The Creek was most enthusiastic with its help, bustling about with
packbags and surcingles, and generally "mixing things."

When the time came to say good-bye it showed signs of breaking down; but
mastering its grief with a mightily audible effort, it wished us "good
luck," and stood watching as we rode out of the little settlement.

Every time we looked back it raised its hat, and as we rode at the head
of our orderly little cavalcade of pack horses, with Jackeroo the black
"boy" bringing up the rear, we flattered ourselves on the dignity of our
departure. Mac called it "style," and the Maluka was hoping that the
Creek was properly impressed, when Flash, unexpectedly heading off for
his late home, an exciting scrimmage ensued and the procession was broken
into fragments.

The Creek flew to the rescue, and, when order was finally restored, the
woman who had defied the Sanguine Scot and his telegrams, entered the
forest that fringes the Never-Never, sitting meekly upon a led horse.



CHAPTER III


Bush chivalry demanding that a woman's discomfiture should be ignored,
Mac kept his eyes on the horizon for the first quarter of a mile, and
talked volubly of the prospects of the Wet and the resources of the
Territory; but when Flash was released, and after a short tussle settled
down into a free, swinging amble, he offered congratulations in his own