ter
from their clothes, Gabbett's small eye, counting their number, missed
the stroke oar.

"Where's Cox?"

"The fool fell overboard," said Jemmy Vetch shortly. "He never had
as much sense in that skull of his as would keep it sound on his
shoulders."

Gabbett scowled. "That's three of us gone," he said, in the tones of a
man suffering some personal injury.

They summed up their means of defence against attack. Sanders and
Greenhill had knives. Gabbett still retained the axe in his belt. Vetch
had dropped his musket at the Neck, and Bodenham and Cornelius were
unarmed.

"Let's have a look at the tucker," said Vetch.

There was but one bag of provisions. It contained a piece of salt pork,
two loaves, and some uncooked potatoes. Signal Hill station was not rich
in edibles.

"That ain't much," said the Crow, with rueful face. "Is it, Gabbett?"

"It must do, any way," returned the giant carelessly.

The inspection over, the six proceeded up the shore, and encamped under
the lee of a rock. Bodenham was for lighting a fire, but Vetch, who,
by tacit consent, had been chosen leader of the expedition, forbade it,
saying that the light might betray them. "They'll think we're drowned,
and won't pursue us," he said. So all that night the miserable wretches
crouched fireless together.

Morning breaks clear and bright, and--free for the first time in ten
years--they comprehend that their terrible journey has begun. "Where are
we to go? How are we to live?" asked Bodenham, scanning the barren
bush that stretches to the barren sea. "Gabbett, you've been out
before--how's it done?"

"We'll make the shepherds' huts, and live on their tucker till we get
a change o' clothes," said Gabbett evading the main question. "We can
follow the coast-line."

"Steady, lads," said prudent Vetch; "we must sneak round yon sandhills,
and so creep into the scrub. If they've a good glass at the Neck, they
can see us."

"It does seem close," said Bodenham; "I could pitch a stone on to the
guard-house. Good-bye, you Bloody Spot!" he adds, with sudden rage,
shaking his fist vindictively at the Penitentiary; "I don't want to see
you no more till the Day o' Judgment."

Vetch divides the provisions, and they travel all that day until dark
night. The scrub is prickly and dense. Their clothes are torn, their
hands and feet bleeding. Already they feel out-wearied. No one pursuing,
they light a fire, and sleep. The second day they come to a sandy