e not looking the right way. Try again."

"Yes, I see now. What is it? A spark?"

"Of daylight. We are nearly through."

Nic's heart throbbed. He felt as if a huge load had been taken off his
brain; a thrill ran through him, and he stepped on briskly, with the
faint light ahead rapidly growing brighter. Five minutes later they
could see the golden glow of sunshine, and in another minute they were
wading in deeper water at the bottom of a vast rift overhung by the
ferns which grew on the ledges higher and higher. The next minute they
stepped out into broad daylight on the sides of the deep cleft, and in a
short time, after some sharp climbing, they were at the bottom of the
mighty gorge, with Nic shading his aching eyes.

"My little kingdom, Nic," said the convict. "Welcome to my savage
home!"

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

CASTLES IN THE AIR.

"Don't try to find any more adjectives, boy," said the convict about an
hour later. "Be content with beautiful. That's what it is."

They were sitting in front of a loosely made bark gunyah, bare-footed,
and with their shoes and well-worn stockings placed upon a scorching
sheet of rock to dry. The wallet was empty, for they had made a hearty
meal; after which Nic had been piling up all the words he could think of
to express his admiration for the valley shut in by those tremendous
walls, or his delight with the beauty and novelty of the place.

The troubles of his life seemed to have dropped from the convict, who
laughed and talked as if he were a dozen years younger, and free from
care. The hard, bitter look had gone from his eyes, and he entered with
boyish zest into the proposals his young companion made.

"Oh yes," he cried, "we must have plenty of shooting and fishing. How
many birds have you collected and skinned?"

"Two," said Nic, making a grimace. "I've been so busy."

"Never mind; you can come here and shoot. I'll skin for you, and you
can get a fine collection."

"Birds ought to be plentiful here."

"They swarm," said the convict. "You can get the beautiful lyre bird,
with its wonderful curved tail. I can show you the bower birds' nests,
with their decorations. Then there is that beautiful purply black kind
of crow--the rifle bird they call it. As to the parrots and cockatoos,
they are in flocks."

"The kangaroos are plentiful enough, too, seemingly."

"Herds of them, from the little wallaby rats right up to the red old
men."

"And