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us. Some fellows are there fighting down the drink curse. I don't blame 'em; it's their only chance. I know two of 'em, good men in their way, but I can tell how it would be with them if they went back to a town life. They'd go under quick. I've been in many a jag myself, but that's not why I came out. I can stifle it; it's only a matter of will," declared Glen.

      "I don't know so much about that. I've had a lot of experience in that line. Some of the poor beggars can't help themselves," said Bill, and then added, "They've buried Calder. There'll be no inquiry. Most people think he shot himself. Anyhow we've shovelled him away in Boonara. If any trouble is made they can dig him up again and call him as witness. He's the only one who could give evidence. All your fellows are glad he's gone."

      Jim listened in silence, with a feeling of relief; he did not in the least regret what he had done. He regarded it as a righteous act.

      The woman sat up. When she saw Bill she asked, "When did he come?"

      This was almost the first sentence she had spoken correctly. Hitherto her words had come disjointedly – in jerks.

      "Me, my lass? I've just dropped in to see my friend, Glen. He told me you were here."

      "I've been here a long time. Oh, such a long time. I must have been sleeping for weeks. I've forgotten which is Glen," she answered.

      "I'm Glen – Glen Leigh," he said as he placed his hand on her shoulder.

      "How silly of me that I didn't remember, but I shall not forget again. You have been very good to me. Have I been very ill?"

      "Yes, for a long time," replied Glen humouring her.

      She looked at Jim, and Glen said, "He's Jim Benny, another good friend. And that's Bill Bigs, one of the best of friends. We're all going to look after you."

      She smiled.

      "Do I want looking after?"

      "You'll not be too strong for a good while yet," replied Glen. "When you are strong we're going away from here."

      She looked at him wonderingly.

      "Going away from home?" she asked.

      "You'll want a change when you get stronger."

      This put a different complexion on the matter, and she smiled again, nodded, and lay down once more.

      "That's the first attempt at conversation she's made," said Glen. "We're getting on."

      "You boys – where are you going when you leave here?" asked Bill suddenly.

      Glen did not hesitate.

      "Sydney," he answered.

      Bill remained silent a few minutes, then said slowly, as though still thinking it out, "Sydney! I've a good mind to go with you, I'm sick of Boonara. It's the last place that was ever put up on this earth."

      Glen jumped up from his seat, so did Jim. They took a hand each and almost pulled Bill's arms off.

      "Do it!" cried Glen. "Do it! We want you. If the three can't make headway in Sydney we're not the men I fancy we are."

      "Yes, come with us," put in Jim heartily.

      "Stop, you fellows, stop," said Bill. "It's easier said than done. I'll tell you something. I've had an offer for my shanty, a damned good offer, more than it's worth. I can't think why he's made it, or where he's got the money from. I never knew Craig Bellshaw to give much money away, and I don't see where else it could have come from."

      "Craig Bellshaw!" exclaimed Glen in surprise, "has he made a bid for it?"

      "Not likely. What'd he want with a place like mine? It's Garry Backham, Bellshaw's overseer. He came into my place and wanted to know if I'd sell out. He said he wanted the place and was tired of Mintaro. I was never more surprised in my life. You could have pushed me over with a blade of grass."

      "I met him several times. He seems a taciturn sort of man, sullen, bad tempered – not one of my sort," said Glen.

      "I fancy he's had a roughish time at Mintaro," Bill surmised, "but he must have saved money. Bellshaw wouldn't lend it him in hundreds."

      "He was a pal of Calder's; about the only one he had," Jim remarked.

      "I never knew that," said Bill.

      "They used to meet on the track, and talk and smoke. He bought Calder drink at times," explained Jim.

      "Birds of a feather," said Glen.

      "He made no fuss about Calder being shot," Bill commented.

      "It was no use. He's dead and gone, and there's no proof that he was shot; he probably did it himself as you have said," decided Glen.

      The woman stirred, murmuring some words in her sleep; with a start she sat up, stared at the group, stretched out her arms, and in a pleading voice uttered the one word, "Come."

      CHAPTER VII

      THE FACE IN THE WATER

      "I'm not superstitious," said Bill, "but that settles it; she said 'come' as plainly as she could, although she's fast asleep. I can't get over that. I'll sell out to Backham, and join you. We'll make things gee in Sydney, I reckon."

      They were delighted at this decision, for they knew Bigs was a good man of business, who had his head screwed on right, and if there was anything to be made he'd be on to it straight.

      "She'll want some clothes. She can't go in those things," said Glen.

      "I'll fix that up. I can get sufficient garments in Boonara for her to reach Sydney in and there's no occasion for her to arrive like the Queen of Sheba," Bill replied.

      They laughed. Things were more cheerful. The decision to abandon the fence livened them up.

      When Bill left he promised to return in a week, and see how the woman was progressing.

      "It'll be longer than that before we can travel with her," he said.

      Away in Sydney, the great city, vast even in those days, life was going on very differently from the solitudes round Boonara. There were hundreds, nay, thousands, of people in that beautiful city who had never heard of Boonara, or knew there were such men as the keepers of the fence. As far as the majority of the inhabitants were concerned such men as Glen Leigh, Jim Benny, and Bill Bigs, might not have existed. Had the story of the woman in the hut been told it would have been laughed to scorn, and counted impossible, but there is nothing impossible in the world, however improbable it may seem.

      Sydney was pulsating with life in this year of grace 18 – . There is no occasion to be exact. It might partially spoil matters, and what's a year or two to a story, so long as the interest is maintained, and the characters are living beings? Late in the nineteenth century Sydney flourished exceedingly. The last twenty years of that remarkable era saw it going ahead by leaps and bounds, and it has been growing ever since until men who left it years ago, and have revisited it, can hardly recognise the place. Long may it flourish, most beautiful of many beautiful cities!

      There was a crowd in Pitt Street, outside Tattersalls, and over the way at the marble bar streams of people were passing in and out, for it was hot, and there were many parched throats. Moreover, it had been the winding up day of the A.J.C. Meeting at Randwick, and every favourite had got home, much to the disgust of the bookmakers.

      It was ten at night and sultry; there was no air to speak of. The keepers of the fence would have thought it cool, but they were used to being burnt up and parched, and lived in a land where water was often flavoured with the taste of dead things, and not cooled with ice and fragrant with lemon. Not one of this crowd knew what took place on the border line of glittering wire. Boonara was as far off as, and more strange than, Timbuctoo.

      Not one of this crowd? Stay. There was one – probably the only one – who knew all about it, and he stood smoking a cigar and chatting to a man outside a tobacconist's shop, not far from the Club on the opposite side of the road. He was a man nearly six feet high, with black hair and eyebrows, and a sunburnt face. Not a pleasant face, but strong, determined, with a rather cruel mouth and dark cat-like eyes; a man dangerous both to friend and enemy if he willed. He was well-dressed, but somewhat carelessly;

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