“‘Look here, Master Charles!’ he said one day, as he took out a dull, grey-looking stone from his ‘dilly bag,’ ‘do ye know what that is?’ I did not, and like most youngsters of my age, looked upon it as rubbish, and showed that I would rather have had a shot at one of the ‘tigers’ or ‘devils’ that came every now and then and killed the sheep at the stations than all the silver ore in the country.
“‘It’s silver ore,’ said he in a solemn voice; ‘and there’s enough where that came from to buy all your father’s stations ten times over, if I could only find my way back to the place where I found it.’
“‘And why can’t you?’ said I; ‘you know all the country round here.’
“The old man looked very sad, and pointed out towards the Frenchman’s Cap, which was just being covered with mist, while a heavy shower began to fall, and a thunderstorm roared and echoed among the rocks and caves of the ‘Tiers,’ at the foot of which we managed to get shelter.
“‘It was a strange day and a strange sight I saw when I picked up this slug,’ he said. ‘I was never nearer losing my life!—but I’ll tell you all about it another day. You’d better get back to the station now, or you’ll get wet through, and maybe catch cold, and then the master won’t let you come here again.’
“So I was obliged to leave the telling of the story to another day. I forgot all about the silver ore, and, chiefly remembering the strange part of the story, was determined to hear about it from the old man another day.
“It was the late spring-time when we had this talk, old Chesterton and I; but a month or so afterwards I got a holiday, and as the weather was warm and fine I cleared out to his out station, and never rested till I bailed up the old man for another yarn. It is sometimes hot in the island, though you mightn’t think so.”
“Don’t believe him,” growled Mr. Clarke; “it’s a popular error. The seasons have changed. Listen to that!” The rain was certainly falling with a sustained volume, which discredited any references to warmth and sunshine.
“However,” continued Herbert, paying not the slightest attention, “remember, it was at the end of the Christmas holidays, and the rocks felt red hot; there had been bush fires, but the young feed, such as it was, was lovely and green. The air was clear, the sky for once hadn’t a cloud on it, and the old man was in a wonderful good humour for a shepherd.
“‘Well, Master Charles,’ he said, ‘if ye must have it, ye must. I don’t know that it can do you any harm, though it kept me awake for weeks afterwards, and every time the dog barked I felt my heart beat like, and would wake me up all of a tremble. Well, to come to the story, I was sitting on a log half asleep with the sheep camped quiet and comfortable under a big pine, when I heard my old dog growl. He never did that for nothing, so I looked up, and the blood nearly froze in my veins at what I saw. It wasn’t much to scare the seven senses out of me, but I knew how I stood.