night, when Ferdinand, who had moved higher up the stream to get a private
eel for himself and his lady, came back and shook Dunmore, saying --

"Many big fellow fire sit down up creek."

We were on our feet in a moment, and, stealing quietly through the bush,
soon saw the glare, and on our nearer approach, could make out many
recumbent figures round the fire, and one man passing to and fro, on guard.

"By Jove! it's the Cleveland Bay mob," said Dunmore; "we must take care
they don't fire into us. Lie down, or get behind trees, all you fellows,
and I'll hail them."

"Holloa there!" he cried, when we had all "planted" (in Australian parlance
signifying "concealed") ourselves. "Don't fire, we're Cardwellites!"

In a moment the sentry's rifle was at his shoulder, pointed in the
direction whence the voice came; but it was my old friend Abiram Hills,
ex-mayor of Bowen, a thorough bushman, and possessed of great nerve, whose
turn it then happened to be to keep watch over his slumbering companions.
As quickly as it had been raised, his rifle fell into the hollow of his
arm, and shouting out, "Get up, you fellows, here are the Rockingham
Bayers!" he rushed forward, and in a moment was shaking hands with Dunmore,
while the sleepers, uncertain whether it was an alarm, stood rubbing their
eyes, and handling their carbines so ominously as they peered into the
darkness, that we deemed it the best policy to remain under cover until
their faculties had grasped the fact that we were not enemies, and as such
to be slain incontinently.

It is a startling thing to be hailed suddenly in the silence of the bush,