The Black Opal. Katharine Susannah Prichard
had been going to deal squarely by him, they had done him a rather bad one. Paul was pretty certain to make a mess of trading his own stones, and to get about half their value from an opal-buyer if he insisted on taking them down to Sydney to sell himself.
"What'll you do now your fortune's fixed up, Rummy?" George Woods asked, jokingly, when he and two or three men were left with Paul by the table.
"I'll get out of this," Paul said. "We'll go down to Sydney—me and Sophie—and we'll say good-bye to the Ridge for good."
The men laughed. It was the old song of an outsider who cared nothing for the life of the Ridge, when he got a couple of hundred pounds' worth of opal. He thought he was made for life and would never come back to the Ridge; but he always did when his money was spent. Only Michael, standing a little behind George Woods, did not smile.
"But you can't live for ever on three or four hundred quid," Watty Frost said.
"No," Paul replied eagerly, "but I can always make a bit playing at dances, and Sophie's going to be a singer. You wait till people hear her sing.... Her mother was a singer. She had a beautiful voice. When it went we came here.... But Sophie can sing as well as her mother. And she's young. She ought to make a name for herself."
He wrapped the stones before him in a piece of wadding, touching them reverently, and folded them into the tin cigarette box Michael had given him to carry about the first stones Jun had let him have. He was still mystified over the business of the evening, and why the boys had made Jun give him the other stones. He had been quite satisfied for Jun to hold most of the stones, and the best ones, as any man on the Ridge would be for his mate to take care of their common property. There was a newspaper lying on the table. He took it, wrapped it carefully about his precious box, tied a piece of strong string round it, and let the box down carefully into the big, loose pocket of his shabby coat.
CHAPTER IV
Watty and George were well satisfied with their night's work when they went out of the bar into the street. Michael was with them. He said nothing, but they took it for granted he was as pleased as they were at what had been done and the way in which it had been done. Michael was always chary of words, and all night they had noticed that what they called his "considering cap" had been well drawn over his brows. He stood smoking beside them and listening abstractedly to what they were saying.
"Well, that's fixed him," Watty remarked, glancing back into the room they had just left.
Jun was leaning over the bar talking to Newton, the light from the lamp above, on his red, handsome face, and cutting the bulk of his head and shoulders from the gloom of the room and the rest of the men about him. Peter Newton was serving drinks, and Jun laughing and joking boisterously as he handed them on to the men.
"He's a clever devil!" George exclaimed.
"Yes," Michael said.
"Shouldn't wonder if he didn't clear out by the coach to-morrow," George said.
"Nor me," Watty grunted.
"Well, he won't be taking Paul with him."
"Not to-morrow."
"No."
"But Rummy's going down to town soon as he can get, he says."
"Yes."
"Say, Michael, why don't you try scarin' him about losing his stones like Bill Olsen did?"
"I have."
"What does he say?"
"Says," Michael smiled, "the sharks won't get any of his money or opal."
Watty snuffed contemptuously by way of exclamation.
"Well, I'll be getting along," Michael added, and talked away in the direction of his hut.
George and Watty watched his spare figure sway down the road between the rows of huts which formed the Fallen Star township. It was a misty moonlight night, and the huts stood dark against the sheening screen of sky, with here and there a glow of light through open doorways, or small, square window panes.
"It's on Michael's mind, Rum-Enough's going and taking Sophie with him," George, said.
"I don't wonder," Watty replied. "He'll come a cropper, sure as eggs.... And what's to become of her? Michael 'd go to town with them if he had a bean—but he hasn't. He's stony, I know."
Even to his mate he did not say why he knew, and George did not ask, understanding Watty's silence. It was not very long since George himself had given Michael a couple of pounds; but he had a very good idea Michael had little to do with the use of that money. He guessed that he would have less to do with whatever he got from Watty.
"Charley's going over to Warria to-morrow, isn't he?" he asked.
Watty grunted. "About time he did something. Michael's been grafting for him for a couple of years ... and he'd have gone to the station himself—only he didn't want to go away till he knew what Paul was going to do. Been trying pretty hard to persuade him to leave Sophie—till he's fixed up down town—but you wouldn't believe how obstinate the idiot is. Thinks he can make a singer of her in no time ... then she'll keep her old dad till kingdom come."
Michael's figure was lost to sight between the trees which encroached on the track beyond the town. Jun was singing in the hotel. His great rollicking voice came to George and Watty with shouts of laughter. George, looking back through the open door, saw Rouminof had joined the crowd round the bar.
He was drinking as George's glance fell on him.
"Think he's all right?" Watty asked.
George did not reply.
"You don't suppose Jun 'd try to take the stones off of him, do you, George?" Watty inquired again. "You don't think——?"
"I don't suppose he'd dare, seein' we've ... let him know how we feel."
George spoke slowly, as if he were not quite sure of what he was saying.
"He knows his hide'd suffer if he tried."
"That's right."
Archie Cross came from the bar and joined them.
"He's trying to make up to the boys—he likes people to think he's Christmas, Jun," he said, "and he just wants 'em to forget that anything's been said—detrimental to his character like."
George was inclined to agree with Archie. They went to the form against the wall of the hotel and sat there smoking for a while; then all three got up to go home.
"You don't think we ought to see Rummy home?" Watty inquired hesitatingly.
He was ashamed to suggest that Rouminof, drunk, and with four or five hundred pounds' worth of opal in his pockets, was not as safe as if his pockets were empty. But Jun had brought a curious unrest into the community. Watty, or Archie, or George, themselves would have walked about with the same stuff in their pockets without ever thinking anybody might try to put a finger on it.
None of the three looked at each other as they thought over the proposition. Then Archie spoke:
"I told Ted," he murmured apologetically, "to keep an eye on Rummy, as he's coming home. If there's rats about, you never can tell what may happen. We ain't discovered yet who put it over on Rummy and Jun on the day of Mrs. Rouminof s funeral. So I just worded Ted to keep an eye on the old fool. He comes our track most of the way ... And if he's tight, he might start sheddin' his stones out along the road—you never can tell."
George Woods laughed. The big, genial soul of the man looked out of his eyes.
"That's true," he said heartily.
Archie and he smiled into each other's eyes. They understood very well what lay