famous constellation burnt but feebly in the south. Tom kept his eye on it, however, and bearing slightly to his left, struck the creek at last out of earshot of the squatter’s hut. Here he paused to cool his feet in the delicious running water. His plan was to cross the creek and then reconnoitre the enemy’s position from the rear. And so well did it work out that Tom skipped behind a friendly trunk just as the thieves succeeded in making Jarman hear, who now appeared with his black gin in the mouth of their wigwam.
New saddles? What in thunder was the use of new saddles, or old ones either, to him? Where was he to stow them in the meanwhile? Did they want him to be landed with the swag on his hands, and lagged all over again, to oblige a pair of lubbers like them? And here Tom felt that a door would have slammed had there been one; as it was, the outraged Jarman came to a pause for want of breath, and Macbeth got in his word at last.
Tom could not hear it. But it seemed to make a difference; it made the very plainest difference in the squatter’s tone.
“What? what’s that? I don’t believe it!” cried Jarman in one breath. “Take your oaths to it, will you? Well, if it’s a fact, it’ll bear thinking about. Said all that, did he? And you think he won’t go and round on us after all? Well, then, come inside and we’ll talk it over. In you go, missus, and light up.”
Tom took a peep as the men followed the black woman into the hovel. They had left the saddles outside; but to snatch them now was impossible. The sacking that did duty for a door had been drawn aside and hitched to a nail; on the lighting of a candle stuck in a bottle within, some eager face was revealed to Tom whenever
