“How do you know?” growled Wall. Then suddenly and suspiciously, “Have you been there?”
“I came home that way.”
“Well—let Ross look after his own,” snarled the father.
“But he can’t, father. They’re fighting the fire now, and they’ll be burnt out before the morning if they don’t get help—for God’s sake, father, act like a Christian and send the men. Remember it is Christmas-time, father. You’re surely not going to see a neighbour burnt out.”
“Yes, I am,” shouted Wall. “I’d like to see every selector in the country burnt out, hut and all! Get off that horse and go inside. If a man leaves the station to-night he needn’t come back.” (This last for the benefit of the men’s hut.)
“But, father—”
“Get off that horse and go inside,” roared Wall.
“I—I won’t.”
“What!” He darted forward as though to drag her from the saddle, but she swung her horse away.
“Stop! Where are you going?”