rich auriferous country, as was the case in this instance. And his
surmise was correct, for Aulain was working madly to become rich and win
Kate, and had no thought of aught else.

"Here are the mangoes, Mary," said Gerrard, as two hours after leaving
their camp under the great Leichhardt tree, the party drew rein before
a grove of fifty or more of the beautiful trees; "these escaped the big
fire. See, the clusters of fruit are almost ripe. In another week or so
they will be fit to eat, and then you'll see all the winged insects and
the 'bitiest' ants in the universe here in millions, feeding upon them.
The niggers like them too. About four years ago a mob of myalls came
here and stripped every tree, and I did not mind it very much. But two
days after that, they killed and ate two of my stockmen, and Inspector
Aulain gave them a terrible punishment."

He stood up in his saddle, broke off a cluster of the reddening fruit,
and tossed them to Jim. "Put them in your saddle pouch, Jim, and when
we get home wrap them in a piece of damp blanket; they'll be ripe in a
couple of days. Now, come on, Lizzie, we can ride along the beach for
another five miles. I want to show you the old Dutch ship buried in the
sand. Some day I mean to dig her out, and find millions of treasure--eh,
Jim? Like the storybooks, you know."

And then, as the first red glories of the nearing sunset spread its
blades of softened fire upon the sleeping waters of the Gulf, they
cantered along the hard, yellow sand.

CHAPTER XXIV

Summer had come and gone, and come again before Gerrard received a visit
from Aulain. Early one scorching, hot morning, however, he rode up to
the station, leading a pack-horse, and found his friend busy in the
branding yard with Jim, and some white and aboriginal stockmen. Gerrard
was delighted to see him, and at once ceased his work of branding
calves.

"Come to the house, Aulain. My sister will be so pleased to see you.
Jim, take Mr Aulain's horses to the stable, give them a wash down, and
then turn them out into the river bank paddock."

"No, don't do that, Gerrard," said Aulain; "I can't stay for the night.
I want to push on to--to"--he hesitated a moment,--"towards Black Bluff
Creek."

"Nonsense, man! It's ninety miles from here, and you can't get there
before to-morrow night, although your horse looks pretty fit for
another twenty miles or so. What is the earthly use of your camping out
to-night? I'll take it