He had not long to wait. The doors were pushed open and someone looked out.

In the dim light he saw it was Rodney Shaw, and he seemed to be listening intently. Then he went inside, leaving the windows open.

'He must have heard me step on to the verandah,' thought Jim.

He heard him moving about the room again, and, although he had no desire to spy upon him, he thought it better to remain in his present position.

'Perhaps he has been indulging too freely,' said Jim to himself. 'He could take more than his share before he went away.'

'Curse the thing!'

Jim heard these words distinctly, and then came the sound of a man stumbling over a chair.

It was strange behaviour on the part of Rodney Shaw, and Jim Dennis could not understand it.

In a short time all was quiet, and he decided to slip off the verandah and go round to the horses.

He was passing the open window when he heard a cry of surprise, almost of terror, from within, which caused him to stop.

Looking into the room, he saw Rodney Shaw sitting on his bed, in his pyjamas, and glancing at him with wide, staring eyes.

'Who the devil are you?' said Shaw in a wild tone of voice.

'It's only me, Jim Dennis.'

'What are you doing there? Why are you spying about on my verandah? I'll have you locked up,' said Shaw.

Jim laughed, and made excuses for him.

'He's not himself, he's been drinking,' he thought.

'I brought your horse back, and I camped in a chair on the verandah to wait until some of the hands were about.'

'I don't believe it. It's a—' began Shaw.

'Stop,' said Jim. 'Even if you have been on a "jag," I allow no man to call me that.'

He spoke in a resolute tone, and Rodney Shaw, pulling himself together, thought better of what he was about to say, and went out to him.

'You took me by surprise,' he said in an apologetic way. 'I have been absent so long that I am not accustomed to the change again.'

'How haggard and worn he looks,' thought Jim. 'I wonder what ails him.'

'Have you been on a "jag"?' asked Jim, smiling.

Rodney Shaw looked at him. He evidently did not understand what he meant.

Jim thought this strange.

'Surely you have not forgotten what a "jag" means. You have been on one or two in your time at Swamp Creek.'

Rodney Shaw laughed.

'You think I have been drinking. Well, I own up I did have a drop too much—first with Machinson, then after he left. It soon got hold of me. I am not as strong as I was.'

'I thought there was something of that kind,' said Jim. 'Let me tell you why I came here with the horse at this hour.'

'All right. Sit down.'

They seated themselves in a couple of chairs, and Jim commenced his story.

Rodney Shaw did not appear to take much interest in it, he seemed to be thinking of other things.

'It was Dalton's gang stole your horse,' said Jim; 'and if I were you I would insist upon Machinson "going" for them. They are a bad lot, and ought to be cleared out of Barker's Creek. They are a danger to the whole district.'

'You and Machinson don't seem to hit it,' said Shaw.

'No; but it is not my fault. He does not act on the square, and he has accused me of things I have never been mixed up in,' said Jim. 'You ought to be able to convince him that it is his duty to clear Dalton's gang out.'

'Why me in particular?'

'Because you are the biggest owner about here, and have more influence than any of us. You have only to mention the matter to the P.M. and he'll soon see that Sergeant Machinson carries out his duties or he'll know the reason why.'

'The P.M.?' questioned Shaw.

Jim laughed.

'Surely you have not forgotten Adye Dauntsey, the police magistrate at Barragong. He's stood your friend more than once when you have been in a scrape. Don't you recollect when he made it up between yourself and your father after that row in Swamp Creek?'

Rodney Shaw seemed uneasy, but Jim Dennis did not notice it. He was laughing to himself over the thought of the row in which he had taken a hand himself.

'So old—?'

'Dauntsey,' said Jim.

'Yes, Dauntsey. Is he there still, eh? Queer beggar and a rum name. How does he spell his Christian name?'

'Adye,' said Jim, spelling it out.

Shaw scribbled it on the back of the rest of his chair with a pencil he had near him.

'You don't mean to forget it,' said Jim. 'You must have a deuced bad memory.'

'I have. I met with a nasty accident in England. I was riding in a hurdle race and came a cropper on my head, and my memory has not been the same since.'

'I'm sorry for that,' said Jim. 'That accounts for it. I thought you seemed curiously forgetful about things around here.'

Rodney Shaw gave a sigh of relief.

'Yes, that explains it, as you say. If you remind me of people I knew, and places I have been to with you, and what we formerly did together, I shall recall it all, and not forget it again, but the spill seemed to knock a lot of old memories out of my head.'

'I have heard of such things before,' said Jim. 'I once knew a steeplechase rider who almost entirely lost his memory through an accident.'

'My case exactly,' said Rodney Shaw. 'What was that row at Swamp Creek? I forget it.'

'We were on a bender at old John Slade's pub,' said Jim, 'and you kissed his daughter, and he went for you hot and strong, although I don't think the girl had any objections.'

'You were fairly powerful in those days, and you fired Joe out of the bar, and a regular free fight took place, in which a lot of damage was done. Your old man was very angry about it, but Adye Dauntsey smoothed it over. I took your part, of course, and should have got into trouble, only they couldn't very well drag me into it and leave you out.'

Rodney Shaw laughed as he replied,—

'I recollect it quite well. We had some rare sprees in those days. You were always ready to stand by me.'

'I hope I shall always be ready to help a pal in trouble,' said Jim.

'I am sure you will. I am afraid I treated you rather off-handed the other day.'

'I didn't like your manner, I confess,' said Jim. 'I thought you were glad to get rid of me.'

'Not at all. You misunderstood me. I hope we shall be as good friends as ever.'

'I hope so,' said Jim. 'It will not be my fault if we are not.'

'I don't think I will meddle with Dalton's gang. No good will come out of it, and I have my horse again, thanks to you,' said Shaw.

'As you please,' replied Jim.

'But it would be for the good of the district if they were bundled out, neck and crop, and you are the proper man to see it done.'

'Sergeant Machinson has the matter in hand, and I will tell him all about your capture of the horse from Dalton's men. He is bound to take action then.'

'He will not; you see if he does,' replied Jim.

'You don't mean to say he stands in with a lot like that?'

'I won't go as far as that,' said Jim; 'but it looks like it. He never lifts a hand against them.'

'Well, I'll think the matter over. There is a good deal in what you say. Wait until I put some decent clothes on, and we'll go round and have a look at the horse. It would be rather a joke if he did not belong to me, after all this trouble.'

'There's not much fear of that,' answered Jim. 'Thoroughbred stallions are scarce in these parts.'

They went round to the back of the house to where Jim had fastened up the horses.

The hands were about, and Rodney Shaw called to a man who was crossing the yard.

'This is Alec Beg, the man who brought the horse as far as Potter's,' said Shaw.

Jim Dennis looked him over and did not like him.

'A shifty customer, I'll bet,' he thought.

'We have found the stallion,' said Shaw.

'Have you?' exclaimed the man in evident surprise. 'Where is he?'

'Over there,' said Jim, pointing to the horse.

'Where the deuce did he come from?'

'I made the thieves give him up,' said Jim, looking straight at him.

'Then you knew who stole him?'

'Dalton's gang.'

'Who may they be?' asked Alec Beg.

'You'll find out before you have been long in this district,' said Jim. 'I'd advise you to keep out of their way, they'll do you no good.'

'I'm not likely to mix up with a lot like that.'

Jim had his doubts on that head, but made no remark.

'You'll have to be careful with this horse,' said Jim. 'He's got a devil of a temper, but I have tamed him down a bit. He had one of the biggest hidings he'll ever get, and it has done him good. He looks a well-bred horse.'

'He's by Fisherman out of Mermaid, and his name is Seahorse.'

'That's something like blood,' said Jim, enthusiastically. 'I'd like to send a couple of mares to him, if you will allow me.'

'With pleasure. It is the least I can do after all the trouble you have taken,' replied Shaw.

'I have some very well-bred mares,' said Jim, 'and I'll bring a couple over some day.'

Alec Beg was standing by, and muttered,—

'He's a blooming fool to let a man like him get hold of that blood. He's one of those prying sort of fellows. Hang me if I like him.'

It was not feasible that Alec Beg would like Jim Dennis, because the latter was an honest man.

When Jim Dennis took his departure, Alec Beg said to Rodney Shaw,—

'I don't think you are wise to let him get hold of the Fisherman blood. You ought to keep it yourself about here.'

'A couple of mares will not matter much, and, besides, he got the horse back for me,' replied Shaw.

'That constable who came with Sergeant Machinson says he's a bad lot, and not to be trusted. He may have been in with Dalton's gang over this affair.'

'Don't be a fool and talk rubbish,' said Shaw. 'If he were one of the gang we should not have recovered the horse.'

He went inside, leaving Beg grumbling in the yard.

'I must keep in with Jim Dennis,' Rodney Shaw said to himself. 'He'll be useful to me. I am sorry my memory is so bad,' and he laughed curiously. 'So Adye Dauntsey is police magistrate at—what the deuce is the name of the place?—oh, here it is, and he picked up a piece of paper—Barragong. I wonder if the worthy P.M. will think I have altered much during the last eight or nine years. Probably he will, most people about here think me changed, even Benjamin Nix, my manager, says he would hardly have known me. The worthy Nix has not altered much, I'll be bound. So far as I can judge, he has managed things all right at Cudgegong—what a name to give a place! but it is suitable.'

'Jim Dennis is a man to be trusted, and he will stick to a pal, he says, and I know he will keep his word. It's deuced slow here after London. I think in a few years I'll sell out and go back again. And if I do return, that lady friend of mine will probably find me out and create a scene. I hate scenes. Perhaps I am better off here, and in time I may settle down into a respectable married man.'

He laughed again, but there was no mirth in the sound. It was an ugly laugh, a laugh that betrayed the baseness of the man, the treachery lurking within. It was not a good laugh to hear.