“Well, of all the eating I ever saw, this is the worst,” cried Fred, after a few moments’ contemplation.

“Even the Indians of California would be ashamed to look so dirty,” I remarked.

“Hullo,” cried Smith, advancing with the sauce pan filled with water, which he had obtained somewhere in the vicinity, although we could not in the dark see any evidence of a stream.  “Hullo,” he cried; “what is the matter?  Why don’t you sit down and join the gentlemen?  Well, old Bulger, how are you getting along?” addressing a native that looked older than the others, and consequently more dirty.

The brute grunted, and paid no farther attention to the address; but Smith was not to be bluffed that way.

“Let me have a chance at your fire,” he said, holding the sauce pan towards him; but the native gave no attention except to his burning meat, which he turned over in the ashes with a stick, and apparently had a great desire to eat raw.

“I know of a way to start him,” muttered Smith.  “Stand by and watch the fun,” he continued, addressing Fred and myself.

He canted the sauce pan a little one side, and allowed the water to run over the rim, and strike upon the native’s naked shoulder.  The fellow uttered a howl as though seared with a hot iron, and scrabbling away from the fire, left the convict free access.

“There is nothing like water to start them,” cried Smith, laughing, as he put his dish upon the coals, while those who still kept their places watched his motions with their little glittering eyes, as though fearful they should also be subjected to a bath.

The native whom the convict called “Bulger” lingered around the fire for a short time, as though he had not entirely relinquished all hope of again joining the circle; but when he found that Smith showed no indication of yielding his place, he grunted his displeasure, got one of his companions to rake from the ashes his lump of flesh, and placing the burning mass upon leaves, walked towards some rude huts which were built of branches of trees and leaves of the giro.

“Good night, Bulgy,” shouted Smith, as this latter toddled off; but the native paid no attention, and soon disappeared within the pile of leaves.

“You have met these poor devils before—­haven’t you?” I inquired of the convict.

“For the last three months they have been camped on this spot, and as water is convenient here, I generally manage to reach them in the course of the night.  Besides, I make them useful in case my cattle stray away; and for a piece of tobacco not larger than my thumb they are willing to run all day.”

“Bah,” grunted half a dozen voices in chorus, apparently roused to animation by some word that Smith had spoken.

They extended their small hands, not larger than the paws of an orang-outang, and greatly resembling them in formation and looks.

“What do they want?” Fred asked.