[Transcriber's note: This book contains words that may be offensive to modern readers.]

THE LAST OF THE BLOODTHIRSTY WARLATTAS.

THE SECRET
OF THE
AUSTRALIAN DESERT

BY

ERNEST FAVENC

Author of "The History of Australian Exploration",
"Tales of the Austral Tropics", &c. &c.

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY PERCY F. S. SPENCE
AND A MAP

LONDON
BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED, 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
GLASGOW AND DUBLIN
1903

PREFACE.

Although the interior of the continent of Australia is singularly deficient in the more picturesque elements of romance, it was, for nearly two-thirds of a century, a most attractive lure to men of adventurous character.

Oxley, Sturt, Mitchell, Kennedy, and Stuart have left deathless names on the roll of Australian explorers, but the unknown fate of Ludwig Leichhardt has always centred most of the romance of story about his memory.

In April, 1848, he left Macpherson's Station, Cogoon River, situated in the southern portion of what is now the colony of Queensland, with the intention of endeavouring to reach Perth, on the west coast, the capital of Western Australia, by traversing, if possible, the then unknown heart of the continent.

From that day to this, no clue to the disappearance of the whole party has ever been discovered. Several expeditions have been fruitlessly despatched in search of the missing men; and many false reports as to the finding of relics of the party have been brought in at various times. Even the rapid advance of settlement, and the comparatively full knowledge now possessed of the interior, have thrown no light on the subject. This, the great mystery of Australian exploration, I have taken for the groundwork of my story.

The view I have adopted of the probable course pursued by Leichhardt and his party, is the one that commends itself to the majority of experienced bushmen. Turned back by the dry country west of the Diamantina River, the explorer probably followed that river up, and crossed the main watershed on to the head of some river running north into the Gulf of Carpentaria; in fact, the same track afterwards followed by the ill-fated Burke and Wills. Leichhardt could then easily reach the route he pursued on his first expedition to Port Essington, the only successful one he made, and on which his reputation is based. This course would then lead him around the foot of the Gulf to the Roper River, where he would leave his old route, follow the Roper, or a tributary, to its head, and strike south-west, into the scantily-watered waste of the interior. This view is borne out by the fact that trees, marked with what appears to be a letter L, have been found on or near this supposititious line of travel; and A. C. Gregory, the leader of one of the search expeditions, discovered the framework of a small hut, seemingly built by white men, on a creek he called the Elsie, a tributary of the Roper River.

Another unexplained riddle I have introduced points to the possible early occupation of Australia by an ancient and partly civilized race. In 1838, Lieutenant, now Sir George Grey, when on an expedition in north-west Australia, discovered some remarkable paintings in a cave on the Glenelg River, evidently not the work of the present inhabitants. He describes the principal one as—"The figure of a man, ten feet six inches in height, clothed from the chin downwards in a red garment which reached to the wrists and ankles". The head of this figure was encircled by a halo or turban, and on it strange characters were inscribed, like a written name. Grey says—"I was certainly surprised at the moment I first saw this gigantic head and upper part of a body bending over and staring grimly down on me". Although the dress and accessories so plainly prove that these paintings were not the work of the Australian aborigines, the locality, strange to say, has not been again investigated. I have taken the liberty of transplanting these cave paintings from the north-west coast to the interior, and also of changing the names of some of the members of Leichhardt's party. The descriptions of the physical features of the country are faithful records from personal experience.

ERNEST FAVENC.

SYDNEY, N.S.W., September, 1894.

CONTENTS.

Chap.

I. [Sand and Scrub]
II. [A Strange Road]
III. [A Mysterious Procession]
IV. [The Devil's Tracks]
V. [A Lifeless Swamp]
VI. [The Burning Mountain at Last]
VII. [Cannibals]
VIII. [The Fight in the Cave]
IX. [An Exciting Discovery]
X. [The Missing Expedition]
XI. [Stuart's Journal]
XII. [Charlie's Adventure]
XIII. [The Trip South]
XIV. [In the Spinifex Desert]
XV. [The Fate of Columbus]
XVI. [The Slaughter Chamber]
XVII. [A Hopeless Situation]
XVIII. [The Ancient Australians]
XIX. [Charlie Falls Sick]
XX. [A Further Discovery]
XXI. [The Final Departure]
XXII. [The Gold Reef Discovered]
XXIII. [A Solitary Camp]
XXIV. [More Dry Creeks]
XXV. [The Last of the Cannibals]
XXVI. [A False Alarm]
XXVII. [Home Again]

ILLUSTRATIONS.

[They find the Devil's Track on the Rock-plain]

[The Death of Dr. Leichhardt in the Desert]

[Morton and his Party examine the Slaughter-chamber]

[The Last of the Bloodthirsty Warlattas,] Frontis.

[Route Map]

THE SECRET OF
THE AUSTRALIAN DESERT.

CHAPTER I.

The Start for the Burning Mountain—Sand and Scrub.

It is the beginning of November—November in the Southern hemisphere, not the raw, foggy month of the North—November in Central Australia, where the sun rises hot and red in a breathless morn, and sinks at night in a heated haze, hovering around the level horizon.

It has been a day to doze in the shade if possible, and dream of icebergs. The short twilight is rapidly fading into the darkness of a moonless night. Scarcely darkness, however, for the brilliant constellations of the south and the radiant evening star in the west lend their rays to light up the scene. Under the verandah of a rough hut—mud walls with galvanized iron roof,—three men are sitting indolently smoking the evening pipe that usually follows the last meal of the day. It is far up in the north of South Australia, in fact almost on the boundary line that divides that colony from its dependency, known as the Northern Territory. The hut is the principal building on a cattle-station, where, as on most other outside stations, the improvements are of a very primitive kind. The three occupants of the verandah are—the owner of the station; a young relation staying with him to gain that much-talked-of commodity, "colonial experience"; and a friend, a squatter from a neighbouring run.

"Well," says Morton, the owner, a sun-tanned, wiry little fellow, addressing his neighbour, "what do you say, Brown, to having a look for the burning mountain?"

"Umph!" grunts Brown, who differs considerably in size, owning as he does some six feet two inches of humanity; "isn't this weather hot enough for you without looking for burning mountains?"

"We've nothing much to do for two or three months, and I've made up my mind to see if there's any truth in this yarn the niggers have."

"I never could make head or tail of it," said Brown.

"Nor I," returned Morton; "but although everybody puts it down as a burning mountain, I am not of that opinion. I have questioned them very patiently, and can only find out that there is a big fire always burning in the same place, but when I ask about a mountain, they say no. None of them have ever been there; they have only heard of it from others, and they seem almost frightened to speak of it."

"They use much the same word for rocks, stones, and mountains."

"Yes; and I think it is rocks that they mean."

"What has your boy, Billy Button, to say about it?"

"Billy comes from a tribe nearly a hundred miles from here. He has heard the yarn, but has never seen any blacks who have been there."

"Let's see. It is supposed to lie rather north of west from here. How far have you been in that direction, Morton?"

"Some fifty miles. It's all scrub and sand. The niggers, however, get across in some seasons of the year, and I think this is the time; there have been plenty of thunder-storms that way lately."

"Well, I'll make one; a little scorching more or less does not matter much up here. You ought to have kept some of the camels back the last time the team was up here."

"Didn't think of it. But I fancy horses will be handier, we have a thunder-storm nearly every day."

"And shall have until we start," replied Brown, "then you see they will knock off at once. How many of us will there be?"

"The pair of us, and—what do you say, Charlie? Are you anxious to distinguish yourself?"

"I certainly hope you won't leave me behind," returned his young cousin, in an injured tone.

"All right. Billy Button will make four, and that will be enough. To-morrow we'll have all the horses in and get ready for a start the next day."

"How long shall we be away?" asked Charlie, who bore upon his shoulders the onerous duties of storekeeper.

"Can't say. What do you think, Brown? Six weeks? Two months?"

"We surely ought to find something in that time, if it's only the remains of Leichhardt."

"Make up three months' rations for four, Charlie; I hate to run short. Lucky we killed the other day, the beef will be just right for carrying."

ROUTE MAP

On an outside cattle-station, where so much camping-out has to be constantly done, the preparations for such a trip do not take long, and the morning of the second day found everything in readiness. Brown had sent over to his place for his own horses, and they started with fourteen in all. Two apiece for riding, four packed with rations, and two with canvas water-bags and the necessary blankets, tent, &c. At the last moment the blacks about the station tried to dissuade Billy from going by telling him horrible tales of the fate surely awaiting him at the dreaded burning mountain, but Billy stoutly refused to be frightened, and scorned to remain, although given the option by Morton.

The first thirty miles of the journey was over familiar country, and they camped that night at a small water-hole lately filled by a thunderstorm. Beyond them now stretched a waste of sand ridges and mulga scrub, into which Morton had once penetrated for some twenty miles. With full water-bags, and a determination not to be beaten back without a struggle, our adventurers commenced the second day's journey with light hearts.

During the whole of the day the sombre scrub and heavy sand continued, without break or change in their depressing monotony. Scarcely the note of a bird or insect broke the silence, as they toiled on without much heart for conversation. Towards evening a piece of good fortune befell them. On a small flat between two sand ridges they crossed a patch of short green grass, the result of a recent thunder-storm. No water could be found, the hot summer sun having evaporated all that had been caught in the shallow clay pans. The green grass was, however, a boon to the horses, who did not feel the want of water so much on the soft young feed.

Next morning they were saddled and packed up, ready to start by sunrise. About ten o'clock they ascended a sand ridge somewhat higher than those they had formerly crossed, and from its crest they were able to look around on the sea of scrub that surrounded them. Not far off, in the direction in which they were going, Morton drew the attention of his companions to a thin column of smoke.

"Burning mountain already?" queried Brown.

"Niggers travelling and hunting," replied Morton. "The scrub looks thinner there. They won't be far from camp at this time in the morning; but I expect the water is only a soak-hole, of no use to us."

In less than an hour they were riding over patches of still-burning grass, thinly scattered through a forest of bloodwood-trees; but neither the sharp eyes of Morton or Billy could detect a sign of the hunters. After searching for some time the boy found the tracks of a blackfellow, two gins,[[1]] and some pickaninnies[[2]] coming from the westward, and these they followed back for about a mile to a freshly-abandoned camp. It was situated on a fairly open piece of country, partly covered with coarse drift sand. Not far from the camp was a ragged old shell of a gum-tree, covered with tomahawk marks. Billy, who had at once gone to this tree, gave a low whistle, and the others came up. He pointed to a small hole near the butt, and dismounting put his arm down and then peered into it.

[[1]] Women.

[[2]] Children.

"Water long way down," he said. "Gone bung, mine think it." By which they understood that the supply had dried up. After some searching about, a long sapling was procured and thrust down. The hole was about ten feet deep, and the end of the sapling brought up some wet mud.

"How did the blacks get down for the water, Billy?" asked Brown.

"Pickaninny go down," replied the boy, pointing to a tiny foothold in the side of the hole.

"Well, boys," said Morton, who had been poking the sapling down vigorously and examining the point, "I don't see much to be got out of this. Evidently there's been one little family living on this hole, and now they've been dried out. It would take us two hours to open up this hole, and then we should probably get nothing for our pains."

"Water gone bung," repeated Billy.

"What do you say to following this flat? It's going partly in our direction, and may lead to something."

No one having anything better to suggest they resumed their journey once more, until a mid-day halt was made.

"Well, respected leader," remarked Brown, after the meal was finished and pipes were lit, "I'm afraid our horses will look mighty dicky to-morrow morning unless we get them a drink to-night."

Morton glanced lazily at them, where they stood grouped under whatever scanty shade they could obtain.

"They are beginning to look tucked up," he replied, "but we'll pull up something before dark."

"I sincerely hope so," said Brown as he stood up. "Go ahead once more, Captain Cook."

About four o'clock the open flat which they had followed grew narrower, until at last the scrub closed in entirely and they found themselves confronted by a thicker growth than any they had yet met with. The mulga having given place to a species of mallee.

Morton, who was leading, stopped.

"We must push through," he said. "It may be only a belt, and if we start to follow it round we shall be all night in it."

"Right," replied Brown. "I'll take a turn ahead if you like. I prefer being first in a scrub."

Morton laughed and dropped behind, and for about an hour very slow progress was made, the scrub getting worse and worse. The sun was sinking low, and the cheerful prospect of a night in the scrub was before them, when, to the relief of all, Brown suddenly called out:

"Hurrah! we're out of it!"

CHAPTER II.

A Native Cemetery—Billy's Explanation—Stopped once more by Dense Scrub—Discovery of a Strange Road.

As the party emerged, one after another, from the scrub, their eyes were delighted by a prospect of open-downs country before them, dotted here and there with clumps of gum-trees. But, better than all, there was plainly to be seen, scarcely a short mile away, a line of gum-trees, creek timber, whilst the presence of water was plainly attested by flights of white corellas hovering about.

It was not long before the whole party were comfortably encamped beside a good-sized waterhole, and the horses luxuriating on succulent Mitchell and blue grass.

Brown, with his pipe as usual under full blast, was enjoying the scene, when Billy, who had been wandering around the camp, came up and remarked:

"No sleep here."

"What's the matter?" asked Brown.

Billy pointed to a patch of scrub a short distance off, and beckoned to him to follow.

Brown noticed that the tops of the trees looked particularly thick and dense, but it was not until he was quite close that he saw the reason. Nearly every tree of any size bore a rude scaffolding, and on the top of every scaffold lay either a bleached skeleton or a dried mummy-like corpse. The ground, too, was covered with bones and skulls that had fallen through. Brown called the others, and they gazed with awe at this strange sepulchre.

"I've often seen the bodies put in trees, but never in such numbers as this. Why, there must be hundreds here!" said Morton.

"I never saw more than two together at the outside," returned Brown. "Strange," he went on, after a closer inspection; "all the bodies who have any dried skin remaining on their foreheads have a red smudge there!"

"No sleep here; by and by that fellow get up, walk about," insisted Billy.

This remark helped to dispel the gloom caused by the sight of so many dead bodies, and Billy had to undergo a good deal of chaff. It was evident, however, that his fright was genuine, although, like most natives, the reason of it could not be drawn from him.

No ghostly visitants came near the camp that night, and all slept the sleep of tired men.

Charlie, waking up before daylight and finding Billy in the sound stupor common to the aborigines at that hour, conceived a wicked idea. Brown dabbled a little in sketching, and Charlie, after hunting up the colour-box in one of the pack-bags, proceeded to paint Billy's forehead red, after the manner of the mummies in the tree-tops.

"Hallo, Billy!" said Morton, when they were all about and the quart-pots for breakfast merrily boiling. "What's up with your head?"

Billy grinned, not understanding what was meant.

"Look here," said Brown, taking a hand-glass out of the pack and holding it in front of his face. Billy looked, and turned as white as it was possible for a blackfellow to do.

"Him bin come up!" he yelled, starting up and pointing to the scrub where the bodies were. Then looked apprehensively around, as though he expected to see some belated corpse still walking about.

"Tell him you did it, Charlie," said Morton. "I'm afraid you've funked him, and if so he'll bolt. Never play tricks on a blackfellow."

Charlie at once complied, and after Billy had been induced to wash the paint off and had inspected the colour-box, he was somewhat comforted; but he evidently still thought that the subject was not a fit one to joke about.

Struck by Billy's evident panic, Morton again attempted to extract the reason from him, and after some trouble learned that he had heard of the men with a red smear on the forehead, who were supposed to be in some way connected with the burning mountain. That, during the day-time, they pretended to be dead, but at night got up and walked about.

"This looks as though we were on the right track," said Morton to Brown.

"Hum! Nice sort of company you are introducing us to. However—Death or glory! Let's saddle up and make a start."

In a short time the friendly water-hole and the ghastly scrub beside it were left behind, but the patch of open country unfortunately proved to be of very limited extent in the direction they were going, and in a short time they found themselves again entangled in the dense scrub, which was now becoming such a formidable obstacle to their progress. Towards the middle of the day, the sanguine Morton began to despair of pushing on, even at the slow rate at which they were going, and to meditate a return to their last night's camp and a fresh start in a new direction. At noon they were compelled to halt; the desert hedge-wood had now made its appearance, and the barrier presented by it was almost impenetrable.

They stopped for a hasty meal, and when it was finished, Morton said to Brown:

"What do you say, old man? Will you go north for a bit, and I will go south, and we'll see if there is anything like a gap in this confounded scrub?"

"My dear old boy I am entirely at your disposal. But allow me to suggest that we shall get along infinitely better on foot."

"I think so too. Charlie, you and Billy stop here with the horses until we come back."

It was a good two hours before the cracking of branches and muttered bad language, coming from the south, announced to Charlie and Billy the return of Morton.

"How did you get on?" was the query.

"Get on!" returned Morton savagely; "I did not get on at all. I don't believe I got half a mile from here. It's the worst old-man scrub I was ever in in my life; I've barked my hands nicely. If old Brown did not get on any better than I did, we shall have to go and chop him out with an axe."

Almost as he spoke, Billy held up his hand and said:

"Mitter Brown come up."

In a few minutes his tall form emerged from the thicket.

"I beg to report, sir," he said to Morton with mock solemnity, "that the main road to somewhere is about three-quarters of a mile to the northward."

"What on earth do you mean, old man?"

"Just what I say. After fighting my way through some of the most awful scrub I ever met with, I came to a fine clear road—gas-lamps, milestones, and probably bridges and public-houses."

"Well, we'd better go there at once. I wonder you came back without patronizing one of the pubs."

"I did not exactly see all that I have stated, but I have no doubt whatever of their existence," returned Brown. "Joking apart, there really is a cleared track out there, but we'll have to cut a road to get the horses there."

"This bangs everything into a dust-heap. But it's getting late and we had better shape. Charlie, you and Billy go ahead with the tomahawks, and we will dodge the horses along after you."

It took time, labour, and patience to make the distance indicated by Brown; but about an hour before sundown, to the astonishment of three of them, they stood upon what was evidently a cleared track, about the width of an ordinary bridle-track. Morton examined the stumps, and pointed out that the work had been done by stone tomahawks. Billy looked for tracks, but none had been made since the rain from the last thunder-storm had fallen.

"It's running westward. I suppose it's all right to follow it, but this sort of thing beats my experience. What say you, Brown?" asked Morton.

"Forward, gentlemen, while the light lasts," was the reply of that individual.

Their progress was now easy, for the track had been most carefully cleared, and the horses, all old stagers, marched along in single file without any trouble. Darkness, however, fell, and the scrub was still on either hand of them unchanged.

"Morton," said Brown, breaking the silence, "I've got an idea."

"Stick to it hard, old man; it's the first I ever knew you to possess."

"Don't try to be too funny. Well, I shouldn't be in the least surprised to meet a first-class funeral coming along at any moment."

"You're worse than Billy."

"Billy was partly right. Those old mummies, skeletons, &c., we saw back there, have all been carted along this road from—wherever we're going to. That is the reason it is so carefully cleared."

"Jove! you're right. And we might have come along this road all the way if we had kept our eyes open, instead of tearing ourselves to pieces in the scrub, travelling parallel with it."

"That view of the question did not occur to me, but it's a perfectly feasible one."

"Rather a surprise for the mourners if we blunder on to them in the dark to-night."

"Just what we want to avoid. There's something ahead no white man has yet heard of, and if we can sneak along without our presence being suspected, so much the better."

"What do you propose? We can't budge a step off the track just now, and if unluckily there happens to be a funeral ceremony on to-night, there's bound to be a collision."

"We must go on until we come to a piece of open country, and then pull off and wait for daylight."

"All serene. But our tracks will tell tales."

"We can't help that, unfortunately."

The conversation had been carried on without halting, and the march now continued in silence, until a low whistle from Morton gave the signal to pull up.

CHAPTER III.

A Midnight Halt—A Mysterious Procession—Sudden Dispersion and Flight—Open Country once more and another Mystery Ahead.

As well as could be made out in the gloom cast by the scrub, they had reached a small break in it, and Morton wheeling off, the others followed, and the party dismounted, as the leader judged, some two hundred yards from the track. Morton gave his orders in low tones, for the atmosphere of awe and mystery affected everybody. There was no grass, so the horses were simply relieved of their packs and tied to trees; then the men stretched themselves on their blankets without making a fire, and, save for the occasional stamp and snort of a horse, the scrub was as silent as before the white men roused the echoes.

Not for long.

It seemed to Brown that he had scarcely closed his eyes when the camp was aroused by a distant melancholy cry. No one spoke; all were too intently engaged in listening. The cry sounded again, louder, nearer, and in a chorus of many voices.

"What bad luck," whispered Morton to his friend. "One day sooner or later and we would have been right."

Nearer and nearer came the plaintive wailing, and the gleam of firesticks was visible. It was a most uncomfortable sensation that our adventurers experienced, lying prone and motionless in the gloomy scrub listening to this weird procession passing through the desert land. They were well armed, and confident against any number of aborigines, but the sights they had encountered were so much out of the ordinary bush routine as to make even such old hands as Brown and Morton feel slightly nervous. Charlie was naturally much excited, while Billy was "larding the lean earth" with the perspiration of abject, superstitious fear.

The party of natives were now opposite to them, and not very far away, and by the number of firesticks they judged that there must be a good many in the company. Every now and then the wild wail or chant kept breaking out, and the shuffling noise of their bare feet was distinctly audible during the silent intervals.

They had almost passed the hidden watchers, when the procession was interrupted by a sudden and discordant shout from the leaders. A babble of voices followed, the firesticks gathered together for a moment, and were then dashed on the ground and extinguished. Next came the noise of feet flying back along the track; these died rapidly away in the distance, and the scrub was as silent as before.

"Saw our tracks!" said Brown with a disgusted sigh, breaking the spell that held them all quiet.

"How could they see our tracks in the dark?" asked Charlie.

"They could both feel and smell them," returned Morton. "The ground is caked hard from the last thunder-storm, and our horses walking one after the other have cut it up soft. Of course, with their bare feet they could tell the difference at once. The scent, too, would be as plain as possible at this time in the morning, even to one of us. What's the time, Brown?"

Brown struck a match.

"Three. It will be breaking day soon after five. Let's wait till then."

"Why?" demanded Morton. "We might as well get along while it's cool. There's the remains of a moon just rising."

"Why? Because you think with me that it was a funeral party. Now, I should like to know what they did with the body; they never carried it away with them at that pace."

"Never thought of that," returned Morton. "Yes, we might pick up some information by waiting until daylight and seeing what they threw away. Make a fire, and we'll have breakfast."

The time soon passed in discussing the strange scene just witnessed and the probable result of their trip. Morton reminded Brown of the freemasons M'Dowall Stuart asserted he met with amongst the aborigines in the interior, and Charlie, who had not heard the former conversation, was enlightened as to the probable meaning of what had just passed.

As soon as daylight was strong enough the investigation commenced. Right on the track where it had been hastily dropped lay the dead body of a man. A tall old man, fastened on to a rude litter of saplings. The forehead was smeared with red pigment, and on the dusky breast was a triangle inscribed in white.

Brown gave a low whistle.

"That's a thing I never saw blacks draw before," he said to Morton.

"Nor I. He's a fine-looking old boy. What a long white beard he has got for a nigger!"

The corpse was fastened to the litter with strips of curragong bark; and they were turning away after noticing these details, when Brown suggested that they had better move it off the track.

"You know," he explained, "we might come bustling back here in a bigger hurry than those fellows were, and tumble over the old gentleman in the dark."

The litter and its burden were shifted a few paces in the scrub, and, full of expectation, the party resumed their interrupted journey.

The break where they had halted was the beginning of the outskirts of the scrub; the country soon became more open, and as it did so the track they were following grew less marked. It was still, however, quite plain enough for any bushman to follow easily. At noon, to the great relief of the horses, they came to a small pool of rain-water, and some fairly good grass. Here they turned out for a long spell.

"Question is," said Brown, when the usual discussion commenced, "Where did those nigs camp? No sign of them here. By the way, Billy, did you notice any gins' tracks amongst them?"

"No," returned the boy. "Altogether blackfellow."

"Must be more water ahead; and I hope so, for this won't last another week, and we want something permanent to fall back on. Now, I'm going aloft on the look-out," said Morton.

Charlie watched him curiously as he slung the field-glass over his shoulder, and taking a tomahawk proceeded to an exceptionally tall bloodwood-tree near the camp. At the foot he took off his boots, and cutting niches in the trunk, as a blackfellow does when climbing, he was soon up amongst the topmost branches. Ensconcing himself firmly, he took a comprehensive sweep around with the glasses, and then directed his attention to the westward.

"Below there!" he shouted, after a lengthened scrutiny.

"Hi, hi, sir!" returned Charlie.

"Brown! Will your long legs bring you up here safely?"

"Well, I'll try." And in a short time Brown was up alongside his friend, and a very earnest discussion followed, extremely tantalizing to Charlie down below. After taking a compass-bearing to some distant object they descended; and Charlie, who was already barefooted, immediately attempted the ascent, slipping ignominiously down after getting up two or three steps, to the intense delight of Billy. With the black boy's assistance, however, and much sarcastic advice from his cousin and Brown, he managed to reach the first branches, and thence easily gained the perch Morton had occupied on the top.

What did he see when he got there?

To the westward the forest soon came to an abrupt stop, and beyond stretched a great gray plain, bounded by something that Charlie could not make out, and which had evidently puzzled Brown and Morton. It was not water, although it looked something like it; it was a broad sheet of pale blue, glistening in places under the sun's rays, and beyond, above a quivering haze, was a dark object like a distant ridge.

"What name, Billy?" said Charlie to the black boy, who had climbed up after him. "Water?"

"Bal," said Billy decidedly. "Water sit down here, close up," he added, pointing to the edge of the forest.

"What name, then?" repeated Charlie.

"Mine think it mud, where water bin go bung," was the blackfellow's opinion, and with this they both descended.

"Well, Charlie, what do you make of it?" asked Morton.

"Billy thinks it's mud where the water has dried up," returned Charlie, as he had no opinion of his own to offer.

"And Billy's right, I believe. It must be the bed of a dry salt lake; but we'll get along to the edge of the timber and camp."

On the margin of the plain they came to some fine lagoons, with good grass for the horses, but nothing could be seen of the mysterious object ahead, excepting from the top of a tree.

On the banks of the lagoons they found abundant traces of the natives, and it was evidently a main camping-place on their way to and from their burial-place. Many of the trees were marked with triangles, a sign which considerably puzzled the elder travellers. The open country, the ample supply of water, and the relief from the gloomy surroundings of the scrub had restored the cheerful tone of the party, and imparted a sense of security to them.

But neither Brown nor Morton were men to neglect due precautions, now that their presence was known to the probably hostile inhabitants. So a watch was kept all night by the three whites in turn, Billy escaping the vigil, as blacks are not to be trusted to keep awake.

CHAPTER IV.

The Limestone Plain—The Devil's Tracks—A Strange Mark.

The morning found them early on the move, the night having passed without any alarm, false or real. They still followed the faint track leading straight toward the dark ridge they had seen beyond the blue expanse. This supposed dry lake had been visible from the camp before sunrise, but as the sun rose it disappeared, nor did they again sight it until nearly eight o'clock. At ten they were close to it, and all doubt as to its character was set at rest. They pulled up, not at the edge of a dry salt lake, but of an unbroken sheet of limestone rock. Nothing was visible ahead but this stony sea of bluish-gray, over which a heated haze was undulating. The dark line beyond, resembling a ridge, had vanished, and the wind that blew in their faces across the surface of this strange plain, was as hot as though it came from the open door of a furnace.

THEY FIND THE DEVIL'S TRACK ON THE ROCK-PLAIN.

Morton turned and rode along the edge of the rock to where the pad came in, for they had left the track for the last hundred yards. He whistled, and the others joined him. The track still continued right on across the rock, but its course was now indicated by other means. On the surface of the limestone had been scratched and chipped with infinite care, an imitation of human footsteps, or rather more than human footsteps, for the gigantic tracks were more than twice the size of a man's, and a stride to correspond was indicated. Side by side, about six feet apart, these two awful footsteps disappeared into the quivering mirage.

"I've seen that mark before on the granite mounds in Western Australia," said Brown. "You notice that there are six toes to it. It's supposed to be the footprint of the devil."

"By Jove, what tedious work it must have been cutting those marks!" returned Morton. "They're not lazy beggars ahead of us whatever else they may be. But what shall we do now?"

"Go back to the lagoons. It's a rattling good camp, and we have heaps of time before us. We'll hold a council of war this afternoon and decide upon some course of action."

"Right," answered Morton. "We shall have to go slowly and cannily or we shall be getting into a tight place."

They returned to their former camp, and, as evening drew on, entered into a discussion as to their immediate movements.

"Brown, you're the longest, speak first," said Morton.

"Those beggars are located beyond that limestone rock. Is not that so?"

"Yes."

"They may be the most mild and peaceful people going, and they may be the most truculent ruffians. I incline to the latter opinion."

"So do I, but I cannot say why exactly. They took to their heels quick enough the other night."

"Oh, any niggers will do that on a sudden start. However, it's safest to act as though they were our enemies."

"Decidedly."

"To-morrow we'll go right and left along the edge of the rock for a few miles on each side of the track, and see if there's any other track they use. If there's only the one, why, we know where to expect them from."

To this Morton agreed, but suggested that two should follow the track across the rock.

"No, old man, you're too eager," said Brown. "We're too small a party to afford to split up. When we go across that rock we must all go, and take pot luck."

"You're right," agreed Morton. "To-morrow you and I will go along the edge of the rock. Charlie, you and Billy will stop and mind camp and examine all the trees about for marks, in fact have a good fossick round."

"When we cross the rock we shall have to go on foot, we can't take the horses across," said Brown.

"Certainly not, and I doubt if we can cross on foot in the daytime. We should be baked to death with the rock underneath and the sun overhead. We should get no shade to rest under the whole way across."

"The horses will be safe enough here while we are away. If the niggers use only the one track, why, we are bound to meet them."

Another quiet night was passed, although a watch was kept. In the cool morning Brown and Morton started across the plain, leaving Charlie to scour about the camp. Billy, arrayed in a light and airy costume consisting of a saddle-strap and a tomahawk, had evidently laid himself out for a day's pleasurable sport.

"This plain seems fairly well grassed," said Morton as they rode across. "Wonder how far it extends?"

"We'll find out before we get back. But country is not of much value out here just now, no matter how good it is."

"No, worse luck; you and I know that to our cost."

When they reached the rock they separated, Brown going north and Morton south. Following the edge along, without going into all the dips and bends, Morton went on until he reckoned he had covered some six miles. The limestone rock pursued much the same course to the southward, but the forest and the continuation of the chain of lagoons at its edge bore in towards the rock, and it was evident that the two would meet in time.

Morton rode over to the edge of the timber, and found that the water-course there was still well supplied with occasional pools of water. He could see no tracks of blacks there, nor were there any marks on the rock: all was lifeless and lonely, save for the tireless kites. As he rode back, however, he caught sight of a bird high up in the air steadily flying to the west. He recognized it as an eagle-hawk, and was astonished to see others following, all flying in the same direction. Then the discordant note of a crow came to him, and a flock of the black creatures flew past, conversing in the peculiar guttural croak common to crows when on the wing. They, too, were going across the rock to the westward.

"Hang me, if there isn't a rendezvous over there somewhere of all the carrion birds in the district," said Morton.

He rode on and found Brown at the meeting-place, he having got back sooner. His experience had been somewhat similar for the first few miles; then the country changed, a low stunted forest obtruded from the east, and the ground became hard, stony, and barren, save for patches of spinifex.[[1]] The limestone rock, too, became more uneven and broken, and it was evident that he had approached the verge of the formation they were then traversing; probably, he thought, the change would result in a large expanse of desert, spinifex country.

[[1]] A wiry, prickly grass, useless as fodder.

"We could get round that way," he remarked, "without having to cross this rock."

"Better stick to the track; then we know we are going straight to wherever these triangle men came from," replied Morton.

"Did you see any niggers' tracks?"

"Not a sign of any. I don't think I saw or heard a living thing of any kind since leaving."

Morton told him about the flight of hawks and crows he had noticed, and as they rode back to camp they decided to make an excursion to the south before tackling the great rock and the mystery beyond. It was as well to know all about the country before making their final start; and, moreover, if the natives came back and saw their tracks going away south it might throw them off their guard.

Charlie and Billy had found nothing about the camp beyond a peculiar mark cut on a tree, which somewhat differed from the others they had seen. They had caught some fish in the largest of the lagoons, and Billy had a fine big carpet snake roasting in the ashes; for no matter how well fed a blackfellow is, he always likes to revert to his aboriginal delicacies occasionally.

Charlie took them to inspect the new mark, which was on a large flooded box-tree. It had been chopped out with a stone tomahawk in the rugged bark, and must have taken much time and labour. Both men looked at it from all points of view without arriving at any conclusion; then, just as they were turning away, Morton exclaimed:

"If I saw that tatooed on a sailor's arm I should say that it was meant for an anchor."

The two others instantly recognized the resemblance, and they all came to the conclusion that it was a rude attempt to depict that emblem.

"Mystery thickens," said Brown. "Are we going to reach the much-talked-of inland sea and find a race of sailor-men in possession?"

"Devilish queer," replied Morton; "it seems to me the sort of mark an illiterate white man who had been a sailor would make on a tree. It's chopped out very neatly, much as a sailor would do anything of the sort."

"I suppose we shall find out all about it before we get to the end of this trip," returned Brown.

"Yes, and a good deal more than we now dream of, I anticipate."

"Did you have a good look to the south and north when you were up that tree?" asked Brown.

"No, I didn't. My attention was at once taken up by the strange-looking rock ahead of us."

"So was mine. I think we might go up another at sundown; we might see something."

When the sun nearly touched the horizon they ascended the tallest tree in the neighbourhood, but nothing was discernible southward. To the north, however, a low range was visible a long distance away.

A quiet undisturbed night succeeded, and an early start was made the next morning.

CHAPTER V.

Hot Springs—A Lifeless Swamp—More Marks of the Natives.

The first six miles being over the country traversed by Morton was naturally uninteresting. Then the plain grew narrower and narrower. The chain of lagoons where they had camped developed into a large water-course, and the flat limestone rock began to alter its character and soon merged into a basaltic ridge coming from the westward. At mid-day the plain was a thing of the past, and they were now travelling along a broad water-course, with open forest on one side and a rude line of basalt boulders, piled like a wall, on the other.

At a fair-sized lagoon, thick with water-lilies, they turned out for their meal.

"Funny," remarked Brown, "how these inland rivers disappear. This water-course looks big enough now, but I bet it runs out to nothing before night."

"Yes; the wet seasons, I suppose, are very rare, and when one comes the flood-water is absorbed by soakage and evaporation before it can cut a continuous channel. You know that no rivers enter the sea to the south of us."

"I know; it's all a wall of cliffs around the head of the Great Bight. Was there not some yarn once about fresh water being obtained there some distance at sea?"

"I've heard something about it; it was put down to the discharge of a subterranean river, but I don't think the fact was ever proved."

"Well, if we find a river of that sort we'll make a canoe and send Charlie and Billy down it to explore. What do you say, Charlie?"

"There might be some Jinkarras living down there," replied Charlie.

"Ever see any Jinkarras, Billy?" asked Morton.

"No. Plenty bin hear 'em," replied Billy.

"I wonder how this yarn of an underground race, the Jinkarras, originated."

"I can't make out. The noise they hear at night that they say is made by the Jinkarras is made by a bird—a kind of quail."

"Well, we must be off; pack up boys," said Brown.

About four o'clock a dense mass of foliage was visible ahead, which, as they drew nearer, proved to be huge paper-bark-trees, with long trailing branches, like gigantic weeping willows. The ground around these ancient giants was soft and spongy, and the bed of the creek was soon lost. The ground being too soft to allow of the horses progressing any further, a camp was made and they were hobbled out.

Leaving Billy to light a fire and mind camp, the three whites went on foot through this great white forest. The ground grew swampier as they proceeded, until at last, when within sight of a belt of tall reeds, they could proceed no farther. Moreover, the water was getting uncomfortably warm.

"Hot soda springs," said Brown; "this accounts for the growth of these trees. There's an easy one to climb," pointing to a bending one. "Let's go aloft and look ahead."

The tree was easy of ascent, and the three were soon high up amongst the branches. Beyond the reeds lay a lakelet of clear water, but, save for the deep fringe of rushes, not a plant of any sort was visible. No ducks or other aquatic birds could be seen.

"I guess that water's too warm for anything to live in it," said Morton.

It was a strange scene; the sun was sinking low, and anywhere else the place at that time would have been busy with feathered life, but here all was lifeless. The lakelet, surrounded by its border of tall reeds, in which there was apparently no break, lay there calm and unruffled.

"Let's get back to camp," said Brown. "Looks as though we'd got into a dead corner of the world."

Next morning it was determined to follow the swamp round to the westward to ascertain its extent. In a mile or two they came to where the basalt wall apparently ran out in the swamp, disappearing in a few scattered boulders. Just beyond this they came to a well-beaten track, which came round the swamp from the direction in which they were going and turned off amongst the basalt. Following this track along, in about a mile they came on two skeletons lying beside it. Some dry bits of skin still adhered here and there on the fleshless bones.

"A nice part of Australia this," remarked Brown, as they halted and gazed at the poor remains. "If we're not falling foul of a cemetery or a funeral, we run against skeletons lying promiscuously about. Wonder what brought them here."

"Not want of water at any rate," replied Morton. "Been a fight, perhaps. They don't seem to belong to those triangle gentry, at any rate."

"They must have been lying here months," answered Brown; "they're past our help anyway. May as well get on."

Gradually the swamps rounded off to the southward, and it was evident that there was no continuation that way. The creek they had followed from the lagoons had disappeared, as Brown had predicted. To the south was nothing but a stony, desert forest of stunted trees, the ground covered with spinifex. Strange to say, however, the track that had partly circled the hot swamp had branched off and headed due south. There had been some discussion as to whether they should follow it or not, but, as it was evident that this track and the one marked by the devil's footsteps were trending to the same centre, it was decided to postpone it until they had solved that mystery first. The swamp was of such a circumference that it was nearly sundown when they got back to the site of their last night's camp, having crossed no outflow from the swamp anywhere.

In the morning it was thought better to go back to the old camp at the lagoons and follow the devil's footsteps, than try to follow the track amongst the boulders coming from the south.

They arrived there early, and immediately made preparations for burying their spare rations, ammunition, &c. The next few hours were busy ones. Saddles, rations, spare ammunition, &c., were all carefully buried, and the whereabouts masked by a fire being lit on the top to hide the disturbance of the earth. They started as soon as this work was finished, each man carrying rifle, revolver, ammunition, three days' rations, quart-pot, and water-bag—a fair load for men always accustomed to riding only. Most devoutly they all prayed that they would be off the rock soon after daylight the next morning.

CHAPTER VI.

The Night March across the Great Rock—Meeting with the Natives—The Secret of the Burning Mountain.

With all the despatch they made they did not reach the edge of the rock before twelve; but it mattered little, as the surface was only then getting cool, and would have been unbearable any earlier.

Billy was sent first with bare feet, he being trusted to follow the track by feeling when they strayed off it, as he would then cross the rough surface made by the sculptured footprints, the remainder of the limestone being almost as smooth as marble.

It was a weird and weary tramp across this rock by the light of the stars, with vague darkness all around them. None of them felt inclined to speak, and an intense silence reigned everywhere. A sickly moon rose just before daylight, and its faint beams cast the long shadows of the travellers across the gleaming surface of the limestone. The thought in the minds of the three white men was the same—what would daylight show them? Billy plodded along mechanically; most of the time he was half asleep.

Daylight came at last, and the black line that they had seen from the tree-top gradually came into view, apparently not far ahead; and each felt grateful that he had not to encounter the force of the sun on the face of the naked rock.

When it was broad daylight the dark line resolved itself under the glasses into a row of basaltic boulders, with some bushes growing in their clefts and a bottle-tree here and there on their summits.

"We shall be there before it is hot," said Morton thankfully, as he closed the glasses; "let's push on."

They did so, and before the sun had attained much power found themselves amongst the boulders. The track led straight into a gap, and on one side a huge block of stone, supported by two others, made a rude cave, under which the weary men gladly took shelter after their toilsome tramp. Evidently it was a halting-place for the blacks, for the remains of fires were about, and a supply of firewood, which came in very handy for the tired men to cook their breakfast with.

A satisfactory meal and a smoke being finished, the situation was reviewed. Behind them lay the bare expanse of rock just crossed, and before them the unknown. Now, too, they would have to keep a keen look-out for lurking foes, because in amongst these boulders every step was fraught with danger, especially as the blacks knew of their approach; and it was evident that they were trespassing on tabooed ground. The future movements of the party were now, as might be supposed, a matter of serious consideration, and Brown and Morton were in earnest discussion when a loud report like a clap of thunder suddenly startled the little company to their feet. A low rumbling followed that seemed to shake the very rocks. Hurrying outside, nothing was seen that could possibly have caused the strange noise; the sky was cloudless, the air still and sultry.

Suddenly Billy pointed to the westward. "Fire jump up," he said.

A puff of white smoke, or vapour, was rising, seemingly only a short distance from them. Silently they watched it ascend and disperse.

"Blacks here have artillery apparently," said Brown. "Salute in honour of our arrival."

Nothing more following, they returned to the cave, leaving Charlie at the entrance on the lookout.

"If these fellows know nothing about the effect of firearms," said Morton, "we may be able to establish a funk; they may have heard of them only from the other tribes."

"I don't think they have much communication with the other tribes by the look of it, but, if they live amongst these rocks, what on earth do they exist on?—for there's no game here."

"Well, all we can do is to keep a sharp lookout and our powder dry—What's up?"

"Here's the corpse!" cried Charlie, falling back from the entrance in amazement.

Billy gave an awful yell; the others started to their feet as a tall native coolly walked into the cave, and squatted down on the ground. It certainly was enough to give them all a fright, for the visitor, in outward appearance, greatly resembled the dead man left in the scrub. A second glance, however, showed points of difference, which proved him to be a denizen of the earth; he was marked with the white triangle on the breast, and the red smear on the forehead, but was naked and unarmed, whilst his manner showed no trace of fear. Recovering themselves somewhat, Morton lugged Billy forward to see if he could converse with the new-comer. This proceeding, however, did not suit their visitor, for he addressed a furious tirade at Mr. Billy Button in some unknown tongue, winding up by violently spitting at him.

Billy slunk back scared, and the native, rising, took Brown by the arm and led him to the entrance; pointing alternately forward and backwards he made signs for them to turn back, and not go on. Brown returned answer by signs that they must go on. The blackfellow shook his head vigorously, and then held up his hand motioning them to listen. Again the loud report was heard, and a puff of vapour ascended as before.

To the apparent surprise of the native, the whites showed no alarm, and Brown taking his carbine stepped back, and fired it into the air. The black gave a decided start, and trembled a little, but stood his ground; then his mind seemed to change, and, making a sign to Brown to stay, he strode off and disappeared behind the surrounding rocks.

"Is he coming back, do you think?" said Brown.

"I think so," replied Morton. "He's a fine fellow, with plenty of pluck."