Читать книгу Out There: A Romance Of Australia - James Edward Muddock - Страница 8

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WHEN Preston left the Club he changed his mind about seeing Gordon that day. Although he was only vaguely conscious of it, that little doubt that Mary's question had given birth to was worrying him, and so, with a resolve that he would withhold the information from Oliver for the present, he returned to Mary Gordon's residence. He talked of going back to Glenbar that night, but Margaret Bruce and her niece both urged him to spend a day or two with them, as it would be an agreeable change from arid Glenbar. Although anxious about his business, he was not averse to a few days' holiday spent in Mary's company, and readily accepted the invitation. He had three days of dreamy delight, and talked to Mary of the time when their two lives would be welded and they would work out their destinies together.

"You are the only woman the world holds for me, Mary," he said on the last night of his stay as they sat on the veranda in the moonlight. He was unusually thoughtful, unusually serious, as though some shadowy feeling of apprehension about the future was haunting him. "If by any possible chance we were separated I—well—"

He stopped suddenly with a little snap of exasperation, as if angry with himself for having betrayed his thoughts.

She leaned towards him, laid her hand on his, and said in a low, sweet tone:

"What is the matter with you to-night, dear? Why talk of separation? One must, of course, consider human contingencies, but I can think of nothing save death that can separate us if we are true to each other."

A little tremor thrilled through him.

"Death, yours or mine, would set the other free," he answered. "Let me say now truthfully, as God will judge me, if I die I hope you will not let any foolish sentiment keep you from marrying if you desire to do so. But in my case I honestly believe that if I survive you I could never bear to hold another woman in my arms. I suppose I am peculiar in that way. But you have so filled my life that your death would leave a void no one else could fill. I am sure, quite sure, my feelings in that respect will never change."

Her head was on his shoulder, her hand stole up to his neck, and she murmured:

"Harold, what is troubling you to-night? It is so unlike you to be really despondent. Are you not well?"

For answer he flung his arms around her, and with a lover's ardency embraced her again and again. The warm, languorous north wind kissed the trees and they sighed. The silver sheen of the moon flooded the landscape with ghostly splendour, and the southern stars palpitated with a glittering radiance. There was the scarcely perceptible music of tiny wings as they beat the air, and there floated up from the earth the sounds of a thousand night insects like the sounds that come to one in dreams. The whole night seemed to drone out a song of the aeons, of the ages, of the love tales that had been told and forgotten, and of the millions and millions of human moats that had danced their little hour in the sun and passed like the shadow of smoke.

The two beings seated on the veranda locked in each other's arms were experiencing the blissful moments—alas how few—transient as the light of a meteor, when a song of heavenly joy seems to sing in the human heart, and that sorrow and wrong and dusty death have been banished for aye.

They drew back abruptly and sat up in their seats as the sound of footsteps recalled them to the everyday world again.

There was a little short laugh, and a voice, that somehow sounded like a false note in the symphony of the night, said:

"I'm sorry I've intruded at such an inopportune moment. I'm a regular bungler, but Miss Bruce told me I should find you here." The voice was Gordon's. "But you needn't mind me; I don't count," he added. "As I said the other day at Glenbar I am only a cypher."

"Oh, it is all right, old chap!" exclaimed Harold with unmistakable confusion. "Come and sit down. You are privileged to interrupt."

Mary's face burned as with fire, and she was so startled by the abrupt and unexpected apparition of Gordon, that she said, "I will leave you two men together for a little while," and fled.

"The fact is," said Gordon, as he threw himself into the chair Mary had just vacated, stretched out his legs and proceeded to light a cigar, "the fact is, I have been wondering what had become of you. You seem to have ignored me. Why, goodness knows."

"On my honour, no, but—"

"Make no excuses, old fellow. I quite understand of course. Spooning with; one's girl is an all-absorbing occupation. But a little matter of exigence prompted me to come up and see you, though I am sorry I interrupted your tête-à-tête. It's a perfect night for love-making. I rather envy you."

A certain flippancy and lightness in Gordon's manner and speech annoyed Harold in spite of himself. During that blissful half-hour with Mary he had touched the highest point of love's elation, and been under the spell of that ecstasy which transfigures the whole world until it appears as a paradise. Now his mind's banality jarred on him.

"Well, what's the matter of exigence?" he asked with a sharpness that did not escape the other's notice Harold partly sat on the rail of the veranda, clasped his hands about one of the wooden pillars supporting the projecting roof, and gazed up at the moon.

"Don't bite me, dear boy," answered Gordon with a laugh. "I asked Miss Bruce if you were still here, and she told me I should find you and Mary on the veranda. So I came. I made my entrance at a moment when you had forgotten that I and the world existed. But don't let that worry you. I understand things and say again, I envy you."

Harold got down from the rail and seated himself in the other chair.

"Pardon my momentary irritation," he said, "one is apt to be a bit flurried by a sudden awakening from a pleasant dream. And now, what's the business?"

"I have received a letter from Melbourne in connection with a matter which necessitates my personal attention there, so I've booked my seat in the Coach which starts to-morrow morning."

"It's a sudden call, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, it is rather, and unexpected, certainly."

"Likely to be away long?"

"Several weeks, possibly some months. The prospect of a long absence induced me to look you up to-night, as, naturally, I am anxious about your affairs. What are you going to do with regard to the foreclosure?"

"To be perfectly frank, I have not thought about It."

"Well, you are a cool beggar, upon my word."

"Oh, don't think I'm indifferent, Oliver. Before the foreclosure can be made absolute I have thirty-one clear days in which to pay off the principal and interest."

"And can you pay it?" asked Oliver with peculiar sharpness, as he leaned forward with the palms of his hands resting on the arms of the chair.

There was a pause of some moments before Harold spoke.

"Not unless you can help me."

Oliver fell back in his chair again, and emitted a sigh pregnant with meaning. There was another gap of silence.

"I'm afraid it's impossible," he said at last with apparent sincerity. "It's devilish hard on you, old chum, and it cuts me to the heart to think I am powerless. But, on my honour, I am up a tree myself. I've been going the pace for the last year or so, as you know, but until I came to look into my affairs, I didn't realise they were so complicated. I've got to pull up with a round turn. That's one of the reasons I'm going down to Melbourne. I shall have to put matters right somehow."

"From the frying pan into the fire, eh?" remarked Harold with a laugh. "Melbourne's a pretty hot place, you know."

"You are jumping to hasty conclusions, my friend," said Oliver with some vehemence. "Give me credit for possessing a few grains of common sense. I have a little business there that I have neglected, and on the principle that if you want a thing done well you must do it yourself, I am going to look after it. But you may bet your boots, my boy, that the lure of Melbourne would have to be much stronger than it is to tempt me to ruin myself. Why, good Lord, this place is far more of a danger zone to me. I've got a reputation to keep up here. I have to pretend to a lot, as you know, but in Melbourne there need be no pretence. I shall simply be one of the many motes, and can live as cheaply as I like."

"Don't take my chaff too seriously, Oliver." He lapsed into silence once more, and the whispering trees and the voices of the night made the silence strangely impressive. Harold revolved many things in his mind, until at last one clear thought came to him. This unsought interview seemed to him the very opportunity he wanted. "Since you have taken me into your confidence so far, I'll give you confidence in return," he said. "I have a proposal to make, which, if we can carry it out to a practical issue, may bring fortune to both of us." His resolve not to tell Oliver he had rescinded and he now felt that this was the psychological moment for the revelation.

"You have not been dreaming wild dreams, have you?" asked Oliver with a sceptical laugh and irony in his voice.

"No. But supposing I told you I know the way to El Dorado?"

"I should say you have been eating lotus."

"But suppose I insist that I am wide awake, and that my El Dorado is not the figment of a dream?"

"I should demand proof."

"And supposing I told you I know of a place where quartz stones by tons can be found, containing nearly as much gold as stone; while fine gold can be gathered up by bucket-fulls?"

"Again I should demand proof. I've heard that sort of talk before."

"And in the event of my furnishing the proof, would you stake much or all and join me in an expedition?"

"Yes, by God I would!" exclaimed Gordon, starting to his feet in a paroxysm of excitement, for there was something convincing in his friend's manner. Even allowing for exaggeration, he knew that Australia was full of possibilities, and the picture Harold had conjured up might be no dream of a visionary. Some r where in the vast unexplored regions of that fifth continent of the world there was wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. Mining men and geologists knew it. It was a question of finding it. "You have something at the back of your head, Harold," he continued, with an eagerness that was in striking contrast with his previous scepticism. "What is it? You can trust me. I'm your chum."

Harold rose up and stretched himself.

"Yes, I feel sure I can trust you. Come into my room." He led the way, and Gordon followed him into a neat little bedroom, daintily furnished. A small satinwood bedstead hung with a mosquito net filled up one corner. A large kangaroo rug partially covered the floor, while two or three large basket chairs, well supplied with cushions, a small white wood table in the centre, and a large chest of camphor-wood drawers against the wall were in keeping with the framed, sketches, several water-colour drawings, Mary's work, which adorned the walls. A vase of flowers stood on the table, and a little portable stand of books, on the top of which were photographs and a few knick-knacks, were evidence of refinement and culture. From the ceiling a large Colza oil lamp was suspended, its brilliant white light being partially subdued by a rose-coloured shade. Harold took a key from his pocket, inserted it in the lock of one of the drawers, opened the drawer, and produced the billy containing the pieces of quartz, which he poured out on to the table.

"What do you think of these specimens?" he asked with a little chuckle of triumph.

Gordon dropped on his knees by the table, caught up piece after piece of the quartz, held it in various positions, so as to get the full light from the lamp, while a glow came into his eyes; his voice vibrated with nervous excitement.

"I say...by Jove!...where did you get these from?" he cried.

"What do you think of them?" Harold asked coolly.

Gordon rose to his feet, and held some pieces still nearer the lamp, scrutinising them with critical eye.

"Well, if these are fair samples of the reef from which they have been taken, I should say someone has struck it rich."

Harold turned to the drawer again, and produced the other billy containing the scale gold, and he placed it on the table and removed the lid. Gordon's eyes dilated and his forehead wrinkled up. He did not touch the gold with his fingers for fear of scattering the grains, but he gazed on it greedily. His face hardened with an expression of avarice.

The inspection over, Harold put the billies back into the drawer and locked them up again.

"Sit down and let's have a talk," he said, as he drew up one of the cushioned chairs, placed a cushion at the back of his head, and leaned back with the air of a man who was contented and comfortable. Gordon occupied another chair facing his friend, and fixed his eyes upon him with a look of impatient searching interrogation. "I thought you would be surprised," remarked Harold with a laugh. "When you drove Mary out to my place the other day, she brought me word that an old prospector who is lying very ill in the hospital wanted to see me. It appears I had rendered him some service about three years ago, although I had forgotten it, but he hadn't. And as the old chap seems to be in a bad way, he has placed those specimens in my possession and given me all the particulars of the place where he found them."

"Where is it?" asked Gordon, with a gasp of eagerness, and partly raising himself in an attitude of alertness, like one who waits for a verdict.

Harold did not answer immediately; he puffed at his cigar, and gazed up at the ceiling. Presently he looked into the eyes of his friend, held forth his hand, and said:

"Give me your hand, old chap. We are chums, and whether you consent to join me or not, you'll respect my confidence, won't you?"

"If you feel you can't trust me, hold your peace," answered Gordon tartly, as though he was hurt by the remark.

"Of course I trust you, otherwise I should not have told you as much as I have done."

"Of course you've told Mary?" asked Gordon quickly.

"Oh yes, naturally."

Gordon leaned back in his chair. He was not so self-possessed as usual. The unexpected revelation had thrown him off his balance a little.

"Did you swear her to secrecy?" he asked, with an unwise display of irritation. "It's dangerous to trust a woman with a secret!"

"No swearing was necessary. What has annoyed you? Mary is one of those women who can be faithful unto death."

Gordon sat up and laughed, but it was a laugh with no soul, no sincerity in it. It was a mockery.

"Forgive me, old chap. It was only a momentary annoyance. I thought at first that you showed some reluctance to trust me with your secret; it pricked me a bit. But now we understand each other. Go ahead with your story."

"As a matter of fact, there is not much story to tell. If those specimens of gold are to be taken as fair samples, it is obvious that there's gold for the getting where they came from. If we were in London or Paris, say, instead of Gordonstown, we could with those samples float a gold mining company with a quarter of a million sterling in twenty-four hours. For anything the public knew, it might be a bogus gold mine, but a gold mine, a flaming prospectus, and a guinea-pig or two on the board of directors, act as a talisman to draw the money from the pockets of fools. But you and I will reap the harvest for ourselves, if there is a harvest to reap. We've got to do the pioneer business, but, unlike the majority of pioneers, we'll take jolly good care we consolidate our own interests before we let outsiders in. You follow me!"

"Of course I do, and agree. But where the deuce is El Dorado?" Gordon was getting impatient, beyond control.

"Somewhere out in the western ranges, beyond the desert."

"Somewhere! That's vague."

"The information in my possession will enable us to locate the spot. A gorge in the mountains. The quartz cropping out of the hill-side, and a stream flowing through the gorge, with a sandy bottom, like the sands of Pactolus."

Gordon lapsed into thoughtful silence. He put his hand to his forehead, and closed his eyes. His brain was working; he was trying to visualise certain things that might come to pass. At last he spoke, his left hand went up to his mouth, his thumb and index finger caressing his chin, his eyes fixed on vacancy.

"It sounds attractive enough, but the Western Ranges, they are far off, my friend, and there's the thirst land between us."

"Yes, but as the mountains won't come to us, we must go to the mountains. Anyway, whether you go or not, I shall go."

"By God, if you go, I will go too," exclaimed Gordon, springing to his feet all alert now, "we'll share the risk and the spoil."

"That's a bargain," said Harold, and they shook hands again. "Let us start as soon as possible. Say in a month. How will that suit you?"

Gordon 'stroked his moustache, in a pondering mood again.

"Yes...I think I can arrange. But what are you going to do about your farm?" He turned a keen, penetrating gaze on his friend's face, trying to read his thoughts.

"I don't know," Harold replied, with an anxious expression. "If by paying a certain amount down I could get them to renew the mortgage for a year..."

"Now look here," exclaimed Oliver with an eagerness that betrayed his anxiety. "I'll tell you what I'll do. While I am in Melbourne I'll call on Frampton & Heathcote, they've done business for me you know, and we are pretty chummy. I'll ask them to persuade their client to renew the mortgage for a year, and I'll pay down the arrears of interest. I must borrow the money. How will that pan out?"

"You are a brick," answered Harold, with a display of emotion, for he was deeply touched by his friend's apparent generosity.

"Very well, now make your mind easy," continued Gordon, still labouring under suppressed excitement. "I'll do my best. Of course, if we are going to start for the West in a month's time I shall have to cut my stay in Melbourne pretty short. But I'll manage somehow, and while I'm away you make arrangements for the little expedition. What about taking Jim Dawkins?"

"No. I can't do that. Jim's a splendid bushman and as hard as iron, but he's the only man I can leave in charge. I have two other chaps, however, Pete Radley and George Grindon, who I fancy will be glad to accompany us. They are good boys, and thoroughly reliable."

"Yes, they are all right, and I have no doubt I can induce two of my fellows to go. Six of us will be enough."

"Now about the quartz? You had better let me take it down to Melbourne and get it assayed. Of course we couldn't do any reefing put there without crushers, but if prospects warranted it, we'd soon have a stamping mill out and at work."

Harold opened the drawer again, took out the billy containing the quartz, wrapped it up in paper, making a neat parcel of it, and entrusted it to his friend. At this point somebody rapped on the door, and in response to Harold's "Come in," Mary, looking very sweet and pretty framed in the doorway, commanded them to "Come at once and have some supper. I'm sure you've talked enough. Just like men when they get together."

With a laugh they followed her to the little dining-room, where the table was already spread, and Mrs Margaret Bruce, very prim, in a rose-coloured dress and a white cap, trimmed with rose-coloured ribbon, on her head, was waiting for them. Margaret was a gentle, lovable woman between forty and fifty years of age. She had been a mother to Mary, and the girl's happiness seemed to be her one concern in life.

They were a merry little party at the supper table; the subject of the projected expedition in search of gold was not mentioned, the conversation being general. The meal ended. Mary, who had a small but well-cultured voice, sang a song or two, Harold accompanying her on the piano, and at eleven o'clock Gordon took his departure. As the two men shook hands at parting at the garden gate, Gordon placed a warning finger on his lip. "Now remember to be discreet and mum in this business. We understand each other. Neither must give the show away."