Here we pulled up for a bit and had a smoke.

It was a queer time and a queer look-out.
Three o'clock in the morning--the stars in the sky, and it so clear that we could see Nulla Mountain rising up against it a big black lump, without sign of tree or rock; underneath the valley, one sea of mist, and we just agoing to drop into it; on the other side of the Hollow, the clear hill we called the Sugarloaf.

Everything seemed dead, silent, and solitary, and a rummier start than all, here were we--three desperate men, driven to make ourselves a home in this lonesome, God-forsaken place! I wasn't very fanciful by that time, but if the devil had risen up to make a fourth amongst us I shouldn't have been surprised.

The place, the time, and the men seemed regularly cut out for him and his mob.
We smoked our pipes out, and said nothing to each other, good or bad.
Then father makes a start, and we follows him; took a goodish while, but we got down all right, and headed for the cave.

When we got there our troubles were over for a while.