The minute or two he stood outside waiting seemed an eternity.
Then came a relief that was well-nigh as insupportable. It was Dr Tom who called out,—
'Come in, Jim, the little chap's alive. I'll pull him through. He's not so bad after all.'
'Thank God!' said Jim Dennis, whose prayers had been few and far between.
CHAPTER II
BLACK SAL
Jim Dennis's homestead was anything but an enticing place. He had built the bulk of it himself, and said it was good enough. The boards were fairly weather-beaten and the galvanised iron roof was torn at the ends by wind and rain. A small verandah in front was reached by five rickety steps, and some of the piles on which the house was built afforded a fine refuge for white ants. These insects were so industrious that one stump was a crumbling mass, so laboriously had it been honeycombed.
Around the homestead was the stable yard, a dull, dreary-looking place, consisting of two or three sheds hurriedly run up, a heap of refuse, a dirty old dog kennel, home made, a sheep pen, and a few etceteras, that men who have known such places will imagine.
For all that, however, Jim Dennis had a fair station. He had purchased it in the rough from the Government and obtained it on easy terms. All payments had been kept up and the land was his own.
Jim Dennis was never known to repudiate debts. His name was 'good' with the storekeepers for miles round, but he was more feared than respected. No one seemed able to understand him. He had an inscrutable face, and was seldom seen to smile except when the little chap was with him.