honour its tethered guests.

The Telegraph and the Police Station issued invitations for dinner, and
the "Pub" that had already issued a hint that "the boys could refrain
from knocking down cheques as long as a woman was staying in the place"
now issued an edict limiting the number of daily drinks per man.

The invitations were accepted with pleasure, and the edict was attended
to with a murmur of approval in which, however, there was one dissenting
voice: a little bearded bushman "thought the Katherine was overdoing it a
bit," and suggested as an amendment that "drunks could make themselves
scarce when she's about." But Mine Host easily silenced him by offering
to "see what the missus thought about it."

Then for a day the Katherine "took its bearings," and keen, scrutinising
glances summed up the Unknown Woman, looking her through and through
until she was no longer an Unknown Woman, while the Maluka looked on
interested. He knew the bush-folk well, and that their instinct would be
unerring, and left the missus to slip into whichever niche in their lives
they thought fit to place her. And as she slipped into a niche built up
of strong, staunch comradeship, the black community considered that they,
too, had fathomed the missus; and it became history in the camp that the
Maluka had stolen her from a powerful Chief of the Whites, and, deeming
it wise to disappear with her until the affair had blown over, had put
many flooded rivers between him and his pursuers. "Would any woman have
flung herself across rivers on wires, speeding on without rest or pause,
unless afraid of pursuit?" the camp asked in committee, and the most
sceptical were silenced.

Then followed other days full of pleasant intercourse; for once sure of