DEADMAN'S GULLY.
Gray reached Daintry's Corner before noon on the following day. For
some miles before reaching his destination his road had lain through a
deep narrow gorge, with gigantic walls on each side of almost
perpendicular rock. Much of the rock was bare, and of a sullen,
cheerless brown, but here and there trees sprang out of hollows and
showed green against the rock, and dark-leaved climbing plants flung
their long arms from crevice to crevice, and hung in gloomy wreaths
along the broken ground.
The morning had come with sunshine and gentle breezes, but no sunshine
reached this frowning ravine, and the air there was damp, and heavy,
and close.
The ravine had run in an almost straight line for some miles, and Gray
was beginning to weary for its end, when he suddenly checked his horse
with a start of amazement and dismay. Some few hundred yards before
him the ravine apparently came to a full stop. A great precipice rose
up before him closing up the end of the gorge--a precipice far too
steep for any track to run over it.
Gray began to think he had come to a cul de sac, and that he should be
obliged to retrace his steps, but before doing so he determined to ride
on to the foot of the precipice before him and examine the ground
carefully.
A new surprise awaited him there. He found that the gorge took a
sudden turn here, in fact, ran on at right angles to its former course,
though considerably narrower and closed in by walls of rock higher and
gloomier than ever.
The bottom of this new part of the gorge was not open and grassy, but
studded thickly with enormous trees clad in dark heavy foliage. It was
a gloomy spot to enter, and Gray hesitated; yet it was evident the
track went this way. There was the mark of a horse's footstep just
before him, freshly made too!
Gray's eyes fell on this as he was looking along the ground, and he
sprang off his horse to more closely examine it. Some one had
evidently passed here quite lately. As Gray looked he saw that the
footsteps ceased a short way up the glen, and that when they ceased the
ground was slightly broken away as if horse and rider had tried to
climb the cliff. With a rush of sudden, unexplainable terror, Gray
looked up the steep impassable wall of rock. Horse and rider had gone
that way! But how?--and for what purpose? He listened intently, but
no sound came to his ear that spoke of a living presence. An
oppressive silence reigned on every side.
Gray was no coward, but the blood forsook his cheek and his knees
trembled under him. Who was it that was haunting him thus? He dared
not make any answer to himself. He dared not stay longer in that dark
and silent spot. Taking his horse by the bridle he led him hastily
onwards, picking his way with difficulty through the mighty tree-trunks
and among the wave-worn boulders that lay between them. The trees grew
so near together that it was impossible to see more than a yard or so
ahead.
Gray was stumbling blindly on, with the belief growing in him that the
gorge was impassable, and that he would be forced to go back past that
spot in the cliffs which chilled him to think of; when suddenly the
light grew brighter through the trees, a keen breeze blew upon his
face; in a few steps, the trees ended, and the gorge ceased. Gray
found himself standing on a rocky platform commanding a glorious view.
There lay the hills, rising range after range before him, bathed in the
sunshine of early noon. It was a wonderful prospect--a sight to make
one's heart leap up; and Gray stood entranced, drinking in all its
beauty, forgetting himself and his errand.
But not for long. He had soon to consider his path; and, as he looked
round him with that purpose in his mind, all the glory seemed to die
out of the scene, and his pleasure in it passed away. For this must be
Daintry's Corner, Gray concluded. He must be very near the end of his
journey.
He looked keenly along the ranges of hills in front of him, but he
could not see the towering battlements of Rodwell's Peak. That must
lie behind him. M'Pherson had directed him to a small settlement some
miles beyond Daintry's Corner. Gray could see the roofs of the houses
over the slope of one of the lower hills to the right of him. He
determined he would spend the night there if he could reach it in time,
but his first business was to find Rodwell's Peak, and then to search
for Deadman's Gully. Once the exact spot was reached, he hoped soon to
find the treasure. Gray did not anticipate much difficulty in taking
it away.
The robbery of the Bank at Adelaide by Dearing had made a great
sensation at the time. He had carried off more than L30,000 in gold
and notes; and he had managed to change much of the gold and all the
notes for Bank of England notes, whose numbers were not known. The
notes Gray could easily carry away and much of the gold. The remainder
he had determined to leave behind him safely buried. It was better to
lose a part than run the risk of discovery by weighting himself too
much. A few hours would suffice for this, he thought, then he
determined to go down to the settlement for the night, and make his way
to Adelaide by another route. Nothing should prevail upon him to go
back the same way: he had long ago decided that, and recent events had
made his determination more fixed than ever.
But now to reach Rodwell's Peak! Gray carefully examined the ground,
and made up his mind that his road lay along the rocky platform or
terrace on which the gorge had ended, and which seemed to run along the
hills through which the gorge had cleft its way. He made a rough
calculation, and then decided to follow the terrace in its westerly
direction. He called his horse, which had begun to graze on the short
sweet grass that clothed the gentle slopes above the terrace, and set
off on the road he had chosen.
If he had looked backwards down the gloomy ravine he had just left
behind him, he might have seen a face looking cautiously out through
the dark boughs of the trees--an evil sallow face with reddish slanting
eyebrows. But Gray did not look back. He was too excited at the near
fruition that awaited his hopes. All the fears that had assailed him,
all the remorse that had been growing up in him disappeared as mists
disappear before the morning sun. He mounted his horse and rode gaily
along the broad even platform, whistling as he went. The platform or
ledge continued for some time, sloping almost imperceptibly downwards
till it ended in a wide, grassy, meadow-like valley, with a giant
eucalyptus in the midst of it. Through the valley a stream went
singing--every ripple making a line of silver in the sunshine.
Gray crossed the valley, stopping to let his horse drink at the stream,
and to take a draught himself. The hills beyond the valley were strewn
in places with great boulders, but it was easy to find a path, and Gray
made good progress for a time. Then the way became rougher and more
precipitous, but Gray pushed hurriedly on; for over the shoulder of the
next hill rose the jagged crest of Rodwell's Peak. He knew the
knife-like edge of the lower summit, the towering outlines of the peak
itself. Now a well-defined track began to disclose itself running in
easy curves down the hill and along the rocky bottom.
Gray rode more slowly, his heart beating wildly. This must be the
track Harding had spoken of, leading from the settlements below. He
kept a sharp look-out, but no sign of a gully disclosed itself, though
Rodwell's Peak rose well in front.
The valley, at the bottom of which the track ran, had been wide at
first, with sloping shelving sides, richly covered with foliage. But
now it was narrowing fast; the sides were growing steeper and steeper,
and the vegetation less abundant Gray rode slowly, stopping every now
and then to examine the rocks for an opening between them. It could
not be far off. Looking down the valley the towering crest of
Rodwell's Peak was all that could be seen. It rose at the mouth of the
valley like a mighty sentinel guarding the fortress of the hills. But
though Gray carefully examined the rocks on either side, he could find
no trace of a gully running between them.
He rode on until he reached the point where the valley ended, and the
land began to shelve upwards before him. He saw that the track ran
across the shoulder of Rodwell's Peak, but he did not follow it. It
was useless to do that. He felt certain that the opening into
Deadman's Gully lay in the valley behind him.
He turned his horse and rode backwards. As he turned, a sharp sound
caught his ears, and he checked his horse to listen. It ceased
instantly, and though he stopped there for some moments listening
intently it did not recur. The sound had been like the beat of a
horse's hoofs against hard rock. But there was no sign of horse or
rider to be seen. The valley was silent, save for the hoarse cry of a
magpie among the trees and the rush of a stream in the distance.
Gray rode slowly back, but he did not pursue his search with any
vigour; he had been too much startled by that sudden sound. He tried
to reason himself into believing that it was a mere hallucination of
hearing, that the fall of a stone down the steep hill had been mistaken
by him for the clatter of a horse's feet. But reason as he would the
conviction remained strong within him that it was a horse he had heard,
and he was looking more carefully, as he rode down the valley, for
other signs of a horseman's presence, than for the opening into
Deadman's Gully.
It was quite accidentally that, about half-way down the valley, he
noticed a crevice in the rocks, on his left hand, thickly hung with
creepers. It was more a crack in the rock than a crevice, so narrow
was it, and only by looking some distance up could it be seen at all,
for its lower portion was entirely hidden by a curtain of hanging
foliage. But it was the only opening of any sort that Gray had
discovered, and he determined to examine it more closely, though it
seemed absurd to suppose that this could be the entrance he sought.
He rode up to the bottom of the fissure and dragged aside the heavy
creepers. A wild thrill went through him as he discovered that the
crack widened towards the ground into an opening just large enough for
a man and horse to pass through. Gray could not see where the dark
passage before him led, for after a few yards it took a sudden turn to
the right, but he determined at once to make a thorough investigation.
He got off his horse and cut away with some difficulty enough of the
curtaining foliage to allow an easy passage through. Then, with a long
fearful look up and down the lonely valley, he entered the cleft. His
entrance disturbed a vast number of bats, that flew shrieking out of
the damp hollows of the rocks and whirled wildly round him. Their
cries had an eerie sound well in keeping with the gloomy spot. But
Gray pushed doggedly on, soothing his good horse with voice and hand,
and becoming more and more convinced that he was on the right track.
After some distance the passage widened, and he began to see broad
daylight ahead of him. A few yards more and he came out into a narrow
valley heaped with rocks.
It was a gloomy, dreadful place, shut in by high, bare, precipitous
cliffs. The passage by which Gray had just entered seemed to be the
only mode of access: no human foot could scale those dark overhanging
cliffs. There was but little vegetation. Some coarse grass grew in
the hollows and on the ledges of the rocks, and a gray-leaved
repulsive-looking bramble spread its gnarled branches thickly along the
uneven bottom of the gully.
But Gray looked in vain for the mighty tree he had expected to see,
towering up in the midst of the valley. There were no trees of any
kind in the place. Yet Gray felt sure that he had reached the right
spot, and a discovery he made after a brief survey supported his
opinion. This was a ruined hut built under the shelter of a shelving
piece of rock. It was a hut built of logs; the roof was partly off and
the roughly made door was lying rotting on the ground. This deserted,
ruinous hut only added a new touch of desolation to the dreary gully.
Gray involuntarily shivered as he stood before it and his horse tugged
restlessly at the bridle.
He fastened the horse securely to the door-post and stepped into the
hut. The floor was of beaten earth. It was heaped up now with the
_debris_ of the fallen roof, but Gray could see where the rude hearth
had been and where a half-smouldered log still lay. The walls were
intact. They were strongly built of heavy logs fastened securely
together. The hut might have been built for a miniature fortress, so
strong were its walls.
Who had built the hut? Where had the logs come from that formed its
walls? Gray carefully considered these questions. He remembered now
that Harding had told him of some big trees that were in the gully when
a gang of bushrangers, who had made the place their home, had been
broken up. There were trees in the gully then. What had become of
them?
Gray stepped hastily out and carefully examined the ground. It did not
take him long to find the scarred trunks of a few trees hidden by the
brambles. He cut away the brambles, and tried by measuring to decide
which had been the largest tree. But he could not decide. The trunks
were all about the same size. Either the trunk of the largest tree had
been taken away altogether, or it had not been much larger than the
trunks of the other trees.
Wearied out by his search, Gray returned to the hut. He sat down on
one of the fallen rafters of the roof and considered what it was best
to do next. He was beginning to feel hopeless. The direction had
seemed so clear on Dearing's map. He had been so certain that he would
easily find the treasure if he once could reach the gully. Yet here he
was, apparently as far off as ever from the attainment of his hopes.
Some hours had now passed since Gray entered the gully. The afternoon
was drawing to a close. There were only a few hours of daylight before
him.
Gray had brought a little food with him, pressed upon him by the kindly
old Scotsman. He took down his knapsack and ate the food. It was no
matter of regret to him that he had only a sufficient store for one
meal. Nothing would have induced him to spend the night in the gully.
Even now, in the broad daylight, an unreasoning terror was taking hold
of him. Every little sound, the movement of his horse, the cry of a
bird as it flapped its way across the sky, the rustle of the long grass
in the hollows of the cliffs, even his own footsteps as he moved to and
fro, struck upon him with a sense of fear. He could have sworn once
that he had heard a footstep that was not his own, a slow and wary
footstep, among the brambles. So sure was he, that he sprang to the
door and looked out. There was nothing to be seen. And with a bitter
laugh at his own fears he went back and sat down. But he made up his
mind there and then that he would not stay much longer in the gully.
He would not have spent the night there for all the wealth the world
could offer him.
He had now to consider what was best to do in the short period of
daylight that lay before him. It seemed a hopeless task to dig south
of each of the trunks in the gully, yet what else was there to be done?
It was best for him to set about it at once. He decided this, and yet
he sat still. He could not make up his mind to go out into the gully
again. The place was becoming a horror to him.
As he sat thus on the broken rafter, thinking miserably of the task
before him, his eyes fixed themselves on the little window of the hut.
It was the only window and was very small. It was, in fact, a hole
drilled in one of the beams.
With that strange power the mind has, of carrying on two trains of
thought at once, Gray found himself, in the midst of his weary thoughts
about the hidden treasure, wondering why the window had been made so
small and such an odd round shape. The explanation quickly occurred to
him. The hut had been built by men who were in daily fear of capture.
It had been built not so much as a shelter from the weather, for there
were deep caves in the rocks that would have served that purpose, but
as a means of defence. Safe inside the hut, with the door shut and
that small window guarded by a good rifle, one man might have defied a
score.
Gray guessed, and guessed truly, that Dearing had built the hut. The
gang of bushrangers who had formerly used the gully for their
lurking-place had lived in the caves. The gully was an unknown place
then, and having once reached it all fear of detection was over. But
when once the place was discovered, some means of defence within it was
necessary, and Dearing had built this place.
Gray remembered Dearing's face as he staggered into the hut, the look
of abject horrible fear upon it. What days and nights he must have
spent in this gully, watching, waiting, no rest, never safe for a
single moment!
"Poor wretch!" Gray murmured to himself. "What a life to live!" And
his thoughts went back, by force of sudden contrast, to the life of
another lonely man. He remembered how M'Pherson had answered, with a
glad, deep peace in his old face, "It's no lonely here. There's voices
everywhere."
Gray would not dwell on that. He rose, throwing back his head and
straightening himself with a quick proud gesture. He told himself he
had no part or lot with the fears of Dearing, any more than with that
strange faith that kept M'Pherson glad in his lonely old age. There
was no need for him, he said to himself, to have the fear of man before
his eyes; and if he need not fear man, what was there to fear?
Nothing. He repeated it to himself. Nothing. It was only women and
uneducated men who believed in the supernatural.
Yet even as he said it his face turned an ashy white; the great
sweat-drops broke out upon his brow, his knees trembled under him. He
had heard again the sound of a cautious footstep and the rustle of the
brambles as if some hand was moving them. He rushed to the door of the
hut and looked round; but as before all was still and silent. He gave
a loud shout, but no answer came, save the echo from the rocks. He
waited there some moments, but he saw no sign of a human presence.
Yet he was now absolutely certain he had heard a footstep. The very
hair began to rise on Gray's head, a freezing terror seized hold of
him. A moment before he had feigned to disbelieve in the supernatural,
but now, in an agony of mortal fear, he cried out to himself that it
was no living man who was dogging him thus. A living man he could have
faced, but not this mysterious visitant from the world beyond the grave.
In a calmer moment Gray might have reasoned with himself, but he did
not stop to reason now. He felt he must escape from this horrible
place at once, or madness would come upon him. His horse was still
tied to the door-post, and was cropping the thin grass that grew up
between the crevices in the rocky platform on which the hut was built.
Gray hurriedly unfastened him and led him towards the entrance to the
gully. He had gone a short distance when he remembered he had left his
knapsack and pistol-case on the floor of the hut. All the money he
had, a scanty store, was in the knapsack. He could not leave it behind.
Still holding the horse by the bridle he went hurriedly back. He flung
the rein over the door-post and made one step into the hut. Then he
fell back with a sharp and sudden exclamation. The hut was no longer
empty. Leaning in an easy attitude against the window with a revolver
in his hand stood Lumley, the ex-gardener of the Mortons.
[Illustration: THE MEETING IN "DEADMAN'S GULLY"]
There was a sardonic grin on his thin peaked face.
"So you have come back of your own accord, Mr. Gentleman Gray," he
said. "I was just about to order you back."