back to the little group.

"Is he killed?" he whispered, awestruck.

A little shiver ran through Jim's body. Slowly he opened his eyes, and
stretched himself.

"What's up?" he said weakly. "Oh, I know.... Mick?"

"He's all right, darling," Norah said, with a quivering voice. "Are you
hurt much?"

"Bit of a bump on my head," Jim said, struggling to a sitting position.
He rubbed his forehead. "What's up, Norah?" For the brown head had gone
down on his knee and the shoulders were shaking.

Jim patted her head very gently.

"You dear old duffer," he said tenderly.

CHAPTER V. ANGLERS' BEND

Jim's "bump on the head" luckily proved not very serious. A
handkerchief, soaked in the creek by Wally, who rode there and back at
a wild gallop, proved an effective bandage applied energetically by
Harry, who had studied "first-aid" in an ambulance class. Ten minutes
of this treatment, however, proved as much as Jim's patience would
stand, and at the end of that time he firmly removed the handkerchief,
and professed himself cured.

"Nothing to make a fuss about, anyhow," he declared, in answer to
sympathetic inquiries. "Head's a bit 'off,' but nothing to grumble at.
It'll be all right, if we ride along steadily for a while. I don't think
I'll do any more racing just now though, thank you!"

"Who won that race?" queried Harry, laughing. The spirits of the little
party, from being suddenly at zero, had gone up with a bound.

"Blessed if I know," said Jim. "I only know I was leading until Mick
ended matters for me."

"I led after that, anyhow," said Wally. "Couldn't pull my beauty up, he
was so excited by Mick's somersault."

"I'd have won, in the long run!" Norah said. There were still traces of
tears in her eyes, but her face was merry enough. She was riding very
close to Jim.

"Yes, I think you would," Jim answered; "you and Bobs were coming up
like a hurricane last time I looked round. Never mind, we'll call it
anybody's race and have it over again sometime."

They rode along for a few miles, keeping close to the river, which wound
in and out, fringed with a thick belt of scrub, amongst which rose tall
red-gum trees. Flights of cockatoos screamed over their heads, and
magpies gurgled in the thick shades by the water. Occasionally came the
clear whistle of a lyre bird or the peal of a laughing jackass. Jim knew
all the bird-notes, as well as the signs of bush game, and pointed them
out as they rode. Once a