The Black Opal, Katharine Susannah Prichard [i have read the book a hundred times txt] 📗

George had said: “It might make a lot of difference to Michael if you’d come along, Mr. Riley.”

But Snowshoes had marched off from him as if he had not heard anyone speak, his blue eyes fixed on that invisible goal he was always gazing at and going towards.

George had not seen him come into the hall; but when he was needed, his tall figure, white clad and straight as a dead tree, rose at the back of the hall.

“It’s true,” he said. “I wanted to be sure of Michael; I shadowed him. I saw him with the stones when he says. I did not see him with them any other time.”

He sat down again; his eyes, which had flashed, resumed their steady, distant stare; his features relapsed into their mask of impassivity.

M’Ginnis sprang to his feet again.

“That’s all very well,” he cried, sticking to his question. “But it’s not my idea of evidence. It wouldn’t stand in any law court in the country. Snowshoes⁠—”

“Shut up!”

“Sit down!”

Half a dozen voices growled.

Because of the respect and affection they had for him, and because of a certain aloof dignity he had with them, no man on the Ridge ever addressed Snowshoes as anything but Mr. Riley. They resented M’Ginnis calling him “Snowshoes” to his face, and guessed that he had been going to say something which would reflect on Snowshoes’ reliability as a witness. They admitted his eccentricity; but they would not admit that his mental peculiarities amounted to more than that. Above all, they were not going to have his feelings hurt by this outsider from the Punti rush.

Broad-shouldered, square and solid, Bill Grant towered above the men about him. “This doesn’t pretend to be a court of law, Mister M’Ginnis,” he remarked, with an irony and emphasis which never failed of their mark when he used them, although he rarely did, and only once or twice had been heard to speak, at any gathering. “It’s an inquiry by men of the Ridge into the doings of one of their mates. What they want to know is the rights of this business⁠ ⁠… and what you consider evidence doesn’t matter. It’s what the men in this hall consider evidence matters. And, what’s more, I don’t see why you’re butting into our affairs so much: you’re not one of us⁠—you’re a newcomer. You’ve only been a year or so in the place⁠ ⁠… and this concerns only men of the Ridge, who stand by the Ridge ways of doing things.⁠ ⁠… Michael’s here to be judged by his mates⁠ ⁠… not by you and your sort.⁠ ⁠… If you’d the brain of a louse, you’d understand⁠—this isn’t a question of law, but of principle⁠—honour, if you like to call it that.”

“Does the meeting consider the question answered?” George Woods inquired when Bill Grant sat down.

“Yes!”

A chorus of voices intoned the answer.

“If you believe Michael’s story, there’s nothing more to be said,” George continued. “Does any man want to ask Michael a question?”

No one replied for a moment. Then M’Ginnis exclaimed incoherently.

“Shut up!”

“Sit down!”

Men cried out all over the hall.

“That’s all, I think, Michael,” George said, looking down to where Michael sat before the platform; and Michael, pulling his hat further over his eyes, went out of the hall.

It was the custom for men of the Ridge to talk over the subject of their inquiry together after the man or men with whom the meeting was concerned had left the hall, before giving their verdict.

When Michael had gone, George Woods said:

“The boys would like to hear what you’ve got to say, I think, Archie.”

He looked at Archie Cross. “You and Michael haven’t been seein’ eye to eye lately, and if there’s any other side in this business, it’s the side that lost confidence in Michael when we were fed-up with all that whispering. You know Michael, and you’re a good Ridge man, though you were ready to take on Armitage’s scheme. The boys’d like to hear what you’ve got to say, I’m sure.”

Archie Cross stood up; he rolled his hat in his hands. His face, hacked out of a piece of dull flesh, sun-reddened, moved convulsively; his hair was roughed-up from it; his small, sombre eyes went with straight lightnings to the men in the hall about him.

“It’s true⁠—what George says,” he said after a pause, as if it were difficult for him to express his thought. “I haven’t been seein’ eye to eye with Michael lately⁠ ⁠… and I listened to all the dirty gossip that mob”⁠—he glanced towards M’Ginnis and the men with him⁠—“put round about him. It was part that⁠ ⁠… and part listening to their talk about money invested here making all the difference to Fallen Star⁠ ⁠… and the children growing up⁠ ⁠… and gettin’ scared and worried about seein’ them through⁠ ⁠… made me go agin you boys lately, and let that lot get hold of me.⁠ ⁠… But this business about Michael’s shown me where I am. Michael’s stood for one thing all through⁠—the Ridge and the hanging on to the mines for us.⁠ ⁠… He’s been a better Ridge man than I have.⁠ ⁠… And I want to say⁠ ⁠… as far as I’m concerned, Michael’s proved himself.⁠ ⁠… I don’t reck’n hanging on to opals was anything⁠ ⁠… no more does Ted. It’s the sort of thing a chap like Michael’d do absentminded⁠ ⁠… not noticin’ what he was doin’; but when he did notice⁠—and got scared thinkin’ where he was gettin’ to, and what it might look like, he couldn’t get rid of ’em quick, enough. That’s what I think, and that’s what Ted thinks, too. He hasn’t got the gift of the gab, Ted, or he’d say so himself.⁠ ⁠… If there’s goin’ to be opposition to Michael, it’s not comin’ from us.⁠ ⁠… And we’ve made up our minds we stand by the Ridge.”

“Good old Archie!” somebody shouted.

“What have you got to say, Roy?” George Woods faced his secretary who had been scratching diligently throughout the meeting. “You’ve been more with the