1 66 TROPIC DAYS 



My friend is one of those undemonstrative, self-con- 

 tained men in whom some of the coloured, cautious 

 metaphysicians find a congenial soul. Therefore is he 

 a compendium of much out-of-the-way and covert 

 knowledge. 



As we talked on the subject of the unexplained dis- 

 appearances of men in the bush of Australia, he told 

 the incidents of the forgotten dead to which these 

 writings have special reference. I use my own words, 

 so do not bind myself to historic exactness. 



He had been away earning his own living, for his 

 estate, fruitful as it is, did not then quite provide for 

 his sustenance, markets being distant and far from 

 consistent. Returning, he found the blacks who had 

 associated themselves with his humble establishment 

 had in the interval sought change of scene. The land 

 that he called his had belonged to their ancestors cen- 

 turies before Cook tied the Endeavour to that disputed 

 and historic tree, and was theirs when he had first in- 

 truded. His hut, his horses, his implements, were much 

 as he had left them. The camping-place of the blacks 

 appeared to have been unoccupied for some time. Such 

 was in accordance with usual happenings. Going about 

 his lonesome work, he reflected that his dusky acquain- 

 tances would return in their own good time, and being 

 a man of mental resource, the solitude was by no means 

 irksome. 



Within a fortnight they appeared unceremoniously, 

 and, taking casual part in the ordinary work, the affairs 

 of the isolated estate went on as smoothly as before. 

 There was a stranger in the camp, a middle-aged man, 

 timorous, and knowing little of the ways of white men. 

 Of him scarcely any notice was taken. Yet in a few 

 weeks it was evident that the stranger was determined 

 to make himself pleasant. Accordingly, the white man 



