Jim was the first off the Francis Cadman on the Monday afternoon when she drew alongside the rough Yarra wharf just under Bateman’s Hill, and when he set his foot on Australian soil he planted one tendril of his heart there.  He let fall his bag, and looked about him.  The arrival of the ship had occasioned no interest that he could discover.  Perhaps the news was not yet common property.  A dusty road along the banks of the river on his right led to the town; there were a few scattered houses of dark stone and primitive design on the hill before him, beside which the lawless gum-trees flourished.  The day was intensely hot; a wind that might have breathed o’er the infernal regions whipped up clouds of dust, and spun them into fantastic shapes, filling eyes and lungs, but no discomfort could dull the joy he felt on coming into his kingdom.  He had turned his back to the wind to wait the passing of a sirocco of sand, when a double-seated American waggon, drawn by two steaming horses, flashed on him out of the storm, driving him headlong to the ground, and coming to a standstill within a few feet.  The bag had served as a buffer, and the deeply-ploughed roadway made a soft bed, so that no bones were broken; but Done arose with all his fighting instincts aflame, and turned upon the driver.

‘You murderous ruffian!’ he cried.  ‘I’ve a mind to break—­’

He stopped short, one foot upon the step, one hand grasping the ironwork of the seat, staring at the driver, suddenly disarmed.  The man on the seat was a grizzled, malformed creature of about fifty, with a deeply-wrinkled small face, burnt a dark tan, and almost covered with a tangle of short, crisp, iron-gray whiskers.  The suggestion of a rough-haired terrier was so strong that Done expected the brute to bark at him.  The small eyes in the protecting shade of tufted brows, like miniature overhanging horns, were keen and shrewd This extraordinary head was supported by a small and shapeless body, the legs of which were much too long and extremely thin, as were the arms also; but the wrists and hands, strained to hold the restive horses, were hard, corded, and hairy, suggesting a gorilla-like vitality in the curious man.  Done let himself down to the roadway again.  One could not fight with so miserable a cripple.

‘You drive like a madman, mister,’ he said in a milder tone.

‘Maybe yer off the ship just now?’ said the ape like driver, quite ignoring Done’s grievance and his words.  ‘So bein’, you can tell we if there’s a Mistress Macdougal aboard her.’

The man kept his eyes on his horses; his heels were firmly set on the footboard.  It. needed all the strength of his iron wrists to restrain the beasts—­tall, lean bays, with a certain piratical rakishness about them, long-maned and long-tailed, effective weapons against the voracious flies that swarmed over their rumps.  Their powerful frames showed through clean, healthy hides, and their blood in the proud carriage