href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@44369@[email protected]#in-and-about-the-camp">In and About the Camp

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

With incredible difficulty Yellow Billy managed to pass his whip thong twice round the brute's neck (missing from book) . . . Frontispiece

Suddenly the Forest Monarch topples, lurches, staggers and falls with a mighty crash

The neighbours saw, far out on the wild, wreckage-strewn waters, a tiny boat with four slight figures

The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring

Retreating one moment and advancing the following, uttering war-cries

The huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in a circle

"We've struck it rich, I do believe," cried the stockman

Behind the lantern came a voice that more than the lantern, or even pistol, cowed them: "*Stop! Hands up!*" (missing from book)

The grey gums by the lonely creek

The star-crowned height,

The wind-swept plain, the dim blue peak,

The cold white light,

The solitude spread near and far

Around the camp-fire's tiny star,

The horse-bell's melody remote,

The curlew's melancholy note,

Across the night.

 

GEORGE ESSEX EVANS

PALS

CHAPTER I

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

"Happy season of virtuous youth, when shame is still an impassable barrier, and the sacred air cities of hope have not shrunk into the mean clay hamlets of reality; and man by his nature is yet infinite and free."—CARLYLE.

"Comin' over to-night, Tom?"

"By jings! I'd like to, Joe, but dad said this morning he was going to shell corn to-night. You know what that means. What's on?"

"Oh! Sandy's stayin' in for the night; so I thought of gettin' Jimmy Flynn an' Yellow Billy so's we could have bushrangers, an' stick up the coach by moonlight. If they can't come, Sandy an' I'll go 'possumin' in the slaughter-house paddock."

"I say! what a jolly lark the bushranging'd be. How'd you manage it, Joe?"

"We've planned that out all right. We'd get Jimmy Flynn's billy-goat cart an' the billies. He'd be mailman, an' it'd be gold-escort day. Yellow Billy'd be the trooper; he's got a pistol, you know. He'd ride the roan steer he's broken in. Then you, Sandy, an' I'd be Ben Bolt's gang. We'd do a plant in a lonely spot along the road an' surprise 'em. I'd tackle Billy, you'd look after Jimmy, Sandy 'd collar the mailbags and gold boxes, and then scoot with the loot. I think it'd be better to shoot Billy, so's to make it a bit more real; that's what Ben Bolt'd do."

"But, Joe, where'd we get the guns?"

"I'd get father's. You'd have to make believe with a nulla-nulla. We could stick a boomerang in our belts, it'd look like pistols in the dark."

"But I say, Joe, ole chap, you wouldn't really shoot Billy?" said Tom in a tone that savoured both of fear and scepticism.

"You're a precious muff, Hawkins! I was just kidding you. No, you stupid, it's all gammon. The noise the powder 'll make 'll scare the seven senses outer Billy."

"By golly! it'll be crummie enough. Put it off till to-morrow, Joe, an' I'll come."

"Can't be done, my boy. Sandy'll not be here, for one thing. Besides, I have to pull father down to Yallaroi Bend to-morrow. It's his service night there. Sorry you can't come, Tom. We'll have to do our best without you."

"Oh Moses! to think that I can't join!" groaned Tom. "Look here, Joe, I—I'll do a sneak. I'll be here somehow, you may bet your Sunday breeks," continued the eager lad, as he stepped into the little "flat-bottom" boat which had brought him over.

"Joe!" he shouted when he had rowed some distance from the shore. "I'll give a cooee if I can get, an' two cooees if the way's blocked. So don't start till you