The door had opened, and a woman—he could see distinctly enough even in the half light that it was a woman, though he could not distinguish who—had stepped out. Then a man had appeared in the doorway, and Ned heard the woman say lightly, “Good night, Steve.”
“Good night—or rather good morning,” came the answer in Steve’s voice.
“See you again to-night—take care of yourself till then,” the woman said, and, with a wave of her hand and flutter of skirts, she was gone round the corner of the hut and into the track that led back towards the township.
“So-ho,” said Ned, softly, as the door closed again. “At the old game again, my bold Fly-by-Night. And that’s what you’re hanging on round here for, when you might be down to the coast and safety by this time. It’s like you to be risking your neck in a noose for the sake of some fool of a woman. Comes up and stays the nights with him evidently. ‘See you again to-night,’ eh? Well, I’ll see if I can’t fix it that you see someone else to-night, and that they see you.”
He slid gently back from his post of observation till he was safe out of sight, and then turned and ran for his horse, and rode his hardest for the Ridge. The heap of stones had been removed from the Axe-Cut, and he was able to get back early enough for breakfast, and to get in without attracting undue attention, although he noticed Aleck Gault look at him sharply as he sauntered in.
Ned Gunliffe turned over several plans in his mind, but the one he decided on called first for an interview with Ess, and it was not till after tea-time that he was able to make the first move in the game. Some of the men came in for the meal, but before sunset went back to the hills to round up the sheep and watch them for the night. Even Scottie had gone off on a round of inspection, and nobody was left about the place except Blazes, Ned Gunliffe, and Darby the Bull. Just before tea a saddle-weary trooper had ridden in and had a meal with the men. Ned Gunliffe left him in conversation with Darby—rather a one-sided conversation it was, as Darby had been warned and re-warned to be careful of what he said to any troopers, and being doubtful of his own abilities in returning answers which would give no information, took the simple plan of giving no answers except Yes and No.
“Roastin’ day to be out in,” said the trooper, affably.
“Yes,” said Darby, cautiously. He had need of his caution. The troopers had discovered that he was the one least skilled in following the trend of their questions, and of understanding the deductions they might draw from his replies. Certainly they had not got much from him up to now, but then at other times there had usually been some of the other men about to relieve Darby of the responsibility of answering questions—a responsibility he had cheerfully left to them. So the trooper eagerly seized on the chance given him by the withdrawal of Ned Gunliffe, the only other man in the hut at the moment beside Darby.
“S’pose,” he said, “you chaps is all as sick as we are o’ bucketing over these hills?”
“Y-e-s,” admitted Darby.