ne another as they fly over the yard, and know
it's fresh air and sun and green grass outside that I never shall see
again. Never see the river rippling under the big drooping trees, or
the cattle coming down in the twilight to drink after the long hot day.
Never, never more! And whose fault is it? Who have I to blame? Perhaps
father helped a bit; but I knew better, and no one is half as much to
blame as myself.

Where were we? Oh, at the cave-mouth, coming out with our bridles in our
hands to catch our horses. We soon did that, and then we rode away to
the other cattle. They were a queer lot, in fine condition, but all
sorts of ages and breeds, with every kind of brand and ear-mark.

Lots of the brands we didn't know, and had never heard of. Some had
no brands at all--full-grown beasts, too; that was a thing we had very
seldom seen. Some of the best cattle and some of the finest horses--and
there were some real plums among the horses--had a strange brand, JJ.

'Who does the JJ brand belong to?' I said to father. 'They're the pick
of the lot, whose ever they are.'

Father looked black for a bit, and then he growled out, 'Don't you ask
too many questions, lad. There's only four living men besides yourselves
knows about this place; so take care and don't act foolishly, or you'll
lose a plant that may save your life, as well as keep you in cash for
many a year to come. That brand belongs to Starlight, and he was the
only man left alive of the men that first found it and used it to put
away stock in. He wanted help, and told me five years ago. He took in a
half-caste chap, too, against my will. He helped him with that last lot
of cattle that you noticed.'

'But where did those horses come from?' Jim said. 'I never hardly saw
such a lot before. All got the JJ brand on, too, and nothing else; all
about three year old.'

'They were brought here as foals,' says father, 'following their
mothers. Some of them was foaled here; and, of course, as they've only
the one brand on they never can be claimed or sworn to. They're from
some of Mr. Maxwell's best thoroughbred mares, and their sire was Earl
of Atheling, imported. He was here for a year.'

'Well, they might look the real thing,' said Jim, his eyes brightening
as he gazed at them. 'I'd like to have that dark bay colt with the star.
My word, what a forehand he's got; and what quarters, too. If he can't
gallop I'll never say I know a horse from a poley cow.'

'You shall