work for a man who has
nothing to do. The recuperative powers of the Australian bushman are
wonderful. It is only men of the toughest fibre and the stoutest heart
who can live in the central deserts, and when one of these is overtaken
by sickness or disaster, he never stops fighting, and wins through in
the shortest possible time. There comes a day, however, when it is not
possible to win through, and the brave man dies fighting, and the sand
gradually covers up the body of yet another pioneer.

Dorrity was what is called a "hatter". He had lived for long periods
in the north absolutely alone; at other times his only companions had
been blacks. Too much of this sort of life is not good for a man.
Moreover, the deadly monotony of Pat's life was broken at long
intervals by the most violent sprees, when he drank steadily for three
weeks on end, finishing the bout by several days of delirium tremens.
None but the strongest constitution could stand such treatment time
after time, and though the Irishman's tough body had not yet shown any
signs of breaking up under the strain, his mind was liable to fits of
moodiness which amounted almost to madness. Such a man is not rare in
Central Australia, and he goes by the name of "hatter".

After Boss Stobart's last visit to Tumurti Station, when Pat and he had
arranged for the trip to the Musgraves in search of gold, the old cook
had been attacked by fits of moodiness which he could not shake off.
He could not rid his mind of the thought that his friend the drover was
going to defraud him of his share in the gold-mine. He blamed himself
for telling anybody about it, and at last worked himself up into such a
state that he set out, alone except for an old horse, to go to the
Musgrave Ranges. The men on Tumurti Station were used to Pat's sudden
comings and goings, and took them as a matter of course and did not
inquire what he intended to do. He would not have told them if they
had asked, for his feeble mind was set on reaching the supposed mine
before the men whom he thought were going to rob him of it.

It was some weeks after he had started out from Tumurti with the old
horse that Boss Stobart had found him perishing in a clump of mulgas.
When he recovered, under the drover's kind and wise treatment the
hatter mood had left him for a time.

The party travelled on slowly from the Box water-hole for several days,
still keeping the high mass of the Musgrave Ranges in front