A few miles more, and—­joy unspeakable—­I found a condenser and a camp.  The hospitable proprietor, whose name I never learned, did all he could to make me comfortable, and I felt inclined to stay, but despatch was imperative, for not only must the lease be applied for forthwith, but Conley and Egan must be provisioned.  At Coongarrie I gave a swagman a lift, and he helped me with the camels and loads, until at last Coolgardie was reached.

Giving my camels in charge of the first man I could find willing to look after them, an Afghan, Neel Bas by name, I finished my business at the Warden’s office.  Then, yielding to the persuasion of my friends in Asken and Nicolson’s store, I retired to the hospital, for indeed I could fight against my sickness no longer.  Here I remained some three weeks under the kind care of Miss O’Brien (now Mrs. Castieau) and Miss Millar, the pioneer nurses on the goldfields.  No words can express the admiration I, and all of us, felt for the pluck and goodness of these two gently nurtured ladies, who had braved the discomforts and hardships of the road from York to Coolgardie—­discomforts that many of the so-called stronger sex had found too much for them—­to set up their hospital tent, and soothe the sufferings of poor fever-stricken fellows.

The services of these kind ladies, and of many that subsequently followed their example, were badly needed, for the typhoid fiend was rampant—­carrying off the young, and apparently strong, men at a rate too tremendous to be credible.  Funerals were too common to call for even passing notice.  “Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung,” they went to a nameless grave.

My chief anxiety was for my mates.  How could I send them relief, incapacitated as I was?  Fortunately, my friend David Wilson offered to go for me, in consideration of a certain interest in the mine we had found.  This was a great help, and now I could rest contented; not altogether though, for Neel Bas had some hesitation in giving up the camels, and had a violent row with Dave Wilson, all of which he would insist on explaining to me in broken English, as he sat cross-legs on the floor of my tent.  The doctor happily arrived and kicked him out, and I was left in peace.  In less than three weeks I was able to go by coach to Southern Cross, and thence by train to Perth, where, under the kind roof of Colonel Fleming, the Commandant, I soon regained my health.

When I mention that my syndicate never even offered to defray the cost of my illness, my readers will understand that my statements as to the ingratitude of those who benefit by the prospectors’ toil are not unfounded.  Unfortunately for me, my old mate, Lord Douglas, was absent in England, and, in consequence, much misunderstanding resulted between the syndicate and myself.

CHAPTER VII

SALE OF MINE