Now it had so happened that in the old days in South Australia, when Pete and Beeton had still been friends, the former had been a constant playfellow of the latter's youngest child, a bewitching little girl of two, who returned with interest the affection the other bestowed upon her. Two days before Christmas, this mite, now nearly three years old, strayed away from her home and was lost in the scrub. Search parties were organised and sent out in every direction, but without success; look where they would, they could find no trace of her. And for a very good reason. All the time they were hunting for her she was safe and sound in Pete's cavern. The outlaw had found her when she was about ten miles from home, and had conveyed her there with all possible speed. He was well aware what he was doing, for the child had recognised him at once, and he had never forgotten her. It would probably have surprised some of those who were wont to regard him with so much apprehension could they have seen him during the evening, playing with his little guest upon the floor of the cavern; and later on, seated by her side, telling her fairy stories until she began to feel sleepy, when she insisted upon saying her prayers to him, and compelled him to listen with all the gravity at his command.
The following morning he made up his mind, mounted his horse and, lifting the child up before him, set off through the scrub in the direction of the father's selection. Reaching the boundary fence, from which the house could be easily seen, he kissed the youngster and set her down, bidding her run home as fast as she could go and let her mother see that she was none the worse for her adventure. When he had made sure that she had reached her destination, he wheeled his horse and set off on his return journey to the ranges. As he did so he saw the signs of a bush fire rising above the trees ahead of him, dense clouds of smoke were rolling up into the azure sky, and, as if to make the danger more complete, the wind was freshening every minute. A quarter-of-an-hour later it looked as if his fate were sealed. Behind him was civilisation, with its accompaniment of police; ahead, and on either hand, the fire and seemingly certain destruction by one of the most terrible deaths imaginable. What was he to do? It did not take him very long, however, to make up his mind. At one spot, a couple of miles or so to his left, the smoke was not so heavy, and his knowledge of the country told him the reason of this. It was due to a dry water-course in which there was nothing that would burn. Urging his horse forward he made for it as fast as he could go. But he was not destined to get there quite as quickly as he expected, for, when he was only a hundred yards or so distant from the bank, his quick eye detected the body of a man lying on the ground beneath a casuarina tree. With his habitual carelessness of human life he was about to leave him to be dealt with by the on-rushing flames, when he chanced to catch sight of the other's face. Then he pulled his horse to a standstill, as if he had been shot. The individual on the ground was Beeton, the man who had betrayed him in South Australia, and the father of the child whom he had risked so much that day to save. The recognition was mutual, for the man, though quite incapable of moving (he had broken his right leg, so it transpired later) was still conscious. Here was a glorious chance of revenge, and one of which Pete was just the sort of man to take the fullest advantage. He brought his terrified horse a little closer, and lolling in his saddle looked calmly down on his prostrate foe.
'How d'ye do, Beeton?' he said, with the easy familiarity of an old acquaintance, to all intents and purposes quite oblivious to the fact that an enormous bush fire was raging in their vicinity, and was every second drawing closer to them. 'It is some time since we last had the pleasure of meeting, or my memory deceives me. Let me see, I think it was in South Australia, was it not?'
Beeton's complexion was even whiter than it had been before as he glanced up at his enemy and marked the relentless look upon his face. He did not answer, however.
'Looks as if you've been inconsiderate enough to have forgotten the circumstance,' continued Pete, mockingly, 'and yet, if I'm not making a mistake, there was every reason why you should have remembered it. However, that does not matter; it seems as if I'm to have a chance of getting even with you after all. D'you see yonder fire? Well it will pass this way in a few minutes. There's only one chance of escape and that is to make your way into the creek bed yonder. I should advise you to hurry up and get there unless you wish to be roasted to a cinder.'
'Curse you, you can see I'm done for and can't move,' cried the other in a tone of agony. 'If you were not the devil you are, you would help me to get there. But you will leave me to die, I know.'
'Why should I help you?' inquired Pete, with continued calmness. 'Who was it put the police on my track at Yackamunda, eh—and drove me out here? Why, you did! And now you want me to save you. No, my lad, you can lie there and burn for all I care or will help you.'
'Then be off,' cried the man on the ground, with the savageness of despair. 'If I'm to die let me die alone, not with those devilish eyes of yours watching me!'
By this time the heat was almost unbearable, and Pete's horse was growing unmanageable. He plunged and snorted at the approaching flames, until none but a man of Pete's experience and dexterity could have retained his seat in the saddle.
'Since you do not desire my presence,' said Pete, 'I'll wish you a good afternoon.'