something else—a faintly marked footprint, evidently made by a coarsely made sandal or shoe. Beyond this was another, and again beyond another.

"That's right—go on!" rang in his ears, and the next moment the party was again in motion, with the blacks bending low, and from walking beginning to trot, while the policeman pressed his horse closer to Nic's.

"Easy trail to follow, sir," he said. "Now, then, don't you think you'd better save us further trouble by taking us straight across country to your man's form?"

"I told you I did not know where he was hiding," said Nic shortly.

"You did, sir, but I thought I'd save trouble. These birds are a bit desperate when run down, and I'm sure you wouldn't like to see him shot when he refuses to surrender. Now, would you?"

"No," said Nic, rather faintly.

"Out with it then, and we'll take him by surprise—surround him after dusk. Then it will mean a flogging or two, and another year in the gang, and perhaps a fresh chance. Better than being buried, sir, in the bush."

Nic remained silent, but with his brow contracted.

"Very well, sir, but you see. Why, I can trace that track as I ride. We could find him now without the blacks."

Still Nic held his peace, and rode on beside the man, as mile after mile was traced, leading, to the boy's surprise, toward the Bluff, but curving off a mile from home, as if to go round it to reach the other side.

And so it proved, the blacks trotting on till they did pass the house half a mile away; and Nic jumped to the conclusion that the poor fellow had made for the fern gully, up which, somewhere probably on the riverside, was his lair.

They went right on, without once being at fault, the footprints, with the left sole badly cracked across, showing clearly at times in the soft soil, till the place where the black-fish were caught was passed, and the valley slope mounted for the open ground, where the sheep was kicked into the rift that ran down toward the water.

From here the footsteps went right across toward the station, and the leading black ran them easily and triumphantly right up to the men's bothy, at whose door Brookes stood hollow-cheeked and anxious.

"Got him?" he cried hoarsely, when, to his surprise, the blacks dashed at him and had him down, while the leader secured and held up one of his boots with the sole toward the head of the police.

"Mine find," he cried, pointing to a crack across the sole; and Nic forced the nag away, and trotted off to the stable to hide his laughter, and then stood patting his horse, feeling quite heartsick from the tension now relieved.

For he had made sure that so as to be in a place not likely to be searched Leather had come by night to the station, and that he would be found hidden in one of the piles of wool, whereas it was evident that Brookes had been over to the Wattles, and had come that way back, searching along the fern gully, to make sure of Leather not being in hiding there.

For two days more the police hunted in every direction, but neither the keen eyes of the blacks nor the senses of the dogs were of any avail, and at last the search was given up.

"We shall find him back here some day," said the head policeman, "if he's still alive. But,"—the man looked significantly at Nic—"they don't always have life left in 'em when we do find 'em. Good day, sir. We may look you up again."

They rode off, and the station was free of them, for they had made a sort of barrack of the wool-shed, where the fleeces made most satisfactory beds; and as they grew less and less, Nic turned away, to see the light all at once blaze, as it were, into his darkened mind.

"How stupid!" he said, half aloud. "Why, I know where he is hiding, after all."

He looked up, and there was Brookes watching him with curious eye.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

IN A TRAP.

Sleep did not come very readily to Nic's eyes that night, and he looked very heavy and thoughtful at breakfast time next morning.

"How thankful I shall be when your father comes home, my dear!" said Mrs Braydon.

"A bag of flour would be the best thing," said Nic to himself.

"I know, of course, my dear, that you are doing wonders," continued Mrs Braydon, looking uneasily at her son, and misinterpreting his heavy look into showing annoyance at her remark. "Both the girls and I are astonished at the rapidity with which you have taken up this wild farm life, and gone on with it as if you had been working for years; but we cannot help longing to see your father back to take the management and give us that feeling of protection which we miss."

"I ought to have guessed it at once," muttered Nic.

"Is anything the matter, Nic?" said Hilda.

"Matter? No. Why?"

"You seem so dull, and you are not eating your breakfast."

"Oh yes, I am," cried the boy, with forced merriment; and he rapidly attacked the meal and made mother and sisters more uneasy by eating tremendously and talking rapidly at the same time about how glad he would be to have the doctor back.

Soon after breakfast Nic went to the storehouse and filled a bag with meal, carrying it afterwards to the stable.

"I suppose one of the horses is ill," said Hilda. "Nic has been to fetch some flour to make it a mash."

"Then that's what made him so anxious and thoughtful at breakfast time," cried Mrs Braydon. "Poor boy! it worried him. He wants to get it well again before your father's return."

Janet said nothing, but attributed it to the right reason—that her brother was troubled about the convict—and she trembled in her longing to ask him, but did not dare.

Meanwhile Hilda had her thoughts; and the consequence was that Nic grew angry, as he busied himself about the place, going here and there looking after the men, inspecting the cattle, and carefully watching that no tasks were being left undone.

"I never saw anything like it," he said to himself: "go where I will it's just as if some one was watching me. They surely cannot suspect anything."

Then, too, four or five times, when he had made up his mind to start, old Sam or Brookes or his mother wanted him about some matter. But still it was yet good time in the morning, when, taking his gun, the mounted Sorrel, slung the big bag of meal across the saddle-bow and rode out.

"You will not be late, my dear?" cried Mrs Braydon. "Oh no, mother; back in good time." Then to himself, "Don't—pray don't ask me which way I'm going."

"It must be for some bullock at a distance," said Mrs Braydon, as she thoughtfully noted the bag across the saddle-bow, the fine sacking having now assumed an hour glass shape, at which Janet gazed curiously, feeling puzzled, though she could not have told why.

"At last!" muttered Nic, as he pressed his horse's sides and rode off, feeling very guilty, and yet bright and exhilarated, quite confident too of having solved a problem, though he was doubtful still as to whether he would be able that night to write down mentally QEF.

He cast an eye to left and right to see if he were being watched, but every one seemed to be busy over his or her affairs, and he began to think that his start was exciting no interest whatever, when he saw Brookes crossing the big field beyond the garden.

But the man did not turn his head in Nic's direction; and the next minute, after forcing himself not to look round, the boy had placed the trees between them, and cantered away quite out of sight of the house, keeping down in a hollow leading toward the fern gully, as if going to visit some cattle on the other side of the hills lying to the south-east. As soon as he was beyond those hills he bore away to the north, as if making for the Wattles; and when a mile or so in that direction he bore to the left again for some distance, and then made for the west—just the very opposite direction to that which he had taken in starting.

The morning was delightful as he rode on, now in the full sunshine, now in shade; and the feeling of exhilaration which came over him seemed to be shared by his horse, which began to dance about and strain to get away for a swift gallop.

A word or two always checked it, and the beautiful creature, whose satin skin glistened in the sunshine, playfully tossed its head and ambled on.

"Nobody can have imagined which way I was coming," thought Nic; and then, "Bother the old flour!" he said, half aloud; "how it works through the bag! Why, Sorrel, your back will be as white as my knees. Woa!"

The nag stopped short, and Nic stood at the edge of a glade dotted with clumps of acacia in full bloom, everything seeming to be covered with tiny golden balls.

"Why, you two wretches, how dare you come hunting?"

Nic sat like a statue among the trees watching, as he saw the two collies suddenly come into sight about five hundred yards away and then run among the low growth for which they were making.

"Well, it won't matter," he said. "They can't tell tales. But they may come again and show some one the way. I'll send them back."

He pressed his horse's sides, and walked it toward where the dogs had disappeared, putting up a flock of the tiny zebra paroquets, which flew a little distance to another tree.

"Poor fellows! I should like to give them a good run," he said to himself; "but it's best not. I suppose I'm doing something very unlawful, but the law did wrong to that poor fellow, and I feel as if I must help him. Oh, what a thick-headed noodle I am not to have thought of it before! Why, I remember quite well now all he said about it. Hullo! what are those? They must be the great hawk parrots old Sam talked about. Bother the birds! I've got something else to think of to-day. Why, there goes another of those great iguana things! Where did the dogs go?"

He had ridden on slowly, startling bird and lizard, and completely lost trace of the collies, when all at once he heard a smothered growl in a dense patch close at hand.

"They've found a snake," he said to himself, cocking his piece. "I mustn't have them bitten."

He pressed forward, peering in amongst the bushes, passing some young clean-stemmed trees; and as he rode unconsciously by one, a nude black figure, neatly ornamented with two or three stripes of white pipeclay on its breast, pressed close up to the tree holding a spear erect, and, as the horse passed, moved so exactly round that the tree was kept between it and Nic.

That tree did not appear to be thick enough to hide the black, but so cleverly did the man move that Nic saw nothing, though he was not ten yards away; and the black would have been unnoticed if it had not been for the action of the dogs, which suddenly charged out playfully, one going one side, the other the other, and then stopping barking at a respectful distance from the tree.

"You vagabonds!" cried Nic; "how dare you come! Here, what have you found? Fetch it out!"

Rumble dashed forward barking; and Nic noted that the dogs did not look excited or angry, but playful, and as Rumble charged on one side Tumble made a bound forward on the other.

"It must be a 'possum," thought Nic; but he altered his mind the next moment, for he saw a spear come forward with a poke on one side of the tree, and then drive at the second dog on the other.

Nic lowered the gun and moved round toward the other side cautiously; but the black edged himself along, as he did so cleverly keeping the tree still between them, and would have continued to keep himself in hiding if it had not been for the dogs, which, encouraged now by their young master's presence, made a playful dash together at the black's legs, and made him bound from the tree to keep them at bay with his spear.

"Why, Bung! You?" cried Nic, who felt considerably relieved, while the dogs now scampered around, barking and leaping as if at the end of a game of hide-and-seek. "What are you doing here, sir?"

The black grinned, and, supporting himself on one leg by help of his spear, made playful clutches at the delighted dogs with his right foot, whose toes worked about as he used it as if it were a great awkwardly shaped hand.

"R-r-r-ur!" growled the dogs together, as they now justified their names, and blundered over one another in a make-believe attempt to bite and worry the foot; Nic looking on amused as they threw themselves down, rolling over and grovelling along on their sides and backs to get close up and feel the black's toes tickle them, and catch hold of their shaggy hair.

"Why don't you speak, sir? Why are you not at work?" cried Nic.

"Little White Mary say, 'Bung, go along see master.'"

"What! did my sister send you?"

The black nodded and laughed.

"Then just you go back, sir, directly, and take those dogs with you."

"Little White Mary say come along," persisted the black.

"I don't care what any one said," cried Nic. "Be off back."

"Little White Mary say, 'Gun no shoot—mumkull.'"

"Put down that spear," cried Nic, who now pointed the gun at Bungarolo, who replied by striking an attitude, holding his spear in a graceful position as if about to hurl it at the boy's head.

"No mumkull Bung?" cried the black.

"Not if you run off back," cried Nic. "If you don't I'll pepper you."

"No pepper Bung, no mumkull. Baal shoot gun. Little White Mary fellow say Bung come."

"You go back home," cried the boy, following him up.

"Little White Mary say—"

"Go home."

"Little—"

"Will you go, sir? Here, Rum—Turn! Run him home."

The dogs made a rush, and the black darted off, but a hundred yards away ran behind a tree, where the dogs hunted him out.

"Home!" roared Nic, and the black darted on again, Nic riding after him again and again, till, satisfied that the black was really making for the station, followed by the dogs, he made a circuit in among the trees, and rode hard for a time, altering his course at last, and not pausing till he was close up to the precipitous edge of the huge gorge.

Here the boy dismounted in a patch of rich grass surrounded by mighty trees, hobbled his horse, removed the bit, which he hung to the saddle, and then paused to think.

"He's here somewhere," the boy said to himself, "but the thing is where."

He was not long coming to the conclusion that the convict had devoted himself during his shepherding tours to hunting out some place where he could descend the terrible precipice into that glorious valley far below, where there were sheep and cattle, plenty of water, and no doubt wild fruits to enable him to subsist.

"And if he found his way down, why shouldn't I?" said Nic, with a little laugh. Then, shouldering his gun, he dived in among the trees and wattle scrub which lay between him and the edge of the precipice, with the intention of keeping cautiously along it, first in one direction and then in the other, till he found traces of some one having climbed down.

Two hours' work convinced him that he had undertaken a task that might have made Hercules sit down and scratch his ear, for it promised to be hard enough to equal any of the celebrated labours of that mythic personage. Nic had toiled on in one direction only, forcing his way through thorns, tangles, and over and between rocks, pausing from time to time, whenever he came to an opening, to gaze across the tremendous gap at the glories of the rock wall opposite, or to look shuddering down into the beautiful paradise thousands of feet below, where the tints of green were of the loveliest hues, and he could see the cattle calmly grazing, mere dots in the natural meads which bordered the flashing waters seen here and there like lakes, but joined possibly, for the trees shut out broad stretches of the river in the vale.

For a time he would lie there, resting and listening to the whistling calls of birds whose names he did not know, to the shrieks of parrots, and now and then catch sight of what seemed to be tiny fragments of paper falling fluttering down, till he saw them turn, and knew that he was gazing at cockatoos.

Then, after yielding to the fascination of peering down into the awful depth, he would turn suddenly away, for a cold chill would run through him as he experienced the sensation as of something drawing him downward, and he would creep yards distant and sit there wiping the perspiration from his face.

He soon recovered, though, and once more continued his search for a way down.

"It is as if it would take years," he said to himself; "but I don't care, I shall come again and again and keep on trying. I will find it," he said half aloud, as he set his teeth in dogged determination, and for another hour he struggled on, till, feeling utterly exhausted, he seated himself at the edge of the precipice at a point where he could divide the bushes and look down. Here, only a few yards away, he saw that there was a broad shelf some fifty feet below, and along it a mere thread of water trickled to a lower edge and disappeared, leaving among the stones amidst which it had meandered patch after patch of richest green, showing its fertilising power.

That water was tempting in the extreme, for his mouth was dry; he was faint, and he knew by the position of the sun that he had been struggling through the dense growth for hours without refreshing himself, though all the time he had a cake of damper in his pocket, keeping the powder-flask company.

If he could get down there, he thought, he might have half an hour's rest, and then tramp back to where he had left Sorrel, and ride gently home in the cool of the evening.

"And come again." For come again he would till he had found poor Leather, "unless," he said to himself with a shudder, "he has fallen down this terrible place."

And yet it was not terrible, he thought the next moment. It was grand, glorious, lovely, and the shelf below him, with its water, more tempting than anything he had ever seen before.

"I must get down," he said; and going farther along he sought for a means, but had not far to go, for he soon grasped the fact that this shelf was only some eighty or a hundred feet off the top, which had slipped a little and then stopped. It had broken away, gone down some fifty feet, and then been checked.

While as he gazed down at the old edge of the precipice, and over it into the gorge below, he could hear the soft, whistling, humming trickle of the water, and it increased his eagerness. He must get down, he thought—but how? There were no overhanging boughs, no roots which had forced their way between cracks in the rock and gone on down and down searching for the moisture of that tiny rill which went over the edge to its present depth; and there were no stout bushes growing in the side beneath him. All there was clean, broken-away stone, which could only be descended by stepping from projection to projection, while if any one slipped—

"Well, what if he did?" said the boy contemptuously, as he gazed down: "he would, at the most, only get a few scratches and bruises. Here's the best spot, and I'm going down."

Without further hesitation he laid down his gun, turned upon his breast and lowered his legs, found footing easy to get upon a ledge, and lowered himself more and more till he was at the full stretch of his limbs, when a horrible thought occurred to him: suppose, when he jumped down upon that broad shelf formed by a sliding of the rock till it was checked by some inequality, his weight should be sufficient to start it going again, and he should be carried with it backward into the gulf.

"What nonsense!" he thought; "why, my weight upon it will be no more than that of a fly;" and he lowered himself a little more, found it harder, moved to the right, and got on to a firm ledge, and from that to another, and was soon half-way down.

There he came to a stop, for he could find neither foot nor hand hold; and there he was at last, spread-eagled against the perpendicular rock, unable to go down, and, upon determining to go up instead, utterly unable to retrace his steps.

"Oh, this is absurd," he thought, and looking sidewise, he saw a little projection which seemed as if it would do then, feeling that if he stopped longer in his cramped position he would be less able to act, he measured the distance with his eyes, gathered himself together, made a clumsy spring, got a foot on the projection, but missed the crevice into which he meant to thrust his right hand, and went scrambling and sliding down the other five-and-twenty feet, to come into a sitting position on the broken stones, scratched, bruised, and uttering a loud groan of pain.

"Oh my bones!" he cried, with a laugh and a wince of pain, as he began to rub himself; and then, as he looked up, a sudden chill struck him, for, he said to himself:

"Why, it's like a trap. I can never get up there again. I ought to have looked farther before I leaped."

He limped a little as he stood up, and his arms both required a rub, especially about the elbows; but while he performed these little comforting offices he was not idle, for he carefully inspected the shelf. Escape on the one side did not seem possible, for it was over into the gorge; the other side, a curve, was one nearly perpendicular wall of rock, along which he walked from where he stood to the ends at the edge of the precipice and back.

"It is a regular pitfall," thought Nic; and then, determined to make the best of things, he lay down upon his chest over the clear murmuring water, lowered his lips, and took a long, deep, delicious draught of the sparkling fluid.

"That's refreshing," said the boy to himself, and he came to a sitting position on the warm stone, took out his piece of bread cake, and looked up at the wall facing him, as he broke off a morsel of damper.

"Doesn't look so high as it did before I had that drink," he said, with a laugh. "Not half so high; and by the time I've eaten my bread it will only look half as high once more. Pooh! I can climb up. Cake's good."

He sat munching away contentedly enough now, stopping from time to time for a fresh draught of water; and as he ate and drank he forgot the awkwardness of his position in wonder and admiration of the mountain precipice before him, and at last crept to the edge of that upon which he had been seated, to obtain another look down into the mighty gorge.

"Ah, it's very grand," he sighed; "but it's time I climbed out of this."

He started, for he heard a sharp double click, like the cocking of a gun, and looked up behind at the edge from which he had descended.

"Cricket or grasshopper," he thought; and then he felt, to use a familiar old saying, as if his blood ran cold; for a slight movement at the top had caught his attention, and he found himself gazing at the muzzle of his gun, so foreshortened that there seemed to be no barrel— nothing but a round hole, and behind it a glittering eye.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

TRUST FOR TRUST.

"Some one found my gun and taking aim at me," thought Nic, feeling thoroughly how bad a plan it was for any one to bring out a gun for self-defence and then leave it for an enemy to seize.

That watch kept upon the gun muzzle did not last many moments, for a rough, mocking voice said loudly:

"Well: come to take me? Here I am."

"Leather!—I mean, I mean Frank Mayne," cried Nic joyously, as he sprang to his feet; "found you at last!"

"Yes," said the convict bitterly, "you have found me at last. Where are your men?"

"What men?" said Nic, staring.

"The bloodhounds you've brought to hunt me," said the convict.

"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Nic sharply. "You don't think I should bring any one to hunt you?"

"Why not?"

"Because you know I wouldn't be such a brute. But, I say, I was right then. I've been trying ever since you went away to think out where you could be gone."

"And sending the police after me," said the convict bitterly.

"You know better than that," cried Nic; "but, I say, I was right then. I felt sure you would be here."

"Why should you be?" said the man suspiciously.

"Because, don't you remember once, months ago, talking about the gorge?"

"True, I did; I had forgotten. But where are the police now?"

"Gone back to the port. How did you know they had been?"

"From the blacks."

"There, I knew it!" cried Nic. "The cunning rascals, and they pretended they had no idea of where you were."

"Poor fellows," said the convict, smiling bitterly; "they are faithful enough."

"But they might have told me," said Nic. "Even you don't seem to trust me now."

"How can a man, who is hunted like a wild beast with dogs and black trackers, trust any one, boy?" cried the convict fiercely. "You know what it would have been if they had found me, and I had run instead of surrendering. They would have shot me down like a savage beast."

Nic nodded as he gazed up at the fierce countenance, whose eyes seemed to glare down at him.

"There," continued the convict, "you have found me. Of course you know there is a heavy reward. You can earn it for pocket money."

"Yes," cried Nic, speaking fiercely now, "and go over to the village tuck shop, and spend it with my school-fellows."

"Of course," said the man banteringly. "Only there's one drawback, boy. You are caught in a trap there, and when you are found there will only be your bones."

"Oh, I say, Leather, what a savage you have turned! I say, have a bit of damper? I have some left."

The man made no reply for a few moments. Then, in an altered tone:

"Have you found any way out?"

"No. It is a regular trap; but I was thirsty, and I came down to drink. Fell half the way," said Nic, holding up a bleeding hand.

"I went down the same way," said the convict quietly.

"Then there is a way out?" said Nic sharply.

"Yes, over the brink yonder."

"Oh yes, I found that out," said Nic, with a laugh; "but I don't want to break my neck. How did you get out?"

"Over there," said the convict quietly. "It requires a steady head, but you can creep along a narrow ledge, and get back to the top here, three or four hundred yards farther on. I did not find it out till I was nearly starved to death."

"Poor old chap," said Nic quietly. "I say, this sounds more like you."

"Does it? Did any one see you coming?"

"Bungarolo. But I sent him home before I was halfway here."

"He would not tell tales, poor fellow. They have had my life in their hands ever since."

"But, I say, Leather, it's awkward talking like this. I'll come up to you;" and he moved toward the edge.

"No, no, don't stir," cried the man fiercely. And Nic stamped angrily upon the rock.

"Why don't you shoot me?" he cried. "You've got the gun. There, be off; I don't want to see which way you go. Look here, Sorrel's over yonder somewhere. Go and find him, and ride off up the country as far as you like. Only send him back some day by one of the blacks, I'll pay him with blankets and things. I can't give him to you, because, as you know, he was father's gift. There's a pack of meal on his back; I brought it in case I could find you; but you'd better take this lump of damper too."

The convict made no reply for some minutes, but lay there at the edge of the rocks gazing sadly down at Nic, who had thrown himself upon his chest, and was looking into the gorge.

"Nic," he said at last.

"Well," was the reply; but the boy did not turn his head.

"Don't misunderstand me, lad; I said don't try to come up, because the risk of going along there made me shudder. I'm coming down to help you—where's your hand?"

"Oh, I say, I beg your pardon," cried Nic, springing up. "I didn't mean—I thought—I—I say, Leather, mind how you come."

"Yes, I'll mind," said the man. "But the gun. It is not safe to pitch it down to you."

"No; leave it up there."

"For another enemy to get hold of it. No, my lad, that won't do. There, if I hold it crosswise like this, and drop it down, you can catch it."

"Yes, I think so."

"Then try."

As he spoke the man went down upon his face, held the gun at arm's length as far down over the edge as he could, and then after a warning let it fall.

"Right," cried Nic, catching it cleverly. "Now, how are you going to manage? I came down just there."

"And I'll try twenty feet to my left here," said the convict; and, selecting a place, he lowered himself down until he hung by his hands, and then began to descend with wonderful activity, reaching the bottom without a slip, solely from the rapidity of his movements.

"Why, Leather," cried Nic, grasping his hand, "you are as active as a squirrel."

"A man needs to be to lead my life, boy," said the convict quietly. "Hah! that seems to put humanity into one again. The blacks are friendly enough; but it is for the touch of a white hand one yearns."

"Have some damper?" said Nic suddenly, so as to hide a peculiar feeling which troubled him.

The convict took the bread cake, broke it, and began to eat, seeking refuge in the act for the same reason.

"Hah!" he said, smiling, "it tastes good. Nic, boy, you forgive me all I have said?"

"Of course I do. But, I say, how have you managed to live?"

"The same as a black would. This is the first bread I have eaten since I broke away and became a savage."

"Do you think they will manage to catch you?" said Nic, after a pause.

"Not alive, my lad. Well, let's have just a few words together, and then you must go."

"You will stop about here, I suppose?"

The convict shook his head.

"Hunted beasts stay where they are safe. Hunt them, and they go farther away."

"You have been hunted, but you have not gone farther away."

"No, boy, because this is my sanctuary. There, you see I trust you, and I know that I am safe in your hands. Let's sit down."

Nic willingly did so, and the convict went on eating the bread cake, talking quietly the while.

"There is no place I could find where I should be so safe, Nic," he said; "and this is near human nature, which one likes, even if it is unkind. I had often thought of breaking away and making for the bush, feeling convinced that if I reached the place I could manage to live where so many poor wretches who have escaped found their end. But I was servant to a just man; your mother and sisters treated me when they saw me as if they were sorry for me, and I could not go. Then you dame, boy, and tied me tighter to the place, making all the petty troubles caused by that overbearing brute seem like nothing."

"I tied you tighter to the place?" cried Nic.

"Yes. Why, the hours I spent with you when you found me out in the run were the only happy ones I had had for years."

"Oh, I didn't do much," said Nic hurriedly. "I'm afraid it was because I liked to talk to you about birds and things. But, I say, do you mean to keep to this life?"

"Do you think I can give up and submit to that worst punishment of—to be flogged?"

"No," cried Nic firmly; "you can't do that. You must wait. And look here, I tell you what: try and find a way down into the gorge, and keep it a secret. Why, you can build yourself a gunyah (bark hut) somewhere below, and live there, and make your garden and keep fowls, and there are sheep and cattle. I'll bring you a live chicken now and then, and seeds and cuttings, and tea and sugar and flour when I come, and then we can go fishing and hunting and collecting together. Why, it will be capital."

The convict smiled.

"I don't see anything to laugh at," said Nic.

"I suppose not, you young enthusiast."

"That I'm not," cried the boy. "It's you who take too miserable a view of things."

"With cause, boy."

"Well, yes, there is plenty of cause," said Nic: "but you really could live down there safely for years without being found out—if you could get down."

"I can get down, and I have been down there since I broke away. I have made myself a bark gunyah, and for the present that is my home, Nic."

"Capital," cried the boy eagerly. "Take me and show me."

The convict shook his head.

"No," he said; "you and I must never meet."

"Why?" said Nic, in rather an ill-used tone.

"Because you would be disgracing yourself by associating with a man of my character, and you would be breaking laws made for the protection of the settlers who employ convict servants."

"You are not a man of bad character," said Nic quietly; "and as to law— well, I suppose it would be breaking that; but then the law doesn't know any better. It does not know you like I do."

"There, boy, we will not argue the question. I'm black enough as it is, but I want to do you good, Nic, not harm. Come," he continued, rising, "time is going on, and you are some distance from home. Where is your horse?"

"Miles away."

"Then you must be moving."

"There's no hurry," said Nic.

"Yes, there is. You have a dangerous ledge to go along."

"I can get along better when I am more rested," said the boy.

The convict smiled.

"Then let me put it in a more selfish way," he said. "It is close on sundown, and I have a long way to go to my home. A more dangerous way than yours, and I could not attempt it after it begins to grow dusk."

"I'm ready," said Nip, springing up; "but tell me this: when will you meet me again?"

"Perhaps never," said the convict.

"Then I shall come hunting for you every day till I find the way down into the gorge."

"And bring the government people on my track?"

"No, I won't do that," said Nic; "but I will find you out, and I can now that I know where you are."

"I doubt it, boy. The gorge is enormous, and I am the only man who knows the way down."

"Pooh! The blacks would know. Bungarolo would show me now he knows I have seen you."

"The blacks do not know, Nic. I should not know if I had not discovered it two years ago by accident when trying to save the life of a sheep which had fallen. There, be content. You have seen me. Some day we may meet again. Now then, we must lose no more time."

"Very well," said Nic; "only mind this: I will not do anything to risk having you discovered; but I will come to you."

"I know you will not do anything to harm me, my lad; but you are deceiving yourself, my boy. You will not come to me. Now, are you ready?"

"Yes. Where's this dangerous shelf?"

"I will take you along it. Where is your handkerchief?"

"It was too hot to have it round my neck," said Nic, smiling, as he took it from where it was tied about his waist.

"I am going to bind it round your eyes," said the convict.

"What! For fear that I should find the way down into the gorge?"

"No; because your head may turn giddy when you see the depth below you. I want you to trust me, Nic, to lead you safely along the shelf. Can you do this?"

Nic was silent for a few moments.

"I feel as if I want to trust you," he said at last; "but I don't feel as if I can—no, no, I don't mean that. I mean that I want to trust you, but I can't trust myself. No, that isn't it exactly. I suppose I'm afraid. Why can't I walk close behind you?"

"Because I doubt your doing it without practice. I expect that you would go along half-way and then lose your nerve, and I don't think I could lift and carry you then. Won't you trust me, Nic?"

The boy looked sharply into his eyes for a moment, and then leaned forward for his eyes to be bound, thinking the while of the log bridge over the fern gully and his feelings there.

"There," said the convict, as he secured the knot firmly. "Now listen: I shall take hold of your hand to hold it tightly, and I want you to try and make yourself part of me for the next ten minutes, obeying every touch, and taking step for step with me. Don't pause, don't hesitate; only keep on feeling that I am guiding you safely through the darkness. There is no risk if you do this."

"I'm ready," said Nic; "only begin quickly, please, and let's get it done."

"Then come along."

Nic felt his hand seized in a strong, firm grip, and followed as he was led, hesitating once, and showing a disposition to hang back, but it was only for a moment. The next he was walking slowly and steadily behind the convict, who led him between two or three bushes, and then along a narrow shelf which passed round the end of the rock slip; and as soon as it was cleared the buttress at that end grew still more narrow, so that the boy felt his right arm brushing against the perpendicular rock wall, while his left hung free.

He could not see, but he knew that his left fingers must be pointing down into the tremendous gulf; and in imagination he saw with wonderful accuracy through the golden transparent air the various plants which grew from the interstices of the titanic wall, the bushes and shrubs, the pendent vines and clinging creepers, the shelves and faults in the strata here and there deeper down, and then lower and lower still the gaps and hollows whence stalwart trees had risen from seeds dropped or hidden by some bird—trees which had grown out almost horizontally, and then curved up into their proper vertical position, to rise up and up as the years rolled on, though now they looked mere shrubs a handbreadth high.

And as the boy walked on he saw lower and lower the forest monarchs dwarfed to shrubs, and lower still patches of timber that were indistinct and looking hardly more than grass, while here and there the light of the setting sun gleamed ruddily from the water of the chain of lakes.

It was but the picture raised by memory from where it was printed upon Nic's mind, but it was very accurate, and almost exactly what he would have seen had his eyes been free during that long, long walk, as it seemed—a walk of a few brief minutes though, and then his hand was dropped.

"Don't do that till you've unbound my eyes," said Nic sharply.

"Why not, boy? we are in safety now."

Nic's breath was exhaled in a hoarse sigh as he felt the kerchief drawn from his face, and he looked round to see that they were among trees.

"Was it very dangerous?" he said.

"Very; or I would not have asked you to be bound. Now, my lad, good-bye."

"No, no; I have quite a load of meal for you on the horse."

"There is no time to fetch it. Leave it for me on the chance of my finding it."

"But where? You never will."

The convict thought for a moment.

"I'll tell you," he said. "Lay it in the crack close to the edge of the precipice where I held you half over that day. Cover it with grass. It will be on your way home, and I shall be able to find it if the coast is clear. Once more: straight away for where your horse is grazing. Can you find it, do you think?"

"Oh yes. I can follow my way back," said Nic. "I shall see my tracks here and there."

"Then once more: good-bye."

He turned sharply and disappeared, while, tired and disappointed, Nic had a hard task to retrace his steps to the horse, whistling for it as he drew near where he felt that it ought to be, and gladdened at last, just as darkness was falling, by a responsive neigh.

The long bag of meal was hung up in a tree that Nic felt he could find again, and then he rode home.

"Poor Leather will think I have deceived him and be suspicious, but it's impossible to find that place by the precipice to-night."



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

NIC HAS SUSPICIONS.

The next day Nic walked over to the spot where he had hung up the bag of meal, took plenty of precautions to make sure that he was not observed, and carried it from place to place, halting, resting, and taking a look round as if he were stalking birds, and finally reaching the proposed spot, where he dropped the bag into a narrow crevice, covered it with green, and all the time carried his gun ready as if to aim at a bird.

The precautions, however, appeared to be perfectly unnecessary, and he was satisfied that he had performed his mission unseen, but it remained to be proved whether the convict had been earlier and gone away disappointed.

Making this an opportunity for looking over some sheep, Nic walked about a mile out of his way going back, and had just finished his casual inspection when he came upon Brookes, gun on shoulder, who immediately stood his piece against a bush and began to examine some of the flock, throwing so much energy into the task that Nic felt suspicious, and a chill ran through him as he thought it possible that the man was on the watch.

But Nic felt that the only course open to him was to assume a careless air; and walking over to where the man had caught a sheep, thrown it, and was examining its fleece, he exclaimed:

"Anything the matter with it, Brookes?"

"My word, Mr Nic, how you made me jump! Why, where did you come from?"

"Over yonder. I was here ten minutes ago, and didn't notice anything wrong then."

"Oh, you've been a-shepherding, sir, have you? That's right: sheep's things you can't be too 'tickler about. No, there's nothing very wrong. I'll come round here with a bucket o' dressing, though, to-morrow."

"Shall I go or stay?" thought Nic, as the man turned over layer after layer of the thick wool which opened down the animal's sides as if divided by a series of partings like that leading to the crown of a human being's head. "If I stay I shall make him suspicious. If I go it may disarm him."

"Oh," he said aloud, "that doesn't look bad. I shall go on and get Sorrel. I'm going to ride round the bullocks. Not coming yet, I suppose?"

"No, sir; I'll just run my eye round that hundred over yonder with Black Damper. Haven't counted 'em 'smorning, I s'pose?"

"I haven't been there," said Nic.

"Ah, they'd better be counted. One'd think the blacks could count a flock of sheep, but not they. It's bulla and kimmeroi and metancoly, and saying that over and over again. They can eat as many as you like, but counting beats 'em."

"Yes, they are stupid that way, Brookes," said Nic; and he went straight off for home, looking perfectly unconcerned, but feeling particularly uncomfortable as he turned over in his own mind the possibility of the man finding the convict's hiding-place.

For now it seemed such a very simple thing, and he wondered that the men from the Wattles and the government police had not gone straight for and made some efforts to get down to the bottom of the great gorge.

By degrees, though, he grew better satisfied, as he recalled that this place bore the reputation of being impossible of access, and even the blacks declared that no man had ever been down.

Then came a horrible thought.

"Suppose Brookes should encounter the convict and use the gun he always carried now! Leather was unarmed, but—"

Nic shuddered as he thought of what a strong, active man would do if driven to bay. The gun would only go off once, but a desperate man would find weapons in sticks and stones.

The boy made an effort to cast off the unpleasant sensation, and hurried home, where the calm aspect of everything and the look of content he saw in his mother's and sisters' eyes altered the current of his thoughts; and he hurried himself, saddling Sorrel, and rode off, after promising that he would be back in good time to take tea.

He had a long round, found the cattle wanted driving in a bit, and after performing this duty by the help of his two dogs, he cantered towards home, coming round by where Rigar was playing shepherd with another flock. But all was right here, save that the collies helped to bring them half a mile nearer the station to new pastures; after which Nic turned his horse's head homeward, arriving in good time and finding Brookes busily helping old Sam and looking more like himself.

A couple of days elapsed, and on the following morning Nic announced that he was going to take a long round, the consequence being that his satchel was well filled with bread, meal, and cake; and he rode off after seeing that all was going on right about the place, and in a matter-of-fact sort of way as if he had been used to it for years.

He cantered gently till he was out of sight, and then gave Sorrel his head and skimmed over the ground till he was compelled to draw rein and walk the horse in and out among the trees, besides being careful to avoid the blocks of stone which here and there thrust their grey heads out of the slope.

For he was nearing the spot where he had hidden the meal, and he had determined to fetch it and carry it over his saddle-bow as nearly as he could to where he had parted from the convict.

To his delight, on reaching the hiding-place he found that the bag was gone, and for the moment he was convinced that Leather had fetched it; but Nic's next thought was startling:

"Suppose Brookes had been suspicious—had seen it and taken it away."

The thought was horrible, but he dismissed it, telling himself that he was too ready to imagine things; and, determined to try and find the convict again, he mounted and rode along parallel with the edge of the gorge till he was as nearly as he could guess to where the patch of rock had slipped down.

Here, in a shut-in tract of grassy land, he dismounted, cast his hobbled horse loose to graze, and shouldering his gun, went in among the trees and tried to find the stone trap in which he had been caught.

He looked around him, and then started off in the direction Leather had taken that evening, keeping about fifty yards from the edge so that this distance would serve for his guidance back, and kept looking to right and left for some signs of the convict having passed that way, but finding none.

Every step he took for quite an hour led him through fresh beauties. He had no desire to use his gun; so, as if in consequence, birds of brilliant plumage flitted from tree to tree, or rose in flocks to fly shrieking to the coverts. Twice over he saw snakes; lizards seemed to be wonderfully plentiful wherever the stones lay scorching in the sunshine. Every now and then he saw the Blue Mountains, rising up tier after tier, across the gorge, and as he peered through the various openings he could not help noticing how thoroughly they deserved their names.

But he only saw one natural object in his mental view, and that was the great deep crack, which he felt sure he would encounter before long, running at right angles across his path, and this he felt equally sure would be the way down into the gorge and to Leather's home.

"And if he can go down it," said Nic to himself, "I can, and what's more, I will."

But at the end of another hour there was no sign of any rift such as he had pictured, and beginning to grow hot and weary, he turned to find a sheltered spot where he could rest and refresh himself with some of the provisions that he had intended to share with the convict, when, to his astonishment, he found himself face to face with him, for Leather stood with his back against a stone.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

IN SANCTUARY.

"You here?" cried Nic excitedly.

"I have been following you for the last hour," was the quiet reply.

"And I've been tramping along here for nothing. Why didn't you speak?"

"Because I wanted you to tramp along there for nothing," replied the convict. "You were not looking for me—I could see that. You were trying to find a way down there below."

"Well, yes, I was," said Nic, who felt startled by his companion's keenness; "but I wanted to see you too."

"Well, have you found anything?"

"You know I've not," cried Nic. "I say, you might trust me. How do you get there?"

"Why should I show you the way to the only place of safety I have got?"

"Because you like me," said Nic, with a smile, as he held out his hand, which the other grasped and held.

"Yes," he said; "you made me like you, Nic, and brought me back a little to a better belief in human kind just when I was growing day by day more and more into a brute—a savage. Well, I will show you; but you are tired now."

"Not too tired for that," said Nic eagerly, for there was a suggestion of adventure which attracted him. "I'm ready. Are you going to bind my eyes again? You can if you like, and then you can lead me down and I shall not know the way."

"Why should I do that when I said that I would trust you? Besides," said the convict rather grimly, "you will want your eyes."

"Is it dangerous?" cried Nic.

"In places; but you will not shrink."

"Is it far?"

"A mile from here. This way, then. But wait a few minutes."

Nic stared, for the convict suddenly darted to one side and disappeared, leaving the boy wondering at his singular behaviour. Then there was utter silence, and it seemed as if he had gone for good.

All at once he reappeared from quite a different part, and came quickly up to Nic.

"I am obliged to be watchful," he said. "I did not know but that you might have some one following you; but all seems to be clear. Now then, come along."

He struck off in among the trees, and Nic followed closely, till, wondering at the course his companion was taking, he said suddenly:

"Are you making some short cut? Does the gorge bend round anywhere here?"

"Oh no: I am going quite right."

"But you are leaving the edge of the precipice right behind."

"Yes; that is right. No one would look for the way down where I am leading."

Nic gazed at him wonderingly, for the man's manner seemed moment by moment to grow more strange; but they trudged on for quite a quarter of an hour, through a wonderful chaos of rocks and stunted trees, which formed a dense thicket through which it was hard to pass, and which was at last barred by the rocks closing in.

Here the convict turned sharply to his left, went in, and out for a couple of score yards, and then came to a halt at a rock face, from beneath which a little stream of water gurgled down a long gully for a short distance, and then disappeared.

"Is the water good?" said Nic eagerly.

"Delicious. Drink."

"Then you have been coming to find that?" cried Nic, after taking a long, deep draught. "It is good. But I thought you were going to show me the way down into the gorge."

"Yes: there it is."

"What? Why, where?" cried Nic, staring.

"Down there, where the water goes. Follow that, and you will reach the great valley."

"But," cried Nic, gazing in wonder at what seemed to be a mere split in the rock, down which the light penetrated but a short distance, "that goes underground."

"Yes, nearly all the way."

"A cavern."

"A series of caverns. You do not care to go now?"

"Well, it looks—It is so—One can't hardly—Yes, one can," cried the boy, ceasing his stammering and drawing himself up. "I am quite ready. Will you go first?"

The convict smiled, bent down a little, and passed out of the boy's sight.

"You can jump down boldly here," came in deep, echoing tones: "there is good foothold. A little slippery, but I'll catch you if your foot glides away."

It requires a little effort of mind to leap down off terra firma into a black-looking hole whose bottom is invisible, and Nic hesitated for a moment or two. Then:

"Trust for trust," he said to himself, and leaped, to feel for a brief instant or two that strange sensation experienced when rushing downward in a swing. Then splash! and his feet sent the water flying as he landed upon soft sand, while a hand grasped his shoulder, and he could dimly see the convict's swarthy face.

"All right?"

"Yes. Did I hit you with the gun?"

"Pretty hard, boy; but, never mind—it didn't go off."

Nic looked round, and by the light which gleamed from above through a lovely lacework of overhanging ferns he could see rugged rocks, which looked of a glistening: metallic green, but in places of a soft rippled cream, as if the rich produce of hundreds of cows had trickled down the walls and turned to stone. Water was flowing about his feet, but only an inch or two deep, and beyond where the convict stood there was black darkness.

"I say, is this really the way down to the bottom of that great gorge, Leather—I mean Frank Mayne?" said Nic breathlessly, for his heart, in spite of his having gone through no exertion, still laboured heavily.

"Yes, and a gloriously easy way, as you will soon see."

"See?" cried Nic.

"Yes; come along."

"One moment," said Nic, pausing to look upward at the arching ferns eight or ten feet overhead. "No one would think of coming down there to look for a way. But how about footmarks in this soft sand? One of the blacks would trace us directly."

"The water trickles over them and washes them full of sand directly, Nic. I am safe in that."

"But did you venture into this black darkness without knowing where you were going? One might slip down into some horrible pit."

"I slipped down into a horrible pit years ago, boy," said the convict bitterly, "and I felt that I could only lose my life in an adventurous search. But I did not go far in the dark. Come on a few yards, and I will show you. There is nothing to mind."

"Does the water get deeper?" whispered Nic, in an awe-stricken voice.

"Never more than an inch or two, except in rainy time, and then of course it becomes a rushing torrent and impassable. Come along: it is always a soft sandy or rippled path formed of petrifactions like that you saw just now."

Nic braced up his nerves and followed the wash, wash of the convict's footsteps till his companion cried, "Halt!"

"Now," he said—"hold this."

"This" proved to be a great piece of soft, crumbling touchwood, which felt as if it had been torn from some dry, rotting gum tree; and directly after nick—nick—nick came the sound of a flint against a steel: tiny bright scintillations glistened in the black darkness, and soon there was a faint glow as the convict began to blow one spark which had fallen upon the wood Nic held. Then the spark grew brighter and brighter, and at last shed a faint luminous glow sufficient to make darkness visible; and this was increased by the convict taking the piece of wood and waving it softly to and fro.

"A poor light," he said, "but it takes off the worst part of the gloom, and it is comforting. I have not begun making myself candles yet, Nic."

"What's that?" whispered the boy, as there was a peculiar fluttering noise and something swept his cheek softly.

"Only bats. There are plenty here. Don't you smell them?"

"Yes, there is a black-beetly smell; but I thought it was the wood. Are there any—any dangerous beasts down here?"

"There are no dangerous beasts in this country," said the convict, "except poisonous snakes and the crocodiles in the rivers, and I have never seen one of them. No, Nic, there is nothing to fear here but flood after a storm. Now, come along; step out boldly. It is nervous work the first time. I felt a bit scared when I explored it. I could walk through now in the darkness with my hands in my pockets. One only has to let one's feet follow the water."

"But if you did not follow the water?"

"Then you might wander away into one of the side passages, or go down some wide rift and lose your way."

"Is it so big, then?"

"Farther on. There it opens out into huge caverns, and rises up into great cracks and chambers caused by the petrifying stony water. There are sheets and columns and hummocks of stone all made by the drip from above. This place has all been formed by the water eating away the limestone rock, dissolving it here and piling it up there."

As the convict walked on, and Nic followed close behind, the splashing of their feet echoed softly from the walls, and the man's voice sounded shut in and smothered. The air felt hot too, and oppressive, while the smouldering wood glowed and made the convict's figure stand out like a solid carved block moving dimly outlined before Nic as he went on.

Then, all at once, the echoes of the disturbed water grew louder, and went whispering away; and as Leather went on talking his voice seemed to grow free, and the air was cool and damp.

"Now listen," he said; and he paused, waved his smouldering torch, and uttered a loud cooey.

Nic caught at his arm, for there was a crash, and a bellowing roar as the cry went echoing away and then gradually died out in whispers.

"Startling, isn't it? But only sound. The cavern is enormous here."

"It's dreadful!" panted Nic.

"No: wonderful and grand, boy. Ah! who knows what may be deeper down in the interior of this mighty world on which we crawl! Come along; you'll have other chances of exploring here—that is, if you come to see me, Nic. Would you venture alone?"

"No," said Nic frankly. "I don't think I should dare."

"Familiarity breeds contempt—even for darkness, Nic," said the convict with a laugh, which sounded horrible. "Don't be in a hurry to say that. I believe that with a lantern you would come. Forward, boy!"

"Is it much farther?"

"Oh yes—a long, long, long way. I was months before I got right through."

"What!" cried Nic in a startled voice; and he wished he had not spoken, for his exclamation sounded as if it would bring down the rocks upon their heads.

"No, no; not as you take it," said the convict laughingly, as he waved the torch and made it glow. "I mean that after I discovered it one day, as I told you, through a sheep falling down into that well-like opening, I made myself a rough lamp from an old pannikin, some melted mutton fat, and a bit of rag, and when I had chances I came down and followed the stream a little farther and a little farther, led on and on by the interest of the place, always expecting to find that it would end with an underground lake."

"And it did not?"

"No, this little stream joins the river in the great valley, as you will see. But we are losing time. Come on."

Nic followed in silence, but with the creepy, shivering sensation passing off; and a feeling of intense curiosity and wonder taking its place.

"Is it much farther?" he said at last.

"Like to go back now, boy?"

"No," cried Nic firmly—"of course not."

"Well, as to being farther to go, I could turn off in several places, and we could wander on for longer than I could say. You can bring friends and explore it some day, perhaps; but down to the valley is not a great way now."

"Down! Are we going down?"

"Of course: flowing water is always going downward. There, you can hear that the rocks are farther away to right and left. Farther on they close in again till it is like a crack, and they run up to a point far above our heads. We must have a good light some day, Nic, if I am not taken. You would like to explore the place?"

"If you are taken!" cried Nic. "Why, you could defend yourself against a hundred people here, and set them at defiance."

"Yes, but I might be surprised. I can't live without sleep, Nic. They'll take me some day. Friend Brookes will find out that you come to see me, and track you to the opening."

"He would not dare to come along here."

"No, but he would send those who did. But never mind that now. Let's enjoy life while we can, even if it is such a poor life as mine."

"I say, Frank Mayne," said Nic, after a thoughtful pause, during which he had listened to the whish, whish of their feet through the water, and the whispering echoes, now close at hand, now far away.

"Say on, boy."

"I'm going to the port as soon as my father comes back."

"Going, boy? I'm sorry. But you will come back?"

"I hope so; with news. I shall go and see Sir John and Lady O'Hara, tell them your story, and get you pardoned."

"No. The governor did what he could: I was allowed to go out as an assigned servant; I have disgraced myself, and I should have to go back to the gang."

"Not if he knew that you were innocent."

"My character with which I came out spoils that, boy. Don't talk about it. Mine is a hopeless case."

"But Lady O'Hara is my friend."

"Hush! It is too late."

They went on and on through the obscurity in comparative silence now, Nic feeling as if he were being led always by that black shadow of a gigantic man, beyond which there was a faint glow.

Always the same tramp, tramp through the splashing water, and along its soft bed, which was never more than four or five feet wide at that time, and the flowing stream kept them easily in the right way. Once or twice Nic felt startled at the want of light from the smouldering torch, but a few waves in the air brightened its faint glow again, and they went on and on as if their journey were to be right through the grim bowels of the world.

"Is it much farther?" said Nic at last, to break the painful silence.

"Not much."

"But we seem to have come miles."

"I dare say it is two," said the convict, "but imagination makes it longer. My first journeyings made me think that it must be at least twenty. Come closer here."

Nic stepped up and touched the arm which bore the light.

"Now look straight on."

"I can see nothing."

"You are not looking the right way. Try again."

"Yes, I see now. What is it? A spark?"

"Of daylight. We are nearly through."

Nic's heart throbbed. He felt as if a huge load had been taken off his brain; a thrill ran through him, and he stepped on briskly, with the faint light ahead rapidly growing brighter. Five minutes later they could see the golden glow of sunshine, and in another minute they were wading in deeper water at the bottom of a vast rift overhung by the ferns which grew on the ledges higher and higher. The next minute they stepped out into broad daylight on the sides of the deep cleft, and in a short time, after some sharp climbing, they were at the bottom of the mighty gorge, with Nic shading his aching eyes.

"My little kingdom, Nic," said the convict. "Welcome to my savage home!"



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

CASTLES IN THE AIR.

"Don't try to find any more adjectives, boy," said the convict about an hour later. "Be content with beautiful. That's what it is."

They were sitting in front of a loosely made bark gunyah, bare-footed, and with their shoes and well-worn stockings placed upon a scorching sheet of rock to dry. The wallet was empty, for they had made a hearty meal; after which Nic had been piling up all the words he could think of to express his admiration for the valley shut in by those tremendous walls, or his delight with the beauty and novelty of the place.

The troubles of his life seemed to have dropped from the convict, who laughed and talked as if he were a dozen years younger, and free from care. The hard, bitter look had gone from his eyes, and he entered with boyish zest into the proposals his young companion made.

"Oh yes," he cried, "we must have plenty of shooting and fishing. How many birds have you collected and skinned?"

"Two," said Nic, making a grimace. "I've been so busy."

"Never mind; you can come here and shoot. I'll skin for you, and you can get a fine collection."

"Birds ought to be plentiful here."

"They swarm," said the convict. "You can get the beautiful lyre bird, with its wonderful curved tail. I can show you the bower birds' nests, with their decorations. Then there is that beautiful purply black kind of crow—the rifle bird they call it. As to the parrots and cockatoos, they are in flocks."

"The kangaroos are plentiful enough, too, seemingly."

"Herds of them, from the little wallaby rats right up to the red old men."

"And snakes?"

"Too many of them; I'm obliged to be careful. We can have some grand hunts, Nic, and I can feast you afterwards on roast cockatoo and mutton."

"And I shall bring you—I say, I'd forgotten: did you bring the flour down here?"

"No," said the convict, smiling; "you forgot to hide it where you said."

"It was too dark that night to find the place, but I put it there next day. Didn't you get it?"

"No; some one must have seen you hide it, and taken it away. One of the blacks, I suppose."

"Or Brookes."

"Was he anywhere near, Nic?"

The boy nodded.

"That's bad, my boy," said the convict, with the bright look fading out of his face, to leave it cold and hard. "There, the sun is getting low; we have the tunnel to go through, and then you have a long walk back to your horse. We have been going too fast, Nic. I'm afraid you must wait some time before you come again."

Nic looked pained, and sat gazing at his companion sadly.

"Must I go now?" he said.

"Yes."

Nic thrust his stockings into his pocket, tied his shoes together to sling over his arm, and picked up his gun. Then reluctantly he followed his silent companion to the mouth of the tunnel-like cavern, where a bigger piece of touchwood was lit, and they commenced the return journey.

It was up hill, but it did not seem half so far; and at last they stopped close to the well-like opening, down whose side the water trickled musically.

"Frank," said Nic, "I'm going to leave you my gun."

"What for?"

"To protect yourself."

"Don't leave temptation in my way, boy," was the stern reply. "No; I will not have it. Brookes and I might meet. There are plenty of trees to cut myself a stout stick for a weapon, or I can defend myself with my hands. Look, there are three notches in the stone where you can place your feet. Up with you! You can find your way. Good-bye."

Nic could not say "good-bye," but he grasped the convict's hand before climbing up the narrow shaft-like place and raising his head cautiously above the level.

A kangaroo loped gently by—evident proof that there was no danger—and, drawing himself right out, Nic dived in among the trees and rocks, and began to return by the way he came.

He had so much to think of that the way back did not seem to be so very long; and at last he reached the spot where he had left his nag, mounted, and rode home, wondering whether Brookes had found that flour and suspected anything.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

NATURE AT HOME.

If Brookes suspected, he made no show, but went about his work watchful and quiet as could be, Nic noting that he never went to perform the simplest duty about the station without a gun, and always seeming to be on the look-out for danger lurking behind bush, tree, or fence.

"He must feel that Leather is somewhere near at hand," thought Nic, "and he'll betray him if he can."

The convict protested; but, after taking candles and going through the cavern alone, Nic took him flour, tea, and sugar, and various other things to make his solitary life more bearable.

"There, I'm very weak," the poor fellow said one day; "but these are the only happy moments I have had for years, Nic. You have made me like a boy again, and I feel as if I had begun to live a new life. But it is too good to last, Nic. There is too much sunshine, and the storm and flood will come. When does your father return?"

"Don't talk of him as if he were a storm," cried Nic.

"But you will have less liberty then."

"Oh, I don't know; I shall go on taking long rides round after the sheep and cattle. I say, I never told you: we've lost two sheep during the past fortnight."

"The blacks."

"That's what we all thought; but Bungarolo and the others are sure that there have been no blackfellows in the neighbourhood. They went out for two days afterwards, and came back and declared they had seen none. If they had, of course I shouldn't be here. I think it's the dingoes, though we found no skin or bones. Old Sam and I are going to take the dogs and have a hunt. Let Rumble and Tumble run them to bay, and then let loose Nibbler at them."

"Try it," said Leather laconically.

That day, in accordance with a promise, the convict took Nic for a long walk through the open gorge, where the gum trees grew of gigantic size, and on down the river for some miles, to where it spread out into a wide lagoon, completely shut in by the forest, and with the borders fringed by reeds and tall grasses, offering plenty of cover for them to approach. The ducks were in abundance, and Leather laughingly spoke of it as his larder where he fished for them, hiding among the reeds, and sending a small fish sailing among them at the end of a line, with the result that he often hooked one and drew it ashore for a meal.

But it was not to catch a shoal of ducks that they were come, the convict cautiously leading the way to a broad extent of marshy ground, from which the water had retired in consequence of the drought, and here, upon their crawling up to the screen of reeds, Leather drew aside for the boy to peer through to see pretty close at hand a flock of over a hundred grey stork-like birds marching about gravely, and darting their bills down sharply here and there at some fish or frog in a pool. Others were standing on one leg, with the other and the long neck regularly folded up, and the bill tucked neatly away among the feathers.

All seemed grave, calm, and deliberate, every motion being made in the most solemn fashion, one of them the root of whose beak itched scratching it with a claw in a gracefully zigzag mode.

They were fine tall birds, fully four feet in height, and of a beautiful grey; but after kneeling in a damp place for about a quarter of an hour Nic grew weary, and turned to look at the convict, who smiled, nodded, and held up a finger, as much as to say, "Be patient."

"Things never do what you want at the right time," thought Nic; but hardly had he mentally spoken when one of the storks farther off uttered a peculiar cry like the low note of a cracked clarionet, and in an instant the long-legged birds from all quarters came trooping up, some of them helping their movements by extending their wings a little, till all were collected in a rough kind of circle, one remaining almost motionless in the middle of the ring.

A few more of the quaint trumpeted-out notes were heard, and these were uttered by one of the cranes nearest to Nic, who could see the scissors-like beak open, the bright eye, and the gay scarlet ear-lobes of the solemn-looking bird, which drew itself up, took a look round in a stately way, and then seemed to Nic to have gone mad; for it suddenly began to dance and caper about, bowing and shaking its head to its companions again and again before leaping in the air and coming down upon its feet, to go through a series of the wildest gambols imaginable. It waltzed, advanced, retreated, set to partners, skipped here and there with wonderful activity, and began again.

Its actions were contagious, for the next minute fully a hundred of the long-legged bipeds were capering about the marsh in a frantic dance, snapping their bills, and evidently enjoying this ebullition of fantastic gambols.

Nic would have roared with laughter had he not been afraid to send the birds away and so end their game; and this went on for some minutes, ending in a regular wild country dance peculiar to bird-land, after which all was still. Some of the cranes rested on one leg, with a heel projecting from beneath their tails, others stood still with their heads cowered down between their shoulders, and the rest stalked solemnly about, peering here and there in search of frogs or small fish, and it was hard to imagine that these grave and reverent-looking grey signors could ever have been guilty of such antics.

On some days Nic arrived late, and when the moon rose went opossum shooting, the skins being prepared by the convict for a bed. One evening he stayed late to be taken to see the lyre bird come dancing down a green lane between dense casuarinas, to a favourable spot for these beautiful creatures. And once he saw the peculiar bird, large as a pheasant, spread its curious tail, dance, rattle its wings, and indulge in a series of cries and calls—now it would be whistling, at another time making a sound like the cracking of a whip, and at another time justifying its native name of bullan-bullan.

Mayne had always some new natural history object to introduce to Nic, throwing himself heart and soul into his pursuits, and announcing at last that he had seen emus about in one particular spot, and saying he was sure that there must be a nest.

Nic had longed to get specimens of the great dark green eggs, and he heard the announcement with delight.

"Just what I wanted," he cried; "but I meant for us to explore the cavern next time I came."

"If we soon find the nest, we shall have time to do some exploring as well," replied Mayne; "so bring your candles, and I'll get some of the bunya wood and dry it in the sun. It burns well, and it will help to light up some of the dark parts. When will you come over?"

"Day after to-morrow."

"If your father has not returned," said the convict sadly.

"Well, if he does, on the next day. I say, don't look so downhearted. You see that was all fancy about Brookes suspecting anything."

"I don't know," said the convict thoughtfully.

"I think I do," said Nic, laughing. "He has been as nervous as can be for fear of your coming back to punish him for laying information about you with Mr Dillon. If he felt that you were anywhere near, he would soon go over to the Wattles again. Sam says you've gone right away a hundred miles up in the myall scrub to join the Gunalong tribe, and married and settled."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, he said we should never see you again. Good-bye."

The convict grasped his hand, and they parted at the mouth of the cavern.

"Nic, my dear," said Mrs Braydon that night. "You will be obliged to have some more shoes; those last have quite rotted away at the stitching. You seem to be always wading and getting your feet wet. Do be careful, my dear; it is so difficult to get anything new. Is all well about the station?"