Into the Unknown
A full week was occupied in settling up affairs and making final
preparations for the journey across the wilderness. The question of
transport was speedily arranged. Three camels were necessary to carry
stores and sundry mining appliances, and a fourth would be advisable to
bear the heavy water-bags of the expedition, as it was not wise policy
to burden the animals unduly. Mackay's wiry "Misery" was selected at
once as the leader of the team, and two other great leathery hided
creatures belonging to Emu Bill and Never Never Dave, named respectively
"Repentance" and "Remorse," were called into requisition as being well
fitted for the stern work before them. A strong young beast was secured
by Mackay from an Afghan trader who called around opportunely, to make
up the quartet. This last addition to the outfit, which Jack promptly
dubbed "Fireworks," was inclined to be rather vicious in temperament,
and after seeing him buck two pack saddles off as a preliminary, Mackay
mentally resolved to trust the carriage of the precious water-bags to
the more patient "Remorse," and allow "Fireworks" to cool down under
more solid freight.
The stores of the expedition were not difficult to obtain; by this time
agencies of the large mercantile houses in Kalgoorlie had been
established on the Flat, and they were well able to provide all
necessary supplies. But the commissariat department of the Australian
explorer is never famed for his lavishness; in it luxuries find no part,
for here the ship of the desert is the mainstay of the traveller, and on
its cumbrous back only room can be found for the bare essentials of
life. Flour and tea, tinned beef and various "extracts," these are the
sum total of the wanderer's requirements in the Australian wilderness,
and with these he would usually be more than content if water could be
found to quench his thirst. But this is too often denied, the arid
wastes of the great Austral land contain few oases. The scanty rains
collected in reluctant drops in some deep rock hole, perhaps for years,
are his only hope. Yet these grim forbidding tracts allure the roving
spirit if only because of their very grimness. Across their
scintillating sands what wonderful haven may be hid? Surely it is not
all desert, something must lie beyond the far horizon. Nature's
compensating law must hold some reward for the weary pioneer who gropes
so desperately onward and ever onward into the rising sun. Such is the
hope, the belief, of those who venture forth into the Never Never. With
Mackay, who had already followed the beckoning phantom far back into an
unknown mountain, the belief had become almost reality. The spirit of
the bush enthralled him, its spell was ever over him. His young
companions too were influenced by the air of mystery surrounding their
distant goal. The unknown has ever exercised a powerful fascination over
the Anglo-Saxon youth, and the two boys revelled in the thought of
penetrating untrodden tracts, and rejoiced in their quest of El Dorado.
When all was ready for a start Mackay called them together for earnest
consultation.
"I don't want to shout much about the dangers o' the trail, my lads,"
said he. "But it is as well to understand that the risks are there a'
the same, an' it would only be richt for you both to mak' a sort o'
statement, an' leave it wi' the Warden. I--I----"
"I know what you mean," said Bob, smiling; "you want us to make our
wills--in case of accident."
Mackay looked relieved. "It would be better," he admitted quietly, "or
send your money home. Don't think I want to force my advice on you, but
I think--I think that would be the better plan."
"I've done that ever since we started to get returns from the battery,"
answered Bob. "I only have kept what I thought I would owe you for my
share of the expedition."
"Mine has been sent home too," murmured Jack, diffidently; "but I've
kept two hundred pounds for the expedition."
"An' mine has gone home too," added Mackay, slowly. "But the expedition
is my consideration, and I must bear the expense alone. It's a duty, my
dear young lads, it's a duty."
No amount of persuasion would shake his decision in this respect.
"It's a journey that's lain on my conscience for some time," he argued.
"I have a mission to fulfil which I hope may be outside the other object
o' the expedition altogether, though it's possible we may achieve the
one while in pursuit o' the other." He chuckled dryly at the thought,
then well pleased that his young friends had disposed of their worldly
goods to his liking, he went off to give some instructions to Emu Bill
about the loading of the camels.
The process had been left in charge of Nuggety Dick, who had received
full information from Bob concerning its proper working. It had been
open for public inspection all the week, and already many similar vats
were being erected on the field; and Wynberg's discovery lay idle--its
owner had vanished back whence he came.
The unfortunately placed Rockson, however, was soon given a position
more to his liking than the control of a useless stamping mill. Jackson,
whose time was required in Kalgoorlie, at Mackay's request, offered him
the management of his mine, which was now turning out large quantities
of the refractory ore, and this he gladly accepted under the generous
arrangement of a fair salary and a considerable interest in the profits.
It was Mackay's strange weakness that he could not allow another man
undeservedly to suffer, even indirectly, through any action of his or
his partners, and hence the exceptional terms offered by Jackson for his
services; he had only been too willing to oblige Mackay in the matter as
a slight return for the great favour he had received.
Bob and Jack were amazed when, after the Golden Promise had closed down,
they counted up the amount with which the Bank at Kalgoorlie had
credited them for their share in the gold sent in. They found that they
had each realized over a thousand pounds for their few months' labour;
the last two weeks' results had swelled up their profits wonderfully, to
Bob's deep satisfaction.
"I'm very glad," he said to Jack, "that Mackay will benefit a little by
the process; it means that we have made some slight return for his
goodness to us, though money can never pay for all that he has done."
"He doesn't seem to value money as some people do," observed Jack. "I
don't understand him yet, I don't."
It was after this that Mackay had ventured to express his views to them
on private concerns, and when he went away he left the boys no little
moved by his well-meant advice; the solemn note of warning in his tones,
even when he touched so lightly on the dangers of the desert, had not
escaped them.
"I do hope," said Bob, fervently, "that he may never have to take the
sextant from me. I--I get nervous when I think of the responsibility he
has given me. I wish too," he continued gravely, "that I had some news
from home before we start. I haven't heard a word since we left. Of
course they couldn't write until they knew where we were, but I think
there is time for an answer to my first letter by now."
Jack calculated it up hurriedly. "It would come in by to-night's mail,"
he said sadly, "and Mackay said we were to start after lunch. I think we
should tell him, and ask him to wait."
But this Bob would not hear of for a moment. "Certainly not," he cried.
"He treats us as men, not children, and I am not going to worry him with
home affairs. All the same," he reflected calmly, "if I had thought of
it before I would have mentioned it to him; but now that everything is
in readiness for the start--no, I cannot."
"All aboard, boys; all aboard for the Never Never!"
It was the Shadow's voice, and they rushed out at once, turning to cast
one look at the dismantled tent which had been their home during these
eventful months. No tent or shelter of any kind was being carried by the
expedition. The starry heavens must now be their sole roof at night.
They found the camel team waiting the signal to move ahead, and Jack at
once stepped to his position alongside Misery, the Shadow having for the
time taken charge of Fireworks, who was promising to give trouble.
Mackay stood a little way off, and surveyed the team critically.
"Tighten up Fireworks' girth, Emu," he cried. "He'll slip his saddle in
a minute."
Emu Bill proceeded deftly to obey the instruction, annoyed with himself
because of having overlooked the defect.
"I'll swear the cunning brute has shrunk hissel' on purpose," he
growled. "I pulled him in as tight as a windlass barrel just a second
ago. Woah, Fireworks, woah! ye cantankerous son o' a gun."
But Fireworks was intent on creating a diversion. For some time he had
been allowed to roam the desert at his own sweet will, and probably his
memory of pack-saddles and such like encumbrances had faded into happy
oblivion, but now that he felt the old galling weight on his back his
vicious temper was aroused to fury, and he stood waving his
weird-looking head about in savage sweeps, and ever and again essayed to
roll over, pack-saddle and all. When Emu Bill approached him now, the
recalcitrant animal suddenly began a series of frisky antics, pulling
wildly at the nose rope which the Shadow clutched firmly, and twisting
its huge bulk into all sorts of contortions.
"Woah, hang ye!" shouted Bill, again striving to get near.
In reply Fireworks snorted defiance, then bent himself almost double; a
sharp crack sounded out as the girths burst, and in a moment the sand
was strewn with his load.
"So that was your little trick, was it? ye measly old quadrooped!" cried
Emu Bill, in disgust. "Well, I reckon you kin try it over again."
He gathered up the saddle for another effort, but Mackay intervened.
"It won't do, Bill," he said. "We'll just have the circus repeated. We'd
better postpone the start until the morning, an' meanwhile we'll put
Fireworks through his paces. I didna think the beastie would be so
obstreperous."
And, indeed, to look at the animal now, no one would have thought that
such a fiery temper lurked in that cumbrous body. Fireworks, after his
unruly performance, stood gazing meekly at the wreckage he had created,
the very picture of innocence. Yet it was a wise policy to break him in
to a more fitting tolerance with his burden before venturing into the
great desert, where mishaps would cause more vexatious delays, and
probably occasion damage which could not then be easily rectified.
Thus it was that the whole team was unloaded, and the remainder of the
day spent in coaxing the one refractory camel into a more tractable
spirit, a result which Emu Bill and his companion bushman seemed to have
thoroughly accomplished before sundown, and high hopes were entertained
of making an early departure next morning.
The mail arrived somewhat earlier than usual that night, a fact which
did not surprise any one when they saw Macguire sitting on the box-seat
beside the driver. Mackay sighed wearily when he observed his old enemy.
"I had hoped I had seen the last o' him," he said to Bob; "but I suppose
the misguided man is looking for trouble, as usual." To his
astonishment, however, Macguire purposely evaded him, and disappeared
rapidly down the workings to where some of his old gang were still
employed on none too lucrative holdings.
"Perhaps he's got tired of running up against us," said Bob. "I don't
think the game has paid him too well, and he may be turning over the
proverbial new leaf now."
"Umph!" Mackay's monosyllabic utterance was non-committal, but it was
plain that his faith in that new leaf in the present instance was none
of the strongest.
The mail brought a letter for each of the boys and one for Mackay, and
on glancing at the handwriting on his envelope Bob was satisfied; the
expected news from home had reached him, after all. Hurriedly he tore it
open, and read the closely written sheets which a fond mother had
penned. He smiled brightly at the anxious opening phrases, which
inquired so minutely about his health and general welfare. "I have
heard," she wrote, "that fever often breaks out in a gold-mining
camp--malaria or gold fever, I think--and I am sending you a small
bottle of quinine, which I want you to promise to take regularly----"
Bob thought that rather good, and read the sentence aloud to Mackay, who
had mastered the contents of his epistle at a hasty glance. That
gentleman was gravely amused. "She's richt about the gold fever," said
he, with, a short laugh, "an' it's a terribly rampagin' disease in its
way, though I dinna think quinine would affect it much. Prussic acid or
some such deadly poison would be the only cure, for once a man gets the
gold fever it remains in his blood a' his life, ready to be stirred up
to violent action at the sight o' a nugget. Ay, it's a bad fever, Bob,
an' we've a' got it in some degree. However, your guid mother needna
fear aboot the other plague--malaria--for neither it nor any other
disease o' the kind can live in Western Australia. You must just write a
note an' tell her that. The air o' this country is too dry an' clear for
any microbe to fancy."
Bob continued his silent perusal of the letter, and as he got towards
the end a puzzled expression came into his features; it was clear that
the letter from home contained something of more striking import than
the warning against pernicious fevers. The intelligence which disturbed
him was conveyed on the last two sheets, and this was how it ran:--
"I know you will be grieved to hear that your uncle Dick is dead. Since
your father was drowned I have never had a line from him; he was the
first to bring the sad news to me, and his own sorrow seemed greater
than he could bear. Your father and he had been inseparable companions
in their youth, and many times before the _Sea King_ sailed on her last
cruise I used to hear them planning out their great schemes for the
future, for your uncle had ever been a wanderer, and was filled with
strange ideas about the riches of some parts of the world he had
visited. He went off to Australia after arranging your poor father's
affairs, and nothing was ever heard of him again. All along I fancied
that it was his money which provided the little income left to us, for
you father's savings could not have been much; sailors are so poorly
paid. The solicitors always put me off when I inquired about it, but now
I know that it was his great kindly heart which went out to the widow
and the fatherless, and caused provision to be made for them out of his
own scanty means. On the morning after you left I received a letter from
a gentleman who had just returned from Australia, and who had been with
him when he died, enclosing a draft for two hundred pounds, and saying
that that was the sum realized by the sale of your uncle's effects, and
that he had been entrusted to send it to me. No other information was
given, and no address was on the letter. When I showed it to my
solicitors they told me the truth of what I had guessed from the first.
My boy, you were always uncle Dick's favourite, and you have every cause
to remember him gratefully. If you can find out where he died, erect a
little cross over his resting-place for me. I would so much like to have
it done."
Bob read and re-read the strange story which brought back the past so
vividly to his mind, and his eyes grew moist in spite of himself.
"No bad news, I hope, lad," spoke Mackay, kindly.
Bob struggled with his emotion for a moment without success, then handed
the pages to his interrogator in silence. Mackay read them over
carefully, with a face showing keen concern; indeed, he seemed even more
moved than Bob when he had finished. "Ay, ay," he said huskily, "he was
a good man, an' there's too few o' his sort in the world. But you'll dae
what your mother bids you. You will put up that cross afore you leave
Australia. I'll--I'll help you to find the place." Then he turned
abruptly to Jack, who had read his letter, and was now gazing at the
envelope with profound content.
"You've been gloatin' over your billy doo for some time, Jack," he said
lightly. "I don't suppose your news has affected your appetite."
Jack flushed, and made haste to secrete his precious missive; but in his
hurry the envelope fell to the floor, and it was observed that it bore
the same peculiar postmark as Bob's. The boy grabbed it up in confusion,
while the big man laughed. Whereupon Jack waxed indignant.
"What about your own billet-doux?" he asked mischievously. "I think I
noticed you got a letter too."
"Here it is, young Lochinvar, here it is," and Mackay flung an open
sheet at the youth. "Read it, read it; don't mind me. I'm sort o'
pleased to mak' it known that somebody thinks o' me."
Obeying his request, Jack cleared his throat and read aloud the
following:--
"DEAR MR. MACKAY.--
"I have just heard that you are about to start out on a journey
into the interior, and I thought I would remind you of a little
account I have against you for several items you sent for last
week. The amount is £10 17s. 6s. I'll let you off the odd sixpence,
but please send your cheque for the remainder before you start. The
Never Never is such an uncertain country--to get out of. Best
wishes.
"Yours sincerely,
"J. RANNIGAN."
"Now, that is what I call a thoughtful letter," commented Jack, when he
had finished.
"A vera thoughtful letter indeed," agreed Mackay, dryly.
Then they set about preparing tea, and while they were thus engaged the
Shadow made his appearance, evidently in great good humour. He carried
something concealed in his hand which he gazed at tenderly as he
entered, then consigned it to some secret recess in his scanty wardrobe.
"I reckon," said he, "that I want an invite to your banquet to-night. I
hasn't even an inch o' damper left in my tent. I broke up the happy home
too soon, I calc'late."
Mackay laughed. "I ken you're a grand cook, Shadow," said he, "an',
providin' ye behave, we'll be glad to have your company. Ye'll get flour
in that bag at your feet, an' water in the kerosene-tin beside ye. Now
ye can take my place an' mak' wi' these ingredients something nice an'
tasty. I'll even gie ye a tootle on the flute to inspire ye in yer
efforts."
The lad's countenance fell. "I see I has come along too soon," he
grumbled. Then he fished about in the folds of his shirt and drew forth
the treasure he had secreted. In the quickly fading light it was not
easily observable what he held in his hand; but when the wondering trio
saw him convey the same to his mouth their worst fears were realized.
Before they could protest, the wailing of a mouth-organ filled the tent.
The Shadow blew with might and main, an ecstatic joy illuminating his
features, his foot keeping time to the music he perpetrated, and sending
up clouds of dust from the sandy floor. That he anticipated a sudden
closure was very apparent by the fierce energy he displayed, yet,
strangely enough, he was allowed to finish the first tune without
mishap; it was only when he adroitly essayed to glide off into a fresh
outburst that Mackay intervened.
"Ye should play that first spasm mair pianissimo," he ventured mildly,
while Jack sprinkled water about to allay the dust. "Now, put that
orchestra in your pocket, an' keep it there until we get far oot into
the bush. Then ye can kill the crows wi' it if ye like."
"Right O!" responded the Shadow, seemingly delighted to have escaped so
easily. "Now, I reckon I'll bake a real bowser brownie for tea, an'
we'll have a real ole blow out, we will."
"Let us eat, drink, and be merry," remarked Bob, thoughtfully, "for
to-morrow we----"
"Start for the Never Never," prompted Jack.
Shortly after sunrise the camel team was once more loaded up, and now
Fireworks' demeanour was beyond reproach; he submitted to his burden
with philosophic calm, and only once showed his playful disposition by
tearing the sleeve from Emu Bill's shirt while that gentleman was
standing too conveniently near his head. By eight o'clock all was ready
for the start, the last breakfast in camp had been partaken of, and the
various members of the expedition were standing at their posts awaiting
the signal for advance. The population of Golden Flat had turned out _en
masse_ to witness the departure. It was not every day that an expedition
left for the distant Never Never. Nuggety Dick and Dead Broke Dan were
there looking anything but happy; one word from Mackay even now would
have made them join the party but the leader of the expedition sternly
refused to meet their appealing eyes. Once more he glanced over the team
critically, as if mentally weighing up the amount of endurance
contained in the four powerful animals. His scrutiny seemed to give him
much satisfaction, and he smiled grimly as he turned his face to the
east.
"All ready, boys?" he cried.
"All ready!" came the unanimous reply.
Then, just as he was about to signal "Right away," the crowd parted, and
Macguire struggled to the front.
"Hold on a minute, boys!" he shouted. "I want a word with Mackay."
As for Mackay, he viewed the interrupter with considerable disfavour.
"If you had any differences to settle, you might have come along last
night," he said. "What's the trouble wi' you?"
"Why, man, I just want to say that I bear no ill feeling, an' that I
hope you'll be successful, that's all. What course are ye making?"
Mackay gazed at the questioner in puzzled wonderment. "I'm glad to have
your good wishes, Macguire," he said slowly. "Our course is east by
north to a place that's a bit harder to find than Golden Flat. Let her
go, boys!"
The long whips cracked, Misery's bell began to chime; the crowd stepped
back to give the ponderous team free passage, uniting as they did so in
a stentorian Coo-ee, that strange call of the bush which combines in its
notes the acme of feeling and good fellowship. Bob and Jack coo-eed
lustily in return, Mackay waved a cheery goodbye, Emu Bill and Never
Never Dave chaffed their sorrowing acquaintances with tender affection
as they passed along the line, and the Shadow, pulling at Fireworks'
nose-rope with one hand contrived to unearth his mouth-organ with the
other. Strongly he blew, and stepped forth jauntily to the stirring time
of "The Girl I left Behind Me," but his charge steadfastly refused to
accelerate his gait in such undignified fashion, and the Shadow had
perforce to seek around in his _répertoire_ for a more suitable march,
which he soon found in "There is a Happy Land," and he kept up his
melancholy dirge until he heard Never Never's voice raised in dire
threat against his person. Then there was silence, broken only by the
tinkling bell of the leading camel, and the vague echoes of Golden
Flat's farewells.
Thus they headed out towards the desert, into the land of the Never
Never.