Such Is Life (27 page)

Cardinal Wolsey, you may remember, as a consequence of putting his trust in princes, found himself at last so badly treed that his robe and his integrity to heaven were all he dared now call his own. The effect was a peace above all earthly dignities. So with me, but in larger beatitude. Having my — and my integrity to heaven, I found myself overflowing with the sunny self-reliance of the man that struck Buckley.

And before you join the hue-and-cry against the ‘barbarous incendiary' of the —
Express
, just put yourself in my place, and you won't fail to realise what a profitable transaction it was to get a
puris naturalibus
lunatic clothed and in his right mind by the sacrifice of a mere eyesore on a farm. The old straw-stack wasn't worth eighteen pence, but I would gladly have purchased its destruction with as many pounds—to be paid, say in nine monthly instalments. To be sure, it didn't belong to me; but then, neither did the splitters' bark. So there you are.

Crossing the dry place in the lagoon, I dived into the whipstick scrub and turned northward, intending to get across the river as soon as possible, and follow up the New South Wales side to my camp. I should have been—well, not exactly happy; having taken degrees in philosophy which place me above a state fit only for girls—I should have been without a ripple on my mirrored surface, but I wasn't. Serenely sufficient as I felt, and fit for anything, some ingredient seemed lacking in my fennel-wreathed goblet. There was a vacant chair somewhere in my microcosm. I knew I was forgetting something—but how could that be, when, in the most restricted sense of the word, I had nothing to forget?

Thus musing, I had gone through half my provant; now I turned round to give the rest to—Ah! where was Pup? I knew he had followed me on my first journey up the drain, but I hadn't seen him since, and had been too busy to notice his absence. He would probably be at the farmhouse. I must get my clothes changed, and look after him.

It was about a mile and a half northward to the river. Before reaching it, I saw, crossing the flat in the direction of the Victorian river road, a swagman whom I recognised in the distance as my friend Andy. In casual surprise—for, as you may remember, I had last seen him on the New South Wales side, eight or ten miles away, and going in the opposite direction—I went on without exchange of greeting. Shortly afterwards, I came plump upon Abraham, sitting on his horse, and talking to a young fellow with an axe on his shoulder. I respectfully swerved aside, not wishing, in this particular case, to come under the provisions of that unsound rule which judges a man by the clothes he wears.

Presently I became aware of the jingle of a horse-bell, and the smoke of a camp-fire; and, close to the river, I found a tilted spring-cart, near which an elderly man, with tattooed arms, sat on a log, enjoying his after-breakfast smoke. Now, if I had only known this a couple of hours earlier!

After the usual civilities, I reinforced my provant by a pannikin of tea, some fried fish, and a slice off the edge of a damper which rivalled the nether millstone in more than one respect; thus assuring myself that I had attained Carlyle's definition of a man: ‘An omnivorous biped, that wears —.' Meanwhile, in response to my host's invitation to tell him what I was lagged for, I explained that I was travelling; my horses were on the other side of the river; I had come across to see a friend, had been bushed all night, and wanted to get back.

He could manage the river for me, he said. He followed fishing and duck-shooting for a living; but there was so many informers about these times that a man had to keep his weather-eye open if he wanted to use a net or a punt-gun. People needn't be so particular, for there was ole Q— had been warning and threatening him yesterday, and here was the two young Q—s out this morning at the skreek of daylight, falling red-gum spars to build a big shed, and the ole (man) out on horseback, picking the best saplings on the river, Ole Q— was a J.P. His place was just across the flat, with a garden reaching down to the lagoon. Q— himself was the two ends and the bight of a sanguinary dog.

After breakfast, the old fellow furnished me with smoking-tackle, and paddled me across the river. During the passage, for want of something else to say, I mentioned to him that I had seen Andy crossing the flat, apparently from his camp. He explained that the swagman had been on his way to a new saw-mill, the day before, but had met one of the owners, who told him the mill wouldn't start till after harvest, and promised him work on the farm in the meantime. So Andy, on his return journey, had seen the outlaw's fire in the dusk; and, after some one-sided conversation across the river, the latter had ferried him over, and entertained him for the night. I mention this merely to show with what waste of energy the so-called sundowner often hunts for work, particularly if he happens to be the victim of any physical infirmity.

On reaching the north bank, I reminded the old fellow that I wanted to return by-and-by to look after a dog I had lost when I was bushed; and he promised to bring his skiff for me when I would sing-out.

In a couple of hours I was at my camp. In another fifteen minutes I was arrayed in my best and only. Shortly afterward, my horses were equipped, and Cleopatra, being in fine trim, was bucking furiously in the sand-bed where I had mounted. In an hour and a half more, I had unsaddled and hobbled both horses on a patch of good grass, nearly opposite where the spring-cart stood. My persecuted acquaintance, in response to my coo-ee, appeared with his skiff, and ferried me over. Then I hurried across the flat, to the residence of Mr. Q—. A man loses no time when such a dog as Pup is at stake.

It couldn't have been later than half-past-one when I walked up along the garden fence, and approached the door of the kitchen. A modest-looking and singularly handsome girl had just filled a bucket of water at the water-slide, and was hammering the
peg into the barrel with an old pole-pin. I recognised her as Jim, and forgave her on sight.

“Good day to you, ma'am,” said I affably. “Sultry weather isn't it? I'm looking for a big blue kangaroo dog, with a red leather collar. Answers to the name of Pup'.”

She hesitated a moment. “You better see my father. He's at dinner. Will you come this way, please.”

I followed her into the parlour. In passing through the kitchen, I noticed that dinner was over, and a second young woman—apparently the original owner of my boots—was disposing the crockery on the dresser. In the parlour, Mr. Q—, a man of overpowering dignity, redolent of the Bench, and, as I think, his age some fifty, or by 'r lady, inclining to three-score, was dining in solitary grandeur, waited on by young woman number three. Lucullus was dining with Lucullus.

“Good day, sir,” said I, with a respectful salaam. “Have I the honour of addressing Mr. Q—?”

“Your business, sir?” he replied, surveying me from head to foot.

“I'm looking for a dog I lost last night, or this morning; a big blue kangaroo dog, with a”—

“Are you sure he's your dog?”

“Perfectly sure, Mr. Q—.”

“How did you come in possession of him?”

“I bought him eight months ago. Am I right in assuming that he's on your prem”—

“Steady, my good man. Who are you? What's your name?”

“I must apologise for not having given my name at first. My name is Collins—of the New South Wales Civil Service. I'm Deputy-Assistant-Sub-Inspec”—

“And what leads you to imply that I've got your dog?”

“Information received.”

“Leave the apartment, Naomi,” said the magistrate loftily. “Now, Mr. Collins,” he continued, pouring out a glass of wine, and holding it between his eye and the light; “ I want to ask you”—he drank half the wine, set the glass on the table, and leisurely wiped his mouth with his serviette—“I want to ask you”—he paused again, pursed his lips, and placed his forefinger against his temple—“I want to ask you how you come to imply that the dog is here? ‘Information received' was your statement. Be precise this time, Mr. Collins. I'm waiting for your answer.”

“I had my information from a man who saw the dog on your premises, Mr. Q—.”

“Very good, indeed! At what time did he see the dog? Be punctual, Mr. Collins. Punctuality implies truth.”

“About sunrise, I think.”

“You think! Are you sure?”

“Well, yes; I'm sure.”

“Describe your informer, please.”

“Describe him! If I described him ever so accurately, you wouldn't know him from Adam,” I replied sharply, and withal truthfully. “Is my dog here, Mr. Q—? If he is, I'll take him, and go. I don't want to be trying your patience after this fashion.”

“Steady, Mr. Connell. Was your informer a man about my height?”

“I have no idea of your height, Mr. Q—.”

“Was he a man about your own height? We'll get at it presently.”

“You've got at it first try. I should say you've struck his height to about a sixteenth of an inch.”

“Sunburnt face? Skulking, fugitive appearance generally?”

“Your description's wonderfully correct, Mr. Q—. You might, without libel, call him a sansculotte.”

“I'm seldom far out in these matters. How was he dressed?”

“In a little brief authority, so far as I remember. But is my dog—”

“Do you imply a sarcasm?” inquired the J.P. darkly. “I wouldn't do so if I was you. I'm not thinking about your dog. You and your dog! I'm thinking about a valuable stack of hay I had burnt this morning; and you've give me a clue to the incendiary.” He paused, to let his words filter in. “You done it without your knowledge, Mr. O'Connell,” he continued pompously, again holding up his glass to the light.

In the silence that ensued, I could hear the murmur of the girls' voices about the house, and the irregular ticking of two clocks; while there dawned on my mind an impression that somebody had fallen in the fat.

“I'm sorry to hear of your loss, Mr. Q—,” I remarked, at length.

“So far as the loss goes, that gives me no inconvenience, though it might break a poorer man. I been burnt out, r—p and stump, by an incendiary, when I was at Ballarat”—

“Ah!” said I sympathetically, but my sympathy was with the other party—

“And then I could afford to offer a hundred notes for the apprehension of the offender, before the ashes was cold.”

“But mightn't this last affair be an accident, Mr. Q—? A horse treading on a match for instance? I think you ought to make strict inquiries as to whether any horse, or cow, or anything, passed by the stack shortly before the fire was noticed.”

“I know my own business, Mr. O'Connor,” he replied severely. “I been the instigation of bringing more offenders, and vagabonds, and that class of people, to justice than anybody else in this district. If I'd my way, I'd stamp out the lawless elements of society.”

“I admire your principles, Mr. Q—; and you may count upon my assistance in this matter. By-the-way, there are two illicit red-gummers down here”—

“I was talking to you about this stack-burning affair,” interposed the beak. “I'm annoyed over it. I been on the wrong lay, so to speak, all this morning; but that never lasts long with me. I got the perpetrator in my eye now, in his naked guilt; and, take my word for it, Mr. Connor, I'll bring him to book. I'll make an example of him. I'll make him smoke for it. It was an open question this forenoon; but to show how circumstantial evidence sort of hems in a suspected party—why, here I can lay my hand on the very man; and, what's more, he can't get out of it. I can point out the very mark of his body, where he slep' at a fire among the whipstick scrub, just across that lagoon. And a party I'm acquainted with seen him yesterday afternoon, some distance up the river, on the other side; and I seen him this morning, crossing the flat here, more or less about the time the fire was noticed. What do you think of that for circumstantial evidence, Mr. Connelly? And in addition to this, I can point out his incentive—which I prefer to hold in reserve for the present. He might think his incentive justifiable; but the Bench might differ with him.” And El Corregidor held me with his glittering eye while he sipped his wine.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Q—,” said I, clearing my throat “I can't help taking a certain interest in this matter. Would it be impertinent in me to ask who the person was that saw the suspected incendiary up the river on yesterday afternoon?”

“I've no objection to answer your question, Mr. Conway. I quite expect you to take a strong interest in the matter. In fact, I'll require to know something of your whereabouts after you leave my premises. I think you'll be wanted over this affair. The party
that seen the incendiary yesterday was Mr. H—, of H— Brothers.”

“Mr. Charles H—?” I inquired casually.

“No; Mr. Arthur H—. Very respectable man, having personal knowledge of the incendiary.” Again the J.P. sipped his wine; and the girls' voices murmured, and the clocks ticked, and the hens clucked in the yard; also, the magpies tootled beyond the lagoon, and a couple of axes sounded faintly across the flat; and I even heard, through the open window, the noise of some old back-delivery chattering through a crop of hay on an adjacent farm.“Give me your address,” continued Mephistopheles, replenishing his glass. “Writing-material on the side table.”

I wrote my name and official title, giving our departmental office in Sydney as a fine loose postal address, and laid the paper on the table beside the magnate. It reminded me of old times, when my Dad used to send me to bring him the strap. It was time to shake my faculties together, for ne'er had Alpine's son such need.

“I've made a study of law, myself, Mr. Q—,” I remarked thoughtfully. (This was perfectly true, though, in the urgency of the moment, I omitted to add that my researches had been confined to those interesting laws which govern the manifold operations of Nature.) “I've made a special study of law; and I think you will agree with me that a successful criminal prosecution is a Pyrrhic victory at best. At worst—that is, if you fail to prove your case; and, mind you, it's no easy matter to prove a case against a well-informed man by circumstantial evidence alone—if you fail to prove your case; then it's his turn, for malicious prosecution; and you can't expect any mercy from him. When you think your case is complete, you find the little hitch, the little legal point, that your opponent has been holding in reserve. Now, you're a gentleman of substance, Mr. Q—. You're a perfect target for a man that has studied law.” I paused, for I noticed the Moor already changing with my poison. “By heaven! I'd like to have a shot at you for a thousand!” I continued, eyeing him greedily.