“They’ve cleared out. I don’t think they’ll be seen in a hurry, this side anyhow. They’ve packed all they wanted, and sent word to some of their pals to come and collar the rest. They can’t be pulled for that. There’s a few ounces of gold coming to you, and the ‘clean up’ was the best we’ve had. Here it is.” And suiting the action to the word, he pulled out from a leather pouch a wash-leather bag which, for its size, felt heavy.
“Keep it, Phelim, I won’t take a penny of it. I learned a good deal while I was with you, and shall always be pleased to think that I worked with men, and could hold my own among them.”
“You’re a gentleman, sir, and we’ll always uphold you as one, no matter what happens to us. We’re not bad chaps in our way, though things has gone against us. What’ll you do now? Camp here to-night? No? Then I’ll ride with you past ‘Razor Back’; you’ll have light then and the road’s under your feet. You’d better take my horse till we pass ‘Razor Back.’ He won’t boggle at it if it was twice as narrow.”
It did not take long to pack all that was strictly necessary, which alone Mr. Blount decided to take with him. After which O’Hara boiled the billy, and produced a decent meal, which Mr. Blount, having tasted nothing since breakfast, did justice to. No time was lost then, and O’Hara leading off with the cob started at a canter, with which Blount on his horse found no difficulty in keeping up. The contract was performed, they safely negotiated the perilous pass, the mountain horse treading as securely and safely as on a macadamised high road, and the cob going very differently with a different rider. He was then bestridden by his lawful owner, who prepared to make good time into Bunjil. The moon was rising, when the men—so strangely met, and associated—parted. Blount held out his hand, which the other grasped with unconsciously crushing force. Then the mountaineer quitted the road, and plunging down the steep into the darksome forest, disappeared from sight.
Bunjil township was reached before midnight. There had been the local excitement of an improvised race meeting, the head prize being a bridle and saddle; the Consolation Stakes boasted a silver-mounted whip, generously presented by the respected host of the Bunjil Hotel. So that Mr. Blount, whose train of thought for the last hour or two wavered between encouragement and depression, as he dreaded the inn being shut, the ostler asleep, the fire out and the girl gone to bed, felt reassured as he heard voices and saw lights, indicative of cheery wakefulness. By good luck, too, the best bedroom and the parlour were unoccupied. Sheila promised a fire in the latter apartment and tea ready in less than no time. The ostler took the cob to a loose box, just vacated, while Mr. Blount having deposited his “swag” in the bedroom and made all ready for a solid meal, and a royal toasting of his person before the fire of logs, felt quite a glow of happiness.
On re-entering the parlour he was warmly welcomed by Sheila, who indeed was so unaffectedly cordial in hailing his safe return, that the guest concluded that there must have been reason for conjecturing that the reverse might have occurred.
As she greeted him with natural unstudied welcome, he could not resist taking both her hands in his, and shaking them with a warmth corresponding with her feeling of gratitude at his safe return from apparently unknown and mysterious dangers. The girl blushed and disengaged her hands, but showed no discomposure as she said, “We didn’t know but something might have happened to you, out in that wild place, and Little-River-Jack said you had a narrow escape on ‘Razor Back,’ as your cob got frightened and might have gone over the downfall like Paddy Farrell. Then Dick came along, he sold out his share to you, didn’t he? And he got on the spree for a day or two and let out a few things that he’d better have kept to himself. So taking it altogether, we’re all glad, Mr. Middleton, the missis, and me too, that you’re back safe and sound.”
While the latter part of this dialogue was proceeding, Mr. Blount had seated himself at the table with his back to the fire, and made a frontal attack upon a broiled steak flanked by a dish of floury potatoes, which told of the sharpening effect on the appetite of a long day in the saddle, and the stimulation of a night journey with two degrees of frost.
“You had better take away these dishes, Sheila, or I shall never stop eating. I think, however, that I can hold out till breakfast, now we have got so far.”