"Tell Jim, Aunt Emma," said Mary. And Aunt Emma started to tell the story as far as she knew.

"Saw her at Buckolt"s sliprails!" cried Jim, starting up. "Well, he couldn"t have had time to more than say good-bye to her, for I was with her there myself, and Harry caught up to me within a mile of the gate--and I rode pretty fast."

"He had a jolly long good-bye with her," shouted Uncle Abel. "Look here, Jim! I ain"t goin" to stand by and see a nephew of mine bungfoodled by no girl; an", I tell you I seen "em huggin" and kissin" and canoodlin"

for half an hour at Buckolts" Gate!"

"It"s a--a-- Look here, Uncle Abel, be careful what you say. You"ve got the bull by the tail again, that"s what it is!" Jim"s face grew whiter--and it had been white enough on account of the drink. "How did you know it was them? You"re always mistaking people. It might have been someone else."

"I know Harry Dale on horseback two miles off!" roared Uncle Abel. "And I knowed her by her cape."

It was Mary"s turn to gasp and stare at Uncle Abel.

"Uncle Abel," she managed to say, "Uncle Abel! Wasn"t it at our Lower Sliprails you saw them and not Buckolts" Gate?"

"Well!" bellowed Uncle Abel. "You might call "em the `Lower Sliprails,"

but I calls "em Buckolts" Gate! They lead to"r"ds Buckolts", don"t they?

Hey? Them other sliprails"--jerking his arms in the direction of the upper paddock "them theer other sliprails that leads outer Reid"s lane I calls Reid"s Sliprails. I don"t know nothing about no upper or lower, or easter or wester, or any other la-di-dah names you like to call "em."

"Oh, uncle," cried Mary, trembling like a leaf, "why didn"t you explain this before? Why didn"t you tell us?"

"What cause have I got to tell any of you everything I sez or does or thinks? It "ud take me all me time. Ain"t you got any more brains than Ryan"s bull, any of you? Hey!--You"ve got heads, but so has cabbages.

Explain! Why, if the world wasn"t stuffed so full of jumped-up fools there"d be never no need for explainin"."

Mary left the table.

"What is it, Mary?" cried Aunt Emma.

"I"m going across to Bertha," said Mary, putting on her hat with trembling hands. "It was me Uncle Abel saw. I had Bertha"s cape on that night."

"Oh, Uncle Abel," cried Aunt Emma, "whatever have you done?"

"Well," said Uncle Abel, "why didn"t she get the writin"s as I told her?

It"s to be hoped she won"t make such a fool of herself next time."

Half an hour later, or thereabouts, Mary sat on Bertha Buckolt"s bed, with Bertha beside her and Bertha"s arm round her, and they were crying and laughing by turns.

"But-but-why didn"t you _tell_ me it was Jim?" said Mary.

"Why didn"t you tell me it was Harry, Mary?" asked Bertha. "It would have saved all this year of misery.

"I didn"t see Harry Dale at all that night," said Bertha. "I was--I was crying when Jim left me, and when Harry came along I slipped behind a tree until he was past. And now, look here, Mary, I can"t marry Jim until he steadies down, but I"ll give him another chance. But, Mary, I"d sooner lose him than you."

Bertha walked home with Mary, and during the afternoon she took Jim aside and said:

"Look here, Jim, I"ll give you another chance--for a year. Now I want you to ride into town and send a telegram to Harry Dale. How long would it take him to get here?"

"He couldn"t get here before New Year," said Jim.

"That will do," said Bertha, and Jim went to catch his horse. Next day Harry"s reply came: "Coming"

ACT IV

New Year"s Eve. The dance was at Buckolts" this year, but Bertha didn"t dance much; she was down by the gate most of the time with little Mary Carey, waiting, and watching the long, white road, and listening for horses" feet, and disappointed often as other hors.e.m.e.n rode by or turned up to the farm.

And in the hot sunrise that morning, within a hundred "miles of Rocky Rises, a tired, dusty drover camped in the edge of a scrub, boiled his quart-pot, broiled a piece of mutton on the coals, and lay down on the sand to rest an hour or so before pushing on to a cattle station he knew to try and borrow fresh horses. He had ridden all night.

Old Buckolt and Carey and Reid smoked socially under the grape-vines, with bottles of whisky and gla.s.ses, and nudged each other and coughed when they wanted to laugh at Old Abel Albury, who was, for about the first time in his life, condescending to explain. He was explaining to them what thund"rin" fools they had been.

Later on they sent a boy on horseback with a bottle of whisky and a message to Ryan, who turned up in time to see the New Year in with them and contradict certain slanders concerning the breed of his bull.

Meanwhile Bertha comforted Mary, and at last persuaded her to go home.

"He"s sure to be here to-morrow, Mary," she said, "and you need to look fresh and happy."

But Mary didn"t sleep that night; she was up before daylight, had the kettle on and some chops ready to fry, and at daybreak she was down by the sliprails again. She was turning away for the second time when she heard a clear whistle round the Spur--then the tune of "Willie Riley,"

and the hobble-chains and camp-ware on the packhorse jingling to the tune.

She pulled out the rails with eager, trembling hands and leaned against the tree. An hour later a tired drover lay on his back, in his ragged, track-worn clothes and dusty leggings, on Mary"s own little bed in the skillion off the living-room, and rested. Mary bustled round getting breakfast ready, and singing softly to herself; once she slipped in, bent over Harry and kissed him gently on the lips, and ran out as he stirred.

"Why, who"s that?" exclaimed Uncle Abel, poking round early and catching a glimpse of Harry through the open door.

"It"s only Harry, Uncle Abel," said Mary.

Uncle Abel peered in again to make sure.

"Well, be sure you git the writin"s this time," he said.

THE BUSH-FIRE

I

SQUATTER AND SELECTOR

Wall was a squatter and a hard man. There had been long years of drought and loss, and then came the rabbit pest--the rabbits swarmed like flies over his run, and cropped the ground bare where even the poor gra.s.s might have saved thousands of sheep--and the rabbits cost the squatter hundreds of pounds in "rabbit-proof" fences, trappers" wages, etc., just to keep them down. Then came arrangements with the bank. And then Wall"s wife died. Wall started to brood over other days, and the days that had gone between, and developed a temper which drove his children from home one by one, till only Mary was left. She managed the lonely home with the help of a half-caste. Then in good seasons came the selectors.

Men remembered Wall as a grand boss and a good fellow, but that was in the days before rabbits and banks, and syndicates and "pastoralists" or pastoral companies instead of good squatters. Runs were mostly pastoral leases for which the squatter paid the Government so much per square mile (almost a nominal rent). Selections were small holdings taken up by farmers under residential and other conditions and paid for by instalments. If you were not ruined by the drought, and paid up long enough, the land became freehold. The writer is heir to a dusty patch of three hundred acres or so in the scrub which was taken up thirty years ago and isn"t freehold yet.

Selectors were allowed to take up land on runs or pastoral leases as well as on unoccupied Crown lands, and as they secured the best bits of land, and on water frontages if they could, and as, of course, selections reduced the area of the run, the squatters loved selectors like elder brothers. One man is allowed to select only a certain amount of land, and required by law to live on it, so the squatters bought as much freehold about the homestead as they could afford, selected as much as they are allowed to by law, and sometimes employed "dummy" selectors to take up choice bits about the runs and hold them for them. They fought selectors in many various ways, and, in some cases, annoyed and persecuted them with devilish ingenuity.

Ross was a selector, and a very hard man physically. He was a short, nuggety man with black hair and frill beard (a little dusty), bushy black eyebrows, piercing black eyes, h.o.r.n.y knotted hands, and the obstinacy or pluck of a dozen men to fight drought and the squatter.

Ross selected on Wall"s run, in a bend of Sandy Creek, a nice bit of land with a black soil, flat and red soil sidings from the ridges, which no one had noticed before, and with the help of his boys he got the land cleared and fenced in a year or two--taking bush contracts about the district between whiles to make "tucker" for the family until he got his first crop off.