Dreagonfly

Otago Witness, Issue 3854, 24 January 1928, Page 8

Dreagonfly

by

Berrard Cronin

- (Copybight.—For the Otago Witness.)

SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER I. —The scene is set in Queensland. Luce Cardew, 20 years old, has moved old Carey Cardew’s bed to the window. He is dying, and wishes to have a last view of the place he loves so well, " Dragonfly,” as It is called. Luce’s father (Montague) and his wife have been drowned in a flood, and old Carey, Luce, and her- brother Charleville are the only survivors of a fierce old race. Chari returns with Marmaduke Cherry, and the three of them watch the old man die. CHAPTER ll.—David Onslowe, tired of the heat and myriad clouds of insects, is resting and smoking. He has had weeks of travel across stony deserts, all for a whim that had made him leave money making and money spending in a town. He has 20 miles further to go to reach Yambatilli, the cattle station of the Barkly Tableland, whose owner is George Nye, whom David has met two years before in Brisbane, being much attracted to young Nell Nye, who is now at Yambatilli. He is roused by a distant shot, and hunted buffaloes crash past, one throwing him down, hurting his leg and charging him. Luce Cardew rescues him, and draws the buffalo away. David is put in the saddle and taken to Dragonfly. - CHAPTER lll.—David is tended by Luce. He dislikes Chari, but finds the girl refined and interesting in spite of her male attire. Chari and Luce, discussing David, find that Luce likes him, while the boy does not. L>uce thinks David likes women, though perhaps not women such as she. She is right. Onslowe learns about Carey Cardew, how he is buried in the hills under the “ dragonfly’s brings ” rocks, which always seemed to the »ld man from his home, live, quivering like a real dragonfly. He learns Carey is wn old Balliol man. He falls asleep and, Wakening, finds Luce beating a disobedient buppy and then weeping over it, and is astonished at this new revelation of her Iharacter. He sees the “ dragonfly ” before lie goes to bed, and is amazed at the reality •f the mottled quartz. CHAPTER IV.—Next morning David Is introduced to Sergeant Green (a huge, fat hoan) and Mr Cherry, and while at breakSast cannot help hearing their business conversation. Uncle Marmie Cherry is urging Luce to sell ” Dragonfly,” but she is .defiantly Refusing.

CHAPTER IV.—Continued.

Marmaduke Cherry shifted uneasily. jSis hand went automatically to his head.

“ Luce, dear . . . How are you and Chari going to pay £2OO off in half a year ? You know you can’t.” “ Uncle Marmie,” Luce said with sudden vehemence, “we don’t have to pay £2OO. We don’t have to pay anything. Gran’pa paid Mr M'Murtrie every penny. I remember him saying so the morning he . . . left us.”

Sergeant Green blinked at her lazily. “ That’s right, Luce. You’ve got Mack M'Murtrie’s. receipt, of course. Carey would see to that.”

“ But I haven’t,” the girl admitted. She struck the palms of her hands together. “ I’ve searched everywhere, and I can’t find it. It must, be so-m—”

“ Well . . .” said the sergeant torpidly. He appeared to uoz.e, himself presently to ask: “ How was it Said, Luce ? By cheque ? Or in cash ? 'r how ? Didn’t your gran’pa say ? ” “ No,” said Luce with tears of vexation in her eyes.

“ I reckon Carey was too ill to say anything much, Sarge,” Uncle Marmie interjected. “ That’s so, ain’t it, Luce? ” “ Gran’pa’s head was hurt where he’d fallen,” Luce said in a low voice. “He was all covered in dust, and there was blood on his face. He just staggered inside and fell again. He didn’t speak at all.”

“ Where he’d fallen, eh ? ” said the sergeant. He yawned prodigiously. “ I guess I saw the lump on the back ©f his head. A jar on the base of the spine like that would have sort of paralysed most men bo’s they couldn’t talk. But Carey was a tough one. How did he fall the first time, .Luce? Any idea there ? ”

“ I don’t know,” said Luce impatiently. *How can it matter? I expect he got dizzy when the stroke was coming on.” Marmaduke Cherry sighed. “ We’re getting side-tracked. Luce, I’m afraid it’s no good. I was talking with Mack only yesterday, and he said how he hated troubling you and Chari, now your gran’pa was gone. He said he guessed if the old man had lived he’d have shifted the mortgage on Dragonfly easy. Real cut up, Mack was. He mentioned that £2OO as if he hated it.”

*' I’m certain gran’pa paid him,” Luce eaid. Her tone was obstinate. “He said to me that morning, before he left to go to Birdseye, ‘ Thank God, Dragonfly’s got his wings clear. That was his way of tolling’me. It was the last thing he said to me. How could I forget it? ” “You couldn’t,” Uncle Marmie soothed fcer, with a perplexed rubbing of his scalp. “ But don’t you see, Luce—l mean, If you were right, it’s making out Mack to be—to be a ”

“ Luce,” the sergeant interrupted, “ was your gran’pa in at Birdseye the night before he died? And he went again the next dav; eh?” “Yes.H-H ; ■: " Did. he; keep much money, in . the house. Say, £lOO or £200? Did he have tnat much ‘ ■ “ I don’t;know., . I don’t suppose so.” The sergeant’ closed his eyes, but his Joice continued' its obese rumbling.

“If he had, where would it have come from? Any big deals in cattle go through ? ” “ I don’t know that either,” Luce told him. “ Sometimes he got an advance from Mr Nye for stock he was to hold till the spring before passing over the afele. But it w’as never as much money as that.”

“We could ask George Nye, anyhow,” said Uncle Marmie encouragingly. “ Eh, sarge ? ” The policeman was to all intents asleep. His mouth hung partly open, and little runnels of perspiration ran into the folds of his chin. He was breathing heavily.

“Well?” Uncle Marmie exclaimed disgustedly. “So you see,” Luce said suddenly, “ it’s impossible that we should sell Dragonfly. It would be alnwst like having sold our memory of gran’father. He was—he is—so much a part of the place. Uncle Marmie, I’m afraid I’m a fearful worry to you. But there it is.” Uncle Marmie swallowed. “ I know. But about Mack M'Murtrie, Luce ? ” .

“ I’ll see Mr M'Murtrie myself tomorrow,” she said. “ There’s been some mistake, of course. But mistake or not, Chari and I stay right on at Dragonfly.” “ Now, my chicken . . . now Luce.”

“ M‘Murtrie, of all men,” Luce said passionately. “ You know how gran’pa hated him. That oily beast! ” “ Now—now ! ” Uncle Marmie said again. He looked pained. “It ain’t like you talking like that. Mack may have his faults, but I reckon he ain’t so bad. Carey had him in the gun.”

“ A filthy Shylock,” Luce added. Uncle Marmie threw up his hands. “ All right i I ain’t saying any more. But how are you and Chari going to do it? Tell me that? ”

Work,” she retorted. “ Chari can ride fence for Mr Nye, while I look after Dragonfly. And there’s the young stock coming on. If we get decent rains . . You needn’t laugh.” “ I .wasn’t. Luce, dear, I’ve never been a saving man. I wish I was. I’d have lent you the money gladly.” Luce walked to him and patted his cheek.

“ I know you would. But we wouldn’t have taken it. . . . We’ll manage . . . . somehow. You’ll see.” “If you can’t, nobody can,” the sergeant’s voice rumbled from the floor. Luce whirled and flashed him a smile. “ I thought you were asleep.” The law,” said Green jocosely, “ never sleeps. That’s an old one, isn’t it? But it’s as true now as it ever was. And you can make what you like of that.” “Eavesdropping,” Uncle Marmie-ac-cused. ‘ Anyway, I heard you snore. ” I want you to look at Barney’s eye,” Luce said suddenly. I lost my temper and whipped him yesterday, and the lash caught his eyelid. I’m a foul thing. I wonder youdon’t all hate me.” „ „ do, the sergeant said solemnly. Go on, Cherry; get along with her. Imm no hurry that I know of.” For some time after they had gone he remained as he was, his eyes vacant one lieshy finger probing the comer of his mouth. Presently he heaved himself upnght and i oine d Onslowe on the veranda. t Your leg better? ” Just about,” said Onslowe. - Green nodded. .1.

“ A twist like that takes time. I’d go easy a bit, if I were you. How do you like Dragonfly ? ” ca ‘‘V™ t not onsioTO admitted cautiously. It s pretty enough, and Ivc no doubt it’s valuable. There’s good grazing on the flats, I should say. But there s a queer atmosphere at times.” Unhealthy, eh ? ” “No; I don’t mean that. I was going oui^V P °°b' y A- * * but that doesn’t ? I describe things either. The place enough. In . a way per f e ct. v erai pOsfc creake3 dismally to the weight of the sergeant’s shifting body, «t ? u don 1 llke then ? ” ..■“i 6 gather that it doesn’t like me,” said Onslowe shortly. . “ It’s . . antagonistic, if you know what I mean You can’t mistake the feeling. And I m not fanciful as a rule ” Green opened his eyes sleepily. “As a matter of fact, Mr Onslowe, Ive heard others say the same of it ’ " " J 111 1; not many. I guess if old Carey Cardew was alive he’d tell you it had to do with that blamed insect stuck up on the skyline of nights.” „ little mad ? ” Onslowe suggested. No more than we are. I knew Carey Cardew for many years, And respected prefer to call him superstitious.” r -

It s a queer belief, sergeant.” Green dabbed at his unending perspiration with a large blue edvton handkerchief.

It depends how you look at it. Never mind that now. You’re from the south, ain’t you, Mr ’Onslowe? In business there, likely ?’t-

“ Sydney and B&isbane,” Onslowe told ■him, half reluctantly.

He was inclined to resent the new note of authority in the heavy voice. “ I’m not in business.”

“ Just roaming around like,” said the sergeant genially. He hitched up his trousers and spat. “ Thinking of settling in the north maybe? I don’t know that you could do better. We need nice young fellers of your sort. Too many canary-grass back-landers in these parts. They live on the land, not for it.” Onslowe glanced at him sharply, suspecting ridicule. But the huge moist face was expressionless. “ I haven’t considered anything of the kind so far. I suppose you could say I’m here mostly for health reasons. But I like the north all right . . . what I’ve seen of it. I daresay I’ll talk it over with George Nye.” “ When are you due at Yambatilli, Mr Onslowe ? ”

“ I’ll go to-morrow, if I can get word over,” Onslowe decided suddenly. <“ I can’t impose on Luce any longer. She’s been awfully good.” Green ignored the latter part of the sentence.

“If you like, I’ll send Quiet over to let them know. They can fetch you in the car. If George is too busy, the girl won’t be.” “ Quiet ? ” Onslowe echoed.

“ That’s right. Bill Quiet . . . my trooper. Bill’ll ride over to Yambatilli in the morning. What’s the message ? ” Onslowe, without quite knowing jfiow, found himself committed. He said irritably: “To-morrow evening, I think. It will be cool round about 7 o’clock . . . or as cool as it ever gets. You know my name ? ” “ I’ll see it goes,” Green promised. “ Lord, how hot it is. Well, it’s time we got back. I ain’t paid to sit around and melt. Any time you’re in Birdseye, Mr Onslowe, you can find me.” “ Thanks,” said Onslowe dryly. He watched the slow-moving figure until it vanished behind the outhouses. It occurred to him that the conversation had been something in the nature of a one-sided catechism, and he was idly amused. There was apparently no escaping the curiosity of these people, although he admitted that this was almost invariably without offensiveness. It was merely another instance of their childlike philosophy. They were unhappy until they succeeded in probing q stranger’s affairs, and had unloaded their own in return, in a kind of domestic adjustment. Harmless amusement enough. Upon the whole Onslowe was glad that his stay at Dragonfly was definitely concluded. The Cardew outlook was a little too impracticable for his liking. He barely tolerated Chari, and he found Luce frankly bewildering. But then, he reflected, every woman was that. It was a natural attribute of their sex. A normal abnormality. But in Luce’s case the thing somehow appeared to go deeper. It was enigmatic, because it was so painstakingly sincere. She had not a shadow of affectation. Her moods were not individual in the ordinary sense. They were —Onslowe perceived this without in the least understanding it—emotional expressions of the same one central quality, returning always into it, as the colours return into white light when the prism is withdrawn.

From his seat Onslowe saw Marmaduke Cherry and the sergeant ride out of the yards. Green, reminded him of a badly strapped pack. There was no shape in the sergeant’s drooping bulk. His head was, slumped on hi s vast chest. The man s lethargy was, in a manner, terrifying. It seemed impossible to imprison life in the midst of such enormously -slothful matter. And yet Onslowe suspected that behind all this beat a brain of more than ordinary astuteness. .The vigour of the sergeant’s eyes still pierced his consciousness. He wa s astonished to find the slow, thick voice still echoing in his ears. And he was queerly relieved to find that there was nothing of menace in either. There was rather a quality of suspension of truce.

He understood' this better when talking later with Chari. ■ He was impelled to ask suadenly: “ What fetched the sergeant all this way ? Had Luc e sent for him ? ” Chari grinned. . Not that I know of. It was your doing. Mine? ” Onslowe showed-his amazement.

•“ Yes, yours.” “But, damn it all, he didn’t . . . e <<^ Oesn ,anything about ihe.” That s why,” Chari said, grinning more broadly. .“ He heard you were here, and he came out to see for himself. That’s his way of doing, things. In. a place like tnis a stranger is a stranger. You might have been anybody, don’t you see. And 1 his job seriously.” . I m Onslowe said sarcastically. What was I supposed io be? An escaped convict ? ” If you had been,” the boy assured him, with a return to seriousness, “ he’d have known it. There’s not much that he misses. But ..he’s looked you over and you’re still here.” . ■?. , ’ “ Thanks,” said Onslowe. Towards evening he exercised his le<* cautiously. Luce caught him up as -he was returning to the house. She regarded his progress with gentle approval. “ You’re getting on splendidly, aren’t you, David. You’ll soon be as well as ever.”

“Thanks to you,” Onslowe smiled. He was happy at thought of his coming release. “By the way, Sergeant Green is’ sending word ,io the Nyes. They’re to come for me in the car vo-morrow night.”-. “They’ll be glad to see you, David.” You bet they will. We’re old.friends. I expect Nell will be driving. She-can', handle.the car like a man.”

“You haven’t met her, Luce?” “ Not yet. How pleased she’ll be to have you at Yambatilli. It’s a fine old homestead. Don’t use your leg too suddenly, David.”

“Trust me,” Onslowe laughed. “It’s rotten to be laid up. No more of this, thanks. It’s Birdseye for you in the morning, isn’t it ? ”

Her face clouded, as if to some distasteful thought. “ Chari’s going, too. You won’t mind being left alone for just a few hours ? We shall be back, of course, before the Nyes come for you.” “ I’ll be all right,” Onslowe said carelessly.. He suddenly slapped his thigh. “ By George, think of sitting in at bridge once more. Nell used to play a rattling hand. You don’t play cards here, Luce ? ” “ No. Gran’pa hated them, for some reason Luce hesitated and added, almost spitefully. “ Cards always appear to me such an unintellectual pursuit. But then, of course, I’ve never played.” Onslowe scarcely heard. “ You don’t know what it’s like, Luce, to miss the sort of life that’s lived in the cities. It’s so different from what there is here.” “I can believe that, David.” “After all, it’s the people that make the place. The bush is all right, you know, but it’s infernally out of touch. I often wonder how stick it.” “ You mustn’t let it worry you, David. I daresay we’ll manage somehow.” “Eh?” said Onslowe doubtfully. Luce W’as smiling, but a tiny stain of red.jyas in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright. Onslowe felt a sudden compunction. He thought: “ Hang it, I needn’t have rubbed it in. She can’t help the sort of life she lives, after all.” He said on an impulse: “ But,j of course, it’s fine that you do. I suppose someone has to.” “ Poor old David.” But Onslowe’s thoughts were with the Nyes. He answered almost incredibly: “ Oh, it doesn’t hurt much now, Luce. I was lucky not to break a bone, anyhow’.”

CHAPTER V. Birdseye boasted some thirty inhabitants. Occasionally this number was temporarily augmented by the advent of a droving team. Hard-bitten stockmen just off the route, a couple of old dryblowers or a single lone prospector, odd telegraph hands or horsebreakers—these made up the township’s floating population. Supplies came irregularly by camel train. The nearest doctor, lawyer, and parson were at Camooweal, over one hundred miles north. Beyond the few dwelling houses there was an hotel, a blacksmith shop, and a combined general store and post office. These activities were controlled solely by Mack M'Murtrie. By degrees he had acquired each from the original owner, until now practically every thread of the district’s desultory commerce lay in his hands.

It was Mack himself who had described Birdseye as a tin town on a dust heap. There was justification for the sneer. The one narrow street ran north and south like a ragged red snake. In the cyclone season it resembled alternately an untidily scooped drain or a series of smoking sand-rows. After the rains it was converted into something approaching a quicksand. There was a legend current that once a light wagon drawn by twenty donkeys had wholly disappeared in front of Hie cottage police station, to emerge a week later in a huge mud caterpillar somew'here in the direction of Gidya Creek, where it was instantaneously baked solid by the revived sun. It was further added, for the benefit of the stranger, that each donkey had subsequently to be sawn off by a blaspheming owner and told to stand still—whereupon it immediately kicked itself into such a perspiration that the mud ran off it in a stream. For two beers any adult in Birdseye would point out the exact spot where this occurred. The township lay at the centre of a small open basin. It was hemmed in by heavy scrub to the north and east. South and west the plains ran into a stony desert, ringed at intervals by native wells. Due west was Mount Fisher, and south of that, some hundreds of miles away, was the Davenport Range. These matters of geography were without interest to the people of Birdseye. They were vastly more concerned with the problem of living, which was really the problem of escaping the clutches of Mack M'Murtrie. It was a favourite remark of George Nye, heavily humorous in the security of Yambatilli, that Mack had grub-staked the souls of half the district; by which he meant that there were those so hopelessly in debt to M'Murtrie. that they dare do no other than he toM them.. Not that the storekeeper made a showing of his authority. The reverse was the case. He seldom required aught of any man. When he did he made known his wishes almost apologetically. His smooth, high-pitched voice implied that he advanced a suggestion only, that there could be no question of offence if the suggestion were not readily adopted—as it invariably was. The truth was that his victims were fascinated by his peculiar quality of suspense. Not even his wife. —a silent, sun-sapped, childless woman of thirty-five—could read, with any as-, surance of comfort,; his truthful pur-, pose. None challenged his honesty openly. There were a few, of whom Marmaduke Cherry was one, who took him at his face value, which was that of a shrewd, hard-working, timidly kindly man, with no more' sinister threat’' ihian

that of a hurt forbearance. Uncig Marmie had always, paid his store bill, He was on friendly terms with the boss of Birdseye. He saw nothing subtle in him, and he had never understood Carey Cardew’s smothered hatred for the man, a hatred as pronounced in both Luce and Chari, as though the Cardew instinct alone had solved the enigma of Mack M'Murtrie—and know a shuddering defiance.

In appearance Mack was above the average build.- He was good-looking wj a coarse way. His cheekbones were a trifle high and fleshy, but his eyes and chin and nose were good. His mouth pouted naturally because of slightly full teeth. They were beautiful teeth—strong, white, regular. He had a dark skin and dark liair, greying at the temples. His physical animal wellbeing was in strong contrast to the jaded proportions of his wife. Her name wae Addie. She served in the store when her housework was finished. Mack was not a believer in idleness. He worked himself, and he expected others to work. There was nothing else to do in Birdseye, anyway. -

The store -was a three-roomed building of galvanised iron on a foundation of roughly cemented stones. Wooden foundations were regarded in Birdseye as merely food for white ants. The. shelves lining the walls of the store, and the narrow counter itself, were of iron also. Foodstuffs were kept in zinc bins. The remainder of the stock was disposed indiscriminately' about the main room. Of the remaining rooms one was used as a kind of bulk store; the other did service for post office. The flooring in each case was of tamped earth. The dwelling house was a little apart from the store. Next to it was the blacksmith shop. On the opposite side of the flat, dusty road" was the hotel, which was divided from the police station by a vacant allotment. The remainder of the houses were of practically one type—three or four-roomed structures, having verandahs to the north and w’est. Mack M'Murtrie was standing at the door in his shirt sleeves when Luce came from the hotel yard, where Chari had remained to see to the horses. He stared long enough to assure himself that the girl was coming to the store, and then went inside. He said to Addie M'Murtrie, W’ho was shaking jumper ants from a length of cheap dress material. “ The* Cardew kids are in town. We’re not carrying any more on that account until there’s some paid off. I don’t like to think you might let Luce Cardew get on your soft side.” “ They’ve got to live, Mack,” his wife said, after a quick pause. Her voice was flat and expressionless. “ You know that.” M'Murtrie tapped his teeth with a finger nail. “Sure, but not on me. I carried old Carey until I got a hollow back. But I feel bad about these kids, all the same. It’s tough we can’t run ’em a while longer.” Addie looked at him without speaking. She folded the cloth and replaced it on the shelf. As she turned away she caught her reflection in a small mirror on the wall. Some thought pursed her lips and moved her hand involuntarily to touch the roughened skin of her forehead. She was still standing abstractedly -when Mack spoke again: “ I’m afraid Luce’s coming in here to talk about old Carey’s mortgage. It was a damned shame he died like that. We mustn’t make things too hard for her there, Addie. - You standing by and listening’ll maybe make her uncomfortable. I wish you could stay’, though. Women understand each other so well.” Addie left without a word, and Mack sat down by the counter. As Luce came in he was lighting his pipe. He swallowed a great mouthful of smoke and said pleasantly: “ We haven’t seen you for a long time, Luce.: Not since your gran’pa died. I felt mighty sorry over that. We were pretty good friends, Carey and me.” Luce nodded curtly. She said without any preamble just exactly what she had come to say. “Mr M'Murtrie, there appears to be some misunderstanding about the loan you made gran’pa on Dragonfly. Uncle Marmie tells us that you claim there’s money still owing on that. Of course, that is not so. Grandpa paid you the balance the day before he died. He told me so plainly.” “ Wait a minute,” said Mack. He got up and placed an empty butter box before her, flicking the dust from it with his hat. “ It’s hot, and you’re tired riding in. Sit down, Luce. Now what was it you said? ” She declined the improvised seat civilly’. (To be continued.)