Hayhurst came in noisily, and shaking hands with the man who had been at the diggings with him, nodded to the rest. They made way for him at the fire. He stood in front of it, looking curiously at Lawless while he warmed his hands at the blaze. The scar on Lawless' face seemed to hold his attention. "My name's Hayhurst," he remarked somewhat pointedly. Lawless surveyed him with an air of quiet aloofness, and, without removing the pipe from his mouth, replied: "So you said before." Hayhurst was not easily disconcerted, but he reddened slightly and gave an awkward laugh. "It's damned cold," he said. "I'm chilled to the bone. If anyone presses me, I'll take a glass of dop... Don't overdo it with water." Stephens, the man from the diggings, handed him a glass. Young Hayhurst drank the contents, and remained a while staring into the empty tumbler with a thoughtful smile on his face. Then he put the tumbler down, and returned to his occupation of warming his hands. He glanced again at Lawless. "I've heard of you," he said,--"from a chap who won't tell any more tales of anyone, good or bad... That mark on your face gives you away." "Don't be personal, Tom," hiccoughed his friend. Lawless got up. "I've heard of you, too," he returned curtly. "The repetition of the information wouldn't be likely to make you vain, so we won't go into that." There was a perceptible hang in the conversation. The men broke off in their talk to listen, and the man who was cooking the supper looked up from his task to stare. The sense of something in the air penetrated even to the dulled wit of the most intoxicated of the party, a man of rough appearance and no education, who spent all his spare time in getting drunk, and crowded as much work into his sober hours as three ordinary men would have accomplished. He shook his head gravely, and then with solemn deliberation refilled his ever-empty glass from the bottle of dop at his elbow. "Don't mix your drinks," he counselled... "bad for the constitootion-- very." He maundered on, but nobody heeded him. Hayhurst was looking steadily into the keen eyes of the man whom he recognised from the description he had once listened to of the peculiar scar on his face. He had no shadow of a doubt as to the man's identity. "Since what I have heard of you," he returned, "might be calculated to make you vain, I'll spare your modesty. As for my own reputation!" He laughed suddenly. "That wouldn't pay for whitewashing, would it, boys?" He gazed round on the group with the laugh still in his eyes. Rentoul, who had given the advice against mixing one's liquor, looked up owlishly. "You never done a dirty trick, Tom," he said... "Nothin' mean about you. Gimme your 'and, me boy. No need for whitewashing... What say?-- Tom's all ri', ain't 'e?" Hayhurst flung himself down on the hearth beside him, and stretched his legs, encased in dusty gaiters, towards the fire.