Landtakers: The Story of an Epoch

But he found them. That was to be expected. As long as he did not know where they were he was restless, thinking of horse-thieves loitering about his property. Less definitely, but more restlessly, he thought about the woman, setting her up as a figure apart from the other two. This also was natural. To the aura of mystery the stories of Peters and McFarlane spun around her was added the mystery of her womanness and his conception of woman. A continually surprising fact that near by, perhaps within a few days' ride, there was a woman. He remembered clearly her strained face, the tight mouth, the filmed eyes, a mole under the right ear, her sharp chin. He remembered, too, what he had not consciously noticed in the bar at Pyke's Crossing, the shape of her frail but full-breasted body outlined under the poncho.

One day after the lambing he made a long-deferred exploration beyond the ranges to the north an excuse for a search. At sundown he saw a feather of blue smoke rising out of the scrub to the west. He rode near enough to see evidences of vigorous pioneering in the shape of a big bark humpy, a yard for horses, a cow-bail and stacks of heavy building timber. The sound of an axe came down with the wind. They were here to stay.