There was no resistance now except on the part of Seth Sharp, who fought like a wild beast, but he was eventually beaten down and firmly bound.

The house presented the appearance of a shambles.

The body of Sergeant Machinson was carried outside, and Dalton said as they pa.s.sed him, as he lay bound on the floor,--

'That's how I treat men who play me false. He's better dead. He was false to his trust and false to me.'

Adye Dauntsey heard him, but made no remark. The sergeant, whatever his misdeeds, had paid for them with his life while doing his duty.

They were all tired and worn out after the struggle. Many blacks had been killed, and King Charlie and his tribe set about burying them by Mr Dauntsey's orders.

The attacking party had lost two constables and Sergeant Machinson, and nearly all of them bore marks of the severe encounter.

Seth Sharp and Abe Dalton were firmly secured, and only five other men of the gang were taken alive. The blacks had already set fire to the houses and humpies, and Barker's Creek was in flames.

'They have settled the difficulty for us,' said Mr Dauntsey, 'and I think it is the best thing that could have happened. Barker's Creek will be wiped out at last.'

CHAPTER XXV

A STRICKEN WOMAN

The affair at Barker's Creek caused a great sensation, and the Sydney and Melbourne papers had long accounts of it, chiefly supplied by Adye Dauntsey and Dr Tom Sheridan. The latter took care to let it be known how Rodney Shaw had acted, and his report was the cause of a startling and unexpected _denoument_.

A week after the fight Jim Dennis had retired for the night. He was alone in the house with Sal, as Willie had gone to Barragong for a change. He had been out all day, and, being thoroughly tired, slept soundly.

During the night a woman might have been seen toiling with weary steps across the lonesome land. She was footsore and hungry, well-nigh starving. She had been at Swamp Creek and found there no rest or shelter. She seemed to shrink from contact with everyone, and had it not been for the doctor's dog she would have gone on without food or drink.

Baalim was sniffing round his master's house as usual, on the lookout for a canine encounter, when he saw this woman. Baalim knew every man, woman and child in Swamp Creek, and he perceived she was a stranger.

Such an important fact must be communicated to the doctor.

The dog bounded into the house barking furiously, and Dr Tom, coming out to administer a caution to him, saw the woman standing, uncertain, outside in the street.

'She looks deuced tired and hungry,' he thought, and without hesitation called to her.

'My good woman, you look tired,' he said. 'Have you come far?'

'From Sydney,' she said in a weak voice.

Dr Tom was staggered and incredulous. Sydney was some hundreds of miles away.

'A team-master gave me a lift as far as Barragong,' she explained. 'I have walked from there.'

'Come in and rest, and I will find you something to eat,' said the worthy doctor.

She hesitated, but he insisted, and she came inside.

'She's seen better days,' thought Dr Tom, but delicately forbore questioning her, although he wondered what she could want at Swamp Creek if she had no friends, which seemed probable.

She ate like a famished woman, and he was sorry. When she had finished she thanked him and left, and he made no effort to detain her; he had no right to do so.

He watched her walk wearily down the street and leave the town.

'Poor soul!' he said to Baalim as he patted his ugly head. 'She's seen trouble, old dog; and, by Jove! she must have been a handsome woman once. What a pity! Where the deuce can she be going to?'

Her meal at Dr Tom's had given her strength, and under the starlit sky she struggled on. She followed the coach track and at intervals sat down to rest.

Towards morning she came in sight of Wanabeen and stopped. For fully half an hour she stood and looked at Jim Dennis's home. Her eyes filled with tears which coursed down her sunken cheeks, and she sank down upon her knees and tried to pray.

The words could not come, for there was a great sin upon her soul. Her breath came in sobs and gasps, she panted like a wounded creature.

Staggering to her feet, she pushed on hurriedly, fearing her strength would fail, and at last sank, exhausted, on the steps of Jim Dennis's house, much as Sal had done years before.

Then she pa.s.sed into a fitful slumber, and as Jim Dennis had found Sal, so the half-caste found her.

Sal rubbed her eyes and looked.

'A white woman!' she exclaimed, and then felt afraid.

What could a white woman want here? How did she get there?

Sal looked at her long and earnestly, and something in the woman's face seemed familiar to her.

Where had she seen a face like that?

She must call Jim Dennis and let him act as he thought best.

She roused him and he started up.

'Is it late, Sal?'

'No, early, about five'

'What has happened?' he said sharply, noticing the scared look on her face.

'There's a woman asleep on the steps--a white woman.'

Jim Dennis clutched her arm.

'A white woman,' he repeated in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

'Dress and go out to her,' said Sal.

Jim Dennis put on his clothes mechanically; he dreaded he knew not what.

'A white woman,' he muttered, 'and she has tramped it here.'

He went out in a hesitating kind of way.