look out for squalls; and I will too. Humph!" he said, after a scrutiny, "I don't like his cut, for he has not altogether the bearing of a bushman, though he's rigged like one."
As the boat neared the landing-place, the stranger saluted them, and inquired, in a bland voice, "Is this Mr. Dodge's station?"
"Too polite," whispered Dodge to Slinger; and in a higher tone—" Dodge's station! O no: Dodge's station is higher up the creek by a good three miles, and I wish 'twas further off."
"How so?" inquired the stranger.
"Because he's a queer neighbour, and we can't agree. I'm right again," whispered Dodge to Slinger; "I'm sure its one of my old friends."
After landing his passengers, Dodge pulled his boat boldly across, and after a short conversation with the stranger, he agreed to accompany him on his way; first, however, re-crossing to tell his friends to help themselves to anything they could find in the hut, and to make themselves quite at home: "and now," he said, "for the present, good bye; I shall return about sunset, after I have shown this gentleman a little of the interior."
Dodge again joined the stranger, and fastening his boat to a mangrove tree, they wended their way up the banks of the creek through an occasional scrub or swamp. By one of those stories for which Dodge was never at a loss, he drew from the stranger the purport of his business: it was neither more nor less than the serving a writ upon Dodge, "for which I shall get well paid," said the bailiff,—"out," muttered Dodge.
They were skirting an extensive tract overgrown with dwarf trees matted together with the thread-like fibres of the native vine, when Dodge said, "Come,shove along, we must get through this."
