The Lust of Hate - Guy Newell Boothby (english love story books txt) 📗

the claim. What

with the rheumatiz and the lumbago I’m none so spry as I used to be,

and there’s gold enough in the old shaft yonder to make the fortunes

of both of us when once we can get at it.”

 

Naturally I lost no time in closing with his offer, and the

following morning found me in the bowels of the earth as hard at work

with pick and shovel as my weakness would permit. Unfortunately,

however, for our dream of wealth, the mine did not prove as brilliant

an investment as its owner had predicted for it, and six week’s

labour showed us the futility of proceeding further. Accordingly we

abandoned it, packed our swags, and set off for a mountain range away

to the southward, on prospecting thoughts intent. Finding nothing to

suit us there, we migrated into the west, where we tried our hands at

a variety of employments for another eighteen months or thereabouts.

At length, on the Diamintina River, in Western Queensland, we parted

company, myself to take a position of storekeeper on Markapurlie

station in the same neighbourhood, and Ben to try his luck on a new

field that had just come into existence near the New South Wales

border.

 

For something like three years we neither saw nor heard anything

of each other. Whether Ben had succeeded on the field to which he had

proceeded when he had said “good-bye” to me, or whether, as usual, he

had been left stranded, I could only guess. My own life, on the other

hand, was uneventful in the extreme.

 

From morning till night I kept the station books, served out

rations to boundary riders and other station hands, and, in the

intervals, thought of my old life, and wondered whether it would ever

be my lot to set foot in England again. So far I had been one of

Fate’s failures, but though I did not know it, I was nearer fortune’s

money bag then than I had ever been in my life before.

 

The manager of Markapurlie was a man named Bartrand, an upstart

and a bully of the first water. He had never taken kindly to me nor I

to him. Every possible means that fell in his way of annoying me he

employed; and, if the truth must be told, I paid his tyranny back

with interest. He seldom spoke save to find fault; I never addressed

him except in a tone of contempt which must have been infinitely

galling to a man of his suspicious antecedents. That he was only

waiting his chance to rid himself of me was as plain as the nose upon

his face, and for this very reason I took especial care so to arrange

my work that it should always fail to give him the opportunity he

desired. The crash, however, was not to be averted, and it came even

sooner than I expected.

 

One hot day, towards the end of summer, I had been out to one of

the boundary rider’s huts with the month’s supply of rations, and,

for the reason that I had a long distance to travel, did not reach

the station till late in the afternoon. As I drove up to the little

cluster of buildings beside the lagoon I noticed a small crowd

collected round the store door. Among those present I could

distinguish the manager, one of the overseers (a man of Bartrand’s

own kidney, and therefore his especial crony), two or three of the

hands, and as the reason of their presence there, what looked like

the body of a man lying upon the ground at their feet. Having handed

my horses over to the black boy at the stockyard, I strode across to

see what might be going forward. Something in my heart told me I was

vitally concerned in it, and bade me be prepared for any

emergency.

 

Beaching the group I glanced at the man upon the ground, and then

almost shouted my surprise aloud. He was none other then Ben Garman,

but oh, how changed! His once stalwart frame shrunk to half its

former size, his face was pinched and haggard to a degree that

frightened me, and, as I looked, I knew there could be no doubt about

one thing, the man was as ill as a man could well be and yet be

called alive.

 

Pushing the crowd unceremoniously aside, I knelt down and spoke to

him. He was mumbling something to himself and evidently did not

recognise me.

 

“Ben,” I cried, “Ben, old man, don’t you remember Gilbert

Pennethorne? Tell me what’s wrong with you, old fellow.”

 

But he only rolled his head and muttered something about “five

hundred paces north-west from the creek and just in a line with the

blasted gum.”

 

Realizing that it was quite useless talking to him, and that if I

wished to prolong his life I must get him to bed as soon as possible,

I requested one of the men standing by to lend a hand and help me to

carry him into my hut. This was evidently the chance Bartrand

wanted.

 

“To the devil with such foolery,” he cried. “You, Johnstone, stand

back and let the man alone. I’ll not have him malingering here, I

tell you. I know his little game, and yours too, Pennethorne, and I

warn you, if you take him into your hut I’ll give you the sack that

instant, and so you remember what I say.”

 

“But you surely don’t want the man to die?” I cried, astonished

almost beyond the roach of words at his barbarity. “Can’t you see how

ill he is? Examine him for yourself. He is delirious now, and if he’s

not looked to he’ll be dead in a few hours.”

 

“And a good job too,” said the manager brutally. “For my part, I

believe he’s only shamming. Any way I’m not going to have him

doctored here. If he’s as ill as you say I’ll send him up to the Mail

Change, and they can doctor him there. He looks as if he had enough

money about him to pay Gibbs his footing.”

 

As Garman was in rags and his condition evidenced the keenest

poverty, this sally was treated as a fine joke by the overseer and

the understrappers, who roared with laughter, and swore that they had

never heard anything better in their lives. It roused my blood,

however, to boiling pitch, and I resolved that, come what might, I

would not desert my friend.

 

“If you send him away to the Mail Change,” I cried, looking

Bartrand square in the eye, “where you hope they won’t take him

in—and, even if they do, you know they’ll not take the trouble to

nurse him—you’ll be as much a murderer as the man who stabs another

to the heart, and so I tell you to your face.”

 

Bartrand came a step closer to me, with his fists clenched and his

face showing as white with passion as his tanned skin would

permit.

 

“You call me a murderer, you dog?” he hissed. “Then, by God, I’ll

act up to what I’ve been threatening to do these months past and

clear you off the place at once. Pack up your traps and make yourself

scarce within an hour, or, by the Lord Harry, I’ll forget-myself and

take my boot to you. I’ve had enough of your fine gentleman airs, my

dandy, and I tell you the place will smell sweeter when you’re out of

it.”

 

I saw his dodge, and understood why he had behaved towards Ben in

such a scurvy fashion. But not wanting to let him see that I was

upset by his behaviour, I looked him straight in the face as coolly

as I knew how and said—

 

“So you’re going to get rid of me because I’m man enough to want

to save the life of an old friend, Mr. Bartrand, are you? Well, then,

let me tell you that you’re a meaner hound than even I took you for,

and that is saying a great deal. However, since you wish me to be off

I’ll go.”

 

“If you don’t want to be pitched into the Creek yonder you’ll go

without giving me any more of your lip,” he answered. “I tell you I’m

standing just about all I can carry now. If we weren’t in Australia,

but across the water in some countries I’ve known, you’d have been

dangling from that gum tree over yonder by this time.”

 

I paid no attention to this threat, but, still keeping as calm as

I possibly could, requested him to inform me if I was to consider

myself discharged.

 

“You bet you are,” said he, “and I’ll not be happy till I’ve seen

your back on the sand ridge yonder.”

 

“Then,” said I, “I’ll go without more words. But I’ll trouble you

for my cheque before I do so. Also for a month’s wages in lieu of

notice.”

 

Without answering he stepped over Ben’s prostrate form and

proceeded into the store. I went to my hut and rolled up my swag.

This done, I returned to the office, to find them hoisting Ben into

the tray buggy which was to take him to the Mail Change, twenty miles

distant. The manager stood in the verandah with a cheque in his hand.

When I approached he t, handed it to me with an ill-concealed grin

of satisfaction on his face.

 

“There is your money, and I’ll have your receipt,” he said. Then,

pointing to a heap of harness beyond the verandah rails, he

continued, “Your riding saddle is yonder, and also your pack saddles

and bridles. I’ve sent a black boy down for your horses. When they

come up you can clear out as fast as you please. If I catch you on

the run again look out, that’s all.”

 

“I’ll not trouble you, never fear,” I answered. “I have no desire

to see you or Markapurlie again as long as I live. But before I go

I’ve got something to say to you, and I want these men to hear it. I

want them to know that I consider you a mean, lying, contemptible

murderer. And, what’s more, I’m going to let them see me cowhide you

within an inch of your rascally life.”

 

I held a long green-hide quirt in my hand, and as I spoke I

advanced upon him, making it whistle in the air. But surprised as he

was at my audacity he was sufficiently quick to frustrate my

intention. Bushing in at me he attempted to seize the hand that held

the whip, but he did not affect his purpose until I had given him a

smart cut with it across the face. Then, seeing that he meant

fighting, for I will do him the justice to say that he was no coward,

I threw the thong away and gave him battle with my fists. He was not

the sort of foe to be taken lightly. The man had a peculiar knack of

his own, and, what was more, he was as hard as whalebone and almost

as pliable. However he had not the advantage of the training I had

had, nor was he as powerful a man. I let him have it straight from

the shoulder as often and as hard as he would take it, and three

times he measured his full length in the dust. Each time he came up

with a fresh mark upon his face, and I can tell you the sight did me

good. My blood was thoroughly afire by this time, and the only thing

that could cool it was the touch of his face against my fist. At last

I caught him