Jacker thought it did, for although it was always night in the drives,
the consciousness that the earth above was flooded with sunlight was a
great heartener.

'Don't you think you'd best give this up for once--this bushranger game?'
ventured Jacker.

'Why?' Dick's eyes were round with surprise.

'Oh, well, Twitter's jack of it, an' I don't think it's much fun.' Jacker
had assumed a careless air. 'See here, Dick,' he continued smartly, 'the
Cow Flat chaps made a raid last night, an' took Butts an' three
others--mine among 'em.'

This was an important matter. Butts was Dick's big grey billygoat, the
best goat in harness the boys had ever known or ever heard of; and the
'Cow Flat chaps' were the boys of a small centre about two miles and a
half further down the creek, between whom and the boys of Waddy there
existed an interminable feud that led them to fight on sight, and steal
such of each other's possessions as could be easily and expeditiously
removed. Dick's excitement soon evaporated; evidently root smoking was
conducive to a philosophical frame of mind.

'We'll get them back all right--after,' he said.

'They'll work Butts to a shadder,' Jacker remarked insinuatingly.

'Then we'll go down some night, an' strip Amson's garden.' Amson was a
prominent resident of Cow Flat, and had nothing whatever to do with the