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As a lamber-down Michael Maginnis had few equals. And in all the wide north-west no rogue was better known amongst the nomads upon whom he preyed than "Mickey the Bull," as they called him—bull-headed, bull-voiced, bull-necked, and still reeking of Tipperary.

The name of his shanty was, of all names, the "Desert Rose," and an unspeakable daub, intended to represent that lovely flower, hung from a sapling in front of the door.

Where the house once stood is now an unsainted swamp, covered with mud springs—slimy, lukewarm, treacherous traps, that seem to smile as they dimple in slow fetid ripples over their everworking surfaces.

But the "hysting" of Maginnis is a modern legend still told by the western carriers and drovers at their camp fires; in station huts, when the euchre is finished for the night, and all hands draw up to the tea bucket for a drink and a smoke before turning in—told everywhere in that vast wilderness of ill-smelling gidyea, and red sand, and blight, and insects, and rabbits, and everlasting drought, and drear damnation, known vaguely as the "Far West."

The twin townships are forgotten, their place on map or gazetteer knows them no more. But the story of how "Mickey the Bull" was hoisted into the unknown by confined gases and brackish water will endure whilst mulga grows and crayfish burrow in the swamps.

For some months business at the "Rose" had been very poor; not a nomad worth mentioning as a cheque-bearer had put in appearance to be "gone though" secundum artem by Mickey and the "missus." And the publican was thinking seriously of shifting his lares and penates to a more promising district, when the twenty-ninth parallel came along and stopped him, and led eventually to his destruction.

Both Governments had nagged and growled at one another for some considerable time anent their common boundary, which was as crooked as a dog's hind leg—so crooked that it was a common matter for drovers, after duly paying customs duties on their stock crossing the border, to find themselves, utterly bewildered, back again in the colony they had just left.

To remedy this state of things a survey party was sent out to straighten the line up a bit.

Departmental orders were to make use of all the rivers they could find. But, to their disgust, they only found one, and its bed was mostly dry sand. Moreover, it ran due north and south, whilst the boundary was to run east and west. In this dilemma the leader, noticing that a certain parallel of latitude cut pretty straightly along the old boundary, decided to follow, and in the language of the profession, "determine" it. It ran mostly through country that was "neither decent scrub nor honest desert," but a mixture of the two. The few unhappy squatters scattered here and there in it either received them with open arms, as forerunners of a trans-continental railway, or with apathy, as harmless lunatics. Anyhow, no one interfered with them, and they journeyed along, making a great show, where there was timber, with pegs and red paint and broad arrows; and where there was none, piling up cairns of stones as big as a house; where there was no stone, making the track of the new boundary on the map look gay with red ink and blue.

And, at last, they came slap upon the "Desert Rose," exactly through the middle of whose bar the parallel ran.

When they explained their business and Maginnis realised that one half of his house and paddock would be in each colony he scratched his head, and roared, "Begob! how will I do at all, at all? If my shtock goes acrosht the paddick it's the dirthy duty ye'll be makin' me pay on 'em Whoy, be jabers, it's not able to rowl a cashk o' beer I'll be, from one side o' the house to t'other. Git away wid yez, ye thievin' shpalpeens, wid yer rotten owld par'lel! There'll be throuble if yez comes next anigh me wid the thing. The only way to shquare the contrack is to buy me out at wanst, wid a fair compensation thrown in. So I tells yez, widout any shenaneckin."

Now, the surveyor prided himself on the so far absolute directness of his line. A big "set-off" would, he considered, completely ruin the whole affair. Yet, could he in no way make this bullheaded Irishman understand that no damage would ensue either to house or ground.

However, the arrival presently of two nomads with large cheques put Maginnis in a better temper; and, on being told that possibly he might obtain compensation from, and would certainly have a vote in, each colony, he allowed the party to camp in his paddook and pursue their investigations.

And, by and by, becoming quite enamoured of the oddity of the thing, he made the surveyor drive a rod-painted peg in the middle of the bar floor, right on the boundary-line, with a broad arrow cut upon it. Also one of the party took down the old sign, and painted thereon something like a thick tightrope, upon which a bushman sat astride with a foaming glass in each hand, whilst underneath appeared the new title—"Parallel Hotel."

So Mickey was satisfied, and the survey party, with which we have no more to do, went on its way, as also did the couple of nomads, minus a total of £50, and plus a bottle each of home-made rum and an imminent fit of the "horrors."

In the course of time came the rabbit scare, and one Government, "clean" (as yet), after in vain requesting the other, very much "infested," to do it, began to erect a proof fence on the boundary. When the workmen came to the Parallel Hotel, Maginnis swore by all his saints that they should not go through his ground.

But the overseer, caring little about the line, merely told him to say which colony he'd like best to be fenced into, and then to shut up. And Maginnis gave in, and let them run the posts up to the verandah, and out again from the back of the kitchen.

"Be jabers," said Mickey, "I was on the par'lel afore, an' wid nothing to show for it 'cept an owld red peg. New, it's the rale par'lel itself I'm afther havin' for me to set on. It's betwixt and betune I am, goin' to me bed in wan counthry afther bein' all the day betwixt the two av 'em. An' there's the lasht o' the childer born in Quaneslan', an' the resht av 'em in New Sout' Wales, afore the blashted owld par'lel come along. Bad cess to it, sez I; wid some o' the fam'ly callin' theirselves Bananas and some Cornstalks, an' their parients neither one thing nor t'other. It's fair bothered I am in my head wid the confusin' av it, so I am!"

And, to clear his brain, Mickey took to drinking double tides.

And though, much to his disgust, one Government presently built a police station close to the house, he found that the advent of the parallel meant better business than he had ever done before. The constable in charge happened to be a strict teetotaller, and he objected strongly to Maginnis keeping open a second after eleven. For a few weeks Mick obeyed, and cleared out his guests, and shut up at the specified legal hour. Then a happy notion struck him. And one night the constable, amazed and indignant at seeing lights and hearing the sound of revelry well on for twelve o'clock, strode wrathfully over. There were a dozen bushmen in the bar, glasses and bottles on the counter, and Mickey grinning behind it.

"Aha," said the oficer, "I've got you this time, Maginnis!" and out came his note-book.

"Have ye finished, sargint, dear?" asked Mick, in his deep bass.

"Yes, worse luck for yourself, Maginnis," replied the other grimly.

"It's sorry I am to be puttin' ye to any inconvanience, sargint,'' said Mick politely, "but, sure, we don't be closin' till midnight in this counthry."

"Eleven," said the officer sternly; "d'ye think I don't know the law, my man?"

"Ay, sargint," boomed Mick, gleefully, "but we're all acrosht the border, darlin', this blessed minit. We're in Quaneslan' (pointing to the peg), an' glory be, as far from yez an' yer' laws as if ye wos at the Gulf itself,

And then the policeman, seeing that, indeed, everything and everybody was grouped in the other colony, retired to consider the situation.

But he could make nothing of it; nor, it seemed, could his superiors.

And business flourished, and on the strength of it, and his successful evasion of the law, Maginnis took to recklessly mixing his liquors, whilst encouraging his nomadic lambs to drink to the health of the "Par'lel."

We are taught that the way of the transgressor is hard. But the way of the man who begins to mix his drinks from his getting up to his lying down is steep enough for anything.

And so Michael Maginnis found it.

Time passed; and on each side of the fence sprung up a small settlement—almost, in fact, a township. Each had its couple of stores, its blacksmith's shop; and, of course, each began to talk of a newspaper. And people came to Mick's, not only from both sides, but from all over the district. It was a novelty, you see, to stand and drink with one foot in one colony and the other in another.

And, presently, Maginnis shut up the bar in the middle—the "betwixt and betune" one—and opened a couple—one in each colony.

And two sign-boards flaunted in the wind—on the New South Wales side that of the "Parallel"; on the Queensland, the "Diamantina,'' out of respect to the vice-regal lady who was once, in bygone days, said to rule at Brisbane Government House.

And when one bar was closed, and in darkness, the other was open long past the "wee sma' 'oors ayont the twal''— the police on that side numbering no abstainers.

So, for a while, the twin townships grew up together in friendly fashion around the nucleus of Maginnis, who throve mightily, and drank treble tides, mixing the drinks.

Presently came the trouble known as the "Big Strike." And Kihi (which was the name of the Queensland township) objecting to their camp, the strikers crossed the parallel and pitched their tents in Mamon (which was the name of the New South Wales settlement).

And all this is a matter of history.

But the thing bred ill-blood between the twins, and drove Maginnis crazy in the attempt to trim to both parties, or rather to three, reckoning the shearers.

And at last matters rose to such a pitch that it became unsafe to cross the parallel, and the rival colonies stuck each one to its own bar.

Moreovor, Kihi got a police station— a much finer one than Mamon—also an extra trooper, and plumed itself accordingly.

Presently, however, Mamon scored again, when its paternal Government sunk a bore in the main street; and its people smiled as they watched their brethren across the fence dragging their drink from a dirty waterhole in a dirty creek where sheep and cattle bogged and died.

Certainly the bore water contained about equal parts of salt and soda. But, anyhow, it was clear, and sparkled, and looked very good.

And Maginnis's brew was more in request than ever for qualifying" purposes. Bore-water and "Parallel,'' or "Diamantina" rum, or brandy, used to make the stoutest bushman gasp for breath, as it "bit" all the way down.

The P.G., in its wisdom, presently put a patent cap on the pipe of the bore, and gazetted Maginnis caretaker; and it also put up a ladder for him, so that he could ascend and "regulate the flow," or shut it off altogether, if he thought fit.

In time, to compensate the Kihis for having no bore, the rabbits came to Mamon, and ate every green thing. And, finishing the last shrub, and barking the last tree, they tackled the palings round the police barracks; also hybrids, true to the instinct of their cat part, climbed the roofs and made night hideous with cries and shrieks.

And the Kihi stock was mud fat, whilst over the border horses and cattle were as poor as wood, and all the sheep died.

But the Mamonites soon equalised matters by throwing over rabbits galore into the neighbouring colony, which retaliated by firing the Cornstalks' grass and poisoning all their dogs.

A new publican, too, arrived at Kihi and Maginnis, seeing that matters were coming to a crisis, took down the Queensland half of his house, and shifted the whole of his belongings to the other side of the fence, casting in his lot with the elder colony.

Meanwhile the war waxed bitterer than ever, and the border language, hurled to and fro, hotter and stronger. Even the police took sides, and shouted opprobrious names at their fellows across the parallel.

Undoubtedly, had not Providence interfered, there would have been bloodshed

The average yearly rainfall was about 7in; and, to anybody but a surveyor, the country was flat as a floor.

But in reality the two settlements lay in a saucer.

"Up above," somewhere, 27in of rain fell in three days, and all sorts of unsuspected depression came out in their true colours as roaring rivers, and emptied themselves into the saucer.

And the saucer filled, and filled, and filled; and one night its inhabitants stood on its edge, and stared at the moonlight falling on a great lake, with the big bore-tube standing up in its centre, grim and naked.

Suddenly a dark form was seen to ascend the ladder, and standing on its summit, embrace the eight-inch pipe.

"Who is it? '' asked the crowd altogether, whilst the figure answered the question with a roar like that of a scrub bull when a rival is in view.

"It's Maginnis!" shrieked a female voice, "an' 'e's got 'em agin! Mick, ye bloomin' idgit, come outer that. 'E's agoin' to turn the bore on," continued "Mother Maginnis," "as if there weren't enough cussed water about a'ready. Go an' fetch 'im, some o' yez. 'E's been orf 'is nut this larst couple er days.''

As she finished speakin there was a dull report, and four hundred feet of iron casing shot into the air like an arrow from a bow; up, up, with its burden, until, a cloud crossing the moon, it was lost to sight,

Mother Maginnis was the first to break the awed silence.

"My God!" exclaimed she, "Mick's hysted!" And, curiously enough, although lengths of piping were found scattered far and wide over the country, no sign of Maginnis ever came to light. His remains, however, may, for all that, be lying quietly in some brigalow scrub or lignum swamp. But the majority of nomads believe that he never came down—is, in fact, going still.

After a while, mud springs broke out, and swallowed what the flood left of Kihi and Mamon, together with the greater portion of the fence. And almost the only thing now remaining in the neighbourhood is the twenty-ninth parallel,