“How far was it to where Starlight was?”

“Long way. Took me all day to come.”

“Had he been there long?”

“Yes; had a camp there.”

“Anybody else with him?”

“Three more men from this side.”

“Did the old man say we were to come at once?”

“Yes, or leave it alone—which you liked.”

Then lie shut his eyes, and his mouth too, and was soon as fast asleep as if he never intended to wake under a week.

“What shall we do, Jim?” I said; “go or not?”

“If you leave it to me,” says Jim, “I say, don’t go. It’s only some other cross cattle or horse racket. We’re bound to be nobbled some day. Why not cut it now, and stick to the square thing? We couldn’t do better than we’re doing now. It’s rather slow, but we’ll have a good cheque by Christmas.”

“I’m half a mind to tell Warrigal to go back and say we’re not on,” I said. “Lots of other chaps would join without making any bones about it.”

“Hoo—hoo—hoo—hoo,” sounded once more the night-bird from the black tree outside.

“D-- the bird! I believe he’s the devil in the shape of a mopoke! And yet I don’t like Starlight to think we’re afraid. He and the old man might be in a fix and want help. Suppose we toss up?”

“All right,” says Jim, speaking rather slowly.

You couldn’t tell from his face or voice how he felt about it; but I believe now—more than that, he let on once to me—that he was awfully cut up about my changing, and thought we were just in for a spell of straightforward work, and would stash the other thing for good and all.

We put the fire together. It burnt up bright for a bit. I pulled out a shilling.

“If it’s head we go, Jim; if it’s woman, we stay here.”

I sent up the coin; we both bent over near the fire to look at it.

The head was uppermost.

“Hoo—hoo—hoo—hoo,” came the night-bird’s harsh croak.

There was a heavyish stake on that throw, if we’d only known. Only ruin—only death. Four men’s lives lost, and three women made miserable for life.

Jim and I looked at one another. He smiled and opened the door. “It’s all the fault of that cursed owl, I believe,” he said; “I’ll have his life if he waits till it’s daylight. We must be off early and get up our horses. I know what a long day for Warrigal and that ambling three-cornered devil of his means—seventy or eighty miles, if it’s a yard.”

We slept sound enough till daybreak, and could sleep then, whatever was on the card. As for Jim, he slept like a baby always once he turned in. When I woke I got up at once. It was half dark; there was a little light in the east. But Warrigal had been out before me, and was leading his horse up to the hut with the hobbles in his hand.