be the boss of Barren Valley when I come back.' After that
he went West and starved a bit in the Australian desert till the cattle
episode had had time to blow over. Then--it's nearly two years ago
now--he came back. The first person he ran into was--Fletcher Hill,
the policeman."

He paused with that dramatic instinct which was surely part-secret of his
fascination. He had caught the full attention of the crowd, and held them
spellbound.

In a moment he went on. "That gave him an idea. Hill, of course, was
after other game by that time and didn't spot him. Hill was a magistrate
and a civil power at Wallacetown. So Bill went to him, knowing he was
straight, anyway, and told him about the gold in Barren Valley,
explaining, bold as brass, that he couldn't run the show himself for lack
of money. Boys, it was a rank speculation, but Hill was a sport. He
caught on. He came to Barren Valley, and they tinkered round together,
and they found gold. That same night they came upon the smugglers,
too--only escaped running into them by a miracle. Hill didn't say much.
He's not a talker. But after they got back to Wallacetown he made an
offer to Buckskin Bill which struck him as being a very sporting
proposition for a policeman. He said, 'If you care to take on Barren
Valley and make an honest concern of it, I'll get the grant and do the
backing. The labour is there,' he said, 'but it's got to be honest labour
or I won't touch it.' It was a sporting offer, boys, and, of course, Bill
jumped. And so a contract was drawn up which had to be signed. And
'What's your name?' said Fletcher Hill." Warden suddenly began to laugh.
"On my oath, he didn't know what to say, so he just caught at the first
honest-sounding name he could think of. 'Fortescue,' he said. Hill didn't
ask a single question. 'Then that mine shall be called the Fortescue Gold
Mine,' he said. 'And you'll work it and make an honest man's job of it.'
It was a pretty big undertaking, but it sort of appealed to Buckskin
Bill, and he took it on. The only real bad mistake he made was when he
trusted Harley. Except for that, the thing worked--and worked well.
The smuggling trade isn't what it was, eh, boys? That's because
Fortescue--and Fletcher Hill--are using up the labour for the mine. And
you may hate 'em like hell, but you can't get away from the fact that
this mine is run fair and decent, and there isn't a man here who doesn't
stand a good chance of making his fortune if he