Both were shaking with excitement--she at the unwonted sensation of attacking a criminal in his lair, and he with anxiety lest some unlucky chance should bring his plan to nought, and make him a failure in the eyes of the woman he loved.
"There is no one about," he whispered.

"I expect Red Mick has told the family to keep indoors, so that they can swear they saw nothing.

You aren't afraid, are you ?" She pressed his arm in answer, gave a low laugh, and pointed down the flat.

There, far away among the trees, they saw the white phalanx of the approaching sheep, and the little lean dogs hunting them straight towards the house.
Still no sign from Red Mick.

No one stirred about the place; the fowls still fluttered in the dust, and a dissipated looking pet cockatoo, perched on the wood-heap repeated several times in a drowsy tone, "Good-bye, Cockie! Good-bye, Cockie!" Then the door opened, and Red Mick stepped out.
He was the acknowledged leader of the Doyle-Donohoe faction in all matters of cunning, and in all raids on other folks' stock; and not only did he plan the raids, but took a leading part in executing them.