. They split and took across towards the Mountain Hut, where
you all camped with the horses. I didn't see 'em; but I cut their
tracks. Five shod horses. They might be here to-morrow.'

A bush telegraph ain't a bad thing. They're not all as good as Billy the
Boy. But the worst of 'em, like a bad sheep dog, is a deal better than
none.

A bush telegraph, you see, is mostly worked about the neighbourhood he
was born in. He's not much good anywhere else. He's like a blackfellow
outside of his own 'tauri'. He's at sea. But within twenty or thirty
miles of where he was born and bred he knows every track, every range,
every hill, every creek, as well as all the short cuts and by-roads. He
can bring you miles shorter than any one that only follows the road. He
can mostly track like a blackfellow, and tell you whether the cattle or
horses which he sees the tracks of are belonging to his country or are
strangers. He can get you a fresh horse on a pinch, night or day, for
he knows everybody's paddocks and yards, as well as the number, looks,
pace, and pluck of everybody's riding horses--of many of which he has
'taken a turn' out of--that is, ridden them hard and far, and returned
them during the night. Of course he can be fined--even imprisoned for
this--when he is caught in the act. Herein lies the difficulty. I felt
like another man after a wash, a nip, and a real good meal, with the two
girls sitting close by, and chattering away as usual.

'Do you know,' says Bella, 'it half serves you right. Not that that Port
Phillip woman was right to peach. She ought to have had her tongue torn
out first, let alone go open-mouthed at it. But mightn't you have come
down here from the Turon on Sundays and holidays now and then, and had a
yarn with us all?'

'Of course we ought, and we deserve to be kicked--the lot of us; but
there were good reasons why we didn't like to. We were regularly boxed
up with the diggers, nobody knew who we were, or where we came from, and
only for this Jezebel never would have known. If we'd come here they'd
have all dropped that we were old friends, and then they'd have known
all about us.'

'Well, I'm glad you've lost your characters,' says Maddie. 'You won't
have to be so particular now, and you can come as often as Sir Ferdinand
will let you. Good-bye. Billy's waving his hat.'

It wasn't long before I was in the saddle and off again. I'd made a
bit of a bargain with Jonathan, who sold me a pair of riding