Her eyes went anxiously to Steve.
"He's not going to die, is he?" she asked.
"No," Steve muttered, cheerfully. His eyes travelled the length of the boy's sturdy frame. "It's not much more than a surface wound, though it's cut up the flesh a good deal. He'd look different if he was goin' to kick the bucket."
"If we could lift him into the other room it would be better," she suggested. "The men from the Wirree may be coming."
"Yes," the Schoolmaster said.
As they tried to move him, Davey regained consciousness.
"Have you got those beasts out?" he asked querulously. "There's no time to lose. I'm all right."
Deirdre on one side, the Schoolmaster on the other, they led him to the room in which Farrel slept. He sank wearily on the bunk against the wall.
The Schoolmaster went back to the kitchen for a moment.
Deirdre bent over the bunk, gazing at Davey's still face anxiously, intently. It was no time for weeping or exclamation. She realised the danger that threatened. If M'Laughlin and the men from the Wirree came and found the cattle in the paddock below Steve's, not only Davey, but also the Schoolmaster would have to pay the penalty.