ave just breakfasted; there is tea
in the billy.'

He showed neither hurry nor agitation, he displayed no feeling, but,
watching him narrowly, Lucy was convinced of his great earnestness, and
the strain of anxiety that had gripped her heart like a band of steel
relaxed. She breathed freely. Part of the burden had gone to him, and he
would bear it.

Jim felt himself strong again in the face of this great need. Apart from
the tie of blood, he owed Ryder the best service of which he was
capable--his very life, if need be--but he did not question the matter,
even in his own heart, and it was not till Blanket Flat lay four or five
miles behind them that he sought further information from his companion.
They had ridden in silence, Lucy overwrought, thinking only of the
wounded man hunted like a beast, perhaps dying in the Bush, Jim
endeavouring to decide upon a plan of action. The news had not greatly
surprised him; ever since Ryder's declaration of his identity Done had
foreseen some such possibility.

'Do you know the reason of the attempt to arrest Ryder?' said Jim,
breaking the long silence.

'The troopers called him Solo. I have heard of a notorious gold robber of
that name. Mrs. Macdougal says a new shepherd called Brummy recognised
him.' She gave Done a concise account of the arrest and Ryder's escape.
'That is Wallaroo you are riding,' she said in conclusion, 'and Mr.
Macdougal is furious over his loss. I believe it was he who shot Mr.
Ryder.'

'If Ryder dies, I'll kill Macdougal!'

Lucy turned sharply, and looked at Jim. He had spoken the words in a tone
sounding almost casual, curiously incongruous with their grim
significance. She knew that he meant what he had said, and her heart
sank.

'You would not be so mad,' she said.

'Let us push on,' he replied, disregarding her comment.

Lucy had experienced no difficulty in finding Jim. Since his visit to
Boobyalla she had been three times to Jim Crow with parties on horseback,
and knew the country well.

They reached the mouth of the gorge at about eleven o'clock, and had
ridden only about two hundred yards along the bed of the creek, when
Yarra arose from a clump of scrub-ferns at Lucy's side.

'Come longa me,' he said. 'Boss Ryder plenty sick.'

Yarra had left the outlaw two hours earlier. Ryder was then tossing
feverishly on his rough couch. The small cave in which he lay was
situated some thirty yards up the side of the gorge, and the hot morning
su