of them and the heat of
the fire. I don't like the fire too hot. We'll have a look at these
in about a quarter of an hour."

At the end of that time the top of the pile of ashes had begun to crack
here and there with the upward pressure of the rising Johnny-cakes.
Mick scooped one of them out from the edge. It was brown and hard on
the outside, with a most appetizing smell, and a soft ring round it
where the top had pulled away, just like the top on a loaf of bread.
To the boy's surprise, the cakes were quite clean, and a few flicks
with a wisp of leaves left them as free from sand or ashes as if they
had been baked in an oven. Mick tapped the cake with his knuckles.
"Another couple of minutes won't hurt," he said.

Presently the distant sound of a jangling stock-bell was heard, and a
few minutes later the horses came into camp, lead by an old black mare
who carried a bell, and driven by the four black boys riding bareback.
Everything was bustle for a few minutes. The horses were again hobbled
to prevent them from straying, and then the men all settled down to
breakfast. Vaughan usually took charge of the tea. Directly a
quart-pot came to the boil, he tipped in some sugar and a pinch of tea,
and moved the pot away from the fire. Sax superintended the tucker--a
slab of damper, or a Johnny-cake, and a chunk of salt meat for each
man. These are the bush rations year in and year out: meat, damper,
and tea. Breakfast was eaten quickly, and then the pack-bags were
weighted evenly and fastened up, horses caught and saddled, a final
look given round the camp to see that nothing was left behind, and the
three white men set out in a certain direction with no track and with
no guidance of any kind except that of the sun, followed at once by the
plant of horses driven by the blacks.

All day they rode, silent for the most part, but occasionally Mick
would answer a question as to a tree, a strange track, or a feature on
the horizon. No other living thing was seen hour after hour, save a
solitary eagle high in the air, a few lizards darting about the clumps
of porcupine grass, and ants and flies. These latter pests are the
curse of the back country. The weather was hot. That day and on
several others one hundred and thirty degrees was reached, and even
that temperature was exceeded now and then over sandhills and plains
which quivered in the heat. But the boys would not have minded the
heat if the flies had only le