smiling and
lonely on the doorstep.

CHAPTER XII. THE WINFIELD MURDER

The next few days went by slowly enough.

Norah followed faithfully all Jim's plans for her amusement. She
practised, did some cooking, and helped Mrs. Brown preserve apricots;
then there were the pets to look to and, best of all, the bullocks to
move from one paddock to another. It was an easy job, and Evans was
quite willing to leave it to Norah, Billy and a dog. The trio made a
great business of it, and managed almost to forget loneliness in the
work of hunting through the scrub and chasing the big, sleepy half-fat
beasts out upon the clear plain. There were supposed to be forty-four in
the paddock, but Norah and Billy mustered forty-five, and were
exceedingly proud of themselves in consequence.

Next day Norah persuaded Mrs. Brown to allow herself to be driven into
Cunjee. There was nothing particular to go for, except that, as Norah
said, they would get the mail a day earlier; but Mrs. Brown was not
likely to refuse anything that would chase the look of loneliness from
her charge's face. Accordingly they set off after an early lunch, Norah
driving the pair of brown ponies in a light single buggy that barely
held her and her by no means fairy-like companion.

The road was good and they made the distance in excellent time, arriving
in Cunjee to see the daily train puff its way out of the station. Then
they separated, as Norah had no opinion whatever of Mrs. Brown's
shopping--principally in drapers' establishments, which this bush maiden
hated cordially. So Mrs. Brown, unhampered, plunged into mysteries of
flannel and sheeting, while Norah strolled up the principal street and
exchanged greetings with those she knew.

She paused by the door of a blacksmith's shop, for the smith and she
were old friends, and Norah regarded Blake as quite the principal person
of Cunjee. Generally there were horses to be looked at, but just now the
shop was empty, and Blake came forward to talk to the girl.

"Seen the p'lice out your way?" he asked presently, after the weather,
the crops, and the dullness of business had been exhausted as topics.

"Police?" queried Norah. "No. Why?"

"There was two mounted men rode out in your direction yesterday," Blake
answered. "They're on the track of that Winfield murderer, they
believe."

"What was that?" asked Norah blankly. "I never heard of it."

"Not heard of the Winfield murder! Why, you can't read the p