Their voices were heard as the men played cards or sung in the house, waiting to go on duty when the relief came in from outside.
All at once one of the party arose and stepped outside.
He was a well-built man of perhaps fifty and his face was covered with a curly beard almost black.
Dressed in the coarse jacket of the rancher and wearing the long boots of the Australian, he looked a typical sheep guard of the island, and with his face turned toward the large house from which came strains of music, he appeared to be transfixed by the scene.
He leaned against the out-house with folded arms and in an attitude of peace.
Overhead he saw the stars that shone so brilliantly on the sheeplands, and from the distant bush came the long hoot of the black owl, dismal and lone.
When he moved it was toward the large house, and stopping among a network of vines near the porch he listened anew to the music and caught a glimpse of the party in the parlor.
His keen eyes watched Merle Macray with more than passing interest.
He seemed to see no one but him and for some time he stood where he had stopped and watched the ranch queen's right bower.
He said nothing did this man who had given his name as Roland Riggs.