AS it happened, they were all very near having to wait in vain for
Steve to come to the Ridge. He was not down into the township until a
couple of days after it was known how Durgan’s death had come about,
and when he did make an appearance, everyone remarked how bitter and
cynical he was over their congratulations. They noticed, however, how
desperately ill and worn he looked, and when it was known that he had
seen the doctor, and was suffering from wounds and a resulting touch of
fever, his odd manner was put down to that.
As a matter of fact, it was Steve’s heart and mind that were feeling
hurt more than his body, although that was still painful enough. The
doctor had told him that the ribs were not broken, but severely
bruised, that he had had a very narrow escape of serious trouble from
the inflamed and festering wounds on his chest, but that these were
beginning to heal nicely now. He went to the police station, and met
with the heartiest of welcomes from both Dan and Mrs. Dan, and Dan
asked him bluntly why he had not gone over to the Ridge.
“Don’t think I’ll go there,” said Steve, indifferently. “I’m thinking
of taking the coach down country to-morrow. I’d like to see Aleck Gault
first, though, and I might wait here and send him a note to come in and
see me.”
“But haven’t ye heard?” said Dan, in astonishment “Aleck is laid up wid
a broke leg. We all heard it a couple o’ days back, an’ niver thought
to be after mentionin’ it, seem’ it’s stale news it was.”
“Aleck’s leg broke,” said Steve. “That’s a different matter. I’ll get a
horse to-night and ride over.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Mrs. Dan, emphatically. “You’ll get a
buggy and drive, or get someone to drive you, with that side an’ chest
o’ yours.”
Steve laughed at her. “I don’t sit in the saddle on my side and chest,
Mrs. Trooper Mulcahy,” he said. “What’s the difference to ride or
drive? And, anyhow, I’m itching to feel a horse under me again.”
“It makes the difference that you might get trouble wi’ those wounds
again,” said Mrs. Dan. “You said yourself that the doctor wanted you to
go to bed wi’ them.”
“And I told him to go to his granny,” said Steve. “As if I cared a
curse for all his blood-poisoning threats. What’s the odds to anyone if
I do get poisoned, or anything else?”
“Steve,” said Mrs. Dan, looking hard at him, “what’s the matter wi’ you
these days? You’re hard as a flint an’ bitter as aloes. It might be
crossed in love you are.”
Steve winced, but he laughed loudly.
“I am,” he said; “I’m a disappointed man. I’ve found out I’m up to the
neck in love with yourself, you dear. Come on now—will you mount and
ride and run away with me?”
“Ye impident scoundril,” cried Dan; “it’s meself that’s sorry I didn’t
shoot ye through the liver whin I’d the chanst.”
“I’ll reserve that offer, Steve,” said Mrs. Dan, lightly. But her sharp
eyes had noted Steve’s flinching at the word of being crossed in love.
“Danny,” she said, “run away for a bit. I want Steve to have a chance
to make love to me nicely.”
“Faith, it’s little enough givin’ av chances he needs. But so be it
happens I have to walk down the street a piece. I’ll be back in tin
minutes,” and he rose and went. “What’s the little woman afther now, I
wonder?” he said to himself. “If she hasn’t wheedled an’ coaxed the boy
into somethin’ or out av it in tin minutes, it’s meself doesn’t know
her.”
“Steve,” said Mrs. Dan, the moment they were alone, “tell me right out
what’s the matter with you.”
“Well, the doctor said it——” Steve began, but was interrupted quickly.
“If it’s something you can’t or won’t tell, Steve, say so an’ we’ll
drop it. I can see it’s a girl. Now?”
Steve dropped his bantering tones. “Yes—it’s a girl. And what then?
There’s many to tell you that’s no new thing with Fly-by-Night.”
“It’s a new thing for Fly-by-Night to be breakin’ his heart over one,”
said Mrs. Dan. “Who is she, Stevie? Can you tell me?”
“No, I can’t,” he said. “You always told me, didn’t you, that I’d find
her some day—the girl I’d be ready to sell my soul for? Well, I’ve
found her—and lost her.”
“Lost her?” repeated Mrs. Dan. “Is she dead?”
“Dead? No.”
“Married then?”
“No, nor married.”
“Then don’t be a fool,” said Mrs. Dan, scornfully. “A race isn’t lost
till it’s won, I’ve heard, and a girl isn’t lost till she’s married or
dead—and sometimes not even when she’s married—if you read the Divorce
Court cases.”
“If I know anything about women, I’ve lost this time,” said Steve.
“It’s the man that thinks he knows the most about women that’s usually
the easiest fooled about one woman,” said Mrs. Dan, quickly. “So don’t
be a fool, Steve; go an’ _make_ the girl have you. You’ve quarrelled, I
suppose?”
“You might say so,” said Steve, grimly; “and we both said some fairly
nasty things. And I’ve a bitter tongue if I lose my temper badly.”
“I’ve no patience wi’ you,” said Mrs. Dan; “it isn’t the bitter things
a man says that a girl minds so much—it’s the sweet things he doesn’t
say. Go and say as many of them as your tongue and your sense—or your
lack o’ sense might even be better—will let you, and she’ll forget the
bitter things fast enough. Could _you_ forgive her what she said?”
“I don’t know,” said Steve, slowly. “She doubted me and refused the
word of honour I offered her. I couldn’t go to her, and that standing
between us.”
“And if that’s not like a man,” cried Mrs. Dan. “He’d see a girl eat
her heart out because she won’t eat her words, and he’d eat his out
rather than eat humble pie.”
“She’s engaged to another man,” said Steve.
“I’ve no doubt,” said Mrs. Dan, serenely; “and just as quick after you
broke wi’ her as she could do it, I’ll wager.”
“It was pretty quick after,” Steve admitted.
“She must have loved him a lot,” said Mrs. Dan, drily. “Can’t you see
it, Steve? Jealousy is a woman’s greatest weakness, and she counts on
it being the same with a man, and tries to play on it. And mostly she’s
not far wrong. Take my advice, Steve, and the advice of one woman about
another is the only advice worth having—if it’s honest, which maybe
isn’t often, I’ll admit. Go to her and ask her to forgive you.”
“But, confound it all,” cried Steve, “I’ve nothing to be forgiven for.
She’s altogether wrong about what she blames me for.”
“The more reason for you to ask her to forgive you, then,” said Mrs.
Dan, coolly. “If she thinks she has anything to forgive, she’ll be glad
o’ the chance to show her generosity; and if she knows she hasn’t,
she’ll be the more glad.”
Steve laughed. “You’re a philosopher, or a cynic, Mrs. Dan.”
“I’m both,” she said promptly. “I’m a woman, so I must be both the
others—or a fool. The men don’t leave us any other choice nowadays.”
“That’s a nasty one on the men,” said Steve.
“It’s the truth, and that’s apt to be nasty on the men,” returned Mrs.
Dan, and then after a little pause she went on more softly, “You got me
a little angry, Steve, wi’ your foolishness. Only get a woman angry,
and you’ll get the truth from her, if it’s nasty enough.” She crossed
the room to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Promise me, Steve,
you’ll give her a chance to make it up.”
“I’d make it up fast enough if I had a hint she was willing to,” said
Steve, earnestly. “But she’d never make it up believing what she does
of me. Well, I’ve been a fool often enough, and now I’m paying for it.”
“The worst of a man being a fool,” said Mrs. Dan, “is that other people
that can’t help it have to pay for his foolishness as well. When will
you see her again?”
“I’m going up to the Ridge to-day,” said Steve, evasively. Mrs. Dan had
no hint who the girl was, and he did not mean to drag Ess into it if he
could help it. “I must see poor old Aleck first thing. He’ll be
expecting me.”
Steve rode over to the Ridge that night, and met with a boisterous
welcome from the men who were in. He was in little mood for this, and
cut it as short as he could by going off to see Aleck Gault, although
it was with consternation that he heard Aleck was over at the house,
and was being nursed by Ess.
He walked across, and met Ess waiting at the outer door.
“You will find Aleck inside,” she said quietly and coldly.
“Thank you,” he said gravely, and stepped into the room and on into the
bedroom.
“Hello, Aleck.”—“Hello, mate,” she heard, and marvelling at the
apparent coldness of the greeting, she slipped out and strolled across
to the Ridge, and sat down and looked long into the darkness. She felt
herself trembling with excitement, and again and again had to force
herself to stop thinking what the greeting would have been like between
her and Steve if this thing had not come between them. She was angered
and ashamed by her rioting thoughts, and tried to remind herself she
was engaged to another man. She tried, too, to spur her anger against
Steve by recalling the incidents of the night at the dogger’s hut, but
the chiefest of these that haunted her were his drawn cheeks and sunken
eyes, and the memory of that blow she had struck him.
She rose at last and walked back, and as she entered Aleck called to
her to come in. Steve was standing by the chair he had risen from, and
when she came in Aleck said, “Look here, Miss Ess, you’ll have to make
Steve stop here. Says he’s not fit for work, and talks about not
loafing here, and rot like that. I’m not going to put up with this
wholesale desertion of nurses. Miss Ess is going down to Coolongolong,
you know, Steve. You wouldn’t leave a chap to the tender mercies of
Blazes, would you?”
“I hope you will stay,” said Ess. “I have told Mr. Sinclair that I was
going to pay the visit he’d asked me to so often. I shall probably go
to-morrow night. I—I hope your hurts are better. I only heard of them a
day or two ago.”
“They are nothing much really,” he said; “I’ll get over _them_ easily
enough.”
He laid a slight emphasis on “them,” and Ess glanced at him. “You get
over things quickly and easily,” she said, and could have bitten her
tongue out for the words before they had well left her lips.
“I have that reputation,” he said easily, “and I find that a man can’t
easily escape that. There are usually plenty of ropes ready for the
bad-name dog.”
“What are you gassing about?” broke in Aleck. “Who’s talking of dogs
and bad names? Tell Miss Ess you’ll stay, or she’ll be chucking up this
trip. And I’m sure she needs it. She’s getting yellow as a duck’s foot.”
“Thank you,” said Ess, trying to laugh and speak easily and lightly.
“You’ll get a dose of nasty medicine for that, or a short allowance of
tea, that you always insist on having such quantities of.”
“Of course, I’ll stay if I’m needed,” said Steve. “How long will you
stay down there?”
“I’m going for about a week, but I may alter my plans, of course,” said
Ess.
Then Steve said good night and went.
When he came to breakfast next morning he found Ned Gunliffe at the
table. Ned stared hard at him, and Steve returned the stare coolly. “I
hardly expected to see you back here,” said Gunliffe, scowling.
“No?” said Steve, carelessly. “Possibly not. But you see a man
sometimes gets more than he expects in this world.”
“And sometimes what he deserves,” said Ned, sneeringly.
“And sometimes what he deserves, as you say,” returned Steve,
significantly, and went on with his breakfast.
Ned finished his meal first and went outside, and a few minutes after
Steve followed him.
Ned had gone straight to the house, and Ess had come out and strolled
across the yard with him at his request.
“I see Steve Knight has had the cursed impudence to come back here,” he
blurted out, as soon as they were away from the door.
“Yes,” she said. “I saw him last night.”
“Saw him?” he repeated angrily. “I hope you didn’t speak to the brute.”
“I did,” she said, turning a little pale. “I could not well avoid it
without making a scene in front of Aleck Gault. I did not think that
necessary or wise.”
It was just then that Steve came from the hut, and he walked straight
over to the two. He raised his hat, but took no further notice of Ess.
“I’d like to speak to you a moment alone,” he said to Ned.
“I have no wish to speak to you now or any other time,” said Ned, with
an insolent stare.
Steve was quivering with rage, still fresh from the encounter at
breakfast time, but he kept himself under control.
“I’ve got something to say to you,” he persisted, “and would rather not
say it in the presence of a lady. May I ask you to leave us?” he said,
turning to Ess.
“If it is anything concerning me or—that night, I would as soon stay
and hear it,” she said steadily.
Steve said no more to her, but turned to Ned Gunliffe.
“I’ve just this to say—if I have any more hints or insinuations like I
had this morning at breakfast, in front of the men or alone, I’ll give
you such an infernal hammering you’ll be sorry for some time to come.
Is that plain?”
“Plain talk, but talk is cheap,” sneered Ned. He was not lacking in
physical courage, and although he knew quite well that Steve could
probably do what he threatened, he showed no signs of backing down.
“And even if I took a hammering from you, it would not save you if I
told my story to the rest of the crowd.”
“Tell them,” said Steve. “Tell them, and see what you’ll get from them.
You can’t tell the story as it stands, as that would drag a girl’s name
into it. But tell them you object to my being here because I’m guilty
of the dirtiest, crookedest action a man could be guilty of. And I’ll
tell them that what you accuse me of would be all you say, and I’ll
tell them, if you like, that you believe you had proof of what you say,
and I admit that there is every appearance that I was guilty. And then
I’ll tell them that I am not—I’ll give them my word that you are wrong.
Who will they believe, Ned Gunliffe?”
Ned was silent, although his lips still curled in a sneer.
Steve laughed shortly. “You know who they’d believe,” he said.
“And if I added my word to his,” Ess put in, quietly scornful, “and
told them that I had seen the proof, and was satisfied with it, and
that you were guilty?”
Steve turned to her. “They would still believe me. You doubt it? Then
try it. There’s your uncle over there. Call him, and put the thing any
way you like. I’ll stand by and not say a word till you’ve both
finished, and I’ll tell him you are both wrong, and offer my hand and
word on it. Try that, and see if he’ll believe me. Tell him the whole
thing exactly as it occurred, and every solid fact and suggestion and
insinuation you can offer. I’ll go away and leave you both to the
telling of it. And when you’ve finished, simply tell him I deny any
guilt or the truth of anything to be ashamed of. See who he’ll believe.”
He stopped his torrent of words abruptly, and waited for either of them
to answer.
“This is all rather fruitless,” said Ess, desperately, and with doubts
shaking her voice even as they were shaking her heart. “It does not
matter what he or anyone believes as long as I am satisfied myself.”
“No,” Steve said to her in a voice as cold as tempered steel, “nothing
matters—a man’s honour or dishonour, or death or ruin—nothing matters
to you as long as you are satisfied. I hope that is a satisfaction to
you, and that you’re able to keep it. And you can’t be made answer for
your words—but mark me, Ned Gunliffe, you can, and will be made to, if
I hear more of them.”
He lifted his hat, and swung on his heel and left them.
“Ned,” said Ess, shakily, “I wonder if there could have been any
mistake. Surely he couldn’t speak as he did if he were guilty.”
“Speak?” snarled Ned. “Trust him to know how to speak to make a girl
believe him. He’s made you half believe him now, even after what you
saw and heard the other night. I don’t want you to listen to a word
from him or open your lips to him again.”
“I require no telling to know what is right for me to do, Ned,” she
answered, and Ned had to content himself with that.
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