The Bushranger's Secret Part 3

If it only had happened so! Yet, even now--?"

But there Gray's thoughts took pause. The secret was not his alone.

It was shared by Harding. Even if Harding would allow him to-- But Harding would not, and there was an end of it.

They arranged at breakfast next morning that Gray should ride over to the station the day after and carry the paper with him. From the station it could be easily sent in to the inspector of police with the report of Dearing's death.

Gray got the paper down for another look at it.

"I believe I've heard you speak of Deadman's Gully, Harding."

"That's most likely, old man. I know the place well. I was stationed within a mile of it once. You know Rodwell's Peak?"

"Haven't the honour," said Gray flippantly. He got up and put the paper back in the desk. "Rodwell's Peak and Deadman's Gully! The Australian mind isn't gifted with imagination in regard to names."

"Deadman's Gully got its name rightly enough. It was the haunt of a gang of bushrangers. A track runs right by the mouth of it, and they buried the travellers there that they waylaid. That wasn't in my time, but I've heard old Jebb speak of it. He went with the police there once. A lonely dismal spot, he said, between high rocks, with a few trees in the middle."

"Our friend Dearing knew the spot well, it seems."

"Yes; but he didn't belong to that lot. He used it as a hiding-place, I fancy. He'd had a miserable life from what he told me."

Gray was putting on his boots, and apparently paying but little attention to Harding's remarks.

"I suppose you could find it, though?" he said carelessly.

"Easily enough. You've just got to follow the track till Rodwell's Peak is right in front of you. You've never been in the uplands, have you, Gray?" Harding broke off to say. "It's grand scenery. You ought to go there one day."

"Suppose we go there now."

Gray had finished putting on his boots, and was taking his whip down from the nail. He said it laughingly, looking back at Harding over his shoulder. Harding, who was washing the dishes at the table, returned his laughing look with a wondering glance.

"How could we? Who'd look after the stock?"

"Leave them to take care of themselves, the ugly brutes," went on Gray in the same laughing way. "Let us run up to Deadman's Gully and appropriate that coin, Harding. What do you say to that plan, eh?"

Harding laughed, but half-sadly.

"I believe you'd make a joke of anything, lad. But don't joke about that money. It don't seem right."

"It isn't a joke the bank would appreciate at any rate," returned Gray, with another laugh.

He did not continue the subject

"You get a talk with Mr. Morton, lad," said Harding to him, as they stood outside the hut, ready to start for their day's work. "He'll listen to you, I know. Tell him you're tired of the work here."

"What's the good of telling him that?" returned Gray, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm tired of work everywhere--tired and sick of this horrible country, and everything and everybody in it."

"Well, Morton might help you to a post in Adelaide," said Harding, who had been much troubled by Gray's constant despondency of late. "You'd have better company there. It's more like England, you know."

"What post could he get me in Adelaide?" returned Gray, with a bitter irony in his tone. "And do you think it would be any pleasure to me to sit in an office and see the carriages driving by? I had enough of that in England. No, I'd be off to the diamond fields if I'd the cash for the journey. Do you think Morton would lend me that?"

Harding shook his head sorrowfully.

"I wish I knew how I could help you, lad. I can't bear to see you like this. I wish Polly was here. She'd know how to talk to you better than I do."

Gray cast a scornful look at his companion's troubled face. It rankled in his heart that Harding should pity him.

"Are we going to stand talking here all day?" he said irritably.

"Aren't you going to get the horses out?"

They rode off in different directions that morning.

Gray went on a long round. His ride took him to a distant part of the run, from which he could get a glimpse of the far-off mountains. The peak towering up in the blue air so far above its fellows was Rodwell's Peak. Gray remembered now that Harding had pointed it out to him when they had been together at this spot. He checked his horse and paused for some time gazing at the peak. Close under it was Deadman's Gully!

Gray knew well enough how deceptive distance was in that clear air. He knew how far off those hills really were; but the sight of Rodwell's Peak seemed to bring the money close within his grasp, to give the convict's story a reality it had wanted before. It was with a darker face, and a heart overflowing with bitterness, that he left that spot and turned his horse's head homewards.

Harding was not at home when he returned. This was a new cause for vexation, for Gray had to light the fire and prepare the tea, a task he hated. It was with a muttered curse against Harding that he set about it, and he was ready with a very unpleasant greeting for him when he should at last appear.

Gray was very slow and awkward over his unaccustomed work; but tea was at last got ready. Gray finished his meal, and still Harding had not come.

It was getting dark now; the stars were coming out; the wide outlines of the pastures were growing indistinct. Gray went outside the hut and looked searchingly in the direction from which he expected Harding to come. But there were no signs of him.

Up to this point Gray had not even wondered at his lateness; he had only felt annoyed at it. But now a wild thrill went over him. Had something happened? Had Harding met with some accident?

Gray caught hold of the top rail of the fence to steady himself as the thought swept over him. It brought such a throbbing of wild hope with it that Gray recoiled at his own feelings, but the feelings remained.

He could not crush them out. He knew--even while the knowledge horrified him--he knew that if Harding did not return, if some dark fate had overtaken him, that he would be glad--yes, glad! For then the secret would be his alone. Then there would be nothing to prevent him from taking possession of the buried treasure.

But it was early yet. He and Harding, Gray reflected, had often been out together as late; only, Harding had said so decidedly that he should be back long before dusk. What could be keeping him?

Gray left the hut and walked for some distance along the gra.s.sy plain, but he could see nothing, hear nothing. He "coo'eed" once or twice, but there was no answer. All was dark and still under the starry sky.

He went back, and sat down in the hut and waited. Once or twice he thought of taking his horse and riding out to search for Harding. But that would be of no use, he reflected. Harding had had a wide stretch of country to cover. It was a million chances to one that he could find him. So Gray sat still and waited.

Towards midnight he rose, drawn by a horrible sort of fascination, and took the paper from Harding's desk. He spread it out on the table, and sat down to study it. The more he looked at it the more easy it all seemed to be. It was such an absolutely safe thing. No one could possibly know the contents of that paper but himself and Harding. If Harding never came back he would be the sole owner of the secret.

Gray made his plans as he sat there with his eyes fixed on the faded, dirty sheet.

He would destroy the paper--he did not need to keep it now; he knew its contents too well. Then he would give up his work at the first opportunity, and after waiting a certain time would make his way to Deadman's Gully, get the money, and be off to England. Then he would begin to live his life in earnest.

Dazzling visions of that new life began to rise before Gray. Not a life of vulgar dissipation--Gray was not that sort of man; he loathed coa.r.s.eness and riot--but a life of cultured ease, of refined luxury, rich in all the beautiful things that wealth could bring him.

A sudden noise without brought him back with a shock to present surroundings. He rose hurriedly and pushed the paper back in the desk.

He thought Harding had returned. But it was only his own horse moving uneasily in the stable. It was missing its companion, and was restless and unhappy.

Gray soothed it as well as he could, and then went out once more to look across the plain. But dark and silent the land lay beneath the stars. No sound, no movement.

Gray went back into the hut and sat down again; but he did not touch the paper any more. The certainty that Harding would never return began to grow upon him, and he was frightened at himself. It was as if his half-formed wishes had brought about Harding's fate.

The hours pa.s.sed, and at last the dawn came--a clear, beautiful dawn, with a fresh wind blowing over the gra.s.s and a rosy radiance flooding the sky.

Gray went out once more to look along the horizon. This time his search was not in vain. Almost at once he discerned a small moving object against the sky. It was moving slowly towards the hut. Gray knew at once what it was. It was the dog, and Harding must be close behind.