In the west, around the great goldfields, where water is very scarce, white explorers have sometimes adopted a way to get help which is far more objectionable. The natives in those regions are very reluctant to show the locality of the waterholes. The supply is scanty, and they have learned to regard the white man as wasteful and inconsiderate in regard to water. But a white explorer or traveller has been known to catch a native, and, filling his mouth with salt, to expose him to the heat of the sun until the tortures of thirst forced him to lead the white party to a native well. But these are rare dark spots on the picture. The records of Australian exploration, as a whole, are bright with heroism. The early pioneer in Australia--called a "squatter" because he squatted on the land where he chose--enjoyed a picturesque life. Taking all his household goods with him, driving his flocks and herds before him, he moved out into the wilderness looking for a place to settle or "squat." It was the experience of the "Swiss Family Robinson" made real. The little community, with its waggons and tents, its horses, oxen, sheep, dogs, perhaps also with a few poultry in one of the waggons, would have to live for many months an absolutely self-contained life. The family and its servants would provide wheelwrights, blacksmiths, carpenters, veterinary surgeons, cattle-herds, milkers, shearers, cooks, bridge-builders, and the like. The children brought up under those conditions won not only fine healthy frames, but an alertness of mind, a wideness of resource which made them, and their children after them, fine nation-builders. I am tempted, in illustration of this, to quote from a larger work of mine, "Australia," an instance of my own observation of the "resourceful Australian": "Without touch of cap, or sign of servility, the swagman came up. "'Gotter a job, boss?' "'No chance; but you can go round and get rations.' "'I wanter job pretty bad. Times have been hard. Perhaps you recollect me--Jim Stone. You had me once working on the Paroo.' "It was a blazing hot day in Central Queensland on one of the big cattle stations out from the railway line, a station which had not yet reached the dignity of fencing. The boss remembered that Jim Stone "was a good sort," and that it was forty miles to the next chance of a job. And there was always something to be done on a station. "'All right, Stone. I think I can put you on to something for a month or two.' "'Thanks. Start now?' "'Look. I have got a few men on digging tanks, about thirty miles out. It's north-north-east. You can pick up their camp?' "'Yes.' "'Well, I want you to take a bullock-dray out, with stores, and bring back anything they want sent back.' "'Yes. Where are the bullocks?'