as I looked up to the dull starlight, I thought
of many of my boyish remembrances, and soon
felt that I was weeping what time they surged
up dimly and tenderly. How I longed for the
bleak sky, the cold bracing wind, and the sleety
rain of home! How I longed for the pattering
fall of rain on the windows, and the winter
comfort of the bright hearthstone. Somehow these
longings wove in with my thoughts, and in a
partial dream I heard winter sounds again, and
loud words, and laughter.

I awoke with a sudden start to see, not
twenty yards from me, three men hobbling
their horses, and speaking to each other about
some bush fire. I could hardly persuade myself
that I was not still dreaming.

One of the men was soon engaged in lighting
a fire on a bare patch of ground, and I was about
rising to join them and taste of companionship
once more, when a column of flame started
up suddenly and displayed a face that caused
me to shrink back again, with a muttered
thanksgiving that I was not discovered. The
face that the fire revealed, was known to me at
once, though I had never seen it before. The
one eye and hair lip of "Red Jim" had been
freely spoken about in every shepherd's hut on
the surrounding stations. There was no
mistaking him. The bull-dog forehead, the heavy
jaw, and the thick neck, were features that in
themselves would have sufficiently pointed out
the identity of this escaped convict. Recalling
the man now, as I saw him then, I think I never
beheld so perfect an impersonation of a bad
criminal. It was well known that Red Jim had
escaped from penal servitude, accompanied by
three others, but had arrived in this colony alone.
It was equally well known that he could only
have survived the incredible journey by
cannibalism. Red Jim had ruthlessly murdered one
or two settlers against whom he entertained a
grudge, and every effort was being at that time
made to capture him. There was nothing
remarkable in the faces of his companions. They
simply showed by word and feature all the
evidences of ruffianism usual in men of their class.
They had coarse long limbs and heavy reckless
faces, seared into revolting harshness by a long
series of crimes. Two of them were armed
with guns.

These thoughts and observations passed
through my mind in much less time than
it takes to write them. I was speedily
recalled from speculation by hearing the word
"Hallelujah" used. Hallelujah was the sobriquet
given to my master because of his
strictly adhering to the habit of reading prayers
in the family, morning and evening. Mr.
Christmas was a kind benevolent man, respected
by every "hand" on the station; and by none
more than by myself. He had been very
considerate to me in a late illness, and often
sought by many subsequent attentions to cheer
the loneliness of my employment. One of Red
Jim's companions, in answer to something Red
Jim said, replied with an oath:

"Yes, we'll see if his psalm-singing will save
him now."

Then the other said: "There are a couple of
women there, and we shall have time to give
them a taste of bush life before morning."

"Look ye 'ere," growled the ruffian, "we'll
roast Hallelujah first. That's our look-out.
We'll see if the old prayer-patterer has nothing
else to do but help to run us down. Give him
a taste of fire before the devil gets him."

I had no fever, no lassitude, now; the
prostration of the last few weeks left me as by
magic, and in its stead I felt a fierce delightful
energy tingling along every nerve. Down close
amongst the dry tindering grass, away with
suppressed breath, and a wild feeling closing
round my heart, I crept from the vicinity of the
fire. I pursued my way, on my hands and knees,
with a slow determined care that has since
surprised me, avoiding every branch or twig that
might crackle in my path. I hurried on past
the flock without so much as disturbing a
sheep.

Not till a long safe distance intervened did
I stand erect, and fresh for the events of the
night. Whatever they might be, God in his
mercy alone knew.

I turned and saw the black forms of the
bushrangers moving about the blaze, and with a
run I started for the hut. Before a quarter of
an hour passed, I saw it dimly against the sky,
and almost at the same instant a frightened
snort told me that the horse was within a few
yards of my course. Uttering a hurried thanksgiving
that I had found him so providentially
near, I unfastened the hobbles with quick
steady hands, and led him to the threshold.

I put on the patched saddle and bridle, and
in another five minutes the fine old cob was
stretching himself to a swift free gallop. My
mind was too full for thought; but I can
remember uttering repeatedly the words
"Thank God!"

What a contrast to the still hot monotonous
days, and the enervated frame! What a testimony
to the power of mental excitement over
bodily lassitude! The horse felt my determination
too, and sped along without pause or
stumble. It was seven miles to the station,
and the black belts of timber rose, and passed,
and came again, as I hurried on for dear life,
over crabbed ground and abrupt hillocks. The
brave old cob had as little thought of rest as I
had. Once, indeed, he paused at a rocky
crossing-place, but immediately resumed the
swift pace at which we had started. Have
horses intuition, or presentiment? I don't
know; but I have often wondered at the long
unurged gallop of that brave old gelding.

There away beyond in the black darkness, I
see something that is not a star. Is it moving,
or is it the pace of the horse? It seems
extinguished now. No, there it is again. Hurrah,
it is a candle. It is the homestead, calm and
peaceful. Again, thank God.

Strange to say, I never felt such a sense of
pleasure as I did when I learned that I had
found the house so quickly—the most familiar
point is not easily gained in the trackless bush
at night. A minute more, and I had dismounted