e was no
sign of life about the place. There was no garden in front of the house,
merely the bare earth and a dust-heap where ashes were thrown out, on
which a few hens were enjoying the afternoon sun and fluffing the dust
over themselves.

At the back was a fair-sized garden, with fine, healthy-looking trees;
and about a quarter of a mile away was the straggling collection of
bark-roofed sheds and corkscrew-looking fences that served Red Mick as
shearing-sheds for his sheep, and drafting and branding-yards for his
cattle and horses. After a hurried survey Hugh dropped lightly down
into shelter, and whispered, "There's no one moving at all. There's a
newly-fallen tree about a hundred yards down the creek; we'll get among
its branches and watch."

They crept along the creek until opposite the fallen tree; there Hugh
scaled the bank and pulled Mary up after him. Silent as shadows, they
stole through a little patch of young timber, and ensconced themselves
among the fragrant branches. The grass was long where the tree had
fallen, and this, with the green boughs, made a splendid couch and
hiding-place.

They settled close together and peered out like squirrels, first up at
the house, then down the valley for the arrival of the sheep. Both were
shaking with excitement--she at the unwonted sensation of attacking
a criminal in his lair, and he with anxiety lest some unlucky chance
should bring his plan to nought, and make him a failure in the eyes of
the woman he loved.

"There is no one about," he whispered. "I expect Red Mick has told the
family to keep indoors, so that they can swear they saw nothing. You
aren't afraid, are you?"

She pressed his arm in answer, gave a low laugh, and pointed down the
flat. There, far away among the trees, they saw the white phalanx of
the approaching sheep, and the little lean dogs hunting them straight
towards the house.

Still no sign from Red Mick. No one stirred about the place; the fowls
still fluttered in the dust, and a dissipated looking pet cockatoo,
perched on the wood-heap repeated several times in a drowsy tone,
"Good-bye, Cockie! Good-bye, Cockie!" Then the door opened, and Red Mick
stepped out.

He was the acknowledged leader of the Doyle-Donohoe faction in all
matters of cunning, and in all raids on other folks' stock; and not only
did he plan the raids, but took a leading part in executing them. He was
the finest and most fearless bush rider in the district, and cou