But Norah had slipped away, foreseeing possible questioning.
The trooper smiled.
“Don’t think I need worry such a small witness,” he said. “No, I’ll just move on, Mr. Linton. I’m beginning to think I’m on a wild-goose chase.”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE CIRCUS
The days went by, but no further word of the Winfield murderer came to the anxious ears of the little girl at Billabong homestead. Norah never read the papers, and could not therefore satisfy her mind by their reports; but all her inquiries were met by the same reply, “Nothing fresh.” The police were still in the district—so much she knew, for she had caught glimpses of them when out riding with her father. The stern-looking men in dusty uniforms were unusual figures in those quiet parts. But Norah could not manage to discover if they had searched the scrub that hid the Hermit’s simple camp; and the mystery of the Winfield murder seemed as far from being cleared up as ever.
Meanwhile there was plenty to distract her mind from such disquieting matters. The station work happened to be particularly engrossing just then, and day after day saw Norah in the saddle, close to her father’s big black mare, riding over hills and plains, bringing up the slow sheep or galloping gloriously after cattle that declined to be mustered. There were visits of inspection to be made to the farthest portions of the run, and busy days in the yards, when the men worked at drafting the stock, and Norah sat perched on the high “cap” of a fence and, watching with all her eager little soul in her eyes, wished heartily that she had been born a boy. Then there were a couple of trips with Mr. Linton to outlying townships, and on one of these occasions Norah had a piece of marvellous luck, for there was actually a circus in Cunjee—a real, magnificent circus, with lions and tigers and hyaenas, and a camel, and other beautiful animals, and, best of all, a splendid elephant of meek and mild demeanour. It was the elephant that broke up Norah’s calmness.
“Oh, Daddy!” she said. “Daddy! Oh, can’t we stay?”
Mr. Linton laughed.
“I was expecting that,” he said. “Stay? And what would Brownie be thinking?”
Norah’s face fell.