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 of sheep driven here."

"Whereabouts?" said she, staring round her.

"All about here," he said, pointing to the ground. "Don't you see the tracks? Hundreds of 'em. But I can't see what they were up to. There's no place they could get 'em out without cutting the wires, and the fence is sound enough. Good heavens, I see it now! Well, that's smart he continued, leaning against a post and giving it a shake.

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

"They've dug up four or five posts," he said, kicking over some red earth 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 wonder we are missing sheep! Two or three hundred have gone out here! Here's a chance at last--the chance I've been waiting for all these years! What a lucky thing we came here! And now, Miss Grant," he said, remounting, "we won't have any jumping to-day. I'll have to follow these tracks till I come on the sheep somewhere, if it's in Red Mick Donohoe's own yard. Do you 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've gone home yet. I want a witness with me when I catch Red Mick with these sheep, or else fifty of his clan will swear that he has been in bed for six weeks, or something like that."

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

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

Her eyes glowed with excitement. "Please let me come," she said. "You don'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 there was a good deal of risk in the matter, and he tried hard to make her go back. But she was determined to go with him, and the argument ended in the only possible manner--she went. She promised to do exactly what she was told, to keep out of the way if so ordered, and, above all, not to speak except when spoken to.

So off they went through the scrub on the track of the sheep, plain as print to the young bushman, though invisible to his companion. They rode at 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 horses canter; Hugh riding in front, she, like a damosel of old, in a.s.sumed submission a few lengths behind, and thoroughly enjoying the adventure.

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

"I hope so. But it's a very curious thing; there has been a dog after these sheep--see, there's his track," pointing to foot-prints plainly marked 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 a long valley. To right and left of them towered the blue, rugged peaks; straight in front the valley opened out, and they got a fairly clear view for a mile or more. About half a mile ahead, travelling in a compact ma.s.s down the valley, was a mob of some two or three hundred sheep. At their heels trotted two sheep-dogs of the small wiry breed common in the mountains. Hugh looked about to see who was in charge of them; but no one was visible. The dogs were taking the sheep along without word or sign from anyone, hurrying them at a good sharp pace, each keeping on his own flank of the mob, or occasionally dropping behind to hurry up the laggards.

It was a marvellous exhibition of sagacity. They came to a place where it 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 down the bank, while the other fell back a few yards and prevented the mob turning back. After a moment's hesitation the sheep plunged into the shallow water, splashed across the creek, and set off again in their compact march down the valley, urged and directed by their silent custodians--who paused to lap a few mouthfuls of water, and then hurried on 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 is simply marvellous, isn't it? What are we to do now? If I take the sheep from them they'll run home, and I can't prosecute Red Mick because they picked up a mob of sheep."

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

"Oh, of course, he started them. Once he got the sheep out of the paddock, 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 with it. Sheep-dogs will often go into a paddock, and bring a mob of sheep up to the yard on their own account. It's an instinct with them. Look at those two now, forcing the sheep over that bad crossing. Isn't it wonderful?"

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

"Oh, Red Mick did; but who's to prove it? He'll swear he never was near the fence, and that his dogs picked up these sheep and brought them home on 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 tell you what we'll do. We'll cut across the range, and sneak up as near Red Mick's as we can. Then we'll hide and watch his house; and when the dogs come up, if he takes the sheep from them, or starts to drive them anywhere, 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 accuse him. 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 a steady trot for a mile or so, crossing the valley at right angles, over a 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 away down a gully. "The sheep will come up the creek, because it is the smoothest track. Now, we must tie our horses up here, sneak down the creek 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 the journey on foot, hurrying silently for half a mile down the bed of the creek, hidden by its steep banks. Here and there, to escape observation, they had to walk in the water, and Hugh, looking round, saw his companion wading after him, with face firm-set and eyes ablaze. It was a man-hunt, the most exciting of all hunting.

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

He saw the cottage drowsing in the bright afternoon sunlight. It was a picturesque little building, made of heavy red-gum slabs, with a bark roof; the windows were merely square holes cut in the slabs, fitted with heavy wooden covers that now hung open, giving a view of the interior.

In one room could be seen a rough dresser covered with plates and dishes, and a saddle hung from a tie-beam; in the other there was a rough plank bed with blue blankets. The door was shut, and there was no sign 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, on which a few hens were enjoying the afternoon sun and fluffing the dust over 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 of bark-roofed sheds and corkscrew-looking fences that served Red Mick as shearing-sheds for his sheep, and drafting and branding-yards for his cattle and horses. After a hurried survey Hugh dropped lightly down into shelter, and whispered, "There's no one moving at all. There's a newly-fallen tree about a hundred yards down the creek; we'll get among its branches and watch."

They crept along the creek until opposite the fallen tree; there Hugh scaled the bank and pulled Mary up after him. Silent as shadows, they stole through a little patch of young timber, and ensconced themselves among the fragrant branches. The gra.s.s was long where the tree had fallen, and this, with the green boughs, made a splendid couch and hiding-place.

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

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

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

Still no sign from Red Mick. No one stirred about the place; the fowls still fluttered in the dust, and a dissipated looking pet c.o.c.katoo, perched on the wood-heap repeated several times in a drowsy tone, "Good-bye, c.o.c.kie! Good-bye, c.o.c.kie!" Then the door opened, and Red Mick stepped out.

He was the acknowledged leader of the Doyle-Donohoe faction in all matters of cunning, and in all raids on other folks' stock; and not only did he plan the raids, but took a leading part in executing them. He was the finest and most fearless bush rider in the district, and could track like a black fellow. If he left a strange camp at sundown, and rode about the bush all night, he could at any time go back straight across country to his starting point, or to any place he had visited during his wanderings. Such bushmanship is a gift, and not to be learnt. If once he saw a horse, he would know it again for the rest of his life--fat or lean, 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 nearly covered his face, and a brick-dust complexion variegated with large freckles. His legs were long and straight; he wore tight-fitting white moleskin trousers, a coloured Crimean shirt, and a battered felt hat.

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

They brought the sheep up to a little corner of land formed by a sharp bend of the creek, then stopped, squatting on their haunches as sentinels, and the sheep, fatigued with their long, fast run, settled in under the trees to get out of the sun. Behind the sheep, Hugh caught a glimpse of two hors.e.m.e.n coming slowly up the road towards the house.

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

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

But they had to reckon with one thing they had overlooked, and that was the 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 p.r.i.c.ked and his 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, and barked sharply. "Good pup," said Mick, "fitch him out, pup!--What is it--native cat? Goo for 'im!"

Thus encouraged, the puppy darted forward barking, and Red Mick stopped leisurely, picked up a large stone, and sent it crashing among the branches. It pa.s.sed between Hugh and Miss Grant, and came near enough to stunning one or other of them. They jumped to their feet hurriedly, and without 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 at the apparition. He could scarcely have expected his shot to disturb two such fine birds from such an extraordinary nest; but before they had extricated themselves from the branches his face had a.s.sumed the stolid, cow-like, unintelligent look which had so often baffled judges and Crown Prosecutors. He was bland and child-like as Bret Harte's Chinee.

He spoke as if he were quite accustomed to unearthing young couples out of 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?"