Kitabı oku: «Tom Gerrard», sayfa 10

CHAPTER XXIII

“Well, Lizzie, how does the Ocho Rios country strike you?” and Gerrard pulled up his horse under the grateful shade of a great Leichhardt tree standing on the bank of a clear, sandy-bottomed creek.

“I think it is beautiful, Tom, almost tropical, especially anywhere near the sea,” and Mrs Westonley jumped lightly from her horse. “Are we going to spell here for awhile?”

“Yes. Here come Jim and Mary with the pack-horse, and as it is past twelve, we’ll have our dinner, rest an hour, and then take the beach way home.”

Eight months had passed since Mrs Westonley and Mary had come to Ocho Rios, and they had been eight months of work and happiness to them all, for the fortunes of Gerrard had changed greatly, and he was now in a fair way of becoming a prosperous man again. The numerous gold discoveries had brought a great inrush of diggers, and cattle for killing were now worth four times the price they had been a year before. He had built his new house, which was ready and actually furnished when his sister and Mary arrived at Somerset, where he had met them. Together they had ridden across the peninsula, through the dry, parched-up bush so lately devastated by fire, and when Ocho Rios was reached, the country was certainly looking at its worst, as he had mentioned in his letter. But since then glorious rains had fallen, and no one not acquainted with the marvellous changes produced by copious rains in a tropical land, would believe that the shady Leichhardt tree under which Gerrard and his sister were camped had four months previously been withered and scorched by the great fire which had swept across the peninsula.

The name of “Ocho Rios” had been given to the station by the man who had first taken up the block of country for a cattle-run. He was an ex-Jamaican sugar planter, whose estate had been situated in the Ocho Rios (Eight Rivers) district of that beautiful island; and who had been ruined by the emancipation of the negroes in 1838. And, as his new possession was in the vicinity of eight small creeks flowing westward into the Gulf of Carpentaria, he had given it the same name.

“How far are we from the sea now, Uncle Tom?” asked Mary, as she and Jim rode up leading the pack-horse.

“About seven miles or so. Ever seen mango trees, Mary?”

“No, Uncle Tom, but Aunt Lizzie has, and says that mangoes are lovely. She ate some at Point de Galle, when she was a little girl going to England. Didn’t you, Aunt?”

Mrs Westonley smiled, and looked at Gerrard inquiringly, wondering what had made him ask the question. He had a way of “springing” pleasant surprises upon people. When she came to the new bark-roofed house at Ocho Rios, she had never expected to find anything but the common chairs and tables, usually to be seen on cattle stations in the Far North. Certainly Tom had told her in his letter that he had bought “some decent furniture” at Port Denison, and she had smiled to herself, thinking of what the difference would be between her ideas and his of what was “decent furniture.” And her heart had gone out to him when she—then knowing what she had not dreamt of before, that he was a ruined man—saw what he had bought for her out of his slender purse.

“Tom,” she had cried, “why did you go to such expense? And that piano too! I shall hardly have the heart to play upon it, knowing what–”

“You are going to play to-night after dinner. That piano will become famous. It is the first thing of the kind ever seen on Cape York Peninsula. You should have seen the skipper of the pearling lugger at Somerset stare when he saw the thing swing out of the hold of the Gambier. It will be a great thing for you and Mary.”

“Indeed it will, Tom. For her sake alone I must rejoice.”

Four months after his return to the station Gerrard was delighted to receive a visit from Douglas Fraser and Kate. They, with Sam Young, and the rest of Fraser’s old hands, were on one of the new rushes about ninety miles from Ocho Rios, and were, Fraser said, doing very well, together with some fifty other white diggers, and several hundreds of Chinese. Amongst other news the ex-judge told Gerrard something that had pleased him greatly.

“You’ll be glad to hear that Adlam is thoroughly recovered,” he said, “I saw a paragraph about him in a Brisbane Courier, two months old, which the new sub-Inspector of Black Police gave me last week. The poor fellow had a most marvellous escape.”

Adlam had indeed had a marvellous escape from a dreadful death. When the treacherous “Snaky” Swires had heard the pop of the soda water in the purser’s cabin, he had naturally concluded that Adlam had poured it into the glass containing the drugged brandy; but as a matter of fact Adlam had drunk the soda water alone, for he thought he had taken quite enough champagne—and other liquid refreshment as well—at the dinner to MacAlister, and wanted to rise earlier than usual in the morning with a clear head. When Pinkerton and Capel entered his cabin, he was not quite asleep, and had turned in his berth as he heard his door close softly, and the next instant the American had seized him by the throat, and the Jew dealt him a blow on the temple with a slung shot. After that he remembered nothing more. When Capel and Pinkerton dropped his unconscious figure down into the bunker, he had rolled down the inclined heap of coals to the bottom, where half an hour later he was discovered by the half-drunken coal trimmers, who at once summoned the chief engineer, and Adlam was carried to his cabin, Swires opening the door with the duplicate key he was allowed to possess. There was nothing in the cabin to give rise to any suspicion—everything was in the usual order; and it was naturally concluded that the purser had fallen down into the bunkers in the darkness, and had struck his head, or that a heavy piece of fallen coal had inflicted the terrible blow. No doctor was available, and for many days he hovered between life and death, unable to speak. It was only after the steamer arrived at Somerset that medical assistance was obtained, and that Captain MacAlister opened the safe, and found it rifled of all the cash it had contained—the bundle of unsigned notes Adlam had given to the bank manager within an hour after the steamer’s arrival at Cooktown. Poor Adlam, still unconscious, was sent to Brisbane. The disappearance of Swires led to the belief that he was the perpetrator of the robbery, but Adlam, still unable to speak, could not give any information on the subject. Gerrard and Fraser, however, told the captain all they knew of Captain Forreste and his friends, and in due time they were arrested at one of the mining camps and brought back to Cooktown, charged with being concerned in the affair. But there was not a tittle of evidence against them, and they were discharged.

Another matter which had pleased Gerrard was that he had heard that Randolph Aulain with a party of three, was working the head waters of the little creek running into the Batavia, on which both he and Gerrard had found gold, and that they had washed out some thousands of ounces. But Aulain’s expectation of being able to secure the usual Government reward for the discovery of a payable and permanent gold-field was not realised; the Mining Warden had reported adversely upon it as regarded the latter essential qualification. Gerrard felt some surprise that Aulain had not come to see him, for the “place with a hunking big boulder standing in the middle of a deep pool,” was only eighty miles from Ocho Rios. But then, upon second thoughts, he concluded that the auri sacra fames had seized his friend too thoroughly in its grip—as it always does the amateur digger, especially when he strikes upon very rich auriferous country, as was the case in this instance. And his surmise was correct, for Aulain was working madly to become rich and win Kate, and had no thought of aught else.

“Here are the mangoes, Mary,” said Gerrard, as two hours after leaving their camp under the great Leichhardt tree, the party drew rein before a grove of fifty or more of the beautiful trees; “these escaped the big fire. See, the clusters of fruit are almost ripe. In another week or so they will be fit to eat, and then you’ll see all the winged insects and the ‘bitiest’ ants in the universe here in millions, feeding upon them. The niggers like them too. About four years ago a mob of myalls came here and stripped every tree, and I did not mind it very much. But two days after that, they killed and ate two of my stockmen, and Inspector Aulain gave them a terrible punishment.”

He stood up in his saddle, broke off a cluster of the reddening fruit, and tossed them to Jim. “Put them in your saddle pouch, Jim, and when we get home wrap them in a piece of damp blanket; they’ll be ripe in a couple of days. Now, come on, Lizzie, we can ride along the beach for another five miles. I want to show you the old Dutch ship buried in the sand. Some day I mean to dig her out, and find millions of treasure—eh, Jim? Like the storybooks, you know.”

And then, as the first red glories of the nearing sunset spread its blades of softened fire upon the sleeping waters of the Gulf, they cantered along the hard, yellow sand.

CHAPTER XXIV

Summer had come and gone, and come again before Gerrard received a visit from Aulain. Early one scorching, hot morning, however, he rode up to the station, leading a pack-horse, and found his friend busy in the branding yard with Jim, and some white and aboriginal stockmen. Gerrard was delighted to see him, and at once ceased his work of branding calves.

“Come to the house, Aulain. My sister will be so pleased to see you. Jim, take Mr Aulain’s horses to the stable, give them a wash down, and then turn them out into the river bank paddock.”

“No, don’t do that, Gerrard,” said Aulain; “I can’t stay for the night. I want to push on to—to”—he hesitated a moment,—“towards Black Bluff Creek.”

“Nonsense, man! It’s ninety miles from here, and you can’t get there before to-morrow night, although your horse looks pretty fit for another twenty miles or so. What is the earthly use of your camping out to-night? I’ll take it very badly, I can tell you, and my sister will feel greatly hurt.”

The ex-inspector began to protest, but Gerrard would not listen, and so Aulain allowed himself to be overruled. As they walked to the house, Gerrard could not but notice that his friend seemed very much changed in his manner. He spoke slowly and constrainedly, and looked at least five years older than he was when Gerrard had last seen him at Port Denison.

“Fever been troubling you again, Aulain?” he said sympathetically, as he placed his hand on his shoulder.

Aulain gave a nod. “Oh, nothing very bad. I get a pretty stiff turn now and again, but there’s nothing like hard work to shake it off when you feel it coming on.”

“Just so. How’s the claim going—well, I hope?”

“It’s worked out now. But my three mates and I have done very well out of it. We have taken out four thousand five hundred ounces in a year and eight months. We sent the gold away by the escort last week, and our camp is broken up. My mates have gone off in various directions to other diggings.”

“And you?”

“Oh, I thought I would see what the new field near Cape Grenville was like. I hear that it is very patchy, but any amount of rich pockets. And as Black Bluff Creek is on my way, I thought I would pay Fraser a visit, and see how he is doing. Do you know?”

“Very well indeed.”

“Is he?” and Gerrard was quick to notice the gloomy look that came into Aulain’s eyes, and wondered thereat.

“I am so glad to meet you at last, Mr Aulain,” said Mrs Westonley, as the two men entered the cool sitting-room. “Tom has a just grievance against you for not coming to see him when you were only eighty miles from us. Almost every day for the past year he has been expecting to see you. But I suppose that washing out gold is too fascinating a pursuit, and that you could not drag yourself away.”

Aulain smiled. “You are quite right in one way, Mrs Westonley, but wrong in another. I should have come to Ocho Rios six months ago, but all our horses died from eating poison bush, and it was only a few weeks ago that my mates and I were able to buy some from a drover, who was taking a mob down to Cooktown.”

During lunch the ex-inspector brightened up somewhat, and once smiled when Mrs Westonley, in alluding to the several visits made by Kate Fraser to Ocho Rios, said that Jim had fallen violently in love with her, whereupon the lad laughed, and said he was only as much in love with her as were Uncle Tom and Mary. Gerrard, who of course knew of Aulain’s rejection by Kate, was at that moment wondering whether his friend meant to again “try his luck” or had quite got over the affair, and joined heartily in the general laugh that followed Jim’s remark.

“I think she is a delightful girl, Mr Aulain,” said Mrs Westonley; “and I am looking forward to her next visit. She spent a fortnight with us the last time, and we felt quite dull and humdrum after she had gone home to her father.”

Aulain raised his brows slightly, and enquired if Miss Fraser had come all that distance alone. Surely she would not be so rash!

“Oh, no! She knows how bad these Cape York blacks are, and would not be so reckless of her life as to come alone. Mr Fraser came with her the first time, then one of her father’s mates was her next escort, and the last time Tom and Jim went to the Bluff for her, and also went back with her.”

A fleeting shadow crossed the dark handsome face, but beyond saying that the blacks were now not so bold as they were two years ago, he apparently did not take much interest in Miss Fraser’s visits to Ocho Rios. But already his ever suspicious mind was at work about her and Gerrard.

After lunch, as there was more branding to be done, Gerrard went back to the stockyard. Aulain wished to come and help.

“Indeed you shall not, Aulain. I’ll tell you what you ought to do. You were saying that you felt inclined for a sea bathe when you camped last night and heard the surf beating on the beach. Now, you and Jim go and have a jolly good swim in the surf. Jim will show you a place safe from sharks.”

“I can’t resist that,” said Aulain eagerly. It was just the very thing he wished—to have a talk with Jim. “But I know the place you mean, Gerrard. My troopers and I have often bathed there when I was in charge of the N.P. Camp at Red Beach.”

Jim ran off to catch and saddle a couple of horses, for although the bathing place was only three miles distant, no Australian would walk so far (except to catch a horse) when he could ride.

“Take your fishing-line, Jim,” said Mrs Westonley, when he returned leading the horses, “and catch some bream for supper. No, Mary, certainly not—you cannot go. No, not even to help Jim to catch and clean the fish. This is a terrible girl, Mr Aulain,” and with a smile she drew Mary to her, “I know exactly what she wants to do—ride into the surf and get wet through.”

“Aunt, you are a wonder. However did you guess?” and Mary, now almost as tall as Jim, hugged Mrs Westonley’s slender waist; “that’s exactly what I did mean to do. But I also meant to catch fish as well.”

“Then you can ‘catch’ me some guinea-fowl eggs instead, to make egg and bread-crumb to fry the fish. Mr Aulain, do you know that Tom brought some guinea-fowl from Port Denison, and now we have hundreds of them? They are horrid things, though. Instead of laying in the fowl-house in an ordinary Christian fowl-like way, they go miles away, and of course the carpet snakes and iguanas, and kookaburras,⁶ get most of the eggs and chicks—except those which Jim and Mary find.”

Aulain laughed as he swung his light, wiry figure into his saddle, and then he and Jim cantered off.

A few hours later, as he and the lad were returning to the station, he lit his pipe and said:

“So your aunt doesn’t care about the beach, and the sea, and the old Dutch ship buried in the sand, eh, Jim?”

“No, Mr Aulain. She says she cannot look at the sea without shuddering—it always makes her think of her father and mother, and the wreck of the Cassowary. But Uncle Tom and Miss Fraser like the beach, and always went there in preference to anywhere else when they went for a ride.”

Poor Jim, never for one moment imagining the cause of Aulain’s interest in Miss Fraser’s movements, was then led on by him to relate nearly everything that had occurred at the station during her last visit. “Was she fond of fishing?” Aulain asked. “Oh, yes, and so was Uncle Tom. They would go out nearly every day either to the beach for bream, or up one of the creeks for spotted mullet.”

Sometimes he (Jim) and Mary would go with them, and then it would be a regular all-day sort of fishing and shooting picnic Miss Fraser used to shoot too, and Uncle Tom was teaching her to shoot from the left shoulder as well as the right—like he could. Then he went on to say that next time Kate came to Ocho Rios she, Gerrard and Mary and himself were all going to Duyphen Point, where there was a small coco-nut grove.

“It will be grand, won’t it, Mr Aulain? You see we are going to take two pack-horses, and our guns and fishing-lines, and will camp there for three or four days and come back with a load of coco-nuts.”

“It ought to be splendid, Jim. When is it to be?”

“In about a month. Miss Fraser is coming to stay with aunt for three whole months. Uncle Tom and I are going to Black Bluff Creek for her, if Mr Fraser can’t spare the time to come with her. You see, it’s ninety miles, and you can’t do it in one day, because some of the country is very rough, and none of our horses have ever been shod. Look at this colt’s hoofs,” and he pointed to them; “ain’t they an awful size?—real ‘soft country’ hoofs, and no mistake.”

Aulain gave a short nod, and then became silent, scarcely noticing Jim’s further remarks concerning such interesting subjects as kangarooing, alligator-shooting, the big tribe of cannibal niggers on the Coen River, who had killed and eaten sixteen Chinamen diggers, etc., etc.

For the rest of the day he was, Gerrard and Mrs Westonley noticed, very restless, and the former observed with some surprise that he helped himself freely and frequently to the brandy; hitherto he had known him as a somewhat abstemious man in the matter of liquor.

He left soon after daylight, declining Gerrard’s pressing invitation to stay for breakfast on the ground of wishing to “do a good twenty miles before the cursed sun got too hot,” and somehow the master of Ocho Rios was not sorry to say good-bye to him, for his manner seemed to have undergone a very great, and not pleasant change.

“Take care of the niggers, Aulain,” he said as they parted.

The ex-officer smiled grimly, and he touched the Winchester carbine slung across his shoulder. Then leading his pack-horse, he rode away.

CHAPTER XXV

“Oh, men who have, or have had fever as badly as Aulain has, often act very queerly, Lizzie, so don’t be too hard on him.”

“I know that, Tom. But at the same time there is something about him—those strange eyes of his—that made me afraid of him. When I told him last night that Kate Fraser was coming here on a long visit, he did not answer; his eyes were fixed on your face in such a strange, intense look that it made me feel quite ‘creepy’.”

Gerrard laughed. “Were they? I didn’t notice it.”

“No, of course not. You were too busy showing Jim how to unscrew the nipples of his gun, and perhaps did not even hear what I was saying.”

“Oh, I did. But I didn’t make any comment, as I noticed that at supper, whenever you or I spoke of the Frasers, he answered in curt monosyllables.”

“Did you tell him she was coming here next month?”

“No. I daresay I should have done so if I had thought of it.”

“Tom, I am not a female Lavater, but when I saw him looking at you like that, I disliked and distrusted him.”

“Poor Aulain! Why, Lizzie, he’s one of the straightest fellows that ever lived, and I am sure he has a sincere regard for me. You must never take notice of the queer looks and actions of men who have had fever badly.”

“Tom! I’m a woman, and I know. He was thinking of Kate Fraser—and you. And he is suffering from another fever—the fever of violent jealousy.”

Gerrard looked up—they were at breakfast. “Well, if that is the case, it is a bad complication of diseases, and I am sorry for him. He has no earthly reason to be jealous of me.”

“He is jealous, Tom, ‘deadly jealous,’ as Jim would say, and I dislike him, dislike him intensely for it You have been so good to him, too.”

“Only keeping things quiet about Big Boulder Creek, as I promised him I should. And then, you see, Lizzie, his not getting the Government reward of five thousand pounds, as he thought he should, has been a big disappointment to him.”

Mrs Westonley rose, came over to him, and placed her two hands against his bronzed cheeks.

“Thomas Gerrard, Esquire?”

“Mrs Elizabeth Westonley!”

“You are to marry Kate Fraser!”

“Am I, old woman? You’re a perfect jewel of a sister to find me such a charming wife. But you see there are one or two trifling formalities to be observed. First of all, I should have to ask her her views on the subject.”

“You ought to have done that a year ago.”

“And have met with a refusal like poor Forde and Aulain.”

“No, you would not have been refused. I know that much,” was his sister’s emphatic observation. “But you are letting the time go by, Tom. And I am sure she is wondering why you don’t ask. I know that she loves you.”

“Do you really?” and he shook his head smilingly.

“Yes, I do. I’m certain. And I know you are fond of her.”

“Been long in the clairvoyant business, Lizzie?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Tom. I am very serious—and it would make me very happy. Ask her this time, Tom. You must—else you have no right to be with her so much. It is not fair to the girl.”

“We are very great friends, Lizzie. I like her better than any woman I have ever met. And I have sometimes thought—but anyway, I’m not in a position to ask her.”

“Nonsense! Your affairs are improving every day.”

Gerrard was silent for a minute, then he said:

“I think Aulain means to try again.”

“I am sure of it. But he is wasting his time. High-spirited as she is, she is almost frightened of him. She told me so. She resented very much a letter she received from him in reply to hers telling him she could not marry him; and moreover she told me that even if she cared ever so much for a man, she would never marry a Roman Catholic.”

“I don’t think she will ever marry, Lizzie, so it is no use my indulging in ridiculous visions; she is too much attached to her father to ever leave him. And you will always be mistress of Ocho Rios and master of Tom Gerrard.”

Mrs Westonley laughed, and pulled his short, dark-brown, pointed beard. “Silly man! I know better than that; and I know also that Douglas Fraser would be pleased to see Kate become Mrs Tom Gerrard, for he likes you immensely. Now, promise me you will ask her?”

Gerrard rose and made his escape to the door, then he turned.

“I’ll think it over, you match-making creature,” and then he went off to the stockyard, apparently unconcerned, but secretly delighted at what his sister had told him, and she smiled to herself, for she knew that when he spoke of thinking about a matter, he had already decided.

Black Bluff Creek was a purely alluvial gold-field, and was in the very zenith of its prosperity when, towards sunset, Randolph Aulain looked down upon it from an ironstone ridge a mile distant from the workings. It had been given its name on account of a peculiar formation of black rock, which rose abruptly from the alluvial plain, and extended for nearly two miles along and almost parallel with the creek, from the bed of which so much gold was being won by two hundred diggers. The top of this wall of rock was covered with a dense scrub, and presented a smooth, even surface of green, which even in the driest seasons never lost its verdant appearance. Some of the diggers had cleared away portions of the scrub, and erected sun-shelters of bark, under which they slept when their day’s toils were over, and enjoyed the cool night breeze—free from the miasmatic steam of the valley five hundred feet below. Almost on the verge of the steep-to wall of rock was a large and regularly built “humpy,” in which Douglas Fraser and Kate lived. The ascent to the summit of the bluff was by a narrow path that had been found by Kate in one of the many clefts riven in the side of the black-faced cliff, and her father’s mates had so improved it with pick and shovel that Aulain could discern it quite easily.

As he walked his horse down into the camp, the diggers had just ceased work for the day, and with clay-stained and soddened garments were returning to their various tents or “humpies” of bark, all of them contentedly smoking, and ready for their usual supper of salt beef, damper, and tea. Many of the stalwart fellows recognised the ex-officer of Black Police, and bade him a pleasant “good evening, boss,” and presently he was hailed by Sam Young, Cockney Smith, and others of Fraser’s party. He dismounted and shook hands with Young, and asked him where was the “pub,” as he intended to put up there for the night.

Young protested against his going there. “There it is, Mr Aulain, over there,” and he pointed to the bush public house, a low, bark-roofed structure on the edge of the creek; “but you can’t stay there to-night It’s Saturday, you see, and the boys will be there in force to-night, and you’ll get no sleep. Besides, Mr Fraser would be real put out if you didn’t go to him. He’s just gone home. He and Miss Kate live up on the bluff.”

“I know. I’ll go and see them after supper, but I’d rather camp down here for to-night.”

“Then come to our tent. There’s plenty of room, and plenty of tucker, and any amount of grass along the creek for your horses.”

Aulain accepted the offer, and after unsaddling and turning out his horses, he was provided with a piece of soap, an alleged towel, and a bucket of water, and made a hasty wash in company with Young and his mates. Then came supper and the interchange of the usual mining news. Two years before, not one of his present companions would have addressed him without the prefix of “Mister”; but now he was one of themselves, a digger, and would himself have felt awkward and uncomfortable if any one of them had had the lack of manners and good sense to “Mister” him.

Supper over he lit his pipe, and telling Young he would be back about ten and take a hand at euchre, he set out and took the mountain path to the summit of the bluff. It was a beautifully clear moonlight night—so clear that every leaf of the trees which stood on the more open sides of the rocky track showed out as if it were mid-day, and a bright sun was shining overhead.

When he was within sight of Fraser’s dwelling, he heard two shots above him, and then Kate speaking.

“I’ve got four of the little villains, father.”

The sound of her voice thrilled him, and he hastened his steps. In a few minutes he saw Douglas Fraser, who was seated outside smoking his after-supper pipe.

“How are you, Fraser?” he cried.

The big man sprang to his feet, and came towards him with outstretched hand.

“Aulain, by Jove! I am pleased to see you again. I saw some one leading a pack-horse coming into the camp below, but never dreamt it was you. Come inside. Kate will be here in a few minutes. We have a bit of garden close by, and the confounded bandicoots and paddymelons ravage it at nights, and she has just been knocking some over. She will be delighted to see you.”