An Outback Marriage

Carew and Charlie looked expectantly at each other, and clambered

down quickly when the coach stopped. Considine descended more

slowly; straightening his figure and looking fixedly before him,

he marched up to the door of the change-house.

His wife got leisurely out of the coach, put on her bonnet, and walked

straight over to him; then she looked him full in the face for at

least three seconds, and passed by without a sign of recognition.

The three men looked at each other.

"Well, this bangs all," said Considine. "She knew me all right. Why

didn't she speak? She's afraid I'll clear out, and she's shammin'

not to know me, so's she'll have me arrested as soon as she sights

a bobby. I know her. Perhaps I'd better offer her something to go

back and leave me alone, hey?"

This was vetoed by a majority of two to one, and once more the coach

started. They plodded away on the weary, dusty journey, until the

iron roofs and walls of Barcoo gleamed like a mirage in the distance,

and the coach rolled up to the hotel. A telegraph official came

lounging forward.

"Anyone here the name of Charles Gordon?" he said.

"That's me," said Charlie.

"Telegram for you," he said. "It's been all over the country after

you."

Gordon tore it open, read it, and stood spellbound. Then he silently

handed it to Carew. It was several weeks old, and was from Pinnock,

the solicitor. It read as follows--"William Grant died suddenly

yesterday. Will made years ago leaves everything to his wife.

Reported that he married Margaret Donohoe, and that she is still

alive. Am making all inquiries. Wire me anything you know."

Charlie's face never changed a muscle.

"That's lively!" he said. "He never married that woman; and, if he

did, she died long ago."

As he spoke, the lady passenger, having had some talk with the hotel

people, came over to him with a beaming smile. "And ye're Charlie

Gordon," she said with a mellifluous mixture of brogue and bush-drawl.

"An' ye don't know me now, a little bit? Ye were a little felly when

we last met. I'm Peggy Donohoe that was--Peggy Grant now, since I

married poor dear Grant that's dead. And, sure, rest his sowl!"--here

she sniffed a little--"though he treated me cruel bad, so he did!

Ye'll remember me brother Mick--Mick with the red hair?"

"Yes," said Charlie, slowly and deliberately, "I remember him

well; and you too. And look here, Peggy Donohoe--or Peggy Keogh,

whichever you call yourself--you and Red Mick will have the most

uphill fight you ever fought before you get one sixpence of William

Grant's money. Why, your real husband is here on the coach with

us!"

He turned and pulled Considine forward, and once more husband

and wife stood face to face. Considine, alias Keogh, smiled in a

sickly way, tried to meet his wife's eyes, and failed altogether.

She regarded him with a bold, unwinking stare.