THE CALIFORNIAN SALMON. 
157 
driver started to his feet with a face of astonishment, and 
an untranslatable exclamation. I fancy we must have 
been taken by him for a party of escaped lunatics, come 
over the mountains from the Beechworth Asylum. Both 
men stood looking after us till lost to sight in the windings 
of the road. The incident afforded us a good hearty laugh 
for some time after. 
We came to the Tara Creek, on the watershed of the 
Snowy — a beautiful small stream of water clear as crystal. 
It did not taste well however, and I could not see a single 
fish after examining it for a long distance, and did not 
liberate any fish there. After a very rough road, we at 
last arrived at a hill close to the Buchan Biver, and from 
this point the fish were carried on horseback, in small cans, 
over very precipitous country, and 200 were liberated in 
the Buchan, a beautiful stream of good clear water, with 
gravelly beds, and with small fish in shoals. Our horses 
were led, and slid down the sandy bank into the stream, on 
their haunches. Only a high hill now separated us from 
the valley of the Snowy Biver. 
On ascending the slope, our guide had the can with the 
fish (about 400) before him on the saddle, and I rode close 
behind. Suddenly the sandy bank gave way, just as he 
had surmounted the last ascent, and horse, rider, and fish- 
can were rolling in the sand. I dismounted in a moment, 
and ran to save the fish, expecting to see them scattered 
about on the sand, but although the water had partially 
escaped, none of the fish were lost, as the perforated top 
of the can was fastened with a hasp. Thus within the last 
mile, the object of our journey was nearly being frustrated. 
I carried the fish the remainder of the way. 
On arriving at the top of the ridge the Snowy Biver 
lay at our feet, but it looked muddy and turbid, as if in 
flood from recent rains in the hills. It has every indication 
