An Outback Marriage

About two miles out of town Considine, with all his earthly belongings

in a small valise, stopped the coach and got on board, sitting in

front with them.

"Have a look inside," said Charlie. "There's a woman in there looks

rather like--the lady you were talking about."

Considine looked in. Then he sank back in his seat, with a white

face. "By Heavens!" he said, "it's my wife."

"This is funny," said Charlie. "Wonder what she's after. She must

have heard, somehow. She'll never lose sight of you, now, Considine."

Here the driver struck into the conversation. "See her inside?"

he said, indicating the inside passenger with a nod of his head.

"She's off to Sydney, full rip. She reckons her husband's dead,

and she's came in for a fortune."

"Oh, she reckons he's dead, does she?" said Charlie carelessly.

"Didn't know she had a husband."

"Ho yes," said the driver. "She came up here passin' by the name

of Keogh, but it seems that ain't her husband's name at all."

"Oh, indeed! Do you happen to have heard what her husband's name

is? And when did he die?"

"I never heard the noo husband's name," replied the driver. "Keogh

was her name. I dessay if I arst her she'd tell me. Shall I arst

her?" "No," said Considine firmly. "Don't annoy her at all. Leave

well alone, young feller. What odds is it to you how many husbands

the poor woman has had?"

"No," said the driver dispassionately. "It's no odds to me, nor yet

to you, I don't suppose. She's in for a real big thing, I believe.

A telegram came to the telegraph station after I left last trip,

and young Jack Sheehan, he brought it on after me--rode a hundred

miles pretty well, to ketch me up. He reckoned she was coming in

for a hundred thousand pounds. I wouldn't mind marryin' her meself,

if it's true; plenty worse-looking sorts than her about. What do

you think, eh, Mister?" addressing Considine.

"Marry her, and be blowed," said that worthy, sociably; and the

driver stiffened and refused to talk further on the subject.

Meanwhile the three discussed the matter in low tones. It was

practically impossible that anyone could have heard of the identity

of Keogh with the missing Considine. How then had the story got

about that her husband was dead, and that she had come into money?

She must have seen Considine get on the coach, but she had made

no sign. Their astonishment was deeper than ever when the coach

stopped for a midday halt. It was quite impossible for Considine

to conceal himself. The house, where the coach changed horses, was

a galvanised-iron, one-roomed edifice in the middle of a glaring

expanse of treeless plain, in which a quail could scarcely have

hidden successfully. It was clear that Considine and his wife would

have to come face to face.