“Oh, men who have, or have had fever as badly as Aulain has, often act
very queerly, Lizzie, so don't be too hard on him.”
“I know that, Tom. But at the same time there is something about
him--those strange eyes of his--that made me afraid of him. When I told
him last night that Kate Fraser was coming here on a long visit, he did
not answer; his eyes were fixed on your face in such a strange, intense
look that it made me feel quite 'creepy'.”
Gerrard laughed. “Were they? I didn't notice it.”
“No, of course not. You were too busy showing Jim how to unscrew the
nipples of his gun, and perhaps did not even hear what I was saying.”
“Oh, I did. But I didn't make any comment, as I noticed that at
supper, whenever you or I spoke of the Frasers, he answered in curt
monosyllables.”
“Did you tell him she was coming here next month?”
“No. I daresay I should have done so if I had thought of it.”
“Tom, I am not a female Lavater, but when I saw him looking at you like
that, I disliked and distrusted him.”
“Poor Aulain! Why, Lizzie, he's one of the straightest fellows that ever
lived, and I am sure he has a sincere regard for me. You must never take
notice of the queer looks and actions of men who have had fever badly.”
“Tom! I'm a woman, and I know. He was thinking of Kate Fraser--and you.
And he is suffering from another fever--the fever of violent jealousy.”
Gerrard looked up--they were at breakfast. “Well, if that is the case,
it is a bad complication of diseases, and I am sorry for him. He has no
earthly reason to be jealous of me.”
“He _is_ jealous, Tom, 'deadly jealous,' as Jim would say, and I dislike
him, dislike him intensely for it You have been so good to him, too.”
“Only keeping things quiet about Big Boulder Creek, as I promised him I
should. And then, you see, Lizzie, his not getting the Government
reward of five thousand pounds, as he thought he should, has been a big
disappointment to him.”
Mrs Westonley rose, came over to him, and placed her two hands against
his bronzed cheeks.
“Thomas Gerrard, Esquire?”
“Mrs Elizabeth Westonley!”
“You are to marry Kate Fraser!”
“Am I, old woman? You're a perfect jewel of a sister to find me such a
charming wife. But you see there are one or two trifling formalities
to be observed. First of all, I should have to ask her her views on the
subject.”
“You ought to have done that a year ago.”
“And have met with a refusal like poor Forde and Aulain.”
“No, you would _not_ have been refused. I know that much,” was his
sister's emphatic observation. “But you are letting the time go by, Tom.
And I am sure she is wondering why you don't ask. I know that she loves
you.”
“Do you really?” and he shook his head smilingly.
“Yes, I do. I'm certain. And I know you are fond of her.”
“Been long in the clairvoyant business, Lizzie?”
“Don't talk nonsense, Tom. I am very serious--and it would make me very
happy. Ask her this time, Tom. You must--else you have no right to be
with her so much. It is not fair to the girl.”
“We are very great friends, Lizzie. I like her better than any woman I
have ever met. And I have sometimes thought--but anyway, I'm not in a
position to ask her.”
“Nonsense! Your affairs are improving every day.”
Gerrard was silent for a minute, then he said:
“I think Aulain means to try again.”
“I am sure of it. But he is wasting his time. High-spirited as she is,
she is almost frightened of him. She told me so. She resented very much
a letter she received from him in reply to hers telling him she could
not marry him; and moreover she told me that even if she cared ever so
much for a man, she would never marry a Roman Catholic.”
“I don't think she will ever marry, Lizzie, so it is no use my indulging
in ridiculous visions; she is too much attached to her father to ever
leave him. And you will always be mistress of Ocho Rios and master of
Tom Gerrard.”
Mrs Westonley laughed, and pulled his short, dark-brown, pointed beard.
“Silly man! I know better than that; and I know also that Douglas Fraser
would be pleased to see Kate become Mrs Tom Gerrard, for he likes you
immensely. Now, promise me you will ask her?”
Gerrard rose and made his escape to the door, then he turned.
“I'll think it over, you match-making creature,” and then he went off
to the stockyard, apparently unconcerned, but secretly delighted at what
his sister had told him, and she smiled to herself, for she knew that
when he spoke of thinking about a matter, he had already decided.
Black Bluff Creek was a purely alluvial gold-field, and was in the very
zenith of its prosperity when, towards sunset, Randolph Aulain looked
down upon it from an ironstone ridge a mile distant from the workings.
It had been given its name on account of a peculiar formation of black
rock, which rose abruptly from the alluvial plain, and extended for
nearly two miles along and almost parallel with the creek, from the bed
of which so much gold was being won by two hundred diggers. The top
of this wall of rock was covered with a dense scrub, and presented a
smooth, even surface of green, which even in the driest seasons never
lost its verdant appearance. Some of the diggers had cleared away
portions of the scrub, and erected sun-shelters of bark, under which
they slept when their day's toils were over, and enjoyed the cool night
breeze--free from the miasmatic steam of the valley five hundred feet
below. Almost on the verge of the steep-to wall of rock was a large and
regularly built “humpy,” in which Douglas Fraser and Kate lived. The
ascent to the summit of the bluff was by a narrow path that had been
found by Kate in one of the many clefts riven in the side of the
black-faced cliff, and her father's mates had so improved it with pick
and shovel that Aulain could discern it quite easily.
As he walked his horse down into the camp, the diggers had just ceased
work for the day, and with clay-stained and soddened garments were
returning to their various tents or “humpies” of bark, all of them
contentedly smoking, and ready for their usual supper of salt beef,
damper, and tea. Many of the stalwart fellows recognised the ex-officer
of Black Police, and bade him a pleasant “good evening, boss,” and
presently he was hailed by Sam Young, Cockney Smith, and others of
Fraser's party. He dismounted and shook hands with Young, and asked him
where was the “pub,” as he intended to put up there for the night.
Young protested against his going there. “There it is, Mr Aulain, over
there,” and he pointed to the bush public house, a low, bark-roofed
structure on the edge of the creek; “but you can't stay there to-night
It's Saturday, you see, and the boys will be there in force to-night,
and you'll get no sleep. Besides, Mr Fraser would be real put out if you
didn't go to him. He's just gone home. He and Miss Kate live up on the
bluff.”
“I know. I'll go and see them after supper, but I'd rather camp down
here for to-night.”
“Then come to our tent. There's plenty of room, and plenty of tucker,
and any amount of grass along the creek for your horses.”
Aulain accepted the offer, and after unsaddling and turning out his
horses, he was provided with a piece of soap, an alleged towel, and a
bucket of water, and made a hasty wash in company with Young and his
mates. Then came supper and the interchange of the usual mining news.
Two years before, not one of his present companions would have addressed
him without the prefix of “Mister”; but now he was one of themselves, a
digger, and would himself have felt awkward and uncomfortable if any one
of them had had the lack of manners and good sense to “Mister” him.
Supper over he lit his pipe, and telling Young he would be back about
ten and take a hand at euchre, he set out and took the mountain path to
the summit of the bluff. It was a beautifully clear moonlight night--so
clear that every leaf of the trees which stood on the more open sides of
the rocky track showed out as if it were mid-day, and a bright sun was
shining overhead.
When he was within sight of Fraser's dwelling, he heard two shots above
him, and then Kate speaking.
“I've got four of the little villains, father.”
The sound of her voice thrilled him, and he hastened his steps. In a
few minutes he saw Douglas Fraser, who was seated outside smoking his
after-supper pipe.
“How are you, Fraser?” he cried.
The big man sprang to his feet, and came towards him with outstretched
hand.
“Aulain, by Jove! I _am_ pleased to see you again. I saw some one
leading a pack-horse coming into the camp below, but never dreamt it was
you. Come inside. Kate will be here in a few minutes. We have a bit of
garden close by, and the confounded bandicoots and paddymelons ravage
it at nights, and she has just been knocking some over. She will be
delighted to see you.”