is mine, and I paid for a share of the
things in the cart."

"I'll allow you the vally of them and pay you on the spot, but we can't
go on together."

Suiting the action to the word, Mr. Stackpole handed over a handsome sum
of money.

"But I don't want to sell my revolver," repeated Fletcher. "What am I to
do out here alone, and unarmed."

"You'd better go back to your friend Larry Linton. He'll look out for
you."

"You will regret this high-handed proceeding!" exclaimed Fletcher
angrily.

"Maybe I shall, and maybe I shan't," answered Obed indifferently. "I'll
risk it."

Fletcher halted a moment as if undecided, then turned back, and was soon
out of sight.

CHAPTER VIII.

A VICTIM OF TREACHERY.

All the party felt relieved to be rid of Fletcher. Without being able to
prove anything against him, all believed him to be unworthy of
confidence. Now they were a united party, and whatever might be the
hardships of the trip they were ready to sympathize and co-operate with
each other.

They had already learned that it was no holiday trip they had
undertaken. The bogs have already been referred to. In addition the heat
was oppressive in the middle of the day. Then the numerous insects that
infest Australia--the ants, flies, and scorpions--were most troublesome.
They had to be very careful to avoid being bitten, for the bite of any
these is severe and dangerous. On the day succeeding their parting from
Fletcher they accomplished but six miles, the road being unusually
swampy.

"I feel about tuckered out," said Obed, about the middle of the
afternoon, just after he had extricated the team, by great personal
effort, from a morass. "If I'd 'a' known as much of the country before
startin' I wouldn't have started at all."

"It's a long road that has no ending," said Harry, smiling. He, too, was
very tired, but youth is hopeful.

"It's the worst country I ever travelled in, by a long shot. If I ever
make my pile, I'll take the first steamer back to Frisco."

"Who's that?" suddenly exclaimed Jack.

Obed and Harry, looking up, saw a forlorn-looking figure approaching
them. It was a man of middle age, and emaciated in appearance, looking
the image of despair. He tottered rather than walked, from exceeding
weakness.

"For Heaven's sake give me something to eat! I am almost famished," he
cried.

"Why, certainly, friend," answered Obed, rising and advancing to meet
the stranger. "We don't keep a first-class