tle and cracking of
stockwhips announced the arrival of Macartney's mob, and the beasts,
wild with thirst, for the way had been long and hot, and the waters were
dried up for miles back, rushed tumultously down into the waterhole,
trampling one another in their eagerness to get to the water. The men
could no nothing but look on helplessly, and finally Fisher, a tall
young fellow with that sad look on his bearded face, which sometimes
comes of much living alone, left the mob to his men, and flinging his
reins on his horse's neck went towards the hut.

Nellie stood in the doorway, but when she saw who it was, mindful of her
lover's fierce warning of the night before, she drew back into the
hut, and the sadness on the man's face deepened, for Nellie Durham,
the cattle-duffer's granddaughter, was the desire of his heart, and the
light of his eyes, and Murwidgee Waterhole, when he had charge of the
cattle, was on the main road to everywhere.

He dismounted and entered, and Mrs. Durham bustled up to him--eager to
make amends for Nellie's want of cordiality.

"It's pleased I am to see ye, pleased, pleased," she said, "for 'tis
lonesome hereabouts, now the boys is away down Port Philip way."

"Are the boys away?" he asked, watching Nellie, as in obedience to an
imperious command from her grandmother, she began to set out a rough
meal.

"Oh, ay--there 's on'y Nell an' grandfather, an' me, an' we're gettin'
old. Oh, 't is lonesome for the girl whiles."

If it were, she did not seem to feel it, and she steadfastly refused all
Fisher's timid advances. Farther away than ever he felt her to-day, and
yet she had never looked so fair in his eyes.

He ate his meal slowly, answering the old woman in monosyllables, when
she questioned him as to his camp for the night and his movements on
the following day. Possibly he may have thought it unwise to take old
Durham's wife into his confidence, but if so the men under him were not
so reticent, and when they came in a few moments later, chatted freely
on their preparations for the night, and half in jest roughly warned the
old woman that the cattle must be let alone.

"None o' your larks now, old girl," said Fisher's principal aid. "We
mounts guard turn an' turn about, an' the first livin' critter as comes
anigh them beasts--the watch he shoots on sight."

"What's comin' anigh 'em?" asked the old woman scornfully. "There's
me an' th' old man an' the girl here, an' nary a livin' thing