“Wonder what Peter’s doing?” said the wife.
“Showin’ ‘em down the short cut,” said Uncle Abe.
But, presently, clatter of sliprails down again, and cattle driven over them.
“Wonder what he’s doing with the cows,” said the wife.
They waited in wonder, and with growing anxiety, for some quarter of an hour; then Abe and Andy, going out to see, met the settler coming back.
“What in thunder are you doing with the cows, Peter?” asked Uncle Abe.
“Oh, just driving them out and along a bit over those horse tracks; we might get into trouble,” said Peter.
When the boys woke it was morning, and the mother stood by the bed. “You needn’t get up yet, and don’t say anyone was here last night if you’re asked,” she whispered, and went out. They were up on their knees at once with their eyes to the cracks, and got the scare of their young lives. Three mounted troopers were steaming their legs at the fire—their bodies had been protected by oilskin capes. The mother was busy about the table and the sister changing the baby. Presently the two younger policemen sat down to bread and bacon and coffee, but their senior (the sergeant) stood with his back to the fire, with a pint-pot of coffee in his hand, eating nothing, but frowning suspiciously round the room.
Said one of the young troopers to Aunt Annie, to break the lowering silence, “You don’t remember me?”
“Oh yes, I do; you were at Brown’s School at Old Pipeclay—but I was only there a few months.”