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 beyond; what could money do for the gentleman-adventurer burning with anticipation of heroic exploration? Such thoughts must have passed through my brain, inasmuch as I invested 75 per cent of my cash in the purchase of a cattle dog. Poor Dora, she barked her last some thirty-five years agone.

On the next day we crossed the Moonee Ponds at Flemington, took the Keilor road, and managed to bustle our mob all the way to the Werribee. A slightly unfair journey; but the summer day was long, and we made the river with the fading light about eight. I had a reason, too. Here bivouacked my good old friend the late William Ryrie, of Yering. He, too, was journeying to the west country with a large drove of Upper Yarra stores. He had kindly consented to join forces—an arrangement more to my advantage than his. So, as his cattle were drawing into camp, I cheerfully "boxed" mine therewith, and relieved myself by the act of further anxiety.

Night watches were duly set, after an evening meal of a truly luxurious character. I felt at odd moments as if I would have given all the world for a doze unrebuked. At last the whole four mortal hours came to an end. Then I understood, almost for the first time in my life, what "first-class sleep" really meant.

At sunrise I awoke much fresher than paint, and walking to the door of the tent, which held three stretchers—those of the leader of the party, his brother Donald, and myself—looked out upon the glorious far-stretching wild. What a sight was there,