r seem to realize and hope for the
prospect of learning how he might attain to the summit of his ambition
by settling that unhappy account of the bygone years.

There were not many words lost in the greeting. Barber said that he and
Tap were coming back to the Three-mile for some more business they had
heard of, and that they wanted to be as quiet and free from interruption
as they had been before. Leave was neither asked nor given; but the
three travelled on together until a day's ride from Birralong, when Tap
and Barber branched off to the right and left, leaving Slaughter to go
on through the township to the selection by himself.

When he arrived at the slip-rails across the end of the track leading
from the road to the selection, he saw by the gleam of firelight from
the open doorway that some one was in the hut. As he entered he saw in
the dim light the figures of Barber and Tap, while nearer the door a
third was standing.

"Well, I'm off," the latter said, as Slaughter went into the hut.
"Hullo," he added, as he met Slaughter face to face. "You back again?"

"Well, what then?" Slaughter answered, with a surly tone and manner.
"This is my own place, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, it's your own place, only I didn't see you here when I last
came over, and they do say in the township----"

"Look here, young fellow," Slaughter exclaimed savagely, "if you come
here as often as I come to Barellan, I'll be satisfied. The less I
see----"

"Dry up," Barber called out. "Dickson came with a message for me. What's
it to you if the boy has doings with me?"

Slaughter said nothing, and Dickson, with an uneasy laugh, looked round
at Barber.

"Of course if the girl comes out, why, we're off," Tap observed.

"What girl?" Slaughter exclaimed quickly.

"Why, the girl Birralong's talking about--the girl--well, you ought to
know," Dickson said.

"I suppose you think you're going to cut the youngster out as well with
the other one, and play up with her," Barber added.

Slaughter, standing by the doorway, looked round from one to the other
slowly.

"You'd best talk plain, I take it," he said. "You'll say straight what
you've got to say, or some one will shift out of this camp. What's your
yarn, anyhow?" he added, facing to Dickson.

"That's all right," he answered, grinning uneasily, and shifting his
feet as he made as though to get nearer the door. "It's only borak. It's
a yarn, that's all."

"A yarn put about while you were