"Where the devil were you yesterday?" was Glen's question.
"My horse broke down. I had to bag another, and a pretty brute he is. Look at him," replied Jim pointing to the wretched mass of skin and bone.
"Why have you come here?" asked Glen.
"I thought I'd ride over and explain. I know what you are when you're in a temper," replied Jim.
"That's not the reason."
"Perhaps it isn't. Anyhow, what about her?" and he pointed to the hut.
"Somebody must go to Billy's and get some good brandy for her. It's got to be the best—none of his poison," said Glen.
"In that case you'd better go. It's no good me trying it. He'd think I was lying, and there'd be no getting it out of him. I'll stay with her if you go. Besides my horse is no good. Ping will do the journey in half the time," Jim answered.
Glen looked at him. Jim's face did not move a muscle.
"It's lucky you came," Glen remarked. "Tell me what brought you here."