Without further delay they all sprang to horse. One of the men brought up Pearson's horse to Alec, and at a glance from Crosby he mounted it without a word. Giving the signal to start, Starlight placed himself at Alec's off-side, and drawing his pistol from his belt and showing it him, he said—
"Look here, my young friend, if you try to make a bolt of it, I'll let daylight—or, rather, Starlight—into that headpiece of yours; but if you don't make a fool of yourself, and come along quietly, why you'll be all right, and shall have something to eat in an hour or so into the bargain."
Without more ado the whole party set in motion, and, casting a last look to the place where poor Geordie lay all white and still in the moonlight, with a choking throat Alec turned his back upon Wandaroo, and rode off at a good round pace southwards.
CHAPTER XXI.
YESSLETT PREPARES TO ACT.
The lamps were lighted at Wandaroo, and all the people about the station had come in for the night; the men had finished their tea, and were sitting about the place smoking their short, black pipes, and the horses were all turned out and were cropping the young, sweet grass of the paddock. Man and brute alike were aware that work for the day was ended, and in their different ways each was enjoying his well-earned rest. The large general room of the house at the head station was quiet, for tea was cleared away, and, the kerosine lamp having been turned up, Mrs. Law and Margaret were sitting with their sewing in that busy idleness which women find so restful after a long day's work. Yesslett Dudley was in the room, quiet, too, for a wonder, for he was making one more attempt to finish a long delayed and often interrupted letter to his old home. Every now and then sounds of life could be heard from the kitchen, and the work of the ladies made slight rustlings as they moved it, but otherwise, except an occasional word from Mrs. Law and Margaret, the room was quite quiet. Yesslett went on with his writing steadily for five or ten minutes, an unprecedented period of repose for him; the ladies could hear him dipping his pen savagely into the ink-pot, and then he would go on writing again. At last, between his impatience at the ink and his distaste to silence, he had to speak.
"I say, Margaret, this beastly ink-pot has dried itself up again. I never saw such a place for ink as Australia is. I believe the flies drink it as well as bathe in it," said he, fishing out the body of a drowned house-fly on the end of his pen.
"You must remember that it is more than a week since you last wrote, Yess, and that you didn't put the top on the ink-pot when you left off."
"Oh, how you do notice things, Maggie," said the boy, looking up with a smile. "Is it a week really since I wrote this page?"
"Yes, it is, Mr. Restless, and if you don't go on it strikes me it will be another week before you get that one done."