Ti in LIBRARY mil LiXlMiRSITY OFCAMFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE CROOKED STICK - OR POLLIE'S PROBATION THE CROOKED STICK OR FOLLIES PROBATION BY ROLF BOLDREWOOD AUTHOR OF ' ROBBERY UNDER ARMS,' ' THE MINER's RIGHT,' ' NEVERMORE,' ETC. ilontion MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1895 All rights reserved I r^ CHAPTER I The time, the close of a lurid sultry February- day, towards the end of a long, dry summer succeeding a rainless winter, in the arid region of West Logan. A blood-red sun sinking all too slowly, yet angrily, into a crimson ocean ; suddenly disappearing, as if in despotic de- fiance of all future rainfall. A fiery portent receding into the inferno of a vast conflagra- tion, was the image chiefly presented to the dwellers in that pastoral desert, long heart- sick with hope deferred. The scene, a limitless stretch of plain — its wearisome monotony feebly broken by belts of timber or an infrequent pine-ridge. The earth adust. A hopeless, steel-blue sky. The atmosphere stagnated, breezeless. The forest tribes all dumb. The Wannonbah S B 624878 2 THE CROOKED STICK chap. mail-coach toiling over the furrows of a sand- hill, walled in by a pine thicket. ' Thank God ! the sun is down at last ; we must sight Hy land's within the hour," exclaimed the passenger on the box-seat, a tall, handsome man, with ' formerly in the army ' legibly impressed on form and feature. ' How glad I shall be to see the river ; and what a luxury a swim will be ! ' ' Been as hot a day as ever 1 know'd, Captain,' affirmed the sun-bronzed driver, with slow decision ; ' but ' — and here he double -thonged the off-wh(u,'Ier, as if in accentuation of his statement — ' heat, and flies, and muskeeters, dust and sand and bad water, ain'i the wust of this road — not by a long chalk ! ' ' What the deuce can be worse ? ' demanded the e\-militaire, with pardonable acerbity. ' Surely no ruffians have taken to the bush lately in this part of the world ?' 'Well, I did hear accidental-like as "The Doctor " and two other cross chaps, whose names I won't say, hatl laid it out to stick us up to-da\. They'd heard that Mr. 'Iracknrll was going up to Orange, and they have it in OR POLLIE'S PROBATION for him along o' the last Bandamah cattle racket.' ' Stop the coach, the infernal scoundrels ! What do they expect to do next ? The country won't be fit for decent people to live in if this sort of thing is not put a stop to.' ' Well, Captain Devereux,' replied the driver, a tall, sinewy, slow-speaking son of the soil, ' if I was you I wouldn't trouble my head about them no more than I could help. It ain't your business, as one might say, if they've a down on Tracknell. He nearly got the Doctor shopped over them Bandamah cattle, an' he wasn't in it at all, only them Clarkson boys. My notion is that Tracknell got wind of it yesterday, and forgot to come a purpose.' ' So, if a gang of rascally cattle-stealers choose to stop the coach that I travel in, I am to sit still because I'm not the man they want, who did his duty in hunting them down.' ' Now hear reason, Captain ! There ain't a chap in the district, square or cross, that would touch you, or any one from Corindah — no, not from here to Baringun. The place 4 THE CROOKED STICK chap. has got such a name for being liberal-like to gentle and simple. If we meet those chaps — and we've got the Wild Horse plain to cross yet — you take my tip and say nothing to them if they don't interfere with you.' The man to whom he spoke raised his head and gazed full in the speaker's face. The expression of his features had changed, and there was a hard set look, altogether different from his usually frank and familiar air, as he said, 'Are you aware that I've held Her Majesty's commission ? ' The driver took his horses in hand, and sent them along at a pace to which for many miles they had been strangers, as they left the heavy sand of the pine-hill and entered upon the baked red soil of the plain. ' I'm dashed sorry to hear il now,' he said slowly. ' Some people's mighty fond of having their own way. \'cs, by Gotl ! 1 was afeared they'd block us there. They're a-waiting ahead near that sheep break — three of 'em. That's the Doctor on the grey. Blast him ! ' With this conclusively ferv(,'nt ndjuration, I\lr. Joe In'ites pulled his horses into a steady OR POLLIE'S PROS A TION yet fast trot, and approached the three men, who sat quietly on their horses near a rough timber fence which, originally constructed for counting a passing flock of sheep, partly obstructed the road. Captain Devereux looked keenly at the strangers, then at the driver, as he drew forth a revolver of the latest pattern. . ' Listen to me, Bates ! I can make fair shooting with this at fifty yards. When they call on you to stop, draw up the team quietly but keep them in hand. Directly I fire, send your horses along. It is a chance if they offer to follow.' ' For God's sake, Captain, don't be rash,' said the young fellow earnestly. ' I'm no coward, but remember there's others on the coach. Once them chaps sees Tracknell ain't a passenger, they'll clear — take my word. You can't do no good by fighting three armed men.' ' Do as you're told, my good fellow,' re- turned his passenger, who seemed transformed into quite another personage from the good- natured, easy-going gentleman with whom he had been chatting all day, ' unless you wish 6 THE CROOKED STICK chap. me to believe that you are in league with robbers and murderers.' Joe Bates made no further remonstrance, but drew the reins carefully through his hands in the method affected by American stage- coach drivers, as he steadily approached the spot where the men sat, statue-like, on their horses. As the coach came abreast of them the man on the grey turned towards it, and, with a raised revolver in his hand, shouted, ' Bail up ! ' The leaders stopped obedient to the rein. As they did so Captain 1 )evereux fired three shots in rapid succession. The first apparently took effect on the rider of the grey horse, whose right arm fell to his side the instant after he had discharged his pistol. The second man staggered in his seat, and the horse of the third robber reared and fell over on his rider, who narrowly escaped being crushed. At the same moment, at a shout from the driver, the team started at a gallop, and taking the road across the i)lain, liardly relaxed their speed until llu; hotel at the angle of the Miicken/.ie River was in sight. OR POLLIE'S PROBATION Looking back, they caught one glimpse of their quondam foes. Two were evidently wounded, while the third man was reduced to the grade of a foot -soldier. There was, therefore, no great probability of pursuit by this highly irregular cavalry force. 'By George! Captain,' said the driver, touching up the leaders with renewed confi- dence as he saw the outline of the roadside inn define itself more clearly in the late twilight, 'you can shoot straight and no mistake. Dashed if I could hit a haystack without a rest. The Doctor and one of the other chaps fired the very minute you did. One ball must have gone very close to you or me. I felt pretty ticklish, you bet! for I've seen the beggar hit a half-crown at twenty yards before now.' ' I believe he did hit me,' said Devereux, coolly putting his hand to his side. ' It's only a graze ; but We'll see when we get down. I scarcely felt it at the time.' ' Good God ! ' said the kind-hearted young fellow. ' You don't say so. Captain ? There's blood on your coat too. We'll have a look as soon as we get to Hyland's.' 8 THE CROOKED STICK chap. ' It's a strancre thinof thoiiQ^h,' continued Devereux, ' that unless you're hard hit you never know whether a tj^unshot wound is serious or not. It's not my In-st knock, and I certainly shouldn't like it to be the last, after an enorao-ement of this nature, llow- o o ever, we shall soon see.' Something was in the air. As they drew up before the inn door, the customary group awaiting one of the great events of bush life was noticeably swelled. A confused murmur of voices arose, in tones more earnest than ordinary events called forth. The driver threw his reins to a helper, and took the landlord aside. ' We've been stuck up, and there's been a bit of a brush with the Doctor's mob. They've got il hot, but the Captain's hit too. You send a boy to Dr. Chalmers at Hastings township, and that darkie of yours to the police station. The Captain hatl IxlUT get to bed. The mails are right and the pas- sengers.' The hotelkeeper, beyond a brief and com- prehensive dedication of llu; fdse physician to the infernal powers, forebore remark, and OR POLLIE'S PROBATION SO addressed himself to the practical alter- native, that within five minutes two eager youngsters, one black and one white, were riding for their lives towards the points indicated, brimful of excitement not alto- gether of an unpleasant nature, as being the bearers of tragical tidings, and thus to be held free from blame — indeed, to be commended — if they did the distance in less than the best recorded time. Inside the hotel the bustle was consider- able. The bar was crowded, groups of men surrounded the inside passengers, who had each his tale of wonder and miraculous escape to relate. ' The Captain had behaved like a hero. Knocked over one man, broke the Doctor's shoulder, and dropped the third chap's horse nearly atop of him. If there'd only been another revolver in the coach they'd have took the lot easy. All the same, they'd just as well have let them have what they'd a mind too. They only wanted to serve out Tracknell, and when they found he wasn't there they'd have gone off as like as not. If the Captain was hurt — as looked likely — his life was worth all the bushrangers lo THE CROOKED STICK chap. between here and Bourke, and a d d bad swop at that.' 'Well, but some one must fH^hi,' said a pot-valorous bar loafer, ' else they'd take the country from us.' • Tiiat's a (lashed sight more than yoiiCi do, in my opinion,' retorted the speaker, who was a back-block storekeeper. * We can do our share, I suppose, when there's no other show. liut we should have been all safe here now if wt;'d taken 'em easy — a few notes poorer, but what's that ? Ihc police are paid for shooting these chaps, not us. And if the Captain never goes back to Corindah, but has to see it out in a bush pub like this, I say it's hard lines. Unwever. Chalmers will ix: hen- in an hour — il lie's sober — and then we'll know.' The sound of galloping hoofs in less than the specified time caused every one to adjourn to the verandah, when the question of identity, as two figures emerged from a cloud of dust, was (juickly settled by a local expert. ' That's \\\v. doc's chestnut by the way he holds his head, and he's as sober as a judge.' OR POLLIE'S PROBATION ii 'How can you tell that?' queried a wondering passenger. 'Why, easy enough. Doc's not man enough for the chestnut except when he's right off it. When he's betwixt and be- tween like he takes the old bay mare. She stops for him if he tumbles off, and would carry him home unsensible, I b'leeve, a'most, if she could only histe him into the saddle.' The medical practitioner referred to rode proudly into the inn yard unconscious of the critical ordeal he had undergone, and throw- ing down the reins of his clever hackney, walked into the house, followed by the respectful crowd. ' Bad affair, Hyland,' he said to the landlord. ' Which room ? No. 3 ? All right ! I'll call for you as soon as I look the Captain over. It may be nothing after all.' Enterinof the bedroom to which the wounded man had retired, he found him sit- ting at a small table, smoking a cigar with his coat off and busily engaged in writing a letter. This occupation he relinquished, leaving the unfinished sheet and greeting the medico cordially. ' Glad to see you, doctor. Wish 12 THE CROOKED STICK chap. it was a pleasanter occasion. We shall soon know how to class the interview — Devereux slightly, seriously, or dangerously wounded has been in more than one butcher's bill. One may hold these things too cheap, how- ever.' ' Take off your shirt, Captain ; we're losing time,' said the doctor; ' talk as much as you like afterwards. Hum ! ha ! gunshot wound — • small orifice — upper ribs — may have lodged in muscles of the shoulders, b^xcuse me.' Here he introduced a flexible shining piece of steel, with which he cautiously followed the track of the bullet. His brow became contracted and his face betrayed disappointment as he drew back the probe and wiped it medita- tively in restoring it to its case. ' Can't fmd the bullet — gone another direction. Take a respiration, Captain. Good. Now cough, if you please.' ' Do you feel any internal sensation ; slii^ht pain here, for instance.-*' The Captain nodded affirmatively. ' Inclination to expec- torate .'* ' 'Ye.s.' '11a! much as 1 feared. Now put on I OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 13 your shirt again ; and if I were you, I'd get into bed.' ' Not just yet, if you'll allow me ; we had better settle this question first. Is the matter serious — you know what I mean — or only so so ? " ' You're a strong man, Captain, and have seen all this before. I shall tell you exactly how the matter stands. This confounded lead pill, small as it is, has not taken the line I hoped it had towards the shoulder or lumbar muscles. It has turned inwards. You have been shot through the lungs, Captain, and, of course, you know the chances are against you.' The wounded man nodded his head, and lit another cigar, offering the doctor one, which he took. ' Well ! a man must go when his time comes. All soldiers know that. For my wife's sake and the darling of our hearts' I could have wished it otherwise. Poor Mary! It might have been avoided, as the driver said ; but then I should have had to have changed natures with some one else. It is Kismet, as the Moslem says — written 14 THE CROOKED STICK chap. in the book of fate from the beofinnincf of the world. And now, doctor, when will the inflammation come on ? ' 'Perhaps to-night late; certainly to- morrow.' ' I may smoke, I suppose ; and 1 want to write a letter before my head gets affected.' ' Do anything you like, my dear sir. You can't catch cold this weather. Take a ekiss of brandy if you feel faini. No, thanks ! none for me at present. See you early to- morrow. I'll tell Mrs. Hyland what to do if ha^morrhaofe sets in. Good-nio^ht ! ' The doomed man smoked his cii^ar out as he gazed across the broad reach of the river, on a high bluff of which the house had been built. ' Done out of my swim, too,' he muttered, with a half smile. ' I can hardly believe it all to be true, llow often a man reads of this sort of thing, little e.xpecting it will come home to himself. Forty - eight hours, at the utmost, to prepare! llow the stars glitter in the still water! To think that 1 shall know so much more about them before Saturday, most probably at any rate. What a strange idea! i'oor Mary I what I OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 15 will she do when she hears ? Poor darling ! expecting me home on Saturday evening, and now never to meet on earth. Never, nevermore ! To think that I kissed her and the bright, loving little darling Pollie^ how she clung round my neck ! — for the last time ! The last time ! It is hard, very hard ! I feel a choking sort of feeling in my chest — that wasn't there before. I had better begin my letter. The letter — the last on earth. ' He flung away the fragment of the cigar, and sat down wearily to the letter which was to be the farewell message of Brian Devereux to his wife and child. How dear they were to him — reckless in some respects as his life had been — until then, he never knew before. He sat there writing and making memoranda until long after midnight. Then he lit one last cigar, which he smoked slowly and calmly to the end. ' They are very good. I may never get another. Who knows what the morrow may bring forth ? Good-night, my darlings ! ' he said, waving his hand in the direction of Corindah. 'Good-night, sweet fond wife and child of my love ! God i6 THE CROOKED STICK chap. keep and preserve you when I am gone ! Good -night, my pleasant liome, its easy duties and measureless content ! Good-night, O earth and sea. wherein I have roamed so far and sailed so many a league ! Once more, darlings of my heart, farewell ! A long good-night ! ' And so, having an instinctive feeling that the hour was at hand when the injured mechanism of the lleshly frame, grandly perfect as it had hitherto proved itself, would no longer provide expression for the free spirit. Brian Devereux, outworn and faint, sought the couch from which he was never to arise. At daylight he was delirious, while the fre([uent passage of blood and froth from his unconscious lips confirmed the correct- ness of the HK^dical diagnosis. IJcforc th(; evening of the fcjllowing day the proud, loyal, gallant spirit of I'rian Uevereux was at rest. He lies beneath lh(! waving desert acacia, in the graveyard by the river allotted to the little town of Hastings. He was followed to the grave by every man of note and j)osition in a large pastoral district ; and on the marble tombstone which was in the I OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 17 after-time erected at the public cost above his mortal remains are included the words : — 'Sacred to the Memory of Brian Devereux, LATE Captain of H.M. 88th Regiment, who was mortally wounded by bushrangers WHILE making a GALLANT AND SUCCESSFUL DEFENCE. Honour to the brave ! ' So fell a gallant man-at-arms, obscurely slain — ingloriously in a sense, yet dying in strict accordance with the principles which had actuated him through life. There was deep, if not ostentatious, sorrow in his old regiment, and more than one comrade emptied his glass at the mess table more frequently the night the news came of the death of Brian Devereux, whom all men admired, and many women had loved. Brave to recklessness, talented, grandly handsome, the darling of the mess, the idol of the regiment, the descendant of a Norman family long domiciled in the west of Ireland, he had always exhibited, commingled with brilliant and estimable qualities, a certain wayward impatience of restraint which at critical periods of his career had hindered his chance of promotion. A good-natured 1 8 THE CROOKED STICK chai'. superior, on more than one occasion, had reported favourably on differences of opinion scarcely in accordance with the canons of the Horse Guards. At length a breach of discipline occurred too serious to be over- looked. In truth, a j)rovoking. unreasonable martinet narrowly escaped personal discom- fiture. Captain Devereux was compelled to send in his papers, to the despair of the subalterns and the deep though suppressed discontent of the regiment. Sorely hurt and aggrieved, though far too proud for outward sign, he resolved to fjuit the mother-land for the more free, untrammelled life of a new world. The occasion was fortunate. The sale of his commission, with a younger son's portion, sufficed at that time to purchase Corindah at a low price, on favourable terms. Adopting, with all the enthusiasm of his nature, the free, adventurous career of an Australian squatter, he married the fair and trusting daughter of a higli Government official — herself a descendant of one of the old colonial families of distinction, and bade fair, in the enjoyment of unclouded domestic ha[)piness I OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 19 and the management of a confessedly improving property, to become one of the leading pastoral magnates of the land. But who shall appease Fate ? The bolt fell, leaving the fair, fond wife a widow, and the baby daughter fatherless, whose infantine charms had aroused the deepest feelings of his nature. After the first transports of her grief, Mrs. Devereux, with the calm decision of purpose which marked her character, adopted the course which was to guide her future life. At Corindah she had tasted the early joys of her bridal period. There her babe had been born. There had her beloved, her idolised husband — the worshipped hero of the out- wardly calm but intensely impassioned Mary Cavendish — pleased himself in a congenial occupation, with visions of prosperity and dis- tinction yet to come. She would never leave Corindah. It should be her home and that of his child after her. Her resolution formed, she proceeded to put in practice her ideas. She retained the overseer — a steady, experi- enced man, in whom her husband had had confidence. She went over the books and 20 THE CROOKED STICK chap. accounts, thus satisfying herself of the sol- vency and exact position of the estate. This done, she explained to him that she intended to retain the establishment in her own hands, and trusted, with his assistance, to make it progressive and remunerative. ' Captain Devereux, my poor husband,' she said, ' had the greatest confidence in you. It is my intention to live here — in this place which he loved and imj^roved so much—as long as there is sufficient for me and my baby to live on. I shall trust to you, Mr. Gate- ward, to do for me exactly as you would have done for him.' Here the steady voice trembled, and the tears that would not be suppressed llowed fast. ' I will do that and more, Mrs. Devereux,' said the plain, blunt bushman. ' Corindah is the best station on the river, and il the seasons hold middling fair, it will k(;ep iloublc the stock it has on now in a few years. You leave it to me, ma'am ; 111 be: i)ound the run will fuid a home and a snug bank account for you and missit; lor many a year to come." I)etween Mr. Ciatrward and Corindah I'lains, 'the best run on this side of Minga- I OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 21 dee,' as the men said, the promise had been kept. The years had been favourable on the average. When the dire distress of drought came there had been a reserve of pasture which had sufficed to tide over the season of adversity. Besides this, Corindah was decidedly a 'lucky run,' a favoured 'bit of country.' When all the land was sore stricken with grass and water famines, it had springs which never ran dry ; ' storms ' too fell above Corindah ; also strayed water- spouts, while all around was dry as Gideon's fleece. In the two decades which were coming to an end when Pollie Devereux had reached womanhood, the rigid economy and unwavering prudence with which the property had been managed had borne fruit. The credit balance at the bank had swelled notice- ably during the later and more fortunate years. And Mrs. Devereux was known to be one of the wealthiest pastoral pro- prietors in a district where the extensive run -holders were gradually accumulating immense freeholds and colossal fortunes. A temporary check had taken place during the last most unfortunate season. No rain 22 THE CROOKED STICK chap. had fallen for nearly a year. The loss ot stock on all sides had been terrific, well-ni^j^h unprecedented. Mrs. Devereu.x, rather over- prudent and averse to expenditure (as are women mostly, from Queen Elizabeth down- wards, when they have the uncontrolled management of affairs), had felt keenly the drawbacks and disasters of the period. ' I wonder if we shall get our letters to- morrow, mother,' said Pollie Devereux to that lady, as they sat at breakfast at Corindah on one clear, brio-ht autumnal morninnr. ' ThinQfs do really happen if you wait long enough.' ' What is going to happen ? ' asked the elder lady dreamily, as if hardly aroused from a previous train of disturbing thoughts. ' We are all going to be ruined, or nearly so, if the winter proves dry. Mr. Gateward says the cattle never looked so wretched for years, and the poor sheep are beginning to die already.' 'Mr. (iateward is a raxcn tor croak i n< >" : not thai I ever saw one, but ii sounds well,' repli(,'d the girl. ' llf has no imagina- tion. Why didn't he sentl the sheep away to the inoiiiuains before they got so weak, as Mr. Charteris and Mr. .Alherslone did.'* It I OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 23 will be all his fault if they die, besides the shocking cruelty of slow starvation.' ' He is a conscientious, hard-working, worthy man,' said Mrs- Devereux. 'We should find it difficult to replace him. Besides, travelling sheep is most expensive. You are too impatient, my dear. We may have rain yet, you know,' ' I wish I had been a boy, mother,' replied the unconvinced damsel, drumming her fingers on the table as she looked wistfully through the open casement, festooned by a great trail- ing climber, to where the dim blue of a distant mountain range broke the monotony of the plain, ' It seems to me that none of the men we know have energy or enterprise enough to go beyond the dull round of routine in which they have been reared. Sheep ;and cattle, cattle and sheep, with a little turf talk for variation. They smoke all day, because they can't talk, and never think. Surely new countries were not dis- covered or the world's battles fought by people like those I see. I think I should have been different, mother, don't you ? ' ' I am sure of that, my darling,' answered 24 THE CROOKED STICK chap. the mother with a sigh, patting the girl's brieht abundant hair as she rose in her eagerness and stood before her. ' You put me in mind of your father when you look like that. But you must never forget that the world's exciting work is rarely allotted to women. The laws of society are harsh, but those of our sex that resist them are chiefly unhappy, always worsted in the end. My girl cannot help her eager, impatient heart, but she will never despise her mother's teaching, will she ^ ' ' Never while life lasts,' said the girl impetuously, throwing her arm round the elder woman's neck, and burying her face in her bosom with childlike abandon — * not when she has an angel for a mother, like me ; but I am .S(j tired and wearied out with the terrible sameness of the lif(t we leail. Though I have bc'-n h(T(! all my life. 1 seem to get less and less able to bear il. I am afraid 1 am very wicked, mother, but surely God never intended us lo live and die at Corindah ? ' ' l>ut you will be patient, darling?' said the mother tenderly, as with every f(jnd I OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 25 endearment she soothed the restless, un- famihar spirit newly arisen from the hitherto unruffled depths of the maiden's nature. ' You know I had intended to take you to Sydney for the summer months, if this terrible season had not set in. But when ' 'When the rain comes, when the grass grows — when the millennium of the pastoral world arrives — we may hope to have a glimpse of Paradise, as represented by Sydney, the Botanical Gardens, and the Queen's-birthday ball. That's what you were going to say, mother darling, wasn't it ? Poor old mother ! while you're fretting about those troublesome sheep, poor things, that always seem to be wanting water, or grass, or rock-salt, which doesn't happen to be procurable — here's your ungrateful, rebellious child crying for the moon, to make matters worse. I'm ashamed of myself; I deserve to be whipped and sent to bed — not that I ever was, you soft-hearted old mammy. Besides, isn't this delightful unknown cousin. Captain Devereux, coming some fine day ? He's a whole chapter of romance in himself. I declare I had forgotten all about him.' 26 THE CROOKED STICK chap. The foregoing conversation was hekl in the morning room of the very comfortable cottage — or one might say one of the cottages — which, with a score of other buildings of various sorts and sizes, heights and breadths, acres and orders of architecture, went to make up Corindah head station. Perhaps the build- ing referred to had the highest pretension to be called 'the house' — inasmuch as it was larger, more ornate, and more closely envir- oned with flower-beds, shrubs, and trailing, many-coloured climbers, all of which bore tokens of careful tendance — tlian any of the others. As for the outward appearance of the edifice, it was composed of solid sawn timber, disposed outwardly in the form of horizontal slabs, lined more carefully as to the inner side ; the whole finished with gay, fresh wall-papers and appropriate mouldings. A broad, low verandah ran around the house. A wide hall, of which both back and front doors seemed to be permanently open, com- pletely bisected the building. Wire stands, upon which stood delicate pot-jjlants of every shade of l<'af and llowcr. gave a greenhouse air to this division. At a short dislancc, and I OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 27 situated within the enclosed garden, was a smaller, older building of much the same form and proportion. This was known as ' the barrack,' and was delivered over to Mr. Gateward and such bachelor guests as might from time to time visit the station. This arrangement, which often obtains in bush residences, is found to be highly convenient and satisfactory. In the sitting-room smoking and desultory, even jovial conversation can be carried on, together with the moderate consumption of refreshments, around the fire, after the ladies of the household have retired, without disturbing any one. In summer the verandah, littered with cane lounges and ham- mocks, can be similarly used. In the event of an early departure being necessary, the man-cook of the junior establishment can be relied on to provide breakfast at any reason- able, or indeed unreasonable, hour. On several accounts Corindah was looked upon as a representative station, one of the show places of the district. It was a stage which was seldom missed by any of the younger squatters who could find a con- venient excuse for calling there, upon the 28 THE CROOKED STICK chap. journey either to or from the metropolis. It was a large, prosperous, naturally favoured tract of country, a considerable and increas- ingly valuable property. It was managed after a liberal, hospitable, and kindly fashion. Mrs. Devereux, though most unobtrusive in all her ways, permitted it to be known that she did not approve of her friends passing the door without calling ; and they were, certainly, treated so well that there was no great inducement to neglect that form of respect. There was yet another reason why few of the travellers along the north-western road, friends, acquaintances, or even strangers, passed by the hospitable gate of Corindah. During these eventful years Mary Augusta, generally spoken of as ' Pollie Devereux ' by all who could claim anything bordering upon the necessary grade- of intimacy, had grown to be the handsomest girl within a hundred miles of the secluded spot in which she had been born and brought uj). And she was certainly a maiden fair, of mien and face that would have entranced that sculptor of old whose half- divine impress upon the marble will outlast how OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION many a changing fashion, how many a fleeting age ! Tall, lithe, and vigorous, yet completed as to hand and foot with an exquisite delicacy that contrasted finely with the full moulding of her tapering arms, her stately poise, her rounded form, blue-eyed, tawny-haired, with classic features and a regal air, she looked like some virgin goddess of the olden myth- ology, a wood-nymph strayed from Arcadian forests ere earlier faiths erew dim and ancient monarchs were discrowned. CHAPTER II The heiress of Corindah had been carefully educated in a manner befitting her birth, as also the position she was likely to occupy in after-life. Governesses had been secured for her of the highest qualifications, at the most liberal salaries. Her talents for music and drawing had been highly cultivated. For the last three years of her educational term she had resided in Sydney with a relative, so that she mi^ht have the benefit of masters and professors. She had profited largely by instruction. She had read more widely and methodically ih.iii most young women. Well grounded in French and Italian, she had a handy smattering of German, such as would enable her, in days to come, either to j)erfect herself in the language by conversation or to dive more CHAP. II THE CROOKED STICK 31 deeply into the literature than in the care- lessness of youth she thought necessary. These things being matters of general knowledge and common report in the district, it was held as a proved fact by the wives and daughters of her neighbours that Pollie Devereux had got everything in the world that she could possibly wish for. Agreed also that, if anything, she was a great deal too well off, having been petted and indulged in every way since her babyhood. That she ought to be only too thankful for these rare advantages, whereas at times she was dis- contented with her lot in life, and professed her desire for change — which was a clear indication that she was spoiled by over- indulgence, and did not know what was for her real good. That her mother, poor Mrs. Devereux, ought to have been more strict with her. These well-intentioned critics were not so far astray on general principles. They, however, omitted consideration of one well-established fact, that amid the hosts of ordinary human beings, evolved generation after generation from but slightly differing progenitors, and amenable chiefly to similar 3= THE CROOKED STICK chap. social laws, stroncrlv marked varieties of the race have from time to time arisen. These phenomenal personages have differed from their compeers in a ratio of divergence altogether incomprehensible to the ordinary intelligence. Whence originating, the fact remains that each generation of mankind is liable to be enriched or confounded by the apparition of individuals of abnormal force, beauty, or intellect. Neither does it seem i)Ossil)lc for the Attila or the Tamerlane, the Semiramis or the Cleopatra ol the period to escape the destiny that accompanies the birthright, wheth(.'r it be empire or martyrdom, the sovereignty of hearts or the disposal of kingdoms. In spite of all a[)parent restraint of circumstance, the unch.uigeable type, dormant perhaps for centuries, reasserts its ancestral attributes. Such, 'Till ihc sun turns cold, .\nd the stars grow old, And the leaves of ihc Judgment-book unfold,' will be the course of Nature. The; ' mute inglorious Milton' is the pt)et's fiction, lie II OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 33 is not mute, but bursts into song, which, if a wild untutored melody, has the richness of the warbling bird, the power of the storm, the grandeur of heaven's own wind-harp. The ' Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood ' remains not in the stern world of facts the patient hind, the brow-beaten servitor. He leads armies and sways nations. To the soldier of fortune, who smiles only on the battle-field, and comprehends intuitively the movements of battalions, book-knowledge is superfluous and learning vain. He finds his opportunity, or makes it. And the world of his day knows him for its master. And the queen of society, what of her ? Like the poet, nascitur non fit, she is born not manufactured. Doubtless, the jewel may be heightened by the setting, but the diamond glitters star-like in the rough. The red gold-fire burns in the darksome mine. Pollie Devereux, her admirers asserted, would have ruled her inonde had she been born a nursery-maid or an orange-girl. Her beauty, her grace, her courage, her natural savoir-faire, would have carried her high up the giddy heights of social ladders in despite D 34 THE CROOKED STICK chap. of all the drawbacks which ever delayed the triunij)h of a heroine. Still, the while we are indul^ino: in these fliirhts of imacjination, our bush-bred maiden is a calmly correct damsel, outwardly con- ventionally arrayed, and but for a deep-seated vein of latent ambition and an occasional fire-tlash of brilliant unlikeness, undistinLTuish- able from the donoiscllcs bicn-i'lcvdcs of eighteen or twenty that are to work such weal or woe with unsusi)icious mankind. In a general way this young woman's unrest and disapproval of her environments merely took the form of a settled determination to e.xplorc the wondrous capitals, the brilliant societies, the glory and splendour of the Old World — to roam through that fu'rv-land of which from her very childhood she had eagerly read the legends, dreametl the dreams, and learni:d the languages. ' Imager - hearted as a boy,' all-womanly as she was In her chief attributes, she could not slake the thirst f(jr change, travel, and adventure, even danger, with a draught less deep than actual exj)erience. If she h.ul been her fithcr's son instead ul his d.iughter, II OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 35 the inborn feeling could hardly have been stronger. When she thought of leaving her mother, in whom all the softer feelings of her heart found their natural home and refuee, she wept long and often. But still the passionate desire to be a part of all of which she had read and dreamed, to see with her eyes, to hear with her ears, the sights and sounds of far lands, grew with her growth and strength- ened with her strength. As the months, the years rolled on, it acquired the power of fate, of a resistless destiny for good or evil ; of a dread, unknown, controlling power, which beckoned her with a shadowy hand, and exer- cised a mysterious fascination. That there are men so formed, so endowed with natures apart from the common herd of toilers and pleasure-seekers, no one doubts. It is equally true that there are women set apart by original birthright as clearly distinct from the tame tribes of conventional captives. But society, to strengthen its despotic rule, chooses to ignore the fact, preferring rather to coerce rebellion than to decorate distinc- tion. 36 THE CROOKED STICK CIIAI', The eventful chiys Icadiiiij: slowly, but all too surely, towartls the trai^edy which is too apt to follow the idyllic course of our early years, fleeted by ; a too peaceful, undisturbed l)eriod had arrived. Another morning broke clear and bright, as free from cloud or wind, mist or storm wrack, in that land of too changeless summer, as if winter had been banished to another hemisphere. 'Oh dear!' (\\claimed Pollie, as springing from her bed she ran lightly to the open window, and drawing up the green jalousies gazed wistfully at the red golden shield of the day-god slowly uprearing its wondrous splen- dour above the pearl-hued sky-line, while far and near the great plain-ocean lay in dim repose, soundless, unmarked by motion or shadow. * ;\h me, how tired I am of the sight of the sun ! Will it never rain again ? 1 low long are we to endure this endless calm ? this bright, dismal, destructive weather } I never realised how criu 1 the sun could be before. As a chikl I was .so ft)nd of him, too, the king of light and warmth, of joy and gladness. Hut that is only in green-grass countries. Ilere he is a pitiless tyrant. II OR POLLIE'S PROBATION yj How I should delight in Europe to be sure, with ever- changing cloud and mist, even storm ! I am awear}/-, aweary. I have half a mind to ride out and meet the coach at Pine Ridge — I feel too impatient to sit in the house all day. What a time I have been standing here talking or thinking all this nonsense! I wish I could help thinking sometimes, but I cant if I try ever so hard. Mother says I ought to employ myself more ; so I do, till feel half dead sometimes. Then I get a lazy fit, and the thinking, and restlessness, and discontent come back as bad as ever. Heigho ! I suppose I must go and dress now. There's no fear of catching cold at any rate. Now I wonder if Wanderer was brought in from Myall Creek ? ' Acting upon this sensible resolution, and apparendy much interested in the momentous question of her favourite hackney having been driven in from a distant enclosure, failure of which would have doomed her to inaction, Pollie's light form might have been seen threading the garden paths ; after which she even ventured as far as the great range of stabling near the corner of the other farm 38 THE CROOKED STICK ' chap. buildings. Here she encountered the over- seer, Mr. Gateward. when, IioIcHul; up the skirts of her dress so as to avoid contact with the somewhat miscellaneous dust which lay deeply over the enclosure, she thus addressed him — 'Good-morning, Mr. Gateward! Do you think ii will ever rain an^ain } Never mind answering that (jucstion. l\.ussell himself knows no more than we do, I believe. What 1 nally want to know is, did they bring Wanderer in from the Myall Creek .■^ because I ))iHst ride him to-dav.' ' \'es. .Miss Pollie, the old horse came in. I told them not to leave him bc:hind on any account. (here's no knowing what may happen in a dry year. \ lace had been hard at work in his own pro[KT department, and had been so occupied since sunrise, 111 Australia, however scorching the day, how apparently endless and desolating the sunmicr, no man, being of I'ritish biiili or extraction, thinks of inlcrmilting his ilaily work from sunrise to ni'jhlfall, except durin<'- the ordinary hours allotletl l(j meals. II OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 43 So the overseer was away on his never- ending round of inspection of stock — ' out on the run,' as the phrase is — to return at, or perhaps long after, nightfall. The boundary riders were each and all on their different beats — some at the wells ; others at the now treacherous and daily more dangerous quag- mires surrounding the watering-places, from which it was their duty to extricate the feeble sheep. No one was at home but a small native boy named Tarpot, with whose assist- ance Pollie managed to saddle her loved steed. Leaving injunctions with him to follow her as soon as he should have brought up the cows, she turned her horse's head to the broad plain ; and as he snuffed up the fresh dry air and bounded forward in a stretching gallop along the level sandy track, the heart of the rider swelled within her, and she wished it was not unfeminine to shout aloud like the boy stock- riders who occasionally favoured the musters of Corindah with their company. The well-bred animal which she rode was fully inclined to sympathise with his mistress's exhilaration. Tossing his head and opening his nostrils, Wanderer dashed forward along 44 THE CROOKED STICK chap. the far-strctchinqf level road, just sufficiently yielding to be the most perfect track a free horse could tread at speed, as if he were anxious to run a race with the fabled coursers of lliat sun now slowly trailing blood -red banners and purple raiment towards his western couch. Mile after mile was passed in a species of ecstatic eagerness, which for steed and rider seemed to know no abate- Fiient. The homestead faded far behind them, and still nothing met the view but the endless grey plain; the mirage - encircled lines of slender woodland opening out north and south, each ihe exact counterpart of the other. An ever-widening, apparently illimit- able- wasl(^ a slowly retreating sun, a sky hopeless in unchanging, pitiless splendour of hue, looking down upon a despairing world of dying creatures. * The Mogil Mogil clump is a short ten miles,' sh(.' said, as she reincrd her impatient steed ami compelled him to walk. ' 1 mustn't send along the poor old fillow so fast ; he's nol(juilc in form yet. I shall be there bdore the coach passes, and then have plenty of time to ride home in the cool. What a II OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 45 blessed relief this is from that choking atmosphere indoors ! ' Another half- hour and the clump is reached. Still no sign of the stage-coach visible, as it should be for a mile or two, even more on that billiard table of a plain. The girl's impatient spirit chafed at the un- looked for delay. As she gazed upon the red sun, the far-seen crimson streamers, the endless, voiceless plain, the spirit of rebellion was again roused within her. She sat upon her horse and looked wistfully, wearily over the arid drought-stricken levels. She marked the sand pillars, whirling and eddying in the distance. They seemed to her fanciful imagination the embodied spirits of the waste — the evil genii of the Eastern tale, which might at any time, unfolding, disclose an Afreet or a Ghoul. The thought of long years to be spent amid these vast solitudes seemed to her hateful — doubly unendurable. Before her rose in imagination the dull familiar round of all too well known duties, occupations, tasks, and pleasures, or but feeble, pulseless alternations from the mill- horse track which people call duty. 46 THE CROOKED STICK chap. ' Was I born onlv for such a fate ? ' she passionately exclaimed. 'Is it {)Ossil)le that the great Creator of all things, the Lord and Giver of Life, made this complex, eaq^er nature of mine to wear itself out with aim- less automatic movements, or frantic struggles against the prison bars of fate? Oh! had my father not been cut nif in his prime, in what a different position we should have been ! We could have afforded to travel in Europe, to revel in the glories of art, science, and literature, to look upon the theatres of the great deeds of mankind — to live, in a word. W c do not live in Corindah — we grow.' Overcome by the emotions which the enthusiasm of her nature had suffered tempor- arily to overwhelm her ordinary intelligence, shf! had not notic(!d that the sta^e-coach, bringing its bi-weekly freight of letters, news- papers, and passengers, had approached the clump of wild orange trttes, on the edge of which she had reined her steed. The sensi- tive thorough-bred, more alive to transitory impressions than his mistress, aroused by a sudden crack of the driv(.-r's whij), sl.irted, and as she drew the curb rein, rt.'ared. n OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 47 ' What a naughty Wanderer ! ' she ex- claimed, as, slackening her rein, she leaned a little forward, stroking her horse's glossy neck, and soothing him with practised address. At the same moment the four- horse team swept past the spot, and revealed the unwonted apparition to the gaze of the passengers, male and female, who, from the fixed attention they appeared to bestow upon her, were much interested in the situation. Apparently the young lady was not equally gratified, inasmuch as she turned her horse's head towards the distant line of timber which marked the line of the homestead, and swept across the plain like the daughter of a sheikh of the Nejd. ' What a handsome girl ! ' said a passenger on the box-seat ; ' deuced fine horse too — good across country, I should say. Not a bush- ranger, I suppose, driver? They don't get themselves up like that, eh } ' 'That's Miss Devereux of Corindah,' answered the driver, in a hushed, respectful accent, as who should say to the irreverent querist in Britain, ' That's the squire's daughter.' 'She came up here to see if 48 THE CROOKED STICK ciiap. the coach was coining ; we're past our time, nearly halt all hour. Got thinking. I suppose, and didn't know we was so close. I cracked my whip just to let her know like.' ' Ijut suppose her horse had thrown her.' asked the inquiring stranger, ' what then ? ' ' ^^^SE^"^' your pardon, sir, there's mighty few horses that can do that — not in these parts anyway. She can ride anything that you can lilt her on ; and she's as kind- hearted and well respected a young lady as ever touched bridle-rein.' Now ever since Corindah had been ' taken up ' in the good okl days when t)Ccupation with stock and the payment of £\o per annum as license fee were tlu! only oh\\- gatory conditions encumbering the sovereign right to use, say, half a million acres of pastoral land, the adjoining ' run ' of Maroobil and its proprietors had been associated in men's minds among the lloating population of the district. Both had been ' taken up.' or legally occupied, the same year. 'Ww. homesteads were at no great distanct: from (;ach other, so placed with the view to being mutually n OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 49 handy in case of a sudden call to arms when the blacks were 'bad.' More than once on either side the ' fiery cross ' had been sent forth, when every available horse and man, gun and pistol, of the summoned station had been furnished. Old Mr. Atherstone, a Border English- man, had died soon after Brian Devereux, leaving his son Harold, then a grave boy of twelve, precociously wise and practical as to the management of stock, and a great favourite with Pollie, then a tiny fairy of three years old, who used to throw up her hands and shout for joy when Harold's pony came gallop- ing up to the garden gate. He had watched the child grow into a tall slip of a girl, with masses of bright hair, never very neatly braided. He had seen the unformed eirl ripen into a beautiful maiden, an enchanting mixture to his eye of much of the old daring, wilful nature mingled with a sweet womanly consciousness inexpressibly attractive. He could hardly recollect the time when he had not been in love with Pollie Devereux. And now, in these latter years, he told himself that there was but one woman in the E >o THE CROOKED STICK chap. world for him nor could it ever be other- wise. Men varied much in their ilispositions. He knew that by observation and experience. There was Bob Liverstone, whose heart (as he himself repeatedly averred) was broken Ijeyond recovery, his prospects of happiness eternally ruined, his life blasted, because of the beautiful Miss Wharton, with her pale face, raven hair, and haunlinL; eyes, who wouldn't have him. 1 le broke his heart over again shamelessly within six months, after unsuccessful devotion to a blonde with eyes like blue china ; and fmally married a lady who bore not the least resemblance in mind, body, or estate to either ol her predecessors being i^lump. and merely pretty, but ex- ceptionally well dowered. Tlu-sc! antl similar divagations of the ardent male adult Harold had seen — seen with alarm and sur])ris(; primarily, then with amused assent. bOr himself he could as little conceive such o.scillations in his own tastes and aflections as he could lancv himself emulating the somersaults ol an acrobat or the witticisms of a clown. No! thrice no! II OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 51 For a man of his deep, dreamy, passionate, perhaps originally melancholy, nature there was but one sequel possible after the deliberate choice of youth had been ratified by the calm reason of manhood. If fate denied him this happiness, all too perfect for this world — the unearthly, unutterable bliss which her love would confer — there should be no counterfeit presentment, no mocking travesty of the heart's lost illusions. He had rightly judged that as yet the girl's feeling for him was that of a pure and deep friendship, but of friend- ship only. The love of a sister, unselfish, sinless, seraphic, not the fiercer passion akin to hate, despair, revenge in its inverted forces, bearing along with it the choicest fruits that mortal hands can cull, yet joined in unholy joy, in perverted triumph to the groans of the eternally lost, to the endless torment, the dread despair of the prison vaults beneath. Thus Harold Atherstone watched and waited — awaited the perhaps fortunate turn of events, the effect of the moral suasion which he knew Mrs. Devereux gently exer- cised. And she had told him that he was the one man to whom in fullest trust and con- 52 THE CROOKED STICK chap. fidcncc she could bequeath her darling, were she compelled to leave her. 'Hut vou must wait, Harold.' she said. ' My child's nature is one neither to be con- trolled nor easily satisfied, I can trace her father's tameless soul in her. Poor Pollie ! it's a thousand i)ities that she was not born a boy, as she says herself How much easier life would have been for her — and for me! Here Mrs. Devereux siq^hed, 'All very well, my dear Mrs. Devereu.x, but in the meantime nature chose tt) mould her in the form of a beautiful woman, so sweet and lovely in my eyes that I have never seen her ecjual, and indeed hardly imagined such a creation. .Slic will pass throuLrh the unsettled time of girlhood in another year or two. and after that take pity upon her faithful slave and worshi[)per. who has adored her all his life and who will die in the same faith.' 'That is the worst feature in \(>ur case, my p(jor 1 larokl,' said Mrs. Devereu.x ; ' I am as fond of you as il you were my own son, and she loves you like a brother. \'ou have seen too much of each other. Women's II OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 53 fancies are caught by the unknown, the un- famihar : we are all aHke. I wish I could help you, or bend her to my wish like another girl, for I know how happy she would be. But she cannot be guided in the disposition of her affections.' 'And I should not wish it,' said the young man, as his face grew hard. ' No, though I should die of the loss of her.' The contract time of the Wannonbah mail was indulgent. The driver had no particular reason to reach that somewhat prosaic and monotoned village before the stated hour. When Wanderer slackened speed a mile on the hither side of the Corindah gate, it was with some surprise that Pollie descried a strange four-in-hand converging from another point. Wanderer pricked up his ears, while his rider looked eagerly across the plain with the intense, far-searching gaze of a dweller in the desert, as if she had power to read, even at that distance, each sign and symbol of the equipage. ' Can't be a coach, surely,' she soliloquised. 'One mail is more than enough for all our 54 THE CROOKED STICK chap. wants in the letter and passenc^er way. Cobb and Co. grumble at feeding their teams now, poor things ! Who in the world is likely to drive four horses in a season like this ? No one but a lunatic, I should think. Such well- bred ones too ! I can see the leaders tossing their heads — a grey and a bay. I can't make out the wheelers for the dust. No ! Yes ! Now I know who it is. Oh, what fun ! I beg his pardon. Of course it's Jack Charteris. He said he was going to town. Poor Jack! I wish I was "■oinq: with him. l>ut that wont do. I should like to "^o and meet him, only then he would make sure I was interested in him. What a misfortune it is to be a girl ! Now I must go in and dress for the evening, and receive him properly, which means unnaturally and artificially. Come along. Wanderer ! ' When .Mr. Jack Charteris swept artistic- ally and accurately through the entrance gate and drew up before the stable range with a fi.xed e.xpectation that some one might see and admire him, he was disappointed to observe no one but Mr. C.ateward and a black bt)y. 1 i) them it was left to pcrlorm the ro/c of II OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 55 spectators, audience, and sympathisers gener- ally. ' Why, Gateward, old man, what's the meaning of this ? ' said the charioteer, sign- ing to his own black urchin to jump down. ' Are you and Tarpot all the men left alive on Corindah ? Sad effects of a dry season and overstocking, eh ? No rouse- abouts, no boundary riders, no new chums, no nobody ? Family gone away too? I'm not going to ruin you in the forage line either. Brought my own feed — plenty of corn and chaff inside the drag. Don't intend to eat my friends out of house and home this beastly season.' By this time Mr. Gateward and the black boys had applied themselves with a will to the unharnessing of the team, so that the new-comer, who had uttered the preceding remarks, exclamations, and inquiries in a loud, cheerful, confident manner, threw down his reins and descended from his seat without more ado. Here he stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the taking out of his horses, a well-bred, well-matched, and well- 56 THE CROOKED STICK' chap. conditioned team, never intermitting n flow of badinacre and small-talk which seemed to proceed from him without effort and fore- thoucfht. 'Now then, Jerry, you put 'em that one harness along a peg, two feller leader close up, then two feller poler. Tie 'em up long a post, that one yarraman, himeby get 'um cool, baal gibit water, else that one die. You put 'em feed along a manger all ready. Mine come out bimeby.' ' I'll see after 'c:m, Mr. Charteris, don't you bother yourself,' said the overseer good- naturedly. ' Tarpot. you take 'em saddle-box beloncr a mahincc inside barracks. 1 le'll show you. sir, — you know where the bath- room is. There's water then-, though we an" pretty short.' ' Deuced glad to hiar it. The dust's inside my skin lik(; the wool b;il(s last summer. Must be half an iiuh ol it some- where!. I've been living in it all day. I'rightful season ' lin just going down to file my schedule — fact — unless my banker takes a good-natured fit. Can't stand it much longer. Ladies well? Mrs. 1 )evereu,\ and Mi.ss II OR FOLLIE'S PROBATION 57 Pollie ? Not got fever, or cholera, or con- sumption this God-forsaken summer ? ' The grave bushman smiled. ' I doubt we shall all have to go up King Street wh^n yott give in, Mr. Charteris ! You can work it somehow or other, whoever goes under. Besides, rain ain't far off; can't be now. The ladies are all right, and a little cheering up won't hurt 'em. Miss Pollie was out for a gallop just before you came up.' ' Then it was her I saw,' said the young man petulantly. ' Knocked smoke out of the team to catch her up, and missed her after all.' Mr. Jack Charteris, of Monda, was a young squatter who lived about a hundred miles to the west of Corindah, where he had a large and valuable station, a good deal diminished as to profits by the present untoward season. He was of a sanguine, intrepid, rather speculative disposition, having investments in new country as well. People said he had too many irons in the fire, and would probably be ruined unless times changed. But more observant critics asserted that under careless speech and manner Jack 58 THE CROOKED STICK ciiai-. Chartcris masked a cool head and calculatinn^ brain ; that he was not more likely to go wroncr than his neighbours — in fact, less so, being of uncommon energy and quite inex- haustible resource. With any decent odds he was a safe horse to back to land a big stake. For the rest he was a good-looking, athletic, cheery young fellow, in general fa\-()ur and acceptation with ladies, having a great fund of good spirits anil an unfailing supply of conversation, that most of his feminine acquaintances found agreeable, lie was not easily daunted, and added the cjualities of perseverance and a fixed belief in his per- suasive powers to the list of his good (jualities. Th<- past masters in the science of conquest aver that the chief secret of fascination lies in the power to amuse the too often vacant and distraite feminine mind. Women suffer, it is Jisscrted, more from dulness anil ennui than from all ()lh(.r .source's, injuries anil disabilities put together. Consider, then, at what an eiujr- mous advantage he commences the siege who is able to surprise, to interest, to entertain the emotional, l.uighter loving garrison, .so often in the doldrums, .so indifferently able to fill up II OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 59 the lingering hours. It is not the 'rare smile' which lights up the features of the dark and melancholy hero of the Byronic novelists which is so irresistible. Much more danger- ous is the jolly, nonsensical, low-comedy person, in whose jokes the superior, the gifted rival can see no wit, indeed but little fun. Thackeray is true to life when he makes Miss Fotheringay unbend to Foker's harmless mirth, rewarding him with a make- believe box on the ear, while Pen, the sombre and dramatic, stands sulkily aloof. This being an axiomatic truth, Mr. Charteris should have had, to use his own idiom, a considerable ' pull ' in commending himself to the good graces of Miss Devereux, being one of those people to whom women always listened, and never without being more or less amused. But though he would hardly have sighed in vain at the feet of any of the demoiselles of the day, rural or metro- politan, he found this particular princess upon whom he had perversely set his heart, unapproachable within a certain clearly defined limit. Not that she did not like him, respect, 6o THE CROOKED STICK chap, ii admire, even in certain ways to the extent of fighting his battles when absent, praising up his good (jualities, deHcately advising him for his good, laughing heartily at his good stories and running lire of jests and audacious com- pliments. That made it so hard to bear. The very fearlessness and perfect can- dour of her nature forbade him to hope that any softer feeling lay underneath the frankly expressed liking, and a natural dignity which never quitted her restrained him from urging his suit more decisively. CHAPTER III When Mr. Charteris had concluded his ablutions, and sauntered into the verandah after a careful toilette, he there encountered Miss Devereux, who, having arrayed herself in a light Indian muslin dress, gracefully reclined upon one of the Cingalese couches. His lonely life of late may have had some- thing to do with it, but his ordinary well- maintained equilibrium nearly failed him before the resistless force of her charms. Her eyes involuntarily brightened as she partly raised herself from the couch and held out her hand with unaffected welcome. He took in at one rapturous glance her slender yet wondrously moulded form, her delicate hand, her rounded arm seen through the diaphanous fabric, her massed and shin- ing hair, her eloquent face. 62 THE CROOKED STICK chap. ' Oh, Lord ! ' he inwardly ejaculated, as he afterwards confessed. ' I used to wonder at fellows shootini^ themselves about a girl, and all that, and laugh at the idea. But I don't now. When I saw Pollie Devereux that evening I could have done the maddest thing in the world for the ghost of a chance of winning her. .Xnd to win. and wear, and lose her again, as happens to a man here and there. Good heavens ' why, It would make a fellow — make — me — run amuck like a Malay, and kill \\ town full of people before I was half satisfied.' iUit Mr. Charteris controlled those too impetuous feelings, and forced himself to remark, as he clasped her cool, soft hand despairingly while she expressed her frank pleasure at seeing him, 'Always delighted to come to Corindah, Miss I )evereux, you know that. 1 )i(ln'i I see you near the gate as I drove up .■^ Thought you might have come to meet me.' 'Well, so I Wf)ul(l.' the \oung lady answeretl, with an air of ]irovoking candcnir, only I had been out to see the coach and Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 63 find out if they'd brought our package from England — presents that came by last mail, — I was so hot and dusty, and thought it was time to go and dress.' ' And I wanted to see how Wanderer looked, too,' quoth he reproachfully; 'you know I always think he could win the steeplechase at Bourke if you'd let me ride him and wear your colours.' ' I couldn't think of that for two reasons,' replied the girl with decision. ' First of all Wanderer might get hurt. Didn't you see that poor Welcome, at Wannonbah races, broke his leg and had to be shot ? I should die, or go into a decline, if anything happened to Wanderer. And then there's another reason.' 'What's that?' inquired Mr. Charteris, with less than his usual intrepidity. 'Why — a — you might get hurt, Mr. Charteris, you see, and I can't afford to lose an old friend that way.' ' Oh, is that all } ' retorted Master Jack, recovering his audacity ; ' well, you could have me shot like Wanderer if I broke my back or anything. 'Pon my soul ! it would 64 77//: CA'OOA'/'JD STICK cuAi-. come to just the same thini; if you ordered me out to execution before the race.' 'Now, Mr. Charleris ! ' said PolHc, in a steady, warning voice, ' you are disobeying orders, you know. I shall hand you over to mother, who has just come to say tea is ready. Mother, he is talking most child- ish nonsense about shooting himself ' Hut I never talk anything else, do 1 .Mrs. 1 )evereux ? ' said the young gentleman, running up to the kiiully matron with a look of sincere affection. ' \'oiir mother's known me all my life, Miss Devereux, and she won't beli(.'ve any harm ot me. W ill you, my dear madam } ' ' 1 never lu:ar ol you (/oifii^' any foolish thing, my dear jack.' said Mrs. Devereux maternally ; ' and as long as that is the case I sliall not be very angry at anything you can say. We all know you mean no harm. Don't we, Pollie .'* And now take me into tea, and you may amus(.' us as much as ever ytHj like. I'm rather luw myself on account of the season.' 'No use tliinking about it,' rjuolh Charleris, dashing gallantly into the po.sition Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 65 assigned to him. 'That's why I'm going to Sydney to have a regular carnival, also to be in time to get the wires to work directly the drought breaks up. I can't make it rain, now can I ? And I've a regular tough, steady overseer, a sort of first cousin to your Joe Gateward, with twice as much sense and work in him as I have. I mean to take it easy at the Club till he wires me: "Drought over. Six inches rain." Left the telegram all ready written and pinned up over his desk. He's nothing to do but fill in the number of inches and sign it, and I shall know what to do. That shows faith, doesn't it ? ' ' But isn't it rather mad to go to Sydney with a four-in-hand and spend money, when you might be ruined, and all of us?' said Pollie. ' You are too prudent but don't look ahead — like most women, my dear young lady,' replied Jack, in the tone of experienced wisdom. ' Nothinor like having a looical mind, which, I flatter myself, I possess. I always think the situation out, as thus : — If we are all going to be ruined — the odds are 66 THE CROOKED STICK chap. against it, but still it's on the cards — why not have a real first-class time of enjoyment before the grand smash ? The trifling ex- penditure of a good spree won't make any appreciable difference in the universal bank- ruptcy. \'ou grant me that, don't you ? — Yes, thanks, I will lake some more wild turkey. .Strange that one should have any appetite this weather, isn't it."^' * Not if one rides or drives all day and half the night, as you do, Mr. Charteris,' said Polli(;. ' I'^ven talking makes you thirsty, doesn't it? r.ui ofo on with the lojjic' ' Did you ever see me scowl, Miss Pollie ? Beware of my ferocious mood. Now we're agreed about this, that five hundred pounds, more or less, makes no difference if you're going to be ruined and lose fifty thousaiul.' * I suppose not,' reluctant])- assented Mrs. Devereu.x. 'Still it's mon(;y wasted.' 'Money wasted!' exclaimed Mr. Char- teris. ' I'm surprised at you. Mrs. I )(;vereux. Think of the delights of yachting in lluj iiarboiir, ^'t'i the oc(!an iirceze afu:r this vapour from the pit of of .Avcnuis. Knew I should find it in time, 'ilu.ii the (.\ening Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 67 parties, the dinners at the Club, the races, the lawn-tennis, the cricket matches ! The English eleven are to be there. Why, I haven't been down for six whole months. Don't you think rational amusement worth all the money you can pay for it ? Would you think a couple of years' ramble on the Continent too dearly bought if we were all able to afford to go together ? ' The girl's eyes began to glow at this. * Oh mother ! ' she said, ' surely we shall be able to go some day. Do you think this horrid drought will stop the possibility of it altogether.^ If I was sure of that I believe I should drown myself — no, I couldn't do that ; but I would burn myself in a bush fire. That's a proper Australian notion of suicide. Water's too scarce and expensive. Think of the consequences if I spoiled a tank. I should like to see Mr. Gateward's face.' And here the wilful damsel, having at first smiled at the alarmed expression of her mother's countenance, abandoned her- self to childish merriment at the ludicrous idea of a drowned maiden in a bad season intensifying the bitterness in the minds of 68 THE CROOKED STICK cmai'. economical pastoralists with the rellcction that a flock of sheep would probably be deprived thereby of that hi^h-priced luxury in a dry country — a sufficiency of water. Mr. Charteris laughed heartily for a few minutes, and then, with sudden solemnity, turned upon the young lady. ' You never will be serious, you know. Why can't you take pattern by me? Let us pursue our argument. Pleasure being worth its price, let us pay it cheerfully. I was reading about the Three Hundred, those Greek fellows you know, dressing their hair before Thermopylae ; it gave me the idea, 1 tliink. Mine's too short ' — here he rubbed his glossy brown pate, canonically cropped. " lUit the [)rinciple's the same, Miss Pollie, eh?' ' What principle ? ' echoed Pollie. ' or want of it, tlo you mean ? ' ' The princijjle of dying game. Miss Devereux,' returned Charteris, with a steady eye and heroic po.sc. ' Surely you can respect that? it all resolves itself into this. Pm going to put down my ace. If the cards go wrong 1 hav(! j^layed a dashing game. If the season turns up trumps Pll make the Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 69 odd trick. You'll see who has the cream of the store sheep -market when the drought breaks ! ' ' I admire bold play, and you have my best wishes, Mr. Charteris. You've ex- plained everything so clearly. Don't you think if you read history a little more it might lead you to still more brilliant combinations ? ' ' If you'd only encourage me a little,' answered the young man, with a touch of unusual humility. ' Isn't that Jack Charteris ? ' said a man's voice in the passage. ' I'll swear I heard him talking about his ace. May I come in, or is there a family council or anything ? ' ' Come in, Harold, and don't be a goose,' said Mrs. Devereux ; ' you are not going to stand on ceremony here at this or any other time.' ' I've had a longish ride,' said the voice, ' nothing to eat, half a sunstroke, I believe, and my journey for my pains. I'm late for tea besides, though I rode hard — takes one so long to dress. If I was any one else I believe I should be cross. I thiftk you'd 70 THE CROOKED STICK chap. better all leave me, and I'll join you in the ver- andah when I've fed and found my temper.' ' Nothing of the sort, mother ; you take out Mr. Charteris and t^ive him good advice, while I see after Mr. Atherstone, and recom- mend him to begin with tht; wild turkey while I get him some Ikikkulla. What's the reason you've not been near us lately, sir?' 'rh(' new-comer was a very tall man, though he did not at first sight give you the idea of being much above the middle size, but Mr. Charteris, who was by no means sh(jrt, looked so when they stood together. Then you saw that he was much above the ordinary stature of mankind. His frame was broad and muscular, and there was an air of latent power about his bearing such as gave the impression of j)rrf('ct confidence, of physical or mental ccjuality to whatever emergency might befall. Mr. Chartc-ris lingered. m\(\ seemed to cjucsiion the soundness of the arrangement which divided him from \\\v enchantress and rttduced him lo the placid enjoy meiu of Mrs. Dcvercux's always sensible but not e.xciiing conversation. in OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 71 ' Look here, Jack, I can't have you here while I'm dining, you know,' persisted Mr. Atherstone, with a calm decision. ' You've such an energetic, highly organised nature, you know, that calm people like me can't sustain your electric currents. I perceive by the appearance of that turkey that I'm about to dine in comfort. Pollie has gone to bring in a bottle of Bukkulla. " Put it to yourself carefully," as Mr. Jaggers says, that I have had no lunch. She will be quite as much as I can bear during such a delicate period. So out you go. Order him off, Mrs. Devereux, if you've any pity for me.' * Well, you are the coolest ruffian, I must say,' quoth Mr. Charteris, as Pollie reappeared bearing a dusty bottle of the cool and fragrant Bukkulla. ' Mrs. Devereux, you spoil him. It's very weak of you. You'll have people talking.' ' We don't mind what people say, do we, Harold ? ' said the widow, as she watched him carefully draw the cork of the bottle, while Pollie sat near and placed a large hock glass before him. ' Leave them alone for half an hour. I'm sure, poor fellow, he's 72 THE CROOKED STICK chap. awfully tired and hunq^ry. I know where he's been : ii was on an errand of mine ; Mr. Gateward couldn't go. Surely you can put up with my company for a little while.' I'oor Harold! ' grumbled Jack, 'he is to be pitied indeed ! Mrs. Devereux, you know I always say there's no one talks so charm- ingly as you do, and I always say what I mean. Now isn't there something I can do for you in Sydney .•* ' The symposium thus ostentatiously heralded did not take (juite so long as might have been e.xpected, and Pullie, making her appearance in the drawing-room apparently before its termination, went in the i)iano at Mr. Charteris's instigation, and sang two or three of his favourite songs in a fashion which brought any lingering remnants of his passion once more to the surface. .Mr. .Atherstone was also good enough to express his approval from the dining-room, the door of which was open, and to recjuest iii.it she would reserve her imjjortiition from the metropolis until he came in. This exhortation was followed by his personal apparition, when the laicsi com- in OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 73 position of Stephen Adams was selected by him and duly executed. Among the natural endowments lavished upon this young creature was such a voice as few women possess, few others adequately develop or worthily employ. Rich, flexible, with unusual compass, depth, and power, it combined strangely mingled tones, which carried with them smiles or tears, hate, defiance, love and despair, the child's glee, the woman's passion ; all were enwrapped in this wondrous organ, prompt to appear w^hen the magician touched her spirit with his wand. Harold once said that in her ordinary mood all the glories of vocal power seemed imprisoned in her soul, like the tunes that were frozen in the maofic horn. Men were used to sit with heads bent low, lest the faintest note might escape their highly wrought senses. Grizzled war-worn veterans had wept unrestrainedly as she sang the simple ballads that recalled their youth. Women even were deeply affected, and could not find one word of delicatest depreciation that would sound otherwise than sacri- legious. This was one of her good nights. 74 THE CROOKED STICK chap. her amiable, well -behaved nights, Harold said. So the men sat and smoked in the verandah, with Mrs. Devereux near them ; all in silence or low, murmuring converse, while the stars burnt iirightly in the blue eternity of the summer night — the season itself in its unchanging brightness an emblem of the endless procession of creation — while the girl's melodious voice, now low and soft, now wildly appealing, tender or strong, rose and fell, or swelled and died away — * like an angel's harp,' said Harold to her mother, as she arose and came towards them ; 'and it is specially fortunate lor us here,' he continued, 'as the season is turning us all into some- thing like the other thing.' ' 1 lush, Harold, my boy ; have faith in God's providence!' replied Mrs, Devereux, placing her liand on his. ' We have been sorely tried at times, but that hope and faith have never failed me.' • W'liat a lovely, glorious, h(!avenly night! ' said the girl, stepping out on the broad walk which wound amid the* odorous orange-trees, still kei)t in leaf and llower by profuse water- ing. ' What a shame that one should have to Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 75 go to bed ! I feel too excited to sleep. That is why you fortunate men smoke, I suppose? It calms the excitable nervous system, if you ever suffer in that way.' 'Ask Jack,' said Mr. Atherstone ; 'he is more delicately organised. I suppose I like smoking, because I do it a good deal. It is a contemplative, reflective practice, possess- ing at the same time a sedative effect. It prevents intemperate cerebration. It arrests the wheels of thought, which are otherwise apt to go round and round when there's nothing for them to do — mills with no corn to grind.' ' I never heard so many good reasons before for what many people call a bad habit,' said Pollie. ' However, I must say, con- sidering the hard work you poor fellows have to do at times, I think a man enjoying his pipe after his day's work a dignified and ennobling spectacle.' ' Quite my idea, Miss Pollie,' said Jack. ' I really thought my brain was giving way once in a dry season. If I hadn't smoked, should have had to fall back upon drinking. Dreadful to think of, isn't it ? A mixture of 76 THE CROOKED STICK chap Latakia and X'^iroflnia I grot from a fellow down from India on leave saved my life.' ' I think we are all sufficiently soothed and edified now to go to betl,' said Mrs, Devereux, with mild, suggestive authority. ' Dear me ! nearlv twelve o'clock too. The days are so long now that it is ever so late before dinner is finished and the evening fairly begun.' • • • • • The parcel from England to which refer- ence had been made on the occasion of Pollie's excursion to Mogil Mogil clumjj had arrived safely, and its contents been duly admired, when a letter received by the next mail - steamer rrmtained such exceptional tidings that all other incidents became tame and uninteresting. This English letter i)roved to be from Cai)tain Devereux's elder brf)thpy to meet Mr. Atherstone, and hope to profit by his e.xperience and other people's.' For the few seconds that passed while the new friend and the old one confronted one another the young lady regarded them keenly. Nor was her mind idle. 'As far as appearance goes,' she ihouL^hi, ' 1 laroM has certainly the best of it. Tall, well- proportioned, with nice brown hair and beard, and those honest grey eyes — what Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 87 most girls would call a splendid fellow, and so he is. Why am I not fonder of him ? Bertram is certainly distinguished looking, but he is only middle-sized and almost plain — dark hair and eyes, rather good these last. I feel disappointed ; I don't know why. He smiles nicely — that is, he could if he took the trouble. We must wait, I suppose, till his character develops. I hate waiting. I see mother coming. We had better go in to tea.' This last observation was the only one audible. The other results of lightning-like apprehension had only been flashed by electric agencies from eye and heart to brain — there registered, doubtless, for future verification or erasure, as circumstances might determine. Mrs. Devereux had entered, Pollie offered her arm to her cousin, whom she piloted to the dining-room, leaving Mr. Atherstone to follow with her mother. It the young ^migrd'\\'dA been previously astonished at the tone of the household arrangements, he was even more surprised as he surveyed the well -lighted room and 88 THE CROOKED STICK chap. marked with much inward satisfaction the well-served repast, the complete and elegant table appointments. The tea equipage at the head of the table, over which Mrs. Devereux presided, determined the character of the repast ; but the general effect was that of a sufficiently good dinner, with adjuncts of light wine and the pale ale of Britain, which neither of the young men declined. Both ladies were becomingly dressed in evening costume — Mrs. Devereux plainly and unobtrusively, while her daughter had donned for the occasion a sea-green mer- maiden triumph of millinery, which subtly suited the delicate tints of her complexion, as also the silken masses of her abundant hair. In ilic trial of first iiiiroduriions. unless the key-note be swiftly struck and more than one of the talkers be enthusiastic, the conversation is apt to languish, being chielly tentative and fragmentary. Now I'ollic was eagerly enthusiastic, but her burning impatience on a score of subjects awoke no responsive note in the incurious, undemon- strative kinsman. lie was a^jparently ready Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 89 to receive information about the customs of a country and people to him so novel, but did not press for it. He studiously avoided committing himself to opinions, and made but few assertions. On the other hand, Harold Atherstone declined to pose as a didactic or locally well-informed personage, contenting himself with remarking that those intending pastor- alists who possessed common sense acquired information for themselves ; to the other division advice was useless and experience vain. This cynical summing up of the Great Australian Question merely caused the stranger to raise his eyebrows, and Pollie to pout and declare that Mr. Atherstone was very disobliging and quite unlike himself that evening. Upon this it appeared to Mrs. Devereux to interpose an apologetic observation con- cerning the state of the country, including the roads, live-stock, and pasturage ; to which their guest made answer that he had always believed Australia to be a dry and parched region, and had supposed this to be a normal state of matters. 90 THE CROOKED STICK chap. ' Oh ! we're not quite so bad always as you see us now,' exclaimed Pollie, suppress- ing a laugh. ' Are we, Harold .^ Vou would hardly believe that these dusty plains are covered with grass as high as a horse's head in a good season, would you now ? ' Mr. Devereux did 7iot believe it. lUit he inclined his head politely and said that it must present a very pleasing appearance. ' Yes, indeed,' continued the girl. ' In the old days the shepherds were provided with horses, because the grass was so tall that the sheep used to get lost. Men on foot could not see them in it.' The listener began to feel convinced that the facts related were ajjproaching the border of strange travel and adventure so circumstantially described by one Lemuel Gulliver, but he manfully wiihcld utterance of the h('resy, merely remarking that they would think tlial \ery strange in I'^nghunl. ' I'm afraid you're cautious,' qiinth his fair teacher, trying to frown. 'H there's any- thing I despise, it's caution, lis your duty as a newly arrived person to l)e wildly aston- ished at anything, to make (luanlitics of Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 91 mistakes, and so gradually to learn the noble and aristocratic profession of a squatter. If you're going to be unnaturally rational, I shall have no pleasure in teaching you.' '\i yotc will undertake the task,' replied the neophyte, with a sudden gleam in his dark eyes which for an instant lighted up the somewhat sombre countenance, * I will pro- mise to commit all the errors you may think necessary.' ' As to that, we'll see,' answered the damsel, with a fine affectation of carelessness. ' I make no promises. We shall have plenty of time — Oh, dear ! what quantities of it we do waste here — to find out all one another's bad qualities. Shall we not, Harold?' ' I have never made any discoveries of the sort. Miss Devereux,' said the young man; ' I can't answer, of course, for the result of your explorations.' ' I couldn't find anything bad in you,' said the girl eagerly, ' if I tried for a century. That's the worst of it. You always put me in the wrong. Doesn't he, mother? There's no satisfaction in quarrelling with him.' ' Why should you quarrel if it comes to 92 THE CROOKED STICK chap. that?' queried the matron, with a wistful glance at her child. ' You only differ in opinion occasionally, I observe.' ' Why, because quarrelling is one of the necessities — I should almost say luxuries — of existence,' retorted the young lady. ' WHiat would life be without it ? Think of the pleasure of making it up. I should die if I didn't quarrel with somebody now and then.' 'Or talk nonsense occasionally, as your cousin has doubtless by this time observed,' answered her mother. '1 think wc may adjourn to the drawing-room.' The drawing-room in this case meant the verandah, in which luxurious retreat the little party soon ensconced themselves, ' Really,' remarked Devereux, as he lit a cigar and abandoned himself to the inner de[nhs of a Cingalese chair, ' it there was a little muliun, I could huicy we were in the Red Sea. Same sky, same stars, same mild temperature, and tobacco. This is very different from the slc:rn realities of colonial life I had pictured to myself ' We don't give ourselves out as industrial martyrs,' remarked Atherstone placidly, ' but Ill OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 93 you will probably find out that bush life is not all beer and skittles.' 'Hope not,' replied Devereux. 'That would be too good to last, obviously. Still I can gather that you have extenuating circumstances. I certainly never expected to spend my first evening like this.' Atherstone made no answer, but apparently permitted his pipe reverie to prevail. The other man reclined as if somewhat fatigued, and smoked his cigar, listening indolently to the running conversational comment which his cousin kept up, sometimes with him, sometimes with Atherstone, whose answers were chiefly monosyllabic. The girl's fresh voice falling pleasantly upon his ear, with the lulling effect of rhythmic melody or murmuring stream, Mr. Bertram Devereux was led to the conclusion, by his novel and interesting experience, that an evening might be spent pleasantly, even luxuriously, at this incredible 'distance from town,' as he himself would have expressed it. With this conviction, however, and the termination of his cigar came a distinctly soporific proclivity, so that, pleading fatigue 94 THE CROOKED STICK chap, in and declinini^ further refreshment, the new- comer was lain to betake himself to bed, in which blessed refuge from care and pain, labour and sorrow, he shortly ceased to re- volve the very comprehensive subject of colonial experience. CHAPTER IV On the morning after his arrival the visitor, making his appearance at an early hour, had a short conversation with Mr. Gateward, whom he found at the horse-yard sending out his men for the day, ' Of course I know nothing of this sort of thing,' he said ; 'but I have come here to learn, with a view to in- vesting a few thousands I have in a property, or station, as I think you call it. Now understand clearly that I shall be glad to help in the work of the place, in any way that I am fitted for. I can ride and drive decently, shoot, walk, keep accounts ; in a general way do most things that other people can. Of course I can't pick up the whole drill at once, but I don't want you to spare me. I came to Australia to work, and the sooner I learn the better.' 96 THE CROOKED STICK chap. ' All right, sir,' replied the bronzed veteran, ' I'll sec what I can do. If you ride about with me every day, and keep your eyes open, you'll pick up as much in six months as most of the people know that own stations. It's a bad year now, ami we're all in the doldrums, as the sailors say. But it's not going to be that way always. The wind'll change or the rain'll come, and then we'll be able to show you what Corindah looks like in a good season.' ' Then we understand each other. I'll take my orders from you, but, of course, from no one el.se — (' Not likely,' interjected Mr. Gate- ward, looking at the steady eye and short, proud ui)per li[j of the speaker) — 'and early or late, wet or dry (if it ever is wet here), hot or cold, you'll fmd me ready and willing. Give me a couple of good hacks, and I'll soon have an idea of how you carry on the war.' ' I'm dashed sure you will, sir, and I shall b(; j>roud to help a gentleman like you to a knowlttdge of things, that's willing to learn, and not too jjroud to take a hint.' 'Quite so. 1 suppose you remember my cousin lirian .'* 1 was very young when he IV OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 97 left home, but I always heard that he was a hard man to beat at anything he chose to go in for.' ' He was as fine a man as ever wore shoe- leather,' said the overseer. ' Everybody re- spected him in these parts, and he was that jolly and kind In his ways, nobody could help liking him. If he hadn't been cut off in his prime by that infernal Doctor — the cattle- duffing, horse-stealing hound — he'd have been one of the richest men in the district this very minute.' 'He was shot by a highway robber?' inquired Devereux ; ' what you call a bush- ranger in Australia, don't you 1 ' ' Well, there are bushrangers and bush- rangers,' said the overseer. ' This chap, the Doctor, hadn't regularly took to the bush, as one might say, though he was worse than many as did. He belonged to a mob of cattle-stealers that used to duff cattle in the back country, and pass them over to Queensland. Well, Mr. Tracknell, one of the squatters in the back blocks, began to run 'em pretty close, and put the police on 'em. They heard he was to be in the coach H 98 THE CROOKED STICK chap. from Orange on a certain day, and made it right to stick it up and give him a lesson.' * What's sticking up ? ' ' Well, sir, by what one hears and reads, it is what used to be called " stopping " on the Oueen's highway in England.' • Then they had no grudge against Brian Devereux ? ' ' Not a bit in the world. He was known far and wide as a free-handed gentleman. Any one was welcome to stop at Corindah in his time, and no poor man ever went away hum^ry. The man the Doctor and Bill Bond wanted wasn't in the coach as it happened. Me'd got wind of it and cleared. But they heard there was a gentleman with a big beard going down the country, and made sure it was him. When they came up and saw their mistake, they'd have rode off again, only the Captain was that hot-tempered and angry at their stopping him, that he fired on them, and nearly collared the lot. They returned it, and rotle off as well as they could, and never knew till days after that they had hit him. 'ilicm as told me said the Doctor was devilish sorry for it, and IV OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 99 that he was the last man in the district they'd have hurt.' ' What became of the Doctor, as you call him?' ' Well, sir, he's in the back country some- where in Queensland yet, I believe. He served a sentence for horse-stealinq- of seven years ; but he's wanted again, and there's a warrant out for him. He's a desperate man now, and I wouldn't be sure he won't do something that'll be talked about yet before his end comes.' ' It's to be hoped there'll be a rope round his neck on that day,' said Bertram ; ' scoundrels of that kind should be trapped or poisoned like vermin.' 'Well, sir, the Doctor's no chop, but there's worse than Bill Bond, if you'll believe me. The only thing is, now he's hunted from pillar to post so, and he ain't got half a chance to repent if he wanted ever so much, I'm afraid he'll do something out of the way bad yet.' ' • • • The autumnal season, with calm sun- gilded days, cool starlight, unclouded nights, lOO THE CROOKED STICK chap. and morninc^s fresh and exhilaratinc^, as if newly ordered from Paradise, came gradually to an end. Lovely, passing fair, as weather in the abstract ; but dry, dry, always dry, and as such lamentable and injurious. Then winter made believe to arri\-e with the first week in June. But how could it be winter, Bertram thought, when the skies were still cloudless and untroubled, the mid-day warm, the plains dusty, the air soft, the; ri\er low ; when the llowers in the garden bloomed and budded as usual ; when no leaf fell from the forest ; when, save the great acacias in the backyard ^.wkS. the while cedars in the garden, all the trees at Corindah were green and luU- foliaofed ? The chief diff(Tence was that the nights were longer, cooler. There were sharp frosts from time to time ; and when Bertram arose early in the morning, accord- ing to his wont, all things were covered with an icy mantle On one occasion, when he met Mr. Gateward coming in from a long night ride, his abinulant beanl was frozen stiff as a stalactite. The sheej) ilied faster than ever, at which Bertram wondered much, I'ui diil not ask IV OR POLLIE'S PROBATION loi questions. ' Everything comes to him who waits,' was one of his favourite proverbs. ' If it had been always thus,' he told him- self, 'so many evidences of capital and pros- perity would not be here. A change will come sometime, but I cannot hasten it by ignorant questions. I shall learn all about this extraordinary country in the course of time.' His theory was sound. But Mrs. Dever- eux was neither so self - contained nor philosophical. She complained and be- moaned herself from time to time, as is the way of women. At the evening meal, when after the day's duties the two young people and herself met with an affectation of social enjoyment, she made many things plain to the inquiring mind of Bertram Devereux, silent and incurious as he seemed to be. ' It had not always been thus. In the old, happy days droughts had certainly oc- curred, but with intervals of years between. Now the seasons seemed to have changed. The year before last was a drought, and now — this was the most sore and terrible grass famine she had ever remembered. I02 THE CROOKED STICK chap. Their losses would be frightful, disastrous, ruinous.' ' Was it on the cards that she would be actually ruined — lose all her property, that is — if the season remained unchanged }' ' Well, not absolutely. She could not truthfully say that. ICven if all the sheep on Corindah died, the whole fifty thousand, the land and fences would remain. 15 ut twenty or thirty thousand pounds would be an immense sum to make up. The very thought made her shudder. To think of the years it had taken to make and save it! No doubt she could get more sheep. Her credit, she was thankful to say, was good enough for that.' 'I i)clieve it's all Mr. Cialeward's fault, said l'()lli(! impctuouslv. ' Why clid he persuade you not to buy a station In the mountains last year, where there's beautiful green grass and running water in the driest summer. That's wh.it is needed for the poor sheep now. Antl all for a thousand pounds.' 'A thousand pounds is a gn-at deal of moiu-y,' said Mrs. l)ever(ii\. ' I b- iJiought IV OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 103 he could get some country cheaper, and in the meantime it was snapped up. I have been sorry for it ever since. But he meant well, as he always does.' ' I know that. He's as good an old creature as ever lived, and devoted to you and me, mother. I wouldn't say a word against him for the world. But he's too slow and cautious in matters like this, which need decision. Think of all the poor weak sheep, with their imploring eyes, that would have been kept alive if we had sent twenty or thirty thousand up to those lovely moun- tains.' ' I suppose it's too late now,' said Bertram. ' Of course I know nothing as yet, but could not some of them — ten thousand or so — be taken away now ? ' 'That's where the misery is,' said Pollie. ' The snow has fallen on the mountains. Indeed, nearly all the sheep have come away. Those thirty thousand of Mr. Haller's that passed here last week, and gave you so much trouble, had just come from there. And how nice and strong they were, do you remember ? Our poor things are so weak I04 THE CROOKED STICK chap. that they couldn't travel it" \vc had ever so much green grass to send them to.' * It's Napoleon's Russian campaign over again — only, that our country's too dry to ■hold us, and his was too cold. And is there no return from Elba?' 'When the rain comes, not before. It may come soon, in a few months, this year, next year, not at all. So we're in a pleasing state of uncertainty, don't you think V ' And you are not all sitting; in sackcloth and ashes, or fasting, or making vows to the saints, and what not ! This is a wonderful country, and you are wonderful people, I must say, to take matters so calmly.' ' We know our country and the general course of the .seasons,' said Mrs. Devereux. ' In the long-run ihcy prove favourable, though the exceptional years are hard. And we strive to have f.iilh in God's providence, believing that whoso trusts in Him will not be left desolate.' Letter from Miss M. A. Devereux to Miss Clara Thornton, I'airoaks, lulgecliffe, Sydney : — IV OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 105 My darling Clara — I hope you think of me daily, nightly, at breakfast and lunch time ; also at midnight, when you can look out of your bedroom window, and see that lovely South Head beacon-light and the star-showers gleaming on the wavelets of the bay ; when you can inhale the strong sweet ocean breath, and dream of far-away tropic isles and palm groves, coral reefs, pirates too, and all the delightful denizens of the world of romance. How you ought to pity me, shut up in poor, dry, dusty Corindah ! — the weather going from bad to worse; Mother and Mr. Gateward looking more woebegone every day ; and the poor sheep dying at such a rate that even as we sit in the house odours are wafted towards us not exactly of Araby the Blest. Bertie calls it ' bouquet de merino.' Who is Bertie ? Did I not tell you before ? He is the English cousin that has come to live with us and learn how to make a fortune by keeping sheep in Australia. ' What is he like ? ' of course you ask. Well, he is Tiot a great many things. So he is not a hero of romance, ready made for the consolation of your poor friend in this famine year. He is not handsome, nor tall, nor clever — that is, brilliantly so. Not a particular admirer of his poor Australian cousin either. He is very cool and undemonstrative ; lets you find out his talents and strong points by degrees, accidentally, as it were. If I were to describe him more accurately than in any other w^ay that occurs to me, I should say he is different from everybody else I have ever seen in this colony — extremely well able to take care of himself under all circumstances, and quite careless as to the effect he produces. io6 THE CROOKED STICK chap. He is very well educated — cultured. I might say ; reads and speaks French and (icrman. So, as we have absolutely nothing to do in the evenings, he reads with me, and I get on a great deal faster than any of us did at Miss W'atchtower's. Vou know I have always had a passion for what is called ' seeing the world ' ; it seems to be born in me, and I can recollect whtn I was quite a little thing being far more interested in books of travel than any other reading. I really believe that if anything led to the station being sold, and we have any money left after these frightful droughts, that I should persuade mother to take me 'home,' as we Australians always say, and then have a good, satisfactory, leisurely prowl over Kuroi)e. Now, do you see what I am coming to ? What is the use of seeing everything in dumb show? 1 intend to work hard, very hard, at languages now I have the chance. Then I shall be able to enjoy life and instruct my mind fully when I do go abroad. Abroad 1 Rome, Paris, I'lorcnce ! The idea is too ecstatic altogether. I shall die if it is not realised. I feel as if I should die of joy if it is. I am writing at my little table in my bedroom. As I look out the moonlight makes everything as clear as day. There is a slight breeze, and I can actually sec the dust as it rises on the plain, midwinter though it is sujiposcd to be. I couldn't live here all my life, now rould I ? Not for all the cattle and sheep in .Australia ! I don't fee! inclined to go to bed. iJut I suppo.se I must say goodnight to niv [)en.' ' Now, my dearest Pol lie, are not you letting your imagination run away with you.-* What ( .111 happen ? There may l)e a little wind and rain what the shepherds call "a nice storm " — but notliing else, I fc:ar.' IV OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 125 '"Something wicked this way comes,'" chanted Pohie, putting herself into a dramatic attitude. ' See how dark it is growing ! Look at the hghtning ! Oh, dear, what a flash ! And down comes the rain at last — in earnest, too.' ' The rain will have to be very earnest, my dear,' said Mrs. Devereux, 'before poor Corindah feels the benefit of it — though that certainly is a heavy shower. Early in the season too ; this is only the 8th of February. There is the lunch-bell. Come along, my dear. A little lunch will do you good.' ' How wet poor Bertram will be ! ' said Pollie, pityingly. ' He said we couldn't have storms here.' CHAPTER V During the h;ilf hour bestowed on lunch the weather ai)parently devoted itself to falsify inj^^ Mrs. Devereux's prediction, and raising Pollie Lo the position of a prophetess. It is a curious fact that in Australia few peo[)le are weather-wise. No one can tell, for instance, with any certainty, when it will rain. No one can say with precision when it will not rain. All other forms of weather, be it understood, are immaterial. Rain means everything — peace, plenty, prosjjeriiy, the potentiality uf boundless wealth ; the want of it los.ses and crosses, sin, .suffering, and starvation. l'"or nearly two years the hearts of the dwellers in thai vast i)astoral region had been made sick with hope deferred. Now, without warning, wiih no jjarticular indication of change from the long, warm CHAP. V THE CROOKED STICK 127 days and still, cloudless nights that seemed as if they would never end, that earth would gradually become desiccated into a grave of all living creatures, suddenly it commenced to rain as if to reproduce the Noachian deluge. The larger creeks bore a turgid tide, level with their banks, on the surface of which tree -stems and branches, with differing samples of debris, whirled floating down. As the hours passed by with no abate- ment of violence in the falling of the rain or the fury of the storm, in which the wind had arisen, and raged with tempestuous fury in the darkened sky, a feeling of awe and alarm crept over the minds of the two women. ' There is not a soul about the place, I believe,' said Mrs. Devereux ; ' Mr. Gateward is away, and every man and boy with him. During all the years I have been here I have never seen such a storm. Poor Bertram ! I hope he has taken shelter somewhere. This cold rain is enough to kill him, with such thin clothing as he has on. But of course he will stay at Baradeen ; it would be madness to come on.' * He said that he would be home to-night, I2S THE CROOKED STICK chap. wet or elrv. Those were his last words, and he's rather obstinate. I lavcii'l you remarked that, mother ? ' ' I am afraid he is. It runs in the blood,' the elder remarked, with a sigh. ' But there will be no danQ:er unless the Wawanoo Creek is ui). It never rises unless the river does, and there's not rain enough for that.' * There seems rain enough for anything,' said the girl, shuddering. 'Mark! how it is pouring down now. It will l)e dark in an hour. I do wish Bertram was home.' The creek alluded to was a ravine of con- siderable size and de[Hh, which, serving as one of th(! anabranches of the river, was rarely filled e.xcept in llood time, when it acted as a canal for the purpose of carrying off the superfluous water. Now it was almost dry, and apparently wouKl remain .so. h could be distinctly seen from the windows of the room where they were sitting. At a sudden cry from llu: girl Mrs. 1 )evereu.\ went to the window. 'What a wonder of wonders!" she said ; 'the Wawa- noo is coming down. The i)aling fence in the Hat has been carried away.' V OR POLLJE'S PROBATION 129 The fence alluded to was a high and close palisade across a portion of the flat, down which ran one of the channels of the said Wawanoo Creek. An unusual body of rain, falling apparently during one of the thunder- showers, had completely submerged the valley, which, narrowing above the said fence, and being dammed back by it, finally over- bore it, and rushed down the main channel of the creek in a yeasty fiood. ' The creek will be twenty feet deep where the road crosses it now,' said Pollie. ' If he comes to it he will have to swim. He will never think of its being so deep, and he might be drowned. I knew something would happen. What a lucky thing he took Guards- man ! ' As she spoke her mother pointed to a spot where the track crossed the creek. The road itself was now plainly marked as a sepia- coloured, brown line winding through the grassless, herbless, grey levels of the drought-stricken waste, A horseman was riding at speed along the clearly printed track, through the misty lines of fast-falling rain. 'It is Bertram coming back,' cried Pollie. K I30 THE CROOKED STICK chap. ' I know Guardsman's long stride ; how he is throwinij the dirt behind him ! 1 wouldn't mind the ride myself if I hatl an old habit on. It must be great fun to be as wet as he must be, and to know one cannot be any worse. Do vou think he will trv to swim the creek .-' ' ' He docs not seem to dream of pulling up.' said Mrs. Devereux. 'Very likely he thinks it can't be deejj when he crossed dry-shod this morning.' 'Oh, look!' cried the girl, with a long- drawn inspiration. ' He has ridden straight in without stopping. What a plunge ! They are both over heael and ears in it. P)ut Guardsman swims well. Mr. (iateward told me he saw him in the last flood, when he was only a colt. I can see his head ; how he shakes it ! Gallant old fellow ! And there is Bertram sitting as quietly as il he w.is on dry land. They will be carried down lower, but it is good shelving land on this sitle. Now they are out, rather staggering, but safe. Thank God for that! Oh, mother are you not glad .'* ' As Bertram and the brown made joint en V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 131 trance to the square opposite the stable-yard, dripping Hke a sea-horse bestridden by a merman, he saw a feminine figure in the ver- andah of the barracks gesticulating wildly to him, and in a fashion demanding to be heard. ' Mother says you are to come in directly and change your clothes and take something hot, and not to stay out a moment longer than you can help.' ' I must see Guardsman made snue first,' answered the young man, with the same im- movable quiet voice, in which not the slightest inflection betrayed any hint of unusual risk. * I really couldn't answer it to my conscience to turn him out to-night. I won't be long, however.' • . • • • • * When it does rain here it rains hard, I must admit ! ' said Mr. Devereux an hour afterwards, as, completely renovated and very carefully attired, he presented himself at dinner. ' Could not have imagined such a transformation scene of earth and sky. The plain has become a gigantic batter pudding, and the ludicrous attempt at a brook — the Wawanoo Creek — is a minor Mississippi. I 132 THE CROOKED STICK chap. thought the old horse would have been swept riofht down once.' ' You will lind our rivers and some other Australian matters are not to be laughed at,' answered Pollie, with a heightened colour. ' But mother and I are too glad to see you back safe to scold you for anything you might say to-night." ' Really I feel {]uite heroic,' he answered, with a smile which was rarely bestowed with so much kindness ; ' 1 suppose people arc drowned now and then.' ' 1 should think so,' said Pollie. ' Do you remember that poor young Clarence, from Amhurst, two or three years ago .-* He was very anxious to get to the Bindera station, where they were having a i)arty ; Ik; was told the creek was dangerous, hut would ii \ . 1 lis horse got caught in a log or st)mclhing, and rame over with him. lie was drowned, and carried into the Bindera house ne.xt mornintr a corpse.' ' Very sad. P)Ut men must (Irop in life's battle now and then. I'lutre would be loo many of us fellows else "crawling between earth and heaven," as Hamlet says.' V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 133 'What a cold-blooded way to talk!' said Pollie; 'but of course you really do not think so. Think of quitting life suddenly with all its pleasures.' ' Pleasures ?' replied Mr. Devereux abruptly. ' Yes ! I daresay very young persons look at it in that light. After all it's quite a lottery like other games of pitch and toss. Some- times the backers have it all their own way. Then comes a "fielder's" year, and the first- named are obliterated.' ' Then do you really think life is only another name for a sort of Derby Day on a large scale, or a Grand National .f*' demanded Pollie, with a shocked expression of counte- nance — ' at the end of which one man is borne in a shining hero, aglow with triumph, while another breaks his neck over the last leap, or loses fame and fortune irrevocably ; and that neither can help the appointed lot?' Her cousin regarded her for a moment with a fixed and searching gaze. Then a ripple of merriment broke over his features, and a rarely seen expression of frank admira- tion succeeded to the ordinary composure of his visage. ' I don't go quite as far as that. 134 THE CROOKED STICK chap. " There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.'' But I am afraid lew of us live as if \vc thought so. That ever I should have found myself in Australia was at one time so unlikely, so all but impossible, that I may well be- lieve in the interposition of a Ruler of Events.' • • • • • ' 1 believe they've had rain,' is the usual answer to him who ' speirs ' in Australia as to the pastoral welfare of a particular province, district, or legality, li is unnecessary to say more. ' Man wants but Hitle here below' is comparatively true; but a short supply of the aqueous (laid on land parallels in its destruc- tive effects the over abundance at sea. When the rain is withheld for a year or two years, as the case may be, los.ses accumulate, and ruin stalks on aj)ace. The .severity of the acknowledged droughts, not merely accitU;ntal drynesses, is comj)arativc, and is often matter of conversation. * This is the worst drought known for many years,' was remarked to a voung but war-worn [jioneer. V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 135 ' Pretty well, but not equal to that of 187-,' he made answer, ' Why do you think so ?' 'When that drought commenced,' he said slowly, 'we had nine thousand head of cattle on our run on the Darwin. When it broke up we mustered sixteen hundred, and on foot too : we had not had a horse to ride for eiofhteen months.' From such merciless disaster was Corindah now saved. Prosperity was assured for at least two years, as well to that spacious property which comprehended 290,000 acres (and not a bad one among them, as Mr. Gateward was fond of asserting) as to a hundred similar pastoral leaseholds from the Macquarie to the Darr. An entirely new state of matters had suddenly arisen. In all directions telegraphic messages were speeding through space, withdrawing this lot of 20,000 ewes or that of a thousand store bullocks from sale ; while eager forecasting operators like Mr. Jack Charteris had swept up the supply of saleable sheep, and left their more cautious comrades lamenting their inability to purchase except at prices which ' left no 136 THE CROOKED STICK chap. margin,' the alternative being to have tens of thousands of acres of waving prairie 'going to waste ' for want of stock to eat it. The face of Nature had indeed changed. Within a fortnight the arid dusty plains, so barren of aspect, were carpeted with a green mantle, wondrousK- vi\-itl of hue and rapid of growth. The creek ran musically murmuring towards the river, which itself 'came down,' a tawny, turbid stream bank high, and in places over- flowing into long dry lagoons and lakelets. Even the birds of the air seemed to be apprised of the wondrous atmospheric change. Great flocks of wild-fowl soared in, mi^T^ratincr from undreamed of central wastes. The lakelets and the river reaches were alive with the heron and the egret. The bird of the wilderness, with giant beak and sweeping wing, was there in battalions ; while the roar of winirs when a cloud of wild-fowl rose from water was like a discharge of artillery. Pxtrlram 1 )evereux was, in his heart, truly astonished at the wondrous change wrought in the outward appearance ol tin- region, in the manner and bearing ol ihc dwellers V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 137 therein, in the tone of the leading newspapers, in everybody's plans, position, and prospects, which had been wrought by so simple and natural an agent. He, however, carefully preserved his ordinary incurious, impassive immobility, and after casually remarking that this was evidently one of the lands known to the author of the Arabian Nights, and that somebody had been rubbing the magic lamp, and commanded a genie to fetch a few million tons of water from Ireland or Upper India, where it was superfluous, and deliver it here, made no other observation, but rode daily with Mr. Gateward over the sodden, springing pastures, wading through the over- flowing marshes, and swimming the dangerous creeks ' where ford there was none,' as if he had always expected the West Logan to be akin to the west of Ireland as to soil and climate, and was not disappointed in his expectation. On the morning after the flood Harold Atherstone had betaken himself to the metropolis, only to be forestalled by Jack Charteris in his rapid and comprehensive purchases of stock. Doubtless other pastoral 138 THE CROOKED STICK chap. personages had been duly informed by the magic wire of the momentous change, but even then, such liad been the terror, the suffering, the dire endurance of every evil of a twofold ruin, that numbers of owners were found willing to sell their advertised sheep at a very slight advance upon the pre-pluvial prices. So might they be assured of the solvency and security which they had dreaded would never be theirs acrain. So might they again lay their heads on their pillow at night, thanking God for all I lis mercies, and for the safety of the future of those dear to them. So miijht thev ao-ain be enabled to go forth among their fellow- men, strong in the consciousness that the aching dread, the long-deferred hope, the dark despair slowly creeping on like some dimly seen but implacable beast of prey, were things of the [)ast, phantoms and shadows to be banished Icjr ever from ihcir unh. united lives. All these but lately altered circumstances were distinctl)* in fivour of a (]uick and decisive operator, as was liaroKI Alherstone when he 'saw his way.' Not a plunger like V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 139 Jack Charteris, he was firm and rapid of evolution when he had distinctly demonstrated his course of action. So when he returned to Maroobil after a month's absence, he had as many sheep on the road, at highly paying prices, as would keep that 'well-known fattening station ' and Corindah besides in grass -eaters for many a month to come. Mrs. Devereux was full of gratitude towards him for managing her delegated business so safely and promptly, and again and again declared that there was no living man like Harold Atherstone. He was always to be relied on in the hour of need. He never made mistakes, or was taken in, or forgot things, or procrastinated, like other men. When he said he would do a thine, that thing was done, if it was in the compass of mortal man to do it. ' In short,' said Pollie, before whom and for whose benefit and edification this effusive statement was made, 'in short, he is perfection — a man without a fault. What a pity it is that paragons are never attractive ! ' ' Beware of false fires, my darling,' said the tender mother — ' misleading liahts of O o I40 THE CROOKED STICK chap. feeling apart from reason, which are apt to wreck the trusting, and to end in despairing darkness.' Among the visitors to Corindah, who made at least a bi-monthly call, was the Honourable Hector MacCallum, M.L.C. He was a prosperous bachelor, verging on middle age, with several good stations, and an (jn\iable power of leaving them in charge of managers and overseers, while he disported himself in the pleasantest spots of the adjacent colonies, or indeed wheresoever he listed — sonif^times even in Tasmania, where he was famed for his picnics, four-in-hand tlriving, and libercdity in entertaining. In that favoured isle, where maidens fair do so greatly preponderate, Mr. MacCallum might have brought back a wih- from any of his summer trips ; and few W(mld have asserted that the (lams(jl honoured by his choice was other than among the lairest and sweetest of that rose-garden f^f girls. I hit then something always prevented iiim. He wanted to go to New Zc^aland. h was impossible to s(!ttl(' down bdorc Ik- had seen the wonders ol ih.ii wonderland the pink V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 141 and-white terraces, the geysers, the paradisiacal gardens, the Eves that flitted through the ' rata ' thickets, the fountains that dripped and flashed through the hush of midnight. Something was always incomplete. He would come aofain. And more than one fair cheek grew pale, and bright eyes lost their lustre, ere the inconstant squatter prince was heralded anew. But now it seemed as if the goodly fish, which had so often drawn back and dis- appeared, was about to take the bait. Mr. MacCallum's visits were apparently accidental. He happened to be in that part of the country, and took the opportunity of calling. He was on his way to Melbourne or Sydney, and was sure he could execute a commission for Mrs. Devereux or Miss Pollie. This, of course, involved a visit on the way back. He was a good-looking, well-preserved man, so that his forty odd years did not put him at much disadvantage, if any, when he came into competition with younger men. Indeed, it is asserted by the experienced personages of their own sex that young girls are in general not given to undervalue the attentions 142 THE CROOKED STICK chap. of men older than themselves. It flatters their vanitv or stratifies their self-esteem to discover that their callow charms and un- developed intellects, so lately emancipated from the prosaic thraldom of the schoolroom, suftice to attract men who have seen the world — have, perhaps, borne themselves ' manful under shield ' in the battlefield of life, have struck hard in grim conflicts where quarter is neither given nor received, and been a portion of the great ' passion-play ' of the universe. They look down uj){)n their youthful admirers as comparatively raw and inexjjerienced, like themselves. Theirs is a career of hope and expectation all to come, like their own. ThcN like and esteem them, perhaps take their parts in rehearsals of the oKl, (jld melodrama. But in many cases it is not till they see at their feet the war-worn soldii:r, the scarred veteran who has tcmjited fate .so often in the great hazards of the cam- paign, who has shared th(! cruel jjrivations, the deadly hazards of real life that the imaginative heart ol woman tills u]) all the spaces in the long-outlined sketch ol the hero and the king, the lord anil master of her V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 143 destiny, to whom she is henceforth proud to yield worship and loving service. Why Mr. MacCallum did not marry all this time — heowned to thirty-seven, and hisenemies said he was more like forty-five — the dwellers in the country towns on the line of march exhausted themselves in conjecturing. The boldest hazarded the guess that he might have an unacknowledged wife 'at home.' Others averred that he was pleasure-loving, of epicurean, self-indulgent tastes, having neither high ambition nor religious views. They would be sorry to trust Angelina or Frederica to such a guardianship. Besides, he was getting quite old. In a few years there would be a great change in him. He had aged a good deal since that last trip of his to Europe, when he had the fever in Rome. Of course he was wealthy, but money was not everything, and a man who spent the greater part of the year at his club was not likely to make a particularly good husband. The object of all this criticism, comment, and secret exasperation was a squarely built, well-dressed man, slightly above the middle height, and with that indefinable ease of 144 THE CROOKED STICK chai-. manner and social tact that travel, leisure, and the possession of an assured position generally produce. He was kindly, amusing, invariably polite, and deferential to women of all ages ; and there were few who did not acknowledge the charm of his manner, even when they abused him in his absence, or deceived him for their own purposes. In sj)ite of all he was popular, was the Honourable Hector, a man of wide and varied experience, of a bearing and general tournurc which left little to be desired. In the matter of court- ship he knew sufficiently well that it was in- judicious to force the running ; that a waiting race was his best chance. He took care never to prolong his visit ; .dways to encircle himself with some surrountlinQ- of interest during his stay at Corindah. \\v. pleased Pollie and her mother b\- being in posses- sion of the newest inlormation on all sub- jects in which he knew they were interested. He was good-natured and bo)i caniaradc wilh the yf)ung men, at the same time in a quiet way exhibiting a slight superiority — as of one whose sphere was larger, whose po.ssessions, interests, opportunities, and pro- V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 145 spects generally, placed him upon a different plane from that with which the ordinary individual must be contented. This, of course, rendered more effective the habitual deference which he invariably yielded to both the ladies whom he wished to propitiate, rightly deeming that all the avenues to Pollie's heart were guarded by the mental present- ment of her mother, ' Really, we quite miss Mr. MacCallum when he leaves Corindah,' said Pollie one day, as she watched the well-appointed mail- phaeton and high-bred horses which that gentleman always affected, disappearing in the distance. ' He's most amusing and well- informed ; his manners are so finished — really, there is hardly anything about him that you could wish altered.' 'So clever and practical, too, said Mrs. Devereux. ' He showed me in a few minutes how he was going to lay out the garden at the new house at Wanwondah. Really, it will be the most lovely place. And the irrigation is from a plan of his own.' ' It's almost a pity to be so extravagant there, isn't it ? ' said her daughter. ' He 146 THE CROOKED STICK chap. told niG he never saw it except in tlu; winter and spring. He always spends the summer in some other colony. This year he will go to the hot springs of Waiwera, and see all that delicious Norih Island, and those un- utterably lovely pink - and - white terraces, I low 1 shoultl like to q-o ! ' 'Quite easy,' said Harold Atherstone, who had been standing by the mantlepiece ajjparently in a fit of abstraction. 'You've to say "yes" to the Honourable Hector's unspokt'n prayer, and he'll take you there, or to llic moon, \\\\v.\\ Mr. Cook discovers a practicable route. 1 le's not more than twenty years older than you are — hardly that.' * So you think I am likely to marry for the new house at W'anwondah Crossino-- place?' retorted i'ollie. 'Also for the powin" of going awa\' and leaving all you stupid p(;oj)le to be roasted and boiled during the long dismal suinnicr.-' I'oor things! what would you do without nu: to tease you all .•' Hnt it's a strange pecu- liarity of society, 1 Jjclieve. that a girl can never make any personal remark but invari- ablv the next idea sugg(!Slt:d in her i)y V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 147 her friends is, "Whom is she trying to marry ? " That being so, w-hy shouldn't I marry Mr. MacCallum ? Not that he has ever asked me.' ' But he will — you know he will — and if you allow yourself to be carried away by dreams of luxury and unlimited power of travel, which is more likely, you will regret it once only— that is, all your life after.' ' But say you are not serious, my darling,' said her mother, with a half-alarmed look. ' Really, I will take you to Tasmania, or even New Zealand, though it's dreadfully rough — anywhere, rather than you should be tempted to act against your better judgment. Mr. MacCallum is extremely nice and suitable — but he is far too old for you.' ' I don't see that at all,' replied the young lady petulantly. ' I like some one I can look up to. All women do. He knows the world of society, letters, politics^not only of these colonies either. Most other girls would — perhaps the phrase is vulgar — "jump at him." Besides, he is most amusing. Not a mere talker, but full of crisp, pleasant ex- pressions and suggestions. He is a new 1 48 THE CROOKED STICK chap. magazine, witli the leaves uncut. Not like some people, gloomy and abstracted hall the time.' ' You don't see lii))i when he's off colour — excuse my slang," answered the young man. ' He is not always aniusing, people say. y')Ut that's not my affair. If age and experience are the valued qualities, I'm sorry I was not born a ^feneration earlier. And now I must say good-bye ; I'm wanted at the back-block Inferno, and have no idea when I shall see you again.' ' If you are not here this day fortnight,' said the young lady, with a solemn and tragic expression, 'and at tea-time, see to it.' ' But there's all sorts of trouble at Han Ban. The dogs are showing up. All the sheep have to come in. There are no shepherds to l)e got. My working overseer is laid up with acute rlunimatism. 1 luw can I — • ' Shepherd or no shcplicrd,' jicrsisted the girl, — ' rain or shine rheumatism or not — this day fortnight, or you will take the consecjuence.' ' 1 suppose I must manage it,' (pioili the V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 149 unfortunate young man. ' Do you remember your Ivanhoe : " Gurth, the son of Beowulf, is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood" ? Seems to me that villenage is not extinct, even in this colonial and democratic com- munity.' ' And a very good thing too,' retorts this haughty, undisciplined damsel. ' The feudal system had an amazing deal of good about it. I don't see why we shouldn't revive it out here.' ' Looks rather it at present ! ' grumbled Harold. ' Good-bye, Mrs. Devereux. For- tunately the rain's general, so we can stand a good deal of oppression and intimidation.' • • • • , 'In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,' sang the laureate. And the parallel is sound. Of course it always rains in spring in England. But suppose it didn't — as in Australia ? He would find that things went differendy. The ' wanton lapwing ' would not get himself another crest, and the poet would have to furnish himself with another example. I50 THE CROOKED STICK chap. In the absence of rain we can assure our readers that things are much otherwise, even with the dumb and feathered tribes. The wild-fowl do come down in a serious, philo- sophical sort of way. Hut what they do in effect is this : — They say — ' We have cipliered this thing out. and have come to the conclusion that it is not going to rain, that it will be a dry spring. That being the case, we are not going to pair, or build, or lay eggs, or going through the ordinary fo(jlishness, in anticipa- tion of rain and certain other adjuncts to matrimony, which wi/l not come. And they do not pair. How are such things managed ? Who teaches the birds of the air ? How do they know it is going to keep dr\- .-^ \'et the results are as I state. I'here is no young family to provide for, no j)resents, no trousseaux — and a very good thing, too, under the circumstances. .So with the social and amatory enterprises of the human inhabitants of the dry coniury ; the phenomenon of six inches of rain or other- wise makes all the tlillrnnce. Mr. Uldhand V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 151 had promised to build his youngest son Dick a new cottage at the Bree Bree station, which he had managed for him successfully for several years, after which Dick's marriage with Mary Newcome was to take place, they having been engaged, as was well known to the neighbours here, for the last three years. But the season ' set in dry.' Dick had a bad lambing, and lost sheep besides. So the cottage can't be built this year, the marriage is put off, and Dick's manly countenance wears an air of settled gloom. Ergo, it follows that immediately upon the supervening of a period of unexampled prosperity, consequent upon the abnormal rainfall which ' ran ' Wawanoo Creek in half an hour, and narrowly escaped devot- ing Bertram Devereux to the unappeased deities of the waste as a befitting sacrifice, proposals of marriage were thick in the air, and matrimonial offers became nearly as plentiful as bids for store sheep. When Hector MacCallum therefore, as became him, gallantly took the lead as repre- sentative of the marrying pastoral section, no one wondered. Speculation and conjecture 152 THE CROOKED STICK chai-. doubtless, were evoked as to where the many-stationed Sultan might deign to cast his coveted kerchief. In despite of inter- provincial jealousies, however, no one was much astonished when reliable information was disseminated to the effect that he had been on a visit of nearly a week to Corindah, had been seen driving Mrs. and Miss Devereux to points of interest in the neighbourhood in his mail-j)haeton, that his groom's livery was more resplendent than ever, and that the famous chestnuts had been replaced by a team of brown horses, admir- ably matched, thorough-bred, and said U) be the most valuable turn-out in work en this side of the line. Acidulated persons, as usual, made exclamation to the effect that 'they never could see what there was in that girl; some people luul wonderful luck; bold- ness and assurance seemed to take better than any olhctr qualities with the men nowadays,' and so on. I'm when gradually it oozed out that there was no iriiinipli.ml proclamation of engagement after all, that Mr. MacCallum was gtjing to I'Jigland, could not be back for two or three years, etc. all V OR POLLTE'S PROBATION 153 of which certainly pointed to the fact of his proposals having been declined, impossible as such a fact would appear — the clamour of the hard-to-please contingent rose loud and high. ' What did the girl want ? Was she waiting for a prince of the blood ? After having befooled all the men within her reach, from Jack Charteris to the parson, and ending up with a man old enough to be her father, and who certainly should have known better, was it not heartless and indecent to treat him as she had done ? Would not the whole district cry shame upon her, and she be left lamenting in a few years, deserted by every one that had any sense ? A vinegary old maid in the future — it would be all her own fault, and that of her mother's ridiculous vanity and indulgence.' All unknowing or careless of these arrows of criticism, the free and fearless maiden pursued her career. Mr. MacCallum had, at a well-chosen moment, made his effort and pressed with practised persistence for a favourable answer. But in vain. Under other conditions, men of his age and attributes have been frequently successful, 1 54 THE CROOKED STICK chap. to the wrath and astonishment of younger rivals. But circumstances have been in their favour. Poverty, ignorance of the world, ambition on the i^art of the girl's friends, gratitude, have all or each conspired in such case to turn the scale in favour of the wealthy and adroit, if mature, wooer. And so the contract, often a fairly happy one, is concluded. But in this case Love, the lord of all, had fair play for once. Pollie had tlistinctly made up her mind, since she was conscious of possessing such a faculty, that she would never marry any one unless she was in love with him ardently, passionately, romantically, without any manner of doubt. People might conie and tr\- to please. She could not helj) that. It was hardly in her nature to be cold or rude to anybody. But as to marrying any one she only liked, she would die fu-st. She liked, she respected, she in every way approved of Mr. MacCallum ; but no! She was much honoured, llatlertrd, and pleased, and reallv shrank from the idea of giving him so much i)ain. Mr. MacCallum exaggerated his [jrobable agonies in such a wa\ that a V OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 155 weaker woman might probably have given in — from sheer pity. But as to marrying him, it was out of the question. Her answer was ' No,' and nothing could ever alter it. So the Honourable Hector had to depart in a more disappointed and disgusted frame of mind than had happened to His Royal Highness for many a day. Drought, debts, dingoes, travelling sheep, were all as nothing to this crowning disaster. Everything else being so flourishing, it was a thunderbolt out of a blue sky, crushing his equanimity and self-satisfaction to the dust. Not his happiness, however. A middle- aged bachelor with a good digestion and enviable bank balance is not — whatever the sensational novelist may assert — usually slaughtered by one such miscalculation. He does not like it, of course. He fumes and frets for a week or two, and probably says, ' Confound the girl! 1 thought she really liked me.' Then he falls back upon the time- honoured calculation — a most arithmetically correct one — of those 'other fish in the sea.' Claret has a soothing eff'ect. The Club produces alleviating symptoms. And the ij6 THE CROOKED STICK chap, v Laird of Cockpen either marries the next young lady on his hst, or, departing to far lands, discovers that the su[)j)ly of Calypsos and Ariadnes is practically unlimited. MacCallum, like a shrewd personage, as he was, held his tongue and took the next mail for Europe, reappearing within two years with an exceedingly handsome and lady-like wife, who did full justice to his many good qualities, was very popular, and made Wanwondah cjuiie the show country- house of the neighbourhood. CHAPTER VI After this stupendous incident had ruffled the waters of provincial repose, a long untroubled calm succeeded. Little was heard in the article of news except the weekly chronicle of stock movements : who had sold, who had bought, who, having stocked up — that is, filled his run with all the sheep it would carry, and more — had sold to a new arrival, and gone to England ' for good,' or at least till the long-dated station bills became due, Amonof this last-named division was Mr. Jack Charteris, who, having sold one ot his far-out runs to a Oueenslander, considered this to be a favourable opportunity to take ' a run home,' as he expressed it, for a year, for various specified reasons which he displayed before his friends, such as seeing the world and renewing his constitution, lately injured 158 THE CROOKED STICK chap. by hard work and anxiety. So he ostenta- tiously took his passage by a well-known mail- steamer, and made all ready to start in a coujjle of months. He had, however, two plans /// petto, of which he did not advise society generally. One was, by personal application to English capitalists — being provided with all proper credentials from his bankers and others, with a carefully drawn out schedule of his properties (purchased lands, leasehold, sheep, cattle, horses, outside country), with carefully kept accounts showing the profits upon stations and stock for the last five or ten years, the increasing value ot the wool clip, and the annual expenditure upon jjermanent improvements ; the whole with personal valuation (apprnximati-), and rc^lerences to leading colonists of nuik ,in iIk- nearest railway terminus, a short day's journey, and being deposited in a first-class carriage, with all their effects in the brake-van, carefully VII OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 201 labelled. The next morninsf saw them in Sydney, the Sea-Queen of the South, some- what nervously excited at being so far from Corindah, so immeasurably removed from their ordinary life. 'After all,' cried Pollie, as they sat in the balcony of their hotel after breakfast, and gazed over the matchless sea-lake, gay with boats of every size and shape, and the argosies of all lands, while beyond lay the grand eternal mystery of ocean, guarded only by the grim sandstone portals, against which so many ages of tidal force have foamed and raged — ' after all we make too much of leaving home for a few months' travel. What wonders and miracles stay-at-home people miss ! What human limpets they are ; and how narrow are their paths to enjoyment ! "I feel as if I were in Paradise, in Paradise," ' she warbled. ' Oh, what a change from our dear old monotonous Corindah ! ' ' Home is very sweet after all,' said the elder woman, ' though I enjoy this lovely sea- view. But, my darling, you frighten me by these expressions of wild delight. It cannot be good for any one to revel in pleasure, the 202 THE CROOKED STICK chap. mere luxurious sensation of chanci^e of scene, so intensely, so passionately as you do. Such feelinofs are unsafe for women. You should moderate them, or evil may come to you from these very unchecked emotions.' ' My darling old mother. I am positively shiverinq' with dclip^ht ; but why should this or any other natural impulse be wrong ? Surely we are given these feelings, like the rest of our nature, for wise reasons } Like speech, laughter, thought, they are unutter- able mercies, to be reasonably used and economised. lUiL I see your meaning, and 1 will guard my emotions a little. I must do so when I get to the hot springs Tulen, or I shall be plunging into hot water in mistake for te[jid. Fancy a heroine of romance boiled alive ! ' ' Don't talk of il. my darling,' said Mrs. Devereux, with a shudder. ' Reallv, don't y(ni think Melbcjurne will be quite far encnigh, and ver\- j^leasant at this time of year.'^ We might leave New Zealand till .another lime' ' Not for worlds,' said the steadfast ilamstl. I waul to get a little nearer to the pole. I shall feel like an Arctic t-xplorer.' VII OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION 203 The pleasures of the metropoHs, doubly sweet after a lengthened absence, had been sipped for a fortnight, when a breezy morn saw the ladies of Corindah steaming out of the harbour on board the Cathay, a mag- nificent sea - monster of the P. and O. persuasion, containing all kinds of delicious foreign novelties, social and material. ' Mother, I don't think I can have been really alive before,' exclaimed Pollie, as they walked down the splendid flush deck. ' I suppose I was living, but I must have been in a state of torpor, with a few mechanical senses feebly revolving, as it were. Isn't this unutterably lovely — quite an eastern fairy-tale in action ? Look at those splendidly ugly Seedees in the engine- room, ghouls and afreets every one ; besides, even the lascars — what classic profiles and lithe, graceful shapes they have ! 1 feel in love with everybody and everything, down to the Chinese waiters in spotless white." When the heads were cleared, and the strong north-easter sent the Cathay flying south at the rate of fifteen knots per hour, the motion was increased and perhaps com- 204 THE CROOKED STICK chap, plicated, whereupon an entirely new class of sensations succeeded those of rapturous delight in Pollie's case, in consequence of which a hasty descent into the cabin was rendered necessary. The mornino-, however, broui^ht smoother seas and a less urgent breath from yEolus. The naturally strong constitution of the girl triumphed over temporary via/aisc, and soon she was enabled to sit upon deck and enjoy the brilliant and wondrous succession of sea and shore and sky pageants unrolled before her. A full complement of [passengers, bound to and from all parts of the world, had been received on board, so that Pollie's observant eye and sympathetic mind had full employment as the long rows of chairs became gradually filled. People for India, Z'id Ceylon ; home - returning officers and civilians having exhausted their furlough ; globe-trotters who had traversed the Aus- tralian W(jrld from 1 ).m lo Heershcba and found all barn.'n, or 'not half a bad place,' according U) the state of their living or their rece[jtion in clubs and C(Jteries ; home-return- VII OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 205 ing Australians, visiting Europe for the first time in their lives, or after many years ; mere intercolonial voyagers like themselves ; a successful gold-digger or two, treating themselves to first-class passages, plain of aspect, but reserved and correct of manner, as such men generally are, whatever may be said to the contrary by superficial scribes. After Pollie had got over her astonished delight at the Arabian Nights portion of the ship, she found a new world of interest and romance opening before her eyes in the Anglo-Saxon section comprising the first- class passengers. This was not lessened in any way when, lunch being announced, she found her mother and herself placed in seats of honour on the right hand of His Majesty the Captain — such being his royal command — while the wife of an eminent Indian civilian looked indignantly and incredulously at them from the opposite side of the table. It had leaked out through a Sydney friend of Captain Belmont's that this was tkc Mrs. Devereux of Corindah and her daughter, who had taken their passages in the Cathay en route to New Zealand, persons of fabulous 2o6 THE CROOKED STICK cmap. wealth, orirl sole heiress, could not he worth less than a hundred thousand, besides free- hold property, and so on. Now Pollie was unquestionably the belle of the ship, and persons of prepossessing appearance were not scarce either; but the slight paleness and languor produced by her unwonted sensations had given her haughty beauty a tinge of softness which, when she issued from her cabin, made her positively irresistible. So the captain, an experienced but suscep- tible bachelor, had avowed with many nautical asseverations, and thereupon directed the purser, a most distinguished individual in uniform, whom Pollie took to b(^ an admiral at least, to induct them into \\\v i)]ace of honour. When a glass of claret and Selters-water, insisted upon by the ca[)tain as a medical necessity, and som(! slight refection from the luxuriously appointed table had revi\cd the spirits of both ladies, Pollie was enabkxl to realise her p(jsition. Ibrc was she, seated almost upon the dais in jjoint of social elevation, above the wives and daughters of ilic mih'lar)-, civil, and mercantile swells, VII OR POLLIE'S PROBA TION . 207 palpably receiving the most assiduous at- tention from the acknowledged autocrat of their monde — of that loftiest, most resistless of despots, that uncrowned king, the captain of a crack ocean steamer on board his own ship. Besides his dazzling and unquestioned superiority, Captain Belmont was a handsome, striking-looking man. Courteous, polished even in manner, he had the eagle eye, the air of resolute command, with which years of unquestioned authority invest the sea- king. Prompt, watchful, fearless, scorning sleep or fatigue when danger menaced, the arbiter of freedom or imprisonment within his own realm, the guardian of every life so confidently entrusted to his care — where is the man who to the maiden's heart, during: the long reveries of a sea voyage, so amply fills the character of a hero of romance as the captain ? Who has not marked his influence in danger's darkest hour, when the moaning wind, rising fast to the shriek of the tempest, the lurid sky, the labouring bark, and 'the remorseless dash of billows,' all speak to the fear-stricken crowd of dread endings, of 2o8 THE CROOKED STICK chap. wreck in mid-ocean? In such an hour how does every eye turn to the calm, resolute seaman, who directs every act. who foresees the need of every rope that is drawn, of every turn of the helm! How does every listener hang upon his words luid dwell upon his lightest syllable of hope ! Has no one seen the grateful company of passengers when land was reached, and, as they deemed, through his skill and vigilance those lives were saved which, in the hour of deadly peril, he held in the hollow of his hand — gather around the captain to express such words of urateiul confidence as are seldom yielded to man, the women tearful, the men pressing to shake his hand with hcMicst friendliness? Such a meeting took place, after a dangerous voyage, in honour of one who for twenty years had worthiK home the name of being one of Hritain's Ijest and boldest seamen. And the impression on the mind ol one c:y(:-witni'ss was nexcr (.llaccd. ll was, therefore, a new and intoxicating position in which Miss Pollii^ Devercux found herself The acknowledged object of respectful adnu'ralioii to this nspk lulrntly VII OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 209 heroic character, and on equal terms with all the other potentates, from the first officer — a magnificent personage, and second only to the captain in importance — while the rank and file of passengers stood aloof in timid or cynical survey of the damsel whom the Ahasuerus of the hour delighted to honour. Though partially awed by the eminence of their position, Mrs. Devereux, who had been accustomed in her time to much of respect and consideration, saw nothing very unusual in their promotion. Pollie herself was charmed to find herself on equal con- versational terms with such an autocrat. With girlish eagerness she pressed him to tell her of the dangers he had braved and the wonders he had seen. He, nothing loath, produced from time to time, in temptingly small quantities, precious reminiscences of cyclones in the China seas, pirate schooners in the Spanish Main, slavers in Sierra Leone — for he had been in the navy — opium clippers, Chinese mail-boats taken by mutineers and never heard of after, wreck and fire, even all kinds of peril by sea and land in which he had borne a p 2IO THE CROOKED STICK chap. part ; so that Pollie or any other damsel might be i)ardoned for feehng a tem- porary conviction that sucli a man had Cfone throufrh adventures transcendinof jn interest those of the Hvcs of a hundred mere landsmen — that, were the hero of her choice a sailor, she would gladly wear out her life in accompanying him in his voyages. The next day was Sunday. According to custom, the lascar crew turned out gorgeous in crimson-and-gold scarfs, spot- less white robes, and embroidered lurbans, very different from their dingy working garb. After breakfast, when the captain in full uni- form passed close between the double rank, with the air of Caliph I laroun Al-Raschid, the men lowly salaaming as if thankful not lo be doomed to death on that occasion, it was a reproduction in the romantic girl's brain of yet another chapter in the rich traditif)nal glory of the past. I'lven the Secdees gambolled uneoulhly in strange gaudy raiiiKMit, looking lik(; slaves who had f(nmd an opulent and indulgent master. The while Pollie sal in great state on a vii OR POLLIE'S PROBATION 211 cane lounge of honour, with a cushion under her feet and a parasol like the Oueen of Sheba's. Unfortunately for the permanent enjoy- ment of these dreamy delights, the Cathay drove through ' The Rip,' at the entrance to the vast haven at the farther end of which Melbourne commences, on the morning of the third day. A short railway transit saw them deposited at the Esplanade Hotel, where an extended, though not, critically speaking, picturesque sea-view was afforded to them. Captain Belmont had, with the dash and rapidity which characterise the nautical admirer, obtained Mrs. Devereux' consent to join ' a theatre party ' which he had organised. As it happened, an actor of world-wide repu- tation was performing a favourite melodrama of his own composition. This was a chance, he speciously urged, which Miss Devereux should not be suffered to miss. The promise was made. The captain arrived in due time and escorted them to the Theatre Royal, where one more process of art-magic was added to Pollie's collection. 212 lllE CROOKED STICK chap. As their open carriage rolled through the wide, straight streets, in which long rows of lamps glittered on either side, or faded star-like in the far distance, they were im- pressed with the utterly different expression of Melbourne from that of their own fair city by the sea. 'What a wonderful place!' said Pollie, gazing up the great street which contains all the pleasures and palaces, and is nightly crowded with their votaries. ' I low the lamps glow and shimmer! What a vast size and almost sombre uniformity in the buildings which line the streets ! There is something weird, too, in th(,' electric liofhts which create a pale daylight around those endless colonnades. I feel as if I liad been transported to some city raised by the wand of an enchanter,' ' Not unlike a little sorcery,' said one of the party, 'when you come to think. There were gum-trees and blacks here "in full blast" half a century ago. Here we are at the Royal.' It was a comman