by this time the tide was rising, and he knew that in another hour he would have to leave the beach entirely and pick up a cattle-track, which ran through the thick scrub, a few hundred yards back from high-water mark. Although the sun was still very hot, a south-easterly breeze had sprung up, and its cooling breath fanned the boy's heated face, and gave an added zest to the happiness of his spirits, for he was happy enough in all conscience. Here was he, he thought, only thirteen years of age, and the participator in the rescue of a shipwrecked crew, the full tale of whose disaster had yet to be told. Where, he wondered, did the Bandolier sail from, and whither was she bound, when she ran ashore at Middleton Reef? Oh, how heavenly it would be to-morrow, when he, and his father, and Jack were back at home, listening to the story of the wreck! And what strange-looking, tattooed sailors were those with the reddish-brown skins, and the straight jet-black hair like Red Indians? South Sea Islanders, of course! but of what Islands? And how long would they stay at Port Kooringa? Oh, how beautiful it would be if they could not get away for a long time, so that he might make friends with them all! Perhaps some of the brown men with the tattooed arms and legs would teach him to talk their language, and tell him about their island homes, where the palm trees grew thickly on the beaches, and the canoes floated upon the deep blue waters of the reef-encircled lagoons! Perhaps Captain Casalle might take a liking to him, and-he bent over his saddle and flushed with pleasure at the mere thought-and take him away when he got another ship. Oh, he did so hope that his father and the captain would become friends; then it would be so much easier (the 'it' being his father's consent to his becoming a sailor).
And so with such thoughts as these chasing quickly through his imagination, he was at last recalled to the present by the sound of splashing about his horse's feet, as the spent rollers sent every now and then thin, clear sheets of water swashing gently up the sand.
'Come, Peter, old chap,' he said, patting his willing horse on the neck, 'we must get up out of this on to the track, it's getting too soft;' and jumping off, he led the animal straight up over the loose, yielding sand which lay between the water's edge and the fringe of the scrub. Taking a drink from his canvas water-bag as he reached the end of the sand, he mounted again, and was soon riding along the track, which ran through a forest of native apple, whose thick umbrageous canopies of dark green shut out the sunlight so effectually, that the sudden transition made it appear as if he had moved from light to semi-darkness. From the leafy crowns of the trees, and stretching across or hanging in giant loops upon the ground, or swinging high above, was a network of great snaky vines, black, brown, and mottled, and so full of water that, as Tom well knew, he had but to cut off a four-foot length to obtain a full quart of the clear though astringent liquid. Now and then, as his horse's shoeless feet disturbed the loose carpet of fallen leaves, a frightened wallaby would bound away with heavy thumping leaps into the still gloomier shadows on the left, or down towards the ocean, whose softened and lulling murmur sounded as if the shore on which its waves curled and broke were miles and miles away, instead of scarce more than a stone's throw; though now and then, when the sea breeze rustled the dome of green above, it sang its never-ending song in louder tone. Sometimes there came a whirr of wings, as with harsh screaming notes a flock of green and golden parrakeets, intent upon feeding on the ripe wild apples, would flash by, and their cries perhaps be answered by the long-drawn-out note of a stock-whip bird.
The end of the first belt of scrub at last, and Tom emerged out into the open again-a wide stretch of dried-up swamp, along the seaward margin of which the track led in a waving line of white, hardened clay. Far back on the other side were clumps of tall, melancholy swamp gums, and beyond these the thickly timbered spurs of the coast range, standing out clearly and sharply in the blaze of the sinking sun.
'Come, Peter, my boy, it's getting cooler now, and you shall have a drink when we get to the Rocky Waterholes, behind Misty Head;' and Peter, tough old stock horse, to whom fifty miles, with such a light weight and easy-handed rider as was Tom, was a matter of no hardship, shook his clean-cut head, and giving an answering snort, set off at a steady swift canter, glad to be free of the curse of pestering flies, which in the sunlight hung about his nostrils, and crept into the corners of his big black eyes. An hour later, and just as the sun had sunk, a blazing ball of yellow, behind the purpling range, Tom drew rein at a spot known as the Rocky Waterholes-a series of small deep pools of limpid water at the back of a headland, whose high bold front rose stark from the sea. He had still five and twenty miles to ride before reaching the cattle-camp at Kooringa Cape, where he expected to find his father and Jack-unless, indeed, he met them returning driving the missing cattle, which was hardly likely, without they had met with them near a great fresh-water swamp at the back of Misty Head. Anyway, he thought, he would give Peter a bit of a spell for half an hour. If his father and Jack were already returning, they would be almost sure to stop at the Rocky Waterholes, and wait till the tide fell again-which would be towards dawn-instead of trying to drive the cattle along the track through the scrub in the darkness, and run the risk of some of them breaking away, and being lost.
Leading Peter up to one of the Waterholes, he let him drink his fill, and unbuckling the ends of the bridle, turned the animal adrift to feed upon the sweet grass and juicy 'pig-face' growing lower down. Then a sudden inspiration came to Tom. He would light a fire on the top of Misty Head; it would only take a few minutes, and if his father and Jack happened to be near, they would be sure to come and see who had lit it, and thus he could not possibly miss them.
The landward side of the head was mostly covered with a dense thicket, resembling the English privet, but as it did not reach higher than his waist, Tom forced his way through, and with some difficulty reached the summit-a little cleared space less than half an acre in extent, and free of scrub, but covered with coarse, dry grass about a foot high, swaying and rustling to the wind, which as the sun set had freshened. Lower down, on both sides, were a number of thick, stunted honeysuckles; and feeling his way very cautiously-for a slip meant a fall of two hundred feet or more into the sea below-Tom began to collect some of the dead branches, and then returned with them to the top. Once he had lit a fire, he would have light enough to show him where to find a thicker log or two, for there were many dead honeysuckles about, he knew, as the place was familiar to him. Pulling up some of the dried grass, and placing some twigs on the top, he struck a match and lit the heap. It blazed up crisply, and in a few minutes he could see his surroundings clearly.
'That's all right,' said Tom to himself; 'now for some big logs, and then I'll be off.'
Fifty feet away the gnarled and rugged branches of a dead and fallen honeysuckle stood revealed in the firelight, and he walked toward it. Taking hold of one of the largest branches, he began to drag it towards the fire, when he felt a smart puff of wind, and then heard an ominous crackle behind him, and then followed a sudden blaze of light-the long grass around the fire had caught, and a puff of wind had carried the flames to the scrub! Too late to avert the disaster, Tom dropped the log with a cry of terror, for he knew what a bush-fire at that dry time of the year meant; and, most of all, he dreaded the anger of his father for his carelessness. For a moment or two he stood gazing at the result of his folly; and then a cry of alarm broke from his lips as another eddying gust of wind came, and the flames answered with a roar as they swept through the scrub with a speed and fury that told Tom that in a few minutes they would be leaping and crashing into the timber on the other side of the Rocky Waterholes, and thence into the ranges beyond. And then, too, not only was his own retreat cut off, but the fire on the summit was eating its way to windward, and unless he could find some place of retreat on the sea-face or sides of the head, he stood a very good chance of becoming a victim to his own stupidity. As he looked about, undecided whether to try to get in advance of the flames by forcing his way through the dense jungle of the north side, down to the water, and then clambering along the rocks to where he had left his horse, or get over the edge of the cliff to a place of safety, there came another bursting roar, and a huge wall of flame sprang up and leapt and crashed through the gums and other lofty trees which grew close to the landward side of the Waterholes-the bush itself had caught. And as Tom gazed in guilty fear at the scene of devastation, he saw his horse break through the stunted herbage above the beach on the north side and gallop down to the water, where he stopped, terrified at the sudden rush of fire, and, no doubt, wondering what had become of his master.
