Basil and Annette

Even this miserable state of affairs came to an end after a time, and reached a more deplorable stage. The bullock drivers discovered more agreeable quarters, and in their turn deserted the township. Driven by sheer necessity the loafers, one by one, followed their example, and slunk from the place, until only four remained. Such was the condition of Gum Flat as Basil rode towards the township on a day eventful enough in the story of his life, but scarcely less eventful than the night which followed it was destined to be. Had he been aware of this he would have thought twice before he made up his mind to proceed thither in search of lawyer and doctor; but such is the irony of circumstances that, had he not set forth on his present journey, the entire course of his future life would have drifted into channels which would, almost to a certainty, have separated him from Annette for ever. Accident or fate, which you will; but the course of many lives is thus determined.

He rode all day through the tracks he remembered, and concerning which he had been refreshed by Old Corrie, who was as ignorant as himself of the deplorable change that had taken place. The road for a few miles lay along great plains of rich black soil, dotted here and there with masses of blue and barley grass, among which might be found the native leek and wild cucumber; then followed a tract of country somewhat lightly timbered but heavily grassed, where he came across a nasty bit of "devil devil" land, fortunately of not great extent, for he had to ride with a loose rein and leave it to his horse to pick the safest way. On his left were large lagoons in which a wondrous variety of wild fowl abounded; on his right was a belt of impenetrable scrub; but the track was well defined, and after riding twenty miles he entered a thickly wooded forest, for the shade of which he was grateful, the sun now being high in the heavens. Emerging from this forest he halted near a vast sheet of water, in which tall reeds grew, and where he found the wild banana. Off this fruit and some cold meat and bread which Old Corrie had forced upon him, he made a sufficient meal, and then resumed his journey. In the afternoon the road lay through a more even country, and he reckoned upon reaching Gum Flat before sundown. But he reckoned without his host, for the distance was longer than he calculated, and at sunset he was still, according to the information given to him by the driver of a bullock dray, eight or ten miles from the township. This man was the only human being he had met in his lonely ride. Many a time in the course of the day had he fallen into contemplation of the pregnant events of the last twenty-four hours, thinking, "This time yesterday I was walking with Annette in the woods, gathering wildflowers for her mother's grave. She slipped, and I caught her in my arms." And again: "This time yesterday Anthony Bidaud, Annette, and I, were sitting in the verandah, watching the sunset; and a moment afterwards white stars were glittering in the clouds of faded gold. How peaceful, how happy we were! And now?" he shuddered as he thought of the dead form of Anthony Bidaud lying in his room and of the sense of desolation which must have fallen upon Annette. He strove to direct his thoughts into more cheerful grooves, but he was not successful.

The gorgeous colours in the heavens melted away; the sun dipped beneath the horizon; it was night. Fortunately it was light, and he could see the road he was riding over. The willing animal he bestrode plodded on, more slowly now, and Basil did not attempt to quicken the pace. It was ten o'clock when he reached the township of Gum Flat.

He recognised it by the outlines of the tents. He had expected to see lights in the dwellings, arguing that Gum Flat must have increased in importance since his last visit, but all was dark on the outskirts. He was surprised at the darkness, but grateful that his journey was over. He rode along the High Street, and with still deeper surprise observed that on some of the stores the canvas lay loose, and that the calico over the frame was torn and rent. "Can I have mistaken the road?" he thought. In the middle of the High Street he paused. The door of a store was thrown suddenly open, and three men, whose movements had been inspired by the sound of the horse's hoofs, emerged therefrom, and stood looking up at Basil. Each had cards in his hand, denoting that when they were disturbed they had been gambling. The picture at that moment was Rembrandtesque. The street was in darkness; not a light was visible. One of the men standing at the door held above his head a lighted candle stuck in a whiskey bottle, and this dim light enabled the three-gamblers and Basil not exactly to see each other but to define outlines. Through the open door Basil saw a table upon which was another candle, and sitting at which was another man, also with cards in his hand. This man, leaning forward, was striving to pierce the gloom in which his companions and Basil stood. He rose and joined them, and going close to Basil, laid his hand upon the horse's neck. Thus, Basil and he confronted each other. And at that moment was commenced the weaving of a strand which was to connect the lives of these two men, for weal or woe.

CHAPTER X

Each man of this small group represented in his own person the epitome of a drama more or less stirring and eventful. With three of these we have little to do, and no good purpose will be served by recounting their antecedents. The history of the fourth-he who stood with his hand on the neck of Old Corrie's horse, looking up at Basil-will presently be unfolded.

He was a full-bearded man, the light brown hair so effectually concealing his features that only his cheekbones and forehead were visible. To a physiologist, therefore, the index was imperfect. He was a young man, of about the same age as Basil, and his name was Newman Chaytor. This was his true name; it will be as well to say as much, for there was much that was false about him.

The man who held the candle was known as Jim the Hatter; Jim belonged properly to him by right, the Hatter was patronymic he had earned by working on various goldfields alone, without a mate. Why they call men on the gold-diggings thus inclined, Hatters, is one of the mysteries, but it is a fact. Of the other two it will be sufficient to refer to them as Nonentity Number One and Nonentity Number Two. Jim the Hatter was a large-boned, loose-limbed man, of great strength. Upon his first arrival in Australia his time, to put it gently, was not his own; it belonged to his country. He was now free, but his morals had not been improved by the lesson his country had administered to him.

It will thus be seen that Basil had unfortunately fallen among thieves.

For a few moments the man on horseback and the men on foot preserved silence, and opportunity was afforded for a striking picture. Jim the Hatter was the first to speak.

"Well, mate?" he said.

"Is this the township of Gum Flat?" inquired Basil.

"It is. If you're looking for it, you're dead on the gutter."

"I thought I must have mistaken my way," said Basil. "What has come over the place?"

Newman Chaytor answered him. "It has gone," he said, "to the dogs."

"Like yourselves," thought Basil, gazing at the men, but deeming it prudent not to express himself aloud upon a point so personal. He spoke, however. "It is the place I was making for. I suppose I can put up here for the night?"

"There's nothing to prevent you. Gum Flat township just now is Liberty Hall."

"Stop a bit, stop a bit," said Nonentity Number One, considering it necessary to his dignity that he should take part in the conference. "Is the gentleman prepared to pay for accommodation?"

"That's a proper question," said Nonentity Number Two, thus asserting himself.

"Of course he is," said Jim the Hatter, answering for Basil, who, with an empty purse, was saved from awkwardness.

A diversion occurred here. Newman Chaytor snatched the candle from Jim the Hatter, in order that he might obtain a clearer view of Basil.

"Manners, mate," said Jim the Hatter.

"Manners be hanged!" retorted Newman Chaytor, holding the candle high. "They're out of stock."

This was evident. To smooth matters Basil volunteered an explanation. "I have come hereupon business, but I am afraid I have lost my time."

"Perhaps not," said Jim the Hatter. "We're all business men here; ready at a moment's notice to turn a honest penny. That's true, ain't it, mate?"

He addressed Newman Chaytor, but that worthy did not reply. Having obtained a clearer view of Basil's face, he seemed to be suddenly struck dumb, and stared at it as though he were fascinated.

"Still," continued Jim the Hatter, "it's as well to be particular in these times. I'm very choice in the company I keep, and I don't as a rule do business with strangers, unless," he added, with a grin which found its reflection on the lips of Nonentities Numbers One and Two, "they pay their footing first."

"If you wish to know my name," said Basil, "it is Basil Whittingham."

"What!" cried Newman Chaytor, finding his tongue; but the exclamation of undoubted astonishment appeared to be forced from him instead of being voluntarily uttered.

"Basil Whittingham," repeated Basil. "Being here, I must stop for the night. Is there a stable near?"

"There's one at the back," said Newman Chaytor, with sudden alacrity, "or rather there was one. I'll show you."

"Thank you," said Basil, and followed his guide to the rear of the shanty.

The three men looked after them with no good will.

"He's a swell," said Nonentity Number One.

"He's got a watch and chain," said Nonentity Number Two.

"And a horse," said Jim the Hatter.

Then they re-entered the store, and settled down to their game of cards.

"Stop here a moment," said Newman Chaytor to Basil. "I'll get a light."

Returning with a candle stuck in a bottle, the fashionable form of candlestick in Gum Flat, he waved it about, sometimes so close to Basil that it shone upon his features.

"You stare at me," said Basil, "as if you knew me."

"Never saw you before to my knowledge." (A falsehood, but that is a detail.) "You're not a colonial."

"I am an Englishman, like yourself, I judge."

"Yes, I am English."

"You have the advantage of me-you know my name. May I ask yours?"

"Certainly," said Chaytor, but he spoke, nevertheless, with a certain hesitation, as if something of importance hung upon it. "My name is Newman, with Chaytor tacked to it." Then, anxiously, "Have you heard it before?"

"Never. This is a tumble-down place. It is a courtesy to call it a stable."

"It will serve, in place of a better."

"Oh, yes, it is better than nothing."

"Everything is tumble-down in Gum Flat. I am an Englishman town-bred. And you?"

"My people hail from Devonshire."

"I am not dreaming, then," said Chaytor, speaking for the second time involuntarily.

"Dreaming!" exclaimed Basil.

"I was thinking of another matter," said Chaytor, with readiness. "Speaking my thoughts aloud is one of my bad tricks."

"One of mine, too," said Basil smiling.

"That is not the only thing in which we're alike."

"No."

"We are about the same age, about the same build, and we are both gentlemen. Your horse is blown; you have ridden a long distance."

"From Bidaud's plantation."

"I have heard of it. And you come upon business? I may be able to assist you."

"I shall be glad of assistance," said Basil, recognising in his companion an obvious superiority to the men they had left. "When I passed through Gum Flat a few months ago I thought it a township likely to thrive, and now I find it pretty well deserted."

"It has gone to the dogs, as I told you. There's nothing but grass for your horse to nibble at. So you're from Devonshire. Do your people live there still?"

He mixed up the subjects of his remarks in the oddest manner, and cast furtive glances at Basil with a certain mental preoccupation which would have forced itself upon Basil's attention had he not been so occupied with his own special cares.

"There are none left," said Basil. "I am the only one remaining."

"The only one?"

"Well, I have an old uncle, but we are not exactly on amicable terms."

"You are better off than I am. I have no family left." He sighed pathetically. "I fancy I can lay my hands on a bundle of sweet hay."

"I should feel grateful."

"Don't leave the stable till I come back; I shan't be gone long."

He was absent ten minutes or so and though he went straight about his errand, he was thinking of something very different. "It is the most wonderful thing in the world," ran his thoughts-"that I should meet him here again, in this hole, not changed in the slightest! It can't be accident; it was predestined, and I should be a self-confessed idiot if I did not take advantage of it. But how is it to be worked? His uncle is still alive. What did he say? 'We are not exactly on amicable terms.' That is because he is proud. I am not. I should be a better nephew to the old fellow than this upstart. He is very old, in his second childhood most likely. This is the turning-point of my life, and I will not throw away the chance. Just as I was at the bottom of the ladder, too. I'll climb to the top-I will, I will!" He raised his hand to the skies, as though registering an oath.

"There," he said, throwing down a bundle of hay which the horse immediately began to munch, "with a bucket of water your mare will do very well. I'll fetch it."

"You are very kind," said Basil, warming to Newman Chaytor.

"Not at all. Noblesse oblige." This was said with a grand air.

Basil held out his hand, and Chaytor pressed it effusively. Then, at Chaytor's request, Basil spoke of the errand upon which he was engaged, and being plied skilfully with questions, put his companion in possession of a great deal he wished to know, not only in relation to the affairs of Bidaud's plantation, but his own personal history as well.

"It is curious," said Chaytor, "that we two should have met at such a time and in such a place. Who knows what may come of it? I am, strange to say, a bit of a doctor and a bit of a lawyer, and if you will accept my services I shall be glad to accompany you back to Bidaud's plantation."

"But why?" asked Basil, touched by the apparently unselfish offer. "I have no claim upon you."

"Except the claim that one gentleman has upon another-which should count for something. It always has with me."

"Upon my word I don't know how to thank you."

"Don't try. It is myself I am rendering a service to, not you. This deserted hole, and the association of those men" – jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the tent-"sicken me. Does there not come to some men a crisis in their lives which compels them to turn over a new leaf, as the saying is, to cut themselves away entirely from the past and commence life anew?"

"Yes," said Basil, struck by the application of this figure of speech to his own circumstances, "it has come to me."

"And to me. I intended to leave Gum Flat to-morrow, and I did not know in which direction. I felt like Robinson Crusoe on the desert island, without a friend, without a kindred soul to talk to, to associate with. If you will allow me to look upon you as a friend you will put me under a deep obligation. Should the brother of the poor gentleman who died so suddenly this morning-the father of that sweet young lady of whom you speak so tenderly-succeed in having things all his own way, you will be cast adrift, as I am. It is best to look things straight in the face, is it not? – even unpleasant things."

"It is the most sensible course," said Basil.

"Exactly. The most sensible course-and the most manly. Why should not you and I throw in our fortunes together? I am sure we should suit each other."

"I can but thank you," said Basil. "It is worth thinking over."

"All right; there is plenty of time before us. Let us go into the store now. A word of warning first. The men inside are not to be trusted. I was thrown into their company against my will, and I felt that the association was degrading to me. We can't pick and choose in this part of the world."

"Indeed we cannot. I will not forget your warning. To speak honestly, I am not in the mood or condition for society. I have had a hard day, and am dead beat."

"You would like to turn in," said Chaytor. "I can give you a shakedown, and for supper what remains of a tin of biscuits and a tin of sardines. There, don't say a word. The luck's on my side. Come along."

The Nonentities and Jim the Hatter were in the midst of a wrangle when they entered, and scarcely noticed them. This left Chaytor free to attend to Basil. He placed before him the biscuits and sardines, and produced a flask of brandy. Basil was grateful for the refreshment; he was thoroughly exhausted, and it renewed his strength and revived his drooping spirits. Then he filled his pipe, and conversed in low tones with his new friend, while the gamblers continued their game.

"If I stop up much longer," said Basil, when he had had his smoke, "I shall drop off my seat."

Chaytor rose and preceded him to the further end of the store. The building, if such a designation may be allowed to an erection composed of only wood and canvas, had been the most pretentious and imposing in the palmy days of the township, and although now it was all tattered and torn, like the man in the nursery rhyme, it could still boast of half a dozen private compartments in which sleepers could find repose and solitude. The walls of course were of calico, and for complete privacy darkness was necessary.

Chaytor and the three gamblers who were bending over their cards in the dim light of the larger space without, each occupied one of these sleeping compartments. Two remained vacant, and into one of these Chaytor led Basil.

There was a stretcher in the room, a piece of strong canvas nailed upon four pieces of batten driven into the ground. The canvas was bare; there were no bedclothes.

"I have two blankets," said Chaytor, "I can spare you one."

Basil was too tired to protest. Dressed as he was he threw himself upon the stretcher, drew the blanket over him, and bidding his hospitable friend good-night, and thanking him again, was fast asleep almost as the words passed his lips.

Newman Chaytor stood for a moment or two gazing upon the sleeping man. "I can't be dreaming," he thought; "he is here before me, and I am wide awake. I drink to the future." He held no glass, but he went through the pantomime of drinking out of one.

Taking the lighted candle with him he joined his mates, and left Basil sleeping calmly in darkness. They were no longer playing cards, but with heads close together were debating in whispers. Upon Chaytor's entrance they shifted their positions and ceased talking.

"Have you put your gentleman to bed?" asked Jim the Hatter, in a sneering tone in which a sinister ring might have been detected.

"Much obliged to you for the inquiry," replied Chaytor, prepared to fence; "he is sound asleep."

"Interesting child! A case of love at first sight, mates."

Nonentities Numbers One and Two nodded, with dark looks at Chaytor, who smiled genially at them and commenced to smoke.

"Or," said Jim the Hatter, "perhaps an old acquaintance."

"Take your choice," observed Chaytor, who, in finesse and coolness, was a match for the three.

"Doesn't it strike you, Newman, that it's taking a liberty with us to feed and bolster him up, and stand drinks as well, without asking whether we was agreeable?"

"Not at all. The sardines were mine, the biscuits were mine, the grog was mine. If you want to quarrel, say so."

"I'm for peace and quietness," said Jim the Hatter, threateningly. "I was only expressing my opinion."

"And I mine. Look here, mates, I don't want to behave shabbily, so I'll tell you what is in my mind."

"Ah, do," said Jim the Hatter, with a secret sign to the Nonentities which Chaytor did not see; "then we shall know where we are."

"I'll tell you where we are, literally, mates. We're in a heaven-forsaken township, running fast to bone, which leads to skeleton. Now I'm not prepared for that positive eventuality just yet. This world is good enough for me at present, and I mean to do my best to enjoy it."

"Can't you enjoy it in our company?" asked Jim the Hatter.

"I think not," said Chaytor, with cool insolence. "The best of friends must part."

"Oh, that's your little game, is it?"

"That is my little game. I am growing grey. If I don't look out I shall be white before I am thirty. Really I think it must be the effect of the company I have kept."

"We're not good enough for you, I suppose?"

"If you ask for my deliberate opinion I answer, most distinctly not. No, mates, not by a long way good enough."

"Don't be stuck up, mate. Better men than you have had to eat humble pie."

"Any sort of pie," said Chaytor, philosophically, "is better than no pie at all. Take my advice. Bid good-bye to Gum Flat, gigantic fraud that it is, and go in search of big nuggets. That is what I am going to do."

"With your gentleman friend?"

"With my gentleman friend. We may as well part civilly, but if you choose the other thing I am agreeable." The three men rose with the intention of retiring. They did not respond to his invitation to part friends. "Well, good-night, and good luck to you." They nodded surlily and entered their sleeping apartments, after exchanging a few words quietly between themselves.

Newman Chaytor helped himself to brandy from his flask then filled his pipe, and began to smoke.

That he had something serious to think of was evident, and that he was puzzled what use to make of it was quite as clear. An enterprise was before him, and he was disposed to pledge himself to it; but he was in the dark as to what end it would lead him. In the dark, also, how it could be so conducted as to result in profit to himself. He was in desperately low water, and had lost confidence in himself. His ship was drifting anchorless on a waste of waters; suddenly an anchor had presented itself, which, while it would afford him peace and safety for a time, might show him a way to a golden harbour. An ugly smile wreathed his lips, the sinister aspect of which was hidden by his abundant hair: but it was there, and remained for many musing moments. He took from his pocket a common memorandum book, and on a few blank pages he wrote the names, Newman Chaytor and Basil Whittingham, several times and in several different styles of handwriting. Then he wrote upon one, in the form of a check, "Pay to Newman Chaytor, Esq., the sum of forty thousand pounds. Basil Whittingham." He contemplated this valueless draft for a long time before destroying it at the candle's light, as he destroyed the other sheets of paper upon which he had written the signatures.

"All the pleasures of existence," he mused, "all the light, everything in the world worth having, are on the other side of the water. Was I born to grind out my days in a prison like this? No, and I will not. Here is the chance of escape" – he turned his head to the room in which Basil was sleeping-"with possibilities which may give me all I desire. It would be flying in the face of Providence to neglect it. The first law of nature is Self. I should be a born fool not to obey the first law of nature."

In these reflections he passed an hour, when he determined to go to bed.

All was still. He stepped on tip toe to each of the four compartments occupied by Basil, Jim the Hatter, and the Nonentities, and listened at the doors to assure himself that he was the only wakeful person in the store. Deeming himself safe he entered his own room, and taking a small round mirror in a zinc frame from the top of a packing case which served as washstand and dressing-table, gazed at his face with strange intentness. Putting the hand mirror down he cast wary looks around. Yes, he was alone; there were no witnesses. Then he did a curious thing. He took off his beard and whiskers.

In the room on his right lay Basil asleep; in the room on his left was Jim the Hatter, whom he supposed to be. But in this he reckoned without his host, as many another sharp rogue has done in his time. Jim the Hatter, despite his deep breathing, which had deceived Newman Chaytor, was wide awake. The moment Chaytor entered his room Jim the Hatter had slipped noiselessly from his stretcher, and his face was now glued to the wall of calico through which the light of Chaytor's candle was shining. There was a small slit in the calico, which enabled Jim the Hatter to see what was passing in Chaytor's room. Chaytor's back, however, was towards the wall through which he was peeping. The watcher was puzzled; he could not exactly discover what it was Chaytor had done.