'All right—very likely,' assented the woman absently. 'Can you tell me where the police barracks are?'

'There's the place, near that big fallen tree, but there's no one in it. Tracy went away home to White Rock yesterday. The other chap went away with the gold escort.'

'How far to White Rock?'

'A good thirty mile. There's a straight road; you can't miss it. It starts south as soon as you cross the bridge over the creek.'

'All right,' she answered, 'there's no turn off?'

'No; half-way you come to a shepherd's hut. There's no one living there now. Keep it on your left, and the track gets plain again.'

'Thanks; good-night. I must see Tracy on business. I shall be there by bedtime, I expect.'

Then fared she forth into the night. No rest, no food for steed or rider till her errand should be done. The game, bright-eyed mountain mare, as much refreshed by the halt as a less high-caste steed would have been by a feed of corn, started away as if just mounted. Kate patted the smooth arching neck. 'Carry me well to-night, Wallaroo, and you'll never have another hard day's work as long as you live. Not if I own you, anyhow. And it'll have to be bad times when we're parted.'

Away through the darksome close-ranked forest groves—away through the rocky defiles where the mare's bare hoofs rang from time to time as on metal—away through sedgy morass and water-laden plain—away through the long gray tussac grass, which rustled wiry and dry in the hoar-frost. The stars burned and scintillated in the dark blue cloudless sky. The low moon rose and stared—redly, weird, and witch-like—upon the solitary woman threading alone the dim desolate waste. All silently, yet surely, the slow hours sped. Still wound the forest path, serpent-like, amid untouched primeval giants. Still clattered the fleet mare's hoofs along the uneven trail. The great constellation of the southern heavens had changed the aspect of its cross when a chorus of barking dogs disclosed the outpost of law and order. A couple of huts, a slab stable, a small but securely fenced paddock, made up the establishment. She rode up to the gate of the little garden, and throwing down her reins as she slipped from the saddle, walked stiffly to the door of the cottage. She rapped sharply with the end of her riding-whip.