"Chinkie's Flat"

“Dinner will be ready at eight o’clock, Miss Grainger,” said Mrs. Trappème sweetly to Myra, who with Sheila had been shown into their private sitting-room; and then she added quickly, as she heard a footstep in the passage, “You have not met my daughter. Come, Juliette, dear—Miss Grainger, my eldest daughter; Miss Carolan, Miss Trappème.”

The two girls bowed rather coldly to Miss Trappème, who, after the usual commonplaces, asked Miss Grainger if she were not tired.

“Very—and so is Miss Carolan. We shall be glad of an hour’s rest before dinner.”

The hint was unmistakable, and Miss Trappème smiled herself out, inwardly raging at what she told her mother was Sheila’s forwardness in so soon thrusting herself upon Miss Grainger.

As she went out, Sheila looked at Myra and laughed. “We are certainly meant to be treated as members of the family, whether we like it or not. I wonder if the other people we saw are as pushful as ‘Mamma’ and ‘Juliette.’”

“I trust not; that would be awful—even for a week.”

Mallard was in Grainger’s room, sprawled out on the bed, talking to him and smoking, whilst the latter was opening a leather trunk which contained some bottles of whisky and soda water, and a small box which held the remains of the ice.

“We can’t let this ‘melt on as,’ as the Irish would say, Mallard,” and he placed it in the toilet basin in its covering of blanket. “Now move your lazy self and break a piece off with your knife, whilst I open this bottle of Kinahan’s and some soda. I trust the cultured family will not object to the sound of a cork popping at seven o’clock.”

“Not they,” said Mallard, as he rose; “they would not mind if you took the whisky to the table and drank it out of the bottle. Oh, I can gauge the old dame pretty well, I think; avarice is writ large in her face, and she’ll squeeze us all she can. She told me in a mysterious aside that the butler kept all the very best wines and liquor obtainable. I thanked her, and said I usually provided my own. She didn’t like it a bit; but I’m not going to pay her a sovereign for a bottle of whisky or Hennessey when I can get a case of either for a five-pound note. Oh!” he added disgustedly, “they’re all alike.”

“Well, don’t worry, old man,” said his friend philosophically, as he handed him a glass; “there, take this. I wonder if Mrs. Trap—Trapper, or whatever her name is, thinks we are going to dress for dinner. Neither my sister nor Miss Carolan will, and I’m sure I’m not going to establish a bad precedent.”

“Same here. If other people like to waste time dressing for dinner, let them; this town is altogether too new and thriving a place for busy men like ourselves to worry about evening dress. By the way, Grainger, I’ve some news for you that I trust will give you pleasure: your sister has promised to marry me next year.”

Grainger grasped his friend’s hand. “I’m glad, very glad, old man. I was wondering what made her so unusually bright this afternoon; but she has kept it dark.”

“Hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet. I only asked her a couple of hours ago.”

“Well, let us go and see her and Miss Carolan before dinner. I can hear them talking in the sitting-room. Hallo! who is that little fellow out there crossing the lawn with the younger Miss Trappème. He’s in full fig..”

Mallard looked out of the window and saw a very diminutive man in evening dress.

“Oh, that’s little Assheton, the new manager for the Australian Insurance Company. He’s just out from England. He’s a fearfully conceited ape, but a smart fellow at the insurance business. Great fun at the ‘Queen’s’ the other day with him. He came in, dressed in frock coat, tall hat, and carrying a thick, curly stick as big as himself. Of course every one smiled, and he took it badly—couldn’t see what there was to laugh at; and when old Charteris, the Commissioner, asked him how much he would ‘take for the hat,’ he put his monocle up and said freezingly, ‘Sir, I do not know you.’ That made us simply howl, and then, when we had subsided a bit, Morgan the barrister, who is here on circuit with Judge Cooper, said in that fanny, deep, rumbling voice of his—

“‘Are you, sir, one of the—ah—ah—circus company which—ah—arrived to-day?’

“The poor little beggar was furious, lost his temper, and called us a lot of ill-mannered, vulgar fellows, and then some one or other whipped off the offending hat, threw it into the street, and made a cockshy of it.

“‘I’ll have satisfaction for this outrage!’ he piped. ‘Landlord, send for a policeman. I’ll give all these men in charge. Your house is very disorderly. Do you know who I am?’

“‘No, nor do I care,’ said old Cramp, down whose cheeks the tears were running; ‘but if you’ll come here like that every day, I’ll give you a sovereign, and we’ll have the hat. Oh, you’re better than any circus I ever saw. Oh, oh, oh!’ and he went off into another fit.

“The poor little man looked at us in a dazed sort of a way—thought us lunatics, and then when old Char-tens asked him not to mind a bit of miners’ horseplay, but to sit down and have some fizz, he called him ‘an audacious ruffian,’ and shrieked out—

“‘I am Mr. B. D. Assheton—the manager of the Australian Insurance Company. Do you possibly imagine I would drink with a person like you?’”

Grainger laughed: “It must have been great fun.”

“Rather—but the cream of it is to come yet. He rushed oat into Flinders Street, found Sergeant Doyle and a policeman, and came back panting and furious, and pointing, to Charteris, told them to take him in charge. Doyle looked at us blankly, saw we were nearly dead with laughing, and then took Assheton aside, and said in his beautiful brogue—

“‘Me little mahn, it’s drinkin’ ye’ve been. Do yez want me to arrest the Po-liss Magisthrate himsilf? Who are ye at all, at all? Ye’d betther be after goin’ home and lyin’ down, or I’ll lock ye up for making a dishturbance. Do ye moind me now?’”

Grainger could no longer control his laughter, and in the midst of it, Myra tapped vigorously at the door, He rose and opened it.

“Whatever is all this noise about, Ted? You two great boys!”

“Oh, take Mallard away, Myra, for heaven’s sake!”

A little before eight o’clock the deafening clamour of a gong announced dinner, and the company filed in. Mrs. Trappème and the Misses Trappème were in “very much evening dress” as Sheila murmured to Myra, and they seemed somewhat surprised that neither Miss Grainger nor Miss Carolan had donned anything more unusual than perfectly-made dainty gowns of cool white Indian muslin. Grainger and Mallard wore the usual white duck suits (the most suitable and favoured dress for a climate like that of torrid North Queensland), and Sheila could not but admire their big well-set-up figures—both were “six feet men”—and contrast their handsome, bronzed and bearded faces with the insignificant appearance of Assheton and another gentleman in evening dress—a delicate but exceedingly gentlemanly young Scotsman. Of course there were more introductions—all of which were duly and unnecessarily carried out by Mrs. Trappème. Others of that lady’s guests were the local Episcopalian clergyman and his wife—the former was a placid, dreamy-looking, mild creature, with soft, kindly eyes. He smiled at everybody, was evidently in abject terror of his wife—a hard-featured lady about ten years his senior, with high cheek-bones and an exceedingly corrugated neck and shoulders. She eyed Myra and Sheila with cold dissatisfaction, and after dinner had once begun, devoted herself to the task of extracting information from the latter regarding her future movements. She had already discussed her with Mrs. Trappème, and had informed her hostess that she had “suspicions” about a girl who affected mystery in the slightest degree, and who could afford to pay six guineas a week for simple board and lodging.

“Quite so, Mrs. Wooler,” Mrs. Trappème had assented; “I must confess it doesn’t look quite right. Even Juliette thinks it very strange for her to be so reticent as to who she is and where she is going. Of course I could have refused to receive her, and am now rather sorry I did not. I understood from her that Mr. Grainger was an utter stranger to her—and I was quite surprised to see them all come in together as if they had known each other for years. Not quite correct, I think.”

“Mr. Grainger is very rich,” said the clergyman’s wife meditatively.

“Very,” said her friend, who knew that Mrs. Wooler meant to do a little begging (for church purposes) as soon as opportunity offered.

“It would be a pity for him to be involved with such a—a forward-looking young person,” she said charitably.

But for the first quarter of an hour she had no opportunity of satisfying her curiosity, for Sheila was quite hungry enough not to waste too much time in conversation. At last, however, a chance came, when Mr. Assheton said in his mincing voice—

“I believe, Miss Carolan, that like me, you are quite a new arrival in this country.”

“Oh, dear no! I have lived here ever since I was two years old.”

“Heah! in Townsville?”

“I meant Australia,” Sheila observed placidly.

“Then you are not an Australian born, Miss Carolan?” put in Mrs. Wooler with a peculiarly irritating condescension of manner and surprised tone, as if she meant to say, “I am sure you are—you certainly are not lady-like enough to be an English girl.”

“No, I am not,” was the reply. “Do you think you will like Queensland, Mr. Assheton?”

“I really have as yet formed no definite impression. Possibly I may in the end contrive to like it.”

“Do. It would be a great pity for the country if you did not,” said Sheila gravely, without moving an eyelid.

“Do you purpose making a long stay in Queensland, Miss Carolan?” pursued Mrs. Wooler.

“A very long one, perhaps—perhaps on the other hand a very short one. Or it may be that I may adopt a middle course, and do neither.”

Grainger, who was opposite, heard her, and as she looked across at him, he saw that she was “playing” her questioner and quite enjoying it.

Never for one moment did the clergyman’s wife dream that Sheila meant to be anything else but evasive, so she followed up. To her mind it was absolutely incredible that any woman would dare to snub her—Mrs. Wooler—daughter of a dean, and possessing an uncle who had on several occasions been spoken of by the Bishop of Dullington as his probable successor; such a thing was impossible!

“I presume, however, that your stay in Townsville itself will be short, Miss Carolan? You will find it a very expensive place—especially if you have no friends to whom you can go.”

Sheila’s face flushed. Her blood was getting up, and Myra looked at her nervously.

“Is there no ‘Girls’ Friendly Society,’ ‘Young Women’s Christian Association,’ or other kindred institution, where I could ‘be taken in and done for’?” she asked sweetly.

“Not as yet; but I am thinking of taking steps to found a Girls’ Friendly Society. Such an institution will soon be a necessity in a growing place like this.”

“How nice it would be for me to go there instead of staying at—at a boarding house!”

Juliette Trappème’s sallow face flushed with rage, and Mrs. Trappème, who saw that something was occurring, spoke loudly to Mr. Wooler, who answered in his usual soft voice. But Mallard, who was seated next to Miss Lilla Trappème, shot Sheila an encouraging glance.

“Quite so,” went on Mrs. Wooler. “I disapprove most strongly of any young woman incurring risks that can be avoided.”

“What risks?” and Sheila turned and looked steadily at Mrs. Wooler.

The sharp query somewhat upset the inquisitive lady, who hardly knew what she meant herself.

“Oh, the risks of getting into debt—living beyond one’s means—and things like that.”

“Oh, I see, madam,” and Sheila bowed gravely, although the danger signals were showing now on her cheeks. Then she added very clearly and distinctly, “That would be most dreadful to happen to any one, would it not, Mr. Assheton?”

“Oh, howwible—for a lady.”

“But,” she went on—and as she spoke she gazed so intently into Mrs. Wooler’s face that every one at the table saw her change colour—“but I am sure, Mrs. Wooler, that no girl could possibly come to such a sad condition while you are in Townsville, to give her the benefit of your years, your advice, and your experience—even though that advice was thrust upon her in a manner that I believe might possibly cause well-deserved resentment,” and then, with a scornful smile still on her lips, she turned to Mr. Assheton and asked him sweetly if he did not “think it was beginning to be very warm so early in the year?”

“By heavens!” mattered Mallard to Myra, “she has done the parson woman good. Look at her face. It’s unpleasant to look at.”

Mrs. Wooler’s features were a study. Unable to speak, and her hands trembling with rage, she gave the girl one glance of hatred, and then tried to eat; and Viveash, who had the sense to do so, at once began telling her some idiotic and pointless story about himself when he sang in a cathedral choir until his voice “failed him.”

Just then a long ring was heard at the front door, and the butler presently came to Mallard, and said—

“One of the reporters, sir, from the Champion wishes to see you. Most important, sir, he says. Will you please see him at once?”

Making his excuses, Mallard left the dining-room and went into one of the sitting-rooms, where the reporter was awaiting him.

CHAPTER X ~ THE “CHAMPION” ISSUES A “SPECIAL”

Ten minutes later Mallard was at the hall door giving instructions to the reporter.

“Hurry back as fast as you can, Winthrop, and tell Mr. Flynn to rash the special through. And as fast as any farther news come in rap out another. Get all the boys you can, and distribute the specials everywhere—anywhere. Chuck some over into the cemetery—they’ll make the dead ‘get up and holler.’ Tell the boys that they are not to make any charge—get the foreman to head it ‘Special! Gratis! (Any one newsboy who makes a charge for this special will be immediately dismissed.)’ See? And tell the boys they will get five shillings each extra in the morning. I’ll be down in another twenty minâtes or so. Go on, Winthrop, loop!”

Mr. Winthrop, who was as excited as Mallard himself, “looped,” and the editor returned to the dining-room with a galley-proof slip in his hand. Every one, of coarse, saw by his face that something had occurred.

“I won’t sit down again, Mrs. Trappème, if you and the other ladies will excuse me, for I have to hurry back to the office to attend to some important business. There is great news.” Then, bending down, he placed his hand on Grainger’s shoulder, and whispered, “You must come with me, old man. There is glorious news from Chinkie’s. I’ll tell you all about it in a minute, as soon as we are outside. Make your apologies and let us go,” and then going over to Mrs. Trappème, he handed her the proof to read to her guests and hurried out with Grainger, leaving every one in the room eager to learn what had occurred.

“Oh, dear me!” began Mrs. Lee-Trappème, adjusting her pince-nez, which always interfered with her sight.

“SPECIAL.   ‘TOWNSVILLE CHAMPION.’“WRECK

“9 P.M., May 2nd. “Authentic news has just reached the Champion office that the mail steamer Flintshire was wrecked on the Great Barrier Beef three days ago (the 5th). All the crew and passengers—200 in number-were saved, and are now on their way to Townsville. [Further particulars later.]”

“DREADFUL MASSACRE BY THE NOTORIOUS BLACK OUTLAWS

“The Clonourry mail, which has been delayed by floods, brings news of a terrible massacre perpetrated by the ootlaw black ex-troopers Sandy and Daylight. A party of five miners who were camped at a lagoon near Dry Creek were surprised and murdered in their sleep by the two outlaws and a number of myall blacks. The bodies were found by the mail man. Inspector Lamington and a patrol of Native Polioe leave tomorrow to punish the murderers. Detailed particulars of the affair will be given in to-morrow’s issue—Mudoch, the mail man, being too exhausted to stand the test of a long interview to-night.”

“WONDERFUL GOLD DISCOVERY NEAR CHINKIN’S FLAT“A NEW EL DORADO. “MR. GRAINGER AND HIS PARTNERS THE LUCKY MEN

“By the Clonourry mail, which brought intelligence of the tragedy at Dry Creek, also comes most pleasurably exciting news. The ‘Ever Victorious Grainger,’ as his many friends often designate him, some months ago sent out a prospecting party to try the country near the headwaters of Banshee Greek, with the result that probably the richest alluvial field in Australia has been discovered. Over 2,000 os. of gold—principally in nuggets ranging from 100 oz. to 2 oz.– have already been taken by Mr. Grainger’s party. Warden Charteris, accompanied by an escort of white and black polioe, leaves for the place to-morrow night. The news of this wonderfully rich field has been two weeks reaching Townsville owing to the flooded condition of the country between Banshee Creek and Chinkie’s Flat.

“Mr. Grainger is at present in this city on a short visit. His good fortune will benefit the country at large as well as himself and his energetic partners.”

“Dear me, how very exciting to be getting gold so easily!” said Mrs. Trappème, as she laid the proof on the table; “your brother will be delighted, Miss Grainger.”

“He will be pleased, of course,” absented Myra. “He always had a belief that a rich alluvial gold-field would be discovered in the Banshee Creek country. He sent this particular prospecting party away nearly two months ago.”

“What a hawwid story about the murdered diggahs!” said Mr. Assheton to Myra. “Did it occur neah where you were living, Miss Graingah?”

“About a hundred miles further westward, towards the Minerva Downs district. These two men, Sandy and Daylight, have committed quite a number of murders during the past two years. They killed five or six poor Chinese diggers on the Cloncurry Road last year. They are both well armed, and it is almost impossible to capture them, as they retreat to the ranges whenever pursued.”

“They are a most ferocious and desperate pair,” said Mr. Wooler, who then told their story, which was this:—

Some two or three years previously Sandy and Daylight, who belonged to one of the Native Police camps in the Gulf district,5 had, while out on patrol, urged one of their comrades to join with them in murdering their white officer and then absconding. The other man refused, and, later on in the day, secretly told the officer that he was in great danger of being shot if he rode on ahead of the patrol as usual. As soon as the party returned to camp the two traitors were quietly disarmed, handcuffed, and then chained to a log till the morning. During the night they managed to free themselves (aided, no doubt, by the trooper who was detailed to guard them), killed the man who had refused to join them by cleaving his skull open with a blow from a tomahawk, and then decamped to the ranges with their rifles and ammunition. They found a refuge and safe retreat with the savage myalls (wild blacks) inhabiting the granite ranges, and then began a career of robbery and murder. Small parties of prospectors found it almost impossible to pursue their vocation in the “myall country,” for the dreaded ex-troopers and their treacherous and cannibal allies were ever, on the watch to cut them off. In the course of a few months, by surprising and killing two unfortunate Chinese packers, the desperadoes became possessed of their repeating rifles and a lot of ammunition, and the old single-shot police carbines were discarded for the more effective weapons. Sandy, who was the leader, was a noted shot, and he and his companion now began to haunt the vicinity of isolated mining camps situated in country of the roughest description. Parties of two or three men who had perhaps located themselves in some almost inaccessible spot would go on working for a few weeks in apparent security, leaving one of their number to guard the camp and horses, and on returning from their toil would find their comrade dead or severely wounded, the camp rifled of everything it contained, and the horses speared; and the hardy and adventurous pioneers would have to retreat to one of the main mining camps, situated perhaps fifty miles away, with nothing left to them but the hard-won gold they had saved and their mining tools, but ready and eager to venture forth again.

One day, so the clergyman related, a man named Potter was travelling from Burketown to Port Denison, and camped beside a small water-hole to rest until the morning. After unsaddling and hobbling out the horse he had been riding, and unloading the pack-horse, he threw his packbags at the foot of a Leichhardt tree, lit a fire, and began to boil a billy of tea. He knew that he was in dangerous country, and that it was unwise of him to light a fire, but being of a reckless disposition, and having a firm belief in his luck, he took no further precaution beyond opening the flap of his revolver pouch.

He had just taken out a piece of damper and some salt meat, which, with the hot tea, were to be his supper, when he was startled to hear some one address him by name, and looking up, he saw a powerfully-built black fellow with a long black beard and smiling face standing a dozen yards or so away. He was all but nude, but round his waist was buokled a broad leather police belt with two ammunition pouches; in his right hand he carried a repeating rifle.

“Don’t you know me, Mr. Potter?” he said in excellent English.

Potter recognised him at once, and the two shook hands.

“Why, you’re Sandy! Have you left the police?” (He knew nothing of what had occurred.)

“Yes,” was the reply, “I skipped,” and carelessly putting his rifle down, he asked Potter if he had any tobacco to spare.

“Yes, I can give you a few plugs,” and going to his saddle bags he produced four square plugs of tobacco, which he handed to his visitor, who took them eagerly, at once produced a silver-mounted pipe (probably taken from some murdered digger) filled it, and began to smoke and talk.

“My word, Mr. Potter,” he said with easy familiarity, “it is a good thing for you that I knew you,” and he showed his white, even teeth in a smile. “But I haven’t forgot that when I got speared on the Albert River five years ago you drove me into Burketown in your buggy to get a doctor for me.” (He had formerly been one of Potter’s stockmen, and had been badly wounded in an encounter with wild blacks.)

Potter made some apparently careless reply. He knew that Sandy, though an excellent stockman, had always had a bad record, and indeed he had been compelled to dismiss him on account of his dangerous temper. He heard later on that the man had joined the Black Police, and a deserter from the Black Police is in nine cases out of ten an unmitigated villain.

Then Sandy became communicative, and frankly told his involuntary host part—but part only—of his story, and wound up by saying—

“You must not sleep here to-night. There is a big mob of myalls camped in the river-bed three miles away from here. If they see you, they’ll kill you for certain between now and to-morrow night, when you are going through some of the gorges. You must saddle up again, and I’ll take you along another track and leave you safe.”

Tired as the horses were, Potter took Sandy’s advice, and the two started at sunset, the blackfellow leading. They travelled for some hours, and then again camped—this time without a fire. Sandy remained till daylight, and during a further conversation boasted that he had enough gold in nuggets to allow him to have “a fine time in Sydney or Melbourne,” where he meant to make his way some day “when things got a bit quiet and people thought he was dead.” In proof of his assertion about the gold he gave Potter a two ounce nugget he picked out from several others which were carried in one of his ammunition pouches. Before they parted Potter gave him—at his particular request—one of the two blankets he carried, and then Sandy and he shook hands, and the blackfellow, rifle in hand, disappeared, and left his former master to continue his journey.

“What a hawwid chawacter!” said Mr. Assheton, when the clergyman had concluded his story. “Why don’t the police exert themselves and catch or shoot the fellow?”

“It is such very difficult country,” explained Myra, “and, in fact, has not yet all been explored.”