The Moving Finger | Page 8

struck on the girl, and his thoughts were so full of her
that sleep seemed out of the question, so he took the first watch with
Ned Kirton for his mate.
Out on the plains here, had they been quite certain of the honesty of the
Durhams, one man would have been quite sufficient to mount guard,
his duties being simply to ride round the cattle, and should any seem
restless or inclined to roam to head them back again. Even as it was,
two seemed an almost unnecessary waste of energy, more especially as
the other men were camped close by, ready to spring to their feet at a

moment's call.
It was a still, hot night; the moon, though not near full, still shed a
sufficient light to distinguish everything quite plainly; the men's camp,
the sleeping cattle, the hut and outbuildings a little to the left, so calm
and peaceful.
Fisher, as he sat on his motionless horse, began to think one guard was
more than enough, and to speculate as to whether he should not tell
Kirton to go to sleep and leave the cattle to him. Sleep was not likely to
come to him, he thought, with that haunting girl's face ever before his
eyes. He turned his horse so that he should not see the hut, and then
found himself riding round the camp, in order to bring it into view
again.
"It's all right, boss," said Kirton, as he passed. "Things is as quiet as
quiet. Ghosts ain't expected to walk before twelve though, are they?"
Fisher laughed. "No," he said, "but somehow I don't believe the ghost
intends to trouble us after all. They 're scared at our preparations. I
think one man 'll do after midnight."
He rode on a little way, when suddenly something induced him to turn
his head, and he saw distinctly, in the moonlight, a white figure come
out of the hut and make its way quickly in the direction of the creek. It
was a woman's figure, with a kerchief across the head, but whether it
was Nell or her grandmother he could not at that distance or in that
light say.
He rode up to his mate quickly.
"There's some mischief brewing, Ned," he said, looking towards the
figure, which had apparently changed its mind, and was now walking
in a direction which would bring it to the banks of the creek, a little
beyond the cattle camp. "You waken the boys quietly, and tell 'em to be
on the look out, and I 'll follow the old woman and see if I can't
circumvent her little tricks."

"It ain't the old woman," said Kirton, "it's the gal."
"You be hanged," said Fisher, who preferred Mrs. Durham should get
the credit for any midnight escapades. "It's the old harridan herself, and
I 'll keep my eye on her."
He slipped to the ground, tied his reins to the stirrup, and the old stock
horse, understanding the situation, stood quietly, while his master
quickly and quietly followed in the footsteps of the girl, for it was
Nellie; he was sure of that when she came abreast of the camp. She was
evidently terribly hurried, and hardly seemed to notice the men and
cattle as she passed. In truth Nellie did not, for her grandmother had
kept so careful an eye on her, she had been unable to leave the hut until
she was asleep, and now it was so late, she dared not take the longer
and safer way round by the windings of the creek, lest her lover should
have already started on his perilous ride. Whether she thought the men
would not notice her or whether she hardly cared if they did, Fisher
never knew. She held a cloth closely over her head and never turned to
the right or left, though he thought his footsteps must be clearly audible
as he tramped in his long riding boots over the crisp dry salt-bush.
Truth to tell, Nellie heard nothing save the beating of her own heart. It
was such a desperate venture, she was afraid of her grandmother, she
was afraid of Ben Fisher, she was afraid even of the man she was trying
to save, but most of all she was afraid of being too late, and so the poor
child went on, her heart full of one passionate, unspoken prayer, that
she might be in time to save him. It was little wonder then that she
never turned her head, never heard the footsteps so close behind her.
She reached the brink of the creek at length and peered into its depths,
then turned and skirted along the top of the bank, Fisher following
closely in her track.
They had gone but a little