“To the devil with the trail,” muttered Mike, hitting one of the prostrate natives with his spear.  “Let’s find the brook, and then we’ll be all right, shan’t we?  Find the main thing first, and then toiler up the little ones, used to be the advice of me father, God rest his soul, and keep him well supplied wid whiskey in the nixt world!  Ah, what man he was to be sure!  You knew him, sir?” continued Mike, addressing Mr. Wright, who was awaiting the result of the Australians with exemplary patience, considering that the rain was falling in torrents.

“Be quiet,” said our host, “or if you must do something go and see how near we are to the creek, and don’t make a noise.”

“I’ll do that same,” muttered Mike, “but it’s the opinion of a man who knows more than a dozen nagers, that the creek is a mile from here in the udder direction.”

He went on his mission, grumbling at the supposition that the creek was near us, when suddenly we heard a loud splash, and Mike’s voice raised in supplication.

CHAPTER LXXVI.

MIKE TUMBLES INTO THE RIVER.—­ARRIVAL OF THE BUSHRANGERS.

“That d——­d Irishman has tumbled into the creek,” cried Mr. Wright, endeavoring to suppress a laugh that did find utterance.

“Here’s the river, sure!” shouted Mike, “and a cussed mane one it is.  Help me out!”

“Be quiet,” said Mr. Wright, “or you’ll alarm the bushrangers.”

“And do you intend that I shall strangle myself for the purpose of letting the blackguards git kilt?” remonstrated the Hibernian; “I’ve swallowed a gallon of the dirty water already, and it’s cowld on my stomach.  Help me out, will ye?”

We reached the scene of the Irishman’s disaster, and were compelled to wait for a flash of lightning for the purpose of seeing his situation.  When the flash did reveal his position, we saw that he was clinging to some rocks most tenaciously, while the boiling waters were bubbling over his head, which he made no attempt to raise beyond the reach of danger.

“Crawl up the bank, you loon!” cried Mr. Wright, but the advice was unheeded.

“Save me!” yelled Mike; “I can’t swim and I’m filled with the bloody dust, that weighs me down like lead.  A thousand dollars to the man who gives me his hand first.”

“Well, give me the thousand dollars, and I’ll help you out,” Mr. Wright said, facetiously.

“Ah, master dear, won’t you take my word for the money, or wait till I arn it?”

“Just as I always thought,” grumbled our host; “an Irishman will promise any thing in distress, even while he knows that he has no means of performing his engagements.”

“But isn’t it better to do so, master dear, than to make no promises and die?” asked the Irishman, and I rather thought that he had him on that question.

“Perhaps you are right,” our host answered, and extending his hand, he helped Mike to terra firma, and landed him just as Kala informed us that the ford was ten or twelve rods down the stream.