y now and then turning sharp back to his proper course.
Subsequent horse or camel men, having only a vague knowledge of the
direction of their destination, would be bound to follow the first tracks;
after these would come light buggies, spring-carts, drays, and heavy
waggons, until finally a deeply rutted and well-worn serpentine road
through the forest or scrub was formed, to be straightened in course of
time, as observant travellers cut off corners, and later by Government
surveyors and road-makers.

Prospectors were gradually "poking out," gold being found in all
directions in greater or less degree; but it was not until June, 1893,
that any find was made of more than passing interest. Curiously, this
great goldfield of Hannan's (now called Kalgoorlie) was found by the
veriest chance. Patrick Hannan, like many others, had joined in a
wild-goose chase to locate a supposed rush at Mount Yule--a mountain the
height and importance of which may be judged from the fact that no one was
able to find it! On going out one morning to hunt up his horses, he
chanced on a nugget of gold. In the course of five years this little
nugget has transformed the silent bush into a populous town of 2,000
inhabitants, with its churches, clubs, hotels, and streets of offices and
shops, surrounded by rich mines, and reminded of the cause of its
existence by the ceaseless crashing of mills and stamps, grinding out gold
at the rate of nearly 80,000 oz. per mouth.

Arriving one Sunday morning from our camp at the "Twenty-five," I was
astonished to find Coolgardie almost deserted, not even the usual "Sunday
School" going on. Now I am sorry to disappoint my readers who are not
conversant with miners' slang, but they must not picture rows of good
little children sitting in the shade of the gum-trees, to whom some
kind-hearted digger is expounding the Scriptures. No indeed! The miners'
school is neither more nor less than a largely attended game of
pitch-and-toss, at which sometimes hundreds of pounds in gold or notes
change hands. I remember one old man who had only one shilling between him
and the grave, so he told me. He could not decide whether to invest his
last coin in a gallon of water or in the "heading-school." He chose the
latter and lost . . . subsequently I saw him lying peacefully drunk under
a tree! I doubt if his intention had been suicide, but had it been he
could hardly have chosen a more deadly weapon than the whiskey of those
days