By Blow and Kiss

CHAPTER XVI

As it happened, they were all very near having to wait in vain for Steve to come to the Ridge. He was not down into the township until a couple of days after it was known how Durgan’s death had come about, and when he did make an appearance, everyone remarked how bitter and cynical he was over their congratulations. They noticed, however, how desperately ill and worn he looked, and when it was known that he had seen the doctor, and was suffering from wounds and a resulting touch of fever, his odd manner was put down to that.

As a matter of fact, it was Steve’s heart and mind that were feeling hurt more than his body, although that was still painful enough. The doctor had told him that the ribs were not broken, but severely bruised, that he had had a very narrow escape of serious trouble from the inflamed and festering wounds on his chest, but that these were beginning to heal nicely now. He went to the police station, and met with the heartiest of welcomes from both Dan and Mrs. Dan, and Dan asked him bluntly why he had not gone over to the Ridge.

“Don’t think I’ll go there,” said Steve, indifferently. “I’m thinking of taking the coach down country to-morrow. I’d like to see Aleck Gault first, though, and I might wait here and send him a note to come in and see me.”

“But haven’t ye heard?” said Dan, in astonishment “Aleck is laid up wid a broke leg. We all heard it a couple o’ days back, an’ niver thought to be after mentionin’ it, seem’ it’s stale news it was.”

“Aleck’s leg broke,” said Steve. “That’s a different matter. I’ll get a horse to-night and ride over.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Mrs. Dan, emphatically. “You’ll get a buggy and drive, or get someone to drive you, with that side an’ chest o’ yours.”

Steve laughed at her. “I don’t sit in the saddle on my side and chest, Mrs. Trooper Mulcahy,” he said. “What’s the difference to ride or drive? And, anyhow, I’m itching to feel a horse under me again.”

“It makes the difference that you might get trouble wi’ those wounds again,” said Mrs. Dan. “You said yourself that the doctor wanted you to go to bed wi’ them.”

“And I told him to go to his granny,” said Steve. “As if I cared a curse for all his blood-poisoning threats. What’s the odds to anyone if I do get poisoned, or anything else?”

“Steve,” said Mrs. Dan, looking hard at him, “what’s the matter wi’ you these days? You’re hard as a flint an’ bitter as aloes. It might be crossed in love you are.”

Steve winced, but he laughed loudly.

“I am,” he said; “I’m a disappointed man. I’ve found out I’m up to the neck in love with yourself, you dear. Come on now – will you mount and ride and run away with me?”

“Ye impident scoundril,” cried Dan; “it’s meself that’s sorry I didn’t shoot ye through the liver whin I’d the chanst.”

“I’ll reserve that offer, Steve,” said Mrs. Dan, lightly. But her sharp eyes had noted Steve’s flinching at the word of being crossed in love. “Danny,” she said, “run away for a bit. I want Steve to have a chance to make love to me nicely.”

“Faith, it’s little enough givin’ av chances he needs. But so be it happens I have to walk down the street a piece. I’ll be back in tin minutes,” and he rose and went. “What’s the little woman afther now, I wonder?” he said to himself. “If she hasn’t wheedled an’ coaxed the boy into somethin’ or out av it in tin minutes, it’s meself doesn’t know her.”

“Steve,” said Mrs. Dan, the moment they were alone, “tell me right out what’s the matter with you.”

“Well, the doctor said it – ” Steve began, but was interrupted quickly. “If it’s something you can’t or won’t tell, Steve, say so an’ we’ll drop it. I can see it’s a girl. Now?”

Steve dropped his bantering tones. “Yes – it’s a girl. And what then? There’s many to tell you that’s no new thing with Fly-by-Night.”

“It’s a new thing for Fly-by-Night to be breakin’ his heart over one,” said Mrs. Dan. “Who is she, Stevie? Can you tell me?”

“No, I can’t,” he said. “You always told me, didn’t you, that I’d find her some day – the girl I’d be ready to sell my soul for? Well, I’ve found her – and lost her.”

“Lost her?” repeated Mrs. Dan. “Is she dead?”

“Dead? No.”

“Married then?”

“No, nor married.”

“Then don’t be a fool,” said Mrs. Dan, scornfully. “A race isn’t lost till it’s won, I’ve heard, and a girl isn’t lost till she’s married or dead – and sometimes not even when she’s married – if you read the Divorce Court cases.”

“If I know anything about women, I’ve lost this time,” said Steve.

“It’s the man that thinks he knows the most about women that’s usually the easiest fooled about one woman,” said Mrs. Dan, quickly. “So don’t be a fool, Steve; go an’ make the girl have you. You’ve quarrelled, I suppose?”

“You might say so,” said Steve, grimly; “and we both said some fairly nasty things. And I’ve a bitter tongue if I lose my temper badly.”

“I’ve no patience wi’ you,” said Mrs. Dan; “it isn’t the bitter things a man says that a girl minds so much – it’s the sweet things he doesn’t say. Go and say as many of them as your tongue and your sense – or your lack o’ sense might even be better – will let you, and she’ll forget the bitter things fast enough. Could you forgive her what she said?”

“I don’t know,” said Steve, slowly. “She doubted me and refused the word of honour I offered her. I couldn’t go to her, and that standing between us.”

“And if that’s not like a man,” cried Mrs. Dan. “He’d see a girl eat her heart out because she won’t eat her words, and he’d eat his out rather than eat humble pie.”

“She’s engaged to another man,” said Steve.

“I’ve no doubt,” said Mrs. Dan, serenely; “and just as quick after you broke wi’ her as she could do it, I’ll wager.”

“It was pretty quick after,” Steve admitted.

“She must have loved him a lot,” said Mrs. Dan, drily. “Can’t you see it, Steve? Jealousy is a woman’s greatest weakness, and she counts on it being the same with a man, and tries to play on it. And mostly she’s not far wrong. Take my advice, Steve, and the advice of one woman about another is the only advice worth having – if it’s honest, which maybe isn’t often, I’ll admit. Go to her and ask her to forgive you.”

“But, confound it all,” cried Steve, “I’ve nothing to be forgiven for. She’s altogether wrong about what she blames me for.”

“The more reason for you to ask her to forgive you, then,” said Mrs. Dan, coolly. “If she thinks she has anything to forgive, she’ll be glad o’ the chance to show her generosity; and if she knows she hasn’t, she’ll be the more glad.”

Steve laughed. “You’re a philosopher, or a cynic, Mrs. Dan.”

“I’m both,” she said promptly. “I’m a woman, so I must be both the others – or a fool. The men don’t leave us any other choice nowadays.”

“That’s a nasty one on the men,” said Steve.

“It’s the truth, and that’s apt to be nasty on the men,” returned Mrs. Dan, and then after a little pause she went on more softly, “You got me a little angry, Steve, wi’ your foolishness. Only get a woman angry, and you’ll get the truth from her, if it’s nasty enough.” She crossed the room to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Promise me, Steve, you’ll give her a chance to make it up.”

“I’d make it up fast enough if I had a hint she was willing to,” said Steve, earnestly. “But she’d never make it up believing what she does of me. Well, I’ve been a fool often enough, and now I’m paying for it.”

“The worst of a man being a fool,” said Mrs. Dan, “is that other people that can’t help it have to pay for his foolishness as well. When will you see her again?”

“I’m going up to the Ridge to-day,” said Steve, evasively. Mrs. Dan had no hint who the girl was, and he did not mean to drag Ess into it if he could help it. “I must see poor old Aleck first thing. He’ll be expecting me.”

Steve rode over to the Ridge that night, and met with a boisterous welcome from the men who were in. He was in little mood for this, and cut it as short as he could by going off to see Aleck Gault, although it was with consternation that he heard Aleck was over at the house, and was being nursed by Ess.

He walked across, and met Ess waiting at the outer door.

“You will find Aleck inside,” she said quietly and coldly.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, and stepped into the room and on into the bedroom.

“Hello, Aleck.” – “Hello, mate,” she heard, and marvelling at the apparent coldness of the greeting, she slipped out and strolled across to the Ridge, and sat down and looked long into the darkness. She felt herself trembling with excitement, and again and again had to force herself to stop thinking what the greeting would have been like between her and Steve if this thing had not come between them. She was angered and ashamed by her rioting thoughts, and tried to remind herself she was engaged to another man. She tried, too, to spur her anger against Steve by recalling the incidents of the night at the dogger’s hut, but the chiefest of these that haunted her were his drawn cheeks and sunken eyes, and the memory of that blow she had struck him.

She rose at last and walked back, and as she entered Aleck called to her to come in. Steve was standing by the chair he had risen from, and when she came in Aleck said, “Look here, Miss Ess, you’ll have to make Steve stop here. Says he’s not fit for work, and talks about not loafing here, and rot like that. I’m not going to put up with this wholesale desertion of nurses. Miss Ess is going down to Coolongolong, you know, Steve. You wouldn’t leave a chap to the tender mercies of Blazes, would you?”

“I hope you will stay,” said Ess. “I have told Mr. Sinclair that I was going to pay the visit he’d asked me to so often. I shall probably go to-morrow night. I – I hope your hurts are better. I only heard of them a day or two ago.”

“They are nothing much really,” he said; “I’ll get over them easily enough.”

He laid a slight emphasis on “them,” and Ess glanced at him. “You get over things quickly and easily,” she said, and could have bitten her tongue out for the words before they had well left her lips.

“I have that reputation,” he said easily, “and I find that a man can’t easily escape that. There are usually plenty of ropes ready for the bad-name dog.”

“What are you gassing about?” broke in Aleck. “Who’s talking of dogs and bad names? Tell Miss Ess you’ll stay, or she’ll be chucking up this trip. And I’m sure she needs it. She’s getting yellow as a duck’s foot.”

“Thank you,” said Ess, trying to laugh and speak easily and lightly. “You’ll get a dose of nasty medicine for that, or a short allowance of tea, that you always insist on having such quantities of.”

“Of course, I’ll stay if I’m needed,” said Steve. “How long will you stay down there?”

“I’m going for about a week, but I may alter my plans, of course,” said Ess.

Then Steve said good night and went.

When he came to breakfast next morning he found Ned Gunliffe at the table. Ned stared hard at him, and Steve returned the stare coolly. “I hardly expected to see you back here,” said Gunliffe, scowling.

“No?” said Steve, carelessly. “Possibly not. But you see a man sometimes gets more than he expects in this world.”

“And sometimes what he deserves,” said Ned, sneeringly.

“And sometimes what he deserves, as you say,” returned Steve, significantly, and went on with his breakfast.

Ned finished his meal first and went outside, and a few minutes after Steve followed him.

Ned had gone straight to the house, and Ess had come out and strolled across the yard with him at his request.

“I see Steve Knight has had the cursed impudence to come back here,” he blurted out, as soon as they were away from the door.

“Yes,” she said. “I saw him last night.”

“Saw him?” he repeated angrily. “I hope you didn’t speak to the brute.”

“I did,” she said, turning a little pale. “I could not well avoid it without making a scene in front of Aleck Gault. I did not think that necessary or wise.”

It was just then that Steve came from the hut, and he walked straight over to the two. He raised his hat, but took no further notice of Ess. “I’d like to speak to you a moment alone,” he said to Ned.

“I have no wish to speak to you now or any other time,” said Ned, with an insolent stare.

Steve was quivering with rage, still fresh from the encounter at breakfast time, but he kept himself under control.

“I’ve got something to say to you,” he persisted, “and would rather not say it in the presence of a lady. May I ask you to leave us?” he said, turning to Ess.

“If it is anything concerning me or – that night, I would as soon stay and hear it,” she said steadily.

Steve said no more to her, but turned to Ned Gunliffe.

“I’ve just this to say – if I have any more hints or insinuations like I had this morning at breakfast, in front of the men or alone, I’ll give you such an infernal hammering you’ll be sorry for some time to come. Is that plain?”

“Plain talk, but talk is cheap,” sneered Ned. He was not lacking in physical courage, and although he knew quite well that Steve could probably do what he threatened, he showed no signs of backing down.

“And even if I took a hammering from you, it would not save you if I told my story to the rest of the crowd.”

“Tell them,” said Steve. “Tell them, and see what you’ll get from them. You can’t tell the story as it stands, as that would drag a girl’s name into it. But tell them you object to my being here because I’m guilty of the dirtiest, crookedest action a man could be guilty of. And I’ll tell them that what you accuse me of would be all you say, and I’ll tell them, if you like, that you believe you had proof of what you say, and I admit that there is every appearance that I was guilty. And then I’ll tell them that I am not – I’ll give them my word that you are wrong. Who will they believe, Ned Gunliffe?”

Ned was silent, although his lips still curled in a sneer.

Steve laughed shortly. “You know who they’d believe,” he said.

“And if I added my word to his,” Ess put in, quietly scornful, “and told them that I had seen the proof, and was satisfied with it, and that you were guilty?”

Steve turned to her. “They would still believe me. You doubt it? Then try it. There’s your uncle over there. Call him, and put the thing any way you like. I’ll stand by and not say a word till you’ve both finished, and I’ll tell him you are both wrong, and offer my hand and word on it. Try that, and see if he’ll believe me. Tell him the whole thing exactly as it occurred, and every solid fact and suggestion and insinuation you can offer. I’ll go away and leave you both to the telling of it. And when you’ve finished, simply tell him I deny any guilt or the truth of anything to be ashamed of. See who he’ll believe.”

He stopped his torrent of words abruptly, and waited for either of them to answer.

“This is all rather fruitless,” said Ess, desperately, and with doubts shaking her voice even as they were shaking her heart. “It does not matter what he or anyone believes as long as I am satisfied myself.”

“No,” Steve said to her in a voice as cold as tempered steel, “nothing matters – a man’s honour or dishonour, or death or ruin – nothing matters to you as long as you are satisfied. I hope that is a satisfaction to you, and that you’re able to keep it. And you can’t be made answer for your words – but mark me, Ned Gunliffe, you can, and will be made to, if I hear more of them.”

He lifted his hat, and swung on his heel and left them.

“Ned,” said Ess, shakily, “I wonder if there could have been any mistake. Surely he couldn’t speak as he did if he were guilty.”

“Speak?” snarled Ned. “Trust him to know how to speak to make a girl believe him. He’s made you half believe him now, even after what you saw and heard the other night. I don’t want you to listen to a word from him or open your lips to him again.”

“I require no telling to know what is right for me to do, Ned,” she answered, and Ned had to content himself with that.

CHAPTER XVII

Ess was not able to get away from the Ridge as soon as she had expected. Mr. Sinclair sent word that he would not be over for two or three days, and as not a man could be spared from the work to drive her down, she had no choice but to stay.

The position was embarrassing for her, but Steve saved it being too much so by avoiding her and saying no more than “Good Morning” or “Good Evening” when they met. He quieted Aleck’s grumbles at seeing so little of him by saying that he could not understand why it was, but he was most confoundedly sleepy all day, and spent long hours in his bunk. Aleck thought that possibly he was feeling his wounds more than he would confess, and did not press the point, especially as he could plainly see that there was something decidedly wrong with Steve, and that he was far from being his old careless, happy self.

But Steve was sick enough of his unusual inaction, and he jumped at the chance that Scottie gave him of a day’s work in the hills amongst the cattle.

“I’m terrible short-handed, Steve,” said Scottie, “an’ the beasties will be as wild as deer, I’m thinkin’. So if ye think ye’re fit enough tae tackle them an’ the Whistlin’ Hills, I’ll be real glad o’ yer help.”

“I’m your man, Scottie,” said Steve, briskly. “If my old bones won’t stand another day in the saddle after all this rest, it’s time I knew it, and started looking for a job as a picker-up in the wool sheds or something else I can’t break my tender carcase over. I’m on, Scottie.”

Apparently most of the men were for the job in the Whistling Hills, for the full force turned out next morning.

All the Thunder Ridge men were delighted over the chance of a turn amongst the cattle. They were all stockmen, and sheep work was not at all to their liking, although of course they had to do that when it was wanted.

When Steve rode up from the horse paddock, he found Ess standing in the yard talking to Scottie. Whip Thompson cantered up whooping joyously, and cracking his long stockwhip in a series of Maxim-like reports, his horse prancing, and sidling, and snatching, and reefing at the bit as he came.

“Hi, hi! Walk up, canter up, gallop up!” shouted Whip, “If any o’ you chaps has any little childer ye want whippin’, send ’em along to me, an’ I’ll do the job wi’ promptness an’ despatch. Send ’em along to Whip Thompson at the old address,” and “Crack – crack – crack” went the long whip.

“Whip,” called Ess, “you once promised to let me see some proper whip-play. Come along now.”

“Whip-play!” cried Whip. “Stand still then, Miss. Don’t flinch.” Ess stood still, and a rapid running fire of reports thundered about her ears. The action was so quick that she could hardly follow the flying thong with her eyes, and the loudness of the reports half deafened her. “Stop, please stop,” she called, “my ears are cracking.”

Whip never ceased the play of his arm and wrist, but walked his horse clear of the others and spun a ring of cracks in a wide circle above his head, sitting straight and motionless in his saddle with his arm straight up, and only the wrist moving. Then he flung the thong high in the air, twisted his body round and swung the whip down again in a sharp crack that bit at the ground immediately behind him, and sent a puff of dust jumping in the air. Crack, crack, crack, he went round the circle again, this time just flicking the ground at each crack, the ring of the leaping spurts of dust showing where the lash was falling. Ess clapped and bravoed as the last snap finished the circle and lifted the last puff of dust before the first one had completely floated away.

“That – that’s nothing,” jeered Never-Never Jack. “A school kid c’d do that with a tuppenny toy whip.”

“He could, eh?” grinned Whip, and lifted Never-Never’s hat whirling from his head. “P’raps he c’d do that, too,” and the whip snapped viciously round Jack’s feet, lifting a cloud of dust at every stroke. “P’raps he c’ud cut your corns for you, Mister Bloomin’ Never-Never Jack. Will I cut ’em for you – through the boot an’ all?” “Get out, you lunatic,” cried Jack, uneasily. “None o’ yer games.” “Will I take the pipe from your teeth?” laughed Whip, and the lash snapped a foot from Jack Ever’s face. Jack hastily snatched the pipe from his mouth and held it behind his back.

Another man brought an old felt hat from the hut and flung it to Whip. “Practice on that,” he called, and Whip picked the hat up on the point of the lash and cut it down again. The thing leaped, and danced, and spun, and twirled under the flying whip strokes, and then as it fell again Whip cut at it with the strength of wrist, and arm, and body swing, each blow splitting the stout felt as if it had been slashed with a knife.

“Will ye stan’ still again, Miss?” cried Whip. “I won’t hurt you,” and he flung two sweeping strokes across the front of her skirt, ending each with a sharp crack. Ess heard rather than felt the strokes, so light were they, but she looked down on her dark dress and could see the cross stripes of white dust where the whip had passed from hip to ankle. “Lend me another whip someone,” said Whip. “You Steve, you carry a decent length o’ leather.” Steve flung his whip, and Whip stooped and picked it up with his left hand, his right never ceasing to whirl and crack his own whip. Then for a couple of minutes he gave a display of double-handed work that made Ess’s eyes ache to follow. The two thongs wriggled through the air like flying snakes; they chased each other in hissing circles; they crossed and bit out at the air front and rear, and reversed and repeated; they cracked separately, and together, and then in an alternating running volley like a bursting Chinese cracker.