"I don't wonder that the blacks think that Debil-debil lives on Mount Luya," said Elsie.
"Do you see that dark ravine, with the two spurs of rock going down from the precipice—just as if a thick wedge had been cut out of the mountain?" asked Blake.
"Do you think it will be very easy to reach Baròlin Waterfall?"
"Is that Baròlin Waterfall?"
"Yes, the dread abode of the great Spirit Baròlin. Captain Macpherson may 'blow,' as you say in Australia, but I am certain that he and his merry men never got beyond the foot of those rocky spurs. There's a pretty little cascade there, but it is not the real Baròlin Fall. That will not be the scene of your spring picnic, Miss Valliant, unless you are prepared to force your way on foot through scrub as impenetrable as an Indian jungle."
"How do you know all this, Mr. Blake? I thought you were almost a stranger on the Luya."
"Trant has told me, and he has heard it from Sam Shehan, and Pompo, and Jack Nutty, who, in the days of their nefarious practices, probably 'nuggetted' a good many of Mr. Hallett's calves up here on the Luya, and know every inch of country practicable for that purpose. Here we are at the sliprails, Miss Valliant. I am glad we have reached them before the others, and that I am the one to let them down for you."
He dismounted and waited at the sliprails till she had ridden through. Then before mounting again he came to Gipsy Girl's side and held out his hand, "Welcome to Baròlin."
She put her hand in his. Their eyes met. In her look there was a troubled consciousness. In his there was consciousness too, but it was nevertheless a bold and masterful gaze.
"Will you forgive me," he said, "and believe that I meant no disrespect to Mr. Frank Hallett? I admire him immensely. He is a good fighter and a gallant foe. I got to like him ever so much during the election, and I hope yon will be happy with him."
