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Squeaker, with a desire to shine in her eyes, was continually telling her of snakes—vicious and many—that daily he did battle with.
    She recalled the evening he came from hiding in the scrub with a string round one finger, and said a snake had bitten him. He had drunk the pint of brandy she had brought for her sickness, and then slept till morning. True, although next day he had to dig for the string round the blue swollen finger, he was not worse than the many she had seen at the Shearer’s Rest suffering a recovery. There was no brandy to cure her if she were bitten.
    She cried a little in self-pity, then withdrew her eyes, that were getting red, from the outlying creek, and went again to the door. She of the bunk lay with closed eyes.
    Was she asleep? The stranger’s heart leapt, yet she was hardly in earnest as she tip-toed billy-wards. The dog, crouching with head between two paws, eyed her steadily, but showed no opposition. She made dumb show. “I want to be friends with you, and won’t hurt her.” Abruptly she looked at her, then at the dog. He was motionless and emotionless. Besides if that dog—certainly watching her—wanted to bite her (her dry mouth opened) it could get her any time.
    She rated this dog’s intelligence almost human, from many of its actions in omission and commission in connection with this woman.
    She regretted the pole, no dog would stand that.
    Two more steps.
    Now just one more; then, by bending and stretching her arm, she would reach it. Could she now? She tried to encourage herself by remembering how close on the first day she had been to the woman, and how delicious a few mouthfuls would be—swallowing dry mouthfuls.
    She measured the space between where she had first stood and the billy. Could she get anything to draw it to her? No, the dog would not stand that, and besides the handle would rattle, and she might hear and open her eyes.
    The thought of those sunken eyes suddenly opening made her heart bound. Oh! she must breathe—deep, loud breaths. Her throat clicked noisily. Looking back fearfully, she went swiftly out.
    She did not look for Squeaker this time, she had given him up.
    While she waited for her breath to steady, to her relief and surprise the dog came out. She made a rush to the new hut, but he passed seemingly oblivious of her, and, bounding across the plain, began rounding the sheep. Then he must know Squeaker had gone to town.
    Stay! Her heart beat violently; was it because she on the bunk slept and did not want him?
    She waited till her heart quieted, and again crept to the door.
    The head of the woman on the bunk had fallen towards the wall as in deep sleep; it was turned from the billy, to which she must creep so softly.
    Slower, from caution and deadly earnestness, she entered.
    She was not so advanced as before, and felt fairly secure, for the woman’s eyes were still turned to the wall, and so tightly closed she could not possibly see where she was.
    She would bend right down, and try and reach it from where she was.
    She bent.
    It was so swift and sudden, that she had not time to scream when those bony fingers had gripped the hand that she prematurely reached for the billy. She was frozen with horror for a moment, then her screams were piercing. Panting with victory, the prostrate one held her with a hold that the other did not attempt to free herself from.
    Down, down she drew her.
    Her lips had drawn back from her teeth, and her breath almost scorched the face that she held so close for the staring eyes to gloat over. Her exultation was so great that she could only gloat and gasp, and hold with a tension that had stopped the victim’s circulation.
    As a wounded, robbed tigress might hold and look, she held and looked.
    Neither heard the swift steps of the man, and if the tigress saw him enter, she was not daunted. “Take me from her,” shrieked the terrified one. “Quick, take me from her,”