“They are, dad. They are very especial black beetles to me—beetles with Snider rifles and murderous tomahawks for shooting and cutting down women and children.”
Aulain's dark face flushed, and Kate reddened too, for she was sorry she had spoken so hastily. Then, to her relief, there sounded a sudden outburst of barking from Fraser's kangaroo dogs.
“Oh, those horrid paddy melons and bandicoots at the garden again!” and she rose and seized her gun.
“May I come and have a shot, too?” said Aulain.
“Do. It is as clear as noon-day. Take father's gun, Mr Aulain. I have plenty of cartridges in my pocket.”
They stepped out together into the brilliant moonlight, and then Kate, driving the dogs away, led the way to the garden—a small cleared space enclosed with a brush fence. Peering over the top, the girl saw more than a dozen of the energetic little rodents busily engaged in their work of destruction. Indicating those at which she intended to fire, she motioned to Aulain to shoot at a group which were further away, and occupied in rooting up and devouring sweet potatoes. They fired together, and three or four of the creatures rolled over, dead. The rest scampered off.
“They will come back in ten or fifteen minutes,” said Kate; “shall we wait? See, there is a good place, under that silver leaf ironbark, where it is rather dark. There is a log seat there.”
Aulain eagerly assented. This would give him the opportunity to which he had been looking forward.
As soon as they were seated he took Kate's gun from her hand, and leant it with his own against the bole of the tree.
“Kate,” he said, speaking very quickly, “I am glad to have this chance of speaking to you alone. I want to ask your forgiveness for that letter I wrote when——”