Those stirring times are days of the past, and the unsheathed sword has given place to the ploughshare, but weird pictures of bloodshed among man and beast are indelibly impressed on Jack Lovat's brain, and his dreams of to-day are often linked with the scenes enacted during the "White Men's War" beneath the glittering Southern Cross. Jack Lovat was not a Colonial bred and born, for his boyhood had been passed amid the peaceful surroundings of a Highland sheep farm in dear old Scotland. Mr. Lovat, Jack's father, had been a laird of substantial means, and was descended from a line of ancestors in whose veins coursed a strain of royal blood; but bad times came, and Jack, instead of proceeding…
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