Some Persons UnknownHornung, E. W. (Ernest William)
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Some Persons Unknown
Hornung, E. W. (Ernest William)
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
His homestead, you see, was in the heart of the mallee, and on the edge
of a ten-mile block which was one tangle of mallee and porcupine scrub
from fence to fence. I shuddered to think of anyone being bushed in
that stuff, for away down in Warburton's eyes there was a horror that
had gone like a bullet to my nerves. I was therefore the more surprised
at the dry laugh with which he answered:
"You'd better stop where you are."
I could not understand the man. He was not only the manager of Gunbar,
but overseer and store-keeper as well, an unmarried man and a solitary.
One's first impression of him was that his lonely life and depressing
surroundings had sadly affected his whole nature. He had looked askance
at me when I rode up to the place, making me fancy I had at last found
the station where an uninvited guest was also unwelcome. After that
preliminary scrutiny, however, his manner had warmed somewhat. He
asked me several questions concerning the old country from which we
both came; and I remember liking him for putting on a black coat for
supper, which struck me as a charming conceit in that benighted spot,
and not a woman within twenty-five miles of us. His latest eccentricity
pleased me less. Either he was chaffing me, and he had heard nothing
(but his sombre manner made that incredible), or he was prepared to let
a fellow-creature perish fearfully without an attempt at rescue. I was
thankful when he explained himself.
"I know who it is, you see," he said presently, striking a match on the
hurdle and re-lighting his pipe. "It's all right."
"But who is it?" said I; for that would not do for me.
"It's Mad Trevor," he returned gravely. "Come now!" he added, looking
me in the face much as he had done before inviting me to dismount; "do
you mean to say you have got as far as this and never heard the yarn of
Mad Trevor of Gunbar?"
I made it clear that I knew nothing at all about it; and in the end he
told me the story as we stood in the station yard, and lounged against
those iron hurdles right under the great round moon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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