"He's a-comin'."

He then replaced the pipe, and smoked on as before.
All listened, but not one of them could hear a sound.

"Yer ears must be pretty sharp for yer age, Peter. We can't hear him,"
remarked Jimmy Nowlett.

"His dog ken," said Peter.
The pipe was again removed and its abbreviated stem pointed

in the direction of Dave's cattle dog, who had risen beside his kennel
with pointed ears, and was looking eagerly in the direction

from which his master was expected to come.
Presently the sound of horse's hoofs was distinctly heard.

"I can hear two horses," cried Jimmy Nowlett excitedly.
"There's only one," said old Peter quietly.

A few moments passed, and a single horseman appeared
on the far side of the flat.

"It's Doc. Wild on Dave's horse," cried Jimmy Nowlett.
"Dave don't ride like that."

"It's Dave," said Peter, replacing his pipe and looking more unsociable
than ever.

Dave rode up and, throwing himself wearily from the saddle,
stood ominously silent by the side of his horse.

Joe Middleton said nothing, but stood aside with an expression
of utter hopelessness on his face.

"Not there?" asked Jimmy Nowlett at last, addressing Dave.
"Yes, he's there," answered Dave, impatiently.

This was not the answer they expected, but nobody seemed surprised.
"Drunk?" asked Jimmy.

"Yes."
Here old Peter removed his pipe, and pronounced the one word -- "How?"

"What the hell do you mean by that?" muttered Dave, whose patience
had evidently been severely tried by the clever but intemperate bush doctor.

"How drunk?" explained Peter, with great equanimity.
"Stubborn drunk, blind drunk, beastly drunk, dead drunk,

and damned well drunk, if that's what you want to know!"
"What did Doc. say?" asked Jimmy.

"Said he was sick -- had lumbago -- wouldn't come for the Queen of England;
said he wanted a course of treatment himself. Curse him! I have no patience

to talk about him."
"I'd give him a course of treatment," muttered Jimmy viciously,

trailing the long lash of his bullock-whip through the grass
and spitting spitefully at the ground.

Dave turned away and joined Joe, who was talking earnestly to his mother
by the kitchen door. He told them that he had spent an hour

trying to persuade Doc. Wild to come, and, that before he had left the shanty,
Black had promised him faithfully to bring the doctor over

as soon as his obstinate mood wore off.
Just then a low moan was heard from the sick room, followed by

the sound of Mother Palmer's voice calling old Mrs. Middleton,
who went inside immediately.

No one had noticed the disappearance of Peter, and when he presently returned
from the stockyard, leading the only fresh horse that remained,

Jimmy Nowlett began to regard him with some interest.
Peter transferred the saddle from Dave's horse to the other,

and then went into a small room off the kitchen, which served him
as a bedroom; from it he soon returned with a formidable-looking revolver,

the chambers of which he examined in the moonlight in full view
of all the company. They thought for a moment the man had gone mad.

Old Middleton leaped quickly behind Nowlett, and Black Mary,
who had come out to the cask at the corner for a dipper of water,

dropped the dipper and was inside like a shot. One of the black boys
came softly up at that moment; as soon as his sharp eye "spotted" the weapon,

he disappeared as though the earth had swallowed him.
"What the mischief are yer goin' ter do, Peter?" asked Jimmy.

"Goin' to fetch him," said Peter, and, after carefully emptying his pipe
and replacing it in a leather pouch at his belt, he mounted and rode off

at an easy canter.
Jimmy watched the horse until it disappeared at the edge of the flat, and then

after coiling up the long lash of his bullock-whip in the dust until it looked
like a sleeping snake, he prodded the small end of the long pine handle

into the middle of the coil, as though driving home a point,
and said in a tone of intense conviction:

"He'll fetch him."
III.

Doc. Wild
Peter gradually increased his horse's speed along the rough bush track

until he was riding at a good pace. It was ten miles to the main road,
and five from there to the shanty kept by Black.

For some time before Peter started the atmosphere had been
very close and oppressive. The great black edge of a storm-cloud had risen

in the east, and everything indicated the approach of a thunderstorm.
It was not long coming. Before Peter had completed six miles of his journey,

the clouds rolled over, obscuring the moon, and an Australian thunderstorm
came on with its mighty downpour, its blinding lightning,

and its earth-shaking thunder. Peter rode steadily on,
only pausing now and then until a flash revealed the track in front of him.

Black's shanty -- or, rather, as the sign had it, "Post Office
and General Store" -- was, as we have said, five miles along the main road

from the point where Middleton's track joined it. The building
was of the usual style of bush architecture. About two hundred yards

nearer the creek, which crossed the road further on,
stood a large bark and slab stable, large enough to have met

the requirements of a legitimate bush "public".
The reader may doubt that a "sly grog shop" could openly carry on business

on a main Government road along which mounted troopers
were continually passing. But then, you see, mounted troopers get thirsty

like other men; moreover, they could always get their thirst quenched `gratis'
at these places; so the reader will be prepared to hear that

on this very night two troopers' horses were stowed snugly away in the stable,
and two troopers were stowed snugly away in the back room of the shanty,

sleeping off the effects of their cheap but strong potations.
There were two rooms, of a sort, attached to the stables -- one at each end.

One was occupied by a man who was "generally useful", and the other
was the surgery, office, and bedroom `pro tem.' of Doc. Wild.

Doc. Wild was a tall man, of spare proportions. He had a cadaverous face,
black hair, bushy black eyebrows, eagle nose, and eagle eyes.

He never slept while he was drinking. On this occasion
he sat in front of the fire on a low three-legged stool.

His knees were drawn up, his toes hooked round the front legs of the stool,
one hand resting on one knee, and one elbow (the hand supporting the chin)

resting on the other. He was staring intently into the fire,
on which an old black saucepan was boiling and sending forth

a pungent odour of herbs. There seemed something uncanny about the doctor
as the red light of the fire fell on his hawk-like face and gleaming eyes.

He might have been Mephistopheles watching some infernal brew.
He had sat there some time without stirring a finger, when the door

suddenly burst open and Middleton's Peter stood within, dripping wet.
The doctor turned his black, piercing eyes upon the intruder

(who regarded him silently) for a moment, and then asked quietly:
"What the hell do you want?"

"I want you," said Peter.
"And what do you want me for?"

"I want you to come to Joe Middleton's wife. She's bad," said Peter calmly.
"I won't come," shouted the doctor. "I've brought enough horse-stealers

into the world already. If any more want to come they can go to blazes
for me. Now, you get out of this!"