SCOTTIE found enough to keep Ned Gunliffe busy about the place for the
next day or two, although all the other men were kept hard at work on
the hills amongst the sheep.
He saw a good deal of Ess one way and another, and Ess had an uneasy
feeling that he was making chances of speaking to her more than she
thought right. She was half inclined to speak to her uncle about it,
but a girl shrinks from talking of these things to a man. Men are so
dense at times, and inclined to want something more tangible to go on
than an inflection of a voice or a sidelong look, although these
perhaps speak plainer than words to a woman.
But Ned Gunliffe soon removed any chance of doubt of his feelings. He
met Ess after the men had gone to the hills, and there was no one about
the place but Blazes, and he asked her point-blank if she would walk
over the Ridge with him, as he had something to say.
“Won’t it keep, Ned?” she asked brightly, but with an inward qualm of
premonition. She called all the men by their Christian names, on
Scottie’s advice. It was obviously ridiculous to speak to “Mr. Blazes”
and “Mr. Whip” or even “Mr. Thompson,” and she could not use the Mr. to
one without using it to all. “I’m rather busy this morning. I have to—a
lot of things to do.”
“I won’t keep you ten minutes,” he said eagerly. “Just stroll across to
the edge of the Ridge with me. It’s something rather important.”
After that she could not very well refuse without being downright rude,
she decided, so she turned to walk with him with a quiet “Very well,
Ned.”
They walked in silence to the edge of the Ridge, where it ran down into
the valley below, and stood there a moment looking along it and out
across the dusty plains shining in the sun.
She tried to stop him speaking after his first few words, but he begged
her to let him finish, and went on to pour an impassioned love speech
on her troubled ears.
“Stop, stop, please, Ned,” said Ess, when at last he allowed her to
speak. “I don’t want to listen to you. It isn’t right for me to, for I
can never feel for you in any degree that way. I cannot be any other
than a friend.”
“A friend,” he said scornfully. “The same as Whip Thompson, and Darby
the Bull, and Blazes, and the rest are your friends. I want more than
that, Ess. I want _you_. I want——”
She stopped him again with a gesture.
“I can hear nothing more,” she said, with quiet dignity. “You must take
my word as final. There can never be anything more between us than
there is now.”
“Is there no hope for me?” he said. “I don’t want to press you now,
Ess, but perhaps later——”
“There is no hope,” she said, with an air of finality. “Now, or ever.”
He was silent a moment, fiddling nervously with a button on his coat.
She moved as if to turn back, but he stopped her, and burst out
suddenly “You’ve given me no reason.... Is it—will you tell me if there
is anyone else?”
“I think that is more than you have any right to ask,” she said
steadily; “but perhaps....” She stopped and thought again with a
troubled mind. She felt she would have told him openly that she was
pledged to Steve Knight, and that would have settled the thing for
good; but Steve had said to say nothing, and her uncle had agreed that
it was wiser not to.
“I can only tell you that there is a man I care for more than for any
other,” she said at last; “and you must be content with that.”
“Is it Steve Knight?” he shot at her.
She turned without making any answer.
“You can never be held to any word—if there is any word between you—to
a man who is an outlaw, and running from the police,” he said hotly.
“That,” she said sharply, “is entirely my own affair. I have mentioned
no names, and if you wish to keep any spark of friendship between us,
you will let the matter drop now, once and for ever. I have said all
that I mean to say.”
She walked back to the yard, Ned Gunliffe striding beside her with a
sullen face, but saying nothing more.
She was upset and a good deal afraid that night when she told Scottie
something of what had passed, and saw how it disturbed him.
“I wish Steve’s name could have been held out o’ ’t,” he said gruffly.
“I dinna just trust that same Ned Gunliffe, and if he thocht it was
Steve that was atween you an’ him, an’ he had a chance tae pit Steve
oot o’ the road, I’m thinkin’ there wad be a word passed whar it wad
dae the maist damage tae the lad.”
“But what could I have done—what can I do now?” she cried, in distress.
“Oh, if any harm came to Steve through me it would kill me.”
“Hoot, toot, lassie,” said Scottie, soothingly. “Dinna pit yersel’
aboot. Like enough, Steve is far enough awa’ by this time. His horse
has been gone this two days back.”
She worried more than ever about Steve that night, and a talk with
Aleck Gault gave her no comfort.
“I can’t tell you anything about him,” said Aleck; “I haven’t seen him
since the last time I told you. I can’t go to him, for I’m afraid of
being watched there, and of him being found. But he’s all right, never
fear. His horse was left where he knows to look for it, and likely
enough he’s miles away by now. And you know the trackers are taken off
the hills. There’s no fear but what Steve can outwit any white police
trooper.”
But Ess, uneasy as she was, would have been doubly so if she had been
able to see Ned Gunliffe’s movements that night.
He had caught his horse, and quietly left the Ridge between the fall of
dark and the rise of the moon, and now in the bright moonlight he was
pressing on over the hills as fast as the rough ground would let him.
He went straight and without drawing rein to the spot where Steve and
Aleck had met that night—where they had killed the dingo pups—and he
halted and dismounted, and searched the ground where they had sat and
talked.
He picked up a burnt match, with triumph written on his face. “I
couldn’t see their corroboree together,” he muttered, “but I saw them
far enough to guess just where they met evidently. Now what is the
likeliest spot for him to have gone to hide from here?” He stood and
gnawed his underlip in uncertainty for a moment. “He hasn’t gone yet,
that’s clear,” he said again. “His horse is still there, so....”
With an impatient oath he turned to his horse and mounted again. “I’ll
try the Scoop first. That’s near here, and he could light a fire there
without it being seen.”
He rode as near the Scoop as he thought safe, and then left his horse
tied to a bush and reconnoitred on foot.
There was nobody in the Scoop; half-a-dozen sheep were foraging there
for the scanty herbage, and he knew they would not be there if a man
were. The moon was down again by now, and it was a long way back to the
Ridge, and he reluctantly turned his horse’s head and abandoned his
search for the night.
He was making his way to the hill track between the township and the
Ridge, when suddenly his eye caught a quick flash of light on a
hillside on his right front.
He pulled up short and sat staring, but there was no further gleam. He
thought intently for a moment, and then a look of exultation flashed
over his face.
“The old dogger’s hut,” he said triumphantly. “He’s there for a
thousand. It hasn’t been used for years back, and it’s so near the
township he’d hardly be searched for there. But I must make sure and
hurry up about it—it’ll be coming light soon.”
He rode on a few hundred yards with the greatest caution, tied his
horse, and set himself to scramble up the hill. It was a stiff climb,
and there was light enough to see the dim outlines of the hut when he
came to a little spur just below it. He halted and rested there,
watching the door which faced him, and when he saw it open he dropped
flat and peered close. What he saw brought keen disappointment to him
but this quickly gave way to a savage joy, and then, as all the
possibilities of his discovery came home to him, he gave a long chuckle
of satisfaction.
The door had opened, and a woman—he could see distinctly enough even in
the half light that it was a woman, though he could not distinguish
who—had stepped out. Then a man had appeared in the doorway, and Ned
heard the woman say lightly, “Good night, Steve.”
“Good night—or rather good morning,” came the answer in Steve’s voice.
“See you again to-night—take care of yourself till then,” the woman
said, and, with a wave of her hand and flutter of skirts, she was gone
round the corner of the hut and into the track that led back towards
the township.
“So-ho,” said Ned, softly, as the door closed again. “At the old game
again, my bold Fly-by-Night. And that’s what you’re hanging on round
here for, when you might be down to the coast and safety by this time.
It’s like you to be risking your neck in a noose for the sake of some
fool of a woman. Comes up and stays the nights with him evidently. ‘See
you again to-night,’ eh? Well, I’ll see if I can’t fix it that you see
someone else to-night, and that they see you.”
He slid gently back from his post of observation till he was safe out
of sight, and then turned and ran for his horse, and rode his hardest
for the Ridge. The heap of stones had been removed from the Axe-Cut,
and he was able to get back early enough for breakfast, and to get in
without attracting undue attention, although he noticed Aleck Gault
look at him sharply as he sauntered in.
Ned Gunliffe turned over several plans in his mind, but the one he
decided on called first for an interview with Ess, and it was not till
after tea-time that he was able to make the first move in the game.
Some of the men came in for the meal, but before sunset went back to
the hills to round up the sheep and watch them for the night. Even
Scottie had gone off on a round of inspection, and nobody was left
about the place except Blazes, Ned Gunliffe, and Darby the Bull. Just
before tea a saddle-weary trooper had ridden in and had a meal with the
men. Ned Gunliffe left him in conversation with Darby—rather a
one-sided conversation it was, as Darby had been warned and re-warned
to be careful of what he said to any troopers, and being doubtful of
his own abilities in returning answers which would give no information,
took the simple plan of giving no answers except Yes and No.
“Roastin’ day to be out in,” said the trooper, affably.
“Yes,” said Darby, cautiously. He had need of his caution. The troopers
had discovered that he was the one least skilled in following the trend
of their questions, and of understanding the deductions they might draw
from his replies. Certainly they had not got much from him up to now,
but then at other times there had usually been some of the other men
about to relieve Darby of the responsibility of answering questions—a
responsibility he had cheerfully left to them. So the trooper eagerly
seized on the chance given him by the withdrawal of Ned Gunliffe, the
only other man in the hut at the moment beside Darby.
“S’pose,” he said, “you chaps is all as sick as we are o’ bucketing
over these hills?”
“Y-e-s,” admitted Darby.
“You know all the country round here well?” asked the trooper.
Darby considered this carefully. “Yes,” he admitted again.
“I dessay now,” he said, looking at Darby with simulated admiration, “a
chap like you would know every crack in these hills where a man could
stow himself. There’s that place—sort o’ cave—up beyond Split-the-Wind
now. Know any more like that?”
Darby shook his head.
The trooper tried another tack. “’Course I’m not on duty now,” he said.
“Just dropped in in passin’. I wasn’t sorry to be took off that job. I
suppose Steve Knight’s well down to the coast by now. He was makin’ for
there, wasn’t he?”
“You go to ’Ell,” said Darby, briskly and cheerfully.
“Well, that’s a nice answer to give a civil question,” said the
trooper, indignantly. “D’you s’pose Steve ’imself would talk to a man
like that?”
Darby wasn’t quite sure if this came under the heading of a question
about Steve. He pondered a moment. It _might_ be so.... “You _might_ go
to ’Ell,” he said, highly pleased to think of his satisfactory solution
of the difficulty. This sort of thing was complicated though, and to
stop it he rose and sauntered outside. The trooper walked to the door
and sat down where he could keep an eye on him and on Ned Gunliffe, who
was talking to Ess at her door.
Ned had seen no sign of Ess when he went out, so he went boldly to the
door and knocked.
“I’d just like a word with you, Miss Ess,” he said.
“Yes,” she said doubtfully. “If it’s not about——”
“It’s not about myself in the first place,” said Ned. “It is about
Steve Knight.”
“I have no wish to discuss him,” she said, drawing herself up slightly.
“Neither have I,” he returned. “But I suppose you will admit you are a
friend of his, and don’t wish him to come to harm. So,” he added
significantly, “you will listen to what I want to say.”
Ess shivered a little at something sinister she fancied she detected in
the man’s voice.
“I don’t suppose you know just where Steve is, or why he hasn’t cleared
well away by now?” He paused, but as she made no sign of answering, he
went on, “I do, and I can tell you both. But before I go further, Miss
Ess, I’d like you to understand that I’m not working solely for my own
ends in speaking to you about this business. I could have gone straight
to the police with my information. I prefer to come to you.”
“Why do you come to me?” she asked, her heart turning cold within her.
“I’ll answer that by asking you a question,” he said. “Would you do
anything you could to save him from the police? _Anything?_”
She groped for his meaning a moment, and began to fancy she could see
it, and that he meant to demand herself as the price of his silence.
“I would do anything which I was sure he would wish me to do,” she
answered.
“That is hardly the point,” he said, “although I doubt if there is any
point he’d stick at your doing to save him.”
“I can’t agree with you,” she said; “but may I ask what all this is
leading up to? I’d rather you said plainly what you have to say.”
“Tell me plainly one thing, and I’ll speak straight enough,” he said.
“But I won’t unless you satisfy me that there is need for me to prove
to you that Steve Knight is a cur and a blackguard.”
That roused her, as he meant it should.
“Steve Knight is more to me than any man will be till I become his
wife,” she said hotly. “And so you can understand what I think of a man
who uses such words about him—behind his back.”
“I thought so,” he said sadly; “and God knows I’ve no wish to hurt you.
But I’m saying nothing about him behind his back I would not say to his
face. I’ll do so before the night is over if you like. But, whatever he
may be to you, I think I know you well enough to know that when you
have heard all I can tell of him you will fling him out of your mind,
and that you’ll use worse words to him than I’ve done.”
“This is all rather idle,” she said scornfully. “I am not likely to
believe anything you may say against him. You have given me reasons for
wishing to lower him in my estimation. You cannot do so.”
“We’ll see,” he said coolly. “I don’t want to hark back and rake up the
past records, and the name that Steve Fly-by-Night has here and round
about. But perhaps I ought to warn you that although he has many
friends, there are none who will deny that his—well, say—inconstancy to
his fair ladies is notorious.”
“That may all be,” she said, with white lips; “but that is all past,
and if I choose to overlook it, it leaves little room for others to
speak.”
“If it were all past——” said Ned, significantly; then roughly, “See
here, Ess, I won’t hint and beat about the bush. I’ve got to speak out,
whether you like it or not. Steve Knight is living close to here at
this moment, and—he is living with a woman.”
She flinched from him for an instant, but recovered herself. “That,”
she said deliberately, “is a lie. And if you think, Ned Gunliffe, you
are improving my opinion of you....”
“I’m thinking of nothing of the sort,” he broke in. “And I am doing no
more in telling you this for your own sake than any man on Thunder
Ridge—than your own uncle—would do. As to it’s being a lie, that is
easily proved or disproved. Are you willing for me to prove it?”
“You can’t prove it,” she said shakily. She was sure of Steve, of
course, she told herself, but the man seemed so quietly confident. But
there might be a mistake somewhere.
“I can prove it,” he returned. “And if you will come with me
now—to-night—I will prove it. It will have to be at night, because the
woman, whoever she is, leaves him at daybreak to get back to the
township, I suppose before she will be noticed.”
She felt weak and sick. She was angry with herself for her doubts,
but—her mind went back over the warning her uncle had given her, the
half-jesting remarks Steve himself had made—unstable as water—unstable
as water. The words rang in her ears. But she would have the proof
first, and if it were a lie, she would humble herself, oh so gladly, to
Steve for all her doubts.
“Very well, then,” she said, “prove it.”
“You will have to get into your riding things and ride,” he said. “You
can trust yourself with me, but if you like, I will give you a pistol
to carry, and I’ll ride in front of you all the way.”
She looked at him doubtfully, and wild ideas began to work through her
brain.
“If you look at it reasonably,” he said quietly, “you will see that
there is nothing to fear from me. I am hardly likely to hurt you. These
hills would never hide me if I did. And if I kidnapped you——” he smiled
slightly as her start told him how near the mark of her thoughts his
words came, “it is hardly likely to benefit me. But if you are still
afraid—there is a trooper over there. We will take him along, although
in that case I need hardly warn you that there is likely to be some
shooting done, or an arrest made.”
“I’ll come,” she said suddenly, “though I despise myself for my doubts.
But I believe you have made some mistake, and it will be a satisfaction
to prove it to you as well as myself. Will you promise to let him go
free and not divulge his hiding place if you are wrong?”
“Yes,” he said boldly, “I will promise anything if I’m wrong. Dare you
promise me as much if I’m right?”
She was silent.
“Ess,” he said earnestly, “believe me I am not only doing this to harm
Steve. He could go where he will for me. I’ve no wish to see him again.
But it is of you I am thinking. We have all more or less made a jest of
Fly-by-Night and his love affairs, or flirtations, or whatever you care
to call them. I couldn’t be expected to stand by—especially you knowing
what I have told you of my feelings—and see you fooled and made a sport
of and a byword in the countryside. None of the men of the Ridge would
let him do that and live, and I least of all. And you ought to thank me
if I prevent it.”
“I will thank you—if you do that,” she said with shaking lips and
voice. “But I’ll curse you, Ned Gunliffe,” she added tensely, “if
you’ve made me hate myself for my weak doubts without reason.”
“Be ready in ten minutes,” he said quietly, “and I will show you the
reason.”
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