So far so good, and Kate breathed again with almost as much of her old light-heartedness as before.

In spite of her doubt of the wisdom of bringing such valuables so far and to such a place, she and Cicely took a secret delight in a weekly cleaning up of the silver, secure of all observation from outsiders. It was a pleasure to Kate to lift and polish the handsome epergne, and to finger the delicate teaspoons and fanciful fish-knives and forks.

"What a haul this would be for a bushranger!" she said one day, as she carefully laid the admired epergne back into its place in the iron safe.

Cicely gave a gasp and a shudder. "You--you don't have them in these parts, surely!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"If they find there is anything worth lifting they'll visit any homestead in the colony," returned Kate.

"But oh! dear Kate, what should we do if they came here? I should die of fright."

"Yes, I'm afraid you would," said Kate, glancing compa.s.sionately at the delicate figure beside her, and at the cheeks which had visibly lost their pink colour. "No, Cicely, I don't think there is any chance of such characters visiting us just now. The first and last time I saw a bushranger was when I was fifteen years old. He and his men tried to break into our house for, somehow, it had got wind that father had in the house a large sum of money--money which of course he usually banked.

I can see dear old father now, standing with his rifle in his hand at the dining-room window, and Mr. Wentworth standing beside him. They were firing away at three men who were as much in earnest as my father and his manager were."

"And what happened?" asked Cicely breathlessly, as Kate stopped to look round for her polishing cloth.

"Father killed one man, the two others got away, not, however, before Mr. Wentworth had shot away the forefinger of the leader. We found it after they had gone, lying on the path beside the cattle-yard. He was a terrible fellow, the leader of that bushranging crew. He went by the name of Wolfgang. He may be alive now, I don't know. I have not heard of any depredations committed by him for two or three years now."

"And I hope you never will," said Cicely with a shudder. "Kate, have you done all you want to do here? I should so like to finish that letter to send off by to-day's mail."

"Then go. I'll just stay to lock up. You haven't much time if you want Sam Griffiths to take it this afternoon."

Cicely jumped up without another word, and climbed the ladder.

Kate lifted the case of fish-knives into the safe, and stretched out her hand for the other articles without turning her head. She felt her hand clutched as in a vice by fingers cold as ice. She turned sharply round.

Cicely was at her side with lips and cheeks devoid of colour.

"Good gracious, Cicely! what is the matter? How you startled me!" said Kate in a vexed tone.

Cicely laid one cold, trembling, finger upon her cousin's lips.

"He has seen us--he has been looking down on us," was all she could articulate.

"Who? What do you mean?" But Kate's voice was considerably lowered.

"The bushranger Wolfgang. He--he has seen all the silver!"

Kate broke into a nervous laugh. "I think you are dreaming, Cicely. How do you know you saw Wolfgang? And how could he see us down here?"

"It is no dream," answered Cicely in the same husky whisper. "Kate, as I climbed the ladder quickly I saw the face of a man disappear from the trap-door, but not before I caught sight of the forefinger missing off the hand that held one side of the trap-door. Kate, Kate, it was Wolfgang. He has been staring down at us."

Kate looked up wildly at the opening above. It was free from all intruders now. She locked every article into the safe without uttering a word; then said, "Come."

Together they mounted the ladder; together they latched down the trap-door; together they left the counting-house.

"Tell Sam to ride to the shed and ask Mr. Wentworth to come to me at once--at once." Kate gave the order in a calm voice to the one woman servant that did the work in the house.

"Sam isn't in the yards," was the answer. "He told me three hours ago that he was wanted by Mr. Wentworth to ride to the township for something or other. He was in a fine way about it, for he said it was taking him from his work here."

Some of Kate's calm left her. She looked round at the helpless women--three now, for her aunt had joined them.

"Aunt," she said, forcing herself to speak quietly, "I have fears that this afternoon we shall be attacked by bushrangers. Unfortunately Sam has been called away, and he is the only man we have on the premises.

There is not another within reach, except at the shearing-shed, and you know where that is. Which of you will venture to ride there for help? I dare not go, for I must protect the house."

She glanced at each of the three faces in turn, and saw no help there.

Becky, the servant, had utterly collapsed at the word bushranger; the other two faces looked as if carved in stone.

"Kate, Kate, is there no other help near?"

"Not nearer than the shearing-shed, aunt."

"I daren't go. I couldn't ride that distance."

"Cicely?" Kate's tone was imploring.

"Don't ask me," and Cicely burst into a flood of tears.

"We must defend ourselves, then."

The Australian girl's voice was quiet, albeit it trembled slightly.

"Come to the counting-house. Becky, you come too. We must barricade the place. I'll run round and fasten up every door. They will have a tough job to get in," she murmured grimly.

How she thanked her father for the strong oak door! The oaken shutters with their ma.s.sive iron clamps! It would seem as if he had expected a raid from bushrangers at some time or other in his life. The counting-house door was stronger than the others. She now understood the reason why. The room below had been taken into consideration when that door was put up.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon. A broiling, sun-baking afternoon.

They were prepared, sitting, as it were, in readiness for the attack they were momentarily expecting.

It came at last. The voice that sounded outside the counting-house door took her back to the time when she was fifteen years of age. It was a strange, harsh voice, grating in its harshness, strange in being like no other. She remembered it to be the voice of the man that had challenged her father that memorable day--remembered it to be the voice of Wolfgang.

Like an evil bird of prey had he scented from afar the silver stored under the trap-door, just as he had scented the sum of money her father had hidden away in the house.

"It's no use your sheltering yourselves in there," said the voice. "We want to harm no one--it's against our principles. What we want is just the silver hidden under the counting-house, and we want nothing more."

With one finger upraised, cautioning silence, Kate saw for the twentieth time to the priming of her rifle--the very rifle that had shot Wolfgang's chief man four years before. There was no need for her to caution her companions to silence. They knelt on the floor--a huddled, trembling trio.

If only Kate could see how many men there were! But she could not.

"It will take them some time to batter in that door," thought she, "and by that time, who knows, help may come from some unexpected quarter."

"Do you dare to defy us?" said the voice again. "We know you are utterly helpless. Sam has been got out of the way by a cooked-up story, ditto your manager. They are both swearing in the broiling township by now."

And the voice broke off with a loud "Ha! ha!"

At which two other voices echoed "Ha! ha! ha! ha!"

Kate strained her ears to catch the sounds. Were there only three, then, just as there had been three four years before?

Then ensued a battering at the door, but it stood like a rock. They were tiring at that game. It hurt them, and did no good. There was silence for the s.p.a.ce of some minutes, and then the sound of sc.r.a.ping reached Kate's ears.