"Everything, mother, excepting the loss of those sheep. We must have a dingo hunt. It won't do to lose any more before father comes home."

Mrs Braydon sighed.

"It seems so long since we have heard, my dear," she said. "If it were not that I don't like to spare you, I would get you to ride over and see how Sir John is getting on."

Nic thought he would like to go; but he, too, felt that it would not be possible to leave home, and for more reasons than one.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

A DOUBLE SURPRISE.

"'Nother sheep gone, Master Nic," said Brookes next morning.

"Then we'll have the dogs out and have a hunt round. Whose flock was it among?"

"Bung's."

"All right, then; we'll have a turn at once."

Old Sam was told of what was to take place, Damper and Rigar were fetched from their charges, and gladly joined in, while the dogs nearly went mad—all three seeming to fully understand what was going to take place, and displaying their mad delight by charging and rolling one another over, and a sham worry all round, that suggested horrors for any unfortunate dingo with which they were not at play.

As Nic rode on between his two men, with the dogs and blacks in front, he began to feel a little suspicious of the latter, from the way in which they talked and laughed one to the other, as if they enjoyed the loss of a sheep as a very good joke; and the boy could not help asking himself whether they were taking advantage of his inexperience to help themselves to the wherewithal for an occasional feast.

This impressed him so much at last that he mentioned his suspicions to old Sam.

But the man shook his head.

"No, sir; I think not," he replied. "We look too sharp after 'em, and they're too well fed. I won't say what a hungry blackfellow mightn't do, but our boys ain't hungry, and that makes all the difference. What do you say, Brooky?"

"I say it ain't the blacks; but I know."

As the man spoke he examined the pan of his gun, and then took out his knife and began to chip the flint, so that it might be certain to strike out sparks.

"What do you know?" said Nic, looking at the man wonderingly.

"What do I know?" said Brookes, giving him a defiant look: "why, I know it's that there Leather as is skulking about like a rat, and snatching a sheep whenever he likes."

"Absurd!" cried Nic indignantly.

"Oh, all right, sir, it's 'surd, then; you know best, o' course. You're master, and I'm on'y a servant; but I say as that there Leather killed all them sheep, and if the doctor was at home he'd soon stop that."

"Go on, dogs!" shouted Nic, riding forward to hide his annoyance and fidgety looks, for Brookes had looked at him in a way which troubled him.

The blacks led on among the trees and over the pastures, now nearly brown for want of rain; and to Nic's annoyance the men made for the stretch of country which ran along by the side of the gorge. Then suddenly one of the collies uttered a sharp bark, which was taken up by the other, Nibbler gave forth his deep growl, and as they started off on the scent of something, he followed, and the blacks trotted close behind.

Nic felt a peculiar, sense of hesitation; but his two men started in a run, and he felt that he must go too, though this part of the country seemed to him the least likely for dingoes, and he began to wonder whether the dogs had taken up the scent of a man who had passed that way, and if so, would it be the convict?

Ten minutes later he felt ready to stop the hunt, for the dogs were right on the line he would have himself taken to reach the spring which ran down to the tunnel-like cavern. Certainly it was miles away, but, going at a pretty good speed, Nic felt that the dogs would quickly reduce the distance, and his horror increased.

"They'll soon have him, Master Nic," panted old Sam, who ran, in spite of his years, better than his companion, the blacks being now out of sight.

"Have whom?" cried Nic; but he repented directly, for Brookes turned and gave him another curious look.

"Why, that there dingo, sir," said Sam.

"Cooey—cooey!" came from a distance, as the faint barking of the dogs ceased; and Nic pressed forward, to arrive, in a quarter of a mile or so, at a dense thicket, within which he could see the blacks and hear the dogs whining and snuffling about.

"Got him?" cried Nic, with an intense feeling of relief.

"Mine help dog follow find him," cried Bungarolo with a broad grin; and the boy urged his horse in through the bushes, to find a skin tossed down, and plenty of evidence of a sheep having been lately killed there.

He was staring down at the remains, while the dogs stood whining and snuffling round, eager to make a feast of the offal, but kept back by the blacks, who each held a nulla-nulla with its melon-shaped knob in front of their noses.

"He! he!" laughed Brookes. "That's a clever sort o' dingo, Sam. I never see one skin his sheep before and dress him."

Old Sam rubbed one side of his nose and looked at Nic, who turned sharply to the blacks.

"Here, you!" he cried angrily—"you killed this sheep!"

"Baal! Baal!" they cried in angry chorus. "No kill—no mumkull sheep fellow. Plenty mutton—plenty. White Mary gib plenty mutton. You pidney (know)."

"No, I want to pidney," cried Nic. "Here, Bung, who killed the sheep, then?"

"No pidney. Soon find."

The man, imitated by his fellows, began to search about, and soon took up a barefoot trail and pointed to a drop of blood now and then where it lay dried upon a leaf.

"Could Leather have killed a sheep and taken it away?" thought Nic. "No—impossible!" and he was following the blacks in a hesitating spirit, when Brookes stopped short.

"What is it?" cried old Sam, imitating his action.

"I ain't going to walk into no hambudges," growled Brookes.

This roused Nic into action.

"Here!—Hi! Bung, all of you stop!" he cried, and the blacks paused and waited till they came up, looking at their young master inquiringly.

"Find tracks?" asked Nic.

"Plenty mine find mandowie."

"Black fellow's?" cried Nic.

"Baal! Baal! white fellow!" cried all three—"white fellow."

Brookes gave a ghastly grin and cocked his gun.

"I ain't going no farther," he growled. "It's walking into a hambudge. Black fellows don't kill sheep like that."

"No plenty mumkull sheep," cried Damper. "White fellow."

"P'r'aps we'd better not go on, sir," whispered old Sam uneasily.

Nic said nothing, but rode slowly back to where the remains of the sheep had been discovered, followed by the rest, the blacks chattering together in a great state of excitement, and the dogs whining and uneasy.

"Pick up the skin, Sam," said Nic; and the old man made one of the blacks carry it shouldered over his spear.

Nothing more was said, Nic riding along feeling sadly puzzled, and trying to follow out a peculiar line of thought without success. It had something to do with an idea about, spite, and whether it was possible that Brookes had killed these sheep on purpose to make it seem that Leather was lurking about destroying his late employer's property, so that, when once this idea took deep root, another expedition might be planned for the purpose of hunting the convict down, and relieving him of an object which caused him constant dread.

But Nic gave Brookes the benefit of a doubt, and rode silently on till he was in sight of the house, when he suddenly pressed his horse's sides and galloped forward.

For he had caught sight of a light waggon drawn up in front; there were horses and men about, and he felt that something important had taken place in his absence.

Ten minutes later he was grasping his father's hands, and then those of the governor, who looked very pale and thin. Lastly those of Lady O'Hara, who held his tightly.

"Oh! just look at him," she cried; "why, he's brown as chestnuts and getting as big as a man. Sure, and what do ye water him with, Mrs Braydon, to make him grow like that?"

"Yes, he has grown," said Nic's mother, smiling with pride.

"Grown! why, he's shot up like a palm tree. Nic, boy, we've come up with your father for me husband to get quite cured: will you have us for a bit?"

Nic's eyes silently gave their answer as he clung to lady O'Hara's hand, just as he did that day when she came to the Friary to fetch him from school, not so very long back; but so many events had happened since, that it seemed an age to the boy, who felt how different he was since then.

"You don't deserve for us to come, Mrs Braydon," said Lady O'Hara as they sat over their homely meal that evening, "for you never come to stay with me, nor the girls neither."

"You see what a simple farmhouse life we lead," said Mrs Braydon, smiling. "We are not fit for Government House."

"Now just hark at her, John!" cried the lady. "Do we want her to come and see Government House? It's to see us."

"Mrs Braydon knows that," said Sir John gravely, "and how deeply we are in her debt. Here we are, after robbing her of her natural protector all this time, come to trouble her more."

"Then let's go back, John," said Lady O'Hara dilly; "sure we're not welcome. We're too foine for her."

"Lady O'Hara!" cried Mrs Braydon indignantly.

"That's brought her to her senses," said the visitor, rising and going to Mrs Braydon to kiss her affectionately. "Don't you know that you're all the dearest and best friends we've got in the world? Hasn't the doctor been sitting up with John night after night, and saved his life?"

"Oh, nonsense! nonsense!" said the doctor quickly.

"It's quite true, Mrs Braydon," said the governor warmly; "and God bless him for it!"

"There!" cried Lady O'Hara, "now let's all be comfortable. Why, it's like being at home, at the old place from which John fetched me when he was only Lieutenant O'Hara, and hadn't a grand handle to his name. Gyurls, I'm going to enjoy myself with you while the governor gets strong and well. Sure I can make butter as well as either of you. Didn't we have two Kerry cows at home? As for bread, there I'll bate— beat I mean—either of you. Nic, boy, you'll take me round with you when you go to see to the stock; only I must have a quiet ould mare— none of your great tatthering savage craytures that want to go like the wind. I've brought my strong riding habit. And you gyurls, you'll ride too?"

"Of course," cried Janet eagerly.

"Then we're going to have quite a happy time; and John'll get quite strong, won't he, doctor?"

"Yes, he'll be a new man in a month."

"What!" cried the lady, with an assumed look of alarm: "John, darlin', order the waggon and horses out. Ring for the men. We'll go back home directly, and try the new doctor that's just come out."

"Why?" said Sir John, smiling.

"Sure, didn't he say he'd make a new man of you? Don't I want you the same as you always were? A new man, indeed!"

A merry evening was passed, but before they parted for the night the doctor said:

"I've asked no questions, Nic, boy; but all seems to be right."

"Nearly, father—not quite."

"Not quite? Well, that doesn't sound very serious. But I want to know fully what this upset has been about the assigned servant."

Nic briefly told of the trouble.

"Ah, well, we'll have that over in the morning, Nic. I'm sorry, though, for I thought the man was trustworthy."

Nic gave his father a pained look, as the doctor went on: "I shall ride over and see Dillon. Well, what next?"

"Three sheep have gone, father, one after the other."

"I am not surprised," said the doctor drily.

"But, father—" began Nic.

"Not to-night, my boy. I know what you are going to say. This man was rather a favourite of yours. Now, what other troubles?"

"None, father."

"That's good. Then you've done well, boy. But I was very anxious to get back, for there has been a serious rising among the convicts, and two parties have escaped to the bush. I was afraid you might be having a visitation."

"They're taken by this time, Braydon, depend upon it," said Sir John. "My people will not rest till they are. There, I'm tired out. You'll excuse me to-night?"

"I beg your pardon, O'Hara," said the doctor. "Yes, bed for us too. Good night, Nic. To-morrow you will have to render me an account of your stewardship."

Nic sought his bed that night with mingled feelings of pleasure and pain.

It was delightful to feel the warm grip of his father's hand again, and to see Lady O'Hara's merry, cheery face; but, on the other hand, after being captain of the station so long, there was a slight suspicion of regret at having to give up his independent position; and then there was the trouble about the convict. His father said he would go and see Mr Dillon, and there was what the magistrate would say about him. Then his conscience smote him for that which was a lapse of duty. He had made so great an intimate of Leather, and he felt as if he had been helping him to defy the law. Sir John O'Hara was sleeping under their roof now, and he was governor, judge—a regular viceroy in the colony. What would he say?

Above all, what would the doctor do?

It was a long time before Nic could settle off to sleep that night, and in consequence he was very late the next morning.



CHAPTER FORTY.

THE DOCTOR PLAYS MAGISTRATE.

Do I mean Nic did not get down till breakfast was ready, about eight o'clock?

No, I do not. This was Australia in its earlier days of the colony, and people's habits were different from ours.

Nic Braydon's lateness consisted in his being fast asleep when the piping crow began to run up and down its scales to announce that the stars were paling faster, when the laughing jackasses chuckled at the loud crowing of the cocks; and he was dreaming about Mayne being brought up to the station by mounted police when the sun had been visible an hour.

Nic started up in a profuse perspiration, jumped out of bed and dressed rapidly, eager to get out in the paddocks to see that the bullocks and horses that brought the party on the previous day were properly attended to.

He now met the three men who had come with the waggon busy enough unpacking, and he found that Brookes, old Sam, and the three blacks were all hard at work. The fresh milk was being brought into the dairy, the horses were being fed and rubbed down, and all was going on in the satisfactory way which the boy felt would please his father.

Directly after he ran against old Sam.

"Does one's eyes good to see the master back again, sir. How well he looks!"

"Yes, Sam. By the way, I didn't see the horse. How does it look?"

"Splendid, sir; but a good run in our enclosure won't do it no harm."

"Let's go and look at it."

"Look at it?" said the old man, grinning. "Well, you'll have to wait till the master comes back."

"Comes back! What, is he up?"

"Up, my lad? Hours ago, and his nag saddled and gone."

"And I asleep!" cried Nic, in a tone full of vexation. "Which way did he go? I'll saddle up and ride to meet him."

"He's gone over to the Wattles."

"To Mr Dillon's?"

"Yes, sir. He had a few words with Brooky, and went off directly. Here, let me clap the saddle on for you, sir."

"No, thank you, Sam," said the boy, with the tone of his voice changing. "I don't think I wish to go now."

The old man looked at him compassionately. "Don't you be downhearted, my lad," he said. "You've done right enough. You out with the plain truth, and you call me for a witness 'bout Leather. My word's as good with your father as Brooky's. Don't you be afraid. You and me's going to win."

"Yes, Sam, I hope so," said Nic; and he walked away, to busy himself about the farm stock till breakfast time.

Just before it was ready the doctor rode back, threw the rein to old Sam, nodded to Nic, and, looking unusually stern, he entered the house with his son.

Breakfast was ready, the governor and his wife up, and the latter kept the conversation going merrily enough, for she could read the doctor's face, and felt from Nic's looks that something was wrong—something for which he was about to be blamed.

Every one was glad when the meal was at an end, and the doctor rose, when Mrs Braydon darted an imploring look at her husband, the two girls one of commiseration at their brother, whose forehead did not wrinkle, but became crumpled and pitted, just as it used to at the Friary when he had to deal with a knotty sum or equation.

"Oh dear!" said Lady O'Hara. "I thought we had left all the business at home. Are you coming with me, John?"

"No; my dear; I think Braydon wants me."

"If you please," said the doctor. "Nic, my boy, fetch the two men round to my room. This way, O'Hara."

Nic went out to obey his father's order and the governor followed the doctor into the room which stood at the end of the house, and was used by the doctor for his own study, library, surgery, harness-room— storehouse for everything, in fact, in connection with the station.

"It's not very serious, I hope," said the governor, as soon as they were alone.

"Serious enough," replied the doctor. "Dillon has told me all about it, and I am half pleased, half angry with the boy."

"Then he can't have done much amiss, doctor," said the governor. "Plus kills minus. If Nic is half and half, he ought to be a very decent sort of boy."

"You'll help me if I want help?"

"Of course," said the governor. "There, I dare say there's not much amiss. Boys of seventeen, or so, are not at their worst age. It is over that trouble about your assigned servant?"

"Yes; the boy likes him, and I am not sure about him."

"He may be honest enough now; but he was always a strangely soured fellow, and I don't think I liked him much."

"Prejudice, perhaps."

"I'm afraid so; but here comes the boy."

In effect Nic came now to the door, followed by the two men, both of whom looked uneasy, while Nic's countenance was disfigured by rather a sullen, ill-used look.

"Come in," said the doctor sharply. "You too, my men. Nic, stand there."

Nic took the appointed place, and the men were nearly opposite, both stroking their heads carefully, Brookes his hair, old Sam his skin, for there was no hair on the top to stroke. The governor, who looked pale and weak, sat back in a rough chair.

"Now, Brookes," said the doctor sternly; "I have been over to Mr Dillon and heard about this trouble, one which ought not to have happened in my absence. I should now like to hear your statement."

Brookes gave it, and old Sam kept on uttering grunts till the man had done, when he gave his version.

"Now, Dominic," said the doctor sternly, and the governor sat watching the boy keenly. "You have heard what Brookes says. Speak out, sir, like an English gentleman and my son. Let me tell you, first of all, that I do not believe you would be guilty of such an offence against the law as Brookes suggests; but—"

"Oh, it's true enough," grumbled the man.

"Silence, sir!" cried the doctor angrily. "You have spoken; don't interrupt again." Then turning to Nic: "I was going to say, my boy, as this charge has been brought against you in the presence of our governor, that you have aided and abetted a violent convict, I call upon you to clear yourself at once. Now, boy, speak."

"Yes, father, I'll speak," said Nic firmly; "but I can't clear myself."

"What!" cried the doctor angrily. "Do you own that this accusation is true?"

"Yes, it's true enough," cried Brookes. "He helped him to get away from the Wattles."

"Silence, sir!" cried Sir John sternly.

"Speak, Nic. Did you help this man to escape?"

"No, father."

"There!" cried the doctor in triumph; but his countenance fell directly.

"I went to help him if I could, but he got away without."

Brookes chuckled.

"Then he is somewhere about here in the bush, as Brookes says?"

"Yes, father."

"And you know where?"

"Yes, father."

"And you have been in the habit of visiting this desperate man?"

"Yes, father, all that is quite true."

Brookes chuckled again with satisfaction, and rubbed his tawny brown hands as if he were washing them.

"Nic, you astound me!" cried the doctor. "You have, then, encouraged this man about the place during my absence, when I had placed confidence in you and left you in charge. Had you no respect for your mother and sisters?"

"Why, of course, father," cried the boy indignantly. "You don't suppose I should have done what I have, if I hadn't felt sure Leather was innocent?"

"Hear! hear!" said a voice, and Nic looked up to see that Lady O'Hara was at the door, and now came and stood behind Sir John.

"Innocent," cried the doctor, "and hides in the bush, and kills one of my sheep whenever he is hungry!"

"He doesn't, father. I'm sure he wouldn't," cried Nic indignantly.

"And pray, why not?"

"Because he likes me too well."

"Indeed," said the doctor. "Nic, how can you let yourself be imposed upon so easily by a scoundrel?"

"He is not a scoundrel, father," cried Nic, flushing up. "He was condemned for what he never did, and sent out here as a convict."

"I'm afraid they are all innocent, eh, Sir John?" said the doctor.

"A very large percentage, by their own account," replied the governor.

"But this man really is, father," cried Nic.

"How do you know?"

"He told me all his history, father, and I am sure he is honest."

"And takes advantage of my absence to break out and nearly kill one of my men. Then he escapes to the bush, and now steals my sheep."

"It was Brookes who took advantage of your absence, father."

"Oh, Master Nic!"

"You did, sir. You always behaved like a brute and a bully to poor Leather, and you struck him, and of course he struck you again; and then;" cried the boy rapidly, in his excitement, "you told lies to Mr Dillon, and had him fetched over there to be flogged; and do you think," he continued, turning his flushed face to Sir John, "if I knew I was innocent, and I was dragged away to be flogged with the cat, I wouldn't run for the bush? Why, I would to-morrow."

Sir John frowned, and the doctor looked pained and angry, but he did not speak.

"Well, all I know is, I've got the mark o' the chopper on the back o' my head still," said Brookes, rubbing the place softly.

"Mark of the chopper!" cried Nic contemptuously. "You ought to have the mark of the cat."

"Silence, Dominic!" cried the doctor. "It is very clear to me that you have let this man impose upon you by his insidious ways, and I am bitterly hurt by your folly. You ought to know better. However, the past is past. Now make amends by helping to have this man taken. Where is he?"

"Out in the bush, father."

"I know that, sir," said the doctor sternly. "No evasions, if you please. Where is his hiding-place?"

"Don't be angry with me, father," said Nic, in a pleading tone. "I can't tell you."

"You know?"

"Yes, father."

"Then where is he, sir?"

Nic was silent.

"I desire that you tell me at once."

Nic's brow grew more puckered, but his lips tightened. "Look here, boy. Are you going to disgrace me here before Sir John O'Hara by your disobedience, and by refusing to give up this criminal to the law?"

"Father, he is quite innocent, and he has trusted me. I can't be such a coward—such a wretch—as to give him up."

The doctor took a step forward as if to seize his son's arm.

"One moment, Braydon," said Sir John. "Let me speak to him."

The doctor drew back, and stood frowning.

"It is an error of judgment on the boy's part. When we were his age we thought we knew better than our elders; but we know better now. Look here, Dominic, my boy. You are in the wrong. This man, your father's assigned servant, was tried by a jury of his fellow-countrymen, found guilty, and sentenced to transportation. Well, my boy, we are all under the law, which protects us, and we require its protection very much in a new colony of such an exceptional kind as this."

"But the law was unjust to him, Sir John, and cruel."

"I think not, my boy. Certainly mistakes have been made. But here, you see, the law was not so cruel, but said to this man, 'You have served a certain amount of time; now go and prove your sorrow for your crime by making yourself a faithful servant, and in good time you shall go free, with an opportunity for commencing a new career.'"

"Yes, Sir John; and Leather—his name's Frank Mayne—has been a good servant. Hasn't he, father?"

"Yes, he has worked very well."

"And so he did, father, while you were away, till that man drove him to desperation."

"I cannot argue about all this, Dominic," said Sir John. "I have to judge this matter, and I am afraid, my boy, that you have been imposed upon, for matters look very black against this man."

Nic shook his head.

"Well, my boy, they do to me. But look here, Dominic. Now, more than ever, do we all need to join hand in hand—boys as well as men—for our mutual protection. Even during the past few weeks has a desperate gang of scoundrels broken away and taken to the bush, where our warder-guard and the soldiery have been unable to hunt them down. These men must be taken, and your friend too. Now, listen to me, boy. For your sake, as the son of my best friend, I promise you this: if you will enable us to capture this man, he shall have a fair examination before me, and I will carefully balance all evidence, and the good in him against the evil. You will trust me, Dominic?"

"Yes, Sir John; but I can't betray the man who has made me believe in him, and whom I look upon as a friend."

"Then—" cried the doctor.

"Stop!" said Sir John firmly. "This case is adjourned for a week, Dominic. Take time to think, my boy. This man must be taken—he shall be taken. It will be better if you show us where he is, than for him to be seized and driven to desperation. Blood may be shed."

"Here, I can show you where he is, sir!" cried Brookes.

"You know?" cried the doctor.

"Ay, sir. I ain't been keeping an eye on young master here for nothing ever since you've been away. I'll show you where he's to be found, and where he takes the sheep he steals."

"Stop," said Sir John. "We will wait a week to give Dominic time to think. And now, doctor, I think I'll take my airing out on your breezy hills. I'm much stronger to-day."

Sir John rose, and the doctor made an imperative gesture to the men to leave the room before offering Sir John his arm and leading him out; while directly after Mrs Braydon and her daughters entered, Janet going at once to her brother and whispering:

"Thank you, Nic: it was very good and brave."

"Ah," cried Lady O'Hara, "what's that ye're saying, gyurl, to this young criminal?"

"I was only speaking to my brother, Lady O'Hara," said Janet indignantly.

"Only shpaking to your brother. I heard you. Only, eh? I only guess what you said. Ye're encouraging him in his wickedness and his rising against the law. Nic, my boy, you've behaved very badly; you're a disobedient son, and a bad citizen, and I ought to be very angry; but somehow I can't, for I like the spirit in you."

"But you wouldn't have had me betray that poor fellow, whom I believe to be innocent, Lady O'Hara," cried Nic, in choking voice, "and give him up to be flogged, and sent back to the chain gang?"

"Bedad, I wouldn't," cried the lady, turning very Irish, and dragging him to her, she gave him a sounding kiss. "I'd have called ye no boy of mine if ye had, and your mother wid the gyurls say the same, don't ye, my dears?"

"Oh yes," came in chorus.

"But it's all very wrong, Nic; I say so who am the governor's wife; and this black sheep-thayving convict of yours'll be coming and killing us all in our beds."



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

RIGHT WINS.

One idea uppermost in Nic's mind was that he must go and warn Frank Mayne that his father was back, that the governor was at the station with two men, that—as he had since heard—a party of mounted police were coming up to scour the country for escaped convicts, and of course they would search for him as well.

But how to warn him and tell him that he was sure Brookes must have been always watching, and knew pretty nearly if not surely of his hiding-place?

Nic felt that he could not go to the cavern tunnel, nor even approach it. Brookes would for certain be on the look-out, and the trouble would be made worse.

The governor had said that Nic should have a week for consideration, and three days glided by rapidly without an allusion being made by the doctor, who took Sir John about with him for long rides, and in every way expressed his satisfaction at the state of affairs about the station.

"You've done wonders, Nic," he said; but the boy felt no better. There was that sensation of being half guilty always to the front, and there were times when he felt as if he would rather the seven days had come to an end, the subject been broached again, and the horrible suspense over.

"I can't do anything," he said to himself. "It is like going more and more against father's orders to warn poor Frank; but what can I do?"

It was the evening of the fourth day, and as Nic was hanging about the garden outside the fence, listening to Lady O'Hara's cheery voice and his sister's answers, while the governor and Doctor and Mrs Braydon were seated in the sunlit verandah, Janet suddenly stood before him.

"Nic," she said in a low voice, and her face was very pale, "you and I are both sorry for that poor fellow Leather?"

"Yes."

"Lady O'Hara has been telling me that there will be a party of mounted police here to-morrow on purpose to hunt down escaped convicts."

"So soon?" said Nic excitedly.

"Yes; perhaps sooner. You know where this man is hiding?"

Nic was silent.

"You need not tell me—I feel sure you do. Ought he not to be told, so that he may escape?"

"Yes," said Nic; "but if I try to warn him I shall be followed, and the way into his hiding-place found out."

"Janet!"

"Yes."

"Here: Lady O'Hara wants you."

"I must go," whispered Janet hastily. "Pray do something, Nic. It would be too horrible for that poor fellow to be hunted down."

Janet hurried away.

"Do something, when I cannot stir without feeling that Brookes and these two men of Sir John's are watching me!"

Then a thought occurred, and the boy lounged leisurely about to where the dogs were playing, with the blacks looking on; and watching his opportunity he crept up close to Bungarolo.

"Look here, Bung," he said in a low voice.

The black turned round and stared.

"No, no: look at the dogs," said Nic.

"What for mine look at dogs? White Nic going hit mine in back."

"I'm not going to hit you," said Nic hurriedly.

"Kick mine. This fellow pidney."

"Nonsense! Look here. You know where Leather is."

"No pidney—no pidney."

"I say you do," said Nic sternly. "Now look here. You go to him to-night and tell him that the white police fellows are coming to hunt him out. You pidney?"

"Yes, Bungarolo pidney."

"Tell him he is to go right away and hide till the police fellows are gone."

"Bungarolo pidney. Mine tell Leather fellow jump right away, and police fellow baal find."

"That's right. Go as soon as it's dark."

"You come along see?"

"No, I won't watch you."

The black nodded, and then laughed at some antics performed by the dogs, while Nic walked away feeling more comfortable in his own mind than he had since his father had returned—though that did not mean much.

He was fully on the qui vive, and several times went out into the dark, still night to listen for the tramp of horses, but the police did not come, and he went to bed to dream of Leather being shot down in the bush because he would not surrender.

The next morning, as soon as he was up, Nic went to look for his black messenger, but he was missing, and the other two blacks professed ignorance of his whereabouts.

"He has gone and not come back," thought Nic; and he felt hopeful that, knowing his danger, the convict would escape right away along the gorge, and hide in some far-away fastness where he would be safe. But about the middle of the morning, to the boy's horror, he saw Bungarolo come crawling up to the station driving a flock of sheep.

Nic hurried up to him.

"Did you go and tell Leather?" he whispered.

"No go tell Leather fellow. Leather say mine come nigh get mumkull."

"But I told you to go!"

"Leather mumkull Bungarolo. Mine not want mumkull."

Nic uttered a low groan.

"Brooky look at mine. Come along, see where mine go. Doctor tell mine fetch sheep fellow. Mine go fetch sheep fellow."

"It's of no use—I must go," said Nic to himself; and then, casting aside all hesitation, he started off at once straight for the fern gully, crossed the bridge, and then made a sharp turn off to the right along another path and down by the little river, where, upon reaching the clump of rough growth which bordered the pool where he had fished that day, he suddenly crouched down in among the tree ferns and listened.

There was cause for his suspicion.

He had not been hiding five minutes before he heard a rustling sound, and directly after he caught sight of the barrel of a gun, which was followed by the man who bore it.

There was no mistake. It was Brookes following him, to see which way he went.

Nic's countenance grew dark as he waited, meaning to slip back; when, to his surprise, Bungarolo suddenly crept into sight, following Brookes's trail, and he too disappeared.

The boy did not understand this, but he knew enough. Brookes had gone off on a wrong trail, and now was the time.

Running back, whenever he could do so unseen, Nic passed round the far side of the house, and started right straight away across country, so as to strike the side of the great gorge not far from the well-like tunnel entrance.

It was a long, hot walk, for Nic felt it would be wise to take advantage of every bit of cover whence he could look back to see if he were watched. Then, satisfied that the coast was clear, he went on and reached the dense belt which ran all along by the edge of the precipice, feeling that a couple of hours' more walking would bring him to the mouth of the cavern.

He would not be back before dark, he knew, even if he found the convict directly; but he felt that perhaps he would not be questioned, and he would have placed the fugitive upon his guard.

Nic went pretty boldly onward, till he came within a mile of the opening, and then he sat down to rest and think.

He dared not now go straight to the place, as it was still possible that he might be watched. For Brookes had been so long amongst the blacks that he had picked up a great many of their habits, and for aught he knew, the man might be tracking him still—in all probability was.

To meet this difficulty, then, Nic started again; but went away at a right-angle, struck off again, and zigzagging here and there, he slowly drew nearer and nearer to the opening.

The sun beat down heavily in the treeless parts, but Nic heeded it not. He was anxious to reach the convict, give him a word of warning, and get back as rapidly as possible, unseen; and how to do this exercised all his thoughts.

Every now and then, as he crept along, stooping amidst the bushes, he startled some wild creature—bird, reptile, or one of the numerous kangaroo family—and, the animal darting away, Nic's heart throbbed with satisfaction.

For it was a good sign: nobody had been there lately.

At last he was within a few hundred yards of the opening, and he took a fresh curve so as to approach from the farther side, meaning to creep among the rocks and drop down into the hole almost at a bound.

And now his excitement culminated, for in a few more minutes he would be in the tunnel, and if fortune favoured him, would soon reach his friend, warn him, and return in comparative peace.

He was congratulating himself upon having succeeded so well, when he suddenly stopped short, half stunned by the thought which struck him. There was that long tunnel with its many forkings to descend, and he had no light, neither the means of getting one, nor candle, nor wood.

He went on again with his teeth set fast. He would do it, he thought, even in the dark, for it only meant keeping in the water and wading. He must go right.

A hundred yards onward through the wilderness of rocks, trees, and scrub; and he stopped short again, grasping his gun nervously, for he fancied he had heard the crack as of a trampled-on piece of dead wood.

But there was no sound now save the hum of insects. The birds were silent in that torrid midday.

"Fancy!" thought Nic, as he crept on again, stooping low and keeping a watchful eye in every direction, till once more a chill of apprehension ran through him, for there was a crackling, rustling noise.

He knew what it was: a twig bent back had sprung to its natural position; but who had bent back that twig? was it he or some one following his trail?

He listened, with every nerve on the strain, but there was no sound; and after crouching low, perfectly still for some minutes, he felt convinced that it was his own act: the twig had caught a leaf, been held by for a minute or so, and then released.

"I wish I was not such a coward," thought Nic, as he once more started off, satisfied now that he was close at hand, for he could just see the piled-up rocks from beneath which the spring bubbled out.

And now, as more cautiously than ever he crept on, so as to get within springing distance of the hole, he began to think of the long, deep, cool drink in which he would indulge—for his throat felt dry, and he was suffering from a parching, burning thirst.

Closer and closer and closer he crawled, now on hands and knees, with his gun slung over his back—so near that he had but to spring up and take a few steps to be there, but holding back so as to preserve the greatest caution to the very last.

In this way he reached to within five yards of the hole,—stretched out a hand to press aside a frond of fern, and gave one good look round.

He did so, and held on as if paralysed, feeling as if he were dreaming of being back on board the Northumbrian on his voyage out, and watching the convicts having their daily airing.

For there, just in front of him, and one on either side of the hole, half hidden by clumps of fern, crouched, like a couple of terriers watching a rat-hole, two of the convicts whom he had forgotten, but whose features and peculiarities were once more filling his brain.

Yes, there they were; he did not remember their numbers, but their features were clear enough: those of the pitiful, hang-dog, pleading-looking convict, whom he had set down as a sneak; and the good-humoured, snub-nosed, common scoundrel who had amused himself by making grimaces whenever he encountered his eye.

But that which startled Nic the most was the fact that they were inimical to the tenant of the cavern, for, as they watched so intently that they had not heard the boy's approach, each man held a native war club or nulla-nulla—poised ready to strike the poor fellow who raised his head above the edge of the hole, and a blow from one of those clubs meant death.

For some moments Nic felt too much stunned to even think, while the silence and the rigid motionless position of the two men before him added to the idea that it might be after all imagination.

Then all at once one of the men showed him that it was no fancy, for he raised his eyes looked across at his companion, and made a mocking grimace, just as he had been wont to do on shipboard, getting as answer a deprecating shake of the head.

And what did it mean? Death to Frank Mayne as he came up. For it was easy to see these were two of the convicts who had escaped. They were to blame for the missing sheep, and they must have seen and tracked Mayne to his hiding-place and meant his death.

This last was hard to comprehend, for why should one escaped convict wish to injure another? But Nic had no time for arguing out problems. The men intended harm to his friend, and it was his duty to try and save him. He had his gun, and if he could only hear Frank Mayne coming, a shout of warning would send him back.

But that gun: he wanted it for his own protection as well; and a shudder of horror ran through him as at that moment he again recalled the deck of the ship, with the convicts marching round and round, the soldiers resting upon their muskets, the stern-looking warders with their cutlasses, and that other man with the lowered, restless eyes and savage, wild-beast aspect, who passed him by from time to time looking ready for any evil deed.

How well Nic remembered now, and the old warder's words! and the cold shiver ran through him once again.

For suppose that wretch had escaped as well, and was lurking about free so near the Bluff? The idea was horrible, and but for Frank Mayne's sake Nic would have gloried in seeing the mounted police at hand.

But that gun! How could he have been so idiotic as to sling it across his shoulder just where he could not get at it without making some rustling sound!

Still it must be done, and he very softly drew his fingers toward the buckle at his breast, meaning to undo the strap instead of drawing it over his head. He kept his eyes fixed upon the men as they still watched that hole waiting for their prey. The nulla-nullas were balanced in their hands, and moment by moment, as his fingers busied themselves over the tongue of that buckle, which would not yield, Nic expected to see Frank Mayne's head rise above the surface by the moist mossy sides. The water bubbled and gurgled, the insects hummed overhead, and that tongue would not yield till he put more pressure on, and then, with a sudden rush, it was loose.

The two men sprang up quickly, and Nic was in the act of rising too, presenting the gun, when there was a quick rustle, and a tremendous load fell across his back, driving him forward; the gun went off, and the boy was wrenched round and over upon his back, with a man's hands at his throat, heavy knees upon his chest, and the horribly savage eyes of the ruffian of whom he had been thinking a minute before glaring into his.

"Hooroar!" cried the droll-looking convict, pouncing upon the gun and dragging it from Nic's hand; "just the little tool I wanted! Where's its bread and cheese, mate? Why, deary me, if it ain't the little chap as used to look at us aboard the ship! How do 'ee do, mate?"

He made a droll grimace, with his tongue in his cheek; but he turned serious directly, as the savage convict roared at him:

"Look round, you fool! See if any one's coming."

The other two were startled for a moment, and looked round wildly. Then there was another grimace.

"There ain't no one to be coming. Our bunny won't show out of his hole after hearing that row; so you won't have no chance of knocking him on the head to-day, mate. Here, I say, don't choke all the life out of the boy."

"What!" growled the ruffian. "Why, I'll cut his very heart out if he don't speak. Here, how many's along with you?"

Nic made no answer, and the ruffian drew out a knife.

"Did you hear what I said?" he croaked, in a low, guttural tone. "Who's along with you?"

"Don't kill him," said the other fellow, with his smooth aspect gone. "It's murder. Take him to the edge yonder, and let him fall over by accident."

"Yah!" cried the other man, making a grimace: "let him be. Here, young un, they won't hurt yer. You and me's old friends. But you must oblige me with them shoes, and that there nice warm jacket and clean shirt. Tain't had one for weeks. And I'll just trouble you for the powder and shot. Let him get up, mate. He won't try to run, because he knows I should have to wipe his head with this little nutcracker. Why don't you let him get up?—Yah! Quick! Look out!"

As the man spoke he swung round the gun and took aim at a figure which came rushing up. He drew trigger, but the hammer struck out a few sparks—that was all, for he had forgotten that it was not loaded.

What followed was very quickly done. Frank Mayne—for it was he—sprang at the savage ruffian who was holding Nic, and struck at him sidewise with the stout stick he held in his right hand. It did not seem much of a blow, but he delivered it in leaping through the air, just as a mounted soldier would direct a cut from his left.

The effect was wonderful: the man rolled over and over, and Nic sprang up, free to gaze after Mayne as he sprang at the other man.

The scoundrel struck at him savagely, and Nic heard the blow take effect. Then he had to fend for himself; for the man with the gun came on.

"Here," he cried: "out with that powder and shot, or—"

He raised the piece with both hands by the barrel, and swung it back as if to get force for a blow. But, boy as he was, Nic sprang at him.

"Give me my gun!" he cried, and he was too close in for the blow to have any effect, as he seized the fellow by the throat and clung to him with all his might.

But Nic's muscles were not yet hardened, and the man swung him round and round just as he liked, the boy gradually growing weaker; while, as he struggled, he saw with despair that Mayne was evidently getting the worse of it, for the man he had attacked partially disabled him at the first blow, and had now got his hand free and was striking brutally with the club.

Mayne evidently felt that he was beaten, but he clung to his adversary tenaciously, bore him backward with his hands fast at his throat, and, bending down his head to avoid the savage blows, he leaped forward so that he and the convict fell, the latter undermost.

"Joe, mate—quick!" roared the latter; and the big ruffian, who had now risen to his feet, stooped and picked up a piece of stone, raising it with both hands to bring it down on Mayne's head.

"Leather!" yelled Nic; "look out—look out!"

"Surrender!" roared a stern voice which sounded familiar, and the man with the stone paused for a moment to glance about like a wild beast. Then, seeing that he was surrounded by mounted police, who covered those present with their carbines, he hurled the stone with all force at the nearest man and made a rush to escape, when there were three puffs of smoke, three reports, and the convict tripped and fell.

Taking advantage of the smoke and excitement, Frank Mayne's adversary struck at him once more, and made a leap to escape, dragging the half-insensible assigned servant with him; but the grasp was too tenacious, and though he tried hard, Mayne held on to the end; only sinking back when a pair of handcuffs had secured the prisoner's hands behind his back.

"Now then, you with the gun there, surrender!" shouted the man who led the mounted police.

This to the convict who had confined his fighting to his struggle with Nic.

"'Course I do," said the man, making a grimace. "That young shaver's got all the powder and shot: where's the good of an empty gun? Here, ketch 'old. No, I forgot; it's yourn, young un. Well, how are you all?"

The police laughed as the man held out his hands for the irons.

"We've had a nice little 'scursion out here, only the nights was rather cold. Well, Mr Government clerk, you won't have a chance to pull your friend a topper now. How's old Joe? What, more company?"

This was accompanied by another distortion of the face, as two blacks came running up, followed by the doctor, the governor, Brookes, and Sir John's two men.

"Got them?" cried the governor.

"Yes, Sir John," said the leader of the police, whom Nic recognised now as the chief warder whom he had talked with during the voyage out; "but we had to shoot one of 'em down."

"Here, quick, 'fore he goes!" said Brookes to the warder, huskily. "Handcuffs," and he pointed to Mayne.

"Eh? What? Him?" said the warder. "Why, he helped to take one of 'em."

"Yes," cried Nic; "he was fighting to save me."

"I surrender," said Mayne faintly; "I'm satisfied now. Dr Braydon, I never told you I was an ill-used man, but did my work. Still, I told your son. Dominic, lad, Heaven is just. That handcuffed hound is my old fellow-clerk, for whose sins I have suffered all these years. There are miracles in life, for it fell to me to take him when he was escaping."

"After he had watched to take your life!" cried Nic. "He was waiting, you know where? There, Sir John—father, will you believe it now?"

The doctor had been kneeling by the fallen convict, roughly bandaging a bullet wound when, as he turned to rise, Frank Mayne struck him aside, and flung himself upon the wounded man.

The doctor turned fiercely upon Mayne, but the next moment he grasped the truth, just as a blow from the butt end of a musket struck the ruffian back; for as soon as the wound had been bandaged, the man had waited an opportunity to draw a knife and strike at him who had tried to assuage his pain.

In a short time the party was on its way back, the wounded convict borne upon a roughly made stretcher, and Frank Mayne walking with the warder, to Brookes's great disgust, for the doctor had said that he would answer for his not attempting to escape.

————————————————————————————————————

The next day the police rode off with their prisoners, taking with them a light waggon, in which the wounded convict was laid, Dr Braydon having said that he was in no danger. But Frank Mayne was not of the party, for Sir John had heard the simple tale.

"And that man was your fellow-clerk in the government office? Yes, I remember something about his coming out in the same ship as my wife. I remember the case, because he was the second man charged with embezzlement at this government office; and I remember, too, saying that matters must be badly managed there."

"Yes, he was my fellow-clerk, Sir John," said Mayne. "He was found out at last, but the time has seemed very long."

"And you say you were unjustly sentenced?"

"In Heaven's name, Sir John, I do. I was faithful to my trust."

"I believe you, Mayne," said the governor, looking at him keenly; "and there shall be a thorough investigation of your case. In the meantime, what I can do I will. You hear, Nic, for your sake as well as his, Mayne is free to go anywhere in the colony, and I will see that justice is done him in every way."

"Thank you, Sir John," said Mayne hoarsely; "it is more than I could expect on my bare assertion."

"Some bare assertions are better than oaths, eh, Braydon?" said Sir John. "What do you say?"

"I say that I have much forgiveness to ask of Mr Mayne: I ask it now of the man who saved my life."

There was silence for a few moments; for the doctor had held out his hand to Mayne, who stood looking at it with his lips quivering.

"I am only your assigned servant, sir," he said at last.

"Not now," said the doctor. "I was offering my hand to a brave man who has been misunderstood. I offer it, too, to my son's friend."

————————————————————————————————————

Nic looked dull the next day, but he brightened up when his father proposed that they should ride a part of the way with Mayne, who was going to take some despatches to Government House, where for the present he was to stay.

"You see, Nic, it will be better," the governor said. "The poor fellow would be miserable here with his old fellow-servants. So I have arranged for him to go and wait till I come. His story's true enough, and I shall see that everything is done for him before he goes back to England—to take his old position, I hope."

————————————————————————————————————

But Frank Mayne had no such ideas. England was dead to him, and he was content to stay. And to Nic's delight, his friend received a grant of land some ten miles away, close to the great gorge, where the boy spent all the time he could, watching the erection of the house by convict labour; for in this Mayne was helped largely by Sir john, while the doctor had become one of his firmest supporters.

Of course Frank Mayne had formed a very warm attachment to the lad, who had believed in him from the first; but Lady O'Hara used to laugh and joke, and say she knew, though she never said what it was she knew. Time, however, gave the explanation, about two years later Mayne had received a free pardon from his Majesty the King, "for suffering a great deal and nearly being driven mad," as Nic said.

But Frank Mayne said he was very happy and quite content, and we need not go into the causes of his content, especially since every one, from Lady O'Hara and Mrs Braydon downwards, was in the same way of thinking.

"Besides, Mr Mayne, it was worth it all, sure," said Lady O'Hara banteringly at the wedding. "Now don't you think so, Nic?"

"Of course I do?"

"Then that's right," cried the lady. "But tell me, Nic, how long is it since I brought you out?"

"I don't know," said Nic.

"Too busy; but about three years. Look at that now, and him grown quite a man."

"Yes," said the doctor, "farmer, cattle raiser, squatter."

"Yes," said Mayne, laying his hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "One of the first in the field, and my true friend."

THE END.