9.  Message sticks (O).

These little sticks, rounded, carved, and painted with grease and red ochre, are known as either letter sticks or message sticks, and are common all over the continent.  The carvings are supposed by some to represent the actual words of the message; by others it is held—­and to this view I am inclined—­that the sticks are tokens carried by a messenger to show that his words are authentic, and each stick belongs to one tribe or individual whose identity is shown by the carvings.  They vary in length from 2 1/2 to 8 inches.

The sketch (O) shows the same stick turned three times.

PART VI

THE JOURNEY HOME

CHAPTER I

RETURN JOURNEY BEGINS

We left Hall’s Creek, on our return journey, on March 22, 1897.  Taking the road to Flora Valley we passed Brockman—­where, by the way, lives a famous person, known by the unique title of “Mother Deadfinish.”  This good lady is the most curious of her sex that I have ever seen; now a little dried-up, wizened old woman of Heaven knows what age, she was in her younger days a lady of wonderful energy.  She came overland from Queensland, accompanying her husband who, in the early days of the rush, sought to turn an honest penny by the sale of “sly grog.”  However, he died on the road, so his mourning widow carried through the job without him, and successfully withstood the trials of the journey, including heat, fever, and blacks.  The latter were very numerous, and gave great trouble to the early diggers, spearing their horses and very often the men themselves.  Many skirmishes ensued, and, so it is said, “Mother Deadfinish” handled her Winchester with the best of them!  Eventually she arrived at the diggings, and has been there ever since, making a living by the sale of goat’s milk, fowls, eggs, and a few vegetables.  She is quite a character and worth talking to, but not always worth listening to; for her language is notorious; indeed, it is a recognised form of amusement for the diggers to bring into their conversation certain topics, such as the Warden, or the Police, who are so especially distasteful to her that ordinary language cannot express her feelings.  In the same way that a boy delights to stir up a monkey and hear him chatter, the fossicker bent on recreation rouses the old lady to feats of swearing far beyond the scope of most people.  No man has yet been found who could withstand her onslaught.  I saw her angry once!  She positively alarmed me; the three witches in Macbeth thrown into one would be of no account in comparison.  Had she lived a century or two ago she would infallibly have been burnt.

A few miles past the Brockman the auriferous country is cut off by what is locally known as the “Sandstone”—­a sheer, wall-like range named the Albert Edward.