"And no other luck?" he asked.
"No," said Smith, "and there's no need to go any further. It's not navigable for more than thirty miles now."
He told them the story of the river sink.
Then the gentleman who was the scientific head of the small party, tried to interrogate Kitty. She shook her head, and referred him to the Baker, who spun him a yarn that got into print, and was universally and most rightfully disbelieved. For the Baker considered that the real yarn was Smith's, and that Smith's injunction to keep the gold dark was a sort of general order to mislead every one in every possible way.
The expedition returned to the Sound in about a fortnight, and Smith raised enough money to take them south, and to carry him to England on his errand of finance. But before he went he saw Kitty dressed in the garments usually affected by the women of the tribe to which her husband belonged. For the Baker considered it his duty to marry her, and he did so, in spite of Kitty's violent remonstrances.
The ceremony, which was witnessed by a larger crowd than had ever gathered together on a similar occasion in the whole history of Western Australia, affected her nerves worse than the desert of pits, and to this day she cannot understand why it was necessary, or what good it did her or those who saw it. Among the crowd were Tom the water-carrier and Hicks.
It is possible that Smith's, or rather Archibald Gore's, wife may have explained the meaning of the ceremony to her. For, two months after Smith left for England, the Baker received a cable from him:
"Syndicate formed; am coming out with wife. Sailing to-day."
"Smith's coming out, Kitty," said the Baker, when he received it.
"I'm glad," cried Kitty.