The next few days went by slowly enough.  
Norah followed faithfully all Jim's plans for her amusement. She practised, did some cooking, and helped Mrs. Brown preserve apricots; then there were the pets to look to and, best of all, the bullocks to move from one paddock to another. It was an easy job, and Evans was quite willing to leave it to Norah, Billy and a dog. The trio made a great business of it, and managed almost to forget loneliness in the work of hunting through the scrub and chasing the big, sleepy half-fat beasts out upon the clear plain. There were supposed to be forty-four in the paddock, but Norah and Billy mustered¹ forty-five, and were exceedingly proud of themselves in consequence.
 
Next day Norah persuaded Mrs. Brown to allow herself to be driven into Cunjee. There was nothing particular to go for, except that, as Norah said, they would get the mail a day earlier; but Mrs. Brown was not likely to refuse anything that would chase the look of loneliness from her charge's face. Accordingly they set off after an early lunch, Norah driving the pair of brown ponies² in a light single buggy that barely held her and her by no means fairy-like companion.
 
The road was good and they made the distance in excellent time, arriving in Cunjee to see the daily train puff³ its way out of the station. Then they separated, as Norah had no opinion whatever of Mrs. Brown's shopping—principally in drapers' establishments, which this bush maiden⁴ hated cordially. So Mrs. Brown, unhampered, plunged⁵ into mysteries of flannel⁶ and sheeting, while Norah strolled up the principal street and exchanged greetings with those she knew.
 
She paused by the door of a blacksmith's shop, for the smith and she were old friends, and Norah regarded Blake as quite the principal person of Cunjee. Generally there were horses to be looked at, but just now the shop was empty, and Blake came forward to talk to the girl.
 
“Seen the p'lice out your way?” he asked presently, after the weather, the crops, and the dullness of business had been exhausted⁷ as topics.
 
“Police?” queried⁸ Norah. “No. Why?”
 
“There was two mounted men rode out in your direction yesterday,” Blake answered. “They're on the track of that Winfield murderer, they believe.”
 
“What was that?” asked Norah blankly. “I never heard of it.”
 
“Not heard of the Winfield murder! Why, you can't read the papers, missy, surely?”
 
“No; of course I don't,” Norah said. “Daddy doesn't like me to read everyday ones.”
 
Blake nodded.
 
“No, I s'pose not,” he said. “You're too young to worry your little head about murders and suchlike. But everybody was talkin' about the Winfield affair, so I sorter took it for granted that you'd know about it.”
 
“Well, I don't,” said Norah. “What is it all about?”
 
“There's not very much I can tell you about it, missy,” Blake said, scratching his head and looking down at the grave lace. “Nobody knows much about it.
 
“Winfield's a little bit of a place about twenty miles from 'ere, you know—right in the bush and away from any rail or coach line. On'y a couple o' stores, an' a hotel, an' a few houses. Don't suppose many people out o' this district ever heard of it, it's that quiet an' asleep.
 
“Well, there was two ol' men livin' together in a little hut a mile or so from the Winfield township. Prospectors⁹, they said they were—an' there was an idea that they'd done pretty well at the game, an' had a bit of gold hidden somewhere about their camp. They kept very much to themselves, an' never mixed with anyone—when one o' them came into the township for stores he'd get his business done an' clear out as quick as possible.
 
“Well, about a month ago two fellows called Bowen was riding along a bush track between Winfield an' their camp when they came across one o' the ol' mates peggin' along the track for all he was worth. They was surprised to see that he was carryin' a big swag, an' was apparently¹⁰ on a move.
 
“'Hullo, Harris!' they says—'leavin' the district?' He was a civil spoken ol' chap as a rule, so they was rather surprised when he on'y give a sort o' grunt¹², an' hurried on.
 
“They was after cattle, and pretty late the same day they found themselves near the hut where the two ol' chaps lived, an' as they was hungry an' thirsty, they reckoned they'd call in an' see if they could get a feed. So they rode up and tied their horses to a tree and walked up to the hut. No one answered their knock, so they opened the door, an' walked in. There, lyin' on his bunk¹³, was ol' Waters. They spoke¹¹ to him, but he didn't answer. You see, missy, he couldn't, bein' dead.”
 
“Dead!” said Norah, her eyes dilating¹⁴.
 
Blake nodded.
 
“Stone dead,” he said. “They thought at first he'd just died natural, as there was no mark o' violence on 'im, but when they got a doctor to examine 'im he soon found out very different. The poor ol' feller 'ad been poisoned, missy; the doctor said 'e must a' bin¹⁵ dead twelve hours when the Bowens found 'im. Everything of value was gone from the hut along with his mate, old Harris—the black-hearted villain¹⁶ he must be!”
 
“Why, do they think he killed the other man?” Norah asked.
 
“Seems pretty certain, missy,” Blake replied. “In fact, there don't seem the shadder of a doubt. He was comin' straight from the hut when the Bowens met 'im—an' he'd cleared out the whole place, gold an' all. Oh, there ain't any doubt about Mr. Harris bein' the guilty party. The only thing doubtful is Mr. Harris's whereabouts.”
 
“Have the police been looking for him?” asked Norah.
 
“Huntin' high an' low—without any luck. He seems to have vanished off the earth. They've bin follerin' up first one clue and then another without any result. Now the last is that he's been seen somewhere the other side of your place, an' two troopers have gone out to-day to see if there's any truth in the rumour¹⁷.”
 
“I think it's awfully¹⁸ exciting,” Norah said, “but I'm terribly sorry for the poor man who was killed. What a wicked old wretch¹⁹ the other must be!—his own mate, too! I wonder what he was like. Did you know him?”
 
“Well, I've seen old Harris a few times—not often,” Blake replied. “Still, he wasn't the sort of old man you'd forget. Not a bad-looking old chap, he was. Very tall and well set up, with piercin' blue eyes, long white hair an' beard, an' a pretty uppish way of talkin'. I don't fancy anyone about here knew him very well—he had a way of keepin' to himself. One thing, there's plenty lookin' out for him now.”
 
“I suppose so,” Norah said. “I wonder will he really get away?”
 
“Mighty small chance,” said Blake. “Still, it's wonderful how he's managed to keep out of sight for so long. Of course, once in the bush it might be hard to find him—but sooner or later he must come out to some township for tucker, an' then everyone will be lookin' out for him. They may have got him up your way by now, missy. Is your Pa at home?”
 
“He's coming home in a day or two,” Norah said; “perhaps to-morrow. I hope they won't find Harris and bring him to our place.”
 
“Well, it all depends on where they find him if they do get him,” Blake replied. “Possibly they might find the station a handy place to stop at. However, missy, don't you worry your head about it—nothing for you to be frightened about.”
 
“Why, I'm not frightened,” Norah said. “It hasn't got anything to do with me. Only I don't want to see a man who could kill his mate, that's all.”
 
“He's much like any other man,” said Blake philosophically²⁰. “Say, here's someone comin' after you, missy, I think.”
 
“I thought I'd find you here,” exclaimed Mrs. Brown's fat, comfortable voice, as its owner puffed²¹ her way up the slope leading to the blacksmith's. “Good afternoon, Mr. Blake. I've finished all my shopping, Miss Norah, my dear, and the mail's in, and here's a letter for you, as you won't be sorry to see.”
 
“From Dad? How lovely!” and Norah, snatching at the grey envelope with its big, black writing, tore it open hastily. At the first few words, she uttered a cry of delight.
 
“Oh, he's coming home to-morrow, Brownie—only another day! He says he thinks it's time he was home, with murderers roaming about the district!” and Norah executed a few steps of a Highland²² fling, greatly to the edification of the blacksmith.
 
“Dear sakes alive!” said Mrs. Brown, truculently²³. “I think there are enough of us at the station to look after you, murderer or no murderer—not as 'ow but that 'Arris must be a nasty creature! Still I'm very glad your Pa's coming, Miss Norah, because nothing do seem right when he's away—an' it's dull for you, all alone.”
 
“Master Jim gone back, I s'pose?” queried Blake.
 
“Yesterday,” Norah added.
 
“Then you must be lonely,” the old blacksmith said, taking Norah's small brown hand, and holding it for a moment in his horny fist very much as if he feared it were an eggshell, and not to be dropped. “Master Jim's growing a big fellow, too—goin' to be as big a man as his father, I believe. Well, good-bye, missy, and don't forget to come in next time you're in the township.”
 
There was nothing further to detain them in Cunjee, and very soon the ponies were fetched from the stables, and they were bowling²⁴ out along the smooth metal road that wound its way across the plain, and Norah was mingling²⁵ excited little outbursts of delight over her father's return with frequent searches into a big bag of sweets which Mrs. Brown had thoughtfully placed on the seat of the buggy.
 
“I don't know why Blake wanted to go telling you about that nasty murderer,” Mrs. Brown said. They were ten miles from Cunjee, and the metal road had given place to a bush track, in very fair order.
 
“Why not?” asked Norah, with the carelessness of twelve years.
 
“Well, tales of murders aren't the things for young ladies' ears,” Mrs. Brown said primly²⁶. “Your Pa never tells you such things. The paper's been full of this murder, but I would 'a' scorned to talk to you about it.”
 
“I don't think Blake meant any harm,” said Norah. “He didn't say so very much. I don't suppose he'd have mentioned it, only that Mr. Harris is supposed to have come our way, and even that doesn't seem certain.”
 
“'Arris 'as baffled the police,” said Mrs. Brown, with the solemn pride felt by so many at the worsting of the guardians²⁷ of the law. “They don't reely know anythink about his movements, that's my belief. Why, it's weeks since he was seen. This yarn²⁸ about his comin' this way is on'y got up to 'ide the fact that they don't know a thing about it. I don't b'lieve he's anywhere within coo-ee of our place. Might be out of the country now, for all anyone's sure of.”
 
“Blake seemed to think he'd really come this way;” Norah said.
 
“Blake's an iggerant man,” said Mrs. Brown loftily.
 
“Well, I'll keep a look-out for him, at any rate,” laughed Norah. “He ought to be easy enough to find—tall and good-looking and well set up—whatever that may mean—and long white beard and hair. He must be a pretty striking-looking sort of old man. I—” And then recollection swept over Norah like a flood, and her words faltered²⁹ on her lips.
 
Her hand gripped the reins³⁰ tighter, and she drove on unconsciously. Blake's words were beating in her ears. “Not a bad-looking old chap—very tall and well set up—piercing blue eyes and a pretty uppish way of talking.” The description had meant nothing to her until someone whom it fitted all too aptly had drifted across her mental vision.
 
The Hermit³¹! Even while she felt and told herself that it could not ............