XVII

IT was some time before Jim Done visited Mrs. Kyley's tent again. He bore

Aurora no animosity, he had the kindliest feelings for her, but

recognised that in frequenting the shanty he increased the difficulty of

the situation and prolonged the task he had set himself. A letter had

come to him from Lucy Woodrow--a bright, breezy letter, about Bush-life,

about herself and the youngsters, and a good deal about him. Certainly a

pleasant enough letter, but, considered as a literary production merely,

not deserving of Jim's high appreciation of it. Alter receiving it Jim

sat down in a reverent humour and decided, with the formality of a

meeting carrying a resolution, that Lucy was the only woman in the world

for him, the one possible woman. The resolution practically abolished all

other women so far as he was concerned. He could never think of another

with patience, and his longing for her was so great that it left him

little mind for Ryder, and scarcely any for Aurora. He was eager to pay

Boobyalla another visit, but Mike was deaf to all insinuations, and Jim

consoled himself with pretty imaginative pictures in which Lucy was

vividly represented sitting on the shady veranda at Macdougal's home

stead, spotted with flakes of golden sunshine filtered through the tangle

of vine and creeper. How sweet she was, how gentle, how tender, and yet

brave of heart and keen-witted withal. She had understood him better than

he had understood himself. That was very gratifying; it showed her deep

interest in him, but he did not put it to himself in that bald way. Why

hadn't he taken her up in his arms and kissed her when they parted in the

garden? Every drop of his blood prompted him to it, and something told

him she would not have resented it. He had been a fool. He should have

told her then that he loved her. Of course, it had hardly occurred to him

then that he really did love her, but he was a fool in any case for not

seeing it and understanding it.

Burton and the Peetrees had resolved to try a new rush before Done called

at the shanty again.

'I have come to say goodbye, Mrs. Ben,' he said to the big washerwoman,

'and to thank you for a thousand kindnesses.'

'Thank me for nothing!' cried Mrs. Kyley. 'Is it true you are off on the

wallaby again?'

'We shall start for Simpson's Ranges in the morning.'

'It is so long since we've seen you that you won't mind if we don't break

our hearts at parting.' She glanced towards Aurora, who had turned her

back to them.

'That's the least I expect of you, Mrs. Ben.'

'Well, you're not a bad lad, though inconstant. Give me a kiss, and good

luck go with you. Be a man,' she added in a whisper. 'Say a few kind

words to the poor girl.' She nodded towards Aurora.

'I came wishing to.'

'You ruffian!' she said aloud; 'and you pretending you cared a copper

dump about Mother Kyley. She pushed him towards Aurora, and rolled from

the tent with one of her great gusts of laughter.

'I'm off, Joy!' said Done.

She turned and looked at him. She was in one of her quiet humours. If she

had felt much grief, it had left little impression upon her. She was

neatly dressed and looking very fresh and girlish to-day.

'I heard you were going,' she answered.

'Joy!' He put out an open hand. 'Let us part friends; I'm fond of you--I

am, upon my soul!'

She caught his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her breast. 'I was

wondering if you would come to see me before leaving.'

'Ah, that's better,' he said. 'I'd be pretty miserable if I went thinking

I'd left you an enemy, because--because--' He had a heart full of

gratitude and big, generous emotions towards her, and could not express

himself. 'God bless you, Joy! he murmured, kissing her hair. 'Don't think

me an utterly selfish kind of brute, dear.'

'I haven't one ill thought of you, Jimmy. Didn't I woo you with every

trick I know, but with my whole heart, too, for all that? It's been a

fair deal, old man.'

'I'll never cease to wish you happiness, and I'll always regret any

trouble I may have caused you.'

'Regret nothing--nothing! You've been a big joy to me, and you bore my

tantrums like a brick. I'm sorry I struck you, Jimmy.' She drew his head

down and kissed the scar over his right eye.

'There was another blow here.' He touched his left cheek, and she kissed

that too, but she was showing no sign of sentimentality. Her attitude was

that of a good friend, and in this pose she was delightful, Jim thought.

'We are certain to meet again, Joy,' he said. 'If ever I could do

anything for you, would you ask me?'

She looked into his eyes for a moment. 'Yes,' she answered, 'before

anyone else in the world.'

'That's good. You're one of the best, Joy. We go to Simpson's Ranges, but

may find our way down to Ballarat in the course of a few months if things

don't pan out well.'

'When you hear of anyone coming this way, you'll send a message, Jim?'

They were interrupted by three or four diggers, and in the course of half

an hour the tent filled. Aurora was very charming that night, very

gracious, very like the Aurora who supervised their open-air tea the

night of Lambert's big speech, but less buoyant. Jim felt her soft touch

upon him many times, and watched her with curiosity. She had retained

this peculiar quality of provoking faint wonder. He felt that he had not

known her thoroughly, and drifted into the building of the suitable

future for her with many 'ifs' and 'buts.'

'I am going, Joy,' he whispered later.

'Not here,' she said, taking his arm. 'Outside.'

They passed out together, and stood by the big tree in which Mrs. Ben's

stock was hidden.

'Good-bye!' he said.

'It's hard!' She put her hands upon his shoulders, and her voice

trembled. 'I've been pretty badly in love, Jimmy. Remember that in

kindness, Won't you? It seems to excuse a good deal. It might even excuse

a poor colleen makin' the fool an' all iv herself.' The brogue sounded

deeply pathetic. 'A kiss,' she whispered quickly. 'One of the old kisses,

dear.'

As he bent down to her his cheek crushed a tear on hers, and he was

touched deeply. The kiss was long and tender; as the kiss of a man for

whom there was only one woman in the world, and she not the one being

kissed, it was emphatically successful. It drew a deep sigh from poor

Aurora, and thrilled Jim with not a little of the old rapture.

'Good-bye!' she said; but her fingers clung to him.

'Good-bye!' he repeated, taking her hands in his.

'Have you the little heart of gold?' she asked.

'It's here.' He drew it from his pocket.

'Give it back to me.'

He pressed it into her hand, kissed her cheek, and hurried away. Aurora

stood for some minutes turning the nugget over and over in her fingers;

then she moved to the shanty door and looked in, but turned away with a

muttered exclamation, and went to the entrance of the back tent.

'You'll have to attend to those brutes in there,' she said to Mary Kyley.

'I've had as much as I can stand for one night.' She threw herself upon

her bed, and hid her face in the pillow.

'Has he gone, dear?' asked Mrs. Kyley, laying a big but gentle hand upon

the girl.

Aurora nodded her bead in the pillow, and after looking at her in silence

for a moment, Mary went in to attend to her customers, shaking her head

sadly as she went. When she peeped into the back tent again an hour later

Aurora still lay face downwards upon the bed.

'Are you asleep, Aurora?' whispered Mrs. Ben. 'No!' answered the girl

fiercely. 'For God's sake, don't bother me!'

Mrs. Ben went away again, sadder than before.

'Oh, the men, the men!' murmured the wise woman. 'To think of the good

women wasted on them, and the chits they're often wasted on!'

Jim Done enjoyed the tramp to Simpson's Ranges. The weather was fine, the

country was picturesque, and the company highly congenial. He liked the

Peetrees better in his present mood, and his interest in the popular

movement that was to culminate at Eureka was deepening daily. He had even

addressed a small meeting of miners on the subject of the rights of the

people, and he was no pusillanimous reformer. He declared the diggers had

reached that point at which toleration meant meanness of spirit. The

thought of civil war was appalling, but not so much so as the degradation

of a nation in which the manhood plodded meekly under the whip, like

driven cattle yoked to their load.

The men carried small swags, having entrusted their tools and tents to

teamsters, and, travelled quietly, taking four days to accomplish the

journey. The route lay through trackless country. As yet few parties from

Forest Creek had set out for Simpson's Ranges, and Jim and his friends

encountered no other travellers until they were approaching the new rush,

and then the road assumed the familiar characteristics, and the noisy,

boisterous troops went gaily by. These might have been the identical men

who tramped to Diamond Gully through the Black Forest, so much did they

resemble the former in their joyousness and their wild exuberance of word

and action, and in their manner of conveying their belongings too, and in

their frank good-fellowship. But by this time Jim was an experienced

Antipodean, and knew that in such circumstances men always behave much in

the same way, and that dignity is the first oppressive observance to be

abandoned immediately man breaks loose from the restraints of society.

The novelty had gone from the rushes, but not the charm. The sight of the

courageous, healthy, happy gold-seekers swinging by struck sympathetic

chords in his own heart. He had kindred impulses, and was by far the most

jubilant of his party, the Bush-bred Australians being the least

demonstrative of all the men on the track.

On the morning of the fourth day Jim encountered a face he knew amongst a

party of five travelling with a waggon.

'Hullo, Phil Ryan!' he said.

Phil advanced with a puzzled expression on his face, that presently gave

way to a broad grin.

'The Hermit!' he cried, and, seizing Jim's hand, he shook it with

effusive heartiness. One might think he had occasion to remember Done for

many kindnesses, whereas the ignominious beating the Hermit had given him

on the Francis Cadman was all he had to be grateful for.

'I've given up trying to be a hermit,' said Jim. 'There was nothing in

it.'

'Begor, I'm that glad!' said Phil, and he certainly looked radiant. 'But

you're th' changed man, Done. I hardly knew you wid th' amiable shmile.

Have things been goin' rare an' good?'

'They have, Ryan. I'm a made man.' Jim meant the expression to be taken

in a spiritual rather than a pecuniary sense.

It's hearin',' said Phil. 'My soul, but it's th' great land, man! I've had

more gold through me hands these twelve munts than I iver dramed iv

before. But it don't shtick,' he added ruefully, glancing at his horny

palms.

'And the others--have you heard of them?'

'We broke up into twos an' twos whin we come near Geelong, fer fear iv

being nailed by th' police fer disertion. Jorgensen's made his pile over

be Buniyong; an' Tommy th' Tit--him what seconded me in th' bit iv a

contention we had aboard--have been rootin' out nuggets be th' tubful at

Ballarat, an' talkin' fight and devilment t' th' min iv nights in th'

intherests iv peace an' humanity an' good gover'mint. Be th' same token,

there's goin' t' be no ind iv sin an' throuble down there, an' I'd be

sorry to be missin' it.'

'He's no true digger who'll stand out when the time comes, Ryan.'

'Thrue fer you, man. Och! it's a lovely land fer a gravyince, an' I'll

niver lave it.' He looked Jim up and down again. 'It's put th' good heart

in you, Done.' Jim nodded smilingly. 'D'ye be hearin' iv th' little lady

from off the ship?' continued Phil, as if following a natural sequence.

'Yes,' answered Jim, his cheeks warming a little. 'She is with Mrs.

Macdougal at Boobyalla, just beyond Jim Crow, and is well and cheerful.'

'Good agin!' Ryan sighed heavily as he resumed his swag. 'It's th' on'y

thing I'm lamentin' here, th' mighty scarcity iv fine wimmin,' he said.

'They'll be bringing them out by the ship-load presently, old man.'

'Th' sooner th' quicker. Manewhoile I haven't seen th' taste iv one fer

sivin munts. So long to you! We'll be meetin' on the new rush?'

'Yes. So long and good luck!'

Phil hastened on to overtake his mates, and Jim, looking after him,

wondered that he had ever been anything but good friends with this man,

whose lovable, ugly face radiated geniality as a diamond reflects light.

Simpson's Ranges at first sight was a repetition of the other fields Jim

had seen. The scene was one of intense excitement. No experience prepared

the ordinary miner to take the possibilities of a new field in a

philosophical spirit. The impetuosity, the bustling hurry, and the

clamour that had so impressed him at Forest Creek were repeated here.

Everywhere over a space of some fifty acres tents were being unfurled and

carts and waggons unloaded in the midst of chaotic disorder. The feverish

eagerness of new arrivals to peg out their claims on a rich lead

accounted for much of the tumult. Those already in possession of golden

holes were working like fiends to exhaust their present claims, and

secure others before the land was pegged out all along the lead and the

whizzing of windlasses and the monotonous cries of the workers added the

usual character to the prevailing clamour.

Storekeepers who had dumped their stocks down in the open air were

desperately busy, serving profane customers, or running up hasty

structures over their goods. Newcomers were pouring in like visitors to a

fair, shouting as they came, and of all the people Jim could see, Mike

Burton and the Peetrees alone were prepared to take things calmly. For

his own part, he had again proof of his susceptibility to the humours of

the crowd; the excitement of the scene communicated itself to him; he

wanted to add to the noise and the movement without acknowledging any

sensible reason for doing so.

'Me an' Mike 'll get up the lead an' spike a claim while you boys rig the

tent,' said Josh.

The mates had brought one tent to serve them, pending the arrival of

their other belongings. It had been resolved that the five men should

work on shares during their stay at Simpson's Ranges, and Mike and

Peetree senior secured the land to which the party was entitled under its

licenses.

'She's well in on the lead all right,' said Josh, commenting on their

claim that evening after tea, 'an' if we don't hit it rich I'm a

Dutchman.'

Josh's opinion proved correct in the main. Mike cut the wash-dirt on the

following evening, and after sinking in it to the depth of two feet,

washed a prospect that promised the party an excellent return for their

labour. So far Jim Done had every reason to be grateful for his luck; and

the diggers were nearly all implicit believers in luck; a faith they held

to be justified by the scores of instances recited of good fortune

following individuals through extraordinary conditions, when less

favoured men all around them were not earning enough to satisfy the

storekeepers.

Although the various Victorian rushes were much alike in general

character, some peculiarity attached to each of them. Jim Crow was famous

for its vigorous and varied rascality; Simpson's Ranges became notorious

as the most reckless gambling-field in the country. Card-playing was the

recreation the diggers most indulged in here, if we except a decided

penchant for Chow-baiting. Done found that already the gambling

propensity had impressed itself on the lead, and the luckiest man on

Simpson's was a short, fat, complacent Yankee, who refused to handle pick

or shovel because, as he said to Done, it might spoil his hand. Jim did

not doubt that hands so slick in the manipulation of cards were worth all

the care Mr. Levi Long devoted to them. Jim became rather interested in

Long. The man was an amusing blackguard, and took the 'gruellings' that

occasional manual lapses led him into with a placidity that amounted

almost to quiet enjoyment, and tickled Done's sense of humour immensely.

'Man who drifts down the stream o' life in a painted barge on the broad

of his back among the Persian rugs, with a fat cigar in his teeth, an'

all his favourite drinks within reach, has gotter strike a snag now 'n

agin,' said Long. 'The question's just this--is it wuth it?'

'I can't understand why a tired man like you takes the trouble to shave,'

Jim said to him one night.

'Ever been tarred 'n feathered in your busy career, Mr. Done?' answered

Long.