"Why," he exclaimed, "you've struck a patch here. But I do wish you people would be more careful and take out licences before you start to dig. The Government is getting rather riled about your free-lance way of working."
"But we have licences," I remarked mildly.
He laughed. "I'm glad of that," he said, "for I find very few of your neighbours have thought it necessary, and my troopers seem to have the deuce of a job in explaining matters to them." He wheeled his horse, then reined up again suddenly, and came back. "Which of you is Robert Lorimer?" he said directly.
His method of procedure appeared to me unnecessarily cruel. "That's me," I answered sharply, before my companion could speak. "But couldn't you have asked at first?"
He stared at me wonderingly. "Great Southern Cross, man!" he cried. "What!" He broke off in a long low whistle, and held out his hand. "Let me be the first to congratulate you, sir," he said. "Of course you could not have heard, but you needn't be so hard on me for all that. But let me tell my story," he continued, waving aside my interruptions. "I was instructed from headquarters to come for you officially seven days ago, but though I am a policeman I don't like the job of running any man to earth, and I delayed until I should have to come in any case to attend to the licence question. Only yesterday I was informed that the warrant was off, as the notes you were accused of stealing had been found in an old ledger, placed there, no doubt, by some careless clerk. That's all. Good luck to you, my boy, and a safe journey home."
He was gone in an instant. Then English Bob and I clasped hands in silence.