t the long spear followed them right under the waggon, and kept up the
annoyance, till, as if moved by the same impulse, the dogs charged back
together to the extent of their chains, and the black made a bound out
of the animals' reach.

The result was that when, after a final look round to see that nothing
had been left, the doctor gave the order to mount, the dogs were right
under the waggon, with their tongues out, tugging away at their chains
as sharply as if they had been born in Kamtschatka and belonged to
Eskimo.

"That's better," said the doctor, as Nic landed in his saddle without
making a show in imitation of vaulting ambition and seeming about to
fall over on the other side. "Down again, and mount."

Nic obeyed.

"That's worse," said the doctor. "Dismount. Now again!"

Nic dismounted, and mounted once more.

"Not so good as the first time, Nic. There, take your gun. Mind: never
do that! It's the worst of high treason to let your gun-muzzle point at
anybody."

"I beg pardon, father."

"Granted, on condition that you are more careful for the future," said
the doctor, springing into his seat in a way that excited his son's
envy.

"Shall I try again, father?"

"No; it will only fidget your horse. Come along. What a glorious
morning! We'll take a sweep round, and meet the waggon three or four
miles on."

The sun was now up, and sending its brilliant rays horizontally beneath
the great trees, making every branch and leaf glow; and, as Nic's nag
paced gently along, the boy felt as if he were riding upon the glorious
elastic air. He felt very little of the stiffness, only a bit sore
inside the knees, where they were pressed against the saddle.

As they passed in among the trees the waggon was soon lost to sight, and
Nic glanced again and again in its direction.

"Afraid we shan't find our way back to the waggon?" said his father.

"I was thinking something of the kind," avowed Nic.

"Ah, that is a great danger away in the bush, and you may as well know
it; but we could not go very far now without finding a track or some
station."

"A police station?"

"No, no," said the doctor, smiling. "We have police here--mounted
police--to look after the convicts and mind they don't escape; but we
call farmhouses-squatters' places--stations here. Our home--Blue
Mountain Bluff; as we named it--is called a station by my neighbours."

"Then you have neighbours, father?"

"Oh yes, a few miles awa