came slashing down upon the
dapple-grey's neck, within an inch of the hairy fingers, which were
nevertheless snatched away. Moya had counted on this and its result. The
animal was off at its best pace; but the desperate hands grabbed Moya's
habit as it passed, and in another instant she was on the ground. In yet
another she had picked herself up, but she never even looked for the
horse; she fixed her eye upon her loathly adversary as on a wild beast;
and now he looked nothing else, with canine jaw and one vile lip
protruding, and hell's own fire in his wicked eyes.

Luckily her grip of the riding-whip had tightened, not relaxed; but now
she held it as a sword; and it helped her to cow a brute who had the
real brute's dread of the lash. But also she was young and supple, and
the man was old. The contrast had never been so sharp; for now they were
both in their true colours; and every vileness of the one was met by
its own antithesis in the other. It was will against will, personality
against personality, in an open space among the mallee and the full
glare of a climbing sun, mile upon mile from human help or habitation.
And the battle was fought to a finish without a word.

Moya only heard a muttering as the wretch swung round upon his heel, and
walked after the dapple-grey, which had come to a standstill within
sight. But she was not done with the blackguard yet. She watched him
remove the lady's saddle, then carefully detach the water-bag, and sling
it about himself by means of the stirrup-leather. Then he mounted,
bare-back; but Moya knew that he would not abandon her without his say;
and she was waiting for him with the self-same eye that had beaten him
off.

He reined up and cursed her long and filthily. Her ear was deaf to that;
but little of it conveyed the slightest meaning; her unchanged face
declared as much. So then he trimmed his tongue accordingly.

"Sorry to take the water-bag; but through you I've forgot mine and my
swag too. Better try and find 'em; they're away back where I camped last
night; you're welcome to the drop that's left, if there is one. You look
a bit black about the gills as it is. Have a drop to show there's no
ill-feeling before I go."

And he dangled the bag before her, meaning to whisk it back again. But
Moya disappointed him. She was parched with thirst, though she only
realised it now. She neither spoke nor moved a muscle.

"Then die of thirst, and be damned to you! Do you know