“And supposing he can’t?”
“Well, then, he’ll go out next week, I expect, unless he gets on the drink. He’s a terrible chap to drink.”
“And if he starts to drink, when will he go?”
“Lord knows. They’ll have to send in after him. His mates’ll be pretty near starved by now, anyhow. He’s been in town, foolin’ round that girl at the Royal this three weeks. He’ll give you a lift out to the Margaret—that’s forty miles.”
“What is there out at the Margaret when I get there? Is it a town, or a station, or a mine? What is it?”
“Oh, it’s not so bad. There’s a store there, and a few mines scattered about. Mostly Chinese mines. The storekeeper there’s a great soaker, nearly always on the drink. Name’s Sampson. He’ll tell you where to find Tommy Prince. Prince and his mates have a claim twelve miles out from there, and if Tommy ain’t gone to the Oriental, he might go down with you.”
“Supposing Tommy’s at his claim, twelve miles out,” said Hugh, “how can I get out?”
“I dunno,” said the storekeeper, who was getting tired of talking so long without a drink. “I dunno how you’ll get out there. Better have a drink—what’ll you have?”
Hugh walked out of the store in despair. He found himself engaged in what appeared to be an endless chase after a phantom Considine, and the difficulties in his way semed insuperable. Yet how could he go back and tell them all at home that he had failed? What would they think of him? The thought made him miserable; and he determined, if he failed, never to go back to the old station at all.
So he returned to his hotel, packed his valise, and set out to look for the pack-horse man. He found him fairly sober; soon bargained to be allowed to ride one of the horses, and in due course was deposited at the Margaret—a city consisting of one galvanised-iron building, apparently unoccupied. His friend dismounted and had a drink with him out of his flask. They kicked at the door unavailingly; then his mate went on into the indefinite, leaving him face to face with general desolation.