THE TREASURE IN THE STORE
When Engelhardt regained consciousness he found himself spread out on
his bed in the barracks, with Tom Chester rather gingerly pulling off
his clothes for him as he lay. The first thing he saw was his own
heavily splintered arm stretched stiffly across his chest. For the
moment this puzzled him. His mind was slow to own so much lumber as a
part of his person. Then he remembered, and let his lids fall back
without speaking. His head ached abominably, but it was rapidly
clearing, both as to what had happened and what was happening now. With
slight, instinctive movements, first of one limb, then another, he
immediately lightened Tom Chester's task. Presently he realized that he
was between the sheets and on the point of being left to himself. This
put some life in him for perhaps the space of a minute.
"Thank you," he said, opening his eyes again. "That was awfully good of
you."
"What was?" asked the other, in some astonishment. "I thought you were
stunned."
"No, not this last minute or two; but my head's splitting; I want to
sleep it off."
"Poor chap! I'll leave you now. But what induced you to tackle Hard
Times, when you weren't a rider, sweet Heaven only knows!"
"I was a fool," said Engelhardt, wearily.
"You leave that for us to say," returned the other. "You've got some
pluck, whatever you are, and that's about all you want in the bush. So
long."
He went straight to Naomi, who was awaiting him outside with
considerable anxiety. They hovered near the barracks, talking all things
over for some time longer. Then Naomi herself stole with soft, bold
steps to the piano-tuner's door. There she hesitated, one hand on the
latch, the other at her ear. It ended in her entering his room on
tiptoe. A moment later she was back in the yard, her fine face shining
with relief.
"He's sleeping like a baby," she said to Chester. "I think we may
perhaps make our minds easy about him now--don't you? I was terribly
frightened of concussion; but that's all right, or he wouldn't be
breathing as he is now. We'll let him be for an hour or two, and then
send Mrs. Potter to him with some toast and tea. Perhaps you'll look him
up last thing, Mr. Chester, and give him a hand in the morning if he
feels well enough to get up?"
"Certainly I would, Miss Pryse, if I were here; but we were all going
out to the shed to-night, as usual, so as to make an early start----"
"I know; I know. And very glad I shall be to get quit of the others; but
I have this poor young man on my mind, and you at least must stop till
morning to see me through. I shall mention it myself to Mr. Gilroy."
"Very well," said Chester, who was only too charmed with the plan. "I'll
stop, with all my heart, and be very glad to do anything that I can."
With Chester it was certainly two for himself and one for the unlucky
Engelhardt. He made the most of his evening with Naomi all to himself.
It was not a very long evening, for Gilroy delayed his departure to the
last limit, and then drove off in a sullen fury, spitting oaths right
and left and lashing his horses like a madman. This mood of the
manager's left Chester in higher spirits than ever; he had the
satisfaction of feeling himself partly responsible for it. Moreover, he
had given Gilroy, whom he frankly detested, the most excellent
provocation to abuse him to his face before starting; but, as usual, the
opening had been declined. Such were the manager of Taroomba and his
subordinate the overseer; the case was sufficiently characteristic of
them both. As for Chester, he made entertaining talk with Naomi as long
as she would sit up, and left her with an assurance that he would attend
to the piano-tuner like a mother. Nor was he much worse than his word;
though the patient knew nothing until awakened next morning by the
clatter and jingle of boots and spurs at his bedside.
"What is it?" he cried, struggling to sit up.
"Me," said Chester. "Lie perfectly tight. I only came to tell you that
your breakfast's coming in directly, and to see how you are. How are
you? Had some sleep?"
"Any quantity," said Engelhardt, with a laugh that slipped into a yawn.
"I feel another man."
"How's the arm?"
"I don't feel to have one. I suppose it's broken, is it?"
"No, my boy, only dislocated. So Miss Pryse said when she fixed it up,
and she knows all about that sort of thing. How's the head?"
"Right as the bank!"
"I don't believe you. You're the color of candles. If you feel fit to
get up, after you've had something to eat, I'm to give you a hand; but
if I were you I'd lie in."
"Die first," cried the piano-tuner, laughing heartily with his white
face.
"Well, we'll see. Here comes Mother Potter with your breakfast. I'll be
back in half an hour, and we'll see about it then."
Chester came back to find the piano-tuner half dressed with his one
hand. He was stripped and dripping to the waist, and he raised his head
so vigorously from the cold water, at the overseer's entrance, that the
latter was well splashed.
"Dry me," he cried.
The overseer did his best.
"I feel as fit as a Strad," panted Engelhardt.
"What may that be?"
"A fiddle and a half."
"Then you don't look it."
"But I soon shall. What's a dislocated arm? Steady on, I say, though.
Easy over the stones!"
Chester was nonplussed.
"My dear fellow, you're bruised all over. It'd be cruel to touch you
with a towel of cotton-wool."
"Go on," said Engelhardt. "I must be dried and dressed. Dry away! I can
stand it."
The other exercised the very greatest care; but ribs and shoulders on
the same side as the injured arm were fairly dappled with bruises, and
it was perfectly impossible not to hurt. Once he caught Engelhardt
wincing. He was busy at his back, and only saw it in the mirror.
"I am hurting you!" he cried.
"Not a bit, sir. Fire away!"
The white face in the mirror was still racked with pain.
"Where did you get your pluck?" asked Chester, casually, when all was
over.
"From my mother," was the prompt reply; "such as I possess."
"My boy," said Chester, "you've as much as most!" And, without
thinking, he slapped the other only too heartily on the bruised
shoulder. Next moment he was sufficiently horrified at what he had done,
for this time the pain was more than the sufferer could conceal. In an
instant, however, he was laughing off his friend's apologies with no
less tact than self-control.
"You're about the pluckiest little devil I've ever seen," said the
overseer at last. "I thought so yesterday--I know so to-day."
The piano-tuner beamed with joy. "What rot," however, was all he said.
"Not it, my boy! You're a good sort. You've got as much pluck in one
hair of your head--though they _are_ long 'uns, mind--as that fellow
Gilroy has in his whole composition. Now I must be off to the shed. I
should stroll about in the air, if I were you, but keep out of the sun.
If you care to smoke, you'll find a tin of cut-up on the corner bracket
in my room, and Miss Pryse'll give you a new pipe out of the store if
you want one. You'll see her about pretty soon, I should say. Oh, yes,
she had breakfast with me. She means to keep you by main force till
you're up to piano-tuning again. Serve Gilroy jolly well right, the
brute! So we'll meet again this week-end; meanwhile, good-by, old chap,
and more power to the arm."
Engelhardt watched the overseer out of sight, with a mingled warmth and
lightness of heart which for the moment were making an unusually happy
young man of him. This Chester was the very incarnation of a type that
commonly treated him, as he was too ready to fancy, with contempt; and
yet that was the type of all others whose friendship and admiration he
coveted most. All his life he had been so shy and so sensitive that the
good in him, the very best of him, was an unknown quantity to all save
those who by accident or intimacy struck home to his inner nature. The
latter was true as steel, and brave, patient, and enduring to an
unsuspected degree; but a cluster of small faults hid this from the
ordinary eye. The man was a little too anxious to please--to do the
right thing--to be liked or loved by those with whom he mixed. As a
natural consequence, his anxiety defeated his design. Again, he was a
little too apt to be either proud or ashamed of himself--one or the
other--he never could let himself alone. Wherefore appreciation was
inordinately sweet to his soul, and the reverse proportionately bitter.
Mere indifference hurt him no less than active disdain; indeed, where
there was the former, he was in the bad habit of supposing the latter;
and thus the normal current of his life was never clear of little
unnecessary griefs of which he was ashamed to speak, but which he only
magnified by keeping them to himself. Perhaps he had his compensating
joys. Certainly he was as often in exceedingly high spirits as in the
dumps, and it is just possible that the former are worth the latter. In
any case he was in the best of spirits this morning; nor by any means
ashamed of his slung arm, but rather the reverse, if the whole truth be
told. And yet, with a fine girl like Naomi, and a smart bushman like Tom
Chester, both thinking well of him together, there surely was for once
some slight excuse for an attack of self-satisfaction. It was transitory
enough, and rare enough, too, Heaven knows.
In this humor, at all events, he wandered about the yard for some time,
watching the veranda incessantly with jealous eyes. His saunterings led
him past the rather elaborate well, in the centre of the open space, to
the store on the farther side. This was a solid isolated building, very
strongly built, with an outer coating of cement, and a corrugated roof
broken on the foremost slope by a large-sized skylight. A shallow
veranda ran in front, but was neither continued at the ends nor renewed
at the back of the building. Nor were there any windows; the piano-tuner
walked right round to see, and on coming back to the door (a remarkably
strong one) there was Naomi fitting in her key. She was wearing an old
black dress, an obvious item of her cast-off mourning, and over it, from
her bosom to her toes, a brilliantly white apron, which struck
Engelhardt as the most charming garment he had ever seen.
"Good business!" she cried at sight of him. "I know how you are from Mr.
Chester. Just hold these things while I take both hands to this key; it
always is so stiff."
The things in question, which she reached out to him with her left hand,
consisted of a box of plate-powder, a piece of chamois leather, a
tooth-brush, and a small bottle of methylated spirits; the lot lying
huddled together in a saucer.
"That does it," continued Naomi as the lock shot back with a bang and
the door flew open. "Now come on in. You can lend me your only hand. I
never thought of that."
Engelhardt followed her into the store. Inside it was one big room,
filled with a good but subdued light (for as yet the sun was beating
upon the hinder slope of corrugated iron), and with those motley
necessaries of station life which are to be seen in every station store.
Sides of bacon, empty ration-bags, horse-collars and hames, bridles and
reins, hung promiscuously from the beams. Australian saddles kept their
balance on stout pegs jutting out from the walls. The latter were barely
lined with shelves, like book-cases, but laden with tinned provisions of
every possible description, sauces and patent medicines in bottles,
whiskey and ink in stone jars, cases of tea, tobacco, raisins, and figs.
Engelhardt noticed a great green safe, with a couple of shot-guns and a
repeating-rifle in a rack beside it, and two or three pairs of rusty
hand-cuffs on a nail hard by. The floor was fairly open, but for a few
sacks of flour in a far corner. It was cut up, however, by a raised desk
with a high office-stool to it, and by the permanent, solid-looking
counter which faced the door. A pair of scales, of considerable size and
capacity, was the one encumbrance on the counter. Naomi at once
proceeded to remove it, first tossing the weights onto the flour bags,
one after the other, and then lifting down the scales before Engelhardt
had time to help her. Thereafter she slapped the counter with her flat
hand, and stood looking quizzically at her guest.
"You don't know what's under this counter," she said at last, announcing
an obvious fact with extraordinary unction.
"I don't, indeed," said the piano-tuner, shaking his head.
"Nor does your friend Mr. Sanderson, though he's the store-keeper. He's
out at the shed during shearing-time, branding bales and seeing to the
loading of the drays. But all the rest of the year he keeps the books at
that desk or serves out rations across this counter; and yet he little
dreams what's underneath it."
"You interest me immensely, Miss Pryse."
"I wonder if I dare interest you any more?"
"You had better not trust me with a secret."
"Why not? Do you mean that you couldn't keep one?"
"I don't say that; but I have no right----"
"Right be bothered," cried Naomi, crisply; "there's no question of
right."
Engelhardt colored up.
"I was only going to say that I had no right to get in your way and
perhaps make you feel it was better to tell me things than to turn me
out," he explained, humbly. "I shall turn myself out, since you are too
kind to do it for me. I meant in any case to take a walk in the pines."
"Did I invite you to come in here, or did I not?" inquired Miss Pryse.
"Well, only to carry these things. Here they are."
He held them out to her, but she refused to look at them.
"When I tell you I don't want you, then it will be time for you to go,"
she said. "Since you don't live here, there's not the least reason why
you shouldn't know what no man on the place knows, except Mr. Gilroy.
Besides, you can really help me. So now will you be good?"
"I'll try," said Engelhardt, catching her smile.
"Then I forgive everything. Now listen to me. My dear father was the
best and kindest man in all the world; but he had his fair share of
eccentricity. I have mine, too; and you most certainly have yours; but
that's neither here nor there. My father came of a pretty good old
Welsh family. In case you think I'm swaggering about it, let me tell you
I'd like to take that family and drop the whole crew in the well
outside--yes, and heat up the water to boil 'em before they'd time to
drown! I owe them nothing nice, don't you believe it. They treated my
father shamefully; but he was the eldest son, and when the old savage,
_his_ father, had the good taste to die, mine went home and collared his
dues. He didn't get much beyond the family plate; but sure enough he
came back with that. And didn't the family sit up, that's all! However,
his eccentricity came in then. He must needs bring that plate up here.
It's here still. I'm sitting on it now!"
Indeed, she had perched herself on the counter while speaking; and now,
spinning round where she sat, she was down on the other side and
fumbling at a padlock before her companion could open his mouth.
"Isn't it very dangerous?" he said at length, as Naomi stood up and set
the padlock on the desk.
"Hardly that. Mr. Gilroy is absolutely the only person who knows that it
is here. Still, the bank would be best, of course, and I mean to have it
all taken there one of these days. Meanwhile, I clean my silver
whenever I come up here. It's a splendid opportunity when my young men
are all out at the shed. I did a lot last week, and I expect to finish
off this morning."
As she spoke the top of the counter answered to the effort of her two
strong arms, and came up with a jerk. She raised it until it caught,
when Engelhardt could just get his chin over the rim, and see a huge,
heavily clamped plate-chest lying like a kernel in its shell. There were
more locks to undo. Then the baize-lined lid of the chest was raised in
its turn. And in a very few minutes the Taroomba store presented a scene
which it would have been more than difficult to match throughout the
length and breadth of the Australian bush.