er for the members of Coleman's
gang, or the friends of Black Douglas, or any other rapscallion who
preferred stealing gold to seeking it.

On the day of their arrival at Jim Crow the mates pegged out a claim and
pitched their tent, which Mike had added to his swag. With the help of
Mrs. Ben Kyley, they had succeeded in depositing the larger part of their
earnings at Diamond Gully in a Melbourne bank, and now they were hampered
with no great responsibility in the way of riches. That night Jim and
Mike walked over the field, through the clustering tents, and Jim
discovered that what he had taken for a wild life at Diamond Gully was
peace itself compared with the devilment and disorder of a new field. Jim
Crow had opened well, the first discoveries were enormously rich, and the
restless diggers were pouring in from all quarters, and glare and
confusion and a babel of music and tongues rioted in the camp. Here,
again, Jim was struck with the untamed boyishness of the miners; their
levity was that of coarse, healthy children. 'Is it civilization that is
choking gaiety out of the souls of men?' he asked himself.

Done had a curious experience on the following day. He had gone to the
tent to light the fire, boil the billy, and prepare the mid-day meal, and
was carrying water from a convenient spring, when, in passing the tent of
their nearest neighbours, twin brothers named Peetree, the first
prospectors of Jim Crow, he was startled by a furious yell, more like the
howl of a madman than the cry of a sentient creature. Jim turned and
looked about. There was nobody within sight from whom the amazing sound
could have come, but as he stood the cry was repeated. Done set down his
billy, and, approaching the tent, peeped in. There was nobody there, but
again the wild cry rang out. He looked under the bunks, and then walked
round the tent, but discovered nothing to explain the mystery. He paused
dubiously, suspecting a trick, when for the fourth time he heard the
marrow-chilling scream, and this time so near that he sprang aside in
real alarm. Against the side of the tent, chocked to prevent its rolling,
was a barrel, brought to Jim Crow by the Peetrees to be cut into two
puddling-tubs, no doubt. Jim examined it suspiciously.

'Le' me out, yer swines! le' me out!' cried a shrill old voice, following
the words with a long dolorous howl, not unlike that of a moonstruck cur.

'Who the devil are you?' asked Done. 'What are you doing i