The overseer, Mr Basham, as he was called, was very unlike the person they expected to see. The shape of his features was remarkably good, though the expression was unsatisfactory; his figure was light and wiry, and capable of enduring considerable fatigue; and his manners were those of a gentleman, marred somewhat by rough companions and the hard life he had led. He saw at once that the young men with whom he had to deal, though inferior to him in knowledge of the world, possessed an uprightness and firmness of character with which he could not trifle. He would much have liked to have entrapped them by offering them a share of his profits, but that plan, it was evident, would not answer with them. Still he trusted that some way might be found of securing what he had obtained, if not for making more.
“Well, well, gentlemen, I have always been an unfortunate person, and so we’ll drop the subject, and discuss what is taking place in the great world.”
Without more ado he did turn the subject, and showed that he was a man of considerable information, and had received a superior education. This only made him the more difficult to deal with. Though he was now free, they suspected strongly that he had been a convict. They could scarcely believe that with his abilities he would not otherwise have been employed in some higher position. After their inspection of the runs, they had been engaged for a day in turning everything out of the hut, and in having it thoroughly cleansed. They then re-arranged the furniture and contents, according to their own taste. For several days after Mr Basham’s return they saw him hunting about the hut in search of something, and at last he asked them if they had seen his books. James at once replied that he had, according to the direction of the trustees, taken possession of them, and should keep them till he received directions to the contrary. He shrugged his shoulders as he observed, “My hard fate again! And so, I suppose, if anything goes wrong, those books are to be brought as evidence against me, though I may be as innocent as the babe unborn.” There was a sinister expression in his countenance as he spoke, of which he was probably unaware, but which convinced the young managers that they must be careful how they dealt with him till they could receive authority from Sydney to dismiss him.
In spite of all their vigilance and activity, things continued to go on wrong. Sheep disappeared, carried off by dingoes, or by the native blacks; the shepherds asserted that cattle strayed, and could not be recovered; and two valuable horses, intended to be sent to Sydney, for shipment to India, were missing. More than once the brothers were inclined to wish that they had commenced as squatters on their own account in a small way, with only a few honest men around them; yet, having undertaken their present task, they were not the men to shrink from it. They came to the determination, however, not to embark any of their own small capital till they had got everything to rights, and men under them in whom they could place confidence. At length the looked-for authority arrived to dismiss, not only Mr Basham, but any of the men who might behave ill, or be suspected of malpractices; it being suggested that, as trustworthy men were difficult to procure, it would be injudicious to proceed on light grounds, at the same time, as proof positive would in many cases be impossible, it would not be necessary to wait till it was found. This was throwing a large amount of responsibility on their shoulders, but they determined to do their duty. Mr Basham received his dismissal with great coolness; but again his features assumed the expression the Gilpins had before observed. He claimed as his own a couple of fine horses, and, placing his personal property on one of these and bestriding the other, early the next morning he rode off, the last glance of his cold, grey eye leaving an impression which for many a day remained fixed on the minds of the brothers.
Chapter Four.
The Gilpins found that the superintendence of a large station did not afford a bed of roses. All day long they were in the saddle, overlooking twenty stockmen and shepherds, examining the herds and flocks, and often themselves doctoring any which were found diseased or injured. This they were obliged to do, in consequence of the ignorance or carelessness of the people in charge of them. These, with few exceptions, had been convicts. Of those who had been convicts, some were still working out their sentences with tickets-of-leave, while others, who were free to go where they liked, were too old and destitute of energy to venture on a change of occupation, and remained as before, hut-keepers or shepherds. At each inferior station there was a hut with a hut-keeper, whose duty was to look after the hut, to cook the provisions, and to tend the sheep or cattle brought for any special purpose into the fold or pen. The office was usually held by some old convict or other person unfit for hard labour. Though occasionally there is enough to do, it is considered an idle, lazy life.
The brothers often rode together to the stations, to assist each other; but they had lately, for the sake of covering more ground in the course of the day, taken separate districts, that the stockmen might be kept constantly on the alert, not knowing any moment when the active young managers might pay them a visit. Notwithstanding this, cattle and sheep continued to disappear as before, and they came to the resolution of making every man responsible who lost an animal, and stopping his wages till it was replaced. One day, after a hard morning’s work, Arthur Gilpin found himself approaching the rear of a hut, on an out station, at the extreme end of the territory over which the cattle ranged—the whole being considerably larger than many a German principality. The ground was soft, and his horse’s hoofs making no noise, it was not till he got in front of the hut that the dog, ever found as its guardian (either well-bred deer-hound or cur of low degree), came bounding up towards him, barking loudly. In this case the animal was a remarkably handsome deer-hound, of a size and strength sufficient to drag him from his horse. The hut-keeper was seated in a rough sort of easy-chair, and was apparently fast asleep.
“Hillo, my man, call off your dog, or he and I may do each other an injury,” shouted Arthur; “he is a noble brute, and I should not like to hurt him, if I could help it!”