n----"

"What for?" said Moya. "I like to hear him called that."

And she would have liked it, she hardly knew why. But he was not her
boss, and never would be.

"Thanks awfully. Well, then, the boss found a tank lower than he
expected in Butcher-boy, that's the killing-sheep paddock, and it's next
door to Big Bushy, which is stocked with our very best. If the tanks
were low in Butcher-boy, they might be lower still in Big Bushy----"

"Why?" asked Moya, like a good Bethune.

"Oh, I don't know; only the boss seemed to think so; and of course it
wouldn't do to let our best sheep bog. So we've got to shift every hoof
into Westwells, where there's the best water on the run."

Moya said no more. This seemed genuine. Only she was suspicious now of
every move of Rigden's; she could not help it.

"And why must you have a water-bag?" she asked, for asking's sake.

"Oh, we never go without one in this heat. The boss won't let us. So of
course I went and forgot mine. I'm no good in the bush, Miss Bethune!"

"Not even at mustering?" asked sympathetic Moya.

"Why, Miss Bethune, that's the hardest thing of the lot, and it's where
I'm least use. It's my sight," said the young fellow ruefully; "I'm as
blind as a mole. You ought to be able to see sheep at three miles, but I
can't swear to them at three hundred yards."

"That's a drawback," said Moya, looking thoughtfully at the lad.

"It is," sighed he. "Then I haven't a dog, when I do see 'em; altogether
it's no sinecure for me, though they do give me the fence; and--and I'm
afraid I really ought to be making a start, Miss Bethune."

The outward eye of Moya was still fixed upon him, but what it really saw
was herself upon that lonely verandah all day long--waiting for the next
nice development--and waiting alone.

"I have excellent eyes," she observed at length.

"To say the least!" cried her cavalier.

"I meant for practical purposes," rejoined Moya, with severity. "I'm
sure that I could see sheep at three miles."

"I shouldn't wonder," said he enviously.

"And I see you have a spare horse in the yard."

"Yes, in case of accidents."

"And I know you have a lady's saddle."

"It was got for you."

Moya winced, but her desire was undiminished.

"I mean to be the accident, Mr. Ives," said she.

"And come mustering?" he cried. "And be my--my----"

"The very eyes of you," said Moya, nodding. "I shall be ready in three
minutes!"

And she left him staring, and