My "boss" was in my eyes a regular hero, or Nimrod, if you like. I went out shooting with him both morning and evening, and all Sunday as well, and became after a while quite a good shot. But one thing troubled Mr. ----; it was this: that although alligators were a daily terror, he had never yet been able to shoot one. When we went out shooting he had always a rifle with him, loaded with ball, and we would crawl about some fearful places and follow the tracks of alligators, but still we had no luck. As for me, I professed to be very sorry too, that we did not run right up against one. I had great faith in Mr. ----, and I do not think he had any suspicion that I was really afraid; still I always drew a sigh of relief when we came home from one of our expeditions. There is so much boasting going on in Queensland about alligators, that it is next to a proverb here when one is telling an untrue tale to say that it is "an alligator yarn," and I am, therefore, almost ashamed to write about it. Still alligators are a reality, and up there we knew it. On the river-bank, in front of the house was a spring, from which we got the water supply for the house but so nervous were we that no one dared to go to it without the utmost precaution. Every morning Mr. ---- would come and ask the bullock driver and me if we were prepared to fetch water. Then he would get his rifle and take up a position on the river-bank from which he could overlook the surroundings, while we went down to carry up a supply of water. [Illustration: AN ALLIGATOR POOL.]