nivorous animal, and this fact rather placed him
out of court in the matter of striking up acquaintances in the
bush, since meetings with the Wolfhound were apt, as a general
thing, to end in that very close form of intimacy which involves
the complete absorption of the lesser personality into the greater,
not merely figuratively, but physically. Finn might, and frequently
did, ask a stray bandicoot, or rabbit, or kangaroo-rat to dinner;
but by the time the meal was ended, the guest was no more; and so
the acquaintance could never be pursued further. Finn would have
been delighted, really, to make friends with creatures like the
bandicoot people, and to enjoy their society at intervals--when he
was well fed. But the bandicoots and their kind could never forget
that they were, after all, food in the Wolfhound's eyes, and it was
not possible to know for certain exactly when his appetite was
likely to rise within him and claim attention--and bandicoots.
Therefore, full or empty, hunting or lounging, Finn was a scourge
and an enemy in the eyes of these small folk, and, as such, a
person to be avoided at all cost, and at all seasons.

[Illustration: Spurring his horse forward.]

The hunting in the neighbourhood of the gunyah was still amply
sufficient for Finn's needs; and, as he continually expected the
return of Bill and Jess, he did not forage very far from the clear
patch. He generally dozed and rested beside the humpy during the
afternoon, preparatory to hunting in the dusk for the kill that
represented his night meal. It was on the evening of his tenth day
of solitude, and rather later than his usual hour for the evening
prowl, that Finn woke with a start in his place beside the gunyah
to hear the sound of horse's feet entering the clear patch from the
direction of the station homestead. There was no sign of Jess that
nose or eye or ear could detect, but Finn told himself as he moved
away from the gunyah that this was doubtless Bill, and that Jess
would be likely to follow. As his custom was, where Bill was
concerned, Finn took up his stand about five-and-twenty paces from
the humpy, prepared gravely to observe the boundary-rider's evening
tasks: the fire-lighting, and so forth. As the new-comer began to
dismount, or rather, as he began to think of dismounting, he caught
a dim glimpse of Finn's figure through the growing darkness. It was
only a dim glimpse the man caught, and he took Finn for a dingo,
made wondrous