AN OUTBACK MARRIAGE

By Andrew Barton Paterson

Author Of "The Man From Snowy River, " And "Rio Grande's Last Race"

CONTENTS

 I. In The Club II. A Dinner For Five III. In Push Society IV. The Old Station V. The Coming Of The Heiress VI. A Coach Accident VII. Mr. Blake's Relations VIII. At The Homestead IX. Some Visitors X. A Lawyer In The Bush XI. A Walk In The Moonlight XII. Mr. Blake Breaks His Engagement XIII. The Rivals XIV. Red Mack And His Sheep Dogs XV. A Proposal And Its Results XVI. The Road To No Man's Land XVII. Considine XVIII. The Wild Cattle XIX. A Chance Encounter XX. A Consultation At Kiley's XXI. No Compromise XXII. A Nurse And Her Assistant XXIII. Hugh Goes In Search XXIV. The Second Search For Considine XXV. In The Buffalo Camp XXVI. The Saving Of Considine XXVII. The Real Certificate XXVIII. A Legal Battle XXIX. Races And A Win

CHAPTER I. IN THE CLUB. 

It was a summer's evening in Sydney, and the north-east wind that comesdown from New Guinea and the tropical islands over leagues of warm sea, brought on its wings a heavy depressing moisture. In the streets peoplewalked listlessly, perspired, mopped themselves, and abused theirmuch-vaunted climate. Everyone who could manage it was out of town, either on the heights of Moss Vale or the Blue Mountains, escaping fromthe Inferno of Sydney. 

In the Cassowary Club, weary, pallid waiters brought iced drinks to suchof the members as were condemned to spend the summer in town. Thegong had sounded, and in ones and twos members shuffled out of thesmoking-room, and went in to dinner. At last only three were lefttalking at the far end of the big, empty smoking-room, like three smallstage conspirators at the end of a very large robbers' cavern. 

One was a short, fat, red-faced man, who looked like a combination ofsea-captain and merchant, and who was the local representative of a bigEnglish steamship company. His connection with the mercantile marine hadearned him his nickname of "The Bo'sun. " By his side sat Pinnock, alean and bilious-looking solicitor; the third man was an Englishglobe-trotter, a colourless sort of person, of whom no one took anyparticular notice until they learnt that he was the eldest son of a bigScotch whisky manufacturer, and had £10, 000 a year of his own. Then theysuddenly discovered that he was a much smarter fellow than he looked. The three were evidently waiting for somebody. The "Bo'sun" had agrievance, and was relieving his mind by speech. He walked up and downbetween the smoking-room chairs, brandishing a telegram as he talked, while the attorney and the globe-trotter lay back on the lounge andadmired his energy. 

"I call it a shame, " he said, facing round on them suddenly; "I couldhave got up to Moss Vale for a day or two, and now old Grant of Kuryongwires me to meet and entertain a new chum. Just listen to this: 'YoungCarew, friend of mine, on Carthaginia. Will you meet him and show himround; oblige me--W. G. Grant. ' I met the old fellow once or twice atdinner, when he was in town for the sheep sales, and on the strength ofthat he foists an unknown callow new chum on to me. People are alwaysdoing that kind of thing. "

"Leave his friend alone, then, " said Pinnock; "don't have anything todo with him. I know his sort--Government House young man the first week, Coffee Palace at two shillings a night the second week, boiler on thewharf the third week, Central Police Court the fourth week, and thenexit so far as all decent people are concerned. "

The Bo'sun stuffed the telegram into his pocket and sat down. 

"Oh, I don't suppose he'll be so bad, " he said. "I've asked him hereto-night to see what he's like, and if he's no good I'll drop him. It'sthe principle I object to. Country people are always at this sort ofthing. They'd ask me to meet an Alderney bull and entertain him tillthey send for him. What am I to do with an unknown new chum? I'd soonerhave an Alderney bull--he'd be easier to arrange for. He'd stop where hewas put, anyhow. "

Here Gillespie, the globe-trotter, cut into the conversation. "I knewa Jim Carew in England, " he said, "and if this is the same man youwill have no trouble taking care of him. He was a great man at his'Varsity--triple blue, or something of the sort. He can row and run andfight and play football, and all that kind of thing. Very quiet-spokensort of chap--rather pretends to be a simple sort of Johnny, don'tyou know, but he's a regular demon, I believe. Got into a row at amusic-hall one night, and threw the chucker-out in among a lot ofvaluable pot plants, and irretrievably ruined him. "

"Nice sort of man, " said the Bo'sun. "I've seen plenty of his sort, worse luck; he'll be borrowing fivers after the first week. I'll put himon to you fellows. "

The globe-trotter smiled a sickly smile, and changed the subject. "What's old Grant like--the man he's going to? Squatter man, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes, and one of the real old sort, too, " interposed Pinnock, "perfect gentleman, you know, but apt to make himself deuced unpleasantif everything doesn't go exactly to suit him; sort of chap who thinksthat everyone who doesn't agree with him ought to be put to death atonce. He had a row with his shearers one year, and offered Jack Delaneya new Purdey gun if he'd fire the first two charges into the shearers'camp at night. "

"Ha!" said Gillespie. "That's his sort, eh? Well, if this Carew is theCarew I mean, he and the old fellow will be well met. They'll about dofor each other in the first week or two. "

"No great loss, either, " said the Bo'sun. "Anyhow I've asked this newchum to dinner to-night, and Charlie Gordon's coming too. He was in myoffice to-day, but hadn't heard of the new chum. Gordon's a member now. "

"What's he like?" said Gillespie. "Anything like the gentleman thatwanted the shearers killed?"

"Oh, no; a good fellow, " said the Bo'sun, taking a sip of sherry. "Hemanages stations for Grant, and the old man has kept him out on theback-stations nearly all his life. He was out in the Gulf-country in theearly days--got starved out in droughts, swept away in floods, lost inthe bush, speared by blacks, and all that sort of thing, in the dayswhen men camped under bushes and didn't wear shirts. Gone a bit queer inthe head, I think, but a good chap for all that. "

"How did this Grant make all his money" asked Gillespie. "He's awfullywell off, isn't he? Stations everywhere? Is he any relation to Gordon?"

"No; old Gordon--Charlie's father--used to have the money. He had a lotof stations in the old days, and employed Grant as a manager. Grant wasa new chum Scotchman with no money, but a demon for hard work, and themost headstrong, bad-tempered man that ever lived--hard to hold at anytime. After he'd worked for Gordon for awhile he went to the diggingsand made a huge pile; and when old Gordon got a bit short of cash hetook Grant into partnership. "

"It must have been funny for a man to have his old manager as apartner!"

"It wasn't at all funny for Gordon, " said the lawyer, grimly. "Anythingbut funny. They each had stations of their own outside the partnership, and all Gordon's stations went wrong, and Grant's went right. It neverseemed to rain on Gordon's stations, while Grant's had floods. So Gordongot short of money again and borrowed from Grant, and when he was reallyin a fix Grant closed on him and sold him out for good and all. "

"What an old screw! What did he do that for?"

"Just pure obstinacy--Gordon had contradicted him or something, so hesold him up just to show which was right. "

"And what did Gordon do after he was sold up?"

"Died, and didn't leave a penny. So then Bully Grant wheeled round andgave Gordon's widow a station to live on, and fixed the two sons upmanaging his stations. Goodness knows how much he's worth now. Doesn'teven know it himself. "

"And has he no children? Was he ever married?"

The lawyer lit a cigarette and puffed at it. 

"He went to England and got married; there's a daughter. The wife'sdead; the daughter is in England still--never been out here. There'sa story that before he made his money he married a bush girl up on thestation, but no one believes that. The daughter in England will geteverything when he dies. A chance for you, Gillespie. Go home and marryher--she'll be worth nearly a million of money. "

"I'll think about it, " said the globe-trotter. 

As he spoke a buttony boy came up to the Bo'sun. 

"Gentleman to see you, sir, " he said. "Mr. Carew, sir. "

The Bo'sun hurried off to bring in his guest, while Pinnock called afterhim--"Mind your eye, Bo'sun. Be civil to him. See that he doesn't kill awaiter or two on the way up. Not but what he'd be welcome to do it, forall the good they are here, " he added, gloomily, taking another sip ofhis sherry and bitters; and before he had finished it the Bo'sun and hisguest entered the room. 

They had expected to see a Hercules, a fiery-faced, fierce-eyed man. This was merely a broad-shouldered, well-built, well-groomed youth, about twenty-three years of age; his face was square and rather stolid, clean-shaven, brown-complexioned, with honest eyes and a firm-setmouth. As he stood at the door he adopted the wooden expression thata University man always wears in the presence of strangers. He saidnothing on being introduced to Pinnock; and when the globe-trotter cameup and claimed acquaintance, defining himself as "Gillespie of Balliol, "the stranger said he didn't remember him, and regarded him with anaspect of armed neutrality. After a sherry and bitters he thawed alittle, and the Bo'sun started to cross-examine him. 

"Mr. Grant of Kuryong wired to me about you, " he said. "I suppose youcame in the Carthaginia?"

"Yes, " said the stranger, speaking in the regulation English Universityvoice, a little deeper than usual. "I left her at Adelaide. I'm out forsome bush experience, don't you know. I'll get you to tell me some placeto stop at till I leave, if you don't mind. "

His manner was distinctly apologetic, and he seemed anxious to give aslittle trouble as possible. 

"Oh! you stop here, " said the Bo'sun. "I'll have you made an honorarymember. They'll do you all right here. "

"That's awfully good of you. Thanks very much indeed. "

"Oh! not at all. You'll find the club not so bad, and a lot better thanwhere you're going with old Grant. He's a regular demon to make fellowswork. It's pretty rough on the stations sometimes. "

"Ah! yes; awf'lly rough, I believe. Quite frightened me, what I heard ofit, don't you know. Still, I suppose one must expect to rough it a bit. Eh, what!"

"Charlie Gordon will he here in a minute, " said the Bo'sun. "He can tellyou all about it. Here he is now, " he added, as the door swung open andthe long-waited-for guest entered the room. 

The newcomer was unmistakably a man from Far Out; tall, wiry-framed, andvery dark, and so spare and lean of figure that he did not seem tohave an ounce of superfluous flesh anywhere. His face was as hard andimpassive as a Red Indian's, and looked almost black by contrast withhis white shirt-front. So did his hands. He had thin straight hair, highcheek-bones, and a drooping black moustache. But the eyes were the mostremarkable feature. Very keen and piercing they were, deep-set inthe head; even when he was looking straight at anyone he seemed to bepeering into endless space through the man in front of him. Such eyesmen get from many years of staring over great stretches of sunlit plainwhere no colour relieves the blinding glare--nothing but dull greyclumps of saltbush and the dull green Mitchell grass. 

His whole bearing spoke of infinite determination and self-reliance--thesquare chin, the steadfast eyes, telling their tale as plainly as print. In India he might have passed for an officer of native cavalry inmufti; but when he spoke he used the curious nasal drawl of the far-outbushman, the slow deliberate speech that comes to men who are used topassing months with the same companions in the unhurried Australianbush. Occasionally he lapsed into reveries, out of which he would comewith a start and break in on other people's conversation, talking themdown with a serene indifference to their feelings. 

"Come out to old man Grant, have you?" he drawled to Carew, when theceremonies of introduction were over. "Well, I can do something betterfor you than that. I want a mate for my next trip, and a rough lonelyhot trip it'll be. But don't you make any mistake. The roughest andhottest I can show you will be child's play to having anything to dowith Grant. You come with me. "

"Hadn't I better see Mr. Grant first?"

"No, he won't care. The old man doesn't take much notice of newchums--he gets them out by the bushel. He might meet a man at dinner inEngland and the man might say, "Grant, you've got some stations. I'vegot a young fellow that's no use at home--or anywhere else for thatmatter--can't you oblige me, and take him and keep him out of mischieffor a while?" And if the old man had had about a bottle of champagne, he'd say, "Yes, I'll take him--for a premium, " or if he'd had twobottles, he'd say, "Send along your new chum--I'll make a man of him orbreak his neck. " And perhaps in the next steamer out the fellow comes, and Grant just passes him on to me. Never looks at him, as likely asnot. Don't you bother your head about Grant--you come with me. "

As he drawled out his last sentence, a move was made to dinner; sothe Englishman was spared the pain of making any comments on his ownunimportance in Mr. Grant's eyes, and they trooped into the dining-roomin silence. 

CHAPTER II. A DINNER FOR FIVE. 

A club dining-room in Australia is much like one in any other part ofthe world. Even at the Antipodes--though the seasons are reversed, andthe foxes have wings--we still shun the club bore, and let him havea table to himself; the head waiter usually looks a more importantpersonage than any of the members or guests; and men may be seen givingeach other dinners from much the same ignoble motives as those whichactuate their fellows elsewhere. In the Cassowary Club, on the night ofwhich we tell, the Bo'sun was giving his dinner of necessity to honourthe draft of hospitality drawn on him by Grant. At the next table ayoung solicitor was entertaining his one wealthy client; near by a bandof haggard University professors were dining a wandering scientist, allhair and spectacles--both guest and hosts drinking mineral watersand such horrors; while beyond them a lot of racing men were swillingchampagne and eating and talking as heartily as so many navvies. A fewsquatters, down from their stations, had fore-gathered at the centretable, where each was trying to make out that he had had less rain thanthe others. The Bo'sun and his guests were taken in hand by the headwaiter, who formerly had been at a London Club, and was laying himselfout to do his best; he had seen that Gillespie had "Wanderers' Club"on his cards, and he knew, and thanked his stars that he did know, what"Wanderers' Club" on a man's card meant. His fellow-waiters, to whom heusually referred as "a lot of savages, " were unfortunately in ignoranceof the social distinction implied by membership of such a club. 

For a time there was nothing but the usual commonplace talk, while thesoup and fish were disposed of; when they reached the champagne and theentrées, things become more homelike and conversation flowed. A bushman, especially when primed with champagne, is always ready to give histongue a run--and when he has two open-mouthed new chums for audience, as Gordon had, the only difficulty is to stop him before bed-time; forlong silent rides on the plain, and lonely camps at night, give him alot of enforced silence that he has to make up for later. 

"Where are you from last, Gordon?" said the Bo'sun. "Haven't seen you intown for a long time. "

"I've been hunting wild geese, " drawled the man from far back, screwingup one eye and inspecting a glass of champagne, which he drank off ata gulp. "That's what I do most of my time now. The old man--Grant, youknow--my boss--he's always hearing of mobs of cattle for sale, andif I'm down in the south-west the mob is sure to be up in the farnorth-east, but it's all one to him. He wires to me to go and inspectthem quick and lively before someone else gets them, and I ride anddrive and coach hundreds of miles to get at some flat-sided pike-hornedmob of brutes without enough fat on them to oil a man's hair with. I'veto go right away out back now and take over a place that the old manadvanced some money on. He was fool enough, or someone was fool enoughfor him, to advance five thousand pounds on a block of new country withfive thousand cattle on it--book-muster, you know, and half the cattlehaven't been seen for years, and the other half are dead, I expect. Anyhow, the man that borrowed the money is ruined, and I have to go upand take over the station. "

"What do you call a book-muster?" said the globe-trotter, who wasspending a month in the country, and would naturally write a book on it. 

"Book-muster, book-muster? Why, a book-muster is something likedead-reckoning on a ship. You know what dead-reckoning is, don't you?If a captain can't see the sun he allows for how fast the ship is going, and for the time run and the currents, and all that, and then reckons upwhere he is. I travelled with a captain once, and so long as he stuckto dead-reckoning he was all right. He made out we were off Cairns, andthat's just where we were; because we struck the Great Barrier Reef, andbecame a total wreck ten minutes after. With the cattle it's just thesame. You'll reckon the cattle that you started with, add on eachyear's calves, subtract all that you sell, --that is, if you ever do sellany--and allow for deaths, and what the blacks spear and the thievessteal. Then you work out the total, and you say, 'There ought to be fivethousand cattle on the place, ' but you never get 'em. I've got to goand find five thousand cattle in the worst bit of brigalow scrub in thenorth. "

"Where do you say this place is?" said Pinnock. "It's called No Man'sLand, and it's away out back near where the buffalo-shooters are. It'lltake about a month to get there. The old man's in a rare state of mindat being let in. He's up at Kuryong now, driving my brother Hugh out ofhis mind. Hugh would as soon have an attack of faceache as see old Bullylooming up the track. Every time he goes up he shifts every blessedsheep out of every paddock, and knocks seven years' growth out of themputting them through the yards; then he overhauls the store, and ifthere's a box of matches short he'll keep Hugh up half the night toaccount for it. He sacks all the good men and raises the wages of theloafers, and then comes back to Sydney quite pleased; it's a littleholiday to him. You come along with me, Carew, and let old Bully alone. What did you come out for? Colonial experience?"

An Englishman hates talking about himself, and Carew rather hesitated. Then he came out with it awkwardly, like a man repeating a lesson. 

"Did you ever meet a man named Considine out here?" he said. 

"Lots of them, " said Gordon promptly--"lots of them. Why, I had a mannamed Considine working for me, and he thought he got bitten by a snake, so his mates ran him twenty miles into Bourke between two horses tokeep him from going to sleep, giving him a nip of whisky every twentyminutes; and when he got to Bourke he wasn't bitten at all, but he diedof alcoholic poisoning. What about this Considine, anyhow? What do youwant him for?"

The Englishman felt like dropping the subject altogether, not feelingquite sure that he was not being laughed at. However, he decided to gothrough with it. 

"It's rather a long story, but it boils down to this, " he said. "I'mlooking for a Patrick Henry Considine, but I don't know what he's like. I don't know whether there is such a chap, in fact, but if there is, I've got to find him. A great-uncle of mine died out here a long whileago, and we believe he left a son; and if there is such a son, it turnsout that he would be entitled to a heap of money. It has been heaping upfor years in Chancery, and all that sort of thing, you know, " headded, vaguely. "My people thought I might meet him out here, don't youknow--and he could go home and get all the cash, you see. They've beenadvertising for him. "

"And what good will it do you, " drawled Gordon, "supposing you do findhim? Where do you come in?"

"Oh, it doesn't do me much good, except that if there is such a Johnny, and he dies without making a will, then the money would all come tomy people. But if there isn't, it all goes to another branch of thefamily. "

Gordon thought the matter over for a while. "What you want, " he said, "is to find this man, and to find him dead. If we come across him awayin the back country, we'll soon arrange his death for you, if you makeit worth while. Nasty gun accident, or something like that, you know. "

"I wouldn't like anyone to shoot him, " said the Englishman. 

"Well, you come with me, and we'll find him, " said Gordon. 

By this time dinner was over. The waiters began to turn out the lightson the vacant tables; and, as the party rose it was arranged nem. Con. , and with much enthusiasm, that Carew should accompany Gordon on his tripto No Man's Land, and that Gordon should, by all means in his power, aidand abet Carew in his search for Considine. 

Then, all talking together, and somewhat loudly, they strutted into thesmoking-room. 

CHAPTER III. IN PUSH SOCIETY. 

The passing of the evening afterwards is the only true test of adinner's success. Many a good dinner, enlivened with wine and madebrilliant with repartee, has died out in gloom. The guests have allsaid their best things during the meal, and nothing is left but to smokemoodily and look at the clock. Our heroes were not of that mettle. Theymeant to have some sort of fun, and the various amusements of Sydneywere canvassed. It was unanimously voted too hot for the theatres, dittofor billiards. There were no supporters for a proposal to stop inthe smoking-room and drink, and gambling in the card-rooms had noattractions on such a night. At last Gordon hit off a scent. "What doyou say, " he drawled, "if we go and have a look at a dancing saloon--oneof these larrikin dancing saloons?"

"I'd like it awfully, " said one Englishman. 

"Most interesting" said the other. "I've heard such a lot about theAustralian larrikin. What they call a basher in England, isn't it? eh, what? Sort of rough that lays for you with a pal and robs you, eh?"

The Bo'sun rang for cigars and liqueurs, and then answered the question. "Pretty much the same as a basher, " he said, "but with a lot morescience and dog-cunning about him. They go in gangs, and if you hit oneof the gang, all the rest will 'deal with you, ' as they call it. If theyhave to wait a year to get you, they'll wait, and get you alone somenight or other and set on to you. They jump on a man if they get himdown, too. Oh, they're regular beauties. "

"Rather roughish sort of Johnnies, eh?" said the Englishman. "But wemight go and see the dancing--no harm in that. "

Pinnock said he had to go back to his office; the globe-trotter didn'tcare about going out at night; and the Bo'sun tried to laugh thething off. "You don't catch me going, " he said. "There's nothing to beseen--just a lot of flash young rowdies dancing. You'll gape at them, and they'll gape at you, and you'll feel rather a pair of fools, andyou'll come away. Better stop and have a rubber. "

"If you dance with any of their women, you get her particular fancy-manon to you, don't you?" asked Gordon. "It's years since I was at thatsort of place myself. "

The Bo'sun, who knew nothing about it, assumed the Sir Oracle at once. 

"I don't suppose their women would dance with you if you paid 'em fiveshillings a step, " he said. "There'd certainly be a fight if they did. Are you fond of fighting, Carew?"

"Not a bit, " replied that worthy. "Never fight if you can help it. Nochap with any sense ever does. "

"That's like me, " said Gordon. "I'd sooner run a mile than fight, any time. I'm like a rat if I'm cornered, but it takes a man with astockwhip to corner me. I never start fighting till I'm done running. But we needn't get into a row. I vote we go. Will you come, Carew?"

"Oh, yes; I'd like to, " said the Englishman. "I don't suppose we needget into a fight. "

So, after many jeers from the Bo'sun, and promises to come back andtell him all about it, Carew and Gordon sallied forth, a pair of men ascapable of looking after themselves as one would meet in a day's march. Stepping into the street they called a cab. 

"Where to, sir?" asked the cabman. 

"Nearest dancing saloon, " said Gordon, briefly. 

"Nearest darncin' saloon, " said the cabman. "There ain't no partiesto-night, sir; it's too 'ot. "

"We're not expecting to drop into a ballroom without being asked, thankyou, " said Gordon. "We want to go to one of those saloons where you paya shilling to go in. Some place where the larrikins go. "

"Ho! is that it, sir?" said the cabman, with a grin. "Well, I'll takeyou to a noo place, most selectest place I know. Git up, 'orse. " Andoff they rattled through the quiet streets, turning corners and crossingtramlines every fifty yards apparently, and bumping against each otherin the most fraternal manner. 

Soon the cab pulled up in a narrow, ill-lit street, at the open door ofa dingy house. Instructing the cabman to wait, they hustled upstairs, to be confronted at the top by a man who took a shilling from each, andthen was not sure whether he would admit them. He didn't seem to liketheir form exactly, and muttered something to a by-stander as they wentin. They saw a long, low room, brilliantly lighted by flaring gas jets. Down one side, on wooden forms, was seated a row of flashily-dressedgirls--larrikin-esses on their native heath, barmaids from cheap, disreputable hotels, shop girls, factory girls--all sharp-faced andpert, young in years, but old in knowledge of evil. The demon ofmischief peeped out of their quick-moving, restless eyes. They hadelaborate fringes, and their short dresses exhibited well-turned anklesand legs. 

A large notice on the wall stated that "Gentlemen must not dance withnails in their boots. Gentlemen must not dance together. "

"That blocks us, " said Gordon, pointing to the notice. "Can't dancetogether, no matter how much we want to. Look at these fellows here. "

Opposite the women sat or lounged a score or two of youths--wiry, hard-faced little fellows, for the most part, with scarcely a sizeableman amongst them. They were all clothed in "push" evening dress--blackbell-bottomed pants, no waistcoat, very short black paget coat, whiteshirt with no collar, and a gaudy neckerchief round the bare throat. Their boots were marvels, very high in the heel and picked out withall sorts of colours down the sides. They looked "varminty" enough foranything; but the shifty eyes, low foreheads, and evil faces gave ourtwo heroes a sense of disgust. The Englishman thought that all thestories he had heard of the Australian larrikin must be exaggerated, and that any man who was at all athletic could easily hold his own amongsuch a poor-looking lot. The whole spectacle was disappointing. The mostelaborately decorous order prevailed; no excitement or rough play wasnoticeable, and their expedition seemed likely to be a failure. 

The bushman stared down the room with far-seeing eyes, apparentlylooking at nothing, and contemplated the whole show with boredindifference. 

"Nothing very dazzling about this, " he said. "I'm afraid we can't showyou anything very exciting here. Better go back to the club, eh?"

Just then the band (piano and violin) struck up a slow, laboured waltz, "Bid me Good-bye and go, " and each black-coated male, with languidself-possession, strolled across the room, seized a lady by the arm, jerked her to her feet without saying a syllable, and commenced to dancein slow, convulsive movements, making a great many revolutions for verylittle progress. Two or three girls were left sitting, as their partnerswere talking in a little knot at the far end of the room; one amongthem was conspicuously pretty, and she began to ogle Carew in a verypronounced way. 

"There's one hasn't got a partner, " said Gordon. "Good-looking Tottie, too. Go and ask her to dance. See what she says. "

The Englishman hesitated for a second. "I don't like asking a perfectstranger to dance, " he said. 

"Go on, " said Gordon, "it's all right. She'll like it. "

Carew drew down his cuffs, squared his shoulders, assumed his mostabsolutely stolid drawing-room manner, and walked across the room, agleaming vision of splendour in his immaculate evening dress. 

"May I--er--have the pleasure of this dance?" he said, with elaboratepoliteness. 

The girl giggled a little, but said nothing, then rose and took his arm. 

As she did so, a youth among the talkers at the other end of the roomlooked round, and stared for a second. Then he moistened his fingerswith his tongue, smoothed the hair on his temples, and with elbows heldout from his sides, shoulders hunched up, and under-jaw stuck well out, bore down on Carew and the girl, who were getting under way when he cameup. Taking not the slightest notice of Carew, he touched the girl on theshoulder with a sharp peremptory tap, and brought their dance to a stop. 

"'Ere, " he said, in commanding tones. "'Oo are you darncin' with?"

"I'm darncin' with 'im, " answered the girl, pertly, indicating theEnglishman with a jerk of her head. 

"Ho, you're darncin' with 'im, are you? 'E brought you 'ere, p'r'aps?"

"No, he didn't, " she said. 

"No, " said he. "You know well enough 'e didn't. "

While this conversation was going on, the English-man maintained anattitude of dignified reserve, leaving it to the lady to decide whowas to be the favoured man. At last he felt it was hardly right foran Oxford man, and a triple blue at that, to be discussed in thiscontemptuous way by a larrikin and his "donah, " so he broke into thediscussion, perhaps a little abruptly, but using his most polishedstyle. 

"I--ah--asked this lady to dance, and if she--er--will do me thehonour, " he said, "I--"

"Oh! you arst 'er to darnce? And what right 'ad you to arst 'er todarnce, you lop-eared rabbit?" interrupted the larrikin, raising hisvoice as he warmed to his subject. "I brought 'er 'ere. I paid theshillin'. Now then, you take your 'ook, " he went on, pointing sternlyto the door, and talking as he would to a disobedient dog. "Go on, now. Take your 'ook. "

The Englishman said nothing, but his jaw set ominously. The girlgiggled, delighted at being the centre of so much observation. The bandstopped playing, and the dancers crowded round. Word was passed downthat it was a "toff darncin' with Nugget's donah, " and from variousparts of the room black-coated duplicates of Nugget hurried swiftly tothe scene. 

The doorkeeper turned to Gordon. "You 'd best get your mate out o'this, " he said. "These are the Rocks Push, and they'll deal with him allright. "

"Deal with him, will they?" said Gordon, looking at the gesticulatingNugget. "They'll bite off more than they can chew if they interfere withhim. This is just his form, a row like this. He's a bit of a champion ina rough-and-tumble, I believe. "

"Is he?" said the doorkeeper, sardonically. "Well, look 'ere, now, youtake it from me, if there's a row Nugget will spread him out as flat asa newspaper. They've all been in the ring in their time, these coves. There's Nugget, and Ginger, and Brummy--all red 'ot. You get him away!"

Meanwhile the Englishman's ire was gradually rising. He was past thestage of considering whether it was worth while to have a fight overa factory girl in a shilling dancing saloon, and the desire for battleblazed up in his eyes. He turned and confronted Nugget. 

"You go about your business, " he said, dropping all the labouredpoliteness out of his tones. "If she likes to dance--"

He got no further. A shrill whistle rang through the room; a voiceshouted, "Don't 'it 'im; 'ook 'im!" His arms were seized from behind andpinioned to his sides. The lights were turned out. Somebody in fronthit him a terrific crack in the eye at the same moment that someoneelse administered a violent kick from the rear. He was propelled by aninvisible force to the head of the stairs, and then--whizz! down he wentin one prodigious leap, clear from the top to the first landing. 

Here, in pitch-darkness, he grappled one of his assailants. For a fewseconds they swayed and struggled, and then rolled down the rest of thestairs, over and over each other, grappling and clawing, each tryingto tear the other's shirt off. When they rolled into the street, Carewdiscovered that he had hold of Charlie Gordon. 

They sat up and looked at each other. Then they made a simultaneous rushfor the stairs, but the street door was slammed in their faces. Theykicked it violently, but without result, except that a mob of faceslooked out of the first-floor window and hooted, and a bucket ofwater was emptied over them. A crowd collected as if by magic, and thespectacle of two gentlemen in evening dress trying to kick in the doorof a shilling dancing saloon afforded it unmitigated delight. 

"'Ere's two toffs got done in all right, " said one. 

"What O! Won't she darnce with you?" said another; and somebody from theback threw banana peel at them. 

Charlie recovered his wits first. The Englishman was fairly berserk withrage, and glared round on the bystanders as if he contemplated a rushamong them. The cabman put an end to the performance. He was tranquiland unemotional, and he soothed them down and coaxed them into the cab. The band in the room above resumed the dreamy waltz music of "Bid meGood-bye and go!" and they went. 

Carew subsided into the corner, breathing hard and feeling his eye. Charlie leant forward and peered out into the darkness. They were nearlyat the club before they spoke. Then he said, "Well, I'm blessed! We madea nice mess of that, didn't we?"

"I'd like to have got one fair crack at some of 'em, " said theEnglishman, with heartfelt earnestness. "Couldn't we go back now?"

"No what's the good? We'd never get in. Let the thing alone. We needn'tsay anything about it. If once it gets known that we were chucked out, we'll never hear the last of it. Are you marked at all?"

"Got an awful swipe in the eye, " replied the other briefly. 

"I've got a cut lip, and my head nearly screwed off. You did that. I'llknow the place again. Some day we'll get a few of the right sort to comewith us, and we'll just go there quietly, as if we didn't mean anything, and then, all of a sudden, we'll turn in and break the whole place up!Come and have a drink now. "

They had a silent drink in the deserted club. The mind of each wasfilled with a sickening sense of defeat, and without much conversationthey retired to bed. They thanked heaven that the Bo'sun, Pinnock, andGillespie had disappeared. 

Even then Fate hadn't quite finished with the bushman. A newly-joinedmember of the club, he had lived a life in which he had to shift forhimself, and the ways of luxury were new to him. Consequently, when heawoke next morning and saw a man moving with cat-like tread about hisroom, absolutely taking the money out of his clothes before his veryeyes, he sprang out of bed with a bound and half-throttled the robber. Then, of course, it turned out that it was only the bedroom waiter, whowas taking his clothes away to brush them. This contretemps, on top ofthe overnight mishap, made him determined to get away from town withall speed. When he looked in the glass, he found his lip so much swelledthat his moustache stuck out in front like the bowsprit of a ship. Atbreakfast he joined the Englishman, who had an eye with as many coloursas an opal, not to mention a tired look and dusty boots. 

"Are you only just up?" asked Charlie, as they contemplated each other. 

Carew had resumed his mantle of stolidity, but he coloured a little atthe question. "I've been out for a bit of a walk round town, " he said. "Fact is, " he added in a sudden burst of confidence, "I've been allover town lookin' for that place where we were last night. Couldn't findanything like it at all. "

Charlie laughed at his earnestness. "Oh, bother the place, " he said. "Ifyou had found it, there wouldn't have been any of them there. Now, aboutourselves--we can't show out like this. We'd better be off to-day, andno one need know anything about it. Besides, I half-killed a waiterthis morning. I thought he was some chap stealing my money, when he onlywanted to take my clothes away to brush 'em. Sooner we're out of townthe better. I'll wire to the old man that I've taken you with me. "

So saying, they settled down to breakfast, and by tacit agreementavoided the club for the rest of the day. 

Before leaving, Charlie had to call and interview Pinnock, and leftCarew waiting outside while he went in. He didn't want to parade theirinjuries, and knew that Carew's eye would excite remark; but by keepinghis upper lip well drawn over his teeth, he hoped his own trouble wouldescape notice. 

"Seems a harmless sort of chap, that new chum, " said Pinnock. 

"He'll do all right, " said Charlie casually. "I've met his sort before. He's not such a fool as he lets on to be. Shouldn't wonder if he killedsomebody before he gets back here, anyhow. "

"How did you get on at the dancing saloon?" asked Pinnock. 

"Oh, slow enough. Nothing worth seeing. Good-bye. "

They sneaked on board the steamer without meeting the Bo'sun or anybody, and before evening were well on their way to No Man's Land. 

CHAPTER IV. THE OLD STATION. 

There are few countries in the world with such varieties of climateas Australia, and though some stations are out in the great, red-hot, frying wastes of the Never-Never, others are up in the hills where a hotnight is a thing unknown, where snow falls occasionally, and where it isno uncommon thing to spend a summer's evening by the side of a roaringfire. In the matter of improvements, too, stations vary greatly. Someare in a wilderness, with fittings to match; others have telephonesbetween homestead and out-stations, the jackeroos dress for dinner, andthe station hands are cowed into touching their hats and saying "Sir. "Also stations are of all sizes, and the man who is considered quite abig squatter in the settled districts is thought small potatoes by themagnate "out back, " who shears a hundred and fifty thousand sheep, andhas an overdraft like the National Debt. 

Kuryong was a hill-country station of about sixty thousand acres alltold; but they were good acres, as no one knew better than old BullyGrant, the owner, of whose history and disposition we heard somethingfrom Pinnock at the club. It was a highly improved place, with a finehomestead--thanks to Bully Grant's money, for in the old days it hadbeen a very different sort of place--and its history is typical of thehistory of hundreds of others. 

When Andrew Gordon first bought it, it was held under lease fromthe Crown, and there were no improvements to speak of. The stationhomestead, so lovingly descanted upon in the advertisement, consistedof a two-roomed slab hut; the woolshed, where the sheep were shorn, wasmade of gumtree trunks roofed with bark. The wool went down to Sydney, and station supplies came back, in huge waggons drawn by eighteen ortwenty bullocks, that travelled nine miles a day on a journey of threehundred miles. There were no neighbours except at the township ofKiley's Crossing, which consisted of two public-houses and a store. It was a rough life for the young squatter, and evidently he found itlonely; for on a visit to Sydney he fell in love with and marrieda dainty girl of French descent. Refined, well-educated, andfragile-looking, she seemed about the last person in the world to takeout to a slab-hut homestead as a squatter's wife. But there is an oldsaying that blood will tell; and with all the courage of her Huguenotancestry she faced the roughness and discomforts of bush life. Onher arrival at the station the old two-roomed hut was plastered andwhitewashed, additional rooms were built, and quite a neat little homewas the result. Seasons were good, and the young squatter might havegone on shearing sheep and selling fat stock till the end of his lifebut for the advent of free selection in 1861. 

In that year the Legislature threw open all leasehold lands to thepublic for purchase on easy terms and conditions. The idea was to settlean industrious peasantry on lands hitherto leased in large blocks to thesquatters. This brought down a flood of settlement on Kuryong. At thetop end of the station there was a chain of mountains, and the countrywas rugged and patchy--rich valleys alternating with ragged hills. Hereand there about the run were little patches of specially good land, which were soon snapped up. The pioneers of these small settlers wereold Morgan Donohoe and his wife, who had built the hotel at Kiley'sCrossing; and, on their reports, all their friends and relatives, asthey came out of the "ould country, " worked their way to Kuryong, andbuilt little bits of slab and bark homesteads in among the mountains. The rougher the country, the better they liked it. They were ahorse-thieving, sheep-stealing breed, and the talents which had madethem poachers in the old country soon made them champion bushmen intheir new surroundings. The leader of these mountain settlers was oneDoyle, a gigantic Irishman, who had got a grant of a few hundred acresin the mountains, and had taken to himself a Scotch wife from among thefree immigrants. The story ran that he was too busy to go to town, butasked a friend to go and pick a wife for him, "a fine shtrappin' woman, wid a good brisket on her. "

The Doyles were large, slow, heavy men, with an instinct for themanagement of cattle; they were easily distinguished from the Donohoes, who were little red-whiskered men, enterprising and quick-witted, andready to do anything in the world for a good horse. Other strangersand outlanders came to settle in the district, but from the originalsettlement up to the date of our story the two great families of theDoyles and the Donohoes governed the neighbourhood, and the headquartersof the clans was at Donohoe's "Shamrock Hotel, " at Kiley's Crossing. Here they used to rendezvous when they went away down to the plainscountry each year for the shearing; for they added to their resources bytravelling about the country shearing, droving, fencing, tanksinking, or doing any other job that offered itself, but always returned to theirmountain fastnesses ready for any bit of work "on the cross" (i. E. , unlawful) that might turn up. When times got hard they had a handy knackof finding horses that nobody had lost, shearing sheep they did not own, and branding and selling other people's calves. 

When they stole stock, they moved them on through the mountainsas quickly as possible, always having a brother or uncle, or acousin--Terry or Timothy or Martin or Patsy--who had a holding "beyant. "By these means they could shift stolen stock across the great range, anddispose of them among the peaceable folk who dwelt in the good countryon the other side, whose stock they stole in return. Many a good horseand fat beast had made the stealthy mountain journey, lying hidden ingaps and gullies when pursuit grew hot, and being moved on as thingsquieted down. 

Another striking feature was the way in which they got themselves mixedup with each other. Their names were so tangled up that no one couldkeep tally of them. There was a Red Mick Donohoe (son of the oldpublican), and his cousin Black Mick Donohoe, and Red Mick's son Mick, and Black Mick's son Mick, and Red Mick's son Pat, and Black Mick's sonPat; and there was Gammy Doyle (meaning Doyle with the lame leg), andScrammy Doyle (meaning Doyle with the injured arm), and Bosthoon Doyleand Omadhaun Doyle--a Bosthoon being a man who never had any greatamount of sense to speak of, while an Omadhaun is a man who began lifewith some sense, but lost most of it on his journey. It was a commonsaying in the country-side that if you met a man on the mountains youshould say, "Good-day, Doyle, " and if he replied, "That's not my name, "you should at once say, "Well, I meant no offence, Mr. Donohoe. "

One could generally pick which was which of the original stock, butwhen they came to intermarry there was no telling t'other from which. Startling likenesses cropped up among the relatives, and it was widelyrumoured that one Doyle who was known to be in jail, and who wasvaguely spoken of by the clan as being "away, " was in fact serving anaccumulation of sentences for himself and other members of the family, whose sins he had for a consideration taken on himself. 

With such neighbours as these fighting him for every block of land, Andrew Gordon soon came to the end of his resources, and it was thenthat he had to take in his old manager as a partner. Before Bully Granthad been in the firm long, he had secured nearly all the good land, andthe industrious yeomanry that the Land Act was supposed to create werehiding away up the gullies on miserable little patches of bad land, stealing sheep for a living. Bully fought them stoutly, impounded theirsheep and cattle, and prosecuted trespassers and thieves; and, his luckbeing wonderful, he soon added to the enormous fortune he had made inmining, while Andrew Gordon died impoverished. When he died, old Bullygave the management of the stations to his sons, and contented himselfwith finding fault. But one dimly-remembered episode in his career wastalked of by the old hands around Kiley's Hotel, long after Grant hadbecome a wealthy man, and had gone for long trips to England. 

Grant, in spite of the judgment and sagacity on which he prided himself, had at various times in his career made mistakes--mistakes in stationmanagement, mistakes about stock, mistakes about men, and last, but notleast, mistakes about women; and it was to one of these mistakes thatthe gossips referred. 

When he was a young man working as Mr. Gordon's manager, and living withthe horse-breaker and the ration-carrier on the out-station at Kuryong(in those days a wild, half-civilised place), he had for neighbours RedMick's father and mother, the original Mr. And Mrs. Donohoe, and theirfamily. Their eldest daughter, Peggy--"Carrotty Peg, " her relationscalled her--was at that time a fine, strapping, bush girl, and theonly unmarried white woman anywhere near the station. She was asfair-complexioned as Red Mick himself, with a magnificent head of redhair, and the bust and limbs of a young Amazon. 

This young woman, as she grew up, attracted the attention of Billythe Bully, and they used to meet a good deal out in the bush. On suchoccasions, he would possibly be occupied in the inspiriting task ofdragging a dead sheep after his horse, to make a trail to lead the wilddogs up to some poisoned meat; while the lady, clad in light and airygarments, with a huge white sunbonnet for head-gear, would be ridingstraddle-legged in search of strayed cows. When Grant left the station, and went away to make his fortune in mining, it was, perhaps, just acoincidence that this magnificent young creature grew tired of the oldplace and "cleared out, " too. She certainly went away and disappeared soutterly that even her own people did not know what had become of her;to the younger generation her very existence was only a vague tradition. But it was whispered here and muttered there among the Doyles and theDonohoes and their friends and relations, that old Billy the Bully, onone of his visits to the interior, had been married to this undesirablelady by a duly accredited parson, in the presence of responsiblewitnesses; and that, when everyone had their own, Carrotty Peg, ifalive, would be the lady of Kuryong. However, she had never come backto prove it, and no one cared about asking her alleged husband anyunpleasant questions. 

So much for the history of its owners; now to describe the homesteaditself. It had originally consisted of the two-roomed slab hut, whichhad been added to from time to time. Kitchen, outhouses, bachelors'quarters, saddle-rooms, and store-rooms had been built on in a kind ofstraggling quadrangle, with many corners and unexpected doorways andpassages; and it is reported that a swagman once got his dole of rationsat the kitchen, went away, and after turning two or three corners, got so tangled up that when Fate led him back to the kitchen he didn'trecognise it, and asked for rations over again, in the firm belief thathe was at a different part of the house. 

The original building was still the principal living-room, but the househad grown till it contained about twenty rooms. The slab walls had beenplastered and whitewashed, and a wide verandah ran all along the front. Round the house were acres of garden, with great clumps of willows andacacias, where the magpies sat in the heat of the day and sang to oneanother in their sweet, low warble. 

The house stood on a spur running from the hills. Looking down the riverfrom it, one saw level flats waving with long grasses, in which thesolemn cattle waded knee-deep. Here and there clumps of willows andstately poplars waved in the breeze. In the clear, dry air all colourswere startlingly vivid, and round the nearer foothills wonderful lightsand shadows played and shifted, while sometimes a white fleece of mistwould drift slowly across a distant hill, like a film of snowy lace onthe face of a beautiful woman. Away behind the foothills were the grandold mountains, with their snow-clad tops gleaming in the sun. 

The garden was almost as lacking in design as the house. There wereacres of fruit trees, with prairie grass growing at their roots, treeswhereon grew luscious peaches and juicy egg-plums; long vistas ofgrapevines, with little turnings and alleys, regular lovers' walks, where the scent of honeysuckle intoxicated the senses. At the foot ofthe garden was the river, a beautiful stream, fed by the mountain-snow, and rushing joyously over clear gravel beds, whose million-tintedpebbles dashed in the sunlight like so many opals. 

In some parts of Australia it is difficult to tell summer from winter;but up in this mountain-country each season had its own attractions. In the spring the flats were green with lush grass, speckled withbuttercups and bachelors' buttons, and the willows put out their newleaves, and all manner of shy dry-scented bush flowers bloomed on theranges; and the air was full of the song of birds and the calling ofanimals. Then came summer, when never a cloud decked the arch of bluesky, and all animated nature drew into the shade of big trees until theevening breeze sprang up, bringing sweet scents of the dry grass andripening grain. In autumn, the leaves of the English trees turned alltints of yellow and crimson, and the grass in the paddocks went brown;and the big bullock teams worked from dawn till dark, hauling in theirloads of hay from the cultivation paddocks. 

But most beautiful of all was winter, when logs blazed in the hugefireplaces, and frosts made the ground crisp, and the stock, long-hairedand shaggy, came snuffling round the stables, picking up odds and endsof straw; when the grey, snow-clad mountains looked but a stone's throwaway in the intensely clear air, and the wind brought a colour to thecheeks and a tingling to the blood that made life worth living. 

Such was Kuryong homestead, where lived Charlie Gordon's mother and hisbrother Hugh, with a lot of children left by another brother who, likemany others, had gone up to Queensland to make his fortune, and had lefthis bones there instead; and to look after these young folk there was agoverness, Miss Harriott. 

CHAPTER V. THE COMING OF THE HEIRESS. 

The spring--the glorious hill-country spring--was down on Kuryong. All the flats along Kiley's River were knee-deep in green grass. Thewattle-trees were out in golden bloom, and the snow-water from themountains set the river running white with foam, fighting its way overbars of granite into big pools where the platypus dived, and the wildducks--busy with the cares of nesting--just settled occasionally tosnatch a hasty meal and then hurried off, with a whistle of strongwings, back to their little ones. The breeze brought down from thehills a scent of grass and bush flowers. There was life and movementeverywhere. The little foals raced and played all day in the sunshineround their big sleepy mothers; the cattle bellowed to each other fromhill to hill; even those miserable brutes, the sheep, frisked inan ungainly way when anything startled them. At all the littlemountain-farms and holdings young Doyles and Donohoes were catchingtheir horses, lean after the winter's starvation, and loading thepack-saddles for their five-months' trip out to the borders ofQueensland, from shearing-shed to shearing-shed, A couple of monthsbefore they started, they would write to the squatters for whom they hadworked on previous shearings--such quaint, ill-spelled letters--askingthat a pen might be kept for them. Great shearers they were, too, forthe mountain air bred hardy men, and while they were at it they workedfeverishly, bending themselves nearly double over the sheep, and makingthe shears fly till the sweat ran down their foreheads and dripped onthe ground; and they peeled the yellow wool off sheep after sheep as anexpert cook peels an apple. In the settled districts such as Kuryong, where the flocks were small, they were made to shear carefully; but awayout on the Queensland side, on a station with two hundred thousandsheep to get through, they rushed the wool off savagely. He was a poorspecimen of the clan who couldn't shear his hundred and twenty sheepbetween bell and bell; and the price was a pound a hundred, with plentyof stations wanting shearers, so they made good cheques in those days. 

One glorious spring morning, Hugh Gordon was sitting in hisoffice--every squatter and station-manager has an office--waiting withconsiderable impatience the coming of the weekly mail. The office lookedlike a blend of stationer's shop, tobacconist's store, and saddlerywarehouse. A row of pigeon-holes along the walls was filled withletters and papers; the rafters were hung with saddles and harness; atobacco-cutter and a jar of tobacco stood on the table, side by sidewith some formidable-looking knives, used for cutting the sheep's feetwhen they became diseased; whips and guns stood in every corner; nailsand saws filled up a lot of boxes on the table, and a few samplesof wool hung from a rope that was stretched across the room. Themantelpiece was occupied by bottles of horse-medicine and boxesof cartridges; an elderly white cockatoo, chained by the leg to agalvanised iron perch, sunned himself by the door, and at intervals gavean exhibition of his latest accomplishment, in which he imitated theyowl of a trodden-on cat much better than the cat could have done ithimself. 

The air was heavy with scent. All round the great quadrangle of thehouse acacia trees were in bloom, and the bees were working busily amongthe mignonette and roses in front of the office door. 

Hugh Gordon was a lithe, wiry young Australian with intensely sunburntface and hands, and a drooping black moustache; a man with a healthy, breezy outdoor appearance, but the face of an artist, a dreamer, and athinker, rather than that of a practical man. His brother Charlieand he, though very much alike in face, were quite different types ofmanhood. Charlie, from his earliest school-days, had never read a bookexcept under compulsion, had never stayed indoors when he could possiblyget out, had never obeyed an unwelcome order when by force or fraud hecould avoid doing so, and had never written a letter in his life whena telegram would do. He took the world as it came, having no particularamount of imagination, and never worried himself. Hugh, on the otherhand, was inclined to meet trouble half-way, and to make troubles wherenone existed, which is the worst misfortune that a man can be afflictedwith. 

Hugh walked to the door and gazed out over the garden and homestead, down the long stretch of green paddocks where fat cattle were standingunder the trees, too well fed to bother themselves with looking forgrass. He looked beyond all this to the long drab-coloured stretch ofroad that led to Kiley's, watching for the mailboy's arrival. The mailwas late, for the melting snow had flooded the mountain creeks, and Hughknew it was quite likely that little Patsy Donohoe, the mail-boy, hadbeen blocked at Donohoe's Hotel for two days, unable to cross Kiley'sRiver. This had happened often, and on various occasions when Patsy hadcrossed, he, pony and all, had been swept down quite a quarter of amile in the ice-cold water before they could reach land. But that was anordinary matter in the spring, and it was a point of honour with Patsyand all his breed not to let the elements beat them in carrying outthe mail contract, which they tendered for every year, and in which nooutsider would have dared to compete. 

At last Hugh's vigil was rewarded by the appearance of a small andwild-looking boy, mounted on a large and wild-looking horse. The boywas about twelve years of age, and had just ridden a half-broken horse aforty-mile journey--for of such is the youth of Australia. Patsy waswet and dirty, and the big leather mail-bag that he handed over hadevidently been under water. 

"We had to swim, Mr. Hugh, " the boy said triumphantly, "and this great, clumsy cow" (the child referred to his horse), "he reared over on me inthe water, twyst, but I stuck to him. My oath!"

Hugh laughed. "I expect Kiley's River will get you yet, Patsy, " he said. "Go in now to the kitchen and get dry by the fire. I'll lend you a horseto get back on to-morrow. You can camp here till then, there's no hurryback. "

The boy let his horse go loose, dismissing it with a parting whack onthe rump with the bridle, and swaggered inside, carrying his saddle, toshow his wet clothes and recount his deeds to the admiring cook. Patsywas not one to hide his light under a bushel. 

Hugh carried the bag into the office, and shook out the letters andpapers on the table. Everything was permeated with a smell of wetleather, and some of the newspapers were rather pulpy. After sending outeverybody else's mail he turned to examine his own. Out of the mass ofletters, agents' circulars, notices of sheep for sale, catalogues ofcity firms, and circulars from pastoral societies, he picked a letteraddressed to himself in the scrawling fist of William Grant. He openedit, expecting to find in it the usual Commination Service on thingsin general, but as he read on, a vivid surprise spread over his face. Leaving the other letters and papers unopened, he walked to the doorand looked out into the courtyard, where Stuffer, the youngest of hisnephews, who was too small to be allowed to join in the field sports ofthe others, was playing at being a railway train. He had travelled ina train once, and now passed Hugh's door under easy steam, working hisarms and legs like piston-rods, and giving piercing imitations of asteam-whistle at intervals. 

"Stuffer, " said Hugh, "do you know where your grandmother is?"

"No" said the Stuffer laconically. "I don't Choo, choo, choo, Whee-aw!"

"Well, look here, " said Hugh, "you just railway-train yourself roundthe house till you find her, and let me know where she is. I want to seeher. Off you go now. "

The Stuffer steamed himself out with the action of an engine drawing along train of cars, and disappeared round the corner of the house. 

Before long he was back, drew himself up alongside an imaginaryplatform, intimated that his grandmother was in the verandah, and thenproceeded to let the steam hiss out of his safety-valve. 

Hugh walked across the quadrangle, under the acacia tree, heavy withblossoms, in which a myriad bees were droning at their work, and throughthe house on to the front verandah, which looked over the wide sweep ofriver-flat. Here he found his mother and Miss Harriott, the governess, peeling apples for dumplings--great rosy-checked, solid-fleshed apples, that the hill-country turns out in perfection. The old lady was slightin figure, with a refined face, and a carriage erect in spite of heryears. Miss Harriott was of a languid Spanish type, with black eyes andstrongly-marked eyebrows. She had a petite, but well-rounded figure, with curiously small hands and feet. Though only about twenty-four yearsof age she had the sedate and unemotional look that one sees in doctorsand nurses---people who have looked on death and birth, and sorrow andaffliction. For Ellen Harriott had done her three years' course as anurse; she had a natural faculty for the business, and was in greatrequest among the wild folk of the mountains, who looked upon her (andperhaps rightly) as quite equal to the Tarrong doctor in any emergency. She knew them all, for she had lived nearly all her life at Kuryong. When the family moved there from the back country a tutor was needed forthe boys, and an old broken-down gentleman accepted the billet at lowpay, on condition that he was allowed to bring his little daughter withhim. When he died, the daughter still stayed on, and was made governessto the new generation of young folk. She was a queer, self-containedgirl, saying little; and as Hugh walked in, she looked up at him, andwondered what new trouble was bringing him to his mother with the openletter in his hand. 

"Mother, " said Hugh, "I have had a most extraordinary letter. "

"From Mr. Grant?" said the old lady, "What does he say?"

She saw by her son's face that there was something more than usualin the wind, but one who had lived her life, from fortune to poverty, through strife and trial, was prepared to take things much more easilythan Hugh. 

"Is it anything very serious?"

"His daughter's coming out to live here. "

"What?"

"Yes, here's the letter. It only came this morning. Patsy was late, theriver is up. I'll read it to you. "

Seating himself at the table, Hugh spread out the letter, and read it:--

Dear Gordon, The last lot of wethers, though they topped the market, only realised10/-. I think you would show better judgment in keeping these sheep backa little. Don't rely upon Satton's advice. He is generally wrong, and isalways most wrong when he is most sure he is right. 

My daughter has arrived from England, and will at once go up to thestation. I have written to your mother on the subject. My daughterwill represent me in everything, so I wish her to learn a little aboutstations. Send to meet her at the train on Wednesday next. 

 Yours truly, W. G. GRANT. 

"Wednesday next!" said Hugh, "that letter is three days delayed. Patsycouldn't cross the river. She'll be there before we can possibly getdown. If no one meets her I wonder if she'll have pluck enough to getinto the coach and come on to Donohoe's. "

"I don't envy her the trip, if she does, " said Miss Harriott. "Thecoach-drive over those roads will seem awful to an English girl. "

"I'll have to go down at once, anyhow, " said Hugh, "and meet her on theroad somewhere. If she is at the railway, I can get there in two days. Have you a letter, Mother?"

"Yes, " said the old lady, "but I won't show it to you now. You shall seeit some other time. "

"Well, I'll set about making a start, " said Hugh. "What trap had Ibetter take?"

"You'd better take the big waggonette, " said the old lady, in her softvoice. "A young girl just out from England is sure to have a great dealof luggage, you know. I wonder if she is anything like Mr. Grant. I hopeher temper is a little bit better. "

"You'd better come down with me, Miss Harriott, to meet her, " said Hugh. "I don't suppose your luggage would be a load there and back, anyhow. "

"What about crossing the river?" said the old lady. 

"Oh, we'll get across somehow, " said Hugh, "will you come?"

"I think I'll wait, " said the young lady meditatively, "She'll be tiredfrom travelling and looking after her luggage, and she had better meetthe family one at a time. You go and meet her, and your mother and Iwill get her room ready. Does the letter say any more about her?"

"No, that's all, " said Hugh. "Well, I'll send the boy to run in thehorses. I'll take four horses in the big waggonette; I expect she'll bewaiting at Donohoe's--that is, if she left the railway-station in thecoach--if she is at Donohoe's I'll be back before dark. "

With this he went back to the office, and his mother and Miss Harriottwent their separate ways to prepare for the comfort of the heiress. To Ellen Harriott the arrival was a new excitement, a change in themonotony of bush life; but to the old lady and Hugh it meant a greatdeal more. It meant that they would be no longer master and mistress ofthe big station on which they had lived so long, and which was now somuch under their control that it seemed almost like their own. 

Everything depended on what the girl was like. They had never evenseen a photograph of her, and awaited her coming in a state of nervousexpectancy. All over the district they had been practically consideredowners of the big station; Hugh had taken on and dismissed employees athis will, had controlled the buying and selling of thousands of sheepand cattle, and now this strange girl was to come in with absolute powerover them. They would be servants and dependants on the station, whichhad once belonged to them. 

After Hugh had gone, the old lady sat back in her armchair and read overagain her letter from Mr. Grant; and, lest it should be thought thatthat gentleman had only one side to his character, it is as well for thereader to know what was in the letter. It ran as follows:--

Dear Mrs. Gordon, I am writing to you about a most important matter. Colonel Selwyn isdead, and my daughter has come out from England. I don't know anyone totake charge of her except yourself. I am an old man now, and set in myways, and this girl is really all I have to live for. Looking back on mylife, I see where I have been a fool; and perhaps the good fortune thathas followed me has been more luck than anything else. Your husband wasa smarter man than I am, and he came to grief, though I will say that Ialways warned him against that Western place. 

Do you remember the old days when we had the two little homesteads, andI used to ride down from the out-station of a Saturday and spend Sundaywith you and Andrew, and talk over the fortunes we were going to make?If I had met a woman like you in those days I might have been a betterman. As it was, I made a fool of myself. But that's all past prayingfor. 

Now about my girl. If you will take her, and make her as good a woman asyourself, or as near it as you can, you will earn my undying thanks. As to money matters, when I die she will of course have a great deal ofmoney, so that it is well she should begin now to learn how to use it;I have, therefore, given her full power to draw all money that may berequired. I may tell you that I intend to leave your boys enough tostart them in life, and they will have a first-class chance to get on. I am sending Charlie out to the West, to take over a block which thosefools, Sutton and Co. , got me to advance money on, and on which the mancannot pay his interest. He will be away for some time. 

Meanwhile, dear Mrs. Gordon, for the sake of old times, do what you canfor the girl. I expect she has been brought up with English ideas. Ican't get her to say much to me, which I daresay is my own fault. Aftershe has been with you for a bit, I will come up and stay for a time atthe station. 

 Yours very truly, W. G. GRANT. 

Reading this letter called back the whole panorama of the past--theold days when she and her husband were struggling in the rough, hard, pioneering life, and the blacks were thick round the station; the birthof her children, and the ups and downs of her husband's fortunes; thenthe burial of her husband out on the sandhills, and her flight to thishaven of rest at Kuryong. Though she had lost interest in things forherself, she felt keenly for her children, and was sick at heart whenshe thought what this girl, who was to wield such power over them, mightturn out to be. But she hoped that Grant's daughter, whatever else shemight be, would at any rate be a genuine, straight-forward girl; andfilled with this hope, she sat down to answer him:

"Dear Mr. Grant, " she wrote, "I have received your letter. Hugh hasgone down to meet your daughter, but the mails were delayed owing to theriver being up, and he may not get to the railway station as soon as shearrives. I will do what I can for her, and I thank you for what you sayyou will do for my boys. I will let you know the moment she arrives. Iwish you would come up and live on the station for a time. It would bebetter for you than life in the club, without a friend to care for you. If ever you feel inclined to stay here for a time, I hope you will atonce let me know. With thanks and best wishes, Yours truly, ANNETTE GORDON. "

CHAPTER VI. A COACH ACCIDENT. 

The coach from Tarrong railway station to Emu Flat, and then on toDonohoe's Hotel, ran twice a week. Pat Donohoe was mailman, contractorand driver, and his admirers said that Pat could hit his five horsesin more places at once than any other man on the face of the earth. Hiscoach was horsed by the neighbouring squatters, through whose stationsthe road ran; and any horse that developed homicidal tendencies, orexhibited a disinclination to work, was at once handed over to themailman to be licked into shape. The result was that, as a rule, Patwas driving teams composed of animals that would do anything but gostraight, but under his handling they were generally persuaded, after aday or two, to settle down to their work. 

On the day when Hugh and Mrs. Gordon read Mr. Grant's letter at Kuryong, the train deposited at Tarrong a self-reliant young lady of abouttwenty, accompanied by nearly a truck-full of luggage--solid leatherportmanteaux, canvas-covered bags, iron boxes, and so on--which produceda great sensation among the rustics. She was handsome enough to becalled a beauty, and everything about her spoke of exuberant health andvitality. Her figure was supple, and she had the clear pink and whitecomplexion which belongs to cold climates. 

She seemed accustomed to being waited on, and watched without emotionthe guard and the solitary railway official--porter, station-master, telegraph-operator and lantern-man, all rolled into one--haul herhundredweights of luggage out of the train. Then she told the perspiringstation-master, etc. , to please have the luggage sent to the hotel, andmarched over to that building in quite an assured way, carrying a smallhandbag. Three commercial travellers, who had come up by the same train, followed her off the platform, and the most gallant of the three winkedat his friends, and then stepped up and offered to carry her bag. Theyoung lady gave him a pleasant smile, and handed him the bag;together they crossed the street, while the other commercials marcheddisconsolately behind. At the door of the hotel she took the bag fromher cavalier, and there and then, in broad Australian daylight, rewardedhim with twopence--a disaster which caused him to apply to his firmfor transfer to some foreign country at once. She marched into the bar, where Dan, the landlord's son, was sweeping, while Mrs. Connellan, the landlady, was wiping glasses in the midst of a stale fragrance ofovernight beer and tobacco-smoke. 

"I am going to Kuryong, " said the young lady, "and I expected to meetMr. Gordon here. Is he here?"

Mrs. Connellan looked at her open-eyed. Such an apparition was not oftenseen in Tarrong. Mr. And Mrs. Connellan had only just "taken the pub. ", and what with trying to keep Connellan sober and refusing drinks totramps, loafers, and black-fellows, Mrs. Connellan was pretty well wornout. As for making the hotel pay, that idea had been given up longago. It was against Mrs. Connellan's instincts of hospitality to chargeanyone for a meal or a bed, and when any great rush of bar trade tookplace it generally turned out to be "Connellan's shout, " so the hotelwas not exactly a goldmine. In fact, Mrs. Connellan had decided thatthe less business she did, the more money she would make; and she ratherpreferred that people should not stop at her hotel. This girl looked asif she would give trouble; might even expect clean beds and clean sheetswhen there were none within the hotel, and might object to fleas, ofwhich there were plenty. So the landlady pulled herself together, anddecided to speed the parting guest as speedily as possible. 

"Mr. Gordon couldn't git in, " she said. "The cricks (creeks) is all up. The coach is going down to Kiley's Crossing to-day. You had better gowith that. "

"How soon does the coach start?"

"In an hour or two. As soon as Pat Donohoe, the mailman, has got a horseshod. Come in and have a wash, and fix yourself up till breakfast isready Where's your bag?"

"My luggage is at the railway-station. "

"I'll send Dan over for it. Dan, Dan, Dan!"

"'Ello, " said Dan's voice, from the passage, where, with the wild-eyedservant-girl, he had been taking stock of the new arrival. 

"Go over to the station and git this lady's bag. Is there much tocarry?"

"There are only four portmanteaux and three bags, and two boxes and ahat-box, and a roll of rugs; and please be careful of the hat-box. "

"You'd better git the barrer, Dan. "

"Better git the bloomin' bullock-dray, " growled Dan, quite keen to seethis aggregation of luggage; and foreseeing something to talk aboutfor the next three months. "She must ha' come up to start a store, Ireckon, " said Dan; and off he went to struggle with boxes for the nexthalf-hour or so. 

Over Mary Grant's experiences at the Tarrong Hotel we will not linger. The dirty water, peopled by wriggling animalculae, that she poured outof the bedroom jug; the damp, cloudy, unhealthy-smelling towel on whichshe dried her face; the broken window through which she could hearherself being discussed by loafers in the yard; all these things arematters of course in bush townships, for the Australian, having asoul above details, does not shine at hotel-keeping. The breakfast wasenlivened by snatches of song from the big, good-natured bush-girl whowaited at table, and who "fancied" her voice somewhat, and marched intothe breakfast-room singing in an ear-splitting Soprano:

"It's a vilet from me"--

(spoken. ) "What you'll have, there's chops, steaks, and bacon andeggs"--"Chops, please. "

(singer continues. ) "Sainted mother's"--

(spoken. ) "Tea or coffee"--"Tea, please. "

(singer finishes. )--"grave. "

While she ate, Miss Grant had an uneasy feeling that she was beingstared at; all the female staff and hangers-on of the place havinggathered round the door to peer in at her and to appraise to thelast farthing her hat, her tailor-made gown, and her solid Englishwalking-shoes, and to indulge in wild speculation as to who or what shecould be. A Kickapoo Indian in full war-paint, arriving suddenly in alittle English village, could not have created more excitement than shedid at Tarrong. After breakfast she walked out on the verandah that ranround the little one-story weatherboard hotel, and looked down themile and a-half of road, with little galvanised-iron-roofed cottages atintervals of a quarter of a mile or so, that constituted the township. She watched Conroy, the policeman, resplendent in breeches and polishedboots, swagger out from the court-house yard, leading his horse towater. The town was waking to its daily routine; Garry, the butcher, took down the clumsy board that passed for a window-shutter, andMcDermott, the carter, passed the hotel, riding a huge rough-coateddraught-horse, bare-backed. Everyone gave him a "Mornin', Billy!" ashe passed, and he returned the greeting as he did every morning of hislife. A few children loitered past to the little school-house, staringat her as though she were some animal. 

She was in a hurry to get away--English people always are--but in thebright lexicon of the bush there is no such word as hurry. Tracey, theblacksmith, had not by any means finished shoeing the coach-horse yet. So Mrs. Connellan made an attempt to find out who she was, and why shewas going to Kuryong. 

"You'll have a nice trip in the coach, " she said. "Lier (lawyer) Blake'sgoing down. He's a nice feller. "

"Yes?"

"Father Kelly, too. He's good company. "

"Yes?"

"Are you staying long at Kuryong?"

"Some time, I expect. "

"Are you going to teach the children?"

"No, I'm going to live there. My father owns Kuryong. My father is Mr. Grant. "

Mrs. Connellan was simply staggered at this colossal treasure-trove, this majestic piece of gossip that had fallen on her like rain fromHeaven. Mr. Grant's daughter! Going out to Kuryong! What a piece ofnews! Hardly knowing what she did, she shuffled out of the room, andinterrupted the singing waitress who was wiping plates, and had just gotback to "It's a vilet" when Mrs. Connellan burst in on her. 

"Maggie! Maggie! Do you know who that is? Grant's daughter! The one thatused to be in England. She must be going to Kuryong to live, with allthat luggage. What'll the Gordons say? The old lady won't like it, willshe? This'll be a bit of news, won't it?" And she went off to tell thecook, while Maggie darted to the door to meet Dan, and tell him. 

Dan told the station-master when he went back for the next load, andwhen he had finished carting the luggage he got on a horse and wentround telling everybody in the little town. The station-master told theganger of the four navvies who went by on their trolly down the line towork. At the end of their four-mile length they told the ration-carrierof Eubindal station, who happened to call in at their camp for a drinkof tea. He hurried off to the head-station with the news, and on hisway told three teamsters, an inspector of selections, and a black boybelonging to Mylong station, whom he happened to meet on the road. Eachof them told everybody that they met, pulling up and standing in theirstirrups to discuss the matter in all its bearings, in the leisurelystyle of the bush; and wondering what she had come out for, whether theGordons would get the sack from Kuryong, whether she would marry HughGordon, whether she was engaged already, whether she was good-looking, how much money she had, and how much old Grant would leave her. Infact, before twenty-four hours were over, all the district knew of herarrival; which possibly explains how news travels in Africa among theKaffirs, who are supposed to have a signalling system that no onehas yet fathomed; but the way it gets round in Australia is just aswonderful as among the Kaffirs, in fact, for speed and thoroughness ofinformation we should be inclined to think that our coloured brethrenrun a bad second. 

At last, however, Tracey had finished shoeing the coach-horse, and MissGrant, with part of her luggage, took a seat on the coach behind five ofDonohoe's worst horses, next to a well-dressed, powerfully-built man ofabout five-and-twenty. He looked and talked like a gentleman, and sheheard the coachman address him as "Mr. Blake. " She and he shared thebox-seat with the driver, and just at the last moment the local priesthurried up and climbed on the coach. In some unaccountable way he hadmissed hearing who the young lady was, and for a time he could only lookat her back-hair and wonder. 

It was not long before, in the free and easy Australian style, thepassengers began to talk to each other as the coach bumped along itsmonotonous road--up one hill, through an avenue of dusty, tired-lookinggum-trees, down the other side through a similar avenue, up another hillprecisely the same as the last, and so on. 

Blake was the first to make advances. "Not much to be seen on this sortof journey, Miss Grant, " he said. 

The young lady looked at him with serious eyes. "No, " she said, "we'veonly seen two houses since we left the town. All the rest of the countryseems to be a wilderness. "

Here the priest broke in. He was a broth of a boy from Maynooth, justthe man to handle the Doyle and Donohoe congregation. 

"It's the big stations is the roon of the country, " he said. "How isthe country to go ahead at all wid all the good land locked up? There'sKuryong on ahead here would support two hundthred fam'lies, and whatdoes it employ now? Half a dozen shepherds, widout a rag to their back. "

"I am going to Kuryong, " said the girl; and the priest was silent. 

By four in the afternoon they reached Kiley's River, running yellow andfroth-covered with melting snow. The coachman pulled his horses up onthe bank, and took a good, long look at the bearings. As they waited, the Kuryong vehicle came down on the other side of the river. 

"There's Mr. Gordon, " said the coachman. "I don't think he'll try it. Ireckon it's a trifle deep for me. Do you want to get across particular, Mr. Blake?"

"Yes, very particularly, Pat. I've told Martin Donohoe to meet me downhere with some witnesses in a cattle-stealing case. "

"What about you, Father Kelly?"

"I'm go'n on to Tim Murphy's dyin' bed. Put 'em into the wather, they'lltake it aisy. "

The driver turned to the third passenger. "It's a bit dangerous-like, Miss. If you like to get out, it's up to you to say so. The coach mightwash over. There's a settler's place up the river a mile. You can go andstay there till the river goes down, and Mr. Gordon 'll come and meetyou. "

"Thanks, I'll go on, " said the lady. 

Preparations for crossing the river were soon made. Anything that wouldspoil by getting wet, or that would float out of the coach, was liftedup and packed on the roof. The passengers stood up on the seats. Then Pat Donohoe put the whip on his leaders, and calling to his twowheelers, old-seasoned veterans, he put them at it. 

Snorting and trembling, the leaders picked their way into the yellowwater, the coach bumping over the rubble of the crossing-place. HughGordon, watching from the far-side of the river, saw the coach dipand rock and plunge over the boulders. On it came till the water wasactually lapping into the body of the coach, roaring and swirling roundthe horses' legs, up to their flanks and bellies, while the drivercalled out to them and kept them straight with voice and reins. Everyspring he had a similar crossing, and he knew almost to an inch at whatheight it was safe to go into the river. But this time, as ill-luckwould have it, the off-side leader was a young, vicious, thorough-bredcolt, who had been handed over to him to be cured of a propensity forstriking people with his fore-feet. As the horses worked their way intothe river, the colt, with the courage of his breeding, pulled manfully, and breasted the current fearlessly. But suddenly a floating log drifteddown, and struck him on the front legs. In an instant he reared up, andthrew himself heavily sideways against his mate, bringing him to hisknees; then the two of them, floundering and scrambling, were borne awaywith the current, dragging the coach after them. In a few yards theywere off the causeway; the coach, striking deep water, settled like aboat, and turned over on its side, with the leaders swimming for theirlives. As for the wheelers, they were pulled down with the vehicle, andwere almost drowning in their harness. 

Cool as a cucumber, Blake had turned to the girl. "Can you swim?" hesaid. And she answered him as cooly, "Yes, a little. "

"Well, put your hands on my shoulders, and leave everything to me. " Justthen the coach settled over with one final surge, and they were in thewater. 

Away they went with the roaring current, the girl clinging fast to hisshoulders, while he gave his whole attention to dodging the stumps andsnags that were showing their formidable teeth above water. For a whileshe was able to hold on. Then, with a sickening sense of helplessness, she felt herself torn from him, and whirled away like a leaf. The ranksmell of the muddy water was in her nostrils, the fear of death in herheart. She struggled to keep afloat. Suddenly a blood-streaked faceappeared, and Blake, bleeding from a cut on the forehead, caught herwith a strong grip and drew her to him. A few more seconds of whirlingchaos, and she felt land under her feet, and Blake half-carrying her tothe bank. They had been swept on to one of the many sand-banks which ranout into the stream, and were safe. 

Half-hysterical, she sat down on a huge log, and waited while Blake ranup-stream to give help to the coachman. While the two had been battlingin the water, the priest had stayed with the coachman to cut the horsesfree, till at last all four got clear of the wreck, and swam ashore. Then the men followed them, drifting down the current and fighting theirway to shore at about the same place. 

Hugh Gordon drove the waggonette down to pick up the party when theylanded. The scene on the bank would have made a good picture. Thehorses, dripping with water and shaking with cold, were snorting andstaring, while the coachman was trying to fix up some gear out of thewreck, so that he could ride one of them. The priest, his broad Irishface ornamented by a black clay pipe, was tramping up and down in hiswet clothes. Blake was helping Miss Grant to wring the water out of herclothes, and she was somewhat incoherently trying to thank him. As Hughdrove up, Blake looked up and caught his eye, and there flashed betweenthe two men an unmistakable look of hostility. Then Hugh jumped from thewaggonette, and walked up to Miss Grant, holding out his hand. 

"I'm Hugh Gordon, " he said. "We only got your father's letter to-day, orI would have been down to meet you. I hope you are not hurt. Jump intothe trap, and I'll run down to the Donohoes', and get you some drythings. " Then, turning to Blake, he said somewhat stiffly, "Will you getin, Mr. Blake?"

"Thanks, " said Blake, equally stiffly, "I can ride one of the mailhorses. It's no distance. I wont trouble you. "

But the girl turned and put her hand into Blake's, and spoke with theair of a queen. 

"I am very much obliged to you--more than I can tell you. You have savedmy life. If ever I can do anything to repay you I will. "

"Oh, nonsense, " said Blake, "that's nothing. It was only a matter ofdodging the stumps. You'd better get on now to Donohoe's Hotel, and getMrs. Donohoe to find some dry things for you. "

The mere fact of his refusing a lift showed that there was somehostility between himself and Hugh Gordon; but the priest, who hadclimbed into the Kuryong vehicle as a matter of course, settled thematter off-hand. 

"Get in the trap, " he said. "Get in the trap, man. What's the use fortwo of ye to ride the mail horses, and get your death o' cold? Get inthe trap!"

"Of course I'll give you a lift, " said Hugh. "Jump in, and let us getaway before you all get colds. What will you do about the coach and theluggage, Pat?"

"I'll borry them two old draught horses from Martin Donohoe, and they'llhaul it out. Bedad, some o' that luggage 'll be washed down to theMurrumbidgee before night; but the most of it is strapped on. Pushalong, Mr. Gordon, and tell Martin I'm coming. "

With some reluctance Blake got into the waggonette; before long theywere at Donohoe's Hotel, and Mary Grant was soon rigged out in an outfitfrom Mrs. Donohoe's best clothes--a pale-green linsey bodice and purpleskirt--everything, including Mrs. Donohoe's boots, being about foursizes too big. But she looked by no means an unattractive little figure, with her brown eyes and healthy colour showing above the shapelessgarments. 

She came into the little sitting-room laughing at the figure she cut, sat down, and drank scalding tea, and ate Mrs. Donohoe's cakes, whiletalking with Father Kelly and Blake over the great adventure. 

When she was ready to start she got into the waggonette alongside Hugh, and waved good-bye to the priest and Blake and Mrs. Donohoe, asthough they were old friends. She had had her first touch of colonialexperience. 

CHAPTER VII. MR. BLAKE'S RELATIONS. 

As soon as Hugh got his team swinging along at a steady ten miles anhour on the mountain road, Mary Grant opened the conversation. 

"Mr. Gordon, " she said, "who is Mr. Blake?"

"He's the lawyer from Tarrong. "

"Yes, I know. Mrs. Connellan called him the 'lier. ' But I thought youdidn't seem to like him. Isn't he nice?"

"I suppose so. His father was a gentleman--the police magistrate uphere. "

"Then, why don't you like him? Is there anything wrong about him?"

Hugh straightened his leaders and steadied the vehicle over a littlegully. 

"There's nothing wrong about him, " he said, "only--his mother was oneof the Donohoes--not a lady, you know--and he always goes with thosepeople; and, of course, that means he doesn't go much with us. "

"Why not?"

"Well, you see, they're selectors, and they look on the station peopleas--well, rather against them, you know--sort of enemies--and he hasnever come to the station. But there is no reason why he shouldn't. "

"He saved my life, " said Mary Grant. 

"Certainly he did, " said Hugh. "I'll say that for Blake, he fearsnothing. One of the pluckiest men alive. And how did you feel? Were youmuch frightened?"

"Yes, horribly. I have often wondered whether I should be brave, youknow, and now I don't think I am. Not the least bit. But Mr. Blakeseemed so strong--directly he caught hold of me I felt quite safe, somehow. If you don't mind, I would like to ask him out to the station. "

"Certainly, Miss Grant. My mother will only be too glad. She was sorrythat we did not get down to meet you. The letter was delayed. "

Mary Grant laughed as she looked down at Mrs. Donohoe's clothes. "What asight I am!" she said. 

"But, after all, it's Australia, isn't it? And I have had suchadventures already! You know you will have to show me all about thestation and the sheep and cattle. Will you do that?"

Hugh thought there was nothing in the world he would like better, butcontented himself with a formal offer to teach her the noble art ofsquatting. 

"You must begin at once and tell me things. What estate are we on now?"she asked. 

"This is your father's station. All you can see around belongs to him;but after the next gate we come on some land held by selectors. "

"Who are they?"

"Well, " said Hugh, a little awkwardly, "they are relations of Mr. Blake's. You'll see what an Australian farmer's homestead is like. "

They drove through a rickety wire-and-sapling gate and across about amile of bush, and suddenly came on a little slab house nestling underthe side of a hill. At the back were the stockyards and the killing-pen, where a contrivance for raising dead cattle--called a gallows--waved itsarms to the sky. In front of the house there was rather a nice littlegarden. At the back were a lot of dilapidated sheds, leaning in alldirections. A mob of sheep was penned in a yard outside one of thesheds; and in the garden an old woman, white-haired and wrinkled, witha very short dress showing a lot of dirty stocking and slipshodelastic-sided boot, was bending over a spade, digging potatoes. 

The old woman straightened herself as they drove up. 

"Good daah to you, Misther Gordon, " she said. "Good daah to you, Miss. "

"Good day, Mrs. Doyle, " said Hugh. "Hard work that, this weather. How'sall the family?"

"Mag--Marg'rut, I mane--she's inside. That's her playin' the pianny. Shejust got it up from Sydney. "

"And where's Peter?"

"Peter's shearin' the sheep. He's in that shed there beyant. He's theonly shearer we have, so we tell him he's the ringer of the shed. Heworks terr'ble hard, does Peter. He's not--" and the old woman droppedher voice--"he's not all there in the head, is Peter, you know. "

"And where's Mick?"

"Mick, bad scran to him! He's bought a jumpin' haarse (horse), and he'sgone to hell leppin! Down at one of the shows he is, some place. He hastoo much sense to work, has Mick. Won't you come in and have a cup oftay?"

"No, we must get on, thank you, " and Hugh and Mary drove off, watchedby the old lady and the lanky-legged, shock-headed youth--Peterhimself--who came to the door of the big shed to stare at them. 

As they drove off Hugh was silent, wondering what effect the sight ofthe selectors might have had on Miss Grant. 

She seemed to read his thoughts, and after a little while she spoke. 

"So those are Mr. Blake's poor relations, are they? Well, that is nothis fault. My father was poor once, just as poor as those people are. And Mr. Blake saved my life. "

Hugh felt that she was half-consciously putting him in the wrong forhaving more or less disapproved of Mr. Blake; so he kept silence. 

As the team bore them along at a flying trot, they climbed higherand higher up the range; at last, as they rounded a shoulder of thehillside, the whole valley of Kiley's River lay beneath them, stretchingaway to the far blue foothills. Beyond again was a great mountain, itstop streaked with snow. At their feet was a gorgeous scheme of colour, greens and greys of the grass, bright tints of willow and poplar, andthe speckled forms of the cattle, so far down that they looked likepigmy stock feeding in fairy paddocks. Across the valley there came nowand again, softened by distance, the song of the river; and up inthe river-bend, on a spur of the hills, were white walls rising fromclustered greenery. 

"How beautiful!" said the girl, half standing up in the waggonette, "andis that--"

"That's Kuryong, Miss Grant. Your home station. "

CHAPTER VIII. AT THE HOMESTEAD. 

Miss Grant's arrival at Kuryong homestead caused great excitement amongthe inhabitants. Mrs. Gordon received her in a motherly way, trying hardnot to feel that a new mistress had come into the house; she was anxiousto see whether the girl exhibited any signs of her father's fiery temperand imperious disposition. The two servant-girls at the homestead--greatherculean, good-natured bush-girls, daughters of a boundary-rider, whosehighest ideal of style and refinement was Kuryong drawing-room--breathedhard and stared round-eyed, like wild fillies, at the unconsciousintruder. The station-hands--Joe, the wood-and-water boy, old Alfred thegroom, Bill the horse-team driver, and Harry Warden the married man, whohelped with sheep, mended fences, and did station-work in general--allwatched for a sight of her. They exchanged opinions about her over theirsmoke at night by the huge open fireplace in the men's hut, wherethey sat in a semicircle, toasting their shins at the blaze till theirtrousers smoked again, each man with a pipe of black tobacco going fullswing from tea till bedtime. But the person who felt the most intenseexcitement over the arrival of the heiress was Miss Harriott. 

For all her nurse's experience, Ellen Harriott was not a woman of theworld. Except for the period of her hospital training, she had passedall her life shut up among the mountains. Her dream-world was mostlyconstructed out of high-class novels, and she united a shrewd wit and aclever brain to a dense ignorance of the real world, that left her likea ship without a rudder. She was, like most bush-reared girls, a greatvisionary--many a castle-in-the-air had she built while taking her dailywalk by the river under the drooping willows. The visions, curiouslyenough, always took the direction of magnificence. She pictured herselfas a leader of society, covered with diamonds, standing at the head ofa broad marble staircase and receiving Counts by the dozen (vide Ouida'snovels, read by stealth); or else as a rich man's wife who dispensedhospitality regally, and was presented at Court, and set the fashionin dress and jewels. At the back of all her dreams there was alwaysa man--a girl's picture is never complete without a man--a strong, masterful man, whose will should crush down opposition, and whoseabilities should make his name--and incidentally her name--famous allover the world. She herself, of course, was always the foremost figure, the handsomest woman, the best-dressed, the most admired; for EllenHarriott, though only a girl, and a friendless governess at Kuryong, was not inclined to put herself second to anyone. Having learnt fromher father's papers that he was of an old family, she considered herselfanybody's equal. Her brain held a crazy enough jumble of ideas, nodoubt; but given a strong imagination, no experience, and omnivorousreading, a young girl's mind is exactly the place where fantastic ideaswill breed and multiply. She went about with Mrs. Gordon to the smallfestivities of the district, and was welcomed everywhere, and deferredto by the local settlers; she had yet to know what a snub meant; sothe world to her seemed a very easy sort of place to get along in. Thecoming of the heiress was as light over a trackless ocean. Here wassomeone who had seen, known, and done all the things which she herselfwished to see, know, and do; someone who had travelled on the Continent, tobogganed in Switzerland, ridden in Rotten Row, voyaged in privateyachts, hunted in the shires; here was the world at last come to herdoor--the world of which she had read so much and knew so little. 

On the second morning after Miss Grant's arrival, that young lady turnedup at breakfast in a tailor-made suit with short skirt and heavy boots, and announced her intention of "walking round the estate;" but asKuryong--though only a small station, as stations go--was, roughly, tenmiles square, this project had to be abandoned. Then she asked Hugh ifhe would have the servants mustered. He told her that the two servantswere in the kitchen, but it turned out that she wanted to interview allthe station hands, and it had to be explained that the horse-driver wassix miles out on the run with his team, drawing in a load of bark toroof the hay shed, and that Harry Warden was down at the drafting yards, putting in a new trough to hold an arsenical solution, through which thesheep had to tramp to cure their feet; and that everybody else was awayout on some business or other. But the young lady stuck to her point, and had the groom and the wood-and-water boy paraded, they being theonly two available. The groom was an English importation, and earnedher approval by standing in a rigid and deferential attitude, and saying"Yes, Miss, " and "No, Miss, " when spoken to; but the wood-and-water boystood with his arms akimbo and his mouth open, and when she asked himhow he liked being on the station he said, "Oh, it's not too bad, "accompanying his remark with a sickly grin that nearly earned himsummary dismissal. 

The young lady returned to the house in rather a sharp temper, and foundHugh standing by a cart, which had just got back with her shipwreckedluggage. 

"Well, Miss Grant, " he said, "the things are pretty right. The waterwent down in an hour or so, and the luggage on the top only got a littlewetting--just a wave now and again. How have you been getting on?"

"Not at all well, " she laughed. "I don't understand the people here. I will get you to take me round before I do another thing. It is sodifferent from England. Are you sure my clothes are all right?"

"I can't be sure, of course, but you can unpack them as soon as youlike. "

It was not long before the various boxes were opened. Ellen Harriottwas called in to assist, and the two girls had a real good afternoon, looking at and talking over clothes and jewellery. The things had comefairly well out of the coach disaster. When an English firm makes awater-tight cover for a bag or box, it is water-tight; even the watersof Kiley's River had swept over the canvas of Miss Grant's luggage invain. And when the sacred boxes were opened, what a treasure-trove wasunveiled!

The noblest study of mankind is man, but the most fascinating study ofwomankind is another woman's wardrobe, and the Australian girl foundsomething to marvel at in the quality of the visitor's apparel. Dainty shoes, tailor-made jackets, fashionable short riding-habits, mannish-looking riding-boots, silk undergarments, beautiful jewellery, all were taken out of their packages and duly admired. As eachsuccessive treasure was produced, Ellen Harriott's eyes grew rounderwith astonishment; and when, out of a travelling bag, there appeareda complete dressing-table outfit of silverware--silver-backedhair-brushes, silver manicure set, silver handglass, and so forth--shedrew a long breath of wonder and admiration. 

It was her first sight of the vanities of the world, the things that shehad only dreamed of. The outfit was not anything extraordinary from anEnglish point of view, but to the bush-bred girl it was a revelation. 

"What beautiful things!" she said. "Now, when you go visiting to acountry-house in England, do you always take things like these, allthese riding-boots and things?"

"Oh, yes. You wouldn't ride without them. "

"And do you take a maid to look after them?"

"Well, you must have a maid. "

"And when you travel on the Continent, do you take a maid?"

"I always took one. "

"What is Paris like? Isn't it just a dream? Did you go to theopera?--Have you been on the Riviera?--Oh, do tell me about thoseplaces--is it like you read about in books?--all beautiful, well-dressedwomen and men with nothing to do--and did you go to Monte Carlo?"

This was all poured out in a rush of words; but in Mary's experience theContinent was merely a place where the Continentals got the better ofthe English, and she said so. 

"Travelling is so mixed up with discomfort, that it loses half itsplumage, " she said. "I'll tell you all I can about Paris some othertime. Now you tell me, " she went on, folding carefully a silk blouse andputting it in a drawer, "are there any neighbours here? Will anyone cometo call?"

"I'm afraid you'll find it very dull here, " said Ellen. "There are noneighbours at all except Poss and Binjie, two young fellows on the nextstation. The people in town are just the publicans and the storekeeper, and all the selectors around us are a very wild lot. Very few strangerscome that we can have in the house. They are nearly all cattle and sheepbuyers, and they are either too nervous to say a word, or they talkhorses. They always come just after mealtime, too, and we have to geteverything laid on the table again--sometimes we have ten meals a day inthis house. And the swagmen come all day long, and Mrs. Gordon or I haveto go and give them something to eat; there's plenty to do, always. Soyou see, there are plenty of strangers, but no neighbours. "

"What about Mr. Blake?" said Miss Grant. "Isn't he a neighbour?"

It would have needed a much quicker eye than Mary's to catch thehalf-involuntary movement Ellen Harriott made when Blake's name wasmentioned. She flashed a look of enquiry at the heiress that seemed tosay, "What interest do you take in Mr. Blake? What is he to you?"

Then the long eyelashes shut down over the dark eyes again, and with anair of indifference she said--

"Oh Mr. Blake? Of course I know him. I dance with him sometimes at theshow balls, and all that. I have been out for a ride with him, too. Ithink he's nice, but Hugh and Mrs. Gordon won't ask him here because hebelongs to the selectors, and his mother was a Miss Donohoe. He takesup their cases--and wins them, too. But he never comes here. He alwaysstays down at the hotel when he comes out this way. "

"I intend to ask him here, " said Miss Grant. "He saved my life. "

Again the long eyelashes dropped so as to hide the sparkle of the eyes. 

"Of course, if you like to ask him--"

"Do you think he'd come?"

"Yes, I'm sure he would. If you like to write and ask him, Peter couldride down to Donohoe's to-day with a note. "

From which it would seem that one, at any rate, of the Kuryong householdwas not wholly indifferent to Mr. Blake. 

CHAPTER IX. SOME VISITORS. 

After breakfast next morning Mary decided to spend the day in thecompany of the children, who were having holidays. 

"Just as well for you to learn the house firsts" said Hugh, "before youtackle the property. The youngsters know where everything is--withinfour miles, anyhow. "

Two little girls were impressed, and were told to take Miss Grant roundand show her the way about the place; and they set off together in thebright morning sunlight, on a trip of exploration. 

Now, no true Australian, young or old, ever takes any trouble orundergoes any exertion or goes anywhere without an object in view. Sothe children considered it the height of stupidity to walk simply forthe sake of walking, and kept asking where they were to walk to. 

"What shall we see if we go along this road?" asked Miss Grant, pointingwith her dainty parasol along the wheel-track that meandered across theopen flat and lost itself in the timber. 

"Nothing, " said both children together. 

"Then, what is there up that way?" she asked, waving her hand up towardsthe foothills and the blue mountains. "There must be some pretty flowersto look at up there?"

"No, there isn't, " said the children. 

"Well, let us go into the woods and see if we can't find something, " shesaid determinedly; and with her reluctant guides she set off, trudgingacross the open forest through an interminable vista of gum trees. 

After a while one of the girls said, "Hello, there's Poss!"

Miss Grant looked up, and saw through the trees a large and veryfrightened bay horse, with a white face. On further inspection, a youthof about eighteen or twenty was noticed on the horse's back, but heseemed so much a part of the animal that one might easily overlook himat a first glance. The horse had stopped at the sight of them, and wasvisibly affected with terror. 

They advanced slowly, and the animal began snorting and sidling awayamong the timber, its rider meanwhile urging it forward. Then Emilycried, "Hello, Poss!" and the horse gave a snort, wheeled round, jumped a hugefallen tree, and fled through the timber like a wild thing, with itsrider still apparently glued to its back. In half a second they were outof sight. 

"Who is it? and why does he go away?" asked Miss Grant. 

"That's Poss, " said Emily carelessly. "He and Binjie live over atDunderalligo. He often comes here. They and their father live over thereThat's a colt he's breaking in. He's very nice. So is Binjie. "

"Well, here he comes again, " said Miss Grant, as the horsemanreappeared, riding slowly round them in ever-lessening circles; the coltmeanwhile eyeing them with every aspect of intense dislike and hatred, and snorting between whiles like a locomotive. 

Emily waited till the rider came fairly close, and said, "Poss, this isMiss Grant. "

The rider blushed, and lifted his hand to his hat. Fatal error! For thehundredth-part of a second the horse seemed to cower under him as ifabout to sink to the ground, then tucked his head in between his frontlegs, and his tail in between the hind ones, forming himself into a kindof circle, and began a series of gigantic bounds at the rate of about ahundred to the minute; while in the air above him his rider describeda catherine wheel before he came to earth, landing on his head at MissGrant's feet. The horse was soon out of sight, making bounds that wouldhave cleared a house if one had been in the way. The rider got up, pulled his hat from over his eyes, brushed some mud off his clothes, andcame up to shake hands as if nothing had happened; his motto apparentlybeing toujours la politesse. 

"My word, can't he buck, Poss!" said the child. "He chucked you allright, didn't he?"

"He got a mean advantage, " said the young fellow, in a slow drawl. "Makes me look a fair chump, doesn't it, getting chucked before a lady?I'll take it out of him when I get on him again. How d' you do?"

"I'm very well, thank you, " said Miss Grant. "I hope you are not hurt. What a nasty beast! I wonder you aren't afraid to ride him. "

"I ain't afraid of him, the cow! He can't sling me fair work, not thebest day ever he saw. He can't buck, " he added, in tones of the deepestcontempt, "and he won't try when I've got a fair hold of him; only goesat it underhanded. It's up to me to give him a hidin' next time I ridehim, I promise you. "

"Where will he go to?" said Miss Grant, looking for the vanished steed. "Won't he run away?"

"He can't get out of the paddick, " drawled the youth. "Let's go up tothe house, and get one of the boys to run him in. He had a go-in thismorning with me--the bit came out of his mouth somehow, and he did getto work proper. He went round and round the paddick at home, with me onhim, buckin' like a brumby. Binjie had to come out with another horseand run me back into the yard. He's a pretty clever colt, too. Thetimber is tremendous thick in that paddick, and he never hit me againstanything. Binjie reckons any other colt'd have killed me. Come on up tothe house, or he'll have my saddle smashed before I get him. "

As they hurried home, Miss Grant had a good look at the stranger--apleasant, brown-skinned brown-handed youth, with the down of a blackmoustache growing on his upper lip. His frank and open face was easy toread. He looked with boyish admiration at Miss Grant, who immediatelystooped to conquer, and began an animated conversation about nothing inparticular--a conversation which was broken in upon by one of the girls. 

"Where is Binjie?" she asked. "Isn't he coming over?"

"Not he, " said the youth, with an air of great certainty. We're busyover at our place, I tell you. The water is all gone in the nine-milepaddick. Binj an me and Andy Kelly had to muster all the sheep and shift'em across to the home paddick. Binj is musterin' away there now. Ijust rode over to see Hugh about some of your sheep that's in the riverpaddick. "

"Won't Binjie be over, then?" persisted Emily. 

"No, of course he won't. Don't I tell you he's got three days' workmusterin' there? I must be off at daylight to-morrow, home again, or theold man'll know the reason why. "

By this time they had reached the homestead, and Poss went off with thechildren to the stables. Here he secured the "knockabout" horse, alwayskept saddled and bridled about the station for generally-useful work, and set off at a swinging canter up the paddock after his own steed. Miss Grant went in and found Mrs. Gordon at her jam-making. 

"Well, and have you found anything to amuse you?" asked the old lady inher soft, even voice. 

"Oh, I've had quite a lot of experiences; and I went for a walk and metPoss. Who is Poss?"

The old lady laughed as she gave the jam a stir. "He's a young Hunter, "she said. "Was Binjie there?"

"No; and he isn't coming either; he has work to do. I learnt that much. But who is Poss? and who is Binjie? I'm greatly taken with Poss. "

"He's a nice-looking young fellow, isn't he? His father has a smallstation away among the hills, and Poss and Binjie help him on it. Thoseare only nick-names, of course. Poss's name is Arthur, and Binjie's isGeorge, I think. They're nice young fellows, but very bushified; theyhave lived here all their lives. Their father--well, he isn't verysteady; and they like to get over here when they can, and each tries tocome without the other knowing it. Binjie will be here before long, Iexpect. They're great admirers of Miss Harriott, both of them, and theycome over on all sorts of ridiculous pretexts. Poor fellows, it mustbe very dull for them over there. Fancy, week after week without seeinganyone but their father, the station-hands, and the sheep! Now thatyou're here, I expect they'll come more than ever. "

As she spoke, the tramp of a horse's hoofs was heard in the yard and, looking out, Miss Grant saw a duplicate of Poss dismounting from aduplicate of Poss's horse. And Mrs. Gordon, looking over her shoulder, said, "Here's Binjie. I thought he'd be here before long. "

"Why do they call him Binjie?" asked Miss Grant, watching the newarrival tying up his horse. "What does it mean?"

"It's a blackfellow's word, meaning stomach, " said the old lady. "Heused to be very fat, and the name stuck to him. Good day, Binjie!"

"Good day, Mrs. Gordon. Hugh at home?"

"No, he won't be back till dark, " said the old lady. "Won't you let yourhorse go?"

"Well, I don't know if I can, " replied the new arrival thoughtfully. "I've left Poss at home clearing the sheep out of that big paddock atthe Crossing. There's five thousand sheep, and no water there; I'll haveto go back and help him. I only came over to tell Hugh there were someof his weaners in the river paddock. I must go straight back, or Poss'llmake a row. We've a lot of work to do. "

"I think Poss is here, " said Mrs. Gordon. 

"Poss is here, is he? Well, if that don't beat everything! And when westarted to muster that paddock I went to the top, and he went the otherway, and he reckoned to be at it all day. He's a nice fellow, he is! Iwonder what the old man'll say?"

"Oh, I expect he won't mind very much. This is Mr. George Hunter, MissGrant. "

Binjie extended much the same greeting as Poss had done; and bydinner-time that evening--or, as it is always called in the bush, tea-time--they had all made each other's acquaintance, and both theyouths were worshipping at the new shrine. 

At tea the talk flowed freely, and the two bush boys, shy at first, began to expand as Mary Grant talked to them. Put a pretty girl and ayoung and impressionable bushman together, and in the twinkling of aneye you have a Sir Galahad ready to do anything for the service of hislady. 

Lightheartedly they consented to stay the night, in the hope of seeingHugh, to deliver their message about the weaners--they seemed to havesatisfactorily arranged the question of mustering. And when Miss Grantsaid, "Won't your sheep be dying of thirst in that paddock, where thereis no water?" both brothers replied, "Oh, we'll be off at crack of dawnin the morning and fix 'em up all right. "

"They always say that, " said the old lady, "and generally stay threedays. I expect they'll make it four, now that you're here. "

CHAPTER X. A LAWYER IN THE BUSH. 

Gavan Blake, attorney and solicitor, sat in his office at Tarrong, opening his morning's letters. The office was in a small weatherboardcottage in the "main street" of Tarrong (at any rate it might fairlyclaim to be the main street, as it was the only street that had anyhouses in it). The front room, where he sat, was fitted up with a tableand a set of pigeon-holes full of dusty papers, a leather couch, a smallfire-proof safe, and a book-case containing about equal proportions oflaw-books and novels. A few maps of Tarrong township and neighbouringstations hung on the walls. The wooden partition of the house only ranup to the rafters, and over it could plainly be heard his housekeeperscrubbing his bedroom. Across the little passage was his sitting-room, furnished in the style of most bachelors' rooms, an important item offurniture being a cupboard where whisky was always to be found. At theback of the main cottage were servants' quarters and kitchen. Behindthe house, on a spare allotment, were two or three loose-boxes forracehorses, a saddle-room and a groom's room. This was the wholeestablishment. A woman came in every day to do up his rooms from thehotel, where he had his meals. It was an inexpensive mode of life, butone that conduced to the drinking of a good many whiskies-and-sodasat the hotel with clients and casual callers, and to a good deal ofcard-playing and late hours. The racehorses, too, like most racehorses, ate up more money than they earned. So that Mr. Gavan Blake, though aclever man, with a good practice, always seemed to find himself hard up. 

It was so on this particular morning. Every letter that he opened seemedto have some reference to money. One, from the local storekeeper, wasa pretentious account embracing all sorts of items--ammunition, stationery, saddlery and station supplies (the latter being on accountof a small station that Blake had taken over for a bad debt, whichseemed likely to turn out an equally bad asset). Station supplies, evenfor bad stations, run into a lot of money, and the store accountwas approaching a hundred pounds. Then there was a letter from ahorse-trainer in Sydney to whom he had sent a racehorse, and though thisanimal had done such brilliant gallops that the trainer had three timestelegraphed him that a race was a certainty--once he went so far as tosay that the horse could stop to throw a somersault and still win therace--on each occasion it had always come in among the ruck; and everytime forty or fifty pounds of Blake's money had been lost in betting. For Blake was a confirmed gambler, a heavy card-player and backer ofhorses, and he had the contempt for other people's skill and opinionswhich seems an inevitable ingredient in the character of brilliant menof a certain type. 

He was a man of splendid presence, with strong features and clearblue-grey eyes--the type of face that is seen on the Bench and among theQueen's Counsel in the English Courts. He was quick-witted, eloquent, and logical of mind. Among the Doyles and Donohoes he was little shortof a king. Wild, uneducated, and suspicious, they believed in himimplicitly. They swore exactly the things that he told them to swear, spoke or were silent according as he ordered, and trusted him withsecrets which they would not entrust to their own brothers. In thatdistrict he wielded a power greater than the law. 

On this particular day, after opening the trainer's letter asking forcheque to pay training expenses (£50), and one from a client, saying "Igot your note, and will pay you when I get the wool money, " he came upona letter that startled him. It was written in an old-fashioned, lady'shand, angular and spidery. It ran--

Kuryong Station, Monday. 

Dear Mr. Blake, Miss Grant tells me that she owes her life to your bravery in saving herfrom the coach accident. It would give me great pleasure if you wouldcome and stay here next Saturday, as I suppose you will be passing downthis way to the Court at Ballarook. With best wishes, Yours truly, ANNETTE GORDON. 

Blake put the letter down and walked about his office for a while inthought. "Invited to the old station?" he mused. "I must go, of course, Too good a chance to miss. "

"Might have written herself!" he muttered, as he turned the letter overto see if by chance Miss Grant had written a line anywhere; then, layingit on one side, he took up carelessly a square business-like envelope, addressed to him in a scrawly, illiterate fist. The letter that he tookout of it was a strange jewel to repose in so rude a casket. It alsowas from Kuryong--from Ellen Harriott, who had taken the precaution ofaddressing it in a feigned hand so that the postmaster and postmistressat Kiley's Crossing, who handled all station letters, would not knowthat she was corresponding with Blake. The letter was a great contrastto Mrs. Gordon's. It was a girl's love letter, a gushing, impulsivething, full of vows and endearments; but the only part of it with whichwe are concerned ran in this way:--

And so the heiress has arrived at last--and you saved her life! Whenyou swam with her, didn't you feel that you had the weight of a hundredthousand sovereigns on your back? For oh, Gavan dear, she is nice, butshe is very stolid! And so you saved her--what luck for you! But youalways have luck, don't you? And don't you think that my love is thebest bit of luck you have ever had! Everyone says you are making afortune--hurry up and make it, for I am so anxious to get away out ofthis place, and we can have our trip round the world together. 

And now I am waiting for next Saturday. Fancy having you in the houseall day long and in the evening! We must slip away somewhere for just alittle while, so that we can have each other all to ourselves. Hugh isstill worrying about some sheep that he thinks are stolen. He is alwaysworrying about something or other, and now that she has come I supposehe will be worse than ever. Now goodnight, dearest. .. 

Blake read the letter, and threw it down carelessly on the table; then, leaning back in his chair, cut up a pipeful of tobacco. He thoughtover his position with Ellen Harriott. There was a secret understandingbetween them, a sort of informal affair born of moonlight rides andcountry dances. He had never actually asked her to marry him, but he hadkissed her as he had kissed scores of others, and the girl had at oncetaken it for granted that they were to be engaged. It had notseemed such a bad thing for him at the time. He was fond of her in aballroom-and-moonlight-ride kind of way, but there it stopped. Still, itwas not a bad match for him. The girl was a lady, with friends all overthe district. He was rather near the border-line of respectability, and to marry her would have procured him a position that he had littlechance of reaching otherwise. He had let things drift on, and the girl, with her fanciful ideas, was, of course, only too ready to fall in withthe suggestion of secrecy; it seemed such a precious secret to her. So now he was engaged while still up to his neck in debt; but worseremained behind. In his business he had sums of money for investmentsand for settlements of cases passing through his hands; and from timeto time he had, when hard pushed, used his clients' money to pay his owndebts. Beginning with small sums, he had muddled along, meaning to makeall straight out of the first big case he had; and each time he had abig case the money seemed to be all spent before he earned it. He wasnot exactly bankrupt, for he was owed a great deal of money, enoughperhaps to put him straight if he could get it in; but the mountain folkexpected long credit and large reductions, and it was pretty certainthat he would never get even half of what he was owed. Therefore, hewent about his business with a sort of sword of Damocles hanging overhis head--and now the heiress had come, and he had saved her life!

His musings were cut short by a tap at the door; a long, gawky youth, with a budding moustache, entered and slouched over to a chair. He wasyoung Isaacstein, son of the Tarrong storekeeper, a would-be sportsman, would-be gambler, would-be lady-killer, would-be everything, who onlysucceeded in making himself a cheap bar-room loafer; but he was quitesatisfied that he was the right thing. 

"What's doing, Gav?" he said. "Who's the letter from?"

"Oh, business--business" said Gavan Blake. 

"What's doing with you?"

"Doing! By Gad, I'm broke. The old man won't give me a copper. Whatabout Saturday? Are you going to the Court at Ballarook?"

"Yes. I've got a couple of cases there. And I've just got a letter fromMrs. Gordon, asking me to stay the night at Kuryong. "

"Ho! My oath! Stop at Kuryong, eh? That's cause you saved the heiress?Well, go in and win. You won't know us when you marry the owner ofKuryong. What's she like, Gav? Pretty girl, ain't she? Has she anysense?"

"Much as you have, " growled Blake. 

"Oh, don't get nasty. Only I thought you were a bit shook on thegoverness there--what about that darnce at the Show ball, eh? I say, youcouldn't lend us a tenner till Saturday?"

"No, I could not--" And this was the literal truth, for Gavan Blakehad run himself right out of money, and was living on credit--not anenviable position at any time, and one doubly insupportable to a manof his temperament. And again his thoughts went back to the girl hehad saved, and he pondered how different things might have been--might, perhaps, still be. 

CHAPTER XI. A WALK IN THE MOONLIGHT. 

The Court at Ballarook was over, and Gavan Blake turned his horses'heads in a direction he had never taken before--along the road toKuryong. As he drove along, his thoughts were anything but pleasant. Behind him always stalked the grim spectre of detection and arrest; and, even should a lucky windfall help to pay his debts, he could not savethe money either to buy a practice in Sydney or to maintain himselfwhile he was building one up. He thought of the pitiful smallness of hischances at Tarrong, and then of Ellen Harriott. What should he do abouther? Well, sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof. He would playfor his own hand throughout. With which reflection he drove into theKuryong yard. 

When he drove up, the family had gathered round the fire in the quaint, old-fashioned, low-ceiled sitting-room; for the evenings werestill chilly. The children were gravely and quietly sharpeningterrific-looking knives on small stones; the old lady had someneedlework; while Mary and Ellen and Poss and Binjie talked abouthorses, that being practically the only subject open to the two boys. 

After a time Mrs. Gordon said, "Won't you sing something?" and Mary satdown to the piano and sang to them. Such singing no one there had everheard before. Her deep contralto voice was powerful, flexible, andobviously well-trained; besides which she had the great natural giftof putting "feeling" into her singing. The children sat spellbound. Thestation-hands and house-servants, who had been playing the concertinaand yarning on the wood-heap at the back of the kitchen, stole down tothe corner of the house to listen; in the stillness that wonderful voicefloated out into the night. So it chanced that Gavan Blake, arriving, heard the singing, stole softly to the door, and looked in, listeningfor a while, before anyone saw him. 

The picture he saw was for ever photographed on his mind. He saw thequiet comfort and luxury--for after Tarrong it was luxury to him--of thestation drawing-room; caught the scent of the flowers and the glorioustones of that beautiful voice; and, as he watched the sweet face ofthe singer, and listened to the words of the song, a sudden fiercedetermination rose in his mind. He would devote all his energies towinning Mary Grant for his wife; combative and self-confident as he wasby nature, he felt no dismay at the difficulties in his way. He had beenon a borderline long enough. Here was his chance to rise at a bound, andhe determined to succeed if success were humanly possible. 

As the song came to an end, he walked into the drawing-room and shookhands all round, Mary being particularly warm in her welcome. 

"You are very late, " said the old lady. "Was there much of a Court atBallarook?"

"Only the usual troubles. You know what those courts are. By the way, Miss Grant, I came over the famous crossing-place where we got turnedout, and nearly had another swim for it. Martin Donohoe and his wifehaven't yet finished talking about how wet you looked. "

"I'm sure I haven't finished thinking about it. I don't suppose you hadto swim with anyone on your back this time?"

"No such luck, I'm sorry to say. "

"It was very lucky, indeed--that you were there, " put in Miss Harriott. "You are really quite the district hero, Mr. Blake. You will have tosave somebody next, Hugh. "

"My word, " said Poss, "I've seen Hugh swim in to fetch a sheep, letalone a lady. You remember, Hugh, the time those old ewes got swept downand one of 'em was caught on the head of a tree, and you went in--"

"Oh, never mind about that, " said Hugh. "Did Pat Donohoe lose anythingout of the coach?"

"Only a side of bacon and a bottle of whisky. The whisky was for old Nedthe 'possum trapper, and they say that Ned walked fourteen miles downthe river in hopes that it might have come ashore. Ned reckons he hasnever done any tracking, but if he could track anything it would bewhisky. "

"What about going out after 'possums down the garden?" said Binjie. "Now, you youngsters, where are your 'possum dogs? I think they ought toget some in the garden. "

Everyone seemed to welcome the idea. There had been a sort of stiffnessin the talk, and Gavan Blake felt that a walk in the moonlight mightgive him a chance to make himself a little more at home with Mary Grant, while Ellen Harriott had her own reasons for wanting to get him outside. With laughter and haste they all put on hats and coats, for it hadturned bitterly cold; then with ear-piercing whistles the childrensummoned their 'possuming dogs, who were dreaming happy hours awayin all sorts of odd nooks, in chimney-corners, under the table inthe kitchen, under the bunks in the men's hut, anywhere warm andundisturbed. But at the whistles each dog dashed out from his nook, tearing over everything in front of him in his haste not to be leftbehind; and in three seconds half a dozen of them were whining andjumping round the children, waiting for orders which way to go. 

A majestic wave of the hand, and the order "Go and find him!" from theeldest of the children, sent a hurricane of dogs yapping with excitementoff to the creek, and the hunters followed at a brisk run. Gavan Blakeand Mary Grant trotted along together in the bright moonlight. Just infront were Ellen and Hugh, he laughing at the excitement of the dogs andchildren, she looking over her shoulder and hoping to hear what Blakewas saying to the heiress. As a matter of fact, he was making the mostof his chances, and before long they were getting on capitally. Maryfound herself laying aside her slow English way, and laughing and jokingwith the rest. There is something intoxicating in moonlight at any time;and what with the moon and the climate, and the breeze whistling throughthe gum-boughs, it was no wonder that even the staidly-reared Englishgirl felt a thrill of excitement, a stirring of the primeval instinctsthat civilization and cultivation had not quite been able to choke. 

"When you go back to England, Miss Grant, " said Blake, "you will be ableto tell them that you have hunted 'possums, anyhow. That will sound likethe real bush, won't it?"

"Yes. And I can say I have been upset in a river and nearly drowned, too. I'm becoming quite an experienced person. But what makes you thinkI shall go back to England?"

"I thought you would be sure to go back. "

"Oh, no. We have no friends in England at all. My mother's people arenearly all living in India, and father wouldn't live in England. Hehates it. "

"And do you like Australia?"

"I've only seen about a week of it. Do you know, it seems to me a moreserious life than in England. Look at Mrs. Gordon, what a lot of peopleshe has dependent on her. The station-hands and their wives, all come toher. In England she might visit them and give them tracts and blankets, but here what they want is advice and help in all sorts of things. Youknow what I mean?"

"Yes. She is a fine old lady, isn't she? A real character. You will besure to like her. "

"Yes. I think I shall be very happy here. Father is anxious I shouldlike this place, as he may come up here to live, and I'm sure I shalllike it. You see, there is work to do here. Miss Harriott and Mrs. Gordon are at work from daylight till dark; what with the children, thehouse, the store and visitors, there really isn't time to feel lonely. Don't you think people are much happier when they have a lot to do? Doyou live--"

"I live in two rooms and get my meals at an hotel, Miss Grant. I havenever had any home life. I never knew what it meant till now. "

"You must come out again when you are down this way. The--what's that?"

A dog barked furiously in the distance, and the others rushed to joinhim from all directions, yelping and squealing with excitement. Thewhole party set off at a run, amid cheers and laughter. 

"What is it, what is it?" said Mary. 

"One of the dogs has found a 'possum up a tree, and the children willtry to get him down. Come on! Mind where you go. The black shadows arevery hard to judge, and sometimes a log or a bush is hidden in them. There goes Poss over a log, " he added, in explanation of a terrificcrash and a shout of laughter from the others. "What is it, Emily?" heasked as one of the children ran past. 

"It's Thomas Carlyle has found one, " she said, "and he never barks whenthe 'possums are up big trees. He knows we can't get them then, so heonly looks in the saplings. The other dogs find them in the big trees, but that's no good. "

A sharp run brought the party to the foot of a small tree, surrounded bya circle of dogs, all sitting on their tails and staring with whimpersof anxiety up to the topmost branches, where a small furry animalwas perched. Mary Grant, under Blake's directions, got the animalsilhouetted against the moon, and saw clearly enough the sharp nose, round ears, plump body, and prehensile tail of the unfortunate creaturewho, as Poss said, looked as if he were wishing for a pair of wings. 

Blake turned to Mary. "Do you want to stop and see it killed?" he said. "It's rather a murderous business. The 'possum has no chance. One ofthe boys will go up the tree and shake the branch till the 'possum fallsoff, and when it falls the dogs will kill it. "

"No, I don't think I would like to see it. I have seen so many thingskilled since I came here. Let us walk back towards the house. "

"I'll tell Gordon. Gordon, " he said, "Miss Grant doesn't care to see themassacre. We will walk back towards the house. "

Ellen Harriott made a sudden step forward. "I will go back too, " shesaid. 

"Why, Miss Harriott!" said Poss in astonishment, "You've seen lots of'em killed. Native cats, too. Watch me knock him out of that with astick. "

"No, no, I'll go back, too. I don't feel like killing anything to-night. You come back too, Hugh. "

So the four walked back together, and as Blake had monopolised Maryon the way out, she now put herself beside Hugh, and the others walkedbehind. Hugh and Mary soon began to talk, but the other pair walkedin silence for a while. Then Ellen Harriott said in a low voice, "Go alittle slower, Gavan. Let them get away. " As they passed under the denseshadows of a huge wild-apple tree, Ellen stopped and, turning to Blake, held up her face to be kissed. 

"Gavan, Gavan!" she said. "I was wondering when I would ever get achance to speak to you. To think of you being here in the same housewith me! It's too wonderful, isn't it?"

Gavan Blake kissed her. It was almost an effort to him at first, as hismind and heart were on fire with the thoughts of the other girl. 

"My darling, my darling!" she said. "All the while you were walking withthat girl, I knew you were dying to come and kiss me!" For such is thefaith of women. 

They stopped for a little while, and then moved on after the others, pausing now and again in the shadows. The girl poured out all herartless tale--how she had been awake night after night, waiting for theday he should come. Then she told him how the heiress had praised hispluck and strength. "And oh! Gavan, I was so proud, I could have huggedher!"

Thus she rattled on, while he, because it was his nature found it notrouble to reply in kind, with a good imitation of sincerity. On such anight, with such a girl clinging to him, it would have been a very poorspecimen of a man who could not have trumped up a sort of enthusiasm. But in his heart he was cursing his luck that just as chance had thrownthe heiress in his way, and put her under an obligation to him, he washeld to his old bargain--the bargain that he had made for position'ssake, and which he would now have liked to break for the same reason. 

It would be wearisome to record their talk, all the way up to the house. The girl--impetuous, hot-blooded, excitable--poured out her love-talklike a bird singing. Happiness complete was hers for the time; butGavan's heart was not in the wooing, and he listened and was silent. 

Hugh and Mary, walking on ahead, knew nothing of the love scenes justbehind them. They talked of many things, of the moonlight and the riverand the scent of the flowers, but all the time Hugh felt diffident andtongue-tied. He had not the glib tongue of Gavan Blake, and he feltlittle at ease talking common-places. Mary Grant thought he must beworried over something, and, with her usual directness, went to thepoint. 

"You are worrying over something, " she said. "What is it?"

"Oh, no; nothing. "

"It is not because I asked Mr. Blake here, is it?"

"Oh no! Goodness, no! Why, he is fifty times better than most of thepeople that come here. It just happens we had never asked him before. Ithink he is a very nice fellow. "

"I'm glad of that. I have asked him to come out again. He seems to knowMiss Harriott quite well, though he doesn't know your mother. "

"Yes, he met Miss Harriott at some of the race-balls, I think. She is aqueer girl, full of fancies. "

"She seems a very quiet sort of girl to me, " said Miss Grant. But if shecould have known what was going on about two hundred yards behind her, she might have altered her opinion. 

CHAPTER XII. MR. BLAKE BREAKS HIS ENGAGEMENT. 

On Monday, Hugh, Poss, and Binjie had to go out to an outlying paddockto draft a lot of station-sheep from a mob of travelling-sheep. As thismeant a long, hard job, the three breakfasted by candlelight--a good oldfashion, this, but rather forgotten lately--and Blake also turned outfor early breakfast, as he wanted to get his drive to Tarrong over whilethe weather was cool. Of the women-folk, Ellen alone was up, boilingeggs, and making tea on a spirit-lamp; laughing and chatteringmeanwhile, and keeping them all amused; while outside in the frostydawn, the stable boy shivered as he tightened the girths round the ribsof three very touchy horses. Poss and Binjie were each riding a stationhorse to "take the flashness out of him, " and Binjie's horse tried tobuck him off, but might as well have tried to shed his own skin; so hebolted instead, and disappeared with a snort and a rattle of hoofs overthe hill. The others followed, with their horses very much inclined togo through the same performance. 

After they had gone, Ellen Harriott and Blake were left alone in thebreakfast-room. Outside, the heedless horse-boy was harnessing Blake'sponies; but inside no one but themselves was awake, and as he finishedhis breakfast, Ellen stepped up to the table and blew out the twocandles, leaving the room in semi-darkness. She caught his hand, and hedrew her to him. It was what she had been waiting for all night. She hadpictured a parting, which was to be such sweet sorrow. Blake had alsopictured it to himself, but in quite a different way. 

He was determined to make an end of his engagement (or entanglement, whichever it could be called), and yet when the chance came he almostput it off; but the thought of what exposure and disgrace would mean, ifhis affairs were investigated, drove him on. 

He stroked her hair for a while in silence, and then, with a laugh, said, "We'll have to give up this sort of thing, you know; it'll begetting you talked about, and that'll never do. "

She hardly knew what he meant. Having lived so long in a fool'sparadise, she could not realise that her world was coming down about herears. 

"We'll have to be proper in future, " he said. "I've had the mostfiendish run of bad luck lately, and it's just as well there never wasany engagement between us. It would have had to come to nothing. "

She drew back, and looked at him with frightened eyes. He had greatpower over her--this big, masterful man, whom she had looked upon as herlover; and she could not believe that a little trouble about money couldreally make any difference to him. She believed him able to overcome anysuch difficulty as that of earning a living for her and himself. 

"But, Gavan, " she said, "what have I done?"

"Done, little girl? you've done nothing. It's all my fault. I've lostheart over things lately, and it will only harm you if we keep up thispretence of being engaged. Nothing can come of it. "

"Why not? Why can't we wait?"

"Wait! To be stuck in Tarrong all my life among these people, and upto my neck in debt! No, little woman, as soon as ever I can get thingssquared up, I'm off out of this, and I dare say we'll never see eachother again. I've made a mess of things here, and I'm off somewhereelse. "

It seemed almost incredible to her that a man could so throw up thefight; and then a thought flashed into her mind. 

"It is not because Miss Grant has come that you do this?"

He laughed with a well-simulated indifference. 

"Miss Grant!" he said, "I have only seen her twice--that day on thecoach and last night. "

She seemed to study the question, still holding his hands, and lookingup into his face. The light in the room was stronger, and there weresounds as if some of the household were stirring. 

"So we must say 'Good-bye!'" she said, "just because you are short ofmoney. Gavan, I would have thought more of you, had you told me you weretired of me and were going in for the other girl. I think I could haverespected you at any rate; but to sneak out on the story of not beingable to afford it--"

His face darkened, and he began to speak, but she stopped him, and wenton in a passionless sort of voice. "Some one is coming, " she said, "andwe must say good-bye; and since you wish it, it is Good-bye. ' ButI'm not a child, to change my fancies in a day, so I won't promise toforget. And I think you have treated me very badly, so neither willI promise to forgive. I had set my heart on you, Gavan. You seemed tome--but there, it's no use talking. I suppose I should be meek and mild, and--"

"But, Ellen--"

"No, don't interrupt me. It is the last talk together we shall have. Isuppose I can go governessing, or nursing, to the end of the chapter. Itseems a dreary outlook, doesn't it? Now go, and remember that I do notforgive easily. I had built such castles, Gavan, and now--" She slippedquietly from the room, and was gone. 

Gavan Blake drove home, feeling a trifle uneasy. He had expected somesort of outburst, but the curious way in which she had taken it rathernon-plussed him. 

"She won't stick a knife in herself, I suppose, " he mused. "Just likeher to do something unusual. Anyway, she has too much pride to talkabout it--and the affair had to come to an end sooner or later. "

And feeling that if not "on with the new love, " he was, at any rate, satisfactorily "off with the old, " Blake drove his spanking ponies offto Tarrong, while Ellen Harriott went about her household work witha face as inscrutable and calm as though no stone had ruffled themill-pond of her existence. 

CHAPTER XIII. THE RIVALS. 

For the next couple of weeks, affairs at Kuryong flowed on in usualstation style. A saddle-horse was brought in for Miss Grant, and out ofher numerous boxes that young lady produced a Bond Street outfit thatfairly silenced criticism. She rode well too, having been taught inEngland, and she, Poss, Binjie and Hugh had some great scampers afterkangaroos, half-wild horses, or anything else that would get up and runin front of them. She was always so fresh, cheerful, and ready for anyexcitement that the two boys became infatuated in four days, and had tobe hunted home on the fifth, or they would have both proposed. Some daysshe spent at the homestead housekeeping, cooking, and giving out rationsto swagmen--the wild, half-crazed travellers who came in at sundown forthe dole of flour, tea and sugar, which was theirs by bush custom. Somedays she spent with the children, and with them learnt a lot of bushlife. It being holiday-time, they practically ran wild all over theplace, spending whole days in long tramps to remote parts in pursuitof game. They had no "play, " as that term is known to English children. They didn't play at being hunters. They were hunters in real earnest, and their habits and customs had come to resemble very closely those ofsavage tribes that live by the chase. 

With them Mary had numberless new experiences. She got accustomed toseeing the boys climb big trees by cutting steps in the bark with atomahawk, going out on the most giddy heights after birds' nests, ordragging the opossum from his sleeping-place in a hollow limb. Shelearned to hold a frenzied fox-terrier at the mouth of a hollow log, ready to pounce on the kangaroo-rat which had taken refuge there, andwhich flashed out as if shot from a catapult on being poked from theother end with a long stick. She learned to mark the hiding-place of theyoung wild-ducks that scuttled and dived, and hid themselves with suchsuper-natural cunning in the reedy pools. She saw the native companions, those great, solemn, grey birds, go through their fantastic andintricate dances, forming squares, pirouetting, advancing, andretreating with the solemnity of professional dancing-masters. Shelay on the river-bank with the children, gun in hand, breathless withexcitement, waiting for the rising of the duck-billed platypus--thatquaint combination of fish, flesh and fowl--as he dived in the quietwaters, a train of small bubbles marking his track. She fished in deeppools for the great, sleepy, hundred-pound cod-fish that sucked downbait and hook, holus-bolus, and then were hauled in with hardly anyresistance, and lived for days contentedly, tethered to the bank by aline through their gills. 

In these amusements time passed pleasantly enough, and by the timeschool-work was resumed Mary Grant had become one of the family. 

Of Hugh she at first saw little. His work took him out on the run allday long, looking after sheep in the paddocks, or perhaps toilingday after day in the great, dusty drafting-yards. In the cool of theafternoon the two girls would often canter over the four miles or so oftimbered country to the yards, and wait till Hugh had finished his day'swork. As a rule, Poss or Binjie, perhaps both, were in attendanceto escort Miss Harriott, with the result that Hugh and Mary foundthemselves paired off to ride home together. Before long he foundhimself looking forward to these rides with more anxiety than he caredto acknowledge, and in a very short time he was head over ears in lovewith her. 

Any man, being much alone with any woman in a country house, will fallin love with her; but a man such as Hugh Gordon, ardent, imaginative, and very young, meeting every day a woman as beautiful as Mary Grant, was bound to fall a victim. He soon became her absolute worshipper. Allday long, in the lonely rides through the bush, in the hot and dustyhours at the sheep-yards, through the pleasant, lazy canter home in thecool of the evening, his fancies were full of her--her beauty and hercharm. It was happiness enough for him to be near her, to feel the softtouch of her hand, to catch the faint scent that seemed to linger inher hair. After the day's work they would stroll together about thewonderful old garden, and watch the sunlight die away on the westernhills, and the long strings of wild fowl hurrying down the river totheir nightly haunts. Sometimes he would manage to get home for lunch, and afterwards, on the pretext of showing her the run, would saddlea horse for her, and off they would go for a long ride through themountains. Or there were sheep to inspect, or fences to look at--anexcuse for an excursion was never lacking. 

For the present he made no sign; he was quite contented to act asconfidant and adviser, and many a long talk they had together over thevarious troubles that beset the manager of a station. 

It would hardly be supposed that a girl could give much advice on suchmatters, and at first her total ignorance of the various difficultiesamused him; but when she came to understand them better, her coolcommon-sense compelled his admiration. His temperament was nervous andexcitable, and he let things fret him. She took everything in a cheeryspirit, and laughed him out of his worries. One would not expect tofind many troubles in rearing sheep and selling their wool; but themanagement of any big station is a heavy task, and Kuryong would havedriven Job mad. 

The sheep themselves, to begin with, seem always in league against theirowners. Merinos, though apparently estimable animals, are in realitydangerous monomaniacs, whose sole desire is to ruin the man that ownsthem. Their object is to die, and to do so with as much trouble to theirowners as they possibly can. They die in the droughts when the grass, roasted to a dull white by the sun, comes out by the roots and blowsabout the bare paddocks; they die in the wet, when the long grass inthe sodden gullies breeds "fluke" and "bottle" and all sorts of hideouscomplaints. They get burnt in bush fires from sheer malice, refusing torun in any given direction, but charging round and round in a ringtill they are calcined. They get drowned by refusing to leave floodedcountry, though hunted with frenzied earnestness. 

It was not the sheep so much as the neighbours whose depredations weredrawing lines on Hugh Gordon's face. "I wouldn't care, " he confided toMiss Grant, "if they only took a beast or two. But the sheep are goingby hundreds. We mustered five hundred short in one paddock this month. And there isn't a Doyle or a Donohoe cow but has three calves at least, and two of each three belong to us. "

He dared not prosecute them. No local jury would convict in face of thehostility that would be aroused. They had made "alibis" a special study;the very judges were staggered by the calmness and plausibility withwhich they got themselves out of difficulties. 

A big station with a lot of hostile neighbours is like a whale withthe killers round it; it is open to attack on all sides, and cannotretaliate. A match dropped carelessly in a patch of grass sets miles ofcountry in a blaze. Hugh, as he missed the stock, and saw fences cutand grass burnt, could only grind his teeth and hope that a lucky chancewould put some of the enemy in his power. To Mary it seemed incrediblethat in the nineteenth century people should be able to steal sheepwithout suffering for it; and Hugh soon saw that she was a true daughterof William Grant, as far as fighting was concerned. She listened withset teeth to all stories of depredation and trespass, and they talkedover many a plan together. But though they became quite friendly theirintimacy seemed to make no progress. To her he was rather the employeethan the friend. In fact he did not get on half so far as did GavanBlake, who came up to Kuryong occasionally, and made himself soagreeable that already his name was being coupled with that of theheiress. Ellen Harriott always spoke to Blake when he came to thestation, and gave no sign of jealousy at his attentions to Mary Grant;but she was waiting and watching, as one who has been a nurse learnsto do. And things were in this state when an unexpected event put analtogether different complexion on affairs. 

CHAPTER XIV. RED MICK AND HIS SHEEP DOGS. 

When Hugh came home one day with his face, as usual, full of trouble, Mary began to laugh him out of it. 

"Well, Mr. Hugh, which is it to-day--the Doyles or the Donohoes? Havethey been stealing sheep or breaking gates?"

"Oh, it's all very well for you to laugh, " he said; "you don'tunderstand. Some of that gang up the river went into the stud paddockyesterday to cut down a tree for a bee's nest, and left the treeburning; might have set the whole run--forty thousand acres of drygrass--in a blaze. Then they drove their dray against the gate, knockingit sideways, and a lot of the stud sheep got out into the other paddock, and I'll have to be off at day-break to-morrow to get 'em back. "

"Why don't you summon the wretches, and have them put in gaol, or go andbreak their gates, and cut down their trees?" she said, with a cheerfulignorance of details. 

"I daren't--simply daren't. If I summoned one of them, I'd never havedry grass but there'd be fires. I'd never have fat sheep but there'd bedogs among 'em. They ride all over the run; but if a bird belongingto the station flew over one of their selections they'd summon me fortrespass. There's no end to the injury a spiteful neighbour can do youin this sort of country. And your father would blame me. "

"Why?"

"Oh, it's part of the management of a station to get on with yourneighbours. Never quarrel if you can help it. But since shearingtroubles started we have no friends at all. "

"Well, " she said, "I should like to have a look at those desperateneighbours I hear so much about. Red Mick Donohoe rode past the otherday on such a beautiful horse, and he opened the gate for us, and askedif he might come down to hear me sing. Think of that, now. "

"Very well, " he said. "We'll go for a ride up that way to-morrowafternoon. We might find Red Mick killing some of our sheep, and youcan go into the box as the lady detective. If you'll only sing him intogaol, the station will pay you at the same rate as Patti gets!"

Next afternoon they cantered away up the river towards the mountains. Poss and Binjie had long ago laid their dearest possessions at her feet, begging her to ride them--horses so precious that it had hitherto beendeemed sacrilege to put a side-saddle on them. She had the divine giftof "hands, " and all manner of excitable, pulling horses went quietly andsmoothly under her management. Her English training had taught her toride over jumps, and she was very anxious to have a try at post-and-railfences. 

After much pressing, Hugh had this day allowed her to try Obadiah, Binjie's celebrated show jumper, an animal that could be trusted to jumpanything he could see over; so during their ride to the habitat of theDonohoes they left the regular track, and followed one of the fences fora mile or two, looking for a suitable place to try the horse. No goodplace offered itself, as the timber was thick, and the country so ruggedthat she would have had to ride at a stiff post-and-rail either up ordown a steep slope. Loitering along, far off the track, they crossed alittle ridge where stringybark trees, with an undergrowth of bushes andsaplings, formed a regular thicket. 

Suddenly Hugh gave a whistle of surprise, and jumped from his horse. 

"Hold this horse a minute, please, " he said. "There has been a mob ofsheep driven here. "

"Whereabouts?" said she, staring round her. 

"All about here, " he said, pointing to the ground. "Don't you see thetracks? Hundreds of 'em. But I can't see what they were up to. There'sno place they could get 'em out without cutting the wires, and thefence is sound enough. Good heavens, I see it now! Well, that's smart hecontinued, leaning against a post and giving it a shake. 

"What have they done I don't understand. How have they got the sheepthrough without breaking the fence?"

"They've dug up four or five posts, " he said, kicking over some redearth with his foot, "laid that piece of fence flat on the ground, driven the sheep over it, and then put the fence up again. No wonderwe are missing sheep! Two or three hundred have gone out here! Here's achance at last--the chance I've been waiting for all these years! What alucky thing we came here! And now, Miss Grant, " he said, remounting, "wewon't have any jumping to-day. I'll have to follow these tracks till Icome on the sheep somewhere, if it's in Red Mick Donohoe's own yard. Doyou think you can find your way back to the homestead?"

"What for?"

"To tell them to send Poss and Binjie after me. I don't expect they'vegone home yet. I want a witness with me when I catch Red Mick with thesesheep, or else fifty of his clan will swear that he has been in bed forsix weeks, or something like that. "

"Then, " she said firmly, gathering up the reins in her daintily glovedhands as she spoke, "I'm going with you. I'm just as good a witness asPoss or Binjie. "

"No, no, no, " said Hugh, "that won't do. There may be a row. It's arough sort of place, and a rough lot of people. Now look here, MissGrant, oblige me and go home. The horse will take you straight back. "

Her eyes glowed with excitement. "Please let me come, " she said. "Youdon't know how much I want to come. I'll do whatever you tell me!"

He argued and expostulated and entreated. He knew well enough therewas a good deal of risk in the matter, and he tried hard to make her goback. But she was determined to go with him, and the argument ended inthe only possible manner--she went. She promised to do exactly what shewas told, to keep out of the way if so ordered, and, above all, not tospeak except when spoken to. 

So off they went through the scrub on the track of the sheep, plain asprint to the young bushman, though invisible to his companion. They rodeat a walk for the most part, for fear of being heard. Now and again, when they could see for a good distance ahead, they let the horsescanter; Hugh riding in front, she, like a damosel of old, in assumedsubmission a few lengths behind, and thoroughly enjoying the adventure. 

Of course she could not keep silence long, and after a while she drewalongside, and whispered, "Do you think we shall catch them?"

"I hope so. But it's a very curious thing; there has been a dog afterthese sheep--see, there's his track, " pointing to foot-prints plainlymarked in wet sand--"but no track of man or horse to be seen. By Jove, look there!"

They had come to the crest of a small hill, and were looking down along valley. To right and left of them towered the blue, rugged peaks;straight in front the valley opened out, and they got a fairly clearview for a mile or more. About half a mile ahead, travelling in acompact mass down the valley, was a mob of some two or three hundredsheep. At their heels trotted two sheep-dogs of the small wiry breedcommon in the mountains. Hugh looked about to see who was in chargeof them; but no one was visible. The dogs were taking the sheep alongwithout word or sign from anyone, hurrying them at a good sharp pace, each keeping on his own flank of the mob, or occasionally droppingbehind to hurry up the laggards. 

It was a marvellous exhibition of sagacity. They came to a place whereit was necessary to turn sharply to the right to cross a small creek;one of the dogs shot forward, and sent the leading sheep scurrying downthe bank, while the other fell back a few yards and prevented the mobturning back. After a moment's hesitation the sheep plunged into theshallow water, splashed across the creek, and set off again in theircompact march down the valley, urged and directed by their silentcustodians--who paused to lap a few mouthfuls of water, and then hurriedon with an air of importance. 

"Look at that, " said Hugh, in open admiration. "Isn't that wonderful?Those are Red Mick's dogs. I knew they were good dogs, but this issimply marvellous, isn't it? What are we to do now? If I take the sheepfrom them they'll run home, and I can't prosecute Red Mick because theypicked up a mob of sheep. "

"Oh, but he must be near them somewhere, " said Mary, to whom the wholeaffair appeared uncanny. "They wouldn't drive sheep by themselves, surely?"

"Oh, of course, he started them. Once he got the sheep out of thepaddock, he started the dogs for home, and rode off. You see his plan. If anyone finds the dogs with them, of course he had nothing to do withit. Sheep-dogs will often go into a paddock, and bring a mob of sheepup to the yard on their own account. It's an instinct with them. Lookat those two now, forcing the sheep over that bad crossing. Isn't itwonderful?"

"Well, " she said, triumphantly, "what about the fence? They couldn't digup that. "

"Oh, Red Mick did; but who's to prove it? He'll swear he never was nearthe fence, and that his dogs picked up these sheep and brought them homeon their own account. The jury would find that I dug up my own fence, and they'd acquit Red Mick, and give him a testimonial. No, I'll tellyou what we'll do. We'll cut across the range, and sneak up as near RedMick's as we can. Then we'll hide and watch his house; and when thedogs come up, if he takes the sheep from them, or starts to drive themanywhere, we've got him. Once he takes charge of those sheep he's done. Of course there may be a bit of trouble when we spring up and accusehim. Are you afraid?"

"No, " she replied. "I'm not afraid--with you. I like it. Come on. "

No sooner said than done. They set their horses in motion, and went at asteady trot for a mile or so, crossing the valley at right angles, overa sharp rise and down a small hill, till Hugh again pulled up. 

"There's Red Mick's homestead, " he said, pointing to a speck far awaydown a gully. "The sheep will come up the creek, because it is thesmoothest track. Now, we must tie our horses up here, sneak down thecreek bed, and get as near the house as we can. "

They tied their horses up in a clump of trees, and made the rest of thejourney on foot, hurrying silently for half a mile down the bed of thecreek, hidden by its steep banks. Here and there, to escape observation, they had to walk in the water, and Hugh, looking round, saw hiscompanion wading after him, with face firm-set and eyes ablaze. It was aman-hunt, the most exciting of all hunting. 

He laughed silently at the girl's flushed and excited face. As hereached out to help her over some fallen timber, she took his hand witha firm grip that set his nerves tingling. They pushed on until almostabreast of Red Mick's dwelling; then Hugh, standing on a projectingstump, peered over the high bank to see how the land lay, while hiscompanion sat down and watched his movements with wide open eyes. 

He saw the cottage drowsing in the bright afternoon sunlight. It was apicturesque little building, made of heavy red-gum slabs, with a barkroof; the windows were merely square holes cut in the slabs, fitted withheavy wooden covers that now hung open, giving a view of the interior. In one room could be seen a rough dresser covered with plates anddishes, and a saddle hung from a tie-beam; in the other there was arough plank bed with blue blankets. The door was shut, and there was nosign of life about the place. There was no garden in front of the house, merely the bare earth and a dust-heap where ashes were thrown out, onwhich a few hens were enjoying the afternoon sun and fluffing the dustover themselves. 

At the back was a fair-sized garden, with fine, healthy-looking trees;and about a quarter of a mile away was the straggling collection ofbark-roofed sheds and corkscrew-looking fences that served Red Mick asshearing-sheds for his sheep, and drafting and branding-yards for hiscattle and horses. After a hurried survey Hugh dropped lightly downinto shelter, and whispered, "There's no one moving at all. There's anewly-fallen tree about a hundred yards down the creek; we'll get amongits branches and watch. "

They crept along the creek until opposite the fallen tree; there Hughscaled the bank and pulled Mary up after him. Silent as shadows, theystole through a little patch of young timber, and ensconced themselvesamong the fragrant branches. The grass was long where the tree hadfallen, and this, with the green boughs, made a splendid couch andhiding-place. 

They settled close together and peered out like squirrels, first up atthe house, then down the valley for the arrival of the sheep. Both wereshaking with excitement--she at the unwonted sensation of attackinga criminal in his lair, and he with anxiety lest some unlucky chanceshould bring his plan to nought, and make him a failure in the eyes ofthe woman he loved. 

"There is no one about, " he whispered. "I expect Red Mick has told thefamily to keep indoors, so that they can swear they saw nothing. Youaren't afraid, are you?"

She pressed his arm in answer, gave a low laugh, and pointed down theflat. There, far away among the trees, they saw the white phalanx ofthe approaching sheep, and the little lean dogs hunting them straighttowards the house. 

Still no sign from Red Mick. No one stirred about the place; the fowlsstill fluttered in the dust, and a dissipated looking pet cockatoo, perched on the wood-heap repeated several times in a drowsy tone, "Good-bye, Cockie! Good-bye, Cockie!" Then the door opened, and Red Mickstepped out. 

He was the acknowledged leader of the Doyle-Donohoe faction in allmatters of cunning, and in all raids on other folks' stock; and not onlydid he plan the raids, but took a leading part in executing them. He wasthe finest and most fearless bush rider in the district, and could tracklike a black fellow. If he left a strange camp at sundown, and rodeabout the bush all night, he could at any time go back straight acrosscountry to his starting point, or to any place he had visited during hiswanderings. Such bushmanship is a gift, and not to be learnt. If oncehe saw a horse, he would know it again for the rest of his life--fat orlean, sick or well. Which is also a gift. 

In appearance he was a tall, lanky, large-handed, slab-sided cornstalk, about thirty-five years of age, with a huge red beard that nearlycovered his face, and a brick-dust complexion variegated with largefreckles. His legs were long and straight; he wore tight-fitting whitemoleskin trousers, a coloured Crimean shirt, and a battered felt hat. 

Miss Grant felt almost sorry for this big, simple-looking bushman, whocame strolling past their hiding-place, his eyes fixed on the sheep, and his hands mechanically occupied in cutting up tobacco. Behind himgambolled a half-grown collie pup, evidently a relative of the dogs incharge of the sheep. 

They brought the sheep up to a little corner of land formed by asharp bend of the creek, then stopped, squatting on their haunches assentinels, and the sheep, fatigued with their long, fast run, settled inunder the trees to get out of the sun. Behind the sheep, Hugh caught aglimpse of two horsemen coming slowly up the road towards the house. 

"Look! Here's Mick's nephews, " he whispered, "come to take the sheepaway. By George, we'll bag the whole lot! Sit quiet: don't make asound. "

The crisis approached. Miss Grant, with strained attention, saw Red Mickstrike a match, and light his pipe. Strolling on towards the sheep, hepassed about thirty yards from where they lay hidden. Already she wasthinking how exciting it would be when they rose out of the bushes, andfaced him in quite the best "We are Hawkshaw, the detective" style. 

But they had to reckon with one thing they had overlooked, and that wasthe collie pup. That budding genius, blundering along after his master, suddenly stopped, turned towards the fallen tree, and sniffed the air. Then he ran a few steps towards them, and stopped, his ears pricked andhis eyes fixed on the tree; barked sharply, drew back a pace or two, bristled up the hair on his neck, and growled. 

Red Mick turned round; "'Ello, pup, " he drawled, "what's up?"

The puppy came forward again, quite close to the tree this time, andbarked sharply. "Good pup, " said Mick, "fitch him out, pup!--What isit--native cat? Goo for 'im!"

Thus encouraged, the puppy darted forward barking, and Red Mick stoppedleisurely, picked up a large stone, and sent it crashing among thebranches. It passed between Hugh and Miss Grant, and came near enough tostunning one or other of them. They jumped to their feet hurriedly, andwithout dignity climbed out of the branches, and advanced on Red Mick, while the puppy ran yelping behind his master. 

It is only reasonable to suppose that Mick was somewhat astonished atthe apparition. He could scarcely have expected his shot to disturb twosuch fine birds from such an extraordinary nest; but before they hadextricated themselves from the branches his face had assumed the stolid, cow-like, unintelligent look which had so often baffled judges and CrownProsecutors. He was bland and child-like as Bret Harte's Chinee. 

He spoke as if he were quite accustomed to unearthing young couples outof trees. His voice had a sort of "I quite understand how it is" tone, and he spoke cheerfully. 

"Good-day, Misther Hugh! Where's your horses? Have you had a fall?"

"Fall! No!" snapped Hugh, whose temper was gradually rising as theabsurdity of the situation dawned on him. "We haven't had a fall. We ranthe tracks of a lot of our sheep from the big paddock, and here they arenow. I'd like to know what this means?"

"Is thim your sheep?" said the bland Mick, surprised. "I wuz wondherin'whose sheep they wuz, comin' up the flat. I knew they wuzn't travellin'sheep, 'cause of gettin' no notice, an me bein' laid up in the housethis two days--"

"Oh, that's all very fine, Mick Donohoe?" said the young man angrily. "Your own dogs have brought them here. "

Red Mick laughed gaily. "Ah, thim dogs is always yardin' up things. Theynever see a mob of sheep, but they'll start to dhrive 'em some place. When I was travellin' down the Darlin', goin' through Dunloe Station, in one paddock I missed th' old slut, and when I see her again, she hadgethered fifteen thousand sheep, and was bringin' 'em after me. But, Lord bless your heart, Mr. Hugh, " he added with a comforting smile, "shewouldn't hurt a hair of a sheep's head, nor the young dog ayther. Themsheep'll be all right. Sorra sheep ever she bit in her life. I wonderwhere they gethered them?"

"I'll tell you where they gathered them, " said Hugh. "The fence of ourpaddock was dug up, and the sheep were run out, and then the fence wasput up again. That's how they gathered them. "

"The fence wuz dug up! Ah, look at that now. Terrible, ain't it. An'who done it, do ye think? Some of them carriers, I expect, puttin' theirhorses in unbeknownst to you. I'll bet 'twas them done it. Or, perhaps, "he added, with an evident desire to assist in solving the difficulty, "perhaps the wind blew it down. "

"What!" said Hugh scornfully. "Wind blow down a fence! What next!"

"Well it does blow terrible hard sometimes in these parts, " saidRed Mick, shaking his head dolefully; "look at me crop of onions Iplanted--the wind blew 'em out of the ground, and hung 'em on the fence. But wait now, till we have a look at these sheep. "

"No, we won't wait, " said Hugh angrily. "We will be off home now, andsend a man for them. And I advise you to be very careful, Mick Donohoe, for I have my own idea who dug up that fence. "

"Well, you don't suppose that I done it, do you?" said Red Mick. "I've been in the house this three days. Besides, I wouldn't steal mybrother-in-law's sheep, anyhow. Won't ye come up, and have a dhrink oftea now, you and the lady? It's terrible hot. "

"No, thank you, " said Hugh stiffly. "Come along, Miss Grant. " And theymarched off towards the horses. 

"It beats all who could have took them posts down, doesn't it?" saidMick. "I'd offer a reward, if I was you. Them fellows about here wouldsteal the eyes out of your head. Good day to ye, Mr. Hugh. "

And the cockatoo added, "Good-bye, Cockie, " in a sepulchral voice, asthey trudged off, smitten hip and thigh. 

Hugh was suffering intensely at his defeat, and when Mary Grant said, "I suppose you will have him put in gaol at once?" he muttered that hewould have to think it over. "It wouldn't do to prosecute him and fail, and we have no proof that he dug up the fence. "

"But why did he say that the sheep belonged to his brother-in-law?"

Hugh started. "Did he say that? Well, he--he must have wanted to makeout that he did not know whose sheep they were" but he thought tohimself, "Is Red Mick going to bring up that old scandal?"

Mick, as he watched them go, winked twice to himself, and then stoopedand patted the head of the collie pup. The other dogs, in answer toa silent wave of his hand, had slunk off quietly. The riders haddisappeared. It had been a narrow escape, and Red Mick knew it; and evenas things had turned out, there was still ample chance of a conviction. 

On the way back to the homestead Hugh began to talk of the chance of aconviction, and the delight it would be to give Mick seven years, buthis ideas were disturbed by thoughts of Mick's face as he said, "Whyshould I steal my brother-in-law's sheep?" He looked at the girlalongside him, and prayed that the old story might never be resurrected. 

CHAPTER XV. A PROPOSAL AND ITS RESULTS. 

The question whether Mick Donohoe should be prosecuted was not likelyto be prejudiced by his claim of kinship. Billy the Bully would as soonprosecute his own brother-in-law as anybody else--sooner, in fact. SoHugh, having reached home very crest-fallen and angry, wrote a fullaccount of the affair in his report of the station work, and askedwhether he should lay an information. 

Grant's reply was brief and to the point; he seldom wrote letters, always telegraphing when possible. On this occasion the telegram said, "Prosecute at once; offer reward informers;" which, leaking out (astelegrams frequently did at the local office) put Red Mick considerablyon the qui vive. The old man actually paid him the compliment of writinga letter about him later on, saying that it would be a good thing toprosecute--it would give Red Mick a good scare, even if it didn't gethim into gaol. Circumstances, no doubt, justified a prosecution, and itwas hard to see bow Mick could make a counter-move. 

But that gentleman was not without resource; an anonymous letterarrived for Hugh by the mailboy, a dirty, scrawled epistle, unsigned andundated, running as follows:--

"Mr. Gordon i herd you was gone to summons Michael Donohoe for sheepstealing. You better bewar there is some seen you and that girl in thebush you will get a grate shown up and her two. "

This precious epistle was signed "A Friend, " and on first reading itHugh laughed heartily; but the more he thought it over the less he likedit. It was all very well to put Red Mick in the dock, but it was evidentthat part of the defence would be, "How came you to be under the boughsof a fallen tree with an attractive young woman when Red Mick's dogscame up with the sheep?" At the very least they would look ridiculous;and the unknown correspondent who promised them a "grate shown up" wouldprobably take care that the story was as highly-coloured as possible. Heshuddered to think what the Donohoes would say, and heartily wished hehad let Red Mick alone. 

He fretted for some hours, and then decided to talk it over with thegirl herself. He did not care to let Red Mick think that the anonymousletter had stopped the prosecution; at the same time, he was determinedto do nothing that would cause Miss Grant the least annoyance. He openedthe discussion that evening while strolling about the garden. 

"About this business of Red Mick's, " he said. "I am rather worried. "

"Why?"

"Well, the trouble is this: I've got an anonymous letter from Red Mickor some of his people, saying that they are going to give you and me agreat showing-up about being hidden in the tree together. "

"What can they say?" she asked, uncomprehendingly. 

"Well, of course, they will talk about our being in the treetogether--and--all that kind of thing, you know. They will make thingsas unpleasant for us as they can. They may want you to give evidence, and all that sort of thing--and I thought, perhaps you mightn't likeit. "

She froze into dignity at once. "I certainly shouldn't like it, " shesaid. "About being in the tree, that does not matter, of course, but Ihope you will keep my name out of the affair altogether. I must ask youto do that for me. "

Then he rushed on his fate. Many a time he had pictured how he wouldwait till they were alone together in the garden on some gloriousmoonlit night, and he would take her hand, and tell her how much heloved her; and now, seeing the girl standing before him flushed withinsulted dignity, he suddenly found himself gasping out, in what seemedsomebody's else's voice, "Couldn't we--look here, Miss Grant, won't yoube engaged to me? Then it won't matter what they say. "

He tried to take her hand, but she drew back, white to the lips. 

"No, no; let me go; let me go, " she said. Then the colour came back toher face, and she drew herself up, and spoke slowly and cuttingly:

"I thank you very much for what you have just said. But I really thinkthat I shall be able to put up with anything these people may choose tosay about me. It won't hurt me, and I shouldn't like you to sacrificeyourself to save me from the talk of such people. Let us go back to thehouse, please. "

He stared helplessly at her, and could not find his voice for a moment. At last he blurted out:

"It's not because of that. I don't care about them any more than you do. Don't think it's that, Miss Grant. Why--"

"Let us go back to the house, please, " she said quietly, "and don't sayanything more about it. And whatever happens, I must ask you to keep myname out of the affair altogether. You'll do that, won't you? Let us goback now, if you don't mind. "

They walked back in silence. He looked at her once or twice, but herface was stern and rigid, and she would not give him even one glance. At the door she gave him her hand, with a matter-of-fact "I will saygood-night now, " and disappeared into her room, where she threw herselfon the bed and sobbed bitterly; for the truth was that she was very, very fond of him. She, too, had built her little castles in the air asto what she would say and do when he put the momentous question. Girls do foresee these things, somehow; although they do pretend to beastonished when the time arrives. 

She had pictured him saying all sorts of endearing things, and makingall sorts of loving protestations; and now it had come to this--she hadbeen asked as if it were merely a matter of avoiding scandal. It was toogreat a shock. She lay silently crying, while Hugh, his castles in theair having crumbled around him, was trying in a dazed way to frame aletter to Mr. Grant. 

His thoughts were anything but pleasant. What a fool he had been, talking to her like that! Making it look as if he had only proposed toher because he ought to protect her good name! Why hadn't he spoken toher before--in the tree, on the ride home, any other time? Why hadn't hespoken differently? To him the refusal seemed the end of all things. He thought of asking Mr. Grant to give him the management of the mostout-back place he had, so that he could go away and bury himself. Heeven thought of resigning his position altogether and going to thegoldfields. Red Mick and his delinquencies seemed but small matters now;and, after what had passed, he must, of course, see that Miss Grant wasnot dragged into the business. So he sat down and began to write. 

The letter took a good deal of thinking over. It had got about thestation that Red Mick had at last been caught in flagrante delicto;the house-cook had told the cook at the men's hut, and he had told themailman, who stopped on the road to tell the teamsters ploughing alongwith their huge waggons to Kiley's Crossing; they told the publican atKiley's, and he told everybody he saw. The children made a sort of playout of it, the eldest boy personating Red Mick, while two of the youngerones hid in a fallen tree, and were routed out by Thomas Carlyle. Thestation-hands were all excitement; the prospect of a big law-case wasa real godsend to them. To drop the matter would be equivalent to aconfession of defeat, but, after what had passed, Hugh had no option. So he told Mr. Grant that, on thinking it over, he did not consider itadvisable to go on with the case against Red Mick; Miss Grant would haveto go into the box to give evidence, which would be very unpleasant forher. 

Poor Hugh! He was too honourable to give any false reason, and too shyto tell the whole truth. If he had said that there was no hope of aconviction, it would have been all right. But consideration for thefeelings of anyone, even his own daughter, was to Billy the Bully quiteincomprehensible, and he wrote back, on a letter-card, "Go on with theprosecution. "

This put Hugh in a frightful dilemma. He had no trouble whatever inmaking up his mind to disobey the order, as he was bound to stand by hispromise to Miss Grant. But what answer should he send to her father? Hewas in a reckless mood, but he knew well enough that Grant would orderhim off the place, neck and crop, if he dared to disobey; and he owedit to his mother and sister to avoid such a thing. The more he looked atthe position of affairs, the less he liked it. He wrote a dozen letters, and tore them up again. 

He thought of making Red Mick a sporting offer of, say, a couple ofhundred pounds, to disappear altogether--Mick could have arrangedthat easily enough. Then he thought of going down to see Mr. Grantto explain; but the more he thought of that the less he liked it. Heworried and worried over it, and when he went to bed lay awake thinkingabout it. He fell into dozes, and dreamt that Mr. Grant had turned himoff the place, and had made Red Mick manager, and that Miss Grant wasgoing to marry Red Mick; then he woke with a start, and heard throughthe darkness the rapid hoof-beats of a horse ridden at speed up the roadfrom Kiley's, and the barking of dogs that announced the arrival of astranger. 

He went out and found in the yard one of the telegraph operators fromKiley's, on a smoking horse. "Very important telegram, Mr. Gordon, " hesaid. "I borrowed the horse, and brought it over as fast as I could. "

Hugh opened the envelope hurriedly. The operator struck a match and heldit up while he read. The message was from the secretary of Grant's club, and ran as follows:

"William Grant died suddenly this morning. Pinnock taking charge ofaffairs; am making arrangements funeral. Better come down at once. "

Her father dead! The question of Red Mick and his prosecution becameat once a matter of no moment. How absurd his worry and vexation nowseemed. On the other hand, what new complications might arise? Allthese years the Gordons had lived on the assumption that Mr. Grant wouldprovide for them, without having any promise or agreement from him; and, owing to the old man's violent temper, they had been in daily risk ofbeing ordered off the place. They had got used to this as people getused to living on the side of a volcano. But now--?

Her father dead! He could not bear to see her grief, and the thought ofit made him determined to get away as quickly as possible. Quietly heawoke his mother, and told her what had happened, and by dawn was wellon his way to Tarrong to catch the train to Sydney. 

CHAPTER XVI. THE ROAD TO NO MAN'S LAND. 

Now we must follow for a time the adventures of Charlie Gordon and thenew chum, whom we left just starting out for 'far back', Charlie to takeover a cattle-station for Old Man Grant, and Carew to search for PatrickHenry Considine. After a short sea-journey they took train to a dustyback-blocks township, where Gordon picked up one of the many outfitswhich he had scattered over the country, and which in this caseconsisted of a vehicle, a dozen or so of horses, and a black boy namedFrying Pan. 

Thy drove four horses in a low, American-made buggy, and travelledabout fifty miles a day. Frying Pan was invaluable. He seemed to havea natural affinity for horses. He could catch them anywhere, and trackthem if they got lost. Carew tried to talk to him, but could get littleout of him, for he knew only the pidgin English, which is in use inthose parts, and said "No more" to nearly every question. He rodealong behind the loose horses, apparently quite satisfied with his owncompany. Every now and then he came alongside the vehicle, and said"Terbacker. " Charlie threw him a stick of the blackest, rankest tobaccoknown to the trade, and off he went again. 

Once they saw him get off his horse near a lagoon, plunge his arm into ahole, and pull out a mud-turtle, an evil-smelling beast; this he carriedfor several miles over his shoulder, holding its head, and letting thebody swing at the end of the long neck--a proceeding which must havecaused the turtle intense suffering. After a while his horse shied, andhe dropped the turtle on the ground with a dull thud. 

"Aren't you going to pick him up again?" cried Carew. 

"No more, " replied Frying Pan, carelessly. Then he grinned, andvolunteered a remark. "Make that feller plenty tired walk home again, "he said. And this was his only conversation during a two-hundred-milejourney. 

At night they usually managed to reach a station, where the man incharge would greet them effusively, and beg them to turn their horsesout and stay a week--or a year or two, just as long as they liked. Theymet all sorts at these stations, from English swells to bushmen of theroughest. Sometimes they camped out, putting hobbles on the horses, andspreading their blankets under the buggy on a bed of long grass gatheredby Frying Pan. 

As they got further out, the road became less and less defined, stationsfewer, and everything rougher. They left the sheep-country behind themand got out into cattle-land, where "runs" are measured by the hundredsquare miles, and every man is a law unto himself. They left their buggyafter a time, and pushed on with pack-horses; and after travelling abouttwo hundred miles, came to the outer edge of the settled district, wherethey stayed with two young Englishmen, who were living under a dray, andbuilding their cattle-yards themselves--the yards being a necessity, and the house, which was to come afterwards, a luxury. The diet wasmonotonous--meat "ad libitum, " damper and tea. They had neighbourswithin sixty miles, and got letters once in two months by riding thatdistance. "Stay here a while, " they said to the travellers, "and take upsome of the country near by. "

"We're to take over the country Redman took up, " said Charlie. "It joinsyou doesn't it?"

"Yes. See those far blue ranges? Well, we run to them on this side, andRedman's block runs to them on the other. "

"Don't your cattle make out that way?" asked Charlie. 

"No fear, " replied he, laughing. "We've some good boundary riders outthere. "

"What do you mean?"

"The wild blacks, " answered the Englishman. "They're bad out on thosehills. You'll find yourselves in a nice shop when you take that blockover. There's a pretty fair humpy to live in, that's one thing. What doyou call the place?"

"No Man's Land. "

"Good name, too, " said the other. "It's not fit for any man. I wishyou'd stop with us a while, but I suppose we'll see you coming back. "

"I suppose so, " said Charlie. "We won't be there longer than we canhelp. Who's on the block now? Redman sold his rights in it after he'dmortgaged it to my uncle. "

"There's old Paddy Keogh there now--greatest old character in the North. Lives there with his blacks and a Chinaman. Regular oldest-inhabitantsort of chap. Would have gone with Noah in the Ark, but he swore sobadly they wouldn't have him on board. You'll find him great fun. "

"I suppose he'll give us possession all right. We don't want anytrouble. "

"He'd fire at you just as soon as look at you, I think, " said the other. "But I don't fancy he wants to stay there much. It's not the first timehe's been broke, so I don't expect he'll take it very hard. Well, if youwon't stay, good-bye and good luck! Give my best wishes to old Paddy. "

They resumed the weary journey, and after another two days' ridingsighted away over the plain a small iron house, gleaming in the settingsun. "Here we are!" said Charlie. "That's No Man's Land. "

The arrival was not inspiriting. They rode their tired horses up to thelow-roofed galvanised-iron house, that looked like a huge kerosene-tinlaid on its side, with a hole cut for a door and two holes for windows. There was no garden and no fenced yard. It was stuck down in the middleof the wilderness, glaring forlornly out of its windows at a wideexpanse of dry grass and dull-green bushes. Behind it was a smallduplicate, which served as kitchen and store. A huge buffalo-head wasnailed to a tree near by. In front was a rail on which were spreadriding-saddles, pack-saddles, hobbles, surcingles, pannikins, bridles, empty bags, and all manner of horse-gear; and roundabout were a litterof chips, an assortment of empty tins, bits of bullock-hide, emptycartridge-cases, and the bare skulls of three or four bullocks, withneat bullet-holes between the eyes. 

Amidst this congenial debris roamed a herd of gaunt pigs, fierce-eyed, quarrelsome pigs, that prowled restlessly about, and ever and againreturned disconsolately to the stinking carcasses of some large birdsof prey that had been thrown out in the sun. They were flat-sided, long-legged, long-nosed, and had large bristling manes--showed, in fact, every sign of reverting to the type of the original pig that yachtedwith Noah. Living with them, in a state of armed neutrality, were threeor four savage-looking cattle dogs, who honoured the strangers with deepgrowls, not condescending to bark. 

Charlie pulled up in front of the house, and cooeed. A Chinaman put hishead out of the kitchen door, smiled blandly, said "'Ello!" and retired. Gordon and Carew unsaddled the horses, put the hobbles on, and carriedall the gear into the house. By this time the Chinee had donned a dirtycalico jacket, and began in silence to put some knives, forks, andpannikins on the table. 

"Where's the old man?" roared Charlie, as if he thought the Chinee weredeaf. 

"No more, " he replied. 

"Don't understand any English, eh?"

"No more, " said he. 

Just then a tramping of hoofs was heard; and looking out of the backdoor they saw, about two hundred yards away, a large horse-yard, overwhich hung a cloud of dust. Under the dust were signs of a struggle. 

"He's in the yard, " said Charlie. "Let's go up. "

The cloud of dust shifted from place to place, and out of it came amedley of weird oaths, the dull thudding of a waddy, and the heavybreathing of men and animals in combat. Suddenly a lithe, sinewy blackboy, dressed in a short blue shirt, bounded like a squirrel to the topof the fence and perched there; and through the mist they saw a verytall old man, holding on like grim death to the end of a long rope, andbeing hauled about the yard in great jumps by a half-grown steer. Behindthe steer another black boy dodged in and out, welting and prodding itfrom time to time with a bamboo pole. Maddened by the blows, the steerwould dash forward and narrowly miss impaling the man on his horns;then, taking advantage of his impetus, the old man would try to haul himinto a smaller yard. Every time he got to the gate the steer yanked himout again by a series of backward springs that would have hauled alonga dromedary, and the struggle began all over again. The black boy onthe fence dropped down with the agility of a panther, took up the ropebehind the old man, and pulled for all he was worth. 

"Hit him there, Billy! Whack him! Come on, you son of a cow! I'll pullyou in if I have to pull your head off. Come on, now!" And once more thestruggle raged furiously. 

Charlie clambered up on the fence and sat there for a moment. Theold man saw him, but evinced no surprise. He just said, "Here, MisterWho-ever-you-are, kitch hold of that rope. " Their united forces weretoo much for the steer, and he was hauled in by main strength under afusillade of bamboo on his stern. Once in the small yard, he abandonedthe struggle, and charged wildly at his captors. The old man slippednimbly to one side, Gordon darted up the nearest fence, while Carew andthe black boy got tangled up with the rope. 

In the sauve qui peut which ensued, Carew pushed the black down on theground right in front of the steer, which immediately fell over him, and tangled him up more than ever. Then it turned on him with a roar ofrage, butted him violently, rolled him over and over in the dirt, knelton him, bellowed in his ear, and slobbered on him. It looked as if theboy must be killed. His mate dashed in with a bamboo, and welted andwhacked away without making any impression, till the animal of its ownaccord withdrew gloomily to a corner of the yard, dragging the ropeafter it. Carew watched the prostrate boy in agonised suspense, hardlydaring to hope that he was alive. With a gasp of satisfaction he saw himrise to his feet, rub some of the dirt off his face, and look round atthe steer. Then he gave his shirt a shake and began to brush himselfwith his hands, saying in an indignant tone, "Flamin' bullock! Spoil mynew chirt!"

Now all hands seized the rope again; in a trice the bullock was hauledup against the fence, thrown to the ground, and held there while the oldman sawed off the point of one horn, which was growing into the animal'seye. When the job was done he straightened himself up, and through thecovering grime and dust they had a good look at him. 

He had a long, red nose, a pair of bright hazel eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard and moustache hiding all the lower part of his face. Onhis head was a shapeless felt hat, from which a string passed under hisnose. His arms were hairy and baboon-like; his long thin legs seemedintended by Nature to fit the sides of a horse. He wore tweed pants, green with age, and strapped on the inside with a lighter-coloured andnewer material; also a very dirty coloured cotton shirt, open in front, and showing a large expanse of hairy chest. His voice was husky frommuch swearing at profligate cattle, and there was a curious nasal twangin his tone, a sort of affectation of Americanism that was a departurefrom the ordinary bush drawl. 

Charlie introduced himself. "My name's Gordon, " he said, "and this is afriend of mine. We've come to take this block over. "

"You're welcome to it, Mister, " said the old man promptly. "It's aboutbroke me, and if you don't look out it'll break you. Any man that gitsthis place will hump his swag from it in five years, mark me! Come ondown to the house, " he continued, picking up the rope and other gearlying about the fence. "Now, you boys, let that steer out, and then goand help the gins bring the cattle in. Look lively now, you tallow-facedcrawlers. Come on, Mister. Did you bring any square-face with you?"

"We brought a drop o' rum, " replied Charlie. 

"Ha! That'll do. That's the real Mackay, " said the veteran, slouchingalong at a perceptibly quicker gait. 

"But, look, see here now, Mister!" he continued, anxiously, "you didn'tlet Ah Loy get hold of it, did you? He's a real terror, that Chow ofmine. Did you see him when you came in?"

"Yes, we saw him. He couldn't speak any English, seemingly. "

"That's him, " said the old man. "That's him! He don't savvy muchEnglish. He knows all he wants, though. He can lower the rum with anyChristian ever I see. It don't do to let him get his hands on a bottleof anythink in the spirit line. It'll come back half-empty. Now then, cook, " he roared, seating himself at the rough slab table, and drummingon it with a knife, "let's have some grub, quick, and you'll get a nipof rum. This new boss b'long you, you savvy. All about station b'longhim. I go buffalo-shooting. Me stony broke. Poor fellow me! Been fifteenyears in this God-forgotten country, too, " he said reminiscently, placing his elbows on the table, and gazing at the wall in front ofhim. "Fifteen years livin' mostly with the blacks and the Chineyman, andlivin' like a black or a Chineyman, too. And what have I got to show forit? I've got to hump my bluey out of this, and take to the road like anyother broken-down old swagman. "

"It's a bit rough, " said Charlie. "How did you come to grief?"

"Oh, I came out here with a big mob of cattle, " said the old man, filling his pipe, as Ah Loy placed some tin plates, a tin dish, and abottle of Worcester sauce on the table, and withdrew to the kitchen forthe provender. "I lived here, and I spent nothing, and I let 'em breed. I just looked on, and let 'em breed. Oh, there was no waste about mymanagement. I hadn't an overseer at two pounds ten a week, to boss a lotof flash stockmen at two pounds. I jest got my own two gins and threegood black boys, and I watched them cattle like a blessed father. Inever saw a stranger's face from year's end to year's end. I rode allover the face of the earth, keepin' track of 'em. I kep' the wild blacksfrom scarin' 'em to death, and spearin' of 'em, as is their nature to, and I got speared myself in one or two little shootin' excursions Ihad. "

"Shooting the blacks?" interpolated Gordon. 

"Somethin' like that, Mister. I did let off a rifle a few times, and Idessay one or two poor, ignorant black feller-countrymen that had beenfun' my cattle as full of spears as so many hedgehogs--I dessay they gotin the road of a bullet or two. They're always gettin' in the road ofthings. But we don't talk of shootin' blacks nowadays These parts is toocivilised--it's risky. Anyhow, I made them blacks let my cattle alone. And I slaved like a driven nigger, day in and day out, brandin' calvesall day long in the dust, with the sun that hot, the brandin' iron 'udmark without puttin' it in the fire at all. And then down comes thetick, and kills my cattle by the hundred, dyin' and perishin' all overthe place. And what lived through it I couldn't sell anywhere, becausethey won't let tick-infested cattle go south, and the Dutch won't let usship 'em north to Java, the wretches! And then Mr. Grant's debt was overeverything; and at last I had to chuck it up. That's how I got broke, Mister. I hope you'll have better luck. "

While he was delivering this harangue, Carew had been taking notes ofthe establishment. There was just a rough table, three boxes to sit on, a meat safe, a few buckets, and a rough set of shelves, supporting adipper and a few tin plates, and tins of jam, while in the cornerstood some rifles and a double-barrelled gun. Saddlery of all sorts wasscattered about the floor promiscuously. 

Certainly the owner of No Man's Land had not lived luxuriously. A lowgalvanised-iron partition divided the house into two rooms, and throughthe doorway could be seen a rough bunk made of bags stretched onsaplings. 

As the old man finished speaking, Ah Loy brought in the eveningmeal--about a dozen beautifully tender roast ducks in a large tin dish, a tin plate full of light, delicately-browned cakes of the sort knownas "puftalooners, " and a huge billy of tea. There were no vegetables;pepper and salt were in plenty, and Worcester sauce. They ate silently, as hungry men do, while the pigs and cattle-dogs marched in at theopen-door, and hustled each other for the scraps that were thrown tothem. 

"How is it the pigs have no tails?" asked Carew. 

"Bit off, Mister. The dogs bit them off. They've got the ears prettywell chawed off 'em too. "

Just then a pig and a dog made a simultaneous rush for a bone, and thepig secured it. The dog, by way of revenge, fastened on to the pig, andmade him squeal like a locomotive engine whistling. The old man kickedat large under the table, and restored order. 

"You ain't eatin', Mister, " he said, forking a duck on to Carew's platewith his own fork. "These ducks is all right. They're thick on thelagoon. The Chow only had two cartridges, but he got about a dozen. He lays down and fires along the water, and they're floatin' very nearsolid on it. But here's the cattle comin' up. "

Looking out of the door, they saw about two hundred cattle coming ina long, stringing mob up the plain, driven by four black figures onhorse-back. As they drew near the yards, several cattle seemed inclinedto bolt away; but the sharp fusillade of terrific whips kept them up tothe mark, and, after a sudden halt for a few minutes, the mob streamedin through the gates. A number of rails were put in the posts, andmade fast with pegs. The riders then remounted, and came cantering andlaughing down to the homestead. All four were aboriginals, two were theboys that had been seen at the yard. The two new boys were dressedin moleskins, cotton shirts, and soft felt hats, and each had a gaudyhandkerchief tied round his throat. 

One was light, wiry, and graceful as a gazelle--a very handsome boy, the embodiment of lightness and activity. The other was short and squat, with a broad face. Both grinned light-heartedly as they rode up, lettheir horses go, and carried their saddles on to the verandah, withoutbothering about the strangers. 

"Those are nice-looking boys, " said Carew. "I mean the two new boys justcoming in. "

"New boys!" said the old man. "Them! They're my two gins. And see here, Mister, you'll have to keep off hangin' round them while you're campedhere. I can't stand anyone interferin' with them. If you kick my dorg, or go after my gin, then you rouse all the monkey in me. Those two doall my cattle work. Come here, Maggie, " he called, and the slight "boy"walked over with a graceful, easy swing. 

"This is new feller?" he said, introducing Carew, who bowed gracefully. "He b'long Sydney. You think him plenty nice feller, eh?"

"Yowi, " said the girl laughing. "He nice feller. You got 'em matches?"she said, beaming on Carew, and pulling a black pipe out of hertrousers' pocket. "Big fool that Lucy, drop 'em matches. "

Carew handed over his match-box in speechless amazement. 

"They've been out all day with the cattle, " said the old man. "I've gota lot of wild cattle in that there mob. I go out with a few quiet onesin the moonlight, and when the wild cattle come out of the scrubs tolook at 'em we rush the whole lot out into the plain. Great hands thesegins are--just as good as the boys. "

"Good Lord!" said Carew, looking at the two little figures, who had nowa couple of ducks each, a puftalooner or two, and a big pannikin oftea, and were sitting on the edge of the verandah eating away with greatenjoyment; "what have they been doing with the cattle to-day?"

"Minding them lest the wild ones should clear out. They dropped theirmatches somehow; that's what fetched 'em home early. They'll have tosleep on the verandah to-night. We'll make that their boodore, as theysay in France. "

The dark was now falling; the sunlight had left long, faint, crimsonstreaks in the sky. The air was perceptibly cooler, and flights ofwaterfowl hurried overhead, making their way to the river. The Chinamanlighted a slush-lamp, by whose flickering light Charlie produced fromhis swag a small bundle of papers, and threw them on the table. 

"We might as well get our business over, Keogh, " he said. "I've got thepaper here for you to sign, making over your interest in the block andthe cattle, and all that. "

He pored over the document, muttering as he read it. "Your name'll haveto be filled in, and there's a blank for the name of the person it'stransferred to. "

"That'll be Mr. Grant's name, " suggested Carew. 

"I don't know so much about that, " said Charlie. "I don't think, if aman has a mortgage over a place, that he can take it in his own name. That fool Pinnock didn't tell me. He was too anxious to know how we goton with the larrikins to give me any useful information. Anyhow, I'llfill in my own name--for all the block is worth I ain't likely to stealit. I can transfer it to Mr. Grant afterwards. "

"I don't care, " said the old man indifferently, "I'll transfer myinterest to anyone you like. I'm done with it. I'm signing away fifteenof the best years of my life. But my name ain't Keogh, you know, thoughI always went by that. My father died when I was a kiddy, and my mothermarried again, so I got called by my stepfather's name all my life. Thisis my right name, and it's a poor man's name to-day. " And as the two menbent over him in the light of the flickering slush-lamp, he wrote, withstiff, uncertain fingers, "Patrick Henry Considine. "

CHAPTER XVII. CONSIDINE. 

For a few seconds no one spoke. Carew and Gordon stared at thesignature, and then looked at each other. The newly-found Considinelooked at his autograph in a critical way, as if not quite sure he hadspelled it right, and then stood up, handing the deed to Gordon. 

"There y'are, " he said. "There's my right, title and intrust in all thishere block of land, and all the stock what's on it; and if you're evershort of a man to look after the place in the wet season I'll take thejob. I might be glad of it. "

"I think it's quite likely you won't want any job from me, " saidCharlie. "I'll be asking you for a job yet. Are you sure that's yourright name? What was your father?"

"My name? O' course it's my name. My father was billiard-marker atCasey's Hotel, Dandaloo, " said the old man with conscious pride. "Aswell he had been, but the boose done him up, like many a better man. He used to write to people over in England for money, but they never givhim any. "

"Where did he write to?" asked Carew, looking at the uncouth figure withintense interest. "Do you know what people he wrote to?"

"Yairs. He wrote to William Considine. That was his father's name. Hisfather never sent any money, though. Told him to go to hell, I reckon. "

"What was your father's name?"

"William Patrick Considine. "

Carew dashed out to his saddle, hurriedly unstrapped a valise, andbrought in a small packet of papers. 

"Here you are, " he said, opening one, and showing it to Gordon. "Those are the names, Patrick Henry Considine, son of William PatrickConsidine. Entitled under his grandfather's will--by Jove, do you knowthere's a lot of money waiting for you in England?"

"There's what?"

"A lot of money left you. In England. Any amount of it. If you are theright man, you're rich, don't you know. Quite a wealthy man. "

"How much money d'you say, Mister?"

"Oh, a great deal. Thousands and thousands. Your grandfather left it. Noone knew for certain where you were, or if you were alive. "

"I'm alive all right, I believe, " said Considine, staring hard at them. "But look, Mister--you aren't trying to take the loan of me? Is thisstraight?"

"Yes, it's straight, " said Charlie. "You'll have to go to Englandto make your claim good, I expect. It's straight enough. That's whatbrought Mr. Carew out here, to try and find you. "

For some time the bushman smoked in silence, looking at each man inturn, perhaps expecting them to laugh. He muttered once or twice tohimself under his breath. Then he turned on Gordon again. 

"Now, look here, Mr. Gordon, is this square? Because, if it ain't, it'llbe a poor joke for some of you!"

"Man alive, why should we want to fool you? What good could it do us?It's all right. "

"Well, if it's all right, we'll all have a drink on it. Here, Maggie, Lucy, Billy, come here. Get it pannikin. You won't mind me treatin' 'emwith your rum, I suppose, Mister?" he said, turning to Gordon. "I don'tcome in for a fortune every day, you know, and there ain't a drop oflush in the place, only yours. "

"Fire away, " said Charlie. 

"Come on, Lucy. Come on, Maggie. Where's Ah Loy? Watch their faces, Mister, it's as good as a play. Now then, ladies, I bin poor fella longateatime, now rich feller longa bedtime. You savvy?"

The gins grinned uncomprehendingly, but held out their pannikins, andinto each he poured a three-finger nip of raw overproof rum that wouldhave burnt the palate of Satan himself. They swallowed it neat, in twoor three quick gulps. The tears sprang to their eyes, and they contortedtheir faces into all sorts of shapes; but they disdained to take waterafter it. 

"My word, that strong feller, eh?" said Considine. "Burn your mouth, Ithink it. Now then, Ah Loy, how much you wantee? That plenty, eh?"

Ah Loy peered into the tin pannikin with a dejected air, and turned iton one side to show that there wasn't much in it. 

"Here y'are, then, " said his boss. "Have a bit more. We don't come infor a fortune every day. Watch him take it, Mister. "

Ah Loy put the fiery spirit to his lips, and began to drink in slowsips, as a connoisseur sips port wine. 

"Good heavens, " said Carew, "it'll burn the teeth out of his head. "

The Chinee sipped away, pausing to let the delicate fluid roll well intothe tender part of his mouth and throat. 

"Welly stlong!" he said at last; but he finished the lot. The two blackboys had their share, and retired again to their camp. Then the threewhite men sat out in front of the house on some logs, smoking, andlooking at the blazing stars. 

Considine had fifty questions to ask, and the more Carew tried, the morehelpless it was to explain things to him. 

"D'you say there's a house left me with this here money?"

"Yes, " replied Carew. "Beautiful old place. Old oaks, and all that sortof thing. You'll like it, I'm sure. Used to be a pack of hounds there. "

"Ha!" said Considine with contempt. "I don't think much of this huntin'they have in England. Why, I knew a chap that couldn't ride in timber alittle, and he went to England and hunted, and d'you know what he said?He said he could have rode in front of the dogs all the way, if he'dhave liked. But the owner of the dogs asked him not to, so he didn't. "

"I suppose I could take Maggie and Lucy there, " he went on, lookingdoubtfully at his hearers. "They wouldn't mind a chap havin' a coupleof black lady friends, would they? Yer see, they've stuck with me well, those two gins, and I wouldn't like to leave 'em behind. They'd get intobad hands. They're two as good handy gins as there is in the world. That little fat one--you start her out with a bridle and enough tobackerafter lost horses, and she'll foller 'em till she gets 'em, if it takesa week. Camps out at night anywhere she can get water, and gets her owngrub--lizards and young birds, and things like that. There ain't herequal as a horse-hunter in Australia. Maggie ain't a bad gin afterhorses, but if she don't find 'em first day, she won't camp out--shegets frightened. I'd like to take 'em with me, yer know. "

As he spoke the two moleskin-trousered, cotton-shirted little figurespassed in front of the hut. "There they go, " he said. "Two real goodgins. Now, as man to man, you wouldn't arst me to turn them loose, wouldyou?"

Carew looked rather embarrassed, and smoked some time before answering. 

"Well, of course, " he said at last, "they'd put up with a good deal fromyou, bein' an Australian, don't you know. Fashion just now to make alot of fuss over Australian chappies, whatever they do. But two blackwomen--rather a large order. You might get married over there, and thenthese two black ladies--"

He was interrupted by a startled exclamation from Considine. "Married!"he said. "Married! I forgot all about my wife. I am married!"

"What!" said Charlie. "Are you married?"

"Yairs. Married. Yairs! Should just think I was. "

"Not to a lubra, I suppose?"

"Lubra, no! A hot-tempered faggot of a woman I met at Pike's pub. Ilived with her three weeks and left her there. I haven't seen her thissix years. "

"Did you and she have some er--differences, then?" said Carew. 

"Differences? No I We had fights--plenty fights. You see, it was thisway. I hadn't long got these two gins; and just before the rains thewild geese come down in thousands to breed, and the blacks all clear outand camp by the lagoons, and kill geese and eat eggs and young ones allday long, till they near bust. It's the same every year--when the wildgeese come the blacks have got to go, and it's no use talkin'. So I wasslavin' away here--out all day on the run with the cattle--and one nightI comes home after being out three days, and there at the foot of thebunk was the two gins' trousers and shirts, folded up; they'd run awaywith the others. 

"So I goes after 'em down the river to the lagoons, and there washundreds of blacks; but these two beauties had heard me coming, and wasplanted in the reeds, and the other blacks, of course, they says, "Nomore" when I arst them. So there I was, lonely. Only me and the Chinamanhere for two months, 'cause his gin had gone too. So one day I ketchesthe horses, and off I goes, and travels for days, till I makes Pike'spub, and there was this woman. 

"It seems from what I heard afterwards that she'd just cleared out fromsome fellow she'd been livin' with for years--had a quarrel with him. Anyhow, I hadn't seen a white woman for years, and she was a finelump of a woman, and I got on a bit of a spree for a week or so, youknow--half-tight all the time; and it seems some sort of a parson--amish'nary to the blacks--chanced along and married us. She had her linesand everything all right, but I don't remember much about it. So thenI'm living with her for a bit; but I don't like her goin's on, and Itakes the whip to her once, and she gets snake-headed to me, and takesup an axe; and then one day comes a black from this place and he says tome, he says, "Old man, " he says, "Maggie and Lucy come back. " So then Isays to my wife, "I'm off back to the run, " I says, "and it's sorry I amthat ever I married you. " And she says, "Well, I'm not goin' out to yerold run, to get eat up with musketeers. " So says I, "Please yourselfabout that, you faggot, " I says, "but I'm off. " So off I cleared, and Inever seen her from that day till this. I married her under the name ofKeogh, though. Will that make any difference?"

This legal problem kept them occupied for some time; and, after muchdiscussion, it was decided that a marriage under a false name couldhardly be valid. 

Then weariness, the weariness of open-air, travelling, and hard work, settled down on them, and they made for the house. On the verandah thetwo gins lay sleeping, their figures dimly outlined under mosquito nets;the dogs crouched about in all sorts of attitudes. Considine turned inall standing in the big rough bunk, while Carew and Gordon stretchedtheir blankets on the hard earth floor, made a pillow of their clothes, and lay down to sleep, after fixing mosquito nets. Gordon slept as soonas he touched the blankets, but Carew tumbled and tossed. The ground wasdeadly hard. During the journey Frying Pan had got grass for their beds;here he had not been told to get it, and it would have looked effeminateto ask for grass when no one else seemed to want it. The old man heardhim stirring and rolling, and sat up in his bunk. "What's up, Mister?"he said kindly. "D'you find it a hard camp?"

"Not too easy, " said the Englishman. "Always seems to be a deuced hardplace just under your hip, don't you know?"

"I'll put you right in a brace of shakes, " said Considine. "I've got thevery thing to make a soft bed. Half a minute now, and I'll get it foryou. "

He went out to the back of the house, and returned with a dry whitebullock-hide, as rigid as a sheet of iron. This he threw down at Carew'sfeet. 

"Here y'are, Mister; put that under you for a hipper, and you'll be allright. "

Carew found the hide nearly as hard as the bare floor, but he utteredprofuse thanks, and said it was quite comfortable; to which the old manreplied that he was sure it must be, and then threw himself back on hisbunk and began snoring at once. But Carew lay long awake. 

CHAPTER XVIII. THE WILD CATTLE. 

Carew awoke next morning to find that it was broad daylight, and thehorses had been run in, caught, and saddled, all ready for a start tothe run. Breakfast was soon disposed of, and the cavalcade setout. Naturally, the old man had heaps of questions to ask about hisinheritance, and made the Englishman ride alongside while he questionedhim. 

"If I go to England after this money, Mister, I suppose they won'tbe handin' me out ten years for perjury, same as they done for RogerTichborne, eh? I won't have no law case, will I?"

"Shouldn't think so. You've been advertised for all over the place, Ibelieve. "

"Ha! Well, now they've got me they mightn't like me, don't you see? Inever took no stock in them unclaimed-money fakes. I never see any moneygoin' beggin' yet, long as I've lived, but what some chap had his handson it quick enough. But I s'pose it's all right. "

"It's me wife I'm troublin' about. I'm no dandy, Goodness knows, but ifpeople'll let me alone I'll let them alone, and I don't interfere withanyone. But if old Peg turns up she'll want to be right in front ofthe percession. If she follows me, I'll realise everything by publicauction, unreserved sale, for spot cash, and I'll sneak back here to aplace I knows of, where there's no trooper can find me. I ain't goin'halves with that woman, I tell you. She wouldn't stick to me if I waspoor, and I ain't goin' to take her up again now. You'd better come backwith me, Mister, and show me the way round a bit. "

"There's a mob of cattle, Gordon. " he went on, changing the subjectquickly; "let's ride up here, while the boys bring 'em into camp. " Andoff they went at a carter, leaving the question of his social prospectsin abeyance for the time being. 

The ceremony of taking delivery lasted some days, Considine's signatureto the deed of transfer being only the first step. This long document, prepared in Sydney, kept them going in literature for about a week; andthey were delighted to find that, through the carelessness of a clerk, in one part of the deed there figured "one bull of mixed sexes andvarious ages. "

They rode out, day after day, through interminable stretches of dulltimbered country, or over blazing plains waving with long grass. Herethey came on mobs of half-wild cattle, all bearing the same brand, a huge RL5. These were not mustered into a yard or counted, exceptroughly. Gordon was not completing a purchase, but simply taking overwhat were there--many or few; good or bad, he could only take what hefound. 

Miles and miles they rode, always in the blazing heat, camping for acouple of hours in the middle of the day. To the Englishman it seemedalways the merest chance that they found the cattle, and accidentthat they got home again. At rare intervals they came upon substantialmustering-yards, where the calves were brought for branding; near thesea rough hut had been constructed, so that they could camp there atnight, instead of returning to the head station. 

They always slept out of doors. In the intense heat it was no hardship, and the huts, as a rule, fairly jumped with fleas. Once they campedalongside a big lagoon, on whose surface were huge pink and bluewater-lilies and rushes, and vast flocks of wild fowl. After thestretches of blazing plain and dull timber this glimpse of water wasinexpressibly refreshing. 

On their way back they struck new country, great stretches of almostimpenetrable scrub, tropical jungle, and belts of bamboo. In this coverwild cattle evidently abounded, for they frequently heard the bellow ofthe bulls. 

"There should be a terrible lot of wild cattle here, " said Charlie. "Don't you ever get any out of the scrubs?"

"Oh, yes, we moonlight for 'em. " said Considine. "We take coachers out. We have a very fair coaching mob. Some of our coachers are as quick asracehorses, and they'll hustle wild cattle away from the scrub just asif they understood. "

"What do you mean by coachers?" asked Carew. "Not cattle that go incarts, eh?"

"Carts, no. The way we get wild cattle here-abouts is to take out amob of quiet cattle, what we call coachers, and let 'em feed in themoonlight alongside the scrub, while we wait back out o' the road andwatch 'em. When the wild cattle come out, they run over to see thecoachers, and we dash up and cut 'em off from the scrub, and hustle 'emtogether into the open. It's good sport, Mister. We might try a dash atit, if you like, before we go back; it's moonlight now. "

"Let's have a try to-night" said Gordon. "Are your coachers handy?"

"Yairs. They feed near the house. I'll send 'em on with the ginsto-night. "

When they got back that evening, Carew was so dead-tired that he wishedthe wild cattle expedition at Jericho. But Considine and Charlie were ingreat form, directing, arguing, and planning the expedition. One ofthe black boys rode out, and returned driving a big mob of horses thatdashed into the yard at full gallop. The gins and the black boys caughtfresh mounts out of these and started away, driving some fifty head ofcattle selected from a mob that made their headquarters within a fewmiles of the house. Most of them were old stagers, and strung away inthe evening quite tranquilly, while the blacks, always smoking, rodelistlessly after. Considine produced two stockwhips, and gave one toCharlie. 

"No good givin' you one. Mister, " he said to Carew. "You'd hang yourselfwith it most likely. I've got a rare good horse for you--old SmokedBeef. He'd moonlight cattle by himself, I believe. You'd better have apistol, though. "

"What for?" asked Carew, as Considine produced three very heavy navyrevolvers and a bag of cartridges. 

"To shoot any beast that won't stay with the mob. Some of 'em won't bestopped. They have to go. Well, if one goes, the rest keep trying tofollow, and no forty men will hold 'em. You just keep your eyes open, and if a beast breaks out in spite of the whips, you shoot him if theblacks tell you. See?"

"Where am I to shoot him?"

"Shoot him any place. In the earhole, or the shoulder, or the ribs, orthe flank. Any place at all. Shoot him all over if you like. One or twobullets don't hurt a beast. It takes a lead-mine to kill some of 'em. "

"Do the blacks shoot?" asked Charlie. 

"No, I don't never trust no blacks with firearms. One boy knifes well, though. Races alongside and knifes 'em. "

This seemed a fairly difficult performance; while the Englishman waswondering how it would be carried out, they made a start. They rode mileafter mile in the yellow moonlight, until they discerned a mob of cattlefeeding placidly near some big scrub. They whistled to the blacks, and all rode away down wind to a spot on the edge of the plain, aconsiderable distance from the cattle. 

Here they dismounted and waited, Considine and Charlie talkingoccasionally in low tones, while the blacks sat silent, holding theirhorses. Carew lay down on the long dry grass and gazed away over theplain. His horse stood over him with head down, apparently sleeping. Far away under the moon, in vague patches of light and shade, the cattlewere feeding. Hours seemed to pass, and Carew almost fell asleep. 

Suddenly a long-drawn bellow, the angry challenge of a bull, broke thesilence. A mob of wild cattle were evidently coming along the edge ofthe scrub, and had caught scent of the strangers. Again the bull roared;there is no animal on earth with so emphatically warlike a note asthe wild bull when advancing to meet a strange mob. The quiet cattleanswered with plaintive, long-drawn lowings, and the din became generalas the two lots met. 

"Let 'em get well mixed up, " said Considine quietly, tightening hisgirths, and swinging into the saddle. Everyone followed his example. Carew was shaking with excitement. Angry bellowing now arose from thecattle, which were apparently horning one another--such being theirmanner of greeting. 

Considine said, "There's a big lot there. Hope to blazes we can hold'em. Are you ready, Mister?"

"Yes, I'm ready, " replied Carew. 

"Come on, then. We'll sneak up slowly at first, but once I startgalloping let your horse go as fast as he likes, and trust himaltogether. Don't pull him at all, or he'll break your neck. "

They started slowly in Indian file, keeping well in the shadow of thescrub. The horses picked their way through the outlying saplings andbushes, until suddenly Considine bent forward on his horse's neck, andsaid, "Come on!"

What a ride that was! The inexperienced reader is apt to imagine thatbecause a plain is level, it is smooth, but no greater fallacy exists. The surface of a plain is always bad galloping. The rain washes away thesoil from between the tussocks, which stand up like miniature mountains;the heat cracks the ground till it opens in crevices, sometimes a footwide and a yard or two deep; fallen saplings lie hidden in the shadowsto trip the horse, while the stumps stand up to cripple him, and overall is the long grass hiding all perils, and making the horse risk hisown neck and his master's at every stride. 

They flew along in the moonlight, Considine leading, Charlie next, thenthe two black boys, and then Carew, with a black gin on each sideof him, racing in grim silence. The horses blundered and "peeked, "stumbled, picked themselves up again, always seeming to have a leg tospare. Now and again a stump or a gaping crack in the ground would flashinto view under their very nose, but they cleared everything--stumps, tussocks, gaps, and saplings. 

In less time than it takes to write, they were between the mob and thescrub; at once a fusillade of whips rang out, and the men started toride round the cattle in Indian file. The wild ones were well mixedup with the tame, and hardly knew which way to turn. Carew, canteringround, caught glimpses of them rushing hither and thither--small, wirycattle for the most part, with big ears and sharp, spear-pointedhorns. Of these there were fifty or sixty, as near as Considine couldjudge--three or four bulls, a crowd of cows and calves and half-grownanimals, and a few old bullocks that had left the station mobs andthrown in their lot with the wild ones. 

By degrees, as the horses went round them, the cattle began to "ring, "forming themselves into a compact mass, those on the outside runninground and round. All the time the whips were going, and the shrillcries of the blacks rang out, "Whoa back! Whoa back, there! Whoa!" as ananimal attempted to break from the mob. They were gradually forcing thebeasts away from the scrub, when suddenly, in spite of the gins' shrillcries, some of the leaders broke out and set off up the plain; with therush of a cavalry charge the rest were after them, racing at full speedparallel with the edge of the scrub, and always trying to make overtowards it. 

Old Considine met this new development with Napoleonic quickness. Heand the others formed a line parallel with the course of the cattle, and raced along between them and the timber, keeping up an incessantfusillade with their whips, while the old man's voice rang out loudly indirections to the blacks behind. 

"Keep the coachers with 'em! Flog 'em along! Cut the hides off 'em!"

In the first rush the quiet cattle had dropped to the rear, but theblacks set about them with their whips; and, as they were experiencedcoachers, and had been flogged and hustled along in similar rushes sooften that they knew at once what was wanted, they settled down to racejust as fast as the wild ones. As the swaying, bellowing mass sweptalong in the moonlight, crashing and trampling through the lightoutlying timber, some of the coachers were seen working their way to thelead, and the wild cattle having no settled plan, followed them blindly. Considine, on his black horse, was close up by the wing of the mob, andthe others rode in line behind him, always keeping between the cattleand the scrub. 

"Crack your whips!" he yelled. "Crack your whips! Keep 'em off thescrub! Go on, Billy, drive that horse along and get to the lead!"

Like a flash one of the black boys darted out of the line, galloped tothe head of the cattle, and rode there, pursued by the flying mob, thecracks of his heavy stockwhip sounding above the roar of hoofs and thebellowing of the cattle. Soon they steadied a little, and graduallysobered down till they stopped and began to "ring" again. 

"That was pretty pure, eh, Mister?" roared Considine to Carew. "Ain't ita caution the way the coachers race with 'em? That old bald-face coacheris worth two men and a boy in a dash like this. "

Suddenly an old bull, the patriarch of the wild herd, made towards oneof the gins, whose shrill yells and whip-cracking failed to turn him. Considine dashed to her assistance, swinging his whip round his head. 

"Whoa back, there! Whoa back, will you!" he shouted. The bull pausedirresolute for a second, and half-turned back to the mob, but the sightor scent of his native scrub decided him. Dropping his head, he chargedstraight at Considine. So sudden was the attack that the stock-horse hadbarely time to spring aside; but, quick as it was, Considine's revolverwas quicker. The bull passed--bang! went the revolver, and bang! bang!bang! again, as the horse raced alongside, Considine leaning over andfiring into the bull's ribs at very short range. 

The other cattle, dazed by the firing, did not attempt to follow, andat the fourth shot the bull wheeled to charge. He stood a moment in themoonlight, bold and defiant, then staggered a little and looked round asthough to say, "What have you done to me?" Bang went the revolver again;the animal lurched, plunged forward, sank on his knees, and fell over onhis side, dead. 

"There, you swab, " said the old man, "that'll larn you to break anothertime. " Then he took once more his place in the patrol round the mob. They circled and eddied and pushed, always staring angrily at theriders. Suddenly a big, red bullock gave a snort of defiance, and cameout straight towards Carew. He stopped once, shook his head ominously, and came on again. One of the gins dashed up with the whip; but thebullock had evidently decided to take all chances, and advanced on hisfoes at a trot. 

"Choot him, that feller!" screamed the gin to Carew. "You choot him! Hebin yan away! No more stop! Choot him!"

Carew lugged out his revolver, and tried to pull his horse to astandstill, but the wary old veteran knew better than to be caughtstanding by a charging bullock; just as Carew fired, he plunged forward, with the result that the bullet went over the mob altogether, and verynearly winged Charlie, who was riding on the far side. Then the bullockcharged in earnest; and Carew's horse, seeing that if he wished to savehuman life he must take matters into his own hands, made a bolt for it. Carew half-turned in the saddle, and fired twice, only making the blackboys on the far side cower down on their horses' necks. Then the horsetook complete charge, and made off for the scrub with the bullock afterhim, and every animal in the mob after the bullock. 

Nothing in the world could have stopped them. Considine and Charlieraced in front, alongside Carew, cracking their whips and shouting; theblacks flogged the coachers up with the wild cattle; but they held ontheir way, plunged with a mighty crash into the thick timber, and werelost. No horseman could ride a hundred yards in that timber at night. Coachers and all were gone together, and the dispirited hunters gatheredat the edge of the scrub and looked at each other. 

"Well, Mister, you couldn't stop him, " said the old man. 

"I'm afraid I made--rather a mess of things, don't you know, " said theEnglishman. "I thought I hit him the second time, too. Seemed to bestraight at him. "

"I think you done very well to miss us! I heard one bullet whiz past melike a scorpyun. Well, it can't be helped. Those old coachers will allbattle their way home again before long. Gordon, I vote we go home. They're your cattle now, and you'll have to come out again after 'emsome day, and do a little more shootin'. Get a suit of armour on youfirst, though. "

As they jogged home through the bright moonlight, they heard loudlaughter from the blacks, and Carew, looking back, found the fat gingiving a dramatic rehearsal of his exploits. She dashed her horse alongat a great pace, fell on his neck, clutched wildly at the reins, thensuddenly turned in her saddle, and pretended to fire point-blank at theother blacks, who all dodged the bullet. Then she fell on the horse'sneck again, and so on ad lib. 

This made the Englishman very morose. He was quite glad when Charliesaid he had seen enough of the cattle, and they would all start nextday for civilisation--Charlie to resume the management of Mr. Grant'sstations, Carew to go with him as "colonial experiencer, " and Considineto start for England to look after his inheritance. 

CHAPTER XIX. A CHANCE ENCOUNTER. 

The black boys went in with them to Pike's store to take back supplieson the pack-horse. They travelled over the same country that they hadseen coming up; the men at the stations greeted them with the samehospitality. Nothing was said about Considine's good fortune. It wasthought wise to be silent, as he didn't know how soon his wife mighthear of it. 

They left the gins at the blacks' camp, which they chanced on by ariverside. The camp was a primitive affair, a few rude shelters made bybending bamboo sticks together and covering them with strips of paperbark. Here the sable wariors sat and smoked all day long, tobacco beingtheir only civilised possession. Carew was very anxious to look at them, a development of curiosity that Considine could not understand. 

"Most uninteresting devils, I call 'em, " he said. "They're stark naked, and they have nothing. What is there to look at?"

Having parted with Maggie and Lucy, they pushed onwards, the old manbeguiling the time with disquisitions on the horse-hunting capabilitiesof his gins, whom he seemed really sorry to leave. As they got nearPike's, he became more restless than ever. 

"See here, Mister, " he said at last, "my wife's here, I expect, and ifshe gets wind of this, I'll never get rid of her. The only thing to dois to slip away without her knowing, and she might never hear of it. Iwon't go into the place at all. I'll go on and camp down the creek, andget the coach there after it leaves the town, and she'll never know. "

The town of "Pike's" consisted of a hotel, a store, a post-office, aprivate residence, and coach-stables; these were all combined in oneestablishment, so the town couldn't be said to be scattered. Pikehimself was landlord of the "pub, " keeper of the store, officer incharge of the post-office, owner of the private residence, holder of themail contract, and proprietor of the coach-stables. Behind him was onlywilderness and "new" country. 

Nobody ever saw him at home. Either he was on the road with abullock-team, bringing up supplies for the hotel and store, or he wasdroving cattle down on a six months' journey to market; or he wasaway looking at new country, or taking supplies out to men on thehalf-provisioned stations of the "outer-back;" or else he was off tosome new mining camp or opal-field, to sell a dray-load of goods atfamine prices. 

When Charlie and Carew rode up to the store they did not see Pike, nor did they expect to see him. By some mysterious Providence theyhad arrived the very day the coach started on its monthly trip down toBarcoo; and in front of the hotel were congregated quite a number ofpeople--Pike's wife and his half-wild children, a handful of bushmen, station hands, opal miners, and what-not, and last, but not least, a fatlady of about forty summers, with flaring red hair. 

She was a fine "lump" of a woman, with broad shoulders, and nearly thesame breadth all the way down to her feet. She wore a rusty black dress, which fitted perilously tight to her arms and bust; on her head wasa lopsided, dismantled black bonnet with a feather--a bonnet that hadevidently been put away in a drawer and forgotten for years. Any want ofcolour or style in her dress was amply made up for by the fact that shepositively glowed with opals. Her huge, thick fingers twinkled with opalrings; from each of her ears there dangled an opal earring the size ofa form; her old dress was secured round her thick, muscular neck by abrooch that looked like an opal quarry, and whenever she turned to thesun she flashed out rays like a lighthouse. 

Her face was fat and red, full of a sort of good-humoured ferocity; shemoved like a queen among the bystanders, and shook hands gravely witheach and all of them. She was hot, but very dignified. Evidently she waspreparing to start in the coach, for she packed into the vehicle withjealous care a large carpet-bag of garish colouring that seemed toharmonise well with the opals. While she was packing this away, Charlieand Carew went into the store, and bought such supplies as were neededfor the establishment at No Man's Land. Gordon took the opportunityto ask the shock-headed old storekeeper, Pike's deputy, some questionsabout the lady, who was still scintillating between the coach and thehouse, carrying various small articles each trip. 

"Don't yer know 'er?" said the man, in much the same tone that BretHarte's hero must have used when he was so taken aback to find that astranger--

 "Didn't know Flynn, -- Flynn of Virginia. "

"Don't yer know 'er?" he repeated, pausing in his task of scoopingsome black cockroachy sugar from the bottom of a bin. "That's the HopalQueen! She's hoff South, she is. Yer'll be going in the coach, willyer?"

"Yes, " said Charlie. "We're going in the coach. There's no extra farefor travelling with such a swell, is there? Where on earth did she getall those opals?"

"Ho, blokes gives 'em to 'er, passin' back from the hopal fields. In therough, yer know! Hopal in the rough, well, it's 'ard to tell what it'llturn out, and they'll give 'er a 'unk as sometimes turns out a fairdazzler. She's a hay-one judge of it in the rough, too. If she buys abit of hopal, yer bet yer life it ain't a bad bit when it's cut. Whatabout these 'ere stores? Goin' to take 'em with yer?"

"No, " said Charlie. "The black boy is here for them. He's going to takethem back with him. "

"What, Keogh's black boy! Well, I don't know as Pike'll stand old PaddyKeogh any longer. Paddy's 'ad a dorg tied hup 'ere" (i. E. , an accountoutstanding) "this two years, and last time Pike was 'ome 'e wasreck'nin' it was about hup to Keogh to pay something. "

"They're not for Keogh, " said Charlie. "They're for me. I've takenKeogh's block over. "

The old man looked at him dubiously. 

"Well, but y'aint goin' to tie hup no dorg on us for 'em, are yer? Is'pose it's all right, though?"

"Right, yes, " said Gordon. "It's for Mr. Grant, Old Man Grant, --you'veheard of Grant of Kuryong?"

"Never 'eard of him, " said the aged man, "but it makes no hodds. Paywhen yer like. Yer'd better git on the coach, for I see the HopalQueen's ready for a start. Yer'll know her all right before long, I bet. Some of the fellers from round about 'as come in to give her a send-offlike. There's the coach ready; yer'd better git aboard, and yer'll hearthe-the send-off like. Young Stacy out there reckons 'e's going to makea speech. "

Charlie and Carew climbed upon the coach. The fat lady kissed Pike'swife and children with great solemnity. "Good-bye, Alice! Good-bye, Nora darlin', " she said. Then she marched in a stately way towards thevehicle, with the children forming a bodyguard round her. A group ofmen hung about uneasily, looked sheepish, and waved large, helpless redhands, till a young fellow about seven feet high--who looked more uneasyand had even larger hands than the rest--was hustled forward, and beganto mutter something that nobody could hear. 

"Speak up, George, " said a friend. The young man raised his voice to ashout, and said--

"And so I propose three cheers and long life to the Hopal Queen!"

As he spoke he ran two or three paces forward towards a stump, meaning, no doubt, to get on it and lead the cheering; but, just as he was goingto jump, a wretched little mongrel that had been in and out among thepeople's feet made a dash at him, fixed its teeth in the calf of hisleg, and ran away howling at its own temerity. The young giant rushedafter it, but the Opal Queen interposed. 

"George, " she said, "don't ye dare go for to kick my dog!"

"Well, what did he bite me for, then?" said the giant, speaking out nowin a voice that could be heard half a mile off. "What did he bite mefor?"

"Never mind, George! Don't ye go for to kick him, that's all. "

The Opal Queen, snorting like a grampus, climbed into the coach;the driver cracked his whip, and off they went, leaving the audiencespellbound, and the gigantic young man rubbing his leg. Soon Pike'sfaded away in the distance. As the coach jolted along, Carew and Charlieon the box seat occasionally peered in at the large swaying figure, half-hidden in the dust. 

About two miles out of town Considine, with all his earthly belongingsin a small valise, stopped the coach and got on board, sitting in frontwith them. 

"Have a look inside, " said Charlie. "There's a woman in there looksrather like--the lady you were talking about. "

Considine looked in. Then he sank back in his seat, with a white face. "By Heavens!" he said, "it's my wife. "

"This is funny, " said Charlie. "Wonder what she's after. She must haveheard, somehow. She'll never lose sight of you, now, Considine. "

Here the driver struck into the conversation. "See her inside?" he said, indicating the inside passenger with a nod of his head. "She's off toSydney, full rip. She reckons her husband's dead, and she's came in fora fortune. "

"Oh, she reckons he's dead, does she?" said Charlie carelessly. "Didn'tknow she had a husband. "

"Ho yes, " said the driver. "She came up here passin' by the name ofKeogh, but it seems that ain't her husband's name at all. "

"Oh, indeed! Do you happen to have heard what her husband's name is? Andwhen did he die?"

"I never heard the noo husband's name, " replied the driver. "Keogh washer name. I dessay if I arst her she'd tell me. Shall I arst her?" "No, "said Considine firmly. "Don't annoy her at all. Leave well alone, youngfeller. What odds is it to you how many husbands the poor woman hashad?"

"No, " said the driver dispassionately. "It's no odds to me, nor yetto you, I don't suppose. She's in for a real big thing, I believe. Atelegram came to the telegraph station after I left last trip, and youngJack Sheehan, he brought it on after me--rode a hundred miles prettywell, to ketch me up. He reckoned she was coming in for a hundredthousand pounds. I wouldn't mind marryin' her meself, if it's true;plenty worse-looking sorts than her about. What do you think, eh, Mister?" addressing Considine. 

"Marry her, and be blowed, " said that worthy, sociably; and the driverstiffened and refused to talk further on the subject. 

Meanwhile the three discussed the matter in low tones. It waspractically impossible that anyone could have heard of the identity ofKeogh with the missing Considine. How then had the story got about thather husband was dead, and that she had come into money? She musthave seen Considine get on the coach, but she had made no sign. Theirastonishment was deeper than ever when the coach stopped for a middayhalt. It was quite impossible for Considine to conceal himself. Thehouse, where the coach changed horses, was a galvanised-iron, one-roomededifice in the middle of a glaring expanse of treeless plain, in whicha quail could scarcely have hidden successfully. It was clear thatConsidine and his wife would have to come face to face. 

Carew and Charlie looked expectantly at each other, and clambereddown quickly when the coach stopped. Considine descended more slowly;straightening his figure and looking fixedly before him, he marched upto the door of the change-house. 

His wife got leisurely out of the coach, put on her bonnet, and walkedstraight over to him; then she looked him full in the face for at leastthree seconds, and passed by without a sign of recognition. 

The three men looked at each other. 

"Well, this bangs all, " said Considine. "She knew me all right. Whydidn't she speak? She's afraid I'll clear out, and she's shammin' not toknow me, so's she'll have me arrested as soon as she sights a bobby. Iknow her. Perhaps I'd better offer her something to go back and leave mealone, hey?"

This was vetoed by a majority of two to one, and once more the coachstarted. They plodded away on the weary, dusty journey, until the ironroofs and walls of Barcoo gleamed like a mirage in the distance, andthe coach rolled up to the hotel. A telegraph official came loungingforward. 

"Anyone here the name of Charles Gordon?" he said. 

"That's me, " said Charlie. 

"Telegram for you, " he said. "It's been all over the country after you. "

Gordon tore it open, read it, and stood spellbound. Then he silentlyhanded it to Carew. It was several weeks old, and was from Pinnock, thesolicitor. It read as follows--"William Grant died suddenly yesterday. Will made years ago leaves everything to his wife. Reported that hemarried Margaret Donohoe, and that she is still alive. Am making allinquiries. Wire me anything you know. "

Charlie's face never changed a muscle. 

"That's lively!" he said. "He never married that woman; and, if he did, she died long ago. "

As he spoke, the lady passenger, having had some talk with the hotelpeople, came over to him with a beaming smile. "And ye're CharlieGordon, " she said with a mellifluous mixture of brogue and bush-drawl. "An' ye don't know me now, a little bit? Ye were a little felly when welast met. I'm Peggy Donohoe that was--Peggy Grant now, since I marriedpoor dear Grant that's dead. And, sure, rest his sowl!"--here shesniffed a little--"though he treated me cruel bad, so he did! Ye'llremember me brother Mick--Mick with the red hair?"

"Yes, " said Charlie, slowly and deliberately, "I remember him well; andyou too. And look here, Peggy Donohoe--or Peggy Keogh, whichever youcall yourself--you and Red Mick will have the most uphill fight you everfought before you get one sixpence of William Grant's money. Why, yourreal husband is here on the coach with us!"

He turned and pulled Considine forward, and once more husband and wifestood face to face. Considine, alias Keogh, smiled in a sickly way, tried to meet his wife's eyes, and failed altogether. She regarded himwith a bold, unwinking stare. 

"Him!" she said. "Him me husban'! This old crockerdile? I never seen himbefore in me life. "

A look of hopeless perplexity settled on Considine's features for amoment, and then a ray of intelligence seemed to break in on him. Sherepeated her statement. 

"I never seen this man before in me life. Did I? Speak up, now, and say, did I?"

Considine hesitated for a moment in visible distress. Then, pullinghimself together, and looking boldly from one to the other, he replied--

"Now that you mention it, ma'am, I don't think as ever you did. I mustha' made some mistake. "

He walked rapidly away, leaving Gordon and Peggy face to face. 

"There y'are, " she said, "what did I tell ye? Husban'? He's no husban'o' mine. Ye're makin' a mistake, Charlie. "

Charlie looked after the retreating bushman, and back at the good ladywho was beaming at him. 

"Don't call me Charlie, " he said. "That old man has come in for a wholelot of money in England. His name is Considine, and he pretends he isn'tyour husband so that he can get the money and leave you out of it. Don'tyou be a fool. It's a lot better for you to stick to him than to try forWilliam Grant's money. Mr. Carew and I can prove he said you were hiswife. "

"Och, look at that now! Said I was his wife! And his name was Considine, the lyin' old vaggybond. His name's not Considine, and I'm not his wife, nor never was. Grant was my husban', and I'll prove it in a coort oflaw, so I will!" Her voice began to rise like a south-easterly gale, andCharlie beat a retreat. He went to look for the old man, but could notfind him anywhere. 

Talking the matter over with Carew he got no satisfaction from thewisdom of that Solon. "Deuced awkward thing, don't you know, " was hisonly comment. 

Things were even more awkward when the coach drew up to start, and nosign of the old man could be found. He had strolled off to the back ofthe hotel, and vanished as absolutely as if the earth had swallowed him. 

The Chinese cook was severely cross-questioned, but relapsed intoidiotic smiles and plentiful "No savee's". A blackfellow, loafing aboutthe back of the hotel, was asked if he had seen a tall, thin old manwith a beard going down the street. He said, "Yowi, he bin go longaother pub;" but as, on further questioning, he modified his statement byasserting that the man he saw was young, short and very fat, no heed waspaid to his evidence--it being the habit of blacks to give any answerthat they think will please the questioner. 

"He'll play us some dog's trick, that old fellow, " said Charlie. "Ican't wait here looking for him, though. I'll find him when I want himif he's above ground. Now let's go on. Can't keep the coach waiting forever while we unearth him. Let's get aboard. "

Just as the coach was about to start a drover came out of the bar ofthe hotel, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He stared vacantlyabout him, first up the street and then down, looked hard at a post infront of the hotel, then stared up and down the street again. At last hewalked over, and, addressing the passengers in a body, said, "Did any ofyou's see e'er a horse anywheres? I left my prad here, and he's gorn. "

A bystander, languidly cutting up a pipeful of tobacco, jerked his elbowdown the road. 

"That old bloke took 'im, " he said. "Old bloke that come in the coach. While yous was all talking in the pub, he sneaks out here and nabs that'orse, and away like a rabbit. See that dust on the plain? That's 'im. "

The drover looked helplessly out over the stretch of plain. He seemedquite incapable of grappling with the problem. 

"Took my horse, did he? Well, I'm blowed! By Cripes!"

He had another good stare over the plain, and back at the party. 

"My oath!" he added. 

Then the natural stoicism of the bushman came to his aid, and he said, in a resigned tone, "Oh, well, anyways, I s'pose--s'pose he must have been in a hurry to gosomewheres. I s'pose he'll fetch him back some time or other. "

Gordon leant down from the box of the coach. 

"You tell him, " he said, "when he does fetch him back, that if I'd hada rifle, and had seen him sneaking off like that he'd have wanted anambulance before he got much farther. Tell him I'll find him if I haveto hunt him to death. Tell him that, will you?"

"All right, Mister!" said the drover, obligingly, "I'll tell him!"

The horses plunged into their collars; off went the coach into longstretches of dusty road, with the fat red lady inside, and our twofriends outside. And in course of time they found themselves once morein Sydney, where they took the earliest opportunity to call on Pinnock, and hold a council of war against Peggy. 

CHAPTER XX. A CONSULTATION AT KILEY'S. 

Within twenty-four hours after Peggy got back to her old home, it wasknown all over the mountains that she meant business, and would makea claim on William Grant's estate. Rumour, of course, supplied all theneedful details. It was said, and even sworn to, that Peggy had hermarriage lines put by in a big iron box, ready to be produced at theproper time. Other authorities knew for a fact that she had no proofs, but that the family at Kuryong were going to give her any sum from athousand pounds to a million, to cancel her claim and save exposure. 

As a matter of fact, none of those who talked knew anything whatever. Peggy confided in no one but Red Mick, and that worthy had had enoughlegal experience of a rough and ready sort to know that things must bekept quiet till the proper time. But by way of getting ready for actionRed Mick and his sister one fine morning rode up to Gavan Blake's officeto consult him as to what they should do. 

Blake was not at all surprised to see them. He, of course, had heard allthe rumours that were afloat, and knew that if Peggy brought forward anyclaim he would be asked to act for her professionally. He had not quitedecided whether he would act or not. In his hard commonsense mind hesaw next to no possibility of Peggy having a bonâ fide case. He did notsuppose for a moment that William Grant would have run his neck intoa bigamy noose; and it would put the young lawyer in a very awkwardposition with Mary Grant if, after saving her life and posing as herfriend, he carried on a blackmailing suit against her. At the same time, he felt that it could do no harm to either side to investigate Peggy'scase; there might be awkward things that he could help to suppress. Sowith expectancy and not a little amusement he saw his clients ride upand tie their horses to the fence outside his office, and watched Peggystraighten her ruffled plumage before entering. 

They came in at the door with a seriousness worthy of the occasion. Peggy heaved a subdued sigh and settled in a chair. Red Mick opened theconversation. 

"Mornin' to you, Gavan, " he said. 

By virtue of his relationship Mick was privileged to call his brilliantnephew by his Christian name. To the rest of the clans Gavan was Mr. Blake. 

"Good-morning, Mick. Good-morning, Peggy. Have you had any rain?"

In the bush no one would think of introducing discussion without aremark about the weather. 

"Jist a few drops, " said Red Mick gloomily. "Do us no good at all. Things is looking terrible bad, so they are. But we want to seeye--" and here he dropped his voice, rose, and cautiously closed thedoor--"Peggy here, Mrs. Grant, d'ye see, "--Mick got the name out withoutan effort--"she wants to see ye about making a claim on the estate. 'Tistime she done somethin'. All these years left to shift for herself--"

Here Blake broke in on him. He meant to probe Peggy's case thoroughly, and knew that it would be no easy matter to get at the truth while shehad Red Mick alongside to prompt her. He had not dealt with the mountainfolk for nothing, and handled his clients in a way that would astonish amore conservative practitioner. 

"Mick, " he said, "You go over to Isaacstein's store and wait till I sendfor you. "

"I want Mick to be wid me, " began Peggy. 

Blake blazed up. He knew that he must keep his ascendancy over thesewild people by force of determination. 

"You heard what I said, " he thundered, turning fiercely on Peggy. "Youwant this and you want that! It's not what you want, it's what I want!You do what you're told. If you don't--I won't help you. Mick, you goover to the store, and wait till I send for you. " And Mick shambled off. 

Peggy, still inclined to be defiant, settled herself in her chair. Shehad battled in North Queensland so long that she neither feared norrespected anybody; but her native shrewdness told her she had all togain and nothing to lose by doing what her lawyer advised. 

"Now, Peggy, " he said, "do you want to make a claim against WilliamGrant's estate?"

"Yis. "

"On the ground that you're his widow?"

"Yis. I'll tell yer--"

"No, you won't tell me anything. I'll tell you. If you are to have anyhope of succeeding in this case, you must furnish me with the name ofthe priest or parson who married you, the place where you were married, and the date. It must be a real priest or parson, a real place, anda real date. It's no use coming along with a story of a marriage bya parson and you've forgotten his name, at a place you can't rememberwhere it was, and a date that's slipped your memory. You must have astory to tell, and it must hold water. Now, can you tell such a story?Have you got any proofs at all?"

Peggy shifted about uneasily. 

"Can I see Mick?" she said. 

"No, you can not. You must out with it here and now. Listen to me, Peggy, " he went on, sinking his voice suddenly and looking hard at her. "I've got to know all about this. It's no use keeping anything back. Were you ever married to William Grant?"

Peggy dropped her voice too. 

"Yis. I was married twenty-five years ago at a place called Pike's pub, out in the Never-never country. "

"Who read the service, parson or priest?"

"Neither. A mish'nary. Mish'nary to the blacks. "

"Is he alive?"

"No, he died out there. He was sick then, wid the Queensland fever. "

"What was his name?"

"Mr. Nettleship. "

"Was the marriage ever registered?"

"Sorra one of me knows. He giv us each a bit of paper--our marriagelines. 'Twas written in pencil. He had no ink in the place, and he hadno books wid him. He tore the sheet of paper and give us each half, widthe writing on it; his horses got stole and he had to camp there. Hestayed round wid Pike and the blacks till he died. "

"And where is the certificate? Have you lost it?"

"I sint mine down to Mick to keep for me--jist a bit of paper written inpencil it was--and it got lost some ways; but I have a copy of it I medat the time. "

"Where is the copy now?"

"At Mick's place. "

"You must tell Mick to bring it in. Now where is this place, Pike's?"

"Out this side of the opal-fields. It's wild and rough now, but what itwas then--well 'twas more like a black's camp nor a white man's place atall. "

Blake thought the story had gone far enough. He did not believe a wordof it. "Look here, Peggy, " he said, "You have given the place, the date, the name of the parson, and everything. Now you know that if you aretelling a lie it will be easily found out. They will soon find out ifthere was such a missionary, and if he was up there at the time, andif Mr. Grant was up there; and if you are caught out in a lie it may gohard with you. Have you any witnesses?"

"Martin Doyle was there, Black Martin's son. "

"What! Martin Doyle that's out at the nine-mile?"

"Yis. He was up driving the buggy and horses for Grant. He can swear tothe wedding. 

"He can. "

"Yis. "

Blake sat back in his chair and looked at her. "Do you mean to tellme, " he said, "that you can show me a certificate and a witness to yourmarriage with William Grant?"

Peggy looked doggedly down at the floor and said, in the tones of onewho is repeating the burial service or some other solemn function, "Ican prove the marriage. "

Blake was puzzled. He had known the mountain folk all his life, andknew that for uneducated people--or perhaps because they were uneducatedpeople--they were surprisingly clever liars. But he never dreamt thatany of them could hoodwink him; so he put Peggy once more throughthe whole story, --made her describe all her actions on the day of thewedding, where she stood, where the witness stood, what the parson said, what her husband said. He went through the whole thing, and could seeno flaw in it. He knew that Peggy would not scruple to lie to him; but, with the contempt of a clever man, he felt satisfied that he could soonupset any concocted story. This story seemed to hold water, and themore he cross-examined her the more sure he was that there was somethinggenuine about it; at the same time, he was sure that it was not allgenuine. Then a thought occurred to him. 

"Would you settle this case if they offered you something?" he said. 

"I'll do whatever you say, " said Peggy, rising. "'Tis for you to saywhat I ought to do. 'Tis not for the like of me, that is no scholar. "

"Leave it to me, " said Blake. "I'll do what is best for you. Send MartinDoyle in to see me, Martin that was the witness. And about this copyof the certificate, tell Mick to bring it in here. Now you go home, anddon't you say to one living soul one word of what has passed in here. Tell them you are going on with the case, but don't say any more, or youmay land yourself in gaol. Do you hear me?"

And the cowed and flustered Peggy hurried away to join her brother, whowas far too wise to ask questions. 

"Least said soonest mended, " he said, when told that Blake requiredsilence. 

After his clients had gone, Gavan Blake sat for half an hour almostdazed. If Peggy's story was true, then Mary Grant was an outcast insteadof a great heiress. And while he had become genuinely fond of her (whichhe never was of Ellen Harriott), he had no idea of asking her to sharehis debts with him. He puzzled over the affair for a long time, and atlast his clear brain saw a way out of all difficulties. He would go overto the old station, put the whole case before Mary Grant, and induce herfor peace' sake to give Peggy money to withdraw her claim. Out of thismoney he himself would keep enough to pay all his pressing debts. Hewould be that much to the good whatever happened, and afterwards wouldhave an added claim on Mary Grant's sympathies for having relieved herof a vast lawsuit in which her fortune, and even her very name, wereinvolved. 

This plan seemed to him the best for all parties--for himselfespecially, which was the most important thing. If he could get a largesum to settle the case, he could make Peggy give him a big share for histrouble, and then at last be free from the haunting fear of exposure andruin. He felt sure that he was doing quite right in advising Mary Grantto pay. 

Again and again he ran over Peggy's case in his mind, and could see noflaw in it. In the old days haphazard marriages were rather the rulethan the exception, and such things as registers were never heard ofin far-out parts. His trained mind, going through the various questionsthat a cross-examiner would ask, and supplying the requisite answers, decided that, though it might seem a trifle improbable, there wasnothing contradictory about Peggy's story. A jury would sympathisewith her, and the decisions of the Courts all leaned towards presumingmarriage where certain circumstances existed. By settling the case hewould do Mary Grant a real kindness. And afterwards--well, she wouldprobably be as grateful as when he had saved her life. He saw himselfthe hero of the hour: ever prompt to decide, he saddled a horse, and atonce rode off to Kuryong to put the matter before her. 

CHAPTER XXI. NO COMPROMISE. 

While Gavan Blake was conferring with his clients, a very different sortof conference was being held at Kuryong. The return of Charlie Gordon, accompanied by Carew, had been voted by common consent an occasion forholiday; and although, according to theory, a bush holiday is invariablyspent in kangaroo-hunting, yet the fact is that men who are in thesaddle from daylight to dark, from week-end to week-end, generally spenda holiday resting legs that are cramped from the saddle, and armsthat ache from lifting sheep over hurdles or swinging the gates ofdrafting-yards. 

Thus it was that, on the holiday at Kuryong, the Bachelors'Quarters--two large dormitory-like rooms that opened into oneanother--were full of athletic male figures sprawling on the beds, smoking black pipes all day, and yarning interminably. The main topicof conversation was Peggy's claim against the estate. They had all heardthe rumours that were going round; each had quietly been trying tofind out what Peggy had to go on, and this pow-wow was utilised forthe purpose of comparing notes. They had one advantage over GavanBlake--they knew all about Considine, which Blake did not. 

On one bed lay Pinnock, who had come up to make arrangements forcarrying on the station till the will was proved. On another bedsprawled Carew, who, by virtue of his trip out back, was looked upon asa bit of an oracle by Poss and Binjie, who had never been further thanthe mountains. Poss and Binjie had dragged an old couch out of the nextroom and were stretched on that, listening to the talk, and occasionallythrowing in a word of such wisdom as they had. Hugh sat in an armchairby the window, smoking and dreaming. 

Poss's voice cut knife-like through a cloud of tobacco smoke. He spokeas one on the defensive. 

"Well, I believe there's something in it, anyhow. Briney Donohoe toldme--"

Charlie Cordon's cold drawl interrupted the youth. "It's all rot, " hesaid. "Briney Donohoe told you--what does he know about it? You two boysand Hugh have been stuck at home here so long, you believe anything. Itell you, they'll do nothing. It's all talk, just to make themselvesbig people. They have nothing to do just now, so it comes in handy as anexcuse to ride from one selection to another all day long and leave ourgates open. We have Peggy's measure, haven't we, Carew? That long-lostrelation of yours, old Considine!"

"I wish you did have him, " said the lawyer. "He might come in veryhandy. With a big property like this to go for, they are nearly sure tohave a try at it. "

Poss took heart at finding himself supported by this new champion. "Yes, " he said. "Red Mick and Peggy are down at Gavan Blake's to-day. I saw their horses hanging up outside as I came through. And BrineyDonohoe told me--"

"What do you think, Carew?" said Charlie, cutting Briney Donohoe offagain. "Don't you think that old fellow was telling the truth when hesaid he married Peggy?"

"Sure he was, " said the Englishman. "Never saw a fellow in such a funkin my life. "

"What about Peggy?" said Pinnock. "How did she take it?"

"Bold as brass! I thought she was going to kiss Charlie there, when shefound out who he was. "

Pinnock laughed. "Funny thing, " he said, "a woman like Peggy having thechance to choose between two fortunes. Pity we couldn't induce her totake the old bushman and be done with it. How much money has he comeinto, Carew?"

"Oh, plenty of money. But of course there's an old place to keep up, andthe death duties are very heavy. Very expensive thing having money leftyou in England, you know. "

Charlie Gordon turned to Pinnock. "What you ought to do, " he said (thefar-out man who has to shift for himself is always quite sure he cansettle all difficulties better than those whose profession it is), "whatyou ought to do, " he repeated, "is to send someone to Peggy and tell hernot to be such a fool. Tell her to stick to old Considine. That's whatyou ought to do. "

"Well, suppose you go and do it. You know the lady better than anyonehere, seemingly. But if she has been to see Blake, I expect the fat's inthe fire by this time. "

"I don't think much of Blake takin' up the case, " said Binjie, "afterthe old lady asked him here. It's doing the black-snake act, I call it. I don't suppose he'll come here any more after this. "

Hugh still sat looking out of the window, smoking silently. "Here comesBlake now, anyhow, " he said. "He's just coming up the flat. "

"Wants to see me, I expect, " said Pinnock. "We'll know all about it now. Must have heard I was here, and is come to declare war or sue for peace. Someone had better go and meet him, I suppose. "

"Dashed if I'll go, " said Poss. "I don't care about a chap that doesn'tact white. I saw Red Mick's and Peggy's horses at his office to-day, andnow he comes up here as bold as brass. "

"Let him go round to the front, " said Hugh, "and then he can ask theservants for whoever he wants. If we go out and meet him, we'll have toask him to stay. "

The approach to houses in the bush is generally by way of the yard wherethe horses arrive, and it is very unusual for anyone, except a strangermaking a formal visit, to be allowed to find their way round to thefront. 

Blake rode up and gave his horse to the horse-boy. "Put him in thestable for a while, " he said. "I may want him again. " Then he went roundto the front door and asked for Mrs. Gordon. 

"I have come to see Miss Grant on very important business, " he said whenthe old lady came in. "Would you ask her if she would see me?"

The old lady was in a quandary. She had heard all the rumours that weregoing about, but she knew that they had been kept from Mary Grant, and she thought that if Blake meant to talk business he might shock orstartle the girl terribly. 

"Mr. Pinnock the lawyer is here, " she said. "Perhaps you had better seehim. Miss Grant does not know--"

"I am come as a friend of Miss Grant's, Mrs. Gordon, " he said. "But, ifMr. Pinnock is here, perhaps it would be better for me to see him first. Shall I wait for him here?"

"If you will go into the office I will send him in there, " and the oldlady withdrew to talk of commonplace matters with Mary, all the timefeeling that a great crisis was at hand. 

Soon the two lawyers faced one another over the office table, and Blakegot to business at once. 

"Mr. Pinnock, " he said, "I am asked to act for Margaret Donohoe, orMargaret Grant as she claims to be; and I want you to believe that I amseriously telling you what I believe to be the truth, when I say thatMiss Grant had better settle this case. "

"Why should she pay one penny? What proofs have you? It looks to me, with all respect to you, Mr. Blake, like an ordinary case of blackmail. "

"If it were blackmail, " said Blake quietly, "do you think that I wouldbe here, giving you particulars of the case? I tell you, man, I am readynow to give you all particulars, and you can soon see whether to advisea settlement or not. "

"Fire away, then, " said Pinnock. "It will take a lot to convince me, though, and so I tell you. "

Blake gave him the particulars gleaned from Peggy. "I have examined andcross-examined and re-cross-examined her, and I can't shake her story. "

Pinnock listened with an immovable face, but his mind was workinglike lightning. As the name of the missionary and Pike's Hotel werementioned, he remembered that he had seen these very names on the buttsof Grant's cheque-books. Getting Blake to excuse him for a moment, hehurried to his room and pulled out a bundle of cheque-butts. The bestdiary of many a man is found in his cheque-butts. There he saw on thevery date mentioned by Blake, cheques drawn to "Self and P. ", also onedrawn to "Pike accommodation, " and one simply to the name of Nettleshipfor five pounds. Of course it was quite possible that the latter wasonly a donation to charity, such as old Bully was occasionally veryfree with; but, taken together, the whole lot made Blake's story lookunpleasantly probable. Pinnock whistled to himself as he tied the bundleup again. "Case of settle or be sorry, " he said to himself. "I wonderhow much will settle it?"

When he faced Blake again, he had pulled the mask of professionalstolidity over his features; also he lied boldly. 

"I can see nothing to corroborate this story, " he said; "but it maybe that Miss Grant would rather pay a few pounds than have theunpleasantness of a trial. I will get her in and ask her if you like, but I don't think it will lead to anything. "

They were holding their conference in the office. Outside, the stationwas dozing in the sun. The house dog slept in the yard, and a stray wildpigeon had come down into the quadrangle, and was picking at some grainthat was spilt there. From the garden came the shouts of the childrenand the happy laughter of Mary Grant. 

"There she is now, " said Pinnock. "Hadn't I better get her to come inand get the thing over?"

He went out, and came back very soon. "Mrs. Gordon and Miss Grant arecoming, " he said. "She said she would like Mrs. Gordon to be with her. "

Before long they came in and sat down. Mary Grant had no idea what shewas wanted for. She greeted Blake with a glad smile, and waited to hearwhat Pinnock had to say. It did not take the lawyer long to put thestory before her: but it was some time before she could understandit. Nothing so tragic had ever entered her life before, and she seemedalmost stunned. 

Mrs. Gordon moved to her side and took her hand. 

"It is very terrible for you--for us all, dear, " she said. "You mustlisten to what Mr. Pinnock says, and make up your mind. He can adviseyou best what to do. "

Again Pinnock went through the case. As a full understanding broke in onher, she drew herself up; the look of distress and perplexity left herface, and her eyes were full of scorn and anger. 

"Hello, what's coming now?" thought Pinnock. "I hope she says nothingrash. "

She tried to speak once or twice, but the words seemed to choke her. 

"What do you advise me to do, Mr. Pinnock?" she said, turning to himsuddenly. 

"I advise you to give me power to act for you in the matter as I thinkbest, " said Pinnock, who saw that matters were likely to slip beyond hiscontrol. "From what Mr. Blake tells me, I daresay this woman can giveyou a lot of trouble and annoyance. Whatever you pay her, you won't missthe money. You will save the family here from being turned out; you willavoid scandal; and if there should be any foundation for Mr. Blake'sstory, it may mean that if you don't settle you lose everything. "

From him Mary Grant turned to the old lady. 

"Mrs. Gordon, " she said, "do you advise me to pay this money?"

"My dear, I don't advise at all. Don't consider us in the matter at all. It is for you to say. "

"Then I will pay nothing. It is a cruel, infamous, wicked slander. Thesepoor, ignorant people don't know what they are doing. Sooner than payone penny in compromise, I will walk off this station a pauper. God willnot let such villainy win. Mrs. Gordon, surely you don't think that Iought to blacken my father's and mother's name by paying money to keepthis claim quiet?"

Here Pinnock broke in on her speech. "But if they should manage toproduce evidence--"

"Let them produce it, and let the judge believe it if he likes. You andI and everybody know that it is a lie; even if they win the case, it isstill a lie. I will pay nothing--not one halfpenny. My mother's nameis more than all the money in the world, and I will not blacken it bycompromises. Mr. Pinnock, the case is to be fought out, and if we losewe shall still know that justice is on our side; but if we pay money--"

Mrs. Gordon took her hand, and lifted it to her lips. 

"I think you are quite right, my dear. You put us all to shame for eventhinking of it. "

"I am very sorry, Mr. Blake, " the girl went on, "very sorry indeed thatyou should have come here on such an errand. You saved my life, and if Icould pay you for that I would; but this offer is an insult, and I hopethat you will never come here again. Whether I am turned out of the oldstation or not, I hope that you will never come here again. " And withthat the two ladies walked out, leaving the lawyers looking at eachother. 

"I am afraid, Mr. Blake" said Pinnock at last, "that we have lost anyhope we might ever have had of settling this case. "

But Blake, as he rode homewards, felt that he had lost for ever a muchhigher hope. He had played for a high stake on two chances. One of themhad failed him. There remained only the chance of pulling Peggy'scase through; and he swore that if hard work, skill, and utterunscrupulousness could win that case, it should be won. 

CHAPTER XXII. A NURSE AND HER ASSISTANT. 

While they were waiting for the great case to come on a sort ofdepression seemed to spread itself over the station. The owner wasmostly shut up in her room with her thoughts; the old lady was trying tocomfort her, and Ellen Harriott, with sorrow always at her heart, wentabout the household work like an automaton. No wonder that as soon asbreakfast was over all the men cleared out to work on the run. But oneday it so happened that Carew did not go out with the others. The youngEnglishman was a poor correspondent, and had promised himself a wholequiet day to be spent in explaining by letter to his people at home themysterious circumstances under which he had found and lost Patrick HenryConsidine. Ellen Harriott found him in the office manfully wrestlingwith some extra long words, and stopped for a few minutes' talk. She hada liking for the young Englishman, and any talk was better than to beleft alone with her thoughts. 

"These are bad times for the old station, Mr. Carew, " she said. "Wedon't know what is going to happen next. "

Carew was not going to haul down the flag just yet. "I believeeverything 'll come all right in the long run, don't you know, " he said. "Never give up first hit, you know; see it out--eh, what?"

"I want to get away out of this for a while, " she said. "I am run down. I think the bush monotony tells on women. I don't want anyone to fallsick, but I do wish I could get a little nursing to do again--just for achange. I would nurse Red Mick himself. "

Is there anything in telepathy? Do coming events sometimes send warningson ahead? Certain it is that, even as she spoke, a rider on a sweatinghorse was seen coming at full speed up the flat; he put his horse overthe sliprails that led into the house paddock without any hesitation, and came on at a swinging gallop. 

"What is this?" said Ellen Harriott, "more trouble? It is only troublethat comes so fast. Why, it is one of Red Mick's nephews!" By thistime the rider was up to them; without dismounting he called out Miss!Please, Miss! There's been an accident. My uncle got run agin a tree andhe's all smashed in the head. I'm off to the Doctor now; I'll get theDoctor here by to-morrow night, and would you go out and do aughtyou can for Mick? There's no one out there but old Granny, and she'shelpless like. Will you go?"

"Is he much hurt?"

"I'm afraid he's killed, Miss. I found him, He'd been out all nightand the side of his head all busted. After a dingo he was--I seen thetracks. Coming back from Gavan Blake's he must 'a' seen the dorg off thetrack, and the colt he was on was orkard like and must have hit him agena tree. The colt kem home with the saddle under his belly, and I run thetracks back till I found him. Will you go out, Miss?"

"Yes, " said Ellen, "I will go. And you hurry on now, and get the Doctor. Tell the Doctor I've gone out there. " Like an arrow from the bow theyoung fellow sent his big thoroughbred horse across the paddocks, makinga bee line over fences and everything for Tarrong, while Ellen Harriotthurried in to pack up a few things. 

"Can I help you at all?" said Carew, following her into the house. I'dlike to be some use, don't you know; but in this country I seem to be sodashed useless. 

"You will be a lot of use if you will come out with me. I shall wantsomeone to drive the trap out, and I may want help with the patient. Youare big and strong. 

"Yes, and it's about the first time my strength has even been of any useto anybody. I will go and get the trap ready while you dress. "

Hurriedly they packed food and blankets into the light buggy, and setoff. Miss Harriott knew the tracks well, and the buggy fairly flew alongtill they came up the flat to Red Mick's. As they drew near the hut anoise of talking and crying came through the open door. 

"What's up now?" said Carew. "Crowd of people there. "

"No"--Ellen Harriott listened for a second. "No, " she said, "he isdelirious. That is the old woman crying. Hurry up, Mr. Carew--take thehorse out of the buggy and put him in the stable, and then come in asquickly as you can. I may want help. "

Leaving Carew to unharness the horse, she went inside. In the innerroomy on a bunk, lay Red Mick. Eye, nose, forehead, and mouth were allone unrecognisable lump, while fragments of bark and splinters stillstuck to the skin. In the corner sat the old mother, crying feebly. Disregarding the old woman, Ellen made a swift examination of Mick'sinjuries, but as soon as he felt her touch on his face he sprang to hisfeet and struck at her. 

Just as he did so, Carew rushed in and threw his arms round the madman. In that grip even Red Mick had no power to move. 

"Just hold him quiet, " said Ellen, "till I have a look"--and she rapidlyran her fingers over the wound. "Very bad. I think there must be a bitof the skull pressing on the brain. We can't do much till the Doctorcomes. I think he will be quiet now. Will you make a fire and boil somewater, so that I can clean and dress the wound That will ease him alittle. And get the blankets in; we can make up some sort of place onthe floor to sleep. One of us will have to watch all night. Cranny, youmust go to bed, do you hear? Come and sit by Mick till I put Granny tobed. "

By degrees they got things shipshape--put the old woman to bed, andcleaned and dressed Mick's wounds. Then they settled down for the longnight in the sick-room. A strange sick-room it was; but many a hospitalis less healthy. Through wide cracks between the slabs there came in thecool, fresh air that in itself is worth more than all the medicinesin the pharmacopoeia. The patient had sunk into an uneasy slumber whenEllen made her dispositions for the night. 

"You go and lie down now, " she said, "in the other room, on the sofa. Iwill call you if I want you. Get all the sleep you can, and in a coupleof hours you can take my place. He may talk, but don't let that disturbyou. I will call out loud enough if I want you. "

"Mind you do, " said the Englishman. "I sleep like a blessed top, youknow. Sleep anywhere. Well, good-night for the present. He looks alittle better since you washed him, doesn't he?"

He threw himself on the couch in the inner room, and before long atitanic snore showed that he had not over-rated his sleeping powers. 

Ellen Harriott sat by Red Mick's bedside and thought over the events ofthe last few weeks. As she thought she half-dozed, but woke with a startto find her patient broad awake again and trying to get at somethingthat was under his bunk. Quietly she drew him back, for his struggleswith Carew had left him weak as a child. 

He looked at her with crazed eyes. 

"The paper, " he said, "for the love of God, the paper. I have to take itto Gavan. 'Twill win the case. The paper. "

She tried to pacify him, but nothing would do but that she should getthe mysterious paper. At last, to humour him, she dived under the bunkand found an iron camp-oven, and in it a single envelope. Just to seewhat was exciting him she opened the envelope, and found a crumpledpiece of paper which she read over to herself. It was the originalcertificate of the marriage between Patrick Henry Keogh and MargaretDonohoe; if Ellen had only known it, she held in her hand the evidenceto sweep away all her friend's troubles. It so happened, however, thatit conveyed nothing to her mind. She had heard much about Considine, butnot a word about Keogh, and the name "Margaret Donohoe" did not strikeher half-asleep mind as referring to Peggy. She put the paper away againin the camp-oven; then, feeling weary, she awoke Carew and lay down onthe couch while he watched the patient. 

Next morning the Doctor arrived with a trail of Red Mick's relationsafter him; among them they arranged to take him into Tarrong to beoperated on, and Ellen Harriott and Carew drove back to Kuryong feelingas if they had known each other all their lives. 

As they drove along she wondered idly which of Red Mick's innumerablerelatives the paper referred to, and why Mick was so anxious about it;but by the time they arrived at home the matter passed from hermind, except that she remembered well enough what was written on theodd-looking little scrap. 

"I will give you a certificate as a competent wardsman if ever you wantone, " she said to Carew as he helped her out of the buggy. "I don't knowwhat I'd have done without you. "

"You'd have managed somehow, I'll bet, " he said, looking at theconfident face before him. "Quite a bit of fun, wasn't it? I hope wehave a few more excursions together. "

And she felt that she rather hoped so, too. 

CHAPTER XXIII. HUGH GOES IN SEARCH. 

Who does not remember the first exciting news of the great Grant v. Grant will case? The leading Q. C. 's. Watched eagerly for briefs; juniorswho held even the smallest briefs in connection with it patronisedtheir fellows, and explained to them intricate legal dodges which theythemselves had thought out and "pumped into" their learned leaders. "Took me a doose of a time to get him to see it, but I think he has gotit at last, " they used to say. The case looked like lasting for years, for there would be appeals and counter-appeals, references, inquiriesand what not; and in getting ready for the first fight the lawyers oneach side worked like beavers. 

Blake let it be known among the clans that he was going to fight thecase for Peggy, and that there was going to be a lawsuit such as themost veteran campaigner of them all had never even dimly imagined--alawsuit with the happiness of a beautiful woman and the disposal of avast fortune at stake. Word was carried from selection to selection, across trackless mountain-passes, and over dangerous river crossings, until even Larry, the outermost Donohoe, heard the news in his rockyfastness, miscalled a grazing lease, away in the gullies under theshadows of Black Andrew mountain. By some mysterious means it evenreached Briney Doyle, who was camped out near the foothills ofKosciusko, running wild horses into trap-yards. This occupation hadtaken such hold on him that he had become as wild as the horses hepursued, and it was popularly supposed that the other Doyles had to goout with horses to run him in whenever they wanted him. 

Peggy brought in the copy of her marriage certificate, an old and fadedpiece of paper which ran--"This is to certify that I, Thomas Nettleship, duly ordained clergyman of the Church of England, have this daysolemnized a marriage between William Grant, Bachelor, and MargaretDonohoe, Spinster. "

The name of Pike's Hotel and the date were nearly illegible, but therethe document was; and though it was not the original certificate, itwas pretty clear that Peggy could never have invented it. Its productionmade a great impression. It certainly went far to convince Blake. 

He had cross-examined all the witnesses, had checked their accounts byeach other, had followed William Grant's career at that time, had got onto the history of the bush missionary; and everything fitted in. MartinDoyle--Black Martin's son Martin--was letter-perfect in his part. Peggycould give the details of the ceremony with unfaltering accuracy fiftytimes a day if need be, and never contradict herself. So at last he gaveup trying to find holes in the case, and determined to go in and win. 

On the other side there was trouble in the camp--no witnesses could befound, except Martin Doyle, and he was ready to swear to the wedding. Atlast it became evident that the only chance of overthrowing Peggy's casewas to find Considine; but the earth seemed to have swallowed him up. 

The influence of the Chief of Police was brought to bear, and many aweary mile did the troopers of the Outer Back ride in search of themissing man. One of them followed a Considine about two hundredmiles across country, and embodied the story of his wanderings in avillainously written report; brief and uncouth as the narrative was, it was in itself an outline picture of bush life. From shearers' hut toartesian borers' camp, from artesian well to the opal-fields, from theopal-fields to a gold-rush, from the gold-rush to a mail-coach stable, he pursued this Considine, only to find that, in the words of thereport, "the individual was not the same. "

Things looked hopeless for Mary Grant, when help came from an unexpectedquarter. A letter written in a rugged, forcible fist, arrived forCharlie Gordon from a young fellow named Redshaw, once a station-hand onKuryong, who had gone out to the back-country and was rather a celebrityin his way. His father was a pensioner at the old station, and Redshawjunior, who was known as Flash Jack, evidently kept in touch with thingsat Kuryong. He wrote

Dear Sir, I hear from Gannon the trooper that you want to find Keogh. When he leftthe coach that time, he went back to the station and got his horses, andcleared out, and he is now hiding in Reeves's buffalo camp at the backof Port Faraway. If I hear any more will let you know. 

J. REDSHAW, alas 'Flash Jack. '

"What's all this?" said Pinnock, when Charlie and Carew brought him theletter. "Who is J. Redshaw, and why does he sign "alas Flash Jack?"

"He means Alias, don't you see? Alias Flash Jack. He is a man we usedto have on the station, and his father used to work for us--I expect hewants to do us a good turn. "

"It will be a good turn in earnest, if he puts you in the way of findingConsidine, " said the lawyer. "You will have to send Hugh up. The oldman knows you and Carew, and if he saw you coming he would take to thewoods, as the Yankees say. Even when you do get him the case isn'tover, because the jury will side with Peggy. They'll sympathise withher efforts to prove herself an honest woman. It isn't marrying too muchthat will get her into trouble--it's the other thing. But we have thedate and place of her alleged marriage with William Grant; and if thisold Considine can prove, by documents, mind you, not by his own simpleword--because it's a hundred to one the jury wouldn't believe him--Isay, if he can prove that she married him on that very day and at thatvery place, then she's beaten. No one on earth could swallow the storyof her marrying two different people on the same day. "

"Hugh can go, " said Charlie. "He'll have to do his best this time. Itall depends on getting hold of this Considine, eh? Well, Hugh 'll haveto get him. If he fails he needn't show his face amongst us any more. "

Mary Grant was called in and told the great news, and then Pinnockstarted out to find Hugh. But before the lawyer could see him, Mary methim in the garden. 

Hugh did not see that he could be of any use in the case, and wanted tobe quit of Kuryong for good. Seeing Mary day after day, he had becomemore and more miserable as the days went by. He determined at last to goaway altogether, and, when once he had made up his mind, only waited fora chance to tell her that he was going. The chance came as she left theoffice after consulting with Pinnock. 

"Miss Grant, " he said, "if you don't mind, I think I will resign mymanagement of this station. I will make a start for myself or get a jobsomewhere else. You will easily get someone to take my place. "

She looked at him keenly for a while. 

"I didn't expect this of you, " she said, bitterly. "The rats leave thesinking ship. Is that it?"

His face flushed a dull red. "You know better than that, " he said. "Iwould stop if I could be of any use, but what is there I can do?"

"Why do you want to leave?"

"I want to get away from here--I want to get out of the hills forawhile. "

Mary knew, as well as if he had told her, that what he wanted was to gowhere he could forget her and see whether absence would break the chain;and triumph lit up her eyes, for it was pleasant even in the midstof her troubles to know that he still cared. Then she came to a swiftdecision. 

"Will you do something for me away from the hills, then?" she said. 

"Where?"

"Up North. I want some one to find that man Considine that your brotherand Mr. Carew met. You know how important it is to me. Will you do itfor me?"

Hugh would have jumped at the chance to risk his life for her lightestwish. 

"I will go anywhere and do my best to find anyone you want, " he said;"When do you want me to start?"

"See Mr. Pinnock and your brother about that. They will tell you allabout it; and if you do manage to find this man, why, you can talk aboutleaving after that if you want to. Will you go for me?"

"Yes. I will go, Miss Grant; and I will never come back till I find thisman--if he is alive. "

She laid her hand on his arm. 

"I know you will do all you can, " she said, "but in any case, whetheryou find him or not--come back again!"

CHAPTER XXIV. THE SECOND SEARCH FOR CONSIDINE. 

Before leaving Hugh was fully instructed what to do if he compassed thesecond finding of Considine. He was to travel under another name, for fear that his own would get about, and cause the fugitive to makeanother hurried disappearance. 

He took a subpoena to serve on the old man as a last resource. 

Charlie was emphatic. "Go up and get hold of the old vagrant, and findout all about it. Don't make a mess of it, whatever you do. Remember theold lady, and Miss Grant, and the youngsters, and all of us depend onyou in this business. Don't come back beaten. Don't let anything stopyou. Get him drunk or get him sober--friendly or fighting--but get thetruth, and get the proofs of it. Choke it out of the old hound somehow. "

Hugh said that he would, and departed, weighed down by responsibility, to execute his difficult mission. He had to go into an untravelledcountry to get the truth out of a man who did not want to tell it; andthe time allowed was short, as the case could not be postponed muchlonger. 

He travelled by sea to Port Faraway, a tropical sweltering township bythe Northern seas of Australia, and when he reached it felt like one ofthe heroes in Tennyson's Lotus Eaters--he had come "into a land whereinit seemed always afternoon. "

Reeves, the buffalo shooter, was a well-known man, but to find his campwas another matter. No one seemed to have energy enough to take muchinterest in the quest. 

Hugh interviewed a leading citizen at the hotel, and got very littlesatisfaction. He said, "I want to get out to Reeves's camp. Do you knowwhere it is, and how one gets there?"

"Well, " said the leading citizen, putting his feet up on the arms of hislong chair and gasping for air, "Le's see! Reeves's camp--ah! Where ishe camped now?"

"I don't know, " said Hugh. "I wish I did. That's what I want to findout. "

"Hopkins'd know. Hopkins, the storekeeper. He sends out the supplies. Did you ask him?"

"No, " said Hugh. "I didn't. I'll go and ask him now. "

"Too hot to bustle round now, " said the leading citizen, lighting hispipe. "What'll you have to drink? Have some square; it's the best drinkhere. "

Hugh thought it well to fall in with the customs of the inhabitants, so he had a stiff gin-and-water at nine in the morning, a thing he hadnever done, or even seen done, in his life before. Then he went over inthe blazing sunlight to the storekeeper, and asked whether he knew whereReeves' camp was. 

"That I don't, " said the storekeeper. "I send out what they want bya Malay who sails a one-masted craft round the coast, and goes up theriver to their camp, and brings the hides back. They send a blackfellowto let me know when they want any stuff, and where to send it. "

"Perhaps I could go out with the next lot of stuff, " said Hugh. "Whenwill they want it, do you think?"

"Well, they mightn't want any more. They might go on now till the wetseason, and then they'll come in. "

"When is the wet season, then?"

"Oh, a couple of months, likely. Perhaps three months. Perhaps therewon't be none at all to speak of. What'll you have?"

"Oh, I have just had a drink, thanks. Fact is, I'm a bit anxious to getout to this camp. It's a bit important. You don't know where they arefor certain?"

"Lord knows! Anywhere! Might be on one river, might be on another. They'll come in in the wet season. Better have a drink, anyhow. You musthave something. What'll it be--square? Beer? Can't stand beer in thisclimate, myself. "

"Oh, well, " said Hugh desperately, "I'll have another square. Make it alight one. Do you think I can get anyone who knows where they are campedto go out with me?"

"Tommy Prince'd know, I expect. He was out in that country before. Buthe's gone with a bullock-team, drawing quartz to the new battery at theOriental. At least I saw him start out three weeks ago. Said he was ina hurry, too, as the battery couldn't start until he got the quartzhauled. "

"Perhaps he didn't start, " said Hugh; "perhaps he put it off till afterthe wet season?"

"Well, " said the storekeeper, meditatively, "he might, but I don't thinkhe would. There's no one else, that I know of, can find them for you. Lord knows where they are. They camp in one place till the buffalo areall shot, and then they shift to new ground. Perhaps ten miles, perhapsthirty. Have another drink? What'll you have?"

"No, not any more, thanks. About this Tommy Prince, now; if I can findhim he might tell me where to go. Where can I find him?"

"Down at the Margaret is where he camps, but I think he's gone to theOriental by this time--sure to be. That's about forty miles down pastthe Margaret. There was a fellow came in from the Margaret for supplies, and he'll be going back to-morrow--if he can find his pack-horses. "

"And supposing he can't?"

"Well, then, he'll go out next week, I expect, unless he gets on thedrink. He's a terrible chap to drink. "

"And if he starts to drink, when will he go?"

"Lord knows. They'll have to send in after him. His mates'll be prettynear starved by now, anyhow. He's been in town, foolin' round thatgirl at the Royal this three weeks. He'll give you a lift out to theMargaret--that's forty miles. "

"What is there out at the Margaret when I get there? Is it a town, or astation, or a mine? What is it?"

"Oh, it's not so bad. There's a store there, and a few mines scatteredabout. Mostly Chinese mines. The storekeeper there's a great soaker, nearly always on the drink. Name's Sampson. He'll tell you where to findTommy Prince. Prince and his mates have a claim twelve miles out fromthere, and if Tommy ain't gone to the Oriental, he might go down withyou. "

"Supposing Tommy's at his claim, twelve miles out, " said Hugh, "how canI get out?"

"I dunno, " said the storekeeper, who was getting tired of talking solong without a drink. "I dunno how you'll get out there. Better have adrink--what'll you have?"

Hugh walked out of the store in despair. He found himself engaged inwhat appeared to be an endless chase after a phantom Considine, and thedifficulties in his way semed insuperable. Yet how could he go back andtell them all at home that he had failed? What would they think of him?The thought made him miserable; and he determined, if he failed, neverto go back to the old station at all. 

So he returned to his hotel, packed his valise, and set out to lookfor the pack-horse man. He found him fairly sober; soon bargained to beallowed to ride one of the horses, and in due course was depositedat the Margaret--a city consisting of one galvanised-iron building, apparently unoccupied. His friend dismounted and had a drink with himout of his flask. They kicked at the door unavailingly; then his matewent on into the indefinite, leaving him face to face with generaldesolation. 

The Margaret store was the only feature in the landscape--a smallbuilding with a heap of empty bottles in the immediate foreground, andall round it the grim bush, a vista of weird twisted trees and dullgrey earth with scanty grass. At the back were a well, a windlass, and atrough for water, round which about a hundred goats were encamped. Hughsat and smoked, and looked at the prospect. By-and-by out of the bushcame two men, a Chinaman and a white man. The Chinaman was like allChinamen; the white man was a fiery, red-faced, red-bearded, red-nosedlittle fellow. The Chinee was dragging a goat along by the horns, thegoat hanging back and protesting loudly in semi-human screams; every nowand again a black mongrel dog would make sudden fiendish dashes at thecaptive, and fasten its teeth in its neck. This made it bellow louder;but the Chinaman, with the impassibility of his race, dragged goat, dog, and all along, without the slightest show of interest. 

The white man trudged ahead, staring fixedly in front; when they reachedthe store he stared at Hugh as if he were the Bunyip, but said no word. Then he unlocked the door, went in, and came out with a large knife, with which he proceeded to murder the goat scientifically. The Chineemeanwhile bailed up the rest of the animals, and caught and milked acouple of "nannies, " while a patriarchal old "billy" walked fragrantlyround the yard, uttering hoarse "buukhs" of defiance. 

It was a truly pastoral scene, but Hugh took little interest in it. Hewas engrossed with the task of getting out to the buffalo camp, finding Considine, and making him come forward and save the family. Heapproached the white, or rather red man, who cocked a suspicious eye athim, and went on tearing the hide off the goat. Hugh noticed that hishand trembled a good deal, and that a sort of foam gathered on his lipsas he worked. 

"Good day, " said Hugh. 

The man glared at him, but said nothing. 

"My name is Lambton, " said Hugh. "I want to go out to the buffalo camp. I want to find Tommy Prince, to see if he can go out with me. Do youknow where he is?"

The man put the blade of the butcher's knife between his teeth, andstared again at Hugh, apparently having some difficulty in focussinghim. Then his lips moved, and he was evidently trying to frame speech. He said, "Boo, Boo, Boo, " for a few seconds; then he pulled himselftogether, and said, "Wha' you want?"

"I want to get to the buffalo camp, " said Hugh. "You know Reeves'scamp. "

Here a twig fell to the ground just behind the man; he gave oneblood-curdling yell, dropped the knife, and rushed past Hugh, screamingout, "Save me! Save me! They're after me! Look at 'em; look at 'em!" Hishair stood perfectly erect with fright, and, as he ran, he glanced overhis shoulder with frightened eyes. He didn't get far. In his panic heran straight towards the well, banged his head against the windlass, andwent thundering down the twenty or thirty feet of shaft souse into thewater at the bottom, where he splashed and shrieked like a fiend, thenoise reverberating up the long shaft. 

Hugh and the Chinaman ran to the well-top, Hugh cursing under hisbreath. Every possible obstacle that could arise had arisen to blockhis journey; every man that could have helped him was away, or dead, orotherwise missing; and now, to crown all, after getting thus far, he hadapparently struck a prize lunatic, and would have to stay in that awfuldesolation, perhaps for a week, with him and a Chinaman. Perhaps hewould have to give evidence on the lunatic's dead body, and even beaccused of causing his death. All these thoughts flashed through hismind as he ran to the well-head. From the noise he made the man wasevidently not dead yet, and, looking down, he saw his eyes glaring up ashe splashed in the water. 

"What's up with him?" roared Hugh to the Chinaman. 

"Him, dlink, dlink--all-a-time dlink, him catchee hollows. "

They had started to lower the bucket, when suddenly the yells ceased, a loud bubbling was heard, and looking down they saw only a dim, roundobject above the water. Without an instant's delay Hugh put his foot inthe bucket and signed to the Chinee to lower him. Swiftly and silentlyhe descended the well, jumped out of the bucket, and grabbed thefloating body of the drunkard with one hand, holding on to the rope withthe other. The man had collapsed, and was as limp as a rag. Hugh madethe rope fast under his armpits, and gave the old mining cry, "On topthere, haul away. "

Heavily the windlass creaked. Mightily the Chinee strained. Theunconscious figure was drawn out of the water and up the shaft, inch byinch. The weight of a man in wet clothes is considerably more than thatof a bucket of water, and it seemed a certainty that either the oldwindlass would break or the Chinaman's arms give out. Slowly, slowly, the limp wet figure ascended the shaft, while Hugh supported himself inthe water, by gripping the logs at the side of the well, praying thatthe tackle would hold. The creaking of the windlass ceased, and theascending body stopped--evidently the Chinee was pausing to get hisbreath. 

"Go on!" screamed Hugh. "Keep at it, John! Don't let it beat you! Windaway!"

Faintly came the gasped reply, "No can! No more can do!"

He lowered himself in the water as far as he could, to deaden the blowin case of the fellow falling back on him, and screamed encouragement, threats, and promises up the well. Suddenly from above came a new voicealtogether, a white man's voice. 

"Right oh, boss! We've got him. "

The windlass recommenced its creaking, and the figure at the end of therope continued its slow, upward journey. Hugh saw the body hauled slowlyto the top and grabbed by a strong hand; then it disappeared, and thesunlight once more streamed, uninterrupted, down the shaft. The bucketcame down again, and Hugh clutched it and yelled out, "Haul away!" Hecould hear the men grunting above as they turned the handle. 

When he had been hauled about fifteen feet there was a crack; the oldwindlass had collapsed, and he went souse, feet first, into the water. He sank till he touched the bottom, then rose gasping to the surface. A head appeared, framed in the circle of the well, and a slow, drawlingcolonial voice said:

"Gord! boss, are you hurt? The windlass is broke. "

"No, I'm not hurt. Can't you fix that windlass?" roared Hugh. 

"No!" came the answer sepulchrally down the well. "She's cooked. "

"Well, hold on, " said Hugh. "I believe I can get up. " He braced his feetagainst one side of the well, and his shoulders against the other, andso, working them alternately, he raised himself inch by inch. It is afeat that requires a good man to perform, and the strain was very great. Grimly he kept at it, and drew nearer and nearer to the top. Then, atlast, a hand seized him; half-sick with over-exertion, he struggled outand fell gasping to the ground. For a minute or two the universe wasturning round with him. The Chinee and the strange white man moved in akind of flicker, unreal as the figures in a cinematograph. Then all wasblank for a while. 

When he came to, he was lying by the well with a bag under his head, andthe strange white man was trying to pour some spirits down his throat. 

"I'm--all right--thanks!" gasped Hugh. 

"By Gord, Mister, it's lucky I happened to come along, " said thestranger. "You an' Sampson'd ha' both been drownded. That Chow couldn'thaul him up. Dead beat the Chow was when I came. I jis' come ridin' up, thinkin' to get a few pound of onions to take out to the camp, and Isee the Chow a-haulin' and a-haulin' at that windlass like as if hewas tryin' to pull the bottom out of the well. I rides up and sings out"What ho! Chaney, what yer got?" And he says, "Ketch hold, " he says, and that was all he could say; he was fair beat. And then I heard yousinging out, and I says to meself, "Is the whole popperlation of theNorthern Territory down this here well? How many more is there, Chancy?"I says. And then bung goes the old windlass, and lucky it ketched inthe top of the well; if it had fell down on the top of you, it'd ha'stiffened you all right. And how you got up that well beats me. ByCripes, it does. "

"How's the--man that--was down with me?" said Hugh slowly. 

"What, Sampson? 'E's all right. Couldn't kill'm with a meat-axe. Hemust ha' swallowed very near all the water in that well. Me an' the Chowemptied very near two buckets out of him. He's dead to the world jes'now. How do you feel, boss?"

"I'll be all right in a minute, " said Hugh. "What's your name?"

"I'm Tommy Prince, " said the stranger. "I jist kem in from my campto-day for them onions. "

Hugh drew a long breath. The luck had turned at last. 

CHAPTER XXV. IN THE BUFFALO CAMP. 

"You're just the man I was looking for, " said Hugh, taking in thestranger with his eyes. "I want to get out to Reeves's buffalo camp, andI hear you're the only man who knows that country at all. Can you gettime to come down with me? I'll make it worth your while. "

He waited for the reply with a beating heart. If this man failed him hesaw nothing for it but to go back. The stranger lit his pipe with theleisurely movements of a man who had never been in a real hurry in hislife. 

Then he spoke slowly. 

"Well, it's this way, boss, you see. I'm just startin' off in no endof a hurry to go and take a team of bullocks to the Oriental to drawquartz. "

"Can't you put it off for a while?" said Hugh. "It's getting near thewet season. "

"Well, I'd like to go with you, boss, but I couldn't chuck 'em over--notrightly I couldn't. " He stroked his beard and relapsed into thought. 

"Let's go in and get a drink, " said Hugh. "I suppose there is somesquare-face inside. "

The square-face settled it. They had one drink, and the stranger beganto think less of the needs of the Oriental. They had another, and hesaid he didn't suppose it'd matter much if the Oriental had to wait abit for their stone, and the bullocks were all over the bush and verypoor, and by the time he got them together the wet season would be on. They had a third, and he said that the Oriental had been hanging onfor six months, and it wouldn't hurt it to hang on for seven, and hewouldn't see a man like Hugh stuck. 

So the shareholders in that valuable concern, the Oriental Mine, werekept in pleasing suspense for some months longer, while the mine-manager(whose salary was going on all the time) did nothing but smoke, andwrite reports to the effect that "a very valuable body of stone was atgrass, awaiting cartage to the battery, when a splendid crushing was acertainty. " Meanwhile Tommy Prince was gaily journeying with Hugh downto the buffalo camp. 

Prince, a typical moleskin-trousered, cotton-shirted, cabbage-tree-hatted bushman, soon fixed up all details. He annexed thehorses belonging to the store, sagely remarking that, as Hugh had savedtheir owner's life, he could afford to let him have a few horses. Healso helped himself to pack-saddles, camping gear, supplies, and allsorts of odds and ends--not forgetting a couple of gallons ofrum, mosquito-nets made of cheese cloth, blankets, and a rifle andcartridges. They fitted out the expedition in fine style, whileunconscious Sampson slept the sleep of the half-drowned. The placidChinese cook fried great lumps of goat for them to eat, heedless of allthings except his opium-pipe, to which he had recourse in the evening, the curious dreamy odour of the opium blending strangely with thearomatic scent of the bush. 

At daylight they started, and for three days rode through thewilderness, camping out at night, while the horses with bells andhobbles grazed round the camp. Tommy Prince steered a course byinstinct, guided as unerringly as the Israelites by their pillar offire. 

By miles of trackless, worthless wilderness, by rolling open plains, by rocky ranges and stony passes, they pushed out and ever further out, till at last, one day, Tommy said, "They ought to be hereabouts, someplace. " So saying, he dropped a lighted match into a big patch of grass, and in a few seconds a line of fire half a mile wide was roaring acrossthe plain; above it rose smoke as of a burning city. 

"They'll see that, " said Tommy, "without the buff'loes have got 'em. "So they camped for the day under a huge banyan-fig tree and awaiteddevelopments. About evening, away on the horizon, there arose ananswering cloud of smoke, connecting earth and sky, like a waterspout. 

"That's them, " said Tommy. They climbed once more into their saddles, and set out. Just as the sun was setting, they saw a singular processioncoming towards them. In front rode two small, wiry, hard-featured, inexpressibly dirty men on big well-formed horses. They wore dungareetrousers, which had once been blue, but were now begrimed andbloodstained to a dull neutral colour. Their shirts--once coloured, butnow nearly black--were worn outside the trousers, like a countryman'ssmock frock, and were drawn in at the waist by broad leathern belts fullof cartridges. Their faces were half-hidden by stubbly beards, and theirbright alert eyes looked out from under the brims of two as dilapidatedfelt hats as ever graced head of man. Each carried a carbine betweenthigh and saddle. These were the buffalo shooters. 

Behind them rode an elderly, grizzled man, whom Hugh had no difficultyin recognising as Keogh, or Considine. Following him were some sevenor eight packhorses, all heavily laden with hides. And behind thepackhorses rode three or four naked blacks and a Chinaman. 

Hugh's guide at once made himself welcome in his happy-go-lucky style. He introduced Hugh as Mr. Lambton, from New South Wales. The buffaloshooters made him welcome after the fashion of their kind; but Considinewas obviously uneasy, and avoided him, riding with Tommy Prince for awhile, and evidently trying to find out what Hugh had come for. 

That night, when they got to the buffalo shooters' camp, Hugh openedfire on Considine. The veteran was in a cheerful mood after his meal, and Hugh wanted to start diplomatically, thinking he might persuade him. If that failed he would give him the summons; but he would start withthe suaviter in modo. When it came to the point, however, he forgot hisdiplomacy, and plunged straight into trouble. 

"I'll tell you what I've come up here for, Considine, " he said. "Myname's Hugh Gordon, and I want to find out something about your marriagewith Peggy Donohoe. "

"Well, if that's what you come for, Mister, " said the veteran, pulling afirestick out of the fire, and slowly lighting his pipe, "if that's whatyou come for"--puff, puff, puff--"you've come on a wild goose chase. Inever knew no Peggy Donohoe in my life. My wife"--puff--"was a small, dark woman, named Smith. "

"I thought you told my brother that you married Peggy Donohoe. "

"So I might have told him, " assented the veteran. "Quite likely I did, but I must ha' made a mistake. A man might easy make a mistake over athing like that. What odds is it to you who I married, anyhow?"

"What odds? Why look here, Considine, it means that my old mother willbe turned out of her home. That's some odds to me, isn't it?"

"Yairs, that's right enough, Mister, " said the courteous Considine;"it's lots of odds to you, but what I ask you is--what odds is it to me?Why should I go and saddle myself with a she-devil just when I'm cominginto a bit of money? I'd walk miles to do her a bad turn. "

"Well, if you want to do her a bad turn, come down and block her gettingMr. Grant's estate. "

"Yes, an' put her on to meself What next? I tell you, Mister, straight, I wouldn't have that woman tied to me for all the money in China. ThatEnglish bloke said there was a big fortune for me in England. Well, if Ihave to take Peggy Donohoe with it, it can stay. I'll live here with theblacks and the buffalo shooters, and I'll get my livin' for meself, sameas I got it all my life; but take on Peggy again I will not. Now, that'sDomino--that's the dead finish. I won't go with you, and I won't giveyou no information. And I'm sorry too, 'cause you seem a good sort of ayoung feller--but I won't do anything that'll mix me up with Peggy anymore. "

Hugh ground his teeth with mortification. Then he played his next card. 

"There's a man they call Flash Jack--do you know him?"

"Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't, " said the sage in a surly tone. 

"Well, he told me to ask you to help us. He said to tell you that heparticularly wanted you to give evidence if you can. "

"Want'll be his master, then, " snarled the old man. 

"He said he would put the police on to a job about some cattle atCross-roads, " said Hugh. 

The rage fairly flashed out of Considine's eyes. 

"He said that, did he?" he yelled. "The rotten informer! Well, you tellFlash Jack from me that where he can put me away for one thing I can puthim away for half-a-dozen; and if I go into gaol for a five-stretch hegoes in for ten. I ain't afraid of Flash Jack, nor you either. See that, now!"

Hugh felt that his mission had failed. He pulled out the summons as alast resource, and passed it to the old man. 

"What's this?" he said. 

"Summons to give evidence, " said Hugh. 

"Victoria by the Grace of God, " read the old man, by the flickeringfirelight. "Victoria by the Grace of God, eh? Well, see here, " hecontinued, solemnly putting the summons in the fire and watching itblaze, "if Victoria by the Grace of God wants me, she can send forme--send a coach and six for Patrick Henry Considine, late Patrick HenryKeogh! And then I mightn't go! There'll be only one thing make me gowhere I don't want to go, and that's a policeman at each elbow andanother shovin' behind. I'd sooner do a five-stretch than take Peggyback again. And that's the beginning and the end and the middle of it. And now I'll wish you good night. "

CHAPTER XXVI. THE SAVING OF CONSIDINE. 

At grey dawn all the camp was astir. Hugh looked from under hismosquito-net, and saw old Considine over the fire, earnestly frying alarge hunk of buffalo meat. He was without a trouble in the world as heturned the hissing steak in the pan. Two black gins in brief garments--aloin cloth and a villainously dirty pyjama-jacket each--were sittingnear him, languidly killing the mosquitoes which settled on their barelegs. These were Maggie and Lucy, but they had degenerated with theirsurroundings. Tommy Prince was oiling a carbine, and one of the shooterswas washing his face at a basin formed by scratching a small hole in theground and pressing a square of canvas into the depression. 

The Chinese skinner was sitting on a log, rubbing a huge butcher's knifeon a sharpening stone. Away up the plain the horses, about thirty orforty in number, were slowly trooping into camp, hunted by a coupleof blackfellows, naked except for little grass armlets worn above theelbow, and sticks stuck through their noses. When the horses reached thecamp they formed a squadron under the shade of some trees, and pushedand shoved and circled about, trying to keep the flies off themselvesand each other. 

Hugh walked over to Tommy Prince at his rifle-oiling, and watched himfor a while. That worthy, who was evidently a true sportsman at heart, was liberally baptising with Rangoon oil an old and much rusted Martinicarbine, whose ejector refused to work. Every now and then, when hethought he had got it ship-shape, Tommy would put in a fresh cartridge, hold the carbine tightly to his shoulder, shut his eyes, and fireit into space. The rusty old weapon kicked frightfully, after eachdischarge the ejector jammed, and Tommy ruefully poked the explodedcartridge out with a rod and poured on more oil. 

"Blast the carbine!" said Tommy. "It kicks upwards like; it's kicking mynose all skewwhiff. "

"Don't put it to your shoulder, you fool, " said one of the shooters;"it'll kick your head off. Hold it out in one hand. "

"Then it'll kick my arm off, " said Tommy. 

"No, it won't; you won t feel it at all, " said the shooter. "Your armwill give to the recoil. Blaze away!"

"What are you up to with the carbine?" said Hugh. 

"I'm going to have a blaze at some of these 'ere buff'loes, " said Tommygaily. "Bill's lent me a horse. They's got a rifle for you, and onefor the old man. "We'll give them buff'loes hell to-day. Fiverifles--they'll think the French is after them. " "Well, but I wantto get back, " said Hugh. "We mustn't waste any time. What about thestore-keeper's horses?"

"Ho! it'd never do to take them straight back again, " said Tommy. "Neverdo. They must have a spell. Besides, what's the hurry?"

And Hugh, recognising that for all the good he could do he might just aswell not hurry back again, resigned himself to the inevitable, picked uphis bridle, went into the shuffling herd of horses, and caught the onepointed out to him. It was a big, raw-boned, ragged-hipped bay, a horsethat would have been a gentleman under any other conditions, but fromlong buffalo-hunting had become a careless-going, loose-jointed ruffian, taking his life in his hands every day. He bit savagely at Hugh as hesaddled him, and altogether proclaimed himself devoid of self-respectand the finer instincts. 

Breakfast was despatched almost in silence. The shooters knew vaguelythat Hugh's visit was in some way connected with Considine, and thatConsidine had refused to do what Hugh wanted. But the hospitality of thebuffalo camp is as the hospitality of the Arabs of old--the stranger ismade welcome whatever his business, and may come and go unquestioned. 

Hugh had little desire to talk on the subject of his visit, andConsidine maintained a dogged silence. Tommy Prince alone chatted awayaffably between large mouthfuls of buffalo beef, damper, and tea, airinghis views on all subjects, but principally on the fair sex. Meanwhilethe blacks were catching the pack-horses, and sharpening their skinningknives. The two horses used by the shooters were brought over to thecamp fire and given a small feed each of much-prized maize and oats andbran, that had been brought round in the lugger from Port Farawaywith the camp supplies, landed on the river-bank twelve miles off, andfetched in on pack-horses. 

"A little more beef, Mister? No? Well, all aboard for the BuffaloBrigade! That's your rifle by the tree. Put this cartridge-belt on andbuckle it real tight; if you leave it loose, when you start to gallop itwill shake up and down, and shake the soul out of you. Come, Paddy, whatare you riding?"

"I'm going to ride the boco. "

[Footnote: One-eyed horse. ]

"I wouldn't if I was you. He's all right to race up to a buffalo, butthat blind eye of his'll fetch him to grief some day. Ride the oldgrey. "

"No fear, " said the old man obstinately, "the boco's one eye's worth anyhorse's two. Me an' the boco will be near the lead when the whips arecrackin', take it from me. "

"Come along, then!"

Hugh clambered on to his raw-boned steed, known as "Close Up, " becausehe would go so close to the buffaloes, and the procession started. Thefive white men rode ahead, all smoking with great enjoyment. Hugh wasbeside one of the shooters, and opened conference with him. 

"I've heard a lot about this business, " said Hugh, "but never hoped tosee it. What are these Australian buffaloes? I thought they were justhumped cattle like those little Brahmin cattle. "

"People reckon they're the Indian buffalo, " said the bushman. "They werefetched here about fifty years ago from Java--just a few pair, and theywere let go and went wild, and now they're all over the face of theearth about here. We've shot six hundred of 'em--just the two rifles--insix months. It's not play, I tell you, to shoot and skin six hundred andcure their hides in that time. We'll get a thousand this season. "

"Good Lord, " said Hugh. "Won't they be shot out?"

"Not they. There's about eight thousand of 'em shot every year for theirhides, and it's just like the ordinary increase of a big cattle station. They're all over these plains, and for miles and miles away down thecoast, and in the jungles there's thousands of 'em. There's jungles herethat are a hundred miles round, and no animal but a buffalo will go into'em. The blacks say that inside them there's big patches of clear plain, with grass and water, where there's buffaloes as thick as bees; but youcan't get at 'em. "

"How do you shoot 'em?" said Hugh. 

"Race right up alongside 'em, and put the carbine out with one hand, andshoot downwards into the loin. That's the only way to drop 'em. You canshoot bullets into 'em by the hatful everywhere else, and they justturn and charge; and while you are dodging round, first you huntin' thebuffalo, and then the buffalo huntin' you, the rest of the mob are outof sight. You must go right up alongside, close enough to touch 'em withthe barrel, and fire down--so. " He illustrated with the carbine as hespoke. "And whatever you do, don't pull your horse about; he knowsthe game, if you don't. Never stop your horse near a wounded buffalo, either. They make a rush as sudden as lightnin'. They look clumsy andbig; but, my oath, a wounded one can hop along something wonderful!They'll surprise you for pace any time; but most of all when they'rewounded. "

"Do they always come at you when they're wounded?" said Hugh. 

"Always, " said the shooter, "and very often when they're not woundedthey'll turn and charge if you've run 'em a long way. You want to lookout, I tell you. They'll wheel very sudden, and if they ketch your horsethey'll grind him into pulp. Ben, my mate here, had a horse killed underhim last week--horse we gave five and twenty quid for, and that's along shot for a buffalo horse. I believe in Injia they shoot 'em offelephants, but that's 'cause they won't come out in the open like theydo here. There's hundreds of toffs in England and Injia'd give theirears for a day after these, you know. Hello! Look! See there!"

Far away out on the plain Hugh saw fifteen or twenty bluish-grey moundsin a line rising above the grass; it was a herd of buffalo feeding. The animals never lifted their heads, and were curiously like a lot ofrailway trucks covered with grey tarpaulin. It was impossible to tellwhich was head and which was tail. A short halt was made while girthswere tightened, cartridges slipped into place, and hats jammed on; theyall mounted and rode slowly towards the herd, which was at least half amile off, and still feeding steadily. Everyone kept his horse in hand, ready for a dash the moment the mob lifted their heads. 

"How fast will they go?" whispered Hugh to the nearest shooter. 

"Fast as blazes. You've no idea how fast they are. They're the biggesttake-in there is. When they lift their heads they'll stare for half aminute, and then they'll run. The moment they start, off you go. Watch'em! There's one sees us! Keep steady yet--don't rush till they start. "

One of the blue mounds lifted a huge black-muzzled head, decorated withan enormous pair of sickle-shaped horns that stretched right back tothe shoulders. He stared with great sullen eyes and trotted a few pacestowards them; one after another, the rest lifted their heads and staredtoo. Closer drew the horsemen at their steady, silent jog, the horsespricking their ears and getting on their toes as race-horses do at thestart of a race. 

"Be ready, " said the shooter. "Now!"

The mob, with one impulse, wheeled, and set off at a heavy lumberinggallop, and the horses dashed in full gallop after them. It was a rideworth a year of a man's life. Every man sat down to his work like ajockey finishing a race, and the big stock horses went through the longgrass like hawks swooping down on a flock of pigeons. The men carriedtheir carbines loaded, holding them straight up over the shoulder so asto lessen the jerking of the wrist caused by the gallop. 

The surface of the plain was level enough, but frightfully bad going;the sun had baked the black soil till great gaping cracks, a couple offeet wide and ten feet deep, were opened in the ground. The buffaloeshad wallowed in the wet season and made round well-like holes that werenow hard, dry pitfalls. Here and there a treacherous, slimy watercoursewound its slinking way along, making a bog in which a horse would sinkto his shoulders; and over all these traps and pitfalls the long wavingjungle-grass drew a veil. Every now and then belts of small bamboo werecrossed, into which the horses dashed blindly, forcing their way throughby their weight. When they started the buffaloes had a lead of a quarterof a mile, and judging by their slogging, laboured gallop, it looked asthough the horses would run into them in half a mile; but on that groundthe buffaloes could go nearly as fast as the horses, and it was onlyafter a mile and a quarter of hard riding that they closed in on themob, which at once split into several detachments. A magnificent oldbull, whose horns measured ten feet from tip to tip, dashed away to theright with six or seven cows lumbering after him. Hugh and one of theshooters followed this lot. Another mob went away to the left, pursuedby the other shooter and Considine; while one old cow, having had enoughrunning, suddenly wheeled in her tracks, and charged straight at TommyPrince, whose horse at once whipped round and carried his rider, withthe old cow at his tail, into a clump of bamboos. Hugh followed hismate as hard as he could, both horses feeling the pace, and pecking andblundering every now and again in the broken ground. Once Hugh sawa buffalo-wallow suddenly appear right under his horse's nose, andhalf-flinched, expecting a certain fall; but old "Close Up" strode overit, apparently having a leg to spare for emergencies of the sort. 

Just ahead of him the shooter, sitting down in his saddle, lifted hishorse with a drive of the spurs, and came right alongside the hindmostanimal, a fat blue cow, which at once swerved at right angles; but thehorse followed her every movement, and drew up till horse and buffalowere racing side by side. Then without fuss or hurry, up went the elbowof the rider and bang! the buffalo fell as if paralysed, shot throughthe lions. The horse swung away from the falling animal as it crashedto the ground; and the shooter, still going at full gallop, methodicallyejected the used cartridge and put in another without losing his placeat the tail of the flying mob. The noise of the carbine made the mobdivide, and Hugh found himself going full speed after three that camehis way. Wild with excitement, he drove Close Up after the nearest, andmade ready to fire at the right moment. The long gallop had winded him;his arm was almost numbed with the strain of carrying the carbine, whichnow seemed to weigh a ton. 

Close Up, true to his name, made a dash at the nearest buffalo, and gotclose enough in all conscience; but what with the jerking to and fro ofthe gallop, and the rolling gait and sudden swerves of the buffalo, andthe occasional blunderings of the horse in broken ground, Hugh neverseemed to have the carbine pointed right. Close Up, finding it didnot go off when he expected, began to slacken pace and gallop in anundecided way. It sounds easy enough to gallop up to an animal which youcan beat for pace, but anyone who has ever tried to lay a whip on theback of a bullock knows it is not so easy as it looks to get more thanone or two clips home. Hugh found the buffalo holding its own for pace, and every time he drew up it dodged before he could make sure of hittingthe loin. Cover seemed to be getting very near. At last he leaned out asfar as he could, held the rifle in one hand, and took a "speculator" atthe flying buffalo. He hit it somewhere, but hadn't time to see where;for, with a snort like a grampus, the beast wheeled in its tracks andcharged so suddenly that old Close Up only just dodged it by a yard ortwo. It rushed him for a couple of hundred yards, and then stopped. Hughmanaged to eject the cartridge and load, and then cantered after theanimal, which had started again at a sullen trot, with the blood pouringfrom its flank. As he galloped up to administer the "coup de grace, "meaning to make no mistake about hitting the loin this time, the buffalosuddenly wheeled and charged him again, and Close Up executed anotherhurried retreat. For a while they took it up and down--first buffalohunting man, then man hunting buffalo--while Hugh fired whenever he hadthe chance, without seeming to discompose the brute at all. At last alucky shot struck some vital spot inside; the beast stopped, staggered, and fell dead without a sound. Hugh looked round. He was alone; his matewas just visible far away over the plain, still following at full speeda blue mound that struggled doggedly on towards the timber. The greyhorse drew up to his quarry, the man leant forward, there was a suddenspurt of white smoke, and the animal fell as if struck by lightning. It was very pretty to watch, and looked as simple as shelling peas. Theshooter rode over to Hugh, and congratulated him on his first kill. 

"I got all that mob that came our way, " he said, "seven of 'em. Yoursmakes eight. There's Ben after some still, and there's Tommy Prince backat the bamboos firing at something. Firing this way, too, damn him! Lookat Ben!"

Far away on the plain, like puppets in the distance, went the swiftlygliding figures of man and horse. In front of them dimly-seen objectstore through the grass; every now and again out went an arm, there wasa spurt of smoke, and another buffalo fell. The blacks and the Chinamanwere away behind, gathered in a cluster, skinning the first beastkilled, while the pack-horses cropped the grass and bit at the flies. Considine was nowhere to be seen. 

"Let's go back and see what Tommy is up to, " said the shooter. "He's ahard case, is Tommy. If there's any trouble about he'll get into it, or get somebody else into it. He'll wing one of us in a minute, the wayhe's blazing. What's he firing at?"

Suddenly the festive Tommy was seen to dash hurriedly out of the patchof bamboo, with the old original buffalo cow so close to his horse'stail that, if the horse stumbled, the cow had him at her mercy. 

"She'll have 'im!" yelled the shooter. "Good cow! Can't she steam? Comeon, and let's see the fun!"

For a while it looked any odds on the cow; then she slackened pace, wheeled round, and bolted back to the bamboos. They found Tommy veryexcited. He had used about eighteen cartridges, and had nothing to showfor it. 

"That's the most underhand cow ever I seen!" said Tommy. "She runs intothem there bamboos and pretends she's going to run right clean throughto Queensland, and when I go in after her, she wheels round and huntsme for my life. Near had me twice, she did. Every time I fire the oldcarbine, it jams, and I have to get the rod to it. Gimme your rifle, Walter, and I'll go in and finish her. "

"She must have a lead mine in her already, " said the shooter. "Mind shedon't ketch you, Tommy. "

Tommy went in, but couldn't find a sign of the cow. While they weretalking she had slipped along the belt of bamboos, and was then, nodoubt, waiting for a chance to rush somebody. As no one cared to chanceriding on to her in that jungle, she escaped with the honours of war. The other shooter came up, having shot nine, and reported that Considinehad had a fall; his horse, not being used to the country, had plunged upto his shoulders in a concealed buffalo-wallow, and turned right over onhim. Luckily, the buffalo he was after was well ahead, and did not turnto charge him, but he was very much shaken; when he came up, however, he insisted on going on. They set to work to find the rest of the deadbuffaloes--no easy matter in that long grass--and all hands commencedskinning. This job kept them till noonday, when they camped under sometrees for their midday meal, hobbling the horses. Then they rested foran hour or two, packed the hides on the pack-horses (and heavily loadedthey were, each hide weighing about a hundredweight), and went back tothe hunt, scanning the plain carefully. 

They were all riding together through a belt of timber, the blacksand the Chinaman being well up with the pack-horses, when suddenly theblacks burst out with great excitement. 

"Buff'lo! Buff'lo!"

Sure enough, a huge blue bull--a regular old patriarch, that hadevidently been hunted out of a herd, and was camping by himself in thetimber--made a rush out of some thick trees, and set off towards a densejungle, that could be seen half a mile or so away. Hugh and Considinewere nearest him, each with his rifle ready, and started after himtogether, full gallop through the timber. The old man was evidentlyanxious to make up for his morning's failure, and to take Hugh downa peg, for he set a fearful pace through the trees, grazing one andgliding under the boughs of another as only a trained bush-rider can. Hugh, coming from the mountains, was no duffer in timbered countryeither, and the two of them went at a merry pace for a while. The bullwas puzzled by having two pursuers, and often in swerving from one orthe other would hit a tree with his huge horns, and fairly bounce offit. He never attempted to turn, but kept straight on, and they drew onto him in silence, almost side by side, riding jealously for the firstshot. Considine was on the wrong side, and had to use the carbine on thenear side of his horse; but he was undeniably a good rider, and laughedgrimly as he got first alongside, and, leaning over, prepared to fire. Then a strange thing happened. Before he could fire, the buffalo bulltripped on a stump and fell on his knees, causing Considine's horseto shoot almost past him. As the bull rose again, he sprang savagelysideways, bringing his huge head up from beneath, and fairly impaled thehorse on his horn. It gave a terrible scream, and reared over. 

The old man never lost his nerve. Almost as he fell he fired down intothe buffalo's shoulder, but the bullet had no effect. Man and horse werefetched smashing to the ground, the man pinned under the horse's body. The bull hesitated a second before hurling himself upon the two; and inthat second Hugh jumped from his horse, ran up, stood over the fallenman, holding out the rifle like a pistol with the muzzle an inch off thebull's head, and fired. A buffalo's skull is an inch and a half thick, solid bone, as hard as granite; but a Martini carbine, sighted for athousand yards, will pierce it like paper at short range. The smoke hadnot cleared away when the huge beast fell to the ground within two feetof his intended victims. Hugh pulled Considine from under the horse. The unfortunate beast struggled to his feet, with blood gushing from aterrible wound in the belly, ran fifty yards, and fell dead. 

The old man looked round him in silence. "Serve me damn well right, " hesaid at last. "I ought to have got the other side of the buffalo!"

Not another word did he say, as he transferred his saddle to one of theblacks' horses. But in the camp, that night, the old man came over toHugh holding a paper in his hand. 

"I've got something for you, " he said. "Here's the certificate of myweddin' with Peggy Donohoe. The parson gev us each one. That ought to doyou, oughtn't it? I'll come down with you, as soon as you like, andgive all the evidence you want. I'll chance how I get on with Peg. I'lldivorce her, or poison her, or get shut of her somehow. But after whatyou done to-day I'm on Grant's side, I am. "

And off he stalked to bed, while Hugh talked long with Tommy Prince andthe buffalo-shooters of the best way to get down to the wire and sendthe news of his success. He went to bed the happiest man south ofthe line; and next day, saying good-bye to his hospitable friends, hestarted off with Considine and Tommy on the road to the telegraph, andthence to civilisation. 

CHAPTER XXVII. THE REAL CERTIFICATE. 

As the day of the great case approached Blake got more and more restlessand irritable. He had heard of Hugh's going away to look for a witness;but Peggy and Red Mick, in their ignorance, had thought it best to keepall knowledge of the Considine flaw from their lawyer--a mistake thatwiser people than they sometimes make. Blake suspected nothing. He hadmore than once seen Mary Grant and Ellen Harriott in Tarrong, but he wasagain an outcast, relegated to the society of such as Isaacstein. 

Well, he would see it out, and would yet make these people glad to crawlto him. Ellen Harriott he never spoke to. However the case went andwhoever won, she could be of no use to him, so he decided to include heramong his enemies; and though she went deathly white when she saw himshe made no sign of recognition. There was one thing, however, which hehad to do before taking the case into Court, and that was to secure afair share of the spoil for himself. He had no intention of slaving atthe case, perhaps for years, for what he would get as costs. So, a weekor two before the case was due to come on, he sent for Peggy and RedMick. 

It was a hot summer day when Peggy came in. Out of doors there was ablinding glare, and the heat had drawn the scent out of the unseasonedpine with which Tarrong was mostly built, till the air was filled witha sort of incense. Peggy came in hot and short-tempered. The strain wasbeginning to tell on her nerves, and, from a remark or two she let fall, Blake saw that she might be inclined to give trouble if not promptlybrought into subjection. 

"I've sent for you, " he said. 

"Yis, and the fust thing--"

He interrupted her sharply. 

"The first thing is, how much am I going to get out of this case if Iwin it That is the first thing. You don't suppose I am going to spendtime and money and fight this case through all the Courts in the land, and get nothing out of it, do you? How much am I to get? We'll settlethat before we go any further. "

"Well, I'll ask Mick. "

"You'll ask nobody. Mick isn't Grant's widow, and you are of age, goodness knows. How much?"

"How much d'ye want?"

"I want one-third of what you get. That'll leave you nearly a million ofmoney. There will be well over a million to divide. There will be a biglawsuit, and lots of appeals, and if I am to see it through it will costa great lot of money; so if I win I mean to make it pay me. That's myfigure. One-third. Take it or leave it. "

Peggy wriggled about, but knew that she would have to give in. It wasa reasonable proposal, as things stood; but she did not like the way inwhich she had been bullied. She looked at Blake queerly. 

"If we have to give ye a third, ye may as well know all about it. Ye'llbe a partner like. "

Blake stared at her. He could not guess what she was driving at. Peggyslowly drew out of a handbag a faded piece of paper and handed it to himwithout a word. It was the original marriage certificate, the same thatEllen Harriott had seen at Red Mick's. He unfolded it and spread it outon the table. 

"What's this?"

"Read it. "

"I certify that I, Thomas Nettleship, " he mumbled through the formula, then, sharply "What's this name doing here? Who is Patrick Henry Keogh?Is there such a person?"

"Yis, " said Peggy, boiling up. "A long slab-sided useless feller. He'sgone to live wid the blacks. He'll never come back no more. Most likehe's dead by this time, speared or the like of that!"

For a few seconds Blake, the cool, audacious gambler, was dazed, inspite of his natural self-confidence. He saw how he had been duped. Peggy had married this other man, whoever he was, and had used the factsof the real marriage to give her the details for her imaginary one, while in copying the certificate she had, with considerable foresight, filled in Grant's name instead of that of Keogh. 

All Blake's castles in the air, his schemes for revenge, his hopes ofwealth, had vanished at one fell swoop. "Patrick Henry Keogh" seemed togrin up at him out of the paper. His case had crumbled about his ears;his defeat would be known all over the district, and nothing could muchlonger stave off the inevitable exposure of his misappropriations. Buthe was a fighter all over, and he still saw a chance to pull thingsthrough. 

He wasted no words on Peggy. "Go and get Mick to come here, " he said, and Mick, still somewhat lopsided about the face from his accident, wassoon in the room. 

"Mick, " said Blake, "your sister has told me something very importantthat ought to have been told me before. It's no good crying over spiltmilk. There's still a chance. If Peggy and Martin tell the same storythey told me at first, they will win the case. This Keogh must be dead, or too frightened to show up. If you stick to your story you will win. It's a million of money. Will you chance it?"

"What about the sertiffykit?" said Mick. 

"Leave that to me, " said Blake. "I'll see to that. I suppose no oneknows the rights of this but you and Peggy!"

"Never a soul. "

"Well, it's a million of money. Will you chance it?"

Mick and his sister rose. "We'll go on wid the case, " said Mick. "Butsupposin' Keogh turns up--"

"You've got to take chances in this life, " said Blake, "if you're aftera million that doesn't belong to you. Will you chance it? Share andshare alike?"

"A million, " said Mick. "Of course we'll go on wid the case. I daresayWilliam Grant took the name of Keogh that day he was married, " and withthis ingenious suggestion Mick took his sister home, leaving Blake alonein the office. 

After his clients were gone Blake looked at the certificate for a longtime, asking himself, "Shall I take the risk or not?" He was about to doa criminal act, and though it was not his first, he flinched every timehe crossed the border-line. He lifted his hand, and hesitated; then heremembered his dismissal from Kuryong, and caught sight of a dunningletter lying on his table. That decided him. The risk was worth taking. The danger was great, but the stake was worth it. He took an eraser, made a few swift light strokes on the paper over the almost illegiblewriting, and "Patrick Henry Keogh" disappeared; on the space that it hadoccupied he wrote "William Grant, " in faint strokes of a pencil. He hadcrossed the border-line of crime once more. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. A LEGAL BATTLE. 

And now, after hauling the reader pretty well all over Australia--frommountain-station to out-back holding, from cattle-camp to buffalorun--we must ask him to take a seat in the Supreme Court at Sydney, tohear the trial of the "great Grant Will Case. "

Gavan Blake had made no effort towards compromise. He knew the riskhe was running, but he had determined to see it through. The love, theambition, the hope that had once possessed him had turned to a grimdesperate hatred, and he would risk everything rather than withdraw thecase. He kept Red Mick and Peggy up to the mark with assurances thatshe was certain to win. Neither he nor they knew that Considine had beenfound. Even the most respectable solicitors sometimes display acuteness, and the old man's return had been kept secret by Pinnock, so that publicopinion anticipated Peggy's victory. 

At last came the day of trial. Every seat in the Court was filled, anda mass of the unwashed hung over the gallery rail, gazing at the showprovided for their entertainment. Mary Grant and Mrs. Gordon went intoCourt at the suggestion of their leading Counsel, Bouncer, Q. C. , who wasnothing if not theatrical. He wanted them there to see the overthrow ofthe enemy, and to lend point to his invective against the intruders whowere trying to take away their birthright. A small army of Doyles andDonohoes, who had come down for the case, were hanging about dressed inoutlandish garments, trying to look as if they would not tell a lie foruntold gold. The managing clerks were in and out like little dogs at afair, hunting up witnesses, scanning the jury list, arranging papers forproduction, and keeping a wary eye on the enemy. Punctually as theclock struck ten, the Judge strutted into Court with as much pomp as aman-of-war sailing into a small port; depositing himself on the Bench, he glared round for a few seconds, and said to the associate, "Call thefirst case, " in a matter-of-fact tone, just as if he did not know whatthe first case was going to be. A little rustle went round the Court aspeople settled themselves down for the battle. 

The case for Peggy was set forth by the great Jewish barrister, Manasseh, Q. C. He was famous for his skill in enlisting the sympathiesof the jury from the outset. He drew a moving picture of the sorrows ofPeggy, disowned by her husband's relatives and the case proceeded so farthat he had put the marriage certificate in evidence when Blake, who hadbeen away for a few minutes rushed into Court and touched Manasseh onthe shoulder, bringing him to an abrupt stop. 

Manasseh asked the Judge to excuse him for a moment while he conferredwith his juniors and Blake. After a short but excited conference he roseagain and--but first we must hear what had happened outside. 

While all concerned were in Court listening to Manasseh, Considine hadbeen smuggled into the witnesses' room and, being bored and worried, had strayed into the verandah of the Court buildings. He had beenhauled into consultations with barristers, and examined and badgered andworried to death. The hard Sydney pavements had made his feet sore. The city ways were not his ways, and the mere mental effort of catchingtrains and omnibuses, and keeping appointments, and having fixedmeal-times, was inexpressibly wearing to a man who had never been tiedto time in his life. 

And what a dismal prospect he had before him! To go over to England andtake up a position for which he was wholly unfitted, without a friendwho would understand his ideas, and in whom he could confide. Then histhoughts turned to Peggy--Peggy, square-built, determined, masterful, capable; just the very person to grapple with difficulties; a womanwhose nerve a regiment of duchesses would fail to shake. He thought ofher many abilities, and admitted to himself that after all was said anddone, if he had only been able to gratify her wishes (and they did notseem so extravagant now) she would have been a perfect helpmate for him. His mind went back to the weird honeymoon at Pike's pub. , to the littleearthen-floored dining-room, with walls of sacking and a slab table, over which Peggy presided with such force of character. He thoughtof the two bushmen whom Peggy had nursed through the fever with roughtenderness; and then, turning suddenly, he found Peggy standing at hiselbow. 

For a second neither spoke. Then Considine said, with an air of forcedjauntiness, "Well, Peggy, you won't be comin' to England with me, then?"

"Haven't been asked, " said Peggy. 

"I heard you was goin' to settle at Kiley's Crossin', lending money tothe cockatoos. "

Peggy looked at him with a meaning glance. 

"Ye should know me better nor that, Paddy, " she said. 

This cleared the way tremendously. The gaunt bushman hitched himselfa little nearer, and spoke in an insinuating way. "I'm pretty tired ofthis case meself, I dunno how you feel about it. "

"Tired!" said Peggy. "I'm wore out. Fair wore out, " and she heaved asigh like an elephant. 

That sigh did for old Considine. Hurriedly he unburdened his mind. 

"Well, look'ee here, Peggy--I've got whips of stuff now, and I've gotto go to England for it. You come along o' me again, and we'll knock allthis business on the head. Let the Gordons alone--they're decent youngfellows, the both of 'em--and come along o' me to England. That youngEnglish feller reckons we'd be as good as the Prince of Wales, verynear. Will you come, Peggy?"

It is the characteristic of great minds to think quickly, and actpromptly. Peggy did both. 

"Mick!" she said, calling to her brother in a sharp, authoritativevoice: "Mick! I've been talking to Paddy here, and we've reckoned we'vehad enough of this fooling, and we're off to England. You go in and tellold Fuzzy-Head" (she meant the Judge) "that I'm tired of this case, andI ain't goin' on wid it. Come on, Paddy, will we go and get some tea?"

"Yes, and there's some tremenjus fine opals in a shop down this way I'llbuy you!" said Considine, as they started to walk away from the Court. 

At that moment Blake came out of Court, saw them, and stepped in frontof Peggy. 

"Who is this man?" he said. 

Peggy had never quite forgiven his domineering at Tarrong, and turned onhim with a snap. 

"This is my 'usband, " she said, "Mr. Patrick Henery Considine. Him whosename is put down as Keogh on the marriage stiffykit I give you. "

Then Blake knew that he had played and lost--lost hopelessly, irretrievably. But there was yet something to do to secure his ownsafety. He rushed back into Court, and whispered a few words toManasseh; and Manasseh, after the short conference we mentioned somepages back, rose and informed the Court that his client withdrew herclaim. Now, while Blake was out of Court, Mr. Bouncer, Mary's counsel, had got from the Judge's Associate the certificate that had been put inevidence. Ellen Harriott, sitting with Mary and Mrs. Gordon behind him, gave a little cry of surprise when she saw the paper. She touched Mr. Bouncer on the shoulder, and for a few seconds they held an exciteddialogue in whispers. 

So Mr. Bouncer rose as Manasseh sat down, with a smile of satisfactionon his face. 

"I must object to any withdrawal, your Honor, " he said. "My client'svast interests are still liable to be assailed by any claimant. I wishyour Honor to insist that the case be heard. A claim has been made hereof a most dastardly nature, and I submit that your Honor will not allowthe claimants to withdraw without some investigation. I will ask yourHonor to put Gavan Blake in the box. "

Mr. Manasseh objected. He said that there was no longer any case beforethe Court; and Gavan Blake, white to the lips, waited for the Judge'sdecision. As he waited, he looked round and caught the eye of EllenHarriott. Cool, untroubled, the heavy-lidded eyes met his, and he saw nohope there. She had neither forgiven nor forgotten. 

Now, it so happened that the Judge felt rather baulked at the suddencollapse of the big case, in which he had intended to play a star part. 

"Why do you want to put plaintiff's attorney in the box, Mr. Bouncer?"he said. 

"I want to examine him as to how and when the name of William Grant goton that certificate. I have evidence to prove that the name on it, onlya few months ago, was that of Patrick Keogh. "

"Ha, hum!" said the little Judge. "I don't see--eh--um--that I candecide anything--ah--whatever. Case is withdrawn. Ha, hum. But in theinterests of justice, and seeing--seeing, I say, " he went on, warmingto his work as the question laid itself open before him, "that there isserious suspicion of fraud and forgery, it would be wrong on my part toallow the case to close without some investigation in the interestsof justice. As to Mr. Manasseh's objection, that the Court is functusofficio so far as this case is concerned, I uphold that contention;but, in exercise of the power that the Court holds over its officers, Iconsider that I have the power--and that I should exercise the power--ofputting the solicitor in the box to explain how this document came intoits present state. Let Mr. Blake go into the box. "

But while the little Judge was delivering his well-rounded sentences, Blake had slipped out of Court and made off to his lodgings. He hadfailed in everything. He might perhaps keep out of gaol; but the blow tohis reputation was fatal. He had played for a big stake and lost, and hesaw before him only drudgery and lifelong shame. 

He had reached his lodgings, half-turned at the door, and saw behind himthe Court tipstaff, who had been sent after him. 

"The Judge wants you back at the Court, Mr. Blake, " said the tipstaff. 

"All right. Wait till I run up to my room for some papers. I'll be downin a minute, " and he ran upstairs. 

The tipstaff waited cheerfully enough, until he heard the crack of arevolver-shot echo through the passages of the big boarding-house. Thenhe rushed upstairs--to find that Gavan Blake had gone before anotherCourt than the one that was waiting for him so anxiously. 

CHAPTER XXIX. RACES AND A WIN. 

After the great case was over life at Kuryong went on its old round. Mary Grant, now undisputed owner, took up the reins of government, andHugh was kept there always on one pretext or another. 

Considine and his wife stayed a while in the district before startingfor England, and were on the best of terms with the folk at thehomestead, Peggy's daring attempt to seize the estate having beenforgiven for her husband's sake. 

Mary seemed to take a delicious pleasure in making Hugh come to herfor orders and consultations. She signed without question anything thatCharlie put before her, but Hugh was constantly called in to explainall sorts of things. The position was difficult in the extreme, althoughPeggy tried to give Hugh good advice. 

"Sure, the girl's fond of you, Mr. Hugh!" she said, "Why don't you askher to marry you? See what a good thing it'd be? She's only waitin' tobe asked. "

"I'll manage my own affairs, thank you, " said Hugh. "It isn't likely I'mgoing to ask her now, when I haven't got a penny. " He was as miserableas a man could well be, and was on the point of leaving the station andgoing back to the buffalo camp in search of solitude, when an unexpectedincident suddenly brought matters to a climax. A year had slipped bysince William Grant's death, and the glorious Spring came round again;the river was bank-high with the melting of the mountain-snows, theEnglish fruit-trees were all blossoming, and the willows a-bud. One daythe mailman left a large handbill, anouncing the Spring race-meeting atKiley's, a festival sacred, as a rule, to the Doyles and the Donohoes, at which no outsider had any earthly chance of winning a race. 

In William Grant's time the handbill would have soon reached thefire-place; he did not countenance running station horses at the localmeetings. Under the new owner things were different. Charlie Gordon wasspoiling for a chance to run Revoke, a back-block purchase, against thelocals, and suggested it in an off-hand sort of way while reading thecircular. Hugh opposed the notion altogether. His opposition apparentlymade Miss Grant determined to go on with the scheme, and she gaveCharlie carte blanche in the matter. 

When race-day arrived, there was quite a merry party at the homestead. Carew was making himself very attentive to Ellen Harriott, Mary wasflirting very openly with Charlie Gordon, to Hugh's intense misery; andit was whispered about the station that the younger brother would bedeposed in favour of the elder. 

Hugh did not want to go to the races, but Mary asked him so directlythat he had no option. 

It was a typical Australian Spring day. The sky was blue, the air wasfresh, the breeze made great, long, rippling waves in the grass, andevery soul in the place--Mary in particular--seemed determined to enjoyit to the utmost. 

Revoke, the station champion, came in first in his race, and waspromptly disqualified for short weight, but Mary didn't care. 

"What is the use of worrying over it?" she said. "It doesn't reallymatter. "

"I have been done, " said the bushman. "Red Mick lent me the lead-cloth, and helped me saddle up, and I believe he took some lead out while wewere saddling. It never dropped out. That I'm sure of. "

"Oh, never mind, Mr. Gordon! Forget it! There's your brother, Hugh, thinks we ought not to have come, and now you are turning sulky. Why doall you Australian people amuse yourselves so sadly?"

"I don't know what you mean by sadly, " said Charlie, huffed. "I thinkyou ladies had better go home soon. Things are likely to be a bit livelylater on. They have got a door off its hinges and laid on the ground, and a fiddler playing jigs, and the men and women are dancing each otherdown; it won't be long till there'll be a fight, and somebody will getstretched out. "

Sure enough, they could see an excited crowd of people gathered rounda fiddler, who was playing away for dear life, and the yells and whoopstold them that partisanship was running high. All the young "bloods"of the ranges were there in their very best finery--cabbage-tree hat(well-tilted back, and secured by a string under the nose), gaudy cottonshirt, and tweed trousers of loud pattern, secured round the waist byflaring red or green sashes. In this garb such as fancied themselves asdancers were taking their turns on the door. They began by ambling witha sort of strutting walk once or twice round the circumscribed platform;then, with head well back and eyes closed, dashed into the steps of thedance, each introducing varied steps and innovations of his own, which, if intricate and neatly executed, were greeted with great applause. Soit happened that after Jerry the Swell, the recognised champion ofthe Doyles, had gone off with an extremely self-satisfied air, someadherents of young Red Mick, the opposition champion, took occasion tocriticise Jerry's performance. "Darnce!" they said. "Jerry the Swell, darnce! Why, we've got an old poley cow would darnce him blind! Haven'twe, Mick?"

"Yairs, " said young Mick, with withering emphasis. "Darnce! He can'tdarnce. I'll run, darnce, jump, or fight any man in the district for twoquid. "

Before the challenge could be accepted there was an unexpectedinterruption. Hugh had put the big trotting mare in the light trap forMiss Harriott and Mary to drive home. "Gentle Annie" was used to racing, and Hugh warned the girls to be careful in starting her, as she wouldprobably be excited by the crowd, and then turned back to pack up theracing gear and start the four-in-hand with the children. As they wereputting the racing saddle, bridles, and other gear into the vehicle, Charlie, who had been fuming ever since his defeat, caught sight ofthe missing lead-bag. He picked it up without a word, and with afierce gleam in his eye, started over to the group of dancers, followedhurriedly by Carew. Just as young Mick was repeating his challenge torun, jump, dance, or fight anybody in the district, Gordon threw thelead-bag, weighing about six pounds, full in Red Mick's face. 

"There's your lead, you thief!" he said. "Dance on that!"

Red Mick staggered back a pace or two, picked up an empty bottle fromthe ground, and made a dash at Gordon. The latter let out a viciousdrive with his left that caught Mick under the ear and sent him downlike a bullock. In a second the whole crowd surged together in oneconfused melée, everybody hitting at everybody amid a Babel of shoutsand curses. The combat swayed out on to the race-course, where half adozen men fell over the ropes and pulled as many more down with them, and those that were down fought on the ground, while the others walkedon them and fought over their heads. Carew, who was quite in hiselement, hit every head he saw, and knocked his knuckles to pieces onBlack Andy Kelly's teeth. The fight he put up, and the terrific force ofhis hitting, are traditions among the mountain men to this day. CharlieGordon was simply mad with the lust of fighting, and was locked in adeath-grip with Red Mick; they swayed and struggled on the ground, whilethe crowd punched at them indiscriminately. In the middle of all thisbusiness, the two ladies and Alick, the eldest of the children, hadstarted Gentle Annie for home, straight down the centre of the course. The big mare, hearing the yelling, and recognising that she was oncemore on a race-track, suddenly caught hold of the bit, and came sweepingup the straight full-stretch, her great legs flying to and fro likepistons. Alick, who was sitting bodkin between the ladies, simplyremarked, "Let her head go!" as she went thundering into the crowd, hurling Doyles and Donohoes into the air, trampling Kellys underfoot--and so out the other side, and away at a 2. 30 gait for at leasthalf a mile before the terrified girls could pull her up, and come backto see what damage had been done. 

That ended the fight. The course was covered with wounded and disabledmen. Some had been struck by the mare's hoofs; others had been run overby the wheels; and a great demand for whisky set in, under cover ofwhich Gordon and Carew retired to the four-in-hand. 

No one was seriously hurt, except "Omadhaun" Doyle, who had beenstruck on the head by the big mare's hoof. He lay very still, breathingstertorously, and Jerry the Swell took the trouble to come over tothe four-in-hand, and inform them that he thought "Omadhaun" had gotpercussion of the brain, and that things looked very "omnibus" for him. However, as soon as he could swallow whisky he was pronounced out ofdanger, and the Kuryong party was allowed to depart in peace for home, glad enough to get away. But the two girls were afraid to drive the bigmare, as she was thoroughly roused after her dash in among the Doylesand Donohoes, and was inclined to show a lot of temper. A hurriedconsultation was held, with the result that Ellen Harriott and Alickwere received into the four-in-hand, while Hugh was entrusted with thetask of driving his employer home in the sulky. 

Now, a sulky is a vehicle built to accommodate two people only, andthose two people have to sit fairly close together. For a few miles theyspun along in silence, Hugh being well occupied with steadying themare. From time to time he looked out of the corner of his eye at hiscompanion; she looked steadily, almost stolidly, in front of her. Thenshe began to tap on the floor of the sulky with her foot. At last sheturned on him. 

"Well, we didn't win, " she said. "I suppose you are glad. "

"Why should I be glad, Miss Grant?"

"Oh! you said we oughn't to go and race among those people. And you wereright. It served them just right that the mare ran over them. I hopethat none of them are going to die. "

"They wouldn't be much missed, " said Hugh wearily. "They have startedstealing the sheep again. "

"Can't you catch them?" she said, with pretended asperity. "If you wentout and hid in a fallen tree, don't you think you could catch them?"

Hugh looked at her to see if she were in earnest, but she lookedstraight in front again and said nothing, still keeping up the slighttapping of her foot. He flushed a little, and spoke very quietly. 

"I think I'll have to resign from your employment, Miss Grant. I don'tcare about stopping any longer; and I will go out back and take up oneof those twenty-thousand-acre leases in Queensland. You might put Possor Binjie on in my place. They would be glad of a billet, and they mightcatch Red Mick for you. "

"Do you really want to go?" she said, looking straight at him for thefirst time. "Why do you want to go?"

"Why?" he burst out. "Because I can't bear being with you and near youall day long, when I care for you, and you don't care for me. I can'teat, or sleep, or rest here now, and it's time I was away. You mightgive me a good character as a station-manager, " he went on grimly, "even though I can't catch Red Mick for you. I'll get you to make out mycheque, and then I'll be off up North. "

She was looking down now. The sun had gone, and the stars were peepingout, and in the dusk he could catch no glimpse of her face. There wassilence for a few moments, then he went on talking, half to himself. "It's best for me, anyhow. It's time I made a start for myself. Icouldn't stay on here as manager all my life. "

Then she spoke, very low and quietly. 

"You wouldn't care to stay on--for anything else, then?"

"How do you mean for anything else, Miss Grant? You don't want me foranything except as manager, do you?"

"Well, " she said, "you haven't asked me yet whether I do or not!"