gone by the winder,' whispered Dave. I noticed that he said
'it' instead of 'he'. I saw that he himself was shook up, and it only
needed that to scare me bad.

We went back to the bedroom, had a drink of cold tea, and lit our pipes.
Then Dave took the waterproof cover off his bunk, spread it on the
floor, laid his blankets on top of it, his spare clothes, &c., on top of
them, and started to roll up his swag.

'What are you going to do, Dave?' I asked.

'I'm going to take the track,' says Dave, 'and camp somewhere farther
on. You can stay here, if you like, and come on in the morning.'

I started to roll up my swag at once. We dressed and fastened on the
tucker-bags, took up the billies, and got outside without making any
noise. We held our backs pretty hollow till we got down on to the road.

'That comes of camping in a deserted house,' said Dave, when we were
safe on the track. No Australian Bushman cares to camp in an abandoned
homestead, or even near it--probably because a deserted home looks
ghostlier in the Australian Bush than anywhere else in the world.

It was blowing hard, but not raining so much.

We went on along the track for a couple of miles and camped on the
sheltered side of a round tussock hill, in a hole where there had been a
landslip. We used all our candle-ends to get a fire alight, but once we
got it started we knocked the wet bark off 'manuka' sticks and logs and
piled them on, and soon had a roaring fire. When the ground got a little
drier we rigged a bit of shelter from the showers with some sticks and
the oil-cloth swag-covers; then we made some coffee and got through the
night pretty comfortably. In the morning Dave said, 'I'm going back to
that house.'

'What for?' I said.

'I'm going to find out what's the matter with that crimson door. If I
don't I'll never be able to sleep easy within a mile of a door so long
as I live.'

So we went back. It was still blowing. The thing was simple enough by
daylight--after a little watching and experimenting. The house was built
of odds and ends and badly fitted. It 'gave' in the wind in almost any
direction--not much, not more than an inch or so, but just enough to
throw the door-frame out of plumb and out of square in such a way as to
bring the latch and bolt of the lock clear of the catch (the door-frame
was of scraps joined). Then the door swung open according to the hang of
it; and when the gust was over the house gave back, and the door s