Sheilah McLeod Part 15

When we reached it we found her lying exactly as I had left her. Colin jumped down, ran to her side, and said something in a low voice that I did not catch. Without losing a second, I lifted the seat from its place and lowered it overboard; then I, too, jumped down and went towards the sufferer.

'How can we lift you, do you think, with the least likelihood of hurting you?' I asked.

'I don't know,' she answered. 'I think you had better put the mattress down here beside me, and then lift me on to it.'

I saw the wisdom of this idea, and forthwith dragged the mattress out and laid it on the ground by her side. Then, with all the tenderness of which we were capable, Colin and I lifted her and placed her on it. She paled a little while we were doing it, but did not let a sound escape her. After that I brought the buggy as close as possible, helped Colin to lift the mattress on to the tray, and then climbed aboard and placed her in such a position that her head lay against the splashboard. Having done this, I signed to Colin to hand me the saddle and my coat, with which I once more constructed a pillow for her. The seat was then refixed without touching her, and her own horse having been fastened on behind, I chose the straightest and least rutty track, and set off slowly for the homestead. It took us nearly an hour to reach it, and when we did old McLeod met us at the slip rails. He looked very nervous, but bore up bravely for Sheilah's sake.

Pulling the buggy up at the kitchen door, we withdrew the seat again, removed the pillows, and then lifted our precious burden down. Just as we did so the doctor rode up to the door, and, having tied his horse to the fence, gave us a hand to carry Sheilah to her room. Then leaving her to his care, with Mrs Beazley to a.s.sist him, we went into the verandah, where Mr McLeod asked me to tell him how it had happened.

I gave him a full description of it, but though it appeared to satisfy him it was more than it did for Colin, who listened with the same expression on his face that was always there when I was present. How it was that I had aroused such antagonistic feelings in him I could not imagine. Whether he would have been the same with any other rival I could not tell, but that he hated me with all the strength of his powerful nature was plain to the least observant. After I had finished my narrative, and had discovered that I could do no more good by remaining, I rose to say good-bye.

'Good-bye, James, my lad,' said the old man, giving me his hand. 'I know that what has happened has given you as much pain as it has me.

But, remember, you must not reproach yourself. It was in no way your fault. And are you going too, Colin, my lad?'

'I'm on duty this afternoon,' Colin said, putting on his hat, 'and I must get back and prepare for it. Good-bye, uncle!'

'Good-bye, my lad.'

Old McLeod retired into the house, and we went up the garden path together. When we got into the road outside, Colin McLeod turned to me and said, 'Have you any objection to my walking a little way with you?

I've got something I want to say to you.'

'Come along, then,' I answered, 'and say it for mercy's sake. I'm sick of all these black looks and sarcastic speeches. What is it? Out with it!'

'It's this,' he said. 'First and foremost, I'll have no more of you down yonder.' He nodded his head in the direction of his uncle's house.

'Indeed! and, pray, what right have you to say you will, or you won't?'

'If you don't know, I'll tell you,' he answered; 'but I think you do!'

'I don't,' I answered, stopping and facing him, 'and I'll be glad if you will tell me.'

'Well, in the first place, I won't have you there because of that business with the man they call Whispering Pete, and, in the second, because, in my official capacity, I know more about you than my uncle and cousin do--and I tell you I won't let you mix with them.'

'Colin McLeod,' I said, looking him straight in the face, and speaking very slowly, 'you're either a plucky man or a most extraordinary fool.

Remember this once and for all--neither you nor the whole police force of Australia know anything that would keep me away from my old friends the McLeods. And if you say you do, well, I tell you you're a liar to your face. So there now!'

'Fair and softly,' he said in reply. 'Listen to what I have to say before you talk so big. I tell you we know a good deal more than you think we do, and when we lay our hands on Whispering Pete we shall know still more. In the meantime, I'm not going to trade on my official knowledge against you. I'll meet you as man to man, and chance the consequences. I tell you that I love my cousin to desperation, and I'm not going to have a man like you hanging round her. Keep away from her, and I'll do no more than my duty demands. Continue to visit them, and, I warn you, you'll have to take the consequences.'

'And what are the consequences, pray?' I said, wishing he would come to the point.

'That you'll have to deal with me,' he answered, as if he were threatening me with death.

'That's rather big talking on your part, isn't it?' I asked. 'I don't know that I'm altogether afraid of dealing with you.'

'I'm glad to hear you say that! Now, will you fight me for her?'

He stopped in his walk and, turning round, clutched me by the arm.

'No, I will not,' I replied firmly, at the same time feeling that I would have given anything in the world to have been able to answer 'Yes.'

'I thought not,' he continued, with a sigh. 'You're a coward, and I knew it.'

'Steady! steady!' I said. 'One more remark like that and you'll get into trouble.'

'Then let me see if this will help you,' he cried, and at the same time he lifted his arm and hit me a hard blow across the mouth with the back of his left hand. I was about to strike back, when I suddenly changed my mind.

'You have raised your hand to me,' I said quietly. 'And a blow dealt in anger I'll take from no man on G.o.d's earth, much less you, Colin McLeod. I refused to fight you just now--for the simple reason that you are Sheilah's kith and kin. But since you've struck me, I'd do it if you were her own blood brother. One thing first, however. Be so good as to do me the justice to remember that you yourself have forced the quarrel on me.'

'I will remember,' he said sullenly. 'And where is it to be?'

'Down in the bit of scrub by the Big Gum at the creek bend,' I answered.

'We're not likely to be disturbed there.'

'At eight to-night. I am on patrol duty and can't get away before.'

I nodded, and then we separated; he went up the hill to the police station, while I continued my walk towards the township. As I went I thought over my position; here was another pretty fix I had got myself into. My old luck had certainly deserted me, for what would Sheilah say, if by any chance she should come to hear of it. When all was said and done, however, was it my fault? I didn't want to fight the man, I would far rather not have done so, but since he had struck the first blow I could not very well get out of it. Any man who knows me will tell you that I haven't the reputation of being a coward. Ruminating in this fashion I went on up the street to my hotel, and arrived there as the lodgers were sitting down to lunch. While I was eating, a curious notion seized me. What if I went up to the old home and interviewed my father?

I had quite lived down my animosity, and if he proved willing to forgive I was quite ready to do the same.

As soon, therefore, as I rose from the table I went to my room, tidied myself up a bit, and set off. It seemed an eternity since I had forded the creek and trod that familiar path. I recalled with a shudder that horrible night when I had sneaked home to change my things prior to going off to bury Jarman. It was like a part of another life to look back on now--a nightmare, the remembrance of which always seized me in my happiest moments--like the skeleton at the Egyptian feast. And all the time I had to remember that the horrible secret lay hidden under those rocks only waiting for some chance pa.s.ser-by to discover it.

At last I reached the verandah and paused upon the threshold like a stranger, not knowing quite what to do. My doubts, however, were soon set at rest by the appearance of my father in the pa.s.sage. A great change had come over him. He looked years older, and was evidently a much feebler man than when I had left him last. So different was he that the shock almost unnerved me. But I soon saw that his disposition had not changed very much.

'Good morning,' he said, just as if he were greeting a total stranger.

'Pray what can I do for you?'

'Father, I have come up to see if I can't induce you to forgive me, and let us patch this quarrel up!'

'I beg your pardon,' he answered slowly, but still with the same exquisite politeness; 'I don't know that I understand you. Did I understand you to address me by the t.i.tle of father?'

'I am your son!'

He seated himself in one of the verandah chairs, and I noticed that his hand trembled on the arm as he laid it there.

'I have forgotten that I ever had a son,' he said, after a moment's pause, 'and I have no desire to be reminded of the disagreeable fact.'

'Then you will not forgive me,' I cried bitterly, amazed at his obstinacy.

'My son was a horse coper and a blackguard,' he continued, 'and even if I were to admit him to my house I should certainly not forgive him!'

'Thank you,' I said, moving towards the steps to go away again. 'You wronged me before--and now you do so again. I will trouble you no more.'

'One moment before you go,' he cried, tapping on the floor with his stick. 'You have not come up here to work upon my feelings without having some object in view, I suppose. I hear you are living in the township at the princ.i.p.al hotel, doing nothing for your living. Your presence here means, I presume, that you want money. If that is so, I will give you five hundred pounds to enable you to start afresh in the world, provided you leave this place within twenty-four hours, and do not let me ever see you or hear of you again.'

'And you refuse me your forgiveness for the wrong you have done me?'

'I am not aware that I have done you any wrong,' he answered. 'I only believe what everybody in the township down yonder knows to be a fact.

To-morrow morning you shall have that money if you wish it. After that I will not give you a halfpenny to save you from starving.'