A Little Bush Maid

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER XII. THE WINFIELD MURDER

  The next few days went by slowly enough.

  Norah followed faithfully all Jim's plans for her amusement. Shepractised, did some cooking, and helped Mrs. Brown preserve apricots;then there were the pets to look to and, best of all, the bullocks tomove from one paddock to another. It was an easy job, and Evans wasquite willing to leave it to Norah, Billy and a dog. The trio made agreat business of it, and managed almost to forget loneliness in thework of hunting through the scrub and chasing the big, sleepy half-fatbeasts out upon the clear plain. There were supposed to be forty-four inthe paddock, but Norah and Billy mustered forty-five, and wereexceedingly proud of themselves in consequence.

  Next day Norah persuaded Mrs. Brown to allow herself to be driven intoCunjee. There was nothing particular to go for, except that, as Norahsaid, they would get the mail a day earlier; but Mrs. Brown was notlikely to refuse anything that would chase the look of loneliness fromher charge's face. Accordingly they set off after an early lunch, Norahdriving the pair of brown ponies in a light single buggy that barelyheld her and her by no means fairy-like companion.

  The road was good and they made the distance in excellent time, arrivingin Cunjee to see the daily train puff its way out of the station. Thenthey separated, as Norah had no opinion whatever of Mrs. Brown'sshopping--principally in drapers' establishments, which this bush maidenhated cordially. So Mrs. Brown, unhampered, plunged into mysteries offlannel and sheeting, while Norah strolled up the principal street andexchanged greetings with those she knew.

  She paused by the door of a blacksmith's shop, for the smith and shewere old friends, and Norah regarded Blake as quite the principal personof Cunjee. Generally there were horses to be looked at, but just now theshop was empty, and Blake came forward to talk to the girl.

  "Seen the p'lice out your way?" he asked presently, after the weather,the crops, and the dullness of business had been exhausted as topics.

  "Police?" queried Norah. "No. Why?"

  "There was two mounted men rode out in your direction yesterday," Blakeanswered. "They're on the track of that Winfield murderer, theybelieve."

  "What was that?" asked Norah blankly. "I never heard of it."

  "Not heard of the Winfield murder! Why, you can't read the papers,missy, surely?"

  "No; of course I don't," Norah said. "Daddy doesn't like me to readeveryday ones."

  Blake nodded.

  "No, I s'pose not," he said. "You're too young to worry your little headabout murders and suchlike. But everybody was talkin' about the Winfieldaffair, so I sorter took it for granted that you'd know about it."

  "Well, I don't," said Norah. "What is it all about?"

  "There's not very much I can tell you about it, missy," Blake said,scratching his head and looking down at the grave lace. "Nobody knowsmuch about it.

  "Winfield's a little bit of a place about twenty miles from 'ere, youknow--right in the bush and away from any rail or coach line. On'y acouple o' stores, an' a hotel, an' a few houses. Don't suppose manypeople out o' this district ever heard of it, it's that quiet an'asleep.

  "Well, there was two ol' men livin' together in a little hut a mile orso from the Winfield township. Prospectors, they said they were--an'there was an idea that they'd done pretty well at the game, an' had abit of gold hidden somewhere about their camp. They kept very much tothemselves, an' never mixed with anyone--when one o' them came into thetownship for stores he'd get his business done an' clear out as quick aspossible.

  "Well, about a month ago two fellows called Bowen was riding along abush track between Winfield an' their camp when they came across one o'the ol' mates peggin' along the track for all he was worth. They wassurprised to see that he was carryin' a big swag, an' was apparently ona move.

  "'Hullo, Harris!' they says--'leavin' the district?' He was a civilspoken ol' chap as a rule, so they was rather surprised when he on'ygive a sort o' grunt, an' hurried on.

  "They was after cattle, and pretty late the same day they foundthemselves near the hut where the two ol' chaps lived, an' as they washungry an' thirsty, they reckoned they'd call in an' see if they couldget a feed. So they rode up and tied their horses to a tree and walkedup to the hut. No one answered their knock, so they opened the door, an'walked in. There, lyin' on his bunk, was ol' Waters. They spoke to him,but he didn't answer. You see, missy, he couldn't, bein' dead."

  "Dead!" said Norah, her eyes dilating.

  Blake nodded.

  "Stone dead," he said. "They thought at first he'd just died natural, asthere was no mark o' violence on 'im, but when they got a doctor toexamine 'im he soon found out very different. The poor ol' feller 'adbeen poisoned, missy; the doctor said 'e must a' bin dead twelve hourswhen the Bowens found 'im. Everything of value was gone from the hutalong with his mate, old Harris--the black-hearted villain he must be!"

  "Why, do they think he killed the other man?" Norah asked.

  "Seems pretty certain, missy," Blake replied. "In fact, there don't seemthe shadder of a doubt. He was comin' straight from the hut when theBowens met 'im--an' he'd cleared out the whole place, gold an' all. Oh,there ain't any doubt about Mr. Harris bein' the guilty party. The onlything doubtful is Mr. Harris's whereabouts."

  "Have the police been looking for him?" asked Norah.

  "Huntin' high an' low--without any luck. He seems to have vanished offthe earth. They've bin follerin' up first one clue and then anotherwithout any result. Now the last is that he's been seen somewhere theother side of your place, an' two troopers have gone out to-day to seeif there's any truth in the rumour."

  "I think it's awfully exciting," Norah said, "but I'm terribly sorry forthe poor man who was killed. What a wicked old wretch the other mustbe!--his own mate, too! I wonder what he was like. Did you know him?"

  "Well, I've seen old Harris a few times--not often," Blake replied."Still, he wasn't the sort of old man you'd forget. Not a bad-lookingold chap, he was. Very tall and well set up, with piercin' blue eyes,long white hair an' beard, an' a pretty uppish way of talkin'. I don'tfancy anyone about here knew him very well--he had a way of keepin' tohimself. One thing, there's plenty lookin' out for him now."

  "I suppose so," Norah said. "I wonder will he really get away?"

  "Mighty small chance," said Blake. "Still, it's wonderful how he'smanaged to keep out of sight for so long. Of course, once in the bush itmight be hard to find him--but sooner or later he must come out to sometownship for tucker, an' then everyone will be lookin' out for him. Theymay have got him up your way by now, missy. Is your Pa at home?"

  "He's coming home in a day or two," Norah said; "perhaps to-morrow. Ihope they won't find Harris and bring him to our place."

  "Well, it all depends on where they find him if they do get him," Blakereplied. "Possibly they might find the station a handy place to stop at.However, missy, don't you worry your head about it--nothing for you tobe frightened about."

  "Why, I'm not frightened," Norah said. "It hasn't got anything to dowith me. Only I don't want to see a man who could kill his mate, that'sall."

  "He's much like any other man," said Blake philosophically. "Say, here'ssomeone comin' after you, missy, I think."

  "I thought I'd find you here," exclaimed Mrs. Brown's fat, comfortablevoice, as its owner puffed her way up the slope leading to theblacksmith's. "Good afternoon, Mr. Blake. I've finished all my shopping,Miss Norah, my dear, and the mail's in, and here's a letter for you, asyou won't be sorry to see."

  "From Dad? How lovely!" and Norah, snatching at the grey envelope withits big, black writing, tore it open hastily. At the first few words,she uttered a cry of delight.

  "Oh, he's coming home to-morrow, Brownie--only another day! He says hethinks it's time he was home, with murderers roaming about thedistrict!" and Norah executed a few steps of a Highland fling, greatlyto the edification of the blacksmith.

  "Dear sakes alive!" said Mrs. Brown, truculently. "I think there areenough of us at the station to look after
you, murderer or nomurderer--not as 'ow but that 'Arris must be a nasty creature! Still I'mvery glad your Pa's coming, Miss Norah, because nothing do seem rightwhen he's away--an' it's dull for you, all alone."

  "Master Jim gone back, I s'pose?" queried Blake.

  "Yesterday," Norah added.

  "Then you must be lonely," the old blacksmith said, taking Norah's smallbrown hand, and holding it for a moment in his horny fist very much asif he feared it were an eggshell, and not to be dropped. "Master Jim'sgrowing a big fellow, too--goin' to be as big a man as his father, Ibelieve. Well, good-bye, missy, and don't forget to come in next timeyou're in the township."

  There was nothing further to detain them in Cunjee, and very soon theponies were fetched from the stables, and they were bowling out alongthe smooth metal road that wound its way across the plain, and Norah wasmingling excited little outbursts of delight over her father's returnwith frequent searches into a big bag of sweets which Mrs. Brown hadthoughtfully placed on the seat of the buggy.

  "I don't know why Blake wanted to go telling you about that nastymurderer," Mrs. Brown said. They were ten miles from Cunjee, and themetal road had given place to a bush track, in very fair order.

  "Why not?" asked Norah, with the carelessness of twelve years.

  "Well, tales of murders aren't the things for young ladies' ears," Mrs.Brown said primly. "Your Pa never tells you such things. The paper'sbeen full of this murder, but I would 'a' scorned to talk to you aboutit."

  "I don't think Blake meant any harm," said Norah. "He didn't say so verymuch. I don't suppose he'd have mentioned it, only that Mr. Harris issupposed to have come our way, and even that doesn't seem certain."

  "'Arris 'as baffled the police," said Mrs. Brown, with the solemn pridefelt by so many at the worsting of the guardians of the law. "They don'treely know anythink about his movements, that's my belief. Why, it'sweeks since he was seen. This yarn about his comin' this way is on'y gotup to 'ide the fact that they don't know a thing about it. I don'tb'lieve he's anywhere within coo-ee of our place. Might be out of thecountry now, for all anyone's sure of."

  "Blake seemed to think he'd really come this way;" Norah said.

  "Blake's an iggerant man," said Mrs. Brown loftily.

  "Well, I'll keep a look-out for him, at any rate," laughed Norah. "Heought to be easy enough to find--tall and good-looking and well setup--whatever that may mean--and long white beard and hair. He must be apretty striking-looking sort of old man. I--" And then recollectionswept over Norah like a flood, and her words faltered on her lips.

  Her hand gripped the reins tighter, and she drove on unconsciously.Blake's words were beating in her ears. "Not a bad-looking oldchap--very tall and well set up--piercing blue eyes and a pretty uppishway of talking." The description had meant nothing to her until someonewhom it fitted all too aptly had drifted across her mental vision.

  The Hermit! Even while she felt and told herself that it could not be,the fatal accuracy of the likeness made her shudder. It was perfect--thetall, white-haired old man--"not the sort of old man you'd forget"--withhis distinguished look; the piercing blue eyes--but Norah knew whatkindliness lay in their depths--the gentle refined voice, so differentfrom most of the rough country voices. It would answer to Blake's"pretty uppish way of talking." Anyone who had read the descriptionwould, on meeting the Hermit, immediately identify him as the man forwhom the police were searching. Norah's common sense told her that.

  A wave of horror swept over the little girl, and the hands gripping thereins trembled. Common sense might tell one tale, but every instinct ofher heart told a very different one. That gentle-faced old man, with aworld of kindness in his tired eyes--he the man who killed his sleepingmate for a handful of gold! Norah set her square little chin. She wouldnot--could not--believe it.

  "Why, you're very quiet, dearie." Mrs. Brown glanced inquiringly at hercompanion. "A minute ago you was chatterin', and now you've gone downflat, like old soda-water. Is anything wrong?"

  "No, I'm all right, Brownie. I was only thinking," said Norah, forcing asmile.

  "Too many sweeties, I expect," said Mrs. Brown, laying a heavy hand onthe bag and impounding it for future reference. "Mustn't have you getindigestion, an' your Pa comin' home to-morrow."

  Norah laughed.

  "Now, did you ever know me to have indigestion in my life?" she queried.

  "Well, perhaps not," Mrs. Brown admitted. "Still, you never can tell; itdon' do to pride oneself on anything. If it ain't indigestion, you'vebeen thinking too much of this narsty murder."

  Norah flicked the off pony deliberately with her whip.

  "Darkie is getting disgracefully lazy," she said. "He's not doing a bitof the work. Nigger's worth two of him." The injured Darkie shot forwardwith a bound, and Mrs. Brown grabbed the side of the buggy hastily, andin her fears at the pace for the ensuing five minutes forgot her tooinconvenient cross-examination.

  Norah settled back into silence, her forehead puckered with a frown. Shehad never in her careless little life been confronted by such a problemas the one that now held her thoughts. That the startling similaritybetween her new-made friend and the description of the murderer shouldfasten upon her mind, was unavoidable. She struggled against the idea asdisloyal, but finally decided to think it out calmly.

  The descriptions tallied. So much was certain. The verbal likeness ofone man was an exact word painting of the other, so far as it went,"though," as poor Norah reflected, "you can't always tell a person justby hearing what he's like." Then there was no denying that the conductof the Hermit would excite suspicion. He was camping alone in thedeepest recesses of a lonely tract of scrub; he had been there someweeks, and she had had plenty of proof that he was taken aback at beingdiscovered and wished earnestly that no future prowlers might find theirway to his retreat. She recalled his shrinking from the boys, and hishasty refusal to go to the homestead. He had said in so many words thathe desired nothing so much as to be left alone--any one would havegathered that he feared discovery. They had all been conscious of themystery about him. Her thoughts flew back to the half-laughingconversation between Harry and Wally, when they had actually speculatedas to why he was hiding. Putting the case fairly and squarely, Norah hadto admit that it looked black against the Hermit.

  Against it, what had she? No proof; only a remembrance of two honesteyes looking sadly at her; of a face that had irresistibly drawn herconfidence and friendship; of a voice whose tones had seemed to echosincerity and kindness. It was absolutely beyond Norah's power tobelieve that the hand that had held hers so gently could have been theone to strike to death an unsuspecting mate. Her whole nature revoltedagainst the thought that her friend could be so base.

  "He was in trouble," Norah said, over and over again, in her uneasymind; "he was unhappy. But I know he wasn't wicked. Why, Bobs madefriends with him!"

  The thought put fresh confidence in her mind; Bobs always knew "a goodsort."

  "I won't say anything," she decided at last, as they wheeled round thecorner of the homestead. "If they knew there was a tall old man there,they'd go and hunt him out, and annoy him horribly. I know he's allright. I'll hold my tongue about him altogether--even to Dad."

  The coach dropped Mr. Linton next day at the Cross Roads, where a littlefigure, clad in white linen, sat in the buggy, holding the brown ponies,while the dusky Billy was an attendant sprite on his piebald mare.

  "Well, my little girl, it's good to see you again," Mr. Linton said,putting his Gladstone bag into the buggy and receiving undismayed asmall avalanche of little daughter upon his neck. "Steady, dear--mindthe ponies." He jumped in, and put his arm round her. "Everything well?"

  "Yes, all right, Daddy. I'm so glad to have you back!"

  "Not gladder than I am to get back, my little lass," said her father."Good-day, Billy. Let 'em go, Norah."

  "Did you see Jim?" asked Norah, as the ponies bounded forward.

  "No--missed him. I had only an hour in town, and went out to the school,to find Ma
ster Jim had gone down the river--rowing practice. I was sorryto miss him; but it wasn't worth waiting another day in town."

  "Jim would be sorry," said Norah thoughtfully. She herself was ratherglad: had Jim seen his father, most probably he would have mentioned theHermit. Now she had only his letters to fear, and as Jim's letters wereof the briefest nature and very far apart, it was not an acute danger.

  "Yes, I suppose he would," Mr. Linton replied. "I regretted not havingsent a telegram to say I was going to the school--it slipped my memory.I had rather a rush, you know. I suppose you've been pretty dull, mygirlie?"

  "Oh it was horrid after the boys went," Norah said. "I didn't know whatto do with myself, and the house was terribly quiet. It was hard luckthat you had to go away too."

  "Yes, I was very sorry it happened so," her father said; "had we beenalone together I'd have taken you with me, but we'll have the trip someother time. Did you have a good day's fishing on Saturday?"

  "Yes," said Norah, flushing a little guiltily--the natural impulse totell all about their friend the Hermit was so strong. "We had a lovelyday, and caught ever so many fish--didn't get home till ever so late.The only bad part was finding you away when we got back."

  "Well, I'm glad you had good luck, at any rate," Mr. Linton said. "SoAnglers' Bend is keeping up its reputation, eh? We'll have to go outthere, I think, Norah; what do you say about it? Would you and Billylike a three days' jaunt on fishing bent?"

  "Oh, it would be glorious, Daddy! Camping out?"

  "Well, of course--since we'd be away three days. In this weather itwould be a very good thing to do, I think."

  "You are a blessed Daddy," declared his daughter rubbing her cheekagainst his shoulder. "I never knew anyone with such beautiful ideas."She jigged on her seat with delight. "Oh, and, Daddy, I'll be able toput you on to such a splendid new hole for fishing!"

  "Will you, indeed?" said Mr. Linton, smiling at the flushed face."That's good, dear. But how did you discover it?"

  Norah's face fell suddenly. She hesitated and looked uncomfortable.

  "Oh," she said slowly; "I--we--found it out last trip."

  "Well, we'll go, Norah--as soon as I can fix it up," said her father."And now, have you heard anything about the Winfield murderer?"

  "Not a thing, Daddy. Brownie thinks it's just a yarn that he was seenabout here."

  "Oh, I don't think so at all," Mr. Linton said. "A good many people havethe idea, at any rate--of course they may be wrong. I'm afraid Brownieis rather too ready to form wild opinions on some matters. To tell thetruth, I was rather worried at the reports--I don't fancy the notion ofescaped gentry of that kind wandering round in the vicinity of my smalldaughter."

  "Well, I don't think you need have worried," said Norah, laughing up athim; "but all the same, I'm not a bit sorry you did, if it brought youhome a day earlier, Dad!"

  "Well, it certainly did," said Mr. Linton, pulling her ear; "but I'm notsorry either. I can't stand more than a day or two in town. As for themurderer, I'm not going to waste any thought on him now that I am here.There's the gate, and here comes Billy like a whirlwind to open it."

  They bowled through the gate and up the long drive, under the archingboughs of the big gum trees, that formed a natural avenue on each side.At the garden gate Mrs. Brown stood waiting, with a broad smile ofwelcome, and a chorus of barks testified to the arrival of sundry dogs."It's a real home-coming," Mr. Linton said as he walked up the path, hishand on Norah's shoulder--and the little girl's answering smile neededno words. They turned the corner by the big rose bush, and came withinview of the house, and suddenly Norah's smile faded. A trooper in dustyuniform stood on the doorstep.

  "Why, that's a pleasant object to greet a man," Mr. Linton said, as thepoliceman turned and came to meet him with a civil salute. He nodded asthe man came up. "Did you want me?"

  "It's only about this 'ere murderer, sir," said the trooper. "Some of usis on a sort of a scent, but we haven't got fairly on to his tracks yet.I've ridden from Mulgoa to-day, and I came to ask if your people hadseen anything of such a chap passing--as a swaggie or anything?"

  "Not that I know of," said Mr. Linton. "What is he like?"

  "Big fellow--old--plenty of white hair and beard, though, of course,they're probably cut off by this time. Very decent-looking old chap,"said the trooper reflectively--"an' a good way of speakin'."

  "Well, I've seen no such man," said Mr. Linton decidedly--"of course,though, I don't see all the 'travellers' who call. Perhaps Mrs. Browncan help you."

  "Not me sir," said Mrs. Brown, with firmness. "There ain't been no sucha person--and you may be sure there ain't none I don't see! Fact is,when I saw as 'ow the murderer was supposed to be in this districk, Imade inquiries amongst the men--the white hands, that is--and none ofthem had seen any such man as the papers described. I reckon 'e may justas well be in any other districk as this--I s'pose the poor p'lice mustsay 'e's somewheres!"

  She glared defiantly at the downcast trooper.

  "Wish you had the job of findin' him, mum," said that individual. "Well,sir, there's no one else I could make inquiries of, is there?"

  "Mrs. Brown seems to have gone the rounds," Mr. Linton said. "I reallydon't think there's any one else--unless my small daughter here can helpyou," he added laughingly.

  But Norah had slipped away, foreseeing possible questioning.

  The trooper smiled.

  "Don't think I need worry such a small witness," he said. "No, I'll justmove on, Mr. Linton. I'm beginning to think I'm on a wild-goose chase."