. . . . .

"Tell me, Dave, who was the feller? That's all I want to know."
"I can't tell you that. I only seen them when I was canterin' past

in the dusk."
"Then how'd you know it was a man at all?"

"It wore trousers, anyway, and was as big as you; so it couldn't
have been a girl. I'm pretty safe to swear it was Mick Kelly.

I saw his horse hangin' up at Porter's once or twice.
But I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll find out for you, Andy.

And, what's more, I'll job him for you if I catch him!"
Andy said nothing; his hands clenched and his chest heaved.

Dave laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"It's red hot, Andy, I know. Anybody else but you and I wouldn't have cared.

But don't be a fool; there's any Gorsquantity of girls knockin' round.
You just give it to her straight and chuck her, and have done with it.

You must be bad off to bother about her. Gorstruth! she ain't much
to look at anyway! I've got to ride like blazes to catch the coach.

Don't knock off till I come back; I won't be above an hour.
I'm goin' to give you some points in case you've got to fight Mick;

and I'll have to be there to back you!" And, thus taking
the right moment instinctively, he jumped on his horse and galloped on

towards the town.
His dust-cloud had scarcely disappeared round a corner of the paddocks

when Andy was aware of another one coming towards him. He had a dazed idea
that it was Dave coming back, but went on digging another post-hole,

mechanically, until a spring-cart rattled up, and stopped opposite him.
Then he lifted his head. It was Lizzie herself, driving home from town.

She turned towards him with her usual faint smile. Her small features
were "washed out" and rather haggard.

"'Ello, Andy!"
But, at the sight of her, all his hatred of "funny business"

-- intensified, perhaps, by a sense of personal injury -- came to a head,
and he exploded:

"Look here, Lizzie Porter! I know all about you. You needn't think
you're goin' to cotton on with me any more after this!

I wouldn't be seen in a paddock with yer! I'm satisfied about you!
Get on out of this!"

The girl stared at him for a moment thunderstruck; then she
lammed into the old horse with a stick she carried in place of a whip.

She cried, and wondered what she'd done, and trembled so
that she could scarcely unharness the horse, and wondered if Andy

had got a touch of the sun, and went in and sat down and cried again;
and pride came to her aid and she hated Andy; thought of her big brother,

away droving, and made a cup of tea. She shed tears over the tea,
and went through it all again.

Meanwhile Andy was suffering a reaction. He started to fill the hole
before he put the post in; then to ram the post before the rails

were in position. Dubbing off the ends of the rails,
he was in danger of amputating a toe or a foot with every stroke of the adze.

And, at last, trying to squint along the little lumps of clay
which he had placed in the centre of the top of each post

for several panels back -- to assist him to take a line --
he found that they swam and doubled, and ran off in watery angles,

for his eyes were too moist to see straight and single.
Then he threw down the tools hopelessly" target="_blank" title="ad.无希望地，绝望地">hopelessly, and was standinghelplessly" target="_blank" title="ad.无能为力地">helplessly undecided

whether to go home or go down to the creek and drown himself,
when Dave turned up again.

"Seen her?" asked Dave.
"Yes," said Andy.

"Did you chuck her?"
"Look here, Dave; are you sure the feller was Mick Kelly?"

"I never said I was. How was I to know? It was dark. You don't expect
I'd `fox' a feller I see doing a bit of a bear-up to a girl, do you?

It might have been you, for all I knowed. I suppose she's been
talking you round?"

"No, she ain't," said Andy. "But, look here, Dave; I was properly gone
on that girl, I was, and -- and I want to be sure I'm right."

The business was getting altogether too psychological for Dave Bentley.
"You might as well," he rapped out, "call me a liar at once!"

"'Taint that at all, Dave. I want to get at who the feller is;
that's what I want to get at now. Where did you see them, and when?"

"I seen them Anniversary night, along the road, near Ross' farm;
and I seen 'em Sunday night afore that -- in the trees near the old culvert --

near Porter's sliprails; and I seen 'em one night outside Porter's,
on a log near the woodheap. They was thick that time, and bearin' up proper,

and no mistake. So I can swear to her. Now, are you satisfied about her?"
But Andy was wildly pitchforking his thatch under his hat with all ten fingers

and staring at Dave, who began to regard him uneasily;
then there came to Andy's eyes an awful glare, which caused Dave

to step back hastily.
"Good God, Andy! Are yer goin' ratty?"

"No!" cried Andy, wildly.
"Then what the blazes is the matter with you? You'll have rats

if you don't look out!"
"JIMMINY FROTH! -- It was ME all the time!"

"What?"
"It was me that was with her all them nights. It was me that you seen.

WHY, I POPPED ON THE WOODHEAP!"
Dave was taken too suddenly to whistle this time.

"And you went for her just now?"
"Yes!" yelled Andy.

"Well -- you've done it!"
"Yes," said Andy, hopelessly" target="_blank" title="ad.无希望地，绝望地">hopelessly; "I've done it!"

Dave whistled now -- a very long, low whistle. "Well, you're a bloomin' goat,
Andy, after this. But this thing'll have to be fixed up!"

and he cantered away. Poor Andy was too badly knocked to notice
the abruptness of Dave's departure, or to see that he turned

through the sliprails on to the track that led to Porter's.
. . . . .

Half an hour later Andy appeared at Porter's back door, with an expression
on his face as though the funeral was to start in ten minutes.

In a tone befitting such an occasion, he wanted to see Lizzie.
Dave had been there with the laudable determination of fixing the business up,

and had, of course, succeeded in making it much worse than it was before.
But Andy made it all right.

The Iron-Bark Chip
Dave Regan and party -- bush-fencers, tank-sinkers, rough carpenters, &c. --

were finishing the third and last culvert of their contract
on the last section of the new railway line, and had already sent in

their vouchers for the completed contract, so that there might be no excuse
for extra delay in connection with the cheque.

Now it had been expressly stipulated in the plans and specifications that
the timber for certain beams and girders was to be iron-bark and no other,

and Government inspectors were authorised to order the removal from the ground
of any timber or material they might deem inferior, or not in accordance

with the stipulations. The railway contractor's foreman
and inspector of sub-contractors was a practical man and a bushman,

but he had been a timber-getter himself; his sympathies were bushy,
and he was on winking terms with Dave Regan. Besides, extended time

was expiring, and the contractors were in a hurry to complete the line.
But the Government inspector was a reserved man who poked round

on his independent own and appeared in lonely spots at unexpected times
-- with apparently no definite object in life -- like a grey kangaroo

bothered by a new wire fence, but unsuspicious of the presence of humans.