d about him.
'There isn't a doubt,' he continued. 'That's Boobyalla all right. I was
over the country to the west once with cattle.'

'And since we came to Jim Crow I have been so near.'

''Bout twenty mile as the crow flies. Why, old man, you look all caved
in.'

'I'm greatly surprised. I thought Boobyalla was right away in the wilds.'

A pity this isn't wild enough for you.'

'Yes; but cut off completely from the people.'

'The people have been distributin' themselves a good deal o' late.
Boobyalla was far enough out o' the runnin' till the rushes broke out at
Forest Creek an' Jim Crow. As 'tis, I'll bet my boots the Macdougal's as
lonesome down there as a sick sheep.'

'Why do you think that?'

''Cause you can't keep white men on the runs these times; they prefer the
rushes. Squatter, J.P., ain't the little god almighty he used to be when
he held his hands as if they were niggers bought an' paid for.'

Done was silent and thoughtful for a few minutes. The knowledge of his
proximity to Lucy Woodrow awakened mixed feelings, and contrition was
prominent. He had promised to write to her. He remembered how anxious she
seemed to win the promise, and how deep her interest in him had been.
Suffused with a melancholy tenderness, he told himself he had never
forgotten her; her image had lived in his heart as in a shrine, screened
perhaps, but only for sanctity's sake. No thought of Aurora stole in to
disturb his unconscious hypocrisy. He had an unexpected longing to see
Lucy again.

'Fact is, Mike,' he said presently, 'there is a ship mate of mine down
there at Macdougal's I should very much like to meet again. What do you
say?'

'I'm on. This shipmate, is she married or single?' Mike accented the
third person feminine.

'Single. She is teaching Macdougal's youngsters. I had no other friend
aboard.' Aurora obtruded now, and he looked into his mate's face. It was
suspiciously vacant. 'What the devil are you thinking of, Mike?' he said
with warmth.

'A friend o' mine,' answered Mike.

'Oh!'

'Aurora!'

'The devil you are? It's an infernal impertinence, then, let me tell
you.'

'That Irish girl would tear hair like a mountain cat,' continued Mike
serenely.

'You're wrong, Mike, quite wrong,' said Jim impressively. 'This girl
is--well, absolutely different.'

Done found the trip to Boobyalla very much longer than he had expected,
but the mates reached the homestead at about two o'clock. The place was
al