An Outback Marriage

"What was his name?"

"Mr. Nettleship."

"Was the marriage ever registered?"

"Sorra one of me knows. He giv us each a bit of paper--our marriage

lines. 'Twas written in pencil. He had no ink in the place, and he

had no books wid him. He tore the sheet of paper and give us each

half, wid the writing on it; his horses got stole and he had to

camp there. He stayed round wid Pike and the blacks till he died."

"And where is the certificate? Have you lost it?"

"I sint mine down to Mick to keep for me--jist a bit of paper

written in pencil it was--and it got lost some ways; but I have a

copy of it I med at the time."

"Where is the copy now?"

"At Mick's place."

"You must tell Mick to bring it in. Now where is this place, Pike's?"

"Out this side of the opal-fields. It's wild and rough now, but

what it was then--well 'twas more like a black's camp nor a white

man's place at all."

Blake thought the story had gone far enough. He did not believe

a word of it. "Look here, Peggy," he said, "You have given the

place, the date, the name of the parson, and everything. Now you

know that if you are telling a lie it will be easily found out.

They will soon find out if there was such a missionary, and if he

was up there at the time, and if Mr. Grant was up there; and if

you are caught out in a lie it may go hard with you. Have you any

witnesses?"

"Martin Doyle was there, Black Martin's son."

"What! Martin Doyle that's out at the nine-mile?"

"Yis. He was up driving the buggy and horses for Grant. He can

swear to the wedding.

"He can."

"Yis."

Blake sat back in his chair and looked at her. "Do you mean to tell

me," he said, "that you can show me a certificate and a witness to

your marriage with William Grant?"

Peggy looked doggedly down at the floor and said, in the tones

of one who is repeating the burial service or some other solemn

function, "I can prove the marriage."

Blake was puzzled. He had known the mountain folk all his life,

and knew that for uneducated people--or perhaps because they were

uneducated people--they were surprisingly clever liars. But he

never dreamt that any of them could hoodwink him; so he put Peggy

once more through the whole story,--made her describe all her actions

on the day of the wedding, where she stood, where the witness stood,

what the parson said, what her husband said. He went through the

whole thing, and could see no flaw in it. He knew that Peggy would

not scruple to lie to him; but, with the contempt of a clever man,

he felt satisfied that he could soon upset any concocted story.

This story seemed to hold water, and the more he cross-examined

her the more sure he was that there was something genuine about it;

at the same time, he was sure that it was not all genuine. Then a

thought occurred to him.