men, there was so strong a leaven of dare-devils and so varied an admixture of rogues and vagabonds that Jim Crow quickly won itself an unenviable reputation on all the rushes, from Buninyong to Bendigo, and, rich as it was, diggers found it as difficult to keep their gold as to win it.  The Jim Crow ranges were within an hour’s flight, and offered splendid cover for the members of Coleman’s gang, or the friends of Black Douglas, or any other rapscallion who preferred stealing gold to seeking it.

On the day of their arrival at Jim Crow the mates pegged out a claim and pitched their tent, which Mike had added to his swag.  With the help of Mrs. Ben Kyley, they had succeeded in depositing the larger part of their earnings at Diamond Gully in a Melbourne bank, and now they were hampered with no great responsibility in the way of riches.  That night Jim and Mike walked over the field, through the clustering tents, and Jim discovered that what he had taken for a wild life at Diamond Gully was peace itself compared with the devilment and disorder of a new field.  Jim Crow had opened well, the first discoveries were enormously rich, and the restless diggers were pouring in from all quarters, and glare and confusion and a babel of music and tongues rioted in the camp.  Here, again, Jim was struck with the untamed boyishness of the miners; their levity was that of coarse, healthy children.  ’Is it civilization that is choking gaiety out of the souls of men?’ he asked himself.

Done had a curious experience on the following day.  He had gone to the tent to light the fire, boil the billy, and prepare the mid-day meal, and was carrying water from a convenient spring, when, in passing the tent of their nearest neighbours, twin brothers named Peetree, the first prospectors of Jim Crow, he was startled by a furious yell, more like the howl of a madman than the cry of a sentient creature.  Jim turned and looked about.  There was nobody within sight from whom the amazing sound could have come, but as he stood the cry was repeated.  Done set down his billy, and, approaching the tent, peeped in.  There was nobody there, but again the wild cry rang out.  He looked under the bunks, and then walked round the tent, but discovered nothing to explain the mystery.  He paused dubiously, suspecting a trick, when for the fourth time he heard the marrow-chilling scream, and this time so near that he sprang aside in real alarm.  Against the side of the tent, chocked to prevent its rolling, was a barrel, brought to Jim Crow by the Peetrees to be cut into two puddling-tubs, no doubt.  Jim examined it suspiciously.

‘Le’ me out, yer swines! le’ me out!’ cried a shrill old voice, following the words with a long dolorous howl, not unlike that of a moonstruck cur.

‘Who the devil are you?’ asked Done.  ‘What are you doing in there?’

His words only served to enrage the man in the cask; he had a paroxysm of linguistic fury, and curses spouted from the bunghole a geyser of profanity.