er crib outside their tents performing
the laundress's office, usually astride a log, on which 'the wash' was
spread to be alternately splashed and soaped and rubbed. Saturday was the
great 'settling day,' too. If there were any differences to be fought
out, or any disputes requiring the nice adjustment of the prize-ring,
they were almost in variably made fixtures for Saturday afternoon.

For a month past Aurora had forcibly taken over the mates' washing, and
as they were well-disciplined batchers who performed their domestic
duties effectually from day to day, for them Saturday afternoon was
really a holiday; and on this particular afternoon they were sitting in
the open, sunning themselves, and talking with the Prodigal of the latest
news from Ballarat, where the leaders of the diggers' cause were
agitating resolutely for alterations in the mining laws and reform of the
Constitution, when a party of about twenty men approached them from the
direction of Forest Creek. The party halted at a distance of about fifty
yards, and after a short conference two of the men came on.

'Hello!' said Mike, 'here's trouble.'

'Five ounces to a bone button they are looking for fight, added the
Prodigal.

'Good day, mates!' The foremost of the two strangers greeted them with
marked civility, and the friends replied in kind. 'One of you is the man
that beat Pete Quigley, we're told.'

'This is Jim Done,' said Mike, giving an informal introduction,
indicating Jim with the toss of a pebble.

'Glad to know you,' the other said, with some show of deference. 'Fact
is, we've got a man here who's willing to fight you for anything you care
to mention up to fifty pounds.'

'What!' cried Done in amazement.

'Oh, quite friendly, and all that. He hasn't anything against you.'

'Confound his cheek! Does he--do you think I've nothing better to do than
to offer myself to be thumped by every blackguardly bruiser who comes
along?'

'Softly, mate; no need for hard names. We come here as sportsmen, making
you a fair offer, thinking, perhaps, you'd be glad of a bit of a rough-up
this fine day.'

'Then you can go to the devil!' said Jim, laughing in spite of himself.

'You won't fight?'

'I will not. I'm no fighting man. I only fight when forced, and then with
a bad grace, I can assure you.'

The two men looked quite pathetic in their disappointment as they turned
to rejoin their companions.

'Well, of all the outrageous--' gasped Jim.