speed. When he looked in the glass, he found his lip so much swelled
that his moustache stuck out in front like the bowsprit of a ship. At
breakfast he joined the Englishman, who had an eye with as many colours
as an opal, not to mention a tired look and dusty boots.

"Are you only just up?" asked Charlie, as they contemplated each other.

Carew had resumed his mantle of stolidity, but he coloured a little at
the question. "I've been out for a bit of a walk round town," he said.
"Fact is," he added in a sudden burst of confidence, "I've been all
over town lookin' for that place where we were last night. Couldn't find
anything like it at all."

Charlie laughed at his earnestness. "Oh, bother the place," he said. "If
you had found it, there wouldn't have been any of them there. Now, about
ourselves--we can't show out like this. We'd better be off to-day, and
no one need know anything about it. Besides, I half-killed a waiter
this morning. I thought he was some chap stealing my money, when he only
wanted to take my clothes away to brush 'em. Sooner we're out of town
the better. I'll wire to the old man that I've taken you with me."

So saying, they settled down to breakfast, and by tacit agreement
avoided the club for the rest of the day.

Before leaving, Charlie had to call and interview Pinnock, and left
Carew waiting outside while he went in. He didn't want to parade their
injuries, and knew that Carew's eye would excite remark; but by keeping
his upper lip well drawn over his teeth, he hoped his own trouble would
escape notice.

"Seems a harmless sort of chap, that new chum," said Pinnock.

"He'll do all right," said Charlie casually. "I've met his sort before.
He's not such a fool as he lets on to be. Shouldn't wonder if he killed
somebody before he gets back here, anyhow."

"How did you get on at the dancing saloon?" asked Pinnock.

"Oh, slow enough. Nothing worth seeing. Good-bye."

They sneaked on board the steamer without meeting the Bo'sun or anybody,
and before evening were well on their way to No Man's Land.

CHAPTER IV. THE OLD STATION.

There are few countries in the world with such varieties of climate
as Australia, and though some stations are out in the great, red-hot,
frying wastes of the Never-Never, others are up in the hills where a hot
night is a thing unknown, where snow falls occasionally, and where it is
no uncommon thing to spend a summer's evening by the side of a roaring