azy side of the fire
and a fig of the best tobacco when he bails up a camp as the Cadi did
ours. Stewart Ruttan, the Cadi, was the new magistrate at Windowie and
Gilgan, which stand for a huge section of the Carpentaria country. He
was now on his way to Gilgan to try some cases there. He was a new chum,
though he had lived in Australia for years. As Barlas said, he'd been
kept in a cultivation-paddock in Sydney and Brisbane; and he was now
going to take the business of justice out of the hands of Heaven and
its trusted agents the bushmen, and reduce the land to the peace of the
Beatitudes by the imposing reign of law and summary judgments. Barlas
had just said as much, though in different language.

I knew by the way that Barlas dropped the damper on the hot ashes and
swung round on his heel that he was in a bad temper. "And so you think,
Cadi," said he, "that we squatters and bushmen are a strong, murderous
lot; that we hunt down the Myalls--[Aborigines]--like kangaroos or
dingoes, and unrighteously take justice in our own hands instead of
handing it over to you?"

"I think," said the Cadi, "that individual and private revenge
should not take the place of the Courts of Law. If the blacks commit
depredations--"

"Depredations!" interjected Drysdale with sharp scorn.

"If they commit depredations and crimes," the Cadi continued, "they
should be captured as criminals are captured elsewhere and be brought in
and tried. In that way respect would be shown to British law and--" here
he hesitated slightly, for Barlas's face was not pleasant to see--"and
the statutes."

But Barlas's voice was almost compassionate as he said: "Cadi, every
man to his trade, and you've got yours. But you haven't learned yet that
this isn't Brisbane or Melbourne. You haven't stopped to consider how
many police would be necessary for this immense area of country if you
are really to be of any use. And see here,"--his face grew grim and
dark, "you don't know what it is to wait for the law to set things right
in this Never Never Land. There isn't a man in the Carpentaria and Port
Darwin country but has lost a friend by the cowardly crack of a waddy
in the dead of night or a spear from behind a tree. Never any fair
fighting, but red slaughter and murder--curse their black hearts!"
Barlas gulped down what seemed very like a sob.

Drysdale and I knew how strongly Barlas felt. He had been engaged to be
married to a girl on the Daly River, and a wee