Barker's Creek was several miles from Swamp Creek, and next morning Dr Tom's black boy, aged about forty, and looking ten years older, hitched the ill-groomed horses to the worse-kept buggy.

It was indeed a remarkable turnout, and so the doctor thought as he examined the 'joins' of the harness to see if it would hold out.

The black boy contemplated the whole thing with ludicrous pride, evidently under the impression he had done his duty by both horses and buggy.

The doctor stowed his bag under the seat, together with a suspicious-looking flask, and clambered into the buggy. His weight caused it to heave over in an alarming manner, and when the start took place Dr Tom appeared to be in danger of being hurled from his seat.

He drove slowly, and it was well on towards noon when he arrived at Barker's Creek, and looked around him with an air of disgust.

'What a hole,' he muttered, 'and what beasts these men are.'

Barker's Creek was not an inviting place by any means. It lay in a hollow and was surrounded by a rough, uncleared bush country. Tall, gaunt trees, branchless until near the tops, towered round the place like huge scaffold poles. Their appearance at night was weird, as they were of a slaty white colour, and resembled huge, gaunt spectres. The shanties in which the men lived and the humpies of the blacks were not visible until the visitor was close on to the spot. It was secluded, cut off from the world, and fittingly so.

Some terrible orgies took place here, and the howls and cries of the black gins, when Dalton's men were amongst them, denoted that scenes of brutality were being enacted.

The blacks were herded together like animals, and their humpies were made of the branches of trees suspended, tent-like, on poles, and their resting-places were on the ground.

Numerous stray curs were prowling around, playing with the naked little black children, who had no more intelligence, if so much, as the dogs.

The men of the gang had better accommodation, but it was poor enough, and the only really decent house in the place was Abe Dalton's. It was before this house that Dr Tom pulled up his horses, and, getting out of the buggy, went up the steps on to the verandah. The house, like all the others, was built on piles, and stood a considerable height from the ground; in fact horses were often sheltered beneath.

'Are you in, Abe Dalton?' shouted Dr Tom.

'Yes; come in,' said a gruff voice.

Dr Tom entered and found Abe Dalton lying on a camp bed, groaning and tossing from side to side.

He was a big, powerful man, with a coarse face that would have been red had not constant exposure to all winds and weather made the skin as brown as parchment. His hair was long, black, and ill-kept, and his big hands and feet denoted the coarse blood in his veins.

Dr Tom looked at him, and it dawned upon him that he had been summoned to Barker's Creek under false pretences. It was not a woman and child who needed his aid, but Abe Dalton himself.

'So it was a lie,' he blurted out.

'What's a lie?'

'That hound you sent to me, said a woman and child were ill.'

'Don't you call my men hounds,' growled Dalton.

'I call them by their proper names. Perhaps curs would be better,' said Dr Tom.

Even Abe Dalton winced at the cutting tones.

'I'm devilish bad, doctor,' he said, 'and I was afraid you would not come if I sent for you to attend me. Now you are here, it is not worth while going back without trying your hand on me,' said Dalton.

'You will get no assistance from me,' said Dr Tom. 'I would prefer to kill rather than cure you, and the country would be well rid of you.'

'But I am real bad,' groaned Abe Dalton. 'Can't you see I'm bad?'

'Yes. I never saw a man in a worse state of fever, and other complications. I shall not be at all surprised to hear of your death in a day or two; and, mind you, it will not be an easy death. You will not fall asleep and pass out of the world peacefully. Oh, dear, no. You will struggle and fight and gasp for breath, and eventually choke and go black in the face, but your looks will not matter where you'll go to. It's precious hot at Barker's Creek, but it's a mere trifle to the oven you'll be put into.'

A volley of oaths came from the tormented man, and Dr Tom chuckled to himself.

'I think I have frightened him,' he thought, 'made him a trifle uneasy. He's not as bad as all that, but it will do him good to make him think he is going to peg out.'

'I can cure you, Abe Dalton, but I am not going to try. Not I. I'm not the man to cheat the devil, or anyone else, of his due. You are not a picturesque object now, but this is nothing to what you will be in a day or two. You'll be such a horrible sight that no one will come near you, not even a black gin. And you have a real good, thirsty fever on you, and you'll not be able to get a drop of water. I'll tell you what will happen before the end comes. You'll see things, shadows of your victims, and they'll sit all round you, grinning, and waiting for the end. You are in for a good time, Abe Dalton, and I'll leave you to it,' and Dr Tom moved towards the door.

Abe Dalton was thoroughly frightened and cowed. The perspiration stood in big drops on his grimy forehead, and after lingering there a few moments, started to race down his face like raindrops on a window-pane. He swept them away with his great, horny hand and, turning over with a groan of pain, called out,—

'For God's sake, don't leave me to die, doctor. I ain't fit to die. I daren't die. Come back and I'll do anything for you, give you any money you care to ask for, only come back and save me!'

Dr Tom came back.

'I can't die. I daren't die. I'm afeared,' and the wretched man shuddered and fell back, terror-stricken.

The doctor heard him and stopped. A thought had occurred to him.

'This may be useful in Jim Dennis's case,' he said, and returned to the room.

'So you are afraid to die, Abe Dalton? Don't take God's name in vain, He will not hear you; you have cursed Him all your life, and now you want Him to save you. Stop that shivering, you coward!'

'You'll help me, doctor, you'll help me?' he moaned.

'Yes; I'll help you on one condition,' said the doctor.

'Name it. Any condition you like. I don't care what it is.'

'Swear to me you will not allow any of your gang to injure Jim Dennis, or anything belonging to him.'

Abe Dalton could have howled with rage. He hated Dennis and meant to be even with him.

'You hesitate,' said Dr Tom.

'No, no,' said Dalton. 'I'll swear it. None of my gang shall harm a hair of his head.'

'And not molest anything that is his,' said Dr Tom.

'No. I swear no harm shall come to him or his property,' said Abe Dalton.

'How do I know I can trust you?' asked Dr Tom. 'An oath from such a man is worthless.'

'I'd not dare to take a false oath, when I might die in a couple of days,' groaned Dalton.

Dr Tom thought this probable. Even if Abe Dalton recovered, he might, for once in a way, keep his oath; at anyrate he would risk it, and Jim Dennis would be safe from the gang.

'I am willing to trust you this time,' said Dr Tom. 'I can pull you through; but, mind, if you break your word, I'll never leave you until I have put a halter round your neck. There's evidence enough to hang you on, if it is only hunted up.'

He gave Abe Dalton a draught, and waited until he was asleep, then he went outside and breathed more freely.

A cluster of men, members of Dalton's gang, stood round the buggy. They seemed anxious about their leader, for he was the cleverest of them all, and if he went they knew there would be trouble amongst themselves before another chief was elected. It would be a shooting matter probably, and some of them would lose their lives.

The man Dalton had sent to Swamp Creek to tell Dr Tom a woman and child were ill, stepped forward and said,—

'How is he? Will he pull through?'

'Yes,' said Dr Tom, 'with care; but he must be kept quiet. Now, you fellows, first listen to me. I am doctoring Abe Dalton on one condition, a condition he has sworn to fulfil. He has promised that none of his gang shall molest or harm, in any way, Jim Dennis or his belongings. Do you hear that?'

The men looked sullen. None of them had any liking for Jim Dennis, for he was more than a match for them, and they did not like being beaten.

'What do you say to it?' asked Dr Tom. 'Remember Abe Dalton's life rests upon your answer.'

'We'll keep his promise—eh, mates?' said the man who had already spoken.

The others assented moodily.

'That is well,' said Dr Tom. 'Mind, if any harm comes to Dennis through you, I'll not rest until I see you all hanged. You know me, and you know I am not afraid of you.'

They admired Dr Tom and knew his courage. Not many men would care to come alone to Barker's Creek as he had done many times.

'You're a plucky chap, doctor,' said one of the men.

'It does not require much pluck to face a lot of beggars like you,' was the retort.

'Then the police can't have much of it,' laughed one.

'Some of these days you will find they have plenty of pluck,' said Dr Tom. 'If they were put on your track now, they would be only too glad of the job. It's Sergeant Machinson holds them back, and he'll have to answer for it in due time.'

'Machinson,' laughed one man. 'He's a beauty, he is. Ask him how much Abe Dalton has put into his pocket. It's squaring Machinson that keeps us poor, d——n him!'

Dr Tom pricked up his ears.

This was a nice little bit of information that might come in handy and do his friend Constable Doonan a good turn some day.

'So Machinson fleeces your leader, does he?' said Dr Tom. 'A nice scandal that is, but no one would believe you fellows.'

'We can prove it,' came from two or three of them.

'Can you, indeed?' said Dr Tom. 'A nice lot of beauties you are to give evidence. No sane man would hang a dog on your evidence.'

They growled at him and used powerful language, but he laughed in their faces.

He left them to attend to Abe Dalton, whom he found still asleep.

Dr Tom remained at Barker's Creek all night, and the next day still saw him there.

He did not leave Abe Dalton until he was out of danger, and even that arrant scoundrel could not help feeling grateful for the attention shown him, although gratitude was a stranger to his nature.