g.

"Which is Dalrymple Plumstead?" demanded the red-shirted individual,
fixing a ferocious gaze on Rupert, who flushed and turned a trifle pale,
wondering what could be the matter.

"I am Dalrymple," said Rumple, dodging round from the shady side of the
wagon, where he had been walking and trying to compose blank verse about
Australian roadside scenery, but not succeeding over-well.

"Why, you are only a kid!" exclaimed the man in ludicrous
disappointment, falling back a step and surveying Rumple with an
expression of bewildered surprise.

"It is a fault that will mend with time," replied Rumple, with such
crushing dignity that Sylvia, who was sitting behind Nealie in the
wagon, gurgled and choked.

The red-shirted person threw back his head with a great burst of
laughter, then, thrusting out a brown, hairy hand, cried eagerly: "Well,
you are plucky anyhow, every ounce of you! Shake, will you? I'm
downright proud to make your acquaintance, sir, and if you have come to
these parts to settle, all I've got to say is that we are proud to have
you among us."

This was quite too much for Sylvia, who choked so badly that Ducky
thought she had a bone in her throat, and patted her with great concern.

But Rumple flushed up in an offended fashion, for he thought that he was
being laughed at, and it made him angry, although, as a rule, he was
remarkably even-tempered.

"Perhaps I should understand better if you explained your business with
me," he said, puffing out his chest in what Nealie called his best
pigeon manner, and which caused her to turn her head abruptly to gaze at
the fence on the other side of the road, so that the stranger should not
see that she was laughing so much.

"Well, I take it that you are the young gentleman that stalked the
cattle thieves out by Russell Downs, and kept them from getting clear
away with five hundred head of my cattle; and if that is not cause for
thankfulness I don't know what is," said the man, gripping Rumple hard,
and sawing away at his hand much as if it were a pump handle and the
water was hard to fetch.

"Oh, they were your cattle that stampeded, and bowled our wagon over in
the dead of night!" exclaimed Nealie, while Rumple turned pink with
pleasure at the thought of being so much appreciated.

"No, Miss, I should say it was the other lot, which belong to Tom Jones
of Hobson's Bottom, and if you want to make any claim for damages you
had better send it in to him, seei