soon left in undisturbed possession of his hill-side, out of which it was generally imagined that he contrived to extract a bare livelihood and no more. On one side of the flat there was a police-camp containing a sergeant and half-a-dozen troopers. They were all of them Irish, and the majority had been men of good position, who, coming out to Australia in search of fortune, and unwilling to woo her with pick and shovel, had adopted a less toilsome though likewise less lucrative method of maintaining themselves. They were not at all a bad lot of fellows, with the exception of one, Dick Brady, or wicked Dick Brady, as he was frequently and justly called. He was a tall, handsome, dissipated, sinister-looking man of undoubted pluck, and who would have possessed great bodily strength, had not hard-living and drink impaired his forces. He was, at the best of times, a most unpleasant companion; when sober, always narrating horrible, ribald tales, and sneering at everything good and holy; when drunk, a perfect devil incarnate, and savage as a tiger.
One Saturday evening I was down at the Caledonian store with my mate. We were having a nobbler and a chat with some old friends, when in came Brady. He had already been drinking, and I knew that there would soon be a row, so I rose up to go, for the very sight of the man was hateful to me. However, my mate had unfortunately taken a little more than was good for him, and obstinately refused to stir, and as I did not choose to leave him when in that state I had to sit down again. Brady did his best to quarrel with some one, but as he was pretty well known to us all, every one was careful not to give him a chance. However, as bad luck would have it, who should enter the store to make some purchases but the Hatter, accompanied by his dog.
“Hallo, Hatter!” shouted Brady, “what will you take for that animal of yours? I want a good kangarooer, and he seems one of the right sort.”
“Yes, Mr. Brady,” said Steele, “there isn’t a better hound in these colonies, but I don’t mean to part with him just yet, thank you.”
“Why, you half-starved miserable old skeleton, what good is he to you? Any cur will serve your turn. I wonder you can manage to keep a rat out of your scurvy earnings.”
“That’s my business, Mr. Brady; but I tell you once more that I don’t mean to sell him. Besides, if I did, he’s a queer customer, and would never make friends with any one but me.”
“Wouldn’t he, though,” said Brady,who was by this time three parts drunk; “why he’s as fond of me already as if he had known me from a pup. Here, Watchman, old boy!” But Watchman did not respond to the invitation, but kept his eyes fixed upon Brady with anything but a friendly look. “Oh, you won’t come, won’t you. I’ll soon make you, my lad,” cried Brady, staggering across the store.
Watchman uttered a low, savage growl, and as the drunken trooper stooped to lay hold of him by the collar, sprang straight at his throat. Over went Brady backwards, with the dog on the top of him. We all rushed to the rescue, and after a good deal of trouble managed to compel the infuriated animal to relax its hold. Brady’s stock had saved him from much damage, but the minute he regained his legs, he snatched the knife out of my mate’s belt and rushed at the dog again. Determined to put a stop to this, I thrust my foot out as he passed me, and over he went headlong. He was up again in a moment, and came at me like a madman. But I was sober and cool, and easily avoiding the blow he made at me with the knife, I caught him with the left hand full on the temple, and sent him bleeding and stunned against the counter.
“Now, Hatter,” said I, “you had better slope before you or the dog get into trouble.”
Steele took my hint, and, gathering up his purchases, departed, followed by Watchman.
Well, as Brady’s hurts were of no great consequence, and as my mate, having succeeded, by the aid of several additional nobblers, in fully convincing himself that I was very drunk indeed, and should be much better in bed, seemed more inclined to move, I soon took myself off also. When Brady came to himself he vowed vengeance against me, but I did not heed his threats much, for my hands could always keep my head. The next morning as I happened to be taking a stroll past Steele’s hut the door opened, and the owner came out and invited me to enter, which I did. I found the inside very clean and comfortable, and nicely fitted up. In front of the blazing logs lay the cause of the last night’s disturbance, who condescended to honour me with a friendly wag of the tail. But what attracted my attention the most was a shelf containing some fifty or sixty volumes of standard works.
“You are a lucky fellow,” said I, “to have the means of getting through the long winter evenings without the necessity of frequenting the grog-shop. I would give something for such a lot of books as that.”
“Ah,” said he, “for many a long year they have been the only companions and friends I have known, always excepting my faithful dog, here. I love them too much to trust them out of my hut, but whenever you feel inclined to read, you can come over here of an evening, and welcome. I shall always be glad to see you, and I fancy I can find you a drop of better stuff than you get at the Caledonian.”
Well, after that, as my mate was fond of going down to the township of an evening to amuse himself, I used to pay Steele a visit almost every night, and at last we got quite friendly, and he told me many a curious incident of his past life, for he had been for years a hunter in America before he took to the diggings in California. Amongst other articles suspended on the walls of his hut was a revolver with five notches cut on the butt, each of which, as he told me, represented an Indian shot down by it in hand-to-hand conflict. About his present circumstances, however, he was much less communicative; and though, from one thing or another, I was led to infer that he was doing rather better with his surfacing than was generally imagined, yet I had no suspicion that the