After their meal the men came back on to the veranda, and there were more smoking and sleeping, more boasting and snarling. Different allusions were made to the spirit jar, especially by the old man; but they were made in vain. The “Battle Axe” was Jerry’s own property, and he felt that he had already been almost foolishly liberal. But he had an object in view. He was quite sure that Boscobel and Nokes had not come to Boolabong on the same Sunday by any chance coincidence. The men had something to propose, and in their own way they would make the proposition before they left, and would make it probably to him. Boscobel intended to sleep at Boolabong, but Nokes had explained that it was his purpose to return that night to Medlicot’s Mill. The proposition no doubt would be made soon—a little after seven, when the day was preparing to give way suddenly to night. Nokes first walked off, sloping out from the veranda in a half-shy, half-cunning manner, looking nowhither, and saying a word to no one. Quickly after him Boscobel jumped up suddenly, hitched up his trousers, and followed the first man. At about a similar interval Jerry passed out through the big room to the yard at the back, and from the yard to a shed that was used as a shambles. Here he found the other two men, and no doubt the proposition was made.
“There’s something up,” said the old man, as soon as Jerry was gone.
“Of course there’s something up,” said Joe. “Those fellows didn’t come all the way to Boolabong for nothing.”
“It’s something about young Heathcote,” suggested the father.
“If it is,” said Jack, “what’s that to you?”
“They’ll get themselves hanged, that’s all about it.”
“That be blowed!” said Jack; “you go easy and hold your tongue. If you know nothing, nobody can hurt you.”
“I know nothing,” said Joe, “and don’t mean. If I had scores to quit with a fellow like Harry Heathcote, I should do it after my own fashion. I shouldn’t get Boscobel to help me, nor yet such a fellow as Nokes. But it’s no business of mine. Heathcote’s made the place too hot to hold him—that’s all about it.”
There was no more said, and in an hour’s time Jerry returned, to the family. Neither the father nor brother asked him any questions, nor did he volunteer any information.
Boolabong was about fourteen miles from Medlicot’s Mill. Nokes had walked this distance in the morning, and now retraced it at night; not going right across Gangoil, as he had falsely boasted of doing early in the day, but skirting it, and keeping on the outside of the fence nearly the whole distance. At about two in the morning he reached his cottage outside the mill on the riverbank; but he was unable to skulk in unheard. Some dogs made a noise, and presently he heard a voice calling him from the house.
“Is that you, Nokes, at this time of night?” asked Mr. Medlicot.
Nokes grunted out some reply, intending to avoid any further question. But his master came up to the hut door and asked him where he had been.
“Just amusing myself,” said Nokes.
“It’s very late.”
“It’s not later for me than for you, Mr. Medlicot.”
“That’s true. I’ve just ridden home from Gangoil.”
“From Gangoil? I didn’t know you were so friendly there, Mr. Medlicot.”
“And where have you been?”
“Not to Gangoil, anyway. Good night, Mr. Medlicot!”
Then the man took himself into his hut, and was safe from further questioning that night.
VII
“I Wish You’d Like Me”
All the Saturday night Heathcote had been on the run, and he did not return home to bed till nearly dawn on the Sunday morning. At about noon prayers were read out on the veranda, the congregation consisting of Mrs. Heathcote and her sister, Mrs. Growler, and Jacko. Harry himself was rather averse to this performance, intimating that Mrs. Growler, if she were so minded, could read the prayers for herself in the kitchen, and that, as regarded Jacko, they would be altogether thrown away. But his wife had made a point of maintaining the practice, and he had of course yielded. The service was not long, and when it was over Harry got into a chair and was soon asleep. He had been in the saddle during sixteen hours of the previous day and night, and was entitled to be fatigued. His wife sat beside him, every now and again protecting him from the flies, while Kate Daly sat by with her Bible in her hand. But she, too, from time to time, was watching her brother-in-law. The trouble of his spirits and the work that he felt himself bound to do touched them with a strong feeling, and taught them to regard him for the time as a young hero.
“How quietly he sleeps!” Kate said. “The fatigue of the last week must have been terrible.”
“He is quite, quite knocked up,” said the wife.
“I ain’t knocked up a bit,” said Harry, jumping up from his chair. “What should knock me up? I wasn’t asleep, was I?”
“Just dozing, dear.”
“Ah, well; there isn’t anything to do, and it’s too hot to get out. I wonder Old Bates didn’t come in for prayers.”
“I don’t think he cares much for prayers,” said Mrs. Heathcote.
“But he likes an excuse for a nobbler
