It was a very hot day in September when we arrived at Perth, Western Australia, and hastened to put up at the nearest hotel to the station, which happened to bear the common enough title of the "Royal."

We had come up with the mail train from Albany, where the P. & O. steamers then called, and even Westralia's most ardent admirers would hesitate to claim comfort as one of the features of the Colony's railway system. So we arrived, after a long night's misery, dusty and travel-stained. No one attempts to keep clean in the land of "Sand, sin, and sorrow," for the simple reason that, according to the nature of things there, such a luxurious state of Æsthetic comfort can never be attained. The streets were sandy, and as a natural sequence the atmosphere was not of ethereal quality. The people were sandy and parched-looking, and we found the interior of the hotel little better than the outside, so far as the presence of the powdery yellow grains was concerned.

In the darkened bedrooms the hum of the festive mosquito was heard, and my companions chuckled at the sound.

"It's a lang time since I heard they deevils," said Mac; then he proceeded, "Noo, oot on the Pampas——"

"D—n the Pampas!" roared Stewart, as he clutched wildly at one of the pests that had been quietly resting on his cheek for full half a minute.

"Ye've pushioned that onfort'nate beast," Mac retorted, with unruffled serenity; "noo, can ye no let the puir thing dee in peace?"

We remained but a short time in Perth; it is a neatly-laid-out little city with streets running off at right angles to each other, and containing a fair sprinkling of fine buildings, among which may be mentioned the General Post Office and Lands Offices, and they are palatial edifices indeed. The Botanical Gardens are small, yet very pretty; and here, instead of the usual garden loafer, may be found many weary-eyed and parchment-skinned gold-diggers from the "fields," whose one idea of a holiday lies in a visit to Perth or Fremantle, where they stroll about or recline on the artificially-forced grass plots of these towns, and wile the weary hours away.

The Swan River at Perth forms an exquisite piece of scenery, which redeems the environs of the sandy city from utter ugliness. Innumerable black swans swim hither and thither on its placid waters, and by the sloping banks, well fringed with rushes, many notable yachting clubs have their pavilions. There is nothing in this Capital of the Western Colony to attract. Even to the casual observer it is plain that the bustling, Oriental-looking town is essentially a gateway to the goldfields, and little more. Fremantle, on the other hand, is the Port, and chief engineering and commercial centre.

At this period I was, like most erratic travellers, without a definite object in view. In a certain hazy way I thought that we should visit the mining districts at once, as we had done in other and more impracticable countries; yet I was aware that the known Westralian goldfields were by no means so new as the "finds" in North-West Canada, and in consequence the ground might be over-pegged or long since rushed.

"The countrie is big enuff," said Mac when I mentioned my doubts, "an' we'll mebbe find anither Gold Bottom Creek faurer oot than onybody has gaed."

"We're better diggin' holes, even if they are duffers," spoke Stewart, "than makin' oorsel's meeserable at hame." Which argument in a sense settled the matter, and I forthwith purchased tickets for Kalgoorlie, with the intention of penetrating thence towards the far interior.

It is a weary journey eastward from Perth, and one that cannot be too quickly passed over. The single narrow-gauge line has been laid without any attempt at previous levelling, and the snorting little engine puffs over switchback undulations ceaselessly, at a speed that averages nearly sixteen miles an hour. It is a fortunate circumstance for the fresh enthusiast from "home" that the "Kalgoorlie Mail" leaves Perth in the evening. The discomfort experienced in the midnight ride is bad enough, but he is mercifully spared from viewing the "scenery" along the route, which would assuredly have a most demoralising effect: Western Australia must be taken gradually.

The Coolgardie "rush" may be fresh in the minds of most people. The township now stands almost deserted, bearing little trace of former glory; and yet it is but a few years since the railway was pushed out to this remote settlement. Southern Cross, two hundred miles nearer the coast, was formerly the terminus of all traffic, and the hardy pioneers of Coolgardie daringly ventured on foot from this point, as did also the vast numbers who "followed the finds."

Very insidiously Kalgoorlie has risen to high eminence as a mining centre; it accomplished the eclipse of its sister camp some time ago, and by reason of its deep lodes it is likely to retain its supremacy indefinitely. To the individual miners a new strike or location is considered to be "played out" when limited liability companies begin to appear in their midst, as only in rare cases can fossickers succeed in competition with machinery. However, the flat sand formations around Kalgoorlie have proved one of the exceptions to this rule, and the alluvial digger may still sink his shallow shaft here with every hope of success, and even in the proved "deep" country surface indications are abundant.

When my little party stepped from the train at Kalgoorlie, we saw before us a scattered array of wooden and galvanised-iron houses, white-painted, and glistening dully in the sunlight through an extremely murky atmosphere. On closer acquaintance the heterogeneous erections resolved themselves into a wide principal thoroughfare, aptly named Hannan's Street, after the honoured prospector of the Camp's main reef, and a number of side paths that bore titles so imposing that my memory at once reverted to the fanciful names distinguishing the crude log shanties of Dawson, where there were: Yukon Avenue, Arctic Mansions, Arcadian Drive, and Eldorado Terrace. Here, in keeping with the latitude of the city, more salubrious, if equally fantastic, were the various designations of the alleys and byways.

In the near distance we could see the towering tappet heads of the widely-known Great Boulder mine, and the din created by the revolving hammers of the ever-active stamping machinery assailed our ears as an indescribable uproar. But beyond the dust and smoke of these Nature-combating engines of civilisation, the open desert, dotted with its stunted mulga and mallee growths, shimmered back into the horizon. Here and there a dump or mullock heap showed where the alluvial miner had staked his claim, but for the most part the landscape was unbroken by any sign of habitation.

"There's a lot of room in this country, boys," I said, as we stood unobserved in the middle of the street and took in the scene.

"It's a deevil o' a funny place," Mac ventured doubtfully.

"It's a rale bonnie place," reproved Stewart, whom the inexpressible gloom peculiar to the interior country had not yet affected. "I'm thinkin'," he continued, with asperity, "that ane or twa men o' pairts like oorsel's were jist needed at this corner o' the warld."

"In ony case," Mac now agreed, "it's better than being meeserable at hame."

Instead of seeking the hospitality of one of the numerous hotels close by, we decided to begin our campaign in earnest right away, and get under canvas as a proper commencement. So we prospected around for a good camping site, and that same night we slept in our tent, erected about a mile distant from the township.

There was no water in our vicinity, and next morning Stewart set out with two newly-purchased water-bags to obtain three gallons of the very precious fluid at a condensing establishment we had noticed on the previous night, where, at sixpence a gallon, a tepid brackish liquid was sparingly dispensed. It should be understood that water, in most parts of Western Australia, is more difficult to locate than gold, and when obtained it is usually as a dense solution, salt as the sea, and impregnated with multitudinous foreign elements extremely difficult to precipitate.

"There's aye something tae contend wi' in furrin countries," Mac philosophised, as he leisurely proceeded to build a fire for cooking operations. "In Alaska there wis snaw, an' Chilkoots, an' mony ither trifles; bit here there's naething much objeckshunable let alane the sand an' want o' watter."

I agreed with him if only for the sake of avoiding an argument. "There may be a few—insects along with the sand, Mac," I hazarded cheerfully, and then I went into the tent to arrange the breakfast utensils.

"Insecks!" cried he derisively after me. "Wha cares fur insecks, I shid like tae ken? What herm is there in a wheen innocent muskitties, fur instance? Insecks! Humph!"

The absurdity of my remark seemed to tickle him vastly, and as he broke the eucalyptus twigs preparatory to setting a match to the pile he had collected, he continued to chuckle audibly. Then suddenly there was silence, a silence so strange that I felt impelled to look out of the tent and see what had happened; but before I had time to set down the tinware cups I held in my hands, his voice broke out afresh. "Insecks!" I heard him mutter. "Noo A wunner——; bit no, that canna be, fur snakes hiv'na got feet, an' this deevil's weel supplied i' that direction. It's a bonnie beast, too. I wunner if it bites?" I gathered from these remarks that the valiant Mac had made the acquaintance of some unknown species of "insect" with which he was unduly interested. "If it's an inseck," came the voice again, "this countrie maun be an ex-tra-ord'nar'—— Haud aff! ye deevil. Haud off! I tell ye." I hastened outside just in time to see my companion ruthlessly slaughter a large-sized centipede, which had evidently refused to be propitiated by his advances.

"It's a vera re-markable thing," said he, looking up with a perfectly grave countenance, "hoo they—insecks—persist in bringin' destruckshun on themsel's. I wis just pokin' this onfort'nate beast wi' a stick—in a freen'ly wey, ye ken—an' the deevil made a rin at me, wi' malishus intent, I'm thinkin', an' noo he's peyed the penalty o' his misguided ackshun."

"In future, Mac," I warned, "you'd better not attempt to get on friendly terms with these—insects; a bite from a centipede might kill you."

"I'll gie ye best about the insecks," he returned thoughtfully, applying a match to the pile, "bit ye'll admit," he added, after some moments' pause, "that it's maist ex-tra-ord'nar' tae see insecks o' sich onnaitural descripshun rinnin' aboot on the face o' the earth."

I fully concurred, much to his satisfaction, and just then Stewart arrived, perspiring under his watery load.

"Dae ye mean tae tell me," howled the new-comer, addressing no one in particular, "that ye hiv'na got the fire ken'l'd yet?"

"Ca' canny, Stewart, ca' canny," sternly admonished the guilty one. "There's been a narrow escape here, ma man, a verra narrow escape."

Stewart's ruddy face blanched slightly, then slowly regained its colour when the slain centipede was pointed out. "Ye've raelly had a providenshul escape, Mac," said he. "Noo, staun aside an' let me get on wi' the cookin'."

Our first breakfast in camp was an unqualified success; it was not a very elegant repast, certainly, but the traveller must learn to forego all luxuries and enjoy rough fare, and we had already served our apprenticeship in that direction. Stewart, however, had lost none of his art in matters culinary, and, as he himself averred, could cook "onything frae a muskittie tae an Injun," so we had every reason to be contented.

"If we wur only camped aside a second Gold Bottom!" sighed Mac, getting his pipe into working order.

"It's a bonnie countrie," mused his companion, "wi' a bonnie blue sky abune, an' what mair could a man want?"

"I think we have had no cause to complain, so far, boys," was my addition to the conversation, "and I'll go into the township in an hour or so and make investigations as to the latest strikes. To-morrow we may make a definite camp."

And so the early day passed while we rested and smoked, and recalled our grim experiences in the land of snows.

"It's mebbe wrang tae mak' compairisons," grunted Mac, "bit gie me the sunshine an' the floo'ers——"

"An' the centipedes!" Stewart slyly interpolated.

"D—n centipedes!" roared Mac; then he recovered himself. "Mak' nae mair allushuns, ma man," said he with dignity. "An' hoo daur ye spile ma poetic inspirashun?"

The sun was now well overhead and shooting down intense burning rays; the sky was cloudless, and not a breath stirred the branches of the dwarfed eucalyptii on the plains.

"It's a g-glorious day," murmured Stewart, mopping his perspiring forehead.

Mac chuckled: "Wait till ye see some o' the insecks the sun'll bring out," said he, "ye'll be fairly bamfoozled."

At this moment I was surprised to notice a man, armed with pick and shovel, approaching rapidly in our direction. As he came near I saw that he bore, strapped to his shoulders, a bundle of wooden pegs which had evidently been hastily cut from the outlying timber. "Some energetic individual thinks we have made a find at this camp," I thought; but I was mistaken. The stranger made as if to pass a good way off our tent; then he hesitated, looked back, apprehensively, it seemed to me, and came quickly towards us.

"What in thunder does yer mean by campin' here, mates?" he demanded hurriedly, grounding his shovel impatiently and letting his eyes roam in an unseeing manner over the surrounding country.

I had barely time to explain that ours was only a temporary camp, when, without a word, he shouldered his shovel and sped onwards into the brush.

"Maist onmainnerly behaviour," Mac snorted wrathfully. "Noo, if I meet that man again, I'll——" He stopped suddenly. "Ho, ho!" he chuckled, "there's mair o' them comin'; I begin tae smell a rat." We now observed what had caused the sudden flight of our visitor. Rushing from every shanty near the township, and issuing from the main street in a chaotic mass, a perfect sea of men bearing axes and picks and shovels came surging down on us. As we looked the fleeter members of the "rush" forged quickly ahead, so that the spectacle soon appeared as a medley army advancing desperately at the double in Indian file.

There was no need to be in ignorance as to what it meant; we had seen the same thing often enough in Alaska when strikes on the Upper Klondike were frequent.

"Get the tent down, boys," I said, "and follow on when you're ready. I'll represent this camp and see that it is not last on the programme." Even before I had finished speaking, my companions were tugging wildly at the guy ropes, and loosening the wall pegs of the tent.

"We'll no be faur ahint," growled Mac from beneath the canvas folds which in his zeal he had brought down upon himself.

"Ye shid let me gang first," grumbled Stewart, "fur ye ken weel that I can sprint wi' ony man."

I seized an axe and shovel and awaited the approach of the van-leader of the struggling line of humanity, who was fast drawing near: not knowing the destination of the rush, it was necessary that I should follow some one who did. I had not long to wait. A lean, lanky true son of the bush, with nether garments held in position by an old cartridge belt, burst through the brushwood a few yards wide of us. His leathery face showed not the slightest trace of emotion, and though the heat was sweltering not a drop of perspiration beaded on his forehead. Heaven knows how often he may have taken part in a rush and been disappointed.

"Mornin', boys," he said genially. "Fust-class exercise, this," and he passed at a regular swinging pace, with eyes fixed straight ahead, steering a direct course.

"He gangs like clockwork," said Mac admiringly, gazing after him; "bit haud on. What's this comin'?"

The second runner was now coming forward at a rate that was rapidly annihilating distance; he had passed the bulk of the others since he had joined the race, and I had been much interested in watching his progress.

"Guid Lor'," ejaculated Stewart, stopping in his work of rolling up the tent, and gazing at the approaching runner in dismay. "Did ye ever see onything like that in a' yer born days?"

There was ample excuse for his astonishment. The fleeing figure was hatless, and otherwise ludicrously garbed—for Westralia. What Stewart called a "lang-tailie coat" spread out behind him like streamers in a breeze, a "biled" collar had, in the same gentleman's terse language, "burst its moorings" and projected in two miniature wings at the back of his ears, and a shirt that had once been white, bosomed out expansively through an open vest. Yet, notwithstanding his cumbrous habiliments, he had well outdistanced his nearest "hanger-on," and it was plain that the wiry sandgroper still in front would have to screw on more speed if he meant to keep his lead long.

With lengthy strides the strangely-garbed runner shot past; in his hand he gripped a spade, which tended to make his appearance the more wonderful, but that he meant business was very evident.

"Fur Heaven's sake, pit aff the coat!" howled Stewart, and Mac toned down the impertinence of the remark by adding stentoriously—

"Ye'll rin lichter withoot it, ma man."

The individual addressed slowed up at once. "Thanks for the idea, boys," said he good-naturedly, and he promptly discarded the objectionable emblem of civilised parts and threw it carelessly into a mulga bush. Then noting that he was a good way in advance of the main army, he mopped his streaming face and gave the information, "There's been a big strike at the Five Mile, boys, wherever that may be. I am letting the first man steer the way on purpose."

"Ye're a daisy tae rin," admiringly spoke Mac, seizing the tent and a packet of miscellaneous merchandise, while Stewart feverishly gathered up the remainder of our meagre belongings. He of the "biled shirt" now set down to work again, making a pace which I, who had joined in the chase, found hard indeed to emulate; and my companions, heavily laden as they were, hung into our rear like leeches.

Far behind we could hear the sand crunch under hundreds of feet, and the mallee shrubs crackling and breaking, but hardly a word was spoken. Mile after mile we crashed through the endless brush and over the monotonous iron-shot plains. Mac puffed and blowed like some huge grampus, and Stewart's deep breathing sounded like the exhaust expirations of an overworked steam engine.

"Keep her gaun, Mac; keep her gaun," this personage would splutter when his more portly comrade showed signs of flagging, which well he might, considering that he clutched in his arms a weight of nearly forty pounds.

"Wha's stoppin'? ye inseegneeficant broken-winded donkey engine!" retorted his aggravated compatriot, rolling along manfully.

But the race was nearly over. Half a mile further on the land dipped ever so slightly, and in the gentle hollow formed about a dozen men rushed madly about, pacing off prospectors' claims, and driving rude pegs at the boundary corners.

The sight had an exhilarating effect on Mac and Stewart, and with wild shouts they quickly drew up the little distance they had lost, and would have passed my white-shirted pacemaker and myself were we not compelled for very shame to keep our lead if we died for it.

"By Jove!" panted he of the strange garments, "these beggars behind can run."

And Mac at his heels chivalrously grunted between his breaths, "I've never had a harder tussle tae keep up ma deegnity—no never."

A few minutes more, and we reached the field of operations. The men there were too busy marking off their properties to give us much attention. I noticed swiftly that our first visitor of the few words had his claim neatly pegged, and was sitting in the middle of it, complacently smoking. He must have received special information of the find or he could not have got away so much before the others. Our second passing acquaintance—he of the emotionless countenance who had steered our quartet unknowingly—had got in a hundred yards ahead of us, and he was now coolly cutting pegs with which to mark his chosen area.

"It's a deep alluvial leader, mate," he said to me. Then he added obligingly, "I guess I knows the lie of the kintry, an' if ye hitch on at the end o' my boundaries, ye'll likely sink on it, plumb."

The advice of an experienced miner should always be accepted; and while Mac and Stewart were felling several small trees for use as marking-posts, I proceeded to line off the direction of our claim as suggested by the angle of my adviser's corner channels. I performed this work with much care, knowing how slim are one's chances of holding any gold-bearing area at a rush unless the holder's title is beyond dispute according to official regulations.

The straggling body of men was now beginning to appear on the crest of the undulation which marked the only visible natural boundary of the valley; in less than three minutes the madly-striving crowd would be upon us, and we should be assuredly swamped by its numbers so that no pegs could be driven. Then I noticed the man who had doffed his fashionable coat to oblige Stewart, standing dejectedly near by; his sleeves were rolled up, displaying splendidly-formed muscles, and he held his shovel loosely in his hand as if uncertain what to do with it.

"Better get your pegs fixed quickly," I advised.

But he shook his head rather sadly. "I haven't got an axe," he said, "and—and I'm new to this sort of thing."

Mac had by this time obtained the four blazed posts necessary to denote our "three-men square," and Stewart promptly began to smite them into position in their proper places.

"If ye'll alloo me," said Mac, "I'll get the bitties o' sticks fur ye; I'd be vera sorry tae a bonnie rinner like you left in the cauld."

But there was no time now.

"Shift out our posts instead, Mac," I instructed, "we'll make a four-men lot of it and divide afterwards."

Our white-shirted associate looked at me gratefully, and held out his hand. "My name is Philip Morris," he said. "I am an Englishman, just out from the old country."

A swaying mob of perspiring and fiery-eyed men of all nationalities now flooded the valley as a tumultuous sea of humanity, and scattered in twos and fours throughout its entire length.

"You've struck a circus for a start, Morris," I said. "I think we'll all remember the Five-Mile Rush."