"We'll put him away in the lock-up, an' be out agin in no time, Masther
Jim," said Murty. "Take care of her me boy." And the stockman, who had
known Norah since her babyhood, choked suddenly as he looked at her
pale face. Norah was herself again, however, and she smiled at him
cheerily.
"I'm right as rain, Murty!" she said, in the Bush idiom. "Don't you
worry about me."
"'Tis pluck y' have," said the Irishman. He turned the buggy with some
difficulty, for the track was narrow, and they spun off on the return
journey to Cunjee, while Norah, between the two boys, was once more on
the way to Billabong.
"You're sure you're all right, Nor.?" Jim said, looking at her keenly.
"Yes--truly, Jim." Norah had made up her mind not to say too much. There
was nothing to be gained by harrowing them with unnecessary
details--and, child-like, the memory of her terror was already fading,
now that care and safety had again wrapped her about. "I was a bit
scared, but that's all over."
"Then," said Jim, "can you tell me where is Cecil?" His voice was
dangerously calm.
"Oh, he--he went on," Norah said. "We had a dispute, and he was a bit
put out."
"A dispute? What about?"
"He wanted to ride Bobs."
"DID he?" Jim said. "And because you wouldn't let him, he cleared out
and left you?"
"Well, he was offended," Norah replied slowly, "and I dare say he
thought I would catch him up--instead of which I hung back, hoping you
boys would catch ME up.
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