One of the first things that Harris said to me was, “I wish I knew what your father did with the nice red blanket he had with him when he went up the river.  He had none when he came down again; I have no horse here, but I borrowed one from a man who came up one day from down below, and rode to a place where I found what I am sure were the ashes of the last fire he made, but I could find neither the blanket nor the billy and pannikin he took away with him.  He said he supposed he must have left the things there, but he could remember nothing about it.”

“I am afraid,” said I, “that I cannot help you.”

“At any rate,” continued the shepherd, “I did not have my ride for nothing, for as I was coming back I found this rug half covered with sand on the river-bed.”

As he spoke he pointed to an excellent warm rug, on the spare bunk in his hut.  “It is none of our make,” said he; “I suppose some foreign digger has come over from the next river down south and got drowned, for it had not been very long where I found it, at least I think not, for it was not much fly-blown, and no one had passed here to go up the river since your father.”

I knew what it was, but I held my tongue beyond saying that the rug was a very good one.

The next day, December 4, was lovely, after a night that had been clear and cold, with frost towards early morning.  When the shepherd had gone for some three hours in the forenoon to see his sheep (that were now lambing), I walked down to the place where I had left my knapsack, and carried it a good mile above the hut, where I again hid it.  I could see the great range from one place, and the thick new fallen snow assured me that the river would be quite normal shortly.  Indeed, by evening it was hardly at all discoloured, but I waited another day, and set out on the morning of Sunday, December 6.  The river was now almost as low as in winter, and Harris assured me that if I used my eyes I could not miss finding a ford over one stream or another every half mile or so.  I had the greatest difficulty in preventing him from accompanying me on foot for some little distance, but I got rid of him in the end; he came with me beyond the place where I had hidden my knapsack, but when he had left me long enough, I rode back and got it.

I see I am dwelling too long upon my own small adventures.  Suffice it that, accompanied by my dog, I followed the north bank of the river till I found I must cross one stream before I could get any farther.  This place would not do, and I had to ride half a mile back before I found one that seemed as if it might be safe.  I fancy my father must have done just the same thing, for Doctor seemed to know the ground, and took to the water the moment I brought him to it.  It never reached his belly, but I confess I did not like it.  By and by I had to recross, and so on, off and on, till at noon I camped for dinner.  Here the dog found me a nest of young ducks, nearly fledged, from which the parent birds tried with great success to decoy me.  I fully thought I was going to catch them, but the dog knew better and made straight for the nest, from which he returned immediately with a fine young duck in his mouth, which he laid at my feet, wagging his tail and barking.  I took another from the nest and left two for the old birds.