We did drop in for a long day, and no mistake. We only pulled up for a short halt in the middle, and Warrigal’s cast-iron pony was off again, as if he was bound right away for the other side of the continent. However, though we were not going slow either, but kept up a reasonable fast pace, it must have been past midnight when we rode into Starlight’s camp; very glad Jim and I were to see the fire—not a big one either. We had been taking it pretty easy, you see, for a month or two, and were not quite so ready for an eighty-mile ride as if we had been in something like training. The horses had had enough of it, too, though neither of them would give in, not if we’d ridden ‘em twenty mile farther. As for Warrigal’s Bilbah he was near as fresh as when he started, and kept tossin’ his head an’ amblin’ and pacin’ away as if he was walkin’ for a wager round a ring in a show-yard.

As we rode up we could see a gunyah made out of boughs, and a longish wing of dogleg fence, made light but well put together. As soon as we got near enough a dog ran out and looked as if he was going to worry us; didn’t bark either, but turned round and waited for us to get off.

“It’s old Crib,” said Jim, with a big laugh; “blest if it ain’t. Father’s somewhere handy. They’re going to take up a back block and do the thing regular: Marston, Starlight, and Company—that’s the fakement. They want us out to make dams or put up a wool-shed or something. I don’t see why they shouldn’t, as well as Grossman and Fakesley. It’s six of one and half-a-dozen of the other, as far as being on the square goes. Depend upon it, dad’s turned over a new leaf.”

“Do you fellows want anything to eat?” said a voice that I knew to be Starlight’s. “If you do there’s tea near the fire, and some grub in that flour bag. Help yourselves and hobble out your horses. We’ll settle matters a bit in the morning. Your respected parent’s abed in his own camp, and it’s just as well not to wake him, unless you want his blessing ere you sleep.”