Short Stories (Bellew)/How We Pegged Buchanan
How We Pegged Buchanan
Hughes had beautiful sentiments and a faraway look in his eyes. Sometimes he washed and shaved at such times, he was quite good looking. Then again, sometimes he didn't, this generally after a drunk. His drunks occurred on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, with one occasion every four years the 29th of February, his birthday—on which he did himself proud. Hughes had a standard joke that he was only eight, because he had lived the round of only eight leap-years. He was really thirty-three and regretted that he hadn't had thirty-three real birthdays to celebrate.
When he told you all his beautiful thoughts about honest dealing with his fellowmen and such like, you felt a certain qualm over the fifty acre lease you pegged out the day before he intended to take it up himself, but then, "you were the only man he cared to see hold ground near his, and anyway it wasn't of any value as the reef didn't dip that way, so it didn't matter."
When Hughes clapped you on the shoulder, "old man," and told you this your conscience left off bothering, but you knew you had better keep your weather eye on Hughes. He never wore socks, but he was very kind to Isaac Brown's kids, and he had a pet possum which nestled inside his shirt and seemed fond of him. Possums are very hardy.
I believe Hughes was married, but he never had any wife on the diggings. His clothes were worse than most of us wore, and he generally went round without a hat. The sun-never seemed to affect him, though "next morning" he always said it had.
His strong point, he thought, was geology, so the boys brought his wonderful bits of rock which he duly sent down South for assay, receiving in return very rude letters about them which puzzled him. But Hughes did stumble across something once, though by accident. An old German prospector died and left behind a small lease which he had been working. The water had been bad in the well he sank, and the old fellow had grown worse and worse, dying eventually of arsenical poisoning.
Now arsenical poisoning meant very little to Hughes, but a great deal to Cameron and Pegus, who were always sniffing around for anything "good," and quickly scented arsenical pyrites. So Cameron, Pegus, Hughes and a borrowed Chinaman soon had the old German's lease looking as though a lot of Gullivers had been playing cribbage on it and using gigantic matches for pegs. And they wern't satisfied.
Higgins was a quiet old chap who knew a good bit about mining. He had been out to Buchanan several times nosing round. He pegged out 75 acres at Mount Madden—more as a blind, I think, than anything else—and one day drove his pegs home on Buchanan, when no one was about. But Hughes and his gang disputed him and Pegus, one of them, being Warden of the Field, had laid official hands upon it.
Higgins was a hard-faced old man, who looked at life between the lies and the jokes as rather a serious thing. He lived at Ahlers' but never drank anything, so he was referred to when out of earshot disrespectfully as "Dot damned old Higgins." He came in to meals regularly and never passed anything. When Ahlers wanted to be satirical he would refer to the climate as being "Splendid for yong beebles und old men," and with a look at Higgins that it "gaf, yon healthy abetites."
"I'll trouble you for a bit more of that steak, Jimmy," was all the answer old Higgins gave, and Jimmy, the Chinese cook, would laugh serenely and bring the steak.
I sat next to Higgins. The old music box on the table between the windows just behind me had a way of going off unexpectedly with three bars of "Annie Laurie" and then petering out. Every man within a hundred miles had shaken bits of "Annie Laurie" out of that old box, which was one of the stories of Maytown, together with the worsted-worked pictures of Koenig Wilhelm and a stuffed crocodile out of the Mitchell River. The piano in the corner was a compound fractured instrument, of German origin, that emitted nothing but Wagnerian noises whether you played "God Save the Queen" or "Hail, Columbia!" on it. Ahlers had lent it to Isaac Brown for a dance some ten years before. It had been dropped on the way down hill, and the sounding board broken in two. Bob Jenkins, blacksmith from the "Comet," had come to its rescue and a sailorman "who knew how to splice wire," had fixed the other part. Then a traveling dentist who did something to Mrs. Ahlers' teeth had a go at it.
This made it ready for Miss Ahlers to play. Miss Ahlers was a big girl with a "musical ear." Where the music box left off with "Annie Laurie" she went on and thumped out the rest on "Old Wagner." She helped the "black gin" make the beds when she wasn't busy playing "Annie Laurie," but that wasn't often. My first recollection of Maytown, is rolling out of my saddle to "Annie Laurie" and, as I rode down hill on my way "home" among the "so longs!" "come back some days" and "don't forget us alls," I caught the strain of "Annie Laurie" with every other tooth out.
But to go back to Higgins: He had confided with me that he believed that Hughes and his gang had pegged out the wrong ground at Buchanan, and that the lode lay more to the eastward. So I had promised to go out with him and take up the more promising ground on the following Monday.
This was Saturday, and everyone was in camp for an incidential drunk and to wait over Sunday for the arrival of the mail. The day was fading when Hughes sat down beside me on Ahlers' verandah, and began poking out quartz pebbles with the butt end of a piece of iron-bark.
"Damned hot!" said Hughes.
"Not so damned," I grunted for the sake of argument.
Long pause while he pushed out another pebble. Then he threw one at the dog. "Shmoker" knew he was quite safe, so he lay still.
"Been out at the Queen to-day" Hughes looked far away where the sun was setting behind the hills and drew squares in the soft red earth.
"No."
Another long pause, then, "I just came in from Buchanan," he said.
"So!" I knew it already, but I saw Hughes was leading for an opening.
"Fine show out there—why don't you go and have a look at it?"
"Heard you'd got it all." Hughes looked at me. I felt it.
"There's lots more to the eastward. Hughes drew another square.
"Why don't you take it up them?"
"Oh, I don't know. . . . Got a match?"
"I should if I thought it good. . . . Yes, here's one."
"Heard you were going out Monday with Higgins."
"Did you?"
"Yes." Hughes lit his pipe. The light in the west was failing fast.
"Well, perhaps I will."
"Going to peg out?" As the match flared up between the puffs, I could see Hughes' little beady eyes squinting out of their corners at me.
"I might."
Then there was another long pause. It was almost dark and the lights of the camp here and there stood out like gems against the deep of the moonless sky. Shmoker saw the Chink's cat—-otherwise all was hushed and still.
Hughes finally broke the silence. "I thought of taking up that ground to the east," he announced, "but I wired to Melbourne and they said, 'No.' It ain't any good anyhow, shouldn't advise you to peg there. I tried a prospect—no good!"
If Hughes hadn't pulled the possum out of his shirt and diverted attention by getting up and "Ketchy-ketchying" the little beast, I might not have thought much of what he said. But somehow, Shmoker's crooked tail, Hughes and the possum combined suggested things crooked, deep and cunning—and from that moment, I knew the ground was worth having.
"So long!" Hughes and the possum went off into the night.
"So long! . . . . Hello! what's he going that way for?" I thought.
Instead of turning into Ahlers', Hughes struck out between that pub and Cameron's and disappeared in the dark. This set me to thinking that he was going to hunt up Cameron.
I saw Higgins coming down from the Chink's store and waited for him to pass. O'Regan was with him and Isaac Brown. As soon as they dropped him and went into Ahlers', I tackled the old man.
"Higgins," said I, "Hughes is up to something."
"Good God!" He blurted out as though he had been shot, not waiting to hear what it might be.
"He asked me if I were going out to Buchanan with you to-morrow and I said maybe I would."
"And yer will, won't yer? Look here, sir, I tell you that Mount Buchanan ground is the biggest thing I ever saw—there's millions in it."
"Hughes says there isn't anything."
"My God, what liars some people are! He—why he don't know a bit of quartz from a brickbat. Nothing in it! What's he pegged out all that ground for—seventy-five acres—if there ain't nothing in it?"
"Now, don't go off your head," I said, "I know there's something in it, but Hughes thinks I'm going to peg out and wants to get ahead of me. Now, Higgins, what's to be done? I don't know the track to Buchanan, nor do you—it's pitch dark—the moon won't be up for an hour and I'll bet you drinks they're off to Buchanan the minute they can see."
Higgins cursed his own stupidity in not making me go out to Buchanan before and almost wept. Buchanan had been his pet scheme. He hadn't the money to take up ground, but I had, so he had trusted to me. Now what was to be done?
"Higgins," said I solemnly, "I have a plan."
"My God—what?" cried the old fellow, excitedly.
"You must get drunk, Higgins."
"I—drunk!—Good God, I never did such a thing in my life!"
"Well, Higgins, you must do it now. The fate of Buchanan depends on your getting drunk."
"I can't do it, sir—I can't do it."
"Very well, if you can't you can't."
"My principles, sir!"
"Somebody's got to or we lose Buchanan."
"I've never touched a drop since I came on the field. It would be such a scandal!" The old man paused and thought. "Why must I get drunk?"
"To give me time."
"What for?"
"To save Buchanan."
"For God's sake, how can my getting drunk save Buchanan?"
"Higgins, I know Hughes is going to get ahead of us. The only way to stop him is to get him drunk. You must do it."
"There's Cameron, too, sir."
"You must fill him up also, Higgins."
"Sir," said the old man solemnly, "I cannot bring myself down so low. I'm a sober, God-fearing, respectable man and if I get drunk, I could never show my face in Maytown again, but, sir, I know a man who would be only too pleased—"
"Higgins, how can you suggest such a thing?"
"Sir, Bob Jenkins would do it like a shot."
"Bob's away out at the Comet."
"Well, then there's Isaac Brown."
This was true. To Isaac a good soak would be a midsummer night's dream. Higgins saw that I hesitated. Before I could stop him, he had called Brown out of Ahlers' bar. "Brown," he said, "Mr. Bellew wents you to get drunk."
"Holy mother—what!"
"Here are a couple of pounds, Brown," I chimed in before he recovered. "I want you to get hold of Cameron and Hughes, start drinking and keep them at it until morning."
"Two pounds! You bet your sweet life! I'll make 'em drunker than lords." Brown, asking no questions, went off in search of Cameron and Hughes, whom he met coming from Wonacott's, in whose paddock they kept their horses hobbled.
"Now, Higgins, who knows the road to Buchanan?" I asked as soon as we had watched Brown manoeuvre his quarry into Ahlers' bar.
"There's no one except Paddy Fahey. He's going out to Mount Madden to-morrow, been making there for months. Buchanan's seven miles beyond, and Paddy's the only man who knows the track."
In a few minutes we stumbled into Paddy's, where a fat girl was playing the "Maiden's Prayer" on an instrument that was once a harmonium. In the old days, a few of "the boys" had celebrated New Year's with its help, and every time drinks were called, they poured a whiskey into its works to give them tone. Now the harmonium groaned and grunted out intermittent noises as though afflicted with chronic asthma.
I was presented to Paddy, and he stopped the "Maiden's Prayer" by introducing me to the fat girl. Then we withdrew with Paddy and drinks to convert him to our needs. Paddy was delighted with me, because I was an Irishman. He was the only man in the field who really knew anything about mining. The Palmer Gold Field comprised about two hundred square miles and, according to Paddy, there was "one damned fool for every square mile." Soon and readily enough, I had him talking about Mount Madden, where he worked.
"Sure, son," he exclaimed, "it's a great show! There's millions of tons of stuff in sight and it all goes about half an ounce. I've been shepherding the ground for over a year and none of 'em knows anything about it but me. There's Buchanan beyond it, too—"
"I hear that's good, Paddy," I broke in.
"Good, son? It's a Mount Moyan over again, but them damned fools, Hughes and Cameron, don't know anything about it at all, at all."
"They don't, eh?"
"Holy mother, why they've pegged right away from the lode. It's running to the east'ard and they've gone north."
"The lode goes east, Paddy?"
"It does, son. Why yez can see the foot-wall in the creek and follow it right up the mountain on the other side. That's the ground to take up."
"Who's got it?"
"No one, son."
"Paddy, I want you to peg out the whole of the eastern ground for me."
"Sure I will, son."
"How much do you want for the job?"
"Sure, yer honor, I'll lave that entoirely to yez. It's thirty mile out and thirty mile in, and the divil's own track, and there's the wages and the horses, and there's lavin' me own worruk and—"
"That's all right, Paddy. Name your price and, if I think it's worth it, I'll pay it."
"Cash down, son?"
Paddy had evidently been bitten before. "Cash down, Paddy." I showed him a roll of notes.
"Make it foive pounds, son, and I'll do it."
"Right, Paddy! When will you start?"
"To-morrow morning, son."
"No, Paddy—to-night."
"Holy God, to-night!"
"Now!"
"Now!" Paddy could not get any other word out.
"Now, Paddy, and I'll give you five pounds and another five pounds when you've done the job."
"But, son, it's as dark as the mouth of Hell and me horses are down the river."
I counted out five pounds and toyed carelessly with them. Paddy brought his fist down on the table and cried, "By God, I'll do it."
When I saw he meant business, I handed him the five pounds and told him about Cameron and Hughes intending to get ahead of us.
"Them two damn fools! Why, son, they couldn't find the Buchanan track in the dark to save their skins. It's all they can do to get there by daylight, and I know a short cut round by the Limestone track and Sandy Creek that'll cut off an hour and a half at least."
Then I told him of my plan. He was to round up his horses, saddle the one he intended to ride and tie it up in the bush out of sight. He was to bring in another horse already saddled and hitch him to the post outside the pub. If Hughes suspected and was watching, the hitched horse would keep him from starting till daylight. The moon would be up in half an hour. Paddy could get away then on the hidden horse, peg out fifty acres at Buchanan at dawn and be on his way back before the others got out to the ground."
Paddy roared. Higgins breathed freely, a weight seemed to be lifted from his mind. "Done it without getting drunk, sir, thank God!"
Paddy grabbed my hand. "Buchanan's yours, son, unless I fall down on the road and break me neck."
Paddy slipped away down the hill, and Higgins and I strolled up to Ahlers', where we found Isaac Brown doing his duty manfully. We helped him along a bit, I taking a drink and old Higgins a cigar, then we strolled out of the bar.
Down the road, now brightly lighted up by the moon, stood a boney old roan all saddled and hitched, and known to every one for a hundred miles around as Paddy's "Derby Winner." In the still of the night, we could hear the quick step of a distant horse and presently, the "splash—splash—splash!" of the water as it took the ford at the Palmer River.
Higgins chuckled and his wrinkled old face lit up with glee. "Taking the Limestone track," he whispered, "strikes off for Buchanan at Dog Leg Creek. It's an awful road, no one but Paddy could pick it up after leaving old Limestone. Hughes and his crowd have to go out by the Queen and cross the river way up at the Alexandra, miles further."
"When will Paddy get there?"
"Daylight."
"Well, we agreed to meet him at Mount Madden on his way back. I'm going to turn in."
"So long!" Old Higgins went off chuckling and muttering to himself. I, myself, was just going into the yard when I saw Cameron lurch out of the bar. Later on, I learned all that happened.
Cameron clung to the door, his drink-sodden eyes with both arms flung wildly about one of the posts. Suddenly, his wandering eye lighted on Paddy's hitched horse. Drawing his hand across his eyes as if he were not sure of what he saw, he looked again. With a curse, he lumbered back to the bar calling to Hughes.
Hughes was singing for dear life all he knew of "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," which after several years down South he had introduced to the Palmer, where the song won instant favor. He was too drunk to pay any attention to Cameron's excited call.
Cameron clung to the door, his dring-sodden eyes glaring wildly at his fuddled partner. "Paddy Fahey—" he began.
"Paddy Fahey be damned!" cried Ahlers, keeper of the rival pub.
"Paddy Fahey!" roared Cameron.
"Shut up! Have another drink!" yelled Isaac Brown.
Cameron staggered across the room and clutched Hughes by the arm. "Paddy Fahey!" he screamed.
Hughes stopped singing with an ill grace. "Well, what the hell about Paddy Fahey?" he snarled.
"Paddy Fahey—Paddy Fahey's horse is saddled and hitched up ready to start somewhere!"
"Well, what the blaze's that got to do with us" Hughes brooded only over how soon he could break out into song again.
"Yer damn fool! If Paddy ain't going somewhere, what's his horse saddled up for?"
"Well, s'pose he is?" laughed Hughes. "Why yer blistering idiot, he's going to Mount Madden, what do we care?"
"Like the devil he cares a damn, about Mound Madden!"
"Oh to hell with Paddy, let's have another drink!" broke in Isaac Brown.
"Right O!" chimed in Ahlers, reaching for the whiskey.
"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!" began Hughes again. He attempted a passeul on his long thin legs that landed him in a heap on the floor.
"Look here!" cried Cameron, standing over him and shaking a fist in his face, "Look here, if you're too bloody drunk to see, I ain't. I saw Higgins and that damned London chap go into Paddy's just after you came up to my humpy."
"Well, what of it?" Hughes looked owlishly up at the big, black-bearded man standing over him.
"That chap's got to windward of us and he's gone and put Paddy on to going out to Buchanan first."
Hughes sprang to his feet.
"Sh! he's turned in long ago," exclaimed Ahlers, "I seed him ven I vent to the missus for the key to get some more vhiskey."
"And old Higgins?"
"He vas turn in too—I see him."
"Well, then, what's the row?" cried Hughes. "If those two's asleep and Paddy ain't gone yet, we're all right."
"But we shan't be in the morning unless someone starts pretty quick."
"Well, who's to go? By God, I'm too drunk to sit a horse," whimpered Hughes.
"Wouldn't make much difference if you were sober," jeered Brown. When Hughes rode out of camp on a horse, the animal generally came back alone. So did Hughes.
Hughes didn't like the joke. He glared at Isaac with his little beady eyes, hesitating whether to go for him or not. "I believe you know something about this business," he muttered.
"Yer damned smart at knowing things, ain't yer?" sneered Brown.
"You started this drinking to-night, by God!" yelled Hughes.
"By God, so he did!" broke in Cameron.
"Well, you never started any drinking since you came into Maytown, yer loafing swine!" retorted Brown.
"Shentlemen, shentlemen, come now, no rows in 'Mine Haus,' else I turn you all oudt," warned Ahlers.
"Turn us out, be damned! Give us another drink. What's the matter with you all, anyway? Come on, what yer going to have?"
Isaac's offer of drinks put an end to the trouble. But Cameron and Hughes took counsel. They secured a couple of black boys. One, they sent up to Kinnear, with a message telling of their suspicions, and asking that their horses be saddled ready to start for Buchanan at a moment's notice. The oher boy, they set on watch over Paddy's horse. At the worst, they could start just as soon as Paddy made a move and two men could peg out quicker than one. Agreeing on this, they settled down to drinking again. Soon, they were all rolling about on the floor, speechless and helpless.
But Kinnear was one of those foxey little men with a long thin nose and ferretty eyes that take no chances. He roused Wonacott, they saddled a couple of horses and came down. One glance at their helpless mates and they decided to run no risk but to start for Buchanan at once.
"But what are we going to do with Hughes and Cameron?" asked Wonacott.
"Leave the swine where they are." Kinnear swung up into his saddle and led the way off.
Shortly afterwards, old Ahlers and his wife woke me by dragging Hughes into the little room boarded off next to mine. Hughes was weeping over Mrs. Ahlers, whom he declared was hit best friend on earth, and over Ahlers, who was almost as drunk as himself. At last, between weeping and singing snatches of "Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay," he passed out.
Next morning, I was waked by the sound in the next room of Cameron trying to rouse Hughes. He had great difficulty in making any impression upon his fuddled mate. I heard him whisper hoarsely that Paddy's horse was still hitched to the post.
"Horse! What horse?" mumbled Hughes.
"Paddy's, you fool!"
"Who's a fool! What Paddy?"
"Paddy Fahey—he's not gone to Buchanan."
"What the hell's the use of talking to you!" muttered Cameron, leaving Hughes to himself.
"Gone Buchanan—who's gone Buchanan?"
I turned out and unostentatiously prepared for going to Mount Madden, where we had agreed to go and wait for Paddy on his way back. I had my horse run in and saddled, one with the packs and three for riding. I looked to the saddles, wiped down the horses and gave them a feed of Indian corn, at which luxury they whinnied with delight. Old Higgins loaded up the packs with tea, flour, sardines, jam, sugar, boiled beef, bread and condensed milk, enough to last a week. Every one was astir by the time we came from a good breakfast, lighted our pipes, and got into our saddles. Just as we were starting, Hughes came out looking like a piece of chewed string. He straightened up against one of the verandah posts and waved an arm to me in an uncertain sort of way.
"Off to Buchanan?"
"Yes." I nodded to him. "So long!"
"Well, so long! Good luck!"
"Thanks."
"Going to peg out?"
"Perhaps." I wondered if he were too drunk to remember that Kinnear and Wonacott had started out ahead of us in the night, as Higgins had learned and told me."
"Well, remember what I told you about the eastern ground. 'Tain't worth a damn. So long!"
"I'll have a look at it, anyway. So long!" We whipped up into line and away started the "pack" with us after it.
Cameron was coming out of Wonacott's place on the top of the hill as we clattered by it.
"Buchanan?" he shouted, with a grin all over his face.
"Yes," I yelled back.
"Good luck!" Over my shoulder, I saw him wave his arm and caught the universal, "So long!" as the horses under Higgins and I and the boy settled down into that long, swinging walk Australian horses keep up through the bush for hundreds of miles at a rate of five or six miles an hour.
We went out past the Queen, and prepared to cross the river at the Alexandre, where we picked up the newly made tracks of two horses going in our direction. The boy got down and examined them.
"That's Wonacott's track. I know that off hind shoe. See the nail holes; there's one too many. Bob Jenkins shoed him last Friday."
Could we be sure they had taken the long trial? If so, Paddy would have reached Buchanan hours ahead of them. "Whose is the other track?" I asked.
"Dunno. See it plainer the Other side where the ground ain't so sandy. It's some one with shoes anyway. 'Tain't Bob's—'tain't more'n a five-inch shoe."
We forded the Palmer and picked up the tracks, quite clear in the soft earth on the other side. "It's Kinnear's little mare," said the boy, after looking at the tracks for a minute.
"How d'ye know?"
"Here's a track in the mud where she's sunk in and turned it over lifting her feet out. She's got a brand burned into the hoof. See it! That's Winnear's. It ain't got the Government mark, the Q and arrow. Kinnear's is the only mare branded on the hoof up here except the Police."
So we felt tolerably sure that Kinnear and Wonacott had taken the long route and that Paddy must have beaten them to Buchanan barring mischance. We rode along happily and made his camp at Mount Madden about half past two. We put away our stores in the bough-shed, lighted a fire and barely had the billy boiling before we heard a "cooee." Climbing up the bank of the creek was Paddy's horse with Paddy on its bank roaring with laughter.
"Hullo, Paddy," I cried, "how did you get on?"
"Had the toime of me loife, son."
"Did you peg out?"
"Did I peg out! I did, son. I did that. Sure I got to Buchanan just as day was breaking, paced out the ground, cut me pegs and druv 'em in and all you've got to do now is to put in your application with the Warden."
"Did you see any one, Paddy,"
"Wait while I tell ye, son." Paddy jumped off the horse, cast loose the saddle and gave the horse a spank which sent it down to the creek for a drink. Then, while we ate, he told us all that had happened.
It seemed that after pegging out, Paddy saddled up and was jogging along quietly to camp when suddenly he came face to face with Kinnear and Wonnacott. The two men drew rein and stared blankly at Paddy. According to Paddy they were so surprised that he himself opened up first:
"'The top of the mornin,' says Oi."
"Where the hell have you come from?' says Kinnear."
"'Buchanan,' says Oi."
"'Buchanan!' says both of 'em together."
"'Yes, says Oi."
"'Been peggin' out?' asks Wonnacott."
"'That's my bizzness,' says Oi."
"'It's mine, too,' says he."
"'Ho!' says Oi, 'is it! Well then, the best thing ye can do,' says Oi, 'is to go on about your biznness and I'll go on about moine. Oi guess if yer mane peggin', yer pegs won't interfere wid moine. Oi've just marked off fifty acres to the east of the creek. Ye’ll foind me pegs alongside the prospecting claim.'"
"What 'll they do?" I asked.
"Nothin'—they can't."
But we had no more than finished eating, when we saw Kinnear and Wonnacott riding rapidly along the track, and they never even hailed us.
"They're up to something," cautioned Higgins. "P'raps they're going to get in first and lodge an application."
"They can't do that. Oi've pegged out the ground," objected Paddy.
"No one saw you peg it, Paddy."
The same idea struck us all. The two men would ride in, swear they had pegged and lodge an application ahead of ours. They would be two to one. Paddy and I dashed for our saddles, rounded up our horses and went off at a canter to pick up the trail, leaving Higgins and the boy to follow with the pack.
"We've got to take the Dog Leg trail, son," Paddy called out to me, "they've gone by the Queen, and it'll save us an hour and a half."
Nevertheless, we never drew rein until our worn-out horses stopped at the Warden's office. It was five o'clock and he was just about to leave.
"I want to lodge an application, O'Regan," I announced to the clerk acting as Warden until a new one should be appointed.
"All right, you're just in time. Come in!"
We jumped down and made out the necessary forms. I paid the fees and then, O'Regan, Paddy and I all went over the Ahlers' to have a drink.
As we neared the pub, I saw Hughes sitting on the piazza. He looked up at us with a contented smile on his face.
"Been to Buchanan?" he asked.
"No," I answered.
"Thought you were going."
"So I was."
"Ho!"
His over-confidence was too blissful to disturb. I watched him saunter off to Cameron's. We went into the bar and were talking over the day's doings, when the clatter of hoofs brought us all out on the verandab.
Their horses white with dust and sweat, Kinnear and Wonnacott were riding into camp. When they saw us, they almost dropped from their saddles. They came no nearer than Cameron's, where Hughes came out to meet them, his face wide open with glee.
"Well?" he cried.
"You be damned," snapped Wonnacott.
Hughes's jaw dropped. "Why, what's up?" he demanded.
"You drunken fool! You've lost Buchanan, that's what's up!"
Then, they all disappeared into Cameron's, Hughes last and looking as if he feared that his possum too might turn on him.