On came the young digger, the cheers swelling as he advanced.  The men of Diamond Gully had never so thoroughly enjoyed anything in the nature of a chase.  It seemed that the race was to be to the swift.  The crowd parted to take the runner to its heart, when Sergeant Wallis threw himself from his horse, and the young digger simply sank panting into his arms.  Wallis put on a grip that had reduced many a recalcitrant convict to order, and looked inquiringly at McPhee, who had ridden to the spot.  The crowd closed round, overlooking the scene from mullock-heaps and windlass-stands.

‘Produce your license, you rascal!’ roared the Commissioner.

The youth was too short of breath to speak, and remained panting under Wallis’s hand.

‘He has no license, sergeant.  Run him in!’ said McPhee.

‘Sure, Commissioner dear, what’d I be doin’ wid a license whin I’m only a woman?’ The captive plucked the billycock from her head, and a mass of black hair fell over her shoulders.

Done, who had pressed to the front, recognised Aurora.  That section of the crowd which saw and understood sent up a shout of surprise and jubilation.  Wallis retained his grip on the girl, and the sight of his hands upon her stirred a savage resentment in Jim.  He made a rush at the sergeant, but Mike was beside him and held him.

‘Don’t be a fool, Jim.  Don’t give them a chance,’ he said.  ’She’s right as rain.  McPhee can do nothing to her; he’ll lumber you if you only open your mouth!’

‘What’ll I do with him—­her, sir?’ asked Wallis.

‘A pretty chase you’ve led us, you vixen!’ blurted the Serang.  ’For two pins I’d chain you to the nearest log, and give the flies a treat.’

‘Would hairpins do, Mack dear?’ panted Aurora, thrusting an impertinent, flushed, handsome face up at the Serang, and feeling amongst her tangled hair.

There had been an expectant hush upon the men for the last few moments.  On this broke a great bovine roar of merriment from the opulent lungs of Mrs. Ben Kyley, who stood foremost in the ring surrounding McPhee, the sergeant, and the girl, her strong white hands, suspiciously pipeclayed, supporting her shaking sides.  The familiar guffaw was infectious; the diggers caught it up, and, laughing like madmen, closed in on Wallis, snatched his prisoner from his hands, and, hoisting her shoulder high, bore her off in triumph.

Commissioner McPhee, surrounded by his minions, rode from Diamond Gully that afternoon with one prisoner—­the man who had been run down, and the crowd that ushered him out bore Aurora Griffiths aloft, and sang a long chant of derision, which, keenly as he felt it, the Serang did not dare resent.

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