Basil and Annette - Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

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with masses of blue and barley grass, among which might be found the native leek and wild cucumber; then followed a tract of country somewhat lightly timbered but heavily grassed, where he came across a nasty bit of "devil devil" land, fortunately of not great extent, for he had to ride with a loose rein and leave it to his horse to pick the safest way. On his left were large lagoons in which a wondrous variety of wild fowl abounded; on his right was a belt of impenetrable scrub; but the track was well defined, and after riding twenty miles he entered a thickly wooded forest, for the shade of which he was grateful, the sun now being high in the heavens. Emerging from this forest he halted near a vast sheet of water, in which tall reeds grew, and where he found the wild banana. Off this fruit and some cold meat and bread which Old Corrie had forced upon him, he made a sufficient meal, and then resumed his journey. In the afternoon the road lay through a more even country, and he reckoned upon reaching Gum Flat before sundown. But he reckoned without his host, for the distance was longer than he calculated, and at sunset he was still, according to the information given to him by the driver of a bullock dray, eight or ten miles from the township. This man was the only human being he had met in his lonely ride. Many a time in the course of the day had he fallen into contemplation of the pregnant events of the last twenty-four hours, thinking, "This time yesterday I was walking with Annette in the woods, gathering wildflowers for her mother's grave. She slipped, and I caught her in my arms." And again: "This time yesterday Anthony Bidaud, Annette, and I, were sitting in the verandah, watching the sunset; and a moment afterwards white stars were glittering in the clouds of faded gold. How peaceful, how happy we were! And now?" he shuddered as he thought of the dead form of Anthony Bidaud lying in his room and of the sense of desolation which must have fallen upon Annette. He strove to direct his thoughts into more cheerful grooves, but he was not successful.

      The gorgeous colours in the heavens melted away; the sun dipped beneath the horizon; it was night. Fortunately it was light, and he could see the road he was riding over. The willing animal he bestrode plodded on, more slowly now, and Basil did not attempt to quicken the pace. It was ten o'clock when he reached the township of Gum Flat.

      He recognised it by the outlines of the tents. He had expected to see lights in the dwellings, arguing that Gum Flat must have increased in importance since his last visit, but all was dark on the outskirts. He was surprised at the darkness, but grateful that his journey was over. He rode along the High Street, and with still deeper surprise observed that on some of the stores the canvas lay loose, and that the calico over the frame was torn and rent. "Can I have mistaken the road?" he thought. In the middle of the High Street he paused. The door of a store was thrown suddenly open, and three men, whose movements had been inspired by the sound of the horse's hoofs, emerged therefrom, and stood looking up at Basil. Each had cards in his hand, denoting that when they were disturbed they had been gambling. The picture at that moment was Rembrandtesque. The street was in darkness; not a light was visible. One of the men standing at the door held above his head a lighted candle stuck in a whiskey bottle, and this dim light enabled the three-gamblers and Basil not exactly to see each other but to define outlines. Through the open door Basil saw a table upon which was another candle, and sitting at which was another man, also with cards in his hand. This man, leaning forward, was striving to pierce the gloom in which his companions and Basil stood. He rose and joined them, and going close to Basil, laid his hand upon the horse's neck. Thus, Basil and he confronted each other. And at that moment was commenced the weaving of a strand which was to connect the lives of these two men, for weal or woe.

      CHAPTER X

      Each man of this small group represented in his own person the epitome of a drama more or less stirring and eventful. With three of these we have little to do, and no good purpose will be served by recounting their antecedents. The history of the fourth-he who stood with his hand on the neck of Old Corrie's horse, looking up at Basil-will presently be unfolded.

      He was a full-bearded man, the light brown hair so effectually concealing his features that only his cheekbones and forehead were visible. To a physiologist, therefore, the index was imperfect. He was a young man, of about the same age as Basil, and his name was Newman Chaytor. This was his true name; it will be as well to say as much, for there was much that was false about him.

      The man who held the candle was known as Jim the Hatter; Jim belonged properly to him by right, the Hatter was patronymic he had earned by working on various goldfields alone, without a mate. Why they call men on the gold-diggings thus inclined, Hatters, is one of the mysteries, but it is a fact. Of the other two it will be sufficient to refer to them as Nonentity Number One and Nonentity Number Two. Jim the Hatter was a large-boned, loose-limbed man, of great strength. Upon his first arrival in Australia his time, to put it gently, was not his own; it belonged to his country. He was now free, but his morals had not been improved by the lesson his country had administered to him.

      It will thus be seen that Basil had unfortunately fallen among thieves.

      For a few moments the man on horseback and the men on foot preserved silence, and opportunity was afforded for a striking picture. Jim the Hatter was the first to speak.

      "Well, mate?" he said.

      "Is this the township of Gum Flat?" inquired Basil.

      "It is. If you're looking for it, you're dead on the gutter."

      "I thought I must have mistaken my way," said Basil. "What has come over the place?"

      Newman Chaytor answered him. "It has gone," he said, "to the dogs."

      "Like yourselves," thought Basil, gazing at the men, but deeming it prudent not to express himself aloud upon a point so personal. He spoke, however. "It is the place I was making for. I suppose I can put up here for the night?"

      "There's nothing to prevent you. Gum Flat township just now is Liberty Hall."

      "Stop a bit, stop a bit," said Nonentity Number One, considering it necessary to his dignity that he should take part in the conference. "Is the gentleman prepared to pay for accommodation?"

      "That's a proper question," said Nonentity Number Two, thus asserting himself.

      "Of course he is," said Jim the Hatter, answering for Basil, who, with an empty purse, was saved from awkwardness.

      A diversion occurred here. Newman Chaytor snatched the candle from Jim the Hatter, in order that he might obtain a clearer view of Basil.

      "Manners, mate," said Jim the Hatter.

      "Manners be hanged!" retorted Newman Chaytor, holding the candle high. "They're out of stock."

      This was evident. To smooth matters Basil volunteered an explanation. "I have come hereupon business, but I am afraid I have lost my time."

      "Perhaps not," said Jim the Hatter. "We're all business men here; ready at a moment's notice to turn a honest penny. That's true, ain't it, mate?"

      He addressed Newman Chaytor, but that worthy did not reply. Having obtained a clearer view of Basil's face, he seemed to be suddenly struck dumb, and stared at it as though he were fascinated.

      "Still," continued Jim the Hatter, "it's as well to be particular in these times. I'm very choice in the company I keep, and I don't as a rule do business with strangers, unless," he added, with a grin which found its reflection on the lips of Nonentities Numbers One and Two, "they pay their footing first."

      "If you wish to know my name," said Basil, "it is Basil Whittingham."

      "What!" cried Newman Chaytor, finding his tongue; but the exclamation of undoubted astonishment appeared to be forced from him instead of being voluntarily uttered.

      "Basil Whittingham," repeated Basil. "Being here, I must stop for the night. Is there a stable near?"

      "There's one at the back," said Newman Chaytor, with sudden alacrity, "or rather there was one. I'll show you."

      "Thank you," said Basil, and followed his guide to the rear of the shanty.

      The three men looked after them with no good will.

      "He's a swell," said Nonentity Number One.

      "He's got a watch and chain," said Nonentity Number Two.

      "And a horse," said Jim the Hatter.

      Then

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