ain as soon as we "got
stony," and they would see what they could do for us. This evidence of
sympathy gave me, at least, a feeling of confidence which I badly
needed.

We reached the Middle Camp; as we passed Tom Craddock's bar a stalwart,
bearded, and more or less inebriated digger came out with vociferous
welcome and insisted on our going in and drinking at his expense. In
the bar was a man I knew; seeing him had the effect of making me feel
more or less at home. We sat and rested for a few moments; then I got
hold of the idea that we were expected to stand return treat to our
host and his friends. In this I was, as it happened, quite mistaken.
Joe had no money whatever, so I had to pay. My capital was now reduced
to two shillings.

The man I met in the bar, whom I knew, told me that the friends I was
seeking had, a few days previously, moved down creek. We had passed
their camp without knowing it, a couple of miles back. Joe and I were
now dog-tired, so decided to go back to a warm nook we had noticed in a
kloof on the way up, and spend the night there. We reached this spot
just as night was falling, and "dossed" down. Fuel was plentiful, so we
made a lordly fire. We worked up our remaining meal into dampers and
cooked them in the ashes. We found there was enough tea left for two
brews; one of these we prepared at once. Then we filled our pipes with
some of the kind Australians' seasonable gift, and sat puffing in a
condition of mind that approached contentment.

It had been tacitly assumed that Joe and I were to be mates, although
nothing definite had been said on the subject. We conversed for a while
after supper; then silence fell upon us. I spoke several times to Joe,
but he did not answer. Just as I was wrapping myself in my blanket for
the night, Joe turned abruptly to me and said:

"Look here, I ain't your sort; you'll get a better mate. We'll shake
hands in the morning and say goodbye."

When I awoke in the grey dawn Joe had already risen, lit the fire,
packed his swag, and brewed our last pinch of tea in the billy.
We drank to each other's good fortune in silence. Then, after a
hand-press, Joe humped his swag and strode away, leaving me with
moistened eyes. I felt I had lost my only friend. I have foregathered
with much worse men than "Artful Joe."

Early that day I found my friends, some men I had known at Kimberley.
They agreed to allow me to work with them for my keep, my services then
not being