Capricornia. Xavier Herbert

devil out of it!” He rushed. The blackfellow fled. Then Oscar went inside, and wrote to Differ thus:

       Dear Peter,

       Your strange letter to hand. No I’m sorry I can do nothing in re Constance. I’ve told you often enough how matters stand with me. Money’s tight. And I might not be going right to Batman yet. If I can get a job in Flinders I might stay there. What could I do with Constance then? Really I wouldn’t like the responsibility of having to take care of her. Norman is different. He’s a boy. And then again—what say they won’t take her in this convent in Batman you speak of? I’ve heard that a girl has to be of good parentage before she can become a nun. Perhaps they’d put her in an orphanage. Then I reckon she’d be better off in the Compound, because girls out there have at least the good clean bush to go to if things go wrong, but girls out of an orphanage have only the streets.

       Now I suggest you take her over to Red Coffin Ridge. Lace is a deputy protector of Aborigines and therefore bound to take care of her. But this is my main reason for suggesting it. Mrs Lace is going down South next boat to have a baby, and I know she’d like to have someone to look after her, because Lace told me so, and she might take Conny with her as a maid, and you never know might fix her up somewhere down there. A woman can do more in that line than a man. Then you could go to hospital. I’m sure you’d be all right if you’d leave the booze alone.

       If you like this suggestion you’d better hurry over to Red Coffin, because Mrs Lace will be going up next train. Even if she doesn’t want Conny on the trip it’s pretty certain she’ll want someone to help her with the baby when she returns, so Lace might keep her there.

       Well, Peter, I’m sorry I can’t get over for a while. I’m expecting Jack Burywell up tomorrow to show him over the joint. I’ll come when he’s gone and run you over to the rail. I promise that if you send Constance over to Lace I’ll keep an eye on her while I’m still about. But look here now, Peter, don’t send her over here. Not under any circumstances. If you do I’ll send her straight to the Compound. And another thing, make that nigger of yours wear something when he comes here. It’s not decent for the children. Yours ever, OSCAR.

      The wolf had come to Differ. His cries of its nearness had never been exaggerated much. He had been convinced for months past that his days were numbered.

      Lying helpless in his bed, which was a blanket-covered buffalo-hide strung to a sapling frame, behind a mouldy mosquito-net that swarmed with flies, he read Oscar’s letter. At first he groaned; and while he stared at the stained calico canopy of the net, tears oozed from the corners of his sunken eyes. Constance was sitting on a box beside him, fanning him with a goose-wing. She saw the tears, but took little notice of them. He often wept.

      After many minutes of silent weeping he breathed deeply; then his scraggy grey-streaked beard parted in a smile as he turned to his daughter. His blue eyes met her velvet brown ones. He whispered, “Love—” and put out a skinny hand to meet the small brown one that came creeping under the net.

      “Love,” he went on in a whisper, “God knows what’s to become of you in the meantime, but rest assured one day you’ll die and be at peace. Princess or prostitute, you’ll die. Strange there are fools who kid themselves they’ll live again. Who would want to who has really lived already? Oh my little one, I’ve given you a lot of trouble in your little life, worrying you about your future. What’s it matter what happens to you after all? The aim of the world in general is to live happily ever after, to exist like the beasts of the field, wanting nothing but good pasture and quiet mating and the right to moo a bit.”

      A pause. It was broken by Constance, who looked up from the letter lying on his breast and asked, “Is Mister Shillingsworth coming, Daddy?”

      He searched her face for a while, then answered, “No darling, not now.”

      She blinked and looked down.

      After a while he asked, “Do you want to go to Batman very much, dear?”

      “Yes,” she whispered, looking up quickly.

      “You’d give anything?”

      “Yes Daddy.”

      “If I had to die today to let you go?”

      She looked down.

      “Answer truly dear, like my own truthful Conny. If I were to die today and Shillingsworth were to come to take you, would you stop crying?”

      “No Daddy—I could never stop.”

      He smiled. After a while he said, “My dear one! But I reckon you’d nearly stop. But honey, would it break your heart to know you couldn’t go?”

      She stared for a moment, then said, “But Daddy—you said he’d come for sure. Isn’t he going to take me?”

      “Yes dear. He’ll take you. He’ll have to. His heart can’t be stone. When he realises he will.”

      “Isn’t he—can’t I go now Daddy?”

      “Yes dear. But he’s busy just now. We’ll have to go over to Missus Lace first.”

      “Not Mister Shillingsworth?”

      “Of course he’ll take you in any case. But Missus Lace might take you first. Anyway, we’ll see. We’ll have to go soon so’s not to miss her. What’s today?”

      “Wednesday.”

      “Train-day. We’ll have to go tomorrow. Get Bootpolish to catch two horses—old Walleye for me.”

      “But you’re too sick to get up Daddy.”

      “I’ll have to talk to Missus Lace about you.”

      “But you can’t ride a horse.”

      “I can ride old Walleye.”

      “But he’s got the swamp-cancer. He’s dying, Daddy. He’s nearly dead.”

      Differ smiled as he said, “All the better. Dying horses for dying men.”

      She stared.

      “You don’t think I’m dying, do you?” he asked.

      “No,” she whispered.

      He smiled and whispered, “Well I am—strange as it may seem.”

      In the red dawn of the following day the naked Bootpolish carried his master out of the house and set him in the saddle. Differ scarcely knew what was happening. During the night he had vomited blood till it seemed there could be none left in his body. His skin was as white and limp and dry as paper-bark; bloody froth oozed from his lips. Bootpolish fixed a blanket on the horse’s bony withers, and laid his master forward. Walleye staggered under the puny weight and groaned. Oh wretched horse! He could scarcely hold up his head. His breast was eaten almost to the bone by a frightful sore. It was merciless to load him; but he was the only quiet horse that Differ owned.

      They set out. Constance rode ahead, holding in her own impatient mount and leading Walleye. Bootpolish walked beside Differ and held one of his flaccid arms. Thus they travelled towards the railway, following a short-cut through the sterile stony hills. In the red evening they came within sight of the white roofs of the Experimental Station. Constance saw it first and cried out joyfully. Bootpolish looked up from weary feet and told his master, and getting no response, tugged at the arm and said, “Close-up Boss—look see.” Still Differ did not answer. Bootpolish tugged harder, and to his astonishment, and the horror of Constance, tugged him out of the saddle. Differ fell like a bag of sand.

      Constance cried out. Bootpolish bent over Differ and took his outflung hand. Constance dismounted and came running. She found her father staring. She fell to her knees and said anxiously, “Daddy!” Still he stared, rather malevolently, and without winking a lid. “Daddy!” she said. “Oh Daddy don’t look at me like that! What’s the matter?”

      A pause.

      Constance