About next midday we rode into the homestead thoroughfare, where Cheon
and Tiddle'ums welcomed us with enthusiasm, but Cheon's enthusiasm turned
to indignation when he found we were only in for a day or two.
"What's 'er matter?" he ejaculated. "Missus no more stockrider"; but a
letter waiting for us at the homestead made "bush" more than ever
imperative: a letter, from the foreman of the telegraphic repairing line
party, asking for a mob of killers, and fixing a date for its delivery to
one "Happy Dick."
"Spoke just in the nick of time," Dan said; but as we discussed plans
Cheon hinted darkly that the Maluka was not a fit and proper person to be
entrusted with the care of a woman, and suggested that he should
undertake to treat the missus as she should be treated, while the Maluka
attended to the cattle.
Fate, however, interfered to keep the missus at the homestead, to
persuade Cheon that, after all, the Maluka was a fit and proper person to
have the care of a woman, and to find a very present use for the house;
an influenza sore-throat breaking out in the camp, the missus developed
it, and Dan went out alone to find the Quiet Stockman and the "killers"
for Happy Dick.
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