Читать книгу The Squatter's Ward - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 7

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On that fatal evening Mr. Merton was seated before his desk engaged in the computation of some monetary matters, while Roff stood by holding his hat in his hand. He was a tall man, with broad, square shoulders, that gave an aspect of herculean power to his well-knit frame. He could not be called handsome though his countenance was not an unpleasant one, and his full black beard was neat and trim. He had a high, commanding forehead, fringed with hair that had a natural curl in it, and so dark and glossy as to have an oleaginous appearance. His eyes, which inclined to a greyish tint, were steady and fearless, mostly mild in their light, but at times hard and fierce. His dress was modest and unpretending, and he looked every inch a gentleman.

It was mooted about when he first came to Tipparoo that he was a man of refined tastes and good breeding, a man who had seen better days, and had been reduced by adverse circumstances to seek a livelihood among backblock stations. He took a contract to ringbark a quantity of timber at a shilling an acre on Tipparoo, at which he made sufficient money to take up a selection a few months later. That was the hypothesis; but many knew that he was only a dummy—that is, he selected the land, not for his own use and benefit as required by the Act, but in the interests of Richard Merton, and for the augmentation of that gentleman's freehold property. This was a common practice among squatters in the early days of "free selections," as evidenced by the fact of so many settlers abandoning their lands at the expiration of the required duration of residence.

"The very Act," old Ralf would say when discussing this question in the reading-room at the hut, "the very Act that'd been formulated and passed by the Legislature for settlin' people on the land that was held by the squatters had the opposite effect o' placin' it in the squatters' possession altogether; and the revenue that was derived annually from the leases was lost to the Government. Of course, they got a pound an acre altogether at the end of five years. But what's that? Isn't it chuckin' it into the squatters' hands—givin' 'em a monopoly? When the time's up the selectors clear out, an' the position's worse'n ever. The improvements are pulled down, or left to go to ruin, an' more than all, it's out of the Government's control. Now, wouldn't it be better for the Government to sell the Crown lands by auction, an' let them buy it as liked? Grazin' would have to come to a poor pass when land like this wouldn't fetch two quid an acre. Any amount 'ud buy it at two quid that wouldn't select under the conditions of the Act. There'd be some good in that, but the way they're doin' now is only doin' harm. Look at all the dummyin' that's done. Nine out o' ten are dummies, take, it from me."

Even at the present day, under the new Act, when the more rigid conditions and restrictions engender numerous difficulties in the way of acquiring such conditional grants under false pretences, this dummying is carried on to an enormous extent. The method instituted for the diffusion of population has had in many cases the result of simply devastating the country by destroying vast stretches of valuable timber through that ruinous custom of ringbarking, which, till lately, constituted an "improvement" under the stipulations of these defective Land Acts.

A wholesale destruction of marketable timber, a small strip of cultivated land, a cockatoo fence, a temporary yard, and a few frail structures of a similar kind, crowned with a rough bark hut, comprised the bulk of the improvements that had been made on Goolgolgon—and that can be taken as an example of "improved settlements;" and here stood the selector, prepared to receive his last stipend, and to resign his estate to the man for whom he had taken it up five years before, and in whose interests he had worked the whole of that time.

"Your wages," said that gentleman, looking up from his ledger, "amount to seventeen pounds ten shillings—that is, up to the end of the year. I'll pay you up to then, and that'll leave a clear start from the first of the quarter?"

"You may as well make it twenty pounds while you're at it," said Roff. "It won't be so much trouble to write, and it's hardly worth while breaking the score."

"Why should I make it twenty pounds?" Merton demanded.

"Well," said Roff, "apart from the fact that we are nearly into Christmas week, I've just handed you the deeds that entitle you to the possession of Goolgolgon."

"Am I not entitled to it by the money I've paid you during the past five years? What more do you want?"

"That's not the way to look at it. Many a man in my position would have been rogue enough to stick to the selection and tell you to go to the devil when the time came to deliver up. I've seen it done before to-day."

"You forget that I have your receipts for money lent. Pay me the amount I've lent you and you can stick to the property and welcome. I want the money more than the land." Mr. Merton knew very well that Roff could not refund the money, otherwise it is doubtful if he would have offered the alternative.

"Don't think because I give you an illustration of what could be done by a rogue," said Roff, "that I'd stoop to such a practice. If I had a mind to I could put in a counter-claim for work done on the station—but we'll let it pass. Goolgolgon is yours; I'm not going back again."

"Well, come back to the station after your holiday, and I'll see what I can do for you then. Times are pretty bad just now; I've had some heavy losses, and I'm short of money."

"Very well," said Roff. The cheque was drawn out and handed over.

"And now," said Merton, slewing round in his chair and crossing his legs, "I want to ask you a few questions. You told me this morning that you didn't know Wahwon, and that you saw no blackfellow about Googolgon on Thursday. I've been told since that Wahwon was seen going to your hut late yesterday evening."

"That's a lie!" said Roff. "It was Jabez Gegg who told you that. That fellow would hang his own father. I know a little of his career."

"And you swear that no blackfellow visited your hut yesterday?"

"I swear nothing. Blacks are often wandering about the bush. There are three camps, as you know, down the creek."

"Humph! How long has your wife been down at Coraki?"

"About a week."

"Do her people live there?"

"Her parents are dead. A brother is the only relative she has."

"Did she take her child with her to Coraki?" Jed Roff started, and a slight change seemed to come over his face.

"Her child!" he said, looking hard at Merton. "She has no children."

"There were infant's cloths on your line not long ago. Whose were they?"

Roff meditated for a moment; then he said sarcastically: "I suppose Jabez Gegg saw them also? He sees things that no one else does . . . . and his actions are not known to everybody. I've got a bone or two to pick with him, and they'll be picked pretty clean too . . . . by-and-by."

"How long, have you been married, Roff?" Merton persisted.

"About fifteen months," Roff answered.

"Fifteen months? Hem!" said Merton, as though this was a revelation to him. "I believe your wife has been at Goolgolgon only during the last couple of months. Where was she staying before that?"

"With her brother at Tallagalba."

"What was her maiden name?"

"Daisy Bradford."

"She was well circumstanced, I believe?"

"She was the daughter of a retired banker."

"Humph! You'll excuse my inquiring into your private affairs, Roff. There's things I don't understand . . . . and—er . . . . . I suppose your wife's brother is still over there?"

"No; he went to Melbourne a week ago. He sold Tallagalba to a Mr. Foster."

"Oh! I knew Foster well. And so he's got Tallagalba now! . . . . Hem! Where did you first know Jabez Gegg?"

"In the shearin' sheds out Quirindi way. We were mates one time."

"Oh!" said Mr. Merton, quite satisfied with this answer. "Hem! Of course, you'll be back by Sunday night?"

"If possible."

"Very well," said Merton. "Good night!"

"Good night!" Roff returned. Five minutes later he had left the station.

Nothing had been said about Mumby, for Merton had an impression that he had tracked Roff to the homestead and was only awaiting an opportunity to make his report; and Roff, though wavering for some time, had at last concluded that it would be better not to mention what he had seen, as so doing would delay him a week and upset his plans, without assisting the matter further than by making the tracker's fate known a few hours earlier. Mumby would be missed in the morning, and the first to go along that road would find his body by the pool. Had he of known that Mumby had been employed all day in shadowing him he might have acted differently, as he would then have seen his own danger.

He rode back at a swinging gallop until he reached the pool. Here he drew rein and dismounted, intending to assure himself that the blackfellow was still there. But the only trace was a few blood-stained leaves. Perhaps he had only been stunned, and, on recovering, had made his way home through the bush. The pool was still dark, and the weird silence around was only broken at intervals by the deep hoot of the boobook owl. He mounted and galloped away from a place that was suggestive of bunyips and ghosts, and did not draw rein again until he reached his own sliprails.