the station when we get out to it. Hard work and loneliness. And there’s a good deal of the sinner left in me yet, Effie. I have hurt you more than once already. I shall do it again. And yet—you know—I could kill myself for being such a brute—to you———”
“Oh, silly boy! I am content with you—just as you are. And—you are content with me, Guy?”
“Shan’t tell you, little Madame Vanity. Effie, I think I’ll go out and see what those fellows are doing. The Chows are on to some poor beggar, I’m afraid.”
“Guy—you’ll be careful? They sound—it’s like angry dogs snarling!”
“So it is! I’ll just go out and find what bone they’re after. It’s all right, dear. I can take care of myself.”
The wide, unmade street was breathless with the heat and the dust of an afternoon sun. It was wild with sound, and with the reek of spirits, and the crowding of half-drunken men. Boobyalla had been a notable mining township once. Now the strong souls had gone; and Chinamen and the riff-raff that they bring with them swarmed on the mullock heaps and the wornout claims, and made the little township more hideous than of old.
Randal stepped from the verandah upon a yellow group beating tom-toms; swerved from it, and asked questions of a drover leaning
