I gave a sigh of relief. Drunken riders are common enough in the Bush. And, with all trepidation vanished, I sang out gruffly enough,— ‘Better get off, mate, before you fall off! Come and have a drink of tea!’ He would be a nuisance, of course, with the inevitable bottle of rum in his swag, and in his person all the loathsome imbecility inseparable from the sobering-up process. But, as an institution, he had to be attended to. And I repeated my invitation irritably to him, sitting there in the bright moonlight, one hand grasping the reins, the other resting on the wither, his chin on his breast, staring fixedly at me from under the broad-leafed hat. ‘Oh,’ I muttered, ‘you drunken brute! I’ve got to lift you down, have I! About all you’re fit for is to frighten people’s horses away.’ The dog, only his head protruding from under the tent, kept up a long, snarling, choking growl, broken by gasps for fresh breath. Advancing, I placed my hand upon the horseman’s. It was like ice. Looking up, I saw a black-whiskered face, ashen-grey under the hat-leaf, and apparently leaning forward to gaze into mine out of wide-open, staring, glassy eyes. Suddenly, realising the meaning of the thing, I ran to one side and shouted hurriedly—I know not what. Then I heard someone in the tent cursing the dog, who yelped, as from a kick, and, presently, the stranger came out and walked up to the fire. Standing away, and in deep shadow, he did not see me. But, catching sight of that dread rider, sitting motionless, he went over and peered into its face. Then with a tremendous oath he sprang back, and I could see his sharp-cut features working with emotion as he exclaimed, ‘George! What game’s this?’ Advancing again he stroked the horse, and, as I had done, placed one of his hands on that other so cold one. Apparently convinced, he ran into the tent, whence came in a minute an excited murmur of voices. A heavy cloud was across the moon, but I could make out the pair fumbling for their bridles amongst a heap of saddlery at the foot of a sapling. Meanwhile the horse was making ineffectual tugs at the bridle to get its head down to some dry tussocks growing near. But all its straining could not relax by one inch the steel-like grip of those dead fingers. Only the corpse at each jerk nodded in a ghastly cordial sort of fashion. Presently, moonlight filled the little plain again, and the horse, growing impatient, turned and made off towards the sound of the distant bells. Taking heart of grace, I ran up and caught it. As I led it back I noticed that the rider’s legs were bound tightly to the saddle by straps passed from the front D’s over the thighs to the ones on the cantle. As I began to undo them I saw the man slinging off into the scrub with the woman at his heels. I shouted to them. But they took no notice.