room we are in—there's a nest of 'em under the floor—nobody sleeps here who can help it. Look here," said he, "here's one." It was a red ant upwards of an inch in length—"that's a soldier, and he prods hard too," and applying his lighter pipe to the intruder, he scorched it to death. The bottle was now passed to Hugh, and after drinking the toast he passed it to his friends who followed his example. The bushmen smoked a pipe or two, gave some preliminary growls, and then they all fell asleep.
Hugh was soon roused by a sting, which made him start. He discovered the cause to be in the shape of a "soldier." Having destroyed it, he fell asleep, but was shortly awakened by Weevel's starting up and groaning. He saw this persecuted individual get out and proceed to dress himself in a fantastic fashion:—he put on his trousers and tied the legs of them round his ankles, then he put on his coat and fastened it tightly at the wrists.
"Why Weevel!" exclaimed Hugh, "what are you about?"
"I have been fearfully stung—I am being eaten alive!—what a shocking fate mine will be to record.—Oh dear!—Oh dear! I hope this contrivance will protect me;" and he lay down again, but not to sleep. As soon as day dawned, he roused his party, and they disturbed the two bushmen, who lit a pipe apiece and got under the blankets again.
"Well mates," said one, "how about the sogers, eh?—but I see you are off. If any of you should ever be in the Westernport district, I shall be glad to see you at my station, so would my friend: we are neighbours, we only live four miles apart."
"You are very kind," said Hugh; "we may meet again: but you forget your names are unknown to us."
"I'm Ruffin," said one.
