“Now what shall I do about this, I wonder?” ponders the gallant defender of frontier settlers. “I can’t say it was Sergeant Blarney’s fault and call _him_ over the coals, for I have already reported the matter to the Chief as if I had been present. Well,” with a sigh, “it’s another proof of how careful we must be nowadays. Bai Jove! if any of these scribblers had seen some of the little affairs we’ve managed in the old days, between here and Herberton, there would have been some ‘tall writing,’ as the Yankees say, there would so. Bai Jove!” the Inspector adds aloud, rising from his chair and peering out of the open door down the bare barrack yard to where the square, rush-covered huts of the boys stand side by side, “if that isn’t Puttis back again. Wonder if he’s been sent up to replace me? Why, he was only ordered down to Nanga district six weeks ago.”
[Illustration: OFFICER AND “BOY” OF BLACK POLICE.]
The small, military figure of Inspector Puttis, to whom we have already introduced our readers half-a-dozen chapters back, dismounts quickly from the magnificent chestnut which has carried him from Cairns, and, after a few rapid words to his black orderly, who has dismounted also, rapidly marches up the scrupulously neat yard towards the residence of his brother officer. The white sergeant of the local force, and two or three native constables who are standing near, stand “attention” and give the military salute as the dapper little man passes them, which he replies to by lifting his riding cane to his cabbage-tree hat.
Whilst the new-comer is being welcomed by Inspector Bigger, let us glance at the more prominent objects in the scene before us.
Two rows of weather-board iron-roofed buildings, amongst which are the white sergeant’s quarters, stretch down a slight declivity to where they meet at right angles a terrace of brown, single-roomed huts, occupied by the native constables. At the upper end of the fair-sized quadrangle thus formed, the thatched, bungalow-like home of the Chief, covered with creeping plants and standing in a brilliant flower garden, looks down on the rest from the summit of the moderate rise on which the barracks are situated.
The “boy” who arrived with the Inspector, and who, in company with several other natives, is now leading the two horses to the stockyard down by the heavily-timbered water-hole, is in the well-known uniform of the Black Police. This consists of a linen-covered shako, blue-jacket garnished with red braid, and white duck trousers; brown leather gaiters reach to the “boy’s” knees, and he wears an old pair of his master’s enormously long spurs on his “Blucher” boots. As he is “in marching order,” a brass cartridge-belt, containing Snider cartridges, is slung, after the fashion of a sergeant’s scarf, around his body. To complete this somewhat lengthy description of a uniform to be seen only in “up-country” Australia, we may add that a Snider carbine hangs in its “basket” and strap from the “off” side of the “boy’s” saddle.