We rode over dried-up creeks and gullies.

The wild flowers would have been a picture,” said Joss, ‘if it hadn’t been for the drought.”

It must have been about seven in the evening when Joss pulled up on a slight hillock and looked about him at the Bush spread out around us.

“We should be able to see Trant’s from here,” he said.

“It’s built in a hollow. ” It’ll be dark soon. “

“Yes, I want to get there before sundown. The Bush can be treacherous.

I know it well, of course, but even old stagers have been known to be lost. You have to be careful, and not wander out alone. You see how the same kind of landscape goes on and on. I’ve known people to be lost in the Bush; they walk miles and often end up literally going round in circles.

They can’t make a landmark because the scenery repeats itself again and again. So take care. I think I can see Trant’s. Look. Over there in that hollow. “

We rode on. The sun had sunk below the horizon. The first stars had started to appear and there was a thin crescent of moon.

He galloped on and I followed. Suddenly he pulled up short and I came up beside him.

“Good God!” he cried.

“Just look at that!”

It was an eerie sight in the pale light of the moon and stars-a shell of a house. Joss rode on and I followed him, picking my way carefully over the sparse, scorched grass. Fire had ravaged one side of the two-storey building; the rest had been severely licked by the flames.

“We’ll look round,” said Joss, ‘and see what there is. “

We dismounted and he tethered the horses to a piece of iron fence.

“Careful how you go,” he called over his shoulder. Then he turned and took my hand and together we stepped over the blackened threshold.

They must have lost everything,” he said.

“I wonder where they went.”

“I hope their lives were saved.”

“Who can say?”

“How far are we from Fancy Town?”

Thirty miles or so. Trant’s! People used to stay here. It was like an oasis in the desert . there’s nothing else for miles round. ” He turned and looked at me.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night. The horses can’t go on. There’s a river close by. Let’s hope it’s not dried up. The horses could drink and there might be some grass that’s not been scorched by the fire. Wait here. I’ll go and look.”

As I stood in that burned-out shell I felt a sudden horror of the place. There was an atmosphere of doom about it. Tragedy had happened here, and death and disaster seemed to have dung to the air. I shivered and a sudden coldness came over me. I felt that I was alone with the dead. I touched the blackened walls. This had once been a parlour, I imagined, where people had sat and talked and laughed together; within these four walls they had lived their lives. I imagined their coming from England, settlers who had sought a new life and had hit on the idea of making an inn where travellers through the Bush could stay for a night or so. They would farm the land as well, for not enough people would pass this way to give them a living as innkeepers; they would go for walks without seeing anyone . nothing but wild bush. I wondered if they had lived in fear of bush rangers Those blackened walls filled me with foreboding and I don’t think I fully realized the loneliness of the Bush until that moment.

I noticed that there were some remains of habitation-a half-burned table, pieces of metal which could have been part of some fitting, two battered candlesticks which had once been shining brass, and there was a tin box such as the one Maddy had at home. She always referred to it as ‘my box and it carried her possessions in it. It had come to Oakland Hall when she had and it would be with her all her life.

A figure loomed up beside me and I gasped in horror.

Sorry I scared you,” said Joss.

“Why. what’s the matter?”

“It’s this place. There’s something haunted about it.”

Why, there’s little left but the walls. I found the stream and mercifully there’s grass there. We’ll take the horses down. “

“Are we going to stay here?” asked.

“It’s shelter and we’re not equipped for camping.”

“Couldn’t we go on?"

" For thirty miles? The horses need rest. We’ll stay here till dawn and then we’ll get going. Let’s see if there’s anything we can use. We’ll explore. But be careful.”

I said: There’s a tin box over there. There might be something in that. As we moved across the floor my foot struck something. I stooped and picked up a half-burned candle. Joss took it from me and said:

“Someone’s been here recently and must have had the same idea as we have of using it for the night.” He examined the stump and then took matches from his pocket and lighted it. He held the candle high and the place looked more forbidding than ever in the dim light. His face looked different too. His eyes were darker and the bronze of his skin less obvious. There was something half amused and enigmatic in his expression as he regarded me; I noticed his ears were large and faintly pointed at the tips which gave him the appearance of a satyr.

I caught a glint in his eyes which suggested to me that he was not altogether displeased with our situation. This gave me more than a twinge of uneasiness. “

“It was lucky to find the candle,” I said.

“I wonder who left it. Some bushranger, perhaps?"

" Why shouldn’t it be travellers like ourselves?"

x65 ii uugui uc, of course. ” He patted his belt.

“Now you see why it’s well to be prepared. Don’t be alarmed. You’re not alone, you know.”

He kept his eyes on my face, and I had an idea that he was trying to frighten me.

There could be something in the tin box,” I said.

He went over to it and touched it with his foot.

“It seems to have stood up to the fire pretty well.” He stooped down and opened it and holding the candle high, peered in.

“Why, look. A blanket. It must have escaped the fire. The .tin box has protected it. What a find! We can spread it on the floor.” He took it out and sniffed at it.

“You can smell the smoke.”

I came over to him and took the blanket.

“Do you think whoever used the candle used it too?”

“Who knows? We can’t afford to be fastidious. We’ll have need of it.”

As I lifted it out I saw a book. It was a kind of ledger. I picked it up and opened it. Inside was written Trant Home stead, 1875. This book is the property of James and Ethel Trant who left England in the year 1873 and settled here in this house which they called Trant’s Homestead. “

I pictured James and Ethel leaving home full of hope and settling in this isolated spot; as I turned over the pages of the book I saw that it had been used as a kind of register. There was one column for the date, a centre one for names and another for comments. There were remarks like "Thanks, James and Ethel. It was good,” and another ” Just like Home’; another said “My third visit. Speaks for itself.”

The discovery of the book had made real people of Ethel and James, and I deeply hoped they had survived the destruction of their property.

Joss was looking over my shoulder.

“Oh, I see, a hotel register. Look and see when the last guest was here. That should give us some idea of the date of the fire.” I looked. A Tom Best and Harry Wakers had stayed three months before.

“As recent as that,” commented Joss.

“I wonder what happened to James and Ethel Trant.”

“Who can say? Now we’ve got to rest. Don’t forget we must be up at the crack of dawn.”

“Somehow I don’t like the idea of staying here.”

He laughed aloud.

“It’s a shelter. Not much but a bit. There’s water close by for the horses and a bit of grass too.

We’re in luck. Oh, I know you were thinking of a coimonauic bed, but things don’t always work out that way in the Bush. Here, hold the candle. “

I did so while he spread the blanket on the rough charred floor. He took the candle from me and, tilting it, let some of its grease drip on to the floor and in this he stuck the candle so that it was held upright.

How long do you think that will last? “I asked.

“A few hours, with luck. It’s amazing good fortune to have found it.

You appreciate your luck out here. “

“I should think one should anywhere.”

I sat down on the spread-out blanket, still holding the register in my hand. I turned the pages glancing idly at the names and comments. Then one name leaped out at me.

“Desmond Dereham, June 1879’ and his comment: ” I shall surely come again. “

“What’s the matter?” asked Joss.

My father stayed here. His name’s in the book. I think people ought to know the truth, that he did not succeed in stealing the Green Flash and that Ben had it all the time. It’ll have to be known that we have it. “

“We’ll see. It’s not a thing I want to decide quickly about. There’s so much depending on it.”

Perhaps he was right, I thought, and it was better that no one should know that we had the famous stone.

I glanced down at the book and saw David Croissant’s name.

There’s someone else we know,” I said.

Joss looked.

“I dare say I could find many people I know in that book.

This place was used by everyone. We might try and make a fire and boil some tea. I thought you and I would be sitting at mine host’s table and perhaps sharing a room as we did last night. Rooms are scarce in these homesteads, you know. They don’t cater for people with fastidious notions. That chair was damned uncomfortable. I was Idling myself I didn’t fancy repeating the experience and here am I doomed to spend the night on a smoke-ridden blanket in a burned-out homestead.”