away pretty late. The old man didn't say it, but I made
out that he was sorry enough for that part of his life which had turned
out so bad for us boys, and for mother and Aileen. Bad enough he was in
a kind of way, old dad, but he wasn't all bad, and I believe if he could
have begun again and thought of what misery he was going to bring on the
lot of us he would never have gone on the cross. It was too late, too
late now, though, to think of that.

Towards morning I heard the old dog growl, and then the tramp of a
horse's feet. Starlight rode up to the fire and let his horse go, then
walked straight into his corner and threw himself down without speaking.
He had had a precious long ride, and a fast one by the look of his
horse. The other one he had let go as soon as he came into the Hollow;
but none of the three would be a bit the worse after a few hours' rest.
The horses, of course, were spare ones, and not wanted again for a bit.

Next morning it was 'sharp's the word', and no mistake. I felt a deal
smarter on it than yesterday. When you've fairly started for the road
half the journey's done. It's the thinking of this and forgetting that,
and wondering whether you haven't left behind the t'other thing, that's
the miserablest part of going a journey; when you're once away, no
matter what's left behind, you can get on some way or other.

We didn't start so over and above early, though Starlight was up as
fresh as paint at sunrise, you'd thought he hadn't ridden a yard the day
before. Even at the very last there's a lot of things to do and to get.
But we all looked slippy and didn't talk much, so that we got through
what we had to do, and had all the horses saddled and packed by about
eight o'clock. Even Warrigal had partly got over his temper. Of course
I told Starlight about it. He gave him a good rowing, and told him he
deserved another hammering, which he had a good mind to give him, if we
hadn't been starting for a journey. Warrigal didn't say a word to him.
He never did. Starlight told me on the quiet, though, he was sorry it
happened, 'though it's the rascal's own fault, and served him right.
But he's a revengeful beggar,' he says, 'and that he would play you some
dog's trick if he wasn't afraid of me, you may depend your life on.'

'Now,' says he, 'we must make our little arrangements. I shall be
somewhere about Cunnamulla by the end of this month' (it was only the
first week). 'Jim knows that we are to meet t