the young chief and his men were unused to the management of a
station in the new country; they had everything to learn, and at a
ruinous cost.

A number of young men bailed up the cows each morning, and put on the
leg ropes; then they sat on the top rails of the stockyard fence and
waited while the maids drew the milk. Dancer superintended the
labours of the men and the milkmaids. He sat in his office in a
corner of the stockyard, entering in his books the number of cattle
milked, and examining the state of their brands, which were daubed on
the hides with paint and brush. Some cheese was made, but it was not
of much account, and all the milk and butter were consumed on the
station.

At this time the blacks had quite recovered from the fright
occasioned by the discharge of the nine-pounder gun, and were again
often seen from the huts at the Old Port. Donald Macalister was sent
by his uncle, Lachlan Macalister, of Nuntin, to make arrangements for
shipping some cattle and sheep. The day before their arrival Donald
saw some blacks at a distance in the scrub, and without any
provocation fired at them with an old Tower musket, charged with
shot. The next day the drovers and shepherds arrived with the stock,
and drove them over Glengarry's bridge to a place between the Tarra
and Albert rivers, called the Coal Hole, afterwards occupied by
Parson Bean. there was no yard there, and the animals would require
watching at night; so Donald decided to send them back to Glengarry's
yards. Then he and the drovers and shepherds would have a pleasant
time; there would be songs and whisky, the piper would play, and the
men and maids would dance. The arrangement suited everybody. The
drovers started back with the cattle, Donald helped the shepherds to
gather the sheep, and put them on the way, and then he rode after the
cattle. The track led him past a grove of dense ti-tree, on the land
now known as the Brewery Paddock, and about a hundred yards ahead a
single blackfellow came out of the grove, and began capering about
and waving a waddy. Donald pulled up his horse and looked at the
black. He had a pair of pistols in the holsters of his saddle, but
he did not draw them: there was no danger from a blackfellow a
hundred yards off. But there was another behind him and much nearer,
who came silently out of the ti-tree and thrust a spear through
Donald's neck. The horse galloped away towards Glengarry's bridge.

When the dr