took him away, but I've found him, and
he's found me."

Her voice died down to a mournful monotone as she spoke--colourless,
unimpassioned, melancholy. But to Dickson it was twice as terrifying as
when she shouted and laughed. He looked as she directed towards the big
column of smoke, which suddenly sprang up, as it were, from a bed of
writhing, twisting tongues of flame.

"It's on us!" he shrieked in a sudden access of panic, and made a dash
for the door.

She turned and faced him, and, as he came up to her, flung her arms
around him, and held him.

"Leave go," he shouted, as he struggled; but she only raised her face to
his--a calm, set face, pale to the lips, and showing the more ghastly
from the dishevelled mass of dark hair that surrounded it. "Leave go,"
he repeated; and, as she still held, he raised his fist and brought it
down on the upturned face, and tried to wrest himself free.

She buried her face against his shirt, seizing part of it in her teeth
to aid her to keep her hold of him. He struck at her head, at her arms,
at her body, anywhere, so long as he hit her, in his efforts to throw
her off. But she held him, and at last, mad with fear, he tried to
stagger out of the hut, dragging her with him.

The man on the stretcher made an effort to raise himself as the noise of
the scuffle roused him. He also saw through the open door the rolling
masses of smoke and the dancing line of flame.

"The bush is afire," he gasped. "Here, Willy, get me out of this. Help
me to move. Willy! Willy! My God! I'm your father, boy; don't leave me."

But Dickson, dragging Nellie with him, had already gained the door.

"I'm all broken up. I can't move alone. Willy! Willy!" Tap cried as loud
as he could, for the fall he had had the night before had given him a
mortal hurt.

Dickson had reached the door and stood for a moment helpless to move at
the sight which met his glance. The fire seemed to have swept down in
two wide converging curves, rushing through the bush and setting it
ablaze all round before it advanced on to the cleared land of the
selection. It had just attacked the vegetation in the paddocks as
Dickson got outside the hut, and which ever way he looked he saw a line
of leaping flames sweeping towards him. The heat was scorching; the air
stifling. The voice of the man in the hut fell on unheeding ears, for
only one chance of escape appeared, and that was Slaughter's waterhole.
With Nellie clinging to him he