with Duke Humphrey, and slept in Nature's
ante-room. At last, a settler recommended
him to go up the country, and ply from station
to station in search of employment. He was
sure of board and lodging, gratis; and at any
rate he might as well perish in the bush as on
the banks of the Torrens. Jim followed this
advice. "I had no swag, not even a blanket,
to carry," said he; "for I had parted with
these long before. When I started out of
Adelaide, a few pence, a plug of tobacco, an
old clay pipe, a sharp knife, and a clear
conscience, were all my possessions. I sunk my
name for ever; I determined to forget it; and
I have forgotten it—except at times. The
second day, I got a berth at Grey's station,
under Mount Lofty; and when he asked my
name, I said, Jim Walker, and Jim Walker
I've been ever since."

The great event in Jim's colonial career
occurred when he was a shepherd on the Glen
Lyon Run, which is situated on the borders of
the Tatiara district. The blacks inhabiting
that locality are justly dreaded for their
untameable ferocity, which civilising influences
are apparently unable to counteract; to the
present day the Tatiara natives are noted for
their savage onslaughts on defenceless
Europeans. At the time of Jim's adventure these
attacks were yet more numerous and deadly
than they are now, so that the white settlers
rarely ventured abroad unarmed.

Jim was appointed to one of the out-stations;
and as the country consisted principally
of large open plains, he had a pretty
easy time of it. The hut was snugly ensconced
in a nook of the low rocky hills which formed
the northern boundary of the Run. On these
hills grew a few stunted she-oaks and dwarf
honey-suckle trees, interspersed with dense
scrub, which afforded no inconsiderable
screen from the hot winds. A single water-
hole—the only summer vestige of winter
torrents—was near at hand, and immediately in
front of the hut was the nightly folding ground.

Jim's only companion in this lonely spot
was Willie, the hut-keeper, a quiet, Scotch
body, with whose homely conversation Jim
was fain to be content; save when one of the
overseers rode over from the head station, or
a bullock-driver brought down stores, or a
chance wanderer passed. The latter was,
however, a very rare occurrence; for the
locality was much out of the usual track.

One afternoon as Jim and his trusty dog
Sandie followed the sheep homeward, he was
surprised at not perceiving any signs of Willie.
Imagining that the hot weather had
overpowered that usually vigilant personage,
Jim shouted loudly for him to "wake up,"
and help to fold the sheep. Receiving no
answer, he hurried to the hut.

At the entrance he beheld a scene which
to quote his own expression, "made all the
blood in his body run cold." There was poor
Willie, lying on his face, nearly naked, and
bedabbled in gore. It was some time before
Jim could muster courage to approach his
old chum. When he did, he found that he
was dead, and nearly cold; and a broken
spear in his side betrayed that he had been
murdered by the natives. The hut itself had
evidently been rifled; every particle of
food, the store of flour, sugar, and tea, the
blankets, knives, and every useful moveable,
had been carried off. But what Jim mostly
regretted was, that the pistol, an old-fashioned
pepper-box revolver, was missing. Fortunately,
he had taken his gun in the morning
to shoot a few birds, if chance offered, during
the day; and, therewith, all the powder and
shot remaining on hand. Still, six extra shots
were not to be despised; and he felt that the
loss of the pistol added to his danger.

Now, all the horrors of his own position
burst upon him. The head station was fully
ten miles distant, and what enemies he might
encounter on the road it was impossible to
foretell. However, stay in the hut by himself
he could not; so he resolved to fold the flock,
and then to set off through the bush, to give
information of the event, and obtain assistance.
In pursuance of this resolution he went
out, and with the aid of the dog succeeded in
folding the sheep.

Hoarse with shouting—for your true bushman
can do nothing without making a great
uproar—Jim went to the water-hole to drink,
preparatory to starting on his perilous journey.
He was just rising from the recumbent
position necessary to enable him to reach the
water, when Sandie gave a loud growl; and,
at the same instant, Jim saw the shadow of a
human figure reflected in the water. Cautiously
gazing around, he beheld several dusky
forms moving through the thick undergrowth
of the opposite range. His first impulse was
to fly; but aware of the necessity of concealing
his alarming discovery, he mastered his
emotion, and ordering the dog to follow,
walked quietly back to the hut.

Barricading the door, as well as circumstances
would permit, Jim sat down on one
of the old stumps which supplied the place
of more convenient seats; and striving to
divest his mind of untimely fear, debated
within himself the propriety of attempting
to elude the wily savages who were in
the immediate vicinity. But the more he
thought of it, the more impracticable it
appeared. To run the gauntlet through an
unknown number of enemies, was almost
certain death. On the other hand, to remain
quiescent presented only the prospect of
prolonged torture, and final destruction.
However, there was no help for it at present, and
unable to form any decisive plan of escape,
Jim did the very best thing he could; he
made his little fortress as secure as possible,
and awaited the result.

The hut was built in the ordinary bush-
fashion, of huge, upright slabs of timber,—
the lower ends being inserted in the earth,
and the upper nailed to strong beams. The