The men carried small swags, having entrusted their tools and tents to teamsters, and, travelled quietly, taking four days to accomplish the journey.  The route lay through trackless country.  As yet few parties from Forest Creek had set out for Simpson’s Ranges, and Jim and his friends encountered no other travellers until they were approaching the new rush, and then the road assumed the familiar characteristics, and the noisy, boisterous troops went gaily by.  These might have been the identical men who tramped to Diamond Gully through the Black Forest, so much did they resemble the former in their joyousness and their wild exuberance of word and action, and in their manner of conveying their belongings too, and in their frank good-fellowship.  But by this time Jim was an experienced Antipodean, and knew that in such circumstances men always behave much in the same way, and that dignity is the first oppressive observance to be abandoned immediately man breaks loose from the restraints of society.  The novelty had gone from the rushes, but not the charm.  The sight of the courageous, healthy, happy gold-seekers swinging by struck sympathetic chords in his own heart.  He had kindred impulses, and was by far the most jubilant of his party, the Bush-bred Australians being the least demonstrative of all the men on the track.

On the morning of the fourth day Jim encountered a face he knew amongst a party of five travelling with a waggon.

‘Hullo, Phil Ryan!’ he said.

Phil advanced with a puzzled expression on his face, that presently gave way to a broad grin.

‘The Hermit!’ he cried, and, seizing Jim’s hand, he shook it with effusive heartiness.  One might think he had occasion to remember Done for many kindnesses, whereas the ignominious beating the Hermit had given him on the Francis Cadman was all he had to be grateful for.

‘I’ve given up trying to be a hermit,’ said Jim.  ’There was nothing in it.’

‘Begor, I’m that glad!’ said Phil, and he certainly looked radiant.  ’But you’re th’ changed man, Done.  I hardly knew you wid th’ amiable shmile.  Have things been goin’ rare an’ good?’

‘They have, Ryan.  I’m a made man.’  Jim meant the expression to be taken in a spiritual rather than a pecuniary sense.

It’s hearin’,’ said Phil.  ‘My soul, but it’s th’ great land, man!  I’ve had more gold through me hands these twelve munts than I iver dramed iv before.  But it don’t shtick,’ he added ruefully, glancing at his horny palms.

‘And the others—­have you heard of them?’

‘We broke up into twos an’ twos whin we come near Geelong, fer fear iv being nailed by th’ police fer disertion.  Jorgensen’s made his pile over be Buniyong; an’ Tommy th’ Tit—­him what seconded me in th’ bit iv a contention we had aboard—­have been rootin’ out nuggets be th’ tubful at Ballarat, an’ talkin’ fight and devilment t’ th’ min iv nights in th’ intherests iv peace an’ humanity an’ good gover’mint.  Be th’ same token, there’s goin’ t’ be no ind iv sin an’ throuble down there, an’ I’d be sorry to be missin’ it.’