An Outback Marriage, Banjo Paterson [top ten books of all time .TXT] 📗

and Lucy, they pushed onwards, the old man beguiling the time with disquisitions on the horse-hunting capabilities of his gins, whom he seemed really sorry to leave. As they got near Pike’s, he became more restless than ever.

“See here, Mister,” he said at last, “my wife’s here, I expect, and if she gets wind of this, I’ll never get rid of her. The only thing to do is to slip away without her knowing, and she might never hear of it. I won’t go into the place at all. I’ll go on and camp down the creek, and get the coach there after it leaves the town, and she’ll never know.”

The town of “Pike’s” consisted of a hotel, a store, a post-office, a private residence, and coach-stables; these were all combined in one establishment, so the town couldn’t be said to be scattered. Pike himself was landlord of the “pub,” keeper of the store, officer in charge of the post-office, owner of the private residence, holder of the mail contract, and proprietor of the coach-stables. Behind him was only wilderness and “new” country.

Nobody ever saw him at home. Either he was on the road with a bullock-team, bringing up supplies for the hotel and store, or he was droving cattle down on a six months’ journey to market; or he was away looking at new country, or taking supplies out to men on the half-provisioned stations of the “outer-back;” or else he was off to some new mining camp or opal-field, to sell a dray-load of goods at famine prices.

When Charlie and Carew rode up to the store they did not see Pike, nor did they expect to see him. By some mysterious Providence they had arrived the very day the coach started on its monthly trip down to Barcoo; and in front of the hotel were congregated quite a number of people⁠—Pike’s wife and his half-wild children, a handful of bushmen, station hands, opal miners, and whatnot, and last, but not least, a fat lady of about forty summers, with flaring red hair.

She was a fine “lump” of a woman, with broad shoulders, and nearly the same breadth all the way down to her feet. She wore a rusty black dress, which fitted perilously tight to her arms and bust; on her head was a lopsided, dismantled black bonnet with a feather⁠—a bonnet that had evidently been put away in a drawer and forgotten for years. Any want of colour or style in her dress was amply made up for by the fact that she positively glowed with opals. Her huge, thick fingers twinkled with opal rings; from each of her ears there dangled an opal earring the size of a form; her old dress was secured round her thick, muscular neck by a brooch that looked like an opal quarry, and whenever she turned to the sun she flashed out rays like a lighthouse.

Her face was fat and red, full of a sort of good-humoured ferocity; she moved like a queen among the bystanders, and shook hands gravely with each and all of them. She was hot, but very dignified. Evidently she was preparing to start in the coach, for she packed into the vehicle with jealous care a large carpetbag of garish colouring that seemed to harmonise well with the opals. While she was packing this away, Charlie and Carew went into the store, and bought such supplies as were needed for the establishment at No Man’s Land. Gordon took the opportunity to ask the shock-headed old storekeeper, Pike’s deputy, some questions about the lady, who was still scintillating between the coach and the house, carrying various small articles each trip.

“Don’t yer know ’er?” said the man, in much the same tone that Bret Harte’s hero must have used when he was so taken aback to find that a stranger⁠—

“Didn’t know Flynn⁠—
“Flynn of Virginia.”

“Don’t yer know ’er?” he repeated, pausing in his task of scooping some black cockroachy sugar from the bottom of a bin. “That’s the Hopal Queen! She’s hoff South, she is. Yer’ll be going in the coach, will yer?”

“Yes,” said Charlie. “We’re going in the coach. There’s no extra fare for travelling with such a swell, is there? Where on earth did she get all those opals?”

“Ho, blokes gives ’em to ’er, passin’ back from the hopal fields. In the rough, yer know! Hopal in the rough, well, it’s ’ard to tell what it’ll turn out, and they’ll give ’er a ’unk as sometimes turns out a fair dazzler. She’s a hay-one judge of it in the rough, too. If she buys a bit of hopal, yer bet yer life it ain’t a bad bit when it’s cut. What about these ’ere stores? Goin’ to take ’em with yer?”

“No,” said Charlie. “The black boy is here for them. He’s going to take them back with him.”

“What, Keogh’s black boy! Well, I don’t know as Pike’ll stand old Paddy Keogh any longer. Paddy’s ’ad a dorg tied hup ’ere” (i.e., an account outstanding) “this two years, and last time Pike was ’ome ’e was reck’nin’ it was about hup to Keogh to pay something.”

“They’re not for Keogh,” said Charlie. “They’re for me. I’ve taken Keogh’s block over.”

The old man looked at him dubiously.

“Well, but y’aint goin’ to tie hup no dorg on us for ’em, are yer? I s’pose it’s all right, though?”

“Right, yes,” said Gordon. “It’s for Mr. Grant, Old Man Grant⁠—you’ve heard of Grant of Kuryong?”

“Never ’eard of him,” said the aged man, “but it makes no hodds. Pay when yer like. Yer’d better git on the coach, for I see the Hopal Queen’s ready for a start. Yer’ll know her all right before long, I bet. Some of the fellers from round about ’as come in to give her a send-off like. There’s the coach ready; yer’d better git aboard, and yer’ll hear the⁠—the send-off like. Young Stacy out there reckons ’e’s going to make a speech.”

Charlie and Carew climbed upon