on was created by the sudden appearance of a new quarry. A slim
youth had darted from behind one of the piles of mullock, and was running
at full speed up the lead towards the head of the gully, followed by
three foot police.

'After him!' shouted McPhee.

A couple of troopers and two more foot police joined in the chase, but
the youngster was a good runner and very cunning. He kept to the mined
ground, where the troopers would certainly have broken their necks had
they put their horses after him, and springing like a wallaby he cleared
the holes, and darted in and out amongst the tips, to the utter confusion
of the lubberly and ill-conditioned pursuers. Straight up the lead he
ran, and now all the foot police were hunting him, while the troopers
rode along the right and the left of the gully to keep him from breaking
for the tents, or for Boulder Hill, where there were hiding places
amongst the big rocks and in the wombat-holes under them.

'Run him down!' shouted McPhee, furious after the indignities that had
been put upon his high office. 'Five pounds to the man who nabs him!'

The diggers shouted a grand chorus of encouragement to the lad, and added
a cry of contempt for Mr. Commissioner and all his horde. A number of the
men joined in the chase, to add to the confusion of the police. The rest,
crowded on the higher ground, formed a large audience, and a more
enthusiastic audience, or a more vociferous one for its size, had never
witnessed a sporting event in wide Australia. The excitement grew with
every successful trick of the runaway, and now he was leading his hunters
in and out amongst the claims at the gully's head, apparently quite
indifferent to the heat of the day or the stress of the chase. The miners
were giving the youth all the assistance they could by devising
hindrances for the police. Barrows, picks, shovels, buckets, and
hide-bags found their way under the legs of the pursuers, windlass-ropes
were stretched to trip them up, and preoccupied miners jostled them at
every turn, and endeavoured to detain them in argument.

Presently the prisoners, in the charge of three troopers, finding
attention diverted from them, seized the opportunity to make a bolt for
the hunted digger's haven of refuge, Boulder Hill, and the confusion of
tongues swelled to one rapturous howl at the sight. The unlicensed
diggers spread, running their best, and dodging smartly to avoid the
horses. One poor devil went down under