'I saw you one day in Melbourne,' Jim replied. 'You were driving with Mrs. Macdougal.'

'Mrs. Donald Macdougal of b.o.o.byalla,' said Ryder gravely.

'She was a shipmate of mine.'

Yes; and you saw my face for a moment in Melbourne and remembered it. You observe narrowly and quickly, Mr. Done. It was not Mrs. Macdougal who was most communicative on the interesting subject I have broached, however, but a very charming young friend of hers, Miss Woodrow. The young lady's concern was excusable in view of certain services, but nevertheless flattering. She asked me to const.i.tute myself a sort of foster-Providence over you if we ever met, Mr. Done.'

Jim laughed to smother a pang.

'Do I need it, Mr. Ryder?' he asked. He fancied there was a flutter of the other's eye towards Aurora, but Ryder did not reply to the question.

'Miss Woodrow told me of the rescue,' he said, 'of your solitary disposition, and spoke of a life of suffering in England.'

Done's lips tightened; he squared his shoulders. The fear that had possessed him on leaving his birthplace was no longer upon him, but he desired no revelations, no digging into the past, and there was a hint of motive in the other's tone--he was inviting confidence. For a few moments Ryder bent a keen glance upon the younger man, his face bowed and in shadow, toying with his cigar.

'Jo!' yelled a voice out in the darkness.

Instantly every pannikin was emptied on the floor, and thrust into a digger's shirt.

'The traps!' cried Mrs. Ben, and her rum-jug flew into a tub of water behind the counter. Several bundles of washing were tossed out, a loaf of bread was thrust upon Done, and at the same moment the door was thrown back, and in marched Sergeant Wallis, followed by five police. Mrs. Ben Kyley was not surprised, and had expected that Aurora's imposition would bring a raid down upon her sooner or later, and here it was.

'You're selling sly grog here, ma'am,' said Wallis, sniffing like a retriever.

Ben Kyley rose silently from his stool and approached Wallis.

'Sit you down, Ben Kyley!' roared Mrs. Ben; and Kyley returned as silently to his seat, and sat smoking throughout the scene that followed, apparently quite listless.

'Am I selling sly grog, Mr. Sergeant? Then it's a miracle where it comes from. I haven't a drop in the place, or I'd stand you a n.o.bbler gladly.

It's my opinion there are worse-looking men than Sergeant Wallis in gaol.'

'Rubbish, ma'am! the place reeks of rum,' said Wallis.

'A bit of a bottle Quigley shouted for the boys, this being his birthday.'

'Quigley has too many birthdays. Search the place, boys!'

The police commenced a systematic search of the tent, examining both compartments, and trying the earthen floor for a secret cellar. They found nothing, and meanwhile Mrs. Kyley was bantering Wallis with boisterous good-fellowship.

'The idea of an officer of your penetration, sergeant, mistaking a poor washerwoman's tent for a grog-shop.'

The poor washerwoman does a big business, Mrs. Kyley.'

'Not amongst the police, Sergeant Wallis. It is a miserable living a washerwoman would make out of them. I hear they beat their shirts with a stick once a month, as we dusted the carpets in the old Country.'

'We can find nothing, sergeant,' said one of the police.

'Remember how Imeson tricked you all at Bendigo, Wallis, with a hollow tent-pole that held ten gallons of brandy.'

'I do, Mrs. Kyley. You were Mrs. Imeson then.'

'And if you have the luck I may be Mrs. Wallis one of these days.'

'Heaven forbid, ma'am!'

'Don't waste your prayers on me, sergeant. Maybe I deserve even that, my sins being many and various.'

'And sly grog-selling is one of them. But I'll have you there yet, my good woman.' Wallis turned his thumb down.

'Remember I am only a poor weak woman when that happens, sergeant. Will you have a drink before going? There's a nip left in Quigley's bottle.'

'No, ma'am, I don't drink,' answered Wallis from the door.

'Then, sergeant, commit your nose for perjury. It's bearing false witness against you all over the field.'

There was a yell of laughter, interspersed with the usual cries of 'Jo!'

as Wallis pa.s.sed out after his men, and the diggers bombarded Mrs. Kyley with the bundles of washing that had been hastily distributed amongst them. Ben Kyley followed the police out, and presently returned and nodded to Mary, who seized her jug and dived through the canvas part.i.tion. She was back again in a minute with a jug full of spirits.

'My shout, lads!' she cried. 'Roll up, and drink the health and long life of Mary Kyley!'

The device that enabled the washerwoman to deceive the police was known to a few of the diggers, but they kept the secret well. Her tent was pitched close to a big hollow gum-tree. High up in the b.u.t.t nestled a barrel of rum, the bottom coated with cinders, like the interior of the burnt tree. From this barrel a pipe came down under the bark to a neatly disguised little trap-door where the canvas lay against the b.u.t.t. A hidden slit in the tent corresponded with the trap-door. It was Ben's office to replenish the barrel at night, with kegs brought from their safe hiding-place in an abandoned claim, over which was pitched the tent of his mate, Sandy Harris. Mary had adopted this plan on three rushes, and her savings, regularly banked in Melbourne, already a.s.sumed the proportions of a modest fortune.

When the police were gone Jim looked about him in search of Ryder, but his acquaintance had disappeared. As his friendship with Aurora Griffiths ripened, Done shook off thoughts of Lucy Woodrow, since they never came without an underlying sense of accusation. He was enjoying his present life to the full. In his heart was a great kindness towards the people with whom he mingled. He was naturally sociable, a lover of his kind, and recognised now that half the torment of his life since coming to manhood had arisen from his isolation, from the lack of opportunities of gratifying this affection. He admired Aurora, comparing her with his youthful ideal, the strong animal, self-reliant, careless of custom.

True, she lacked the intellectual superiority with which he had endowed his defiant Dulcinea, but he had even forgotten to take delight in his own mental excellence of late, so that did matter. He only concerned himself with living now. He was quite at his ease in Aurora's society, and the atmosphere on the Kyley establishment pleased him. The place was full of interest, but his warmest interest was in the full-blooded pagan who officiated as Hebe to the a.s.sembled diggers.

He had quite respectable qualms at times, seeing her the object of so much rough gallantry--qualms he stifled instantly as being in flat rebellion to his fine philosophy of individualism as applied to behaviour. His rights of man must be rights of women too. But, for all that, there was much comfort in the belief that Aurora showed no preference elsewhere. Quigley's prominence as a suitor was not due to any partiality on the part of the girl, but rather to Quigley's own aggressive character, and his imperturbability under her eloquent banter.

To be sure, she persisted in treating Jim as an interesting boy, a line of conduct he found somewhat absurd, but which was partly the vein of her humour, and partly due to his inexperience in the role of Don Juan.

So the merry months pa.s.sed, and the mates worked claim after claim on Diamond Gully, doing much prospecting work and sinking sundry duffers, but unearthing sufficient gold to make Done's riches a good deal of a nuisance to him, although translated into the biggest bank-notes available. During all this time Quigley's dislike for Jim was only kept within bounds by the vein of flippancy that ran through Aurora's demonstrations of preference for the younger man. The quarrel was inevitable, however, and it was precipitated by a half-drunken demonstration of affection towards Aurora on Quigley's part, which the girl resented with a savageness that betrayed an unexpected trait.

One Sat.u.r.day night Done and Burton were partners in a four-handed game of euchre going on at one of the tables, when a sudden disturbance arose at the counter. Mrs. Ben Kyley's familiar rum-jug crashed and flew to pieces on the table amongst the men. The players were on their feet in an instant. At the other end of the compartment Aurora was struggling in the hands of Pete Quigley. Pete held her wrists firmly, and Aurora's fingers clutched the neck of a bottle. Her face was distorted with pa.s.sion, no trace of its habitual humour remained; the fury of a mountain cat blazed in her eyes, her lips were drawn back from her large white teeth, which were clenched with a biting vindictiveness. The other men reseated themselves, watching the struggle without much concern. Mrs. Kyley shouted an uncomplimentary summary of Quigley's character from behind the counter. Jim alone advanced to interfere.

'Drop it, Quigley,' he said quietly, but his warmer feelings stirred.

'Blast it, man, let the girl be!'

'An' have my brains knocked out with a bottle? I'll see you flaming first!'

Done pressed Aurora's fingers apart, and threw the bottle behind the counter.

'Now release her!' he said in a tone conveying a threat.

'Mind your own infernal business!' answered Pete. 'I'll deal with you in half a minute.'

'Release her!' Done was at Quigley's throat with a grip that started Pete's eyes from their sockets, and the elder digger abandoned his hold on Aurora to fight for his own breath. There was a brief struggle, and Jim sent Pete sprawling over a stool.

Quigley picked himself up. He did not rush at Done: he was apparently composed. He undid the wrist and collar b.u.t.tons of his jumper, drew the garment over his head, and threw it on the floor at Jim's feet.

'I suppose you'll take it fighting!' he said. 'If you won't I'll thump the soul out of you, anyhow.'

Aurora rushed between them, and endeavoured to grapple with Pete again.