The Rider of Waroona Part 20

"You can demand it, of course, if you care to," Durham replied.

"And where are you going to camp? You'll want a feed, I suppose?"

"I reckoned I could get one here."

"Oh, you can get one here all right. There's no luxury about the place.

I'm a poor man and just carry enough stores to keep me going. There's only me about the place now, so you'll have to do your own cooking; but you'll find it as comfortable as any bush pub, and cheaper, for there's no drink to be had, and half a crown for your supper and bed won't hurt you. You can take it or leave it--I'm not particular."

He climbed out of the buggy and began unharnessing the horse.

"You have heard of the robbery at the bank, I suppose, Mr. Dudgeon?"

Durham asked.

"Heard of what?"

He stood up with his hand still on the buckle he was unfastening.

"The robbery at the bank. I thought everyone in the district had heard of it."

The old man remained without moving, his eyes fixed on Durham.

"Haven't heard a word. What's the yarn?"

"The bank was robbed yesterday--all the money taken, including the gold which had been sent up to pay you for Waroona Downs. Soon after the robbery, Eustace, the manager, disappeared."

"Then who's Wallace?"

"He is one of the officials from the head office."

"But he had the money ready to pay me. How could that be if----"

"He arrived with it to-day--he was expected about noon, I believe."

Dudgeon let go the buckle and took two slow, deliberate steps nearer Durham.

"Brought it with him?" he exclaimed. "And only arrived about noon?"

"About that, I believe," Durham replied.

The old man s.n.a.t.c.hed the hat from his head and flung it on the ground.

"Sold! by G.o.d! Sold!" he yelled. "If I'd been there before that chap arrived, I'd have beaten them--they couldn't have paid, and I'd have cried off the deal. Why didn't you come and tell me earlier? What's the good of your coming here now?"

"Don't you think it rather risky to drive through the bush with a pile of money like that in your buggy while those bank robbers are still at liberty?" Durham said quietly.

Dudgeon stood back and looked at him quizzically.

"Oh, you're on it too, are you? That's your game, is it? Well, see here, my lad, anyone who can take this money without my knowing it is welcome to it. Do you understand?"

He resumed his work of unharnessing the horse, leading it away, as soon as it was clear of the shafts, to a lean-to shed at the side of the hut where he hung up the harness and turned the horse free.

"Well, how about that half-crown? Are you going to stay, or aren't you?

Government won't pay that, you know. You find your own tucker, my lad."

"I wish to stay here to-night," Durham answered.

"Then chuck over the cash."

It was obvious that if Durham wished to stay, he would have to pay, so without further demur he pa.s.sed over the amount Dudgeon demanded for his supper and bed.

"Now we start fair," the old man said, as he put the money in his pocket. "I'm under no obligation to you and you're under no obligation to me. That is what I call trading square."

He unlocked the door and flung it open.

"You'll find some cold meat and bread on the shelf, and there's tea in the canister over the fire-place. You'll have to fetch what water you want from the tank."

As Durham entered the hut, Dudgeon went to the buggy and lifted one of the bags of gold in his arms, carrying it inside.

The hut was a small and unpretentious structure. The door opened directly into the living-room, to which there was only one small window looking out on the verandah. A second door led into a small kitchen, off which opened another small room used by Dudgeon for sleeping.

With the bag of gold in his arms he stood in the doorway.

"You'll have to sleep on that stretcher over there," he said, nodding to a rough framework of untrimmed saplings with a length of coa.r.s.e canvas fastened across. "You won't be cold. Keep a good fire on. You'll find an axe in the harness shed if you want to get any wood."

He pa.s.sed on through the second door and Durham set about lighting the fire. As he did so, Dudgeon made journeys to and fro, coming from the back of the hut empty-handed and returning from the buggy with a bag of gold in his arms until he had carried all the twenty-five thousand pounds in. By that time the fire was alight, and Durham went out to turn his horse loose. He returned by way of the harness shed, took the axe and went to the back of the hut to cut some wood for the night. As he turned the corner, he saw old Dudgeon with a spade in his hand, entering the hut by the back door.

"Ah, that's good," the old man exclaimed, when Durham entered the living-room with an armful of cut wood. "That'll last the night through.

I see you made the tea, so I had mine as I was wanting a feed. You'll have to boil some more water--there was only enough for one in the first lot you made."

"I made that tea for myself, Mr. Dudgeon," Durham exclaimed.

"Well, make some more. There's plenty of water in the tank--I won't charge you any more for using the can twice, though every time it's put on the fire means so much less life for it."

Durham swung round in heat.

"You're the meanest man on the face of the earth," he cried.

Dudgeon looked at him with his s.h.a.ggy brows almost obscuring the cold, hawk-like eyes.

"If you hadn't paid me for your grub and a camp, I'd turn you out of the place," he snarled. "You've no more grat.i.tude for kindness than a black fellow."

Durham bit back the angry retort which rose to his lips. Little wonder the bank people were so indifferent to the old man's safety; little wonder no one had troubled to bring him news of the incident which formed the main item of gossip from end to end of the district. If this was the way he treated a visitor who paid, and paid dearly, for his board and bed, how, Durham asked himself, would he treat an ordinary guest?

But he held his peace, refilled the can with water and set it to boil, Dudgeon sitting in the one chair the room contained, as he stolidly cut a pipeful of tobacco.

When the water boiled, Durham made a second brew of tea and took his seat on a stool which was by the table. He helped himself to bread and meat and commenced his meal, but never a word did Dudgeon speak. He sat placidly smoking, his eyes on the smouldering embers of the fire, without as much as a glance in the direction of his visitor.

The sun went down and the interior of the hut grew gloomy.