large enough to have met the requirements of a legitimate bush "public".

The reader may doubt that a "sly grog shop" could openly carry on
business on a main Government road along which mounted troopers were
continually passing. But then, you see, mounted troopers get thirsty
like other men; moreover, they could always get their thirst quenched
'gratis' at these places; so the reader will be prepared to hear that
on this very night two troopers' horses were stowed snugly away in the
stable, and two troopers were stowed snugly away in the back room of the
shanty, sleeping off the effects of their cheap but strong potations.

There were two rooms, of a sort, attached to the stables--one at each
end. One was occupied by a man who was "generally useful", and the other
was the surgery, office, and bedroom 'pro tem.' of Doc. Wild.

Doc. Wild was a tall man, of spare proportions. He had a cadaverous
face, black hair, bushy black eyebrows, eagle nose, and eagle eyes. He
never slept while he was drinking. On this occasion he sat in front of
the fire on a low three-legged stool. His knees were drawn up, his toes
hooked round the front legs of the stool, one hand resting on one knee,
and one elbow (the hand supporting the chin) resting on the other. He
was staring intently into the fire, on which an old black saucepan
was boiling and sending forth a pungent odour of herbs. There seemed
something uncanny about the doctor as the red light of the fire fell on
his hawk-like face and gleaming eyes. He might have been Mephistopheles
watching some infernal brew.

He had sat there some time without stirring a finger, when the door
suddenly burst open and Middleton's Peter stood within, dripping wet.
The doctor turned his black, piercing eyes upon the intruder (who
regarded him silently) for a moment, and then asked quietly:

"What the hell do you want?"

"I want you," said Peter.

"And what do you want me for?"

"I want you to come to Joe Middleton's wife. She's bad," said Peter
calmly.

"I won't come," shouted the doctor. "I've brought enough horse-stealers
into the world already. If any more want to come they can go to blazes
for me. Now, you get out of this!"

"Don't get yer rag out," said Peter quietly. "The hoss-stealer's come,
an' nearly killed his mother ter begin with; an' if yer don't get yer
physic-box an' come wi' me, by the great God I'll----"

Here the revolver was produced and pointed at Doc. Wild's head. The