She went off down the road to the paddock where Steve's two milking cows were, and presently, drove them, one swinging before the other, into the yard at the back of the shanty. She was easier in her mind than she had been since the Schoolmaster had gone—even since Davey rode out of Narrow Valley. But the sight of McNab disturbed her. She bailed and leg-roped the cows. Wondering why he had come, as she milked, and the milk fell with a gentle swish into the pail between her knees, she could not believe that it was merely to bring them the good news that Davey and the Schoolmaster were likely to get off.
She turned the cows into the paddock beside the bails and took the pail of warm, sweet-smelling milk indoors.
When she went into the kitchen McNab was sitting in the big chair by the fire. He looked up at her. The firelight showed his face and the smile that glimmered on it. He seemed to be remembering, and with triumph, that other night when he had sat there.
Steve, crouched on the bench opposite him, was shivering and sobbing.
Deirdre put the milk in its place.
"What's the matter? What have you done to him?" she cried, facing McNab.
He took a heavy chain from his pocket. It clanked with a dull, slow sound.
Steve started from his chair.
"Oh, send him away, Deirdre, send him away!" he sobbed.
Deirdre knew the meaning of the trick. She had heard it often. It was an old dodge to discover escaped convicts, this clanking of a chain near them. A man who had worn irons never forgot the sound they made, and whenever he heard it would start and tremble. The rage that burned to a white heat kept her silent a moment.