miles of land was chartered as his own. His sheep were counted in thousands, and his brand as familiar as a postage stamp. Yet, in all his struggles for success, Sam had found time to be a patriot. He had served as a Tommy in the African War, and since then had commanded a corps of mounted men in the back of beyond. He was the fairest yet fiercest, the most faithful and fearless man in the force. A man who disobeyed his orders always received a knock-out blow, for Sam boxed like a pro. and hit like a hammer. 

 "Some more recruits, sir," said his sergeant-major, opening the door. 

 "Right, Jones; show them in." 

 The door closed on the now famous quartette—Claud, Bill, Paddy, and Sandy. They were still in their rough bush-whacking clothes, while their eyes told the tale of a merry night before. 

 "Well, boys—glad to see you." 

 "We've met before, Sam," said Bill. 

 "Guess we have, but cut out the 'Sam,' click your heels together, say 'sir,' when you answer, and salute when you meet me. I'm bossing this show. And we can't have sheep-shearing familiarities—understand!" 

 "Bit sudden like!" smiled Bill, trying to comply. 

 "Not so sudden as death, or a shrapnel. Now, to business. You fellows look fit. What's your names?" 

 "Bill Buster's mine." 

 "Age?" 

 "About thirty—that's near enough." 

 "Religion?" 

 "Ain't got any." 

 "That means you're officially C. of E." 

 "What's that, Sam—eh—sir?" 

 "Church of England—they father queer birds like you." 

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