ld track
like a black fellow. If he left a strange camp at sundown, and rode
about the bush all night, he could at any time go back straight across
country to his starting point, or to any place he had visited during his
wanderings. Such bushmanship is a gift, and not to be learnt. If once
he saw a horse, he would know it again for the rest of his life--fat or
lean, sick or well. Which is also a gift.

In appearance he was a tall, lanky, large-handed, slab-sided cornstalk,
about thirty-five years of age, with a huge red beard that nearly
covered his face, and a brick-dust complexion variegated with large
freckles. His legs were long and straight; he wore tight-fitting white
moleskin trousers, a coloured Crimean shirt, and a battered felt hat.

Miss Grant felt almost sorry for this big, simple-looking bushman, who
came strolling past their hiding-place, his eyes fixed on the sheep,
and his hands mechanically occupied in cutting up tobacco. Behind him
gambolled a half-grown collie pup, evidently a relative of the dogs in
charge of the sheep.

They brought the sheep up to a little corner of land formed by a
sharp bend of the creek, then stopped, squatting on their haunches as
sentinels, and the sheep, fatigued with their long, fast run, settled in
under the trees to get out of the sun. Behind the sheep, Hugh caught a
glimpse of two horsemen coming slowly up the road towards the house.

"Look! Here's Mick's nephews," he whispered, "come to take the sheep
away. By George, we'll bag the whole lot! Sit quiet: don't make a
sound."

The crisis approached. Miss Grant, with strained attention, saw Red Mick
strike a match, and light his pipe. Strolling on towards the sheep, he
passed about thirty yards from where they lay hidden. Already she was
thinking how exciting it would be when they rose out of the bushes, and
faced him in quite the best "We are Hawkshaw, the detective" style.

But they had to reckon with one thing they had overlooked, and that was
the collie pup. That budding genius, blundering along after his master,
suddenly stopped, turned towards the fallen tree, and sniffed the air.
Then he ran a few steps towards them, and stopped, his ears pricked and
his eyes fixed on the tree; barked sharply, drew back a pace or two,
bristled up the hair on his neck, and growled.

Red Mick turned round; "'Ello, pup," he drawled, "what's up?"

The puppy came forward again, quite close to the tree this time, and
barked sharpl