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A Little Bush Maid

M >> Mary Grant Bruce >> A Little Bush Maid




"Dead!" said Norah, her eyes dilating.

Blake nodded.

"Stone dead," he said. "They thought at first he'd just died natural, as
there was no mark o' violence on 'im, but when they got a doctor to
examine 'im he soon found out very different. The poor ol' feller 'ad
been poisoned, missy; the doctor said 'e must a' bin dead twelve hours
when the Bowens found 'im. Everything of value was gone from the hut
along with his mate, old Harris--the black-hearted villain he must be!"

"Why, do they think he killed the other man?" Norah asked.

"Seems pretty certain, missy," Blake replied. "In fact, there don't seem
the shadder of a doubt. He was comin' straight from the hut when the
Bowens met 'im--an' he'd cleared out the whole place, gold an' all. Oh,
there ain't any doubt about Mr. Harris bein' the guilty party. The only
thing doubtful is Mr. Harris's whereabouts."

"Have the police been looking for him?" asked Norah.

"Huntin' high an' low--without any luck. He seems to have vanished off
the earth. They've bin follerin' up first one clue and then another
without any result. Now the last is that he's been seen somewhere the
other side of your place, an' two troopers have gone out to-day to see
if there's any truth in the rumour."

"I think it's awfully exciting," Norah said, "but I'm terribly sorry for
the poor man who was killed. What a wicked old wretch the other must
be!--his own mate, too! I wonder what he was like. Did you know him?"

"Well, I've seen old Harris a few times--not often," Blake replied.
"Still, he wasn't the sort of old man you'd forget. Not a bad-looking
old chap, he was. Very tall and well set up, with piercin' blue eyes,
long white hair an' beard, an' a pretty uppish way of talkin'. I don't
fancy anyone about here knew him very well--he had a way of keepin' to
himself. One thing, there's plenty lookin' out for him now."

"I suppose so," Norah said. "I wonder will he really get away?"

"Mighty small chance," said Blake. "Still, it's wonderful how he's
managed to keep out of sight for so long. Of course, once in the bush it
might be hard to find him--but sooner or later he must come out to some
township for tucker, an' then everyone will be lookin' out for him. They
may have got him up your way by now, missy. Is your Pa at home?"

"He's coming home in a day or two," Norah said; "perhaps to-morrow. I
hope they won't find Harris and bring him to our place."

"Well, it all depends on where they find him if they do get him," Blake
replied. "Possibly they might find the station a handy place to stop at.
However, missy, don't you worry your head about it--nothing for you to
be frightened about."

"Why, I'm not frightened," Norah said. "It hasn't got anything to do
with me. Only I don't want to see a man who could kill his mate, that's
all."

"He's much like any other man," said Blake philosophically. "Say, here's
someone comin' after you, missy, I think."

"I thought I'd find you here," exclaimed Mrs. Brown's fat, comfortable
voice, as its owner puffed her way up the slope leading to the
blacksmith's. "Good afternoon, Mr. Blake. I've finished all my shopping,
Miss Norah, my dear, and the mail's in, and here's a letter for you, as
you won't be sorry to see."

"From Dad? How lovely!" and Norah, snatching at the grey envelope with
its big, black writing, tore it open hastily. At the first few words,
she uttered a cry of delight.

"Oh, he's coming home to-morrow, Brownie--only another day! He says he
thinks it's time he was home, with murderers roaming about the
district!" and Norah executed a few steps of a Highland fling, greatly
to the edification of the blacksmith.

"Dear sakes alive!" said Mrs. Brown, truculently. "I think there are
enough of us at the station to look after you, murderer or no
murderer--not as 'ow but that 'Arris must be a nasty creature! Still I'm
very glad your Pa's coming, Miss Norah, because nothing do seem right
when he's away--an' it's dull for you, all alone."

"Master Jim gone back, I s'pose?" queried Blake.

"Yesterday," Norah added.

"Then you must be lonely," the old blacksmith said, taking Norah's small
brown hand, and holding it for a moment in his horny fist very much as
if he feared it were an eggshell, and not to be dropped. "Master Jim's
growing a big fellow, too--goin' to be as big a man as his father, I
believe. Well, good-bye, missy, and don't forget to come in next time
you're in the township."

There was nothing further to detain them in Cunjee, and very soon the
ponies were fetched from the stables, and they were bowling out along
the smooth metal road that wound its way across the plain, and Norah was
mingling excited little outbursts of delight over her father's return
with frequent searches into a big bag of sweets which Mrs. Brown had
thoughtfully placed on the seat of the buggy.

"I don't know why Blake wanted to go telling you about that nasty
murderer," Mrs. Brown said. They were ten miles from Cunjee, and the
metal road had given place to a bush track, in very fair order.

"Why not?" asked Norah, with the carelessness of twelve years.

"Well, tales of murders aren't the things for young ladies' ears," Mrs.
Brown said primly. "Your Pa never tells you such things. The paper's
been full of this murder, but I would 'a' scorned to talk to you about
it."

"I don't think Blake meant any harm," said Norah. "He didn't say so very
much. I don't suppose he'd have mentioned it, only that Mr. Harris is
supposed to have come our way, and even that doesn't seem certain."

"'Arris 'as baffled the police," said Mrs. Brown, with the solemn pride
felt by so many at the worsting of the guardians of the law. "They don't
reely know anythink about his movements, that's my belief. Why, it's
weeks since he was seen. This yarn about his comin' this way is on'y got
up to 'ide the fact that they don't know a thing about it. I don't
b'lieve he's anywhere within coo-ee of our place. Might be out of the
country now, for all anyone's sure of."

"Blake seemed to think he'd really come this way;" Norah said.

"Blake's an iggerant man," said Mrs. Brown loftily.

"Well, I'll keep a look-out for him, at any rate," laughed Norah. "He
ought to be easy enough to find--tall and good-looking and well set
up--whatever that may mean--and long white beard and hair. He must be a
pretty striking-looking sort of old man. I--" And then recollection
swept over Norah like a flood, and her words faltered on her lips.

Her hand gripped the reins tighter, and she drove on unconsciously.
Blake's words were beating in her ears. "Not a bad-looking old
chap--very tall and well set up--piercing blue eyes and a pretty uppish
way of talking." The description had meant nothing to her until someone
whom it fitted all too aptly had drifted across her mental vision.

The Hermit! Even while she felt and told herself that it could not be,
the fatal accuracy of the likeness made her shudder. It was perfect--the
tall, white-haired old man--"not the sort of old man you'd forget"--with
his distinguished look; the piercing blue eyes--but Norah knew what
kindliness lay in their depths--the gentle refined voice, so different
from most of the rough country voices. It would answer to Blake's
"pretty uppish way of talking." Anyone who had read the description
would, on meeting the Hermit, immediately identify him as the man for
whom the police were searching. Norah's common sense told her that.

A wave of horror swept over the little girl, and the hands gripping the
reins trembled. Common sense might tell one tale, but every instinct of
her heart told a very different one. That gentle-faced old man, with a
world of kindness in his tired eyes--he the man who killed his sleeping
mate for a handful of gold! Norah set her square little chin. She would
not--could not--believe it.

"Why, you're very quiet, dearie." Mrs. Brown glanced inquiringly at her
companion. "A minute ago you was chatterin', and now you've gone down
flat, like old soda-water. Is anything wrong?"

"No, I'm all right, Brownie. I was only thinking," said Norah, forcing a
smile.

"Too many sweeties, I expect," said Mrs. Brown, laying a heavy hand on
the bag and impounding it for future reference. "Mustn't have you get
indigestion, an' your Pa comin' home to-morrow."

Norah laughed.

"Now, did you ever know me to have indigestion in my life?" she queried.

"Well, perhaps not," Mrs. Brown admitted. "Still, you never can tell; it
don' do to pride oneself on anything. If it ain't indigestion, you've
been thinking too much of this narsty murder."

Norah flicked the off pony deliberately with her whip.

"Darkie is getting disgracefully lazy," she said. "He's not doing a bit
of the work. Nigger's worth two of him." The injured Darkie shot forward
with a bound, and Mrs. Brown grabbed the side of the buggy hastily, and
in her fears at the pace for the ensuing five minutes forgot her too
inconvenient cross-examination.

Norah settled back into silence, her forehead puckered with a frown. She
had never in her careless little life been confronted by such a problem
as the one that now held her thoughts. That the startling similarity
between her new-made friend and the description of the murderer should
fasten upon her mind, was unavoidable. She struggled against the idea as
disloyal, but finally decided to think it out calmly.

The descriptions tallied. So much was certain. The verbal likeness of
one man was an exact word painting of the other, so far as it went,
"though," as poor Norah reflected, "you can't always tell a person just
by hearing what he's like." Then there was no denying that the conduct
of the Hermit would excite suspicion. He was camping alone in the
deepest recesses of a lonely tract of scrub; he had been there some
weeks, and she had had plenty of proof that he was taken aback at being
discovered and wished earnestly that no future prowlers might find their
way to his retreat. She recalled his shrinking from the boys, and his
hasty refusal to go to the homestead. He had said in so many words that
he desired nothing so much as to be left alone--any one would have
gathered that he feared discovery. They had all been conscious of the
mystery about him. Her thoughts flew back to the half-laughing
conversation between Harry and Wally, when they had actually speculated
as to why he was hiding. Putting the case fairly and squarely, Norah had
to admit that it looked black against the Hermit.

Against it, what had she? No proof; only a remembrance of two honest
eyes looking sadly at her; of a face that had irresistibly drawn her
confidence and friendship; of a voice whose tones had seemed to echo
sincerity and kindness. It was absolutely beyond Norah's power to
believe that the hand that had held hers so gently could have been the
one to strike to death an unsuspecting mate. Her whole nature revolted
against the thought that her friend could be so base.

"He was in trouble," Norah said, over and over again, in her uneasy
mind; "he was unhappy. But I know he wasn't wicked. Why, Bobs made
friends with him!"

The thought put fresh confidence in her mind; Bobs always knew "a good
sort."

"I won't say anything," she decided at last, as they wheeled round the
corner of the homestead. "If they knew there was a tall old man there,
they'd go and hunt him out, and annoy him horribly. I know he's all
right. I'll hold my tongue about him altogether--even to Dad."

The coach dropped Mr. Linton next day at the Cross Roads, where a little
figure, clad in white linen, sat in the buggy, holding the brown ponies,
while the dusky Billy was an attendant sprite on his piebald mare.

"Well, my little girl, it's good to see you again," Mr. Linton said,
putting his Gladstone bag into the buggy and receiving undismayed a
small avalanche of little daughter upon his neck. "Steady, dear--mind
the ponies." He jumped in, and put his arm round her. "Everything well?"

"Yes, all right, Daddy. I'm so glad to have you back!"

"Not gladder than I am to get back, my little lass," said her father.
"Good-day, Billy. Let 'em go, Norah."

"Did you see Jim?" asked Norah, as the ponies bounded forward.

"No--missed him. I had only an hour in town, and went out to the school,
to find Master Jim had gone down the river--rowing practice. I was sorry
to miss him; but it wasn't worth waiting another day in town."

"Jim would be sorry," said Norah thoughtfully. She herself was rather
glad: had Jim seen his father, most probably he would have mentioned the
Hermit. Now she had only his letters to fear, and as Jim's letters were
of the briefest nature and very far apart, it was not an acute danger.

"Yes, I suppose he would," Mr. Linton replied. "I regretted not having
sent a telegram to say I was going to the school--it slipped my memory.
I had rather a rush, you know. I suppose you've been pretty dull, my
girlie?"

"Oh it was horrid after the boys went," Norah said. "I didn't know what
to do with myself, and the house was terribly quiet. It was hard luck
that you had to go away too."

"Yes, I was very sorry it happened so," her father said; "had we been
alone together I'd have taken you with me, but we'll have the trip some
other time. Did you have a good day's fishing on Saturday?"

"Yes," said Norah, flushing a little guiltily--the natural impulse to
tell all about their friend the Hermit was so strong. "We had a lovely
day, and caught ever so many fish--didn't get home till ever so late.
The only bad part was finding you away when we got back."

"Well, I'm glad you had good luck, at any rate," Mr. Linton said. "So
Anglers' Bend is keeping up its reputation, eh? We'll have to go out
there, I think, Norah; what do you say about it? Would you and Billy
like a three days' jaunt on fishing bent?"

"Oh, it would be glorious, Daddy! Camping out?"

"Well, of course--since we'd be away three days. In this weather it
would be a very good thing to do, I think."

"You are a blessed Daddy," declared his daughter rubbing her cheek
against his shoulder. "I never knew anyone with such beautiful ideas."
She jigged on her seat with delight. "Oh, and, Daddy, I'll be able to
put you on to such a splendid new hole for fishing!"

"Will you, indeed?" said Mr. Linton, smiling at the flushed face.
"That's good, dear. But how did you discover it?"

Norah's face fell suddenly. She hesitated and looked uncomfortable.

"Oh," she said slowly; "I--we--found it out last trip."

"Well, we'll go, Norah--as soon as I can fix it up," said her father.
"And now, have you heard anything about the Winfield murderer?"

"Not a thing, Daddy. Brownie thinks it's just a yarn that he was seen
about here."

"Oh, I don't think so at all," Mr. Linton said. "A good many people have
the idea, at any rate--of course they may be wrong. I'm afraid Brownie
is rather too ready to form wild opinions on some matters. To tell the
truth, I was rather worried at the reports--I don't fancy the notion of
escaped gentry of that kind wandering round in the vicinity of my small
daughter."

"Well, I don't think you need have worried," said Norah, laughing up at
him; "but all the same, I'm not a bit sorry you did, if it brought you
home a day earlier, Dad!"

"Well, it certainly did," said Mr. Linton, pulling her ear; "but I'm not
sorry either. I can't stand more than a day or two in town. As for the
murderer, I'm not going to waste any thought on him now that I am here.
There's the gate, and here comes Billy like a whirlwind to open it."

They bowled through the gate and up the long drive, under the arching
boughs of the big gum trees, that formed a natural avenue on each side.
At the garden gate Mrs. Brown stood waiting, with a broad smile of
welcome, and a chorus of barks testified to the arrival of sundry dogs.
"It's a real home-coming," Mr. Linton said as he walked up the path, his
hand on Norah's shoulder--and the little girl's answering smile needed
no words. They turned the corner by the big rose bush, and came within
view of the house, and suddenly Norah's smile faded. A trooper in dusty
uniform stood on the doorstep.

"Why, that's a pleasant object to greet a man," Mr. Linton said, as the
policeman turned and came to meet him with a civil salute. He nodded as
the man came up. "Did you want me?"

"It's only about this 'ere murderer, sir," said the trooper. "Some of us
is on a sort of a scent, but we haven't got fairly on to his tracks yet.
I've ridden from Mulgoa to-day, and I came to ask if your people had
seen anything of such a chap passing--as a swaggie or anything?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr. Linton. "What is he like?"

"Big fellow--old--plenty of white hair and beard, though, of course,
they're probably cut off by this time. Very decent-looking old chap,"
said the trooper reflectively--"an' a good way of speakin'."

"Well, I've seen no such man," said Mr. Linton decidedly--"of course,
though, I don't see all the 'travellers' who call. Perhaps Mrs. Brown
can help you."

"Not me sir," said Mrs. Brown, with firmness. "There ain't been no such
a person--and you may be sure there ain't none I don't see! Fact is,
when I saw as 'ow the murderer was supposed to be in this districk, I
made inquiries amongst the men--the white hands, that is--and none of
them had seen any such man as the papers described. I reckon 'e may just
as well be in any other districk as this--I s'pose the poor p'lice must
say 'e's somewheres!"

She glared defiantly at the downcast trooper.

"Wish you had the job of findin' him, mum," said that individual. "Well,
sir, there's no one else I could make inquiries of, is there?"

"Mrs. Brown seems to have gone the rounds," Mr. Linton said. "I really
don't think there's any one else--unless my small daughter here can help
you," he added laughingly.

But Norah had slipped away, foreseeing possible questioning.

The trooper smiled.

"Don't think I need worry such a small witness," he said. "No, I'll just
move on, Mr. Linton. I'm beginning to think I'm on a wild-goose chase."




CHAPTER XIII



THE CIRCUS


The days went by, but no further word of the Winfield murderer came to
the anxious ears of the little girl at Billabong homestead. Norah never
read the papers, and could not therefore satisfy her mind by their
reports; but all her inquiries were met by the same reply, "Nothing
fresh." The police were still in the district--so much she knew, for
she had caught glimpses of them when out riding with her father. The
stern-looking men in dusty uniforms were unusual figures in those quiet
parts. But Norah could not manage to discover if they had searched the
scrub that hid the Hermit's simple camp; and the mystery of the
Winfield murder seemed as far from being cleared up as ever.

Meanwhile there was plenty to distract her mind from such disquieting
matters. The station work happened to be particularly engrossing just
then, and day after day saw Norah in the saddle, close to her father's
big black mare, riding over hills and plains, bringing up the slow sheep
or galloping gloriously after cattle that declined to be mustered. There
were visits of inspection to be made to the farthest portions of the
run, and busy days in the yards, when the men worked at drafting the
stock, and Norah sat perched on the high "cap" of a fence and, watching
with all her eager little soul in her eyes, wished heartily that she had
been born a boy. Then there were a couple of trips with Mr. Linton to
outlying townships, and on one of these occasions Norah had a piece of
marvellous luck, for there was actually a circus in Cunjee--a real,
magnificent circus, with lions and tigers and hyaenas, and a camel, and
other beautiful animals, and, best of all, a splendid elephant of meek
and mild demeanour. It was the elephant that broke up Norah's calmness.

"Oh, Daddy!" she said. "Daddy! Oh, can't we stay?"

Mr. Linton laughed.

"I was expecting that," he said. "Stay? And what would Brownie be
thinking?"

Norah's face fell.

"Oh," she said. "I'd forgotten Brownie. I s'pose it wouldn't do. But
isn't it a glorious elephant, Daddy?"

"It is, indeed," said Mr. Linton, laughing. "I think it's too glorious
to leave, girlie. Fact is, I had an inkling the circus was to be here,
so I told Brownie not to expect us until she saw us. She put a basket in
the buggy, with your tooth-brush, I think."

The face of his small daughter was sufficient reward.

"Daddy!" she said. "Oh, but you are the MOST Daddy!" Words failed her at
that point.

Norah said that it was a most wonderful "spree." They had dinner at the
hotel, where the waiter called her "Miss Linton," and in all ways
behaved precisely as if she were grown up, and after dinner she and her
father sat on the balcony while Mr. Linton smoked and Norah watched the
population arriving to attend the circus. They came from all
quarters--comfortable old farm wagons, containing whole families; a few
smart buggies; but the majority came on horseback, old as well as young.
The girls rode in their dresses, or else had slipped on habit skirts
over their gayer attire, with great indifference as to whether it
happened to be crushed, and they had huge hats, trimmed with all the
colours of the rainbow. Norah did not know much about dress, but it
seemed to her theirs was queer. But one and all looked so happy and
excited that dress was the last thing that mattered.

It seemed to Norah a long while before Mr. Linton shook the ashes from
his pipe deliberately and pulled out his watch. She was inwardly dancing
with impatience.

"Half-past seven," remarked her father, shutting up his watch with a
click. "Well, I suppose we'd better go, Norah. All ready, dear?"

"Yes, Daddy. Must I wear gloves?"

"Why, not that I know of," said her father, looking puzzled. "Hardly
necessary, I think. I don't wear 'em. Do you want to?"

"Goodness--no!" said his daughter hastily.

"Well, that's all right," said Mr. Linton. "Stow them in my pocket and
come along."

Out in the street there were unusual signs of bustle. People were
hurrying along the footpath. The blare of brass instruments came from
the big circus tent, round which was lingering every small boy of Cunjee
who could not gain admission. Horses were tied to adjoining fences,
considerably disquieted by the brazen strains of the band. It was very
cheerful and inspiring, and Norah capered gently as she trotted along by
her father.

Mr. Linton gave up his tickets at the first tent, and they passed in to
view the menagerie--a queer collection, but wonderful enough in the eyes
of Cunjee. The big elephant held pride of place, as he stood in his
corner and sleepily waved his trunk at the aggravating flies. Norah
loved him from the first, and in a moment was stroking his trunk,
somewhat to her father's anxiety.

"I hope he's safe?" he asked an attendant.

"Bless you, yes, sir," said that worthy, resplendent in dingy scarlet
uniform. "He alwuz knows if people ain't afraid of him. Try him with
this, missy." "This" was an apple, and Jumbo deigned to accept it at
Norah's hands, and crunched it serenely.

"He's just dear," said Norah, parting reluctantly from the huge swaying
brute and giving him a final pat as she went.

"Better than Bobs?" asked her father.

"Pooh!" said Norah loftily. "What's this rum thing?"

"A wildebeest," read her father. "He doesn't look like it."

"Pretty tame beast, I think," Norah observed, surveying the
stolid-looking animal before her. "Show me something really wild,
Daddy."

"How about this chap?" asked Mr. Linton.

They were before the tiger's cage, and the big yellow brute was walking
up and down with long stealthy strides, his great eyes roving over the
curious faces in front of him. Some one poked a stick at him--an
attention which met an instant roar and spring on the tiger's part, and
a quick, and stinging rebuke from an attendant, before which the poker
of the stick fled precipitately. The crowd, which had jumped back as one
man, pressed nearer to the cage, and the tiger resumed his quick, silent
prowl. But his eyes no longer roved over the faces. They remained fixed
upon the man who had provoked him.

"How do you like him?" Mr. Linton asked his daughter.

Norah hesitated.

"He's not nice, of course," she said. "But I'm so awfully sorry for him,
aren't you, Daddy? It does seem horrible--a great, splendid thing like
that shut up for always in that little box of a cage. You feel he really
ought to have a great stretch of jungle to roam in."

"And eat men in? I think he's better where he is."

"Well, you'd think the world was big enough for him to have a place
apart from men altogether," said Norah, holding to her point sturdily.
"Somewhere that isn't much wanted--a sandy desert, or a spare Alp! This
doesn't seem right, somehow. I think I've seen enough animals, Daddy,
and it's smelly here. Let's go into the circus."

The circus tent was fairly crowded as Norah and her father made their
way in and took the seats reserved for them, under the direction of
another official in dingy scarlet. Round the ring the tiers of seats
rose abruptly, each tier a mass of eager, interested faces. A lame
seller of fruit and drinks hobbled about crying his wares; at intervals
came the "pop" of a lemonade bottle, and there was a steady crunching of
peanut shells. The scent of orange peel rose over the circus smell--that
weird compound of animal and sawdust and acetylene lamps. In the midst
of all was the ring, with its surface banked up towards the outer edge.

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