“Aileen, dear,” I said,“you are old enough to know what’s best for yourself. I didn’t think Starlight was on for marrying any woman, but he’s far and away the best man we’ve ever known, so you can please yourself. But you know what the chances are. If he gets clear off, or any of us, after what’s been done, you’re right. But it’s a hundred to one against it.”

“I’ll take the odds,” says she, holding up her head. “I’m willing to put my life and happiness, what little there’s left of it, on the wager. Things can’t well be worse.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I ought to tell you—I must tell you some thing before we part, though I’d a deal rather not. But you’ll bear it better now than in a surprise.”

“Not more blood, more wickedness,” she said, in a half-whisper, and then she looks up stern and angry-like. “When is this list of horrible things to stop?”

“It was none of our doing. Moran and Daly were in it, and-.” “And none of you? Swear that,” she said, so quick and pitiful-like. “None of us,” I said again; “nor yet Warrigal.”

“Then who did it? Tell me all. I’m not a child. I will know.” “You remember the man that was rude to you at Rocky Flat, and father and he fired at one another?”

“Of course I do, cowardly wretch that he was. Then Moran was waiting for them up the gully? I wondered that they did not come back next day.”

“They never came back,” I said.

“Why, you don’t mean to tell me that they are all dead, all four?—those strong men! Oh, surely not, Dick?” and she caught hold of my arm, and looked up into my face.

“Yes, Aileen, all. We came after and followed up dad, when we got home; it’s a wonder he did it by himself. But we saw them all four lying stretched out.”

She put down her head and never spoke more till we parted.

We turned back, miserable enough all of us, God knows. After having Aileen to make the place bright and pleasant and cheer us all up, losing her was just as if all the little pleasure we had in our lives was dropped out of them—like the sun going out of the sky, and the wind rising; like the moon clouding over, and a fog burying up everything—dark and damp, the same as we’d had it many a time cattle-driving by night. We hardly spoke a word to one another all the way home, and no wonder.