If Brookes suspected, he made no show, but went about his work watchful and quiet as could be, Nic noting that he never went to perform the simplest duty about the station without a gun, and always seeming to be on the look-out for danger lurking behind bush, tree, or fence.
“He must feel that Leather is somewhere near at hand,” thought Nic, “and he’ll betray him if he can.”
The convict protested; but, after taking candles and going through the cavern alone, Nic took him flour, tea, and sugar, and various other things to make his solitary life more bearable.
“There, I’m very weak,” the poor fellow said one day; “but these are the only happy moments I have had for years, Nic. You have made me like a boy again, and I feel as if I had begun to live a new life. But it is too good to last, Nic. There is too much sunshine, and the storm and flood will come. When does your father return?”
“Don’t talk of him as if he were a storm,” cried Nic.
“But you will have less liberty then.”
“Oh, I don’t know; I shall go on taking long rides round after the sheep and cattle. I say, I never told you: we’ve lost two sheep during the past fortnight.”
“The blacks.”
“That’s what we all thought; but Bungarolo and the others are sure that there have been no blackfellows in the neighbourhood. They went out for two days afterwards, and came back and declared they had seen none. If they had, of course I shouldn’t be here. I think it’s the dingoes, though we found no skin or bones. Old Sam and I are going to take the dogs and have a hunt. Let Rumble and Tumble run them to bay, and then let loose Nibbler at them.”
“Try it,” said Leather laconically.