Suse twisted a little in his hold and kissed him.
“That weren’t quite the same, you dear ole chump. An’ you’ll ask Steve ter-morrow, Danny?”
“We-ell,” said Danny, resignedly; and then puckered his forehead as a slim boy shape ran past them in the dusk.
“Roddy Duncan,” said Suse, flushing. “Take yer arm away, Danny! I———”
“What’s the odds? He’s gone now, anyways. An’ runnin’ like ole Nick were arter him, too.”
There was that in Roddy’s face confirmed Danny’s words. He was white-lipped, and a desperate terror sat in the back of his eyes. He ran fleetly with his head down, breasting the tussock hill, swinging to the right, and taking the little winding sheep track that led the way to Pipi Wepeha’s whare. The cabbage trees were moaning in the evening wind, and the brushing flax at his feet seemed to whisper words, tossing them on the night. Pipi’s whare was dark and very silent where it sat by the track, and Roddy pulled up, shaking with something that was not exhaustion.
Any man can overcome fear of all that may be put into bald words—that may be set down clear to the understanding. But that fear which is elusive, intangible; which belongs only to the winds and the untrod earth and the wide
