CHAPTER XIII.
The Summer Old Bob Died.
It was a real scorcher.

A soft, sweltering summer's day.

The air quivered; the heat drove the fowls under the dray and sent the old dog to sleep upon the floor inside the house.

The iron on the skillion cracked and sweated--so did Dad and Dave down the paddock, grubbing--grubbing, in 130 degrees of sunshine.

They were clearing a piece of new land--a heavily-timbered box-tree flat.