Medlicot, of course, shook hands with them, and expressed his sense of their kindness, but he did it awkwardly.  He soon, however, declared his purpose of riding part of the way back with them.

“Mr. Heathcote must have been very wet last night,” he said, when they were on horse-back, addressing himself to Kate Daly rather than to her sister.

“Indeed he was—­wet to the skin.  Were you not?”

“I saw him at about eleven, before the rain began.  I was close home, and just escaped.  He must have been under it all.  Does he often go about the run in that way at night?”

“Only when he’s afraid of fires,” said Kate.

“Is there much to be afraid of?  I don’t suppose that any body can be so wicked as to wish to burn the grass.”  Then the ladies took upon themselves to explain.  “The fires might be caused from negligence or trifling accidents, or might possibly come from the unaided heat of the sun; or there might be enemies.”

“My word! yes; enemies, rather!” said Jacko, who was riding close behind, and who had no idea of being kept out of the conversation merely because he was a servant.  Medlicot, turning round, looked at the lad, and asked who were the enemies.

“Free-selectors,” said Jacko.

“I’m a free-selector,” said Medlicot.

“Did not jist mean you,” said Jacko.

“Jacko, you’d better hold your tongue,” said Mrs. Heathcote.

“Hold my tongue!  My word!  Well, you go on.”

Medlicot came as far as the wool-shed, and then said that he would return.  He had thoroughly enjoyed his ride.  Kate Daly was bright and pretty and winning; and in the bush, when a man has not seen a lady perhaps for months, brightness and prettiness and winning ways have a double charm.  To ride with fair women over turf, through a forest, with a woman who may perhaps some day be wooed, can be a matter of indifference only to a very lethargic man.  Giles Medlicot was by no means lethargic.  He owned to himself that though Heathcote was a pig-headed ass, the ladies were very nice, and he thought that the pig-headed ass in choosing one of them for himself had by no means taken the nicest.

“You’ll never find your way back,” said Kate, “if you’ve not been here before.”

“I never was here before, and I suppose I must find my way back.”  Then he was urged to come on and dine at Gangoil, with a promise that Jacko should return with him in the evening.  But this he would not do.  Heathcote was a pig-headed ass, who possibly regarded him as an incendiary simply because he had bought some land.  This boy of Heathcote’s, whose services had been offered to him, had not scrupled to tell him to his face that he was to be regarded as an enemy.  Much as he liked the company of Kate Daly, he could not go to the house of that stupid, arrogant, pig-headed young squatter.  “I’m not such a bad bushman but what I can find my way to the river,” he said.