s.'

Mr. Commissioner was not having much trouble; he came through the claims
like a monarch demanding obeisance and tribute, and the shouts of the
miners followed him. 'Jo!--Jo!--Jo!' The men made a sort of chorus of the
jibe. A fistful of wet pipe-clay thrown from the cover of a tip struck
the sergeant of troopers in the face, and he spurred his horse furiously
towards the spot. There was a rush of police and diggers, and a bit of a
melee resulted, but Sergeant Wallis received no satisfaction. Four or
five unlicensed diggers had been captured, luckless workers for whom
Fortune had spread no favours, and these were handed over to the mounted
police, who guarded them with drawn swords, accelerating their movements
with blows of the blade and not infrequent prickings, for the hatred in
which the diggers held the troopers was not more fierce than the
troopers' hatred for the men.

Done and Burton stood on the little hillock of mulluck about their shaft,
watching the course of events, when the Grand Serang rode at them. He was
a fine stamp of a man, and loved an effect in which he was the central
figure. It was becoming in a mere digger to make way for the horse of Mr.
Commissioner. Burton, however, stood his ground, the flush burning
through his tan, and, rather than give way an inch or be run down, raised
his hand and struck the noble nag of the big official on the nose with
his palm, with the result that the chestnut went up on his hind-legs,
pawing the air, and rattled down the tip on his heels, while the crowding
diggers, to whom any indignity inflicted upon a commissioner, however
trivial, was a joy and a solace, set up a shout of scornful laughter.

'What the devil, sir, do you mean by striking my horse?' thundered the
irascible McPhee.

'I don't care to be ridden down like a thieving dingo' replied Mike.

'Sergeant, search this impudent jackanapes, and if his license isn't
O.K., jam the beggar into the logs!'

At this point another handful of white clay was thrown from the back of
the crowd, and this time McPhee was the target. The clay struck hint in
the breast, and clung to his black cloth. Again there was a rush of
indignant and amazed under-strappers, and the Commissioner, crimson with
wrath, raised himself in his stirrups and shouted orders, the execution
of which it was beyond even his great power to enforce. They enjoined the
immediate precipitation of the offenders into the Bottomless Pit.

A diversi