CHAPTER XII

It was well-nigh mid-day before we reached our hotel; but as soon as we

did so Mr. Leversidge placed the small box containing the pearl in a

safe place. Having had such difficulty in finding it, he had no desire

to run the risk of losing it again. This done, we devoted half an hour

to business, and after that I went down to the agent's office to make

inquiries about the mail-boat for Japan, which was due to arrive from

San Francisco the following day. The remainder of the afternoon was

occupied with calls upon old friends, and it was not until well after

nightfall that I returned to our hotel. On arriving there, to my

surprise, I found Mr. Leversidge in my bedroom in a state of wildest

excitement. He was standing in the middle of the room holding the small

wooden box containing the pearl in his hand. I inquired what was the

matter.

"Thank Heaven you have returned," he cried. "Collon, I have made a

terrible discovery. You will scarcely believe, but we've been swindled

again, and in the most barefaced manner possible, by that seemingly

repentant hound on board the steamer."

"What on earth do you mean?" I inquired, scarcely able to credit what he

said. "How have we been swindled?"

In answer to my question he lifted the lid of the box and tipped its

contents into the palm of his hand, which he held towards me in a

theatrical fashion.

"We've been horribly taken in," he said. "This is not the pearl my firm

purchased. It is a dummy--a fake, a make-believe. That clever rascal

must have manufactured it himself for this express purpose, and all his

protestations were as false as the pearl itself."

"What?" I cried. "I can't believe it. Let me look at the thing."

Taking it from him I examined it carefully. What he said was true. It

was not genuine. At the same time, however, I am prepared to assert that

it was the finest forgery of its kind I have ever come across in a

fairly extensive experience. Until that moment, in my own heart, I had

been despising the spurious Colway-Brown for a mere chicken-hearted cur,

who, as soon as he was collared, wept and whined, and declared himself

over-tempted and deeply repentant. Now, however, I was beginning to have

a greater respect for him than I had yet felt, and for the simple and

sufficient reason that in a trial of skill he had proved one too many

for us.

"What can we do?" asked Mr. Leversidge. "By this time he may have

changed to another boat, and have left the Island. In that case we shall

have to commence our chase over again."

I was about to reply, when one of the native servants of the hotel

entered the room and handed Mr. Leversidge a note, which he opened.

Having read it he passed it on to me.

"Good heavens! I can scarcely believe it," I heard him say softly to

himself. "Read that, Mr. Collon."

The note was from the captain of the schooner _Friendship_, and ran as

follows:--

"To J. Leversidge, Esq.,

"Pacific Hotel, Honolulu.

"Dear Sir,--

"I regret exceedingly having to inform you that the man whom

you visited on board my vessel this morning was, half an hour

ago, shot by a person who had evidently been awaiting his

arrival in this port. The murderer is in safe custody. As I

understand from him that you were, or had been until lately,

his employer, I thought it my duty to at once communicate with

you.

"I am, Sir,

"Yours very obediently,

"J. BOLSOVER."

"This is retribution with a vengeance," I said. "But who can the

murderer be?"

"One of the gang who was after the pearl in Australia, I'll be bound,"

returned Mr. Leversidge. Then the expression on his face suddenly

changed, and he seized me by the arm. "For hundreds of reasons he would

be certain to carry the pearl about his person. Can the murderer have

stolen it, think you?"

"We will very soon ascertain," I answered, springing from the chair into

which I had just thrown myself. "Come, Mr. Leversidge, we'll be off to

the boat at once. This is no time for half measures."

So saying, we seized our hats and left the hotel in search of the

schooner _Friendship_. When we got on board we found an unusual

stillness reigning. The skipper greeted us at the entrance of the

companion ladder and shook us by the hand. "This is a bad business,

gentlemen," he said, "and I regret that it should have happened aboard

my boat."

"A very bad business, as you say," Mr. Leversidge replied. "How long ago

did it happen?"

"About an hour and a half," replied the other. "It was getting dark,

when a man came aboard and asked to see your friend. He was standing

just where we are now, and after they had said a few words they walked

aft together. They must have started quarrelling at once, for as I went

down the ladder to the cuddy I heard some high words pass between them,

then a shot was fired, and your friend fell upon the deck. I rushed on

deck and got there just in time to seize the murderer as he was going

over the side. We clapped him in irons straight away, and as soon as we

had done so, set ashore for the police."

"And the murdered man?"

"We carried him below, but he expired before we got him there. He lies

now in his cabin. The police are coming to take him off in an hour's

time. Perhaps you would like to see him?"

"Thank you," said Mr. Leversidge, and the captain led the way to the

berth below, where he left us alone with the dead man.

"It's now, or never," I said. "If we want the pearl, we've got to find

it before the police come off to take possession of the body, otherwise

how are you going to establish your rights to it."

"But where do you intend looking for it?" Mr. Leversidge inquired.

"I'm going to begin by searching the body," I answered, "and then if we

are permitted sufficient time, I shall take a look at his luggage. You

had better guard the door."

As I spoke I took from my pocket a small, but exceedingly sharp pair of

folding scissors, which I make a point of always carrying about with me.

Then drawing back the blanket with which the body was covered, I ran my

practised fingers over it. It is wonderful what a number of

hiding-places the human frame contains. But it is the business of my

life to know them all, and on this particular occasion it was not long

before I discovered that high up under his right arm his coat had been

carefully padded. To cut the lining was the work of a few seconds, and

the results justified my expectations. "Here is your pearl, Mr.

Leversidge," I said, holding it up, and a moment later I handed him the

jewel in question. "Now let us get on deck as soon as possible. You had

better leave your address, however, with the captain, in order that the

police may know where to find you should your presence be required at

the inquest."

He followed my advice, and then we descended to our boat alongside. Next

morning, to obviate any chance of future inconvenience, we made it our

business to attend at the police office, where we stated what we knew of

the murdered man. Three hours later I bade Mr. Leversidge farewell on

the hurricane deck of the American mail-boat.

"Good-bye, Mr. Collon," he said. "It seems strange to be parting like

this after all we have gone through together. I thank you from the

bottom of my heart for your co-operation. There is only one question I

wish to ask you before you go."

"And what is that?"

"Was I right, or was I wrong, when I told you in Ceylon that I thought

this case would prove to be one of the most extraordinary even in your

varied repertoire?"

"You were quite right," I answered. "I have never known another like it.

Good-bye."

"Good-bye, and may you always be equally successful."

* * * * *

Three months later, when I was just bringing to a conclusion a delicate

bit of business in Cochin China, the incoming mail-boat brought me a

small packet, which, when I had opened it, I discovered contained a

valuable diamond ring, with a card bearing this inscription:--"To

Christopher Collon, in recognition of a signal service rendered to

Wilson, Burke & Leversidge, of Hatton Garden."

The great black pearl which was the cause of all that has been told in

this story is now amongst the most valued jewels of an Empress. How

little, when it lies black as night upon her snow-white bosom, does she

think what it cost in human life, or of the part it played in the drama

to which I now invariably refer as "A CRIME OF THE UNDER-SEAS."

The Phantom Stockman

"A remarkably charming situation, and as pretty a homestead as any I

have seen in the Bush," I said. "You have certainly worked wonders

during the short time you have been in possession."

It was a moonlight night, and Jim Spicer and I were sitting in the

verandah of Warradoona Station in Western New South Wales. Ten o'clock

had struck nearly half an hour before, and, at a quarter past, Mrs.

Spicer had bidden us "Good-night" and had gone off to bed. On hearing

that I did not feel tired, her husband had invited me to bring my pipe

and grog into the verandah, where we could chat about old times without

disturbing anybody. I had only arrived that afternoon from Melbourne,

and, as we had not met for more than three years, it may be easily

imagined that we had much to say to each other. Years before we had been

on a station together in Queensland, had done two overlanding trips in

the same party, and had more than once tried our luck upon the

gold-fields in partnership. Then he had taken a billet as manager of a

big station in the Far West, and I had gone south to Melbourne to give

up the Bush and settle down to the humdrum business I had inherited from

my father. My surprise may therefore be understood when one morning I

received a letter from my old comrade, informing me that he was married

and had taken a property on Warradoona Creek. He brought his letter to a

conclusion by telling me that if I stood in need of a holiday, and would

care to undertake the long journey out to his place, he would not only

give me a hearty welcome, but would be very thankful for my assistance

in unravelling a mystery which up to the time of writing had baffled him

completely. What the mystery was he did not say.

Now, as all the Bush world knows, Warradoona, despite the fact that it

is on the direct overlanding route to Western Queensland, is one of the

most unget-at-able places on the face of our great Island Continent. To

begin with, you have a four hundred mile railway journey, then a coach

ride of upwards of two hundred more, which will bring you to the

township of Yarrapanya, a settlement of four houses at the junction of

Warradoona Creek with the Salt Bush River. In the township horses can be

obtained, and with their assistance the remainder of the journey,

upwards of a hundred miles, may be accomplished. At the best of times it

is a tedious undertaking, but when the floods are out, or, on the other

hand, in the summer season when there is no water at all, it becomes a

peculiarly dangerous one. To compensate for these drawbacks, however,

when you _do_ reach the station you will receive as hearty a welcome as

any to be obtained in the Bush. The property itself is a large one, and

certainly the best in that district. The homestead is a neat Bush

building constructed of wood, roofed with shingles, and boasting on

every side a broad verandah. It is built on the side of a hill and

overlooks the plain that separates the higher land from the river. Away

to the north where the Ranges trend in towards the Creek, there is a

narrow pass through which come all the overlanding parties bringing

cattle from Queensland to the south. To the southward a dense Mulga

Scrub commences, and clothes the whole face of the hills as far as the

eye can reach. Across the river and lying some thirty miles due west is

Yarka Station, where, at the time of which I write, resided Jim's

nearest neighbour, the Honourable Marmaduke Chudfield, a young

Englishman, who, after he had given his family repeated opportunities of

studying the more frivolous side of his character, had been shipped to

Australia, where it was confidently hoped hard work and a limited supply

of money would turn him into a staid and respectable colonist.

"Yes," said Spicer, as he walked to the rail of the verandah, and looked

down upon the moonlit plain, "it is, as you say, by no means a bad sort

of place. As I shall show you to-morrow, the station buildings are above

the average in point of completeness, the run is well sheltered and

grassed, the supply of water is abundant, and, as you are aware, we are

on the direct cattle route to the south. Moreover, I have got the place

for a considerable period on exceptional terms."

"I congratulate you most heartily. Now tell me the disadvantages; for I

suppose there _are_ some."

"So far as I have seen there is only one. At the same time, however, I

must confess that that one is quite big enough to outweigh all the

advantages put together. In point of fact, it was that very disadvantage

that made me write to you last week and endeavour to induce you to pay

us a visit."

"Now I come to think of it, I remember in your letter you _did_ speak of

some mystery that you wanted cleared up. What is it? In these prosaic

days mysteries, save in mining matters, are few and far between. I am

all impatience to hear what shape yours assumes."

While I had been speaking Spicer had been leaning on the verandah rail

looking down the hillside towards the river. Now he turned, and, placing

his back against one of the posts that supported the roof, regarded me

steadily for some seconds.

"First and foremost, old man," he said, "try to bear it in mind that I

don't want to be laughed at. I've got so much at stake that I'm as

touchy on the subject as an old man with the gout. The trouble I have to

contend with is that this place is supposed to be haunted. I know it's a

silly sort of thing for a matter-of-fact fellow like myself to say; but

still the fact remains, and a remarkably unpleasant fact it is."

"The deuce it is," I replied. "And pray what is the place supposed to be

haunted by?"

"By a man on a white horse who rides about on a plain down yonder."

"Is this only hearsay, or have you seen the apparition yourself?"

"I have seen him on three occasions," replied Spicer solemnly. "The

first time was the week after I arrived on the place, the second was

three months ago, and the last was the very Saturday upon which I wrote

to you. But as if that were not enough, we have been worried ever since

our arrival by the most dismal noises in the house itself."

"What sort of noises do you mean?"

"By all sorts, confound them! Sometimes by a shriek about midnight that

fetches you up in bed with the perspiration rolling off your face;

sometimes by moans and groans; and sometimes, but not so often, by a

peculiar noise that is for all the world like a human voice, muffled by

a blanket, trying to say, 'Save me, save me,' and not succeeding very

well. As you know, I am a fairly plucky man, and for that reason I think

I might manage to stand it myself; but then I've got some one else to

consider. I have to think of my wife. Under ordinary circumstances she

is as plucky a little woman as ever made her home in the Bush, but no

woman's nerves would stand the continual strain that is put upon them

here. You see, my work often takes me out on the run for days at a time,

and I have to leave her alone. Female servants we have none, not so much

even as a solitary black gin. When we came up we brought a woman with us

from Melbourne, but she only stayed a week and then went off with the

first bullock team that passed this way. However, we managed, by

offering big wages, to get another. She stayed a month, and then said

she would prefer to go off to the township alone rather than stay

another night upon the place. We have been here five months and a week,

and during that time I have had four men cooks, three chief stockmen,

eight inferior ditto, and ten horse boys. As for a strange black, I've

not seen one near the place since I first set foot upon it. The last

time I was staying the night at Chudfield's place across the river, I

tried to persuade one he wanted to get rid of to come over and keep my

own two boys company. His answer was significant. 'Baal (no) come up

this fella,' he said. 'Too much debbil debbil alonga Warradoona.' The

long and the short of the matter is, old friend, unless I can manage to

put a stop to this phantom business I shall be a ruined man. All my

savings are locked up in this place, and if I don't make it pay, well, I

must sell up and go back to Queensland and be a servant again instead of

a master."

"It's a nasty position," I said. "I don't wonder you want to get it

settled. By the way, how long has the place possessed this sinister

reputation?"

"Only for the last three years," he answered.

"Is there any sort of story to account for it?"

Spicer was silent for a moment.

"Well, there you have me on a tender spot," he replied. "Though I don't

like to own it, I must confess there _is_ a story."

"Can you tell it to me?"

"If you think it will help you to a solution of the problem I shall be

glad to do so. You must understand that about three years ago a mob of

cattle camped, according to custom, upon the plain down yonder. They

were on their way from Queensland to Adelaide, in charge of an old

drover named Burke, a worthy old fellow who'd been on the road all his

life. During the evening a quarrel arose between him and his second in

command. From high words they came to blows, and in the encounter the

subordinate got the worst of it. He professed to be satisfied and turned

into his blankets apparently sorry for what he had done. An hour later

the third white man of the party mounted his horse and went out to watch

the cattle, leaving the other two, as he thought, asleep. When he

returned two hours later he found Burke stabbed to the heart and the

other man missing. Do you remember, when you crossed the river to-day,

noticing a grave enclosed by a white railing?"

"Perfectly. I wondered at the time whose it could be."

"Well, that's where Burke is buried."

"The phantom, then, is supposed to be the ghost of the murdered man?

What form does it take?"

"It is that of an old man with a long grey beard; he is dressed all in

white and is mounted upon a white horse, who carries his head rather

high. He holds a stock-whip in his hand and wears a white felt hat

pulled far down over his eyes."

"Has anybody else seen him?"

"Dozens of people. It drove away Jamison, the first owner of the place,

and the original builder of this house. Williams, from Mindana, came

next; he built the men's hut away to the left there, and cleared out bag

and baggage exactly three months to a day after he had paid his purchase

money. He said he would rather lose five thousand pounds than stop

another night on the place. Macpherson, a long-headed Scotchman, as hard

as a tenpenny nail, and about as emotional as a brickbat, came next. He

paid his money and was not going to lose it just because he heard funny

noises and saw queer sights. But at the end of six months he had changed

his tune. Money was no object to him, he said; he was content to lose

every penny he possessed in the world provided he saw no more of

Warradoona. Benson followed Macpherson. He got the place dirt cheap,

cattle thrown in, and, from what the folk in the township told me,

seemed to think he'd done a mighty smart stroke of business."

"What became of Benson?"

"He returned to the south without even unpacking his bullock wagons. He

has bought a place in New Zealand now, I believe. It was from him that I

purchased the property."

"And the price you paid for it?"

"Would be less than a quarter of its value but for the Phantom Stockman.

As it is, I am upset on an average three nights a week; my wife is

frightened nearly out of her wits every time she goes to bed; and with

the exception of my head stockman, Ruford, and two black boys, I can

keep no servants upon the place, and in consequence have to work my

stock short-handed, which is an impossibility. To put it plainly, either

the Phantom Stockman or I must go. I thought all this out last week and

the upshot of my cogitations was my letter to you. I know from

experience that you've got a cool head, and I have had repeated evidence

of your pluck. Young Chudfield, my next-door neighbour, the man who, for

the sake of my company, has done his level best to persuade me to give

the place a further trial, has promised to come over and give us a hand,

and if we three can't settle the mystery between us, well, I think we

ought to be ashamed of ourselves, that's all."

"We'll certainly have a good try," I answered. "I'm not a believer in

ghosts myself, and it will go hard with us if we can't manage to

discover of what sort of material our troublesome friend is composed.

One further question. Does he put in an appearance at regular intervals,

or is he indiscriminate in his favours?"

"As far as _he_ is personally concerned he is fairly regular. It is

about the full of the moon that he appears to be most active, but the

noises in the house go on at all hours, sometimes two or three nights in

succession. Then perhaps there will be a week's silence, after which we

will be worried night after night, till we are nearly driven

distracted."

"It seems a most mysterious affair," I said. "And I can quite understand

that you are worried by it."

"You would say so if you had to live here," he answered. "It gets on

your nerves till you feel inclined to jump away from your own shadow.

Now I expect you're tired, and would like to be off to roost. Help

yourself to a night-cap, and then we'll have a look at your room

together."

I had leant forward to the table and taken up the demijohn containing

the spirit--in point of fact, I was in the act of pouring some of its

contents into my glass--when from the dark house behind us there came a

long, low moan, followed by a shriek that cut the still night air like

the sharp tearing of a sheet of calico. After that there was complete

silence, which to my thinking was worse even than the scream. I sprang

to my feet.

"My God," I cried, "what's that?"

But Spicer only laughed in a curious way.

"You are being introduced to our supernatural friend," he replied. "Now

you know the sort of thing we are being continually called upon to put

up with."

"But it sounded so intensely human," I said. "And yet, now I come to

think of it, there was a peculiar muffled note about it that rather

upsets my theory. One thing, however, is quite certain: it came from the

house, and I should say from the centre passage."

"You are quite right. That's where we always hear it. But if you think

there is anybody hiding there you're mistaken. Come and look for

yourself."

So saying he led the way into the house. I followed him. As he had said,

there was nobody to be seen. The passage in question was about twenty

feet long by four wide. There was a door at each end, and two on either

side. It was well lighted by an oil lamp supported on an iron bracket

screwed into the woodwork. The walls were composed of weather boards,

while the floor was covered by a strip of oilcloth, which stretched from

end to end. Spicer lifted the lamp from its socket, and, opening one of

the doors on the left, led me into the sitting-room. We explored it

carefully, but there was nothing there that could in any way account for

the noise we had heard. Having satisfied ourselves on this point, we

crossed to the room on the opposite side of the passage. This was my

bedroom, and in it, as in the other apartment, our search was

unrewarded. The room next to it was Spicer's office, and, save a safe, a

desk, a small cupboard, a chair, and a row of account books, contained

nothing to excite our suspicion. We passed into the passage again.

"This room," he said, pointing to the door opposite the office, "is our

bedroom."

He tapped on the door.

"Minnie," he cried, "are you awake?"

"Yes," was the answer, "and very frightened. How long will you be before

you come to bed?"

"I am coming now," he replied. Then, turning to me, he held out his

hand. "Good-night," he said, "and pleasant dreams to you. It seems a

shame to have brought you up here only to worry you with our troubles."

"I am very glad, indeed, that I came," I replied. "And if I can help you

to some solution of your difficulty I shall be still more glad."

A quarter of an hour later I was in bed and asleep. If there was any

further noise that night I did not hear it. I was tired after my long

journey, and slept on until long after the sun had risen next morning.

When I did turn out I went into the verandah, where I discovered my

hostess.

"Good-morning," she said, as she offered me her hand. "Jim has just gone

across to the stockyard, but he will be back to breakfast in a moment."

Many people might have been discovered in Australia who would have

thanked their stars that they were not the proprietors of Warradoona

Station, but there would have been few who would not have envied Spicer

his partner in life. She was a pretty brunette, with wonderful brown

eyes, and a sympathetic, motherly way about her that made every one feel

at home in her company, even if they had never seen her until five

minutes before.

"I cannot tell you how very kind I think you are," she said, "to come to

our assistance. You can imagine what a depressing effect this place has

had upon Jim and myself. We have tried everything we can think of to

solve the mystery, but without success. Now it remains to be seen

whether you will fare any better than we have done."

"I am going to do my best," I answered, and as I said so, Jim came up

the steps.

"Good-morning," he said as he reached the verandah. "I hope you slept

well and that you were not disturbed by any more noises."

"If there were any to hear they didn't wake me," I answered. "I suppose

you have not discovered anything that throws any sort of light upon that

scream we heard last night?"

"Nothing at all," he replied, shaking his head. "But, to add to the

discomfort we are already enduring, our cook has just informed me that

he saw the White Horseman on the plain last night, and in consequence

has given me notice that it is his intention to leave at mid-day. He

says he would rather forfeit all his wages than remain another night."

"Oh, Jim, I am sorry to hear that," said his wife. "We shall have great

difficulty in getting another. We _do_ indeed seem doomed to

misfortune."

Jim said nothing, but I saw his mouth harden as we went in to breakfast.

His patience was well-nigh exhausted, and I suspected that if the

mystery were not solved before many days were over he would follow the

example of his predecessors, forfeit all the money he had put into it,

and sever his connection with Warradoona.

During the morning I gave him a hand with some branding in the

stockyard, and in the afternoon we went for a ride across the river,

hoping to meet the mob of cattle his men were out collecting. We were

unsuccessful, however, and it was dusk when we reached home again. By

the time we had turned our horses loose, and placed our saddles on the

racks, the full moon was rising above the Ranges behind the house. On

reaching the verandah we heard voices in the sitting-room.

"That's Marmaduke Chudfield, I'll wager a sovereign," said Jim. "I'm

glad he's come over, for though he's rather a namby-pamby sort of

individual, he's not bad company."

A moment later we had entered the room, and I was being introduced to a

tall, slim youth of perhaps eight-and-twenty years of age. His height

could not have been much under six feet two, his face was devoid of

beard or moustache, and boasted a somewhat vacuous expression, which a

single eye-glass he wore continually only served to intensify. He spoke

with a lisp and a drawl, and if one could judge by his own confessions,

seemed to have no knowledge of any one thing in the whole system of the

universe. In less than five minutes' conversation I had struck the bed

rock of his intelligence, to use a mining phrase, and, while I had small

doubt of his good nature, was not at all impressed by his sagacity. His

station, Yarka, was, so Jim informed me later, a grand property, and

carried a large number of cattle. This success, however, was in no sense

due to Chudfield's exertions. To quote his own words, he "left

everything to his overseer, a German, named Mulhauser, don't-cher-know,

and didn't muddle things up by shoving his spoke in when it was no sort

of jolly assistance, don't-cher-know. Cattle farming was not exactly his

line, and if he had to pay a chap to work, well, he'd make him work,

while he himself sat tight and had a jolly good time with continual

trips to town and friends up to stay, and all that sort of thing,

don't-cher-know."

After dinner we sat in the verandah and smoked our pipes until close

upon ten o'clock, when Mrs. Spicer bade us "Good-night" and retired to

her own room, as on the previous evening. After she had left us, there

was a lull in the conversation. The night was perfectly still, as only

nights in the Bush can be; the moon was well above the roof, and in

consequence the plain below us was well-nigh as bright as day. The only

sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock in the sitting-room

behind us, and the faint sighing of the night-breeze through the scrub

timber on the hills behind the house. And here I must make a digression.

I don't think I have so far explained that in front of the house there

was an unkempt garden about fifty yards long by thirty wide, enclosed by

a rough Bush fence. In an idle sort of way I sat smoking and watching

the rails at the bottom. The beauty of the night seemed to exercise a

soothing influence upon the three of us. Jim, however, was just about to

speak when Chudfield sprang from his chair, and, pointing towards the

fence, at which only a moment before I had been looking, cried, "What's

that?"

We followed the direction of his hand with our eyes, and as we did so

leapt to our feet. Being but a sorry scene-painter I don't know exactly

what words I should employ to make you see what we saw then. Scarcely

fifty yards from us, seated upon a white horse, was a tall man, with a

long grey beard, dressed altogether in white, even to his hat and boots.

In his hand he carried a white stock-whip, which he balanced upon his

hip. How he had managed to come so close without making a sound to warn

us of his approach was more than I could understand; but this much was

certain, come he did. The time, from our first seeing him to the moment

of his wheeling his horse and riding silently away again, could not have

been more than a minute, but all the same we were able to take perfect

stock of him.

"Follow me," shouted Jim, as he rushed down the steps and ran towards

the gate at the bottom of the garden. We followed close at his heels,

but by the time we reached the fence the Phantom Stockman had entirely

disappeared. We stared across the moonlit plain until our eyes ached,

but not a sign of the apparition we had seen rewarded us.

"That is the third time he has been up here since I have had the place,"

said our host, "and each time he has vanished before I could get close

enough to have a good look at him."

"What beats me was the fact that his horse made no sound," remarked the

Honourable Marmaduke, "and yet the ground is hard enough hereabouts."

"Wait here till I get a lantern," cried Spicer. "Don't go outside the

fence, and then you won't obliterate any tracks he may have made."

So saying he hastened back to the house, to return in about five minutes

carrying in his hand a large lantern. With its assistance we carefully

explored the ground on the other side of the fence, but to no purpose.

There was not a sign of a horse's hoof to be seen.

"Well, this beats cock fighting," said the Honourable, as Jim blew out

the light and we turned to walk back to the house. "This is Hamlet's

father's ghost with a vengeance, don't-cher-know. I shall be glad

whenever he takes it into his head to pay me a visit at Yarka. I'm

afraid in that case my respected parent would see me in England sooner

than would be quite convenient to him."

To this speech Jim replied never a word, nor did I think his remark

worth an answer. Once in the verandah we separated, bidding each other

good-night, Jim to go to his own room, the Honourable to take possession

of the sofa in the sitting-room, upon which a bed had been made up for

him, and I to my own dormitory. I saw Jim turn down the lamp in the

passage and heard him blow it out as I shut my door. Then I undressed

and jumped into bed.

How long I had been asleep I do not know, but I have the most vivid

remembrance of suddenly finding myself sitting up in bed with the sweat

pouring off my face, and the echo of surely the most awful shriek mortal

man ever heard ringing in my ears. Before I could recover my

self-possession it rang out again, followed this time by a strange

moaning sound that must have continued while I could have counted

twenty. Thinking this had gone about far enough I jumped out of bed,

opened the door, and ran into the passage, only to be seized by a pair

of arms. Lifting my right hand I took my assailant by the throat, and

just as I did so, Jim's door opened and he came out, holding a candle in

his hand. Then it was that I made the discovery that it was not the

ghost's throat I was clutching between my finger and thumb, but that of

the Honourable.

"Confound you two," said Jim angrily. "What on earth are you up to?"

"Up to?" gasped Chudfield. "Why, I heard the most villainous scream just

now that I ever heard in my life, and came running out of my room to see

what was the matter, only to be collared by the throat by this chap."

Then turning to me he continued, in his usual drawling way, "I believe

you've half broken my neck, don't-cher-know."

"Bother your neck," I cried shortly, for my dander was up and somebody

had got to suffer for the fright I had received. "Jim, did you hear that

scream?"

"Worse luck," answered poor Jim. "I wish I could say I hadn't. What the

deuce does it mean?"

"It means," I replied sternly, "that if there's a ghost in this place

I've got to see him before I'll be satisfied. And if it's a trick, well,

I've got to find the chap that's playing it or know the reason why. When

I do, I'll do what Chudfield here accuses me of half doing. I'll break

his neck."

With that I walked first to the door at one end of the passage and

examined it, then to the other; after that I tried the door leading into

the office. All three were securely locked on our side.

"As far as I can remember, the sound seemed to come from about here," I

said, pointing to the centre of the floor. "What is underneath these

boards, Jim?"

"Only solid Mother Earth," he replied. "I had some of the planks up when

I came into the place and put new ones down."

"Well, I'm going to sit up and await further developments," I said. "Do

either of you feel inclined to share my vigil?"

"I will do so with pleasure," said Jim.

"And I too, if it's necessary," said the Honourable, with peculiar

eagerness. "I'm not going to risk being wakened out of my sleep by

another shriek like that."

Jim went into his bedroom and said something to his wife. After that we

dressed and made ourselves as comfortable as possible in the

sitting-room. But though we remained there till daylight we heard

nothing further. As day dawned we returned to our beds to sleep soundly

until we were roused by Mrs. Spicer at eight o'clock.

That afternoon, in spite of our jeers, the Honourable left us to return

to his own abode. He had had enough and to spare of Warradoona, he said,

and as he had not proved himself a very good plucked one, we did not

exert ourselves very much to make him change his mind.

"I never thought he'd prove to be such a coward," said Jim, as we

watched the youth disappear behind the river timber. "Still, he's a man

extra about the place, and if those wretched cattle are coming in

to-night we shall want all the hands we can raise to look after them on

the plain."

"Do you think they will be here to-night?"

"It's more than likely. They ought to have been in this morning, and as

they can't halt in the scrub they'll be driven by force of circumstances

into camping on the plain. In that case it will be a pound to a sixpence

that our friend the Stockman will give us some trouble. He generally

puts in an appearance when there's a mob passing through."

"If he does we must tackle him, and decide once and for all the question

of his--well, of his spirituality, shall I say? You can find a couple of

revolvers, I suppose?"

"Half a dozen if need be, and what's more, cartridges to fit them."

We then walked back to the house together. It was tea time, and as soon

as we had made ourselves tidy we sat down to it. Half way through the

meal there was a heavy step in the verandah, and a moment later Ruford,

Jim's one remaining stockman, entered the room.

"So you've turned up at last," said Jim, as he became aware of the

other's identity. "Where are the cattle?"

"Camped on the plain," was the reply. "Bad luck to 'em. It was as much

as I could do to get the two black boys to remain with them. Are you

coming down?"

"We'll be down in half an hour," said Jim. "This gentleman and myself

will camp with you to-night and give you a hand. Now be off and get your

tea."

He disappeared without another word.

"But if you two are going to help with the cattle, what is to become of

me?" asked Mrs. Spicer. "I cannot be left here alone."

"That's perfectly true," said Jim. "I never thought of it. Confound that

miserable coward Chudfield. I'll tell you what I'll do, Minnie. I'll

send Ruford up to take care of you. He won't be sorry for an evening's

comfort, and it is most imperative that we should go down, you see, in

case the Stockman should turn up to-night. If he does we hope to bring

matters to a crisis."

Faithful to our promise, as soon as the meal was over, we saddled our

horses and rode down towards the camp fire that we could see burning

brightly on the plain below.

By the time we reached it the appearance of the night had changed,

clouds had covered the sky, and a soft drizzle was falling. Ruford had

taken the cattle down to the river, and when they had drunk their fill

had tailed them slowly on to camp, where the two black boys were

watching them. It was not a cheerful night, for the wind had risen, and

was moaning among the she-oak trees like a million lost spirits. A more

lonesome spot I never was in than that plain.

As we approached the fire Ruford said snappishly,--

"I suppose you think it's funny to hang round a camp, whispering and

moaning, in order to frighten a man out of his wits."

"Who has been hanging about the camp whispering and moaning?" asked

Spicer. "Why, you duffer, we've only just come down from the Homestead.

You must be either drunk or dreaming."

"Dreaming be hanged!" he said. "I tell you that there's been some one

moaning like old ---- round this 'ere camp ever since dusk!"

"Moaning like your grandmother," said Spicer, descending from his saddle

and tying his horse up to a tree near by. "I want you to go up to the

house and camp there. Mrs. Spicer is all alone, and I think she may be

frightened. We'll look after the cattle."

When he had gone we stretched ourselves beside the fire on the blankets

we found there and fell to yarning.

I can see the whole scene now. Owing to the heavy clouds mentioned

above, it was as dark as the inside of your hat, with not a gleam of

light in the whole length and breadth of the sky. Ruford had stirred up

the fire before he left us, and the flames were roaring upwards, when

suddenly there came a long, peculiar moan from the scrub behind us that

brought us up into a sitting posture like one man. We looked in the

direction whence it seemed to come, and saw there, standing in the full

light of the fire, a tall, thin man, of about fifty years of age. He had

white hair and a long grey beard. He was dressed, even to his riding

boots, in some white material, and he carried a stock-whip in his hand.

His face was as pale as death and infinitely sad, and he seemed to be

looking from one to the other of us as if he did not know which to

address.

We were both struck dumb with astonishment, until Spicer, raising

himself on his elbow, shouted,--

"Hullo, my man! Where do _you_ hail from?"

Then the figure faded away into the darkness as quietly as it had come,

and you can just imagine how we stared.

"Well, this beats all the other manifestations into a cocked hat," cried

Spicer, and seizing a burning stick and bidding me follow with another,

he dashed into the scrub in the direction we supposed the stranger to

have taken.

For upwards of twenty minutes we searched high and low, in every

possible hiding-place within fifty yards of the camp, but without

success. Not a single trace of our mysterious visitor could we discover.

Then we returned to the fire and lay down again.

Spicer's watch was from nine to eleven, and as it was almost eight then,

he resolved to try and snatch an hour's sleep before it would be

necessary for him to get into the saddle once more. He soon gave up the

attempt, however.

Though we did not see any more of the stranger just then, I can assure

you we were far from being easy in our minds. The cattle had suddenly

become very restless, and from their lowing and snorting we could tell

that they were uneasy. While we listened, the same peculiar moaning

noise came from the scrub away to our left. It sounded for all the world

like the crying of a woman in dreadful trouble, but though we peered

repeatedly into the night, and twice crept away from the fire in that

direction, we could discover nothing to account for it.

At nine o'clock Spicer went on watch, and the black boys came into camp

reporting the cattle as very restless.

For some time after he had gone I lay on my blankets looking up at the

sky. Clouds still covered the heavens, and it looked as if a wet night

were pending. Sometime about ten o'clock Spicer called to me to join

him, as something was radically wrong with the mob; so saddling my horse

I rode out.

As I went the clouds parted, and for a moment the moon shone brilliantly

forth. It was a curious sight that I then beheld. The cattle--there were

about five hundred of them--were all up, moving to and fro and bellowing

continuously. What made us the more uneasy was the fact that, now and

again, the old bull in command would separate himself from the mob and

sniff the wind, after which he would let out a bellow that fairly shook

the earth. Whenever he sees the leader do that, a cattleman knows that

it behoves him to stand by and keep his eyes open for trouble.

Coming up with Spicer, I asked him what he thought was the matter, but

for some moments he did not answer.

Then he said very mysteriously,--

"Did you meet him as you came out?"

"Meet whom?" I asked.

"Why, our friend, the Phantom Stockman?"

"The devil! And has he turned up again?"

After looking cautiously round, Jim edged his horse up alongside mine

and said quietly,--

"He's been hovering round these cattle for the past half-hour. They can

see him, and that's what's making them so confoundedly restless. You

take my word for it, we shall have serious trouble directly!"

"Confound it all," I said. "That will mean double watches all night, and

in this drizzle too."

"It can't be helped. But you had better tell the boys to be ready in

case they are wanted. Look! Look! Here he comes again!"

I looked in the direction he indicated, and, true enough, out of the

thick mist which now hid the trees along the river bank, and into the

half moonlight where we stood, rode the phantom whom we had seen two

hours before by our camp fire. But there was a difference now; this time

he was mounted on his white horse, and seemed to be like us on watch. At

first I fancied my brain was creating a phantom for me out of the

whirling mist; but the snorting and terror of the cattle, as they became

aware of his presence, soon convinced me of his reality.

Little by little the fellow edged round the scrub, and then disappeared

into the fog again, to reappear a minute or two later on our left. Then

he began to come slowly towards us. I can tell you the situation was

uncanny enough to creep the flesh of a mummy. He was sitting loosely in

his saddle, with his stock-whip balanced on his hip; indeed, to show how

details impress themselves on one's mind, I can remember that he had one

of his sleeves rolled up and that he carried his reins slung over his

left arm.

When he was within eight or ten paces of where we stood, my horse, which

had been watching him as if turned to stone, suddenly gave a snort, and

wheeling sharp round bolted across the plain as if the devil were behind

him. Before I had gone fifty yards I heard Spicer come thundering after

me, and we must have had a good two miles gallop before we could pull

the terrified beasts up. Then we heard the cattle rushing a mile or so

on our right.

"I knew they'd go," wailed Spicer; "they're well-nigh mad with fright.

Now, what the deuce is to be done?"

"Try and head them, I suppose."

"Come on, then, for all you're worth. It's neck or nothing with us now!"

We set off down the angle of the plain as fast as our horses could lay

their legs to the ground. It was a near thing, for, hard as we went, we

were only just in time to prevent the leaders from plunging into the

river. If you know anything of overlanding, you'll understand the work

we had. As it was, I don't believe we could have managed it at all if it

had not been for the extraneous--or, as I might perhaps say,

_spiritual_--aid we received.

While Spicer took the river side, I worked inland, along the bottom of

the cliff, and as the two black boys had bolted for the Homestead long

before the cattle broke, we had no one between us to bring up the tail.

Suddenly, Heaven alone knows how, the Phantom Stockman came to our

assistance; and a more perfect drover could scarcely have been found. He

wheeled his cattle and brought up his stragglers, boxed 'em, and headed

'em off, like the oldest hand. But however clever a bushman he may have

been, it was plainly his own personality that effected the greatest

good; for directly the mob saw him, they turned tail and stampeded back

on to the plain like beasts possessed.

At last, however, we got them rounded up together, and then Spicer rode

over to where I stood and said,--

"Give an eye to 'em, will you, while I slip back to the camp? I want to

get something."

I had not time to protest, for next minute he was gone, and I was left

alone with that awful stranger whom I could still see dodging about in

the mist. When he got back, Jim reined up alongside me and said,--

"This is getting a little too monotonous to my thinking."

"What are you going to do?" I gasped, my teeth chattering in my head

like a pair of castanets.

"Try the effect of this on him," he answered, and as he spoke he pulled

a revolver from his pocket. "I don't care if it sends every beast across

the river."

At that moment, on his constant round, the phantom came into view again.

On either side of him the cattle were sniffing and snorting at him,

plainly showing that they were still wild with terror. This behaviour

puzzled us completely, for we both knew that a mob would never treat an

ordinary flesh-and-blood stockman in that way. When he got within twenty

paces of us Spicer cried,--

"Bail up, matey--or, by jingo, I'll put daylight into you!"

Obedient to the order the figure instantly pulled up.

The moon was bright enough now for us to see his face. And, though, as

I've said before, I'm not a coward as a general rule, I can tell you

that it made me feel fairly sick, so white and creepy-looking was it.

Then he held up his hand as if in protest and started towards us.

This didn't suit Spicer, however, for he yelled,--

"Stand off! or by the living God I swear I'll fire. Stand off!"

But the figure continued to come towards us. Then _Crack! Crack! Crack!_

went the revolver, and next moment there was a frightful scream and the

sound of galloping hoofs. I saw no more, for, as Jim fired, my horse

reared and fell back, crushing me beneath him.

I suppose I must have been stunned by the fall, for when I recovered my

senses Spicer was leaning over me.

"Is he gone?" I asked as soon as I could speak.

"Yes! Gone like mad across the plain and the cattle with him. I must

either have missed him, or the bullet must have passed clean through

him."

As there was now no further reason why we should remain where we were,

we returned to the Homestead and told our tale. Then when it was light

enough, we had our breakfast and mounted our horses and went out into

the scrub to look for the cattle we had lost. By the time dusk fell we

had collected three hundred and fifty out of the five hundred head

Ruford had brought on to the plain. The poor beasts were quite knocked

up; and as it was useless thinking of pushing them on in that condition,

we were consequently compelled to camp them for one more night on that

awful plain. But to our delight we saw no more of the Phantom Stockman.

Next morning while we were at breakfast, Billy, the black boy, who had

been out after the horses, came dashing up to the Homestead, almost

beside himself with excitement.

"Me been find him," he cried. "Me been find him, all same fellow what

been make debbil-debbil longa here."

"What do you mean?" asked Spicer, putting down his cup of tea. "Where

have you found the man?"

"Me been find him longa billabong. My word he most like dead, mine think

it."

Spicer made a sign to me, and without another word we jumped up and ran

in the direction of the stockyard. Mounting our horses we followed our

guide through the scrub for a distance of perhaps a mile and a half

until we came to a small billabong or backwater of the main river.

Away at the further end we could see a curious white heap, and towards

it we galloped, making our horses put their best feet foremost, you may

be sure.

On reaching it, we found a man lying huddled up upon the ground beneath

a low-growing tree. He was dressed in a complete suit of white flannel,

his boots were painted the same colour, and even his hat was fixed up to

match, white. Still looped over his ears was a long grey beard and

moustache of false hair.

Spicer dismounted and knelt beside him. After feeling his heart he

plucked the beard away and almost shouted his astonishment aloud.

"Good heavens!" he cried; "do you recognise this man?"

I stooped and looked. _I don't know whether you will believe it, but the

Phantom Stockman, the person who had performed such prodigies two nights

before, was none other than our friend Chudfield, the young English

owner of Yarka Station, across the river, the man who had appeared to be

so frightened by the ghost, and who had made it his boast that he knew

nothing at all about Bush-work._ For some moments we stood and stared at

him in stupefied amazement. I was the first to speak.

"Is he dead, do you think?" I asked.

"Quite," said Spicer. "Look at this mark under his chin. Galloping

through the scrub in the dark the other night to get away from us, he

must have been caught by that bough up there and have been dashed from

his saddle. Death must have been almost instantaneous."

Round his waist was a long thin cord which ran away some twenty yards or

so into the bush. We followed it up and discovered a large piece of raw

hide tied to the end of it.

Spicer examined the latter carefully.

"The beast that owned this skin was only killed two days ago," he said.

"Now I know why our cattle were so restless. They smelt the blood, and,

as you are aware, that invariably terrifies them. Cunning beggar! he

pretended to know nothing, and yet he knew enough for this."

"Yes," I said; "but what about the other night when the phantom appeared

at the garden fence, and this man was sitting in the verandah with us?"

"Why, he probably wanted to disarm suspicion, and so sent his overseer,

who must be in the secret, to play the part."

"But what was his object in frightening you?"

"Can't you guess? Well, just let me find out where our friend's

stockyard is situated in the Ranges up yonder, and I think I'll be able

to tell you. I remember now that when I came here his cattle were all

over Warradoona, and that he used the place just as if it were his own,

to say nothing of having his choice of all the unbranded and other

cattle that former tenants had left upon it."

Leaving the body where we had found it, to be picked up on our homeward

journey, we crossed the river and plunged into the scrub beyond.

An hour later we discovered, cunningly hidden in a lonely gulley, a big

stockyard _in which our lost cattle were still penned up_. There was no

one in sight and nothing to prove how the animals had got there, but a

clearer case of duffing could scarcely have been found. Moreover, there

were branding irons in the shed adjoining, and they were those of Yarka

Station.

"I think we know quite enough now," said Spicer solemnly, as we mounted

our horses to return.

"Enough to lay the Ghost of the Stockman of Warradoona at any rate," I

replied.

Three hours later we were at home once more, and Chudfield's body was

lying in a hut, waiting for the police from Yarrapanya who would hold

the inquest. A black boy had meanwhile been sent across to Yarka Station

to inform the manager of the catastrophe.

Our lunch that day was a mixture of happiness and sadness. Happiness,

because the mystery of the Phantom Stockman had been cleared up for good

and all; and sadness, because of the pain that was inseparable from the

discovery of a friend's duplicity.

When the meal was at an end we passed into the verandah. After a little

conversation there, Spicer disappeared, to return in a few moments with

a pick-axe and a basket of tools.

"What are you going to do?" I inquired, as he set them down in the

passage and took off his coat.

"I want, if possible, to discover how those screams were worked," he

replied. "It looks like being a long job; so if you will give me your

assistance in ripping up these boards, I shall be very grateful."

"Of course, I'll help," I said, and thereupon we set to work.

But though we laboured for the best part of the afternoon, the result

was disappointing in the extreme. Nothing but dry earth and

wood-shavings confronted us.

"That being so, we'll take down the posts that support the walls on

either side," said Jim, and as he spoke he attacked that upon which the

lamp was fixed. "If we can't find anything there we'll continue to pull

the house to pieces until we do."

But we were spared that trouble. On loosening the post in question we

made an important discovery. It was hollow from end to end, and in the

cavity reposed a lead pipe, about an inch in diameter. We consulted

together for a moment, and then took the pick-axe into my bedroom and

ripped up a plank in the floor. By this means we were able to see that

the pipe crossed the room and passed under the further wall. Outside we

picked it up once more and traced it past the well, the kitchen, and the

stockyard, into the scrub, where it entered an enormous blasted gum tree

standing fifty yards or so from the house.

"I see the whole thing as clear as daylight," cried Spicer joyfully, as

he mounted the tree and prepared to lower himself into the hollow. "I

believe we've solved the mystery of the shrieks at night, and now the

whole thing is as simple as A B C. Go back to the house and listen."

I did as he wished, and when I had been in the passage about a minute,

was rewarded by hearing a scream re-echo through the house, followed by

a muffled cry, "Oh, save me! save me!"

As the sound died away, Mrs. Spicer came running into the house from the

kitchen with a scared face. A moment later we were joined by her

husband.

"Did you hear that scream, Jim?" she inquired anxiously. "I thought you

said we should not be worried by it again?"

He put his arm round her waist and drew her towards him.

"Nor shall we, little woman," he said. "That scream was to let us know

that the phantom is laid at last, and that after to-day this place is

going to be as sweet and homely as any a man could wish to live in. That

poor beggar in the hut there tried to keep it empty as long as he could

for his own purposes, but I beat him in the end. Now I've got it for a

quarter its value, and whatever else he may have done we must not forget

that we owe that, at least, to our old enemy the Phantom Stockman of

Warradoona."

The Treasure of Sacramento Nick

Away on the northernmost coast of Australia lies a little world all by

itself and unlike anything else to be found in the whole immemorial

East. Its chief centre is in Torres Straits, where the majority of the

inhabitants employ themselves in pearl-fishing, gathering _beche-de-mer_

and tortoise-shell, and generally in accumulating those gigantic

fortunes of which one hears so much and sees so little.

Walking the streets of Thursday Island, the smallest of the group, yet

the centre of commerce and the seat of such government as the Colony of

Queensland can afford it, you will be struck with the number of

nationalities represented. Dwelling together, if not in unity, certainly

in unison, are Caucasians and Mongolians, Ethiopians and Malayans, John

Chinaman living cheek by jowl with the barbarian Englishman, Cingalee

with Portuguese, Frenchman with Kanaka--all prejudices alike forgotten

in the one absorbing struggle for the unchanging British sovereign. On

the verandahs of the hotels sit continually men who talk with the

familiarity of old friends about the uttermost parts of the earth, and

whose lives are mainly spent in places to which the average man never

goes nor dreams of going. If you are a good listener they will tell you

many things worth knowing; and towards midnight you will feel stealing

over you a hazy conviction that the nineteenth century is as yet unborn,

and that you are listening to the personal narrative of Sinbad the

Sailor in an unexpurgated form.

One afternoon as I was sitting in my verandah watching the China

mail-boat steam to her anchorage, and wondering if I had energy enough

to light a third cheroot, I felt my arm touched. Turning, I discovered a

little Solomon boy, about ten years old, attired in an ancient pair of

hunting breeches, and grinning from ear to ear. Having succeeded in

attracting my attention, he handed me a letter. It was from my friend,

McBain, the manager of a pearling station on an adjacent island, and set

forth the welcome fact that he would be pleased to see me on a matter of

some importance, if I could spare the time to dine with him that

evening. There was nothing I could spare more easily or more willingly.

Once comfortably seated in the verandah, McBain explained his reason for

sending to me. "You'll think me mad, but I've got a curiosity here that

I want to examine before any one else gets hold of him."

"Black or white?" I asked, with but little interest, for we lived in a

land of human curiosities.

"White."

"Nationality?"

"Cosmopolitan, I should fancy."

"Profession?"

"Adventurer, with a marvellous big A."

"And hailing from----?"

"Well, he doesn't seem to know himself. One of my luggers took him out

of an open boat about two degrees west of the Ladrones."

"But he surely knows how he got into the boat? Men don't go pleasure

trips across oceans without knowing whence they started. Hasn't he

anything to say for himself?"

"That's just what I want you to hear. Either the man's a superhuman

liar, or else he's got a secret of the biggest thing on earth. We'll

have him up to-night, and you shall judge for yourself."

When dinner was over we took ourselves and our cigars into the cool

verandah, and for half an hour or so sat smoking and talking of many

things. Then a footstep crunched upon the path, and a tall, thin man

stood before us.

McBain rose and wished him "Good-evening," as he did so pushing a chair

into such a position that I could see his face. "I beg your pardon, but

I don't think you told me your name last night."

"Sir, my name is Nicodemus B. Patten, of Sacramento City, State of

California, U.S.A.--most times called Sacramento Nick."

"Well, Mr. Patten, let me introduce you to a friend who is anxious to

hear the curious story you told me last night. Will you smoke?"

Gravely bowing to me, he selected a cheroot, lit it, and blew the smoke

luxuriously through his nose. The lamp light fell full and fair upon his

face, and instinctively I began to study it. It was a remarkable

countenance, and, in spite of its irregularity of feature, contained a

dignity of expression which rather disconcerted me. There were evident

traces of bodily and mental suffering in the near past, but it was

neither the one nor the other which had stamped the lines that so much

puzzled me. After satisfying myself on certain other points, I begged

him to begin.

He did so without hesitation or previous thought.

"Gentlemen, before I commence my story, let me tell you that when first

the things I am going to tell you of came about, there were three of us:

Esdras W. Dyson, of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, U.S.A.; James Dance, of

London, England; and Nicodemus B. Patten, of Sacramento City, now before

you. I reckon most folks would have called us adventurers, for we'd

ferreted into nearly every corner of the globe. Snakes alive! but I've

seen things in my time that would fairly stagger even you, and I guess

my story of to-night ain't the least curious of 'em.

"Perhaps you don't remember the junk that fell foul of the _Bedford

Castle_ nigh upon three years ago, when she was four days out from

Singapore?"

I remembered the circumstance perfectly. It was an act of flagrant

piracy which had made some noise at the time; and I had also a faint

recollection of having been told that white men were suspected of being

mixed up in it. On being asked if he knew anything of the matter, he

said: "Well, I don't _say_ we did, mind you; but I had a suspicion we

were in China waters at the time. But bless you, in those days there

were few places and few things that _we_ hadn't a finger in. Understand,

I am telling you this because I don't want to sail under false colours,

and also because such work is all over now; the firm's smashed up, and

we'll never go on the Long Trail again.

"Two years ago, for certain reasons not necessary to mention, we wanted

to lay by for a while, so bringing up at Batavia fixed right on to the

Nederlander. Java's a one-horse place for business purposes, but if you

know the ropes--well, there's not a better place in the world to hide

in.

"Now, gentlemen both, you may take it from me that there never was such

a chap for browsing about among niggers, finding out what was doing, and

if there was anything to be made, as Esdras W. Dyson, of Milwaukee,

U.S.A.

"In the first place, he could patter any lingo from Chinese to Malay

with a tongue that'd talk round the devil himself; and when he

suspicioned a nigger had anything worth knowing--well, he'd just freeze

to that charcoal sketch till he fairly got it out of him. Rigged out in

native dress and properly coloured, he could pass in anywhere. It was he

who found out the thing that ruined us, brought me here, and left Jim

and himself feeding the fishes a thousand fathoms deep. Directly we

arrived in Batavia he began hanging round the Native Quarter, making

himself mighty agreeable for some particular information he wanted. He

was away for two or three days; then one night as Dance and me were

smoking on the piazza he came striding up the path in the devil's own

hurry. 'Boys!' says he in a whisper, 'I'm on it, up to the hilt, the

biggest and the all-firedest stroke of good fortune we've hit yet. I'm

going _fantee_ to-night, so keep your weather eyes lifted, and when I

say come, come right away!' With that he went to his room, and we could

hear him rummaging about in his trunks.

"A bit later a native fruit-hawker came round the corner, bowing and

scraping towards us. We told him to clear out, but he commenced a

pitiful yarn, all the time pushing his baskets closer to us. 'Fine

Duriens and the sweetest of Mangosteens, if the Presence will only buy!'

But the big night-watchman had caught sight of him, and came trundling

down the piazza. You can reckon our astonishment, when the hawker said:

'How is it, boys? Do you think they'll _savee_? Keep your kits packed

and be prepared to _trek_ directly you get the word from me.' Here the

watchman came up. 'On the word of a poor man, the Duriens are freshly

plucked and the Mangosteens hung upon the trees this morning.' We

refused to buy, and he went away crying his fruit towards the Native

Quarter.

[Illustration: "A native fruit-hawker came round the corner."]

"For two or three days not a shadow of a sign came from him. Then one of

those Chinese hawkers came into the square with two coolies carrying his

goods, and as soon as we set eyes on the second nigger we recognised

Milwaukee, and stood by to take his message in whatever form it might

come. Pulling up at our chairs, the Chinkey told his men to set down

their loads, himself coming across to us with a tray of fans, scents,

and what not; but seeing Milwaukee had a packet of slippers in his

hands, we only wanted slippers. The merchant sings out, and he brings

'em over, handing one pair to Dance and another to me. We stepped inside

to try them on, and, as we expected, in one of the shoes was a letter

neatly stowed away. I forget now how it went, but it was to the effect

that he had found out all he wanted to know, and that we were to meet

him at eight on the Singapore Wharf at Tanjong Priok, bringing no kit

save our revolvers.

"After squaring things at the hotel, and destroying what was dangerous

in our baggage, we _trekked_ for the Priok just as dusk was falling.

Sharp at eight we were waiting on the wharf where the Messagerie boats

lie, and wondering what the deuce was going to happen. Inside of ten

minutes a native boat came pulling up the river, and as it passed us the

rower sneezed twice, very sharp and sudden. It was an old signal, and

Dance gave the return. The boatman hitches right on to the steps and

comes ashore.

"'Good boys,' says he, very quiet and careful; 'up to time, that's

right. Now to business! D'ye see that schooner lying outside the

breakwater? Well, she sails at daylight. I put the skipper and mate

ashore not ten minutes ago, and they're to return in an hour. There's

only three chaps aboard, and it's our business to cut her out before the

others come back. D'ye understand?'

"'But what d'ye reckon to do then, Milwaukee?' I asked, for it seemed a

risky game, just for the sake of a mangy Dutch trader.

"'Never you mind now; when I do tell you, you'll say it's worth the

candle. Come, jump in here, and I'll pull you aboard!'

"The harbour was as quiet as the sea out yonder; a Dutch man-of-war lay

under the wing of the breakwater, and a Sourabaya mail-boat to the left

of her. We passed between them, down towards the lighthouse, and out

into the open. Outside there was a bit of a sea running, but Milwaukee

was always hard to beat, and at last we managed to get alongside.

Somebody, most likely the anchor-watch, caught our painter, and took a

turn in it, saying in Dutch, 'You're back early, Mynheer.' By the time

he twigged his mistake we were aboard, and Dance had clapped a stopper

on his mouth. The others were below, and I reckon you'd have laughed if

you could have seen the look on their faces when, after Milwaukee's

thumping on the fo'c'stle, they turned out to find their craft in other

hands. However, they soon saw what was up, and reckoned it was no use

making fools of themselves. Then Milwaukee went to the wheel, singing

out to get sail on her, and stand by to slip the cable. We knew our

business, and in less than twenty minutes were humming down the coast a

good ten knots an hour.

"As soon as the course was set and everything going smooth, Milwaukee

made right aft to where Dance was steering. 'I guess it's time,' says

he, 'to let you into the secret. You know me and I know you, which is

enough said between pards. We've been in many good things together, but

this is going to be the biggest we've sighted yet. It doesn't mean

hundreds of pounds, but thousands, millions maybe; anyhow, enough to set

us three up as princes all the world over!'

"'Sounds well; but how did you come to know of it?' we asked, a bit

doubtful like.

"Before answering, he took a squint at the card and then aloft. 'Keep

her as she goes, Jim. How did I come to hear of it? How does a man hear

anything? Why, by going to the places and among the folk who talk. I got

wind of it months ago, but never came across anything straight out till

I went _fantee_ among the niggers. Losh, boys, if you want yarns to

raise your scalp, go down town and smoke among the darkies; I've done

it, and you bet I know. There was one old chap who used to drop in every

night, and smoke and chew and spit and lie till you couldn't rest. From

his talk he'd once done a bit in our line, and his great sweat was about

an island he'd been to fifty years ago, where there's an old Portugee

treasure-ship aground, chock full of gold, diamonds, rubies, and pearls,

all waitin' for the man as'll go to get 'em. At first I reckoned he

lied, for how he got there he didn't rightly remember; but he swore he

found the ship, and was in the act of broaching her cargo, when the

natives came and sent him back to sea again. What he did get, except a

bloomin' old dagger, was stolen from him in Saigon. Directly I sighted

that instrument, I began to guess there might be something in his yarn

after all; for, wherever he got it, it was a genuine Portugees weapon of

a couple of hundred years back. Well, as any lubber knows, the Portugee

sailed these seas two hundred years ago; why shouldn't one of 'em have

been wrecked with all her cargo and never been heard of since? Answer me

that! Anyhow, you bet I froze to that nigger.

"'At first he played cunning and seemed to suspicion I was after

something. So one night I got him alone and--d'ye remember Hottentot Joe

in the Kimberley?--well, p'raps I played the same game on this old cove,

and when he was sound off I began to pump him all I knew. The old chap

had been sailing pretty near to the truth, but still he'd kept a bit up

his sleeve; however, I got that bit, and here's his chart as near as I

can fix it.'

"So saying, he drew out a paper and held it to the binnacle. Then

putting his finger on a coloured mark, he went on: 'It's a bit hazy

steering after we get here, inasmuch as, being a nigger, he couldn't

keep proper reckoning. But once among these islands, I guess we can't be

far off the right one, and to find it--by God, we'll search every

mud-bank in the Pacific! Accordin' to his fixin' it has a big mountain

climbing from its centre, with a monster white rock half-way up, shaped

like a man's fist. In a bee-line with the rock there's a creek running

inland, big enough to float a seventy-four; follow that creek up a mile

or so and you come to a lake, and on the other side of that lake's where

the old barge ought to be. Now, what do you think?'

"'What do I think? Why, I think, Milwaukee, you are a fool to have

brought us on such a rotten chase, and we're bigger fools to have

followed you. The island, I guess, never existed, and we'll get

stretched for this boat by the first warship that sights us. But now we

are here, we'd better make the best of it. What do you say, Jim?'

"'I stand with you,' said Dance, and that settled it.

"To make a long story short, we sailed that hooker right on end for nigh

upon three weeks. The wind was mostly favourable, the boat had a

slippery pair of heels, and the stores, considering they were laid in by

Dutchmen, were none too bad. Only one thing was wrong to my thinking,

and that was the supply of grog aboard. If I had my way there'd have

been a gimlet through the lot; but Milwaukee was skipper, and wouldn't

hear of it.

"Tuesday, the thirteenth of January, saw the tether of the old darkie's

chart, so we held a bit of a palaver, and settled to go on cruising

about the islands which we were picking up and dropping every day.

"You folk who live inside this rot-gut reef don't know what islands are.

Out there, you see them on all sides, pushing their green heads up to

watch the ships go by, with the air so warm, the sea so green, and the

sky so blue that it's like living in a new world. Birds of every colour

fly across your bows all day, and in the hush of night, lying out on

deck, you can hear the waterfalls trickling ashore, and now and again

the crash of a big tree falling in the jungle.

"One forenoon while I was at the wheel, Milwaukee and Jim Dance fell to

quarrelling. It started over nothing, and would have come to nothing but

for that tarnation liquor. I sung out to them to stop; but it was no

use, so leaving the hooker to look after herself, I went forrard. Before

I could reach him, the skipper had drawn a revolver, and I heard Jim

cry, 'For Gawd's sake don't shoot!' Then there was a report, and sure

enough Dance fell dead.

"Can you picture it? Overhead, the blue sky, a few white clouds, and the

canvas just drawing; on the deck, poor Jim lying as if asleep, and

Milwaukee leaning against the foremast staring at him. Seein' there was

no use in keepin' the body aboard, I called one of the Dutchmen aft and

told him to fix it up in a bit of canvas. Then together we hove it

overboard; it sank with a dull plunge, and so we lost the first of our

mess.

"Milwaukee being too drunk to take his trick at the wheel, I stood it

for him. A bit before sundown he comes on deck looking terrible fierce

and haggard. Rolling aft, he says with a voice solemn as a judge:

'Sacramento Nick, you're a good man and true. On your Bible oath, may

God strike you dead if you lie, did I shoot James Dance, mariner?'

"Seeing what was passing in his mind, I said simply, 'You did.'

"'Was I drunk, being in charge of this vessel at the time?'

"'You were!'

"'That is your word and deed, so help you God?'

"'Ay, ay!'

"'Well, that being so, no more need be said. It's the sentence of the

court. Shipmate, your hand.'

"We shook hands, and he turned to the taffrail. Before I knew what he

was about, he had leaped upon it and plunged into the sea. He only rose

once; then the white belly of a shark showed uppermost, and never again

did I see Esdras W. Dyson, of Milwaukee City, Wisconsin.

"Three days later, when I was too dog-tired to keep watch, those

cut-throat Dutchmen mutinied and sent me adrift in the long-boat with

one week's provisions and a small beaker of water.

"Strangers, have you ever been cast adrift? I can see you haven't; well,

hope that your luck don't run that way. Fortunately it was fair weather,

and I was able to rig a bit of a sail; but how long I was cruising among

those islands, drat me if I know. Being ignorant, so to speak, of my

position, one way was as another, and when short of provisions I'd just

go ashore, pick fruit, fill my beaker, and then set sail again. One warm

afternoon I found myself abreast of the largest island I'd seen yet.

From its centre rose a high mountain, and, strike me dead if I lie,

half-way up that last was _a big white rock, shaped like a man's fist_!

When I saw it I was clean staggered; I stood up and stared till I could

stare no longer. It was just as if I'd stumbled by mistake on the very

island we'd set out to seek. By tacking I managed to get right under its

lee, and there, sure enough, between two high banks was the entrance to

a fairish river. Furling the sail, I took to my oars and pulled inside.

The sun was close on down by this time, and I was dog-tired; so as

nothing could be gained by bursting the boilers, when, as far as I knew,

all the future was afore me, I anchored where I was, and stayed in my

boat till morning.

"You bet as soon as it was light I pushed on again, bringing out on a

slap-up lake perhaps a mile long by half a mile across. The water was as

clear as crystal and as smooth as glass. Making for a plain of dazzling

white sand at the furthest end, I beached my boat and prepared to start

explorations. Then, just as her nose grounded, my eyes caught sight of a

big creeper-covered mass lying all alone in the centre of the plain. May

I never know a shieve-hole from a harness-cask again, if it wasn't an

old galleon of the identical pattern to be seen in the Columbus'

picter-books. Trembling like a palsied monkey, I jumped out and ran for

it.

[Illustration: "Then, just as her nose grounded, my eyes caught sight of

a big creeper-covered mass."]

"She may have been close on a hundred tons burden, but it was impossible

to calculate her size exactly for the heap of stuff that covered her.

How she ever got on to that plain, and why she hadn't rotted clean away

during the two hundred years or more she must have lain there, are

things I can't explain. Anyhow, I didn't stay to puzzle 'em out then,

but set to work hunting for a way to get inside her. From the main-deck

seemed to be the best course, and to reach that I started hacking at the

blooming creepers. It was harder work than you'd think, for they'd

spliced and twisted 'emselves into cables, and a jack-knife was about as

much use on 'em as a tooth-pick. When night came I'd done a big day's

work, and had only just got a footing on her deck.

"Next morning I went at it again, and by mid-day had the satisfaction of

standing before the cuddy entrance. Again I felt the same dod-dratted

funk creeping over me; but when I remembered the treasure, I said

good-bye to that, and placed my shoulder against the door. It crumbled

away and fell in a heap upon the deck, and when the dust had passed I

found myself at the entrance of a small alleyway leading into the

saloon. I entered it, stepping gingerly; but had only gone a few steps

before the deck suddenly gave way, and I found myself disappearing with

a crash into the lower regions. The fall was a darned sight bigger than

I liked; but it served a purpose, for my weight on landing started a

plank and brought a glimmer of light into the darkness.

"Finding I was not hurt, I fell to groping for a way out again; then I

noticed the rottenness of the timbers, and determined to enlarge the

light I had just made. The two kicks and a shove brought a flood of

sunshine pouring in, and a horrible sight met my eyes. I was standing

beside an old-fashioned bed-place on which lay (you may believe me or

not) the mummified body of a man stretched full out and hanging on to

the stanchions like grim death. He was not alone, for in the centre of

the cabin, clutching at a heavy table, was another chap, also perfectly

preserved, half standing, with his feet braced against the thick

cross-bars and his shrivelled parchment face, with its staring eyes

turned towards me, grinning like a poisoned cat. My scalp seemed to lift

and my innards to turn to water. Letting out one yell, I clambered for

the open air.

"Outside all was sunshine, blue sky, and bright colour, and, as if to

set off what I had just left, a big butterfly came hovering towards me.

In a few minutes my presence of mind returned, and I began to laugh at

the idea of Sacramento Nick being afeared of dead men; so back I went in

search of further mysteries. Again I entered the cuddy, and lowered

myself into the under-cabin; but this time I was prepared for anything.

The treasure-guard stared, but said nothing.

"While I was wondering how I'd best set about my search, a smart breeze

came whistling in, caught the figure at the table, disengaged his hold,

and brought his old carcase with a dry rattle to the floor. With his

fall a small piece of metal rolled to my feet, and picking it up I found

it to be a key of real curious shape and workmanship. Fired with my

discoveries, I slipped across to try it on the first of the chests I saw

ranged round the cabin, when to my astonishment I found it open.

Somebody had been there before me; perhaps I was too late! All of a

sweat I looked in, but 'twas too dark; I tried to pull the whole chest

towards the light, but it was a main sight too heavy. Then I plunged my

hand in and--great Jehoshaphat, how I yelled! Clutching what I could

hold, I dashed across the cabin, up into the light, and throwing myself

upon the ground, spread what I had brought before me. It took less than

a second to see that they were diamonds, and, by all the stars and

stripes, diamonds of the first water! There they lay winking and

blinking at me and the sun, and for the first time I began to _savee_ my

amazing wealth. For the minute I was clean stark staring mad. I closed

my eyes, and wondered if when I opened them again I should find it all a

dream; but no, the beauties were there, looking brighter and even larger

than before.

"Gentlemen, it's strange how the habits and precautions of civilization

linger with a man even in the queerest places. For while not twenty

yards from where I stood was greater wealth than I or fifty men could

ever spend, I found myself fearful of losing one, picking each gem up

with scrupulous care, and securing it inside my jumper. The next box was

locked, so I tried the key. In spite of age and rust the wards shot back

and the cover lifted. Again I felt the touch of stones, and again

seizing a handful, I went back into the light. This time they were

rubies; Burmese rubies, my experience told me, and not a tarnation flaw

in one of 'em. For a second time I carefully picked them up and was

hiding 'em as before, when I happened to look round. Dash my buttons, if

I was alone! On all sides were niggers regarding me with considerable

attention. I sprang to my feet and felt for my revolver. Fool that I

was, I had left it in the boat! Seeing that I was aware of their

presence, they closed in on me, and as they did so I took stock of 'em.

They were unlike other South Sea natives, being of better build and but

little darker than myself. True, they were rigged out in a short

loin-cloth not unlike _tappa_, but they carried neither spear nor

shield. When I saw this I was for showing fight, but soon gave that idea

up; they were too many for me.

"After a few minutes' inspection they began to march me through the

forest in a westerly direction, all the time talking a lingo that seemed

curiously familiar. Just upon sunset we entered a large clearing on

which stood a fair-sized native village, and I thought as I looked at it

that, if ever I got out of this mess and turned to blackbirding, I'd

know where to come for niggers. It contained perhaps fifty huts, all

built of wood and with conical-shaped grass roofs. A trim garden ran

down the centre, at the furthest end of which stood the largest and the

most slap-up building of the lot. As soon as we hove in sight, a crowd

came out to meet us, and in the middle of hundreds of yelling darkies I

was marched up to the big house. The old chief, who had been bossing

affairs with the swagger of a New York policeman, told me to wait while

he carried his carcass up some steps and disappeared. After a little

while he returned, and signified that I should follow him.

"When I got inside I had plenty of time to look about me, for it must

have been full half an hour before any one came. Then some grass

curtains were drawn aside, and what looked like a man entered. I say

_looked like_, because I ain't really clear in my mind as to _what_ he

was; anyway, I shouldn't be far from the mark in sayin' he was quite a

hundred years old, and just about as deformed as he well could be. He

was as white as myself, and from the antics of the chief who had fetched

me to his presence I could see that he had a great hold over the

niggers. Throwing himself upon the ground, that old fool of a chief

feebly wagged his toes till told to rise. Then he started explaining

where he had found me and what I was doing.

"During his yarn, old grandfer', whose name I afterwards found was Don

Silvio, riddled me into augurholes with his evil little eyes; then,

having ordered the chief out, he started to examine me himself. He spoke

the same lingo as the niggers, a sort of bastard Portugee, and still

looking me through and through, asked, 'Stranger, how came you to this

island?'

"I reckoned it best to keep the real truth from him, so said, 'I am a

shipwrecked mariner, Senor, and fetched here in an open boat.'

"His eyes blazed, and his long, lean fingers twitched round his jewelled

stick. 'And had you no thought of what treasure you might find?'

"'Senor,' said I, looking him square in the face, 'let me put it to you.

Is it likely that a shipwrecked mariner would think of treasure?'

"A storm was brewing in his eyes, and I guessed it would break on me.

Suddenly he yelled: 'You lie--you dog, you thief--you lie! You came for

what you could steal, but nothing shall you take away, nothing--not one

stone. The Fates that consumed those who came aforetime shall consume

you also. Shipwreck or no shipwreck, you shall die!'

"He fell to beating a gong with his stick, and a dozen or so natives

came tumbling in. They seemed to know their business, and before I had

time to get in a word I was being dragged away down the street, to a

small and securely guarded hut, where I was pushed in and the door

closed. Disliking the look of things, as soon as I recovered my breath I

started hunting about for a way of escape, but that was no good. Added

to my other troubles, I was just famishing, and was beginning to fix it

that my end was to be starvation, when footsteps approached, the door

opened, and a native girl appeared, bearing on her head two wooden

dishes which she set down before me. Being a favourite with the sex, I

tried to draw her into conversation, but either she didn't understand my

talk or fear had taken away her tongue; anyway, not a word would she

utter. After she had left me I set to work on the food, and never before

or since have I enjoyed a meal so much. Then stretching myself on some

dry reeds in a corner I soon fell asleep.

"I was awakened in the chill grey of dawn by the entrance of the same

beauty, who put down my breakfast, saying as she did so, 'White man, eat

well, for at sunrise you die!' For a moment the shock cleared me out of

speech; I could only sit and stare at her. She seemed to see what was

going on in my mind, and as if in comfort added, 'Stranger, why do you

fear death? It can only come once!'

"Her reasoning, though logical enough, wasn't of the kind calculated to

meet my trouble, and when she had left me I started wondering if anybody

in Sacramento City would ever hear of my fate, and bitterly cursing the

day I set out in search of this villainous island. As I sat with my head

upon my hands, the jewels I had stuck in my jumper fell to the floor and

lay there taunting me with their sparkling splendour. Howsomever, it was

no use crying over spilled milk; I had brought the situation on myself,

and, whatever happened, must go through with it. Suddenly my ear caught

the pat of naked feet outside the cell. Then the door was unbarred and

the chief entered. 'Come, white man,' he said, 'all is made ready, and

the axe waits for the bare flesh!' How would you have felt in such a

situation? As for myself, I put a good face on it, and resolved, since I

could no longer live a free and independent American citizen, to die as

such. Pity, I thought, there wasn't a band. I was led up the village to

the open plot before Don Silvio's house. It might have been the fourth

of July for the crowd that was assembled. In the centre, for my special

benefit, was an object which held an awful fascination for me; a

curiously carved block of wood, dull brown in colour, and on two sides

much stained and worn. It didn't take me a year to understand what it

meant; and you may think it strange, seeing the nature of my position,

but, true as gospel, I fell to wondering how my long neck would figure

stretched across it.

"When I was halted, I took it for granted that the work of dispatching

me would commence at once, but I was mistaken. The execution could not

take place until the arrival of Don Silvio, and the sun was a good hour

up before there was a stir in the crowd, and the withered monkey-faced

little devil came stumping towards me. If he had appeared a hundred

years old in the half-dark of his house, he now looked double that age,

but the fire in his eyes was as bright as ever. Hobbling to within a

dozen paces of where I stood, he took thorough stock of me. Then,

tapping the block with his stick, he said: 'Senor, you are about to hunt

treasure in a golden country, where I trust your efforts may meet with

better success. I wish you farewell.' After relieving himself of this,

he went to his seat; two natives raised a great grass umbrella above his

head, and, all being comfortable, he gave orders for the performance to

begin. A nigger stepped from the crowd and approached me, carrying in

his hand an axe. Reaching the block he signed me to kneel. I took a last

look round--first at the thick jungle, then at the great mountain

pushing itself up into the blue sky. After that my eyes returned to the

block, and, gentlemen both, a wonderful circumstance happened.

Understand me clearly! Standing on either side of it were two thin

columns of palest blue smoke, maybe six feet in height. As I stared at

'em they gradually took the shapes of men, till I could make out the

features of old Milwaukee and poor Jim Dance, of London Town. They

seemed to be gently beckoning me and telling me not to fear. P'raps I

kind of understood, for I stretched my long neck across the block

without a sign of funk. I heard the cackling laugh of Don Silvio, I saw

the headsman draw a step closer, his arms go up, and then I shut my

eyes, and remember no more.

* * * * *

"When I came to my senses I was lying on the bed of rushes in my old

quarters, and the native girl before mentioned was seated beside me. On

putting my hand to my head to sort of fix matters, she laughed merrily,

and said: 'Stranger, it is still there, but to-morrow it will certainly

be gone!' Why they hadn't killed me I couldn't understand, unless it was

to put me to the torture of waiting another day; anyhow, the following

morning I was prepared for the guard when they came to lead me out.

"Once more the crowd was there, once more that villainous old Don kept

me waiting, and once more the axe went up but failed to strike. I was

respited for another day. Well, this sort of thing happened every

blessed morning, till I nearly went mad with the strain of it. On the

eighth day, instead of being kept in the square, I was marched straight

to the Don's house. The old pirate was waiting for me, and as soon as I

arrived fell to questioning me about the outer world, seeming to take an

all-fired interest in such parts of my own life as I thought fit to tell

him. When he had found out all he wanted, he said: 'Go now, for the

present you are free; but remember, if you but approach that ship by so

much as half a mile, that same moment you die!' I stumbled out of his

presence and down the street like a man dazed. That he had some reason

for sparing my life was certain; but what it was, for the life of me I

couldn't then determine. Arriving at my hut, I threw myself upon the

rushes and tried to think it out.

"That evening, a little after sundown, while walking outside the village

and racking my brain for a chance of escape, an event happened which

changed all my thoughts and plans. I was passing through a bit of

jungle, where the fireflies were beginning to play to and fro, when I

came face to face with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen,

and--well, I'm a free-born American citizen, and as such the equal of

any man living; but I reckon that young woman took the conceit out of

me. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years of age: her skin was

as white as milk, her hair and eyes of the deepest black; and when she

walked it was like the sound of falling rose-leaves. Seeing me, she

started with surprise, and was half-inclined to run; but something

seemed to tell her I wasn't particular harmful, so overcoming her fear

she said, 'Senor, I am glad my grandfather has given you your freedom!'

Her grandfather! Not being able to make it out, I said, 'Surely, miss,

Don Silvio ain't your grandfather?' 'No, Senor, he was my father's

grandfather, but I call him so because the other is so tedious.' Perhaps

my manner, as I say, didn't appear very dangerous; anyway, after this

her bashfulness seemed to vanish, and we walked back to the village as

comfortable as you please. She told me that it was she who had induced

the old rascal to spare my life, and I reckon the look I gave her for

that had something to do with the flush as spread across her face. She

also let me into the risk I had run by breaking into the old galleon,

which, accordin' to her tellin', was a sacred thing upon the island. She

did not know how long it had lain there, but suspicioned her

great-grandfather had commanded it as a young man, and that all the rest

who came with him were dead,--a fact which, you bet, I could quite

believe.

"The moon was full up before we sighted the village, and when she left

me I went back to my hut in a flumux of enchantment, as much in love as

the veriest schoolboy. Somehow after this I never thought of escape, but

set to work improving my quarters and laying out a garden. Every day Don

Silvio came to question me, and you'd better guess I did my best to

corral the old chap's confidence. How I got on you'll hear shortly.

"Well, each evening as soon as the sun was down, I visited the grove

beyond the village, where, sure enough, I always met the Don's

great-granddaughter. Her beauty and amazin' innocence so held me that I

was nearly mad to make her my wife; and when I found that she reckoned

to have the same liking for me, I could bear it no longer, so went right

off to ask the old man for her hand. Not having the least hope of being

successful, you can judge of my surprise when he promised her to me

straight away, and, what's more, fixed it that the wedding should take

place next day. He kept his word, and on the following morning, in the

presence of all the village, she became my wife.

"The year that followed topped everything I ever knew of happiness. It

slipped by in a rosy mist, and when our boy was born my cup was full. I

proclaimed him American, according to the constitution of the United

States, and the old Don announced a great feast in his honour. It was

spread in the square, and all the village sat down to it. I can see the

sight now: the shadowy outline of the mountain beyond the great flaring

torches of sweet-smelling wood, the long rows of tables, the shouts and

laughter of the niggers, and at the head, between my wife and her

great-grandfather, the boy in his cradle. When the feast was right at

its height, the old Don rose and handed me a silver mug filled with some

sweet liquor. He told me to drink to my son's health, and suspecting no

treachery, I did so. Next moment a change stole over me; I made a try to

get on to my feet, but it was no use; everything seemed to be slipping

away. I could just see my wife start towards me and the old Don pull her

back, when my head sank on the table, and my senses left me.

"The next thing I remember is finding myself lying precious sick and

weak at the bottom of my own boat, with nothing but the big green seas

rolling around me. The island had vanished, and with it my wife and

child. At first I reckoned I must have been asleep and dreamed the last

year; but no, the food with which the boat was stocked was clear enough

evidence of its truth. For an eternity I sailed those cursed seas this

way and that, seeking for the land I had lost; but I must have drifted

into different waters, for I saw no more islands. My food ran out, and I

had given up all hope of being saved, when one of your luggers hove in

sight and picked me up.

"Now, gentlemen, you've heard my story. Whether you believe it or not,

of course I don't know; but I take my affidavy that all I have told you

is true; and what's more, if you'll fit out a vessel to search for that

island and its treasure, I'll take command of her. Should we find it, I

reckon I can make you the two richest men on earth; and when I get my

wife and child I shall be the happiest. In proof that the treasure's

there, and as my contribution towards the expenses, I hand you this."

From an inner pocket he produced a leather pouch, from which he took

what at first appeared to be a small piece of crystal; on inspection it

turned out to be a diamond, worth at least a hundred pounds. "That

stone," said he, holding it at the angle which would best show its fire,

"came from the coffers of the treasure-ship, and is the only one left

out of all I saw and took. I will leave it with you for the present.

Remember, there's thousands more aboard the old galleon, bigger and

better nor that. Say, gentlemen, will you adventure for such

merchandise?"

It was too late to go into the question that night, so we bade him come

up for a further talk in the morning. Rising, he gravely bowed to us,

and without another word withdrew. Next day he was not to be found, nor

has he ever made his appearance since. Whether he lost himself and fell

into the sea, or whether he was an impostor and feared detection, I

haven't the remotest idea. I only know that I have a valuable diamond in

my possession, which I am waiting to restore to its uncommonly curious

owner.

Into the Outer Darkness

"I am not wrath, my own lost love, although

My heart is breaking--wrath I am not, no!

For all thou dost in diamonds blaze, no ray

Of light into thy heart's night finds its way.

I saw thee in a dream. Oh, piteous sight!

I saw thy heart all empty, all in night;

I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart;

I saw how wretched, oh, my love, thou art!"

--Heine.

You will, perhaps, remember how the soul of Tom Guilfoy was saved by his

wife, how Godfrey Halkett was killed by his sweetheart, and how the

plans of the Kangaroo Girl were shattered at one blow by a certain

grandee aide-de-camp. All those things are matters of history. This is a

story of a similar nature, but with a somewhat different ending.

I am not going to tell you how I acquired my information, nor shall I

say in which Australian colony the events occurred. If you have ever

originated a scandal yourself, you will understand why and sympathise

with me. Remember, however, personally, I don't blame them. Situated as

they were, they couldn't have done otherwise. But I _do_ contend that it

refutes the charge globe-trotters bring against us when they say _there

is nothing underneath the surface of Australian society_.

Officially, and for the purposes of trade, the man was named Cyril

George Paton Haywood; his friends, however, called him Lancelot. The

woman's maiden name was Alice Mary Whittaker, otherwise Guinevere; and

as Lancelot and Guinevere, they are as famous through three colonies as

a certain governor's mislaid particular despatch.

Lancelot was in the Civil Service, Deputy-Assistant-Registrar-General of

Lands, Titles, or something brilliant of that description.

Departmentally, he ranked high, was entitled to wear a uniform on

occasion, and boasted the right of private _entree_ at vice-regal

levees; financially, however, he was too low altogether. The greyheads

lost no opportunity of affirming that he was too young, and even cadets

know that it is impossible for a man to be accounted brilliant until age

has removed the opportunity of showing it. That is why, according to the

peculiarity of our legislation, we venerate and retain fossils to the

detriment of younger and abler men.

Among other things Lancelot was consumptive, and, apart from his salary,

penniless. So he naturally loved Guinevere, with a love that was

dog-like in its faithfulness, and she returned his passion with equal

fervour. For three seasons, to my certain knowledge, they drove

together, sat out dances together, and met on every conceivable

opportunity. She was desperately thorough in everything she undertook.

Any man who has ever danced with her will confirm this statement.

Then King Arthur appeared on the scene, and languid society--we were in

the hills for the hot months--sat down to watch results.

Arthur was not an ideal knight in any way. His past was a sealed book,

therefore it was adjudged disreputable; his present was a golden age, so

he had evidently turned over a new leaf. He was worth a quarter of a

million, men said; but even that couldn't prevent him from being a podgy

little red man with a double chin, always horribly clean, and given to

the display of many diamonds. He told Mrs. Whittaker, in confidence, at

the Bellakers' ball, that he was anxious to marry and settle down if he

could only meet the right sort of girl; and, being a good mother, she

informed her husband, in the brougham on the way home, that she could

put her hand on just the very identical maid.

Whittaker said nothing, for he was fighting a financial crisis at the

time; and, besides, he had every confidence in his wife.

About a month later Arthur purchased a gorgeous summer palace half-way

up the mountain-road, furnished it magnificently, and set himself to

entertain on his own lines. He had for neighbours a dignified judge and

a popular widow. The judge lent him tone, the widow gave him female

society. Indirectly, he paid through the nose for both.

Needless to say, every one was disposed to be cordial, for he gave

delightful impromptu dances on cool summer evenings, and his iced

champagne-cup was undeniable. He threw his tennis-courts open to society

generally, and his billiard-room was the rendezvous for youths of

sporting tastes for miles round. He also organized lovely moonlight

riding picnics; and after a day in the sweltering heat of the plains, it

was vastly refreshing to dodge through the cool gullies in congenial

company.

Early in the summer Lancelot took rooms in the township down the

hillside, and in the evenings he would stroll quietly along the mountain

roads with Guinevere. Of course every one else was strolling too, but

that only gave zest to the affair; and as most of them were also playing

at love, their presence hardly mattered.

In the autumn, when people were beginning to think of returning to the

city, Whittaker died, leaving his family almost unprovided for.

King Arthur was among the first to tender his sympathies, and, I'm told,

after five minutes' preamble, asked point-blank for Guinevere's hand in

marriage.

In spite of her grief, Mrs. Whittaker was able to grasp the majesty of

his offer, and took care that night to show her daughter how necessary

it was, for all their sakes, that she should marry well. Guinevere,

however, could not see it in the same light. If it had been Lancelot,

she would have been only too happy, she said; but even for her family's

sake she was not going to marry anybody else. The mother postponed the

matter for a week, then she argued, pleaded, threatened, and finally

wept; but her daughter remained obstinate.

Knowing all this, you can imagine our surprise when, two months later,

the engagement of King Arthur to beautiful Guinevere was publicly

announced. But what amazed us still more was the fact that Lancelot did

not seem to be affected thereby in the very smallest degree. His heart

complaint was rapidly developing itself, and perhaps his valve demanded

his complete attention.

If, however, we had seen a certain little letter, smeared with

tear-stains and innumerable blotches, we might have understood matters;

but as we did not, we had, like a certain lady of scriptural fame, to

argue on what might be called insufficient premises.

Towards the end of June, Arthur and Guinevere were married in the

Anglican Cathedral, the Lord Bishop officiating.

It was in all respects a brilliant wedding, and the bridegroom's present

to the bride was a thing to see and marvel over. Guinevere walked

through the ceremony as if she had been doing nothing else from

childhood. (As I have said, she was desperately thorough in all she

undertook.) Lancelot was not present; his health would not permit of it,

he said.

The happy couple left the same day in the steamer _Chang-Sha_, to spend

their honeymoon in Japan.

* * * * *

One morning, on arrival at the office, Lancelot found a letter on his

table. It was from an eminent firm of English solicitors, and informed

him of the death of an unknown relative, who, in consideration perhaps

of their never having met, had left him the sum of thirty thousand

pounds snugly invested.

He was barely interested, and asked what earthly manner of use it was to

him now? Any one could see that he was growing daily worse, and I

believe it was that very week that his doctor first insisted that he

should resign his appointments and settle down in some quiet place,

where he could not be excited in any shape or form. He was only

thirty-three, but a very old man.

Early in December the happy couple returned to the south. The hot

weather had commenced, again everybody was resident in the hills. Arthur

and his wife went straight to the palace on the mountain-road, and on

her first "afternoon," Guinevere's large drawing-room was filled with

callers. Two things were painfully evident to the least observant: she

was only a walking skeleton, while her husband was cleaner and more

distressfully polite than ever. At first, we didn't know how to account

for it; but men who saw his brandy-pegs understood what they meant, and

told their women-folk, who, as usual, spread the report abroad.

Lancelot called on the Monday following their return, and Arthur

welcomed him, if anything, a little too effusively. Guinevere crossed

the room to shake hands, and the afternoon light enabled them to take

stock of each other properly. They were a pair of ghosts, and each was

shocked almost beyond the bounds of decency at the change in the other.

He followed her to the Japanese afternoon tea-table, and took a cup of

tea from her hands. The tremor of the cup and saucer told their own

tale. Arthur watched them from the fireplace with the blandest of smiles

upon his face. It pleased him to see the tears gather in his wife's

eyes, as she recognised the change in her old lover. From that day

forward, Lancelot was made free of the house, and Arthur insisted that

he should be asked to every function, however great or small.

Whatever his own thoughts might have been, Lancelot could not fail to

see the pleasure his society gave Guinevere, so he settled it in his own

mind that the invitations emanated from her. His health was too feeble

to admit of his riding or playing tennis; but driving along the

mountain-roads, strolling in the gardens, or idling in the music-room,

he was her constant companion. Naturally, folk talked, though Arthur

assured them that he was only too glad to see his wife happy with her

old friends. But it was not true, the long brandy pawnee glasses in his

study said so most emphatically.

This sort of thing went on all through the summer months, until the

roses began to bloom again in Guinevere's cheeks. Her husband noticed

the change, but did not comment on it; he was going to have his day of

reckoning by-and-by.