"I believe, Miss Carolan, that like me, you are quite a new arrival in this country."

"Oh, dear no! I have lived here ever since I was two years old."

"Heah! in Townsville?"

"I meant Australia," Sheila observed placidly.

"Then you are not an Australian born, Miss Carolan?" put in Mrs. Wooler with a peculiarly irritating condescension of manner and surprised tone, as if she meant to say, "I am sure you are—you certainly are not lady-like enough to be an English girl."

"No, I am not," was the reply. "Do you think you will like Queensland, Mr. Assheton?"

"I really have as yet formed no definite impression. Possibly I may in the end contrive to like it."

"Do. It would be a great pity for the country if you did not," said Sheila gravely, without moving an eyelid.

"Do you purpose making a long stay in Queensland, Miss Carolan?" pursued Mrs. Wooler.

"A very long one, perhaps—perhaps on the other hand a very short one. Or it may be that I may adopt a middle course, and do neither."

Grainger, who was opposite, heard her, and as she looked across at him, he saw that she was "playing" her questioner and quite enjoying it.

Never for one moment did the clergyman's wife dream that Sheila meant to be anything else but evasive, so she followed up. To her mind it was absolutely incredible that any woman would dare to snub her—Mrs. Wooler—daughter of a dean, and possessing an uncle who had on several occasions been spoken of by the Bishop of Dullington as his probable successor; such a thing was impossible!

"I presume, however, that your stay in Townsville itself will be short, Miss Carolan? You will find it a very expensive place—especially if you have no friends to whom you can go."

Sheila's face flushed. Her blood was getting up, and Myra looked at her nervously.

"Is there no 'Girls' Friendly Society,' 'Young Women's Christian Association,' or other kindred institution, where I could 'be taken in and done for'?" she asked sweetly.

"Not as yet; but I am thinking of taking steps to found a Girls' Friendly Society. Such an institution will soon be a necessity in a growing place like this."

"How nice it would be for me to go there instead of staying at—at a boarding house!"

Juliette Trappeme's sallow face flushed with rage, and Mrs. Trappeme, who saw that something was occurring, spoke loudly to Mr. Wooler, who answered in his usual soft voice. But Mallard, who was seated next to Miss Lilla Trappeme, shot Sheila an encouraging glance.

"Quite so," went on Mrs. Wooler. "I disapprove most strongly of any young woman incurring risks that can be avoided."

"What risks?" and Sheila turned and looked steadily at Mrs. Wooler.

The sharp query somewhat upset the inquisitive lady, who hardly knew what she meant herself.

"Oh, the risks of getting into debt—living beyond one's means—and things like that."

"Oh, I see, madam," and Sheila bowed gravely, although the danger signals were showing now on her cheeks. Then she added very clearly and distinctly, "That would be most dreadful to happen to any one, would it not, Mr. Assheton?"

"Oh, howwible—for a lady."

"But," she went on—and as she spoke she gazed so intently into Mrs. Wooler's face that every one at the table saw her change colour—"but I am sure, Mrs. Wooler, that no girl could possibly come to such a sad condition while you are in Townsville, to give her the benefit of your years, your advice, and your experience—even though that advice was thrust upon her in a manner that I believe might possibly cause well-deserved resentment," and then, with a scornful smile still on her lips, she turned to Mr. Assheton and asked him sweetly if he did not "think it was beginning to be very warm so early in the year?"

"By heavens!" mattered Mallard to Myra, "she has done the parson woman good. Look at her face. It's unpleasant to look at."

Mrs. Wooler's features were a study. Unable to speak, and her hands trembling with rage, she gave the girl one glance of hatred, and then tried to eat; and Viveash, who had the sense to do so, at once began telling her some idiotic and pointless story about himself when he sang in a cathedral choir until his voice "failed him."

Just then a long ring was heard at the front door, and the butler presently came to Mallard, and said—

"One of the reporters, sir, from the Champion wishes to see you. Most important, sir, he says. Will you please see him at once?"

Making his excuses, Mallard left the dining-room and went into one of the sitting-rooms, where the reporter was awaiting him.



CHAPTER X ~ THE "CHAMPION" ISSUES A "SPECIAL"

Ten minutes later Mallard was at the hall door giving instructions to the reporter.

"Hurry back as fast as you can, Winthrop, and tell Mr. Flynn to rash the special through. And as fast as any farther news come in rap out another. Get all the boys you can, and distribute the specials everywhere—anywhere. Chuck some over into the cemetery—they'll make the dead 'get up and holler.' Tell the boys that they are not to make any charge—get the foreman to head it 'Special! Gratis! (Any one newsboy who makes a charge for this special will be immediately dismissed.)' See? And tell the boys they will get five shillings each extra in the morning. I'll be down in another twenty minates or so. Go on, Winthrop, loop!"

Mr. Winthrop, who was as excited as Mallard himself, "looped," and the editor returned to the dining-room with a galley-proof slip in his hand. Every one, of coarse, saw by his face that something had occurred.

"I won't sit down again, Mrs. Trappeme, if you and the other ladies will excuse me, for I have to hurry back to the office to attend to some important business. There is great news." Then, bending down, he placed his hand on Grainger's shoulder, and whispered, "You must come with me, old man. There is glorious news from Chinkie's. I'll tell you all about it in a minute, as soon as we are outside. Make your apologies and let us go," and then going over to Mrs. Trappeme, he handed her the proof to read to her guests and hurried out with Grainger, leaving every one in the room eager to learn what had occurred.

"Oh, dear me!" began Mrs. Lee-Trappeme, adjusting her pince-nez, which always interfered with her sight.

"SPECIAL. 'TOWNSVILLE CHAMPION.'

"WRECK.

"9 P.M., May 2nd. "Authentic news has just reached the Champion office that the mail steamer Flintshire was wrecked on the Great Barrier Beef three days ago (the 5th). All the crew and passengers—200 in number-were saved, and are now on their way to Townsville. [Further particulars later.]"

"DREADFUL MASSACRE BY THE NOTORIOUS BLACK OUTLAWS.

"The Clonourry mail, which has been delayed by floods, brings news of a terrible massacre perpetrated by the ootlaw black ex-troopers Sandy and Daylight. A party of five miners who were camped at a lagoon near Dry Creek were surprised and murdered in their sleep by the two outlaws and a number of myall blacks. The bodies were found by the mail man. Inspector Lamington and a patrol of Native Polioe leave to- morrow to punish the murderers. Detailed particulars of the affair will be given in to-morrow's issue—Mudoch, the mail man, being too exhausted to stand the test of a long interview to-night."

"WONDERFUL GOLD DISCOVERY NEAR CHINKIN'S FLAT.

"A NEW EL DORADO. "MR. GRAINGER AND HIS PARTNERS THE LUCKY MEN.

"By the Clonourry mail, which brought intelligence of the tragedy at Dry Creek, also comes most pleasurably exciting news. The 'Ever Victorious Grainger,' as his many friends often designate him, some months ago sent out a prospecting party to try the country near the headwaters of Banshee Greek, with the result that probably the richest alluvial field in Australia has been discovered. Over 2,000 os. of gold—principally in nuggets ranging from 100 oz. to 2 oz.— have already been taken by Mr. Grainger's party. Warden Charteris, accompanied by an escort of white and black polioe, leaves for the place to-morrow night. The news of this wonderfully rich field has been two weeks reaching Townsville owing to the flooded condition of the country between Banshee Creek and Chinkie's Flat.

"Mr. Grainger is at present in this city on a short visit. His good fortune will benefit the country at large as well as himself and his energetic partners."

"Dear me, how very exciting to be getting gold so easily!" said Mrs. Trappeme, as she laid the proof on the table; "your brother will be delighted, Miss Grainger."

"He will be pleased, of course," absented Myra. "He always had a belief that a rich alluvial gold-field would be discovered in the Banshee Creek country. He sent this particular prospecting party away nearly two months ago."

"What a hawwid story about the murdered diggahs!" said Mr. Assheton to Myra. "Did it occur neah where you were living, Miss Graingah?"

"About a hundred miles further westward, towards the Minerva Downs district. These two men, Sandy and Daylight, have committed quite a number of murders during the past two years. They killed five or six poor Chinese diggers on the Cloncurry Road last year. They are both well armed, and it is almost impossible to capture them, as they retreat to the ranges whenever pursued."

"They are a most ferocious and desperate pair," said Mr. Wooler, who then told their story, which was this:—

Some two or three years previously Sandy and Daylight, who belonged to one of the Native Police camps in the Gulf district,{*} had, while out on patrol, urged one of their comrades to join with them in murdering their white officer and then absconding. The other man refused, and, later on in the day, secretly told the officer that he was in great danger of being shot if he rode on ahead of the patrol as usual. As soon as the party returned to camp the two traitors were quietly disarmed, handcuffed, and then chained to a log till the morning. During the night they managed to free themselves (aided, no doubt, by the trooper who was detailed to guard them), killed the man who had refused to join them by cleaving his skull open with a blow from a tomahawk, and then decamped to the ranges with their rifles and ammunition. They found a refuge and safe retreat with the savage myalls (wild blacks) inhabiting the granite ranges, and then began a career of robbery and murder. Small parties of prospectors found it almost impossible to pursue their vocation in the "myall country," for the dreaded ex-troopers and their treacherous and cannibal allies were ever, on the watch to cut them off. In the course of a few months, by surprising and killing two unfortunate Chinese packers, the desperadoes became possessed of their repeating rifles and a lot of ammunition, and the old single-shot police carbines were discarded for the more effective weapons. Sandy, who was the leader, was a noted shot, and he and his companion now began to haunt the vicinity of isolated mining camps situated in country of the roughest description. Parties of two or three men who had perhaps located themselves in some almost inaccessible spot would go on working for a few weeks in apparent security, leaving one of their number to guard the camp and horses, and on returning from their toil would find their comrade dead or severely wounded, the camp rifled of everything it contained, and the horses speared; and the hardy and adventurous pioneers would have to retreat to one of the main mining camps, situated perhaps fifty miles away, with nothing left to them but the hard-won gold they had saved and their mining tools, but ready and eager to venture forth again.

* Gulf of Carpentaria.

One day, so the clergyman related, a man named Potter was travelling from Burketown to Port Denison, and camped beside a small water-hole to rest until the morning. After unsaddling and hobbling out the horse he had been riding, and unloading the pack-horse, he threw his packbags at the foot of a Leichhardt tree, lit a fire, and began to boil a billy of tea. He knew that he was in dangerous country, and that it was unwise of him to light a fire, but being of a reckless disposition, and having a firm belief in his luck, he took no further precaution beyond opening the flap of his revolver pouch.

He had just taken out a piece of damper and some salt meat, which, with the hot tea, were to be his supper, when he was startled to hear some one address him by name, and looking up, he saw a powerfully-built black fellow with a long black beard and smiling face standing a dozen yards or so away. He was all but nude, but round his waist was buokled a broad leather police belt with two ammunition pouches; in his right hand he carried a repeating rifle.

"Don't you know me, Mr. Potter?" he said in excellent English.

Potter recognised him at once, and the two shook hands.

"Why, you're Sandy! Have you left the police?" (He knew nothing of what had occurred.)

"Yes," was the reply, "I skipped," and carelessly putting his rifle down, he asked Potter if he had any tobacco to spare.

"Yes, I can give you a few plugs," and going to his saddle bags he produced four square plugs of tobacco, which he handed to his visitor, who took them eagerly, at once produced a silver-mounted pipe (probably taken from some murdered digger) filled it, and began to smoke and talk.

"My word, Mr. Potter," he said with easy familiarity, "it is a good thing for you that I knew you," and he showed his white, even teeth in a smile. "But I haven't forgot that when I got speared on the Albert River five years ago you drove me into Burketown in your buggy to get a doctor for me." (He had formerly been one of Potter's stockmen, and had been badly wounded in an encounter with wild blacks.)

Potter made some apparently careless reply. He knew that Sandy, though an excellent stockman, had always had a bad record, and indeed he had been compelled to dismiss him on account of his dangerous temper. He heard later on that the man had joined the Black Police, and a deserter from the Black Police is in nine cases out of ten an unmitigated villain.

Then Sandy became communicative, and frankly told his involuntary host part—but part only—of his story, and wound up by saying—

"You must not sleep here to-night. There is a big mob of myalls camped in the river-bed three miles away from here. If they see you, they'll kill you for certain between now and to-morrow night, when you are going through some of the gorges. You must saddle up again, and I'll take you along another track and leave you safe."

Tired as the horses were, Potter took Sandy's advice, and the two started at sunset, the blackfellow leading. They travelled for some hours, and then again camped—this time without a fire. Sandy remained till daylight, and during a further conversation boasted that he had enough gold in nuggets to allow him to have "a fine time in Sydney or Melbourne," where he meant to make his way some day "when things got a bit quiet and people thought he was dead." In proof of his assertion about the gold he gave Potter a two ounce nugget he picked out from several others which were carried in one of his ammunition pouches. Before they parted Potter gave him—at his particular request—one of the two blankets he carried, and then Sandy and he shook hands, and the blackfellow, rifle in hand, disappeared, and left his former master to continue his journey.

"What a hawwid chawacter!" said Mr. Assheton, when the clergyman had concluded his story. "Why don't the police exert themselves and catch or shoot the fellow?"

"It is such very difficult country," explained Myra, "and, in fact, has not yet all been explored."

The ladies rose, and Myra and Sheila, pleading fatigue, went to their rooms—or rather to Myra's—leaving Mrs. and Miss Trappeme and Mrs. Wooler to, as Sheila said, "Tear me to pieces. But I could not let that woman insult me without retaliating."

"Of course you did right. She's an odious creature."

Grainger returned alone about eleven o'clock. He tapped at Myra's door, and asked her if she was asleep.

"No. Miss Carolan is here; we've been having a lovely talk."

"Well, go to bed, and have a lovely sleep. I want to see you both, especially Miss Carolan, very early in the morning. We can all go out on the beach before breakfast."

"Very well, Ted. Has Mr. Mallard come in?"

"No. He will not be here for another half-hour or more. Good-night."

Mrs. Trappeme had heard his voice, and quietly opened the door of her own sitting-room, where she and Juliette (Mrs. Wooler had gone) had been discussing Sheila's delinquencies.

"Well!" gasped the mother to her daughter, as she softly closed the door again. "What on earth is going on, I should like to know! Did you hear that—'I want to see you both very early, especially Miss Garolan'? What is there going on? I must go and see Mrs. Wooler in the morning and tell her. And on the beach too! Why can't they be more open?"

Master Mordaunt, who was in the corner devouring some jelly and pastry given to him by his fond mother, looked up and said, with distended cheeks—

"Ain't the beach open enough?"

"Hold your tongue, you horrid little animal," said the irate Juliette.



CHAPTER XI ~ A CHANGE OF PLANS

Myra and Sheila, both early risers, were dressed and awaiting Grainger on the verandah when he came out of his room at seven o'clock, and they at once descended the steep Melton Hill to the beach. The morning was delightfully fresh and cool, and the smooth waters of Cleveland Bay were rippling gently to a fresh southerly breeze. Eastward, and seven miles away, the lofty green hills and darker-hued valleys of Magnetic Island stood clearly out in the bright sunlight, and further to the north Great Palm Island loomed purple-grey against the horizon. Overhead was a sky of clear blue, flecked here and there by a few fleecy clouds, and below, on the landward side, a long, long curve of yellow beach trending from a small rocky and tree-clad point on the south to the full-bosomed and majestic sweep of Cape Halifax to the north.

"What a lovely day!" exclaimed Sheila as Grainger, as soon as they had descended the hill and stepped on the firm yellow sand, led them to a clump of black, shining rocks. "I wish I were a girl of twelve, so that I could paddle about in the water."

"There is nothing to stop you doing that at Minerva Downs, Miss Cardan," said Grainger with a smile. "There is a lovely fresh-water lagoon there, with a dear sandy bottom, and the Farrow children—big and little—spend a good deal of their time there bathing and fishing." Then, as the girls seated themselves, he at once plunged into the subject uppermost in his mind.

"Myra, the news that came through last night has put me in a bit of a quandary, both as regards you and Miss Carolan. Now tell me, would you mind very much if I left you to-day and returned to Chinkie's Flat?"

"No, indeed, Ted. Surely I would not be so selfish as to interfere with your business arrangements!"

"That's a good little girl. I did want to stay in Townsville for a week or two after you had left, then I could have taken Miss Carolan as far as Chinkie's Flat on her way to Minerva Downs. But I can do something better, as far as she is concerned. You will only be here for a week, and you can suffer the Trappeme people for that time. Mallard"—and he smiled—"will no doubt try to make the time pass pleasantly for you."

"Don't be so silly, Ted. Get to the point about Miss Carolan. When is she leaving?"

"To-day—if you will, Miss Carolan—with me. The Warden and his troopers are leaving at noon for the new rush; and Charteris, when I explained things to him (I saw him last night at Mallard's office) said he will be very pleased if we will come with him. Will it be too much of a rush for you?"

"Oh no, Mr. Grainger! But I have no horse," and then, as she thought of leaving her newly-found girl friend so soon, she looked a little miserable, and her hand stole into Myra's.

"Oh, that's all right," said Grainger cheerfully. "I've two for you—Myra's, and one Charteris is lending me for you. Can you ride hard and fast? Charteris is a terror of a man for pushing along to a new rush."

"I won't make him feel cross, I assure you, Mr. Grainger."

"Then it's decided." (Sheila well knew that whether she had or had not decided, he had; yet though dimly resentful, she was quite content when she looked into his quiet grey eyes.) "You see, Miss Carolan, it's quite likely I may be able to go all the way with you to Minerva Downs, and therefore we ought not to miss travelling with the Commissioner as far as he goes. Sub-Inspector Lamington, of the Native Police, is also coming with us. He's off on a wild goose or rather, a wild nigger chase after Sandy and Daylight and their myall friends. If, when we get to Chinkie's Flat, I find that I must go with Charteris to the new rush, your friend Dick Scott and my own trusty black boy Jacky will take you on to Minerva Downs. You can travel with Lamington and his troopers part of the way after you leave Chinkie's. Take some light luggage on a pack-horse the rest, I am sorry to say, will have to come on from here by bullock team. But it is not unlikely that I may be able to take you all the way."

"I am very, very grateful to you, Mr. Grainger," said Sheila. "I fear I am going to prove a great encumbrance to you."

"Oh, Ted is a dear old brother!" said Myra, patting his brown, sun-tanned hand affectionately.

After a walk along the beach as far as the small, rocky point, they returned to breakfast, and great was Mrs. Trappeme's astonishment when Grainger informed her that he was leaving in a few hours.

"Not for long, I trust?" she said graciously, bearing in mind that he had told her he might remain for a week or two after Myra had left.

"I do not think I shall be in Townsville again for some months," he replied, as he handed her fourteen guineas. "This is for the week for my sister and for me."

"Thank you," said the lady, with a dignified bow—for she felt a little resentful at his not telling her more. Then she said with a sweet smile, "We will take good care of Miss Grainger. Either my daughters or I will be delighted to see her safely on board the steamer."

"Thank you; but Mr. Mallard will do that."

"Oh, indeed!" said the lady, with unmistakable disappointment in her voice, and then Grainger, without saying a word about Sheila, went to his room to pack, and talk to Mallard, who had not yet risen.

"I wonder if Mr. Mallard is leaving too now that his friend is going," anxiously said Juliette a few minutes later.

"If he does I shall insist upon having the ful six guineas," remarked her mother angrily. "No, on second thoughts I won't ask for it. Whether he leaves or not, I may find him very useful. I quite mean to ask him to every day publish a 'list of guests at "Magnetic Villa."'"

"Miss Carolan wud like to see yez, mum, if ye are dishengaged," said Mary, entering the room.

Sheila was in the drawing-room, and thither Mrs. Trappeme sailed.

"I shall be leaving Townsville to-day, I find," she said politely. "Would it be inconvenient for you to have my luggage sent to Hanran & Co., who will store it for me until I need it?"

Mrs. Trappeme's curiosity was intense, but she remembered Mrs. Wooler's experience of the previous evening—and feared. And then she had had the girl's money in advance.

"Oh, I am so sorry you are going," she said, with a would-be motherly smile. "Of course I will send it anywhere you wish—but why not leave it here in my care?" And then she could not resist asking one question: "Are you going to Minerva Downs, Miss Carolan, may I ask?"

"Yes; I am going there."

"What a dreadfully long journey for you! Does it not alarm you? And you are surely not travelling alone?"

"Oh, no; I am fortunate in having quite a large escort. Will you send the luggage down as soon as possible, Mrs. Trappeme?"

"Certainly," replied the lady—this time with a stiff bow; for she was now inwardly raging at not having learnt more. Then she went off to tell Juliette this new development.

At ten o'clock, after Mallard had breakfasted, he and Grainger (the latter bidding Mrs. and the Misses Trappeme a polite goodbye) went away, and shortly after Dick Scott appeared, leading a pack-horse. He took off the empty bags, and marched up to the front door.

"Mr. Grainger has sent these to Miss Caroline, miss," he said to Lilla Trappeme, "and will you please ask her to put her things into 'em and I'll wait?"

Myra helped Sheila pack some clothing, rugs, &c, into the bags, and Mary took them out to the burly Dick.

"By jingo! you're the finest woman I've seen here yet," said he affably to the blushing Mary. "Now, will you tell Miss Caroline and Miss Grainger that I'll be up with the horses in half an hour? Goodbye, bright eyes."

He returned within the time, riding his own horse and leading two others.

"Sidesaddles," said Juliette to her mother as they watched through the dining-room windows the big digger dismount and hang the horses' reins over the front gate.

As he strode across the lawn, they heard Mary's voice in the hall. It sounded as if she were half crying.

"Goodbye, miss, and Hivin's blessin' on ye; and may God sind ye a good husband."

A moment or two later she entered, wiping her eyes. "The ladies are goin', and wish to spake to yez," she said.

Mrs. Trappeme and her daughters rose, as Myra and Sheila, clad in their neatly-fitting habits, came into the room.

"I am going to accompany Miss Carolan and my brother for a few miles, Mrs. Trappeme, so I shall not be here for lunch," said Myra.

"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Trappeme faintly; and then, with a pleasant smile from Myra, and a coldly polite bow from Sheila, they were gone.

Scott swung them up into their saddles, and in another minute they were descending the hill.

Mother and daughter looked at each other.

"So she's going with Mr. Grainger," said Juliette, with an unpleasant twitch of her thin lips; "the—the little cat! I'd like to see her fall off!"

"Never mind her—she's gone now—and I have had six guineas from her," remarked her amiable mamma. "Now, if you are coming into Flinders Street with me, make haste, and don't sit grizzling."

Poor Juliette! Poor Mrs. Lee-Trappeme! When they descended the hill and emerged out into Flinders Street, they found the side-path crowded with people, who were all gazing into the great yard of the Queen's Hotel, from which was emerging a cavalcade. First came four people—the white-bearded Charteris with Myra, and Grainger with Sheila; after them a sergeant and six white police, and ten Native Police with carbines on thighs, and then Dick Scott and dark-faced Inspector Lamington; behind followed a troop of spare horses.

As they swung through the gates, the crowd cheered as Charteris gave the word, and the whole party went off at a sharp canter down the long, winding street.



CHAPTER XII ~ SHEILA BECOMES ONE OF A VERY "UNREFINED" CIRCLE

The night wind was soughing mournfully through the dark line of she-oaks fringing the banks of a small, swiftly-running creek, when Sheila was awakened by some one calling to her from outside the little tent in which she was sleeping. She sat up and looked out.

"Did you call me, Mr. Grainger?"

"Yes. There is a storm coming down from the ranges. Sorry to awaken you, but we want to make your tent more secure."

Aided by Scott, whose giant figure Sheila could scarcely discern—so dark was the night—Grainger soon had the tent prepared to resist the storm. As they worked, there came such an appalling thunderclap that it shook the ground beneath her, and for some minutes she was unable to hear even the droning roar of the rain-laden tornado that came tearing down from the mountains, snapping off the branches of the gum-trees, bending low the pliant boles of the moaning she-oaks, and lifting the waters of the creek up in sheets.

A hand touched her face in the Cimmerian darkness, and Dick Scott's voice (he was shouting with all the strength of his mighty lungs) seemed to whisper—

"Lie down, miss; lie down, and don't be afeerd. The tent will stand, as we are pretty well sheltered here, and———"

Another fearful thunderclap cut short his words, and she instinctively clutched his hand. She was used to terrific thunderstorms in New South Wales, but she had neyer heard anything so awful as this—it seemed as if the heavens had burst.

"Where is Mr. Grainger?" she asked, putting her lips to Dick's ear and speaking loudly.

"Here, beside me, miss."

"And poor Jacky! Where is he?"

"We'll find out presently, miss. Most likely the horses have cleared out, and he's gone after 'em," shouted Scott.

For another five minutes the howling fury of the wind and the hissing of the rain rendered any further conversation impossible. Then came a sudden lull of both. Grainger struck a match and lit a small lantern he was holding, and Sheila felt a great satisfaction as the light showed upon his face—-calm and quiet as ever—as he looked at her and smiled.

"You must pardon us coming into the tent, Miss Carolan, but we wanted to light and leave the lantern with you. I'm afraid the horses have bolted for shelter into the sandalwood scrub lower down the creek, or into the gullies, and Jacky has gone after them. Will you mind staying here alone for an hour or two whilst Scott and I help him to find them?"

"Not at all," she replied bravely, "and I really do not need the light. I am not at all afraid."

"I know that, Miss Garolan. But it will serve to show us the way back." (This was merely a kindly fiction.) "And if, during a lull in the rain, you should hear any of the horses' bells, will you fire two shots from that Winchester rifle there beside you? It is possible that they may be quite near to us. Old Euchre" (one of the pack-horses) "has as much sense as a Christian, and it is quite likely that whilst Scott, Jacky, and I are looking for them in the scrub, he will lead them back here."

Then placing the lantern beside her, and partly shielding it with a saddle cloth to protect it more folly from the gusts of wind, he and Scott went out into the blackness.

She heard Scott a minute or two later give a loud Coo-ee! for Jacky, and fancied she heard an answering cry from the blackboy, a long distance away. Then the rain again descended in a torrential downpour, and drowned out all other sounds.

*****

Two weeks had passed since Sheila had left Townsville with Grainger and the hard-riding old Warden and the swarthy-faced Lamington and his savage-eyed, half-civilised troopers. At Chinkie's Flat they had learnt that there were now three hundred white miners at the new rush on Banshee Creek, but that everything was quiet, and that no disputes of any kind had occurred, and all that Charteris would have to do would be to visit the place, and, according to the "Gold-fields Act," proclaim Banshee Creek to be a new gold-field. So, after spending a night at Grainger's new house, built on the ridge overlooking the "Ever Victorious" battery, with its clamorous stampers pounding away night and day, the Warden bid Sheila and Grainger goodbye, and rode off with his hardy white police, leaving Lamington and his black, legalised murderers to go their own way in pursuit of Sandy and Daylight, and "disperse" the myalls—if they could find them—such dispersion meaning the shooting of women and children as well as men.

Now, the truth is, that Grainger should have gone on with the Warden to the new rush, where his prospecting party was anxiously awaiting his arrival; but he was deeply in love with Sheila Carolan, and she with him, although she did not know it. But she was mightily pleased when the "Ever Victorious" Grainger told her that he was going to take her all the way to Minerva Downs, as he "wanted to see Farrow about buying a hundred bullocks to send to the new rush at Banshee Creek." (This was perfectly true, but he could very easily have dispatched a letter to Farrow, who would have sent the bullocks to the meat-hungry diggers as a matter of business.)

As she had stood on the verandah of Grainger's house in the early morning, watching Charteris and his troopers depart, and listening to the clang and thud of the five-and-twenty stampers of the new battery of the "Ever Victorious" pounding out the rich golden quartz, handsome, swarthy-faced Sub-Inspector Lamington ascended the steps and bade her good morning.

"So you and Grainger travel with me for another ninety miles or so, Miss Carolan," he said with undisguised pleasure. "Will you be ready soon?"

"In half an hour."

"Ah, that's right. My boys and I are anxious to get to work," and he went on to the horse yard.

Sheila could not help a slight shudder as she heard the soft-voiced, debonnair Lamington speak of his "work." She knew what it meant—a score or two of stilled, bullet-riddled figures of men, women, and children lying about in the hot desert sand, or in the dark shades of some mountain scrub.

Charteris had told her Lamington's story. He was the only survivor of an entire family who had been massacred by the blacks of Fraser's Island, and had grown up with but one object in life—to kill every wild black he came across. For this purpose alone he had joined the Native Police, and there were dark tales whispered of what he had done. But the authorities considered him "a good man," and when he and his fierce troopers rode into town and reported that a mob of wild blacks had been "dispersed," no one ventured to ask him any questions, but every one knew what had occurred.

So with Lamington and his silent, grim Danites, Sheila, Grainger, Scott, and Jacky travelled together for nearly a hundred miles, and then the two companies separated—Lamington heading towards that part of the forbidding-looking mountain range where he hoped to find his prey, and Grainger and his party keeping on to the west.

"It's dangerous country, Grainger," the police officer said as he bade them goodbye. "There are any amount of niggers all around, so you will need to be careful about your fire at night. Shift your camp a good half mile after you have lit your fire and had supper."

Grainger smiled. "I've been through the mill, Lamington. But I don't think we shall have any trouble unless you head them off and send Sandy and his friends down on to us."

"I do mean to head them off, and drive them down from the range into the spinifex country about thirty miles from here, when I can round them up," said Lamington softly, as if he were speaking of driving game. "Sorry you won't be with me to see the fun. The L500 reward for the production of Messieurs Sandy and Daylight—alive or dead—I already consider as mine. It will give up a trip to Melbourne to see the Cup next year."

"But you can't claim the money—you're an official."

"This is an exceptional case, and no distinction is to be made between civilians and policemen—the Government does sensible things sometimes."

* * * * *

Two hours passed, and Sheila, anxiously awaiting the sound of the horses' bells, or the reappearance of Grainger and Scott, began to feel that something had gone amiss. The storm had ceased, and when she rose and stepped outside she saw that a few stars were shining. Seating herself upon a granite boulder, she listened intently, but the only sound that broke the black silence of the night was the rushing of the waters of the creek.

She placed her hands to her mouth, and was about to give a loud Coo-ee! when her pride stopped her.

"If they hear me," she thought, "they will think I am frightened."

She went back into the tent and again lay down, and tried by the light of the lantern to read a book which Myra Grainger had given her. Her watch had stopped, and when she put the book aride she knew that the dawn was near for the harsh cackle of a wild pheasant sounded from the branches of a Leichhardt tree near by, and was answered by the shrill, screaming notes of a flock of king-parrots which the storm had driven to settle amidst the thick, dense scrub on the bank of the creek.

Quite suddenly she became aware that something was moving about in the grass outside the tent, and a thrill of alarm made her instinctively clutch the Winchester rifle beside her. Surely there was some one there, whispering! Very quietly she sat up and waited. Yes, there certainly were people outside, and a cold chill of terror possessed her when the whisperings changed to a rapid and louder muttering in an unknown tongue, and she knew that her visitors were blacks!

Unable to even speak, she heard the soft rustle of footsteps drawing nearer and nearer, and then the closed flap of the tent was pulled slowly aside by a long black hand, and the wicked eyes of the bearded face of a huge aboriginal, naked to the waist, gazed into hers. For a second or two he looked at her, watching her terrified expression as a snake watches the fascinated bird; then he drew back his lips and showed two rows of gleaming teeth in a fierce smile of exultation. By a mighty effort she tried to raise the Winchester, and in another moment the blackfellow sprang at her, covered her head with a filthy kangaroo skin and silently bore her outside.

For quite ten minates she felt herself being carried swiftly along, till her captor came to the creek, which he crossed. Then he uncovered her face and spoke to her in English.

"If you make a noise I will kill you, and throw your body in the creek. I am Sandy the Trooper."

She gazed at him mechanically, too horrified at her surroundings to utter a sound. For dawn had just broken and she saw that she was standing in a small open space in the midst of a sandalwood scrub, and encircled by twenty or thirty ferocious-looking myall blacks all armed with spears and waddies. The strong ant-like odour which emanated from their jet-black skins filled her nostrils and, putting her hands to her eyes, she shuddered and fell upon her knees with a choking sob.

"Come, none of that, missie," said another voice in English, and her hands were rudely pulled aside; "you must get up and walk. Perhaps we won't hurt you. But if you make a noise I'll give you a tap on the head with this waddy," and the speaker flourished a short club over her head. "Come! get up!"

She obeyed him, rose slowly to her feet, and in another instant darted aside, and, breaking through the circle of myalls, plunged into the scrub towards the creek. But before she had gone twenty yards one of them had seized her by her loosened hair, and a long pent-up scream burst from her lips.

Again the filthy skin was thrown over her head, then her hands were quickly tied behind her with a strip of bark.

Sandy lifted her up in his arms, and he, Daylight, and their followers plunged into the forest and set off towards the mountains.



CHAPTER XIII ~ ON THE SCENT

Through the blackness of the night and the pouring rain Grainger and Scott made their way down the right bank of the creek to where, a mile or a mile and a half away, was a thick scrub of sandalwood trees, in which they imagined the terrified horses had taken refuge. The rushing, foaming waters guided them on their way, though every now and then they had to make a detour round the heads of some gullies, which were bank high with backwater from the swollen creek. As soon as there was a lull in the storm they again Coo-eed, but received no answer from Jacky. Grainger, who had the most implicit faith in the judgment of his blackboy, now began to fear that the horses, instead of making for the scrub, had gone towards the mountains, where it would perhaps be most difficult to get them. However, there was nothing to be done but to first examine the scrub, and then to see what had become of Jacky. Both he and Scott had brought their bridles with them, and the blackboy, they knew, had his as well, and they were hoping that at any moment they might meet him driving the horses back to the camp.

By the time the scrub was reached the storm had begun to break somewhat, for although rain still fell heavily, the wind was losing its violence; and presently, to their satisfaction, they heard Jacky's voice shouting somewhere near them.

"Where are you?" called out Scott.

"Here, on cattle camp, in middle of scrub. I been catch old Euchre and two more horse, but can't find other pack-horse and bay filly and roan colt. I 'fraid they been go 'way back up mountain."

They found him engaged in tying up the foreleg of Scott's horse with strips of his shirt. The animal, when racing along in the dark, had fallen and out itself badly from knee to hoof. Grainger examined the injury, and saw that, although the poor creature was very lame, it could easily be led to the camp. But the loss of the remaining horses was a serious matter, and after a brief discussion it was resolved to first make a thorough search along the creek for another mile before giving up any hopes of finding them in the vicinity of the scrub. Then, if no traces could be found, they were to return to the camp for their saddles, and Jacky and Grainger would endeavour to pick up their tracks as soon as daylight broke.

An hour was spent fruitlessly, and they turned back and made for the camp, Scott and Grainger riding barebacked, and Jacky going ahead on foot, leading the lame horse. Presently they came to a deep, rocky gully, which they crossed, and were carefully ascending the steep bank when Scott's horse tripped over a loose stone and fell heavily, with his rider underneath.

Jacky and Grainger at once went to his assistance and got the horse away, but Scott lay perfectly motionless, and when spoken to did not answer. Grainger, like all good bushmen, had kept his matches dry, and, striking a light, he saw that the big digger had not only received some injury to his head, but, worse still had broken his leg; the bone had snapped completely across half-way down from the knee.

For quite ten minutes the poor fellow remained unconscious, then, when he came to his senses, his first question was about the horse. Was he hurt?

"No, Dick; but your leg is broken."

The language that flowed from Mr. Scott's bearded lips cannot possibly be set down, but he resigned himself cheerfully to Grainger and Jacky when they put the broken limb into rough splints made of bark and twigs to keep it in position until they could do something better on their arrival at the camp.

Refusing to be carried, Scott dragged himself up the bank, and then allowed them to lift him on Euchre's back, Grainger riding and Jacky walking beside him.

By the time they reached the camp it was broad daylight, and an alarmed look came into Grainger's eyes when there was no response to his loud Coo-ee! thrice repeated.

Suddenly Jacky, whose dark eyes were rolling unnaturally as he glanced all around him, let go the horse he was leading, sprang forward, and entered the tent. He reappeared in a moment.

"What is wrong, Jacky? Where is she?"

"Gone," was the quick reply. "Myall blackfellow been here and take her away!"

"Good God!" said Grainger hoarsely, feeling for the moment utterly unnerved as he watched the black-boy walk quickly round and round the tent, examining the grass.

"Plenty blackfellow been here," he said, "but only one fellow been go inside tent. I think it, he catch him up missie when she sleep———"

An oath broke from Scott's lips. "Let me down, boss, let me down! It's all my fault. Quick! put me inside the tent and let me be. You and Jacky has two good horses, and Jacky is the best tracker this side o' the country."

"I'll see to your leg first, Dick," cried Grainger, as he and Jacky lifted him off Euchre and helped him into the tent.

"By jingo, you won't, boss!" was the energetic reply. "What does it matter about my leg? Let me be. I'll pull along all right, even if you are away for a day, or two days, or a week. For God's sake, boss, don't fool about me! Think of her. Saddle up, saddle up, and bring her back! They can't be far away. Jacky, I'll give you fifty pounds if you get her. Boss, take plenty o' cartridges an' some tucker. I'll be as right as rain here. But hurry, hurry, boss! If they get her into the mountains we'll never see any more of her but her gnawed bones," and the big man struck his clenched fist passionately upon the ground.

But Grainger, although almost maddened with fear as to Sheila's fate, would not leave the man helpless, and whilst Jacky was saddling the horses, he put provisions and water, and matches and tobacco, near the poor, excited digger. Then, with the blackboy's aid, he quickly and effectively set the broken leg with proper splints, seized round with broad strips of ti-tree bark. "There, Dick, that's all I can do for you now." "You're losing time over me, boss. Hurry, hurry! and get the young lady back for God's sake."

Five minutes later Jacky had picked up the tracks of Sandy and Daylight and their allies, and he and Grainger, with hearts beating high with hope, were following them up swiftly and surely.



CHAPTER XIV ~ "MISS CAROLINE" IS "ALL RIGHT" (VIDE DICK SCOTT )

The tracks of the abductors of Sheila were easily discernible to the practised eyes of Jacky—than whom a better tracker was not to be found in North Queensland. They led in an almost direct line towards the grim mountain range for about seventeen miles, and then were lost at a rapidly-flowing, rocky-bottomed stream—a tributary of that on which Grainger's camp had been made.

Never for one instant did Grainger think of questioning the judgment of his tried and trusted blackboy, when, as they came to the stream, he jumped off his horse and motioned to his master to do the same.

"Them fellow myall have gone into water, boss, and walk along up," he said placidly, as he took out his pipe, filled and lit it. Then he added that they had better take the saddles off the horses, short-hobble them, and let them feed.

"You don't think, Jacky, that they" (he meant the blacks) "might get on too far ahead of us?" he asked, as he dismounted.

"No, boss, they are camped now, 'bout a mile or two mile farther up creek. We can't take horses there—country too rough, and myall blackfellow can smell horse long way off—all same horse or bullock can smell myall blackfellow long way off."

Grainger knew that this was perfectly true—cattle and horses can always scent wild blacks at a great distance, and at once show their alarm. And that the country was too rough for Jacky and him to go any further with the horses was quite evident. However, he knew that as soon as his companion had taken a few pulls at his pipe he would learn from him what his plans were.

The weapon that the black boy usually carried was a Snider carbine, but he had left that at the camp, and taken the spare Winchester—the one Sheila had dropped in the tent: and he was now carefully throwing back the lever, and ejecting the cartridges, and seeing that it was in good order ere he re-loaded it.

"Your rifle all right, boss?" he asked.

"All right, Jacky; and my revolver too."

Jacky grunted—somewhat contemptuously—at the mention of the revolver. "You won't get chance with rewolber, boss. Rifle best for you an' me this time, I think it. Rewolber right enough when you ride after myall in flat country."

"Very well, Jacky," said Grainger, "I'll leave the revolver behind. What are we going to do?"

"First, short-hobble horses, and let 'em feed—plenty grass 'bout here. Then you follow me. I think it that them fellow myall camp" (rest) "'bout two mile up creek."

"How many are there, Jacky?"

"'Bout twenty, boss—perhaps thirty. And I think it that some feller runaway policeman with them—Sandy or Daylight, I beleeb."

"What makes you think that?" said Grainger, instantly remembering that Lamington had said that he meant to try and head off Sandy and his myalls down into the spinifex country.

"Come here, boss."

Grainger followed him to the margin of the creek, which although at dawn had been running half bank high, owing to the tremendous downpour of rain, was now at its normal level.

"Look at that, boss."

He pointed to a triangular indentation, which, with footmarks, was imprinted in the soft yellow sand at the foot of a small boulder; and taking the butt of his Winchester rifle, fitted it into the impression.

"Some feller with Winchester rifle been sit down here, boss, and light his pipe. See, he been scrape out pipe," and he indicated some partially consumed shreds of tobacco and some ashes which were lying on the sand.

"Ah, I see, Jacky," and a cold chill of horror went through him as he thought of Sheila being in the power of such a fiend as Sandy. The myalls would in all likelihood want to kill and eat her, but Sandy or Daylight would probably wish to keep her a captive. And that Jacky was correct in his surmise there could be but little doubt—both the outlawed ex-policemen had Winchesters, taken from the Chinese packers whom they had murdered.

"Go on, Jacky, my boy, for God's sake!" he said hoarsely, placing his hand on the blackboy's shoulder. "Missie may be killed if we do not hurry."

"No fear, boss!" replied Jacky with cheerful confidence, as he proceeded to strip. "You 'member what I told you 'bout that white woman myall blacks take away with them long time ago when ship was break up near Cape Melville, and they find her lying on beach? They didn't kill her—these myall nigger like White Mary {*} too much. I don't think these fellow will kill Missie. I think it Daylight or Sandy will want her for lubra. {**} Take off boots, boss."

Grainger pulled off his knee boots, and threw them up on the bank, and then he and Jacky short-hobbled the horses, and let them feed. The blackboy had stripped himself of every article of clothing, except the remnants of his shirt, which he had tied round his loins; over it was strapped his leather belt with its cartridge pouch.

"Come on, boss," and then instead of crossing the creek as Grainger had imagined he would, he led the way along the same side, explaining that the myalls, expecting—but not fearing—pursuit, would do all that they could to make the pursuers believe that they had walked up through the creek for a certain distance, and then crossed over to the opposite side. The gins{***} and picaninnies, he said, were not with the party that had seized Sheila, neither were there any dogs with them.

* "White Mary"—A white woman.

** Wife.

*** Gins. Synonymous with lubra—i.e., a wife.

"And you will see, boss," he said, as, after they had come a mile and a half, he pointed to a sandbank on the side of the creek, deeply imprinted with footmarks, "we will find them eating fish in their camp. Look there."

Grainger saw that on the sandbank were a number of dead fish which had been swept down the creek from pools higher up. That many more had been left stranded, and then taken away, was very evident by the disturbed state of the sand and the numerous footmarks.

Suddenly a harsh sound of many voices fell upon their ears, and Jacky came to a dead stop.

Motioning to Grainger to lie down and await his return, he slipped quietly away, his lithe, black body gliding like a snake through the dense jungle which clothed the banks of the creek.

A quarter of an hour later he came back, his black eyes rolling with subdued excitement.

"Come on, boss; it is all right. They are camped in an old boora {*} ground, and Sandy and Daylight are going to fight for Missie. I saw Missie."

* A place which the Australian aborigines use for their corroborees and certein religious rites.

"Where was she?" said Grainger, whose heart was thumping fiercely as, rifle in hand, he sprang to his feet.

"In the middle of the boora ground. She sit up, but all the same as if she sleep—-eyes shut."

"Oh, God, to think that I left her!—to look after horses," Grainger said bitterly to himself as he followed Jacky, who little knew how dear Sheila was to the heart of his "boss."

Swiftly but cautiously Jacky led the way through the scrub until they came to the margin of the boora ground, and then Grainger saw twenty or thirty blacks seated on the ground in a circle, spears and waddies in hand. In the centre was Sheila, crouched on her knees, with her hands covering her eyes. On each side of her was a Winchester rifle, and a belt with an ammunition pouch—her dowry. And standing near by her, attended by their nude seconds, were Daylight and Sandy, who were also armed with spears and waddies. They were both stripped and painted, and ready to slaughter each other.

"Boss," whispered Jacky, "which feller you want to take?"

"I'll take the big man with the beard," said Grainger, as he drew up his Winchester.

"All right, boss! I take the other man—that's Daylight. But don't shoot until they walk across boora ground, and turn and face each other. Shoot him through bingie,{*} boss—don't try for head, you might miss him."

* Stomach.

"All right, Jacky," and Grainger lay flat on the ground and brought his rifle to his shoulder, "but don't miss your man."

"No fear of that, boss. I'm going to give it to Daylight between the eyes. But let me drop him first."

"Right."

Daylight and Sandy were taken by their seconds to opposite sides of the ring, and then, drawing their heads back and poising their spears, they awaited each other's attack.

Then Jacky's Winchester cracked, and Daylight span round and fell dead, and Sandy's spear flew high in air as a bullet took him fair in the chest. And then the savage instinct to slay came upon and overwhelmed Grainger, as well as his black boy, and shot after shot rang out and laid low half a dozen of the sitting and expectant savages ere they could recover from their surprise and flee.

Grainger rushed forward to Sheila and lifted her up.

A hysterical sob burst from her as she put her trembling hands out towards him.

"Oh, I knew you would come! I knew you would come!" and then her eyes closed, and she lay quiet in his arms.

* * * * *

That night, as Sheila, with tear-swollen eyes of gratitude to God for her preservation, lay sleeping in the little tent, Grainger and the ever-faithful Jacky sat smoking their pipes beside the recumbent figure of burly Dick Scott, who, broken-legged as he was, had insisted upon being taken outside and camping with them.

"Boss," he said, as he handed his pipe to Jacky to be filled, "this will be suthin' for Mr. Mallard to put in the Champion, eh?"

"Yes, Dick, old son," and Grainger put his hand on the big man's shoulder, with a kindly light shining in his quiet, grey eyes. "I'll write and tell him all about it. And I'll tell him what a real, downright, out-and-out 'white man' you are."

"Git out, boss," and the rough, bearded digger laughed childishly with pleasure; "if I sees anythin' in the Champion about me, blow me but I'm goin' back to Townsville, and I mean to spark that gal at 'Magnet Villa'—she that was a-cryin' when Miss Caroline came away."

"Right you are, Dick. You have promised Jacky fifty pounds if he brought Miss Carolan back—and you will give it to him. But you are one of the 'Ever Victorious' crowd, and don't want money, so I won't say any more except that I'll give Mrs. Dick Scott five hundred sovereigns for a wedding present. What is her present surname, Dick?"

"Don't know, boss. Didn't ask her. But if she isn't snapped up by one of them flash banker fellows, or some other paper-collared swell, I think I'll get her. Mr. Mallard and Miss Myra said they would put in a good word for me, seein' as I hadn't no time to do any courtin' myself."

"Dick, old son, she's yours! If you have got my sister and Mr. Mallard to speak for you, it's all right—that's a dead certainty. How is your leg?"

"Bully, boss—just bully. Say, boss!"

"Yes, Dick."

"D'ye think we'll get them missin' horses?"

"Horses be hanged! Do you think I'm troubling about them just now?"

"Why, certingly you ought to be troublin' about 'em. Isn't the roan colt and the bay filly worth troublin' about? The best blood in the whole bloomin' country is in that bay filly o' Miss Caroline's. And Jimmy Ah San offered you ninety pound for the roan, didn't he?"

Grainger put out his hand, and grasping Scott's long beard, pretended to shake it.

"Just you go to sleep, Dick Scott, and don't waggle your chin and talk about horses or anything else. You are a blessed nuisance, and if you wake Miss Carolan up I'll pound you when you get better!"

Scott grinned, and then he put out his hand.

"Boss, have you fixed it up with her? I thought as how that there was nothin' in the world so sweet in the way of wimmen as Miss Myra; but Miss Caroline runs her a close second."

"I have not asked her yet, Dick."

"You ask her to-morrow, boss. You take my tip, or before you knows where you are some other fellow will be jumpin' your claim and gettin' her."

"I'll think of it, Dick."

"Don't think too long over it, boss. If it wos me, I'd see it through the first thing to-morrow momin'."

"You mind your own business, Mister Richard Scott," said Grainger, with a laugh.

"All right, boss; but what about them horses? That bay filly———"

"Go to sleep, you silly old ass."

* * * * *

At dawn Lamington and his Danites came splashing through the creek, and Grainger was aroused by a loud "Hallo!" as the swarthy-faced Inspector cantered up to the tent and dismounted.

"Well, here you are, Grainger. I know all that has happened. I rounded up the myalls outside the boora ground, only half an hour after you had left, and one of the bucks—whom I dropped with a bullet through his thigh—told me what had occurred, when Sandy and Daylight were just about to fight. How is Miss Carolan?"

"Well. She is sleeping. Take a peg," and he handed Lamington his brandy flask.

The officer poured out a stiff nip, drank it off, and then pointed to one of his troopers, who had just dismounted, and was holding in his hand a heavy bundle, wrapped up in an ensanguined saddle-cloth.

"That's my L500, Grainger. I'll have to send those heads to Townsville for identification before I can claim the reward. Awfully smart of you to pot both of them."

"Lamington, you're a beast. Tell that nigger of yours to take that infernal bundle away and keep it out of sight, or, by heavens, you and I will quarrel."

Lamington, gentleman at heart, apologised: "I am a beast, Grainger. I didn't think of Miss Carolan."

* * * * *

When Sheila awakened she had to bid Dick Scott goodbye, for Lamington was taking him back to Chinkie's Flat.

"Goodbye, Miss Caroline. You an' the boss will pull along all right to Minerva Downs. And when I sees you again, I hope that———"

"Dry up, Dick," said Grainger, with assumed severity.

"Oh, I know it's all right, boss; isn't it, Miss Caroline?"

"Yes, Mr. Scott," said Sheila with a smile, as she put her little hand into his. "I don't think I shall stay very long at Minerva Downs, and I do think you will soon see me again."

"At Chinkie's Flat?"

"Yes, at Chinkie's Flat," said Grainger, as he put his arm round Sheila, and drew her to him. "Mr. Lamington is sending up a parson from the Bay to Minerva Downs."

"Boss," cried Scott, exultantly, "there's goin' to be a red, rosy, high old time by and by at Chinkie's Flat."

THE END