Soon a disquietude from another source set my mind at work in troubled calculation of probabilities. At last I said:

"Would you suppose, Steve, that the finding of George Murdoch's body was a necessary incitement among the causes that led to the little girl's getting lost?"

"Domson's ascleep," murmured Helsmok. "I tink dey all ascleep. I wa.s.s yoos dropp'n off mineself."

And in two minutes, his relaxed pose and regular breathing affirmed a kind of fellowship with the rest, in spite of his alien birth and objectionable name.

But I could n't sleep. Dear innocent, angel-faced Mary! perishing alone in the bush! Nature's precious link between a squalid Past and a n.o.bler Future, broken, s.n.a.t.c.hed away from her allotted place in the long chain of the ages! Heiress of infinite hope, and dowered with latent fitness to fulfil her part, now so suddenly fallen by the wayside! That quaint dialect silent so soon! and for ever vanished from this earth that keen, eager perception, that fathomless love and devotion! But such is life.

Yet it is well with her. And it is well with her father, since he, throughout her transitory life, spoke no word to hurt or grieve her.

Poor old Rory! Reaching Goolumbulla, after his sorrowful journey, his soft heart would be stabbed afresh by the sight of two picture-books, which I had posted a fortnight before. And how many memories and a.s.sociations would confront him when he returned to his daily round of life! How many reminders that the irremediable loss is a reality, from which there can be no awakening! How many relics to be contemplated with that morbid fascination for the re-quickening of a slumbering and intolerable sense of bereavement!

But the saddest and most precious of memorials will be those little copper-toed boots that she left along the way. Deepest pathos lies only in homely things, since the frailness of mortality is the pathetic centre, and mortality is nothing but homely.

Hence, no relic is so affecting as the half-worn boots of the dead.

Thus in the funeral of that gold-escort trooper, when I was but little older than poor Mary. The armed procession--the Dead March--the cap and sword on the coffin--seemed so imposing that I forthwith resolved to be a trooper myself. That ambition pa.s.sed away; but the pathos of the empty boots, reversed in the stirrups of the led horse, has remained with me ever since.

From sad reflections, I seemed to be thus drifting into philosophic musing, when Helsmok shook me gently by the shoulder. A glance at the setting moon showed that I had been asleep, and that it was long past midnight. Here, therefore, ends the record of December the 9th; and you might imagine this chapter of life fitly concluded.

But sometimes an under-current of plot, running parallel with the main action, emerges from its murky depths, and causes a transient eddy in the interminable stream of events. Something of this kind occurred on the morning of the 10th.

"Collince," said the Dutchman softly. "Don' wake op der odder vellers--do no goot yoos now. I gone 'way roun' der liknum, und der bullock und der horse not dere. Notteen cronk, I hope. Mi's well com anodder trip?"

I left my lair, and we walked out across the plain, followed by the faithful Pup. When we had ranged for an hour, in half-mile zig-zags, day began to break; and nothing had turned-up, except four of Stevenson's horses.

But we heard, through the stillness of the dawn, a faint, far-away trampling of hoofs. We headed for the sound, and presently found ourselves meeting three or four dozen of mixed bullocks and horses convoyed by five mounted Chinamen. We stood aside to let them pa.s.s. By this time, an advancing daylight enabled me to recognise the roan horse of Sam Young (also called Paul) with a rider who was more likely to be that proselyte than anyone else. At all events, he turned upon me the light of a countenance, broad, yellow, and effulgent as the harvest moon of pastoral poetry; and, like a silver clarion, rung the accents of that unknown tongue:

"Ah-pang-sen-lo! Missa Collin! sen-lo! Tlee-po' week, me plully liah, all li; nek time, you plully liah, all li! Missa Smyte talkee you bimeby!

Hak-i-long-see-ho! You lescue Walligal Alp bullock--eh? You killee me, by cli! Whe' you holse? Ling-tang-hon-me! My wuld, Tlinidad plully goo'

gla.s.s, no feah! Hi-lung-sing-i-lo-i-lo!"

"Goo' molnin', Missa Helsmok!" chanted another yellow agony. "Nicee molnin', Missa Helsmok! Whaffoh you tellee me lah wintel you sclew my plully neck?

Lak-no-ha-long-lee! Missa Smyte wakee you up--tyillin'-a-head you holse!

Man-di-sling-lo-he!"

"Donder und blitzen!" retorted the Dutchman, striding toward the escort, which scattered at his approach. "Yomp off dem olt crocks, every man yack of you, und swelp mine Gott! I weel ponch der het of der vive of you altogedder mit, ef so moch der yudge seegs mons pot me into der yail bot!"

"Helsmok," said I, restraining him; "upon the heat and flame of thy distemper sprinkle cool patience. Let us accept the situation with dignity. Let us pit the honest frankness of the played-out Caucasian against the cunning of the successful Mongol." Then, addressing the Turanian horde, and adapting my speech to the understanding of our lowest types: "My word!"

I exclaimed admiringly, "you take-um budgeree rise out-a whitepeller, John! Merrijig you! Borak you shift-um that peller bullock; borak you shift-um that peller yarraman. Whitepeller gib-it you fi' bob, buy-it opium.

You savvy? Bale whitepeller tell-um boss. Bimeby whitepeller yabber like-it, 'Chinaman berry good'-yabber likeit, 'Comenavadrink, John'--yabber like-it, 'Chinaman brother b'long-a whitepeller.' You savvy, John?"

"Lak-hi-lo-hen-slung!" carolled a third Chow disdainfully. "You go h.e.l.lee shut up! Eulopean allee sem plully whool! Lum-la-no-sunhi-me!"

And the raiders went on their way, warbling remarks to each other in their native tongue, while the discomfited foreign devils hurried toward their camp, to give the alarm.

But Baxter, Donovan, Thompson, and Saunders had already gone out to feast their eyes on the change which such a night would make in the appearance of their stock. Stevenson was just getting on his feet, and feeling for his pipe. Cartwright was still asleep. It seemed a pity to disturb him.

Sharply whetted to this form of self-indulgence by hardship that would have finished any civilised man, he had gently dozed off as the last bite of a copious and indigestible supper reached his emu-stomach, and had never moved since.

"Now who'd'a'thought them c.h.i.n.ks was so suddent?" he mused, as I woke him with the tidings. "Trapped! Gosh, what a slant I'd 'a' had at that (fellow)'s horsepadd.i.c.k, if I'd on'y knowed! Cut-an'-dried, I be boun'. No good chewin'

over it now, anyhow. After you with them matches, Stevenson; mine's all done."

"Barefooted Bob's mixed-up in this," remarked Stevenson, handing the matches.

"Now, who would have suspected it, from his manner last night? But no one is to be trusted. Better take our saddles and bridles with us."

"In respect of imbecility and ignorance, I grant you," I replied.

"But in respect of deliberate deceit, most men are to be trusted. By-the-way, there's four of your frames left--out near those coolibahs."

"Stake the question on Bob," he suggested. "May as well catch them, and ride."

"So be it--to both proposals."

The sun was now above the indefinable horizon, looming blood-red through the smoky haze. All objects, even in the middle distance, showed vague and shadowy; but, knowing which way the marauders had taken their prey, we went after them, making a slight detour to secure the four horses.

But we were just in time to discern a Chinese patrol tailing the same beasts toward a larger detachment, which was moving in the direction taken by the earlier draft. We followed; and, for my own part, even if I had not been personally interested, I should have judged it well worth going a mile to witness the strong situation which supplied a sequel to our homely little drama.

Precise and faithful execution, co-operating with masterly strategy had realised one of the most magnificent hauls of a.s.sorted trespa.s.sers that I have been privileged to survey. I jotted down a memo. of the numbers.

There were 254 head of overworked and underfed beasts--173 bullocks and 81 horses. These were in the custody of nine Mongolians, two Young-Australians, and two gentlemen--the latter being Mr. Smythe and Bert.

Also, 7 bullocks and 3 horses left their bones in the paddock, as evidence of the bitter necessity which had prompted this illegal invasion of pastoral leasehold. There were (including myself) 23 claimants, present in person, or arriving by twos or threes. A few of these were ludicrously abashed; others were insolent; but the large majority observed a fine nonchalance, shading down to apathy. And Mr. Smythe, true to his order of mind, treated the first with outrageous contumely, the second with silent contempt, and the third with a respect born of vague disquietude and anxiety for the morrow. A squatter--just or unjust, generous or avaricious, hearty or exclusive, debonair or harsh--should be a strong man; this was a weakling; and my soul went forth in genuine compa.s.sion for him.

The three hours occupied in sorting-out and settling-up, furnished, perhaps, as varied and interesting experiences to me as to anyone else in the cast: first, a thrill of dismay, altogether apart from the drama; and afterward, the fortuitous cognisance of a bit of by-play in the main action.

My horses, of course, were among the captives; each of them with both hobble-straps buckled round the same leg. Early in the reception, whilst treating for them, I was fairly disconcerting Mr. Smythe with my affability, when that sudden consternation came over me. Where was Pup?

I put the two pairs of hobbles round Bunyip's neck, and saddled Cleopatra without delay. The gallant beast, as if he knew the need for despatch, bucked straight ahead till he merged into an easy gallop. A few minutes brought me to the camp; and my anxiety was dispelled. The chaps had hung their tucker-bags on some adjacent lignum, out of reach of the wild pigs, but at a height accessible to Pup. The absence of the owners, though desirable, would not have been absolutely necessary to the performance which followed, for a kangaroo-dog can abstract food with a motion more silent--and certainly more swift--than that of a gnomon's shadow on a sun-dial.

So I returned to the scene of interest, accompanied by Bunyip and Pup.

Twelve or fifteen of the outlaws, having secured their saddle-horses, were sternly ordering the Chinamen to refrain from crowding the stock.

The gra.s.s in this corner of the paddock was especially good; and these unshamed delinquents rode slowly through and through the mob, each vainly trying to identify and count his own; while now and then one would pa.s.s out to overbear some encroaching pagan by loud-spoken interrogations respecting a bay mare with a switch tail, or a strawberry bullock with wide horns--such ostentatious inquiry being accompanied by a furtive and vicious jabbing of evidence's horse, or evidence himself, with some suitable instrument.

Yet batch after batch was withdrawn and paid for; while the red sun rose higher, and Mr. Smythe became impatient and crusty, by reason of the transparent dallying.

Helsmok, after protracted and patient sorting, brought out nineteen of his horses, and paid for twenty, besides his hack. He said he would have to borrow a whip from someone, to "dost der yacket" of the impracticable animal that remained in the mob. Relevantly, one of the Chows had a stockwhip, the handle of which represented about six months' untiring work on a well-selected piece of myall. Helsmok had all along been pained by the incongruity of such a gem in such keeping; and now having discharged his trespa.s.s-liability, the iron-wristed Hollander politely borrowed this jewel from its clinging owner, and so recovered his horse without difficulty. Then, when the bereaved boundary man followed him across the plain, intoning psalms of remonstrance, Helsmok, making a playful clip at a locust, awkwardly allowed the lash to curl once-and-a-half round the body of John's horse; close in front of the hind-legs. The cheap and reliable rider saved himself by the mane; but he let the stockwhip go at that.

Smythe--high-strung and delicate, in spite of his stockkeeper's rig-out-- was taking little interest in anything except the shillings he collected.

At last, with a heart-drawn sigh, he beckoned to his brother.

"You must meet me with the buggy, Bert, when this is over. I have a splitting headache. We can do without you now." Alas! what doth a station manager with splitting headaches? Answer, ye pastoralists!

Stevenson had just drafted and paid for his batch, when Barefooted Bob stalked up, bearing an unmistakable scowl on his frank face, and a saddle on his shoulder.

"Did you receive my message last night, Bob?" demanded Smythe.

"Well," drawled Bob, "I couldn't say whether it was las' night or this mornin'--but I got your message right enough."

"And why didn't you turn-up?"

"Why did n't I turn-up," repeated Bob thoughtfully. "P'r'aps you'll be so good as to inform me if my work's cleanin' out reservoys or mindin' padd.i.c.ks?"

"But you should be loyal to your employ," replied Smythe severely.

"Meanin' I shouldn't turn dog?" conjectured Bob. "No more I don't.

I ain't turnin' dog on anybody when I stick to my own work, an' keep off of goin' partners with opium an' leprosy. Same time, mind you, I'd be turnin'

dog on the station if I took advantage o' your message, to go round warnin'

the chaps that was workin' on the padd.i.c.k. Way I was situated, the clean thing was to stand out. An' that's what I done."