THE SELWYNS RETURN SOUTH
November counted away its days, and tramped down the long stairs of
Time. At its heels arrived December. Now was Summer at last begun in
this far land.
Seven days of every week a fiery sun rolled through a wide, high, empty
sky. Seven noons of every week discovered that sun mounting a little
higher. All day long the roofs of the iron houses glared across the
distance, and the walls answered hot to the touch. But Surprise--and
all that lies within its gates--was not dismayed. Evening by evening,
when the sun was getting to bed, frowning clouds banked upon the
horizon, and Mrs. Boulder, Mrs. Bloxham and Mrs. Niven, gasping in the
doorways of their humpies, looked southward and said the rains were
coming. And Boulder, Bloxham and Niven put an eye to the roof here, and
an eye to the wall there, and thoughtfully picked up hammer and twine.
But always in the morning, when the sun rolled out of the East, the
least cloud had fled away.
Round went the wheel of affairs at Surprise Valley. The whistle blew
shrill at eight o'clock, and the waiting cage emptied the men into the
dark ways of their subterranean world. Overhead the women bustled about
their doors, and the children, grown a little browner and a little
harder, pattered about the burnt places and sent abroad their calls.
Mr. Neville, manager, made his tumultuous early round. Mr. Horrington,
general agent, made his nine o'clock march to the hotel. The teams
groaned in with firewood. The weekly coach rolled in and out again. The
same goats examined once more the same thread-bare strips of ground.
The same long-tongued curs dropped down in familiar patches of shade.
Early in December Mrs. Selwyn put her foot down finally and to good
purpose. She would not be cooped up in this desperate place with a
prospect of presently drowning. If Hilton would not come he could stay
behind and take the consequences; but she was going by the very next
coach. How they would survive the journey in this heat was beyond her
powers of comprehension. Landing her here without an idea for getting
her away was exactly what Hilton was capable of.
Selwyn bowed to his wife's decision. Here he was, asked to pack up
traps for home just as the river was at its lowest and there was some
thundering good crocodile shooting to be had. Soft-hearted fool that he
was!
As a result there fell about a great packing up of rods and guns, and
a strapping of trunks; and a grey December dawn found the Neville
homestead up and awake and hard engaged upon the utmost business of
departure. A fire kept vigil in the kitchen, conjured there by Mrs.
Nankervis who had forsaken bed to speed a favourite guest. There was
coffee in the dining-room, and a generous breakfast of bacon and eggs,
though Mrs. Selwyn could not touch a thing. Fortunately Selwyn was
better able to prepare against the rigours of the day.
Breakfast proved an uneasy meal, disturbed by comings in and goings
out, with Selwyn wandering between the window and the table, and
Neville strolling round, stick in one hand and coffee cup in the other.
"Well," said Selwyn presently, feeling considerably better now he could
boast a decent lining to his stomach, "you people have given us a
first-rate time here, and you wouldn't have got rid of me yet had I my
way. Gad! I'm a different fellow." He smiled benignly on the assembled
company, and presently met Maud's answering smile. "Some day we may
have the good luck to find the way here again. In any case we are soon
to see you down South I hear?"
"I promised to come next month."
"I wish we could tempt you too, Mr. Neville," Mrs. Selwyn said.
"Eh?" said the old man, jerking about. "Thanks, but I've no time to be
running round the country."
"Yes," said Selwyn, taking hold of the conversation again. "I think
perhaps I shall be wise to have another go of marmalade and toast.
There's nothing like starting a journey well supplied. A couple of
months back I couldn't touch a thing. Not a thing. Now I feel another
man. I----"
"Haven't you a little pity for us at this hour of the morning?" Mrs.
Selwyn enquired.
A terrific frown settled on Selwyn's face.
"I was listening," said Maud. "I was very interested."
Selwyn beamed again.
"You had better get on with the toast then," said Neville, "or ye'll
be waiting another week. The fellow doesn't like keeping his horses
hanging about. He'll be away without you. I may be wrong. Huh, huh!"
Mrs. Selwyn scorned a buggy, and insisted upon walking to the coach.
The clock pointed the final minute. Selwyn dodged to the back premises
to say his most charming good-bye to Mrs. Nankervis, and with the
last hand-shake slipped the smiling sovereign into her clasp. After
something of a to-do he brought the dogs round to the front where the
rest of the party waited, and they set out upon the journey to the
coach. Mr. King had turned a deaf ear to the amours of bed and joined
them upon the road; and the company made a bold line advancing across
the drowsy distances of Surprise.
Day had arrived, but the sun still delayed its arrival.
"It seems perfectly incredible to be awake in this place and not see
the sun," said Mrs. Selwyn.
Selwyn shook his head in deep appreciation of himself. "You had my
example."
The day was still in swaddling clothes; but already the men and women
of Surprise were waking up. Surly fires were growing here and there.
Mrs. Boulder was in time to peer from her doorway at the backs of the
retreating company; Mrs. Niven stopped her discourse to Niven as she
heard voices across the distance; and Messrs. Bullock and Johnson, who
were outside their camps at a morning wash, stayed in the towelling of
their faces to view the noble sight. It was the week for the visit of
Mr. Pericles Smith, travelling schoolmaster, and his two tents stood
erect and stiff by the side of the way. As the party of five marched
by, a woman's voice was raised.
"Perry, aren't you very late this morning? There was not a stick of
wood chopped last night."
From the other tent came answer: "In one moment, dear."
"Ah, Perry, you are not wasting time at that rubbish, already?"
But this time came only a groan and the sound of someone rising to his
feet.
The harmony of excursion was nowise upset until the party had arrived
within near view of the hotel, before which stood the ancient coach
and the five goose-rumped horses asleep in the traces. Then Selwyn, on
the flank, started back. The eyes of all turned to the doorway of the
hotel. Mr. Horrington stood upon the step, stick in one hand, empty
tobacco pouch in the other--perhaps a little seedy, perhaps a little
depressed, because of the early hour; but firm in the intention of
giving his friend bon voyage.
Selwyn's hand glided towards a pocket and there found comfort.
"Be Gad!" he said, "I expected to slip to covert behind his back, and
here he is standing at the mouth of the earth."
"You ask for the loan of half-a-crown," said Neville, jerking his head.
"He, he! Huh, huh, huh!"
Mr. Horrington lifted his stick in majestic salutation. "You didn't
expect me, I dare say. However, I had no intention of letting an old
friend slip away without a handshake." He laughed his rusty laugh.
He recalled suddenly the empty tobacco pouch in his hand. "Here's
the result of coming away in a hurry. I neglected to replenish this
morning. Five minutes ago I was thinking of stoking up the first pipe
of the day when I saw what had happened. How about the loan of a
pipeful? I am always covetous of a dip into your pouch, Mr. Selwyn.
Really, I must get the address of your tobacconist before you are off."
Then indeed it seemed that Mr. Horrington led that party of three men
through the doorway of the hotel, and later that Mr. Horrington drank
three times at the expense of other people. Later still, when the
quartette came out into the open, where the sun's rim was climbing over
the horizon, it seemed that Selwyn's eye was shining and himself full
of a sudden energy, that Mr. King stepped more briskly than was his
wont, and that old Neville's laugh was a trifle loud.
Time would not listen to delay, and there arrived the final moments.
The Selwyn luggage was strapped secure beside the mail-bags, and
Scabbyback and Gripper now found an uncharitable seat atop there. Joe
Gantley climbed into the driver's seat and shook the team awake, when
they changed to other legs and dropped their heads once more. Mr.
Horrington ran his tongue along the edge of his moustache again. Joe
Gantley picked up his whip, put it down, picked it up a second time,
and gave the signal for passengers to mount.
The company gathered close beside the coach. There arose many
exclamations and much shaking of hands. Last thanks were said. Last
promises were made. Last advice was given. Mrs. Selwyn mounted without
misadventure beside the driver. She still felt most unwell. She did not
know whether she was on her crown or her toes. Selwyn took his seat at
the end of the room, and discreetly and regretfully elbowed the way
into a good position. Everybody gave more last advice. Mrs. Selwyn
nodded her head graciously and finally. Selwyn smiled his most charming
smile. Maud laughed. Neville chuckled. Mr. Horrington raised his stick
augustly. King called out good luck.
Joe Gantley drew the reins together and cracked his whip. The team
jerked into wakefulness and fell into their collars. The coach jerked
forward. Mrs. Selwyn and Selwyn jerked forward. Scabbyback and Gripper
jerked forward. There were a tapping of hoofs and a groaning of wood,
and the coach rolled towards Morning Springs.
"Well," said the old man looking after it, "I may be wrong, huh, huh!
but I reckon we can get along without them. I may be wrong, huh, huh!"
Such was the manner of the Selwyn going.
Even as the coach rolled over the first mile of the journey, and grew
pigmy in the distance so that the loitering dust cloud concealed
it--even as it bumped across the outskirts of the camp--the crimson sun
cast savage glances across the valley, slashing the iron roofs to life,
livening the dingy walls of humpies and tents, and wooing the first
flies from sleep. Over all the camp breakfast fires were growing, and
men and women moved in and out of doors on the primal matters of the
morning.
December, following the teachings of November, began to spend its days,
holding them out one by one and tossing them into the mouth of Time.
Each day proved a little longer and a little hotter to the people of
that courageous camp. But though the season drew presently towards the
height of the summer, Power found the days too short for the journey to
Surprise.
While Maud lived her life at Surprise and gave events into the keeping
of Time, Power still rode to Pelican Pool, but his passion was near its
end. As his brain cooled, as his malady abated, he comprehended his
position with tragic clearness, and saw the high price of what he had
thrown away. His wealth was spent on other wares, and he could not hope
to buy it again. So be it. He had chosen a bed of thistles because the
flower had seemed soft and gracious, and he would lie on it without
complaint. And still he rode day by day to the river.
December grew middle-aged, and every sunset painted once more the
swelling cloud wrack in the South, until the evening arrived when Mr.
Horrington borrowed from the staff messhouse the single boot-last of
Surprise, borrowed from the engine driver a piece of leather belting,
borrowed from elsewhere a hammer and cobbler's nails, and sat down to
re-sole his boots against grievous days.