Nags a bit fresh.'

Jim walked on. So this was Donald Macdougal, J.P., of Boobyalla. The
young man's annoyance fell from him. He thought of the devoted husband's
greeting after their long parting, and laughed aloud. Macdougal of
Boobyalla was no demonstrative lover. A few minutes later the waggon
dashed past Done; the bays were being driven at a gallop, and the vehicle
fairly jumped on the broken road. The young man caught a glimpse of Lucy
clinging desperately to her seat, and then waggon and horses were buried
in a dust-cloud of their own making, which was whirled away at a terrific
pace, and spun out of his view round a distant corner.

Done plodded along with his bag upon his shoulder. He had no definite
plan of action. He thought now of looking about him for a day or two
before leaving for the fields. No doubt it would be an easy matter to get
accommodation at some hotel or lodging-house. After that he would move
with the throng, and his future actions would depend upon such knowledge
as he might be able to gather from the experienced people with whom he
came in contact. He presently had ample proof that the driving of
Macdougal of Boobyalla was nothing extraordinary here. Three horsemen
passed him at a racing speed, and with much shouting and cracking of
whips, and a wild, bewhiskered Bushman, driving two horses in a light,
giglike vehicle, charged through the dust at a pace implying some
business of life or death; but a little further on Jim came upon the
steaming pair tethered to a post outside a rough structure labelled the
'Miner's Rest,' and at the bar stood the driver toying lazily with a
nobbler of brandy. He passed groups of men lounging against the building
and sitting in the street, all smoking, none showing particular concern
about anything. Their lethargy surprised him. He had expected to find the
town mad with excitement, to behold here the gold fever blazing without