the river and the noise
they made was deafening. But we must hurry up, lad, shift our traps a
bit back into the scrub and up with the tent. Then we'll come back and
have a look at the fish, and get some for breakfast."

The two hardy prospectors (for such they were) were old and experienced
bushmen, and soon had their tent up, and their saddles, blankets and
guns and provisions under its shelter, just as the first low muttering
of thunder hushed the squealing opossums overhead into silence. But, as
it died away, the noise of the myriad mullet sounded nearer and nearer
as they swam steadily onward up the river.

Ten minutes passed, and then a heavy thunder-clap shook the mighty trees
and echoed and re-echoed among the spurs and gullies of the coastal
range twenty miles away; another and another, and from the now leaden
sky the rain fell in torrents and continued to pour unceasingly for
an hour. Inside the tent the men sat and smoked and waited Then the
downfall ceased with a "snap," the sky cleared as if by magic, revealing
the stars now paling before the coming dawn, and the cries of birds
resounded through the dripping bush.

Picking up a prospecting dish the elder man told his "mate" that it
was time to start. Louder than ever now sounded the noise made by the
densely packed masses of fish, and as the rays of the rising sun, aided
by a gentle air, dispelled the river mist, the younger man gave a gasp
of astonishment when they reached the bank and he looked down--from
shore to shore the water was agitated and churned into foam showing a
broad sheet of flapping fins and tails and silvery scales. So close were
the fish to the bank and so overcrowded that hundreds stranded upon the
sand.

The big man stepped down, picked up a dozen and put them into the dish;
then he and his companion sat on the bank and watched the passage of the
thousands till the last of them had rounded a bend of the river and the
waters flowed silently once more.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Call Of The South, by Louis Becke

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