gh to-day,' he said. 'You'll find water just over
that rise there. I'll light the fire.'

'So you've been over this part before,' said Jim, unstrapping the billy
from his mate's swag.

'No; this is new country to me.'

'Then, how do you know I shall find water beyond that hillock?'

''Pon my soul, I don't know why I know,' Mike answered; 'but I'll wager
my share of our first tub it's there.'

Jim found the water. There was a water-hole in a small creek at the spot
indicated. His mate's knowledge of things about him in the Bush, things
unseen and unheard, had seemed uncanny at first; he was getting used to
it now. Mike was born in the Bush, and the greater part of his life had
been spent in it. He knew it as thoroughly as its familiar animals did,
and much in the same way, without being aware of his knowledge, which was
mainly instinctive. The billy was on the blazing fire, and Done sat
watching Mike smartly mixing a damper in the lid. To Jim this, too, was a
wonderful accomplishment. Water and flour were deftly manipulated until a
ball of dough that quite filled the small lid resulted. It was done with
the cleanness and quickness of a conjuring trick. The dough was divided
into two pats, to be cooked under the hot ashes. Then Mike improvised his
wire grid again, and in a few minutes the steak he had carried in a
dilly-bag from Miner's Rest was sizzling and spitting over the embers.

Done's admiration for his mate was growing rapidly. Mike looked like a
model in new copper, kneeling by the fire, his face thrown back,
reflecting the glow of the flame in the surrounding dusk. Jim realized
what had gone to the making of that hard, lean frame, and, proud as he
was of his own strength, envied the other his endurance. He knew that
Burton had been making concessions to him throughout their journey, that
he could have walked miles further in the time without fatigue, carrying
his swag as jauntily as if it were a butterfly poised on his back. His
boyish exuberance of manner when stirred was in direct contrast to the
quiet assurance with which he went about ordinary affairs. He was never
in difficulties, never at a loss; the Bush was his living-room, bedroom,
and larder. He had already shown himself independent of what the stores
could provide when a meal was wanted. Mike might have been a pink Adonis
in another climate and under other conditions; his gray eyes and fair
moustache were in almost ludicrous contrast with his tan