The Ghost Camp

“I’ve heard your story, Phelim, now for mine. I met Mr. Bruce, who’d been shooting wild horses. He asked me what I was doing on his run– he spoke rather shortly. I told him I was looking for my cob, and that I believed it was Crown land, open to all. He then asked me to describe the cob, and telling me it was in his paddock, invited me to stay at Marondah all night, where I was most hospitably treated. He proposed to ride part of the way back with me, and for Mrs. Bruce and his sister-in-law to accompany us.”

“That’s Miss Imogen,” said O’Hara. “Isn’t she the beauty of the world? And ride! There isn’t a stockrider from this to Omeo that she couldn’t lose in mountain country. Mrs. Bruce rides well too, I’m told.”

“Yes, indeed; we rounded up a mob of cattle. Miss Imogen ‘wheeled’ them at the start. Black Paddy, who had been brought to lead the cob, was on the other wing. After that they began to ‘ring,’ and stopped. Then Mr. Bruce, looking through them, unfortunately saw one of the ‘E. H. B.’ bullocks with a strange brand newly put on. ‘That bullock’s been yarded,’ he said, ‘and the brand “J. C.” has been put on in a crush.’ I said nothing. Paddy came with me as far as the cattle track, by the creek that leads to the claim. I remembered that. Then he gave me the cob, and I came on. Now you have the whole story. I did not say where I had come from, nor did Mr. Bruce question me. Of course I put two and two together about the fat cattle. But I said nothing. I have eaten your salt, and Little-River-Jack certainly saved my life.”

“Then you didn’t give us away,” said O’Hara, “or say where we was camped, or tell our names? O’Hara’s not a good one, more’s the pity,” and here the big mountaineer looked regretful, even repentant over the past.

“No! not by a word. As luck would have it, Mr. Bruce did not ask me where or with whom I had been living.”

“And what brought you back here? Wouldn’t it have been easy enough to clear away down the river, and get shut of us, for good and all?”

“Easy enough, and to have gone down river by steamer. But I wanted to warn you in time. I knew Mr. Bruce suspected that there were diggers hereabouts that knew about the fat cattle he missed. So I came to give you fair warning. Where are the others?”

“They’ve cleared out. I don’t think they’ll be seen in a hurry, this side anyhow. They’ve packed all they wanted, and sent word to some of their pals to come and collar the rest. They can’t be pulled for that. There’s a few ounces of gold coming to you, and the ‘clean up’ was the best we’ve had. Here it is.” And suiting the action to the word, he pulled out from a leather pouch a wash-leather bag which, for its size, felt heavy.

“Keep it, Phelim, I won’t take a penny of it. I learned a good deal while I was with you, and shall always be pleased to think that I worked with men, and could hold my own among them.”

“You’re a gentleman, sir, and we’ll always uphold you as one, no matter what happens to us. We’re not bad chaps in our way, though things has gone against us. What’ll you do now? Camp here to-night? No? Then I’ll ride with you past ‘Razor Back’; you’ll have light then and the road’s under your feet. You’d better take my horse till we pass ‘Razor Back.’ He won’t boggle at it if it was twice as narrow.”

It did not take long to pack all that was strictly necessary, which alone Mr. Blount decided to take with him. After which O’Hara boiled the billy, and produced a decent meal, which Mr. Blount, having tasted nothing since breakfast, did justice to. No time was lost then, and O’Hara leading off with the cob started at a canter, with which Blount on his horse found no difficulty in keeping up. The contract was performed, they safely negotiated the perilous pass, the mountain horse treading as securely and safely as on a macadamised high road, and the cob going very differently with a different rider. He was then bestridden by his lawful owner, who prepared to make good time into Bunjil. The moon was rising, when the men – so strangely met, and associated – parted. Blount held out his hand, which the other grasped with unconsciously crushing force. Then the mountaineer quitted the road, and plunging down the steep into the darksome forest, disappeared from sight.

Bunjil township was reached before midnight. There had been the local excitement of an improvised race meeting, the head prize being a bridle and saddle; the Consolation Stakes boasted a silver-mounted whip, generously presented by the respected host of the Bunjil Hotel. So that Mr. Blount, whose train of thought for the last hour or two wavered between encouragement and depression, as he dreaded the inn being shut, the ostler asleep, the fire out and the girl gone to bed, felt reassured as he heard voices and saw lights, indicative of cheery wakefulness. By good luck, too, the best bedroom and the parlour were unoccupied. Sheila promised a fire in the latter apartment and tea ready in less than no time. The ostler took the cob to a loose box, just vacated, while Mr. Blount having deposited his “swag” in the bedroom and made all ready for a solid meal, and a royal toasting of his person before the fire of logs, felt quite a glow of happiness.

On re-entering the parlour he was warmly welcomed by Sheila, who indeed was so unaffectedly cordial in hailing his safe return, that the guest concluded that there must have been reason for conjecturing that the reverse might have occurred.

As she greeted him with natural unstudied welcome, he could not resist taking both her hands in his, and shaking them with a warmth corresponding with her feeling of gratitude at his safe return from apparently unknown and mysterious dangers. The girl blushed and disengaged her hands, but showed no discomposure as she said, “We didn’t know but something might have happened to you, out in that wild place, and Little-River-Jack said you had a narrow escape on ‘Razor Back,’ as your cob got frightened and might have gone over the downfall like Paddy Farrell. Then Dick came along, he sold out his share to you, didn’t he? And he got on the spree for a day or two and let out a few things that he’d better have kept to himself. So taking it altogether, we’re all glad, Mr. Middleton, the missis, and me too, that you’re back safe and sound.”

While the latter part of this dialogue was proceeding, Mr. Blount had seated himself at the table with his back to the fire, and made a frontal attack upon a broiled steak flanked by a dish of floury potatoes, which told of the sharpening effect on the appetite of a long day in the saddle, and the stimulation of a night journey with two degrees of frost.

“You had better take away these dishes, Sheila, or I shall never stop eating. I think, however, that I can hold out till breakfast, now we have got so far.”

About this time the landlord appeared, blandly apologetic for delay, but pleading the necessity for being in the bar while there were so many “gents” round anxious to go home on good terms with themselves.

“More likely to run against a fence, or the bough of a tree,” said Sheila, who had now rejoined the party, “that’s the sort of ‘good terms with themselves,’ that’s the fashion, Bunjil way. I wonder there’s not more legs and arms broken than there are.”

“Why, it’s a good month since you left us, Mr. Blount,” said the landlord, cheerily unheeding the maid’s moral reflections. “The Sergeant was here a day or two back, and asked after you – Little-River-Jack came last week, and talked of going away unless things mended. He billed Stubbins for a quarter of beef he owed him, and they had a row, and got to fighting over it.”

“How did that come off?” queried the guest, dallying with his second cup of tea, and a plate of buttered toast. “Jack’s rather a light weight.”

“So he is – but he can use his hands, and he’s that active he takes a lot of beating. Well, the butcher at Green Point is a couple of stone heavier, and fancies himself a bit. He says, ‘You’d better summon me, Jack!’ We all knew what that meant.”

“You’re takin’ a mean advantage,” says Jack, “it’s a cowardly thing to do. But I’ll tell you what, if you’re man enough, I’ll fight you for it – it’s a matter of four notes – five and twenty shillings a hundred – are you on?”

“All right!” says the Green Point chap; “so they stripped to it, and had a regular ding-dong go in. The butcher seemed to have the best of it at first, but Jack wore him out, hittin’ and gettin’ away, and dancin’ round him – all them tricks. At last he bunged up his eyes and nearly blinded him, they say. Then Jack went in and finished him; what with loss of wind, and the punishment he got, the butcher was clean knocked out afore the tenth round. So he didn’t come to time, and the referee gave it against him. Jack got the four notes and cleared – the butcher paid up honourable – but he couldn’t show outside the shop for a fortnight afterwards.”

“A capital stand-up fight, I’m sure. I should like to have been there to see it. And now, I think I’ll turn in. I’m a bit tired, and dead sleepy. Good-night, Mr. Middleton, good-night, Sheila! I’ll have breakfast at nine o’clock, please, bacon and eggs is my present fancy. I’ll stay in Bunjil a few days and loaf for a change.”

If there is anything in life more conducive to happiness than waking at dawn in the country, assured of comfort, free from anxiety and relieved from duty, few people have experienced it.

And nowhere can the rare luxury of the conditions be more fully savoured than in Australia. Mr. Blount was firmly of this opinion, as in virtue of his late habitudes, the birds’ wild melody awoke him, as the first dawnlight tinged the grey, reluctant East.

However, on reflection he decided to take another hour’s repose, while all things were favourable to such indulgence.

Then, between sleeping and waking, he dozed deliciously until half-past seven, when he sallied forth, towel in hand, to the creek bank. In the garden was a rude, but competent bath-house, from which he was enabled to plunge into the ice-cold stream.

Truth to tell, he did not make a lengthened stay therein, the mercury being little, if anything, above freezing point, but devoted himself to a complete and conscientious scrubbing with the rough towel, at the conclusion of which, he found that a delicious glow had rewarded his efforts, and the praiseworthy self-denial of the cold-colder-coldest bath he had taken as a daily custom, ever since he could remember. It is the after taste, which, as in other matters, is so truly luxurious.

Running back to the house, he saw that his expectation of a full-sized, first-class fire in the breakfast room had been realised. After warming himself at this, he attacked the serious business of dressing for the day, which he pursued with such diligence that he was ready for the bacon and eggs, before referred to, as nearly as possible at the appropriate hour.

“Got you a good fire, you see,” remarked Sheila, who, smiling and rosy as the morn, stood in attendance. “Hope you slept well. My word! we got an awful start, didn’t know what was going to happen, when Senior Constable Moore came here the day before yesterday to get warrants for Little-River-Jack (alias John Carter), Phelim O’Hara, his brother Patrick, and also a man working in the claim, known as Jack Blunt, and one ‘Tumberumba Dick.’ Asked me and Mr. Middleton a lot of questions.”

“And what did you say?”

“We didn’t know much, or say much either, if it comes to that. Yes! knew that Little-River-Jack passed through here now and again. Where he went to – couldn’t say – hadn’t seen him lately. Heard the O’Haras were working miners from Queensland or Gippsland – only seen them once. Tumberumba Dick stayed a day or two here last week, and got on the spree rather. Said he’d sold his share to Jack Blunt, and was clearing out for West Australia. Little-River-Jack was a butcher, and supplied the small diggings.”

“What did they ask about Jack Blunt, eh?”

“Oh! a lot. What was he like? – how was he dressed?”

“Tall and dark” (I said), “not bad-looking.” Here Mr. Blount bowed. “Dressed like any other gentleman travelling for pleasure. Rough tweed suit and leggings. Left a few things here. Went away a month ago, with Little-River-Jack.”

“What for – did he say?” the Senior Constable asked.

“Yes! he talked quite free and open. Said he wanted to see the country – what gold-diggings were like, and all that. Jack promised to show him a regular mountain claim – the ‘Lady Julia.’ Tumberumba Dick when he came by, said ‘he’d sold his share to him for £20. He was full up of mountain claims, was clearing out for West Australia, where there were big rises to be made.’”

“Why didn’t they serve warrants, then?”

“The Senior Constable had a long talk with our old Sergeant – he’s retired now, but everybody puts great faith in him.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“No – but it came out that the Sergeant told him to be careful about arresting men on suspicion – there was no direct evidence (those were the words) against any of the men named. Nobody could swear to their having been seen taking or branding cattle. Those who knew the O’Haras spoke of them as hardworking diggers – who sold their gold to Little-River-Jack or got him to sell it for them. As for Jack Blunt they said – ” here the speaker hesitated.

“Well, what did they say about him?”

“I hardly like to tell you, sir.”

“Oh! come, out with it. What does it matter?”

“Well, sir” – the girl smiled mischievously – “they said – (that is Tumberumba Dick told some one, who told some one else), that you were a harmless ‘New Chum,’ that hardly knew a cow from a calf, and couldn’t have ‘duffed’ a bullock off a range, if you’d tried for a year.”

“Very complimentary indeed, I must say. So everybody’s honest in this country who can’t ride – eh?”

“Well, yes, sir – about cattle; with sheep it’s different.”

“I see – never struck me before. I’m glad my honesty is undoubted in a cattle district, because I can’t gallop down a range. They don’t fine or imprison for bad riding, I suppose —yet. And so you stood up for me, Sheila, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that, sir?”

“Why, of course you did. I knew you would because we’ve always been friends. Besides, I saw you looking after me warningly the day I went away with Jack Carter.”

“I know I did,” said the girl, impetuously. “I had a great mind to say all I knew, and tell you to have nothing to do with him or his mates.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Well, you were so set upon going, and it wasn’t for a girl like me to advise a gentleman of your sort.”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Every one is as good as any one else in Australia. So the papers say, at any rate.”

“Nothing of the sort. A gentleman is a gentleman, and a servant girl a servant in Australia; all over the world, if it comes to that. I don’t hold with this democratic rot. All the same, there’s nothing to prevent you and me having a talk now and then, as long as we keep our places.”

“I should think not,” he rejoined, “and though I might have got into a serious difficulty through Carter’s introductions, I’m not sorry, on the whole, that I went with him, the experience was most interesting.”

“That means you saw somebody. Who was she, I wonder? Men are all alike, gentle and simple. I believe I could give a guess, as we heard you went down the river.”

To this day Blount declares that he never enjoyed a better meal; he certainly never had a better appetite. And as the sun rising higher in the heavens irradiated the meadows, the hurrying water of the creek, the brilliant green of the opening buds of the great elms and poplars that fringed that streamlet, he admitted that the landscape was almost worthy of the memorable meal.

After a leisurely assimilation of the journals of the day, and a smoke in the verandah, he ordered the cob to be brought round, being of opinion that gentle exercise would be advantageous to his legs, which the last day’s work might have tried unfairly. They certainly had puffed, but there was no sign of lameness, and his owner decided that daily exercise would meet the complaint. Hearing that the Sergeant was at home he resolved to look up that gallant officer, and gather from him what rumour had asserted as to Little-River-Jack, the O’Haras, Mr. Bruce, and lastly himself, if rumours there were.

He found the ex-guardian of the peace, and, so to speak, warden of the marches, weeding his garden, a trim, well-ordered plot, which, like the remainder of his little property, was a standing object lesson to the surrounding homesteads. Putting down his hoe, the veteran advanced with an air of great cordiality, and welcomed him.

“Sae you have won back frae the Debatable Land, as they ca’ed Nicol Forest in my youth. There have been wars, and rumours o’ wars, but the week past; warrants to be issued for Phelim and Patrick O’Hara, and one Little-River-Jack (went by the name of John Carter), forbye ‘Tumberumba Dick,’ and a man known as Jack Blunt (alias Valentine Blount) seen in company with the above on the 20th of August last. Ay! it was openly said, and I was lookin’ to see you arrive, maybe with the bracelets on. What think ye of that?”

“That I should have had good cause of action for false imprisonment,” answered the tourist. “But why didn’t they issue the warrants?”

“Maybe they were no that sure aboot the evidence. There’s neecessity, ye ken, that there should be full and aample proof in thae ‘duffing’ cases, as the country people ca’ them. A bush jury winna convict as lang’s there a link short o’ the Crown Prosecutor’s chain o’ evidence.”

“And was there? I feel personally much obliged to the Department of Justice for their scruples, which do them honour.”

“Weel, ye ken, though Mr. Bruce o’ Marondah deposed on aith that he saw an E.H.B. bullock, his property, with a J.C. brand put freshly on, there was nae witness who saw John Carter or any ither carle do it or the like. He missed cattle, sure enough, and Black Paddy led him and two troopers to a deserted claim known as the ‘Lady Julia,’ near which was a stockyaird wi’ fresh cattle tracks baith in and oot. They didna gang in their lane. A’body kens that. But wha saw them gang in or gang oot? Strong presumption, clear circumstantial evidence, but next to nae proof. Sae the airm of the law was stayed – a great peety, wasna it?”

“Really, it seems like it. Fine paragraphs, lost to the local press. Capture of cattle-stealers, a leading butcher implicated. A gentleman lately from England arrested. Damages laid by him for false imprisonment at £10,000. Really, I might have bought a station with the money, and been rich and respected. Many a big squatter, Dick told me, had begun that way, but he had stolen the cattle or sheep, and served sentence for it, before he turned his talents to better purpose.”

“Dick’s no to lippen to,” replied the Sergeant, “nor nane o’ thae kind o’ folk. They’ll tell lees by the bushel, gin ye stay to believe them. When a’s said and done, laddie, ye’re well oot o’ it. Ye’ll maybe tak’ heed o’ chance companions anither time.”

“Very possibly, Sergeant. It does appear as if I had been a trifle imprudent. I must curb my spirit of adventure, which has led me astray before now. I nearly got shot in Spain through joining a band of smugglers, they were such joyous dogs; and Manuela – ah! what eyes! what a figure! It was rash, no doubt, I must ask for references, another time. Ha! Ha!”

Mr. Blount treated the escape which he perceived he had narrowly missed of being hauled before the bar of justice, with apparent levity, but in his own mind, he was conscious that affairs might have taken a permanently disagreeable turn, and seriously compromised him socially, however it ended. What would the Bruce family think of him? What could Imogen believe? Either that he shared the ill-gotten gains of the O’Haras and their associates, or that he was so inconceivably dense, and unsuspicious that any amount of dishonesty might go on before his face, without his being aware of it. On either assumption, he was between the horns of a dilemma. Adjudged guilty of folly, or dishonesty. His vexation was extreme. However, he exhibited no outward signs of remorse, and concluded his visit by thanking the Sergeant for his information, and begging him to join him at dinner if he had no lingering suspicion of his moral character.

“Na! na! I’d pit ma haill trust in thee, if matters luikit as black again. The glint in thae grey ’een werena given thee for naught; we’ll hae mair cracks before a’s said and done; the spring’s to be airly, I’m thinking.”

The season was more advanced than when Blount first entered Bunjil, the warmer weather had made it apparent that “the year had turned.” The meadow grasses had grown and burgeoned, the English trees always planted near the older settlements in Australia, many of them the growth of half a century, were nearly full leaved, putting to shame with their brilliant colouring, and opulent shade, the duller hues of the primeval forest. The water-fowl in flocks flew and dived and swam in the great lagoons, which marked the ancient course of the river. The cattle and horses browsing in the lanes and vacant spaces, were sleek of skin, and fair to behold. All nature spoke of abundance of pasture. In this fertile valley there was no hint of the scarcity, which once, at any rate, within the recollection of men then living had been known to overspread the land: when this very spot, now running over with plenteousness, the vine, the olive, the fig, peaches, and plums, apples, and pears, in full leaf and promise of fruit, was bare and adust, the creek even dry, between the great water-holes, for half a mile at a stretch.

Mr. Blount on returning from his ride found a large assortment of letters and newspapers awaiting him. Among them was a telegram marked Urgent. This bore the postmark of a neighbouring colony and had been forwarded by private messenger, at some expense. Thus ran the magic message: – “Hobart, 20th. Come over at once. No delay. Great news. Credit unlimited, Imperial Bank, Melbourne.”

Walking straight into his bedroom, he threw the letters on to the counterpane of his bed, and drawing forward a chair, proceeded to open his correspondence seriatim. After noting date and signature, he returned the greater portion of them to their envelopes, postponing fuller examination to a more convenient season. The last two, which bore the postmark of the nearest post-office to Marondah, he retained. Of its name he was aware, having heard the ladies asking that the post-bag should be delayed for a few minutes on account of their unfinished letters.

He did not linger over the first, addressed in a strong, clear, masculine hand. There was no difficulty in mastering its tone and tenor.

“Sir, – I feel justly indignant that I should have extended hospitality to a person who, while assuming the outward appearance of a gentleman, has proved by his conduct to be unworthy of recognition as such.

“As an associate of the O’Hara brothers and two others, who, under pretence of mining, have in concert with a well-known gang of cattle stealers, preyed on my herd and those of neighbouring stations, for the last two years, you have laid yourself open to grave suspicion. I cannot be expected to believe that you were, although a new arrival, so unsuspicious as to have no knowledge of their dishonest ways. In a stockyard near the claim, branding as well as concealment of stolen cattle had been carried on.

“You were present when I pointed out my E. H. B. bullock, on which a new brand had been recently placed. You knew that I suspected dishonesty in that neighbourhood. Was it not your plain duty to have informed me of any suspicious proceedings? Not only did you fail to do so, but, while accepting my hospitality, you suppressed the fact of your living as a mining mate with the O’Hara brothers, and other suspicious characters, as well as that the notorious ‘Little-River-Jack’ was a member of the same precious company. I believe that warrants have been applied for at the instance of one of my neighbours. Should you find that you are included in the arrest, you will only have yourself to thank for incredible folly, or criminal carelessness, as to the distinction between meum and tuum.

“I remain, faithfully yours,“E. Hamilton Bruce.”

“Very faithfully, indeed,” quoth the recipient of this plain-spoken epistle. “Under the circumstances I don’t wonder at the wrath of this Squire of the South. It is but too natural. Fancy a game-preserving English country gentleman, discovering that a recent guest, free of croquet and morning walks with his charming wife and daughters, had been sojourning with poachers – partaking, peradventure, of his host’s own stolen pheasants! ‘Six months’ hard’ would have been the least, and lightest penalty, that he would have dropped in for, and but for having a friend or two at court, or out of it, Valentine Blount, late of Her Majesty’s F.O., by courtesy the Honourable, and so forth, might have ‘done time’ for the heinous offence of having concealed on his person certain beefsteaks and portions of the ‘undercut’ for the possession of which he could give no reasonable account – moreover defied the peace officer to take them from him. This of course is bordering upon a joke, and a very keen jest it was like to have been. Maybe yet, for all I know. What d – d fools men are sometimes! This I take to be a feminine superscription – the contents less logical, and perhaps —perhaps only – more emotional, and less lenient of sentence. I wonder what Mrs. Bruce and the fair Imogen think of the agreeable stranger (I have been thus described, ere now), who tarried within their gates. I feel distinctly nervous, however.”