Chapter II: Part 2

The evening passed pleasantly, for Dalton was excellent company, and we sat long and late over our cigars, chatting over his reminiscences, which would have filled an entire issue of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It was only towards bedtime that a subject was broached destined to bring about strange consequences. "You say you know Milford well," said Dalton, naming a small town in Yorkshire; "did you ever meet a Mrs. W---- there?" The words were spoken with a hesitation that made me glance sharply at the speaker. Could this be the secret of his life--a hopeless passion for the beautiful woman whose sufferings had excited universal sympathy and whose love so many had sought in vain? To know Milford was to know or, at any rate, to have heard of Mary W----, who, a few years since, had figured as the innocent heroine of a notorious forgery case. The affair never reached a criminal court, for James W---- had successfully absconded with a large sum of money, and had never since been seen or heard of. Rumours were rife; some said he had gone to Australia, others that he was in the Argentine, others that suicide had wiped him out of existence as completely as a pebble dropped into the sea. And he would have been no great loss, for, according to all accounts, a more heartless scoundrel never breathed. But Mary W---- was still leading a quiet and lonely life, although she might legally have chosen a second husband from among the many men who had sought her hand. W---- I had never known, but his portrait had been freely circulated at the time of the crime, and a momentary suspicion that Dalton might himself be the man was quickly dispelled when I recalled the portly frame and bearded countenance of the forger. Not only did I know Mrs. W----, but I had, only the preceding winter, saved her life in an ice accident--a fact which raised me considerably in my fellow-traveller's estimation.

"I only asked you if you knew her," he said, "because I happened to know him. Poor beggar! He was shot last year in a gambling hell in Coolgardie."

Here the subject might have dropped, but that fleeting hours and the frequent reappearance of the conductor with refreshments revived it. There had clearly been something between Dalton and the forger's beautiful wife, either before or after her marriage. "I may tell you in confidence," were his last words that night, "that Mary W---- is and always has been very dear to me." A cloud passed over Dalton's face as he continued: "If things were different I should have been a better and a happier man. There, I won't bore you with my troubles, but here's my hand, Mr. de Windt, for saving that brave, unselfish woman's life. And remember, if ever you need a friend you'll find one in Edgar Dalton."

I was right, then, after all. This was but another victim who had worshipped vainly at the shrine of pretty Mary W----, and I wondered vaguely, as I dropped off to sleep, whether the "good angel of Milford," as she was called, had yet heard of her merciful release. For here, possibly, was a man who might bring some sunshine into her lonely life.

The next morning found Dalton seated at breakfast with a mysterious individual who had joined the train during the night. The stranger was a stout, florid man of about fifty, with shifty blue eyes, grey whiskers, and a perpetual smile. He wore a serge suit and a yachting cap, also a profusion of tawdry jewellery, and might have been anything from a prosperous drover to the skipper of a tramp steamer. The new-comer addressed Dalton as "Cap," and until the mystery was explained I marvelled at his apparent familiarity with the quiet, refined Englishman. But Mr. Hiram Knaggs, it appeared, had acted as agent in Chicago for Dalton during his northern trip, and had now met him by appointment to settle about the disposal of a consignment of valuable furs. Knaggs was a cheery, amusing fellow, notwithstanding his vulgarity and a painful habit of parading his wealth. At dinner that night he displayed a bulky pocket-book with which he pleasantly averred he could buy up the train and everyone in it. Encouraged, perhaps, by champagne and good fellowship, I then carelessly alluded to the comparatively modest sum that had caused me such anxiety, but a significant look from Dalton closed my lips. "Knaggs, of course, is all right," he explained afterwards, "but in a public car you can never be too careful." The incident struck me as being curious, for at the time there was no one within earshot of our table.

Dalton and his agent were leaving us at Winnipeg, and we had reached that town--then far from being the bustling city it has now become--when I awoke on the following morning. The berths lately occupied by my friends were empty, and I was surprised that Dalton, at any rate, should have left without a word of farewell. There was yet half an hour before departure, and I dressed hastily, intending to alight for a breath of fresh air. But a terrible shock was in store for me. My heart stood still and a cold sweat bedewed my temples, for when I placed my hand under the pillow it encountered only a worthless silver watch. My pocket-book and the thirty thousand dollars had gone!

I was about to call loudly for help, when a touch on the shoulder arrested me. It was Dalton, with a smile upon his face and the missing note-case in his hand.

"I was the thief," he said, quietly. "Here are your notes, but take my advice. Never talk about your money before strangers." Intense relief overcame a feeling of resentment at the trick played upon me, and, after all, was it not in my own interest? So I put my pride--and my notes--in my pocket and thanked my friend for the service he had rendered me, which I never duly appreciated until long afterwards.

On the platform we found Knaggs in a very surly frame of mind, which Dalton laughingly ascribed to overnight indulgence in "tanglefoot." But the joke was apparently ill-timed, for the American turned and left us with an oath, to his friend's amusement.

"Good-bye, De Windt," said the latter. "We may meet again, and if ever I can do you a turn, for Mary W----'s sake, count upon me."

Three or four months elapsed, during which period I heard nothing more of my fellow-travellers, but I received a letter from Mrs. W----, who had been informed of her husband's death by an anonymous correspondent--Dalton, no doubt. This was in the spring of 1897, however, and my mind was too much engrossed with personal affairs to give the matter much attention. A bad attack of the gold-fever then raging on the Pacific Coast had resulted in my resolve to leave Vancouver and seek a fortune in the Klondike. I need not describe the now familiar perils and privations of that ghastly voyage: the grim passes, stormy lakes, and treacherous rapids; the cold and starvation that littered the dark and dangerous road to the "Arctic El Dorado" with dead and dying victims. Suffice it to say that I eventually reached my destination, and in less than a year had "struck it rich" enough to acquire several good claims. Early in March, 1898, I returned from my claim up the Koyukuk to Dawson City, and took up my quarters at an hotel, intending to return by the first steamer to St. Michael, and thence, by the sea route, home.

The River View Hotel was not a cheerful residence, although its numerous guests were very festively inclined. The restaurant at dinner-time resembled a bear-garden, and between meals dapper New York barmen ministered to the wants of a rowdy mixture of nationalities from all ends of the earth. Time hung heavily on my hands, although there was plenty of gaiety of the disreputable kind to be found in most mining camps. Dawson swarmed with gambling and drinking saloons, but crime was rare, for the North-West Police keep a sharp eye on evildoers, especially the harpies of both sexes who fleece lucky miners. You did not need, in those days, to go to the creeks for gold, for the dust was flung about so recklessly that modest incomes were made by sweeping out the dancing halls. One night of debauchery often left wealthy men as poor as when they first started out from home without a penny. And there was some excuse for the poor prospector, coming straight from months of cold, hunger, and hard work on some lonely gulch into a crowded, brightly-lit saloon, with champagne, music, and friends galore, to say nothing of a gambling table in the background. Even I, who should have known better, was occasionally drawn into some dazzling pandemonium which, by daylight, would have sickened me to contemplate.

Thus it came to pass that I found myself one night at the Imperial Casino in company with a friend who, like myself, was heartily sick of his gloomy bedroom at the River View Hotel. The Imperial, like most of its kind, consisted of a dancing-hall leading into a smaller compartment screened with green baize, which occasionally parted to disclose a roulette table. The noise and stifling air of the first room were, as usual, unbearable, and we struggled through a rowdy crowd of men and women to the inner sanctum, where a number of players were assembled. For a time we watched the game with interest, for the high stakes would have attracted a crowd at Monte Carlo, but these ragged, mud stained gamblers lost or won their money gracefully and without the push or wrangle that often occurs on the Riviera. I have seen more fuss made over a five-franc piece at Monte Carlo than over a thousand dollars in Klondike.

To this day I don't know what induced me to fling a stake upon the table. My friend, sick of the fetid atmosphere, had left me, and I was following him, when the solitary number I had backed turned up. I then carelessly heaped my winnings on the zero and became the unwilling object of all eyes when the ivory ball jumped into the space numbered by that wicked little circle. From that moment I won without cessation, chiefly, I suppose, because of my absolute indifference to loss. In an hour I was the gainer of an enormous sum, which, consisting largely of nuggets and gold-dust, was difficult to handle. A carpet-bag was borrowed from the proprietor, by whose friendly advice I made my exit through a back door, and hastened along the snowy, silent street to my hotel. As I neared my hotel a figure stood out from the doorway of the River View, and I recognised Barlow, of the North-West Mounted Police, who a few hours previously had been my guest at dinner.

"Don't shoot, old man," said my friend, as a revolver gleamed in the moonlight; "it's only me. We have got a big job on. The safe in the office here was rifled last night, and the thief is supposed to be living in the hotel. J----, of Scotland Yard, and ten of my men are inside; so if the joker tries any games on to-night it will be all up with him. By the way, _you_ look a bit suspicious with that bag. Gold from Gluckstein's, is it? Whew! Oh, pass in; you're a match for any hotel sneak." And with a cheery "Good night" I left my friend vainly endeavouring to keep warm in a temperature that would have tried the patience of a Polar bear.

The barrack-like building was in darkness, and by the aid of a wax match I groped my way to my bedroom, a garret for which I paid, daily, the sum of twenty dollars. The door was fitted with a cheap lock which a missing key rendered useless, but I secured my winnings, which I carefully locked up, and then retired to rest with a mind at ease, thanks to a revolver under my pillow. I must have dropped off to sleep suddenly, for when I awoke the fag-end of my candle was sputtering in the socket. The next moment it had gone out, leaving me with no matches and an unpleasant suspicion that, while I slept, someone had entered the room. Conviction followed when I heard a moving body and loudly challenged the intruder. But there was no reply.

"If you don't answer, I shoot!" I cried through the darkness. There is short shrift for thieves in mining camps, and the next moment I had fired at random in the direction of the sound. Simultaneously the door was thrown open with a crash and the room flooded with the light of many lanterns. J----, the Scotland Yard man, and half-a-dozen policemen were soon surrounding a prostrate figure, clad in a grey sleeping-suit, which lay with a dark crimson mark over the heart, showing where my bullet had reached its mark. Great heavens! Had I killed him?

The bare idea filled me with horror, as I pushed my way through a ring of excited men and, kneeling by the side of the wounded man, gently raised his head. The features were already twitching in the death agony, the eyes were dull and glazed, but a faint smile flickered over the face as I realized, with the appalling terror of a nightmare, that I was looking upon the features of Edgar Dalton.

"Forgive me," he gasped, faintly, as I bent closer to catch his whispered words. "I never knew it was you. Knaggs will tell you. Give her----" The hand was raised, with a last effort, towards a thin gold chain around the neck, but death arrested it half-way. Edgar Dalton, killed by my hand, had expired in my arms!

"Come, sir, we can do no good," said J----, presently, as I continued to gaze vacantly upon the ashy face of the corpse. It was borne away by six stalwart troopers through the now crowded passages and stairway. "You've no need for remorse," added the detective, "for you've rid the world of as clever and cruel a scoundrel as it's ever been my lot to come across--and I have seen a few. Why, he has murders enough on his hands in Australia alone to hang him ten times over."

"Mr. Edgar Dalton?" I asked, almost speechless with amazement.

"Is that the name you knew him by?" said the Scotland Yard man, with ill-disguised pity for my ignorance. "Edgar Dalton, indeed! Why, the Australian Government has offered a reward of one thousand pounds for this man, dead or alive, for the past three years. I have been after him for seven years as James W----, the forger, and I think I am fairly entitled to the reward," he added. "For, you see, I have netted both birds this time. There's the other"--and he pointed to a man standing handcuffed between two troopers by the open doorway. His dejected appearance contrasted oddly with a gay suit of pink pyjamas, but although the smiling lips were now screened by a bristly moustache, and a carefully-curled auburn wig concealed the scanty grey locks, I had little trouble in recognising my old friend and fellow-traveller, Mr. Hiram Knaggs.

I was permitted to visit him the next day, and found him shivering, heavily ironed, in a cold, miserable shanty known as the town jail. Knaggs made light of his discomfort and the long term of imprisonment before him, but was inconsolable at the death of his leader. "A whiter man never breathed, Mr. de Windt," said the man, with tears in his eyes; and although I knew Knaggs for a consummate villain, I could scarcely restrain a feeling of pity for the abject figure before me. Nor, indeed, could I think of the dead man without compunction, for I could not forget the feeling of gratitude that had prompted him to save my notes from the greedy grasp of his confederate.

"He always spoke well of you," said the man, "and if he'd only known last night that the swag was yours he'd have been alive now. But I suppose the game was up, anyhow, with that J---- on our tracks."

_From a Photograph._
]

And Hiram ground his teeth in silent rage as I left him--to be eventually sentenced to ten years "on the wood-pile," a local form of punishment which, owing to the Arctic climate, is seldom endured for long.

I was permitted to retain the gold chain and medallion, which contained a faded portrait of W----'s wife. Mary W---- still wears the little locket in memory of the worthless scamp who wrecked her life, but who, nevertheless, had loved her in his own wild way.

Two Girls in Japan.

BY IRENE LYON.

After six weeks of conventional sight-seeing in Japan the
authoress and her friend decided that they had not yet seen
the real thing, and so they decided to spend a week off the
tourist track, living as far as possible the life of the
natives. This amusing little article shows how they fared
during their pilgrimage.

Gladys and I had been six weeks in Japan; we had worked hard at sight-seeing, and done all that was expected of us during that time, and yet we were not satisfied. Why? Well, we had luxuriated all the while in the most charming European hotels; we had slept in cosy beds with soft, springy mattresses; we had lounged in easy-chairs, eaten with knives and forks, and had been waited on hand and foot by noiseless Japanese "boys," who anticipated our every want. Within a week of our departure for Australia the full extent of our slackness was borne in upon us, and we at once decided to make up for lost time and to sacrifice personal comfort in a final effort to "see" Japan--the real Japan.

A trip down the Inland Sea was arranged, as affording a suitable opportunity to carry out our resolves, and one bright spring morning we set off from Kobe, armed with a basket of provisions and eating utensils--to be used only in case of dire necessity!

We travelled all day in an up-to-date, conventional train, and arrived at Onomichi towards evening. The proprietor of the principal inn had been informed of our intended arrival, so he came in person to meet us at the station, and we set off on foot for our new abode with an escort of some twenty to thirty of the inhabitants.

The "hotel" was a two-storeyed, wooden house, like most of its fellows. On reaching the threshold we discarded our shoes, took a surreptitious peep at our stockings, in order to assure ourselves that no holes were visible, and boldly entered.

_From a Photograph._
]

_From a Photograph._
]

A hearty--but unintelligible--welcome was extended to us by "madame" and her surrounding bevy of profusely-bowing attendants, and we were ushered into a room on the first floor which had been set aside for our use.

Our apartment was divided from the adjoining one by sliding panels which made no pretence at reaching the ceiling; it was entirely destitute of furniture, but at one side was a tiny alcove where a single vase reposed upon a raised dais, while hanging on the wall at the back was an elaborate "kakimono." The floor was covered with fine matting, and the inner walls were made of opaque white paper divided into diminutive squares. Round the outside of the house ran a tiny veranda, which was closed in at night with wooden panels.

Previously to starting Gladys and I had thoroughly primed ourselves as to the correct behaviour in Japanese circles, and as we knew that we should be expected to take a hot bath immediately on arrival we inquired at once for the bathroom. Another reason for not wishing to delay the important function of bathing sprang from our vague fear that every member of the household would perform his ablutions in the same water, and we were naturally anxious to have the first "look in."

After inspecting the bathroom our determination wavered,--but we pulled ourselves together and descended to the lower regions armed with towels and wrappers. Our first difficulty was with the entrance-panel, which, in addition to having no locks or bolts, absolutely refused to close properly. After several vain attempts the gap was eventually stuffed up, and we entered the dressing-room. I have yet to discover the intended use of the latter apartment, as for all the privacy it provided one might just as well have undressed in the public passage. About three yards square, and communicating with the bathroom, it was furnished with two large windows looking on to the hall, and there was not even so much as a pane of glass to obstruct the view of the passers-by. Gladys and I spent a considerable time in carefully filling these openings, and then, having satisfied ourselves that we were beyond the public gaze at last, we began, very diffidently, to undress, and afterwards entered the bathroom together, as we simply dared not venture in alone.

The bath itself--which looked like a large box--was a wooden structure built into a corner, and all round the inside ran a convenient ledge, for sitting on. The water being little short of boiling, our movements were decidedly cautious, and, curling ourselves up on the ledge, we tried to grow accustomed to the temperature by degrees before plunging right in. When, thinking to remove the traces of our journey by a vigorous application of soap, we began to scrub ourselves, it suddenly occurred to us that such a proceeding was not "etiquette," out of consideration to the other bathers. So we stepped out, soaped ourselves well, and rinsed our bodies with the wooden ladles supplied for the purpose, before getting back into the water again.

_From a Photograph._]
]

We were sitting on the ledge, chatting peacefully, when a sudden premonition of danger made me look up, and the spectacle which greeted my eyes caused me to utter one agonized gasp and then sink rapidly out of sight. The pains we had taken to block up the gap at the entrance had all been in vain, for the various garments which we had used for the purpose lay scattered on the floor, and the opening was occupied by a line of little heads, one above the other, whilst ten gleaming eyes were interestedly fixed upon us! Having followed the direction of my horrified gaze, Gladys gave a shriek of dismay and joined me at the bottom of the bath with surprising celerity; and there we remained in agony, feeling as though we were being boiled alive, and gazing ruefully at our garments, which all lay well out of reach. Help came at length in the shape of the proprietor, who, lighting upon the little group of spectators, immediately sent them off about their business. Feeble and helpless, we eventually emerged from our retreat and retired behind our towels to dry; but our trials were not yet over, for Gladys, leaning too heavily against the flimsy framework which constituted the partition wall, suddenly disappeared from sight, and the whole wall with her! Fortunately, the only occupant of the passage at that moment was a little maid-servant, who speedily rushed to her assistance, and the damage was soon repaired. Feeling much shattered in mind, we at length departed from the scene of our disasters and returned to our own apartment. With the help of two merry little "nésans," who thoroughly enjoyed the proceedings, we succeeded in donning kimonos and obis more or less after the correct manner, and then, determined to carry out the programme quite properly, we sat down on our heels to partake of our evening meal before a table three inches high. We drank fish soup out of lacquer bowls, we dissected unfamiliar concoctions with chopsticks (no easy matter) and tried manfully to do our duty by them, but when a large bowl of rice made its appearance we flung etiquette--and chopsticks--to the winds and fell back upon spoons, as being the only way of ensuring ourselves anything to eat. Also, when we were certain of being unobserved (as certain as it is possible to be in a land of paper walls and sliding panels), we hastily demolished huge chunks of bread from our private provision store, as, though we did not wish to hurt the feelings of the "chef," we felt that our inward cravings _must_ have something substantial to satisfy them.

After dinner we ventured on a stroll through the town; but the fact that we were repeatedly obliged to retrace our steps in order to pick up our sandals--which showed an extraordinary facility for parting company with our feet--considerably hindered our progress, and the close companionship of many of the inhabitants, who were vastly interested in us, prevented us from gaining a very good view of the streets.

When we returned to our abode the little maids made us up beds on the floor out of "futans" (thick quilts) which were pulled forth from wonderfully hidden cupboards, and we retired to rest, thoroughly wearied out by our first day of Japanese life.

The next morning we were awakened early by the arrival of green tea in baby cups with no handles, and big, luscious peppermint creams. After tasting both, and appreciating the latter, we rose to dress. Our landlord had entertained European visitors before and considered that he was thoroughly acquainted with their habits, as well as knowing how to provide for their comfort; consequently, the pride of his heart was a wash-stand--which was an object of wonderment to the whole household--and that useful article of furniture was placed on the outer veranda, in full view of the main street! It went to our hearts to hurt the feelings of "mine host," but in this case we felt it to be unavoidable, and the household treasure was removed to a more secluded spot before we performed our ablutions.

Later in the morning we took steamer to Myajima, and sailed all day down the beautiful Inland Sea. There were no seats on board, so we made ourselves comfortable on a big coil of rope, and as there was also no buffet we were obliged to picnic for our meals. We reached Myajima at dusk and halted in mid-stream. A sampan came out to take us on shore, and we were hauled down the side of the steamer by a piece of rope, swaying feebly about in mid-air before being unceremoniously seized by the feet and deposited in safety.

As we crashed on to the pebble beach a number of girls came round from the hotel to meet us, each one carrying a paper lantern, which waved fantastically to and fro from the end of a long pole. We were escorted by them round the narrow, winding path to our quarters, which consisted this time of a little summer-house away from the main building of the hotel and in the midst of a delightful wood. We were too tired to examine our surroundings that night, and tumbled as soon as possible on to our lowly couches, where we slept "the sleep of the just."

_From a Photograph._
]

On opening our eyes next morning our first thought was that we had wandered into fairy-land; the smiling-faced "nésan" had arrived during our slumbers and pulled back the outer wooden shutters, and as one of the inner panels was ajar we could look straight out on to the woods. The sun was shining brightly through the green of the trees, a spring of clear water trickled musically down by the side of our hut, and but a few hundred yards away lay the Inland Sea itself, looking like a huge lake amidst the surrounding chain of misty, blue-grey mountains.

_From a Photograph._
]

Our tiny habitation, which consisted of two compartments and a small veranda only, was scrupulously clean, and we could have eaten off the floor, as well as sit on it, without the least misgiving.

Every morning we interviewed the landlord on the subject of our day's menu, as, after the first evening, we decided that a strictly Japanese diet would not be conducive to either strength or comfort. There was not much variety in the food which we managed to obtain, but it was both healthy and harmless, consisting chiefly of fried fish, omelettes, and wild strawberries.

Myajima is a sacred island, and no means of conveyance are allowed to profane its shores. The temple is built out into the sea, a unique specimen of its kind, and a great, dark torü rises from the water some yards in front; all along the main coast, and built at irregular intervals, are the sacred stone lanterns, five hundred in number.

For three days we spent our time in wandering about the island, swimming, lounging on our tiny veranda, and darning, European stockings being scarcely equal to Japanese "tabi" in the matter of endurance. The third evening being beautifully fine and calm, we arranged--by paying a very modest sum--to have all the five hundred lanterns lit up for our benefit, and rowed out in a sampan to see the effect from the water. Nature seemed to be at her devotions, and such a wonderful hush spread over all around that the scene was impressive as well as beautiful.

On the fourth day it began to rain. A Japanese inn does not exactly lend itself to either comfort or amusement in wet weather, our stock of literature was limited, and by midday we were at our wits' end. And still it rained.

Finally, in desperation, we invested in brilliantly-coloured oil-paper Japanese umbrellas, and wandered about holding these huge structures over our heads, so that only our feet--mounted on high, wet-weather "geta"--were visible. Still it rained, and rained unceasingly. On the evening of the fifth day--the deluge showing no signs of abatement--we packed up our baggage and sorrowfully departed, taking our seats in the evening express for Kobe, after a damp passage across to the mainland in a sampan.

The train was crowded with Japanese, and as each person was accompanied by at least four mysterious and peculiar-shaped bundles there was not much room to spare, and before long I had a pile of "luggage" two yards high in front of me. When some of the little ladies in the carriage with us grew tired of sitting up in European fashion they slipped off their sandals and climbed right on to the seat, where they sat comfortably on their heels and were happy at last.

When night came the long seat was divided up into portions, the upper berths were pulled down, and we all huddled into our respective bunks, men and women mixed up together. It was distinctly trying to be obliged to hoist oneself up into a high upper berth before a mixed assembly, and more trying still to descend in the morning with the very incomplete toilet which one was enabled to make in a reclining position, but the blissful ignorance of our Japanese neighbour that there was anything unusual in such a proceeding considerably relieved our embarrassment. His attitude and calm matter-of-factness was very reassuring, and the wonderfully cheerful conductor who brushed our clothes and fastened our blouses seemed to consider himself specially suited for the post of lady's-maid.

We arrived back at our hotel in Kobe feeling that for the first time in our existence we had really seen life in a different aspect, and a few days later we left Japan with a clear conscience, satisfied that we had fully accomplished our duty, as well as considerably added to our experiences.

_From a Photograph._
]

By John Mackie.

The story of an eventful journey in the Australian bush, with
hostile blacks on the track. Mr. Mackie got through, but
the passage of the last creek was a distinctly touch-and-go
affair.

Schooners must have grub, and I had accompanied ours round to Normanton for supplies, leaving only one white man, a Malay, a Cingalese, and two semi-civilized black boys to look after the station and store I had established on the lonely Calvert River, in the south-western corner of the Gulf of Carpentaria.

Now a bushman had just arrived at Normanton who had passed my place on the Calvert a few days before. He told of a sorry state of affairs. My men had run out of rations and, what was worse, powder and shot. They were now subsisting on a little rice, what few fish they could catch in the swollen river, 'possums, iguanas, and snakes. This was certainly pretty near bed-rock; but people in the Gulf country in those days did not trouble much about their bill of fare; it was the blacks, flies, and fever that concerned them most, and the blacks near my place just then were particularly bad. They had come down in a body some days previously, killed two or three of my remaining horses, and tried their level best to get at my men. Fortunately, after a ruinous consumption of powder and shot, they had been driven off.

There was only one thing for it--I must get to my station at any cost, and that at once. To have it left to the mercy of the blacks was to have it looted and burned to the ground, and all my schemes knocked on the head.

More important, still, there were my men. I knew that if they attempted to go eastward they would find themselves hemmed in by the great creeks, and must be drowned or perish for want of food. I did not take two minutes to make up my mind. I was young, of a girth that is denied to most men, and the love of adventure ran hot in my blood. It was now late in the evening, but I would start before sunrise in the morning, and some time on the following day, if I had luck, would reach my place. I had swum dozens of swollen rivers before, with a horse and without a horse; and as for the blacks, I had got used to them like the flies, and I had my Colt.

Next morning, while it was yet grey-dark, I strapped a small knapsack on my back, containing a quart bottle full of powder, some small shot, and other essentials, and prepared to start out. I told my partner to push round to the Calvert River with the schooner as soon as the gale abated, and was rowed to the eastern bank of the river in the dinghy. The landing was bad, and here I had my first accident; for while the man who rowed the boat was throwing after me the packet of bread and meat that was to sustain me on my sixty-odd miles walk, it fell short and splashed into the river. Back to the boat for more I would not go; there was a considerable vein of old Highland superstition deep down in my composition somewhere. I had gone, on more than one occasion, without food for two or three days; I could surely do it now for some thirty-six hours or so, even although I had not troubled about breakfast before starting.

Sixty-odd miles of partially-flooded country infested by niggers! It hardly gave me a thought in those days. My revolver was in my belt, the cartridges were waterproof, the load on my back was light, and had it not been for the thought of those poor chaps on the banks of the Calvert my heart would have been still lighter.

I had traversed that uncertain track before on horseback, and, being a fairly good bushman, there was not much danger of my losing it. I wended my way through a gloomy pine-scrub, but as the rain had packed the sandy soil the walking was fairly good, and I did my first few miles as easily as if I had been walking on a macadamized road. Then I came to an open patch of lightly timbered country, and sat down on the crooked stem of a ti tree for a few minutes to fill and light my pipe.

A sickly, wan light had by this time appeared in the eastern sky. A laughing jackass crashed into the tender spirit of the dawn, and startled me for the moment by shrieking hysterically from a high gum tree. A pale lemon glow showed over the tree-tops to the east, spread upwards and outwards, and then gave place to a tawny yellow; the few faint stars went out one by one, like lights in a great city at break of day; a little bird among the boughs called sleepily to its mate, and in another minute a noisy flock of parrakeets flew screeching past. It was a wet, melancholy world, and when the sun showed behind the trees like a great white quivering ball of fire, and a thin, gauze-like mist arose from the damp sandy soil, I knew that the fierce tropical day had once more set in.

I stepped gaily out again. Dangers? Why, the walking was almost as good and pleasant as it was in any settled part of the country. Then, all at once, my feet went splash! splash! into what seemed to be a large pool of water; still on I went. In a few yards the water was over my ankles; some fifteen or twenty yards more, and I realized that it was up to my knees--fresh, warm, pellucid rain-water with dead leaves and forest _débris_ floating through it. It was heavy wading, and I paused for a moment to gain breath and look around.

There was water everywhere; it spread out like a great carpet over the fairly level ground, and only the fine points of the very highest grasses could be seen. Soon the flood was up to my armpits, and then I began to swim. Even had I not been a strong swimmer, I could hardly have been drowned, for all I had to do was to climb into a tree and rest in the branches. In a few minutes more I came to a comparatively open space and was swimming among the shaggy, drooping heads of Pandanus palms. Then, all at once, I found I was being carried away by a powerful current. I must get across that creek, wherever it was, or else my strength must necessarily give out. Luckily my light linen trousers and cotton shirt did not impede me much; my watertight knapsack was but a trifling inconvenience; it was my boots that were tiring me. I did not want boots, anyhow, in that sandy soil. I swam hand over hand to a gum tree that reared its head above the water, and, grasping a strong limb, drew myself up. I left my boots, tied together by the laces, dangling over a bough, and was descending the limb when, to my consternation, I saw just beneath me one of the largest tiger-snakes I ever in my life had the good or ill fortune to meet. It had doubtless been coiled round one of the upper branches when I first came to the tree, and, being as much afraid of me as I now was of it, had again made for the trunk, only to find its retreat cut off. There was no time to cut a stick and have a sportive five minutes; besides, I had but scanty footing and room to fight nimble tiger-snakes, and so there was only one thing for it. The reptile, when I threw a small piece of dry wood at it, positively refused to budge. I took one last disgusted look at its gleaming, mottled, sinuous coils and flat, repulsive head, from which its black, wicked, basilisk eyes looked dully out, and flopped into the water from my perch, a distance of some ten or twelve feet. At one place the current resembled a mill-race; this was doubtless the creek proper. In ten minutes more I touched bottom with my feet, and soon, to my great joy, I was stepping along on the firm sand again. I soon found the track, but on it I also found what I least desired to see--the tracks of savages going in the same direction as myself. I kept a sharp look-out after that.

The sun shone out all through that long, arduous day with a fierce, intense heat, but there was no time for rest. I swam several creeks, which carried me hundreds of yards down stream at a pace which meant certain death if I ran against the business end of a snag; and I waded and swam for many hundreds of yards at a stretch along the track in places where it was flooded. By drinking copiously of the lukewarm water I kept off the cravings of a healthy hunger. My pipe had slipped from my pouch, and, anyhow, my tobacco and matches, which I carried inside my hat, had got wet when I dropped from the tree; and this, to me, was the greatest drawback of the situation. The sun rounded slowly towards the west, and it was fast becoming dark, when suddenly I heard the jabbering of blacks at some little distance. To climb into a thick pine tree and conceal myself in its branches was the work of a few minutes. I had hardly done so before a straggling mob of blacks passed slowly underneath; the bucks, or warriors, went first with spears and boomerangs in their hands, and the gins followed, carrying the piccaninnies and household goods slung in numerous dilly-bags over their backs. A few wretched half-tame dingoes brought up the rear, snarling and fighting with one another. It seemed strange to me that these savages should be journeying along the track, for at other times they were rather anxious to avoid it. Perhaps they did it for the sake of the novelty of the situation, naturally supposing that their enemies, the whites, would not be travelling during the wet season. There might have been fifty or sixty of them altogether in the band. To my intense annoyance they went on about a couple of hundred yards, and halted, to camp for the night, on what was evidently a drier piece of ground than usual. There was no help for it--I should have to pass the night in that tree. It would be folly to wander about in the dark; besides, I was dead tired and could hardly keep my eyes open.

I unslung my knapsack, wedged myself into a sitting position among the close, dense boughs, and, in spite of the proximity of danger and a few stray mosquitoes, was asleep in two minutes. Had I descended the tree and camped on the ground, sleep must have been almost impossible on account of the insects. The blacks lit numerous tiny fires, or "smudges," to drive them off.

I awoke about an hour before dawn, stiff and chilled to the bone on account of my cramped, airy position, strapped my knapsack on my back, and descended the tree. There was a silence as of death in the blacks' camp. Taking my bearings, I made a wide detour and passed round them safely. After that I avoided the track as much as possible. I must have walked nearly thirty-five miles on the previous long day, but it should be borne in mind that it was one of continuous, determined toil.

I walked on steadily all that day, hardly pausing to rest, swimming flooded creeks and wading in places up to my armpits, but my progress was better than on the preceding day. I felt the pangs of hunger more keenly, but I continued drinking large quantities of water, and this, as I had often found before, to a certain degree stood me in good stead. At noon I came to a wild, broad water-course called Scrubby Creek, and I knew I was now within fifteen miles of my destination. I had been speculating all day as to the state of affairs at my camp--wondering if my men had deserted it, and if I should find it in the possession of the savages. If so, I should have to be wary in making my approach; I should have to follow the river down towards the sea and wait and starve until the boat came round. The prospect was not cheerful, but still I never for one moment allowed it to affect the course I was pursuing. If I failed, then I had done my level best to do what I could, and at least no soul-harrowing reflections would be mine.

I was just about to step into the swirling, hurrying current of Scrubby Creek when, happening to glance round, I saw something that made my heart throb wildly and arrested my further progress in an instant. A large number of savages were following me up, and there was not one of them but carried a spear or weapon of some sort in his hand. I wheeled about in an instant and drew my revolver, resolved to give them something more than they bargained for.

The blacks stopped short when they found they were discovered, and spread out in the form of a semicircle; then they closed in until, with their _wimmeras_, they could make sure of throwing their spears with precision and effect. I waited until I also could make sure of my man, and then, as one of them drew back his arm to lever his spear home, I raised my revolver and fired. He dropped all of a heap, like a bullock that has been knocked on the head with an axe. A spear whizzed past me and buried itself in the thick bark of a ti tree close to my head. My blood was up, but I took deliberate aim, and the savage who had thrown it also bit the dust. At eighty yards my Colt was almost as deadly as a rifle. Somewhat taken by surprise, the blacks retired, and I emptied the remaining chambers of my revolver at them with effect. I even made to follow them up, reloading as I walked, and they actually broke and ran before me.

This was exactly what I wanted, and I seized my opportunity. I turned and dived into the brown, tawny-crested creek, and by vigorous side-strokes made for a narrow, island-like strip of wooded land that stood right in the middle of the stream. I had all but passed it when I caught hold of an overhanging bough and drew myself into a thick clump of reeds and undergrowth. I stood up to the arm-pits in water. There was now some seventy yards between me and the bank I had just left--about half the distance I had yet to accomplish. As I expected, the blacks, who had rallied, now appeared on the scene. Quick as thought I placed my soft-felt hat brim downwards on the water, and away it went sailing down that boiling torrent. The blacks saw it, and thought they had me now safely enough; they directed spear after spear at it, but I noticed that none of them took effect; they ran along the bank in a great state of excitement, shouting and skipping, and in a few minutes more were out of sight. If my hat would only continue to float it might lead them quite a nice little goose-chase.

I waited for some time, and was just about to strike out for the opposite shore when, to my no little surprise and chagrin, two of the savages returned. They went for some little distance up-stream, and then made straight for my little island. Evidently they had thought there was something suspicious about my hat. Only my mouth, eyes, nose, and my revolver-hand were above water now, and I waited for them to come on.

And what a wait that was! Every moment seemed an eternity. I could hardly control the intense longing that possessed me to be up and at them. But I knew I must bide my time and make sure of both, otherwise they could easily elude me in the water, attract the attention of the other blacks, and then it would be all up with me. I knew the chances of my coming out of that creek alive were very slight indeed; but life seemed sweet just then. Every now and again a little wave would unexpectedly dash over my face, and I would be nearly suffocated. Were these savages never going to reach me? The suspense was too terrible.

They reached my island and came down the narrow strip, prodding the undergrowth with their spears. In another second they were within a few yards of where I was ambushed. Both of them saw me at the same instant, and up went their spears. Fortunately, one was almost behind the other, and this interfered with their concerted action. I fired point-blank into the grinning face of the foremost savage, and he dropped where he stood; I saw the little round hole my bullet had made right in the centre of his forehead. The flint spear-head of the second black ripped open my shirt and made an ugly gash in the fleshy part of my arm. He was within six feet of me, and I levelled my revolver at him and pulled the trigger. To my dismay the weapon snapped uselessly, and I realized that my last cartridge had been fired. In another moment that savage and I were wrestling together in deadly grips. Once he had me under water and I experienced all the first horrors of drowning, with the waters thundering in my ears. It was surely all up with me now! But by one supreme effort I pulled the rascal down, and then it was my turn. When I had done with him I knew he would give me no more trouble. Next I tore off part of my shirt into a long strip and bound it tightly round my injured arm in a rough-and-ready but effectual fashion. Then, with only one arm which was of any real use, I essayed to cross the remaining strip of hurrying flood. In a few minutes more I was on the other side, more dead than alive. Thank God! It was the last creek I had to cross.

By Harold J. Shepstone.

An interesting article describing how Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, the
famous animal dealer, collects his curious merchandise. Often,
to secure specimens of some particularly valuable species,
special expeditions have to be organized. These are frequently
away for many months, traversing thousands of miles of
practically unexplored country and meeting with all sorts of
exciting adventures.

A little way outside the busy shipping port of Hamburg is the pretty little suburban village of Stellingen. Here is located the largest wild-animal exchange in the world--the one place where strange and curious beasts from the four quarters of the earth are received and housed until wanted by the great zoological gardens and menageries. It is hardly necessary to add that this unique establishment is presided over by Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, famous as the most successful animal dealer the modern world has ever seen, and as the creator of a decidedly original zoological garden.

At Mr. Hagenbeck's great depôt there may be seen at any time the finest and rarest collection of animals in the world. When the writer was in Stellingen recently the value of the wild beasts gathered there was put down at fifty thousand pounds, and they certainly included almost every living creature one could name, among them being many very rare species.

Naturally, the most romantic part of the whole business is the way in which the animals are captured in their native wilds and brought--sometimes thousands of miles--to the depôt, and the object of the present article is to describe this side of a strange yet fascinating trade.

There is a vast difference between the hunter who kills for pleasure and the hunter whose business it is to capture his quarry alive. The former merely seeks his quarry, shoots it, secures a skin or horn as a trophy, and then returns. True, he meets with many adventures and has often exciting stories to tell of fights with enraged beasts. But the collector stands on a different plane; his mission is not to exterminate, but to preserve for the education and benefit of civilized man. He may rightly be described as the humane invader of the forest, jungle, desert, and plain, for he never kills unless it is necessary for self-preservation. He sets out with the determination to bring back typical specimens of the wild life of out-of-the-way parts of the earth, so that those who pursue more peaceful callings at home may obtain some idea of the characteristics and habits of the curious beasts that inhabit the more inaccessible parts of the globe.