CHAPTER III.
AT WARRANDILLA.
An hour after, Gray was riding swiftly across the plains on his way tothe station. He was urging on his horse with voice and hand and spur,riding as if for dear life, yet even while he rode he was making up hismind to keep back from Mr. Morton all knowledge of Dearing's map. OfDearing's death he was bound to tell him, but he would say nothing ofthe map. If Harding was found it would be so easy to say he hadforgotten it in his anxiety; if Harding-- Gray did not finish thesentence to himself, but he determined to keep back the map.
It was not much past noon when the plains began to give place toundulating ground, richer in vegetation, and with great clumps ofdark-foliaged trees here and there; and it was soon after that thatGray caught his first glimpse of the river, and saw the roofs of thestation gleaming in the sunlight.
Mr. Morton had spent the morning watching the men at work on the newcottages he was building near his own house for his head shepherds andstock-keepers. They were comfortable, roomy cottages, looking down onthe river, with gardens before them, which Mr. Morton intended to be aswell stocked and as pretty as his own.
"They will be finished in another week," he said to his wife. He hadcome back to the house across the garden, and found her sitting in theshady verandah. "And I have made up my mind, Minnie, who's to have theone we meant for Murray."
Mrs. Morton put down her needle-work, and looked eagerly at herhusband. Murray had lately left them to start a run of his own, andMr. Morton had been undecided who should take his post.
"I shall give it to Harding," he said. "I'll ride over and tell him soto-morrow. You'll like having him on the station, won't you?"
"I am very glad indeed," said little Mrs. Morton with energy. "And howdelighted he will be. He will be able to get everything ready beforehis wife and boys get here. They don't leave England till next week.He was telling me all about them when last he was over here."
"Oh, I knew he was a great favourite of yours, my dear," said herhusband with a well-pleased look. "And if he isn't as sharp as some,he is as true as steel. I thought it all over this morning, and Ibelieve he's my best man."
Mrs. Morton was called into the house at that moment, and her husbandstrolled into the garden to await his summons to the mid-day meal. Hehad not been there many moments when his quick ear caught the sound ofrapid hoof-beats on the road below the house. A gate from the gardenled into the road, and Mr. Morton hurried towards it. Gray hadintended to ride up to the other side of the house, but when he saw Mr.Morton at the gate he checked his horse and flung himself off. Therewas no need for him to speak for Mr. Morton to know he brought badnews. His whole frame was trembling as he stood steadying himself byhis horse; his lips were white as death.
"Something has happened to Harding, is that it?" exclaimed Mr. Mortonwhen Gray had twice tried to make his voice audible and failed.
"I fear so," Gray gasped out. "He has not come back. He startedyesterday morning for Big Creek, and he has not come back."
Gray had determined beforehand what to say, but he had not known itwould be so difficult. His eyes fell before Mr. Morton's glance, as ifthat glance could read his soul. But Mr. Morton had never felt sowarmly towards Gray as he did at that moment. He was a better fellowthan he had thought him, he said to himself, to feel Harding'sdisappearance so keenly.
"Look here, my lad," he said kindly, "you go into the house and askMrs. Morton to give you something to eat. You're just tired out, youknow, and won't be fit for anything till you've had a rest. Oh, youshall go with us," he added as he saw Gray's hesitating look. "But wecan't start for another hour. I must send over to Billoora for a manor two. Don't be so downhearted about it, Gray. We shall find him,never fear."
But Mr. Morton's cheerful prophecy was not destined to be verified.The search for Harding was long and thorough--and fruitless. His horsewas found lying dead, with an ugly wound in its neck from the horn of abull; but Harding and his dog were gone.
Gray grew very worn and haggard in those weeks of waiting. His youthwent from him. They attributed his changed looks at the station to hisgrief for Harding. It was enough to unhinge any man, they said--thatmysterious loss of his mate. And in this explanation they were partlyright. At first, Gray's remorse was almost more than he could bear.He was one of the most eager in the search-party. He rode day afterday across those barren wastes of back-country, and spared no effort tofind some sign of the missing man. But when the search was at lastgiven up as hopeless, when those on the station began to take Harding'sdeath for granted, and life began to flow on in the ordinary channel,then Gray's mind went back to the map he had destroyed, and thetreasure hidden in Deadman's Gully.
He was thinking of it one afternoon as he was riding across to Billooraon an errand for Mr. Morton. It was a clear beautiful afternoon, andthe air on the grassy uplands was fresh and bracing. Gray might havetaken the river road, which was a mile or two nearer, but it would haveled him past the cottages, and he could not bear to look at them--theremembrance that Harding was to have had one of them was tooexquisitely painful. But on the uplands there was nothing to remindhim of Harding--the richly-green rolling wooded pastures werealtogether unlike the gray plains round the hut.
Gray gazed about him and thought of England. If he got that money hewould go back there; his mind was fully made up on that point. Andthough he had not yet said so in so many words to himself, he knew heintended to get the money. Only the day before he had refused a newpost offered to him by Mr. Morton, and said that he wished to leave thestation in a week or two. And this afternoon, for the first time sinceHarding's disappearance, he allowed himself to dwell on the great andwonderful change the finding of the treasure would make in his life.
Absorbed in these thoughts he did not notice the approach of a manalong the grassy track. The man was walking slowly and painfully,carrying a bundle over his shoulder. He was a small, wiry,narrow-shouldered man, with a thin peaked face, from which a pair ofsmall eyes looked keenly out from under thick reddish eyebrows. He hadcaught sight of Gray long before Gray saw him, and after walking somedistance towards him, he sat down on the bank and waited for him tocome up. Gray checked his horse to speak.
"You look tired, my man."
Gray's tone of cool superiority was not resented by the wayfarer. Hegot up and came nearer.
"I've had a longish tramp," he said in a thin, not unpleasant voice."I'm bound for Warrandilla, Mr. Morton's place. I've begun to fear ashow I've missed my road."
"Oh, you're all right!" Gray returned indifferently; "the station isjust over the rise there. You'll see it in a mile or so."
The man looked in the direction Gray pointed, and then turned his eyesagain on Gray's face. Curious, shifty, cunning eyes they were--eyesthat went well with the narrow, cruel mouth, and the sharply-pointedchin.
"Perhaps you're Mr. Morton yourself, sir," he said ingratiatingly."You deserve to be, I'm sure."
"No such luck," said Gray with a laugh, not ill pleased at the man'ssuggestion. "But you'll find him at home if you go on. I've just lefthim."
Gray was about to ride on, when the man spoke again.
"I won't detain you a minute, sir, but perhaps you can tell me if I'vegot a chance of some work over there."
"It depends on what you can do, and who you are, you know," said Gray,with a brief comprehensive glance over the man's figure.
"You'd better not try to play any tricks with Morton if you want him tohelp you. That's a friendly bit of advice I'll give you."
"Thank you, sir; I'll remember it," was the humbly-spoken answer,though there was a sudden gleam in the pale blue eyes that Gray did notsee. "I've heard along the road what a good employer he is. They weretellin' me at Billoora last night about the poor cove what was lost. Isuppose there's no chance that he'll ever be found now, sir?"
Gray felt the colour going out of his cheeks at the sudden reference toHarding.
"I'm afraid not," he
said hurriedly. "But I must go on. There's yourroad straight in front of you. You can't miss it."
The man had put his hand on the neck of the horse, and he still kept itthere.
"I'm sorry I spoke, sir. I can see as how you're a friend of his, andI wish I'd held my tongue. But 'tis his mate I pities most. How's hebearin' it now, sir? They was tellin' me he's nigh broken-hearted."
Gray stared blankly at the man for a moment without answering. Then herecovered himself and said with some haughtiness, "I would rather nottalk of it, my man. Just let my horse go, will you? I'm in a hurry."
The man stepped back instantly with a word of apology, and Gray rode onwithout looking back. If he had turned his head he would have seen hislate companion gazing after him with a satirical smile on his craftyface.
"We'll have some more talk afore long, my fine gentleman," he wassaying. "You didn't think, did you, that I knowed who you was? Themmen at Billoora aren't half-bad at a description."
And with a laugh Mr. Lumley, as he chose to call himself at thatparticular moment, went on his way.
He was bent on staying at Warrandilla for a time, and would have triedhis hand at any work offered to him, but as it turned out the work hecould do best was just the work that was wanted, and he got regularemployment at once. Mrs. Morton was devoted to her garden, and Lumleywas really a clever gardener; so that, though she could not helpagreeing with her husband's verdict about the man, she was eager tokeep him.
Lumley made no secret of his past "misfortunes."
He had been shipped to the colony while it was still a convict station,and his record was by no means a good one since his first term had beenworked out.
"But I have never had a good chance before, madam," he said to Mrs.Morton, trying to keep his shifty eyes fixed in a straightforward lookupon her face. "I've never had a good kind friend like you before.Please God, I'll do well now."
And though Mrs. Morton distrusted his professions of reform, she foundhim a clever steady workman, and one most anxious to please. He becameone of the most frequent attendants at the religious services which Mr.Morton held two or three times a week in the little chapel next hishouse.
If Mr. Morton had been a different sort of man the new gardener mighthave gone on to worse hypocrisy still, but there was something in hisemployer's strong keen face that kept him back from that.
As Lumley put it to himself, "Shammin' religion is no go with him."
It was about three weeks after Lumley's appearance at the station thatGray's time for departure came. Everyone was very kind to him; theirkindness and sympathy cut him to the heart. They tried to comfort himby telling him that no one could have shown more energy in the searchthan he had, that nothing had been left undone, and that Hardinghimself would have been the last to wish that his friends should grievetoo much. In some such strain Mr. Morton talked to him when he went tothe house to bid him good-bye.
"You must cheer up, my lad," he said kindly. "You have done all youcould. No man can do more."
Gray made no reply, nor did he raise his gloomy eyes to meet thepleasant kindly glance of his employer. Mr. Morton went on: "So youare thinking of going back to the old country, Gray. Well, there oughtto be room there for a man like you; and I don't wonder at your wantingto get away from here after what's happened."
"I am not sailing for a month or so," said Gray. He spoke hurriedly,clearing his throat before he could articulate the words properly. "Ithink of taking a trip into the mountains. I don't feel equal to thevoyage just now."
"Well, take care of yourself; and let us know how you get along." Hetook Gray's hand and pressed it warmly. "God bless you, my lad!"
Gray looked up into his face with such a strange, wild, miserableglance that Mr. Morton started. He put his hand on the young man'sshoulder and looked earnestly at him.
"What is it, Gray? There is something troubling you. Can I help you?"
But Gray drew back.
"There is nothing," he said coldly.
"But there _is_ something," Mr. Morton said to his wife that evening."Can Gray be keeping back something about Harding, Minnie? I confess Iam not altogether satisfied with the result of the search. Harding wasnot a man to get lost in the Bush; he knew the country too well. Andyet--"
"You don't suspect Harding of pretending to be lost?" said his littlewife with an amazed look.
"No, no; Harding was not a man to do that sort of thing. I neversuspected anything till I saw Gray's face this afternoon. But there issome mystery; and Gray knows more than he has told. I feel sure ofthat."
"What shall you do?" asked Mrs. Morton, with a startled look on herpretty face.
"What can I do?"
"You don't think Gray--"
"Don't put it into words, Minnie. I have no right to think anything.But his face startled me. No man ever looked like that who hadn't gotsome great trouble weighing on him. And he wasn't so devoted toHarding as all that, you know. It surprised me to see how much he feltit."
"I always thought he patronized Harding; believed himself too good forhim."
"Oh, I know you never liked Gray much," returned her husband, "Hardingliked him though. He must have something in him."
To get back to his own quarters Gray had to cross the garden. It waslooking its loveliest this afternoon. The turf was as green if not assmooth as the turf of an English lawn, and the glow of colour was morebrilliant than any English garden could show. Gray loved flowers. Buthe passed through that beautiful garden without a glance right or left,with his eyes bent upon the ground.
Not far from the gate which he would have to pass through Lumley wasbusy cutting the grass with a hand-machine. He had been working inanother part of the garden when Gray had gone up to the house, but hadcaught sight of him as he crossed to the verandah steps. Soon after heleft the work he was about in order to cut the grass by the gate.
It was a curious trait in his vicious character that he really lovedhis gardening work. He had come to the station for a definite purpose,a purpose nearly fulfilled--he was leaving the place at dawn nextmorning--yet he was working busily still in the pleasant evening light,anxious to leave the grass in perfect order. Mrs. Morton never hadsuch a good gardener again. He was not working too busily, however, tobe unmindful of Gray's approach. He watched him with a crafty sidelonglook as he came swinging down the path, and when he was quite close tohim he touched his cap as an English servant might have done inrespectful greeting. He had saluted Gray in the same manner before,and Gray had been curiously pleased by it.
"Good evening, my man," he said loftily and would have passed on. ButLumley stepped out on the path. He had taken off his cap and he turnedit round and round in his hands as he spoke.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," he said humbly, "But I was wantin' to speakto you. I took the liberty of callin' on you this afternoon, but youwas out."
"What is it you want?" said Gray. "I am leaving the station to-morrow,you know."
"That's the very reason, sir." He looked up suddenly from under hisbushy eyebrows. "I'm leavin' the station too. Perhaps you didn't knowthat, sir?"
"I hadn't heard it," said Gray indifferently. "Aren't you comfortablehere, then?"
"It isn't what I've been used to, sir. I've been a gentleman'sservant. Gentlemen as knows how to treat a servant. _Real_gentlemen." Then came again the sudden crafty look.
"That was in England, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, before my 'misfortunes' came upon me. I had many goodplaces; and that's the sort of work which suits me best. I'm goin' totry to get a place again, sir."
"Indeed," said Gray, a little impatient at all this.
"And when I heard as you'd come into a fortune, sir, I says to myself,'Mr. Gray'll be wanting a servant, and if he would take me on howblessed I should be!'"
Gray's face had turned an ashy white.
"What are you talking of?" he said sharply. He recovered himself withan effort, and added in a milder t
one: "I expect I'm poorer than youare, Lumley. I've hardly enough to live on myself, let alone aservant."
"Indeed, sir! I'm very sorry, for if anybody would grace a fortune'twould be you, sir."
He turned his cloth cap round and round in his hands as he added:
"Then you don't want a servant, sir?"
Gray laughed out.
"Most decidedly not, my man. But I must go on, I'm busy."
Lumley stood in his way and did not move.
"If I didn't want any wages, sir? I'd like to go along with you, ifonly for the journey down to Adelaide. I'd serve you faithfully, sir."
"It's utterly impossible--out of the question," exclaimed Gray with awave of the hand. "Besides, I'm not going to Adelaide."
"Indeed, sir!"
It had been a slip of the tongue, which Gray repented at once.
"It's altogether out of the question, my good fellow," he said. "Youmust have been dreaming to think of it. Now, will you let me pass? Ihave a great deal to do."
Lumley stepped aside.
"I wish you humbly good-bye, sir, and good luck. There's riches inyour face, sir; I see 'em as plain as can be. You'll think of me whenthe good times come."
Gray turned a quivering face upon him.
"What do you mean?" he gasped, and then he stopped and gave an unsteadysmile. "I'll certainly think of you when my riches come, my man. It'san easy promise to make."
He waved his hand in hurried farewell and hastened along the path.Lumley stood looking after him with an evil glance.
"You will think of me, my fine gentleman, and no mistake."
And he chuckled harshly to himself.