We thought of striking across to the central ranges of South Australia to prospect the ruby formations there, but we found, when we reached the end of the broken ground, that our course lay through a belt of soft sand in which our wheels sank over the rims; and having neither sufficient water nor stores to risk walking for an unknown distance, we were forced to abandon the attempt. On the afternoon of the third day we started on the back track, and that night camped on the Ana pool. We made our old camp by the "soak" the next night, and at noon, the day following, struck the camps of those of our comrades who had gone dry-blowing.

"Well, mates, don't worry. It doesn't matter anyhow, for we'll git it some day, if we doesn't peg out," was the general comment when they had heard our story; and then the billy was boiled.

I was much surprised to see that gold was present in the sands of the desert; and even although the quantity was small, and only in patches widely apart, the fact afforded much food for thought. The process of dry-blowing adopted by the men was extremely simple, consisting of dropping the sand from one pan raised above the head to another resting on the ground, then reversing the positions of the pans and repeating the operation. In action, most of the sand and other light material was carried away or diverted by the wind; but the gold—if any—in accordance with the law of gravitation, dropped straight. When the bulk was thus reduced until only the precious metal and the heavier ironstones were left, the contents were put aside, and another panful proceeded with in the same manner. Finally the collected matter was thrown on an improvised inclined plane that had bars of wood fastened across its surface. In rolling down, the ironstone pebbles cleared these ripples and fell to the ground; but the gold, being too heavy to do likewise, was caught in the angles, and afterwards carefully removed by the operator. The work was very slow and laborious, and often attended with very disappointing results. "But," said Dead-broke Peter, while explaining this to me, "we sometimes strike a patch that pays well."

"Can you explain why there is any gold here?" I asked. "There are no auriferous reefs which could shed it nearer than eight hundred miles, and, according to all geologists, the entire desert is the deposit of the ocean."

"That may be," Peter replied, "but I have conclusive proof that there is a gold-bearing reef not more than a quarter of a mile from where we stand. I have no doubt that the rocks carrying it once reared themselves above the surrounding sea; but that was—well—before our time; and now they are too deep for us to reach."

I suggested that if the men had some mechanical appliance which could treat the sand in large quantities, they might do well with the surface deposit. "Perhaps," Peter said indifferently; "but there would be too much worry attached." And seeing that Silent Ted had dinner ready, we changed the subject.

Long Tom and four of the men had gone out emu-and kangaroo-shooting, and were not expected back for a week, and knowing that neither Mac nor I could be of any special service to the men at dry-blowing, we at length resolved to proceed to the Gulf, as was our original intention.

Our companions were very sorry when we announced this; but I told them we had come out expressly to study the aborigines at home, and that when we had done so we might come back.

"You'll see them before you go far," said Shandy Bill.

"An' don't go foolin' near a corroborree, Scottie," warned Little Bob; "'cos if ye does thar will be a funeral, as sure as them currants in that damper there is only ants."

Dead-broke Peter was evidently qualifying for a Silent Ted reputation, for it was only when kicked repeatedly by that individual that he roused himself, and in effect said, "Remember, if you happen to get into trouble, that the various corroborrees are only stages in the grand Bora; and that the signs used in their working have a wonderful resemblance to those of a certain society to which I see you belong." This information was startling, to say the least of it; but Peter had again fallen into his listless attitude, and could not be induced to say more: so, after receiving many messages, written and verbal, to despatch from the first settlement reached, we departed.

Eight days later we crossed the north Cooper (here called the Thomson river) at Jundah—it was in flood here—and in another four days we reached Winton. From this unique township we made good time northwards through a well-watered country, which, although in the tropics, is blessed with a pleasant climate; and while running down the Flinders river had our first adventure with the natives. The Australian aboriginal is believed to be the lowest form of humanity extant; but there are many things in his philosophy of which the white man has not dreamt. He fights with nature for his very existence, his food being the crawling creatures of the earth and what he wrests from other animals; and even then he is haunted with an eternal dread of devouring demons, who—according to his belief—are for ever seeking his destruction. His Bora is his only safeguard against these Ghingis and Bunyips; and it is in matters pertaining to the observance of its various corroborrees that he has achieved such triumphs over nature, and performs feats that, to the white man, are entirely inexplicable.

An ordinary corroborree is merely a meeting that may be summoned by the chief or elders of any tribe; but those relating to the Bora are a series of religious ceremonials culminating in a weird fire-test, which all young warriors must undergo before attaining to the state of manhood. This fire-test, with various modifications, is also practised by the New Guineans and South Sea Islanders; but with the latter it now seems to have degenerated into a performance for the priests alone; and in the Fiji Isles a form of fire-walking is still observed, chiefly for the benefit of the sensation-loving tourist. Among the Australian aborigines, however, the working of the Bora is the chief object of their existence, and with them the tests are very real indeed. The fire-test is worked by a procession of aspiring natives marching round on a path which leads through the centre of many fires. A figure in the fanciful attire of some strange monster apparently controls the movements of the warriors by the motion of some object which he swings rapidly round his head, and which produces a humming sound not unlike that of a steam-siren. The performance is followed by a warlike display supposed to strike terror to the heart of the dreaded Bunyip, and if that creature could see the grotesquely garbed warriors as we saw them—hiding in the mulga scrub with our bicycles lying beside us—I have no doubt that it would speedily take itself off to some less dangerous-looking part of the globe.

It is supposed that no white men have ever witnessed the higher corroborrees; but that belief is erroneous, for during our journey northwards we met several back-blockers on the wallaby to the opal district who were quite familiar with the entire ceremony, and some, like little Bob, had even taken part in them, of course not willingly.

The aborigines are very scarce now, and happily, perhaps for us, most of our adventures with them tended more to be ludicrous than exciting, and in due course we arrived at Normanton, the chief town in the Gulf country.

A month later we landed at Brisbane from the ss. Peregrine, and in two days were completely tired out and disgusted with the artificialities of city life. The Queensland contingent of the Imperial Bushmen was to embark in the afternoon for South Africa, and we joined the cheering throng that lined Queen Street to see the men ride past. I have seen the Scots Greys in Edinburgh, but the men of "England's last hope" were not like them. Their smart dresses hung loosely on their angular frames, and their tanned faces were in vivid contrast to those of the Brisbanites. They were all tall, and sat in their saddles in a style that was certainly not military, and their faces wore an absent-minded expression. I knew, however, that fever would have no effect on these men, that they could stand any hardship, that an earthquake could not unhorse them, and that every time those eyes with the far-away look glanced along the rifle-barrel something would drop somewhere. A shout from Mac interrupted my musings, and knowing that he always had some reason for what he did, I followed him through the densely-packed crowd, and found him in the act of hauling a trooper from his horse.

"It's Kangaroo George!" he yelled, "an' he's dreamin'!"

"Hallo, Scottie!" suddenly said the roused warrior; "did yous see the nigs?"

"Hang the niggers!" roared Mac; "it's you I want tae ken aboot. Hoo——?"

"I see you have got on to the South African trail after all, George," I said, grasping his hand.

"Close up there, men!" roared the sergeant.

"Darn it! Dead-broke, doesn't ye see who is here?" remonstrated another familiar voice, and next instant I was shaking hands with Sergeant Dead-broke Peter—I never knew his other name. There was now a general confusion owing to the men having to lead their horses down to the wharf where the transport Maori King was waiting to receive them, and by adopting tactics not unknown nearer home Mac and I got down with the troopers.

"An' has ye not a word for Shandy Bill?" suddenly spoke another voice at my side.

"An' Sam Wilkins?" said a quiet-looking trooper.

"An' me—Corporal Vic Charlie?" cried the one who had remonstrated with his sergeant.

"Is the whole camp here?" I cried surprisedly, while Mac muttered strange words anent the results of shaving on a person's appearance.

"No; only five," answered Vic Charlie. "Gilgai and Little Bob came down too; but they were too old, an' they is goin' out west again to-night when they see us away."

"I say, boss," whispered George to me, "you knows the trail, doesn't ye?"

"Fairly well, George," I replied; "you see the Southern Cross all the way."

"Then can you give us a notion how far out our first camp is?"

"You don't camp at all. You travel night and day—that is, unless the propellor shaft or something else breaks."

"Lor!" was all George's comment, but his face spoke volumes.

We stayed with our old comrades until the last moment arrived; and then, in company with Gilgai Charlie and the giant Little Bob, who had joined us on the wharf, went and dined. These two worthies were, as they said, already "full up with the city," and when the western express left that night it had on board four men and four cycles booked through for Cunnamulla en route to the opal fields. Twenty-eight hours afterwards we landed at the western terminus, and taking advantage of the full moon and the hard camel-pads leading farther west, we made sixty miles before morning.

ON THE OPAL FIELDS OF WHITE CLIFFS

There are many strange places and peoples in this world, and of those the opal fields and opal miners of White Cliffs, New South Wales, are good examples. The opal district is situated sixty miles N.N.W. of Wilcannia, a somewhat remarkable township on the Darling River, and the men who make gem-hunting their profession number over two thousand. Of this amount, less than a half belong to some branch of the Anglo-Saxon race, the remainder being a mixture of all nationalities, of which Germans are the most numerous. The township of White Cliffs stands in a hollow in the centre of the "workings," but it is merely a collection of galvanised iron drinking saloons and stores; the population living out on their claims, some in tents, some in their horizontal excavations or "drives"; and others with only the sky for a roof. When it is stated that the town also contains a Warden's residence, a hospital, and a good substantial prison—there is as yet no church—that most of the stores are run by Chinamen, and that the Jew gem-buyers form the aristocracy, the description of the town is complete. The fields, however, at present extend for three miles round the town, and in all probability will stretch further out on the great western desert when some means of providing sufficient water for the miners is devised. But the opal has been proved to exist in such vast quantities within the three miles radius, that there is as yet no need for any one to go further out.

The methods employed in searching for opal are extremely simple. Briefly, this consists of sinking a shaft, or, if the claim happens to be located on a slope, tunnelling into the ground until a seam of gem-carrying matrix is encountered; from which the opal is then separated by means of a small "gouging" pick or other tool. These layers exist at various parallel levels from the surface down to forty feet, but no "paying" opal has yet been struck at greater depths. It is highly probable, however, that this is because the task of further sinking with the primitive means of pick, spade, and windlass, the only appliances used, becomes at this point somewhat difficult, and the men, knowing the value of the shallower levels, prefer spending their energies on another shaft in fresh country. The matrix in which the gem is found consists of a hard silicious conglomeration, usually thickly impregnated with ironstone. The opal is embedded in this material in the form of thin sheets, which, however large they may be while in the formation, can only be removed in divisions of about the size of a five shilling piece.

Opal is of all colours and shades, but unfortunately for the miner a piece of exquisitely coloured blue, green, or red stone is considered absolutely valueless if not accompanied with the vivid scintillating flash which denotes its "lifeness." Tons upon tons of this worthless stuff, "Potch," as it is called, are daily thrown out of the shafts by disgusted opallers, for in common with most things in this world, the bad is very plentiful, in fact it is almost impossible to get away from it; but the gem or "live" opal is correspondingly rare. Nevertheless, fortunes are frequently made here by the merest chance, and perhaps to a greater degree than elsewhere is a man justified by results in believing that some day he will "send his pick through a fortune." As said before, the miners are of nearly all the races of mankind, and many incongruous partnerships are formed for the holding and working of a two, three, or four men's claim; but on the whole, good fellowship rules throughout the camps, and an American negro, a half-caste Chinaman, or a Turk, stands by the windlass of a canny Scot, a Frenchman, or a Hindu.

There are no disputes between capital and labour in White Cliffs, every man is his own master, and follows out his own usually erratic inclinations, unless sometimes when, after a lucky find, he imbibes too much of a certain commodity falsely-labelled Scotch, and consequently the police exercise a slight control over his movements.

There are no surface indications to guide one in searching for opal, and as the most experienced "gouger" knows no more where the gem may be than the latest new chum, all work is done on chance. To such a strange state of mind has the desert environment reduced those men of the back-blocks, that they look upon the grim side of circumstances with indifference, and magnify the trivialities of life into a proportion which to the stranger suggests a land of Burlesque. But soon he, too, catches the mysterious infection, unconsciously he is overwhelmed by the influence of his surroundings, and he ceases to see anything remarkable either in his own doings or in those of his fellows. An observer, while he retained his own mental equilibrium, might see instances of this strange perversion in almost every man in White Cliffs; but, perhaps, my own experiences there may serve to give some fair examples.

My claim was staked about a mile from the town on a small stretch of rising ground which at some time in the Earth's history formed the banks of the lake, in the old bed of which White Cliffs now stands. For comrades I had a powerful Scotsman and two Australians, while the claims around us were worked by an American and a native of Mauritius, known as Black George, a German and an Englishman—the latter being termed the "Parson," a New Zealander and a Swede, and several other single miners, the chief being one called Satan. We were all good friends, and nightly gathered round a common camp-fire to discuss things in general.

Silent Ted and Emu Bill, my two Australian comrades, were perhaps the most experienced prospectors on the field; the one had a very thoughtful cast of countenance, and never spoke, and the other was a splendid specimen of the Australian pioneer, but when he spoke it was chiefly in short, crisp words, of decided colonial origin, which Mac said would have qualified him "A1 for the position of a Clyde stevedore." Together they had crossed the divide between the Darling River and Cooper's Creek, and occasionally, when the moon was full, and the Southern Cross dipping behind the Great Barrier Ranges, Bill would tell of a land where fire-flashing opal burst through the surface sands, and shone in dazzling streaks of every imaginable colour from every wind-swept ledge. Ted would eagerly follow his comrade's words, and his wonderful face would light up with genuine admiration when Bill's word-pictures were powerfully descriptive. But he was too sympathetic, and frequently, alas! got into trouble because of that.

"Shut up, Ted!" Bill would suddenly cry, pausing in the middle of his narrative. "Is it you that's tellin' this yarn or me?"

At these rough words the silent one would slowly turn a reproachful glance upon the speaker which said as plainly as words, "Why, Bill, I did not speak."

"I knows that," would come the unhesitating answer, "but your face does, an' it's been an' got to the end of this story afore me."

This was in a manner true, and sometimes when Bill, as Hoskins the American said, was "long-winded in getting to the point," we had but to look at Ted's face for the dénoûement.

"But how vas it you came away unt leave all dat opal? There must be millions there," our German friend would say when Bill's narrative was concluded.

"I reckon there is, Kaiser," the raconteur would answer, "but the country is full o' darned crows an' willy-willys, an' ye can't sleep no how with the sand-flies an' snakes an' 'skeeturs. Water, did ye say? No, there ain't none."

However much Ted and Bill may have ignored the absence of the precious fluid, that was the only consideration with most of their listeners, and had there been any water, some of us, at least, would have gone out West at once and chanced everything else.

One evening Bill was unusually eloquent in his discourse on the lavishness with which Nature had gifted the desert, and as all our claims had been yielding but poor returns for the last week or so, we paid more attention to his words than we had been in the habit of doing.

"I wouldn't mind having a try out back," said Scottie, "if there were a railway, or if we had fleein' machines."

"Couldn't we go as we are?" lisped the Parson, "we may work here for ever, and not better ourselves."

Bill gave vent to some sarcastic remarks anent the last speaker's powers of endurance, but otherwise made no comment.

"Bill says the surface is ironshot," continued the Parson blandly, "and, as I saw a team come into town to-day with about two dozen bicycles for sale, I thought——"

"Man, ye are a thinker, Parson," cried Scottie, "I'll gang away wi' ye the morn if ye like—that is if the machines are no ow'r dear."

"I think we ought to get them, no matter what they cost," I remarked, "for if we do go out they would enable us to cross right over to the Cooper at a pinch, if they did not break down, and the ground was passable."

"Well, I guess I am one of the crowd that goes," announced Hoskins.

"Unt me," cried the German.

"I reckon we is all going," said Bill, looking round the camp-fire for corroboration. "Int you, Satan?"

"Of course I is," answered the individual addressed, a corrugated-skinned specimen of humanity. "I is goin' where Scottie an' the Parson goes; but where in tarnation is ye goin', and what for?"

"Cooper's Creek, for opal," roared Scottie.

"Opal," repeated Satan vacantly. Then his eyes kindled suddenly, and he exclaimed, "Lor', I forgot to tell ye, boys, I has been haulin' the stuff out by the sackful these last two weeks."

"What!" yelled all in chorus, springing to their feet, and even the stoical Ted stopped in the act of lighting his pipe to gaze at Satan.

"It are a fact, mates," continued that gentleman apologetically, "I reckon I has near got a waggon-load dumped out by now. Lor', what's the racket, mates?"

Few heard his last words, for as the full literal import of what he had just said began to dawn on the assembly, a stampede took place down the hill towards the shaft; but another surprise was in store. While some were rummaging in Black George's tent for candles to explore the long drive in Satan's claim, and others were sliding down his windlass rope, a series of sounds broke out round our deserted fire, the fervour of which made Hoskins say, "Hallo, boys, how is Bill not here?"

"I is here, darn ye!" came the muffled response from the darkness; "that's Ted that's shouting," which information made it clear to all that Silent Ted in his excitement had placed the blazing mulga stump in his mouth and thrown away his pipe.

I had known Ted for a long time, but that was only the second occasion on which I had heard the sound of his voice. A few seconds later we had crowded into Satan's drive, and after crawling over a heap of mullock that blocked the passage to within one foot of the roof, we found ourselves in the chamber where, from the presence of his pick and other implements, we knew he had recently been working. In a moment the candles were lit, and then a cry of wonder burst from all. We were standing in what might have been an Aladdin's palace, and the walls danced and flashed in the gloom as if alive. The roof was simply one blaze of ever-changing orange and green, and through the whole would dart spasmodically a "living" flash of fiery red. Clearly Satan had struck it, for there must have been several thousand pounds' worth of opal exposed, whatever amount may have been hidden behind. Bill was the first to break the silence of admiration, which had fallen over all, and he only said one word. It was characteristic and expressive, but quite unprintable; and slowly we filed out again and clambered up the rope to the surface. When we got back to our camp we found Ted, Satan, and the Swede sitting in silent meditation round the fire. Probably Ted would have accompanied us, had it not been for the fact that he, being cook, had to look after a mysterious compound of flour and other substances commonly known as damper, which every evening was prepared among the ashes.

"Well, boy, you have struck it, an' no mistake," called out Ford, the New Zealander, to Satan as we approached. "You're a millionaire now."

"Get awa' frae this fire, you unceevilised heathen," roared Scottie, in virtuous indignation. "A man that wouldna' tell his mates when he struck a ton of opal is nae frien' o' mine; get awa' before a dae ye damage."

"Come Scottie," began the Parson, but Mac would have none of him.

"Don't Scottie me," he bellowed, " Ye—ye——" Then seeing the look of pain on the face of the would-be peacemaker he calmed down and said, "Weel, ye shouldna anger me. I'll alloo ony man to judge if——"

"Lor', Scottie, what is ye sayin'?" interrupted Satan anxiously; "I forgot all about the darned stuff. I has no mate, and if you will come and help spend it you can have the half."

"Mein Gott," cried Kaiser, "I vil be your mate for von quarter."

"Satan," began Mac, " A'm sorry A spoke, but A can see ye're no fit to be left alane, among so mony Germans and foreign heathen. Sell yer opal, lad, and bank the money in Sydney. The coach leaves the morn's nicht."

"I'll be darned if I do. I never went and left my mates yet, an' I ain't goin' to start now," exclaimed Satan doggedly.

And then I explained that he had already done sufficient to merit our blessing by discovering the layer of opal at the forty-four feet level. "It in all probability extends throughout all our claims at that depth," I said, "so you had better go down to Sydney and dispose of yours before the news leaks out. Otherwise there will be so much of the opal for sale locally when we all strike it that the buyers may be frightened."

Ultimately we convinced Satan that he should go down to the coast, for it was evident he needed a change, and he could now well afford it. Shortly afterwards the party broke up for the night, and soon the camps were wrapt in slumber, each man dreaming, doubtless, of the opal he would get on the morrow four feet beneath the floor of his lowest drive.

In the morning the Parson, Kaiser, and Mac went over to assist Satan in working out the opal showing in his claim, and in the evening he departed with twenty pounds weight of first-grade opal tied securely in sacks so as to excite no suspicion. The news of the deep-level find soon spread, and at noon of the day following Satan's departure our little community was the centre of a "rush," which by evening had swelled into a great canvas settlement stretching right across the white glistening lake-bed towards the township.

That evening our usual camp-fire circle was increased by the addition of over a hundred hardened fortune-seekers eager to obtain any information as to the levels, depths, and formations of the country, which, obviously, only we who had shafts already sunk were able to supply.

"It are the forty-four feet level seam we has struck," Bill answered to all inquiries, "an' it likely spreads out all over the flat there, though I 'spects it turns into Potch before it goes far."

"I reckon we'll chance that," was the general response, and next day the many heaps of upturned sand that grew in proportion as we looked, showed that the new arrivals were fast doing so.

Meanwhile, the buyers were greatly agitated. They had heard exaggerated reports concerning the find of the "forty-four," and had arranged among themselves to beat down the prices of the opal to £4 an ounce. It, therefore, surprised them to find the days passing and no one offering to sell any opal; and one morning two of their fraternity repegged Satan's abandoned claim, evidently with the intention of investigating matter for themselves. As we had been endeavouring by various subterfuges to keep this claim intact, some of us having even altered our boundaries the better to do so, we were much chagrined at this brilliant move on their part, but marvelled how they had come to know that it was not legally manned. However, the claim was worked out, and as the two new holders knew as little about the practical part of mining for opal as we knew of the value of the gem, we consoled ourselves with the reflection that, after all, we might be able to turn their proximity to account.

Thus it was that every evening a well-packed sack was carefully hoisted from each of the shafts of the surrounding claim-holders, and a rumour spread abroad that a new Sydney syndicate was buying opal by the ton. Our two Hebrew friends, by dint of persistent effort, gradually insinuated themselves into our good graces, and one day astonished us by announcing that they were capitalists, and would purchase our claims if the terms were reasonable. At this straightforward way of doing business, so foreign to the nature of their compatriots, I felt that we had greatly wronged them, and as they said, truly enough, that they did not know what our claims contained, and that their offer was merely a part of honest speculation, the Parson and I were much worried over certain matters.

"I reckon I vote for selling," said Bill one evening as we held a meeting to consider the proposal. "The money will pay ex's for a trip West, an' darn 'em! they're Jews anyhow."

"A'm wi' ye, Bill," cried Mac, and one by one all signified their approval of the sentiments expressed until only the Parson and I were left.

"Of course I will not vote against my partner, Kaiser," began the Parson, "but really there is nothing in our cl——" He stopped abruptly, for, from the shadows of our mullock-heap, stepped a stranger. There seemed something familiar about his gait as he crossed the fire-lit zone, and sat down on the empty kerosene tin on which Satan used to sit, but I could not recollect whom he resembled. For a moment no one spoke; the stranger's amazing coolness had taken our breath away. He was dressed in, presumably, the latest style of Sydney clothing, but even in the dim light I could see that his garments hung loosely on his person. Evidently he had just arrived in White Cliffs, and had not yet been in a willy-willy (sand-storm).

"Look here, ma man, hae ye a ticket?" said Mac at length.

"If ye is a new chum ye will get tucker in that tent there," said Bill, "but——"

"Lor', mates! What does ye mean? Doesn't ye not know me?" interrupted the stranger. "I is Satan——"

"Golly! an' so it is, but—but where's your whiskers," cried Black George, holding a lighted match in the stranger's face.

"Satan, ye deevil, gie's yer hand," roared Scottie, "A'm rael glad to see ye."

"Oh, mates, I is glad to git back, I is," began our old friend. "I hasn't had a proper feed since I left, an' I has been disgraced. I went to a theatre in Sydney an' there was a fight on the stage, an' because I jumped up an' jined in socially like, the police came in an' started on me. I couldn't fight them all, for there war' mor'n a dozen, an' next day the judge, a very decent old gentleman, told me to git from Sydney, for it war' full o' sharks. I gitted to Melbourne, but, oh, Lor'! mates, don't none of you never go there——"

"But your opal, Satan? What did you get for it?" I broke in.

"Oh, that darned stuff? Mates, it weren't worth much after all. There war' two young fellows in the Wilcannia coach with me, an' they told me that it war' no good. They war' Jews of course; but they went down all the way with me an' took me round all the buyers in Sydney, an' none o' them would look at it. I didn't know what to do; and I was mighty glad when the two Jews gave me two hundred pounds for the lot. I spent the money as quick as I could, an' here I is back again, an'—— But has ye got no tucker?"

For full five minutes the air was filled with the most powerful words in at least four different languages, during which entertainment Satan unconcernedly ate the piece of damper which Ted had handed to him.

"I suppose you do not remember the names of your two kind friends, Satan?" I said, passing him the tea billy.

"No, but they both wears a chain with a most 'culiar pendant, something like what the Parson showed us one night."

"Ah!" I cried. "Gentlemen, our business is settled. We will sell our claims to-morrow: we cannot refuse the kindly, disinterested offer of Satan's two benefactors."

"But I reckon the price has risen, hasn't it?" inquired Bill.

"Yes," answered the Parson grimly. "Satan's opal was worth £8,000."

Next morning the two Hebrews came out from town a full hour earlier than usual, and without more ado the Parson, as spokesman, informed them that having considered everything and being desirous of going out West, we were willing to sell our joint claims for three thousand pounds in cash.

"But two tousant was the agreement," remonstrated one.

"There was no agreement," replied the Parson. "Candidly I can't imagine why you wish to have the claims, for opal seems to have fallen in the market, but if you still desire them that sum is our price until we hear from other possible purchasers."

While he was speaking, Mac and Hoskins were assiduously painting the address of a famous Sydney firm of jewellers on a well-roped candle-box, and after eyeing them intently for a minute, Aaron—— said—

"Vell den, we don't cares, we is speculative business men. No, we do not want to see your drives. Ha, ha! we vas not built to go through rabbit-holes. Here is de money, sign this papers all of you, an' come and dine with us in the Australian Thirst saloon."

The above is the history of the finding of the "forty-four" feet level, and the selling of "Block 91." The money was equally divided among the men interested, after which most of them pegged out fresh claims elsewhere, but Bill, Ted, Satan, Black George, Scottie, the Parson, and I, procured bicycles and water-bags, and started off on our Western prospecting trip that same afternoon. It is unnecessary to repeat the details of our journey. The country was at first a hard, sandy plain dotted here and there with sparse growths of the ubiquitous mulga scrub, and occasionally broken by outcrops of silver lodes; but as we advanced, all forms of vegetation disappeared, and on the third day we found ourselves on an undulating sea of ironshot sand bounded only by the horizon. We had not as yet seen any signs of surface opal formations, and of course had no intention of sinking shafts to investigate, in the heart of such a desert. On the fourth day we calculated that we had now reached a point one hundred and forty miles west from White Cliffs, and that night we camped on the edge of a dry clay-pan and considered the advisability of returning. Bill and Ted, however, persisted that we had not yet gone far enough to see the place of which they had spoken so often, and although I could not understand how they had managed to travel such a distance, nor how they knew whether we had passed their farthest-out camp or not, I had implicit faith in the correctness of their observations.

"I reckon we has to go 'bout thirty miles yet. We was jest a day off here," said Bill.

"You must have been quite close to Lake Frome then," I said.

"Never seed it, nor knowed of it, nor don't believe there ever was any lake in this part o' the world," replied Bill, and I wondered greatly, seeing that Lake Frome was distinctly marked across our path on the Government map in my possession. We had no fire that night, there being nothing that would burn within at least a day's journey, and consequently our supper was not of a tempting nature.

"Well, men, I don't know that I care to be responsible for taking you further west," I announced. "How much water is left in the bags?"

"There war' six gallons between them all after supper," answered Satan, "but Ted took a drink since then."

"Let us try another day yet," advised the Parson, "we can go back over our tracks in two days, and the opal might only be an hour ahead."

All expressed their approval of these remarks, so soon after, we scraped the top off the hard sand and went to sleep. The pests were unusually energetic that night, and several times we were awakened by their voraciousness. The Parson and Black George seemed to be affected even more so than the others, but it must have been an exceptionally large and active centipede that bit our dusky comrade in three places before he could discard his garments. At any rate, his yells aroused four evil-eyed crows from their dreams of the gorge they expected to have soon, and a skulking dingo also started in affright, emitting as it retreated a blood-curdling howl, that instantly brought us all to our feet.

"Lor'! nigger! Has ye not never been bit before?" cried Satan in a reproving tone of voice, as he cast a sand-snake from under him.

"Who does ye expect can sleep with you on the corroborree, Nig? Darn it! An' you a black fellow too. I reckon you oughten 'pologise," grumbled Bill.

George's answer was picturesque, but three bleeding wounds on his back showed where the venomous creature had got in its work on him. He was a hardy piece of humanity, however, and after the Parson had lanced the rapid swelling flesh and applied ammonia, he went to sleep again. Shortly afterwards the Parson himself rose to his feet with an exclamation of annoyance, and began kicking up his sandy sleeping place.

"What's wrong?" I inquired.

"I don't know. There seems to be a boulder or something hard under me. Hallo! What's this—Great Scott! Opal!"

Again the party sprang up, and as the glistening stone was rolled out on the surface and examined by match-light, many and various were the comments made on the poor Parson's ignorance, for the boulder which had sought out the soft corners of his body was a mass of green copper sulphide.

"And has this material no value?" asked the object of the unkind remarks.

"None; it's worse than potch," roared Bill. "See, Scottie's got more. Lor'! it's everywhere."

"It is really worth a considerable amount," I said, "but the expense of treating it properly out here would be too much for us. That is an outcrop, and to all appearance it is one of the richest ever discovered."

We slept no more that night, and before sunrise started off across the clay-pan. The surface was smooth and hard, and with the aid of a slight breeze which arose with the sun we skimmed along at an almost incredible pace.

"Hallo, Ted! There's our old stakes," suddenly yelled Bill, steering for the crest of a broken piece of ground, and following in his tracks, we soon were standing round a broken pick-handle standing upright in the ground and on which was inscribed: "C.B. and S.T. Pros. Claim. Corner Peg."

"How on earth did you manage to lead us here, Bill?" cried the Parson wonderingly.

"Easy enough; this is the same season as when we were out, so we jest ran the ole sun down an' at night ye can always git the bearin's from the Cross."

The Parson's surprise might have been greater had he known that my compass had been useless since the second day out, and that but for a few haphazard observations taken, Bill had been our only guide. Meanwhile Ted had unstrapped a pick and set to work, and before I had fully realised that we stood on what—in the rainy season, if such a season existed in those parts—was an island in the centre of Lake Frome, and that it was its salt-encrusted bed we had been crossing since morning, he handed me a piece of some scintillating substance, inquiring, by the shape of his face, my opinion as to its value.

"Why, that's opalised wood," I exclaimed." But what have we struck now?"

"The opal we told ye about, of course," grunted Bill. "The sand's blown over it, and Ted's dug it up again; that's all."

Truly we had encountered a marvellous formation. Great masses of fiery and orange opal were uncovered on every side, and for a day we did nothing but gather the best. It was evident that a forest had at one time occupied the site of the lake, for most of the opal showed the grains of wood throughout its structure, and many opalised leaves were found embedded in a matrix which looked uncommonly like bark. This latter fact was most puzzling, for the trees with bark in Australia are few indeed. We pegged out seven prospector's claims, and after a final look round prepared to move, our intention being to arrange for suitable transport for stores and water, and then come back.

"Ye talk about the effeeciency o' the steam engine," muttered Scottie, as he examined the liquid contents of our bags, "but it's far oot o' date now, for we've each got to run a hundred miles a day on a pint o' water, and if onything can beat this——"

"No doubt your remarks are the result of much study, Mac," I said, working out an elaborate calculation on the sand, "but we are not more than ninety miles from civilisation straight ahead, and if we care to travel over what remains of the lake by moonlight and the ground continues passable after that, we will strike the South Australian railway somewhere near Beltana siding to-morrow afternoon."

And so it proved. We reached the S.A. line on the following afternoon, and an hour after sundown stopped the Port Augusta-bound train by kindling a fire in the middle of the track. Thirty-six hours later we found ourselves parading Rundle Street, Adelaide, in quest of some of Scottie's friends who resided there.