THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 The Luck of 
 the Leura
 
 BV THE 
 SAME AUTHOR 
 
 DWELLERS BY THE RIVER 
 FUGITIVE ANNE 
 THE OTHER MRS JACOBS 
 THE MAID OF THE RIVER 
 
 JOHN LONG 
 PuuLisHER, London
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 By 
 
 Mrs Campbell Praed 
 
 London 
 
 John Long 
 
 13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket 
 
 \_All Rights Reserved]
 
 First Fuhlished in 1907
 
 S/S9 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. The Luck of the Leura ... 9 
 
 II. Mother Quinlan's Weaner - - - 75 
 
 III. Bushed — An Episode in Kangaroo- 
 
 hunting 119 
 
 IV. The Doctor's Yarn - - - 141 
 V. A Scare of the Blacks ... - 192 
 
 VI. Old Berris of Boggo Creek - - 217 
 
 VII. Aurea 245 

 
 VOCABULARY OF AUSTRALIAN 
 EXPRESSIONS 
 
 BuDGERY — Aboriginal word, signifying Good. 
 
 Baal— „ „ „ No. 
 
 Combo — A white man who Hves by choice 
 with the blacks. 
 
 CoBBON — Very much. 
 
 Dingo — Native dog. 
 
 Gin — A black woman. 
 
 Kookaburra — Bird of the kingfisher tribe, 
 
 called a " laughing-jackass." 
 
 Lubra — Unmarried black woman. 
 
 MUMKULL — To kill. 
 
 PiALLA — To talk to, to beseech. 
 
 Yarraman — Horse. 
 
 Yan — To go away.
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 I 
 
 THE LUCK OF THE LEURA 
 
 One hot Christmas Day, three men and a boy, 
 
 mounted on bush horses, rode along the track to 
 
 Forbes Vallis's station, Kooroon. The men were 
 
 squatters on the Upper Leura River, and for 
 
 three or four years past, it had been their habit to 
 
 ride twenty miles down the river every Christmas 
 
 Day that they might eat their Christmas dinner 
 
 with Forbes Vallis. They went chiefly because 
 
 Forbes Vallis, being better off than themselves, 
 
 kept a Chinese cook and they were sure at any 
 
 rate that Chen Sing would give them a good 
 
 dinner. Being better off than these men did not 
 
 mean a great deal, for the Leura squatters as a 
 
 whole were npt a wealthy set. Forbes Vallis 
 
 had brought money out from England and had 
 
 9
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 put it into cattle. Since his ownership of 
 Kooroon seasons had been fairly good, and 
 though, like almost all Australian squatters,%e 
 had a debt on his run, there didn't seem any fear 
 of the Bank " coming down upon him " — as bush 
 people put it. 
 
 Apart from the proprietorship of Chen Sing, 
 Forbes Vallis was popular on the river, though 
 people called him " a bit of a swell " and laughed 
 at his rather abortive attempts to introduce 
 University sestheticism into the bush. This 
 year, however, there had been some discussion 
 among the trio as to whether it was quite correct 
 that they should accept Vallis's invitation, 
 ordinarily taken for granted, but this Christmas 
 sent over by a black boy and couched in terms 
 of jocular formality as befitted a new-made 
 Benedict. For the young lady, to whom Vallis 
 had become engaged during a flying trip home, 
 had recently come out under the chaperonage of 
 the Governor of Leichardt's - Land's wife to 
 marry the young squatter from the Leura. 
 There had been a smart wedding chronicled in all 
 the newspapers. The bride was given away by 
 
 lO 
 
 I
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 the Governor, the wedding breakfast took 
 place at Government House, and a month 
 or two back Vallis had brought his bride 
 to Kooroon. Thus this Christmas visit had to 
 serve also as a ceremonious bridal call and 
 was not decided upon without considerable 
 deliberation. 
 
 To none of the men did the occasion appear 
 one of mirth. They were all inordinately shy. 
 A bride from England, with the halo of Govern- 
 ment House still encircling her, was calculated 
 to strike awe into bushmen's hearts, and more- 
 over, the question of suitable clothes weighed 
 heavily upon them all. Certainly old Berris of 
 Boggo Creek had not worn a coat for several 
 years. Thick flannel shirts in the winter; 
 thinner ones in the summer — that was what he 
 was accustomed to. In fact, on the Leura 
 back-blocks, coats were regarded as a mere 
 tribute to civilisation, to be reserved for trips to 
 Gundabine — the nearest township — and for 
 business sojourns at any of the few stations in 
 the neighbourhood where there happened to be 
 
 a lady. Speaking frankly, two out of the three 
 
 II
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 bushmen would rather have encountered a mob 
 of wild blacks bent on foul deeds than this one 
 harmless English girl. 
 
 The boy, however, was cheerful. He was Mr 
 Berris's son, a youth of about sixteen, with a 
 frank, open face, an almost Greek head — ^like 
 so many of the pure-born Australians — which 
 was covered with close-curling, yellow-brown 
 hair, and straight-gazing brown eyes. He was 
 the pride of his father's heart, because he was 
 already such a thorough bushman, and he was 
 the joy of his father's life because he was the 
 image of his mother, who had been the romance 
 of old Berris's middle age. 
 
 There was no doubt about the boy's bushman- 
 ship. He rode a raw colt, at which an ordinary 
 stockman might have looked twice, with as 
 much ease as if he had been born on its back. 
 And in truth. Miles Berris had been born on 
 almost the next thing to a horse's back, and that 
 was the top of a bullock dray which was taking 
 his mother her first journey " out back." Poor 
 lady, she had been a town girl, who had never 
 left Sydney till old Berris came and somehow 
 
 12
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 managed to win her heart. It was the abiding 
 grief and remorse of old Berris's hfe that he had 
 been too hard on Janie. He had expected from 
 her the same sort of endurance tnat he had 
 found in the stockmen's daughters, who had 
 hitherto constituted his experience of woman- 
 hood. There had been floods, accidents, and 
 delays on that bush journey, and the end of it 
 was that Janie's trouble came upon her pre- 
 maturely and she died. Such things happen 
 over and over ag'ain in the bush. Mr Berris 
 lifted his wife down from the bullock dray, 
 wrapped her in a sheet of bark — there was no 
 means of making a coffin — and buried her under 
 a gum tree. He had to go on and leave the grave 
 to be fenced in later. It was a dry stage, the water- 
 bags were nearly empty, and there was no milk for 
 the babe hustled in this manner into an arid, 
 inhospitable world. Nevertheless, the child lived 
 and thrived. A black gin suckled him, and 
 maybe with the milk of this strange foster- 
 mother little Miles sucked in the spirit of the 
 Wild. It was for sake of the " lil' fella white 
 piccaninny " that the blacks spared Boggo 
 
 station in those bad days when the Frazers were 
 
 13
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 murdered wholesale at Hornet Bank and the 
 tally of white men, whose record was ended by a 
 black's spear, may not be fully made. 
 
 This is a digression. But one cannot write 
 about the bush without digressing. The tracks 
 of the Big Wild wander on and on through inter- 
 minable gum trees. Sometimes they lead to a 
 station where there are fun and brightness and 
 human interest; sometimes to a lonely shep- 
 herd's hut or boundary-riders' camp; some- 
 times to a few blacks' gunyas; sometimes only 
 to a " dead-end " — as the bushmen call a water- 
 hole where only cattle and forest things go to 
 drink. And so, going along, one gets gleanings 
 of the life of the bush and thumbnail sketches 
 of the people who ride through the gum trees 
 and the gidia scrub and across the great desert 
 plains of the West. 
 
 " Bush-fire Berris " — so named on account of 
 
 his enormous red beard, his mop of red curly 
 
 hair, now streaked with grey, and his large, 
 
 hard-featured red face, was the oldest of the 
 
 three squatters and the least inclined towards 
 
 that wedding visit. He did not like other men's 
 
 14
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 young wives. They reminded him too much of 
 that lonely grave under the gum tree and of his 
 own grievance against Fate. He was wont to 
 say that the Leura was no place for a lady — he 
 made a distinction between ladies and women 
 — and in that view perhaps he was right. He 
 now gave it as his opinion that Forbes Vallis 
 would have done better to wait for marrying a 
 girl from England till he could afford to put his 
 wife on good grazing country in the settled 
 districts south. 
 
 " Why, old man, you talk as if Mrs Vallis 
 was a mob of steers that you were going to fatten 
 for the butcher," laughed Chippindall of Teel- 
 bar, and old Berris nodded his fiery head and 
 agitated his beard, from the depths of which he 
 growled. 
 
 " My word, you wait and see. I tell ye the 
 
 Leura's no place for a lady. There was a 
 
 drought up here once that lasted eighteen months, 
 
 and then there came a flood after that, which 
 
 swept away my wool-shed and ten thousand 
 
 sheep. After that, foot-rot, and after that the 
 
 tick — and then I took to cattle and lost half my 
 
 15
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 stock from pleuro. ... I tell you if I was 
 fitted for anything but the bush— which I'm not 
 — bad luck to it ! — I wouldn't stop on the Leura. 
 I'd go and be a Government clerk and quill- 
 drive in Brisbane sooner." 
 
 "Oh! come, old man, you're down on your 
 luck. Wait till you've got one of Forbes Vallis's 
 Leura swizzles inside you, and you'll cheer up 
 a bit. What with three good seasons running 
 and store cattle up to four pound ten a head, 
 and fats to seven, there's no reason for us to 
 complain." 
 
 "You wait and see," growled Berris, darkly. 
 "I've known as many as four good seasons run- 
 ning and everybody cock-a-whoop and then a 
 drought that precious near broke us — and I'm 
 not saying anything of sandy-blight, nor dengue 
 fever, nor the Belyando gripe — nor the black 
 spider — " 
 
 "Oh! chuck it," cried Chippindall. "Don't 
 
 you be talking like that to Mrs Vallis, or you'll 
 
 frighten her out of her wits and make her wish 
 
 she'd never come out from England to such a 
 
 God-forsaken place." 
 
 i6
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Mr Berris relapsed into silence after another 
 mournful nod and growl. 
 
 "No — no — you mark me; the Leura's no 
 place for a woman;" and the men respected his 
 melancholy, for they knew he was thinking of 
 the grave under the gum tree. Besides, they 
 were a little doubtful on the woman question 
 themselves. 
 
 Of the Teelbar partners, Tom Chippindall was 
 the most genial and alert. He had something 
 the appearance of a flash stockman bound for 
 a spree in the township. His moleskins were 
 spotless, his Crimean shirt was fresh out of the 
 store, and he had a new pugaree on his cabbage- 
 tree hat. The hat was kept on by a chin-strap 
 that only reached to the inside of his upper lip. 
 Consequently, Mr Chippindall's upper lip was 
 a prominent feature of his face. Also, the 
 pulling of the strap brought into evidence the 
 loss of one of his front teeth, which had been 
 kicked down his throat by an unruly milker. 
 He, too, rode his horse as if he were part of it, 
 but not with the young-centaur grace of the boy. 
 
 Mr Chippindall's seat had the stock-rider's in- 
 B 17
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 different slouch, and his horse's girth was so loose 
 that it seemed a wonder how the rider kept on 
 as he swayed and balanced his lean body to the 
 jerky movements of the animal under him. 
 He carried his stock-whip coiled over his right 
 shoulder and looking like an enormous snake. 
 He had a scrubby dark beard and ill-cut mous- 
 tache, and his skin was sun-burned almost to the 
 colour of a half-caste's, except where his shirt 
 opened incontinently below the third button, 
 and showed there a gleam of its native white. 
 Tom Chippindall talked with the Colonial twang 
 and laughed the Colonial laugh at the end of each 
 remark. He had too the Colonial vice of " blow- 
 ing " when in the company of other bushmen. 
 
 Jimmy Holt, on the contrary, was the quiet 
 kind of bushman. He looked stupid, save for 
 his greenish eyes, and they were sharp enough at 
 spying the brand on a strayed bullock, or a 
 black-fellow skulking with his boomerang behind 
 an iron bark tree. He, like his partner, had been 
 born and bred in the bush, and knew very little 
 outside cattle and sheep. He had been bitten 
 
 with gold-mining at the time of the Palmer 
 
 i8
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Rush and had lost all he possessed. Then he 
 had meekly taken up new country on the Upper 
 Leura, and afterwards gone into partnership 
 with Chippindall, who found the stock. So 
 far, they had prospered. In Australian ver- 
 nacular, Jimmy Holt had " a down " on the 
 diggings, and the only subject on which he waxed 
 truly eloquent was the mistake of thinking you 
 could ever make money out of gold-mining. 
 He too had a grievance against women and fate, 
 in the shape of a wrong dealt him by a young 
 lady of Townsville who had jilted him when his 
 reef turned out a duffer. He was a bit of a 
 naturalist — as indeed were the others also — 
 and his chief amusement was shooting wild 
 birds and curing rare skins. In the swag, 
 strapped to the front dees of his saddle, 
 he had brought, with his coat and toothbrush, a 
 present for the bride of three snowy pelican 
 skins. All three men had brought presents of 
 Nature-spoils. Chippindall's was an uncut opal 
 that he had always meant to have made into a 
 ring for his fiancee whenever he got one, but so 
 
 far the occasion had not arisen and he had 
 
 19
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 decided to present the opal to Forbes Vallis's 
 wife. Mr Berris had brought a string of emu's 
 eggs, which adorned his horse's neck — that 
 being the most convenient mode of carrying 
 them; and the boy had a dilly-bag, woven by 
 one of the camp gins, of superior make and 
 finish. 
 
 The three elder men kept to the track. Miles, 
 wishing to take the vice out of his young colt, 
 jumped all the logs within sight and gave him 
 a gallop every now and then across a bit of plain. 
 The horse's flanks dripped with sweat; the boy 
 hadn't turned a hair. Behind him ran three 
 kangaroo hounds, who also made little excur- 
 sions on their own account whenever they started 
 a herd of kangaroos. That was before the 
 Government had put a price on kangaroo scalps, 
 and skins became a marketable commodity. 
 Nowadays there are not so many kangaroos on 
 the Leura as there used to be. 
 
 When the squatters stopped at the slip-rails of 
 Forbes Vallis's home paddock they all dis- 
 mounted, and before going through, each man 
 
 undid his swag and solemnly took out and pro- 
 
 20
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 ceeded to don his coat. The coats were of 
 different degrees of freshness, Chippindall's being 
 the newest and the least crumpled. Old Berris's 
 had grown tight and he got into it with some 
 difficulty, which made him still more cross. He 
 swore in his beard a variety of bush oaths, and 
 then delivered himself again. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Jimmy," said he, " this 
 is getting too much of a good thing. Before 
 very long the river won't be fit for a self-respect- 
 ing single bushman to live on. There's far 
 too many women now swarming up to the heads 
 of it. I don't care about these ' bits o' smart ' 
 out of gilded halls and Government Houses. 
 Much idea they ever had of what it is to rough 
 it. And a damned shame I call it in a man to 
 bring one of them to a wilderness like this. 
 They've got no business, have ladies, on the 
 Upper Leura." 
 
 "Well, now, old Bush-fire, I can't say that I 
 agree with you," retorted Mr Chippindall, taking 
 his pipe out of his mouth and refilling it as well 
 as his horse would let him. " I think they 
 liven up the river a bit. I haven't got such a 
 
 21
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 down on ladies myself. Gundabine Races were 
 a deal jollier this year for having a girl or two 
 to play about with." 
 
 " You ask Jimmy Holt what he thinks," said 
 Mr Berris, with a sardonic chuckle. "He don't 
 want no girls to play about with, do you, Jimmy? 
 Once bitten, twice shy, eh? " 
 
 Mr Holt appeared absorbed in the progress of 
 an iguana up a neighbouring gum tree and made 
 no reply. Old Berris continued, — 
 
 " So long as the women keep down on the 
 Lower Leura I don't so much mind. There's 
 enough of them there it seems to look after each 
 other. Now I'm hearing that the selectors are 
 going in for sugar-growing; thinking the place 
 is likely to turn out another Mackay, I suppose 
 — more fools they! And there's a doctor too 
 se!:tled among them. And he's thinking he'll 
 get a living for himself out of the poor devils 
 and their wives and families. Well, well, I 
 daresay he'll make a decent thing out of them. 
 You can't stretch a line thirty miles along the 
 river without touching a piano or a sewing 
 machine — and as for babies, they're getting as 
 
 22
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 thick on the ground as bandicoots. . . . Yah! 
 They'll find out their mistake some day." 
 
 Mr Berris's growl was indescribable, but 
 whether he alluded to the selectors, the women, 
 the babies or the doctor, was not clear. Mr 
 Chippindall did not inquire. He had pulled out 
 a pocket comb with a narrow strip of looking- 
 glass set in the case, and with his horse's bridle 
 over his arm was vainly trying to comb his 
 beard. Berris and Jimmy Holt had mounted 
 again. 
 
 " Here, Miley, you youngster, come and hold 
 my horse while I make myself decent to pay a 
 call on a lady," shouted Mr Berris. But Miles 
 Berris, not being of an age when it mattered to 
 him whether he presented a suitable appearance 
 on a wedding visit, was already cantering towards 
 the head-station, which showed patchily through 
 a gidia clearing. The kangaroo hounds were 
 in full tilt after him, and their barking called 
 forth half a dozen pariah dogs from a blacks' 
 camp on the edge of a water-hole below the house. 
 
 " Vallis shouldn't let the blacks so close up 
 
 to the head-station," said Mr Berris. 
 
 23
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 "Oh, they're all right; they're tame enough," 
 said Chippindall, who took an optimistic view 
 of most things. 
 
 " You never know," muttered Jimmy Holt, 
 his only contribution so far to the conversation. 
 
 " Well, don't you go putting it into Mrs Vallis's 
 head that the blacks are dangerous," said Chippin- 
 dall. " She'll be scared enough of the bush if 
 old Berris opens out to her. Just you paint it 
 nice and rosy-coloured and perhaps she'll be 
 getting out a pretty sister to stay with her, or 
 some other good-looking female relative to set 
 things humming on the Leura." 
 
 Both old Berris and young Jimmy Holt gave 
 indistinguishable grunts, which, as Mr Chippin- 
 dall jocularly remarked, sounded like objurga- 
 tory language. 
 
 " You're nice, cheerful parties to be paying 
 a wedding visit!" said he. "You're sure you 
 haven't made a mistake in thinking it's a funeral 
 you're to assist at? " 
 
 And then at old Berris's silent scowl he bit 
 
 his lip and felt sorry for his ill-timed joke. 
 
 As they neared the head-station, Chippindall 
 
 24
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 noticed that various improvements had been 
 made in the place. 
 
 " By Jove! " he exclaimed. " Vallis has been 
 smartening up his old humpey! Got a Chinese 
 gardener too, I see, as well as Chen Sing. My 
 word! Holt, we'll try and bag some vegetables to 
 take back with us." 
 
 Down by the water-hole was a new green patch 
 where scarlet runners climbed up dead boughs 
 and melon and pumpkin vines showed fruit. 
 A bland Celestial, in the usual shapeless blue 
 blouse and baggy trousers, was carrying pails of 
 water from the lagoon and emptying them over 
 the beds. Now they could see the head-station 
 quite plainly on the brow of a slight rise above 
 the lagoon, against the background of endless 
 bush — grey-green gum and a stretch of mourn- 
 ful gidia scrub, with its stiaight black stems 
 and moonlight-grey foliage. Stretching away 
 in front of the head-station, beyond the lagoon, 
 was an expanse of plain, broken in the distance 
 by more belts of gum and gidia, and nearer, by 
 clumps of sandal-wood, which still bore a few 
 
 of their white, sweet-scented blossoms. For it 
 
 25
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 had been a particularly late spring that year and 
 December was phenomenally cool — happily for 
 the bride's comfort in this her first month on 
 the Leura. There had been rains lately, and 
 the grass of the plain rose above the horses' 
 fetlocks and was spangled with mauve orchids 
 and yellow everlasting-flowers, while the lilies 
 on the lagoon had burst their sheaths and spread 
 lovely blooms of lilac and pink. An oblong 
 piece was fenced in from the house to the lagoon 
 and partially cultivated. There were passion- 
 creepers in patches along the fence, and within 
 a few flowers and some ornamental trees. An 
 emu-apple in blossom looked like a gigantic 
 myrtle, and there was a bohinia with pink flowers 
 resembling azaleas. 
 
 Kooroon head-station was a cluster of huts of 
 different sizes — mostly the same shape — two 
 central rooms, with a pitched roof, a skillion at 
 the back and a verandah in front. Those were 
 the old huts of slabs and bark; but there was a 
 new building adjoining the biggest of the ancient 
 humpies — a brand-new erection of sawn wood, 
 
 set on piles to preserve it from white ants, and 
 
 26
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 with a flight of steps going up from the verandah 
 of the old humpey. The old humpey, however, 
 looked much more homely, albeit the slabs of it 
 had shrunk apart so that there were great gaps 
 through which snakes might crawl and find 
 shelter behind the canvas lining of the living- 
 room, where likewise abode scorpions, centipedes, 
 and sometimes the dreaded red-spotted black 
 spider, the bite of which is often more fatal than 
 that of the black snake. The verandah of this 
 old humpey seemed a cheerful bachelor-lounge 
 for all that, with its home-made squatters' 
 chairs and settles upholstered in red and blue 
 blankets, while one end of it was closed in with 
 native cucumber vines, which spread over a 
 withered bough-shade and partly hid the ragged 
 edges of the bark roofing. 
 
 The other humpies of sorts, all had their 
 slabs leaning out of the perpendicular in a drunken 
 kind of fashion. The nearest had a huge chimney, 
 from which floated curls of blue smoke from a 
 wood fire, and an outside shed where logs were 
 stacked and where there was a camp-oven and 
 
 a boiler. Here, a gin squatted, plucking wild 
 
 27
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 duck, and just then the Chinese cook came out 
 with a tin dipper and threw away some green 
 shells of peas. 
 
 " Young peas on the Leura at Christmas. My 
 word! " Chippindall whistled his satisfaction, 
 and even the flame of old Berris's face seemed 
 less fierce. 
 
 Forbes Vallis, with a lady by his side, was 
 standing on the raised verandah of the new zinc- 
 roofed building, which was only partially boarded- 
 in below. He ran down the flight of wooden 
 steps to greet his guests. As soon as a black- 
 boy had taken their horses, he brought the bush- 
 men up the steps as much by force as by per- 
 suasion. 
 
 " Come along, old chaps. She won't bite. 
 I can tell you she's a regular bushwoman already. 
 Ain't you, Brenda? " he cried. 
 
 Brenda laughed— a delightful English laugh— 
 and came forward with outstretched hands and 
 a pretty speech to her husband's old friends. 
 As Vallis and his bride stood together, they were 
 certainly a handsome pair, but as little like the 
 
 bush as it was possible to imagine. And that 
 
 28
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 although the young squatter made a very earnest 
 affectation of bush roughness. He was a tall, 
 dark, fine-looking man, with a rather swagger 
 air, an English pronunciation and most poetic- 
 ally soft violet eyes. Very few women had been 
 able to withstand a pleading gaze from Forbes 
 Vallis's eyes. There seemed such depths of 
 passion and poetry in those eyes. But he was 
 rather a deceptive person in his way. At the 
 first glance it was difficult to place him naturally 
 against the bush background, though he took 
 such pains to place himself. He appeared so 
 entirely a product of civilisation that one felt 
 surprised at his choosing to live a comparatively 
 uncivilised life. A young poetaster and art 
 critic fresh from the University, who had started 
 his career on literary lines in the cultured circles 
 of Chelsea and South Kensington, was some- 
 thing of an anomaly on the Upper Leura. But 
 he had been an athlete as well at Oxford, and 
 he had shot over his father's preserves since he 
 could hit rabbits and hold a game-license. The 
 sportsman and the adventurer do sometimes 
 
 go with the artist, and all three were combined 
 
 29
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 in Forbes Vallis. Open-air romance appealed 
 to him immensely. Besides, he had a fancy for 
 speculation in the open. He felt no doubt 
 whatever that he was going to make a great 
 fortune — whether in cattle, sheep or gold-mining 
 didn't matter. He was determined that he 
 would give everything a chance and seize all his 
 opportunities. 
 
 Therefore, to ensure a comprehensive sphere of 
 operations, he made himself master of a couple 
 of hundred square miles or so of country, part 
 of which had a sort of tradition of being gold- 
 bearing. He had wasted a good deal of time in 
 prospecting, but so far had not been rewarded 
 for his pains. The Leura squatters laughed at 
 him for his wild schemes and poetic rhapsodies, 
 but they all liked him for his pluck and dash. 
 The m.anly element in him made him a man's 
 man and the artist in him delighted women. He 
 adored beauty, specially feminine, and would be 
 a woman's man to the end of the chapter. All 
 in good faith and honesty, be it understood. 
 Now that he had won his ideal in Brenda, it was 
 
 not likely that he would ever fall in love with 
 
 30
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 another woman. Besides, ideals don't abound 
 on the Leura. 
 
 Mr Berris was a little taken aback at the sight 
 of Brenda. There was nothing about her of 
 the " bit o' smart " against which he had in- 
 veighed, and he had never seen anyone in the 
 least resembling her. She, too, was an incon- 
 gruity in her way, for she was ridiculously like 
 Guido's so-called portrait of Beatrice Cenci in 
 the Barberini Palace at Rome, if one could 
 imagine the Cenci without that picturesque 
 bath-towel headdress in which z\e is depicted, 
 and dressed in a tailor-made linen gown and 
 trim white cambric shirt. But Brenda had the 
 oval face, the exquisite mouth, the haunting 
 eyes and the fateful look of the picture, and this 
 it was which Forbes Vallis had first adored in 
 her. For that picture of Beatrice Cenci had 
 been to him, in the days when he cultivated 
 artistic emotions, what Omar Khayyam, the 
 Venus of Milo and Botticelli Madonnas have 
 been to many other modern young men of light 
 and leading. For the rest, however, Brenda 
 
 was just an extremely well-bred and simple 
 
 31
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 English country girl, whose taste ran likewise 
 towards an open-air existence. Everything 
 about her was very simple, but quite perfect — 
 from her narrow, shapely feet, cased in neat 
 brown leather shoes and tan silk stockings, to 
 the long, narrow hands — capable hands too — 
 which were extended to Bush-fire Berris. She 
 captivated the old man by her kindly greeting 
 and manner of thanking him for not taking 
 offence at her invasion of the Upper Leura — for 
 Vallis had informed her of his misogynist views 
 concerning women in the bush. She thanked 
 them all too for coming over just the same for 
 their Christmas dinner, and hoped prettily they 
 would continue coming for many a year yet. 
 
 " Until Forbes and I have made our fortunes 
 and have got that lovely villa overlooking Sydney 
 harbour that he sometimes talks about," she 
 said; and added, "But I don't want the villa. 
 I'm quite contented with Kooroon." 
 
 And she looked at her husband with eyes that 
 
 said she would be contented anywhere — in a 
 
 desert or a paradise, so long as he was by her 
 
 side. 
 
 32
 
 The Luck ot the Leura 
 
 She was enchanted with Christmas under such 
 novel conditions. 
 
 " It doesn't seem a bit like Christmas," she 
 said to Jimmy Holt, who gazed at her in an 
 awed fashion but did not venture on speech. 
 She assumed that the bushmen realised that 
 festival from the Christmas-card point of view 
 and was suitably interested at hearing that none 
 of them had ever seen snow in their lives. " Last 
 Christmas, do you know, Mr Berris? " she went 
 on, " we were in London buying my trousseau, 
 and there was a fog for five days and our cab- 
 man tried to drive us down the steps of an area. 
 Think of that, and then, just look at this! " 
 
 She waved her hand out towards the laughing 
 lagoon with the blue and pink lilies on its dimpled 
 surface; then at the wide-stretching plain and 
 the cattle browsing on its flower-spangled pastur- 
 age; then away to the Razor-back Range in 
 the distance and the nearer wolds of grey-green 
 gum and dark gidia, with here and there a rocky 
 hummock rising above the forest. 
 
 " Mr Berris, do you see those two peaks in 
 
 the range with a sort of gorge between them? " 
 c 33
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 asked Brenda, excitedly. " I believe they call 
 it the Gap." 
 
 The old man's eyes followed the direction of 
 her hand as she pointed across the plain to the 
 distant range closing in the horizon. His eyes 
 looked bright and misty, he did not answer for 
 a moment or two. Then his voice seemed 
 different — further away. 
 
 "Eh! Yes, that's the Gap," he said. "I've 
 got a bit of a — I've got a sort of selection there. . . . 
 The old road from Townsville went round by the 
 Gap. . . . Now, since the railway's made to 
 Gundabine, they've changed the dray-track." 
 
 Brenda looked at him, struck somewhat by 
 his manner, but not knowing, as some of the 
 others did, why it had changed. " Well," she 
 said, " we'll tell you the story of an adventure 
 we had there not long ago. Forbes and I rode 
 there — and we camped out." 
 
 "Eh — eh! And you can ride?" asked Mr 
 Berris, as if he were waking from a dream. 
 
 " I should think she could," retorted Vallis. 
 " Why, Brenda hunted three days a week in the 
 
 shires, and her father is an M.F.H." 
 
 34
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 "Eh, eh! " returned Mr Berris. "But hunt- 
 ing in the shires isn't the same thing as riding 
 over rough country in 'StraHa, Mrs ValHs." 
 
 " You shall see," answered Brenda. " It was 
 pretty rough country that day out there, wasn't 
 it, Forbes? but we were well rewarded for our 
 ride. Forbes, I really don't think I can keep my 
 story till after the mail man comes," and she 
 smiled at her husband questioningly, but he 
 shook his head and laughed. 
 
 " Better wait, Brenda. You mustn't spoil 
 the Luck of the Leura by boasting too soon." 
 
 "The Luck of the Leura!" repeated Mr 
 Chippindall, mystified. 
 
 " You shall hear by-and-by," said Brenda. 
 " We're expecting important news by the mail- 
 man to-day which has to do with the Luck of 
 the Leura. But you mustn't ask questions too 
 soon." 
 
 Mr Berris opined that Billy Orde the mail man 
 had known what he was about in timing him- 
 self to eat his Christmas dinner at Kooroon. 
 Billy Orde, he said, knew as well as they knew 
 
 what Chen Sing's cooking was like. 
 
 35
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Young Miles now came running up the stair- 
 way with his dilly-bag, which he presented to 
 the bride. The other men went down to fetch 
 their offerings. On the way, ValUs took them 
 into the Hving-room of the old humpey — which 
 he explained was now turned into a dining- 
 room, while Brenda's drawing-room was up in 
 the new wing. There they imbibed a swizzle. 
 When they reappeared, Mr Berris's face was 
 more fiery than ever and Jimmy Holt ventured 
 at last on a remark. 
 
 " I don't know if you'll have any use for 
 pelican skins, Mrs Vallis," he said; "I reckon 
 they'll make a door-mat if they're no good for 
 anything else." 
 
 A door-mat! Brenda was enchanted, and 
 when Mr Berris produced his string of emu eggs 
 and Mr Chippindall the piece of opal, she laughed 
 with the most girlish delight. As she held up 
 the stone, which gave out brilliant lights, she 
 darted a meaning glance at her husband. 
 
 " I shall have it set, Forbes, in — you know, 
 
 and Mr Chippindall shall know too very soon. 
 
 Wait till you see, Mr Chippindall; then you'll 
 
 36
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 understand all about the Luck of the 
 Leura." 
 
 She led them proudly back into her drawing- 
 room. Miles was there for he had been helping 
 to put up the muslin curtains Brenda had just 
 finished frilling. He and the bride had chummed 
 over the dilly-bag, and the boy was in his element 
 instructing her in Bush lore. They strung up 
 the emu-eggs over the mantel-glass and made 
 plans for mounting the pelican skins. 
 
 The room was unlike most bush parlours with 
 all its English knick-knacks. It had a soft pink 
 paper and a moss-green carpet, and the chairs 
 and sofas — mostly home-made — were uphol- 
 stered in pink and green cretonne. Brenda had 
 made the covers herself. There could be no 
 doubt that the long slim lady's fingers were 
 capable of woman's work, and Mr Berris began 
 to amend his ideas about Government House 
 "bits o' smart." 
 
 Brenda showed them her prints and books, 
 the photographs of her old home and the por- 
 traits of her own people. There was her father, 
 
 the M.F.H., on his favourite hunter, surrounded 
 
 17
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 by his fox-hounds, which interested the 
 Austrahans immensely and started a discussion 
 on the relative merits of English and Australian 
 horseflesh, thereby affording Mr Chippindall an 
 opportunity for " blowing." There was her 
 mother — a stouter and more matronly Brenda, 
 bearing on her handsome and still youthful face 
 the assurance that middle-age could hold forth 
 no terrors to Forbes Vallis's wife. And there 
 was the photograph of a most taking English 
 child — a girl with long, thin black legs, a mane 
 of fair hair and the most lovely eyes — Brenda 's 
 own eyes and Brenda's oval face, even to a 
 shadow of the fateful Cenci look. 
 
 " My word, she's a jolly little kid! " exclaimed 
 Miles Berris, who went red and turned away 
 whistling to hide his schoolboy shame at having 
 expressed admiration for a girl. 
 
 " That's my sister Aurea," explained Brenda, 
 
 " and she is a jolly little kid, Miles — that's your 
 
 name, isn't it? I should like to send her a dilly- 
 
 bag like the one you've given me. She'd love 
 
 the blacks and she'd love the bush. She cares 
 
 more about riding than anything in the world, 
 
 38
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 and she made me promise, before I came away, 
 that when she was grown up I would have her 
 out to stay with me. She's twelve now, so she 
 will be grown up in seven years' time." 
 
 " In seven years' time," echoed Jimmy Holt, 
 and Mr Chippindall remarked jovially, " Where 
 will the lot of us be Christmas Day come seven 
 years! Not smelling Chen Sing's turkey, I bet." 
 
 For there floated up a savoury whiff from the 
 kitchen hut, and Chen Sing, coming out to re- 
 ceive a large green water-melon from the hands 
 of Wah Hong the gardener, smiled sweetly up at 
 the verandah. " Velly ni' turkey, missee. He 
 muchee fat. He loast velly well." 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 There was an air of suppressed excitement 
 about the young couple all that afternoon, as 
 though they were bursting with some intelli- 
 gence which they yet shrank from communi- 
 cating. Both Forbes and Brenda kept watch- 
 ing the track and wondered what was keeping 
 the mail-man. Mr Berris grinned sardonically 
 and remarked that no doubt Billy Orde had 
 
 been spreeing at Mother Quinlan's all last night. 
 
 39
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Mother Quinlan, it appeared, kept the pubHc- 
 
 house at Gundabine. The afternoon wore on. 
 
 Dinner was to be at sundown. Brenda and 
 
 Miles decorated the dinner-table with lilies that 
 
 they fished out of the lagoon, and the men smoked 
 
 in the verandah of the humpey and discoursed 
 
 upon the eternal cattle, sheep and horse topic. 
 
 To Brenda it was aU new and interesting. She 
 
 had not had time to get bored with bush shop. 
 
 The talk was diversified by occasional mining 
 
 gossip — how someone had brought a report of 
 
 gold up in the Razor-back Range, and how there 
 
 had been a rush, and how they'd never even 
 
 raised the colour. , , . 
 
 At that, Brenda looked at Forbes, and Forbes 
 
 burst out laughing. Brenda cried out like an 
 
 irrepressible child. "Ah! but we've raised the 
 
 colour — Forbes and I — all our own selves. 
 
 We've found a gold mine, and we've called it 
 
 the Luck of the Leura. . . . Now, Fve told you, 
 
 and Forbes will be cross with me, for he didn't 
 
 want me to say anything till the mail-man had 
 
 come, for we're expecting the assayer's report." 
 
 Forbes laughed on. " Doesn't she speak like 
 
 40
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 a book? She knows all about the whole business, 
 I can tell you. Ever since we came upon our 
 luck she's thought of nothing but mining, talked 
 of nothing but mining, dreamed of nothing but 
 mining, and read every mining book there is on 
 the station. We're fair on it, Berris, old boy. 
 But we don't mean to be stingy. All our old 
 pals are to have a slice of our luck. We've 
 pegged our twenty-men's claim, and I'm only 
 waiting for Billy Orde and the report to ride 
 down to Gundabine and put in our application." 
 
 "Where? where? What is it? . . . Up in 
 the Razor-back, did you say? " cried the 
 squatters, simultaneously. 
 
 " Don't you be gammoning us, Forbes. We've 
 heard before of your gold mines that always 
 turned out duffers," added Mr Chippindall. 
 
 " I've got the true lead this time, though," 
 replied Vallis. " It's she who has brought the 
 luck. This is Brenda's mine. She's the Luck 
 of the Leura." 
 
 And he drew forward the proud Brenda, her 
 
 tragic eyes alight with joy, and her lovely face 
 
 all smiles. 
 
 41
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " Yes, it's quite true, Mr Berris," she said. 
 " I found it. It was I who picked up the 
 nugget." 
 
 "The nugget!" exclaimed Berris. "You be 
 blowed for a yarn, Forbes. Excuse my rough 
 manners, marm. I forgot I was speaking before 
 a lady," he added, turning to Brenda with a 
 clumsy bow. 
 
 " You bet if there'd been any nuggets lying 
 about the Razor-back the Lone Fossicker would 
 have found them before now," said Jimmy 
 Holt, sententiously. 
 
 "Oh! he was there — prowling round. We 
 saw him and he put us in a deadly funk," said 
 Vallis. " I expected he would spot our show. 
 He didn't, though. I heard of him last week 
 prospecting right on the other side of the 
 range." 
 
 " Up the Billabong," put in Holt, who seemed 
 now to have found his voice. " He won't get 
 on to any show there, I've prospected the 
 Billabong myself." 
 
 " But what about that nugget, Mrs Vallis? " 
 
 asked Chippindall. " Was it really a nugget? " 
 
 42
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " Well, not exactly a nugget, perhaps," Brenda 
 corrected herself conscientiously. " A piece of 
 ore with a great deal of gold in it — full of yellow 
 streaks." 
 
 Mr Berris gave a ruminative chuclde, some- 
 thing like the note of a laughing jackass who 
 has been sitting for a long time upon his tree- 
 bough and has got tired of the vanity of the bush. 
 
 " Full of gold streaks, was it? Yes, I know 
 that kind of nugget, don't you, Jimmy? " and 
 he glanced significantly at Holt, who nodded in 
 a depressed manner. 
 
 "Do you really, Mr Berris?" said Brenda, 
 innocently. " Then you can imagine how over- 
 joyed we were at seeing those gold streaks? 
 Because, you know, it meant a good deal to us 
 just then. ..." She paused and looked at 
 Forbes. Her look seemed to say, " Can I con- 
 fide in him? " 
 
 " The fact is," put in Forbes, bluntly, " we'd 
 
 had rather a blow by the mail just before we 
 
 made our discovery. That meat - company's 
 
 failure has touched me up a bit more than I 
 
 bargained for, and I'd had an unpleasant letter 
 
 43
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 from the Australian Consolidated Bank remind- 
 ing me of my overdraft and suggesting that I 
 should take measures to reduce my debt. You 
 know the sort of thing, Berris? . , . Most of 
 us do. But it worried Brenda. She's been 
 brought up on old-fashioned hnes and doesn't 
 understand that to have one's station quite clear 
 of the Bank would mean the millennium to a 
 good many Australian squatters. StiU, it was 
 deucedly unlucky the failure coming just on the 
 top of my wedding splash. Though I'm glad 
 it didn't come six months before," he added, 
 " for then perhaps Brenda's people might have 
 insisted on our waiting, and we should neither 
 of us have liked that, should we, little one? " 
 
 Brenda's glance at her husband was eloquent 
 in its silent adoration. She snuggled closer to 
 him. 
 
 " Better have waited," mumbled old Berris in 
 his beard. " The Leura's no place for a lady." 
 
 "Oh! Mr Berris!" cried Brenda, reproach- 
 fully. " How can you say that.? " 
 
 " Well, Brenda didn't think we ought to have 
 
 waited— nor did I," laughed Valhs. "We'd 
 
 44
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 much rather be as we are. And if cattle continue 
 to go up, the debt will very soon be reduced, 
 anyhow. I thought, however, that I'd ride over 
 the country at the back of the range and see if I 
 could muster a mob of fats and raise a few 
 hundreds that way to throw for a sop into the 
 Bank's maw. Brenda took a fancy to see what 
 camping out was like, so we got the black boys 
 together and set off, meaning to fetch Oakey 
 Creek station next day." 
 
 " And did you chance to see Mrs J ebb of 
 Oakey Creek station? " asked Mr Berris, with 
 apparent irrelevance. 
 
 Brenda gave a little shudder. 
 
 " Poor soul, she was in a bad way! " inter- 
 posed Vallis, hastily. " It upset Brenda to see 
 her. There she was, nearly blind from sandy- 
 blight, sitting in a dark room nursing a sick baby 
 and not a servant about the place except a black- 
 gin. Brenda would have liked to stay and take 
 care of her, but they wouldn't hear of it, and 
 of course I couldn't spare my wife." 
 
 " That's what comes of a debt on the station," 
 
 said Mr Berris, thoughtfully. " Elhs Jebb 
 
 45
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 bought when stock was high before the last 
 drought. He has never managed to pull up 
 since, and there's she who was a sweet pretty 
 girl, with as fair a skin and eyes as bright — 
 almost — as yours, Mrs Vallis, when I first saw 
 her ten years ago! My word! just look at her 
 now! Dengue on top of drought, and sandy 
 blight on top of dengue, and hard work and no 
 servants through it all. Don't you let your 
 wife get to that, Forbes Vallis, or you'll be 
 saying like me, in your old age — the Leura's no 
 place for a lady." 
 
 There was a wide, horrified look in Brenda's 
 beautiful eyes. 
 
 " Only ten years! " she repeated, " and to get 
 
 like that! Oh! Forbes, do you think that I 
 
 ever — ever could get like that? " She gazed up 
 
 into his face with an expression of passionate 
 
 entreaty. " You mustn't let me, Forbes, for I 
 
 know that if I ever did change to — that, you 
 
 wouldn't care for me any longer. He doesn't 
 
 like looking at ugly things," she added, turning to 
 
 Mr Berris, with a shaky little laugh. " It was 
 
 he who was most upset at Mrs J ebb's looks. 
 
 46
 
 The Luck oi the Leura 
 
 But I was dreadfully sorry for the poor creature 
 with her watery eyes all red round the rims and 
 her coarse, battered-looking skin. . . . Oh, it's 
 dreadful — dreadful, the idea of having dengue- 
 fever and blight and being in debt and losing all 
 one's looks! Then just to think that if they had 
 camped out some night on the range and she had 
 wandered down into that gully like me and had 
 knocked her foot against a bit of rock and broken 
 of^ the edge of the bank as I did — why, she too 
 might have found fortune at her feet. For that 
 was just how it happened, Mr Berris. . . . 
 There was the money to pay off the Bank. There 
 was the way out of all our trouble." 
 
 " In short, there was the Luck of the Leura," 
 said Vallis, triumphantly. 
 
 " Well, go on, tell us what happened after 
 that? " asked Chippindall. 
 
 The other two seemed curiously uninterested 
 
 and somewhat sad. Jimmy Holt stared out 
 
 over the garden to the lagoon, and Mr Berris 
 
 diligently cut up tobacco, rolled it in his horny 
 
 palm and shoved it into the bowl of his pipe with 
 
 a large stained thumb. 
 
 47
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " Why, we poked round and collected all the 
 ore we could lay hands on," replied Vallis — " a 
 good heap it made, and my word, didn't it show 
 the colour when we'd piled it up in the sun! 
 But who should turn up, as I said, mouching 
 along with his blanket on his back and carrying 
 his pick and his tin dish, but the old German 
 chap — the Lone Fossicker, as they call him! 
 Luckily we were up at the camp, and he didn't 
 see what we'd been after, so I gave him a ration 
 and shepherded him a mile or two across the 
 range, and then we set to work — I and the black 
 boys — and dug as big a hole as we could in the 
 bed of the gully, where we put in all the ore we'd 
 collected. You see I was afraid the Fossicker 
 might come back that way, and I couldn't wait 
 to watch the place, because I'd settled with my 
 stockman to meet me that day at the Seven- 
 mile Camp to draft out a few head of bullocks for 
 the butcher at Gundabine. We shoved all the 
 specimens into the hole, cut down branches and 
 laid them on top, and then chucked along a few 
 spadefuls of dirt and gravel with some natural- 
 looking bits of rock and a felled gum sapling over 
 
 48
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 the lot. I don't think it's at all likely that any- 
 body will strike the place. I shouldn't be able 
 to find it myself if I hadn't taken the precaution 
 to blaze a tree here and there. But we'll all of 
 us go and resurrect the corpses as soon as ever 
 I've heard what the assay er says about the 
 specimen I sent down to be tested." 
 
 " I can save you the trouble," said Mr Berris, 
 with grim solemnity. " Those corpses can stop 
 in the ground where they are for all the good 
 they'll ever be to you. Forbes, old chap, those 
 nuggets of yours are nothing but iron pyrites 
 (Mr Berris pronounced it " iron pirates "). There's 
 no hope for them of a glorious resurrection." 
 
 Brenda uttered a cry of dismay. She was 
 not learned in the matter of iron pyrites, but 
 Mr Berris's manner was disheartening. So was 
 the expression of Holt's face. Forbes protested 
 excitedly. He knew iron pyrites when he saw 
 them. This was rich ore; he'd stake Kooroon 
 on it. Chippindall, to whom he appealed, refused 
 to commit himself. Ocular demonstration was 
 for the moment impossible. They had sent 
 down all the specimens that had been brought 
 
 D 49
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 into the head-station. Mr Berris stuck to his 
 opinion. 
 
 " You mark my words. If there was any 
 gold up in the Razor-back Range, the Lone 
 Fossicker would have been there before you," 
 he repeated. " He knows what he's about, does 
 the Lone Fossicker. So does Jimmy Holt, and 
 Jimmy was taken in once himself by those iron 
 pirates — weren't you, Jimmy? " 
 
 Holt muttered something unintelligible and 
 shied a stick at Vallis's tame native-companion, 
 which was stalking along the path. The subject 
 was a sore one to him. A wave of dejection 
 settled on the group. The tears rose in Brenda's 
 eyes, though she refused to accept Mr Berris's 
 verdict and stoutly maintained that he must be 
 mistaken. Perhaps it was as well that just then 
 Chen Sing brought the first instalment of the 
 Christmas dinner. But the argument went on 
 during the best part of the meal. When once 
 bushmen begin to talk about their losses or gains 
 in mining they don't stop readily. Even Jimmy 
 Holt had something to say and related harrow- 
 ing mining experiences of his own and sundry 
 
 50
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 of his friends concerning different kinds of ore 
 and the mistakes of assayers. 
 
 " There's kaolin now — looks like white chalk 
 and gives twenty ounces to the ton! What do 
 you think of that? And there's the other sort — 
 you know, Bush-fire — brown it is, with oxide of 
 iron in it — well, there was a chap gave some to 
 the Sydney Mint to be tested and had the tailings 
 sent back to him as useless. Then he tried the 
 chlorine process and they got sixty ounces from 
 those tailings. I tell you chlorine will get out 
 gold that the old amalgam process won't touch. 
 But nothing touches iron pyrites." 
 
 " Yates, the Government geologist, advises 
 people to go back to their old mines and test 
 again," put in Mr Chippindall. 
 
 "All right," said Mr Berris. "But you've 
 got to oxydise your iron before it will give you 
 your gold; and, as Jimmy says, there's no process 
 that's discovered yet that will extract gold from 
 iron pirates." 
 
 So the talk ran on. Fortified by the multi- 
 tude of examples cited, in which the mining 
 
 authorities had been wrong and the lucky finders 
 
 51
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 right, Vallis and Brenda re-asseverated their 
 
 faith in their own discovery. After a time they 
 
 were not so cruelly contradicted. Perhaps the 
 
 excellent turkey, and the champagne in which 
 
 Vallis made them all drink his wife's health, 
 
 caused Mr Berris and Jimmy Holt to take a more 
 
 cheerful view of the situation. Certainly Mr 
 
 Berris now admitted that the iron pirates might 
 
 turn out after all to be honest nuggets, as Brenda 
 
 insisted they were. Such a thing he allowed 
 
 had happened within his personal knowledge 
 
 and might of course happen again. He allowed 
 
 too that ever since he first came to the district he 
 
 had heard there was gold in the Razor-back 
 
 Range, only nobody had ever yet been able to 
 
 discover it. Forbes and Brenda boldly declared 
 
 that magnificent achievement had been reserved 
 
 for them. Before dinner was over a flourishing 
 
 mining township had arisen in the Razor-back 
 
 Range, of which Brenda was the tutelary 
 
 divinity and Forbes the millionaire, a sort of 
 
 Zeus enthroned. Then it appeared that Holt 
 
 himself, reverting to his prospecting days, before 
 
 he had been ruined on the Palmer, had once 
 
 52
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 struck the colour in the range, but had searched 
 in vain later for the precise spot where he had 
 done so. He had neglected to blaze the gum 
 trees. 
 
 All this while Billy Orde had not appeared — 
 Brenda sent out word that a liberal portion of 
 txirkey and plum-pudding was to be kept for him 
 — and the soft Australian twilight was closing in 
 when Chen Sing glided along with the plum- 
 pudding set in brandy-flames that illuminated 
 his yellow face, turning it a sickly green and 
 making him look like some weird Oriental demon. 
 Mosquitoes had begun to sing; flying ants were 
 dropping their wings on the cloth after the 
 manner of those uncanny insects, and all kinds 
 of queer buzzing things swarmed round the 
 hanging kerosene lamp which Brenda and Miles 
 had garlanded with mistletoe. By this time 
 the iron pirates had been ignominiously dis- 
 missed and every one of the party was the owner 
 of a rich claim. It was then that Forbes Vallis 
 went out to the water bag, dripping in the 
 draught of the verandah, and brought forth an 
 
 unexpected reserve of champagne, and another 
 
 ^53
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 bumper was called — this time for the Luck of the 
 Leura. 
 
 It seemed unnecessary at this stage to attach 
 any importance to the advent of Billy Orde and 
 the assayer's report. The men betook them- 
 selves to the new wing and smoked and 
 yarned, while Brenda was put down at the 
 piano. 
 
 She sang " Home Sweet Home," and the 
 bushmen joined rather shamefacedly in the 
 chorus. At " Annie Laurie " Mr Berris became 
 lachrymose, but they all gave a vigorous chorus 
 when young Miles, who had lately developed a 
 manly tenor, burst into a stockman's song to 
 
 the air of " Widow Dunn." 
 
 * 
 
 'Then it's early in the morning, our breakfast being done, 
 
 We go to get our cattle from outside. 
 Our cosy blankets leaving, we start out on the run, 
 
 And we do not care a hang what may betide. 
 Are you ready ? Take them steady 
 
 And be sure you don't let any get away ; 
 And don't leave behmd any you may find. 
 
 For I want to have a good full camp to-day." 
 
 And so on, to the last verse sung by the men 
 
 with enthusiastic intention : — 
 
 54
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 "A man though in the bush he's stuck, can lead a pleasant 
 life, 
 For he has generally lots of work to do : 
 And if he has the luck to get a clever little wife. 
 You'll find that he can make some money too. 
 Though whisky's heady, he'll keep steady. 
 
 And be always where there's business to be done. 
 And to prove the moral true, I'll sing it now to you, 
 That two heads are better far than one." 
 
 But jokes and laughter were hushed when 
 Brenda gave them an old English carol. Her 
 pure, sweet voice suited well the quaint words: — 
 
 " He neither shall be clothed in purple nor in pall. 
 But in the fair white linen that usen babies all. 
 He neither shall be rocked in silver nor in gold : 
 But in a wooden Manger that resteth on the mould." 
 
 '£>■■ 
 
 All joined in the last verse: — 
 
 "Then be glad, good people, this Night of all the year : 
 And light ye up your candles, His star it shineth near. 
 And all in earth and Heaven our Christmas Carol sing. 
 Goodwill and Peace and Glory ! and all the bells shall ring." 
 
 There were no roystering ditties after that. 
 Silence fell on the group in the verandah, and 
 presently Brenda, like a white angel, flitted out 
 and stood leaning over the verandah railings 
 
 gazing forth into the night. The Southern 
 
 55
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Cross was poised in heaven and the lowest pointer 
 seemed almost to dip into the lagoon. The 
 great plain stretched out like the sea; down at 
 the blacks' camp fires twinkled and there came 
 up the wild strains of a corroboree song. 
 
 "Yumbu: yumbu : gumil 
 Warakoi munan ! " 
 
 which Miles Berris interpreted for Brenda as, — 
 
 "Jump : jump : use your eyes. 
 Hurl the straight sharp spear ! " 
 
 How strange it all was, Brenda thought. How 
 different from anything she had ever known. 
 And then when she felt her husband by her side, 
 and the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she 
 turned to him a transfigured face, and whispered, 
 ** Oh ! I am so happy. I want our lives to go 
 on always like this." 
 
 The moon rose behind the Razor-back Rang^. 
 That was the signal for the bushmen to depart. 
 They had twenty miles to ride over broken 
 country. 
 
 " Well, it's no good waiting for Billy Orde 
 
 anv longer," said Mr Chippindall. " But you 
 
 56
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 might send us on your news, Vallis. Give us 
 warning, old chap, and time to peg out our 
 claims before the Leura rush sets in." 
 
 Brenda and her husband watched the four 
 figures on horseback as they rode across the 
 plain. They all turned in their saddles and 
 sent back a long " cooee " before they disappeared 
 into the gidia scrub. Brenda went back into 
 the parlour, closed the piano and straightened 
 the room in a feminine way which pleased Forbes. 
 He went up to her, and putting his arm round 
 her shoulder, turned her face up to his own. 
 They gazed at each other with love-lit eyes. 
 
 " My wife, how beautiful you are! " 
 
 She laughed with pleasure at his admiration, 
 and preened her golden head, showing the pure 
 oval of her face and the exquisite lines of chin 
 and throat. 
 
 *' Ah, now you have me to look at instead of 
 
 the copy of your pet picture which you declare 
 
 is like me. Perhaps it is. I don't know. I've 
 
 never been in Rome and so I've never seen the 
 
 original. But I have heard it said that the 
 
 original can't be copied." 
 
 57
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " That's quite true. But my copy was done 
 by an artist who felt the picture — because he'd 
 seen you! I look upon that copy as the one 
 really artistic achievement of my life." 
 
 *' Well, it's a very nice picture," admitted 
 Brenda. " But it looks quite out of place on 
 your office table among your station-ledgers and 
 your bottles of horse - embrocation and your 
 stock-whip handles and all the rest! Do let me 
 have it to put up in here." 
 
 " That I certainly will not do, darling. You 
 don't know what that picture meant to me during 
 the year we were parted. I used to find myself 
 gazing up at it instead of writing the station log 
 and entering the branding tallies. And then 
 when I looked into those beautiful eyes — your 
 eyes, Brenda — and your mouth seemed to smile 
 at me in that deliciously beseeching, child-like 
 way of yours — well, I was at once transported 
 straight away from the prosaic realities of the 
 bush into a world of poetry and love." 
 
 She smiled at him with wistful tenderness. 
 
 " I love you to think me beautiful, Forbes — I 
 
 never want to seem beautiful to anyone else — 
 
 58
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 for I know that beauty is what you care most for 
 in the world, though you do pretend to be just a 
 rough biishman, I couldn't help smiling to-day 
 when I compared you with those other bushmen. 
 Yet sometimes I'm almost sorry that you do care 
 so much for beauty," she added a little sadly, 
 " because I feel that you may have missed your 
 vocation by turning squatter. And yet I know, 
 too, that it is the most real part of you which 
 delights in sport and wild Nature." 
 
 " And making money," he added with a 
 laugh. " But now you understand me, Brenda. 
 When we've made our pile, then you'll see me 
 turning poet and painter again. Still, even a 
 bushman is not to be pitied, sweet one, when he 
 can adore beauty in the shape of his ideal always 
 present in the flesh." He pointed the reference 
 with a kiss. 
 
 " So I am your ideal in the flesh! " she said 
 gladly. " But if I had been a plain woman, 
 Forbes, you wouldn't have married me? " 
 
 At the end there came an anxious note in her 
 voice. He laughed anew. 
 
 " I can't imagine you anything but what you 
 
 59
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 are, Brenda. Franldy, I couldn't have fallen in 
 love with an ugly woman. It's temperament 
 in me. I have always shrunk from deformity, 
 sickness, decay — all the hideous possibilities of 
 life. We agree in that? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " We are Pagans, you 
 and I, in our worship of Nature and of all that 
 is lovely in the world. That is why I delight in 
 this wild, fascinating bush. But, oh, Forbes, 
 the bush seems to have its hideous possibilities 
 too — though I haven't seen any yet — except 
 that poor Mrs J ebb and the old gins in the camp. 
 Do you know, for a minute or two to-day, a 
 ghastly terror came over me while Mr Berris was 
 talking about Mrs J ebb and all she had gone 
 through. I thought to myself — could I ever 
 by any possibility grow like that — worn, battered, 
 with watery red eyes, and oh! such a dreadful 
 skin and such hands! " 
 
 She shuddered. He took up one of her long- 
 fingered delicate hands and kissed it. 
 
 " I'm not going to let you scrub floors, or wash 
 
 clothes, or milk cows, or make moleskins and cure 
 
 salt beef or any of the other horrible things Ellis 
 
 60
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Jebb let his wife do. I agree with old Berris. 
 A man's a beastly cur who brings a woman to 
 the bush unless he can afford to keep her decently. 
 No, no, darling, you shall not run any risk of losing 
 health and good looks on the Leura. With any 
 sort of luck — and aren't we sure of that? — we 
 shall have cleared out in a few years' time, and 
 be doing art patron and patroness in a castel- 
 lated villa overlooking Sydney Harbour, with 
 a picture gallery, open on Saturdays to elevate 
 the Australian taste in art, and a summer country- 
 place in the Blue Mountains modelled on the 
 English pattern. What do you say to that? 
 Or would you rather follow the example of most 
 of our millionaires — take your money over the 
 ' Big-fella Water ' as the blacks say, and spend 
 it in entertaining impecunious swells? " 
 
 " No, no. I shall never want to give up the 
 bush, and I should like best to go on living on the 
 Leura — in spite of Mr Berris's gloomy prognos- 
 tications. But I'm glad you don't mean to 
 let me rough it like poor Mrs Jebb, Forbes. I 
 couldn't bear to lose my looks. I'd rather die 
 
 while I am still lovely in your eyes than live to 
 
 61
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 become an object of disgust to you. For I 
 should know it — no matter how much you might 
 try to hide your feehngs, I should know it, and 
 I should not blame you. . . . Because I, my- 
 self, have felt the same. You never saw poor 
 Aunt Hermione — mother's sister. Well, she was 
 just as beautiful as mother was and as Aurea 
 will be—" 
 
 " And as you are," he put in, and teasingly 
 pulled down a strand of her golden hair and 
 kissed it. 
 
 "Silly boy! I'm not going to pretend that 
 I don't know I'm pretty, but dad always says 
 that I am not as beautiful as mother was or Aunt 
 Hermione before she had smali-pox. Poor 
 thing! You can't imagine how it changed her. 
 She lost her lovely complexion and her eyes 
 were affected — oh! I hate to think of it. When 
 I was a schoolgirl I used to adore Aunt Her- 
 mione. And the horrible thing was that after 
 loving her so I got almost to loathe her. I did 
 everything I could to avoid seeing her. I would 
 say my prayers that I might die rather than 
 
 become like Aunt Hermione. . . . And I say 
 
 62
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 them still. So you see, Forbes, I couldn't blame 
 you for getting tired of me if I should ever grow 
 repulsive-looking," 
 
 Brenda wrung her hands nervously. He re- 
 monstrated, assuring her that they would grow 
 old together and that she could never in any 
 conditions whatsoever become repulsive to him. 
 But she only shook her head. 
 
 " All the same, remember. If ever I see that 
 I have become distasteful to you, and that you 
 love someone else better, I shall destroy 
 myself." 
 
 " My dearest, what a morbid idea! " 
 
 " Don't laugh. I mean it. I couldn't endure 
 to outlive the look you are giving me now." 
 
 He was gazing at her in a worshipping way. 
 Suddenly he exclaimed, " Stay. . . . When you 
 get that tragic look into your eyes you are so 
 exactly like my picture." 
 
 He caught up a little wrap of white China 
 
 crape that lay on a chair by them, and deftly 
 
 twisted it round her head, so that all her hair 
 
 was hidden except the golden strand he had 
 
 pulled down beneath the quaint headdress. He 
 
 63
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 stood back contemplating her with artistic 
 interest. 
 
 " Brenda, I shall make a study of the Cenci 
 again, this time from life. I must get my paints 
 together for the next wet Sunday when there's 
 nothing particular in the way of saddle-mending 
 to be done." 
 
 The tragic look in her eyes deepened, and then 
 she pulled off the headdress with a quavering 
 little laugh. At that moment a long " cooee " 
 sounded from the track, audible above the 
 blacks' monotonous corroboree tune. 
 
 " Listen," she said. " I think that must be 
 Billy Orde at last." 
 
 They went into the verandah and watched the 
 mail-man's lurching descent at the sliprails and 
 abortive attempts to remount. A little crowd 
 had run out to him from the blacks' camp, and 
 the voice of one old gin could be heard whining, 
 " Budgery fella you, Billy Orde! You gib it lil 
 fella opium-smoke, Billy — mine gib you tick- 
 pence — mine no got chillin. You gib me smoke 
 long-a mail-bag. Ba'al gib it altogether that 
 
 fella Chinaman." 
 
 64
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Billy Orde, responding that he would be con- 
 demned first, was assisted by a black boy to get 
 up on his depressed-looking hack, which waited 
 meekly until its master was mounted. The 
 blacks still clamoured, extending skinny arms 
 and whining for " lil fella smoke," till they were 
 dispersed by Chen Sing and Wah Hong, two swift- 
 waddling figures in flapping trousers and flying 
 pigtails, who showed like grotesque ghosts in the 
 moonlight and who were eager to secure some 
 private package of their own not included in 
 the station mail. 
 
 "That means being out of opium!" said 
 Vallis. " I must put a stop to these Chinkies' 
 opium traffic. . . . Why, Brenda," he added, 
 " you mustn't be nervous, child," for he saw that 
 she was trembling a little. " You should have 
 more faith than that in your own luck. In a 
 minute or two, sweetheart, we shall have the 
 assayer's report; and then — hang the over- 
 draft and the Australian Consolidated Bank! 
 Iron pyrites! " he muttered scornfully. " I like 
 1 the idea of my having been mistaken! Even 
 old Berris was obliged to own at last that it wasn't 
 
 likely I should be such a duffer! Come along, 
 E 65
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Brenda, and we'll get Orde's glass of grog ready 
 for him from the humpey — though from the look 
 of him I should say he'd had about enough 
 already. Remember, we mustn't let him see 
 that we're excited or let him know what we're 
 expecting, else it will be all over the river that 
 there's gold on the Razor-back and the place 
 will be rushed ahead of us." 
 
 Hand-in-hand the pair went down the steps 
 and into the living-room of the humpey, where 
 the Chinaman had left the remains of the Christ- 
 mas feast still uncleared. Vallis poured the 
 customary three fingers of rum into a tumbler 
 and carried it out to the back verandah, where 
 they waited for the mail-man to appear. Billy 
 Orde descended with some slight difficulty from 
 behind a hillock of browTi leather mail bags, and 
 his patient steed stood without moving while 
 the mail-man's shaky fingers fumbled with the 
 straps of his pack. Brenda and Vallis waited, 
 curbing their impatience as best they might. 
 
 " Billy, you're very late. I shall report you 
 
 to the Postmaster-General for spreeing at Gunda- 
 
 bine instead of discharging the public business," 
 
 said Vallis, with affected sternness. 
 
 66
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " Chrishmash Eve, boss. Mush make 'lowansh 
 Crishmas. Dansh at Mother Quinlan's last night 
 . . . kept ball up till daylight. And then went 
 shleep. Can't shpect man to do without shleep, 
 boss." 
 
 " Look here, you chuck over the bag, Orde — 
 or let me get it out for you. Mrs Vallis wants 
 her letters." 
 
 Billy Orde made a valiant effort to sober him- 
 self, and at last unbuckled the straps. Then 
 a question arose as to the position of the Kooroon 
 bag, and while he was finding it, the mail-man 
 delivered, as was his wont, scraps of news that 
 he had gleaned along the river. 
 
 "My word! that was a reg'lar Chrishmas 
 fiare-out at Mother Quinlan's," said he. " The 
 old woman gev it for her daughter Nora — who's 
 come up from Townsville and going to mind the 
 Selection. She's not going to serve in the bar, 
 her mother says. Don'tsh believe it. She's 
 going to marry a gentleman — that's what they're 
 looking for. ... A fine, up-standing filly she's 
 turned, and my word! the young men down 
 there are running after her as if she was a gold- 
 rush." 
 
 67
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Vallis and Brenda exchanged startled glances 
 at the mention of a gold-rush, but Billy Orde 
 went on in perfect innocence. " No fear of that 
 though, boss. I was talking to the Lone Fos- 
 sicker — come across him last trip — and he said 
 t'wash all my eye about there ever being gold 
 along the Leura. . . . Here's your bag, Mrs 
 Vallis — a heavy bag this time — Chrishmas 
 mail. . . . Everything Chrishmas — Merry 
 Chrishmas to you, boss — and same to you, Mrs 
 Vallis." 
 
 Brenda acknowledged the courtesy by a 
 pleasant intimation that Chen Sing had kept 
 some turkey and plum-pudding back for the 
 mail-man — if he would please give them the bag. 
 She could scarcely contain her anxiety and 
 Vallis's fingers twitched, but he was afraid of 
 betraying their secret to the mail-man — to say 
 nothing of the two Chinamen and several black- 
 boys who were standing round. Billy Orde 
 lurched against the neck of his patient horse, and 
 then rated the animal fiercely. 
 
 "There, now! There you go again. I dunno 
 
 what's come to my old crock to make him so 
 
 skeery. He's bin at it all day — might have 
 
 68
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 thought he'd two headsh shtead of one. Here's 
 the bag, Mrs ValHs, and I hope you'll have goo* 
 newsh and — and many of them. And — and 
 Merry Chrishmas, boss." 
 
 " Thank you, Billy. Same to you. Get your 
 tucker before you turn in and — here — I'm not 
 sure if it's good for you, Billy — but here's for the 
 missis's health, and the Luck of the Leura." 
 
 " Here'sh Luck of the Leura," conscientiously 
 repeated the mail-man as he tossed off his glass 
 of grog. Brenda and Vallis had disappeared 
 with the bag into the humpey. 
 
 Forbes cut the string, which was heavily 
 knotted under a big red Government seal. It 
 was he who trembled now, for that Bank over- 
 draft meant more to him than he had let Brenda 
 know. He held the bag up by its end and tumbled 
 all the letters and newspapers out in a heap on 
 the table. Conspicuous among them was a 
 long blue, official-looking envelope, and they 
 both guessed that this was the report of the 
 Government assayer. 
 
 Yet they trembled to open it. At last Forbes, 
 with an excited exclamation, took up the en- 
 velope and slit the flap with his pocket-knife. 
 
 69
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 "What fools we are! " he cried. "Of course 
 there's only one thing that the man can tell 
 us. . . . Would you like to read it first, 
 Brenda? " 
 
 But Brenda shrank in unaccountable timidity. 
 
 " No, you read it first, dear," she answered, 
 and moved to the door that opened into the 
 verandah, where she stood, looking out again 
 into the soft moonlit night. 
 
 Everything was very still now outside, for 
 with the postman's arrival the blacks had stopped 
 singing and beating time with their boomerangs. 
 But as Brenda stood there, waiting, out of the 
 stillness came a long, dismal wolf-wail from the 
 native dogs in the scrub. Brenda disliked that 
 sound. It reminded her of stories she had read 
 as a child of packs of pursuing wolves that had 
 scented prey. Long afterwards, looking back on 
 that evening, it seemed to her that that wolf- 
 wail made a dramatic close to the first act of her 
 bush drama — the play which so often begins 
 merrily with good seasons and wedding bells, but 
 ends in drought and disaster. 
 
 A slight sound from her husband made Brenda 
 
 turn, and she saw that he was half sitting, half 
 
 70
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 leaning on the edge of the dining-table, his limbs 
 
 drooping, his eyes staring fixedly at a singed 
 
 cockchafer which had fallen from the lamp, 
 
 while on his face was an odd, drawn smile. The 
 
 blue envelope lay on the table; the blue sheet 
 
 of official-looking paper had fluttered to the 
 
 floor. Brenda came quickly to his side, and 
 
 bending over him, put her arm on his shoulder 
 
 while she asked anxiously, — 
 
 "Dear — is it bad news? Tell me what it 
 
 is." 
 
 Forbes Vallis gave a choking laugh. " Only 
 
 just what old Berris said — iron pyrites. That's 
 
 what it is," he answered. " And there's no 
 
 process known as yet by which gold can be 
 
 extracted from iron pyrites." 
 
 He spoke as if he were quoting the words of the 
 
 assayer. 
 
 " Berris was right," he repeated. " We 
 
 needn't take the trouble to resurrect the corpses. 
 
 Those iron pirates may lie buried in their grave 
 
 till the Day of Judgment for all the good they'll 
 
 do us, as old Bush-fire put it." 
 
 He laughed again, less shakily and more 
 
 savagely this time. Brenda uttered a little 
 
 71
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 crooning cry as she laid her golden head against 
 his dark one and soothed him in that exquisitely 
 maternal way of women when men they love 
 have had a blow. 
 
 " Never mind, dearest," she whispered. 
 " After all it's only what one might have ex- 
 pected, isn't it? They say you can never count 
 on anything in Australia, and Mr Holt told me 
 that mining here is always more uncertain than 
 it is anywhere else. We're only just where we 
 were before we picked up the nugget " — poor 
 Brenda would still call the specimen a nugget — 
 " but that doesn't alter our happiness in the 
 least, dear husband. Nothing can affect our 
 love for each other. Of course it would have 
 been very nice to pay off the Bank and feel that 
 Kooroon was all our own. But at the worst we 
 can do what you talked about at first — sell a 
 mob of store cattle and reduce working expenses." 
 Brenda talked squatting economics with the 
 assurance of a bush Solomon. " At least," she 
 went on, " if we were pushed to it, we could save 
 two hundred a year by putting down Chen Sing 
 and Wah Hong." 
 
 " My poor dear — you talk as if they were 
 
 72
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 hunters. And who is to do the cooking and pro- 
 vide vegetables? " 
 
 " Oh, well, I expect you could manage to grow 
 melons and pumpkins," returned Brenda, rather 
 ruefully. " And as for the cooking — you 
 know, Forbes — I — I did attend some classes 
 in our village once so that I might teach the 
 poor people how to make vegetable soup. I 
 daresay, dear, that I could learn to do a little 
 cooking." 
 
 " No, that you sha'n't," roared ValHs, and he 
 
 kissed the slim-fingered, well-manicured hand 
 
 passionately once more. *' That's the one thing 
 
 you shall never do. Sweetest, truest, bravest 
 
 and loveliest wife man ever had, I'm hanged if 
 
 you shall so much as look at a camp-oven or 
 
 handle a bit of salt junk. We'll keep Chen 
 
 Sing and economise in liquor and buggy harness. 
 
 So long as the seasons go on like this and cattle 
 
 stop at seven pounds a head we can rub along 
 
 in spite of those confounded iron pirates. I 
 
 sha'n't go prospecting any more at present, 
 
 Brenda. I'll leave that to the Lone Fossicker. 
 
 I'm like Jim Holt — fed up with mining for a 
 
 bit. . . . Now, ain't you going to read your 
 
 71
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 letters, sweetheart? Here's one that looks like 
 Aurea's school-girl fist." 
 
 Brenda meekly took her English letters and 
 refrained from further heroic suggestions. For 
 a time the interests of the young pair were 
 purely bucolic and the mining-millionaire project 
 dropped into the vague. 
 
 Forbes got over the Teelbar men and the 
 father and son from Boggo Creek to help him 
 muster the spurs and pockets of the Razor-back 
 Range. They passed a few hundred head of 
 cattle through the sale-yards, thereby diminish- 
 ing the Kooroon increase of calves for future 
 years, but at least they threw a sop to Cerberus. 
 As for their disappointment, old Berris did not 
 lose many opportunities for chaffing them about 
 those buried " iron pirates," but gradually the 
 soreness wore off, and this, Brenda's first experi- 
 ence of the little ironies of the bush, came to be 
 forgotten. True, the " iron pirates " were resur- 
 rected at a later period and played an important 
 part in Brenda Vallis's bush drama. But that 
 belongs to another act and makes another story. 
 
 74
 
 II 
 
 MOTHER QUINLAN'S WEAKER 
 
 Mrs Quinlan was the most respectable shanty- 
 keeper on the Leura. She called her public- 
 house an hotel — the Quinlan's Rest — and 
 elevated her trade almost to the rank of a moral 
 profession. For if she did not exactly encourage 
 total abstinence, she preached moderation with 
 a fervour highly meritorious in one who made her 
 living mainly by the sale of alcoholic liquors. At 
 her bar, customers were not poisoned with snake- 
 juice — otherwise rum adulterated with paraffin 
 and other noxious admixtures. She had also 
 scruples of conscience about " lambing down " 
 the shepherds or shearers who brought her their 
 cheques and announced their intention of " going 
 on the burst." Mrs Quinlan would take the 
 cheque, but when she considered that the burst 
 had lasted long enough, she would return the 
 
 balance on the cheque and send the delinquent 
 
 75
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 away with a good deal of sound advice. If he 
 were a bad case he would take the remainder of 
 his money half a mile along the road to the Coffin- 
 Lid, where Fitch, the proprietor, was not troubled 
 by scruples of any sort. Very shortly after- 
 wards, the unfortunate drunkard would be 
 driven thence penniless and in a state of incipient 
 delirium tremens to die in the bush or get better 
 as it might come about. To the ones who didn't 
 die, Dr Rowth generally played the good 
 Samaritan. He had a knack of discovering 
 boozers, in a condition of " rattiness," when he 
 made short cuts through the gum trees to visit 
 outlying patients. Under Dr Rowth's whole- 
 some treatment, which also at the end consisted 
 of a certain amount of sound advice, such a 
 rescued boozer would find the finish up of his 
 burst more advantageous than its beginning. 
 When the boozer happened to be a gentleman, 
 the doctor usually put him in charge of Mrs 
 Quinlan, who admitted him into what the roughs 
 styled her " Weaners' Paddock " and often 
 accomplished his complete reformation. Mrs 
 Quinlan was a small, determined and ambitious 
 
 little woman, originally of the servant class, who 
 
 76
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 had been excessively pretty in her youth and was 
 still of pleasing appearance. As her husband, 
 who was dead, had been a handsome Irishman, 
 it was not surprising that' her daughters should 
 be famed along the river for their good looks. 
 Indeed, there was no doubt that the attractions 
 of Mrs Quinlan's daughters caused a number of 
 the Leura squatters — especially the single ones — 
 to put up at Quinlan's Rest, and the hotel was a 
 favourite resort with all the better-class Leura 
 residents whenever there were races or other 
 festivities going on at Gundabine. 
 
 Mrs Quinlan was not absolutely dependent 
 upon her hotel business, though its profits con- 
 stituted by far the largest part of her income. 
 Mr Quinlan had begun life on the Leura as a 
 combined carrier and free-selector, and the old 
 Selection homestead lay behind the Rest. When 
 she had been left a widow with two pretty 
 daughters to educate and advance in the world, 
 Mrs Quinlan had started the shanty as a more 
 paying means of livelihood. It was ill-naturedly 
 said along the river that she had chosen this 
 investment because it afforded opportunities for 
 
 marrying her daughters into a sphere above that 
 
 77
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 of their parents, and that her Weaners' Paddock 
 
 had been started with the same ulterior object. 
 
 It was certain that Mrs Quinlan, who perhaps 
 
 remembered her days of service in " good 
 
 famihes," had an immense desire that her 
 
 daughters should become the wives of gentlemen. 
 
 One of them had realised her mother's ambition; 
 
 the other seemed to be in a fair way of doing so. 
 
 Gundabine, the bush township in which stood 
 
 Quinlan's Rest, was also the terminus of a railway 
 
 line from the coast that had for some time been 
 
 in process of construction. Thus, part of the 
 
 township had been in a sense migratory, for, as 
 
 the railway was laid, people belonging to it 
 
 packed up their zinc houses and carried them 
 
 along with them to the next stage. That is the 
 
 way some townships get built in Australia. The 
 
 original Gundabine had been a sheep-station, 
 
 and when the scab came into the district, a 
 
 boiling-down place. From that it became a 
 
 nest of small selectors. Houses gradually arose 
 
 in the forest clearings, and all about were green 
 
 patches of sorghum, sugar-cane and Indian corn. 
 
 The railway terminus stopped short of the 
 
 Selectors' Settlement, and the new town of 
 
 78
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 Gundabine was one long zinc street of Noah's- 
 Ark-shaped tenements. Some of these were 
 beginning to look homely now that native cucum- 
 ber and passion vines had had time to grow over 
 the bough shades which surrounded most of them. 
 Five or six of the zinc houses were grog shanties, 
 but of a very different type from Quinlan's Rest, 
 and were frequented by a more rowdy order of 
 customer. 
 
 Out of the gum and gidia forest came a dusty 
 track, and after winding through the zinc town- 
 ship and the Selectors' Settlement, returned 
 again into the forest, where it lost itself a great 
 many miles away in the lower gullies of the Razor- 
 back Range. At certain seasons of the year 
 many a carrier's bullock-dray would trail along 
 the track, bearing a mountain of wool bales and 
 with the carrier's family residing under a tilt on 
 top of the wool bales. Twenty lean bullocks, 
 more or less, would drag the combined load — a 
 sorry spectacle with their heads bent under the 
 yokes, their tongues lolling and dripping saliva 
 into the dust. The carrier would draw up at 
 one or other of the shanties, according to the 
 
 measure of his own and their respectability, and 
 
 79
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 finally would wheel off into a paddock where the 
 family would bide for the night. 
 
 Twice a day a train would steam into the 
 township, and twice a day it would go out again. 
 One had stopped just now under the wayside 
 shed which was politely called the terminus. 
 The shed was built on the site of the old boiling- 
 down place, in a deserted sheep-yard. Still, a 
 faint stench came from the great rusty pots lying 
 on their sides in a patch of fat-hen plants, and in 
 the air were the gritty feel and the odour of sun- 
 dried sheeps' droppings. Backwards and side- 
 wards stretched the endless bush — dreary vistas 
 of gaunt eucalyptus trees. Some were iron- 
 barks from which the red gum oozed in great 
 blobs like thickened blood, and some were white 
 gums, leprous-spotted and scaly, with bare 
 limbs up to their crown of scant, grey-green 
 foliage. Underneath the gums grew wiry grass 
 tussocks, and here and there stood a slab hut 
 with its walls bleached a corpse-like grey. Just 
 round the railway station gleamed the zinc roofs 
 of the new township. Beyond, on a slight rise, 
 lay the Selectors' Settlement — a number of grey 
 
 humpies — grey with the weather-beaten greyness 
 
 80
 
 Mother Quinlan's Wcaner 
 
 of unpainted wood, standing each in its own 
 cleared paddock, with weird-looking skeletons 
 of " rung " trees and rows of bleached stumps 
 sticking up, where the trees had been felled and 
 carted away for firewood. On the outskirts of 
 the Settlement were a new store — the latest 
 advance-mark of civilisation — and the Coffin-Lid 
 Hotel — the rowdiest in the place. Further along 
 the road stood a rather picturesque two-storied 
 house, with verandahs going all round it and a 
 sign on the balcony which had "■ Quinlan's Rest " 
 painted on it. Creepers grew up the side veran- 
 dahs. On the front one opened the bar, and 
 here lounged bushmen and loafers of a more 
 respectable type than the roughs who frequented 
 the Coffin-Lid — but perhaps that was not saying 
 much. This afternoon a bullock dray was drawn 
 up in front of it, and the language in the bar 
 verandah sounded freer than usual. At least so 
 Mrs Quinlan seemed to think, for she came out 
 and administered a sharp rebuke to the offenders. 
 " I'm not going to have my daughter's ears 
 polluted with that sort of talk," said she. 
 " There's some of you have had quite enough 
 
 grog, and if they fancy they haven't, well then, 
 F 8i
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 they'd better go over to the Coffin-Lid and ask 
 Fitch to supply them. He'll be very pleased to 
 sell his snake- juice, I make no doubt." 
 
 There was rivalry between the Coffin-Lid and 
 the Rest — contemptuous on Mother Quinlan's 
 part, malicious on that of Mr Fitch, who liked 
 nothing better than to get hold of one of Mother 
 Quinlan's weaners, and destroy the fruit of her 
 benevolent attempts at breaking them off the 
 bottle. 
 
 One or two " bushies " in the verandah took 
 the landlady's hint, and unbuckling their horses' 
 bridles from the hooks on the verandah posts, 
 lurched on to their saddles and galloped away in 
 the direction of the township and the Coffin-Lid. 
 Others merely indulged in ribald laughter or 
 tried to cheek the landlady. One called out, 
 " You look after your pet weaner. Mother Quinlan, 
 and leave us alone." But on the whole the land- 
 lady's remonstrance had a subduing effect upon 
 the little crowd at the shanty. 
 
 Hither from the station, where he had stepped 
 
 out of the train, came a gentleman, evidently a 
 
 stranger in Gundabine. He had new-chum 
 
 written on every line of him and especially in 
 
 82
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 the make of his clothes. He was not, however, 
 the ordinary young jackeroo on his way to do 
 Colonial experience on one of the Leura stations. 
 This man was by no means young. He had 
 neatly-clipped, old-fashioned iron-grey whiskers 
 and the smooth-shaven legal mouth. His type 
 was that of the trusted family lawyer in a small 
 provincial town. He did not look very strong 
 and the dust made by the bullocks caused him to 
 cough. Behind him walked old blear-eyed King 
 Mongo carrying a Gladstone bag, on which might 
 have been read the name " H. Blandy." 
 
 King Mongo called out, — 
 
 "All right! Stop long-a this place. That 
 one hotel belonging old Mother Quinlan. Now 
 you gib-it King Mongo shilling! My word! 
 this fella swag plenty heavy." 
 
 King Mongo, with much groaning, deposited 
 the Gladstone bag on the edge of the verandah 
 and held out his black hand for the shilling. 
 
 Mr Blandy surveyed the loafers on the veran- 
 dah with a stiff and somewhat disapproving air. 
 A bushman whose legs dangled over the edge of 
 the verandah, and who was chewing a quid of 
 
 tobacco, remarked, " Day, bloke! " 
 
 83
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 *' Good-day — sir," returned Mr Bland}^ form- 
 ally. " Perhaps you will have the goodness to 
 tell me if this is Mrs Quinlan's Hotel? " 
 
 " Right you are, mate," said another. " We 
 mostly call it Quinlan's Shanty." 
 
 " And perhaps you can still further inform me,'* 
 pursued Mr Blandy, politely, " whether a gentle- 
 man of the name of Mandan — Mr Robert Mandan 
 — is now to be found in the hotel? " 
 
 The bushman looked puzzled. " Mr Robert 
 Mandan! " he repeated. Then a light seemed to 
 dawn upon him. "Oh! it's Soaking-Bob you're 
 talking about, I expect — Mother Quinlan's pet 
 weaner. I dunno if he's inside." The man 
 shifted his quid and addressed a stockman from 
 the Upper Leura, who was mounting his horse at 
 the end of the verandah. 
 
 " Say, Boggo Bill. The Weaner was dovvn at 
 your camp last evening, wasn't he? D'ye know 
 if he's inside now? " 
 
 Boggo Bill smiled a queer smile, but did not 
 answer. 
 
 "What's up with the Weaner then?" struck 
 
 in a squat selector. " I was after my milkers 
 
 this morning at daylight, when I came on him 
 
 84
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 down by tlie creek dead asleep and pretty white 
 about the gills, as if he'd been making a night of 
 it. But I know for certain he hasn't touched a 
 drop since he took the pledge five months ago." 
 
 "Gam! " cried another. "I saw him roarin' 
 drunk at the Coffin-Lid last night." 
 
 Mr Blandy shuddered visibly. 
 
 " Faix! if that's the way of ut, it ud be bekase 
 Nora Quinlan has chucked him for Misther 
 Thompson," said an Irishman, expectorating 
 into the dust at Mr Blandy's feet. " I saw the 
 pair of them riding a while ago — she and Misther 
 Thompson I mane — and a foine handsome pair 
 they were." 
 
 " He's a well-set-up chap is young Thompson, 
 and it would be a grand match for Miss Nora if 
 she can bring him to the scratch this time," said 
 another man on the verandah. 
 
 The face of Mr Blandy, who with legal instinct 
 had been listening attentively to the conversa- 
 tion, gave sign of relief. The first speaker, how- 
 ever, differed from the one who had last advanced 
 an opinion. 
 
 " Thompson hasn't got the style of the Weaner," 
 
 said he. " Stands to reason them chaps that 
 
 85
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 have been all over the world and had an English 
 eddication must get a sort of pull over us bushies 
 — not but what Thompson has got advantages, 
 and they always said that Nora Quinlan was in 
 love with him before ever she set eyes on the 
 Weaner." 
 
 The man lowered his voice and cast an appre- 
 hensive glance backward at the bar, where a 
 brisk business appeared to be going on under 
 the supervision of Mrs Quinlan. These remarks 
 had reached the widow's ears, however, and she 
 pounced out on the group like an irritated bird. 
 " Who's daring to tell lies about my daughter? 
 Shut up, Mick Rooney, and be careful the rest 
 of you how you make free with a lady's name. 
 I'm not going to have that sort of talk in my 
 verandah. Have any of you seen Mandan 
 about? He hasn't turned up this morning." 
 
 The selector did not repeat his tale, nor did 
 Boggo Bill deliver any information, but Mr 
 Blandy pressed forward, having thrown King 
 Mongo his shilling, and repeated to Mrs Quinlan 
 the question he had asked previously. 
 
 " Mandan — yes, of course, Mr Robert Mandan 
 
 is staying here. You'll step in and see him, sir, 
 
 86
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weanef 
 
 and perhaps you'd like some refreshment while 
 you are waiting," replied the landlady. 
 
 Mr Blandy intimated that he did not imbibe 
 spirituous liquors, but that he would like a cup 
 of tea, and Mrs Quinlan convoyed him to a par- 
 lour along the further verandah, whither, at her 
 request, one of the rouseabouts outside the bar 
 carried the Gladstone bag. The landlady asked 
 the rouseabout to look round and see if he could 
 find Mandan. 
 
 " All right. Mother Quinlan, I'll go and yard 
 up your Weaner," cheerfully responded the 
 rouseabout as he departed, at which Mr Blandy, 
 looking at his hostess with an expression of 
 faint horror and mystification on his face, 
 inquired, — 
 
 " But why— the Weaner? " 
 
 Mrs Quinlan laughed. 
 
 " It's only the doctor's chaff," she said. " And 
 the men have picked it up. I've been getting 
 Bobby Mandan off the bottle." 
 
 "Oh, dear, oh, dear! " exclaimed Mr Blandy. 
 
 " I am afraid from what I've gleaned that he has 
 
 fallen into the bad habit of intemperance." 
 
 " Like most of those I've had to do with," 
 
 87
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 frankly replied Mrs Quinlan — " though you see 
 that's all in the way of business. But it doesn't 
 foUow, Mr—" 
 
 " Blandy," said the lawyer. 
 
 " It doesn't follow that I want all the young 
 men who drink my grog to make beasts of them- 
 selves." 
 
 " I hope that my friend Mandan hasn't made 
 a beast of himself? " said Mr Blandy, sipping his 
 cup of strong tea. 
 
 " Not as bad as some. But you know how it 
 is with these wild young English gentlemen 
 who've been bad hats at home and were shipped 
 off by their relations to become worse ones out 
 here. They can't stand the roughing it, and 
 their stomachs rebel against the salt junk and 
 damper. So they take to nipping to get an 
 appetite and blunt themselves to their surround- 
 ings. That's how it begins — and it ends — " 
 Mrs Quinlan made a dramatic gesture with her 
 bird-like hands — " well, it ends where Bobby 
 Mandan was when I took him up and weaned 
 him. And I can tell you," she added, " I'm 
 proud of my work." 
 
 " I am sure that you have been very kind to 
 
 88
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 Mandan," said Mr Blandy, affably, "and I 
 should really be extremely glad of any informa- 
 tion you can give me about his habits and circum- 
 stances. The fact is, I've come here to see him 
 about a — a family matter — and it's as well to 
 learn first what he's doing with himself." 
 
 Mrs Quinlan eyed Mr Blandy circumspectly. 
 
 " Anybody in Gundabine will tell you what 
 he's been doing," said she, " so there's no use my 
 hiding anything. But I'd like to know whether 
 what you've come about is to his advantage. "^>i-_,^ 
 
 "Very much to his advantage," said Mr 
 Blandy. "But you will understand that I am 
 not at liberty to talk about it until I have seen 
 Mandan himself." 
 
 " That's natural. It occurs to me that maybe 
 it's his aunt who's sent you out." 
 
 The old gentleman seemed a little puzzled. 
 "His aunt, you said? " 
 
 " Bobby told me he'd got an aunt who'd 
 promised to send him five thousand pounds if 
 he'd give up his roving hfe and settle down and 
 marry respectably." 
 
 "Ah, so! " murmured the lawyer, in a non- 
 committal manner. 
 
 89
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " I asked Bobby why he didn't claim the 
 promise," went on Mrs Quinlan, " and at first 
 he laughed at the idea. ' A pretty fellow I 
 should be to get married,' said he. That was 
 just after he'd come to me. . . . But you 
 know, Mr Blandy, a young man marrying in 
 Australia can make a very fair beginning on five 
 thousand pounds — especially if there's a little 
 bit on the other side to put to it. Besides, there 
 might be more where that came from." 
 
 " Just so," returned Mr Blandy. 
 
 " That was what I said to Bobby, and seeing 
 you, I supposed he'd come round to my idea. 
 I daresay he thought it more delicate to say 
 nothing to me till he'd got his capital out here. 
 But now that you've come out about it — " 
 
 ** Oh, not exactly." Mr Blandy looked grave. 
 " There are other things as well. . . . Regard- 
 ing our young friend to whom you have been so 
 kind? " 
 
 " Well, I don't mind saying that we've done 
 
 a good bit for Bobby — my daughter Nora and 
 
 myself," pursued Mrs Quinlan. " You'll see 
 
 my Nora by-and-by, Mr Blandy. I've only 
 
 got the two. Her sister's married and lives like 
 
 90
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 a lady on the Mackay. Her husband's a planter 
 — and comes of a very good English family. He's 
 to take her a trip Home next year. You know I 
 never let my daughters go into the bar. Nora's 
 mostly at the Selection, and if she's here in the 
 daytime — as she was this morning — she stops 
 at the back and does her writing and sewing. 
 She used to keep the books before I gave them 
 over to my Weaner." 
 
 "Ah, Mr Mandan is in your employment 
 then? " A peculiar smile curled Mr Blandy's 
 thin lips. 
 
 " It was this way," related Mrs Quinlan. " I 
 
 daresay you may hear bad stories outside about 
 
 his former habits, but you can take it as truth 
 
 what I tell you. Bobby — Soaking Bobby was 
 
 his first nickname — and he did soak, I'm not 
 
 denying it — well, he came down here in rather 
 
 flash style with a good bit of money in his pocket 
 
 that he'd made up country. It was a pity he 
 
 went first to the Coffin- Lid, for he lost the whole 
 
 lot of it, shouting all round and being taken 
 
 advantage of by Fitch. He came down at last to 
 
 cleaning the boots, and then when he got too 
 
 ' ratty ' for that, he was turned out to the bush. 
 
 91
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Dr Rowth got hold of him and brought him to 
 
 my weaning paddock. We nursed him through 
 
 a bad bout of D.T. and got him round in time. 
 
 Of course I could tell at once he was a gentleman 
 
 — in fact, he let out some things when he was 
 
 raving that he's denied since — but I keep my 
 
 own opinion for all that. However, he's knocked 
 
 about the world, has Bobby Mandan, and knows 
 
 bush work, besides a lot of other things. So I 
 
 put him on to the Selection — breaking new 
 
 milkers first, and after that I set him making up 
 
 my books. For I'm not as good a hand at writing 
 
 as my girls are. I hadn't the education I've 
 
 given them — " Mrs Quinlan rambled on. Mr 
 
 Blandy interrupted her. 
 
 " And how long has Mandan been here? " 
 
 " Close on eight months, I should say. That 
 
 was all before Nora came home. She never saw 
 
 him when he was bad, and he's been going on 
 
 first rate for a good while now. I weaned him 
 
 down to three nobblers a day, and after that I 
 
 saw he'd be better for taking the pledge — he's 
 
 one of those that can't stand the taste of grog 
 
 without going too far in it. So now I've got 
 
 him to swear off drink entirely." 
 
 92
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 " You appear to have acted in a most disin- 
 terested manner considering your line of 
 business," remarked Mr Blandy. 
 
 Mrs Quinlan smiled and preened her small, 
 bird-like head. She had a little aquiline nose 
 and something the air of a pertinacious magpie. 
 
 " That's what other people tell me, Mr 
 Blandy," said she. " But I'm a mother, you 
 know, and Bobby Mandan hasn't cared to hide 
 from me that he's got a very strong reason for 
 wanting to keep straight." 
 
 " I trust that his strong reason is not the 
 desire to marry your daughter, Mrs Quinlan," 
 said Mr Blandy, deliberately. 
 
 " And why not, if you please? " said Mrs 
 
 Quinlan, bridling indignantly. " You wouldn't 
 
 want to hint, I suppose, that my daughter isn't 
 
 good enough for the likes of him? Why, she 
 
 might marry a deal better than that any day. I 
 
 could name a squatter on the Leura — who's 
 
 down in Gundabine at this very moment — just 
 
 eating his heart for my Nora — a squatter with 
 
 ten thousand head of cattle, a good position and 
 
 a trip to England to offer her. . . . Besides," 
 
 she added virtuously, " if it's true — which I can 
 
 93
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 scarcely believe — that Bobby Mandan was at 
 the Coffin-Lid last night, broken out again — it 
 isn't likely that I should want him for a son-in- 
 law. I shouldn't be at all surprised if my girl 
 was to come and tell me she'd changed her 
 mind — " 
 
 Mrs Quinlan paused suddenly. A step had 
 sounded on the verandah outside, and now a 
 man's form blocked the doorway. The man 
 stood there for an instant before coming into the 
 room, and Mr Blandy, looking up, saw with a 
 little shock of surprise him whom, he had come 
 from England to find. 
 
 A man of about thirty, handsome and with 
 the unmistakable stamp of good birth. A man 
 with tragic brows, dark eyes that had a queer, 
 thirsty gleam in them, an idealist's forehead, a 
 refined face, on which hard living had made 
 marks, and the beauty of which was otherwise 
 marred by a rather underhung mouth and re- 
 treating chin. Nevertheless, Mr Blandy decided, 
 a man with whom the landlady's daughter might 
 very easily have fallen in love. 
 
 " One of the fellows told me I was wanted, 
 
 Mrs Quinlan," said the newcomer, irritably, 
 
 94
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 and not appearing to recognise Mr Blandy. " I 
 was down at the Selection looking for Nora. 
 Where is she? " 
 
 " She's gone for a ride with Mr Thompson," 
 answered the landlady, and looked meaningly 
 at the young man. Mandan's tone had been 
 reckless and there was something blustering and 
 ominous in his air. Mrs Quinlan felt sure from 
 his appearance that she had been told the truth 
 and that he had broken his pledge. 
 
 " What the devil does Nora — ? " began 
 Mandan, beside himself with jealous rage, but 
 Mrs Quinlan stopped him in dignified anger. 
 
 " You'll please not to take liberties with my 
 
 daughter's name before strangers, Mr Mandan," 
 
 said she. "At least," she added, turning affably 
 
 to Mr Blandy, " this gentleman was a stranger to 
 
 me when he introduced himself, though he says 
 
 he's acquainted with you, and that he's over 
 
 from England to see you on a matter of family 
 
 business. Perhaps I can give a guess at that," 
 
 pursued the landlady, " but I'd like you to 
 
 understand that if my ' weaners ' choose to go 
 
 and disgrace themselves at the Coffin- Lid they've 
 
 got to take the consequences." 
 
 95
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Mandan glared at her with savage dark eyes, 
 too intent upon what was in his own mind to 
 pay any attention to Mr Blandy. 
 
 " So that's what you meant when I heard you 
 say just now that Nora might change her mind. 
 But I'll not believe it — I'll never believe it," he 
 cried passionately, " never until I hear it from 
 her very own lips." 
 
 " I didn't say she had changed her mind. It 
 all depends on how you behave yourself," re- 
 turned Mother Quinlan, in a more conciliatory 
 tone. " Now you'd better see what news Mr 
 Blandy has brought you. Any way, I'll leave 
 you to talk it over together, for I can't trust that 
 barman the instant me back is turned." 
 
 "Blandy!" exclaimed Mandan, in supreme 
 astonishment. " Man, I didn't know you." 
 
 " I'm ten years older, my lord, than when we 
 last met," said the lawyer, imperturbably. 
 
 " My lord ! What in Heaven's name do you 
 mean? And what has brought you here? " 
 
 " I have come to inform you, my lord, of your 
 
 cousin, Lord Lassendale's death," replied the 
 
 lawyer, solemnly. 
 
 " My lord again! Blandy, I've got a beast of 
 
 96
 
 Mother Quinlan*s Weaner 
 
 a head to-day. . . . Truth is, I made rather free 
 with the liquor last night." 
 
 "I'm sorry to hear that, my lord." 
 
 " What I want to convey to you is that I'm 
 not in a temper to stand being made the subject 
 of a practical joke. What is my cousin's death 
 to me? He had two boys." 
 
 " They were killed in the South African war. 
 I wonder you did not see it in the papers. You 
 are now the only representative in the world, so 
 far as I know, of the old family." 
 
 " Is that true? Then I— I—" 
 
 " You are the Earl of Lassendale. . . . You 
 must not be the last earl, if you will forgive me 
 for saying so, my lord." 
 
 "Oh, my heavens!" Mandan leaned heavily 
 against the table, making Mr Blandy's tray clatter. 
 
 " Give me a cup of tea, Blandy — it will steady 
 my nerves. No, no, don't call for another cup. 
 I don't want the old woman in again. Give me 
 yours, and let me have it strong, please, and no 
 milk. . . . You're a teetotaller, I suppose, 
 Blandy? " 
 
 " Both from principle and inclination," re- 
 turned Mr Blandy. " I wish — " 
 G 97
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " You wish I were too. Well, I haven't been 
 — since last night. I'd been one before then for 
 close on five months. Now the beast's broken 
 loose again, Blandy. If I were to give way an 
 inch I should be in the grip of the drink-fiend 
 again. Do you know that I have the most 
 hideous desire tearing at me this very moment — 
 a most uncontrollable desire to get drunk — 
 beastly drunk, do you hear? " 
 
 Mandan gulped off the cup of almost black 
 liquid, put it on the table and glared at the 
 lawyer with bloodshot eyes. 
 
 " I hear, and I'm sorry for it, my lord. But 
 surely this great change in your prospects — " 
 
 " Look here, don't you ' my lord ' me any 
 more for the present, and don't you say a word 
 of this to anybody here. I suppose you didn't 
 teU Mother Quinlan." 
 
 " No, I did not. I may perhaps remark, my 
 lord, that I have in the course of my profes- 
 sional career acquired a small amount of discre- 
 tion." 
 
 The young man burst into a peal of harsh 
 laughter. " You've taken the old woman's 
 
 measure, I see. She's not a bad sort, though. 
 
 98
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 I suppose she told you I was one of her weaners. 
 Her weaners are mostly gentlemen. She's got 
 a craze for sons-in-law of birth. She married 
 her other daughter to a rattling good fellow, 
 with money, family, and just the one weakness 
 — like me. He was a weaner too. Somehow, 
 Mrs Quinlan has found out that I can lay my 
 hand on five thou, any time that I choose to write 
 a penitent letter to old Aunt Mary — a thing 
 I'm never likely to do. But the old woman has 
 guessed that I've a streak of blue blood in my 
 veins and she honours the British aristocracy — 
 was kitchen-maid once I believe in a lord's house. 
 As you said of yourself, Blandy, she has acquired 
 in the exercise of her profession a certain amount 
 of shrewdness, and though I've denied for all 
 I'm worth the imputation of being a decent 
 catch — By the way, Blandy, how much am I 
 worth? " 
 
 Mr Blandy calculated mentally. " I should 
 say, my lord, on a rough estimate, about twenty 
 thousand a year." 
 
 "Twenty thousand a year! Enough to make 
 a woman comfortable upon — eh! Mind you, 
 Blandy, not a word! Though as I said I've 
 
 99
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 declined to make any confidences about my 
 prospects, old Mother Quinlan seems to think I 
 might do for a son-in-law unless someone better 
 turns up. But Nora is not like that. You 
 haven't seen her yet. Wait till you do. I tell 
 you she's a ripper. There's nobody in the world 
 like her. Directly I saw her she put a spell on 
 me. ... I can't tell you why it is, and I don't 
 imagine a withered old stick like you could ever 
 have the faintest notion of what it means to be 
 in love with a woman as I'm in love with Nora. 
 And a shanty-keeper's daughter! Think of that. 
 The Countess of Lassendale a shanty-keeper's 
 daughter! Great Scott! what a joke it will be! 
 But then that's Australia, Blandy — a land of 
 big, grim jokes, and this is the biggest and grim- 
 mest joke of all! " 
 
 " My lord, it seems to me that you are talking 
 very wildly. Pray, pray calm your excitement 
 — which is natural, of course. But really, my 
 lord, the very best thing you can do is to come 
 along in the train with me back to Townsville." 
 
 " The very best thing you can do, Blandy, is 
 to start off by the next train yourself and leave 
 me to mind my own business. I shall feel much 
 
 lOO
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 more comfortable when you're out of the place. 
 No offence, Blandy. The train ought to go in 
 half an hour, but trains are a bit casual at Gun- 
 dabine. You be off. You'll get a much better 
 dinner at the Queen's Hotel in Townsville than 
 you'll get here." 
 
 " I will, of course, relieve you of my presence 
 if you insist upon my doing so," said Mr Blandy, 
 with a perturbed rather than an offended air. 
 " But excuse me, my lord. I cannot help feeling 
 that you are hardly in a fit state of mind to be 
 left. You might bind yourself in some way 
 that you would hereafter bitterly regret." 
 
 " Look here," said Mandan, abruptly. " I'm 
 my own master, I suppose? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly," rephed Mr Blandy. 
 
 " Then no damned shepherding for me, do you 
 understand? " He laughed again unpleasantly. 
 " I'll settle my affairs here without your assist- 
 ance — just at present. No doubt I shall be glad 
 of your legal advice later. But now I've got 
 business to do that's not in your line. I'd cut 
 along to the station if I were you. There isn't 
 too much time." 
 
 Mr Blandy rose. " As your lordship pleases." 
 
 lOI
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 The lawyer took up some papers he had put on 
 the table, but J which his client had not even 
 noticed. Mandan exclaimed, — 
 
 " There's no gammon about all this, is there? 
 If I've got aJl that money I should like some at 
 once." 
 
 Mr Blandy pulled forth a pocket-book from 
 which he extracted a roll of bank-notes. 
 
 " I am, of course, empowered to supply your 
 lordship with such cash as you may require for 
 your immediate needs." 
 
 He began counting a roll of notes. Mandan 
 laughed disagreeably. 
 
 " Ah, I was wondering if you happened to be 
 carrying some incontrovertible proof of that kind 
 that this news of yours isn't a Coffin-Lid hallu- 
 cination." 
 
 Mr Blandy hesitated as he stood fingering the 
 notes. Again he protested that he did not like 
 going — that it was his duty to see his lordship 
 through. 
 
 "Bosh!" said Mandan, curtly. "Wait for 
 
 me at Townsville. I'll wire when I'm coming. 
 
 How much have you there? " The younger 
 
 man held out his hand. 
 
 1 02
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 " Four fifties, my lord." 
 
 " All right. Now hurry up. I daresay you 
 think this is a curmudgeonly way of treating a 
 chap who has come fourteen thousand miles to 
 give me a bit of good news. I'll make up to you 
 for it by-and-by if things go right with me. 
 And if they don't — well, I suppose you can send 
 in a bill for expenses any way. Don't bother 
 about the score. Tea doesn't cost much here. 
 I'll settle with Mother Quinlan. Where's your 
 bag? " 
 
 He took up the Gladstone, to Mr Blandy's 
 discomfiture. 
 
 " I really couldn't think of allowing your 
 lordship — " 
 
 "Oh, preserve us! Didn't I tell you not to 
 lordship me here? My heaven! I've humped 
 my own swag through the bush and chopped 
 wood for my tucker. It isn't so long since I 
 was cleaning boots at the Coffin-Lid." 
 
 Mrs Quinlan stopped them as they went along 
 the verandah. 
 
 " We're not on the bolt," said Mandan. " The 
 
 tea can go on to my score. He's going back to 
 
 Townsville. I'm stopping here till I've seen 
 
 103
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Nora; " then he added in a lower tone, " Has she 
 come in from her ride yet? " 
 
 " She's coming now, don't you see her? " 
 returned Mother Quinlan, pointing down the 
 road to a man and woman on horseback who 
 were riding towards the shanty. " My word, 
 that's a fine thoroughbred Mr Thompson is on! " 
 she added. " He'll be after improving the 
 Leura breed." 
 
 Mr Thompson was a fair, good-looking bush- 
 man, got up in dandified fashion, and the way he 
 greeted the manager of the Australian Con- 
 solidated Bank, who was passing in his buggy 
 at the moment, suggested a good balance to his 
 credit. Mandan scowled as he looked at his 
 rival. He took off his hat to the girl and she 
 gave him a swift glance from a pair of large, 
 bright Irish eyes, then inclined her head in a 
 rather distant manner. 
 
 " Now, you see my daughter! " said Mrs Quin- 
 lan, proudly turning to Mr Blandy; "and I'll 
 ask you if there's a prettier girl in the old country 
 than herself? " 
 
 Mr Blandy admitted that it would be difficult 
 
 to find in any part of the globe a more attractive 
 
 104
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 young lady than Miss Quinlan, and remarked 
 how well she rode. 
 
 " She can back anything that ever was foaled. 
 There's not a seat on horseback as elegant as 
 hers — not even Mrs Vallis's, whose father was a 
 master of hounds in the shires and she almost 
 bred in the saddle. But my Nora can best her 
 anyhow." 
 
 Certainly Miss Nora Quinlan was a most 
 striking-looking young woman, and reluctantly 
 Mr Blandy had to acknowledge to himself that 
 she would not disgrace the coronet of the Lassen- 
 dales should Fate ordain that she was to wear it. 
 She had a graceful, sinuous figure, a brilliant 
 complexion, a quantity of wavy dark hair, and 
 those blue Irish eyes, thickly fringed with up- 
 curling black lashes. She rode quite slowly when 
 she passed the verandah, as if to give Mr Blandy 
 full opportunity to observe her charms. Her 
 horse curveted under the curb, so displaying her 
 figure to its fullest advantage. One most notice- 
 able thing about her was a curious, snake-like 
 fascination in the set of her head and the fixed 
 look in her eyes. There are women who suggest 
 
 the serpent, and she was one of them. Mr 
 
 105
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Blandy could hardly wonder, now that he beheld 
 Nora Quinlan, at Mandan's infatuation. As for 
 Mr Thompson, he was manifestly triumphant 
 and adoring. When they got abreast of the 
 verandah, Miss Quinlan backed her horse across 
 the road almost on to its haunches, and waved 
 her hand to Mr Thompson in a gesture calculated 
 to exhilarate a favoured suitor and to infuriate 
 a disdained one. 
 
 "Who loves me. follows me!" she cried in 
 novelette style, and spurring her horse to a 
 bound, leaped the three-rail fence like a bird on 
 the wing and went galloping down the paddock. 
 Mr Thompson followed her gallantly. 
 
 Mandan was white and his eyes gave an ominous 
 gleam. ... He chucked Mr Blandy's bag over 
 the verandah edge to King Mongo, who was still 
 loafing round, while Mrs Quinlan endeavoured to 
 extract some information from the lawyer. 
 
 " It's a shame to be going off so soon, but we'll 
 see you again maybe," she said. " And I hope, 
 Mr Blandy, that you brought some good news to 
 my Weaner." 
 
 Mr Blandy was silent and looked embarrassed. 
 
 Mother Quinlan tapped Mandan sharply on the 
 
 1 06
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 arm. "Well, and what news did he bring you? 
 Nora will be wanting to know." 
 
 " I'll tell Nora myself," returned Mandan, in 
 savage accents. " Good-bye, Blandy. You'll 
 hear from me in a day or two." 
 
 Later on, Nora Quinlan stood by the creek in 
 the Selection with Lord Lassendale — only she 
 had not the faintest idea that he was Lord Lassen- 
 dale — listening to his passionate explanations of 
 his lapse from temperance the evening before. 
 As she listened, she pulled off slowly one by one 
 some of the fluffy yellow balls from a branch of 
 flowering wattle that hung down near her. She 
 was in her riding habit still, but had taken off 
 her hat. She had never looked handsomer, and 
 what with drink and jealousy, the man's whole 
 being was aflame. When he paused for a moment, 
 she looked up at him from under her black, up- 
 curling lashes with her curious, snake-like gaze, 
 which seemed to draw the heart out of him. 
 
 " I could never marry anyone who drinks too 
 much," she said. 
 
 " I was tricked," he cried. " It was a plant 
 
 to destroy me." 
 
 "Tricked! I don't know what you mean." 
 
 107
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " You ought to know. The blame of it is 
 mostly on you. For the last two or three weeks 
 — since that fellow Thompson came along — you've 
 been cooling off me, Nora. I've felt it. It's 
 driven me nearly mad. I didn't believe you were 
 a flirt, though they told me so. I believed that 
 you cared for me. . . . Anyhow, you let me 
 think it. And now, you don't seem to want me 
 near you. You wouldn't speak to me yesterday. 
 I was beside myself — ready to gamble, fight — 
 anything. That's how I came to be among that 
 rowdy lot at Boggo Bill's camp. And then — 
 Upon my soul, I'd almost swear Boggo Bill was 
 bribed to doctor my tea and put the heU-fire 
 taste into my mouth again." 
 
 She drew back with a gesture of disdain. 
 
 " You don't know what you're saying. Who 
 bribed Boggo Bill? " 
 
 " That scoundrel Thompson. He wanted to 
 make me disgrace myself so that you should be 
 set against me." 
 
 " Mr Thompson is a well-known squatter on 
 the Leura," said she, coldly. "He is a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 "And I — oh, Lord! oh, Lord! I'm not a gentle- 
 
 io8
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 man! Look at me, Nora. Do you mean to tell 
 me that I'm not a gentleman? " 
 
 She looked at him in her slow, compelling way. 
 
 " I thought you were when I first knew you, 
 and mother has always declared that you come 
 of a good family. But I think you must have 
 forgotten it at the Coffin-Lid yesterday," she said 
 calmly. 
 
 " Yes, you're right. I did forget it. I got 
 
 caught in a trap. , . . And who laid the trap 
 
 for me? Didn't I say that Boggo Bill was bribed 
 
 to do it ? Boggo Bill put bad grog into my tea to 
 
 begin with, and let the devil loose on me. Nora, 
 
 you don't understand these things — and yet you 
 
 ought, since your mother keeps a grog shanty. 
 
 It's exactly as if a devil dogged one, waiting his 
 
 chance to get possession of one. ... Or as if 
 
 the devil had been asleep and you thought he 
 
 was dead — until something — something that hit 
 
 one hard, waked the fiend up again. There are 
 
 lots of men like me — born with the curse, or the 
 
 disease, or whatever you like to call it. Only 
 
 one thing will ever keep such men straight, and 
 
 that is caring for a woman who cares enough for 
 
 them to help them conquer that devil. You 
 
 109
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 could do it. I knew from the first that you could 
 make anything you chose of me. . . . It's the 
 look in your eyes. . . . It's a sort of quiet power 
 you've got. . . . Nora, don't you believe me? " 
 
 " No. And you don't seem to believe it your- 
 self either, judging from your behaviour in the 
 Coffin-Lid last night," she answered with a little 
 scornful laugh, 
 
 " Nora, forgive me, I was mad, I tell you — 
 mad with jealousy and — and the other thing. 
 Boggo Bill had been saying that Thompson was 
 giving himself out as engaged to you. Bill said 
 he'd seen him kissing you down here by the creek. 
 I couldn't stand that. I flung the lie in the man's 
 face. Nora, tell me that I was right." 
 
 She did not answer. Something in her eyes 
 made him go close to her, and putting his hand on 
 her shoulder, he said, in hoarse accents, — 
 
 " Nora, you know how I love you. You've 
 
 got a fascination for me that's stronger than 
 
 myself. When you're out of my sight it's as if a 
 
 chain was pulling me. When I can't speak to 
 
 you or touch your hand, I'm like a thirsting 
 
 beast with a fence between me and water. When 
 
 you let me kiss you as you did, not so very long 
 
 no
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 ago — and you said then you loved me back — oh, 
 then, you send me to heaven, Nora . . . and 
 for days and days I can feel the touch of your 
 lips on my mouth. . . . And when you're cold 
 and cruel to me — like yesterday — well, then I'm 
 down in hell. . . . Lord! I'm a weak fool, I 
 know, but I can't get away from it. Why should 
 I have this crave for you — you — Nora Quinlan 
 — a shanty-keeper's daughter — " 
 
 " You needn't insult me," she said. 
 
 " Is it insulting you to tell you that if you were 
 a duke's daughter I couldn't respect you more or 
 worship you more than I do? All the same, it's 
 one of those queer infatuations no man can 
 account for. One of those unholy jokes — as I 
 was saying to Blandy a little while ago— that 
 this grim old bush is continually playing on us 
 who live in it. . . . But look here, Nora — 
 You've been brutally frank with me and I'll be 
 frank with you. You're not the type of woman 
 I should once naturalh/' have expected to marry — " 
 
 " Not good enough for you, perhaps," she 
 sneered. 
 
 He laughed. " Maybe not in one sense. A 
 
 thousand times too good for me in another. 
 
 Ill
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 What I meant was that you're not one of the 
 kind of women I was brought up amongst and 
 modelled my idea of my wife upon. . . . That's 
 the joke of it — a glorious joke! How you will 
 laugh over it yourself by-and-by! Nora, the 
 one essential thing is, do you care for me? Will 
 you marry me — now — straight away, and leave 
 this place? " 
 
 "Leave this place! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, say good-bye to the bush and start a new 
 life — with me? " 
 
 " What sort of a life? " she asked with a faint 
 show of interest. 
 
 " That doesn't matter just at present. Trust 
 me for its being a jolly one. Trust me — trust 
 me, Nora. I can tell you that you would be 
 richly rewarded." 
 
 "Ah! should I? That's just the thing. But 
 there! What's the use of talking nonsense? " 
 
 She drew her shoulder back, releasing herself 
 from his touch. Her shrinking movement in- 
 censed him. He caught her two hands, which 
 were still mechanically shredding the wattle 
 blooms, and held them tight, pressing them against 
 his chest. 
 
 112
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 " Let me go," she said. " I don't want to be 
 held Hke that." 
 
 " You shall be held like that until you've 
 given me my answer. ... I'm throwing my last 
 cast. I want to know how much you care for 
 me, or whether you've been fooling me these 
 months past. It's the end now, Nora. I'm 
 going — with or without you. But I must have 
 the truth first." 
 
 " And when you've got the truth, where will 
 you go with it? " she asked in a satirical tone. 
 
 " To the devil," he said with a reckless toss of his 
 head — "if it's your choice for me to take that 
 track." 
 
 " I certainly don't choose to take it with you," 
 she answered contemptuously. " I can go on a 
 pleasanter track." 
 
 "To Thompson's station up the Leura? " he 
 cried with a bitter laugh. 
 
 " Yes, if you like to put it that way. Please 
 leave go of my hands, Mr Mandan." 
 
 Her taunting tone stung him. He loosened 
 
 his grasp of her hands and stepped back, clutching 
 
 at a sapling. His face was ashen. For a minute 
 
 he was speechless. Then he said chokingly, — 
 H 113
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 "Do you mean that? " 
 
 She made no reply. He went on shakily, — 
 
 " One of the things Boggo Bill said, was that it 
 had been an old affair between you and Thomp- 
 son, and that you went to Townsville because 
 he'd jilted you. Was that why you took up with 
 me — to pique him into coming back to you? " 
 
 Still she said nothing. 
 
 "Nora!" he pleaded. "Sweetest, tell me it 
 isn't true. ... I won't believe it. How 
 can I think you false when I remember back 
 and have still the feel of your mouth on mine? 
 It was the thought of that which gave me strength 
 to crawl out of the Coffin-Lid last night — away 
 into the bush. I fought my devils down here by 
 the creek. ... I wrestled with them — it seemed 
 to me that I was fighting for possession of you. . . . 
 I wrestled, Nora, till break of day. . . . Well, 
 then, I prevailed. . . . Yes, at last I pre- 
 vailed. . . . And I took an oath that if you'd 
 marry me I'd never in my life touch another 
 drop of grog. Oh! my dear, so long as you'll be 
 true to me I sha'n't be afraid of those devils 
 attacking me again. . . . But if you fail me — 
 
 My God! Nora, you won't do that? You can't 
 
 114
 
 Mother Quinlan's Weaner 
 
 have the heart to let me go. I tell you, it's my 
 soul that's at stake. Will you save it from 
 destruction or give it up to Satan? . . . Answer 
 me — which? " 
 
 She stared at him, half frightened, half dis- 
 gusted. Then, turning away, she said coldly, — 
 
 "There's nothing I can do. You can't expect me 
 to sacrifice my life in order to keep you sober — if it 
 was likely that I should! " she added scornfully. 
 
 " Nothing you can do. . . . Sacrifice j^our 
 life? Oh, Lord! how little you know about it! 
 I tell you, Nora, you've got a chance now that 
 bush girls don't often get. You always said 
 that it was your dream to go to England and be a 
 big swell there — like the people in Government 
 House, you said. Lord ! I can make you a bigger 
 swell than most of those in the Government 
 Houses out here. I can take you to a castle 
 that has stood sieges and harboured kings — " 
 
 She interrupted him with a burst of incredulous 
 laughter. 
 
 " You're just gammoning me — or else you're 
 drunk still," she said. 
 
 He laughed back in bitter irony. 
 
 "Oh! I'm drunk still, am I! . . . Well, I'm 
 
 115
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 drunk — or sober enough to want to crunch you 
 up in my arms and put you on my horse and 
 carry you off whether you hke it or not. That's 
 how the old Border brigands who Uved in that 
 castle I was talking about used to do when they 
 wanted wives — and the wives were generally 
 happy enough afterwards — as you would be. 
 Nora, will you trust me to take you along a better 
 track than the one to Thompson's station? Will 
 you take my word that I can and that I will make 
 you happier than ever you could be as his wife? 
 Will you come with me, sweetheart — will you 
 come? " 
 
 With a passionate movement he threw his 
 arms round her and pressed her to him so roughly 
 that she cried out, — 
 
 " Let me go. I don't want to have anything to 
 do with a coarse brute like you. I'm going to 
 marry Harry Thompson." 
 
 A hissing sound came from between Mandan's 
 teeth, but he still held her so close that she could 
 not free herself. 
 
 " It was true then — what Boggo Bill said? " 
 
 She answered defiantly, throwing back her 
 
 head as a snake does when it is caught. 
 
 ii6
 
 Mother Quintan's Wcaner 
 
 " Of course it's true. I always liked Harry 
 Thompson. He didn't mean to behave badly, 
 and now we've made it up. And he's going to 
 take me a trip to England. He's very well 
 off. ... So there! Now leave hold of me." 
 
 He flung her back against the tree without a 
 word and went blindly across the paddock till he 
 walked straight against the fence. He vaulted 
 it and made for the Coffin-Lid. 
 
 It was dusk and the proprietor had lighted 
 the hanging kerosene lamps. A crowd of navvies 
 and bush hands filled the bar, which reeked with 
 the fumes of drink. 
 
 Mandan went to the counter and planked down 
 two of Mr Blandy's fifty-pound notes, 
 
 "I'm shouting all round," he said. "We'll 
 drink this out." 
 
 The bar proprietor bustled to bring drinks. 
 The men in the bar crowded round. Mandan 
 waved his glass. " Come, mates, a shout for all 
 hands — and as many more as you please, so long 
 as the money — and I — last." 
 
 "Good for you, mate! " they cried. Mandan 
 
 drank the fiery spirit raw, yet for a long time he 
 
 seemed to preserve a comparative sobriety. 
 
 117
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 By-and-by he raised his glass. 
 
 " Now, mates — here's a toast for you. Drink 
 to — Euthanasia." He gave a horrible laugh. 
 
 " To how much, old man? She's got a darned 
 long name — that gell of yours. Call her some- 
 thing shorter," said the selector, who had been 
 on Mrs Quinlan's verandah. 
 
 "All right — you can call her — Death!" 
 Mandan answered with another queer laugh. 
 
 He took a long pull at his tumbler. " Here's 
 a quick end and a merry one, mates," he cried — 
 " to the last Earl of Lassendale! " 
 
 There was a burst of ribald ejaculations, and 
 the men looked at him, thinking he was mad 
 with drink. They saw a sudden change come 
 over his face. An odd gurgling sound broke in 
 his throat. He fell heavily forward across the 
 bar. 
 
 And that was indeed the end of Mother Quin- 
 lan's Weaner and of the last representative of an 
 old English earldom, whose story, under another 
 name, is told here. For the bush abounds in 
 tragedies, and this is one of them. 
 
 Il8
 
 Ill 
 
 BUSHED 
 
 A BUSH verandah on a summer's night is a fine 
 place for the telUng and the hearing of bush yarns. 
 Especially if it happens to be a bachelor's veran- 
 dah, for then there are no troublesome social 
 amenities to be considered. A man can take off 
 his coat and roll up his shirt sleeves without fear 
 of giving offence. He can imbibe as many rum- 
 swizzles — a speciality of the Leura — as may seem 
 to him good; he can smoke pipes unlimited and 
 he can talk bush shop in bush vernacular, which, 
 be it understood, has to be softened down con- 
 siderably before it becomes suitable for the pages 
 of a book. The Teelbar verandah, before Holt 
 and Chippindall burst up, was a favourite gather- 
 ing-place of the Leura bushmen. One evening 
 several of them had collected there, and Joe Far- 
 ridge was the chief yarn-spinner. 
 
 He was a man very well known along the river, 
 
 though he had no settled abiding-place in the 
 
 119
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 district. He was by way of being a gentleman — 
 that is, he was the son of a small selector on the 
 Darling Downs, of the English yeoman-farmer 
 class. Anyhow, he would give his name when 
 he arrived at a station, and, according to bush 
 etiquette, was always asked into the parlour. 
 He had pushed up north and out west, embark- 
 ing on a variety of occupations and never content 
 to stop long at one of them. When he was with 
 sheep, he wanted to be with cattle, and vice 
 versa. When he was in the bush, he hankered 
 after life in a township. Consequently he was 
 not a particularly good bushman. He took any 
 sort of jobs that appealed to him at the moment 
 or to which he was compelled by the exigencies 
 of fate — such as tailing weaners, helping with a 
 droving mob, looking after a station-store or 
 keeping order among the rouseabouts in a wool- 
 shed. He was rather a good bush carpenter, 
 and he could break in milkers and working 
 bullocks. Sometimes he was reduced to fetching 
 up wood and water for his tucker, or even to the 
 ignominious profession of a sundowner, for when 
 he hadn't a horse he footed it along the track. 
 As a rule, however, when times were fairly good, 
 
 120
 
 Bushed 
 
 he had no difficulty in getting work. He seemed 
 to prefer the Leura to most localities, and would 
 appear there periodically, and as he was a good- 
 natured, happy-go-lucky soul with a smattering 
 of a good many trades, the Leura squatters were 
 glad enough to hire him whenever they required 
 an extra hand. He never could keep any money, 
 not exactly because he had vicious propensities, 
 if one may except a tendency to bar-loafing — 
 but because if he ever by chance saved a few 
 pounds he invariably lost them in some unlucky 
 speculation or spent them on a spree in one of the 
 big towns. There are many such wastrels knock- 
 ing about in the bush. 
 
 Things hadn't been going particularly well 
 with Farridge before this last time of his turning 
 up on the Leura, and finding employment had 
 not been so easy. It seemed as though there 
 was going to be a run of dry seasons and the track 
 presented terrors to those who did not choose to 
 weight themselves with bulging water-bags. 
 Only that day, Mr Chippindall, riding through 
 the run, had come upon a mummified corpse in 
 European clothes, with an empty water-bag by 
 its side, and had played the part of bush under- 
 
 121
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 taker. After he had told of this mcident, while 
 the talk ran upon grim experiences of the bush, 
 Farridge related one that had recently fallen to 
 his own lot. 
 
 " Wa'al," he began in his Colonial drawl. 
 " Y'know it was the last time I had the mining 
 fever on me, and I was stony-broke, but I kept 
 cheerful. So I dissolved my last shilling in 
 whisky at the last pub outside the place. Then 
 I shook the dust of Charters Towers off my feet, 
 and I rolled my swag, and humped bluey. . . . 
 First time for a good many years now that I've 
 had to go on the wallaby looking out for a job. 
 
 " Wa'al, some chaps fancy, ye know, that the 
 dust of a mining township is bound to be gold 
 dust, but you and I know better, don't we, 
 Jimmy? " Holt growled indistinctly. 
 
 " It isn't, I can assure you — not always," con- 
 tinued Farridge. " I wished I'd stopped on, a 
 journeyman carpenter in Rockhampton — as I 
 should have done, being in rather low water at 
 the time, if I hadn't had the bad luck to draw 
 third horse in a Tattersall's sweep, and put nine 
 hundred pounds clear in my pocket. . . ." 
 
 There was a little murmur in the circle and 
 
 122
 
 Bushed 
 
 Chippindall struck in excitedly with another 
 
 story about a stroke of luck in a sweepstake 
 
 that he had had, which would have been a matter 
 
 of thousands instead of hundreds — if only — 
 
 But he was derided by the rest for a " blower," 
 
 because they all knew Chippindall's yarns and 
 
 they wanted to hear this new one of Farridge's. 
 
 " Wa'al, I thought I was pretty sick of droving 
 
 just about that time, or I might have bought a 
 
 mob of stores and taken up some Gulf country 
 
 I knew of. But I reckoned I was full up of the 
 
 bush for a bit, and that I'd try a business in the 
 
 public-house line, where there'd be more gain 
 
 than labour. So I looked out in the Capricor- 
 
 nian advertisements and fetched an hotel that was 
 
 for sale at Barcaldine and put my winnings into 
 
 that. But, y'know, I'm an easy-going sort of 
 
 chap, and I booked too many bad debts, and 
 
 somehow I got to be my own best customer at 
 
 the bar. Consequently, I had to sell out at a 
 
 big loss, after which I swore off drink and came 
 
 up to Charters Towers to try my luck at 
 
 mining. . . . That wasn't any good. Charters 
 
 Towers isn't a likely sort of place for a cove to 
 
 swear off in. I got on the tank again, and after 
 
 123
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 a most uncommon burst, found myself cleaned 
 out and with nothing but my wits to live on. 
 That's how I came to be doing the track. 
 
 " My word, I can tell you that tramping it 
 with a big swag on one's back doesn't come too 
 easy to a fellow who's been bar-loafing for nigh 
 two years, and, by Jove, as I trudged along 
 through the brigalows I cursed myself for an all- 
 fired idiot. I said a good many stronger things 
 of myself, but that don't matter now. . . . You 
 know Torrens Creek — a one-horse kind of town- 
 ship with a post and telegraph office, and a couple 
 of grog-shanties, and a store and a boiling-down 
 plant? ... I was thinking I might try for a 
 boiling-down job — though boiling down old work- 
 ing bullocks and poor cattle that are no good for 
 the sale-yards is a thing I never could stand — 
 when who should come down on me but Jack 
 Grutty, the half-caste. You don't know Jack 
 Grutty — a spry chap he is, more white about 
 him than half-caste, and a first-rate stockman 
 if you can only keep him off the burst. I'd 
 known him at Barcaldine, where I'd first lambed 
 him down of his cheque and then started him, 
 
 with five shillings and a bottle of grog, on an old 
 
 124
 
 Bushed 
 
 piebald mare I had in the paddock, before he was 
 too far gone to keep his feet in the stirrups. 
 Lord! they are queer, the ups and downs of the 
 bush. Here was Jack Grutty, a flash 'un in a 
 brand new cabbage-tree hat and riding as pretty 
 a bit of stuff as ever I'd wish to throw a leg 
 over. . . . And here was I — that had been 
 boss then — humping bluey! 
 
 '"HuUo, Joe!' says Jack. 'What's up? I 
 didn't expect to meet you — a sundowner.' 
 
 " 'By Jimini! I'm glad to see you, Jack,' I 
 said. ' I'm clean broke and I haven't come 
 across anyone I'd ask for a pipe of tobacco since 
 I left the Towers. Can you give me a smoke? ' 
 
 " ' My word, I can, Joe. And what's more, 
 I'll shout a night at the pub for you. I haven't 
 forgot that old mare you gave me. I'm clearing 
 to-morrow, but we can have a yarn after supper.' 
 
 " We yarned half the night in the verandah of 
 the shanty. I asked Jack what he was doing, 
 and if he thought there was any chance of a job 
 for me at the Boiling-down Works. 
 
 " ' I can lay you on to something better than 
 
 that,' said Jack, after thinking a bit. ' A mate 
 
 and me are kangaroo shooting. I've got a spare 
 
 125
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 rifle, and you can have it to work out in skins, 
 and come along with us if you hke.' 
 
 *' ' Is there anything in it, Jack? ' I said. 
 
 " ' There's good wages in it,' said Jack. 
 ' They're paying for scalps now — eightpence for 
 kangaroos and fourpence for wallabies, and skins 
 are up. We averaged three and sixpence apiece 
 for our last lot. Sometimes we shoot over ten 
 a day. With all lost time — shifting camp and 
 that sort of thing — I've made about four pounds 
 a week. And it's not hard work.' 
 
 " ' Right y'are. Jack,' says I. ' It's a good 
 while now since I made four pounds a week. 
 We'll shake on it, sonny,' I says, ' and I'll let the 
 Meat-Works slide. What sort of a mate have 
 you got? ' I asked. 
 
 " Jack Grutty didn't look as if he was over 
 keen on his mate. ' He's a Creole chap,' he said, 
 ' and he's a darned cunning know-all. What's 
 worse, he's a bit of a combo,* but I don't see as 
 that matters to us. You and I can take up to- 
 gether and leave him to think on his old people, 
 as he calls the blacks.' 
 
 * A combo is a white man who lives on intimate terms with the 
 blacks, adopts their habits and usually has a black wife. 
 
 126
 
 Bushed 
 
 " Seemed comic when you come to think of it, 
 seeing that Jack Grutty was more than a part 
 black himself. But you'll notice, it's always 
 the half-castes that have the biggest down on 
 the blacks. 
 
 "'Enough!' I grunted. 'I don't cotton to 
 combos myself, but if he's smart, that's the main 
 thing. Are there only the two of you shooting? ' 
 I asked. 
 
 " ' That's all,' said Jack, ' except a galoot of a 
 boy we've got to look after the horses, and I lend 
 him a gun sometimes to shoot an odd kangaroo 
 or two that he takes out in tobacco.' 
 
 " Wa-al, Jack Grutty shouted for me that 
 night, and next morning we were on the road in 
 an old wagonette Jack had got hold of, and ^^dth 
 half a dozen kangaroo dogs running after us. . . . 
 It was better than humping bluey — a good 
 bit. ... So there was I, a kangarooster, as 
 the bushwhackers call them, and my word! I'd 
 have given something for those kangaroo dogs 
 old Berris had at Boggo to take along with me. 
 For, y'know, most of the kangaroosters de- 
 pend on their rifles, but Jack Grutty and his 
 
 mate knew a bit better than that. They'd run 
 
 127
 
 The Luc of the Leura 
 
 down the animals with dogs as well, and got a 
 much better show as well as I could make out." 
 
 On this there was some discussion in the 
 verandah upon kangaroo dogs, which is of no 
 importance in the story. 
 
 " Wa'al," drawled Farridge, presently, " three 
 days of a drive took us to the camp, and there was 
 the Creole pegging out the skins of his day's 
 shoot, and the galoot was turning a damper in 
 the ashes. That Creole chap scowled at me hard, 
 but I guess I scowled back one harder. I dare- 
 say he thought I'd interfere with his plans for 
 starting a black harem, and anyway, he didn't 
 seem to want me in the camp. But Jack Grutty 
 took no notice of that, and I didn't neither. The 
 two of 'em yarned a bit about what they'd been do- 
 ing, then we settled down to feed, and Jack stuck 
 his knife into the damper, which was as hard as 
 iron-bark gum. So was the salt junk, but Jack, 
 being a bit of an epicure, had got a bottle of Lea 
 and Perrin sauce, and there was lots of quartpot 
 tea, which is close-up as good as grog — when 
 you're sworn off liquor. . . . 
 
 "Our camp? Oh, well, three tents made up 
 
 our camp, besides a big sixteen by fourteen feet 
 
 128
 
 Bushed 
 
 fly that was used for skins to be spread under, 
 for, y'know, they get damaged if they're left out 
 in the sun. And there was a rough table fixed 
 under a bough-shade, and an open fire close by. 
 It was a desolate sort of place, in the heart of a 
 thick gidgee scrub, with burrum bushes and 
 sandal-wood undergrowth and the bed of a creek 
 running north and south. But that was dry 
 now, and no more than a line of boggy water- 
 holes, miles apart. The scrub closed in the 
 creek for a good bit of its course. Not bad 
 country for shooting kangaroo, but precious poor 
 for pasture. . . . You could travel stock 
 through it, though, for there were edible bushes 
 in the scrub that would stand to cattle in a 
 drought. We seemed to be having the run of 
 the place pretty much to ourselves. There was 
 only one camp. Jack told me, within a decent 
 journey, and that belonged to some chaps who 
 were making an Artesian Bore for water. . . . 
 
 " Wa'al, then, next morning, at the first streak 
 of dawn, Jack shouted ' Daylight ' and kicked 
 the galoot — who swore beyond the ordinary in 
 consequence — out of his blankets to go and fetch 
 up the horses. It was a laughing jackass with 
 
 129
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 his devilish chuckle that shook me out of mine. 
 I couldn't stand that solemn-looking bird perched 
 on a bough right in front of the tent and jeering 
 at me. ... If I'd been wanting to write some- 
 thing that was going to ketch on in England, like 
 Lawson's way of describing the bush, I reckon 
 I could have fetched the public with that first 
 morning of kangaroostering. . . . There was 
 that red, glary look in the east coming through 
 the black gidgee trees — you know — the sort of 
 sky that starts you off on a blazing sunlit day of 
 heat with no hope of a thunderstorm. And 
 then, besides that skeery old laughing jackass, 
 the air was just alive with the screeching of the 
 birds — honey-eaters twittering in the gum trees; 
 leather-heads singing out, 'Four o'clock! Four 
 o'clock! ' — that's exactly what their call sounds 
 like, ain't it now? — and a magpie-lark strutting 
 about on the edge of the waterhole, as conse- 
 quential as a parish beadle in the pictures 
 of 'em that you'd see in those green Dickens's 
 books of yours, Chippindall. . . . WeU, he 
 may look consequential, for that bird is 
 always a sure sign to the bushman that water 
 
 is lying handy, and we Northerners know what 
 
 130
 
 Bushed 
 
 that means when the canvas bags are getting 
 low. . . . 
 
 " Wa'al, Jack Grutty called out, — 
 
 "'Hello, Joe! Are you going to try a shot 
 to-day? Have a look at the rifle while the billy 
 boils.' 
 
 "So I did, and I saw that the seven-shot 
 Winchester was as good as I was likely to get, 
 and better than I'd expected. 
 
 " ' Here are a few cartridges loaded that'll do 
 you for to-day,' said Jack. ' I'll give you some 
 shells and ammunition to-night, and you can 
 pay for them out of your skins and nobody be 
 any the worse.' 
 
 " ' Nobody the worse, and me the better,' 
 said I, ' and I sha'n't forget it, Jack.' 
 
 " ' We're quits on the piebald,' said Jack. 
 ' My word! She was a crock, but she carried 
 me game.' 
 
 "A wash in the water-hole; the billy boiled; 
 
 then breakfast — same old show, salt junk, damper 
 
 and tea. Up came the galoot with the horses, 
 
 and out the others started on their beats; so did 
 
 I, afoot, on mine. Jack had promised to lend me 
 
 one of the dogs, but the West Indian called him 
 
 131
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 off behind my back. And if he hadn't, I shouldn't 
 have been bushed. Jack was out of ear-shot by 
 that time, or I might have sung out to him. The 
 West Indian got away, too, before I could tell 
 him what was in my mind. The odds were 
 against me, having only shanks's mare to depend 
 on, and I hadn't walked far before I made up my 
 mind that I'd pay the West Indian out for that 
 dirty trick. 
 
 " Skeery brutes are kangaroos! You know. 
 Sort of before-the-flood-like creatures as they sit 
 up with their hind legs doubled under, staring at 
 you, and with their fore-paws dangling, and 
 perhaps a little 'un peeping out of its mother's 
 pouch — seems queer, don't it, that? There's 
 ne'er a kangaroo, nor ne'er a gum tree neither, 
 growing natural, in all the known world but 
 'Stralia. Y'know, it always strikes me that the 
 Big Boss must have started experimenting in 
 creation on kangaroos, and got hold of a fine, 
 practical idea in the pouch, but sickened on the 
 job and dropped the pouch idea out of sheer 
 disgust before setting on to humans. . . . 
 
 " Wa'al, now, they look an easy mark, do 
 
 kangaroos, till you get within rifle-shot; and then 
 
 132
 
 Bushed 
 
 it's fine to see them bolt right away over the 
 burrum bushes, and through the gums and gidgee, 
 with their ears turned down, and their tails and 
 legs flying. There was a big ' old man ' that I 
 took a shot at and wounded, and a pretty dance 
 he led me through the scrub! I was that thirsty 
 that I couldn't help stopping for a drink at a 
 muddy water-hole on the way, but I got him 
 again, and my finger was just on the trigger when, 
 Lord! if he doesn't see me — and off he flops 
 again. 
 
 " Then I lost my bearings altogether, and 
 when at last I had my ' old man's ' skin folded 
 tidy and his scalp at my belt, it was getting on 
 in the afternoon, and I'm blest if I knew which 
 way to make tracks for the camp. Said I to my- 
 self, ' I ought soon to be getting to the creek,' 
 but I never did. And how that darned scrub 
 bothered me! I ran a gidgee spHnter into my 
 hand, and my hat got bowled off by the bushes, 
 and then I'd scoot away, first this side and then 
 that, and yet never could I find a blazed tree or 
 an ant-hill or a dead log that I'd seem to have 
 seen before. 
 
 " Oh, Lord, no, I wasn't frightened. There's 
 
 ^33
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 nothing of the new-chum about me, though I 
 haven't knocked about the bush over-much — 
 not to be what you'd call a bushman. Thirsty 
 I was, but frightened — no — when sundown came, 
 and there was nothing for me but to find a hollow 
 in a sand-ridge and camp. 
 
 " After I'd had a bit of a rest, I walked again 
 for two hours and more in the moonlight, but 
 there was no sign of the creek. I'd have given 
 all I had — which was only the kangaroo skin — 
 for a gulp from that muddy, lukewarm water- 
 hole at the camp. How many cartridges had I? 
 Five. Four I'd fired off as signals, keeping one. 
 As bad luck had it, if I'd only known, I wasn't 
 very far from the camp, and my mate heard the 
 shots and returned them. So did the men at 
 the Artesian Bore. But my ears weren't good 
 bushman's ears like theirs, and I never heard the 
 return shots, so that though they caught their 
 horses to look for me, they missed my camp in 
 the dark. Y'see, I'd fired off those cartridges 
 too quick. If I'd left intervals between them 
 I'd have been wiser. 
 
 " I wasn't game to fire off my last cartridge, so 
 
 I wandered on, taking a snooze now and then, till 
 
 134
 
 Bushed 
 
 the sun was up and I could look about me. Just 
 such a blazing, cloudless morning it was as 
 yesterday. My lips were dry and swelling. I 
 sucked the grass for dew, but never any dew falls 
 in these parts, except just after rain. It went 
 against me to lick that kangaroo hide, and after 
 a bit I let it and the scalp drop, for they brought 
 about me such a cloud of flies. 
 
 " Wa'al, for a bit I broke branches right and 
 left and strewed them on the track, and it was a 
 pity I did not go on doing it, for Jack Grutty 
 struck my trail that morning, but couldn't make 
 out my tracks on the hard ground. 
 
 " But I was dazed, and stopped leaving a trail. 
 Never could I hit that blessed creek. I just kept 
 wandering on here and there, through the thick 
 scrub. Often I'd come across my own track 
 and take it for my mate's, and then I'd shout 
 till I was hoarse — all for no good. Then my 
 thirst got more than I could bear, and in the 
 afternoon I shot a kangaroo with my last bullet 
 and drank its blood. But after a very short 
 relief that only made the fever worse. 
 
 " Wa'al, towards evening I got out of the scrub 
 
 into the open desert country — and that seemed 
 
 135
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 the beginning and the end of everything. Oh, 
 Lord! that open desert; bad enough, ain't it, to 
 ride over, even when one isn't bushed? It's all 
 loose, sandy soil, that's covered with your abom- 
 inable prickly spinnifex grass. My word! if I 
 was taking up country I'd try and keep clear of 
 spinnifex. You know how each leaf of it sticks 
 into you like a needle, and there'll be long 
 stalks spreading over the ground and taking root 
 and making fresh tussocks and more needles to 
 trip you up at your next stride! And I can tell 
 you it was blazing hot — not a bit of shade any- 
 where. The only trees I could see were the 
 stunted old yellow-jacks, and they look just about 
 fit mates for the poison-bushes — there was plan- 
 tations of poison bush. . . . 
 
 " It's a queer thing the way thirst takes you 
 and the fancies it puts into your head. I'd read 
 about such things, but I'd always reckoned they 
 were bosh. But there, that night as I was lying 
 on the sand among those awful spinnifex tussocks, 
 I kept dreaming of cool, running streams — and 
 there was a girl I used to know when we was both 
 kiddies, that 'ud come and play with me down by 
 
 the creek at our selection — way home — you 
 
 136
 
 Bushed 
 
 know. She'd dip her hand in the water as it 
 
 was running, and I'd drink it out of her palm. . . . 
 
 My word ! all night I seemed to hear the gurgling 
 
 and the gliding of that water, and I could feel the 
 
 wet on that girl-kiddie's hand. . , . Then, in 
 
 the morning, the gurgling of the creek seemed 
 
 to turn into blacks's gibbering, and I fancied 
 
 there was a mob of Myalls, that I couldn't see, 
 
 all around me. . . . 
 
 " When I woke up, my tongue was that swollen 
 
 I could scarcely move it in my mouth — and my 
 
 oath! didn't I have horrors that day! On and 
 
 on I went, tramping over that scorching sand 
 
 and through the prickly spinnifex. I wasn't 
 
 hearing the running of our Selection creek then, 
 
 and I didn't have any more dreams of that sort. 
 
 All I felt was a dull sort of stupid feeling that I'd 
 
 got to go on. . . . And by-and-b}^ I got queer 
 
 in the head again, I suppose, for I made sure 
 
 there was a mob of wild blacks swarming about 
 
 me, brandishing firesticks and pointing their 
 
 spears. I declare I climbed a yellow-jack tree to 
 
 get away from them — and then when I looked 
 
 and saw there was nothing, I could have laughed 
 
 at myself if my lips hadn't been so swollen and 
 
 137
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 cracked that they wouldn't stretch to a smile. 
 All the while I was carrying that useless rifle. I 
 seemed to have sense enough to know I oughtn't 
 to lose it, because it was Jack Grutty's, not mine, 
 but it was awful heavy and made me hotter to 
 carry it. . . . Then it struck me I'd be cooler 
 without my coat. Off that went and I felt 
 pounds lighter. It must have been soon after 
 that I threw away my shirt and my trousers. 
 Y'know it's part of the thirst madness that a chap 
 must take off his clothes. . . . And, of course, 
 that only worsens the torture, because nothing 
 but the skin of a black fellow will stand the sun 
 after eight or ten hours. ... I guess I was 
 raving mad after that. I don't remember any- 
 thing more about that day. I sort of recollect 
 saying my prayers, and seems as if an angel must 
 have come along and guided me, for next thing 
 I knew was that I was drinking deep draughts of 
 clear water. 
 
 " It was dark — there were the stars out — the 
 Southern Cross and all the whole blessed show 
 of them. The angel must have been something 
 of a bushman to have taken me so straight on to 
 
 that water-hole. It's often puzzled me how I 
 
 138
 
 Bushed 
 
 managed to get slick on to the trail. . . . But I 
 wasn't thinking of that then. First I thought 
 I was dreaming again. But no fear. That was 
 water — blessed water! I dabbled in it as I 
 drank. I'd laid down to it and lapped it up like 
 a dog. I could laugh now — and my word! it 
 was funny to hear my own hoarse voice, as I 
 chuckled while I let the water gurgle over my 
 swelled lips and my blistered face. 
 
 " Of course, I threw up what I'd drunk — my 
 starved stomach wouldn't keep it. I thought 
 what a fool I was. Why, I should have laid 
 down right in it and let it soak through my 
 clothes into the pores of my flesh. Hello! 
 Where were my clothes? I saw that I was as 
 naked as Adam when Eve gave him the apple. 
 But I didn't bother about that then. I drank 
 on. Presently I thought of Jack Grutty's rifle. 
 I'd thrown it away too. That was a trouble to 
 me, but I couldn't help it. I drank on. 
 
 " Just then the moon jumped up. I could see 
 
 the water. It was a running Bore. Looking 
 
 about, I found a battered tin billy, which I filled, 
 
 and I went to sleep hugging that old billy to my 
 
 breast. It upset in my sleep and woke me, but 
 
 139
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 I filled it again. The only thing that worried 
 me was not being able to remember where I'd 
 dropped the rifle. I didn't like losing Jack 
 Grutty's rifle. I searched about when morning 
 came and found a deserted camp and an old, 
 tattered skirt that had belonged, I suppose, to 
 the wife of one of the Bore men. They'd finished 
 the Bore and gone on, I heard. For that morn- 
 ing some men from a cattle station happened to 
 come to the place looking out for strayed horses. 
 They picked me up and got me to the station, 
 and after I'd got back my strength the boss gave 
 me a carpentering job. I reckon if I'd had another 
 day of it I'd have been a stiff-un — like the chap 
 you found this morning, Chippindall. It's a 
 satisfaction to me, anyhow, that I've lived to do 
 that West Indian mate of Jack Grutty's out of 
 five pounds in revenge for his having called back 
 the kangaroo dog." 
 
 140
 
 IV 
 THE DOCTOR'S YARN 
 
 Dr Rowth and the Teelbar bachelors were 
 smoking and discoursing in the verandah of the 
 head-station. The talk had turned — apropos 
 of an exhibition by an electro-biologist, given 
 lately at Gundabine — upon clairvoyance, pre- 
 dictions fulfilled and kindred topics, when Jimmy 
 Holt averred that the whole thing was deadly 
 rot and nothing but a question of coincidence. 
 
 " Well, there is a lot in coincidence," admitted 
 the doctor. " But I've got a theory that coin- 
 cidence is the effect of thought-vibrations, and 
 then one comes to this. What starts the thought- 
 vibrations? " 
 
 Nobody answered. 
 
 " Talking about all that," the doctor went on, 
 " I can tell you a rather queer story — part coin- 
 cidence — part a bit of bogus crystal-gazing. Not 
 much of a yarn, but it may interest you chaps to 
 
 hear it." 
 
 141
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 The doctor took a pull at his glass of innocent 
 lemon-swizzle. Unlike the other men in the 
 verandah, he did not drink spirits, and got a good 
 deal chaffed about his temperance crusade. 
 The doctor was a featm-e of the district and might 
 be met continually at stations and selections 
 along the Leura river. He was a clean-com- 
 plexioned, spare, brown man, with dog-like 
 brown eyes that had all a dog's sagacity, and an 
 alert, mobile face. He was full of enthusiasm 
 in regard to things about which one would scarcely 
 expect a bush doctor to be enthusiastic, and 
 most people liked him and found him excellent 
 company in a quiet fashion. Being a student of 
 human nature as well as of medicine, and his 
 professional practice having brought him into 
 contact with all types of Australians, he knew 
 something about most varieties of life up-country, 
 squatting, free-selecting, mining, surveying, the 
 ways of shanty-keepers and the perils of swagsmen 
 and rouseabouts. 
 
 The doctor's story can be told more or less in 
 
 his own words, leaving out matter that is 
 
 irrelevant. 
 
 " You know," said he, " one of my fads is to 
 
 142
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 collect odds and ends that have histories tacked 
 on to them — foreign substances cut out of human 
 bodies; weapons that have caused death or have 
 been used in attempts at suicide — in especial, a 
 number of small, simple objects, on some of 
 which I have been able to build up a chain of 
 circumstantial evidence sufficient to convict or 
 acquit a person of crime. Ghoulish rather, but 
 I have got immense interest out of that kind of 
 diagnosis. It's really extraordinary how, when 
 you set yourself to find out a particular thing, 
 connecting threads lead you on, and circum- 
 stances and coincidences play into your hands — 
 as you will see in this yarn of mine. 
 
 " Before I begin, however, I must remind you 
 of another of my fads. That is dabbling in oils 
 and water-colours whenever I've got any time to 
 waste, or, what I like next best, seeing other 
 people do it, . . . One doesn't come across 
 many artists in Australia, though, so when I«get 
 a patient who can paint pictures, you may be 
 sure that patient has more attention from me 
 than some of the others. 
 
 " Well, it was when I was practising down at 
 
 Burra-Burra that I had a lady patient who was 
 
 143
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 an uncommonly fine landscape painter for an 
 amateur, and added to that, as pretty and as 
 good a woman as I'd ever wish to meet. Oh, no 
 darned sentimental nonsense— I'm not that sort. 
 Besides, she had been married several years and 
 was very fond of her husband. He was a squatter 
 out Roma way, and she'd had to come down 
 south for her health. She had lived at Burra- 
 Burra as a girl and naturally came back to the 
 place. But, of course, as I had only been settled 
 there a short time, I hadn't known her before her 
 marriage. 
 
 " I used often to pass her cottage on my 
 rounds, and would drop in and see her working 
 up her sketches and have a chat with her as she 
 painted. We got to be very good friends, and 
 she used to tell me lots of things about herself, 
 outside professional matters. Women are like 
 that, you know, if they trust their doctor — nice 
 women — and she was a very nice woman — Mrs 
 
 . No, I must not call her by her real name, 
 
 though I don't know that it would matter much 
 now." The doctor gave a sigh. "We'll say 
 Mrs Rivers. That will do as well as anything 
 
 else. 
 
 144
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 " One afternoon she was putting the finishing 
 touches to a sketch she'd made of the Burra 
 river, and I was watching her and telling her 
 about what I called my private detective office. 
 She'd been laughing over one of my stories, when 
 I saw her begin rummaging in her tray of pencils, 
 colour-tubes — painting things, you know. She 
 took up a bit of glass that looked rather like a 
 hypodermic syringe — I suppose it was that 
 which attracted me. It was hollow, about three 
 inches long, had a kind of bulb at one end and a 
 bit of soft, thickish thread coming out at the 
 other end, which I noticed had been broken. I 
 asked her if I might look at it, and when she 
 handed it to me, I begged her to tell me what 
 use she had for it. 
 
 " ' Oh, it's a little patent of my own,' said she. 
 ' I dip this silk wick in water and the bulb keeps 
 just enough of moisture to damp the wick without 
 making it too wet. Then I use it for washing in 
 a half-tone or softening a stroke, and I assure 
 you that, for sketching, I find it a portable and 
 most convenient instrument. That's my fad, 
 doctor,' she said, ' thinking out little contriv- 
 ances that help me in my work.' 
 
 K 145
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " She went on painting while I looked at the 
 broken end of the glass. It struck me that 
 the break must have been made by the tube 
 having been jabbed into something soft, and I 
 said what was in my mind. I don't know why 
 I should have thought there was something queer 
 about that bit of glass, but I did, and of course I 
 began immediately to try and diagnose it. 
 
 " She didn't say anything for a minute or two. 
 Then she looked up and said, ' I think, doctor, 
 you'd be interested in that bit of broken glass if 
 you knew its history. Then I'm sure you'd 
 want to add it to your collection.' 
 
 " Of course, I was curious at once, and begged 
 her to tell me the story. ' I can only do that 
 on one condition,' she said. ' Can I trust 
 you? ' 
 
 " ' I sha'n't answer you that,' I said. ' Just 
 look in my eyes and decide for yourself.' 
 
 " So she did — looked me straight in the eyes 
 and laughed. ' Yes, I'll trust you,' she said. 
 ' The condition I shall impose on you isn't any- 
 thing very terrible, as you'll see. But I know 
 you'll set to work immediately to ferret out the 
 
 mystery, and I'm quite anxious that you should 
 
 146
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 do so, for I should dearly like to have it un- 
 ravelled — ' 
 
 " ' There is a mystery, then? ' I said. ' I 
 thought so, and I'm glad to find my intuition 
 wasn't at fault.' 
 
 " ' Yes, there is a mystery, and a rather dis- 
 agreeable one. Before I tell you the story, I 
 want you to promise me that if you should be 
 able to trace it out — to diagnose the case, as you 
 call it — and prove your diagnosis a correct one, 
 you will take no open steps in the matter without 
 asking my permission first, and that you 
 will not mention my name in connection with 
 it.' 
 
 " ' That's a very reasonable condition to make,' 
 I answered, ' and, of course, you shall have my 
 word of honour for what you wish,' Then she 
 told me how that bit of glass had had its end 
 knocked off. 
 
 " She began by saying what I knew already, 
 that she was about thirty years old and had been 
 married for seven years, and it was not any sur- 
 prise to me to hear that before her marriage she 
 had had other admirers. There was one man, 
 
 she said, who had fallen in love with her after 
 
 147
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 she had engaged herself to her husband, and who 
 did everything he could to persuade her to break 
 off her engagement. Needless to tell, she refused, 
 and he then made a great scene, lost his self- 
 control, and when she tried to leave the room, 
 stood in front of the door and threatened her 
 with his vengeance. 
 
 ' You've refused the offer of a man who'd 
 sell his soul for you,' said he, ' and you've chosen 
 instead a rough bush fellow who is quite un- 
 worthy of you and who will never make you 
 happy.' Then she described how he stood over i 
 her and hissed his words through his almost 
 closed teeth. ' I see that my chance of winning 
 you is gone,' he went on, ' but I'll make you suffer 
 for what you've done, and mark me, you'll 
 repent this yet. I shall leave to-morrow by the 
 Sydney steamer and go off to America — but | 
 remember, you've not finished with me. By 
 heaven! you shall have cause to regret your 
 choice.' With that, making a profound bow, he 
 left her, and true enough, she saw his name in 
 the sailing-list a day or two later. She was very 
 much relieved to know that he had departed, 
 
 though she felt sorry for the man and had liked him 
 
 148
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 as a friend. Now, however, she began to be 
 afraid of him. 
 
 " Well, to give her own words, — ' It was 
 within a week of my wedding, and I had been so 
 busy with various things that I had not had time 
 to finish a sketch I was making of a pretty little 
 spot about three miles along the Burra river. 
 It's a scrubby patch a little way off the main road, 
 and as it was a glorious afternoon, and I had been 
 kept a good deal in the house latterly, I thought 
 I'd walk the distance. So I started off with my 
 sketch-book and painting things — among them 
 the little glass instrument that you've been look- 
 ing at. I got to the place all right and set to 
 work on my sketch. The evening was so beauti- 
 ful and the bit of landscape so charming, with 
 the lengthening shadows and the gold of the 
 setting sun shining through the scrub trees, that 
 I got into a dreamy mood and lingered longer 
 than I ought to have done. At last, seeing that 
 the dusk had fallen, I got up quickly and gathered 
 together my sketching things — not waiting to 
 pack them properly — the sketch-book in my left 
 hand, and the tubes and brushes and that glass 
 
 instrument in the other. I had got within a 
 
 149
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 hundred yards or so of the main road, when 
 suddenly somebody stepped out of the scrub 
 behind me and threw a shawl right over my face 
 and head, then pinned my arms tight to my sides, 
 so that I could not move. I struggled with all 
 my might, but the person who held me was too 
 strong for me to fight against, and the shawl 
 over my face stopped up my mouth and pre- 
 vented me from seeing who my assailant was, or 
 screaming for help. It was rather a lonely place, 
 just between the river and the road, and the 
 scrub was thick, so I had not much hope of being 
 rescued. At last, as my strength was going, the 
 shawl caught on something and was pulled up 
 over my mouth, though it still covered my eyes. 
 I was gagged again directly, but in the instant 
 that my hands and my mouth were free I hit 
 out at the man — I could tell that he was a man 
 and that I had struck his face — and then I 
 screamed as loudly as I could. My enemy, 
 whoever it was, did not speak a word, but I felt 
 that he was listening to see if my scream had been 
 heard. Fortunately for me, someone had heard 
 it. There came a coo-ee from the scrub close by, 
 
 and the man, who had attacked me, hastily knotted 
 
 150
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 the shawl at the back of my head and bolted 
 into the bushes. I think I must have lost con- 
 sciousness, for the next thing I remember, I was 
 lying on the ground, the shawl off my face and 
 a working man beside me. 
 
 " ' " My word, miss," said the man, " you've 
 had a narrow escape; it's no good for me to go 
 looking for that brute, but I'll walk back with 
 you and see you safe home." 
 
 " ' I accepted the escort most gratefully, 
 picked up my sketching materials, and the work- 
 man took me home and delivered me up to my 
 mother, who wanted to reward him. But he 
 would not take a penny, saying he had only done 
 the duty of an honest man. So there the episode 
 ended without any further harm. I was married 
 soon afterwards and went away from Burra- 
 Burra, and we never had the least idea who it 
 was that had tried to rob me, my mother suppos- 
 ing it to have been some ordinary tramp.' 
 
 " But how about the piece of glass? you chaps 
 will ask," went on the doctor, " and that was 
 what I said then to Mrs Rivers. 
 
 " ' I'm coming to that,' she answered. ' When 
 
 I went into my bedroom, I found a stain of blood 
 
 151
 
 1 he Luck of the Leura 
 
 on my right hand, though I coiild not see any 
 cut. The next morning I noticed that my paint- 
 brushes were marked with blood also, and that 
 the glass tube was broken off just as you see. I 
 concluded that it must have been broken when I 
 hit out at the tramp, and that, as I myself was 
 not scratched, it must have cut his face.' 
 
 " I asked Mrs Rivers," said the doctor, " if 
 she had got the smallest glimpse of her assailant? 
 
 " ' Not the smallest,' she answered. ' My 
 eyes were covered all the time. You see the sun 
 was down so that I hadn't a chance of even 
 making out the shape of his figure through the 
 shawl. . . .' 
 
 " Well, I made notes of all she told me," the 
 doctor continued — " the colour of the shawl — 
 which she said was dark red — the date and hour, 
 the exact spot. I examined it myself afterwards 
 in driving that way. Then I asked her if she 
 had noticed whether the tramp had left any 
 footprints. 
 
 " ' I went with one of my brothers to the place 
 
 next day,' she replied, ' and we did see some 
 
 footprints.' 
 
 " I questioned her closely, and got from her 
 
 152
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 that the footprints seemed to have been made by 
 well-cut boots and were, as far as she could 
 judge, not those of a working man or of a swag- 
 man. I made her tell me such other details as it 
 occurred to me to ask her about, then thanked her 
 and showed her my notes, which were so worded 
 that they could not possibly be connected in 
 anyone's mind with herself. At the end I put 
 one last question, — 
 
 " ' You said that your mother supposed the 
 man who attacked you to be a tramp, but have 
 you any idea in your own mind of whom it might 
 have been? ' 
 
 " She did not answer for a few moments, and 
 then said, hesitatingly, — 
 
 " ' I have sometimes thought it might be — ' 
 But she pulled herself up. ' No, I have no 
 grounds for such a suspicion. I ought not to 
 give it utterance,' she said. 
 
 " I knew what was in her mind, but did not 
 press her any further. She read my notes care- 
 fully and gave them back to me with permission 
 to keep and make use of them. ' Pardon me, 
 there is one thing more,' I said. ' On what 
 
 part of your right hand was the bloodstain? ' 
 
 153
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " ' Down my little finger and along the edge of 
 my palm,' she answered — ' to my wrist,' 
 
 " ' Thank you very much,' I said. ' Now, 
 can you spare me this glass instrument for — 
 say two years? ' 
 
 " She laughed. 
 
 " ' You may keep it altogether, doctor. Only 
 remember your promise. If you ever do come 
 upon my enemy's tracks, which I don't fancy is 
 likely, and succeed in finding out who it was that 
 attacked me, do not openly accuse him or betray 
 me in the affair without first writing to tell me 
 all that you have discovered and obtaining my 
 sanction to any step you might wish to take.' 
 
 " I assured her that she could rely upon my 
 promise and upon my discretion, and then took 
 my leave, carrying off the glass tube, which I locked 
 away with my other curiosities. As I did so, I 
 looked at it attentively and it didn't seem to me 
 that I was likely to find it of much use as a clue 
 to the perpetrator of that attack upon Mrs Rivers. 
 ' Seven years since the affair happened,' I said 
 to myself. 'No, I'm afraid that I sha'n't be 
 able to diagnose this case.' After having put the 
 
 glass tube away, I didn't think particularly about 
 
 154
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 the matter. Almost immediately after that, Mrs 
 Rivers — as we've called her — went back to her 
 husband, and the next thing I heard of her a 
 year or so later was that they were selling out of 
 their station and shortly going to England." 
 
 The doctor stopped to take another drink of 
 lemon-swizzle, then resumed, — 
 
 "It was just about that time that I had to go 
 a train journey to another bush township to meet 
 a brother practitioner in consultation. After 
 we'd seen our patient, I went back with him to 
 his house to dine and sleep, and when dinner was 
 over he took me into his study, where we sat 
 smoking and yarning well into the night. . . . 
 Naturally, we talked a good deal of shop, and in 
 the middle of discussing medical aspects in general 
 he said suddenly, — 
 
 '"By the way, I had rather a queer case here 
 the other day.' 
 
 " I asked him what it was. 
 
 " A gentleman, he told me, a stranger in the 
 district, had come to him with a swelling in his 
 temple that was turning into a bad abscess. 
 The man, said he, had hurt his temple some years 
 
 back. How, he didn't seem to know, or didn't 
 
 155
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 want to tell, and the place had remained tender 
 
 ever since. But a little while before, he had run 
 
 up against the low beam of a stable door and had 
 
 knocked his forehead on that very place, which 
 
 had inflamed and was giving him great pain. ' I 
 
 lanced the abscess,' my friend the other doctor 
 
 told me," resumed Dr Rowth, '"but it didn't 
 
 seem to heal, so I probed it, and picked out what 
 
 I thought at first was a piece of dead bone. As 
 
 I was getting it out it slipped from the forceps 
 
 and we couldn't find it at the time, though the 
 
 chap was awfully anxious to see what the thing 
 
 was. However, we looked in vain; the abscess 
 
 healed in ten days and he went away. But last 
 
 night,' added my friend, ' by an odd chance, I 
 
 happened to come upon the lost object, which 
 
 had dropped into a book that I remembered 
 
 having been open on my table while I was doing 
 
 the little operation. Then I saw that it wasn't 
 
 bone at all, but a small bit of glaiss which must 
 
 actually have lain embedded in the man's forehead 
 
 for about eight years. That was the time he 
 
 mentioned as having passed since his first accident. 
 
 I'll show you the piece if you like. I know you 
 
 have a fancy for curiosities of that sort,' 
 
 156
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 he said, and going to a small camphor-wood 
 Japanese chest, he took out — what do you 
 think? " 
 
 Dr Rowth paused dramatically. 
 
 " Why, a little conical bit of glass about half 
 an inch long, with a hole running down the 
 middle, in which I thought to myself perhaps a 
 bit of soft silk was once run. You can imagine 
 that I was nicely excited as I held the tube in 
 my hand and examined that break, which was 
 slightly jagged on one side. 
 
 " ' Does the gentleman know you've found 
 this? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' No,' my friend replied. ' I only discovered 
 it last night, but I was thinking I'd write and 
 send it to him.' 
 
 " ' Look here, old chap,' I said, ' will you do 
 me a great favour? ' 
 
 " ' Why, of course,' said he. 
 
 " ' Then promise me that you won't tell this 
 gentleman of your having got hold of what was 
 in his forehead. He's all right, and it won't 
 matter to him — And then I've a second favour 
 to ask,' I said, ' and a third one too. Will you 
 
 give me this bit of glass, or lend it to me for — say 
 
 157
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 six months, and will you tell me who the fellow 
 is and where he's staying? ' 
 
 " My friend began to laugh. ' What the 
 deuce is the matter with you, Rowth? ' he said. 
 ' You look as serious as if you'd spotted a mur- 
 derer — I know your private-detective hobby, 
 but you're quite out of it this time, old man. 
 The chap who had the glass in his forehead is 
 perfectly innocent of murder or anything else 
 that's shady. He's a gentleman; came over 
 from America not long ago, has got money, and is 
 thinking of starting dairying and cheese-making 
 on a big scale. His name is ' — give him a name, 
 you chaps — " 
 
 " Smith," suggested somebody on the verandah. 
 
 "All right— Smith it shall be. My friend 
 added that Smith was stopping at a station 
 about half-way between my township and that 
 one — a place belonging to a rattling good chap 
 I knew very well — a fellow by the name of — " 
 
 " Jones," was the second brilliant suggestion 
 from the group on the verandah. 
 
 " All right — Jones. . . . Well, my medical 
 
 friend gave me the bit of glass when I assured him 
 
 that I wasn't going to do any harm with it — and 
 
 158
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 that it just had something to do with a case of 
 my own that I was diagnosing. So I took it off 
 home the next morning, and the first thing I did 
 was to unlock my cupboard of reHcs where I'd 
 put Mrs Rivers's instrument and clap the broken 
 bit of glass that had come out of Mr Smith's 
 forehead on to the end of it. Sure enough, it 
 fitted exactly, and there I had my diagnosis 
 complete. 
 
 " And now I was in a bit of a quandary, remem- 
 bering my promise to Mrs Rivers and not being 
 quite certain where to write to her, as I'd heard 
 their station was sold and I didn't know whether 
 they'd started yet for England. As luck would 
 have it, however, there came a letter from her a 
 few days later, written from an hotel in Brisbane, 
 where she and her husband were staying during 
 their last week or two in Australia. Poor things ! 
 Mrs Rivers wrote to bid me good-bye, and also, it 
 seemed, to relieve her mind on the subject of that 
 broken bit of glass. She had been wondering, 
 she said, if I had had any chance yet of diagnos- 
 ing the case. She did not suppose it possible, 
 but she went on to tell me that the reason she 
 
 asked was because for several weeks past she had 
 
 159
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 been haunted by the thought of that incident, 
 although before that time, except when she had 
 told me the story, it had scarcely entered her 
 mind. Now, however, she could not get rid of 
 the conviction that the man who had attacked her 
 was really her former friend, and that this had 
 been his mode of revenge. She said that she had 
 no new grounds for her supposition; she had 
 not seen or heard of the man during all those 
 years and had every reason to believe that he 
 had carried out his expressed intention of going 
 to America. ' Still, doctor,' she added, ' I cannot 
 help feeling that he was the guilty person, and 
 that, strange as the presentiment may seem, you 
 are going to be brought into touch with him in 
 order to prove his guilt. Should it come to pass 
 that you meet him and are able to satisfy your- 
 self quite that my surmise is correct, I give you 
 permission, as I am now leaving Australia for 
 good and all, to try and bring the discovery home 
 to him, provided always that my name is not 
 made public and that there be no exposure which 
 might lead to disagreeable results for any of us. 
 Punish him in the moral sense, if you choose, by 
 
 letting him know that I am aware of the truth, 
 
 1 60
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 but tell him at the same time that he has my full 
 forgiveness.' 
 
 " That was about the gist of poor Mrs Rivers's 
 letter, and I answered it at once, informing her 
 of what I had found out, but I never got any 
 answer to that letter — never shall." 
 
 For a moment or two the doctor was silent. 
 His listeners pressed him to go on, and he did so 
 in an abstracted manner, ignoring the question of 
 Mrs Rivers's letter. 
 
 " Well, you see, there were some neat links in 
 my chapter of coincidence — if you accept the 
 doctrine of chance, and I can't quite say I do. 
 Perhaps you don't, any of you chaps, believe in 
 telepathy, but to my mind the theory of thought- 
 vibrations is the only reasonable explanation of 
 a lot of queer things in the world. How are un- 
 accountable impulses generated? What's the 
 meaning of true dreams and fulfilled presenti- 
 ments? Wliy is it that if you suddenly think 
 vividly of somebody you haven't seen for a long 
 time you'll immediately see or hear from that 
 person? Or if you start studying up a subject, 
 you'll find unexpected bits of information coming 
 to you through no effort of your own, and fitting 
 
 in with your train of thought? But I might talk 
 L i6i
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 all night about things of that kind and not say a 
 quarter of what I've tried to puzzle out, so I'll 
 just get along with my story. . . . You see, 
 then, I was pretty well fixed up with patients and 
 had no time for gallivanting on my own account, 
 so didn't see how I was to make an opportunity 
 for hunting up Mr — Smith, was it? Another 
 link, however. I got a telegram two or three 
 days after to go on horseback and see a selector 
 close by the station — Jones's station, where 
 Smith was stopping, you remember — who had been 
 taken ill. Just before setting off, again one of 
 those odd involuntary thoughts that come into 
 one's mind made me take a tiny little plated 
 revolver — hardly more than a toy — that I kept 
 loaded in my room — and put it in the breast 
 pocket of my white flannel shirt. Then mount- 
 ing my little half-bred Arab, away I went and 
 got to my patient's house — about a mile from 
 Mr Jones's head-station — in very good time. 
 While I was there, a message came from Jones 
 to ask me to go up and see one of his stockmen 
 who was in bad pain. ' Here's your oppor- 
 tunity all cut and dried,' I said to myself, as I 
 rode up to the station, for I'd heard that Smith 
 
 was still at the place. At the station gate my 
 
 162
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 friend Jones met me — fine sample he was, I can 
 tell you, of what an Australian squatter can be. 
 Cheery, full of go and pluck, a gentleman and a 
 man every inch of him — sitting his horse as only one 
 that has been bred to the saddle can sit a horse. 
 
 "When he called out, 'Hullo, doctor!' you 
 felt it was as good as a half-holiday to hear his 
 voice and look into his face. 
 
 " Well, I found, when I saw the stockman, 
 that I shouldn't be able to get away till about ten 
 o'clock that night, and so I told Mr Jones, saying, 
 when he asked me to stop the night, that I'd dine 
 and ride home by starlight, so as to be ready for 
 my early round next morning. 
 
 " ' Right you are,' said he. ' I will see that 
 your little horse gets all he wants. He looks a 
 staunch little fellow, but a bit light, eh, for your 
 weight? ' 
 
 " ' He's a Khedive,' said I; and as you know, 
 that settled the question. 
 
 " ' Right quality, doctor,' said Jones. 
 
 ' Quality's the thing ; his bones would be like 
 
 bits of ivory. It's that coaching strain that's 
 
 ruining our breed of horses ' — Jones is great on 
 
 breeding horses. ' Everybody has to have size 
 
 nowadays. . . . You see,' he said, ' a big fellow 
 
 163
 
 I 
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 like me wants a big horse and they're hard to 
 find without a touch of the coacher, but for a 
 chap of your weight — about ten stone and a 
 half, eh? ' 
 
 " ' Eleven stone, all up,' I said. 
 
 " ' Well, for that,' said he, ' your httle Arab's 
 the stamp; he'd kill my big horse in a fifty-mile 
 journey.' 
 
 " ' I bet you I'll kill your horse in half that 
 length of journey if he will keep alongside with 
 me when I'm in a real hurry,' I said. 
 
 " ' Come, come,' said he, ' don't you blow too 
 much, or I might take you at your word. . . .' 
 And so we yarned as we sat in the verandah — 
 you know. You may be a doctor, but you've 
 got to talk horses if you go on to a station. Just 
 then, while we were yarning and doing a bit of 
 good old Australian blowing too, a buggy drove 
 up with three men in it. 
 
 "'By Jove!' said Jones, 'here are the — ' 
 Give me another name. Chippy," interpolated 
 the doctor. 
 
 " Robinson," promptly returned Chippindall, 
 and the doctor went on, — 
 
 " We'll call 'em all Robinsons, though each had 
 a different name— well, they all were capital good 
 
 164 
 
 \
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 fellows, and Jones said they must stay for dinner, 
 because he'd got an awfully nice chap stopping 
 with him who was going in for cheese-making and 
 was studying the plant in his — Jones's — dairy- 
 farm. It was a case of ' talk of the devil ' — you 
 know — for the next person to ride up was a big, 
 handsome, powerfully-built, gentlemanly sort of 
 chap, with very good manners, but the look — I 
 thought — of a vicious horse in his black eyes. 
 Perhaps I shouldn't have thought that if I hadn't 
 remembered Mrs Rivers's story, but so it was. 
 Jones introduced him all round by the name of — 
 Smith — and he took off his new cabbage-tree hat 
 to us and showed me the fresh scar I was watching 
 for on his left temple. ' There's my man,' said 
 I to myself. ' He's not branded like the station 
 horses on the left shoulder. His brand is on the 
 left temple. Good! I must think out my plan, 
 and there isn't too much time for that.' The 
 diagnosis had been made; now for the moral 
 treatment. 
 
 " Smith pulled out his pipe and yarned and 
 blowed with the rest of us. He'd thrown his hat 
 down on the verandah, and as he was sitting in 
 a squatter's chair next me, I could examine him 
 
 the sort of way a medical man gets into, without 
 
 165
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 his noticing I was doing it. You see we've got 
 to take people in at a glance, we doctors, and size 
 them up, on indications that wouldn't strike the 
 ordinary eye. He was about thirty-five — was 
 Smith — decidedly handsome, dandyish in his 
 get-up — spotless moleskins, new tie, fallals on 
 his waist-strap — something of the buccaneer in 
 his look. What struck me most, outside of the 
 scar, about Mr Smith, was his eyes — dark eyes 
 they were, full and bright, very good eyes, but a 
 bit shifty. You know how you can tell the char- 
 acter of almost any living creature by the eyes. 
 Just you ask a stockman what he thinks of a new 
 horse you've bought or that you're thinking of 
 buying. See how he'll walk round the beast, 
 feel his legs if the horse'U let him, and the muscles 
 of his throat, look at his teeth, his head, his 
 muzzle, and then, maybe, shrug his shoulders or 
 give a snorty little laugh. Then you'll say, 
 'Well, Dick, what do you make out of him? ' 
 and most likely this answer will come, ' My 
 word, he's a beauty, doctor — but you bet, he'll 
 be troublesome,' and when you ask the reason 
 for his opinion, ' Don't like his eye,' will be the 
 only answer you'll get out of Dick. 
 
 " Now that was pretty much my position in 
 
 166
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 regard to Mr Smith's eye. I didn't like it. And 
 in fact if he'd been a horse and Dick was judging 
 him, what I should have expected from Dick 
 would have been something after this fashion, 
 ' You look out, doctor, he'll land you when you 
 least expect it.' 
 
 " Dinner came presently, and a jolly good feed 
 it was. Afterwards the lot of us adjourned to 
 the boss's sanctum — his missis was down in 
 Brisbane — and it was a case of more smoke and 
 more yarn just to pass the time until I'd got to 
 go off. I notice that after a good dinner, bush- 
 men, if they don't blow a bit more over their 
 cattle and horses, will edge on to sentiment or 
 else bush metaphysics. Now these began v/ith 
 cattle and horses and cheeses and politics and 
 women's rights, and then, by way of women, got 
 on to ghosts. The ghosts gave me an inspiration 
 as to how I'd best tackle Mr Smith. One of the 
 other chaps — Robinson Number One — was tell- 
 ing how a girl had ' willed him ' to do something 
 he hadn't liked, and when he'd finished his yarn, 
 I leaned over to the boss and asked him if he 
 believed in thought-reading. 
 
 " Well, I didn't want to be told that the boss 
 
 was one of the sort who jeer at everything they 
 
 167
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 can't see and touch, and I'd purposely begun 
 with him in order to start an argument and 
 make other things seem to come naturally out 
 of it. So when he turned on me with, ' Good 
 Lord! doctor, you're not seriously asking me if I 
 believe in any such damned rot? ' it was only 
 what I had bargained for, and I was delighted to 
 hear him tell young Robinson Number One that 
 as for " willing " and games of that kind, it was only 
 a way girls had of flirting and showing their 
 power over men who were fools enough to give 
 them the chance. Young Robinson flared up 
 like a ba'aing sheep at that, and said he knew 
 some very nice girls who were able to see things 
 in crystals and tell people's characters by the 
 lines of their hands. That was all splendid for 
 me, because this young Robinson was in love 
 with a girl who went in for what she called 
 occultism, and her mother was downright un- 
 happy about it and brought the girl to me to 
 prescribe for — the mother thinking her peakiness 
 was due to dabbling in the black art. The girl 
 confided to me, however, that she was privately 
 engaged to this chap — Robinson — and that it 
 preyed on her mind. They're married now, so 
 
 it doesn't matter. . . . You see," continued 
 
 i68
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 Dr Rowth, " a doctor gets to know lots of things 
 that professional honour — if there were no other 
 reason — obhges him to seem ignorant of. It 
 just happened that among those five or six men 
 there that evening there were three, including 
 the boss, with a secret about a woman, which 
 my medical practice had made me acquainted 
 with, none of them having a notion that I knew it. 
 The boss's secret was a love affair he'd been in 
 when he was a very much younger mn — more 
 than ten years before. I knew, but I knew too 
 he'd be certain to think that nobody in the Burra- 
 Burra district could have an idea of the story. 
 Fact was, he'd engaged himself to a very pretty 
 yellow-haired girl in Melbourne, from whom he'd 
 had a very lucky escape, I should say. . . . 
 She'd thrown him over for the aide-de-camp of 
 the Governor who was out there then — a regular 
 typical soldier and as big a flirt as she was herself. 
 You'll wonder how I came to know that. Well, 
 I'd seen them both. They'd been fellow-passen- 
 gers of mine, on my trip out, between Japan and 
 Hong Kong, and when she heard I was coming to 
 Australia she told me the story — as that kind of 
 woman would — the regret of her life, she caUed 
 
 it, for she wasn't happy with her husband. That, 
 
 169
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 however, is neither here nor there. Anyhow, 
 you'll see it was one of my best trumps in the 
 game I meant to play. 
 
 " Well, Robinson Number One went sticking 
 up for crystal gazing, and set them all jeering — 
 the boss loudest of the lot. I kept out of the 
 argument till they appealed to me, asking if I 
 believed in such stuff. Then I said something 
 like what I was talking about just now — my 
 opinion on telepathy and thought-vibrations 
 and so on. I put in that I'd even done some- 
 thing myself in the way of seeing pictures in a 
 crystal, and that what I'd seen had turned out to 
 be pictures of things which had really happened 
 — that's quite true, but it's another tale. You 
 can fancy how the old boss scoffed. He was 
 puzzled, for he had believed I was a sensible man 
 and he didn't understand my taking the thing 
 so seriously. 
 
 " ' Why, dang it, doctor, you look as solemn as 
 
 a parson ! ' said he. ' You aren't going to try 
 
 and cram me with any of that rot, are you? If 
 
 you are, though, here's your opportunity for 
 
 proving what an ass you can make of yourself. 
 
 I'll bet you a new cabbage-tree hat that you'll 
 
 not tell me, by thought-reading or any of your 
 
 170 
 
 i
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 hanky-panky, anything that's ever happened 
 to me, which I shall be convinced you couldn't 
 know of by ordinary means,' 
 
 " ' Done! ' said I. ' But it's a pity to waste 
 force on one person only. Would any other 
 two of you gentlemen Hkc to risk the price of a 
 cabbage-tree hat? I'm good to take the bet. 
 The greater strangers, the better the test,' I 
 said. 
 
 " Robinson Number One jumped at the offer. 
 He thought he was pretty safe, he said, seeing 
 that I'd never seen him before, and I don't 
 suppose he'd been told anything about my attend- 
 ing his young woman. 
 
 " ' All right,' said I. ' Now, one other person. 
 Three cabbage-tree hats will about last me out 
 on the Burra-Burra.' 
 
 " They chaffed me finely for imagining that I 
 was going to lay in a stock of hats, and the boss 
 turned to my gentleman with the scar on his fore- 
 head. ' You'd better be the other one, Smith, 
 for you're the greatest stranger here and the Doc 
 can't possibly know anything about you, so you 
 can be sure of a new cabbage-tree if you should 
 happen to want one.' 
 
 " Smith agreed, and that was settled. I in- 
 
 171
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 sisted that they should stop laughing and chaffing 
 for a bit and give me a fair show. ' I only ask 
 you to keep your attention, as far as you can, 
 concentrated on me for the time being,' I said, 
 ' and I'll try and see the astral picture of some 
 important event in your lives. I may not succeed 
 with all,' I said, ' and you mustn't expect 
 that I shall go back to when you were teething. 
 Let's have a time limit of ten years and I'll beg 
 that you'll not think backward or forrard of 
 that if you can help it.' 
 
 " Then, as there wasn't such a thing as a 
 crystal in the station, I asked for a finger-bowl 
 full of fresh tank-water, and the boss went out 
 and got it himself. I had requested that no 
 servant should touch the glass, because I said 
 that I wanted to keep the current within the 
 circle. For that same reason I made each of the 
 three men, with whom I was to experiment, hold 
 the bowl of water in his hands for three or four 
 minutes, in order, as I explained, that his 
 magnetism should be imparted to the water. 
 While they did what I asked, I talked learnedly 
 about the magnetic qualities of water, electro- 
 biology, X rays, N rays, Marconi and Sir William 
 
 Crookes and so forth, throwing in a word or two 
 
 172
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 of scientific jargon that had a very composing 
 effect on them all. In fact, setting my parti- 
 cular object aside," added the doctor, " I wasn't 
 looking upon the thing as all trickery, for I've 
 seen enough, my friends, to make me feel sure on 
 my own account that there are more things in 
 heaven and earth than ever Horatio dreamed of 
 in his philosophy. 
 
 " After I'd impressed them with that very 
 remark — which is a bit hackneyed — ' And now,' 
 I said, ' I'll ask each of you gentlemen to give me 
 his word of honour tnat he'll not deny the truth 
 of anything I may happen to see — supposing 
 that a true picture comes up. . . . You — Mr 
 Robinson? . . . You, boss? . . . And you, Mr 
 Smith? ' 
 
 " Taking them by turn, each one gave me his 
 word of honour as a gentleman to play fair. 
 
 " I had my cards now sorted and my trumps in 
 readiness. . . . Well, I pinned a piece of thick 
 brown paper round the outside of the bowl so 
 as to prevent anything from being reflected in it, 
 and setting the glass on the edge of the table, I 
 sat leaning my head on my hands staring into 
 the water for a few minutes. Young Robinson 
 opened the show, and I can tell you that I startled
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 him when I described the verandah where he had 
 proposed to his young woman and gave him an 
 exact portrait of the lady herself, explaining at 
 the same time that the dark tinge which I saw 
 upon the water meant that there was something 
 clandestine in the business. He stopped me 
 short, being, as I could see, terribly afraid that I 
 might give away the girl. Yet, having passed 
 his word, he was compelled to own that the water 
 had not lied. 
 
 " Then came the boss, protesting that it was 
 
 all d d nonsense, but interested in spite of that. 
 
 I went on staring into the water as if I was too 
 absorbed to mind anybody. Then, presently, I 
 said, ' Well, I didn't expect to get anything about 
 the boss; he's such an out-and-out sceptic, but 
 it's coming and I feel it's for him. The clouds are 
 beginning to cover ttie water, and there's a picture 
 trying to form. It's the picture of a woman,' 
 I said — ' yes, of a very pretty young girl with 
 blue eyes and a lot of yellow hair, and there's a 
 tiny mole low down on the left cheek. . . .' 
 
 " The boss gave a big start and leaned over 
 
 excitedly. ' Fire away, doctor,' said he. ' This 
 
 is getting warm,' and I painted an accurate 
 
 picture of what his old flame must have been like 
 
 174
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 when she was young. ' Now,' I said, ' somebody 
 else comes into the picture. It's a young man, a 
 fine, strapping fellow. A bushman, I should 
 think. ... I seem to know that chap — D'ye 
 think it could have been yourself, boss? ' 
 
 " The boss sniggered. ' If it is you,' I said, 
 ' you were evidently sweet on that pretty, yellow- 
 haired young lady. And now, there you're 
 putting a ring on her finger.' 
 
 " The boss seemed considerably taken aback. 
 ' What kind of a ring? ' said he. ' Can you tell 
 me if it has got any stones in it, and what they 
 are?' 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said, pretending to look closer. 
 ' There's something funny about that ring. I'll 
 tell you what — it is a name ring, and the stones 
 are different. The first letter of each makes the 
 first letter of the girl's name. I'll tell you how 
 they come. Sapphire first. Amethyst next. 
 Then ruby, and then an amethyst again. I 
 seem to feel the name. It's Sara.' 
 " The boss was real keen now. 
 "'Well, I'm jiggered!' he said. ' Go on, 
 doctor. Anything more? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, there's another chap in the picture,' 
 
 I said. ' The clouds come and blot you out. . . . 
 
 175
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Now there you are again — the lot of you — but I 
 don't think it's the same place. You're all three 
 in some kind of ball-room conservatory, for the 
 girl's in evening dress and so is the bushman. 
 The other man is in uniform. He's evidently a 
 soldier-officer. He's standing close to the girl 
 and the bushman seems to be upbraiding the two 
 about something. Now the girl takes off a ring — 
 the same ring — and she hands it to the bushman. 
 He won't take it, and she just lays it on a table 
 and goes out with the soldier chap. . . .' 
 
 " ' Stop that,' said the boss. ' I don't want 
 any more of your infernal sorcery. How in the 
 devil's name you got hold of that story, and all 
 those circumstantial details, beats me. But 
 you're out of the time limit, doctor — it's more 
 than ten years ago.' 
 
 " ' Is it? ' I said innocently. ' Well, I thought 
 from the way the pictures formed that it must 
 be a good while ago. I'm right, then, boss? 
 There is something in thought-reading, eh? ' 
 
 " I looked up at the boss and his face made me 
 feel that I deserved a whipping. 
 
 " ' Doctor, old man,' said he, ' that crystal 
 
 business of yours fairly staggered me. I don't 
 
 know whether there's anything in thought-read- 
 
 176
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 ing or not, but it's queer that I should have been 
 thinking of that very girl when you were looking 
 into the water. I can't tell you why, for she 
 hasn't come into my mind for years, except when 
 I've thanked my stars that she chucked me and 
 that I married my wife instead of her.' 
 
 " He turned away and got himself a nip. The 
 other men were staring at me open-mouthed — 
 all except Mr Smith, who moved uncomfortably 
 in his chair as if he had had about enough, and I 
 was afraid that he was going to make a bolt and 
 that I'd been reckless with my lead of trumps. 
 So I tried a bit of bluff. 
 
 " ' What, are you off, Mr Smith? ' I said, for 
 he was half getting up. 'I see what it is, boss,' 
 I went on. ' Mr Smith is funking revelations. 
 But he needn't mind. Two cabbage-tree hats are 
 enough for me to go on with. So we won't con- 
 tinue this game,' and I made as though, having 
 carried my point, I didn't care to bother any 
 more with that blessed old crystal-gazing. I saw 
 a look of relief come on Smith's face, and he 
 laughed and drew his chair in again as I pushed 
 away the finger-bowl. But I felt rather sick 
 and wished I'd planked down my biggest card to 
 start with. 
 
 M 177
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " Luckily, the others wouldn't let me stop. 
 ' Have another shot, doctor,' they cried, and 
 those that had been out of it — Robinsons Number 
 Two and Three — pressed the point and said they'd 
 like to test me for themselves. I agreed to this, 
 carefully making it appear that Smith was done 
 with the game. But I also took care to say, 
 ' Mind, I can't answer for the pictures. They're 
 not always true ones. It just happened that 
 they came out all right this twice. The third 
 time they might have nothing to do with any- 
 body present here, especially as we've made a 
 break in the circle. So don't you be surprised if 
 I prove a clumsy magician. I assure you,' I 
 said, ' I'm just as much in the dark about the 
 power and just as anxious to test it as any of you 
 can be.' 
 
 " Well, we settled down more solemnly than 
 before. Even the pipes were laid aside by all 
 but one, and there wasn't any laughing now, nor 
 any need for me to say, ' Steady, gentlemen, 
 please; concentrate your thoughts.' As for 
 Smith, he seemed to want to show that he didn't 
 intend to concentrate his thoughts — on me, any- 
 how, for he began cutting up tobacco and filling 
 
 his pipe as if his salvation depended on the 
 
 178
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 amount he could get into it. Again I leaned over 
 the finger-bowl with my head on my hands. ' It's 
 coming,' I said. ' There are dark clouds floating 
 over the water. . . . Now they're breaking, 
 and I can see a room — a drawing-room that seems 
 as if it were in Australia.' Then I went on to 
 describe a man and a girl in the room, painting 
 Mrs Rivers with a good deal of detail, so that I 
 had the satisfaction of hearing a pipe drop 
 suddenly on the floor and of feeling certain that 
 I had hit Mr Smith on a raw place. ' The girl is 
 standing up,' I said, 'and she looks frightened. 
 The man is standing too — in front of a closed 
 door, as if he wishes to prevent her from leaving 
 the room. I can't distinguish his features, for 
 he is in shadow, but he is a well-dressed, power- 
 fully-built man. Now he seems to be threatening 
 the girl. . . . Now, there, it is all dark again.' 
 " I lifted my head and looked at the row of 
 men opposite me, from one face to the other — 
 Smith's last. There, sure enough, was the devilish 
 expression in his eyes that, if I'd seen it in the 
 eyes of a horse, I should have made certain the 
 beast was going to kick or buck in a minute or 
 two. I only looked at the chap for an instant, 
 
 then stared back into the bowl of water. 
 
 179
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " ' There's another picture forming,' I said. 
 
 ' It's out of doors this time — in Austraha too, I 
 
 feel sure. The scene is a grassy glade in what I 
 
 should think was a river scrub — very like a Burra 
 
 river scrub. It's about sunset — for I see a faint 
 
 red light through the trees, and there's the same 
 
 girl, walking alone, rather quickly, and as if she 
 
 were anxious to get out of the scrub. She's got 
 
 something in her hands — a sketch-book it must 
 
 be, in her left hand, and some brushes and things 
 
 in her right. . . . Lord!' I cried out, 'what's 
 
 this I see? Why, there's a man sneaking up out 
 
 of the scrub at her back. He darts quietly 
 
 behind the girl and throws a shawl over her head 
 
 and face — a dark shawl — dark red, I think. . . . 
 
 Oh, what a coward! He looks a gentleman, too! 
 
 I believe it's the very man who threatened her 
 
 before. He's holding her arms to her sides and 
 
 trying to force her down, while she struggles with 
 
 all her might to get her hands free. Now he 
 
 looses her for a moment to do something to the 
 
 shawl, and she strikes at him with her right 
 
 hand. ... Ah! now I see another man running 
 
 towards them through the trees — a working man, 
 
 and the first one takes fright and makes a bolt 
 
 into the scrub. There, the picture's gone. . . .' 
 
 180
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 " Again I looked up at the men round the table. 
 I felt that I was playing face cards now. Smith 
 was leaning forward — he'd quite forgotten his 
 pipe. The wicked look was still in his eyes; his 
 mouth was set, and he had gone pale under his 
 sunburn. There were beads of perspiration on 
 his forehead, and the scar on his temple showed 
 more plainly than ever. ' Now,' said I to myself, 
 ' I've played all but my highest trumps. I've 
 still got king and ace left. ... I'm following 
 out her wishes. The man is in a deadly funk. 
 The moral treatment has begun.' 
 
 " As for myself, I was strung up to the highest 
 
 tension. Honestly, I don't know how much I 
 
 was seeing and how much I was imagining — or 
 
 rather, remembering. The rapt attention of 
 
 all around had its effect upon me too. I made 
 
 a pass with my hands over the water, and when 
 
 suddenly I saw it clear and untroubled — for I'd 
 
 half persuaded myself before that it was black 
 
 with the visions I had been recounting — I could 
 
 almost have laughed at the mixture of arrant 
 
 humbug and grim reality. However, I had 
 
 another big card to play, and drew it out. At 
 
 once I started on a fresh picture. ' She's in her 
 
 bedroom now,' I said. ' She's looking at her 
 
 i8i
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 hand and she sees that it has got blood upon it, 
 but she cannot find any cut. Her paint-brushes, 
 too, are marked with blood-stains. And she's 
 looking at a queer little glass thing — a tube she 
 uses in her painting and which appears to be 
 broken at one end. ... It must have broken 
 when she struck out at the man's face. ... I 
 expect she's wondering whether by any possibility 
 a bit of glass could have become embedded in his 
 flesh—' 
 
 " I had laid down my big card. At that 
 moment there was a knock at the door. As I 
 looked up, I saw that Mr Smith was on his feet. 
 The others had turned towards the door. He 
 hadn't, he was looking at me, and if ever I saw 
 murder in a man's eyes, I believe I saw it then. 
 The game had come to an end, however. It was 
 the Irish table-maid, who looked in to say that 
 Tim Keogh — the stockman — was taken bad again 
 and wanted the doctor. 
 
 " ' He says he is dying intoirely, sor, and he's 
 
 after shouting blue murder, and indade I think, 
 
 sor, he's near his end, for he's roaring like a mad 
 
 bullock and tearing and rooting in his blankets 
 
 and calhng for the doctor and Father Daly — ' 
 
 " ' I must go,' I said. ' He's taken with the 
 
 182
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 pain again. I'll give him an injection of morphia 
 and leave him some soothing medicine.' I'd 
 have stopped to see Tim through the night but 
 that I had patients waiting for me in Burra- 
 Burra who were in a more dangerous state than 
 Tim Keogh. However, it was a good thing, I 
 said, that they'd sent for the priest, for I knew 
 that Father Daly was a clever doctor himself, 
 but I told them that Tim Keogh wasn't going to 
 * blue his last cheque ' this time — to the best of 
 my belief. 
 
 " So I scurried off to the huts, leaving them all 
 talking about the thought-reading, as they called 
 it, and wondering if there had been anything in 
 those last pictures — for they hadn't seemed to 
 fit anybody there present, so far as they could 
 tell. 
 
 " ' By Jove, doctor,' the boss called to me out 
 of the door, ' I'm inclined to think there's some- 
 thing in your theory of thought -vibrations, after 
 all. Let's have another go at it when you come 
 back.' 
 
 " But I said I'd got to attend now to medical 
 business and didn't feel inclined to try any more 
 hanky-panky. Fact was, it had been rather a 
 
 strain upon me; and now that I'd accomplished 
 
 183
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 my object, I didn't feel like temptinp; the devil 
 any further. Besides, I'd got to ride home. 
 
 " I had to be some time with Tim Keogh, and 
 then Father Daly came along and I gave him 
 directions what to do for the patient. When I 
 went back for my little Arab, the buggy with the 
 other three men had just driven off, and to my 
 surprise I saw another horse saddled at the gate 
 as well as my own. 
 
 " ' There's no occasion to send a man any part 
 of the way back with me,' I said to the boss. ' I 
 know a short cut over the flat and across Deep 
 Creek, and I shall get back to Burra-Burra all 
 right.' 
 
 " ' Oh,' he said, ' that's Smith's horse. He's 
 camping at my dairy-farm, and part of his way 
 lies along the Burra-Burra road.' 
 
 " It gave me a little shock for the moment to 
 hear that we were to be companions in that lonely 
 ride, and instinctively I felt in the breast-pocket 
 of my shirt for that toy revolver which I had put 
 there before starting. I thought I understood 
 now why I'd had that unaccountable impulse to 
 bring it along with me. Just then Mr Smith 
 came out ready to start, and said to me in a would- 
 be jovial kind of manner, — 
 
 184
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 " ' I'm going to see you part of your road, 
 doctor. It will be nice company for me. I 
 like going back to my camp in the evening after the 
 boss's good cheer. I always sleep so much better 
 for a ride before turning in.' 
 
 " ' Thanks,' I said. ' So do I. Then we go 
 together as far as the Five Mile Gully, I think. 
 Good-night, boss. Thanks awfully for the 
 pleasant evening.' 
 
 " ' Same to you, and good-night, doctor,' sang 
 out the cheery voice from the station gate. 
 ' Safe journey to you,' and I rode off with my 
 enemy — for that Mr Smith was my enemy I had 
 very little doubt. 
 
 " The night was beautiful. One of those 
 
 glorious nights you get between seasons in the 
 
 bush — full moon; not a cloud in the sky; no 
 
 abominable mosquitoes, and the air cool and 
 
 bracing. My little horse was quite fresh after 
 
 his rest and feed and stepped briskly, being 
 
 anxious to get home. Smith's horse, too, was a 
 
 good one. As we rode along, chatting, under a 
 
 little constraint I must own, about the district, 
 
 cheese-making, the weather prospects and so 
 
 forth, I was able to observe my companion, and 
 
 found my first impression of him confirmed. I 
 
 185
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 noticed that he carried a loaded stock-whip, for 
 the leaden bands securing the metal within the 
 handle showed plainly in the moonlight. That 
 did not strike me as particularly odd at the first 
 glance, for most bushmen carry a stock-whip 
 from habit, just as a civilian might carry a walk- 
 ing-stick. But then came the thought, ' This 
 fellow is not a genuine bushman.' 
 
 " We had gone about three miles when my 
 companion remarked suddenly, — 
 
 " ' It's rather a queer thing that crystal-gazing, 
 or water-gazing business of yours, doctor.' 
 
 " ' Yes, it is rather queer,' I said, watching my 
 man. I took my handkerchief out of my jacket 
 pocket, wiped my face with it, and put it back into 
 the breast-pocket of my flannel shirt instead of 
 into the other one. At the same time I folded 
 up the tiny revolver inside the handkerchief. 
 
 " ' Between you and me, doctor,' he said in a 
 curious sort of tone, ' do you think there's much 
 in it? ' 
 
 " ' Between you and me,' I answered, ' I think 
 that if they tried that dodge in the law-courts 
 some curious evidence would turn up.' 
 
 " My horse swerved to the side of the road, and 
 
 I fidgeted him about on purpose, for I noticed 
 
 1 86
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 that when the Arab moved the other chap kept 
 sidhng after him. I noticed too that Smith was 
 playing with the thin end of his stock-whip- 
 handle and tapping the knee-pad of his saddle 
 with the loaded butt. I didn't quite like the 
 look of things, and rather wished I'd kept that 
 speech to myself until we were through our lonely 
 ride through the bush. I saw the murderous 
 flash in his eyes again, and didn't feel quite game 
 to play my ace of trumps just then. I pretended 
 to wipe my face afresh with my handkerchief, 
 which had the revolver folded up in it, and then 
 put both into the outer pocket of my jacket, un- 
 folding the revolver so as to have it handy. In 
 the moonlight I could see the wicked look on the 
 fellow's face, or else my fancy pictured it. Any- 
 how I said to myself, — 
 
 " ' We shall have a row before he leaves me, 
 or I'm mistaken.' 
 
 " 'What do you mean by curious evidence? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 " ' Oh! well,' I answered, shuffling a bit, ' you 
 heard what the boss said? ' 
 
 " ' You might have known that before, or it 
 
 might have been a case of pure coincidence,' 
 
 said he. 
 
 187
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " ' And the same with young Robinson? ' said 
 I, keeping my eye on the stock-whip. 
 
 " ' That was nothing,' said he. ' Any fool in 
 the district could tell you that young Robinson 
 is sweet on that girl.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps so,' answered I. . . . ' But come, 
 what did you think of the last set of pictures? ' 
 
 " ' What did I think of them! ' he said. 
 
 " ' Yes, what did you think of them? ' 
 
 " ' What the devil do you mean? ' said he. 
 
 " ' Just what I say. Look here,' I went on, 
 for I'd got off the curb now, ' I didn't say before 
 those other chaps all that I saw in that bowl of 
 water. I saw a good deal more than I should 
 have thought it fair to give out in public' 
 
 " He didn't answer for a minute. He wasn't 
 fiddling with the stock-whip, but with the leather 
 belt he wore round his waist— a strap with a 
 steel snap at the end. Before I guessed what he 
 was about, he'd loosened the belt and snapped 
 the ring of my horse's bit into the catch. Then, 
 holding the other end of the belt, he had me like 
 a child on a leading rein. 
 
 " ' Doctor, or devil, or whatever you are,' he 
 
 said with an insane kind of laugh, ' we'll clear up 
 
 this affair to-night before we part.' 
 
 i88
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 (( ( 
 
 
 All right; we will,' I said, but all the time 
 I had my hand on my little revolver in my jacket 
 pocket. ' Do you want to hear the rest of the 
 tale? ' 
 
 Yes,' he answered. 
 
 You do! Very well.' Then I looked him 
 
 straight in the eyes. You can always tell what 
 
 a man is going to do with his hands by looking in 
 
 his eyes. Ask the fencer or the boxer. He will 
 
 tell you the same. I watched my man as keenly 
 
 as ever cat watched a mouse, or tiger his prey. I 
 
 saw the tight grasp of his hand on the thin end 
 
 of his stock-whip, and as I held my revolver tight 
 
 grasped inside my jacket pocket, I said to myself, 
 
 ' Now play your ace.' 
 
 " ' Well,' I continued, ' I saw the man who had 
 
 attacked that girl go into the scrub till he came 
 
 to the edge of a bit of the Burra-Burra river that 
 
 I happen to know, and there he washed the blood 
 
 off his face and neck.' (Mrs Rivers had told me 
 
 they traced the footprints to the river and so I 
 
 made a shot.) ' Then,' I said, ' I saw the face of 
 
 the man. I also saw his face in the drawing-room, 
 
 though I didn't say so. I saw it quite distinctly 
 
 when he stood there in my vision with his back 
 
 against the door. That man was — yourself.' 
 
 189
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " ' You're the devil! ' he cried, ' and I'm not 
 
 going to let you live to tell that story to anybody 
 
 else.' 
 
 " The loaded stock-whip-handle was raised, 
 
 but not quite so quickly as my little revolver. 
 " ' Move, and I shoot! ' I said. 
 " The nickel plating on my toy pistol shone 
 
 bright as I held its muzzle pointed at him. 
 
 ' Lower your stock-whip and let go my horse,' I 
 
 said. He did so, but I still kept my pistol 
 
 pointed. 
 
 Now,' I said, ' you'd have made a mistake 
 
 if you had murdered me to-night, for you would 
 
 certainly have been hanged, and there's not the 
 
 least occasion that either of us should come to a 
 
 violent end. You needn't have been in such a 
 
 deadly funk,' I said, ' that I was going to set that 
 
 story about the district. There's only one person 
 
 to whom I should ever be likely to say a word of 
 
 what has happened to-night, and that is a lady 
 
 who is a happy wife and the best and sweetest 
 
 and kindest woman in the world. As she is on 
 
 her way to England and not likely ever to be in 
 
 AustraHa again, I sha'n't have the chance of 
 
 speaking to her on the subject, and it's not one 
 
 exactly that I should put on paper. So I shall 
 
 190
 
 The Doctor's Yarn 
 
 only write to tell her that I've done as she wished 
 and given you her message — ' 
 
 " ' Her message! What message did she send 
 me ? ' he asked, and I never heard a man's voice 
 change in a minute or two as his did. 
 
 " ' She wanted me to let you understand that 
 she knew the truth, for that, she thought, would 
 be sufficient punishment to you. And she de- 
 sired me to tell you that she forgave you fully 
 and completely. . . . There now! ' I said, putting 
 down my pistol, for I could tell by the choky 
 sound the fellow made that there wasn't any more 
 need to keep it levelled at his head. ' You go 
 on to the dairy, and you can tell the boss to- 
 morrow that you saw me safe to the Five Mile 
 Gully. Good-night,' I said, and I spurred on my 
 little Arab and left the gentleman to his own 
 meditations. 
 
 " That's my yarn — for what it's worth," the 
 doctor added. " I may as well tell you chaps," 
 he went on, and his own voice changed a little, 
 " that the lady — Mrs Rivers, you know — and her 
 husband were both wrecked in the — " He 
 pulled himself up. " Lost at sea, you under- 
 stand — on their way to England — or else I 
 
 shouldn't have given you the yarn." 
 
 191
 
 V 
 A SCARE OF THE BLACKS 
 
 Mary, Ellis Jebb's young wife, was eager to 
 make the best of everything when her husband 
 first brought her to Oakey Creek station on the 
 Leura. But life in the Never-Never country 
 was new to her, and she was continually haunted 
 by the fear of snakes, tarantulas and the blacks. 
 The other things she did not so much mind. 
 She could ride, which was about her only bush 
 accomplishment, though she certainly had a 
 great capacity for producing artistic effects out 
 of rough material, and she soon contrived to make 
 the slab and bark humpey Ellis had built for her 
 look like a lady's dwelling-place. It was sur- 
 prising how pretty she made her little parlour 
 with tapa hangings she had bought off a South Sea 
 trading boat which had put in at Cooktown — 
 their port — while she happened to be there, with 
 
 wild flowers and native creepers and with opossum 
 
 192
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 rugs and kangaroo skins secured at Government 
 prices from a party of kangaroosters. 
 
 For the rest, her furniture was primitive and 
 concocted mostly out of barrels and cases in which 
 store things had been brought up. The little 
 tables were contrived out of the tops of such 
 cases nailed on to gum-sapling legs and covered 
 by Mary's deft fingers; the bottoms of the cases 
 had been turned into settees and J ebb had con- 
 structed fair imitations of grandfather chairs 
 out of the empty casks by splitting them length- 
 ways, putting an end in the middle, and cutting 
 the sides into arms, which Mary upholstered in 
 blue blanketing and Turkey twill. The floor of 
 the parlour was formed of the clay of enormous 
 ant-beds, that abound in the district, moistened 
 and trodden down, so that it had hardened into 
 a sort of cement. But upon this a square of 
 carpeting had been laid, and if it hadn't been 
 that the white ants tried to make a fresh nest 
 underneath the carpet, no one would have known 
 that it had not been spread on well-planed 
 boards. 
 
 Mary J ebb was extremely fond and proud of 
 
 her drawing-room. It had, however, one serious 
 
 drawback, in that it was without doors or window- 
 N 193
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 panes. J ebb and the stockman had made the 
 doors and the window shutters, but alas! the 
 hinges for the door and the glass for the windows 
 had been forgotten in the loading of the last 
 drays, and the ones now on the road were con- 
 siderably overdue. Thus the only rooms in the 
 house which could be locked were the store — the 
 original old hut of pioneering days — and Mary's 
 bedroom. For her chamber door Jebb had 
 manufactured hinges of green-hide, and a ring 
 and staple he had hammered out in the shoeing 
 forge, and which could be secured within by a 
 padlock. It was a doubtful protection, for a 
 blow from a sharp tomahawk would have quickly 
 done away with the leather hinges, and Mary 
 Jebb used to pass nights of terror when her 
 husband was camping out, lying awake and 
 imagining every distant bush sound to be the war- 
 whoop of an invading army of blacks. Ellis 
 assured her that there was no danger and that 
 the days of the Frazers' murder were past. 
 
 But just about this time Mary's fears were 
 again aroused by a swagman passing by, who 
 told her that the Gin-Gin blacks were encamped 
 not far off in great numbers, and were threaten- 
 ing a raid upon the blacks at Oakey Creek. Jebb 
 
 194
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 and Mary had grounds for believing the swag- 
 man's story of a fierce quarrel among the tribes, 
 for the Paris and Helen of this aboriginal Iliad 
 were actually domiciled in their own black boy's 
 hut. 
 
 Johnny, their smart half-caste stockman, had 
 stolen a bright-eyed young gin called Jinny from 
 the Bulli tribe, when they were corroboreeing on 
 theriver, and had brought her to Oakey Creek. This 
 had happened some short time back. Johnny 
 had been pursued to the head-station by a small 
 party of Jinny's relations, and after some delicate 
 negotiations the matter had apparently been 
 arranged. Jinny, who was a consenting party 
 to the abduction, did not want to go back. Un- 
 fortunately, however, she had both a husband 
 and an admirer. The husband belonged to her 
 own tribe and was brought to terms without much 
 difficulty. The admirer was chief of the Gin- 
 Gins, a neighbouring tribe hostile to the Bullis. 
 Thus, though Menelaus went back to his camp 
 rejoicing, with J ebb's cheque for one pound, and 
 a cake of store tobacco, the bargain having been 
 sealed by a glass of rum all round, Jinny's lawless 
 admirer was not so easily pacified. 
 
 When Menelaus turned his back, contrary to 
 
 195
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 historic precedent, Paris gave orders that Helen's 
 dinner of kitchen scraps should be served on the 
 same plate as his own, and the pair retired to 
 Johnny's hut. But the honeymoon bade fair to 
 be interrupted. Jinny's admirer, being a doughty 
 warrior and defiant of social conventions, an- 
 nounced his intention of fighting the Bulli blacks 
 and carrying off Jinny for the second time. When 
 Mary called in Jinny after the swagman's depar- 
 ture and told her the news, the gin looked seriously 
 uneasy and said that Andy — the admirer's name 
 — was " plenty big fella black " and quite capable 
 of slaying with his spear and nulla all the Bulli 
 blacks, to say nothing of the whites, at Oakey 
 Creek. 
 
 The swagman went on his way. Nothing more 
 was heard at the time of the threatened raid, and 
 in the excitement of looking for the drays, J ebb 
 and his wife forgot the impending danger. The 
 delay in the arrival of the drays was really most 
 inconvenient, for Christmas was close upon them 
 and the store was empty. Everybody who has 
 lived " out back " knows that to keep Christmas 
 in as near an approach as possible to the tradi- 
 tional manner is regarded by the bushman as a 
 
 solemn article of faith. Roast beef is plentiful 
 
 196
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 enough on a cattle run, but if one happens to live 
 on a sheep station and cannot get roast beef, one 
 must at least have a plum pudding, no matter 
 though the thermometer stands at 120° Fahren- 
 heit. In Jebb's experience, bush drays had a 
 way of breaking down about Christmas time, and 
 the breakdown could usually be localised within 
 a very few miles of the nearest grog-shanty. 
 The nearest in this case happened to be the Dead 
 Finish, which was indeed a dead finish as far as 
 shanties were concerned, being the last along the 
 Leura. In those days the railway had not been 
 completed as far as Gundabine. 
 
 This particular Christmas they had been on 
 short commons for several weeks, and it was 
 lucky for them that they had a disreputable 
 Chinaman, who, when he was not smoking opium, 
 dug and watered his vegetable garden and cooked 
 in odd times — when there was anything except 
 salt junk to cook. There was nothing now in the 
 store but ration-sugar, tea and a supply of chutnee 
 that the Chinaman had persuaded them to buy 
 from a compatriot in Cooktown. If there had 
 not been plenty of pumpkins and a few water- 
 melons in Tee Sing's garden they would have been 
 
 in a bad way indeed. And apart from the 
 
 197
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 question of groceries, the news of a possible 
 attack by blacks on the head-station made Mary 
 J ebb extremely anxious for the coming of the 
 drays, for the door hinges, locks and other means 
 of self-protection were part of the load. 
 
 On the morning of Christmas Eve there was 
 still no sign of the drays, but the swagman had 
 brought an indefinite rumour of their having been 
 seen a few miles the other side of the Dead Finish. 
 Therefore, Ellis J ebb decided to ride off to the 
 shanty — about twenty-five miles distant — ascer- 
 tain for himself if the rumour were true, and, 
 should the bullock drivers be incapable of coming 
 on with their team, to return himself that evening, 
 bringing a few Christmas comforts for the head- 
 station. 
 
 Mary did not much like his going. They were 
 short-handed just then, the two white stockmen 
 being at an out-camp with a mob of weaners, 
 which left only J ebb himself, Tee Sing and half- 
 caste Johnny at the head-station. The valour 
 of Tee Sing was not to be depended upon, and 
 Johnny, with Jinny on his mind, would not, 
 Mary thought, trouble himself about defending 
 " White-Mary-missis." There were some quiet 
 
 blacks of the Bulli tribe, but most of these had 
 
 198
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 gone off on a " walk-about " in the scrub, leaving 
 only their gins and piccaninnies in camp. How- 
 ever, as nothing had been heard of the war- 
 like Gin-Gins, and Jebb would be back by sun- 
 down, there seemed no reason why he should not 
 go oi^. 
 
 Mary rode with him part of the way and came 
 back escorted by Johnny. It was not a pretty 
 ride, the track lying mostly through scrub, which 
 here fringed the expanse of plain — those great, 
 level stretches of the western blocks of Queens- 
 land. The scrub was of melancholy gidia trees 
 with straight black stems and mournful grey 
 foliage, under which grass will not grow because 
 of the poisonous nature of its exhalations. To- 
 day the trees gave out a faint, sickly smell, 
 which is a sign of rain in the air. That, however, 
 was not unpleasing, for they had had too little 
 rain lately on the Leura. The plains were miles 
 long, with scarcely any trees to break the mono- 
 tony, but with patches of lignum-vitse — a prickly 
 shrub that in spring was covered with a lovely 
 white flower. To Mary the plains seemed terrible 
 always. In summer they were scorchingly hot, 
 and in winter the sharp, westerly wind, blowing 
 
 across them, chilled her to the bone. Now and 
 
 199
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 then they would be crossed by a water-course, or 
 rather chain of water-holes, usually dry, but that 
 in flood time ran in a broad stream. The strange 
 thing was that often, when it seemed perfectly 
 dry and there appeared no prospect of rain, the 
 creeks would suddenly come down with a rush 
 from rain at the heads. Once or twice, in the 
 midst of drought, Oakey Creek station had been 
 flooded in this way. 
 
 That was what happened now. On the way 
 home, after speeding J ebb on his road, as they 
 crossed the last water-course, Johnny looked at 
 Mary with the black's knowing leer. 
 
 " Mine think it flood close-up alonga Leura 
 Heads, missis," he said. 
 
 Mary knew that this must be the case. The 
 
 creek they were crossing was running fast and 
 
 increased in volume as they rode along its banks. 
 
 A wild fear shot through Mary that J ebb might 
 
 be caught by a sudden flood higher up the river 
 
 and prevented from getting back that night, but 
 
 she would not allow herself to contemplate so 
 
 terrible a possibility. Presently, however, she 
 
 saw something which made her heart shrink 
 
 anew, and that was the sight of smoke rising 
 
 among the gidia trees, which she knew betokened 
 
 200
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 the presence of strange blacks. Johnny looked 
 at her again, this time in mortal dread. 
 
 " Ba'al mine like to see that fella smoke," he 
 said. " Mine think it Gin-Gin black sit down 
 alonga scrub; " and then, in a tragic whisper, he 
 begged Mary to turn into a belt of sandal-wood, 
 out of sight of the avenging enemy. 
 
 But she was not without pluck and had the 
 consciousness of being upon a mare bred from 
 racing stock. Besides, she was anxious to know 
 whether these were really hostile blacks. So she 
 insisted on riding forward and reconnoitring the 
 camp. She found in it only a few gins and pic- 
 caninnies, and the women were unwilling to give 
 any account of themselves or could not under- 
 stand the pidgin English of tame blacks. Johnny 
 skulked all the time behind the biggest tree he 
 could find, so was no use as an interpreter, and as 
 Mary's native vocabulary was limited at that 
 period, she could not satisfy herself whether the 
 gins were harmless Bullis or belonged to the Gin- 
 Gin tribe — that of Jinny's fierce adorer. 
 
 The day seemed very long to Mary Jebb. With 
 no flour in the store she could not even employ 
 herself in making a Christmas cake. The blacks 
 gave no sign, and sundown passed without there 
 
 201
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 being any sign of her husband either. The ex- 
 planation of his non-appearance now began to be 
 evident — gidia-smell never Hes. For the flood 
 was coming down fast, and clearly there had been 
 heavy rain at the Leura Heads, though there was 
 none here. From the verandah of the humpey 
 Mary could watch the creek swelling and widening, 
 and knew that Jebb, who must cross it higher up, 
 would certainly have been cut off unless he had 
 got through much earlier in the afternoon. She 
 reflected, too, that he was riding a horse which 
 had a trick of jibbing at running water as though 
 it were afflicted with hydrophobia, and her spirits 
 sank still lower. 
 
 Night came on. She ate her solitary dinner 
 of fried veal — Jebb had kiUed a calf in preparation 
 for Christmas before going off that morning — 
 and then she rocked herself in a hammock in the 
 verandah, watching the Southern Cross rise and 
 listening to the dingoes in the scrub making 
 their dreary howl. She fancied that she saw the 
 gleam of firesticks and had a fit of terror lest the 
 blacks should be coming in onslaught, until she 
 found that her fancy had deceived her. She did 
 not like staying in the verandah, and the parlour 
 with its doorless apertures seemed to her still 
 
 202
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 more frightening. Johnny and Jinny had re- 
 tired long ago to their hut, and Tee Sing to his 
 own humpey near the cultivation patch. There 
 was, however, the wife of one of the stockmen, 
 who had come to the head-station while her 
 husband was away, and Mary called her in from 
 the kitchen. The two women went round the 
 place together taking such precautions as they 
 could against a surprise. They let down and 
 fastened the tarpaulin blinds before the doors, 
 and then they betook themselves to Mary's 
 room and barricaded the entrance, securing the 
 padlock and ruefully contemplating the big gaps 
 between the green-hide hinges. Mary thought, 
 as she had often thought before, how easy it 
 would be to cut through these hinges with a toma- 
 hawk, and she blamed herself for not having made 
 Jebb fix rails up inside the doorway, as he had 
 talked of doing. But every hour they had been 
 expecting the drays to arrive, and somehow he 
 had not done it. 
 
 Mary sat up herself without undressing, but 
 she made the stockman's wife, who had been 
 sick, lie down on the bunk in J ebb's dressing- 
 room — a battened-in corner of the verandah with 
 
 no entrance except through her own chamber. 
 
 203
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 She dropped asleep in her chair waiting for her 
 husband, who did not come, and about midnight, 
 as she thought, awoke with a start to the sound of 
 shouts and yells outside the humpey. At the 
 same time, the stockman's wife, who had been 
 asleep also, rushed in from the back room cry- 
 ing,— 
 
 "Oh! ma'am, the blacks are upon us. We 
 shall all be murdered." 
 
 The memory of what she had heard about the 
 murder of the Frazer women rushed into Mary's 
 mind and turned her chill with horror. At least, 
 however, she thought, she would not be taken 
 unawares. She ran to her door, which gave on 
 the verandah, and pulling aside the thick 
 inside blind, peeped out through the chinks 
 of the green-hide hinges. She saw now that 
 she must have slept much longer than she had 
 fancied at first. Dawn was breaking — the dawn 
 of Christmas Day! How strange it seemed! 
 
 Looking forth, she beheld in the ghostly grey 
 of early morning a sight that even in her terror 
 struck her as weirdly impressive. She had never 
 seen so many blacks together before, and they 
 were all naked and in battle array. As they 
 
 came up to the house from the slip-rails of the 
 
 204
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 home paddock, she noticed the war paint on their 
 raised tattoo marks, making a hideous arabesque 
 pattern over their black breasts. There were 
 cockatoo's feathers in their woolly heads and 
 they brandished spears and nulla-nullas. They 
 were driving before them a small herd of gins with 
 their piccaninnies — the unprotected women of 
 the Bulli tribe, whose lords were kangaroo- 
 hunting, and who now besought shelter in the 
 head-station. Now they hurled themselves upon 
 the verandah, calling to " budgery fella White- 
 Mary-missis " to save them. 
 
 The trembling White-Mary-missis presently 
 heard at the door of her room Johnny's voice 
 entreating, — 
 
 " Missis! ba'al you let that fella Gin-Gin black 
 mumkull Johnny. Plenty mine been servant 
 alonga you and massa. Plenty been ride after 
 cattle; milk 'im cow, fetch up yarraman. 
 Budgery me, missis. Ba'al you let that fella 
 Andy spear Johnny? " 
 
 Then a bright idea seemed to strike Johnny. 
 Andy might be amenable to the argument which 
 had had weight with Menelaus. 
 
 "Missis mine think-it," he cried. "You gib 
 Johnny store key. Mine go inside, lock up door 
 
 20 
 
 D
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 and sit down alonga store. Then mine pialla 
 Andy. Mine tell him, ' You let Jinny stop 
 alonga me. Ba'al budgery for you that fella 
 Jinny. You get other fella gin alonga BuUi 
 blacks.' Mine tell Andy," pursued Johnny, 
 with rapid but subtle reasoning, ' Suppose you 
 let Jinny sit down alonga me, I gib you lil' fella 
 ration — lil' fella sugar, lil' fella tea, two fig 
 tobacco. Then byme by, massa come back; 
 dray come up; plenty ration alonga store. 
 Massa gib you big fella ration plenty tobacco, 
 one pound cheque.' Mine think it Andy take 
 lil' fella ration and yan alonga scrub. Then 
 missis no more plenty frightened." 
 
 Mary told herself that Johnny's argument was 
 sound, and that peace would be cheaply pur- 
 chased at the price of everything that there was 
 in the store. She did not think the blacks would 
 care much about chutnee, and luckily the supply 
 of alcohol was hidden in a grocery case, turned on 
 end and serving as a toilet-table in J ebb's dressing- 
 room. Helen- Jinny joined her shrill entreaties to 
 those of Paris-Johnny. "Yah! yah! Ba'al 
 mine want to be gin belonging to Andy. Plenty 
 Andy like ration. You throw it store key alonga 
 
 Johnny, missis." 
 
 206
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 By this time the assaulting tribe was close on 
 the verandah. Mary threw the store key through 
 the aperture between the hinges and heard the 
 voices of Paris and Helen no more. Now came a 
 stampede of the whole mob of blacks to the back 
 of the house, where the store " sat down " in 
 aboriginal phrase. The Gin-Gin braves swarmed 
 along the verandah through poor Mary's pretty 
 parlour and out into the backyard. The two 
 white women stood pale and silent in one corner 
 of Mary's bedroom, expecting every moment to 
 see a spear fly through the space between the 
 door and the wall. They had drawn the thick 
 curtains over the gap, and, as noiselessly as they 
 could, placed the bed across the doorway in case 
 there should be a rush. But the Gin-Gin blacks 
 did not appear to desire the blood of white 
 women. It was the gins of the Bulli tribe who 
 suffered. Heartrending cries rang in the still 
 air of dawn; appeals to "Missis! White-Mary- 
 missis," mingling with yells, groans and the whizz of 
 nulla-nullas in' action. . . . Mary put her fingers 
 to her ears and tried to deafen herself to the cries 
 of those poor gins and piccaninnies and of the few 
 old men who had been left in the camp. But it was 
 
 impossible to shut out the sound of the carnage. 
 
 207
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 There was nothing that the white women could 
 do. So far there had been no attempt on the 
 bedroom, and the green-hide hinges remained 
 intact, but to show themselves would have been 
 simply to court a spear thrust — or worse, and 
 Mary doubted her capacity to fire a pistol, though 
 she grasped in her right hand J ebb's revolver, 
 which always hung loaded above their bed. For 
 a quarter of an hour the din was horrible. Mary 
 wondered if all the Bulli gins were being mas- 
 sacred for the sake of that reprobate Jinny. She 
 and the stockman's wife waited, almost paralysed 
 with fright, for what might befall. They could 
 only hope that the store had provided a refuge 
 for some other unfortunates besides Jinny 
 and Johnny, who were the wicked cause of it 
 all. 
 
 Judging from the direction of the sounds, it 
 was at the store that the fight was hottest. But 
 the massacre did not last long. In less than 
 a quarter of an hour the uproar subsided. Now 
 the cries indicated flight and hot pursuit; then 
 they died in the distance and Mary took breath 
 once more and wondered if this was a sample of 
 Christmas " out back." 
 
 The stockman's wife had gone off into a fit of 
 
 208
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 hysterics. By the time Mary had dosed her with 
 brandy the head-station was quiet, and grey 
 dawn had brightened into morning. The sun- 
 shine streamed in through the crevices of the 
 doorway. The blacks seemed to have all departed. 
 Mary ventured now to look out, but nothing 
 came into the line of her vision except a glimpse, 
 in the distance, of Tee Sing's yellow face and 
 shrinking form as he too peered from the window 
 of his dwelling. No doubt he had lain there 
 hidden during the fray. Even when the danger 
 was past, it did not seem to occur to him that he 
 might come and see whether his master's wife 
 was alive. She did not dare to venture forth, 
 not so much for dread of the Gin-Gin blacks as 
 of what she might behold. A few steps along 
 the verandah had shown her the dead body of a 
 gin, and she turned away shuddering and 
 ashamed of her own cowardice in not going to the 
 store to see if there were any gins still in a con- 
 dition to be succoured. But she was afraid of 
 being seen by a black fellow in ambush and cut 
 off from her refuge. 
 
 The stockman's wife kept on ejaculating at 
 intervals, "Oh! if Bill and master had only been 
 
 back." 
 
 o 209
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Mary could not entirely echo the wish. Now 
 that the trouble was over, she felt thankful that 
 her husband had not risked his life for the sake of 
 Johnny and Jinny's illicit love, as most assuredly 
 he would have done. 
 
 The sun was mounting the sky and the parrots 
 and cockatoos screeching " Merry Christmas " 
 to each other, when a long, reverberating " coo-ee " 
 came up from the slip-rails. In a very few 
 minutes the padlock was off the staple of the 
 door and Ellis J ebb was in the room. He had 
 been horrified at seeing outside gruesome traces 
 of what had occurred, and his thankfulness at 
 finding his wife unharmed was indescribable. 
 He was wet through, for he had swum the creek 
 at both the further and the nearer crossings. It 
 was as Mary had supposed. The Leura had 
 come down suddenly from the heads and all the 
 creeks were bankers. So Jebb had almost been 
 flood-bound. Of course, the drays were at the 
 Dead Finish and one of the bullock-drivers in an 
 incapable state. But Jebb had started the 
 drays and they would arrive as soon as the creek 
 could be crossed. 
 
 As for Jebb himself, he had been nearly 
 drowned, for his horse had jibbed at the water 
 
 2IO
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 and had then been swept down by the current. 
 But J ebb had got to the bank, lame from the 
 cut of a jagged tree branch that the flood swept 
 down, and that was why he had been all night in 
 the bush. 
 
 "Good heavens! " he exclaimed later, "what 
 a Christmas Day! " 
 
 He and Mary went out together to see how 
 many blacks were dead and wounded and what 
 help could be rendered to the survivors of the 
 tragedy. In the verandah lay the bodies of 
 several gins who had been knocked on the head 
 with nulla-nuUas, but though the pretty drawing- 
 room bore marks of the Gin-Gin warriors' passage 
 through it, they did not appear to have sacked or 
 searched the house. Two lubras had hidden 
 themselves behind the tapa and were still 
 trembling so violently that the rattle of the 
 pannikins they wore slung round their waists 
 betrayed their whereabouts. In the spare room 
 Mary found a little boy-piccaninny cowering 
 under the bed. 
 
 It was out by the store-room verandah that 
 the struggle had been fiercest. In the store, 
 robbery had been wholesale, but that did not 
 matter very much, because there was so little 
 
 211
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 left to steal. Near the door lay several gins and 
 old men quite dead. From a surviving lubra, 
 who had hidden herself under a pile of old sugar 
 mats, they heard particulars of the battle. 
 Johnny and Jinny had been the first to take 
 refuge in the store, but the Gin-Gin warriors 
 were upon them before they had had time to 
 secure themselves. Some others of the Bulli 
 blacks, fancying that the store door opened to the 
 inside, instead of outward, were overpowered 
 whilst trying to rush it, and were all killed. 
 Jinny had crept into an empty flour barrel and 
 had been discovered by Andy, who perceived the 
 barrel moving. He, being an unusually powerful 
 black fellow, lifted up the cask and carried it, 
 with the gin inside, beyond the fence. Johnny 
 made his escape through the store window and 
 fled to the cultivation-patch. Later, Mary learned 
 details of his fate from Tee Sing, who had wit- 
 nessed it from his hut, where Johnny had prayed 
 to deaf ears for shelter. 
 
 Mary could never forgive Tee Sing for his in- 
 humanity on that occasion. The Gin-Gin blacks 
 chased poor Johnny through the cultivation- 
 patch to its boundary fence of prickly pear, and 
 speared him to death while he was endeavouring 
 
 212
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 to get through it. Then they cut his body into 
 pieces, and each brave carried away a piece to 
 roast at the camp fire. For according to abori- 
 ginal superstition, he who eats of his adversary's 
 flesh draws to himself the qualities of his adver- 
 sary's spirit. Half-caste Johnny, the son of a 
 white bullock-driver, had, it was supposed, 
 inherited certain racial advantages from his 
 father. Thus each Gin-Gin warrior who made 
 his supper off Johnny hoped that the little piece 
 of half-caste might assist him to " jump up white 
 man " when his time should come to leave the 
 happy hunting grounds and return to earth. 
 For "to jump up white man" is the black- 
 fellows' notion of attaining the highest point 
 possible on his evolutionary journey. 
 
 That, however, is beside the story. Alas, 
 poor Johnny! Like many another hero of 
 tragic renown he met his death through fatal 
 love for a woman — seeing that a black gin is but 
 yet a woman — whose inconstancy to his memory 
 might have furnished food for mirth to the 
 President of the Blacks' Board of Immortals. 
 Long afterwards the J ebbs heard that Jinny, the 
 dusky Helen, contentedly joined the Gin-Gin 
 
 tribe and espoused Andy, whom, according to 
 
 213
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 their informant, she declared to be a " cobbon 
 budgery Benjamin." This interpreted, meaning 
 a most excellent husband 
 
 There seemed no end to the ghastly disclosures 
 of that Christmas Day. After J ebb and Tee 
 Sing had cleared away the dead bodies from 
 around the house, and had placed them at the 
 edge of the gidia scrub to await tribal burial, they 
 noticed in the shadow of the prickly-pear fence a 
 blanket pinned at the four corners and in the 
 middle by upright spears. Something writhed 
 beneath the blanket, and lifting it, Jebb saw a 
 native warrior speared to the earth and in his 
 dying agonies. It was not many minutes before 
 he joined his comrades in the black man's 
 Paradise. Why he should have been left to die 
 in that lingering manner they could not tell. 
 
 By-and-by the surviving blacks straggled up 
 
 from the camp and took away the dead bodies. 
 
 The mourners claimed their kindred, and seating 
 
 themselves under different trees, put earth on 
 
 their foreheads, cut themselves with sharp stones 
 
 and crooned their dismal wake. "Yah! yah! 
 
 Wurra-wurra, yah! " That barbaric lament 
 
 mingled with the;,^ voices of Mary Jebb, the 
 
 stockman's wife and the two bullock-drivers, when 
 
 ai4
 
 A Scare of the Blacks 
 
 Ellis Jebb, being a devout bush householder, 
 
 read the service for Christmas Day to his station 
 
 hands, and the small congregation sang Christmas 
 
 hymns. That was in the evening after the drays 
 
 had arrived, the river having " gone down " as 
 
 quickly as it had " come up." 
 
 All through the service could be heard that 
 
 mournful " Wurra — wurra — yah!" from the 
 
 blacks' camp. By-and-by, the wail deepened 
 
 and intensified, and the dingoes added their 
 
 voices to swell the dirge. The Bulli blacks came 
 
 in that evening from their walk-about, bringing 
 
 spoil of wallaby and kangaroo, and gashed the 
 
 dead gins' heads severely with their tomahawks 
 
 in order to make them much more " plenty sorry " 
 
 so as to disguise the jollity of their own feasting. 
 
 All night the other black women moaned and 
 
 wailed, and all night the dingoes howled in 
 
 unison. Nobody slept much at Oakey Creek 
 
 head-station. But then, as Mary Jebb had begun 
 
 to realise, you must expect that sort of thing in 
 
 the Never-Never. Next day the blacks carried 
 
 the corpses of their kindred a little way into the 
 
 bush. There they wrapped them in sheets of 
 
 bark and put them into hollow gum-trees, where 
 
 no doubt the iguanas soon made an end of them. 
 
 215
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 That too is one of the cheerful usages of the 
 blacks' bush. It seemed ver}- dreadful to Mary 
 Jebb, and she — and the stockman's wiie out of 
 sympathy — wept over the murdered gins and 
 wished that the}- might have been decently 
 buried in Mother Earth's bosom. But the 
 blacks, being constitutionally lazy, objected to 
 the trouble of digging holes in the ground. Even 
 sepulture in hollow trees was a concession to the 
 prejudices of the white man, since Jebb, on Mary's 
 account, disapproved of the practice of sticking 
 dead bodies aloft in the branches of gum and 
 gidia trees, a mode of disposing of their corpses 
 preferred by the Bulli tribe. 
 
 After this all the blacks departed from this 
 particular tributary of the Upper Leura and did 
 not return till the following Christmas. It is one 
 of their quaint superstitions that for a whole 
 year Debil-debil haunts the spot where a black 
 feUow has died, and though the Australian 
 aboriginal cannot be said to have the fear of God 
 before his eyes, it is quite certain that he has a 
 holy fear of Debil-debil. 
 
 216
 
 VI 
 
 OLD BERRIS OF BOGGO CREEK 
 
 " Miles, my boy, this is the end and be damned 
 to it," old Berris said to his son on their last 
 evening at the homestead, after the Bank had 
 sent up a manager to take possession of Boggo 
 Creek station. " We've got to shift camp to- 
 morrow and cut the whole show." 
 
 " Yes, father, we're through with this game 
 and now we've got to begin another," answered 
 the young man with forced cheerfulness. 
 
 But there was no cheerfulness in old Berris. 
 The savage note died out of his voice, and he 
 went on, in a broken-do\Mi fashion, — 
 
 " Forty years' hard work chucked away with 
 nothing to show for it. Fifteen 3'ears' sa\Tngs 
 put into Boggo, and now Boggo's gone. Twenty- 
 four years ago I built this old humpey to bring 
 your mother up to, and she never saw the place. 
 She died on the road when you were bom, boy — 
 
 you know all about that." 
 
 217
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " Yes, father." Miles Berris had heard the tale 
 often enough, 
 
 " Twenty-three years last Tuesday fortnight 
 you were born on the top of that bullock- 
 dray. . . . There's many a carrier's child been 
 born like that and no harm come of it. But I 
 never should have run the risk for her, sonny. I 
 never should have run the risk." 
 
 " Come, old man, it's no use worrying over 
 that now. Kismet, you know! Let the dead 
 past bury its dead. We've got to begin afresh 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Ay! Shift camp and clear out of the old 
 home that I built with my own hands. ... I 
 cut down the iron-barks for timber and split the 
 beams and morticed the sleepers and stuck up 
 every slab on end. There wasn't a nail put in 
 that I didn't hammer myself or see to the hammer- 
 ing of into its place. . . . Somehow, the whole 
 thing comes back to me to-night — this last night 
 that you and I shall ever sit together in the old 
 verandah, boy — where I've smoked my pipe every 
 evening in the same old chair year in and year 
 out, wet seasons and dry seasons, good times and 
 bad. I've watched the passion-creeper climb 
 
 over that old dead gum tree and wither in the 
 
 218
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 drought, and I've seen the grape-vines grow up 
 
 till they'd got to the top of the verandah posts, 
 
 and had to be cut on the roof, because they made 
 
 a harbour for snakes. ... Do ye mind, Miley, 
 
 the night that big black snake coiled itself on 
 
 the back of your chair and bit your arm? . . . 
 
 And how I sucked the poison out of the bite? — 
 
 Lord, what a funk I was in!— and gave you a 
 
 bottleful of brandy and walked you about till 
 
 I'd got you drunk and then I knew you were 
 
 safe. Seems as if it had been only yesterday, 
 
 but it's nine years ago — that summer it was 
 
 before Vallis brought his wife to Kooroon — 
 
 you mind? . . . Seems as if nothing had 
 
 changed except that I'm not boss here any more. 
 
 The same old dingoes making their infernal howl, 
 
 and the same curlews screeching down by the 
 
 water-hole — it's pretty near dried up now. . . . 
 
 Well, well! " — the old man gave a heavy sort of 
 
 groan — " I remember listening to them the night 
 
 before I went down to bring your mother up to 
 
 Boggo — I hadn't had the station long then. I'd 
 
 put up the humpey; the verandah was just 
 
 finished and the creepers planted, and I'd lined 
 
 the sitting-room and bedroom and papered them 
 
 with pictures out of the Illustrateds that I'd 
 
 319
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 been saving up for years. ... I ought to have 
 got the job through sooner, or else have left it 
 till afterwards. But you see I was short-handed 
 and that put me back. . . . And then your 
 mother got tired of stopping by herself in Towns- 
 ville and wanted to come right home, and I didn't 
 feel that I ought to fetch her up until I'd made 
 the hut decent for a lady. . . . But I never 
 should have run the risk, sonny," he repeated. 
 " I wouldn't have done it, only I knew there 
 was the stockman's wife on Oakey Creek out- 
 station who'd nursed pretty near all the mothers 
 along the river, and I guessed it would be all 
 right for Janie once I'd got her safe here. I 
 didn't count on losing the bullocks and being 
 stuck up twice because the team were knocked 
 out for want of feed. . . . The country was 
 awful dry that year. But that's Leura luck. 
 Remember what I say, boy. If ever you think 
 of marrying a woman, don't you bring her up to 
 the Leura, or if you do, send her down south 
 directly a drought comes on. There's the mistake 
 Forbes Vallis made. I always told him so. He 
 ought to have sent his wife away directly the 
 drought came on." 
 
 " Perhaps she wouldn't go, dad." 
 
 320
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 " Oh, ay. And look at her now — a broken- 
 down woman before her time. That's the way 
 with wives — the ones that are worth their salt. 
 They will stick on, and they won't leave their 
 men to fight the battle by themselves. They'll 
 always make out it's their duty to give a hand, 
 and I won't say but what some are as good as we 
 are any day, only your mother wasn't that sort. 
 She hadn't the strength — poorjanie! . . . Well, 
 there it was. I don't see how I could have known 
 better when I'd never had any experience of 
 womenkind to guide me. . . . And so I stopped 
 and pasted up the pictures out of those old 
 Illustrateds — and covered all the lining with 
 them — the same pictures I've waked up to look 
 at every morning these three-and-twenty years 
 back. The white ants have pretty well eaten 
 out some of the faces in them by this time, but 
 I never had the heart to take the lining down. 
 Now I suppose " — Mr Berris's tone became suddenly 
 fierce — " if there's a big enough fool to buy Boggo 
 Creek, or if the Bank's manager ever marries one 
 of those flighty Free-selection girls down the 
 river, they'll make fine jokes about those old 
 Illustrated News pictures, and maybe paste over 
 
 221
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 them some damned flowery wall-paper that they'll 
 buy in Gundabine store." 
 
 There was a ruminative pause, while Mr Berris 
 drew at his pipe in uneven breaths and the 
 dingoes went on howling. Miles Berris was just 
 inside the door of the parlour, where by the light 
 of a kerosene lamp he was plaiting the last inch 
 of a stock-whip. Miles Berris had not his father's 
 sentiment about the old homestead, but he pre- 
 ferred not to use on the cattle he was going to 
 drove for the Bank, off another ruined squatter's 
 station, the same stock-whip that he had cracked 
 for so many years over the cattle camps of Boggo 
 Creek. 
 
 Mr Berris went on quaveringly, — 
 
 " Yes, it seems just about the night before 
 yesterday that I was sitting here — the even- 
 ing before I started to fetch Janie up. I was 
 thinking how pleased she'd be with it all. . . . 
 And I'd been settling about fresh milkers being 
 got in so that she shouldn't have to drink 
 black quart-pot tea. . . . And I'd been telling 
 them about exercising the mare I'd broken in for 
 her with a side-saddle and a skirt. . . . You 
 know the strain, Miley? That bay filly you won 
 the Gundabine Maiden Plate with was out of her 
 
 222
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 daughter by a Thormanby — the filly, you know — 
 that we had to shoot when the water-hole dried 
 up and she got bogged. ... Ah! well — " 
 
 Mr Berris found that his pipe would not draw, 
 and Miles plaited vigorously at his stock-whip 
 thong, with his head bent. Presently the old 
 man resumed, in his mournful, retrospective 
 tone, — 
 
 ..." Yes, I remember what a lot there was 
 to think about so as to have everything ship- 
 shape for Janie. ... I remember the bullocks 
 weren't as good a team as I'd have liked, and my 
 word! I did have a job rigging up the tilt on the 
 dray. ... I put the last stitch in a water-bag 
 that night. I guessed we'd want our water-bags 
 — and so we did — badly. I planned out, too, 
 how I'd load coming back so's to have the top of 
 the dray smooth and save her the jolting. . . . 
 And I managed it first-rate. It was like a little 
 room under that tilt. Janie said it felt just the 
 same as being at home. My word, I did plan the 
 laying out of that load so as to steady the motion 
 of the dray. ... I did my best, sonny — it 
 ought to have gone all right if only there hadn't 
 been those delays. ... I remember it was a 
 
 big load. I put the knobbliest things at the 
 
 223
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 bottom — there was wire fencing for the cultiva- 
 tion paddock and some of the wool-shed 
 plant. . . . Because, of course, you know, 
 Miley, I started with sheep at Boggo, and then 
 there came the great flood and washed away ten 
 thousand of 'em, with the new wool-stied I'd 
 built. Then there was foot-rot in the sheep on 
 top of that, and afterwards tick, and then I 
 boiled down the sheep that were left and took to 
 cattle. . . . Well, well, that's the luck of the 
 Leura! . . . And then, you see, Janie's piano 
 had to be fetched with her — she'd have been just 
 lost without her piano. . . . It's over there in 
 the corner as you've always known it. Miles, my 
 boy, and the white ant have got into it and 
 nobody has ever played on it since my Janie 
 touched it last. Nor nobody ever will, for I'm 
 going to smash it up before I leave the old place 
 to-morrow. . . . Well, so that is how it was. . . . 
 And there were cases of groceries, for I didn't 
 want Janie to have nothing but salt junk and 
 damper when she'd naturally be needing little 
 comforts. . . . Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! I never 
 opened those cases of groceries and the white 
 ants got at them too. ..." 
 
 Another melancholy pause, and fresh difft- 
 
 224
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 ciilties with the pipe. Miles said nothing, but 
 the flying ants and winged insects made a whirr- 
 ing noise round the kerosene lamp. And the 
 dingoes' long-dra\vn, dismal howls came from 
 the gidia scrub over the river, which was dry, 
 while the curlews wailed because they too wanted 
 water. . . . Old Berris smoked on for a little 
 while, and then he began again in that curious, 
 far-away voice which seemed in truth a faltering 
 echo of the hopes and heart-stirrings of twenty- 
 three years back. Still, Miles said nothing, for 
 he feared lest some word of his might check the 
 stream of reminiscence, broken and full of repeti- 
 tions as it was, that it eased the poor old man to 
 pour forth. 
 
 . . . . " Yes, I rigged the load as well as 1 
 could. I set all the sacks of flour on top and put 
 the tarpaulin over that, and a mattress and 
 pillows for her to lie on, so as she couldn't have 
 got much shaking. And I drove the team 
 myself with a couple of black boys to help, for I 
 didn't want her ears to be offended by the 
 bullocky's oaths — she wouldn't have understood 
 that it's not easy to drive a team of bullocks 
 without swearing a bit. She hadn't been accus- 
 tomed to that kind of thing — poor Janie! . . . 
 p 225
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 And we got along splendid for the first fortnight — 
 she said it was like a picnic. She'd lie up on the 
 flour bags and do her sewing — she had a lot of 
 little things she was making — and then we'd 
 camp and spell the bullocks for an hour in the 
 middle of the day and go on again. . . . And 
 at night she'd get down, and we'd camp under 
 the dray, which made a bit of a change for her. 
 It wasn't till we got on to the course of the 
 Leura that our bad luck began — oh, it's a 
 damned unlucky river is the Leura. . . . Don't 
 you ever settle on the Leura, Rliles, my son. 
 When you've got a wife take her somewhere 
 else." 
 
 Miles nodded as he plaited his stock-whip 
 thong, but he was thinking that there was not 
 much chance of his having a wife for a good many 
 years to come. What should a young man, who 
 had just taken a droving job in order to provide 
 himself with means to strike out for the Gulf 
 country, do with such an expensive article as 
 the sort of wife he, Miles Berris, wanted — the 
 kind of wife that Forbes ValUs had gotten for 
 himself. And see what had come of that ! 
 
 Old Berris rambled on, — 
 
 " I buried her off the track — there wasn't a 
 
 226
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 proper road then, for you see they hadn't opened 
 up the further Leura district in those days. Mine 
 were the only drays that ever went across the 
 Gap, . . . Ye know the place, my son? " 
 
 Certainly Miles knew the place — that little 
 ridge at the head of the Gap where was the small 
 enclosure fenced with stout palings; and inside 
 the mound, the white tombstone that his 
 father had carted up from Gundabine, and the 
 big wattle overspreading it which in August was 
 a sheet of fragrant yellow bloom. . . . But old 
 Berris seemed to have forgotten for the moment 
 that he had ever taken Miles to see his mother's 
 grave. 
 
 '* It 'ud ha' gone against me sore not to put her 
 
 in a proper coffin, only that my heart seemed 
 
 numbed like, and I hadn't the power to be 
 
 sorry. . . . And what could I do, sonny? . . . 
 
 There was only me and the black boys and the 
 
 little squalling baby that had to be fed somehow. 
 
 Lucky we came on a blacks' camp and there was 
 
 a gin there with a piccaninny just bom who 
 
 gave it suck. That 'ud ha' gone against me too, 
 
 if I'd had the heart to mind. But I hadn't, and 
 
 you wouldn't have lived other ways, Miley, and 
 
 I don't see that it has m.attered much, except, 
 
 327
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 maybe, to make a better bushman of you. . . . 
 Well, there! all we could do was to strip a gum 
 tree — and after everything's said and done, when 
 you come to think it over, a clean sheet of bark 
 with the smell of the running sap in it, that 
 Nature's hands have fixed up ready for a winding- 
 sheet — well, that seems to me as good a coffin as 
 one with brass plates and smart handles made 
 by some half-drunken undertaker chap not caring 
 a hang who's going to be put into it. . . . And 
 besides, the bullocks were athirst, and the water- 
 bags close-up empty, for you see we'd calculated 
 on getting to the Billabong the very day her 
 trouble came upon her ... so there was nothing 
 else to do. . . ." 
 
 Again a pause. . . . The pipe had to be 
 emptied and relighted. 
 
 " So that's how it was, sonny. ... I dug 
 the grave myself, every spadeful of earth I took 
 out with my own hands. ... I wouldn't let 
 the black boys touch it. . . . And then I 
 lowered her in, and I found a few flowers of wild 
 jessamine — she was awful fond always of the 
 little wild jessamine, you know. Seemed to 
 me as if old Mother Nature had set that jessa- 
 mine' plant growing there a-purpose close by 
 
 228
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 where I laid her. . . . An' I put some of the 
 sprigs a-top of the sheet of bark and filled the 
 grave round with fresh gum leaves and shovelled 
 back the soU. . . . An' there she lies. . . . An' 
 when my time comes, Miley, boy, you'll put me 
 inside the railing alongside of her. . . . Well, 
 there, it's no good whining. . . . But the old 
 man's down on his luck, sonny. There ain't 
 much fight left in him now." 
 
 MUes turned round and tried to frame a cheer- 
 ful remonstrance. 
 
 " Come, come, dad. You mustn't talk like 
 
 that. Keep your end up, old man. We're not 
 
 going to say die — don't you believe it, boss. ..." 
 
 Miles made a vicious twist in the green-hide 
 
 thong of his stock-whip, which creaked dismally. 
 
 " Look here," the young man went on. " Come 
 
 to that, we're not so desperately down on our luck. 
 
 There's the Gap Selection and paddock room for 
 
 a hundred head of cattle or more, and we're just 
 
 going to begin life again like a lot of other chaps, 
 
 that's all. I'm young enough and strong enough. 
 
 Lord knows! Boggo's gone, and there's no 
 
 use to fret over the old station. But anyhow 
 
 there's the stockman's hut at the Gap for you, 
 
 and I'll see if I can't find you a decent mate 
 
 229
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 while I go off and see what I can do in the Gulf 
 country." 
 
 "Ay, ay," returned the old man. "Seems 
 queer, Miley, that I've got nothing left except 
 the selection I took up to keep your mother's 
 grave safe from harm. But, as you say, it's a 
 roof over my head. . . . And there's those few 
 head of stock the Bank couldn't lay hands on 
 because they had your brand. . . . Well, it'll 
 be a place for you to come back to, sonny, if the 
 Gulf turns out a duffer. One thing I'm thankful 
 for, boy — that is that you had your two years at 
 Sydney University before the times got too bad. 
 For now if the bush fails you — and seems like 
 enough it may — you can take a billet down south 
 and teach in a State-school if it comes to 
 that — which is more than your old dad could do.'' 
 
 Miles laughed. He had finished his stock- 
 whip; there remained only the fastening of it 
 on to that sandal-wood handle his father had 
 carved for him on winter evenings during the last 
 year or two. 
 
 "No fear!" he said. "The old bush won't 
 
 fail her own, and I'm not the sort of chap that 
 
 goes under." 
 
 Then he went out to the verandah, lit his pipe 
 
 230
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 and purposely drew his father out of the reminis- 
 cent mood by talking on practical matters. The 
 two sat there most of their last night at Boggo, 
 smoking and discussing the son's plans and 
 prospects. And all the time the dingoes in the 
 scrub kept up their wolf-wail. 
 
 They had plenty to do in the morning. The 
 Bank man, being sorry for old Berris and dis- 
 liking his own job, made excuse to absent himself 
 after formal possession of the station had been 
 given him. So the father and son made their 
 final preparations for departure unhampered by 
 his presence. The few head of cattle and horses 
 with Miles's brand on them had been mustered 
 and started off the previous evening for the Gap 
 Selection. Berris himself was to drive the dray 
 which he had loaded with the small household 
 properties that the Bank allowed him to take 
 away. These were not many, and now every- 
 thing was packed. 
 
 Early in the morning, before the sun had risen 
 
 or Miles was awake, old Berris got up and took 
 
 his last look round. The living-room was all 
 
 dismantled; the great fireplace was full of ashes 
 
 of papers that he had burned the day before. He 
 
 231
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 had destroyed all his letters except those his dead 
 wife had written him and some from Miles. Of 
 personal mementoes of Boggo he took only 
 Janie's and Miles's photographs and one of Brenda 
 Vallis that she had given him, besides a few books 
 that had belonged to Janie. There remained the 
 piano, on which for twenty-three years no one had 
 played, but which still stood there in the corner 
 by the fireplace, with its case cracked and riddled 
 by white ants and the green silk front torn and 
 faded, Berris looked at it for a minute or two 
 and his lip quivered. Then he went out to the 
 wood-shed and got a tomahawk. He slashed at 
 the piano savagely as though it had been a living 
 enemy, and the wires, set jangling, gave out a 
 strangely human sound of pain. When the 
 instrument lay in pieces he took up the bits one 
 by one in his arms, all his savageness gone, and 
 carried them almost tenderly out to the garden. 
 There he piled them together, and taking a 
 match from the battered silver box that was in 
 a pouch at his belt strap, he set the pyre alight 
 and stood watching it burn. His face showed a 
 curious pallor under the skin, which was hard and 
 red with sunburn, and there was a fierce far- 
 away look in his bloodshot eyes. He did not any 
 
 232
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 longer deserve his nickname of Bush-fire Berris, 
 for his flaming hair and beard were now snow- 
 white, and even the thick eyebrows, that had once 
 been red, hung in grey wisps over his bright, 
 miserable eyes, which appeared to have shrunk 
 in their wrinkled sockets. He had lost flesh 
 greatly and his gaunt frame was bowed. Once 
 " boss " had been written unmistakably in his gait 
 and carriage. Now he looked a broken-down 
 old man with nothing of command about him. 
 
 Near the house, and close by where he burned 
 the piano, there was a skeleton gum tree that had 
 been covered with passion- vines. But lately, 
 for some reason or other, the vines had withered 
 and the stems hung dead from the bare limbs of 
 the gum tree. On one of these was perched a 
 large grey kingfisher — the bird that is called a 
 laughing-jackass by the whites and kookaburra 
 by some tribes of blacks. It had its head cocked 
 knowingly and seemed to be looking with a 
 malicious sideway gaze at poor old Berris's 
 holocaust. Suddenly it burst into raucous peals 
 of fiendish laughter, and that was more than the 
 old man could bear. 
 
 He looked up and shook his fist at the 
 
 bird. 
 
 233
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 "Damn you!" he said. "You think it's all 
 a mighty fine joke, do you? Well, now, we shall 
 see how you like it! " 
 
 He took his loaded revolver from his belt and 
 shot the thing stone dead. It fell, a lump of 
 grey feathers, at his feet. He picked it up, flung 
 it upon the burning pile, and turning on his heel, 
 went back to the house. 
 
 They had crossed Boggo Creek, and by-and-by 
 
 the station was out of sight. Old Berris drove 
 
 the dray with its two lean horses, which, being 
 
 weak, went stumblingly. At first he swore at 
 
 them, then relapsed into brooding silence and 
 
 never turned his head to take a last look at his old 
 
 home. Two cattle dogs, lean like the horses, and 
 
 old and dejected like their master, followed the 
 
 dray. Miles Berris rode ahead with a black-boy, 
 
 each of them leading a pack horse. It was a 
 
 melancholy procession. Miles did not dare to 
 
 speak to his father until they had passed the 
 
 boundary of Boggo Station. When he turned 
 
 back to the dray he saw that the old man was 
 
 humped forwards on his seat, staring ahead in a 
 
 bright-fixed way and with the reins falling loose 
 
 in his hands. 
 
 234
 
 Old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 " All right, father? " the young man asked a 
 little anxiously. 
 
 " Eh — what? " Old Berris started and looked 
 at his son in a vacant manner. " What did you 
 say? » 
 
 " You're all right, father? " Miles asked again, 
 reining in his horse and riding close to the 
 dray. 
 
 The old man's abstracted look cleared a 
 little and he smiled a quavering smile. " Don't 
 you worry yourself, sonny. That's all right. 
 We've turned our backs on the old place now. 
 Berris of Boggo's bust up — wiped off. But the 
 old man ain't going to peg out just yet — not just 
 yet, my son." 
 
 Miles thought his father's voice sounded 
 strained and unlike itself. The offside horse 
 stopped to nibble at the leaves of a young gum 
 tree, and Mr Berris did not seem to notice that 
 the dray was not moving. Miles bent over from 
 his own horse, and picking up the reins, tightened 
 them in his father's hand and started the dray 
 horse on once more. 
 
 " Holding him a bit slack," he said, and added 
 
 abruptly, " I say, have you got anything in your 
 
 flask, dad? " 
 
 235
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " No, sonny. It's the Bank's liquor now. I 
 wasn't going to ask for the store key again after 
 I'd once given it up." 
 
 " Well, I did then. Here, hold hard a minute. 
 You've got to take this." The young man pulled 
 a flask out of his own pocket, poured some rum 
 from it into the cup, and unscrewing the nozzle 
 of his water-bag, mixed a stiff drink and made 
 his father swallow it. 
 
 "A bit shaky, dad, eh? That'll screw you 
 together." 
 
 " Ay, a bit shaky," the old man repeated. 
 
 " Old bones don't stand moving — not so well as 
 
 when they were young ones. Twenty-six years 
 
 it is since I took up Boggo — the furthest-out 
 
 white man in the district I was — and past my 
 
 prime even then. But I haven't blued my last 
 
 cheque yet, boy. . . . There's a kick in the old 
 
 horse stiU. . . . Come, gee up, you crawlers, 
 
 will you! " and he gave the horses a flick with 
 
 his whip, and straightening himself set his face 
 
 resolutely towards the Razor-back Range, on 
 
 the other side of which lay the Gap Selection. 
 
 It was at the further end of the gorge, between 
 
 those two peaks, where in a certain gully Brenda 
 
 Vallis and her husband had once found what they 
 
 236
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 had taken for gold but which turned out to be 
 only iron pyrites. 
 
 Berris and his son picked up the black-boys 
 with their little mob of cattle and horses, and 
 about sundown reached the Gap Hut. It was 
 no more than an outrider's hut of the very 
 roughest description, built of untrimmed saplings, 
 clumsily split slabs and sheets of bark, with a big 
 slab chimney at one end, and an earthen-floored 
 verandah outside, the cross rafters of which were 
 fixed into two young gidia trees. These served 
 a double purpose in that they likewise gave as 
 much shade to the verandah as their scanty, 
 dried-up foliage was capable of affording. 
 
 Nothing more dismal in appearance could well 
 be imagined than the Gap Selection. 
 
 The hut stood in a gidia clearing, and round it 
 lay some skeletons of felled trees, with the stumps 
 left, a few of which were sprouting anew. A 
 little way off was a rough yard that had been 
 used for Boggo cattle which had strayed on to 
 neighbours' runs. Otherwise, the place had been 
 but httle frequented, and in the matter of improve- 
 ments the regulations of the Selections Act had 
 been barely complied with. Old Berris's sole 
 
 object in taking up these acres of poor country 
 
 237
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 had been to secure the privacy of his wife's 
 grave. That was higher up the ridge under a 
 clump of wattle trees. . . . 
 
 The black boys yarded the beasts and prepared 
 their own camp by the stockyard, while Miles 
 Berris set to work unloading the dray and making 
 the hut habitable, first lighting a fire, for it was 
 the winter season, and though the days were warm 
 the nights struck chill. The hut consisted of only 
 one room with an earthen floor. It had a table 
 in the middle of slabs nailed on to posts set in the 
 ground, some rude cupboard arrangements, a 
 settle on either side of the fireplace, two sleeping 
 bunks against the further wall, a shelf or two, a 
 few three-legged stools, and its one luxury, a 
 large squatter's chair, which had been brought 
 over from Boggo. Old Berris looked round the 
 dismal, unlined room and sank into the squatter's 
 chair, where he sat huddled forward in brooding 
 silence. 
 
 It seemed to Miles that with his father's re- 
 moval from his old home all the spirit had gone 
 out of him. He who was usually so fussy over 
 the small domestic economies of the bush, and 
 had been famed in his day for all sorts of con- 
 trivances for comfort when camping out, did not 
 
 338
 
 old Bcrris of Boggo Creek 
 
 even trouble himself to spread the blankets on the 
 
 sleeping bunks when Miles, after unloading the 
 
 dray, brought in the things needed for the night. 
 
 It was Miles who arranged everything, and the 
 
 young man worked with a will for he wished to 
 
 prevent himself from thinking. 
 
 Soon he had the billy on the fire for tea, a 
 
 damper cooking in the ashes and a piece of salt 
 
 junk in the pot. The fire blazed up merrily, and 
 
 the hut began to take on some faint semblance 
 
 of home. But Miles's heart sank, and it was all 
 
 he could do not to add to his father's depression by 
 
 making it apparent that he was himself depressed. 
 
 He could not bear to think of leaving his father 
 
 to begin life again in this way, as any swagman 
 
 or fencer n.ight have done — his father who had 
 
 been boss of Boggo for twenty-five years and the 
 
 most masterful man on the Leura. But Miles 
 
 could do nothing more. He had to go on the 
 
 droving job he had undertaken and could only 
 
 be thankful that he had a few days to devote to 
 
 settling in his father before starting on his trip. 
 
 As he bustled round he reflected that he would 
 
 call at Kooroon, the Vallis's station, and try and 
 
 get a man called Joe Farridge — who had been 
 
 doing some odd jobs there, and whom Vallis 
 
 239
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 could not afford to keep any longer — to come and 
 be his father's mate for a while. 
 
 They had their supper, and, after it, sat and 
 smoked. But there was none of the friendly 
 yarning about the stock, the day's work, and 
 the work of the morrow with which they had been 
 wont to pass other evenings when they had 
 camped at the Gap to yard cattle or give their 
 horses a spell on a journey to and from Gunda- 
 bine. Miles had usually enjoyed those expedi- 
 tions, for they made a change in the Boggo 
 routine. Even the mournful memories awakened 
 by that grave under the wattles had been shaken 
 off by his father when there was practical bush 
 work to be done. But to-night everything was 
 different and there were moments when the 
 oppression seemed almost unendurable. Mr 
 Berris made no attempt to louse himself from 
 his gloom. He sat in the same huddled position, 
 staring into the fire, not responding to his son's 
 attempts at conversation and letting his pipe go 
 out every now and then for want of will to draw 
 it. 
 
 A westerly wind, such as sweeps over the 
 
 plains and along the gullies in winter time, came 
 
 howling down the great chimney and through the 
 
 240
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 cracks in the slabs. It had the keening sound of 
 death-spirits in the bush — of the dead men who 
 ride, and of the blacks' debil-debil let loose. 
 Miles went out to fetch in some wood so as to keep 
 the fire up through the night. To his surprise, 
 the old man got up and followed him, and they 
 stood at the end of the verandah looking out at 
 the waste. The moon had risen. She was in 
 her third quarter and threw grotesque shadows 
 among the corpses of trees that lay around in the 
 clearing. Away, blocking the horizon, spread an 
 indefinite blur of forest, upon which the black 
 stems of the gidia trees were painted as in Indian 
 ink, while here and there a white gum stretched 
 forth gaunt, pale arms as of some monstrous 
 beckoning ghost. The bush seemed to call to 
 them in a multitude of uncanny voices — those 
 voices of the Australian wild, which do not re- 
 semble the sounds to be heard in any other wild. 
 Here the desolation was primeval, titanic. There 
 was something horrible, something remorseless 
 in it. Yet Miles Berris's pulses tingled to the 
 spell of the bush, although his soul rose up in 
 fierce upbraiding against this cruel foster-mother 
 who had brought them into such a dreary 
 
 strait. 
 
 Q 241
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 The same thought apparently rose in his father's 
 mind. As he stood there, old Berris shook his 
 iist at the vast encompassing solitude, much in 
 the way that he had shaken it at the laughing- 
 jackass that morning. . . . And he cursed the 
 bush as he had cursed the mocking bird. 
 
 " Damn you! " he cried. " Blast you for what 
 you've done to me and mine. I've given you 
 forty years of my life. I've given you my Janie. 
 I've given you the labour of my hands and the 
 sweat of my body, and here, in my old age — this 
 is how you serve me ! I don't want any more of 
 you. You've had all the strength of my manhood 
 and the blood of my heart. . . . Now you can 
 take what's left, and that's nothing but my 
 bones." 
 
 The old voice, which had flamed up in momen- 
 tary excitement, sank into a whimper. Mr 
 Berris leaned in a broken way against the gidia 
 tree that supported the beam of the verandah. 
 His eyes were straining up through the clearing 
 to that clump of wattle on the ridge through 
 which something white shone in the moonlight. 
 
 " The stone's sunk a bit to one side," he 
 
 muttered. " I must see to that. ..." Then 
 
 he quavered off in impotent rage. ... " Some 
 
 242
 
 old Berris of Boggo Creek 
 
 d d bandicoot's been rootling round under the 
 
 fence. . . . Couldn't leave that even as I set 
 it. I must shoot 'em — shoot 'em," he muttered. 
 
 Miles took the old man by the shoulder and led 
 him back into the living-room. He put him into 
 his seat by the fire. 
 
 " Stop there, father, while I go and fetch in 
 some more wood," he said, and tried to steady 
 the shake in his own voice. " Those confounded 
 black-boys haven't chopped any logs as I told 
 them, and they'll just have to go and bring up 
 some of those dead ones from outside." 
 
 The old man submitted, but he still muttered 
 incoherently to himself as Miles left the room to 
 go to the black-boys' camp. Miles was away not 
 more than a quarter of an hour. When he came 
 back, the hut was empty. He went out again 
 and coo-eed, but there was no answering coo-ee. 
 Then it struck him that his father had gone up 
 the ridge, and he himself mounted the incline. 
 He had gone only about half-way when he heard 
 a revolver shot. 
 
 His heart was gripped by fear, but he remem- 
 bered what his father had said about shooting the 
 bandicoots and supposed that he had fired at 
 
 one or at an opossum. Nevertheless, Miles 
 
 243
 
 The Luck of the I>eiira 
 
 quickened his steps almost to a run as he gained 
 the brow of the ridge. 
 
 His mother's grave was near the top. A large 
 white gum tree grew to one side of the paling and 
 at the foot was a clump of wattle. The wattles 
 were now a mass of feathery yellow bloom, and 
 the plumes, tossed by the v/ind, gave out strong 
 whiffs of fragrance. The grave was enclosed by 
 a grey paling fence with a gate, of which old 
 Berris kept the key. Above the pahng showed 
 the headpiece of a tall, white, marble cross. It 
 dipped slightly to one side from the subsidence of 
 the soil. There was no sign of any living thing 
 near. Stepping close, however. Miles saw that 
 the little gate stood open. Now, blending with 
 the scent of the wattle, he became conscious of 
 the perfume of wild jessamine, which was planted 
 within the fence. He became aware, too, of an 
 object stretched upon the mound — the form of 
 a man — and bending over it. Miles Berris realised 
 that it was the body of his father with the revolver 
 still clasped in his dead hand. 
 
 244
 
 VII 
 
 AUREA 
 
 It was ten years since that Christmas Day at 
 Kooroon when the mail-man brought Forbes 
 ValHs and Brenda his wife the disappointing news 
 that the gold-find, as they supposed it, on which 
 they had counted to pay off the station debt, was 
 no gold-find at all. In fact, that the yellow 
 streaks in those lumps of ore which they had 
 buried hastily, for fear the Lone Fossicker might 
 discover them, were not streaks of gold but only 
 the deceiving iridescence of iron pyrites — iron 
 pirates, as poor old Bush-fire Berris had called 
 them. 
 
 Sometimes since they had laughed sadly at the 
 thought of that grave on the Razor-back Range 
 wherein they had laid the iron pirates, for whom, 
 as old Berris had said, there was no hope of a 
 glorious resurrection. 
 
 Poor old Berris had shot himself after the 
 
 Bank came down on Boggo Creek Station, and 
 
 245
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Miles had gone away and taken up country in the 
 unsettled districts on the Gulf of Carpentaria. 
 
 Times were changed on the Leura. That 
 Christmas season of Brenda Vallis's bridal home- 
 coming was almost the last good season the Leura 
 squatters had known. The great plains were now 
 parched and barren deserts, overgrown with 
 thorny spinnifex — the only plant that flourishes 
 in drought. The water-holes were dry. Even 
 the lagoon below the house was a misery to behold, 
 for the water had receded, leaving banks of mud 
 that caked on the surface, but were stiff bogs 
 underneath, in which the beasts died when they 
 went to drink, because they were too weak to 
 extricate themselves. In the long spells of 
 drought, cattle had died by thousands and sheep 
 by tens of thousands. Prices had gone down. 
 The Australian Consolidated Bank was as a hungry 
 monster whose jaws closed relentlessly upon the 
 ruined squatters. Boggo Creek was in the hands 
 of a Bank manager. Teelbar had been sold up. 
 Mr Chippindall had started as a stock-and-station 
 agent in Gundabine, and Jimmy Holt was over- 
 seer of a sheep station lower down the Leura. 
 Forbes Vallis was the only one of the little party 
 
 that had assembled that Christmas Day ten years 
 
 246
 
 Aurea 
 
 before who had kept his end up, as the Bush 
 people phrase it. But it had been a hard struggle, 
 and often he wondered whether it would not have 
 been better had he gone under like the rest and 
 begun life again under different conditions. They 
 could not have managed to work the station had 
 it not been that Brenda came into a little money 
 on the death of her father. It was only three 
 hundred a year, with the principal strictly tied 
 up, and three hundred a year does not go very 
 far in the expenses of a big station. But that 
 assured income made all the difference to Forbes 
 Vallis and his wife, enabling them to hang on to 
 their home when the squatters around them had 
 been turned out of theirs. 
 
 The woman always pays, and naturally Brenda 
 suffered most, in the physical sense as well as in 
 the mental. Her little bush luxuries, such as 
 they were, fell away from her one by one. In 
 spite of her husband's protestations, and to his 
 genuine distress, she had to do all those things 
 which he had declared should never be required 
 of her — the sort of things which fall to the lot of 
 struggling squatters' wives away in the Never- 
 Never. After two or three bad musters of the 
 
 cattle on the run, which had showed too plainly 
 
 247
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 how small the herd had become, Wah Hong, the 
 Chinese gardener, had been sent away, and with 
 his departure the supply of fresh green vegetables 
 came more or less to an end. With the further 
 pinch of misfortune, Chen Sing, the cook, had 
 been dismissed also and a cheap Malay servant 
 taken in his stead. There too the difference had 
 been sorely felt by poor Brenda. Then the bi- 
 ennial trip south had to be given up — that was 
 indeed their first economy, and in a variety of 
 ways the expenses of the station were reduced. 
 There came times when Brenda's household staff 
 fell to the Malay and a black-gin. 
 
 Ten years out back! Ten years of a terrible 
 climate — scorching heat, drought or floods — 
 there was no medium on the Leura; plagues of 
 insects, sandy-blight, dengue fever! — all the ills 
 at which old Berris had hinted. It was no 
 wonder that those ten years had left their mark 
 on the once beautiful Brenda. Alas! she was 
 beautiful no longer. The misfortune that she 
 had so dreaded came to pass. She had lost her 
 looks, and sometimes she fancied that she had 
 lost her husband's love with them. That was not 
 true, however. It was only that Forbes Vallis 
 
 had too many practical worries to care nowadays 
 
 248
 
 Aurea 
 
 whether or not his aesthetic tastes were gratified. 
 He was too busy in keeping down the debt to the 
 Bank to find enjoyment in playing the lover. 
 That was all. For Brenda must always be Brenda. 
 Even though the peach-bloom had gone, leav- 
 ing a skin tanned and coarsened by exposure to 
 the weather during days when she had helped her 
 husband on the run, or, shielded only by a bough- 
 shade, had stood over washing tubs, or had 
 scorched her face in the kitchen cooking station 
 meals during the absence of the Malay employed 
 elsewhere. Fever had withered her limbs and 
 dug furrows in her face. The golden hair had 
 grown lustreless and scanty; the violet eyes, with 
 their haunting, Cenci look, were contracted and 
 watery from blight, the rims reddened, and the 
 lashes gone from use of sulphate of zinc. At this 
 time they were almost sightless, and she had to 
 sit in a darkened room, or else cover them with a 
 bandage or green shade. 
 
 At thirty-two Brenda was a wreck. But 
 Forbes, though careworn, roughened and slightly 
 grey, was still handsome, with the old soft, plead- 
 ing glance and attractive smile. He could be his 
 old charming self when things went fairly right; 
 
 when trouble pressed he became irritable. But 
 
 249
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 his nature was more elastic than Brenda's. 
 Then, too, his Hfe was less monotonous. He did 
 not have to stay always in the Bush. Sometimes 
 he went to town to arrange matters with the 
 Bank and transact other station business. He 
 was not forever weighed down by the horrible 
 bush grind, the sordid bush hardships. They 
 had no children now. Brenda's first child, born 
 prematurely, had all but cost its mother her life. 
 For there was no doctor nearer than Gundabine 
 — fifty miles away, and Dr Rowth had not been 
 able to arrive in time to save the little one and 
 had come only just in time to bring Brenda back 
 from the gates of death. The second child — a 
 little girl — had lived till it was three, and had 
 then died of dengue fever. There had been no 
 more. Sometimes she was glad of this, sometimes 
 sorry. In her dreary moods she would tell her- 
 self that the love of her daughter must have 
 brought some sweetness and poetry into her life, 
 and might perhaps have replaced the romantic 
 passion she had felt for her husband, which 
 seemed of late to have turned to bitterness. 
 Brenda fretted and pined; she could not live 
 without an emotion. 
 
 Then, one English mail day, about three years 
 
 250
 
 Aiirea 
 
 after her father's death, there came a gleam of 
 
 brightness upon Brenda ValHs's horizon. Her 
 
 sister, Aurea Thelwall, wrote from England to 
 
 say that she was coming out to spend a year at 
 
 Kooroon. 
 
 " Mother is going to be married again," wrote 
 
 Aurea, " but she is telling you herself all about 
 
 that, so I shall say nothing, except that I don't 
 
 care much about our future step-papa and that 
 
 I'm leaving to better myself as the under-maids 
 
 say. Now, you know, Brenda dear, I've always 
 
 had a passion for a wild free life, and I've simply 
 
 longed to pay you a visit in the Bush. Oh, yes, 
 
 I understand all about the drought and the bad 
 
 times and the climate and everything that you've 
 
 been writing about, which seems dreadful, but 
 
 doesn't put me off in the least. For you see, I 
 
 think I might be of some use, if it were only in 
 
 saving your eyes, poor dear, and nursing you and 
 
 seeing after Forbes's comforts a little bit. I 
 
 can ride, anyway, and daresay Forbes could teach 
 
 me to crack a stock-whip, if that's necessary. And 
 
 I love hot weather and beasts, and don't mind 
 
 white ants or black-fellows — black humans, I 
 
 mean, if you can call them humans — not black 
 
 ants — and I think I might possibly get used to 
 
 251
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 centipedes and snakes. At all events, I'm going 
 to try. You remember, Brenda, it was a promise 
 when you married that I should come out to you. 
 Well, please, will you have me? But I shall 
 not give you and Forbes time to say no. Here 
 I am in London getting my things, while mammy 
 is buying her trousseau. Doesn't that sound 
 dreadful, Brenda? I could cry if I would let 
 myself — I've wept buckets already thinking of 
 dear old dad — but there's no use in spoiling one's 
 eyes. I do detest elderly brides and bride- 
 grooms. And when the bride is one's own 
 mother! However, I suppose I may be thankful 
 that I am not engaged to a curate, that I came of 
 age last year, and that I have got my own income. 
 Three hundred a year isn't immense, but at least, 
 with the accumulations, it will take me a trip to 
 Australia. I may rejoice likewise that the 
 India sails via Torres Straits on the day after 
 the wedding, which is to be four weeks from to- 
 day. Therefore I shall be arriving at Towns- 
 ville, which I gather is your port, about the 
 twentieth of September, and I hope that Forbes 
 may be there to meet me, or that he will arrange 
 for my being met and brought up to your 
 
 station, . , ." 
 
 252
 
 Aurea 
 
 That was the gist of Aurea's letter in so far as 
 it immediately concerned Brenda. Miss Thel- 
 wall had been determined to forestall opposition, 
 since it appeared that when she wrote her passage 
 was already booked, and that therefore she must 
 be on her way. A glance through the shipping 
 telegrams of some back Queenslanders gave the 
 points at which the India had touched. 
 
 And now an odd meeting took place. When 
 
 the India put in at Thursday Island a young 
 
 man of the name of Miles Berris was carried on 
 
 board. He was down with Gulf fever and in a 
 
 pretty bad way. As the mail-boat steamed into 
 
 Townsville harbour, Miles hobbled up on deck 
 
 for the first time, and there, to his surprise, he 
 
 saw a beautiful English girl, with golden hair 
 
 and violet eyes, dressed in a tailor-made linen 
 
 dress and with tan shoes and tan silk stockings on 
 
 her slender arched feet. These all reminded 
 
 him of another linen dress and other shapely feet 
 
 which at the time had impressed his boyish 
 
 imagination. In fact, he beheld the exact replica 
 
 of Brenda Vallis as she had looked one day ten 
 
 years before when he, Miles, had gone with his 
 
 father and the Teelbar men to pay a wedding 
 
 call. He surmised at once that this was Mrs 
 
 353
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Vallis's sister, the original of that photograph of 
 the jolly little kid, as he had called her, with the 
 mane of hair and the thin black legs coming from 
 under her short frock. 
 
 He had not heard that Mrs Vallis was expect- 
 ing her sister, and was so astonished that when 
 the boat gave a lurch — for Townsville Bay is 
 sometimes rough — he, being weak and shaky, 
 lost his balance, and pitched on to the bulwark, 
 almost against the girl. 
 
 Aurea turned, and seeing the gaunt form and 
 haggard face — pale through its sunburn — realised 
 that the man was ill, also that he was a gentle- 
 man, and went to his assistance. There were 
 very few other passengers on deck, and every- 
 body was too much interested in the view of 
 Townsville to pay any attention to young Berris. 
 
 " I hope you didn't hurt yourself," said the girl, 
 with the frank solicitude she would have shown 
 to any stranger in the hunt of which her father 
 had been master and to whom an accident had 
 befallen. 
 
 "I'm afraid you're rather shaken. You don't 
 
 seem to be very well," she said, for she could not 
 
 help seeing that the young man had winced with 
 
 pain. He had knocked a suppurated wound 
 
 254
 
 Aurea 
 
 against an iron hook inside the bulwarks, and 
 for a minute or two suffered agony. 
 
 " Oh, do tell me if I can do anything? " Aurea 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 He made an effort to appear unconcerned, and 
 laughed as he clutched at the rail to steady 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh ! dear, no. I'm quite all right, thank you. 
 Only a bit wobbly after Gulf fever, and I happen 
 to have a lame leg where a black-fellow put a 
 spear into me." 
 
 The girl looked interested. *' I wonder if you 
 are that terrible person the captain was talking 
 about who shoots black-fellows? " she said, gazing 
 at him with childlike awe, in which there was 
 a touch of rebuke. 
 
 " I'm much too fond of the blacks to shoot one 
 of them except in self-defence," he said, " as you 
 would understand if you had heard exactly how 
 it happened." 
 
 " I should like very much to hear," she replied 
 gravely, " but I'm afraid that I shall not have 
 the opportunity." 
 
 "Oh! well, it isn't much to hear — but some 
 
 day perhaps," he answered, smiling. " And I'm 
 
 pretty sure we shall meet again before long — that 
 
 255
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 is if you are leaving the boat at Townsville, as I 
 suppose you will do." 
 
 " Why, how did you guess that? " she asked. 
 
 " Because I think I know who you are, and I'm 
 going up to the same part of the country." 
 
 "No, really! Who am I then?" 
 
 " You are Mrs Vallis's sister. I've seen your 
 photograph. Besides, you're the image of her — 
 at least, of what she was when she first came up 
 to the Leura. Your name is Aurea. I don't 
 seem to remember your surname." 
 
 " I am Aurea Thelwall. And you? " 
 
 " My name is Miles Berris. My poor old father 
 had the station next to Vallis's— the Bank has 
 got it now. When I'm a little more fit — I shall 
 put myself under Dr Rowth of Gundabine— I'm 
 going up to make my camp in a humpey on 
 Razor-back Range, which is the boundary of 
 Kooroon on that side. Then of course I shall 
 ride over, and naturally I shall see you. Now 
 you know all about me." That was how Aurea 
 and Miles Berris first made each other's acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 When the boat anchored at Townsville, Forbes 
 
 Vallis was there to meet his sister-in-law. Aurea 
 
 could not help showing that she was shocked at 
 
 256
 
 Aurea 
 
 the change in him, and he in his turn received a 
 sense of shock, for Aurea was so hke what his 
 wife had been that she took him back in a leap 
 to the days when he had copied the Cenci picture 
 as the portrait of his ideal Brenda, Aurea made 
 him realise how he himself had changed and how 
 far off those days were. He had long ceased to 
 compare Brenda with the picture in the Bar- 
 berini Palace at Rome. 
 
 The three — Aurea, Vallis and Miles Berris — 
 went together by train to Gundabine and put up 
 at Quinlan's Rest. The shanty had become even 
 more severely respectable. Mother Quinlan had 
 given up her " Weaners' Paddock " and was 
 talking of retiring into private life on the Selec- 
 tion, now that her second daughter was well 
 married. For young Thompson, her husband, 
 had been one of the lucky ones and had sold out 
 of the Leura before the bad times settled upon it. 
 
 Miles Berris promised to appear later at 
 Kooroon, but meanwhile he remained at Quin- 
 lan's Rest to be treated by Dr Rowth. Vallis 
 arranged that the doctor should spell his horses at 
 Kooroon and have a look at Brenda's eyes, so 
 soon as he should be called to any case on the 
 Upper Leura. Then Vallis and Aurea started in 
 
 R 257
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 the buggy, with the pair of lean horses and the 
 black-boy riding behind, to do the two days' 
 stage to Kooroon. It was compulsory now that 
 Aurea should have a taste of bush camping-out. 
 But Vallis sadly recalled the fat years when he 
 had driven his four-in-hand with a change of 
 teams half-way and covered the whole fifty miles 
 in one day. 
 
 Brenda sat in her darkened room waiting for 
 her sister's coming. She was suffering acutely 
 from the inflammation in her eyes, which she had 
 increased by raising her bandage in order to 
 superintend the better such preparations as she 
 had been able to make for Aurea's comfort. 
 They were not very grand preparations, and 
 Brenda thought how strange Aurea's room would 
 seem to her after that to which she had been 
 accustomed in the Manor House. White ants 
 had committed ravages in it. They had made a 
 hole in the carpet, had built a nest upon the book- 
 shelves and devoured the best part of a wardrobe. 
 They had even got into the flour in the store, and 
 it was one of Brenda's nightmares that she was 
 being eaten alive by them. And how would 
 Aurea enjoy killing the gigantic black scorpions 
 
 which appeared there in hot, muggy weather, 
 
 258
 
 Aurea 
 
 and the enormous centipedes that were some- 
 times seen running over the boards? 
 
 The room which Aurea was to occupy had been 
 Brenda's own and was next the drawing-room, 
 of which the young bride had been so proud, but 
 which had grown shabby and faded now. 
 Latterly, Brenda had taken to occupying the 
 ancient humpey, which was darker than the 
 newer building. She had found the glare of the 
 open verandah and the reflection from the zinc 
 roof trying to her poor, inflamed eyes, and pre- 
 ferred the old, low, bark-roofed cottage level with 
 the ground and shaded by the trees of the garden. 
 There she spent most of her time in two rooms 
 from which the light was excluded by thick blue 
 blankets hung over the windows and doorways. 
 AU along the front of the old humpey ran a deep 
 verandah closed in by passion-vines and native 
 cucumber, and a flight of steps at the end of it 
 led up to the higher wing. Brenda's rooms were 
 at the further end of the verandah, and beyond 
 them was a shady vine trellis which made them 
 still darker and cooler. Here she would sit and 
 knit — the only occupation that did not require 
 eyesight — with cooling bandages upon the ach- 
 ing eyeballs. To-day the pain had been intense, 
 
 259
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 and she had been obliged to find reHef in a lotion 
 of laudanum, of which she always kept a supply. 
 
 When the buggy wheels sounded outside, and 
 presently footsteps came along the verandah, 
 the blind woman put down her knitting and went 
 to the door to receive her sister. But as soon as 
 she lifted the blue blanket the sun-glare outside 
 stabbed her eyes anew and she was obliged to go 
 back into the dimness of her chamber. 
 
 Her husband and her sister burst in, Forbes 
 crying, " Here is Aurea! " in a voice that struck 
 Brenda as curiously elated and happy. Then 
 Aurea approached, and, as it were, enveloped the 
 suffering woman in the atmosphere of another 
 world. Brenda could feel the life, beauty and 
 joyousness of the young creature who took the 
 elder woman in her arms and kissed her and wept 
 and laughed by turns. Brenda could feel, too, 
 in the ring of Forbes's voice and the pleased excite- 
 ment of his manner, that he also was strongly 
 affected by the influence of Aurea's personality 
 and of Aurea's world. He sounded more like 
 his old self than he had seemed for long past, and 
 in an unaccountable way the realisation of this 
 hurt Brenda. 
 
 They talked for a little while, sitting in the 
 
 260
 
 Aurea 
 
 shadow. Then Forbes begged that the curtain 
 might be drawn sHghtly, and he himself tied the 
 big green shade round Brenda's forehead to shield 
 her eyes while he lifted the bandage sufficiently for 
 her to see Aurea. He appeared as anxious for 
 Brenda to see Aurea as though he had been an 
 art connoisseur exhibiting a wonderful picture 
 of which he had recently got possession. Brenda 
 submitted. The interest of her sister's arrival 
 had dulled her pain. As her unaccustomed eyes 
 moved slowly in the direction of Forbes's voice, 
 when he had drawn back a few steps, her gaze 
 was arrested by the reflection of two figures in 
 a long mirror opposite — both, it seemed, images 
 of herself. The one showed her as she now was, 
 shrunken, battered, prematurely aged, the bloom 
 of her skin, the brightness of her hair and all her 
 beauty departed from her, the eyes and brow, 
 that had been her best features, hidden by that 
 disfiguring green shade. The other image showed 
 her what she had been when Forbes married her. 
 There she beheld the slim, lithe form, the delicate 
 oval face, the pure brows, the haunting eyes, full 
 now of an unutterable compassion, the peach- 
 like complexion, the shining golden hair — all 
 
 that the looking-glass had been wont to give her 
 
 261
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 back in the days of her youth and loveliness. . . . 
 There was yet another image reflected in the glass 
 — she saw it now looking out of the shadows — 
 the figure of her husband, and his gaze was fixed 
 on Aurea — that dear, admiring gaze which she 
 had once said she would die rather than see 
 changed to one of distaste and repulsion. . . . 
 It was long, long since she had met that gaze 
 fixed upon herself. Kind, tender as his eyes 
 still were always when they looked at his wife, 
 there was only pity in them, not admiration. 
 
 Brenda gave a startled cry, and Forbes ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " Ah! you see it too, my poor Brenda. Aurea 
 is the very counterpart of you as you were when 
 I first fell in love with you. Well, my dear," 
 and he laughed in the old cheery manner, " it 
 seems to me that I am especially blest. A man 
 doesn't expect to find his ideal of beauty per- 
 sonified twice in his lifetime. There, Aurea, 
 what do you think of that for a compliment? 
 Don't you tell me again that the bush has rubbed 
 all the polish off me, and that I've forgotten how 
 to make pretty speeches. You'll lick me into 
 shape before very long. . . . But, I say, old 
 
 woman — what is the matter? " 
 
 262
 
 Aurea 
 
 Brenda had grown very white. She tottered, 
 and stretching out her arms helplessly, let Forbes 
 draw down the bandage and put her back into 
 her chair. 
 
 " She couldn't stand the light. . . . She's had 
 nobody to take care of her while I've been away — 
 except the stockman's wife," he explained to 
 Aurea. " I'm thankful I settled with Rowth to 
 come up and see to her. . . . There, old woman, 
 we'll draw the curtain, and you shall be in your 
 dear old darkness again. It's been just a bit too 
 much for you. . . . Don't you bother about 
 showing Aurea her room. She knows what she 
 has come to, and as she didn't give us the chance 
 of refusing to have her, she must put up with 
 bush fare. Come along, Aurea, I'll show you 
 your diggings, and the sooner you learn to fend 
 for yourself, and for Brenda too, the better for 
 you and for us." 
 
 Aurea laughed, but there was a sobbing note 
 in the laugh. She let Forbes take her up the 
 verandah steps to her quarters in the other build- 
 ing, and Brenda heard him as they went explain- 
 ing the bearings of the place to the new-comer in 
 his most brotherly and charming manner, while 
 
 Aurea gave interested exclamations and asked 
 
 263
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 little practical questions with the object, as it 
 appeared, of giving least trouble and being most 
 useful to the blind mistress of Kooroon. Brenda 
 turned on her pillow, for they had made her lie 
 down in the darkness of the inner bedroom, and 
 wept in the bitterness of her soul and blamed 
 herself for not feeling gladder that Forbes had a 
 companion and she a strong, beautiful sister to 
 supplement her own deficiencies. It was only 
 human nature that she should feel a little bitter, 
 but she was horribly ashamed of herself and did 
 not know how to make up to Aurea for her involun- 
 tary spasm of jealousy. 
 
 But Aurea had not the faintest suspicion of 
 having hurt her sister, and certainly did not want 
 to be made up to. What she wanted was to take 
 care of Brenda, for whom her heart was wrung 
 with emotion. She was a strong, capable, 
 womanly young woman, who took command of 
 the situation as she had taken command of the 
 poor people in her father's village and of the 
 hounds in her father's kennels, not to mention 
 all the lame, halt and otherwise disabled creatures 
 with whom she had in her short life come in con- 
 tact. The only exception in her scheme of 
 
 boundless sympathy was apparently " step- 
 
 264
 
 Aurea 
 
 papa." Aurea was overflowing with humanity, 
 
 as young and prosperous and happy people often 
 
 are — as Brenda herself had been not so many 
 
 years ago, before the bush had soured her spirit 
 
 and made her morbid. 
 
 When Aurea came back to Brenda, she seemed 
 
 to have put herself entirely on one side and to 
 
 have no object on earth outside the ministering 
 
 to her helpless sister. She sat with Brenda all 
 
 the rest of the afternoon and evening, doing for 
 
 her a hundred small services with a feminine 
 
 delicacy and skill to which Brenda had long been 
 
 unaccustomed. The jarred nerves of the elder 
 
 woman could not fail to be soothed by the touch 
 
 of Aurea's cool, deft fingers, when they changed 
 
 the bandages on her eyes and renewed the lotions. 
 
 For Aurea had tried nursing as an interest when 
 
 her father's death deprived her of that of hunting, 
 
 and she had taken lessons in domestic work and 
 
 had qualified herself generally for life in the 
 
 backwoods — always, she confided to Brenda, 
 
 with a view to visiting Australia so soon as she 
 
 should become her own mistress. The bush had 
 
 no terrors for Aurea. To-morrow, she declared, 
 
 she meant to poke about, make friends with the 
 
 establishment and see what she could do " for 
 
 265
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 her tucker." She had already discovered a 
 white ants' nest and was taking measures to 
 exterminate the flourishing colony therein. She 
 had made acquaintance with the Malay cook 
 and had propitiated the stockman's wife by a 
 timely present to the stockman's wife's little 
 girl, who did most of the waiting on Brenda. 
 
 As the days went on, Aurea made herself more 
 and more of an acquisition. Somehow Brenda 
 found herself provided once more with a few of 
 the old palliatives to bush discomfort. A dray 
 went down to Gundabine shortly after Aurea's 
 arrival, and it turned out that the young English 
 lady, who had a few hundreds of the accumula- 
 tions of her minority at command, had despatched 
 an order to the stores on her own account. For 
 there came up an ice-machine, sundry cases of 
 port wine, bottled stout, and one even of cham- 
 pagne, and numberless other small luxuries, 
 which for a long time they had not dreamed of 
 having at Kooroon. Aurea could not very well 
 have managed her bounties without the aid of 
 confederates. Therefore, she made bold to write 
 confidentially to Miles Berris, presuming, as she 
 phrased it, on a very slight acquaintance on her 
 
 own part and a long friendship on that of her 
 
 266 
 
 I
 
 A urea 
 
 sister. Miles Berris took Dr Rowth into his con- 
 fidence, and the result was that a pretty little 
 plot for Brenda's comfort was hatched between 
 the three. Anyhow, among them, Brenda was 
 now better nourished than she had been since the 
 reign of Chen Sing. Some little time later, to 
 her surprise, green vegetables began to form part 
 of the bill of fare, and had she been able to see the 
 old garden by the lagoon, she might have beheld 
 a bland Celestial in a blue overall, with little 
 blobby brass buttons, diligently hoeing and 
 watering there. This was Aurea's quid pro quo, 
 as she put it, for wear and tear of Vallis's horse- 
 flesh, and though he remonstrated at first he 
 allowed her to have her way, since it was for 
 Brenda's sake. 
 
 But it takes a long while to restore the health 
 of a woman broken down by bush hardships, 
 and though Brenda became stronger, the con- 
 dition of her eyes did not much improve, and she 
 still had to live in her darkened rooms. 
 
 Nevertheless, it seemed as if Aurea's coming 
 
 had brought a little turn of fortune to Forbes 
 
 Vallis. Some rain fell, and that gave the grass a 
 
 start and raised Vallis's spirits. Certainly, the 
 
 Bank debt was always as a terrible monster 
 
 267
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 approaching nearer and nearer to devour them, 
 but at least it was held at bay for a little while, 
 and with a good season or two Forbes believed 
 they might escape from the cruel claws stretched 
 forth to clutch them. 
 
 Forbes Vallis was perhaps the one who gained 
 most actual enjoyment from Aurea's society. 
 The love of wild nature which they shared made 
 a bond between them. Also the love of sport 
 and horses. Aurea rode so well and delighted 
 so much in her rides through the bush, notwith- 
 standing the heat, that it became a regular thing 
 for her to accompany her brother-in-law, when- 
 ever it was possible, on his expeditions to different 
 parts of the run. Then they had another bond 
 of interest as well. Among Aurea's various 
 accomplishments was that of art-photography, of 
 which naturally Forbes the artist was contemptu- 
 ous. He scoffed at Aurea's degenerate art and 
 was fired to get out his water-colours again. So 
 when there was no particular cattle work to be 
 done, while Aurea photographed, he sketched, 
 and all his old enthusiasm for beauty, in what- 
 ever form, which the crude realities of the bush 
 had apparently extinguished, was rekindled to 
 
 fresh flame. 
 
 268
 
 A urea 
 
 Poor, sick, morbid Brenda saw that they were 
 
 happy together — not with her outward eyes, but 
 
 with her intuitive vision. In her better moods 
 
 she would endure pangs of self-reproach for 
 
 grudging them their enjoyment. She would tell 
 
 herself that it was not Aurea's fault, nor Forbes's 
 
 either, that she herself was not able to ride with 
 
 him nor any longer satisfy his aesthetic cravings, 
 
 and that it was very wrong of her to mind his 
 
 pleasure in and admiration of her sister. But 
 
 she did mind horribly. There was a thing in 
 
 especial that hurt her more than aU the rest. 
 
 One day Forbes came in to ask if a certain shawl 
 
 of hers, of soft China crape, was still in existence, 
 
 for he wanted, he said, to drape it round Aurea's 
 
 head in imitation of the Cenci headdress. Aurea 
 
 had made an unfortunate discovery, he told 
 
 Brenda. The white ants had eaten right through 
 
 the wooden back and into the face of that precious 
 
 copy of Guido's painting, which he had made at 
 
 Rome after becoming engaged to his wife, and 
 
 which still stood incongruously among the station 
 
 ledgers and branding tallies on his office table. 
 
 He must recopy the picture, and it had struck 
 
 him that he might make a study from life with 
 
 Aurea for the model. Brenda said no word, but 
 
 269
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 it was as if a knife had gone through her heart. 
 She told him where to find the shawl, and he 
 carried it off, not realising that he had wounded 
 her. She knew that he must have forgotten a 
 conversation they had once had, when, in a 
 lover-like impulse, he had draped that same 
 shawl round her own head, while he had gazed 
 at her in adoring admiration. Then she had told 
 him she could never bear to outlive the look he 
 was giving her, and that if the time should ever 
 come when he cared more for another woman 
 she would destroy herself, because death would 
 seem better than life in such conditions. Brenda 
 said no more then, but often after that she 
 would feel the same stab in her heart when 
 Forbes turned from Aurea's lovely face to her 
 own, which was so marred and altered. For 
 frequently she would give herself great pain by 
 putting up her bandage to look at them in order 
 that she might test her suspicions. Then she 
 would go through mental torture indescribable 
 at the thought that her husband was comparing 
 her with Aurea and regretting that he had tied 
 himself to such a wreck of a woman. In her 
 unhappy jealousy she would totally misunder- 
 stand the pained, pitying expression in his eyes, 
 
 270
 
 A urea 
 
 and when he averted them quickly on meeting 
 hers, lest she should be hurt by the pity, would 
 suppose that he did so from a sense of repulsion. 
 
 From this time she withdrew herself more 
 persistently from the company of her husband 
 and sister. She would not join the others in the 
 verandah or living-rooms, alleging that the glare 
 was too painful to her eyes and that even the 
 light of a shaded lamp caused them to ache un- 
 bearably. In her perversity she would refuse 
 to let her sister stay and read to her, as Aurea 
 often wished to do instead of going out riding 
 with Forbes. Then Aurea would depart sadly, 
 and Brenda would remain in her darkened 
 chamber dropping laudanum in her smarting eyes 
 and brooding in loneliness over her sorrow. 
 
 Thus the life of the station went on practically 
 without Brenda, and she hardly seemed to know 
 who came and went. Only Miles Berris was 
 admitted to that end of the humpey where she 
 plied her knitting needles in solitary gloom, and 
 his visits seemed to interest and cheer her, per- 
 haps because she divined that it was the attrac- 
 tion of Aurea which brought him over so often 
 from the Gap Selection. For she thought in her 
 
 jealous heart that if Aurea were attracted to Miles 
 
 271
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 in return, Forbes might find less charm in the 
 society of his sister-in-law. Poor Brenda! 
 Another aggravation of her wretchedness was the 
 fact that a Bill authorising marriage with a 
 deceased wife's sister had recently been passed 
 in a neighbouring colony, and that it was generally 
 supposed such a union would shortly become 
 legal in Queensland. 
 
 Miles Berris was not a little shocked at the 
 contrast between this present Brenda Vallis and 
 the Brenda Vallis who had come, a bride, to the 
 Leura — a contrast that was accentuated all the 
 more because Aurea seemed the visible embodi- 
 ment of that former Brenda. He did not feel, 
 either, that Brenda's mind was in a healthy state, 
 and wrote privately to Dr Rowth, urging him to 
 visit Kooroon on the first convenient opportunity. 
 But Dr Rowth had to fight an epidemic of measles 
 in Gundabine, and could not get away just yet. 
 
 Miles Berris had got over his attack of Gulf 
 
 fever, but Forbes Vallis chaffed him a good deal 
 
 about his spear-wound, which did not trouble 
 
 him except when it was a question of taking the 
 
 rough ride over the Razor-back to the Gap 
 
 Selection, thus giving the young man excellent 
 
 excuse — so Forbes declared — to cadge for exten- 
 
 273
 
 Aiirea 
 
 sions of his visits to Kooroon. Upon a certain 
 
 occasion, when he had been staying a week or so 
 
 with the Vallises, he knocked one afternoon at 
 
 the hntel of the French window of Brenda's 
 
 sitting-room, and raising the curtain of blue 
 
 blanket, when she bade him enter, he said 
 
 abruptly, — 
 
 " Mrs Vallis, I want to bid you good-bye." 
 
 Brenda dropped her eternal knitting and turned 
 
 her face with the deep green shade completely 
 
 covering her eyes to where the young man stood 
 
 just within the door. She could tell by the 
 
 sound of his voice that something had gone 
 
 wrong with him — very wrong; and she connected 
 
 that something with her sister. Aurea's manner 
 
 had been strange that day, and to Brenda's 
 
 sensitive ear it had given evidence of repressed 
 
 feeling. 
 
 Sitting continually in her dim room, with only 
 
 that dropped blue blanket between her and the 
 
 life of the verandah, though she could not see what 
 
 was going on, many snatches of talk reached her 
 
 ears, for she could hear what people were saying 
 
 as they went by her windows in the front and also 
 
 when they walked in the vine-covered trellis that 
 
 stretched along the end of the humpey from the 
 s 273
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 garden to the back-yard. . . . Brenda thus 
 became keenly ahve to the emotional atmosphere 
 around her — more so, perhaps, than if she had 
 been an active participant in the doings of the 
 household. 
 
 " Why, Miles, I didn't think you'd be leaving 
 so soon," she said in her gentle voice, which had 
 lately become plaintive and a little fretful. 
 
 " I must," he answered in a dogged way. " I've 
 got to go. I'm doing no good here." 
 
 Brenda motioned him to a seat, but he would 
 not come further. The dimness oppressed him. 
 
 " What makes you talk Hke that? " she asked. 
 " TeU me." 
 
 " There's no good in my telling you, Mrs 
 Vallis — because, you see, you can't help me. 
 The fact is, I've been living in a bit of a fool's 
 paradise, and now I must clear out of it. I've 
 made a mess of things — that's all. Somehow 
 it seems the fate of us people on the Leura to 
 make a mess of things," he added miserably. 
 
 " That's true," Brenda replied with bitterness. 
 " We have every one of us made a mess of things, 
 as you say — I worst of aU." 
 
 "You! " He looked at her in slight surprise, 
 
 for his mind had been growing too full of his own 
 
 274
 
 Aurea 
 
 troubles for him to take particular heed of hers. 
 And besides, Forbes Vallis had appeared so much 
 more cheerful lately that Miles supposed his 
 prospects were brighter. 
 
 "Oh! but it's only your bad eyes that make 
 you see things dark, Mrs Vallis. You've got 
 everything else." 
 
 "Everything else! What have I got?" 
 
 " You've got what you wanted to make you 
 happy — your husband and your home. I've 
 got nothing of that sort. . . . And I want it, 
 Mrs Vallis. I've wanted it so badly — since I've 
 known your sister." 
 
 " And Aurea? " Brenda asked with a note of 
 eagerness in her voice. 
 
 "Oh! it's no use. I can't ask her — it's no 
 use!" the young man said dejectedly. "Your 
 husband has shown me that." 
 
 "My husband!" Brenda repeated sharply, 
 and the demons of doubt and suspicion, which 
 had been feeding upon her morbid imaginings, 
 took full possession of her mind. "Did you tell 
 Forbes that you wanted to marry Aurea? " she 
 asked with portentous calmness. 
 
 " Yes," Miles answered simply. " But he — 
 
 well, he didn't hke it at all, Mrs Vallis." 
 
 275
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Brenda took up her knitting needles again, and 
 her fingers trembled as she began to ply them 
 feverishly. She seemed only able to repeat his 
 words parrot-wise. 
 
 "He didn't like it?" 
 
 " No. He got quite hot about it. He rather 
 implied that it was egregious impudence on my 
 part dreaming of such a thing. And to tell the 
 truth, Mrs Vallis, I couldn't help agreeing with 
 him. . . . For you see," Miles went on in a 
 hard, resentful way, as if he were trying to chastise 
 himself for his own unreasonableness, "I'm a 
 presumptuous ass, however you put it. Perhaps 
 if my old dad hadn't been turned out of Boggo 
 Creek, well, you might say that I'd as much 
 right as your husband had when he got engaged 
 to you, seeing that he was no more than a Leura 
 squatter himself. . . . But, as a matter of fact, 
 he was a considerable peg higher than a rough 
 bush chap like me — and that's what I've been 
 telling myself. The proof of it is that he made 
 you care for him." 
 
 " And you don't think that you could make 
 Aurea care for you? " 
 
 Brenda spoke with the quietude of intense 
 
 anxiety. But Miles did not understand what 
 
 276
 
 Aurea 
 
 she was feeling — how should he? He swayed 
 his powerful lean body against the edge of the 
 French window as he stood on the threshold of 
 the room and a sort of fierce light came over his 
 moody face as he answered, in a hesitating, 
 dreamy manner, — 
 
 " I ... I oughtn't. . . . Well, I don't know 
 — I daren't think about it. There was a minute 
 yesterday when I was carried out of myself — 
 And she too seemed — But of course it was 
 only that she was surprised. And I pulled my- 
 self up, thank God, before I'd said anything that 
 might have made things awkward for her and 
 have stood in the way of our keeping friends — 
 that's better than nothing, you know. I had 
 to take myself off, and set to thinking things out 
 by myself. Not that I got much forrarder. 
 But all the time I seemed to hear old dad saying 
 — you remember how down he was always upon 
 young men marrying in the bush? — ' Miles, my 
 boy,' he used to say, ' if you ever think of getting 
 yourself a wife, don't you bring her to the Leura, 
 or you'll repent it all your life afterwards.' And 
 Forbes has come to the same opinion, though he 
 didn't think like that in the beginning. Besides, 
 
 all I've got to offer is a degree worse than the 
 
 377
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Leura. How could I ask a girl like your sister to 
 come and rough it on an unsettled station in the 
 Gulf country — even supposing she would cast a 
 thought at me? A hundred miles or so nearer 
 the equator, which poor dad would have said 
 means a hundred miles nearer hell." The young 
 man ground his heel savagely upon an adventurous 
 pair of white ants which had crawled with much 
 labour over the window-ledge. " Besides, Vallis 
 told me she'd got some money of her own," Miles 
 went on. " Well, that settled it . . . and when 
 I looked at her, then I thought of you as you were 
 when you first came up here. And I understood 
 what Forbes meant." 
 
 Brenda dropped her knitting and again turned 
 to him her disfigured face with the ugly green 
 shade over her once beautiful eyes. 
 
 " Yes, you thought of me as I was then and as 
 you see me now," she said, still with an unnatural 
 quietude. " Miles, did Forbes tell you he was 
 thinking of that too? " 
 
 " Why, yes," Miles replied, not suspecting 
 what was in her mind. " Forbes asked me if I'd 
 noticed that Miss Thelwall is the very image of 
 
 what you used to be. And then he said, how 
 
 278
 
 A urea 
 
 should I like to bear the load of remorse he had 
 to carry — " 
 
 "Ah! he said that!" Brenda exclaimed, and 
 gave a wild little laugh. " But he carries his 
 load bravely." 
 
 The strained note in her voice startled Miles 
 and made him realise in a stupid way that he had 
 blundered. Then, man-like, he went on blunder- 
 ing. 
 
 " Now I oughtn't to have said that. I know I 
 oughtn't, . . . I'm just a selfish fool, thinking 
 only of myself. It isn't quite that, though. I 
 know it's horrible for you having sandy-blight, 
 Mrs Vallis — ' Leura luck,' as old dad would have 
 said — I've got him on the brain to-night some- 
 how. But do you know, I think it would be 
 better for Forbes and — and for everyone, if you 
 could manage to come out and try and take your 
 old place a, bit. . . . You'll see, it will all come 
 right," pursued Miles, making a clumsy attempt 
 at cheerfulness. " Just wait till Rowth is able 
 to come up and take you in hand, and you'll 
 begin to look and feel like your old self again." 
 
 To Brenda, every word that he uttered with 
 
 such stupid good intention seemed weighted 
 
 with a terrible meaning, of which in truth Miles 
 
 279
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 himself was absolutely unconscious. Brenda 
 thought, however, that he wished to warn her of 
 a state of affairs only too evident to her diseased 
 fancy, which he dared not put more plainly, and 
 which was the cause of his misery as well as of her 
 own. 
 
 " I shall never again look or feel like my 
 old self," she said. " It is impossible — and 
 Forbes knows that." 
 
 Miles was silent, for she was echoing Forbes's 
 own words, and Brenda divined this. 
 
 " Is it not so? " she asked. " Did not Forbes 
 say that I could never seem to him again what I 
 was when he married me? Did he not, 
 Miles? " 
 
 Miles hesitated, then floundered more hope- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Why, Mrs Vallis, of course nobody can be 
 the same as what they were ten years before," he 
 answered with an embarrassed laugh. " That 
 was what Forbes meant. And it's on ladies that 
 the bush leaves the worst mark. Only you 
 shouldn't worry about that. It's always been 
 Forbes's way to — " 
 
 She stopped him with a vehement gesture. 
 
 " Don't talk about Forbes and me. That's 
 
 280
 
 Aurea 
 
 dead and done with," she cried passionately. 
 " Talk about yourself and Aurea." 
 
 But Miles shook his head in despairing resolute- 
 ness. 
 
 "No, no, Mrs Vallis. There's no use in en- 
 couraging vain hopes. Aurea doesn't care about 
 me — and if she ever had any fancy that she might 
 care, it's best for her that it shouldn't come to 
 anything. Forbes put the matter very straight 
 to me last night, and I saw the reason of all he 
 said. A man has no right to wreck a woman's 
 life as well as his own. Those were Forbes's 
 words. So I've awakened out of my dream. I 
 shall never know what that look meant that 
 came into Aurea's face yesterday when I — 
 when I nearly made a fool of myself — because I 
 sha'n't ask her. It's safest to drop thinking 
 about what might have been in her mind to make 
 her flush— and — and look me straight in the 
 eyes for a second and then turn away as if she 
 couldn't speak. ... I'm glad she didn't say 
 anything, for it gave me a chance to cover my 
 tracks. If she had shown she was angry, I 
 couldn't have come here again, and that would 
 seem pretty rough luck. ... As it is — " The 
 
 young man stopped; his voice had broken, and 
 
 281
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 he swayed round and stared out at the Razor- 
 back Range in the distance. 
 
 " You're not going away altogether, Miles? " 
 Brenda asked. 
 
 " I can't at present. Otherwise it would be 
 the best way of fighting this out. But Rowth 
 won't hear of my going back to the Gulf until 
 I've got quite rid of ' the shakes,' and they 
 come on still — though not so regularly as they 
 did at first. I reckon I'U stop on my way home 
 at Barron Falls and recruit in the high country. 
 Now, there are things I've got to do at the Gap. 
 I'm selling the few head of stock off the Selection. 
 Meantime, I shall do my best to scrunch out 
 sentiment, Mrs Vallis. And I'm coming over to 
 spend Christmas with you as you asked me. 
 You'll see, I shall have got into my right mind 
 by then, and there'll be no fear of my making a 
 worse ass of myself. . . . You won't say any- 
 thing to — her — or to Forbes, wiU you, about our 
 talk? " 
 
 " No, I shall not say anything," Brenda 
 answered, stifling the pain in her voice as best 
 she could. 
 
 " Forbes would be angry with me if he knew 
 
 I'd been telling you about it," said Miles. " He 
 
 282
 
 Aurea 
 
 didn't want you to be worried. But somehow 
 I can't bottle things up. . . . Now, I think 
 I'll be off," he added. " I've got my horse ready 
 saddled in the yard. I haven't bidden them 
 good-bye, but you know — you'U tell them I — I 
 forgot, won't you? They've gone along to the 
 creek. Forbes said he'd try and get some duck 
 for your dinner. But I wouldn't go with them. 
 I said two was company and three was none." 
 Miles laughed in what seemed to Brenda tragic 
 derision. He shook hands with her, renewing 
 his promise to come over on Christmas Day, and 
 then as he was departing, he hesitated and said 
 rather awkwardly, " And, Mrs Vallis — you won't 
 mind my telling you that — about cheering up 
 and showing yourself a bit and — and — making 
 things easier for them. . . . Because — they feel 
 it, you know." 
 
 "Oh! yes, I know. I shall remember what 
 you have said. Miles," Brenda replied, and the 
 note of repressed bitterness was intensified in her 
 manner. " You will find me in my old place at 
 dinner on Christmas Day." 
 
 But by the irony of Fate, at their dinner on 
 
 Christmas Day, Vallis put Aurea in his wife's 
 
 283
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 chair at the head of the table. It was done 
 solely that Brenda might be spared the trouble of 
 helping her guests, and indeed on that account 
 Aurea had often sat there previously. The very 
 naturalness of the proceeding made it an added 
 agony to Brenda. She saw in it a foreshadowing 
 of the future, and her mind went to that Bill 
 legalising marriage with a deceased wife's sister, 
 which came up periodically in the House of 
 Assembly and was periodically rejected, each 
 time with a diminishing majority, till its passing 
 next session seemed a certainty. Brenda thought 
 that she would be dead by next session and that 
 the Bill would become law just in time. 
 
 She was feeling unusually depressed and nerve- 
 ridden that day. Several weeks had gone by 
 since her conversation with Miles and he had not 
 been over in the interim, so that she had brooded 
 unceasingly on her morbid suspicions without 
 having a soul to whom she would utter them, nor 
 was there the relief of any other person's presence 
 to break the strain of a situation that was now 
 almost unbearable to all of them. Forbes looked 
 terribly worried and anxious, while Aurea scarcely 
 attempted to conceal her wretchedness. She was 
 
 like Miles in her inability to " bottle things up." 
 
 284
 
 Aurea 
 
 Sometimes Brenda, unseen, would watch the two 
 from beneath her bandages or the green shade, 
 and would find in their appearance and manner 
 confirmation of her worst fears. She herself 
 maintained an impenetrable reticence upon all 
 topics of a personal nature. A most painful 
 constraint had crept up between her and her 
 husband as well as between herself and her sister. 
 It was not Forbes's fault that he was thrown 
 more and more upon Aurea's society for his only 
 source of pleasure, for Brenda appeared anxious 
 to show him that his presence was unwelcome in 
 her darkened rooms. Thus, gradually, it came 
 to his only entering them at stated times, to say 
 good-morning or good-evening, or to ask if there 
 were anything she desired him to do. The very 
 question seemed a mockery to poor Brenda. So 
 also when Aurea entreated that she might be 
 allowed to do something to ease Brenda's pain 
 and loneliness. Brenda would reject all the 
 proffered ministrations, saying that the soimd of 
 voices was trying to her nerves and that she pre- 
 ferred to be left alone. 
 
 One knows how a rift between two people once 
 all the world to each other will grow till it becomes 
 
 an impassable chasm — how, too, any little speech 
 
 285
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 or action can in such circumstances be turned to 
 a mortal aggravation. It was almost impossible 
 to recognise the old bright, sweet Brenda in this 
 haggard, irritable woman to whom every look 
 and word seemed an offence. No wonder that 
 Forbes and Aurea were unhappy and that they 
 consulted frequently together as to what was 
 best to be done. They had suggested taking 
 Brenda to Gundabine in the buggy with the tilt 
 closed in by blue blankets so that no unnecessary 
 ray of light should distress her. But she had 
 declined, and continued to shut herself up in 
 gloomy solitude. On the whole, Christmas Day 
 did not promise happily. With the irony of 
 coincidence, this Christmas season, ushered in by 
 the short burst of rain, was cool and pleasant, as 
 had been the Christmas of Brenda's bridal home- 
 coming ten years before. Her thoughts would 
 keep reverting to that day. She remembered 
 vividly with what high hopes it had been ushered 
 in and with what disappointment it had ended. 
 The wolf-wail of the dingoes, which had been the 
 dirge of their luck, seemed to float back to her 
 across the years. Another coincidence had re- 
 minded Brenda of that lost luck. Jimmy Holt, 
 
 formerly of Teelbar, one of their guests on that 
 
 286
 
 Aurea 
 
 occasion, was in the district, out of work, and 
 had, they heard, turned up at the Gap. So 
 Forbes had written asking him to come over with 
 Miles Berris and eat his Christmas dinner at 
 Kooroon as of yore. Miles, however, appeared 
 alone, and when he hung up his horse in the 
 station yard, Forbes's first question was, — 
 
 "Where is Holt?" 
 
 " Isn't he here? I thought I should have 
 found him," returned Miles. " He left at day- 
 break this morning to meet Yates, the Govern- 
 ment geologist, who is up this way about some- 
 thing or other. Holt wouldn't tell me what he 
 wanted to see Yates about." 
 
 " That sounds rather as if Holt, in spite of his 
 prejudice against mining, had got on the lay of 
 gold," said Vallis, rather excitedly. " It's not 
 that, is it, MHes? " 
 
 Miles shook his head. " There's no gold on 
 the Razor-back," he answered. " I think we've 
 pretty well proved that. But Holt wiU turn up 
 before supper-time, unless he does happen to have 
 come upon payable gold and has ridden post- 
 haste to take out a miner's right. He was in an 
 awful state of excitement about something, was 
 
 Holt. Maybe he, too, has been taken in by a 
 
 287
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 nest of iron pirates, though I don't think that's 
 Hkely." 
 
 The party which had assembled at Kooroon 
 was not a large nor a lively one, there being, 
 besides themselves, only a new-chum from Teel- 
 bar and an overseer from a neighbouring out- 
 station, neither of any importance, but both 
 lonely, whom Forbes had invited out of kind- 
 ness. 
 
 They were rather late in sitting down to the 
 two-o'clock dinner, which now there was no Chen 
 Sing to cook. Champagne also had been vetoed 
 as inappropriate to the present state of financial 
 depression on the Leura. But turkey and plum- 
 pudding had been duly provided and the table 
 was prettily decorated with blue and pink water- 
 lilies from the lagoon, arranged this time by 
 Aurea, while Aurea herself, in her white linen 
 frock, might, in so far as looks went, have been a 
 reincarnation of Brenda the bride whom Forbes 
 had introduced so proudly to his friends. This 
 thought was in Brenda's own mind. Perhaps it 
 was in Forbes's mind too. Certainly it was in 
 that of Miles Berris. 
 
 Miles's bronze had deepened in the long days 
 
 he had been spending lately riding about the 
 
 288
 
 Aurea 
 
 bush, and his lean, muscular frame was thinner 
 even than before. 
 
 He was nervous and embarrassed in manner 
 and did not look in an open way at Aurea, though 
 he cast many furtive glances in her direction. 
 She, too, avoided his eyes and addressed her con- 
 versation mostly to the new-chum, whom she had 
 reduced to a state of abject worship. Brenda, 
 placed at her husband's right, in consideration 
 for her comfort on his part, hardly spoke to him, 
 and both he and Aurea wondered what could have 
 wounded her, not dreaming that she resented 
 seeing her sister in her own place opposite Forbes. 
 She sat with the green shade over her eyes, eating 
 little and volunteering only a few forced remarks. 
 Forbes made spasmodic attempts at hilarity as 
 he carved and distributed the turkey; the over- 
 seer, who had lived all his life in the back-blocks, 
 talked cattle and sheep, and Miles did his best to 
 draw Brenda from her melancholy. It was not 
 a festive meal, the Christmas allusions fell dis- 
 cordantly, and everybody was glad when dinner 
 was over and the men were free to smoke and 
 yarn in the verandah. Brenda betook herself 
 to her own dim rooms and Aurea sauntered forth 
 
 into the garden. 
 
 T 289
 
 The Luck ot the Leura 
 
 Then at last Miles, forestalling the new-chum, 
 and tempted beyond his power of resistance by 
 the sight of that white dress gleaming among the 
 trees, got up and followed her. 
 
 Aurea heard his step and turned, the colour 
 heightening in her cheeks as she waited, while he, 
 taking the pipe from his mouth, hastened to her 
 side. 
 
 Aurea was only an ordinary woman, though she 
 was not a heartless coquette, and no woman likes 
 to feel that she has been triumphed over by a 
 man upon whom she has wished to test her power. 
 She had been puzzled and a good deal hurt by 
 Miles's abrupt departure after she had led him on 
 till she had seemed to see, trembling on his lips, an 
 avowal of love that had never been uttered. She 
 had been unable to tell her brother-in-law and 
 sister anything of this — indeed, Brenda gave her 
 no opening for so doing. Nevertheless, Aurea 
 had brooded over the matter continually and 
 had wondered what it was that kept Berris from 
 speaking out the desire which she felt intuitively 
 was in his heart. 
 
 A spirit of recklessness seized her now and she 
 
 determined to try and find out the reason of his 
 
 reticence. 
 
 290
 
 Aurea 
 
 " Mr Berris," she said, " will you be so kind as 
 to carry a melon for me to the house? I am 
 going to the new patch to see if one that I left 
 till this evening has ripened yet." 
 
 He lifted his hat, gladly consenting, and they 
 walked along the paddock fence to a slip-rail 
 leading into the gidia scrub, which he lowered for 
 her to pass through. In a little clearing near the 
 lagoon, Aurea's Chinaman had planted melon 
 seeds, which had grown and thriven abundantly 
 in the newly-turned soil. Here Aurea halted. 
 By this time the afternoon was waning and the 
 black trunks of the gidias stood out against a 
 flaming sky, where the sun dipped westward. 
 The red rays caught Aurea's hair, bringing out 
 its golden gleam and surrounding her with a halo 
 of poetic glory. Miles's heart beat with wild 
 longing, but he stiffened himself resolutely and 
 would give hope no place to enter. Aurea talked 
 a little nervously on ordinary topics as they 
 strolled round the patch inspecting the fruit until 
 she had found the one she wanted, a large green 
 flesh melon. They examined it together, and 
 deciding that it was ripe. Miles took out his pocket- 
 knife and severed the stalk. Then they sauntered 
 
 on among the trees and a sense of greater ease 
 
 291
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 came over Aurea, so that the girl side of her — 
 the lower side, maybe — came into play. 
 
 " Mr Berris, why did you go away without 
 saying good-bye the last time you were here? " 
 she asked, looking at him unshrinkingly with her 
 violet eyes, though her voice trembled a little. 
 " I don't think it was quite pohte or kind of you," 
 she added with a faint laugh. The laugh seemed 
 to make him angry. He shook his shoulders and 
 there was a queer sound in his throat, as if he were 
 gulping down something. He turned straight 
 away from her and stared out into the bush as 
 he answered curtly, — 
 
 " I don't know whether it was kind to you or 
 not, Miss Thelwall. That wasn't what I was 
 thinking of, for I couldn't have supposed it would 
 make any difference to you. But anyway, I 
 was kind to myself." 
 
 "Didn't you want to see me again?" she 
 questioned with wistful coquetry. 
 
 " No, not then," he answered almost roughly. 
 
 " But why, Mr Berris. Have I done anything 
 to offend you? Please tell me? " 
 
 Berris wheeled round on her, his face set and 
 
 pale under its tan, his eyes shining with a fierce 
 
 light. He said some rough words in his strong, 
 
 292
 
 A urea 
 
 moved voice with that faint twang of the bush 
 that made it ring so differently from the voice of 
 any other man who had ever spoken to her under 
 stress of emotion. And as he stood so, looking at 
 her, his fine head thrown back, his powerful 
 frame rigid, dominance in every line of him, 
 Aurea felt that she had here a man to deal with. 
 
 " You know very well what you've done. It's 
 impossible that you shouldn't know. A woman 
 always knows when a man's in love with her. 
 But what she doesn't always know is that he can 
 be strong enough to keep from making a fool of 
 himself. ..." 
 
 "Oh. . . . And was that why you went away? 
 You were afraid of — of making a fool of yourself? " 
 Aurea's face and tone were innocently seductive. 
 
 Her manner appeared to incense the young 
 man. " I think it's playing it rather low on me 
 to force me into saying things I had determined 
 not to say," he exclaimed. " It's cruel of you. 
 Miss Thelwall — And it's worse than cruel." 
 
 " What is worse than being cruel? " Aurea 
 
 asked, and he fancied that her eyes mocked him. 
 
 She, too, was getting a little angry at such plain 
 
 speaking. 
 
 " Falling short of what a woman like you ought 
 
 293
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 to be," he answered bluntly. " It's a different 
 sort of girl who leads men on and plays with them. 
 You should be above that kind of thing. It's 
 unworthy of you." 
 
 The blood rushed up into Aurea's face and she 
 bit her lip, but for a minute she did not speak. 
 He shifted the melon agitatedly from one arm to 
 the other, then burst forth anew. 
 
 " I'm not the man to enjoy being flirted with," 
 he said. "I've had to face too many grim facts 
 in my life not to be able to make up my mind to 
 one thing or the other and stick to it. When 
 you've seen a Myall black shifting his nuUa-nuUa 
 from the left hand to the right, ready to throw, 
 and you know that either you must kill him or 
 he'll kill you — that's how I came to shoot that 
 particular black-fellow, you remember, that you 
 were asking me about, Miss Thelwall? — well, this 
 is something the same sort of thing, don't you 
 see? " 
 
 Aurea laughed hysterically. 
 
 " I don't see what I've got to do with a mur- 
 derous black-fellow." 
 
 " Only that I had to make up my mind quickly 
 
 — same as I had with the black — whether I'd let 
 
 you cripple my life for me. And I decided it 
 
 294
 
 Aurea 
 
 wasn't good enough — because, you see, it wouldn't 
 have mattered to you. I should have been the 
 one to suffer. ... So after I'd thought it out, 
 I ran up my horse and rode back to the Gap, 
 determined I'd fight the thing and not come back 
 until I'd got the better of it. . . . Do you under- 
 stand? " 
 
 " Yes, I think that I quite understand," she 
 answered with a little proud movement of her 
 head. " But isn't it rather foolish of you, Mr 
 Berris, to fancy that I should want you to do any- 
 thing which might, as you say, cripple your life? " 
 
 Berris flushed as deeply as she had done a few 
 minutes before. 
 
 " It would be crass idiocy if I did fancy that. 
 
 I'm not such a presumptuous fool as to imagine 
 
 that you'll ever give me a second thought. It 
 
 was of myself I was thinking, not of you. I 
 
 wanted to save myself before I got hit worse. . . . 
 
 Miss Thelwall, I'm off to the Gulf next week, and 
 
 I suppose you'll be going back to England before 
 
 very long, and that I shall never see you again. I 
 
 expect you'll be marrying some big swell over 
 
 there. . . . Maybe I shall hear of you and maybe 
 
 I shall not," he said jerkily. " Anyway, I hope 
 
 you'll believe that wherever you are — and what- 
 
 295
 
 The Luck of the Leiira 
 
 ever you do — I hope you'll believe that I — " 
 The little strangle came in Ms throat once more 
 and he stopped and kicked away a piece of dead 
 wood that lay in the track. " However it all is," 
 he concluded lamely, *' I shall \\i5h you happiness 
 and good luck ^^^th all nw heart." 
 
 " Thank you," she rephed, and the}' walked on 
 in silence till they reached the paddock fence a 
 few paces distant. " Yes, please," she said as 
 he began to put the sHp-rails doAMi for her to step 
 over. " I tliink I'U go round this way to the 
 house and see if Brenda wants an\i;hing. Perhaps 
 you wouldn't mind taking the melon up to the top 
 verandah and putting it on the water bucket 
 there to cool? " She was mo\dng by him, but 
 his despairing eyes entreated her as he stood, the 
 melon in one hand, the slip-rail poised in the 
 other. 
 
 " Miss Thelwall ... I ... I . ..'" he stam- 
 mered, " I've offended you ; and I didn't mean 
 to do that. Won't you say that you forgive me 
 before I go away? " 
 
 ■' There's nothing to forgive . . . and . . . 
 and I don't think, Mr Berris, that there's any- 
 thing more to say, either." 
 
 He took courage from the falter in her voice. 
 
 296
 
 Aurea 
 
 " Yes, there is," he exclaimed " Let me say 
 this. . . . Aurea — may I call you Aurea just 
 this once? — I want to tell you that I thank you 
 for having shown me what the best sort of woman 
 can be — a woman who is beautiful in body 
 and mind and soul, like you. A woman that a 
 man can think of and worship in his heart when 
 he's sitting by his camp fire alone in the bush of 
 nights — a woman that he can picture to himself 
 as a star in heaven shining doN^n upon his rough, 
 lonely life. He can't ever hope to hold that star 
 or wear it on his breast. He wouldn't if he could, 
 because, you see, to try and take it to his brccist 
 would be dragging his star down and making it 
 something altogether different from what it is. 
 He'd rather keep his star high in heaven to adore 
 from a distance than draw it to the level of his 
 camp fire." 
 
 " Because — because," she said, her tone 
 
 quavering between laughter and a sob — " a man 
 
 doesn't want what he calls a star to make a fixe 
 
 \dth for cooking his damper and boiling his billy. 
 
 He'd rather have a cheerful blaze of old dead gum 
 
 logs. . . . Yes, I know. You're quite right, 
 
 Mr Berris. Stars — real stars — are all very well 
 
 up in the sky and pretty to look at on clear nights, 
 
 297
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 but for practical purposes better have a gum-log 
 fire. Only, Mr Berris " — she turned as she was 
 walking quickly away along the fence — " some- 
 times, if the bush is rather thick and you see a red 
 glint low down through the gum trees and think 
 it's a star rising or setting — well, you know, it 
 might turn out to be nothing but a camp fire 
 after all." 
 
 She did not give him time to answer, but stepped 
 quickly past a clump of sandal-wood trees near 
 the fence and through a gate into the garden. 
 There she was lost to his view beneath the passion- 
 vine trellis that stretched along the end of the 
 old humpey by the windows of Brenda's rooms. 
 
 The short Australian twilight was closing in 
 
 already, and all the glory of the day was past. In 
 
 the verandah of the other building the men were 
 
 smoking and laughing in squatters' chairs while 
 
 they talked the everlasting bush talk, of which 
 
 snatches floated down to Aurea as she waited at 
 
 Brenda's door for the answer to her knock. . . . 
 
 It did not come, and Aurea pushed the blue 
 
 blanket aside and went in. Brenda was on the 
 
 sofa in her tiny verandah sitting-room dressed 
 
 in a white tea-gown, with her eyes bandaged. 
 
 The door into the bedroom beyond stood open, 
 
 298
 
 Aurea 
 
 and some light came in from that direction. 
 Aurea saw by Brenda's start that she was not 
 asleep, and went up to her side. 
 
 " Brenda, dear, it's quite cool and shady up in 
 the verandah, where the others are. Won't you 
 come and sit there, and perhaps we could have 
 some music by-and-by." 
 
 "No, I shall not come out again," Brenda 
 answered in a strained tone. " I don't want any- 
 thing more, Eliza will come in and help me to 
 bed presently." 
 
 " Are the eyes very bad, dear? " Aurea asked 
 kindly. 
 
 " Yes, they hurt me more than usual. Please 
 go away, Aurea. I don't want anything." 
 
 " You want a fresh bandage," said Aurea. " I 
 
 can see that the one you have is nearly dry." She 
 
 laid her hand for a moment on the handkerchief, 
 
 which hid the upper part of Brenda's face, and 
 
 Brenda seemed to wince at her touch — Aurea 
 
 thought it was with pain. " Poor dear Brenda! " 
 
 she said, " I will get another wet handkerchief 
 
 for you." She went into the bedroom, and came 
 
 out with a small bowl of water and a couple of 
 
 bottles, one of which contained a dark liquid 
 
 marked " Poison." 
 
 299
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 " Is it to be the zinc lotion, or must you have the 
 opium tincture? " Aurea asked. 
 
 " Opium," Brenda said. " How much is there 
 in the bottle? " 
 
 " It is quite full, Forbes gave me a fresh bottle 
 out of the medicine-chest," Aurea replied, and as 
 she spoke she poured a small quantity into the 
 water in the bowl and soaked a clean handkerchief 
 in it. Then she deftly removed the old bandage 
 and let the cool, wet rag lie on Brenda's inflamed 
 eyelids. But as she did so she noticed that tears 
 oozed from between them, and a wave of pity 
 came over her for the peevish, suffering woman, 
 whose face quivered from nervous irritation. 
 Aurea herself was on the verge of hysterical weep- 
 ing. In a sudden desire for sympathy, which 
 now she seldom sought from her sister, Aurea 
 kneeled by the couch, and bending over, kissed her 
 sister's forehead. Again Brenda winced. "Oh! 
 Brenda, dear," Aurea murmured, " I'm so un- 
 happy." 
 
 Brenda made a movement forward, and putting 
 
 up her hand, pushed back the bandage so that 
 
 she could look at her sister. She saw that Aurea's 
 
 face was convulsed with agitation and, as Brenda 
 
 in her insane jealousy imagined, guilty remorse. 
 
 300
 
 A urea 
 
 " Why are you unhappy? " she asked in a 
 strange, harsh voice. 
 
 Aurea felt the lack of sympathy in the voice 
 and drew back. 
 
 " Never mind. There's no use in telling you, 
 Brenda. You couldn't understand." 
 
 "Oh! you think I couldn't understand!" 
 cried Brenda, wildly. " No, I suppose I could 
 not, or at least you would think so." 
 
 " And yet you ought to understand," said 
 Aurea. " For you did love Forbes, Brenda — 
 when you married him." 
 
 " You would say that I had no right to mind 
 because I don't love him now? " Brenda said, 
 still in that strange, choked voice. " How can 
 you teU? " 
 
 "Ah! how can I tell? How can I tell any- 
 thing? Everything seems at cross-purposes and 
 one doesn't seem to know what is love and what 
 is only selfishness," exclaimed Aurea. " I don't 
 know if you really love Forbes, Brenda. Some- 
 times I wonder. ... Oh! if that comes of 
 living in the bush," she added with a miserable 
 laugh, " perhaps it's better to get out of it — and 
 that's what Forbes has been saying. Brenda, 
 
 I know it's hard for you to suffer like this, but 
 
 301
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 often I think you don't quite realise how much 
 Forbes suffers too, I can't help feeling intensely 
 for Forbes — though you are my own sister and 
 I ought to feel most for you." 
 
 "Oh! I know what you feel for Forbes. I 
 know all that is in your mind. But you'd better 
 not say it now, Aurea. You might be sorry 
 afterwards when you understand how much I've 
 cared for my husband. You'll only have to 
 wait a little while — only a little while — and then 
 you'll know whether I have cared most for Forbes 
 or for myself. It's quite natural you should 
 think me selfish and ill-tempered now — but by- 
 and-by you'll know that I was ready to sacrifice 
 anything for Forbes 's happiness. When one has 
 outgrown youth and pretty looks and every- 
 thing one has cared for, there's nothing left but 
 to do what is possible in order to make one's 
 husband happy in the way he likes best." 
 
 Brenda spoke in passionate excitement, pushed 
 beyond her powers of self-control by her own 
 morbid misinterpretation of Aurea's words. She 
 sat up now on the sofa and thrust her sister from 
 her. 
 
 " Go away, Aurea. Don't come near me any 
 
 more to-night, and tell Forbes not to come 
 
 302
 
 Aurea 
 
 either — I don't want anybody to disturb me. 
 Mind." 
 
 Aurea got up, puzzled at her sister's manner, 
 but never suspecting that she herself was the 
 cause of Brenda's strange mood. 
 
 " I won't come if you don't want me, Brenda. 
 But are you sure that you can manage for your- 
 self? Will you not have some supper? " 
 
 " No, no — I don't want anything — and I can't 
 help things if I am there." 
 
 Aurea stood in the dimness of the chamber, 
 looking bewilderedly at Brenda's shadowy form 
 on the sofa. The girl's heart ached with pity 
 for her sister, for Forbes, for Miles, for herself. 
 The world seemed out of joint to poor Aurea — 
 and she felt powerless to set it right. Women 
 were so helpless, she thought, just because they 
 were women and might not speak. 
 
 Outside, she heard the black boy fetching up 
 
 horses, and a chiU fell upon her, for she fancied 
 
 that Miles, who had been invited to spend the 
 
 night at Kooroon, might have made up his mind 
 
 suddenly to go away, as he had gone the time 
 
 before. Just then the piano sounded from the 
 
 drawing-room of the upper house. It was the 
 
 new-chum playing a Christmas carol that the 
 
 303
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 sisters recognised. Both Brenda and Aurea, in 
 the absorption of their own griefs, had forgotten 
 it was Christmas Day. Now Brenda laughed 
 sobbingly. 
 
 "I'm afraid that I've spoiled this Christmas 
 for you all," she said. " But never mind, Aurea. 
 You'll have to put up with Leura luck — it's been 
 bad luck for most of us. . . . And now, go 
 away — there's Forbes calling you." 
 
 Above the noise of the piano, Forbes's voice 
 sounded, — 
 
 "Aurea! Aurea! you're wanted to sing." 
 
 Aurea went out, leaving Brenda alone. 
 
 The girl put herself at the piano and made 
 music until supper-time, when again there was a 
 pretence of Christmas jollity. Brenda, of course, 
 did not appear, and Aurea gave Forbes her 
 message. He looked worried and questioned 
 Aurea, who gave him a softened version of 
 Brenda's state of mind, and they said to each other 
 that it might be better to leave her undisturbed. 
 She had often begged of late to be left alone, and 
 Forbes was now accustomed to occupy his old 
 bachelor chamber in the humpey, which was next 
 his office and at the farther end from Brenda's 
 
 rooms. 
 
 304
 
 Aurea 
 
 The overseer and the new-chum were to ride 
 home that evening, but Miles had decided to stay 
 the night at Kooroon. So far Holt had not turned 
 up, and his non-appearance gave food for specula- 
 tion, but the theory of a possible gold-find on the 
 Razor-back was once more dismissed as unten- 
 able. The overseer and the new-chum were the 
 only ones of the party whose minds were not 
 preoccupied with private trouble. Miles was 
 very silent and avoided even looking at Aurea. 
 The girl was miserable and tried to hide her 
 misery by flirting with the new-chum, which 
 made Miles yet more dour and distant. Indeed, 
 woman-like, Aurea played the coquette to such 
 effect that even her brother-in-law was deceived 
 and congratulated himself upon having warned 
 off young Berris before any injury had been done 
 to Aurea's heart. Poor Miles's heart-pangs were 
 not taken by Vallis into serious consideration, 
 though, when Miles unburdened himself after his 
 walk with Aurea, Forbes felt justified in express- 
 ing sympathy. All the same, he warmly com- 
 mended Miles's determination to make tracks 
 for the Gulf forthwith, leaving Aurea to fulfil the 
 natural destiny of a beautiful young woman with 
 
 three hundred a year and good connections in 
 u 305
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 England. Of course, Aurea would go home and 
 marry well and there would be an end of the 
 matter. As for Miles, when his time came, he 
 would iind a wife far better suited to the condi- 
 tions of life on a Gulf station than Aurea could 
 ever be. And Forbes sighed to himself as 
 he thought of what the bush had done for 
 Brenda. 
 
 But Forbes was not prepared for the confession 
 Aurea made to him a little later when they were 
 walking up and down the garden-path after 
 bidding the overseer and the new-chum good- 
 night. Miles had made excuse to go out and see 
 them on their horses, and had not returned. 
 Aurea jumped to the conclusion that he did not 
 mean to come back and that she would never see 
 him again. She knew that he was in no mood to 
 regard conventionalities, and it would be in keep- 
 ing with his summary methods to leave her for 
 ever without any further farewell. But there 
 had been a look in his eyes which had pierced 
 her to the soul and had made her realise how 
 deeply she cared for him. Now, in her despair, she 
 told Forbes all the truth, and as they walked past 
 Brenda's windows, talking agitatedly together, 
 
 some snatches of their conversation reached the 
 
 306
 
 Aurea 
 
 ears of the wretched woman within. Not cnongh 
 to explain the situation and dispel those evil 
 fancies which were breeding dire mischief in her 
 sick brain, but just enough to make suspicion 
 certainty and to drive the poor, jealous wife into 
 committing a mad act that she had for some time 
 been vaguely meditating, . . . 
 
 As she sat in the darkness, Brenda could hear 
 the voices of her husband and her sister — Aurea's 
 piteous and pleading, that of Forbes pleading 
 also and with the passionate ring in it which 
 Brenda had not heard since the days when he 
 had been her own lover. They were walking to 
 and fro in the vine trellis, and when she moved 
 the heavy curtain aside and tilted up the shade 
 over her eyes, Brenda could see the outline of 
 their forms very close together. It was moon- 
 light, and a ray striking down through a rift in 
 the leafage showed them to her more distinctly 
 for a moment; Forbes with his head bent forward, 
 emotion on every line of his face, and Aurea 
 clinging to him with both hands upon his arm, 
 her face too full of emotion, her imploring eyes 
 upturned to his. She appeared to be in a state of 
 great agitation. As they paced to and fro, 
 
 Brenda caught broken bits of what they were 
 
 307
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 saying. Aurea's voice rose now at the end of 
 
 what seemed to be a passionate appeal. 
 
 . . . . " It's all the world to me — that's true, 
 
 and I don't care whether or not I'm letting myself 
 
 down in saying so. . . . Barriers like this don't 
 
 count — oh, they should not count between two 
 
 people who truly love each other. . . . No, no, 
 
 Forbes, I can't sacrifice my happiness and that of 
 
 the man I love to mere conventional ideas of 
 
 propriety. . . . It's more than I can bear. ..." 
 
 The murmur became incoherent, as they 
 
 passed on. When they turned, Aurea was still 
 
 speaking. . . . 
 
 "I'd rather go back to England than feeLthat 
 
 I was within reach of the man I love and yet that 
 
 he was nothing to me. . . . But I should break 
 
 my heart either way. . , . Oh, I can't follow 
 
 your arguments, Forbes. They seem to me of no 
 
 weight at all in comparison with my love. . . . 
 
 Can't you do anything, Forbes? . . . Can't 
 
 you? . . ." 
 
 Brenda's husband was answering when Brenda 
 
 heard them again. She could not see them now, 
 
 but she felt that Aurea was still clinging to him. 
 
 She knew by the sound of his voice that his head 
 
 was bent close down to Aurea's. She knew too 
 
 308
 
 Aurea 
 
 that he must have been urging Aurea to some 
 course which it gave him pain to advocate, and 
 the pain in his accents was as a stab in the heart 
 of his Hstening wife. 
 
 " Poor httle girl — But one gets over these 
 feehngs, Aurea. . . . One thinks one is tre- 
 mendously in love, but that sort of violent 
 passion doesn't stand the rough grind of poverty 
 in the bush. ..." 
 
 And then: — 
 
 " Aurea, dear little woman. You know how 
 fond of you I am — you know there's nothing in 
 the world I wouldn't do for you. But you ask 
 too much of me. . . . You don't understand 
 what you're doing. You were made for some- 
 thing better than to wear out your youth and 
 good looks away here in the back-blocks. . . . 
 No, my dear, I couldn't have it on my conscience 
 that I'd helped you to what I feel would only be 
 
 misery. . . ." 
 
 The woman at the window drew back. She 
 did not want to hear any more; she had heard 
 enough. After all, it was only what she had 
 known before. She must indeed have had a 
 presentiment of it from the very beginning. 
 
 Looking back, she remembered that strange talk 
 
 309
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 she had had with Forbes on this very night ten 
 years ago. She had reahsed then that it was not 
 in Forbes's nature to love an ugly woman. Had 
 he not frankly confessed as much? He had 
 loved her— Brenda— as long as she was beautiful 
 —beautiful like Aurea— while she had given him 
 his ideal in flesh and blood. Now it was Aurea 
 who did that. Ah! he was right. A man does 
 not see his ideal personified twice in his lifetime. 
 What would happen when Aurea too lost her 
 beauty? But perhaps he would be getting old 
 then and would not mind so much. There 
 would be no one to replace Aurea as Aurea had 
 replaced her. It seemed hard that a woman 
 should be supplanted in her husband's love by 
 her own sister. 
 
 Brenda went quietly into the inner room. She 
 stood there leaning against the bed and thinking 
 rapidly. She felt a dull amazement at her own 
 quietude. But she had read that a knife piercing 
 deep enough does not hurt. It seemed to her 
 that she was numbed and her life felt far away as 
 if she were dreaming. In the dream she heard 
 the sound of a coo-ee outside, a long way off, and 
 then the crack of a stock-whip. She wondered 
 
 in a stupid way who^ could be coming to the 
 
 310
 
 Aurea 
 
 station — it was late for any of the stockmen to 
 be out. . . . And then her thoughts took a 
 fantastic leap to a story Aurea had been reading 
 to her out of an old Temple Bar — the story of a 
 woman who had discovered that her husband 
 loved another woman. The woman had resolved 
 that her husband should be made happy, and so 
 she had gone on a voyage, and had slipped off the 
 deck one dark night into the sea, and everybody 
 had thought it was an accident. . . . Yes, that 
 was the right thing to do — not to let the husband 
 think it was done on purpose. . . . One might 
 make any sort of mistake if one were blinded 
 with pain and half-stupefied with continual 
 applications of opium. . . . 
 
 Aurea and Forbes heard the stock-whip and 
 the coo-ee, and went out into the station yard to 
 see who was their late visitor. 
 
 "It wasn't the mail-man," Forbes said, " foi 
 he had gone by two days ago — and besides, the 
 mail-man wouldn't crack a stock-whip like 
 that." 
 
 Then suddenly Forbes remembered Holt. 
 
 " Why, of course, it must be Holt," he ex- 
 claimed. " Hullo! Why, there's two of them 
 
 — no, three. Oh, one is Miles Berris — and it 
 
 311
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 can't be those other chaps that he's bringing 
 back again." 
 
 The moon shone on the riders as they came 
 nearer. Aurea shrank back shamefaced into the 
 shadow of the verandah. Yes, it was Miles 
 Berris, as she had supposed. He must have 
 meant to go away, and had thought better of it 
 and turned back. But the other two were not 
 the overseer and the new-chum. One was a 
 great lanky bushman whom she had never seen 
 before, and the other was Dr Rowth, whom she 
 had met at Gundabine. The three got off their 
 horses and came forward with an air of mystery 
 and excitement, the doctor leading. Vallis 
 greeted him with unfeigned pleasure. " I am 
 glad to see you, doctor. My wife's eyes don't 
 get any better and she's rather down in her spirits, 
 so I'm thankful you've come to see after her. 
 She's gone to bed, and you'll have your supper 
 and give her a look in the morning. . . . Hullo, 
 Holt! Welcome to this beastly old Leura once 
 more. You're a nice sort of chap to say you'd 
 spend Christmas Day and then arrive at this 
 hour of the night." 
 
 " Merry Christmas, Forbes! " said Holt, in his 
 
 drawling voice. " I can tell you this is the 
 
 312
 
 Aurea 
 
 merriest one I've had for ever so long." There 
 was a note of eagerness in his usually slow manner. 
 " I say," he added, " do you remember that 
 Christmas ten years ago? — the time we all came 
 to pay a wedding visit to your wife? And do 
 you remember the Luck of the Leura? " 
 
 " Oh, don't! " cried Forbes. " We were made 
 pretty sick over those old iron pirates. Let 'em 
 lie in their grave." 
 
 " Old man, we've dug them up again — and it is 
 a great and glorious resurrection! " said Holt, 
 solemnly. " Here's the Doc will bear me out, for 
 it was his idea to start with, and he gave a hand 
 in lifting the corpses. I've got one of them in my 
 swag. You'll see what he's turned into." 
 
 Forbes Vallis went into a fit of laughter. 
 " What on earth do you mean? " 
 
 " A great and glorious resurrection," repeated 
 Holt. " Those worthless iron pyrites as they 
 were, when you buried them, have ' jumped up ' 
 — genuine gold." He dropped his voice drama- 
 tically at the last word and glanced cautiously 
 round to see that there were no other listeners. 
 " Do you hear — genuine gold. We have Yates's 
 word for it. He's tremendously excited over the 
 
 thing — that's what made us so late. I'U get 
 
 313
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 the bit of ore out of my swag. Mrs Vallis has got 
 something like that nugget of hers at last. I've 
 brought it to her for a Christmas present." 
 
 Holt went to his horse and unbuckled the 
 valise from his saddle. Forbes turned be- 
 wilderedly to Dr Rowth, who had been getting 
 down his own valise, 
 
 " I say, doctor, has Holt got a touch of the 
 sun or is this a practical joke? " 
 
 " It's a very curious scientific fact," returned 
 the doctor. " Come inside and we'll tell you all 
 about it. Bring along the corpse, Jimmy." 
 
 Forbes led the three men into the dining-room, 
 and Aurea, who had been listening in breathless 
 interest, though not understanding a word of the 
 matter, came round the corner of the verandah 
 and stole in behind them. 
 
 They were all much too eager to notice her. 
 
 Even Miles looked curiously elated. Holt went 
 
 under the hanging kerosene lamp — that same 
 
 lamp by the light of which Forbes had read the 
 
 assayer's discouraging report ten years before — 
 
 and held out an odd-looking stone like a petrified 
 
 sponge, in which gleamed tiny lumps of yellow 
 
 metal. The four heads pressed forward to 
 
 examine it. 
 
 314
 
 Aurea 
 
 " There, that's the colour right enough! " said 
 Holt, pointing with his scarred brawny forefinger 
 to the little yellow lumps. " It's all full of gold. 
 I wouldn't take my own opinion, for as you've 
 heard, Vallis, mining played a trick or two on 
 me once on a time. But when Yates said it was 
 the stuff — well, I thought," he added with 
 modest pride — " that I'd better come along." 
 
 Forbes took the lump in his hand, put his own 
 finger on the specks of gold, gazed at them, and 
 then exclaimed, — 
 
 " If the Government geologist says it's the 
 colour all right, how did the Government assay er 
 come to tell me that this was nothing but iron 
 pyrites? " 
 
 "Oh, that assay er told the truth — ten years 
 ago," replied Holt. " But it's this way— that's 
 the queer part of it — You explain, Doc." 
 
 Forbes looked again questioningly at Dr Rowth, 
 who struck in, his kind, shrewd face alight with 
 interest and pleasure. 
 
 " Well, you know, Vallis, I'm a bit of a miner- 
 alogist among my other fads," he said, "and I 
 keep my eye on mining matters that are reported 
 from different parts of the world. If I wasn't 
 tied by the heels to my practice, I'd like nothing 
 
 315
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 better than to mouch round with a geologist's 
 hammer, and, as it is, I do sometimes stop and 
 look out for indications when I'm riding about 
 the country seeing my bush patients. I'd often 
 thought of that story of yours about the iron 
 pyrites, and it just happened that I picked up an 
 American paper somewhere and read in it an 
 account of how a Colorado miner found a natural 
 oxydisation in iron pyrites owing to some pecu- 
 liarity of soil or position. It struck me that the 
 Razor-back conformation was rather like that 
 described, and several times I thought I'd tell 
 you to go and have another look at those speci- 
 mens. I mentioned it to Holt the other day, 
 and he said he'd have a look himself when he was 
 up at the Gap — we knew from you whereabouts 
 the place was. Then it all fitted in somehow, 
 for I had to see a patient up Oakey Creek way 
 and took the old road up from the coast. So 
 that's how we came across each other." 
 
 " Well? " said VaUis, impatiently. 
 
 " Well, directly we'd scraped away the earth 
 
 and taken out a specimen I saw that there was a 
 
 lot in what that American had found out, and so 
 
 did Holt. ' This must have changed a good 
 
 deal,' he said. ' I never saw iron pyrites like this 
 
 316
 
 Aurea 
 
 before. It's all honey-combed — looks as if it 
 had done its oxydisation for itself.' And that's 
 just what has happened, Yates says," the doctor 
 went on. " It's been a natural sort of chemical- 
 isation. The rain filtering through the loose earth 
 and branches you'd put on top of the pit, and 
 perhaps the drought on top of that, and who 
 knows what else — some constituents of the soil 
 perhaps acting on the ore — have oxydised and 
 decomposed the iron, leaving the gold clear. 
 There's a tremendous percentage of gold, 
 Yates says, in that bit alone. The question 
 whether it can be done in quicker time than ten 
 years, however, is a question for a chemist to 
 decide. Anyhow, we've pretty satisfactorily 
 ascertained that the lode runs right along the 
 Gap. Yates thinks, and I do also, that Nature 
 has probably been carrying on the process for 
 herself in likely spots — and if so, that means — " 
 
 " Clearing off the Bank debt for you, Vallis, 
 and a good bit of profit for Miles there, because 
 the lode runs into his selection — and I hope 
 something in the Doc's pockets and mine as well," 
 said Holt. 
 
 Forbes looked at Miles, and involuntarily each 
 
 man held out his hand, which the other grasped 
 
 Z^7
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 silently. Each one seemed to know what was in 
 the other's mind. Then Miles moved away from 
 the table, and as he did so beheld Aurea standing 
 on the edge of the circle of light, her eyes shining 
 upon him, her features quivering with feeling. 
 
 He understood. It would have been impos- 
 sible to mistake that look in her eyes. He 
 made a quick step to her side, and Forbes, seeing 
 the movement and the expression of Aurea's 
 face, felt that though he might have done his 
 duty in protesting a little time before against a 
 certain matrimonial engagement, that protest 
 had been a work of supererogation. 
 
 Miles whispered to Aurea, " May I say some- 
 thing to you alone? " and they went out together 
 in the moonlight and were lost in the shadows of 
 the trees. 
 
 The other men lingered a while talking excitedly, 
 and so absorbed in discussing the resurrection of 
 the " iron pirates " that they paid no heed to 
 time. Suddenly Forbes exclaimed, " I must go 
 and tell my wife." 
 
 He went along the verandah, where they had 
 
 all been sitting, to the end where Brenda's rooms 
 
 were. They were all dark and silent, and there 
 
 was no answer to his knock and call. Pushing 
 
 318
 
 Aurea 
 
 aside the blue blanket, Forbes entered the little 
 sitting-room, and striking a match, which he 
 shaded with one hand, saw that the place was 
 empty. Thinking that Brenda had gone to bed, 
 he went into the bed-chamber beyond. That too 
 was strangely silent, and again there was no 
 answer to his low call of " Brenda." He hghted 
 a candle and went close to the bed on which he 
 perceived the outline of her form. She was lying 
 there still in her loose, white wrapper, lying 
 absolutely motionless, to all appearance dead. 
 
 On a little table by the bed was the bowl of 
 eye-lotion, in which her handkerchief was soak- 
 ing. Near it stood the bottle of tincture of 
 opium, quite empty, and an empty glass also. 
 
 A lightning terror flashed into Forbes's mind. 
 But he gave himself no time to formulate it in 
 thought. In an instant or two he was back 
 among the men in the verandah, and gripping 
 Dr Rowth's shoulder, whispered, " Come. Don't 
 lose a moment." 
 
 Mercifully the doctor was not too late, though 
 
 Brenda very nearly paid with her life for that 
 
 mad fit of jealousy. The madness was all past 
 
 when she came back from the brink of the grave, 
 
 rescued by Dr Rowth's prompt measures and by 
 
 319
 
 The Luck of the Leura 
 
 Forbes's untiring devotion. Night and day he 
 stayed by her side, relaxing no effort to save her. 
 It did not need the news of Aurea's engagement 
 to convince Brenda of the absurdity of her sus- 
 picions. Forbes's face and the pathetic fervour 
 of his joy at her recovery were sufficient to assure 
 her that his fidehty to his first ideal did not 
 depend upon the preservation of her beauty. 
 
 Nevertheless, that returned to her with better 
 health and good fortune. Forbes took her south 
 with him on the occasion of his repayment of the 
 Bank mortgage, and they went on to Tasmania 
 so that she should recruit in that delightful 
 climate and lovely scenery. When she came 
 back again there did not seem so great a differ- 
 ence between the wife of ten years and the bloom- 
 ing bride. And at least Brenda had proved that 
 there is a deep enduring married love which 
 cannot be destroyed by sickness or time. 
 
 THE END 
 
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