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“Lend us the boot, and I’ll fix it in a minute. That’s my old trade.”

“Oh, so you’re a shoemaker,” he said. “I’d never have thought it.”

He laughs one of his useless laughs that wasn’t wanted, and slips off the boot–he hadn’t laced it up–and hands it across the bar to me. It was an ugly brute–a great thick, iron-bound, boiler-plated navvy’s boot. It made me feel sore when I looked at it.

I got the bag and pretended to fix the nail; but I didn’t.

“There’s a couple of nails gone from the sole,” I said. “I’ll put ’em in if I can find any hobnails, and it’ll save the sole,” and I rooted in the bag and found a good long nail, and shoved it right through the sole on the sly. He’d been a bit of a sprinter in his time, and I thought it might be better for me in the near future if the spikes of his running-shoes were inside.

“There, you’ll find that better, I fancy,” I said, standing the boot on the bar counter, but keeping my hand on it in an absent-minded kind of way. Presently I yawned and stretched myself, and said in a careless way:

“Ah, well! How’s the slate?” He scratched the back of his head and pretended to think.

“Oh, well, we’ll call it thirty bob.”

Perhaps he thought I’d slap down two quid.

“Well,” I says, “and what will you do supposing we don’t pay you?”

He looked blank for a moment. Then he fired up and gasped and choked once or twice; and then he cooled down suddenly and laughed his nastiest laugh–he was one of those men who always laugh when they’re wild–and said in a nasty, quiet tone:

“You thundering, jumped-up crawlers! If you don’t (something) well part up I’ll take your swags and (something) well kick your gory pants so you won’t be able to sit down for a month–or stand up either!”

“Well, the sooner you begin the better,” I said; and I chucked the boot into a corner and bolted.

He jumped the bar counter, got his boot, and came after me. He paused to slip the boot on–but he only made one step, and then gave a howl and slung the boot off and rushed back. When I looked round again he’d got a slipper on, and was coming–and gaining on me, too. I shifted scenery pretty quick the next five minutes. But I was soon pumped. My heart began to beat against the ceiling of my head, and my lungs all choked up in my throat. When I guessed he was getting within kicking distance I glanced round so’s to dodge the kick. He let out; but I shied just in time. He missed fire, and the slipper went about twenty feet up in the air and fell in a waterhole.

He was done then, for the ground was stubbly and stony. I seen Bill on ahead pegging out for the horizon, and I took after him and reached for the timber for all I was worth, for I’d seen Stiffner’s missus coming with a shovel–to bury the remains, I suppose; and those two were a good match–Stiffner and his missus, I mean.

Bill looked round once, and melted into the bush pretty soon after that. When I caught up he was about done; but I grabbed my swag and we pushed on, for I told Bill that I’d seen Stiffner making for the stables when I’d last looked round; and Bill thought that we’d better get lost in the bush as soon as ever we could, and stay lost, too, for Stiffner was a man that couldn’t stand being had.

The first thing that Bill said when we got safe into camp was: “I told you that we’d pull through all right. You need never be frightened when you’re travelling with me. Just take my advice and leave things to me, and we’ll hang out all right. Now-.”