mixture, a compound of black and white, a study in unharmonies. Half tame, half wild, reasoning yet unreasoning, knowing good from bad, yet undecided on which side lay happiness. The chief of her tribe, King Charlie, who had dreamt the dream and seen the vision of the 'Spirit of the Lilies' and of the bursting of the cloud that turned the great western plain into a lake, understood her.
He protected her and saved her from danger.
King Charlie had a metal plate suspended from his neck, which covered his hard, black, hairy chest – in the shape of a half moon – and on this plate was written the 'order of the garter' of his tribe. King Charlie loved Sal, and she ruled him, as women have ruled those who love them since the day that Adam fell.
There came a time, when the land was parched and food was scarce, when the wandering camp split up and some went one way, some another.
Sal found a resting place at Wanabeen. She crawled, half dead, to the foot of the steps of Jim Dennis's homestead, and, panting, lay down to die.
She stretched out her scantily-clothed limbs and pillowed her black curly head on her shrunken arms.
She commenced to think about her soul and wonder when it would leave her body, and whether it would soar to that bright blue, hot, pitiless sky above. Then she fell asleep, and when Jim Dennis came out of his cottage with the little chap in his arms he stumbled over her.
Jim Dennis did not curse or swear or tell this outcast to 'get out.'
He put the little chap down, who was then three years old, and picked up the sleeping woman. He carried her on to the verandah – he was a big, powerful fellow – and then he went inside, dragged out his own mattress and put her on to it.
The little chap watched him with wondering eyes, and commenced to make three-year-old remarks, such as 'Who's that, daddy? Pitty woman. Whoo's seepy, daddy,' and so on.
Jim Dennis brought water and moistened her lips. Then he stood watching her.
Sal slept right through the night, and when she came round in the morning she saw Jim Dennis before her with the child in his arms. She rubbed her eyes and looked at them. Then she explained what had happened, and Jim said, —
'You can stay here and look after the little chap. Will you?'
Her big brown eyes glistened, and, weak as she was she stretched out her hands for the child.
Jim put him down, and, after a moment's hesitation, he toddled towards her.
From that day, three years ago, black Sal had been devoted to the little boy. In her wild, half-tamed way she loved him more than anything on earth.
It was Sal who sat at the child's bedside when Jim Dennis rode out to Swamp Creek for Dr Tom. The woman watched every movement of the little face, every quiver of the body. Each moan from his lips pierced her like a knife. The child was not her own, and yet she loved him, and worshipped with a dog-like devotion the big man who was his father.
Sal would willingly have submitted to any torture could she by so doing have saved the child a moment's pain.
During the long weary hours when Jim Dennis was absent she felt as though something in her body must snap.
Then she heard, with her keen ears, the low, dull thud of the horses' hoofs, and she knew they were coming, and that help was at hand. She did not leave the bedside to look out, she would not have done that for worlds. When Dr Tom came into the room she gave a gasp, and watched him as he looked at the child. She saw hope in his face and caught his hand.
Dr Tom pressed it and said, —
'Come in, Jim, the little chap's alive. I'll pull him through. It's not so bad after all.'
All that night Dr Tom fought for the child's life, and the dark woman and Jim Dennis looked on in silent agony.
With the first streaks of dawn a change came over the child. It was as though the coming day had ushered in new life and hope.
For two days Dr Tom remained at Wanabeen, and at the end of that time the boy's life was out of danger.
The tension relapsed, Jim Dennis said, —
'I have a lot to thank you for, doctor. You have saved him, and he is dearer to me than my own life. I shall never forget it. There may come a time when I can be of service to you, and then you must not be afraid to ask what you will of Jim Dennis.'
Dr Tom was not a sentimental man, but even his hard, rough-used nature felt the delicacy of the situation.
'It has given me more pleasure to save that child's life than I ever experienced before. Jim Dennis, you're a brick.'
Jim smiled as he replied, 'Swamp Creek thinks I'm a shocking bad lot.'
'Then Swamp Creek can go to – '
'Hold hard, doc.'
'Let 'em say anything against you in my presence, that's all,' said Dr Tom.
'You are quite sure he is out of danger?' asked Jim.
'Certain. I'll leave all the necessary medicine and tell Sal what to do. She's like a mother to him.'
A dark cloud gathered on Jim Dennis's face, and Dr Tom saw it.
'Jim, my man, where is the lad's mother?'
'Wait and I'll tell you on – ' he hesitated.
'On! – when?' asked Dr Tom.
'Settling Day,' said Jim.
CHAPTER III
POTTER'S SHANTY
Dr Tom remained for three days at Wanabeen.
'If there's anyone ill they know where to find me,' he said.
'They'll never come to Wanabeen for you. There's a bad name about this place,' Jim replied.
'Who's given it?'
'The police, and well – you know – others.'
'Why?'
Jim Dennis shrugged his shoulders. It was an expressive gesture, it meant so much to a man who understood him.
'You are one of the old gang, they tell me, Jim – is that true?'
'What do you mean by the old gang?'
'One of the men who stuck the beggars all up at Potter's Shanty when the coach was stopped,' said Dr Tom.
'They say that – do they?'
'Yes.'
'Then let it rest. I was there that night.'
'Were you in it, Jim? – no halves.'
'No, doc, I was not in it in the sense you mean.'
'Who put it up?'
The question was a simple one, but Jim Dennis turned round like a lion at bay, and said, —
'You – you – dare ask me that?'
