In due time the dinner was dished up; and the old man seated himself on
a block, with the lid of a gin-case across his knees for a table. Five
Bob squatted opposite with the liveliest interest and appreciation
depicted on his intelligent countenance.

Dinner proceeded very quietly, except when the carver paused to ask the
dog how some tasty morsel went with him, and Five Bob's tail declared
that it went very well indeed.

"Here y'are, try this," cried the old man, tossing him a large piece of
doughboy. A click of Five Bob's jaws and the dough was gone.

"Clean into his liver!" said the old man with a faint smile. He washed
up the tinware in the water the duff had been boiled in, and then, with
the assistance of the dog, yarded the sheep.

This accomplished, he took a pick and shovel and an old sack, and
started out over the ridge, followed, of course, by his four-legged
mate. After tramping some three miles he reached a spur, running out
from the main ridge. At the extreme end of this, under some gum-trees,
was a little mound of earth, barely defined in the grass, and indented
in the centre as all blackfellows' graves were.

He set to work to dig it up, and sure enough, in about half an hour he
bottomed on payable dirt.

When he had raked up all the bones, he amused himself by putting them
together on the grass and by speculating as to whether they had belonged
to black or white, male or female. Failing, however, to arrive at any
satisfactory conclusion, he dusted them with great care, put them in the
bag, and started for home.

He took a short cut this time over the ridge and down a gully which was
full of ring-barked trees and long white grass. He had nearly reached
its mouth when a great greasy black goanna clambered up a sapling from
under his feet and looked fightable.

"Dang the jumpt-up thing!" cried the old man. "It 'gin me a start!"

At the foot of the sapling he espied an object which he at first
thought was the blackened carcass of a sheep, but on closer examination
discovered to be the body of a man; it lay with its forehead resting on
its hands, dried to a mummy by the intense heat of the western summer.

"Me luck's in for the day and no mistake!" said the shepherd, scratching
the back of his head, while he took stock of the remains. He picked up
a stick and tapped the body on the shoulder; the flesh sounded like
leather. He turned it over on its side; it fell flat on its back like a
board, a