Harry Heathcote of Gangoil Part 16

"He mayn't light a fire as 'll spread," said the old man.

"Bother! Who's to prove what's in a man's mind? If I'd been Nokes, I'd have staid and seen it out. I'd never be driven about the colony by such a fellow as Heathcote, with all the police in the world to back him."

Sergeant Forrest inspected the ground on which the fire had raged, and the spot on which the men had met; but nothing came of his inspection, and he had not expected that any thing would come of it.

He could see exactly where the fire had commenced, and could trace the efforts that had been made to stop it. He did not in the least doubt the way in which it had been lit. But he did very much doubt whether a jury could find Nokes guilty, even if he could catch Nokes.

Jacko's evidence was worth nothing, and Mr. Medlicot might be easily mistaken as to what he had seen at a distance in the middle of the night.

All this happened on Christmas-day. At about nine o'clock the same evening the two constables re-appeared at Gangoil, and asked for hospitality for the night. This was a matter of course, and also the reproduction of the Christmas dinner. Mrs. Medlicot was now there, and her son, with his collar-bone set, had been allowed to come out on to the veranda. The house had already been supposed to be full, but room, as a matter of course, was made for Sergeant Forrest and his man. "It's a queer sort of Christmas we've all been having, Mr.

Heathcote," said the sergeant, as the remnant of a real English plum-pudding was put between him and his man by Mrs. Growler.

"A little hotter than it is at home, eh?"

"Indeed it is. You must have had it hot last night, Sir."

"Very hot, sergeant. We had to work uncommonly hard to do it as well as we did."

"It was not a nice Christmas game, Sir, was it?"

"Eh, me!" said Mrs. Medlicot. "There's nae Christmas games or ony games here at all, except just worrying and harrying, like sae many dogs at each other's throats."

"And you think nothing more can be done?" Harry asked.

"I don't think we shall catch the men. When they get out backward, it's very hard to trace them. He's got a horse of his own with him, and he'll be beyond reach of the police by this time to-morrow.

Indeed, he's beyond their reach now. However, you'll have got rid of him."

"But there are others as bad as he left behind. I wouldn't trust that fellow Boscobel a yard."

"He won't stir, Sir. He belongs to this country, and does not want to leave it. And when a thing has been tried like that and has failed, the fellows don't try it again. They are cowed like by their own failure. I don't think you need fear fire from the Boolabong side again this summer."

After this the sergeant and his man discreetly allowed themselves to be put to bed in the back cottage; for in truth, when they arrived, things had come to such a pa.s.s at Gangoil that the two additional visitors were hardly welcome. But hospitality in the bush can be stayed by no such considerations as that. Let their employments or enjoyments on hand be what they may, every thing must yield to the entertainment of strangers. The two constables were in want of their Christmas dinner, and it was given to them with no grudging hand.

As to Nokes, we may say that he has never since appeared in the neighborhood of Gangoil, and that none thereabouts ever knew what was his fate. Men such as he wander away from one colony into the next, pa.s.sing from one station to another, or sleeping on the ground, till they become as desolate and savage as solitary animals. And at last they die in the bush, creeping, we may suppose, into hidden nooks, as the beasts do when the hour of death comes on them.

CHAPTER XII.

CONCLUSION.

The constables had started from Gangoil, on their way to Boolabong, a little after four, and from that time till he was made to get out of bed for his dinner Harry Heathcote was allowed to sleep. He had richly earned his rest by his work, and he lay motionless, without a sound, in the broad daylight, with his arm under his head, dreaming, no doubt, of some happy squatting land, in which there were no free-selectors, no fires, no rebellious servants, no floods, no droughts, no wild dogs to worry the lambs, no gra.s.s seeds to get into the fleeces, and in which the price of wool stood steady at two s.h.i.+llings and sixpence a pound. His wife from time to time came into the room, shading the light from his eyes, protecting him from the flies, and administering in her soft way to what she thought might be his comforts. His sleep was of the kind which no light, nor even flies, can interrupt. Once or twice she stooped down and kissed his brow, but he was altogether unconscious of her caress.

During this time old Mrs. Medlicot arrived; but her coming did not awake the sleeper, though it was by no means made in silence. The old woman sobbed and cried over her son, at the same time expressing her thankfulness that he should have turned up in the forest so exactly at the proper moment, evidently taking part in the conviction that her Giles had saved Gangoil and all its sheep. And then there were all the necessary arrangements to be made for the night, in accordance with which almost every body had to give up his or her bed and sleep somewhere else. But nothing disturbed Harry. For the present he was allowed to occupy his own room, and he enjoyed the privilege.

Kate Daly during this time was much disturbed in mind. The reader may remember--Kate, at any rate, remembered well--that, just as the doctor had arrived to set his broken bone, Mr. Medlicot, disabled as he was, had attempted to take her by the arm. He had certainly chosen an odd time for a declaration of love, just the moment in which he ought to have been preparing himself for the manipulation of his fractured limb; but, unless he had meant a declaration of love, surely he would not have seized her by the arm. It was a matter to her of great moment. Oh, of what vital importance! The English girl living in a town, or even in what we call the country, has no need to think of any special man till some special man thinks of her. Men are fairly plentiful, and if one man does not come, another will. And there have probably been men coming and going in some sort since the girl left her school-room and became a young lady. But in the bush the thing is very different. It may be that there is no young man available within fifty miles--no possible lover or future husband, unless Heaven should interfere almost with a miracle. To those to whom lovers are as plentiful as blackberries it may seem indelicate to surmise that the thought of such a want should ever enter a girl's head. I doubt whether the defined idea of any want had ever entered poor Kate's head. But now that the possible lover was there--not only possible, but very probable--and so eligible in many respects, living so close, with a house over his head and a good business; and then so handsome, and, as Kate thought, so complete a gentleman! Of course she turned it much in her mind. She was very happy with Harry Heathcote. There never was a brother-in-law so good! But, after all, what is a brother-in-law, though he be the very best? Kate had already begun to fancy that a house of her own and a husband of her own would be essential to her happiness. But then a man can not be expected to make an offer with a broken collar-bone--certainly can not do so just when the doctor has arrived to set the bone.

Late on in the day, when the doctor had gone, and Medlicot was, according to instructions, sitting out on the veranda in an armchair, and his mother was with him, and while Harry was sleeping as though he never meant to be awake again, Kate managed to say a few words to her sister. It will be understood that the ladies' hands were by no means empty. The Christmas dinner was in course of preparation, and Sing Sing, that villainous Chinese cook, had absconded. Mrs. Growler, no doubt, did her best; but Mrs. Growler was old and slow, and the house was full of guests. It was by no means an idle time; but still Kate found an opportunity to say a word to her sister in the kitchen.

"What do you think of him, Mary?"

To the married sister "him" would naturally mean Harry Heathcote, of whom, as he lay asleep, the young wife thought that he was the very perfection of patriarchal pastoral manliness; but she knew enough of human nature to be aware that the "him" of the moment to her sister was no longer her own husband. "I think he has got his arm broken fighting for Harry, and that we are bound to do the best we can for him."

"Oh yes; that's of course. I'm sure Harry will feel that. He used, you know, to--to--that is, not just to like him, because he is a free-selector."

"They'll drop all that now. Of course they could not be expected to know each other at the first starting. I shouldn't wonder if they became regular friends."

"That would be nice! After all, though you may be so happy at home, it is better to have something like a neighbor. Don't you think so?"

"It depends on who the neighbors are. I don't care much for the Brownbies."

"They are quite different, Mary."

"I like the Medlicots very much."

"I consider he's quite a gentleman," said Kate.

"Of course he's a gentleman. Look here, Kate--I shall be ready to welcome Mr. Medlicot as a brother-in-law, if things should turn out that way."

"I didn't mean that, Mary."

"Did you not? Well, you can mean it if you please, as far as I am concerned. Has he said any thing to you, dear?"

"No."

"Not a word?"

"I don't know what you call a word; not a word of that kind."

"I thought, perhaps--"

"I think he meant it once--this morning."

"I dare say he meant it. And if he meant it this morning, he won't have forgotten his meaning to-morrow."

"There's no reason why he should mean it, you know."

"None in the least, Kate; is there?"

"Now you're laughing at me, Mary. I never used to laugh at you when Harry was coming. I was so glad, and I did every thing I could."

"Yes, you went away and left us in the Botanical Gardens. I remember.

But, you see, there are no Botanical Gardens here; and the poor man couldn't walk about if there were."

"I wonder what Harry would say if it were to be so."

"Of course he'd be glad--for your sake."

"But he does so despise free-selectors! And then he used to think that Mr. Medlicot was quite as bad as the Brownbies. I wouldn't marry any one to be despised by you and Harry."