"Oh, John, you are the sweetest and best boy in the world, and the best

worker; but every one is not like you. Besides, you know, you have had

several changes. You went to Melbourne just before the fat sheep were

sold. You went after shearing to see your agents, and Alec has not been

in sight of the sea for years."

"Well, wife, you are about right, or as near's may be." Here he relapsed

into silence. "I was just thinking," he resumed, "that Alec might get a

bit o' a holiday, and do some business as well."

"Yes, John."

"What say ye to him goin' to Melbourne to see the flock o' fats sold at

the Flemington Yards?"

"That is a very wise suggestion, John."

"It will do the laddie good; he's sharp enough. There's a lot of

hanky-panky about horse dealers an' sheep buyers, I can tell ye. I

wouldna trust a wheen butchers an' buyers. They hae what they ca' a

'knock-out' among themsel's--that's lettin' each other buy at their ain

price, an' robbin' the seller."

"A good idea, John! It will give Alec some experience and insight into

business. Also, you might give him some messages to the agents. The

interest they charge you is too high. Ten per cent. is rather steep, as

you say, sometimes. He might get money cheaper."

"A grand idea, wife! You've hit the right nail on the head a clapper."

"You might give Alec a letter to your friend the Hon. James McClure. He

is a good man, and a leading light in the Kirk. I would not wonder but

he would let you have the money at eight per cent."

Mr. Keryle spoke to his son next morning, and told him what he wished

him to do in Melbourne. Alec jumped at the idea. It just suited him

exactly. He only wanted a decent excuse to go away for a time. Besides,

the visit to Melbourne would make Elsie believe that this was the cause

of his hurried departure from Borombyee.

This unexpected turn of affairs put Alec in better spirits. The wheel of

fortune favoured him. He was more like himself to-day. In a day or two

he would turn his back on the country, which reminded him of Elsie, and

lead a new life, not thinking of her any more.

CHAPTER IV

When Elsie came to breakfast on the morning that Alec had so hurriedly

left Borombyee, she was white as a sheet; all her vivacity was gone. Her

father looked at her inquiringly.

"I have a headache, father, and could not sleep; that's all."

Maggie came flying in, with her hair tossing over her eyes. "What do you

think?" she said; "Alec's horse is gone! he must have ridden away!"

"What! how's this?" said her father.

"I can only suppose," said Maggie, "that his toothache is worse, and he

could not bear to stay to breakfast, so he went away."

Elsie looked into her plate, and said nothing; Maggie's words stabbed

her like a knife, and cut her to the quick. She knew that Alec's pain

was deeper seated than a tooth nerve. Her own feelings at this moment

told her how acutely he must have felt. She blamed herself entirely. She

had not known what she was doing; she was mad to act as she had done;

she had behaved abominably; her sin had found her out.

Bond was full of sympathy, and said he was sorry and hoped the headache

would soon go. A cup of tea would do her good; then a rest in a dark

room. He had never known what a headache was, but could feel for others,

especially for Elsie. Yes, he was very sorry. Could he send her some

smelling-salts, or anything else, from Mountfield. He would ride there

and back in four hours. No, Elsie did not need anything; rest would do

her good. She drank some tea, then went to her room and lay down.

She heard her father and Bond ride away; then she rose and went to the

hut, where she found Pat.

"Pat, please get my horse in, saddle him, and bring him to the door."

"Sure, Miss Elsie! it's a gallop over the hills and far away that'll

make the roses bloom on ye'r cheeks. Faix, Miss! ye're loike a wax image

o' the Blessed Vargin."

"Thank you, Pat."

She went to her room, put on her riding habit, then found Maggie and

told her she was going for a gallop, as she did not feel well.

"Let me go with you, Elsie. I'll be company for you. It is so lonely to

go by yourself. I don't like you to go alone."

"No, Maggie, I will go alone, and see whether I cannot shake off my

headache. I would be no company for you. I would make you miserable.

Besides, if father comes home to lunch he would miss you; one of us must

stay at home."

"Very well, Elsie; but do not stay long."

Maggie did not like to see her sister go away alone. She felt that the

headache was an excuse, and that there was deeper trouble. She was so

sorry for her, and wished she could help her. If she could only send a

message to Alec and bring him back, all would be well. She knew

instinctively that Elsie and Alec loved each other, but were at cross

purposes somehow. A word on either side would set things right. But how

was it to be said? She did not know.

Pat brought the horse to the end of the verandah, and Elsie jumped on,

with the help of a block of wood, which stood there for the purpose.

Maggie held her sister's hand caressingly, and said, with a tear in her

eye, "Come back soon, Elsie; I shall be wearying for you till I see

you."

Elsie went across the flat, over the bridge, and up the ranges. The

breeze was cool and strong. She felt better already. The rapid motion

banished thinking, but when she got to the steeper hills she fell back

on her troubles again. Higher and higher she went, until she came to big

boulders, fern-trees, and scrub. It was difficult to go up, but how

would she get down again? She did not care. Up! up! away! as near the

throne as she could, to pour out her soul to her Heavenly Father, and

tell Him her trouble, and confess her fault.

At last, after the horse had scrambled and struggled by zigzag ways up

some of the roughest hills of Victoria, he stopped, fairly exhausted, on

a small tableland, surrounded by great rocks, some flat, some piled in

huge fantastic shapes, like ancient ruins, with spaces left for doors

and windows. To the south there was a gigantic valley, and all round the

hillsides were masses of stone, which had evidently been carried there

in icebergs in some forgotten age, and stranded on this high sea beach.

Stunted shrubs and wild oats drew a scanty subsistence here. A dingo was

playing with her cubs at the mouth of her lair, unconscious of human

presence; a tiger-snake was sunning itself on a mossy stone; lizards

were darting to and fro; an eagle was wheeling in mid-air over its nest

of ragged sticks in a shattered tree that had braved many a storm; and

white clouds came flying past like ships in full sail.

Elsie noted all these things as the horse stood motionless for ten

minutes. She urged him to go on, but he refused to move. She coaxed and

petted him, but he would not make a step forward.

"Poor fellow!" she said, "I have pushed you too hard; I was not thinking

where we were going; a climb like this was too much for you; I'll give

you a rest."

She jumped off his back, and tied the reins to the stirrups. He then

began to nibble at the short, dry tufts of grass which shot up in hollow

spots where drops of moisture had oozed out.

Elsie threw herself down on a flat rock, and buried her face in her

hands, weeping bitterly, and reproaching herself for driving Alec away

while she had loved him all the time so much and so deeply. She would

give her life to be reconciled--just to be able to meet him face to face

and say, "Alec, forgive me!" Then she would willingly die. But to have

no chance of telling him, to have no opportunity of asking his

forgiveness, was more than she could bear. Oh, the agony of it all! Oh,

how she had been punished for her heartless conduct! "Oh!" she cried,

"winds and clouds and birds, carry a message to him, and tell him to

come back, because I love him!"

Then she prayed, as she had never prayed before, and asked to be led and

guided. For answer, a great peace filled her soul, and she seemed to

hear the words, "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden,

and I will give you rest."

She sank back exhausted, and fainted away. How long she lay thus she

never knew, but when she came to consciousness she was content to doze,

or dream, or sleep for hours. When she came to herself the stars were

shining and the moon was climbing the hills. She jumped up in alarm,

and tried to walk to where she had last seen the horse. She thought if

she could only get on his back, he would be able to find his way home.

She felt weak, and stumbled among the rocks with tottering, uncertain

steps. She could not see the horse anywhere. He had evidently got tired

of waiting for her, and had wandered away, or had gone to his accustomed

paddock at the homestead.

CHAPTER V

When Elsie did not come back in the afternoon, Maggie began to get

anxious. She scanned the hills with a field-glass, hoping to see her

coming home. Sometimes she saw a moving object, far away, but it was

only a sheep. Sometimes a stone, or stump of a tree, would attract her

attention, and, unaccountably, for a moment, simulate Elsie exactly; but

it was only a trick of the brain, a caprice of the imagination. As the

shadows lengthened on the flats and the mists came out of the valley,

Maggie could contain herself no longer, but ran out to Pat, and told him

she was sure something had happened to her sister. She must have been

thrown from her horse, and was perhaps lying up the hills, with broken

bones; or had lost her way, or been carried off for a ransom by

bushrangers.

"Och, Miss Maggie!" said Pat; "she'll have paid a visit to Strathmona,

an' been kep' by the young people till the cool av the evenin'. Let me

see; it'll take four hours to ride quietly from Strathmona. Sure! Miss

Maggie, never fear! they'll come home wid her. They'll come ridin' up

like lords an' ladies to the castle walls, an' there'll be a moighty

gran' banquet, an' they'll fut it on the flure, dreshed in silks an'

satins an' cloth av goold. Or mebbee a fairy prince has carried her

away, an' married her beyant; an' they'll live happily ever afterwards."

"You need not laugh at me, Pat. I assure you I am very anxious. I am

sure Elsie would never go by herself to Strathmona. I feel sure

something has happened to her. Oh, I am so anxious! I wish father would

come home!"

As she said these words a horse's hoofs were heard clattering over the

little bridge.

"Here's father!" cried Maggie; and she set off running to meet him. She

told him that Elsie had not come home, and, in a few words, explained in

what direction she had gone.

Although McLean was slow of speech, he was quick of action. What an

active verb is in speech, he was among men.

"Maggie, send out every man at once. Tell them that's my order, and not

to come home till she is found."

He turned his horse and galloped over the bridge and up the ranges as

fast as he could make his steed go. In a few minutes his coo-ee was

heard echoing among the hills.

Maggie called the men out of the hut and told them that her sister was

lost, and that her father had ordered them to take their horses and

scatter themselves over the north-western part of the run; "and be sure

you don't come home till you find her," she said.

The horses were run into the yard in a few minutes. In the meantime four

saddles were placed on the fence, and four men saddled-up and rode over

the rail that Maggie had taken down.

She then went to the strangers' hut, and found two "sundowners," who had

just come in as the sun was getting low.

"My sister is lost in the ranges," she said to them; "and I want you to

take letters to Mr. Keryle of Glengo, and Mr. Bond of Drumore, to ask

them to come and help in the search. I want you to go at once."

"What, Miss! this minute? What'll ye give us?"

"Five shillings each as soon as you come back."

"Won't you give us a bit o' tucker first, an' a mossle o' baccer?"

"Yes."

She ran into the kitchen, and got a plate of bread and butter, which she

took to the hut. Aggie followed with two pannikins of tea. Then Maggie

went to her room, and hastily wrote two letters to Alec Keryle and Mr.

Bond, telling them that Elsie was lost in the ranges, and asking them to

come at once and help to search for her. Then she got two pieces of

tobacco, and ran to the men.

"Here," she said to the nearest man, "is a letter for Mr. Keryle of

Glengo. Give it into his own hand, and run every step of the way. Here

is some tobacco." Then she gave a letter to the other man, addressed to

Mr. Bond.

The men went on eating and drinking as if no life were at stake.

"Oh, go at once!" said Maggie; "there is no time to eat and drink."

"What, an' leave good wittals?" said the spokesman.

For answer she tore a newspaper in half, and wrapped some bread and

butter in two parcels, which she thrust into the hands of the men, who

took about two minutes to stand up. Each of them had his hand on his

pannikin, lest it should be snatched from him. Then they slowly raised

the tea to their lips, and drank it off at a draught. It was boiling

hot, and left a red streak from the tip of the tongue all the way down.

"Oh!" they said; then rubbed their chests, rolled their eyes to the bark

roof, swung their swags over their shoulders, and set off at a trot, one

to the east, the other to the south.

"Be quick!" Maggie called after them.

"Now, Aggie, have plenty of hot water in the copper. Put the kettle on.

Put a batch of bread in the oven, and make scones. Put three or four

joints to roast. I will send every man I can find to search, and when

they come back they must be fed."

The two girls helped each other, and worked hard. In a short time their

preparations were well forward. Every now and again a faint coo-ee was

heard floating down the valley. The searchers were answering each other,

and trying to let the lost girl know that she was being sought for. The

cries came mournfully on the breeze, and made Maggie shudder. A coo-ee

can be made joyful, hopeless, pathetic, funny--anything you please. It

can say in a breath, "lost," "found!" And so the cries went on, in long

drawn-out wails, until they died away altogether. Maggie did not

recognise one hopeful note; they all sounded like a dirge.

The two girls had a weary, sorrowful time. They watched together, wept

together, comforted each other, listened, and waited. The night passed

away somehow. Morning broke at last. There was no sign of the search

being successful. No man returned.

About eleven o'clock Mr. Bond and two men galloped up. The "sundowner"

had delivered the letter about eight o'clock. After getting such

information as he required from Maggie, Bond and the two men went away

to add to the search party.

In a short time after they had gone Elsie's horse came up to the kitchen

door. Maggie ran out.

"Oh, Hector!" she cried, clasping the horse round his neck. "Where is

Elsie? How could you leave her? How could you desert her?"

Hector hung his head, and looked ashamed of himself.

"Good boy," said Maggie. "If I get on your back, will you take me to

her?" Hector brightened up, as if he understood what she was saying.

"Bring me my hat, Aggie. I am going to jump on Hector, and look for

Elsie. I think he will take me to her. She must have got off him of her

own accord. She was not thrown. The bridle is tied through the stirrup

just in the way she always ties it. She must have got off to rest, and

something startled him, and he must have run away and left her. Thank

God, she is alive! She must be making her way home. She may have

sprained her foot, and is coming slowly. We'll see her soon, I feel

sure."

Maggie jumped on the horse, and Aggie tied her hat so as to keep it from

flying away.

"Take me to her, good Hector, and be off," said Maggie. He bounded away,

and they were soon a dot in the distance.

She was barely out of sight when Alec Keryle rode up with four men.

Their horses were in a lather of foam with hard riding.

"What news, Aggie?"

"None, Mr. Keryle. They've all been out searching since last night. Her

horse has just come home. Miss Maggie has jumped on him, and has gone

out too. She thinks the horse will take her to where Miss McLean was

when he left her. Miss Maggie has only a minute ago passed through that

gap in the ranges. If you ride fast you may overtake her."

He touched his horse with the spur, and galloped away in Maggie's track,

his four men following as quickly as they could.

Maggie's horse went on steadily, and steered for the hill he had

climbed the day before; but he avoided the steepest part, and went up an

easy place which he had discovered when going home. He walked up and

down the tableland as if looking for something. His rider was passive,

and let him do as he pleased. He soon came to where Elsie had lain down,

and he sniffed the ground. Maggie saw that the moss had been disturbed.

"Good Hector, we are on the track," she said. Then the horse, with his

nose held low, went on for half a mile, and suddenly stopped at a clump

of bushes. Maggie gave a great cry, and jumped off. Her sister lay, pale

as death, among the bushes. She breathed! her pulse beat! "Thank God, I

have found her!"

Elsie muttered a few words, and Maggie stooped to listen. She distinctly

heard her say, "Oh, Alec! I'm sorry. Why did you go away?"

Maggie stood up and filled her lungs, then gave a joyous and

long-sustained coo-ee in a high soprano, which reverberated among the

hills.

"Dod!" said McLean, "that's Maggie. She's found Elsie, God be praised!"

And he rode off at breakneck speed in the direction whence the coo-ee

came.

"Holy Moses! fwhat's that?" said Pat, who had been beating along at the

foot of the hill on the other side. "Miss Elsie's found herself, bedad!

an' here have I been sarchin' all noight, loike a shtuck pig, shquealin'

out from toime to toime as if I wor hurt."

Pat gave a wild coo-ee, then whistled through his fingers with a shrill

blast. Alec was the first to come up to Maggie, who was on her knees,

chafing and rubbing her sister's hands. He knelt beside Elsie, pulled

off her boots, and rubbed her feet till he felt a little glow come into

them.

Her father then came. He took off his coat and wrapped it round her

shoulders. In a short time, under their united efforts, a faint colour

tinged her cheeks, and she soon opened her eyes; but only for a moment,

for she saw Alec, and shut them. She thought she was dreaming.

She gradually regained her senses, and whispered, "Father! Maggie! Where

am I? What is the matter? Am I hurt?"

"No, no, darling! you're not hurt. You are in the arms of your own

Maggie, and father is here. See, he is holding you up!"

Bond now arrived, and pressed forward. He had studied medicine for two

years, but had never passed an examination, so he abandoned his

intention of becoming a doctor.

"I'm a bit of a doctor, you know," he said. "I'll soon tell you all

about the case. Let me see--let me see. Pulse a little weak; heart

ditto." He moved her arms and legs gently. "How's that?" he said to her.

"No bones broken? Any pain anywhere? How are we now?"

"I feel better," she said. "I must have fainted."

Alec could not bear to see Bond bending over Elsie, and pulling her

about; so he withdrew behind a clump of saplings, and wondered what he

could do. He could make a litter. The very thing! He ran to his horse,

and took a tomahawk which swung in a leather case at his saddle and some

rope. He soon cut down some saplings, and strapped them together with

cross pieces, and piled on heaps of soft fern fronds. He had soon made

a comfortable litter in which to carry Elsie home. He saw that she was

so weak she would be unable to sit on a horse.

When he had nearly finished the litter Pat came, and looked on.

"Shure it's the most sinsabilest thing that cud be done. It's a foine

headpiece you've got entoirely, Masther Keryle. It's as saft as a fither

bed, an' as aisy as a rockin'-chair; fit for a princess av the blood, or

a fairy queen, bedad!"

"You had better tell Mr. McLean, Pat, that this is the very thing to

carry Miss McLean on. The best thing we can do is to take her home as

quickly as possible."

"Faith, ye're about right, as ye mostly are, Masther Keryle."

Pat went away, whispered to McLean, and told him what Alec had prepared.

McLean came and looked at the litter. "Bless ye, Alec!" he said.

The two men carried the litter and put it down beside Elsie; then, with

the help of Bond and Maggie, they laid her gently on the soft bed of

ferns. The poor girl was perfectly passive, and shut her eyes; but she

was conscious that Alec was near, though she dared not look him in the

face.

McLean and Alec went to the head of the litter, Bond and Pat to the

foot, and they carried Elsie slowly and carefully to Borombyee.

Bond went to the bookcase and took down the "Family Doctor," and

consulted its pages, but could find no reference to any such case as

Elsie's. "Confound it!" he said. "You never can find what you want to

know in these books. If it had been toothache, scarlet fever,

nettle-rash, rheumatism, or even headache, there are full directions;

but there is nothing here about a young lady lost in the bush, exposure

to night air, fright, or shock to the system. Faugh! These doctors are

fools; they never see a case of this kind. I'll fall back on first

principles; order complete rest, mustard poultice to the chest, chicken

broth, and a couple of Holloway's pills night and morning. I'll pull her

through!"

He wrote full directions, and handed the paper on which they were

written to McLean.

"I'll ride over to Mountfield, and bring Dr. Rammage. I would like to

have a consultation with him. You see, I, who have studied medicine and

know as much as most doctors, can tell him all the symptoms from the

time Miss McLean was found."

McLean nodded, and gave Bond's hand a warm grip.

"Very well," said Bond; "I'm off as fast as my horse will carry me.

Expect me by eight o'clock."

Meanwhile Elsie was undressed, and put to bed by Maggie's loving hands

and Aggie's help; then she drank a cup of tea and ate a little bread and

butter.

"I feel better already, Maggie. Put your ear to my mouth. Is Alec here?"

"Yes," said Maggie.

"Then don't let him go away."

"I'll take good care of that, Elsie."

Alec was informed by McLean that Elsie had gone to bed; that she seemed

better; that the doctor had been sent for. He thought she only required

rest.

"Then I'll say good-bye, for I am going to Melbourne to-morrow. My

mother will send over every day to inquire how Miss McLean is. I hope

she will be quite well in a day or two."

Maggie's quick ears heard the sound of a horse's hoofs, and she started

up in alarm, then ran out at the back door. Alec was just riding away.

"Alec!" she cried in an urgent voice.

He turned in his saddle, and looked at her earnest face for a moment;

then he went to meet her. Putting her hand on the saddle, and looking up

pitifully, with a tear in her eye, she said, "Alec, you mustn't go away!

Do you want to kill Elsie?"

He put his hand to his forehead, while his heart thumped against his

ribs.

"I do not understand," he said.

"I do, though! Elsie was so sorry when you went away angry with her.

That's the cause of her illness. When I found her she was unconscious,

but I heard her say, 'Oh, Alec! I'm sorry. Why did you go away?'"

"Maggie," he said, "you are my good angel come to help me. But for you I

would have gone away wretched and miserable, and two lives would have

been wrecked. Now I am happy. Tell Elsie I shall not go away till she

can see me."

"Oh, thank God! all is well," said Maggie.

She ran to her sister, and whispered something in her ear which made her

blush. She kissed Maggie, and said, "You are the dearest, sweetest

sister in the whole world!"

From that moment Elsie quickly recovered strength.

What is there more to tell?

Only this. Two happy people met in the afternoon. The misunderstanding

was gone for ever. A wedding, which was the talk of the countryside,

took place in a few months.

THUNDER-AND-LIGHTNING

CHAPTER I

I joined the detective branch of the Victorian police in 1853, having

just turned twenty-five at the time, standing five feet ten inches in my

stockings, and without an ounce of superfluous flesh on my bones.

Looking back, from a less height now, across the gulf of years, which

has swallowed up many near and dear to me, I mentally see myself the

beau-ideal of what a detective should be.

Our superintendent took stock of me, in his mind's eye, when he saw me

first, and at once gave me some rough-and-tumble work to do (what I call

rough-cast and rubble, having had some knowledge of the building trade);

but when I tumbled I usually came out on the top, with a hard grip of

the fellow below, who was only allowed to get up when I had decorated

him with cuts and a pair of bracelets.

For some months I didn't get a word of praise from the superintendent.

He expected a good deal from me, and I suppose got it. I had worked in

Melbourne and in the country, on foot and on horseback, but I had still

my spurs to win. My chance came through Governor La Trobe, who was a

man, every inch of him.

There was a bushranger at this time who had been painting the country

with blood, and who was more like the devil incarnate than any man I

ever heard of. He was nicknamed "Thunder-and-Lightning"; why I never

knew, but, I suppose, because there was a flash and roar from his Colt's

revolver and his victim lay dead on the ground.

This man, or devil, had committed many murders with tigerish ferocity.

He was the terror of more than one goldfield. Blood-curdling stories

were told of him by the camp fire when the work of the day was done. He

was execrated, and a reward of £500 was offered for his capture. The

regular police did their best, I admit, but any man who was wanted gave

them a wide berth when he saw their rig. They were a uniform failure.

When they were about "Thunder-and-Lightning" took a holiday, and played

round the mountain-tops. Sometimes a splash or crack was seen or heard,

when he was shooting in some almost inaccessible place, where rocks,

trees, and scrub, in about equal proportions, hid him like a needle in a

haystack.

When the police were as sick of him as the whale was of Jonah, they gave

him up.

It was then the Governor took the matter in hand. He was a man who tried

to manage all the Government departments with his own head and ten

fingers, and did it well. Sir Charles heard of me, and said to our

superintendent, when they were talking over the "Thunder-and-Lightning"

case, "Try Wallace."

Now, my name happens to be Wallace, and I was christened William, after

William Wallace the hero of Scotland; a long way after, I grant you, but

there's something in a name, although we fought in different fields.

Next morning the superintendent rang his bell, and told the messenger he

wanted me.

"Shure ye're wanted," said Pat Kineen, the messenger.

"What for?" says I.

"Maybe for robbing a church, or stalin' a purse, or worse, ye thafe o'

the wurrld!"

"Do you know why there are no thieves in your country, Pat?"

"Faith it's becase ye're not there, Mister Wallace."

"No! it's because there's nothing to steal."

"Well!" said Pat, "I'll tell yees what the super wants yees for."

"What?"

"To go afther the biggest thafe of the wurrld. Set a thafe to catch a

thafe. There's a glimmer o' sinse in the ould boy."

I hadn't an answer ready at the moment. I knew I was no match for Pat

with the tongue, for his wit flashed out like summer lightning, and cut

like a Damascus blade. I did not wait for anything further, but knocked

at the superintendent's door and went in.

He took me by storm at once with his hook nose and eagle eyes, and

expected me to quake in my shoes and turn white; but I raked him across

the bows with my two black eyeballs, and he was glad to pull down his

sky-scrapers pretty quick.

"His Excellency the Governor wants to see you, detective, at a quarter

to eleven sharp. Good morning!"

This nearly took the wind out of my sails, but I managed to steady

myself, and said, "Any complaint, sir?"

"No! a great compliment."

I shut the door very softly, and sailed away, feeling rather important,

and never once looking at Pat, who was ready to open fire on me.

When I was outside I glanced at my watch, and found I had five minutes

to spare, so I walked leisurely to the Government offices, which were

then in William Street. Just as I reached the gate the Union Jack was

hoisted, to show that the Governor had arrived.

I told the orderly that I had an appointment with His Excellency, and

gave my name. I was ushered in at once. No red tape to speak of in those

days, only in retail quantities, not wholesale, as now.

His Excellency received me very kindly, and, I believe, would have

shaken hands with me if the _aide-de-camp_ hadn't fixed his glass eye

on him, as much as to say, "It isn't etiquette, you know."

Well, Sir Charles said he had been keeping his eye on me for some time,

had made up his mind that I was the man for Galway, and that he wanted

to entrust me with the most important case that had ever sprung up

during his term of office.

I felt about six feet six for the moment, and expected him to say that

he wanted me to carry secret despatches to Downing Street.

However, I soon learned the kind of despatches he meant. He wanted me to

despatch "Thunder-and-Lightning" to Queer Street, or be despatched

myself to the Golden Street of the New Jerusalem. It did not seem to me

that he cared very much whether we were both despatched, so long as he

made sure of "Thunder-and-Lightning."

I braced myself up when I had taken bearings, and looked steadily at the

Governor. I declare, I thought I saw in one eye Nelson's motto, "England

expects every man to do his duty," and in the other eye the words of

Burns' song, "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled."

I felt equal to anything then, and said, "Your Excellency, I pledge you

my solemn word I'll produce the body of 'Thunder-and-Lightning,' dead or

alive, within three months."

"I am glad to hear you say so, detective," he said; "and what is more, I

believe you."

He pulled out of his pocket a sheet of foolscap, which gave a full

description, in his own writing, of the bushranger, his friends and

haunts. Then he showed me the drawing of a house in Collingwood, which

had been sent to him, with the information that it was the exact outline

of a place "Thunder-and-Lightning" was coming to, out of bravado, in a

few days.

I looked at the drawing believing I would recognise it, for I prided

myself on knowing every house frequented by disreputable characters in

Melbourne, and I had daguerreotyped them on my brain.

"I know this house!" I said.

"I see my confidence in you is not misplaced; good morning. The

watchword is 'Down.'"

I saw I was dismissed, so I said, "Good morning, your Excellency," and

went away.

I felt much elated thus to be singled out for such an important duty,

and determined to do or die.

There was a rumour in the air that "Thunder-and-Lightning" was coming to

Melbourne, in his dare-devil way, to give the citizens a taste of his

quality. He had an overweening conceit of himself, and thought he was a

match for all the police in the country.

I went down to the office and reported to the superintendent the duty I

was entrusted with. He gave me _carte-blanche_; then I went home to

efface myself, which I effectually did by putting on a false beard,

staining my eyebrows, and dressing myself like a digger.

When I had completed my disguise to my entire satisfaction, I felt my

face flush like the red stripe in the French flag, then white like the

next stripe, then I looked very blue indeed. I was a regular chameleon,

and never felt like this before. The cause of all this was the sudden

remembrance of the last words the Governor said to me, "The watchword is

'Down.'" It was a conundrum. I gave it up.

CHAPTER II

I happened to be lodging in the house of Mrs. Smith, an old widow, whom

I had known in Scotland. I came and went just as I liked, having a key

of the front door. I managed to keep my occupation very dark. When I was

new to the trade I thought of telling the landlady who I was, for she

was a discreet body; but I remembered just in time that women's tongues

are hung on so fine a balance they cannot help wagging and flopping out

any secret--being anxious to unload and take in fresh cargo. If they

have no better listeners, they will whisper to a bird of the air, or the

four winds. I come from too far north to trust a woman with a secret, so

I did not tell Mrs. Smith I was a detective. There is only one woman I

tell secrets to, and that is my wife. If I did not tell her, she would

get them out of me, so I make a virtue of necessity. Confession is good

for the soul.

It began to rain cats and dogs, or more like elephants and rhinoceroses,

for it came down heavy. The street gutters ran like rivers, and joined

each other in the middle of the road, shaking hands, bobbing,

courtesying, and carrying all the floatable rubbish to the Yarra. The

only living things I saw were half a dozen fowls of some sort, splashing

themselves and ducking in the water. The windows were so blurred I could

not make out what they were till I heard them say "Quack!" "A fine day,"

I said to myself, "for ducks, geese, and detectives." The wetter the day

the surer you are of your game. It lies close on such days, and one may

expect a feast of contentment when one knows it is spitted with a broad

arrow on back, hip, or thigh, simmering in the jug--I mean gaol. Jugged

hare, shall we say?

I determined to go out, so I put on an india-rubber coat and boots. I

had never seen a detective with an umbrella, therefore I took one with

me as an extra disguise and crept down stairs. The maid-of-all-work had

stopped halfway, and had a pail in her hand when I came upon her

unawares. She took a hasty glance at me, then fled two steps at a jump,

dropping the pail at the bottom. Then she threw her apron over her head,

and played blindman's-buff, till she lumbered into the kitchen and fell

all of a heap.

I heard Mrs. Smith say, in a voice of alarm, "What is the matter, Mary

Ann?"

There was a dead silence; Mary Ann had fainted.

I took steps--down the rest of the stairs--to make myself scarce before

Mary Ann came to, so I shut the door quietly, and marched rapidly up the

street, with my head buried in the umbrella. The wind nearly carried my

beard away, but I held fast, and tacked to the lee side, where I made

good progress. Then I walked up La Trobe Street, and made my way, across

the open space, towards Collingwood.

In a quarter of an hour I was in the neighbourhood of the house I was

looking for, so I called a council of war with myself, and came to a

unanimous decision as to what I should do. I ran a parallel up to the

place, took a flying survey through a little hole in the umbrella, and

passed on; then I twirled the hole round, and took a squint at the other

side of the street. Nearly opposite the house I had looked at was one

with a bill in the window, on which was "HOUSE TO LET." Just as

Wellington took possession of the house of _La Haye Sainte_ on the Field

of Waterloo, so would I take possession of this empty domicile for

strategic purposes. Two great minds may hit upon the same idea.

I turned into another street, and went down a right-of-way to the back

of the empty house. Fortunately I found the gate open, so I went into

the yard. It was a squalid place, full of water, dreary and wretched in

the extreme. The door was locked, and the windows were latched. Should I

get in at the door or window? As I usually travel by the shortest road,

I thrust my hand through the glass, pulled the catch back, threw the

sash up, put my leg over the sill, then jumped into the room, which was

about twelve feet square. The floor was blotched and greasy, the walls

damp and frowsy, with great strips of paper hanging down at the

ceiling. I shut the window, but left it unfastened, then unlocked the

door, and opened it a few inches to leave a way of retreat in case of

need. If worsted by the enemy (which may happen to the best general),

retreat in good order, like Sir John Moore at Corunna, who was covered

with glory, a mantle, and Westminster Abbey; or if not by the latter, he

ought to have been.

I explored the four rooms, baton in hand--there was not a soul in the

place; then I stood at one of the front windows, a little way back, and

reconnoitred. The rain had ceased. Black masses of cloud were hurrying

up from the south, and clawing at the chimney-pots. The wind howled in

the _lum_, and whistled through the keyhole. The weatherboard walls

creaked and groaned like a ship's timbers in a gale. The front gate

swung on its one hinge, and grated on the gravel path. Rank weeds filled

the strip of garden, and the paling fence clattered like castanets,

without tune, rhyme, or reason.

I had barely noted what I have set down, when the door of the opposite

house was opened a few inches, and a black eye, like a search-light,

flashed to right and left. Evidently the coast was clear, and the sweep

satisfactory, for the other eye hove in sight, accompanied by a face in

perfect drawing and colouring, such as Sir John Millais or Marcus Stone

loves to paint.

"Sold again!" I said to myself; "this is a lady and no mistake!" I was

just about to beat a retreat, cover up my tracks, destroy my bridges,

burn my boats, or whatever is the appropriate expression, under my

crushing defeat. I ground my teeth with chagrin and hunger. It was

nearly six o'clock, and in another hour it would be dark. I had no

stomach for such work under the unforeseen circumstances that had

developed.

The lady had a basket on her arm, which gave my thoughts a new

direction. She must be on a charitable mission to the reprobate sweep

who lived there, trying to whitewash him with tracts, and sweeten his

life with sugar and tea. "This is the solution of the situation, no

doubt," I thought. I must not desert my post, but watch. Putting my

theory into practice, I glued my eyes on the lady to see what was her

next move. She came out on the step, and furtively peered up and down

the street with an anxious face. First impressions are not always best.

I did not like her looks half so well as I did. She did not improve on

closer inspection. However, everything suffers on a wet day. Beauty does

not count for much, and classical features are nowhere muffled in a hood

and dripping umbrella. Helen of Troy and Cleopatra did not show

themselves on a rainy day.

She pulled a shawl over her head, and hid her face as well as she could,

then shut the door, and walked up the street, glancing over her shoulder

every second or two.

"You are no better than you ought to be," I thought. "Like a fair apple

without, but with rottenness at the heart--a whited sepulchre, with

foulness within. There is some secret here!"

I had changed my mind about her. She was better than her surroundings;

her dress was costlier than the neighbourhood could buy. She was a false

coin, which would not stand the test of a ring.

When she turned the corner of the street I let myself out by the front

door, and followed her, my umbrella acting as a screen. When I reached

the corner of the street she had vanished. There was a public-house a

hundred yards away, into which she might have gone, so I went to it, and

glanced into the bar over the frosted half of the window. A man was

sitting on a barrel, playing on an asthmatical accordion, so wheezy and

broken-winded it could not get through more than three bars of a tune

without a rest. Three men, with pewter pots before them, were thumping

some knotty arguments into a table. The lady wasn't there, evidently, so

I went on, but seeing the private door ajar, I pushed it open a few

inches. A jar suggests a pot of something. I was about to go in when I

pulled myself up, just in time, for the lady was at a little square hole

in the wall which communicated with the bar, and at that moment was

slipping a bottle into her basket. On second thoughts, after watching

for an opportunity, I went into the passage, and then into the parlour

as if I were walking between eggs. The plot was developing. It was

hatching.

In a few minutes the lady had bought what she wanted and went away,

with me at her heels. I nearly trod on her skirt, so eager was I to keep

her in sight. She did not go in the direction of the house she had first

left, but went farther from it, probably to make more purchases. When

she was at a safe distance I followed. There she turned into a shop,

which I knew was a grocer's when I saw some soap boxes on the pavement,

and a swinging sign with a big T and a teapot on it, so that the

lettered might read and the unlettered might see what was sold within. A

grocer's shop is like a salmon basket, having only one way out. Not like

a public-house, whose ways in and out are many and crooked. The lady

must come out sometime, so I could wait. I went into a right-of-way, and

showed about a hair-breadth of my right eye in the direction of the

shop.

When my patience was nearly all jettisoned I heard the sharp ting of a

bell, and the lady came out of the shop. She was coming my way. I

suddenly became absorbed in searching for an imaginary copper, which any

one might suppose I was groping for in the gutter; my back toward the

mouth of the right-of-way, my big body sticking in its gullet, my head

nearly touching the water, while my telescopic eyes watched between my

ankles for the transit of Venus.

When the blood had all run to my head, and my heart was throbbing like a

water-lifter, the lady made her appearance, and gave a start when she

saw me in this extraordinary attitude. She stared and better stared, and

would have looked me out of countenance if there had been more of it

visible. I was in a downright dilemma. When she had satisfied her

curiosity she went on, and I slowly became an upright detective, or as

nearly so as the business will allow.

I reached the end of the right-of-way as quickly as I could, and looked

down the street, expecting to see the woman (I drop the term lady, for I

was beginning to take her down a peg), but did not see her. She could

not have reached the corner at a walking pace. She must have run like

the wind. Perhaps she thought I was a madman, and would chase her.

"All right," I said, "I can run as fast as you," so I stretched myself,

like a piece of india-rubber, and bounded along till I drew myself in at

the corner. She was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't a figure in the

landscape. She was rubbed out of the drawing--erased, by Jove!

CHAPTER III

I was done! Given away! Sold by a woman!

There was nothing for it now. If I were to stand here gazing about,

perhaps she would be gloating over my defeat from some friendly window,

so I walked away, passing the house I had been watching, and scanning

each window closely. No living thing was visible. I did not stop a

second, did not hesitate, but went straight to the back of the house I

had entered so unceremoniously a short time before. I walked in, feeling

metaphorically like a whipped hound, with ears down and tail between his

legs. The house was now as gloomy as I was. I groped my way to the front

window, and looked across the street.

Just at that moment a flash of lightning leaped out, and fell like a

flaming sword; then a peal of thunder tore the clouds, with a deafening

crash, as if they were made of sheet-iron. The fiend incarnate, in the

shape of the woman who had slipped through my fingers, stood at the door

of the opposite house, with a simper on her mouth, as if butterine

wouldn't melt in it.

I had a big oath ready, and it nearly hissed out on the hob, hot and

strong; but, as I had been brought up on porridge and the Shorter

Catechism, I did not give rein to profanity, so just pulled up in time

to prevent a moral smash. Besides, an oath to be effective must have two

or three witnesses.

I believe that--blank woman knew I was looking at her, for she simpered

and smiled like one o'clock on Christmas Day. I only saw her for a

second, but the sight burned into my brain. If there is ever a _post

mortem_ on me, the scar will be found. After the sudden flash the

blackness of darkness swallowed up house, woman, and everything. I never

saw night put up the shutters so early for the time of year.

"'Thunder-and-Lightning' has been warned," said a voice close to my

left shoulder.

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" I said under my breath.

"Who's there?" I called in my loudest and boldest manner.

"Down," said the voice.

This was the watchword the Governor gave me. I had forgotten it. It

seemed years since I heard it.

"Who speaks, and what is your news?" I said, feeling sure a friend was

near.

"I am the Lieutenant-Governor. I came to tell you that

'Thunder-and-Lightning' has been warned, and that his movements are

known. He is in Melbourne, but will shun the house as if it had the

plague. The woman you saw just now is at the bottom of it all. I am

afraid she has found out something."

I was never so much astonished in all my life. You might have knocked me

down with a humming-bird's feather; but I quickly recovered possession

of myself, and struck a match, which I held up in the face of the

speaker. I did not know it. The match went out.

"Hold this dark-lantern for a moment, and look at me," said the man.

"Now flash it on me."

He was the quintessence of conscientiousness. He had got some

information, through an underground channel, and he had come in search

of me. He had seen me when I ran after the woman, and had followed me

cautiously. It was done in a masterly way, for I did not see a soul in

the road. He was a born detective, which is the highest praise I could

give. The Queen never had a better representative. Perhaps he tried to

do too much. He wanted to bat, bowl, field, and keep wickets in every

game. If he had been captain of a ship, he would have tried to do duty

also as first, second, and third mate, steward, cook, carpenter, and

able-bodied seaman.

When I had looked at him steadily for a minute, I dropped the lantern,

and said, "I'm blowed!" The wind was taken out of my sails and no

mistake! When I recovered myself a bit, I waited for His Excellency to

speak, but he did not say a word. Feeling the silence awkward I spoke

again.

"Has your Excellency anything further to say?"

There was no reply. I ventured to put out my hand to where he had been

standing, and grasped a handful of air. I spoke again, and groped about,

then held up the lantern. He wasn't in any of the rooms. He had gone as

noiselessly as he had come. Chingahgook could not have vanished more

silently. I was left to my own resources.

I wasn't going to stay any longer in this mouldy, rat-riddled,

mouse-eaten house. I couldn't breathe or think, so I went into the open

air, turned down the right-of-way, and into the street where the

suspected house stood. As I passed it I flashed the lantern on the door,

and saw a chalk mark like a streak of forked lightning. I perceived at a

glance that this was a preconcerted sign for "Thunder-and-Lightning" to

give the house a wide berth and vanish.

I thought I heard a laugh behind the window as I passed, but I suppose

it was all imagination. The laugh was against me, of course. I was in no

laughing mood. I went on, and hadn't reached the corner of the street,

when I determined to have another look at the place. I had got half-way

to it, when a moving mass of women's clothes passed me, and a voice came

out of the bundle.

"Wallace, does your mother know you're out?"

This stung me to madness. I made a grab at the millinery, but it was

gone. I heard a silvery laugh somewhere. It might have come from the

middle of the road, an upstairs window, the top of a chimney, or other

unlikely place, for anything I knew in the state of frenzy I was in. I

made a dash down the road, but might as well have looked for a needle in

a haystack. I found a big D---- between my teeth, but I swallowed the

other three letters with a gulp, and cursed inwardly.

My mother didn't know I was out; but I did, and was sick of the

business. I had been too confident. There was nothing more to be done

that night, for the game had got wind of me somehow.

I slipped my baton up my sleeve, and turned to go home. The streets were

deserted and dark, save for a faint patch of light under an oil-lamp,

which flickered and glistened on the wet ground. In a short time I had

left the houses behind, and walked across the open space between

Collingwood and the gaol, striking into a narrow path which many feet

had trodden hard; it wound here and there between pools of water. There

was just width enough for two persons to walk abreast, and there was

only sufficient light for me to see the grey strip of solid ground

stretching in front. I had arrived a little to the west of the gaol

walls, when the moon began to show herself in the rifts of the driving

clouds.

A figure loomed up ahead of me, about a hundred feet away. It came

nearer and nearer, when I saw it was a man. I prepared to go to the

right so as to let him pass, when he suddenly presented a pistol at my

head, and said, in a blood-red whisper, "Your money or your life!" I

brought up my right hand, with the forefinger thrust out like the barrel

of a pistol, while my other fingers were doubled up, and shouted, "I'll

shoot you, you scoundrel!" At the same time I knocked the fellow's

pistol-hand up with a rapid blow. A deafening report followed, and a

ball grazed the top of my head. The moon shone out full on the man's

face. He had blazing black eyes, a broken nose, and the scar of an old

cut down his left cheek. As soon as he fired, he darted off with the

speed of a deer at right angles to the path, and I heard him

floundering in the water. I was in pursuit in a moment, although I

thought my head was ploughed with the ball, and had got a top-dressing

of bone dust, which would bring up a crop of troubles.

The moon withdrew herself. The landscape was a blank once more. I was to

draw no prizes to-night apparently. The would-be murderer was swallowed

up in the darkness. I went hither and thither searching for him, but

soon found I had lost my bearings; so I retraced my steps as well as I

could, till I struck La Trobe Street, then went to my lodgings, let

myself in, and crept up to my room.

When I lit the candle a thought flashed into my brain with electric

speed. I stood dazed; then brought my right hand down on the

dressing-table with such terrific force as to ruin the whole

box-and-dice in a moment; the legs snapped; there was a crash, and the

looking-glass was smashed into a hundred pieces.

The man who fired at me was no other than "Thunder-and-Lightning." The

Governor had described him exactly in the paper he had given me.

In another minute I was in the street, and running like a madman.

Before midnight I had visited every police station in Melbourne, and had

given a description of the man. At daylight fifty eyes were watching for

him on the main exits from the town.

CHAPTER IV

Next morning the _Argus_ reported that a man had been found dead on a

vacant piece of ground near the gaol; that several robberies had been

effected by an armed man; and that money, to a large amount, had been

stolen. A description of the man was given, which proved to me that he

was no other than "Thunder-and-Lightning." There was much excitement in

the city; but the climax was reached when it became known, soon after

ten o'clock, that the manager of a suburban bank had been found on the

premises, gagged, and bound hand and foot. He told an extraordinary

story. He had been awakened in the middle of the night by a man, who

held a pistol to his ear, and told him that he would be instantly shot

if he made the slightest noise. The manager discovered that his arms

were already bound by a stout rope, and that he was powerless to

resist. Another man came and gagged him, then tied his legs.

The robbers found the key to the safe, and effected an entrance. To

their intense disgust they only got about £200 in notes (chiefly tens),

£25 in gold, and a little silver. Seeing there was no more money, one of

the men gave the manager a blow with the butt end of a pistol, which

stunned him. When he recovered the men had decamped. He gave me a

description of them, and "Thunder-and-Lightning" was one, without doubt.

I felt very small, for the scoundrel had been within my grasp, and I had

let him slip. I made a vow that I would hunt him down and take his life,

or lose my own in the attempt.

I obtained a search-warrant, and proceeded to the house I had been

watching the night before, picking up three policemen in plain clothes

at the local office, and directing two of them to go to the back of the

house, while I, with the other man, went to the front. I knocked several

times, but got no answer. Then I tried the door; it gave to my touch and

flew open. When I let the men in at the back, we searched the place,

and found the bird had flown. Looking out of a window, I saw there was a

lane running from the public-house I had visited the previous night to

the place where I was. Some incidents of yesterday were unravelling.

Leaving the three men, I went out by the front way, and walked to the

public-house open and above-board, as bold as brass. I strolled into the

parlour, and rang the bell. A frowsy little boy of about twelve years

answered my call. He had a pasty face, snub nose, big mouth, greenish

eyes, and red hair. I knew a face the very image of it, but I could not

remember where I had seen it.

"Did you ring, mate?" the boy said.

"Yes, I'll take a glass of colonial ale."

"All right," he replied, and went away to get it.

Now he had not been gone a minute, when I suddenly remembered whose face

he was the image of. He was as like Pat Kineen, our messenger, as two

split peas are like each other. I heard him coming back.

"Your name might be Kineen?" I said.

"It is that same, shure!"

"And the other name may be Patsy?"

"Shure, you've hit the bull's-eye! It is."

I had made a bold guess. I said, "I've come from your father. He and I

are chums."

"An' what may you want wid me?"

"I want you to take me to a man who is staying here. I know his name,

but I was to ask for a man with a big scar on his face."

"I wasn't to tell anybody who didn't give the word."

"Ah, ah! I see. 'Mum' is the word."

"Faith, ye've got it! 'Mum' is the word an' no mistake."

I had stumbled on the right word. The combination had opened the lock.

"Well, take me to him as quick as you can."

"It isn't a him: it's a she. He's gone, he has, this morning."

"Well, take me to her, then. I'm a friend."

I slipped a shilling into his hand, and he led the way, muttering,

"You're a gintleman."

He went to the top of the stair, I following, ready to grab him if he

tried to bolt. He stopped at a door in a dark passage, and knocked three

times, then whispered, "Mum."

The door opened at once. I grasped two hands, and said, "How are you?"

then slipped a pair of handcuffs over a woman's wrists.

I went inside and locked the door. I was in a regular trap, for I felt

convinced there were some desperate characters in the house who would

not stick at a trifle. There was not a moment to lose, so I dragged the

woman to the window, threw the sash open, and whistled three times. My

men popped their heads out of the door of the house I had left them in,

saw me, and came up the lane at a rapid run.

In the meantime the woman screamed and alarmed the house. The door was

burst open; a man rushed in and threw himself upon me. Just then,

however, my three men ran forward and secured him in a trice.

I had made a haul. The net result was I had caught two fish that were

worth catching. I am actually trying to make a pun, which is excusable,

as my success was great. For the last twenty-four hours I had been as

hard-faced as a dissenting chapel. There hadn't been a smile in me. The

game was whist. There wasn't a "joker" in the pack. It was my deal now.

I had turned up an honour, and had some good trumps in my hand.

The woman was the one I had followed the night before, and the man was

the accomplice of "Thunder-and-Lightning" in the bank robbery. Notes

were found in their possession, which were proved by the numbers to have

been some of the stolen ones.

The prisoners were lodged in the nearest police station, much to my

satisfaction. I walked away on the tips of my toes, and with my head

held high. There was exhilaration in the air, and I felt as if I had

swallowed a "pick-me-up."

As I returned to the office the conversation I had with Pat Kineen came

fresh into my memory. How did he know I was "to go afther the biggest

thafe of the wurrld" I should like to know? and why was his son acting

as potboy in the hotel? Then Patsy's unguarded admissions pointed to

something not yet cleared up. Pat had been got at. I had a bone to pick

with him, and I would get into the marrow, so I gnawed away at it,

ruminated over it, and digested it.

When I arrived at the office I saw that Pat had had some information of

what had taken place. He was trying to hide something. His face looked

scared and his hands shook.

"It's a beautiful day, Pat."

"Illigant indade, Misther Wallace," he said, with a curious shake in his

voice.

I knocked at the chief's door, went in and shut it, then said in a

whisper, "I suspect Pat Kineen of a crime, and wish to arrest him."

"Good heavens! what's the matter?"

"I believe he is at the keyhole now."

I went on tiptoe and put my eye to the hole. A pupil, with anxious

inquiry, was trying to solve a problem on the other side. I opened the

door and pulled it with all my force. As I expected, Pat fell sprawling

into the room.

"What is all this?" said the chief, starting up in a rage.

"This," said I, as cool as a water-melon at four in the morning, "is Pat

Kineen, the companion of thieves and a sharer of the plunder."

"Och!" said Pat. "Oi was just clanin' the door-handle whin Misther

Wallace pulled me into the room as I was hangin' on to it."

"You'll hang higher than that, Pat, if you don't take care," I said.

"Go away, Pat," said the chief, "and don't hang on to door-handles and

get so suspiciously near keyholes again."

"Oh no!" I said; "I arrest him in the Queen's name for being a companion

of thieves, and assisting 'Thunder-and-Lightning' to escape."

"Be careful what you are doing, Wallace!" said the chief.

"Oh, I am very careful!" I said; "I've got a tight grip of him."

"The divil take him!" yelled Pat. "If I'd a blackthorn I'd shplit his

head wid it."

"Would you kindly see what Pat was hiding in his drawer?" I said to the

chief.

He went at once, Pat and I following.

"In that corner," said I, pointing to the left-hand side.

"Here is a £10 note," said the chief.

"What is the number?"

"21,105."

"Whist!" said Pat to me; "don't tell an' I'll give you fifty pounds."

I paid no heed to him, but said, "That is one of the notes stolen from

the bank."

"Me mother's first cousin's sister's son," said Pat, stammering wildly,

"giv' me that for change av a sovereign this marnin'!"

"You'll get your change in your sovereign's gaol for three years, note

that!" I said. I can't help making a pun or two when I'm in high

spirits, even if they are bad ones. I was elated with my success, and no

mistake. This is the only excuse I have.

I may as well say here that the woman was found guilty of receiving

some of the stolen notes. The man I arrested in the hotel was found

guilty of robbing the bank. It was proved that Pat had warned

"Thunder-and-Lightning," and had been rewarded by getting a share of the

stolen money. Heavy sentences were passed upon them, with hard labour.

This was my first big case. I was complimented on all sides, and got

promotion with a good salary tagged on.

CHAPTER V

Well, "Thunder-and-Lightning" was too quick for us. He had flashed on

the town, shot his bolt, and disappeared. For two months the criminal

outlook was clear. I had nothing to do but take a survey of the horizon

in the morning, and an observation at noon. There were no outbursts of

murder or robbery. "Thunder-and-Lightning" was lying low. I knew he

would break out some day.

One morning I received secret intelligence that he had been seen in the

Puzzle ranges, near the Strathbogie country. This was enough for me. I

scented the battle afar off. I happened to be reading at the time, but I

threw down my book at once, and got instructions to go to the front

without delay. In about two hours I had rigged myself up as a digger. A

digger's signboard at that time was made up of a pair of moleskin

trousers, a blue "jumper," a pair of heavy boots, and a slouch hat. With

a swag over my shoulder, I made my way to the coach office about five

o'clock in the afternoon. The coach by which I proposed to go was just

driving up.

"Hullo, old fellow!" said an acquaintance of mine. "Off to the

diggings?"

"Yes, I'm going to have a try."

"So long then; wish you luck."

Having bought a ticket, I took an inside seat, not caring to advertise

myself in big letters on the front page. I might as well be under the

gaze of the hundred eyes of the _Argus_ as sit and be conned like a book

by every passer-by. When a coach trundles along any one who runs, or

walks, may read.

I pulled my hat over my eyes, and settled myself as if I meant to take a

sleep. This attitude disarms criticism, and provokes contempt. A good

imitation of a snore decides the business. The sleeper is either a fool

or drunk.

The coach went down the street as far as the post-office, and stopped to

take the mails. In a few minutes we were round the corner, and bowling

up Elizabeth Street at the rate of ten miles an hour, going into a rut

occasionally, like diving into the trough of the sea, for the roads were

uncommonly bad in those days. The passengers bumped about, and cannoned

off each other like bowls on a green, amid much laughing. It was lively!

I smiled between the snores. We soon got used to the motion, and timed

ourselves, as a rider does on a trotting horse.

About every fifteen miles, as I judged, we changed horses, and went on

with a fresh spurt. Sometimes the coach would travel on one wheel for a

second or two, or on one side, then on the other. Then we travelled, for

an hour or more, on level ground, and would suddenly skid, with the

break on, down a steep hill, in and out among the rocks, to the bottom,

and then slowly labour up the next rise.

About ten o'clock we stopped at a wayside inn. Some one called out,

"Supper." There was no need to announce it. It announced itself with a

nasal effect. The nose had the news first. The air was full of it,

shouting "onions."

Everybody but myself went to supper. I wouldn't show myself in the

fierce glare of the kerosene lamps; so I sat where I was, pulled out my

sandwich case, and had a square meal then washed it down with a swig of

brandy and water.

In half an hour the passengers clambered to their seats, the driver

shouted, "All aboard!" cracked his whip, and we were off. It was black

as pitch, the road was sticky, the air clammy, and the coachman looked

like the Wild Huntsman careering to the bottomless pit. I had had enough

make-believe sleep, and was very wide awake. I peered through the

curtain and looked out. It was a blindman's holiday. We came to a steep

pinch, and the horses stopped. All the men were ordered to get down and

walk. It was a relief to stretch one's legs, so I went ahead, and the

rest of the passengers lumbered behind. Some of them were soon blown in

trying to keep pace with the horses. When the band begins to march you

must keep up with it, or you'll lose the music. When the coach stopped

at the top of the hill three men were missing, but they soon came up,

and we went on again. The dreary night died by inches; I thought the day

would never dawn. When it came, dancing over the mountains, I retired

behind my hat.

About noon we arrived at the town of Benalla. This was as far as I was

going by coach, so I got down at the hotel where the horses were

changed. Here I got a wash and a good dinner.

I went into the town, with my swag on my back, and steered a southerly

course towards the mountains. A young woman, who had lost nearly all her

teeth, and hadn't sense enough to keep her mouth shut, showed me the

Mansfield road, and told me that some rich diggings had been discovered

near Pepper Hill. I promised to give them a try.

The road was as intricate as a railway guide. Branch tracks switched off

here and there, and wandered about till they were bogged or "bushed."

Noble red gum-trees scented the air. A pastoral symphony was performed

by an orchestra of magpies, laughing jackasses, and cockatoos.

Kingfishers flashed like jewels; parrots, clad in rainbows, chattered;

the whip-bird cracked his thong, and made the forest ring; native bears

placidly stared; bees and honey-suckers were competing for cargo in the

same line.

It was a peaceful scene. I was quite enchanted, and would willingly have

abandoned the enterprise for the life of the simple farmer, whistling at

the plough or calling the cattle home. Should I return in peace with the

trophies of war, or leave my bones to bleach in the sun and wind until

the last trump shall echo among the mountains?

I had been walking for some hours, when I saw, away to the left, a long,

low house nestling among trees. I jumped over a bush-fence, and took a

straight aim for a chimney that blew a wreath of smoke out of its pipe.

The sun was going down. The birds were settling themselves in bed, and

tucking their heads among the feathers.

When I at last scrambled down to the broad flat that stretched away to

the Broken River, I suddenly found myself among a number of cows and big

calves, which skipped about on the smallest number of legs there is any

record of. The economy of nature is surprising. A little goes a long

way. A dog on three legs is nothing to what I saw. I was rather scared

when they came round me to stare. Like country folks, they were

inquisitive, and wanted to know what I was fooling around for.

Just then a man, with a limp in his left leg, and a crooked stick in his

right hand, came up. This was old Sailor Tom, as I found out afterwards,

who was driving the cattle home to milk. I gave him a civil "Good

evening."

"Good evening, mate," said Tom. "D'ye come from the new diggin's? Some

says as there's lumps o' goold there as big as me 'ead; other some it's

a 'shicer.'"

"No," I said; "but I'm goin' there. D'ye think ye'r boss would gi'e me a

bed?"

"Oh yes," said Tom, "he'll find ye a bed if ye can find the sleep,

that's fair. Ye see the strangers' hut has had the kangaroo dogs in it,

so the population's lively an' aboundin'. The fleas is in possession of

the field after the last bloody battle wi' a 'sundowner,' when he went

to bed an' board there. I found 'im in the mornin', like a waterlogged

ship, sinkin' fast, wi' the whole crew workin' hard at the pumps, and

suckin' away for bare life."

"An' what became o' the man?" I said.

"Oh! we just towed 'im away, an' patched 'im up. 'Ee vowed 'ee wouldn't

cruise on this station no more; says 'ee, 'This 'ere station's too

'eavily stocked, an' the breed too lively to my fancy.'"

I determined to give the strangers' hut a wide berth, for one flea in

bed is one too many for me.

Sailor Tom began to laugh when he saw my glum looks, and said, "Ye can

spread ye'r blankets in the spare bunk in my hut. That's it," pointing

to a low slab building with a bark roof. "Jist go up there; I'll be wi'

ye in a jiffy when I've done milkin'. Get up, Polly!"

I went to the hut, and finding a rough bench at the door, sat down to

rest after my long walk. Tom proved a kindly soul; he brought me a big

pannikin of tea, a chop, and a piece of bread. After a good meal I

turned into the bunk, and was soon fast asleep.

Somewhere about two in the morning I awoke with a start. The clattering

of a horse's hoofs was heard passing close to the hut, and a wild

halloo rattled the loose window-pane, and echoed from the hill. To my

astonishment, another halloo burst out from powerful lungs close to my

ear.

"Dang it!" said Sailor Tom, "ain't that a stretcher for the windpipe.

'Ope 'ee 'eard it."

"Who?" I said.

"I'm blest! then you don't belong to them parts? That's

'Thunder-an'-Lightnin's' signal to me w'en 'ee goes by across our ford;

an' I answers 'im."

"An' what for?" says I.

"As much as to say there's no bobbies aroun'; do you twig?"

"I twig," said I. "'An where's he off to now?"

"To the Dead Horse diggin's for sarten. I can 'ear 'is 'orse's 'oofs

clatterin' up the track."

"Wish he hadn't wakened me out o' a sound sleep."

"I tell ye there's music in 'is voice, an' money too; beats the

Hightalian Hopera to fits!"

"Do you say so?" says I. "D'ye think he's in want o' a volunteer?"

"I think," said Tom, "'ee can make a vacancy for a likely lad o' your

stamp. Maybe I'll enlist ye!"

I turned over on my side, and grunted, "Good night." I didn't sleep

another wink. I had not come up here for nothing. The Lord had delivered

Goliath into my hand.

I rose with the sun, and dressed myself in haste. While I was making my

preparations, I saw Sailor Tom looking at me with one eye.

"I'm off," I said--"want to travel before the sun gets hot."

"I see," said Tom, "as the blind man said who couldn't see at all. Then

ye won't 'ave breakfast?"

"No; but many thanks for all your kindness. By-the-by, which is the

track to the Dead Horse dig-gin's?"

"W'en ye get out o' the 'ome paddock you'll see a blasted red-gum; go up

to it an' cross the road; then you'll come on a blazed track; follow

that up, an' you'll strike Dead Horse in twenty-five miles. An' a word

in ye'r ear! If you meet 'Thunder-an'-Lightnin',' tell 'im you're a

friend o' mine, an' ye want to jine the troop. Say I recommend ye. Show

'im this." He took a copper token out of his trousers' pocket, and

handed it to me. I looked at it carefully, and saw a rude representation

of forked lightning. "Show 'im this," he repeated, "an' tell 'im Sailor

Tom enlisted ye. Jist whisper 'mum,' for that's the watchword. 'E'll

know that I've enlisted ye. Now remember! 'mum's' the word."

"I'll remember. Good-bye, and thanks; I'll look him up." I lifted the

latch and walked away, through the home paddock, up to the blasted tree,

across the road, where I found the blazed track, and went joyfully on my

way.

I was in no hurry, for I did not wish to arrive at the diggings till

night was setting in. I had food in my swag when I wanted it. My pistols

were in my belt. I felt right as a trivet, and was very confident. About

dusk I came to Pepper Hill, a quarter of a mile from the track, and took

a seat on the outcrop of a quartz reef that trended north and south. In

the valley I could see tents, and smoke rising from the fires. I ate

some bread and cake, and felt refreshed. Just then I heard the crack of

a rifle away to the east. When you are after game, look for tracks; when

after bush-rangers, listen for the crack of firearms. I located the

exact spot where the shot came from, for I saw a puff of smoke rise

behind a bush. I walked quickly down the hill in that direction. It was

now dark.

I stole along on the soft, short grass till I judged I was near the

spot. A low sobbing sound caught my ear. Instinctively I cocked one of

my pistols, and held it in my right hand, creeping nearer and nearer, on

hands and feet, till I came to something white, from which the sobbing

came.

"I'm a friend," I said. "What's the matter?"

"I'm shot. Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?" And a torrent of

hysterical moaning followed from a woman's voice.

"My good woman," I said, "what has happened? Tell me quick!"

After a short time she was sufficiently calm to say, "My man has been

murdered in that tent down there. When I was running away to give the

alarm I was shot through the leg."

"Where is the man who did it?"

"In the tent. You can see it lighted up from where you stand."

"I will come back with help for you in a short time. Make no noise, as

you value your life."

I went away like a shadow on tiptoe--a shade could not make less

noise--and was soon at the back of the tent. It was lit by a candle.

Through the thin canvas I could see a man with a fiddle on his knee. He

took it up and tuned it. "Ha! ha!" he laughed, "I haven't played a tune

for five years; but I'll have one now, in spite of all the fiends in

hell." He struck a note or two, and glided into the tune of "Donnybrook

Fair." "That's something like," he said. "Now for 'Rafferty's Wake!'

That's the ticket! If I had a gallon of brandy I'd give him such a wake

as has never been seen on Dead Horse, and make every man-jack on the

place dance while I covered them with my pistol. Curse him! I wish I had

never seen him. Only got ten ounces, and I was told he had made as much

as five hundred." Then he played "Rafferty's Wake" again, but slid into

the gloomy strains of "The Last Man."

He banged the fiddle on the table in a rage, then took it up and patted

it. Putting it under his chin once more, he played the most mournful

air I ever heard, which made my flesh creep and my hair stand on end.

Then he played "The Last Man."

"Curse the tune!" he roared. "If this is the last man I'm going to shoot

I'll give him decent burial. Dead men tell no tales, and buried ones

show no sign."

While all this was going on my eyes were not idle. On the rude bed lay

the ghastly figure of a man--a hole in his forehead, and his face

covered with blood. A rifle and a pistol lay on the table beside the

murderer, also a chamois leather bag; and a small pile of gold dust was

scattered near it. A brandy bottle and a pannikin, from which he had

evidently been imbibing freely, stood at his elbow. I could easily have

shot him, but that wasn't my game. "A living dog is better than a dead

lion." I would watch and wait.

Then he went to a corner of the tent and took up a pick and shovel, with

which he walked out and strode down the gulley, evidently with the

intention of digging a hole into which to put the body. He hummed a

lively tune for a few bars, dropping into a minor key, and ending with

a snatch from "The Last Man," as if he couldn't help it. This annoyed

him. He swore a round oath, and clattered the pick and shovel together.

I thought he was going to throw them down and come back, but he went on.

I was after him like a weasel on a rabbit's track.

The moon came out grey and ghostly, so I easily kept him in sight. I

felt sure he was "Thunder-and-Lightning." Something in his gait told me

he was the man. He turned from side to side, apparently looking for a

digger's trial-hole that would suit his purpose. When he had found one

he threw down the pick and shovel, and peered into the excavation. It

seemed to satisfy him, for he jumped into it and began to make it

deeper.

I thought this was the proper moment to introduce myself, so I went

softly to the edge of the hole and whispered, "Mum." He gave a start,

for I had stolen so noiselessly he was taken aback, and stopped to look

at me.

"Good evening, captain," I said; "I come from Sailor Tom. He enlisted me

in your troop if you'll have me. Here is the proof." Then I showed him

the token I had received from Tom. He took it and examined it by the

pale light, then felt it with his forefinger.

Before I knew what he was doing he had pulled a pistol from his belt and

pointed it at me. I felt Death's scythe swishing at my heart. My life

wasn't worth a minute's purchase, but I did not flinch or wink an eye.

"Say the oath after me."

"All right, captain; I'm ready."

Then he said, "I enlist as one of Captain 'Thunder-and-Lightning's'

men."

I repeated, "I enlist as one of Captain 'Thunder-and-Lightning's' men."

"I swear I will obey him even to death."

"I swear I will obey him even to death."

"And shed my last drop of blood at his command."

"And shed my last drop of blood at his command."

"That's all," he said, lowering the pistol. "You are one of my men now,

and as likely a young fellow as there is under my command. Give me your

hand."

I put it out, and he gave it such a vice-like grip I was very glad when

he let go; but I think I gave him as good a squeeze as I got.

"You're of the right sort!" he said, after he released me. "Now, the

first command I have to give you is to carry a dead man and bury him

here. I always try the nerve of a new recruit."

"You'll find, captain, that I have plenty of nerve, and more in the bank

to draw from."

"Come along then, and go before me to that tent you see up there."

I was actually driven, like a dumb beast, to the tent where the murdered

man lay, and was told to go in.

"Blast him!" said "Thunder-and-Lightning." "Look at him! See his ghastly

eye! Did you ever see a dead man stare like that? I never felt like this

before. I'm going mad! No! No! it's only my nerves that have given way."

He seized the brandy bottle, poured about half a pint into the pannikin,

and drank it to the last drop.

"Ha! that is better! now I'll play a tune. Shall it be 'Rafferty's

Wake?' D---- it, man, why don't you speak?"

"Yes," I said, "'Rafferty's Wake.' Ha! ha! well spoken, captain! You go

before, and I'll follow with the body. We'll give him an illegant

funeral."

"D---- you! You're a man after my own heart. You've got the nerve of

twenty men! Just like me."

The brandy was working. He strutted about with the fiddle, and ran the

bow up and down the strings. I followed him with the dead man in my

arms, who was a little fellow and light.

The murdering ruffian marched before me playing "Rafferty's Wake,"

making the strings squeal and skirl, while he shouted, "That's something

like! go it!" He arrived at the brink of the intended grave, and I was

just behind him, when I gave a sudden lunge and struck him on the back

with the dead man, which sent him sprawling, head foremost, into the

hole. The murdered digger seemed to clutch him round the neck, and fell

in with him. I sprang on top of them in a moment.

I forced "Thunder-and-Lightning's" right hand behind his back and held

it there, while I slipped a pair of handcuffs out of my pocket and

secured it; then I wrenched the left hand in the same manner and

handcuffed it.

I was so elated I could not contain myself any longer. I shouted

"hurrah," and laughed loud and long. I suppose my nerves had been strung

to such a pitch I had to let them down a little.

"Thunder-and-Lightning" lay quite still. At first I thought he was dead,

as he had fallen upon his head. Perhaps his skull was broken; but, as I

never knew an Irishman to be killed by a fall on his head, I soon felt

pretty easy in my mind that he was all right. Hard knocks with

shillelahs, for thousands of years, have developed a thickening of the

bone; or is it a survival of the fittest?

I slipped his pistols into my belt, then coo-ed for ten minutes, and

fired a shot. To my great delight I heard a cautious, "What's the

matter? Where are you?"

"I'm here! I want help!" I shouted. Three men and six dogs soon made

their appearance.

"Wha may you be, my fine fallow, an' what's the maiter?" said an old

man, who was holding a bull-dog by a chain, and saying to him, "Doun,

Nero, doun!"

I told them in few words that the digger who had lived up the hill had

been murdered, that his wife had been shot in the leg, that she was

lying a short distance beyond, and that I had captured the murderer.

"Jist let ma doug Nero hand 'im by the cauf o's leg, an' he winna get

awa," said the old man.

"Poor Tom, and poor Lizzie," said the men, who were decent fellows, and

very sympathetic. Two of them went away to attend to the woman; one of

them stayed with me. In a short time Lizzie was carried to a tent, and

given into the care of some women. The police were informed of what had

taken place, and two of them came. We marched the murderer to the

lock-up, then I called for a lantern, and flashed it in his face. He was

"Thunder-and-Lightning"; no mistake about that--broken nose, black eyes,

and scar.

There is not much more to tell. I took charge of the scoundrel, and

hardly lost sight of him, till he was safely lodged in Her Majesty's

gaol in Melbourne. He was tried, found guilty of murder, and hanged by

the neck till he was dead. His Excellency the Governor thanked me

warmly, and a large money reward with immediate promotion came very

opportunely.

THE END

THE KIDNAPPED SQUATTER

And Other Australian Tales.

BY ANDREW ROBERTSON.

PRESS NOTICES.

Academy, _February 6th, 1892_.

"Mr. Robertson, who publishes the volume containing 'The Kidnapped

Squatter and other Australian Tales'--which by the way are not

exclusively Australian--is neither a Stevenson nor a Haggard, but he has

an eye to character, and he can tell an incident well. The best story in

his collection is also the longest--that in which Jack Reevely discovers

his mysterious uncle, and thereby attains wealth and happiness. There

are several good characters in this story, notably the old woman, Mrs.

McWhae, and the detective, McWillie. Altogether, this is as pleasant and

original a volume of short stories as has been printed for a very long

time."

Anti-Jacobin.

"If we are right in supposing that 'The Kidnapped Squatter and other

Australian Tales,' by Andrew Robertson, are first attempts at writing

fiction, the author may be commended on making a far more successful

commencement than many a novice. The book displays undoubted

originality, not only in conception, but in method of treatment too. The

cleverness with which traits of character are hit off is promising,

whilst the dry, unaffected humour that sometimes comes to the surface

indicates the possession of a gift which, when discreetly exercised, is

a very winning one. The style, on the whole, is crisp and terse, seldom

halting and never vapouring. Here and there bits of word-painting (with

Nature as the subject) are done in no grandiloquent or inartistic

fashion.... The stories are rousing and healthy, and deal mostly with

rough-and-ready Australian settlers."

Table Talk.

"In the same department of literature high praise is given by the

reviewers to 'The Kidnapped Squatter and other Australian Tales' by

Andrew Robertson. Of this gentleman we are not able to speak from

personal acquaintance, but we may congratulate him on having scored a

real success as a story teller. His merits are simplicity,

straightforwardness, knowledge of Australian life and scenery, and the

capability of depicting clearly what he sees and notes. These are

cardinal merits in the writer of fiction."

Land and Water.

"The four tales this volume contains are pleasantly told and devoid of

the impossible and brutal element which too often pervades literature of

this class. The second story, '_All for Glittering Gold_' is exciting

enough to suit the taste of any schoolboy greedy of adventure, and the

same may be said of '_A Bush Adventure_.' The country where these scenes

are laid is graphically described, but not with too much length to

detract from the interest of the subject. Mr. Robertson may be said to

thoroughly understand the audience he plays to, and is able, while

amusing and interesting them, to raise their tone and earn their respect

and liking. The pathos contained in '_Jack Reeveley_' will make the

story pleasant reading for older heads than a book of this stamp usually

appeals to, and we heartily recommend Mr. Robertson's book to all who

are desirous of giving an acceptable volume to their boy-friends at

Christmas."

LONDON AND NEW YORK:

LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.