at was safe.
They came together here, and Ross had time to look and see who the
strange man was; then he stared at Mary from under his black, bushy
eyebrows. Mary, choking and getting her breath after her exertions,
suddenly became aware, said "Oh!" and fled round the track beyond the
point of granite. She felt a gust of wind and looked up the ridge. The
bush fence ended here in a corner, where it was met by a new wire fence
running up from the creek. It was a blind gully full of tall dead grass,
and, glancing up, Mary saw the flames coming down fast. She ran back.

"Come on!" she cried, "come on! The fire's the other side of the rocks!"

Back at the station, Wall walked up and down till he cooled. He went
inside and sat down, but it was no use. He lifted his head and saw his
dead wife's portrait on the wall. Perhaps his whole life ran before him
in detail--but this is not a psychological study.

There were only two tracks open to him now: either to give in, or go on
as he was going--to shut himself out from human nature and become known
as "Mean Wall," "Hungry Wall," or "Mad Wall, the Squatter." He was
a tall, dark man of strong imagination and more than ordinary
intelligence. And it was the great crisis of his ruined life. He walked
to the top of a knoll near the homestead and saw the fire on the ridges
above Ross's farm. As he turned back he saw a horseman ride up and
dismount by the yard.

"Is that you, Peter?"

"Yes, boss. The fences is all right."

"Been near Ross's?"

"No. He's burnt out by this time."

Wall walked to and fro for a few minutes longer. Then he suddenly
stopped and called, "Peter!"

"Ay, ay!" from the direction of the huts.

"Turn out the men!" and Wall went into a shed and came out with his
saddle on his arm.

The fire rushed down the blind gully. Showers of sparks fell on the
bush fence, it caught twice, and they put it out, but the third time it
blazed and roared and a fire-engine could not have stopped it.

"The wheat must go," said Ross. "We've done our best," and he threw down
the blackened bough and leaned against a tree, and covered his eyes with
a grimy hand.

The wheat was patchy in that corner--there were many old stumps of
trees, and there were bare strips where the plough had gone on each side
of them. Mary saw a chance, and climbed the fence.

"Come on, Bob," she cried, "we might save it ye. Mr Ross, pull out the
fence along there," and she indicated a point be