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242 clear of the stirrup; it would be a Christian act to save Folkestone from the father of a batin', and Priestley from that sterner father, namely, old father antic, the law. But imminent as the collision seemed, it did n't come-off.

"Sit down, Folkestone," said Montgomery, holding his companion's sleeve with a firm grip, whilst gazing steadily northward through the narrow fringe of timber. Following his eye, I saw a horseman, a mile and a half distant, heading for the homestead at a walk.

"Is that Arblaster, Collins?" demanded the squatter.

I brought my binocular to bear on the horseman. "Nelson," I replied.

"Better still. Signal him."

I galloped out into the plain, wheeled broadside on, and waved my hat. The equestrian profile changed to a narrow line, and I returned to the buggy, followed, at a decent interval, by Nelson. I was glad to see Priestley in the act of driving through the gate.

"Come, here, Priestley," said Montgomery quietly. "You have my permission to follow this track to the Nalrooka boundary"

"I hope I'll git some slant to do as much"

"Silence!—But if you trespass on my feed or water, by God I'll prosecute you. Another thing. Never in future load anything for me, or come to this station expecting wool. And I may as well warn you that every boundary man in my employ will be on the look-out for you from this time forward. Nelson; you ride behind his wagon to the boundary, and see that he keeps the track."A frown gathered on the young fellow's face, reinforced by a burning blush as Montgomery went on"Perhaps you scarcely expected me to concur in your opinion, that one ought to spring a bit in a season like this; yet I have no intention of crushing a poor, decent, hard-working devil—that is, if he can add nine miles more to to-day's stage, without unyoking. I have already given him a thorough good blackguarding for calculating upon crossing the run. If he trespasses on feed or water—if he does n't go straight on with his team, wagon or no wagon—you and I may quarrel." Who was the spy? Ah! who is the ubiquitous station spy?

"Good-bye, Mr. Montgomery," said I abjectly.

"Are n't you coming back to the station for your pocket-book?" he asked, with a glance out of the corner of his eye.

"I find I've got it here all the time—wonder how I came to overlook it."

"Thinking too much about Mrs. Beaudesart," suggested the squatter. "She won't be at all displeased to hear of it. Good-bye, Collins. Safe Journey."

I raised my wideawake to Folkestone, who again placed his glass in his eye, and stared at me wonderingly till we tore ourselves apart.

Another mile, and I cleared the pine-ridge. Looking back to the right, I could see Priestley and his guard of honour crawling toward the Faugh-a-ballagh Sand-hills, which lay two miles from the gate where we had parted. They would reach the tank as twilight merged into moonlight.