'Don't let that trifle stand in your way. Come and try!'

'Let him alone, doctor. He's not worth troubling about,' whispered Aaron Hyam.

'I think you are right,' was the doctor's reply. Then, turning to Abe Dalton, he said,--

'I have offered to bet you twenty pounds Neptune beats The Captain, and I'll not go back on my word; but, mind you, if I win I will not touch your money. Aaron Hyam shall send it to the Bathurst Hospital,' and the doctor stalked out of the place amidst a volley of cheers.

CHAPTER XIV

THE HALF-CASTE'S WARNING

Jim Dennis heard of the row at the Gum Tree Hotel, and he also heard of the cause.

Ned Glenn, who happened to be there, told him all about it when he pulled up at Wanabeen.

'You'd have laughed, Jim, to see the funk Dalton was in,' he said. 'I never saw such a blooming coward in my life. He's not fit to sew a b.u.t.ton on his own shirt. He cowed down before the doc like a whipped kangaroo dog, and darn me if he even so much as swore when Dr Tom asked him out to fight.'

'But what was it all about?' asked Jim.

Then the story came out, with embellishments by Ned Glenn.

'And Abe Dalton said that about my lad?' said Jim.

'Yes, he did; but I wish I had never mentioned it; you look so ferocious.'

'You wait until I come across Dalton. He'll have to answer for it.'

'Leave him alone,' said Ned. 'Treat him as Dr Tom treated him. Let him slide.'

'And so it was Dr Tom who stuck up for me and mine,' said Jim.

'Didn't I tell you so?' exclaimed Ned; 'and I can tell you a bit more.

It's through Dr Tom you have not been molested by Dalton's gang for the past few years. Don't you know the yarn? Why, every man in the Creek knows it.'

Jim Dennis said, 'You're--sure--it's--true?' He caught up his few words, and they seemed to stumble over each other.

'Certain. Gospel. I had it from Abe himself. It happened this way: Dalton was dying, and Dr Tom was called in under false pretences. Some blackguard of the gang told him a woman and child were dying. You know what the doc is in such cases. Well, he went. He drove out in that wretched ramshackle of his and he pulled up at headquarters--Abe Dalton's.

'All he heard in answer to his call was groans. He went inside--he's told this to me himself. He don't often give much away in that way do the doc, but he opened his big heart and let me have it; and, by gosh, as you know, Jim, I'm a good receptacle for news.'

Jim nodded; he was taking it all in--and a lot more.

'So the doctor did what?'

Ungrammatical, but it is what Jim said, and I have to record it. We are not all born grammarians.

'The doc did this for you, Jim, but don't let on or split to him, or he'd knock the life out of me. The doc says to Abe Dalton. "You're going to die, old man, and your sins will provide the fuel to roast you." From all accounts--there is only one account, but the doc gets a bit confused when he's on this track--the fact of the matter is that Abe Dalton was in a very bad state. Tom--I mean the doc--pulled him through on one condition; that condition was that you were not to be molested, or your belongings, for ever more.'

'And Dr Tom compounded'--it was a big word for Jim--'with a brute like Dalton? He saved his life at the price of shielding me from this gang?

Wait until I see the doctor. I'll tackle him over this.'

'I'm going,' said Ned.

'About time,' answered Jim. 'I'll tell that story of yours to the little chap.'

'Don't. By gosh, Jim, don't,' said Ned, as he got to his horses' heads.

'I will. He ought to know black Sal, eh? Good-bye, Ned.'

Ned Glenn was on the box seat. He looked round at Jim, cracked the whip over his team's ears, and said,--

'I'll be back in time for the cup, my lad, and if Willie don't win on Neptune, s'help me, I'll chuck up the job.'

Jim Dennis's face cleared. The pa.s.sing cloud had drifted. The gloom was dispelled at the mention of the child. What little things, what small words, what rightly-spoken words can change a man's heart.

'Bah!'

It was an emphatic expression. Jim Dennis spat on the verandah, he kicked a chair over, he swung the hammock round and went inside.

'Sal, do you know what they have said about you? Do you know what Abe Dalton says?'

She shuddered.

'Sal, you have been a mother to my lad.'

She remained silent.

'Do you know what that scoundrel Dalton says?'

'No.'

'That Willie is your child.'

A wail came from her, a piteous, heart-rending wail. She fell on her knees at his feet. She put her head on his boots, and she cried--cried many bitter tears. It was hard for her. She loved this white man, the man who had helped her, had come into her life, picked her up when she was dying, starving, her tongue cleaving to her mouth from thirst, on his verandah steps. He was not a missionary, he never talked to her about G.o.d--and the devil. He never frightened her with unknown terrors, he had been good and kind and gentle to her, and they said these things about him!

She thought not of herself, her whole thoughts were for him, the man who had protected her.

'Willie, Willie!' she wailed.

She wished he belonged to her, that he were flesh of her flesh. She craved for that child as mothers crave for their own.

'Get up, Sal. I thought you ought to know,' he said.

She lifted her face to his, and the tears were streaming down her half-black cheeks.