If the fellow’s story was correct, he could not have learned from a more patient race, for the Australians can track a man through a wilderness, and can see signs of footprints that a European would never discover.  If a blade of grass is turned, the native stops and examines it, and can tell within a few hours the length of time that has expired since it was trodden on.  If half a dozen grains of sand are displaced from the burning prairies, the native sets himself at work, and can tell what kind of an animal has passed that way, and whether fat or lean, alarmed or unconcerned.  They can find their way through a wilderness, and resist hunger and thirst with marvellous fortitude; and while others sink under the influence of burning heat, the native Australian, with head bare, seems to court the rays of the sun, and moves along with a steady step, and without a word of complaint.

I no longer wondered at the assurance of the bushranger when he proclaimed himself a disciple of Australian barbarians.

“Will any man in his senses believe that the horses have crossed that narrow strip?” demanded one of the fellows, pointing to the bridge; “I know the horses of this country too well to believe that they like bogs so well as to venture there.”

“I tell you that two of the horses have crossed to that island!” cried the first speaker, after stooping down and examining the ground; “here, see for yourself!”

The robbers gathered around the spot indicated, and we could hear them converse in low tones for a few minutes, and look suspiciously towards the island, where we were hid from observation by a number of large rocks.

“If two of the horses has gone to the island, whar is the other?” cried a voice, more gruff and savage than the others.

No one seemed disposed to answer that question, and for a few seconds there was a profound silence.

“I tell you what it is, coveys, I don’t care about staying in this neighborhood long, ’cos I heard a brother pal say once, that ever since old Buckerly was knocked on the head he has wandered round here with a sheet of flame in one hand, a spear in the other, and a pair of horns on his head, to show that he was in the cattle trade when finished.”

There was a faint laugh at the suspicious man’s story, but I noticed that their expressions of mirth were not overflowing.

“Pooh! you don’t believe such d——­d lies, do you?” one fellow asked.

“Never you mind what I believe,” said the story teller, with a dogmatical emphasis.

“Well, we had better be doing something, or else return to the camp and get a bit to eat; I’m tired of tramping all day and getting no plunder,” cried one, who didn’t seem to be in a good humor.

“Hullo! one horse went off in this direction!” cried the fellow who was following up the trail.

The gang gathered round the speaker, and satisfied themselves that such was the case, and then we could see them gazing with some degree of apprehension upon the dark palms.