Some of Kate's calm left her. She looked round at the helpless women—three now, for her aunt had joined them.
"Aunt," she said, forcing herself to speak quietly, "I have fears that this afternoon we shall be attacked by bushrangers. Unfortunately Sam has been called away, and he is the only man we have on the premises. There is not another within reach, except at the shearing-shed, and you know where that is. Which of you will venture to ride there for help? I dare not go, for I must protect the house."
She glanced at each of the three faces in turn, and saw no help there. Becky, the servant, had utterly collapsed at the word bushranger; the other two faces looked as if carved in stone.
"Kate, Kate, is there no other help near?"
"Not nearer than the shearing-shed, aunt."
"I daren't go. I couldn't ride that distance."
"Cicely?" Kate's tone was imploring.
"Don't ask me," and Cicely burst into a flood of tears.
"We must defend ourselves, then."
The Australian girl's voice was quiet, albeit it trembled slightly.