Chapter XVII
The full light had gone from the hills, and the little whare up Chinaman's GuUy was one smudge with the manuka scrub, except where a red finger of sunset marked the mndow blood-colour. Ormond flattened his nose on the six-by-eight window, walked roimd and kicked in the door. The place was blank- empty and dark; and Ormond hit his shin on a nail keg and ran foul of a something that smelt like green hide before he could make a light. A half -burnt-out slush lamp was on the ground, with the ash of last night's fire and three dirty plates. Ormond lit it and set it on the rough plank shelf. Then he reviled its splutters and smell, and blinked roimd.
"Suppose the old chap Avill come along di- rectly," he said, and tossed that which he car- ried on the bunk that headed to the window.
A muddle of blankets was there already, and a gun, and a cleaning rod. Ormond sucked in his lips, reaching for the gun. He jerked open the nipple and two bullet cartridges bobbed into his palm. He held them up, frowning at
them.
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