Each man of this small group represented in his own person the epitome of a drama more or less stirring and eventful. With three of these we have little to do, and no good purpose will be served by recounting their antecedents. The history of the fourth--he who stood with his hand on the neck of Old Corrie's horse, looking up at Basil--will presently be unfolded.
He was a full-bearded man, the light brown hair so effectually concealing his features that only his cheekbones and forehead were visible. To a physiologist, therefore, the index was imperfect. He was a young man, of about the same age as Basil, and his name was Newman Chaytor. This was his true name; it will be as well to say as much, for there was much that was false about him.
The man who held the candle was known as Jim the Hatter; Jim belonged properly to him by right, the Hatter was patronymic he had earned by working on various goldfields alone, without a mate. Why they call men on the gold-diggings thus inclined, Hatters, is one of the mysteries, but it is a fact. Of the other two it will be sufficient to refer to them as Nonentity Number One and Nonentity Number Two. Jim the Hatter was a large-boned, loose-limbed man, of great strength. Upon his first arrival in Australia his time, to put it gently, was not his own; it belonged to his country. He was now free, but his morals had not been improved by the lesson his country had administered to him.
It will thus be seen that Basil had unfortunately fallen among thieves.
For a few moments the man on horseback and the men on foot preserved silence, and opportunity was afforded for a striking picture. Jim the Hatter was the first to speak.
"Well, mate?" he said.
"Is this the township of Gum Flat?" inquired Basil.
"It is. If you're looking for it, you're dead on the gutter."
"I thought I must have mistaken my way," said Basil. "What has come over the place?"
Newman Chaytor answered him. "It has gone," he said, "to the dogs."