“He hed ought. If these here troubles blow over....” The second man cast a half-fearful look behind him at the tent flap against which they were standing. “But we doesn’t want to bring the police down on us. There’s no knowing now, how-some-ever, whether we’ll not be turned back, and all....”
There was plainly some mystery hanging over them. Their words hinted at such a fact; their looks made it positive.
“I say, Stella.” Margot was lying flat on the turf. “I simply can’t help hearing, so we may as well hear properly while we’re about it. The ‘blacks’ say that if they press their ears to the ground they can hear much better, and so....”
The ears of both girls were pressed close to cold Mother Earth. Were these horse-stealers? Margot’s overseas experience came back to her mind with zest. There was something on foot, certainly, and it was a relief to her pent-up feelings of excitement when, suddenly, both men, after a whispered colloquy, turned back and re-entered the tent.
“Stella, now we can really talk. Have you been hearing?”
“Yes, and noticing. Isn’t it queer? Margot, let’s go back. They’ve gone now. And I’m sure....”
Stella, with relief in her tones as she spoke, prepared to slither back in the direction from which they had come.
“You don’t think—for the bravery prize—?” suggested Margot tentatively. “Suppose.... Bushrangers, you know....”
But suddenly she stopped speaking. The blood of both the Saturday adventurers turned cold. For screams rang through the air. They came from the tent; so much was certain. The cries were evidently those of a child; and just as evidently those of a child in pain.