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176 deserve its back-country designation, and meanwhile boiling my quart-pot on a separate handful of such semi-combustibles as the plain afforded, I found myself slowly approached by a Chinaman, on a roan horse. And though it is impossible to recognise any individual Chow, I fancied that this unit bore something more than a racial resemblance to the one from whom I had recovered Alf's bullocks. Moreover, he was riding the same horse.

"Mornin', John," said I condescendingly. "You scoot-um long-a homestation big one hurry."

"Lidee boundly," replied the early bird, in his mechanical tone

"Borak this you paddock, John?"

"My plully paddock, all li."

"You name Sam Young? "

"Paul Sam Young," corrected the boundary man. "You wantee glass you holse?—two-tlee day—goo' glass? Me lay you on, all li."

"It is the voice of a god, and not of a man!" I replied. "Have-um drink o' tea, Paul? Have-um bit o' du-pang? Where me find-um grass?"

"Tlinidad Paddock, all li—plully goo' glass."

"How me fetch-um that peller?"

Paul dismounted, and, declining my meagre hospitality, gave me copious information respecting the Trinidad. The nearest corner of this paddock was only eight miles away; but it would be expedient to go round by certain tracks, making the distance twelve or fourteen miles. It was a small paddock—five by two—being portion of a five by ten, recently divided. There was no water in it. It was crossed by a shallow billabong which had been dammed when the dividing fence was erected; but the first flood in the Lachlan had burst an opening in the embankment, so that even at the end of the previous winter there was no water in the paddock, except a drop of sludgy stuff in the excavation. Hence the grass. There was no stock in the Trinidad, and no one in charge. There were two station men, with a team of bullocks and scoop, cleaning out the dam and repairing the bank; but they would n't see anything. Also, Mr. Smythe was away in Melbourne, and would n't be back for another week. Of course, it took me about half-an-hour to Champollion all this information from the cryptical utterances of the friendly Asiatic.

"You allee same Christian," I remarked, packing away my breakfastservice. "You go long-a good place bimeby."

"Me Clistian allee same you," he replied, not without dignity "Convelt plully long time. 'Paul' Clistian name. Splink' wattel, all li."

With this he bade me a civil good-bye, and went his way. Then I saddled up and started for the Trinidad; mentally placing Mr. Smythe, Bert, and myself, in one dish of the moral scale, and this undesirable alien in the other, with an unflattering upshot to the superior race.

And this conclusion was more than verified when I reached my destination. The grass was something splendid. Any island or peninsula of plain among the tall lignum would do for a camp; and there was a good waterhole about a mile away, with only a low, slack fence to cross.

Between one thing and another, it might have been about three in the