CHAPTER X
A GRIM SORT OF PICNIC.
The dawn was breaking when Gray approached the spot where Lumley lay. He had walked the whole distance, for his horse was evidently too dead-beat to carry him. He had had no difficulty in keeping to the right track. Indeed he had calculated so well, that when he first stopped and "coo-eed" to make sure he was going right, Lumley's answer had come from a point straight ahead, and no considerable distance off.
Lumley had seen him before that call. Though he had told himself again and again that Gray would never come back, that it was too much in his interest to leave him there to die, his eyes had anxiously watched the western horizon.
There had been something in Gray's look when he had spoken his last words that had impressed Lumley powerfully, and so it was not altogether a surprise to him when he at last could distinguish a dark, moving object against the sky. The surprise came later when he was able to discern that Gray was leading his horse with him.
A strange change came over Lumley's face when he realized that; his thin lips set themselves together, his brows contracted with a frown of anxious thought, his eyes grew like the stealthy, waiting eyes of a beast of prey which has not the strength to attack its victim in the open, but lurks in ambush and springs upon it unawares.
With that look on his face he watched Gray approaching him through the clear rosy light of the sunrise, but it was gone before Gray came near enough to see his face clearly. He made an effort at a smile of grateful welcome.
"So you haven't left me to the crows, partner?" he said, raising himself on his elbow as he spoke to grasp the bottle Gray held out to him. "I'm glad enough to see you, I can tell you that."
Gray nodded silently, and then went back to the horse and took the bags from the saddle. He brought them to the spot where Lumley was lying, and flung them down at his side. He saw that Lumley had done little more than wet his lips from the bottle, but that he had torn some strips from the lining of his coat, and was proceeding to pour water on them with a careful hand.
"You'd better let me do that for you," Gray said quietly. "And there is more water, Lumley; take another pull. I can fill the bottles again if they are empty before you can move."
He had knelt down as he spoke, and taken the wet rags from Lumley's hand to bind round his injured foot.
"The horse will have to carry me," said Lumley after watching Gray's bandaging for a moment. "You found him by the water, didn't you, partner?"
"Yes, close by it."
Lumley eyed the horse with a quick furtive glance, and then looked at Gray again.
"Did you tramp it all the way, partner? I'd have let the horse save my legs if I'd been you."
"He's dead beat," Gray said briefly. "He had enough to carry."
Lumley's eyes turned involuntarily to the bags at his side. He had avoided looking at them since Gray had placed them by him.
"'Tis a mercy we've got the grub all right, ain't it, partner?" he said. "Though I'm blessed if I feel a bit peckish. 'Twas water I wanted."
He drank a little from the bottle and corked it again. Gray marvelled at the self-control he showed in taking so little.
"I'd finish that bottle right away if I were you, Lumley," he said. "It's only a few mouthfuls after all. I sha'n't want any more for a good time yet."
Lumley took another sip and then put the bottle away from him.
"'Tain't good to take too much at once, partner. And so you found it pretty easy, eh? Now, how far should you reckon it?"
"Perhaps eight or nine miles."
Gray had finished his bandaging, and had opened the bag containing the food. As he sat down on the ground near Lumley he pushed the wallet of money from him with his elbow, but Lumley did not give it a glance. Neither he nor Gray had yet referred to it.
"Here's the other bottle of water," Gray said, taking it out and sticking it in the sand. "And here's the damper." He took out some of the dry uninviting scraps and laid them close to Lumley. "There's nothing else," he added, looking into the bag.
Lumley gave a quick glance at the bag.
"Didn't I put the pistols there, mate? I haven't got 'em about me." He spoke carelessly.
"Oh, they're here," Gray returned. "But that's all the food left. Still, there's enough to last us for a day or two."
"A kind of grim sort of picnic, isn't it?" said Lumley with a grin, as he took up a bit of damper. He ate a few mouthfuls and then drew out the bottle for another sip. "Here's to you, partner," he said with an awkward nod at Gray, "and good luck to both on us."
Gray returned his nod, but made no answer in words. Lumley put back the bottle again, and watched him for a moment from beneath his heavy brows.
"You don't bear no malice, I hope, mate?" he said suddenly.
Gray raised his heavy eyes and looked at him inquiringly.
"I was pretty rough on you last night," went on Lumley in a persuasive, apologetic tone; "but I was drove up in a corner, you see. I'd served you so bad that I reckoned you'd be glad enough to pay me out. Though I'd have sent back for you from the nearest station, partner. I meant that all along."
Gray did not believe him, but he did not think it worth while to tell him so.
"We'll let bygones be bygones, Lumley," he said in a friendly tone. "We've both had a hard time of it, but it's nearly over now, I hope. And you'll be able to trust me for the future."
"So I shall, so I shall, partner," returned Lumley rapidly. "'Tisn't many as would have come back—not after they'd got the horse and everything. What a bit of luck 'twould have been for you if you'd come back and found me dead. Didn't you hope you would, now?"
"No," said Gray. He got slowly up and looked round for a hillock that would give him a little shelter from the sun. "I must get a sleep," he said. "I shall be fit for nothing till I've had that. I'm dizzy for want of it."
Lumley was staring up at him with sudden fierce suspicion in his glance. A new thought had struck him. Ever since he had seen Gray with the horse he had been wondering what had made him come back. Such refusal of good fortune seemed inexplicable to him.
"You didn't come across the police, did you?" he said. "You've not set a trap for me?"
But even as he said it he saw how unfounded his suspicion was, and the sudden fierceness left his face, giving way to the anxious, apologetic look it had worn all through his late talk with Gray.
"I haven't seen anyone," Gray said indifferently.
He moved away as he spoke, and Lumley watched him settle himself for a sleep a little distance off. Gray lay down with his back to him, under the scanty shade of a hillock, and drew his hat over his eyes.
Lumley watched him intently till he had satisfied himself that he had fallen into a deep sleep. Then he made a quick clutch at the wallet of money, and drew it close to him. He hurriedly counted it over, giving furtive looks at Gray the while. Once Gray moved, and he crushed the notes he held back into the bag, and pushed the bag from him. But Gray did not move again, and after a pause he resumed his counting. When he had satisfied himself that the money was all there he replaced it in the wallet, which he put back into its original position.
He then, in the same cautious, hurried way, examined the pistols, and replaced them in the bag. He left them there for a moment, then took one out again, and thrust it into his pocket. But he changed his mind after a short consideration, took out the pistol from his pocket and replaced it in the bag. Then he poured some water on the rags Gray had bound round his foot, took a sparing sip from the bottle, and having corked it and pushed it back into the sand, turned himself round to get a sleep; and almost at once sleep, heavy and dreamless, came to him.
Many hours elapsed before either of the men awoke. It was Gray who came back to consciousness first. He was roused by the glare of the sun on his face, and sitting drowsily up he saw that it had travelled right across the sky while he slept, and was now declining towards the west. His next glance showed him the horse languidly cropping the dry grass some few paces off, and Lumley asleep with one arm flung up above his head.
But almost at once, before his eyes had travelled away from him, Lumley awoke. He raised himself quickly, looking round him with a wild suspicious stare and thrusting out a hand to clutch the bag of money at his side.
Gray got up and slowly approached him.
"How is your foot?" he asked.
"Bad," returned Lumley with a groan.
He said no more, and Gray sat down by him in silence. Lumley drew up his foot and began to wet the bandages again.
"The pain's worse than ever," he muttered, without looking at Gray.
"The water will do it good," replied Gray.
He drew the bag of food towards him as he spoke. "I believe I can eat something now," he said. "That sleep has done me any amount of good."
"How long have you been awake?" asked Lumley, with one of his quick glances.
"Not more than two minutes. I must have slept pretty nearly all day by the look of the sun."
"That's just what you've done, partner," returned Lumley, without saying he had done the same. He looked across at the horse. "What do you think of him?" he asked, with a nod towards it. "Doesn't look up to much in my opinion."
"I think the sooner we can start the better," answered Gray. "The poor old fellow can get nothing here. What do you think? Could you manage to mount him?"
Lumley shook his head in decided negative.
"Let's see what my foot's like to-morrow, partner. I couldn't stand on it to-day to save my life."
"The sooner we get off the better," Gray returned.
Lumley made no reply to this.
"You found the water just as I said, didn't you?" he asked presently. "'Tis years agone since I was in this part, but I was sure of it."
"I expect the place is a good deal overgrown since then," replied Gray. "You can't see any water from the ridge, but there's a track leading to it. I had no difficulty."
Lumley listened intently, but did not pursue the subject of the water.
"There's a station not so far off. We'll have to get on there and rest a bit," was his next remark.
"You know the way I suppose?" asked Gray.
"I know it well enough. You won't get lost again, I promise you."
He was slowly rubbing his leg as he spoke, with his face turned from Gray.
"Couldn't I find it by myself?" said Gray after a moment. "They'd send a wagon back for you."
Lumley gave a curious sort of chuckle.
"We'll see, partner, we'll see. We won't part company again unless we're forced to. And while I think about it, there's a little point we've got to settle." He stopped rubbing his leg, and turned his pale blue eyes full on Gray. "What about this?" He touched the wallet of money with his elbow. "Share and share alike, eh?"
Gray had been expecting a question of this sort. He returned Lumley's glance as steadily as he could.
"I shall tell the whole story to the first responsible person we meet, and hand the money over to him for safe keeping."
"Which story are you goin' to tell, if I may make so bold as to ask?" said Lumley with an ugly smile. "You've forgot, maybe, about the reward you meant to claim. You told me that was all you wanted when first we met, you know, mate."
"I told you a lie. I meant to steal the money just as much as you did," returned Gray quietly. He waited a moment, and then went nervously on. "I need not mention your name to the authorities, Lumley, but I wish you could come to see as I do. When a man's been face to face with death, as you and I have, he begins to learn the truth about himself."
Gray's voice faltered before he stopped speaking, and he did not say all he had wished to say. Lumley's cold mocking glance was too hard to bear.
"You're as good as a parson, ain't you, partner? But you've always took the virtuous line, ever since we've been together. Why, the first time I set eyes on you you preached to me; and now you're at it again! I never did see such a chap for sermons."
Gray's face grew scarlet.
"You can't think worse of me than I do of myself," he returned; "but I mean what I say about the money, Lumley,—I mean every word of that."
"Well, you're master, I s'pose," the other returned with an odd look that Gray remembered afterwards. "But no tricks, mind; no going in for the reward when my back's turned, mate; though, p'r'aps, you'll not get the chance."
"I think I've proved to you whether or not you can trust me now," said Gray, with just a touch of the old superiority in his tone.
Lumley gave a short laugh.
"Yes, you'd best stick to the virtuous line, partner. You're not cut out for any other; you're too soft-hearted and afraid. P'r'aps you thought my ghost would haunt you unless you came back—but I don't believe in ghosts, mate."
Gray made some answer, he hardly knew what, and presently he got up and moved away.
A shiver went over him once or twice as he stood talking to his horse, who had come up to him as he left Lumley. He had involuntarily recalled Lumley's mocking, incredulous look when he had tried to speak of the change his sufferings had wrought in him.
Next morning Lumley complained that his foot was worse than ever, and that it would be impossible for him to mount the horse that day. Gray did his best to persuade him at least to try, but with no effect. And Lumley positively declined to let Gray ride on to the station.
"I shall be able to start to-morrow," he declared; "and we can do all right till then."
There followed a day that Gray found very hard to bear. The moments seemed to lengthen themselves out into hours, the hours into weeks—the day seemed as if it would never end. It passed at last, and the night came—a lovely moonlight night like the last.
Gray had not slept during the day, and he hardly expected to sleep during the night; he felt too feverishly eager for the morning. But sometime after midnight he fell into a troubled, restless slumber. It was still bright moonlight when he awoke; the east showed no sign of dawn.
He woke suddenly with a strange sense of terror upon him. He started up, and looked suspiciously round. The horse was there, not far from the spot where he had last seen it, but Lumley was no longer lying against the hillock, and in his first hasty glance Gray failed to find him. But a rough laugh broke on his ear.
"Don't go off your head with fright, partner," called out Lumley, who was crouching on the ground close beside the horse. "I've just been tryin' my strength a bit. We can start at sunrise, if you like."
Gray walked slowly across to him.
"How did you manage to get here?" he said wonderingly.
Lumley had got hold of the bridle of the horse, but he let it go as Gray approached.
"Crawled on my hands and feet," he said. "And a pretty hard bit of work it's been."
Gray could see he was much exhausted. His face was deathly pale, and there were great drops of sweat upon it, brought there by the pain he had gone through. He had been trying to mount the horse by his unaided efforts, and had given up the attempt in despair just before Gray woke. But he did not tell Gray this, and Gray did not guess it.
"You should have waited till I could help you," Gray said after a moment. "I hardly understand how you can have got so far. Your foot must be much better."
He was still looking down on Lumley with a wondering look He saw that he had fastened the wallet of money round his shoulders, and was half lying upon it with one arm tightly grasping it.
"P'r'aps you think I was tryin' to clear off?" said Lumley sulkily; "what would be the good of tryin' that. You know the way now, don't you? You'd be pretty soon on my tracks. And, besides, I'm not much better than a log; I can't do without you yet, partner."
Suspicion after suspicion flashed through Gray's mind, only to be dismissed at once.
It was impossible, he said to himself, that Lumley could be meditating foul play against the man who had saved his life. And, besides, it was as he said, he could not do without him.
Lumley read his thoughts correctly enough.
"You needn't stare at a cove like that," he said in the same sulky tone. "You were so mighty anxious to get off I thought I'd try what I could do. And we can start at sunrise, mate. You'll not have much longer to spend in company with me; you'll be glad of that, won't you? I'm not good enough for the likes of you."
"Couldn't we start before sunrise?" Gray said quietly; "it's almost as light as day now."
"It'll be dark as pitch in another hour when the moon goes down. And I want a rest," returned Lumley; "I'm not goin' to stir from here till sunrise for anybody, Mr. Gentleman Gray."
His sulky rage reassured Gray more than smooth language would have done, as Lumley perhaps had guessed.
"Very well, at sunrise, then," he said, and turned away to lie down again in his old place.
The moon went down, and, as Lumley had said, there followed an hour of darkness in which the stars shone forth with undimmed splendour.
Gray lay on the ground staring up at them. A little way off Lumley was stealthily watching him, wondering what his thoughts were. But Gray had forgotten Lumley—he was thinking of Harding.