The Barrakee Mystery

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dugdale Departs

DURING THE time that the bullock team was being used for carting wood at the homestead it was Blair’s custom to draw his wagon against a fence running behind the trades shops. It makes yoking and unyoking bullocks muchmore easy if they can be jammed against a fence. Henry’s duty after breakfast was to ride out to one of the home paddocks and muster the team, whilst during his absence Blair obtained their midday lunch and attended to any fault among the gear.

With the lunch in a gunny-sack the pugnacious bullock-driver was passing the jackeroos’ quarters when there came to him Frank Dugdale, a strange light in his eyes, and in his hand a telegram.

“Read that, Fred,” he said, with unusual excitement. A few seconds were necessary for Blair to find and adjust his spectacles. Aloud he read deliberately:

“Daly YardSyndicate drawn my horse Eucla in Golden Plate. What will you lay off to win?”

It was signed by the owner of Eucla, a famed Australian horse-owner. Blair read it out once more. Then, as deliberately as he spoke, he removed his spectacles and placed them in an inner pocket. For a moment he stared at the younger man.

“Now, isn’t it right that a man lucky enough to draw a block in our Land Lottery is lucky enough to draw a good horse?” he said. “The proof that I think Eucla the best horse entered for that race is that I sent away five pounds yesterday to put on him. We’ve got to square the owner, or he will scratch his horse and we’ll only get a few pounds out of it. The prizes are big, Mr Dugdale. What does the boss say about it?”

“He suggests betting the owner two thousand Eucla will not win, fifteen hundred it won’t secure second place, and a thousand he won’t get in third.”

“Yes, that ought to do,” Blair agreed.

“Very well; I’ll wire him to that effect. By the way, I am leaving Barrakee today, you know. Would have been gone weeks ago, only Mr Thornton wanted me to stay till the end of July.”

Blair looked up at Dugdale, the habitually severe expression of his grim face relaxing into one much softer.

“Today, eh?” he said. “Well, I wish you continued luck. You’re the overseer, I’m only the bullocky, but we never clashed with you. Good luck to you!” And with that they parted with a handshake, never dreaming of the manner of their next meeting.

Dugdale was leaving that afternoon, driving a motor-truck he had bought and intending to reach his block via Thurlow Lake. The morning was occupied in packing his belongings, quite voluminous in bulk, being the gathering of years, and it was about eleven o’clock when he had finished and Mr Thornton led him into the office.

“Sit down, Dug; I want to talk to you,” opened the big bluff squatter in his kindly way. “Have a cigarette?”

Dugdale nodded and selected one from the box pushed across the writing table. Thornton leaned back in his chair and regarded the young man pensively.

“You and I have always got on well,” he said slowly. “I like a man who sticks to his work, not only sticks to it but studies it. When I came to Barrakee first I paid cash for the lease, and that expenditure left me tight of money. For the first twelve months I spent only fifteen nights here; the other days and nights I was out on the run. I spared neither myself nor my wife then, but now we don’t regret it. How much money have you got?”

“About four hundred pounds,” was Dugdale’s unhesitating reply.

“Go careful; you’ll want every penny of it. Make the hut on your land serve you for at least a year. Never spend a penny ’less you are forced to, yet pay cash for everything. The deferred-payment system is our greatest curse. Today is August 1st. I have told Watts to have two thousand six-tooth ewes yarded at Thurlow Lake on the 7th. He’ll lend you a man to get ’emto your place, and as you have plenty of feed and water you should do well. I’ll let you have rams next month, or October, and here is an order to Mortimore to start you off with three months’ supply of rations. However, before you go to him, run in and see Mrs Thornton. She wishes to speak to you.

“I think that’s about all, Dug, excepting that I am always here if you get into any difficulty or want assistance. And, Dug, if you get tired ofsquattering, your job is always open to you.”

The station owner rose to his feet, smiling.

“But the sheep, Mr Thornton!”Dugdale expostulated. “When will you require payment? I can’t possibly pay cash for them.”

“When you take delivery of them Watts will ask you to sign a document. I am selling them to you at fifteen shillings a head. My opinion of you is good, and I am going to back my opinion by leaving you to pay when you like within the next ten years.”

They stood facing each other across the table. The young man’s face was flushed, and his eyes were suspiciously moist:

“Thank you, sir,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

He found Mrs Thornton in the garden.

“You asked for me?” he said, smiling.

“Yes, Dug. I wanted to invite you to lunch with us before you leave.” She stood, frail and pale, yet indomitable in spirit. Only a little woman, yet holding a personality of surprising power.

“That is very kind of you,” he said.

“It is not often, fortunately, that my husband and I lose people we like,” she went on gently. “I am sorry you are going, yet glad you have the opportunity of doing well for yourself. We shall miss you, and I think Ralph will miss your steadying influence. Is it right that you will be living alone in an ordinary hut?”

“Why, yes, Mrs Thornton, till I can afford to build a larger house.”

She sighed. Then:

“You will find it lonely, Dug, and you will miss your home comforts. I suppose you have no curtains to hang before the window?”

“No. I never thought of curtains,” he admitted.

“I expected that,” she said. “So I sent Kate in to make you up a parcel of things-curtains, a table cover, a small carpet, a fire fender, and what not. And then there is a small box of preserves and jams and pickles Kate and I made. They will, I think, be so much better for you than the tinned stuff. And, Dug, never forget us, will you? We would like to have you think that this is your home, and we your people.”

He found himself unable to speak.

“We all have our worries and our battles,” she went on softly. “And the older we get the more we enjoy battering down our worries and winning our battles. Your father and we were great friends, and we hope his son will always be our friend, too.”

“Perhaps my father would have won his battle had my mother lived, and she had been like you,” he told her, with choking voice. “Certainly she could hardly have been more kind than you.”

And quite suddenly the calm, efficient Dugdale took her hand in courtly fashion and kissed it. “Please accept my thanks-no-my gratitude-for granted. I cannot say what I would like.” And, bowing stiffly, he left her to regard his retreating figure with suddenly shining eyes and flushed face.

The lunch in Dugdale’s honour was a great success. The squatter talked sheep, and his wife housekeeping. Ralph rallied from his lately growing silence, and even Kate-Kate, whose heart was slowly breaking-forced a laugh now and then, and a bantering suggestion that Dugdale should buy a cookery book.

“I shall be satisfied with baking-powder bread, and meat grilled on hot coals,” he told her, keeping well hidden the agony which was becoming almost unbearable. “And when I tire of that, I shall doubtless find an excuse to come to Barrakee for a meal.”

“Then you will be finding excuses fairly often, because you will soon tire of baking-powder bread and grilled meat,” she told him with a laugh.

“You will have to do as I suggested some time ago, Dug,” Ralph put in. “Which is to hunt up a wife to keep house.”

Dugdale looked at everybody but Kate when he replied:

“Then, I think I shall find myself blocked at the outset. I am sure no woman would want to live in a boundary-rider’s hut.”

“Women have done it,” Kate murmured.

“Would you live in a boundary-rider’s hut with me?” asked Ralph.

“I would live anywhere with the man I loved.” And so well did she play her part that even Ralph thought that the man she loved was himself. His gaze fell to his plate. He felt like Judas.

The conversation ran on gaily till the end of the meal, when they all rose and accompanied Dugdale to his loaded truck. Cranking the engine, he slowed it till it ticked over gently; when, beginning with the Little Lady, he shook them by the hand, coming last to Kate, at whom he smiled in his old quizzical fashion. She returned his clasp with a softpressure, and his smile with plucky lightness; but when he drove away she left the others, walking slowly to the garden gates, and then when out of sight almost running to her room, where she flung herself with abandon on the bed.

Ralph had his arm through that of Mrs Thornton when they, with the squatter, sauntered back to the house. The latter was saying: “I had a letter fromHemming this morning. He tells me that his place is in fine fettle.”

“Oh, I am glad of that,” Mrs Thornton exclaimed.

“But they find the homestead much larger than Thorley’s place,” Thornton continued. “The house contains sixteen rooms, and Mrs Hemming has had great difficulty in securing maids. She was indeed thankful when our missing Nellie Wanting turned up asking for a job.”

“So that is where she went to, John? You know, I cannot understand to this day why she so suddenly disappeared.”

Ralph Thornton, with eyes on the ground and quickly throbbing heart, said nothing.