Part 17 (1/2)
The shadows were gathering in by this, and already the trees were full of misty shapes that had no relation to fact. The bulk of the hills shut out the last rays of the sun, though the western sky was still faintly tinged with crimson. Just as they entered the hut c.u.mshaw paused for a moment and ran his eye over the scene. The place seemed peaceful enough, but he had that queer sense of the bushman, a sense almost amounting to an instinct, that told him that there was trouble ahead. He shook the feeling off almost immediately and entered the hut. Bradby, despite his dislike of the conglomeration of bones on the gra.s.s outside, lingered a second or so longer. There was a light in the eastern sky, perhaps a faint reflection of the glow of the dying day, that lit up the hump of the nearest hill. It was practically bare of vegetation; only a solitary tree stood a lone sentinel on its very summit, showing black against the horizon.
The thought that sprung into Bradby's mind at that was that here was a landmark which there could be no possibility of mistaking. Already certain plans were germinating in his brain, and he saw, or fancied he saw, a way of turning this latest discovery to practical use. The bleached bones in front of him, too, became a means to an end, and, with the smile of a man who sees the way suddenly made clear, he too entered the hut in his turn.
c.u.mshaw was busily engaged in laying a fire in the centre of the hut, taking care, however, that its glow would not show through the open doorway. He looked up as Bradby entered and said, ”I think we're safe in starting a fire here. It can't be seen by anyone crossing the hills, though there isn't much likelihood of that, and all the smoke we make won't do us any harm. There's always a certain amount of mist in a place like this, and a man a mile away wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”
”Go ahead,” said Mr. Bradby quietly. ”You know what you are doing.”
The compliment in the last remark was desperately like an insult, but c.u.mshaw did not seem to notice anything out of the way, for he bent down to his work and whistled cheerfully while he coaxed the fire into a blaze. Presently it was burning brightly, the billy was filled with water from the water-bottle, and tea was in a fair way of being prepared. ”Great place, this,” c.u.mshaw said presently.
”Great place,” Mr. Bradby a.s.sented. ”A man can die here without anyone being any the wiser.”
Mr. c.u.mshaw made no reply to that, but the corners of his mouth tightened as if he suspected some hidden meaning beneath that smooth remark.
CHAPTER IV.
WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT.
Just as the first rays of the rising sun slanted into the hut Mr. Bradby stirred uneasily, threw out one arm, rolled over on his side, and in an instant was wide-awake. He sat up abruptly and gazed around. Abel c.u.mshaw was still sleeping peacefully, his head pillowed on the saddle-bags that contained the plunder. Mr. Bradby smiled grimly at the sight. Softly, without waking his companion, he rose from his rough bed and glided to the open doorway. He stood there for a moment, drinking in the fresh morning air.
The sun was just coming up behind the solitary tree that had so interested him the previous evening, and he noticed that from his position in the dead-centre of the doorway the sun and the tree were right in line. Again that curious, humorless smile flickered about the corners of his mouth. He stood meditating for a minute or so, then, with an a.s.sumption of carelessness that he did not feel, began pacing due east. He had not taken half a dozen strides before he turned at right angles to his previous course, and just as nonchalantly continued his stroll northward. This time he covered about double the distance, then stopped short and scratched a cross on the ground with the toe of his boot.
When he returned to the hut Abel c.u.mshaw was just getting up.
”Hallo, Jack,” he greeted Bradby. ”Been stirring long?”
”No,” said Bradby shortly. Then, perhaps fancying his tone was a little too abrupt, he continued, ”I've just been for a bit of a tour round.”
”What do you think of the place?” c.u.mshaw asked casually. But he did not look up at his mate; he kept his eyes studiously on the ground.
”Just the sort of place we could make our headquarters,” said Bradby, with an enthusiasm that even the forced restraint of his tone could not hide.
”I don't think we'll have much need of headquarters once this is over and done with,” c.u.mshaw hinted.
”Maybe not,” Bradby replied.
c.u.mshaw turned to the plank bed and lifted up the saddle-bags, one in each hand. ”Don't you think we should get rid of these?” he remarked.
”I'd almost forgotten about them,” Bradby answered with an a.s.sumed indifference. ”Yes, we'll 'tend to them as soon as we've had something to eat.”
”While you're talking about something to eat,” c.u.mshaw told him, putting the bags down again, ”I'd like to remind you that we're right on the last of the tucker. There's just enough flour for the day.”
”I wouldn't worry about that,” Bradby said. ”There's sure to be plenty of game about in a thickly-wooded country like this.”
c.u.mshaw nodded and dropped on his knees beside the embers of the evening's fire. In a few moments he was busy coaxing them into a blaze.
Bradby stood behind him, watching the sweep of his shoulders with calculating eyes. Once his hand strayed almost unconsciously towards his revolver, then, with a gesture, half of horror, half of dismay, at the significance of his action, he twisted on his heel and strode to the door. He turned then, blocking the light with his figure, so that his face was just a black expressionless mask.
”It wouldn't be a bad idea,” he suggested, ”if I looked about for a likely spot to bury that stuff.”