re
mechanically turned to go down into Red Glen. Wendling stopped short,
then, with a sighing laugh, strode on. "Shoo has told you what happened
here"? he said.

Pierre nodded.

"And you know what came once when you walked with me.... The dead can
strike," he added. Pierre sought his eye. "The minister and the girl
buried together that day," he said, "were--"

He stopped, for behind him he heard the sharp, cold trickle of water.
Silent they walked on. It followed them. They could not get out of the
Glen now until they had compassed its length--the walls were high. The
sound grew. The men faced each other.

"Good-bye," said Wendling; and he reached out his hand swiftly. But
Pierre heard a mighty flood groaning on them, and he blinded as he
stretched his arm in response. He caught at Wendling's shoulder, but
felt him lifted and carried away, while he himself stood still in a
screeching wind and heard impalpable water rushing over him. In a minute
it was gone; and he stood alone in Red Glen.

He gathered himself up and ran. Far down, where the Glen opened to the
plain, he found Wendling. The hands were wrinkled; the face was cold;
the body was wet: the man was drowned and dead.

IN PIPI VALLEY

"Divils me darlins, it's a memory I have of a time whin luck wasn't
foldin' her arms round me, and not so far back aither, and I on the
wallaby track hot-foot for the City o' Gold."

Shon McGann said this in the course of a discussion on the prosperity of
Pipi Valley. Pretty Pierre remarked nonchalantly in reply,--"The wallaby
track--eh--what is that, Shon?"

"It's a bit of a haythen y' are, Pierre. The wallaby track? That's
the name in Australia for trampin' west through the plains of the
Never-Never Country lookin' for the luck o' the world; as, bedad, it's
meself that knows it, and no other, and not by book or tellin' either,
but with the grip of thirst at me throat and a reef in me belt every
hour to quiet the gnawin'." And Shon proceeded to light his pipe afresh.

"But the City o' Gold-was there much wealth for you there, Shon?"

Shon laughed, and said between the puffs of smoke, "Wealth for me, is
it? Oh, mother o' Moses! wealth of work and the pride of livin' in the
heart of us, and the grip of an honest hand betunewhiles; and what more
do y' want, Pierre?"

The Frenchman's drooping eyelids closed a little more, and he replied,
meditatively: "Money? No, that is not Shon McGann. The good fellowship
of thi