"Outside."
Dr. Harpe was not gone long, but returned to stand beside the bunk, looking down upon Essie with eyes that in the dimness of the illy-lighted cabin shone with the baleful gleam of some rapacious feline.
"You did a good job, Ess; he's dead as a mackerel."
The answer was the faint, broken moan which came and went with her breath.
"I'll go to town for help——"
The girl opened her eyes and looked at her beseechingly.
"Don't leave me alone!"
Dr. Harpe ignored the whispered prayer.
"Don't touch anything—leave everything just as it is," she said curtly; "it'll be better for you."
Before she untied her team at the shearing-pens she walked around the house and looked once more at the repulsive object lying upon a dingy quilt. Death had refused Dubois even the usual gift of dignity. His mouth was open, and his eyes; he looked even more than in life the brute and the miser.