unfortunate
trooper had been thrown from his horse and killed, or that he had been
murdered by his black subordinate, for the latter was never seen again
at the camp, and most of the diggers asserted that he had deserted to
the coastal blacks, where he would be safe from capture. When the body
was discovered a careful search was made for some gold which had
been entrusted to the policeman, but it could not be found; and this
confirmed the theory of the tracker being the murderer.

Then, nearly three months after, "Moses," as the black tracker was
named, walked into Somerset carrying his carbine and revolver, and told
another story, which was accepted by the authorities as true. The party
of miners whom he and the trooper visited, had complained of their
tent having been entered when they were absent at their claim, and some
hundreds of ounces of gold stolen. This was some weeks previously,
and heavy rain, since then, had obliterated all traces of the robbers'
tracks. The diggers, said Moses, then gave the trooper a bag of small
nuggets containing about fifty ounces, and asked him to take it to
Hansen's to await the monthly gold escort.

That night he and Moses camped near the boulders, and at daylight the
latter went after the horses, leaving the poor trooper asleep. Half
an hour later, he heard the sound of a shot, and saw three mounted men
galloping towards him. They halted when they saw him, and then all three
fired at him, but missed. Then they tried to head him off--he was on
foot--but he was too fleet, and after an hour's pursuit he gained some
wild country in the ranges, where he was, he thought, safe. Feeling
hungry as the morning went on, he penetrated a thick scrub in the hope
of finding a scrub turkey's nest. He did find one, and whilst engaged in
eating the eggs, was dealt a sudden blow from behind with a waddy, and
when he became conscious, found he had been captured by a wandering
tribe of mountain blacks. They did not treat him harshly, but kept a
strict watch on him for two months. One wild night, however, securing
his carbine and revolver, he managed to escape, and finally reached
Somerset.

"Hansen's," in addition to the several bark-roofed drinking shanties
of bad reputation, also possessed a combined public house and general
store, kept by a respectable old digger named Vale, who was doing a very
thriving business, the "Roan Pack-Horse Hotel" being much favoured by
the better class of men on the