The Bushranger's Secret Part 6

"What is it you want?" said Gray. "I am leaving the station to-morrow, you know."

"That's the very reason, sir." He looked up suddenly from under his bushy eyebrows. "I'm leavin' the station too. Perhaps you didn't know that, sir?"

"I hadn't heard it," said Gray indifferently. "Aren't you comfortable here, then?"

"It isn't what I've been used to, sir. I've been a gentleman's servant. Gentlemen as knows how to treat a servant. _Real_ gentlemen." Then came again the sudden crafty look.

"That was in England, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir, before my 'misfortunes' came upon me. I had many good places; and that's the sort of work which suits me best. I'm goin' to try to get a place again, sir."

"Indeed," said Gray, a little impatient at all this.

"And when I heard as you'd come into a fortune, sir, I says to myself, 'Mr. Gray'll be wanting a servant, and if he would take me on how blessed I should be!'"

Gray's face had turned an ashy white.

"What are you talking of?" he said sharply. He recovered himself with an effort, and added in a milder tone: "I expect I'm poorer than you are, Lumley. I've hardly enough to live on myself, let alone a servant."

"Indeed, sir! I'm very sorry, for if anybody would grace a fortune 'twould be you, sir."

He turned his cloth cap round and round in his hands as he added:

"Then you don't want a servant, sir?"

Gray laughed out.

"Most decidedly not, my man. But I must go on, I'm busy."

Lumley stood in his way and did not move.

"If I didn't want any wages, sir? I'd like to go along with you, if only for the journey down to Adelaide. I'd serve you faithfully, sir."

"It's utterly impossible--out of the question," exclaimed Gray with a wave of the hand. "Besides, I'm not going to Adelaide."

"Indeed, sir!"

It had been a slip of the tongue, which Gray repented at once.

"It's altogether out of the question, my good fellow," he said. "You must have been dreaming to think of it. Now, will you let me pa.s.s? I have a great deal to do."

Lumley stepped aside.

"I wish you humbly good-bye, sir, and good luck. There's riches in your face, sir; I see 'em as plain as can be. You'll think of me when the good times come."

Gray turned a quivering face upon him.

"What do you mean?" he gasped, and then he stopped and gave an unsteady smile. "I'll certainly think of you when my riches come, my man. It's an easy promise to make."

He waved his hand in hurried farewell and hastened along the path.

Lumley stood looking after him with an evil glance.

"You will think of me, my fine gentleman, and no mistake."

And he chuckled harshly to himself.

CHAPTER IV.

IN QUEST OF TREASURE.

Gray's spirits rose when he had left the station behind him and found himself riding along the well-worn track towards the hills, that showed themselves in clear outline against the brightening morning sky.

With a good horse under him and the fresh wind blowing on his face, he found it easy to convince himself that it would not have made any difference if he had gone back with the dog. He found it easy to look forward instead of backward, to make resolutions about using the money well, instead of indulging in vain repentance for the past.

It was a clear beautiful morning. The country Gray was riding through was very unlike the level pastures he had lived on for months. It was undulating and richly wooded. Here and there a stream, full and strong in this joyous spring-time, flashed white in the dawn. Westwards rose the great hills, blue in the distance, the hills towards which Gray was riding. It was a country to make glad the heart of man, where he might richly enjoy the fruits of his labour.

It was not thickly settled as yet. Gray pa.s.sed but few houses in that day's far ride, and it was long past dusk when he rode up to Mr.

Macquoid's, who owned the run next to Mr. Morton's, and where Mr.

Morton had advised him to stop that night.

Gray received a warm welcome. Tea was brought for him into the pleasant sitting-room, where Mr. Macquoid's wife and daughters were eager to hear Gray's account of Harding's disappearance. Mr. Macquoid had sent out a search-party on his own account, for he knew Harding well.

It irritated Gray savagely to find how warm and eager an interest they all took in the lost man. He could have spent such a delightful evening in that charming house, with those pretty girls. The piano was open, and Gray was fond of music and could sing well. It would have delighted him to prove to them his musical abilities. And the books in the low book-cases, the etchings and engravings on the walls, the periodicals and newspapers fresh from England, that lay heaped on the round table by the window, showed that the Macquoids had a keen cultured interest in literature and art. Gray could have talked to them of so many things, showed them so easily how wide his knowledge was, how correct his taste.

But they would talk of nothing but Harding. They seemed to think it was the only subject Gray could feel any interest in just then. He was thankful when the evening was over.

His next resting-place was a small station close under the shadow of the hills. Here only vague rumours of Harding's loss had come, and Gray found it easy to say nothing of his connection with the lost man.

A strange thing happened to him that night. He was put to sleep in a small room opening on the rough verandah that ran round the house. It was a hot still night, and the window was left open. Gray lay awake for the first part of the night. He was restless and excited and could not sleep. But towards morning he fell into a heavy dreamless slumber, from which he was roughly awakened by a sharp, sudden noise.

He started up in bed and looked round the room. A man was standing with his back to him in the act of picking up the chair he had just thrown over. In the dim starlight Gray could just see him as he bent over the chair. With a sharp exclamation Gray sprang out of bed and made a dash at him. But the man was too quick. He wriggled out of Gray's grasp as a snake might wriggle out of its captor's clutch, and keeping his head well down, that Gray might not see his face, he dashed out of the window and across the court-yard. Gray saw him disappear over the fence, and run swiftly down the hollow.

He struck a light and carefully examined the room. His purse was safe.

Everything in his pocket was left intact.

Gray's story caused great excitement next morning. There had never been an attempt at robbery in the station before.

"It must have been a black fellow," Mr. Stuart said. But Gray was certain it was no black man. If it had not been absurd to think of such a thing, he would have said it was Lumley, the Mortons' gardener.

But he dismissed that idea as absurd and impossible.

His next day's ride took him into the heart of the hill-country. The track was far less clearly marked here, and often difficult to follow.

It ran through deep lonely ravines walled in by precipitous heights of dark rock, and along the sides of mighty hills from which glimpses could be got of still higher hills, towering up into the still blue sky. Some of the hills were darkly wooded, others were clothed in rich gra.s.s and flowering shrubs almost to the summits; others again, and these more numerous as Gray rode on, were bare of blade or leaf, heaped with dark scarred rocks, waterless, desolate.

Gray missed his road once or twice that day; and once he was unable to cross a furious torrent which had swept down the frail bridge laid across it, and was forced to make a long round.