‘Your brother’s murderer?’ she said.

’The man lying there is my brother.  For no crimes for no wrong against man or woman, his life was made a horror to him.  And this is the end, butchered by a foul beast.’

‘Don’t!’ she murmured.  She put out her hands appealingly, and continued in a choking voice:  ’I can bear no more.  All my strength is gone.  For pity’s sake, no more, no more!’ She turned from him, and, falling to her knees, sank her face upon Ryder’s breast, and gave way to a fit of sobbing that shook her from head to foot.  Her attitude was one of complete abandon; one hand lay upon the cheek of the dead outlaw, suggesting an ineffable caress.

Done sat upon a rock, watching her without understanding.  Yarra, who had stolen near to Ryder’s body, crouched upon the rock, staring intently at the face of his friend.  Presently Jim noticed that Lucy was lying inert, and he lifted her to the pool and bathed her forehead with the cool water.  Yarra brought a pannikin and a bottle containing brandy from the cave, and Jim poured a little of the spirit between the girl’s lips.  Lucy revived after a few minutes, and lay for a time in the shade before she was strong enough to walk.

‘I must go,’ she said with a strange listless ness.

‘Take the boy with you,’ Jim answered.  ’He will see you safely to Boobyalla.’

‘And you?’ she asked.

‘There is something for me to do here.’

She looked at the body, and said, ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ but the only expression in her face was one of utter weariness.

He helped her on to the horse.  She did not thank him.  No words of farewell were spoken, but as the horse moved away he said: 

‘Contrive to let Yarra bring me a shovel.’

‘Yes.’

’At least the brute beast shall not have the price of his head

‘No.’  She repeated the word quite mechanically.  ‘No, no!’

Done returned to his brother.  He lifted the body into the shade, and composed the limbs, and then seated himself and gave his mind over to bitter reflection.  Ryder’s face exerted a strong influence upon him.  In death it had assumed a delicacy almost effeminate.  It was the face of a saint and an ascetic.  What was most evil in him had been grown in the forcing-house of vice and crime society had set up, and for being the thing it had made him society had butchered him like a mad dog.  Jim recognised Monkey Mack only as the instrument of society.  His logic may not have been perfect:  his mind was in no state to deal with ethical nuances; he saw only the ruined life, remembered what Ryder had endured, and, above all, that he had been an innocent man, crushed, tortured, brutalized into an enemy of the law and the existing order.  He felt himself capable of taking up his brother’s fight.  In his heart he was resolved to seek out Macdougal and kill him.  That much must be done.  He never questioned his capability for murder, and it is probable that had the chance come to him in cold blood his spirit would have failed him.