"Keep her until she's pulled round. Then I can find out all about her,"

returned Glen.

A faint cry came from the hut which caused them to turn round quickly and run back. A strange, weird sight met their eyes. The woman was standing close to the bed. Her hair was down. They noticed it was a beautiful nut-brown, and there was plenty of it. Her arms were stretched out. Her eyes stared gla.s.sily. As Glen came in she tottered forward, and he caught her in his arms.

A thrill went through him as he clasped her. Her face was close to his.

He felt her breath on his cheek. He drew her tightly towards him, and held her for several minutes. Jim Benny watched him with a queer light in his eyes.

Glen carried her, laying her on his rough bed. She was exhausted with the exertion and remained quite still.

"You'd better go at once," said Jim, "she's bad, very bad."

Glen stood thinking for a few minutes, then asked, "You'll not leave her while I'm gone?"

"No, I'll sit by her as I found you sitting. See?" and he sat on the log, placing his hand on her breast. "That'll soothe her."

Without another word Glen Leigh left the hut.

He whistled Ping, and obediently the horse came to his call. Glen saddled him, and rode off towards Boonara. Jim Benny sat looking at the woman. He heard the hoof beats gradually dying away, then with a sudden movement got up and kissed her on the lips. She moaned.

"I couldn't help it. I meant no harm. She reminded me of--never mind names. I loved her, and she married him--that's all done with."

He remained quite still until Spotty, Glen's dog, half dingo, came sniffing round. He had been on the prowl for a day or so, and returned repentant. The predatory instinct was uppermost, which was not to be wondered at considering the wild stock from which he descended, and he made excursions to some land of which his master knew nothing.

The dog knew Jim, on the fence, but had not seen him in Glen's hut. Then there was the woman. Spotty had never come across one. Jim knew the nature of these dogs, their faithful savageness, and scented danger in the air. He had seen the dog on the fence with Glen, but had always been on horseback, and Spotty had never really scented him. He didn't even know the dog's name.

Spotty eyed Jim, then looked at the woman on the bed. Here was something he did not understand. He came forward, crouching, like a panther ready to spring, and Jim set him with his eyes, not daring to move, on her account.

Spotty sniffed at her dress, turned round, faced Jim and growled, a low rumbling sound. Then he lay on the floor, paws outstretched, head erect, watching.

Jim knew if he moved the dog would probably fly at his throat. It would be hours before Leigh returned, and he must remain in this position the whole time, on her account. Had he been alone he could have cowed Spotty, or attempted it. He heard distant thunder. There was another storm brewing, the promise of more welcome rain. The lightning flashed through the hut, playing in and out at the doors. The crashing sounds came nearer; then the rain burst in torrents.

Spotty did not move. He remained with his eyes on Jim, not even giving a glance at the figure on the bed. The woman slept through it all. Jim wondered at her strange stillness. Was she dead?

The thought made him start. He had not put his hand on her again after he kissed her, and could not feel or hear her breath. Spotty saw him move, and growled. He seemed about to spring, then crouched again.

It was a strange situation--the man, the woman, and the dog, in the hut, the storm raging outside, and Glen Leigh riding on his mission to Boonara.

CHAPTER IV

"IT'S FOR A WOMAN"

"h.e.l.lo, what brings you here?" said Bill Bigs, as Glen Leigh entered his house. The tone was not encouraging. Bill was in an ill-humour, and it was not difficult to discover the cause. The bar was in a state of wild confusion. Broken bottles, bits of wood, splinters from the rough furniture, and jagged pieces of gla.s.s lay about. There was every sign of a fight.

Glen took it all in at a glance. Although he was in a desperate hurry he knew the best way to succeed would be by humouring him.

"Bit of a skirmish, eh?" began Glen.

"Two of your fence fellows began it. I never saw such beasts in my life.

They all are."

Glen's eyes glittered.

"Does that include me?" he asked.

"No. I can't say it does, but there's no telling what may happen.

You'll break out some day. Flesh and blood can't stand your job,"

replied Bill.

Here was an opening. Glen was holding himself in leash wonderfully well.

All the time he was thinking, "What's she doing? What's he doing?"

He wanted to hurry back. Ping would have to hustle when he made a start.

"You're right," he agreed, "if it wasn't for a nip of your good stuff now and again, Bill, I'd go under."

"I see. So that's what you're here for. Well, I can't gratify you this time. I've run out."

Bill was husbanding his resources; it was his habit. Glen knew there was a tough job before him.

"I must have some of the best, Bill, I'm run down," persisted Glen.

Bill laughed.

"Must have it? I like that. Look around. Do you think I'm going to stand that sort of thing from your fellows without paying somebody out? As you happen to have come along first I'll pay you out. You'll get nothing from me to-day."

"I must have it, Bill. I'll pay double price for it."

"When?"

"In a month. I can't do it now."

"A month! Six months you mean, and then it's uncertain."

"Not with me."

"I'll not deny you're a good payer, and straight, but you've got to suffer for the sins of others. You're one of 'em," returned Bill.

Glen Leigh leaned over the counter, his face close to Bill's.

"If you knew what I wanted it for you'd give it me without payment," he said.

Bill looked hard at him. Glen's face was quivering. His mouth twitched.

His eyes glared. He was thinking of the woman. How should he get the brandy if Bill persisted in refusing, for he meant having it at any cost?