justice by letting him and his mate go in their yoke, and postponing further operations to daylight.
Mrs. Burge was most anxious about her husband, and inveighed against his foolishly putting his life in jeopardy for a few rails. Old Tom laughed, and said as long as Joe had a good gun he was a match for all the blacks in the country, if they did not take him by surprise.
"We're going to have a bit of trouble with these black varment now," he said, filling his pipe in a leisurely way. "Once they've started killing cattle they won't leave off in a hurry. More by token, they might take a fancy to tackle the hut some day when we're out."
"You leave me a gun, then," said Mrs. Burge, "and I'll be able to frighten 'em a bit if I'm left by myself. But sure, I hardly think they'd touch me after all the flour and bits of things I've given the lubras."
"They're quare people," said the old stockman, meditatively; "there's good and bad among 'em, but the divil resave the blackfellow I'd trust nearer than I could pull the trigger on him, if he looked crooked."
I said little, being vexed that my policy of conciliation had been of no avail. I roused myself, however, out of a reverie on the curious problem afforded by original races of mankind, foredoomed to perish at the approach of higher law.
"They have not touched any of our cattle yet," I said; "that shows they have some feeling of gratitude."
"I wouldn't say that," answered the old man.
