The Black Opal - Katharine Susannah Prichard (open ebook .TXT) 📗

Michael had little to do with the use of that money. He guessed that he would have less to do with whatever he got from Watty.

“Charley’s going over to Warria tomorrow, isn’t he?” he asked.

Watty grunted. “About time he did something. Michael’s been grafting for him for a couple of years⁠ ⁠… and he’d have gone to the station himself⁠—only he didn’t want to go away till he knew what Paul was going to do. Been trying pretty hard to persuade him to leave Sophie⁠—till he’s fixed up down town⁠—but you wouldn’t believe how obstinate the idiot is. Thinks he can make a singer of her in no time⁠ ⁠… then she’ll keep her old dad till kingdom come.”

Michael’s figure was lost to sight between the trees which encroached on the track beyond the town. Jun was singing in the hotel. His great rollicking voice came to George and Watty with shouts of laughter. George, looking back through the open door, saw Rouminof had joined the crowd round the bar.

He was drinking as George’s glance fell on him.

“Think he’s all right?” Watty asked.

George did not reply.

“You don’t suppose Jun ’d try to take the stones off of him, do you, George?” Watty inquired again. “You don’t think⁠—?”

“I don’t suppose he’d dare, seein’ we’ve⁠ ⁠… let him know how we feel.”

George spoke slowly, as if he were not quite sure of what he was saying.

“He knows his hide’d suffer if he tried.”

“That’s right.”

Archie Cross came from the bar and joined them.

“He’s trying to make up to the boys⁠—he likes people to think he’s Christmas, Jun,” he said, “and he just wants ’em to forget that anything’s been said⁠—detrimental to his character like.”

George was inclined to agree with Archie. They went to the form against the wall of the hotel and sat there smoking for a while; then all three got up to go home.

“You don’t think we ought to see Rummy home?” Watty inquired hesitatingly.

He was ashamed to suggest that Rouminof, drunk, and with four or five hundred pounds’ worth of opal in his pockets, was not as safe as if his pockets were empty. But Jun had brought a curious unrest into the community. Watty, or Archie, or George, themselves would have walked about with the same stuff in their pockets without ever thinking anybody might try to put a finger on it.

None of the three looked at each other as they thought over the proposition. Then Archie spoke:

“I told Ted,” he murmured apologetically, “to keep an eye on Rummy, as he’s coming home. If there’s rats about, you never can tell what may happen. We ain’t discovered yet who put it over on Rummy and Jun on the day of Mrs. Rouminof’s funeral. So I just worded Ted to keep an eye on the old fool. He comes our track most of the way⁠ ⁠… And if he’s tight, he might start sheddin’ his stones out along the road⁠—you never can tell.”

George Woods laughed. The big, genial soul of the man looked out of his eyes.

“That’s true,” he said heartily.

Archie and he smiled into each other’s eyes. They understood very well what lay behind Archie’s words; They could not bring themselves to admit there was any danger to the sacred principle of Ridge life, that a mate stands by a mate, in letting Rouminof wander home by himself. He might be in danger if there were rats about; they would admit that. But rats, the men who sneaked into other men’s mines when they were on good stuff, and took out their opal during the night, were never Ridge men. They were newcomers, outsiders, strangers on the rushes, who had not learnt or assimilated Ridge ideas.

After a few minutes George turned away. “Well, good night, Archie,” he said.

Watty moved after him.

“ ’Night!” Archie replied.

George and Watty went along the road together, and Archie walked off in the direction Michael had taken.

But Michael had not gone home. When the trees screened him from sight, he had struck out across the Ridge, then, turning back on his tracks behind the town, had made towards the Warria road. He walked, thinking hard, without noticing where he was going, his mind full of Paul, of Sophie, and of his promise.

Now that Paul had his opal, it was clear he would be able to do as he wished⁠—leave the Ridge and take Sophie with him. For the time being at least he was out of Jun Johnson’s hands⁠—but Michael was sure he would not stay out of them if he went to Sydney. How to prevent his going⁠—how, rather, to prevent Sophie going with him⁠—that was Michael’s problem. He did not know what he was going to do.

He had asked Sophie not to go with her father. He had told her what her mother had said, and tried to explain to her why her mother had not wanted her to go away from the Ridge, or to become a public singer. But Sophie was as excited about her future as her father was. It was natural she should be, Michael assured himself. She was young, and had heard wonderful stories of Sydney and the world beyond the Ridge. Sydney was like the town in a fairy tale to her.

It was not to be expected, Michael confessed to himself, that Sophie would choose to stay on Fallen Star Ridge. If she could only be prevailed upon to put off her departure until she was older and better able to take care of herself, he would be satisfied. If the worst came to the worst, and she went to Sydney with her father soon, Michael had decided to go with them. Peter Newton would give him a couple of pounds for his books, he believed, and he would find something to do down in Sydney. His roots were in the Ridge. Michael did not know how he was going to live away from the mines; but anything seemed better than that Sophie should be committed to what her mother had called “the