The Moving Finger | Page 7

at him wonderingly, and a dawning pity softened her face.
It had never occurred to her that this man could feel any pain. She read
it in his haggard face now, and because she was pitiful of all things she
put her hand on his arm and said gently, "Poor Ben, I 'm sorry."
It was too much--Fisher had stood her coldness, had heeded not her

anger--but the pretty, wistful face looking up so pitifully into his was
too much for him. He could resist temptation no longer, he caught her
in his arms and smothered her with kisses. Clearly it was marked
against the sky, clearly the man crouching among the reeds saw it, and
put his own interpretation upon it, and that one passionate embrace
sealed Nellie Durham's fate. Well might the cards prophesy disaster
and death, for as he slunk away back to his ambush a mile further down,
with raging hate at his heart, he swore revenge against the girl who was
trifling with him, swore it and meant to keep his oath.
Nellie with an inarticulate cry freed herself and ran towards the hut, and
Fisher flung himself face downwards on the crisp dry salt-bush. He had
lost everything now he realised, she would not even accord him pity.
And Nellie up at the hut was trying to make her grandmother
understand that all chance of the ghost trick being played again with
success was out of the question. Not only would it be a failure, but the
man who rode through the cattle rode at the risk of his life. But the old
woman could not or would not see it.
"Let 'un alone, Nell, let 'un alone--a parcel of women ain't wanted
meddlin' wi' the men-folks' business."
"But, Gran--" the girl was wild with anxiety, and trembling with
excitement, and the old woman shut her up sharply. She did not choose
to hear any more about it, and turned a deaf ear on purpose. Like Nellie
she too was of opinion that Gentleman Jim would play the ghost, and
if--through no fault of hers--he came to grief, she felt she would not
grieve unduly. Nellie's infatuation for him was undeniable, and with a
good decent man like Ben Fisher ready to take her it was unpardonable.
Nellie had always been soft and yielding to her, once this man were out
of the way she would be so again, and the old woman had seen enough
of the seamy side of life to desire better things for the helpless girl. So
she turned a deaf ear to her anxious warnings; not by word or sign
would she interfere. Let be, let be, it should be fate--it should be no
doing of hers. Nellie gave up the struggle at last and taking up her
favourite position on the doorstep, with her chin in her hands and her
elbows on her knees, stared out moodily across the plains, seeking in

her brain some way to help. It was not possible to go near them by
daylight, the risk of detection was too great, she must wait till it was
dark. Fisher crossed her path once, and for a moment a wild thought
crossed her brain--to confide her trouble to him--to ask him to have
mercy, but she dismissed it as soon as it was born. Betray her lover and
then ask his rival to spare him! It was out of the question; she must find
some other way. She thought and thought, till for very weariness she
closed her eyes, and slept with her head against the door-post. The long
level beams of the setting sun made a golden glory of her hair and
seemed to be striving to smooth out the look of care and pain, which
was already marked on the fair young face. Ben Fisher passed and
paused.
"Pretty, ain't she?" said the old woman; "a dainty mossel for any man."
"Ay," said Fisher quietly, "ay," and passed on, wondering to himself, as
many another man has done before him--why this girl was so priceless
in his eyes--and why, seeing that she was so, he might not have her
rather than this reckless outlaw, who would make her the toy of his idle
hours, and when she became a burden to him throw her aside, like a
worn-out horse or a dog he had no further use for.
He bit his lip and clenched his hands, and the men when he gave the
orders for the night, muttered to one another that the boss meant
business an' no mistake. "Ghost or no ghost. 'T wouldn't be much good
anybody meddlin' wi' the cattle now. He was mighty struck on the gal,
he was--but it didn't seem to be interfering wi' business nohow."
He was mighty