XXIII

MONKEY MACK stood for a few seconds gazing down upon the dead man,

unconscious of the fact that at the moment his shot was fired Lucy

Woodrow and Jim Done had come suddenly upon the scene around one of the

huge boulders with which the gorge was strewn. He was recalled to himself

by the exclamation of horror uttered by the girl, and discovered Jim,

revolver in hand. Turning, he fled up the right side of the gorge, where

the timber offered good cover. Jim raised his revolver, and took

deliberate aim at the flying figure, but Lucy seized his arm and bore it

down, and, clinging to him, she cried:

'No, no! for God's sake, not that!'

Jim tore himself from her with bitter words, and the next moment they saw

Macdougal riding furiously along the side of the gorge, swinging his

apparently maddened horse through the thick timber with marvellous

dexterity. Done uttered a cry, and ran for the horses, and Lucy followed

him, calling piteously. She saw Jim spring upon Wallaroo and turn his

head down the gully, and, knowing his intention, snatched the revolver

from Yarra's hand and fired at the stallion. The shot took effect in the

horse's neck, and he plunged forward, throwing Jim heavily, and, rolling

on his side, lay half submerged in the water of the creek.

Done was stunned and shaken by the fall, and it was some minutes before

he quite recovered. Then, turning upon Lucy in the blind fury that filled

his soul, he said:

'You have saved that foul murderer, and while he lives I swear I'll never

forgive you!'

She made no reply, but followed Jim to Ryder's side, trembling in every

limb, with a bursting pain at her heart and a feeling of utter desolation

upon her. Done knelt by the dead outlaw, looking into the white face, and

remembered standing as a boy gazing into another dead face wonderfully

like this, the face of his mother. He felt no sorrow; there was room in

his soul only for his black wrath. For some minutes he remained kneeling,

with set teeth, his hands clenched, his blood hot with rage. When he

arose Lucy was by his side, but her eyes were bent upon the dead man.

'You stood between me and my brother's murderer,' he said.

She looked at him vaguely, as if she had not heard aright, and passed a

faltering hand across her eyes.

'Your brother's murderer?' she said.

'The man lying there is my brother. For no crimes for no wrong against

man or woman, his life was made a horror to him. And this is the end,

butchered by a foul beast.'

'Don't!' she murmured. She put out her hands appealingly, and continued

in a choking voice: 'I can bear no more. All my strength is gone. For

pity's sake, no more, no more!' She turned from him, and, falling to her

knees, sank her face upon Ryder's breast, and gave way to a fit of

sobbing that shook her from head to foot. Her attitude was one of

complete abandon; one hand lay upon the cheek of the dead outlaw,

suggesting an ineffable caress.

Done sat upon a rock, watching her without understanding. Yarra, who had

stolen near to Ryder's body, crouched upon the rock, staring intently at

the face of his friend. Presently Jim noticed that Lucy was lying inert,

and he lifted her to the pool and bathed her forehead with the cool

water. Yarra brought a pannikin and a bottle containing brandy from the

cave, and Jim poured a little of the spirit between the girl's lips. Lucy

revived after a few minutes, and lay for a time in the shade before she

was strong enough to walk.

'I must go,' she said with a strange listless ness.

'Take the boy with you,' Jim answered. 'He will see you safely to

Boobyalla.'

'And you?' she asked.

'There is something for me to do here.'

She looked at the body, and said, 'Yes, yes, of course,' but the only

expression in her face was one of utter weariness.

He helped her on to the horse. She did not thank him. No words of

farewell were spoken, but as the horse moved away he said:

'Contrive to let Yarra bring me a shovel.'

'Yes.'

'At least the brute beast shall not have the price of his head

'No.' She repeated the word quite mechanically. 'No, no!'

Done returned to his brother. He lifted the body into the shade, and

composed the limbs, and then seated himself and gave his mind over to

bitter reflection. Ryder's face exerted a strong influence upon him. In

death it had assumed a delicacy almost effeminate. It was the face of a

saint and an ascetic. What was most evil in him had been grown in the

forcing-house of vice and crime society had set up, and for being the

thing it had made him society had butchered him like a mad dog. Jim

recognised Monkey Mack only as the instrument of society. His logic may

not have been perfect: his mind was in no state to deal with ethical

nuances; he saw only the ruined life, remembered what Ryder had endured,

and, above all, that he had been an innocent man, crushed, tortured,

brutalized into an enemy of the law and the existing order. He felt

himself capable of taking up his brother's fight. In his heart he was

resolved to seek out Macdougal and kill him. That much must be done. He

never questioned his capability for murder, and it is probable that had

the chance come to him in cold blood his spirit would have failed him.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Yarra returned with pick and

shovel, and Jim had already selected the spot for Ryder's resting-place,

beside a great boulder above the waterfall. There he started to dig the

grave.

'Him brother belonga you?' asked Yarra.

'Yes,' said Jim.

'Good feller,' continued Yarra, and his black eyes gleamed maliciously.

'Boss belonga me kill him. You kill mine Boss?' Perhaps it was the

remembrance of the many kicks and cuts he had received at the hands of

Monkey Mack that inspired the impish eagerness in Yarra's face, perhaps

his affection for the dead man moved him.

Jim Done looked at the boy curiously. 'Boss belonga you sit down by

Boobyalla?' he asked.

Yarra shook his head. 'No fear,' he said. 'Yarra stop 'way pretty quick

when Boss bin there.'

'Suppose Yarra catch up track of Boss belonga him, come back when sun

jump up, tell me.'

'My word! Budgery that! Mine tink it Boss yabber-yabber longa trooper.'

Yarra set off at once, and Done continued his work. He was determined

that the grave should be deep enough to protect the body froth burrowing

animals, and secret enough to save it from human brutes eager for the

price on Solo's head. This task was not complete when Yarra returned, his

eyes ablaze with excitement.

'Hell bin jump up, mine tink it!' he cried. 'Boss belonga me sit down

there all right. You come!'

'You know where Macdougal is?'

'My word! Come longa me.'

Jim took up his revolver and followed the half caste, leaving the body

between the sheets of bark with which he had fashioned a rude coffin.

'Boss close up here,' said Yarra as they scrambled up the side of the

gorge, after following the creek for about a quarter of a mile. The boy

proceeded with out caution, and presently they came upon a saddled horse

lying under a big white gum. The animal' neck was broken; evidently it

had collided with the tree when at a gallop.

'Boss make big smash up here,' said Yarra. He pointed to a huddled,

shapeless heap lying amongst the scrub-ferns at a distance of about

twenty feet.

Done stood over the body of Macdougal, and felt for a moment a resentment

against the Fates that had robbed him of his revenge. The squatter had

dreaded the probability of confederates coming to the assistance of the

outlaw, and his ride for safety had been absolutely desperate. He lay

within a quarter of a mile of the waterfall, and had been killed on the

spot. His head was crushed and hideous. Done turned from the sight with a

shudder.

Jim buried Ryder by the light of the moon. He spent the night in the

gorge, but slept little, and Yarra, who had all the superstitions of his

mother's race, crouched close to the white man, and his teeth chattered

with fear the whole night through. He had conceived the idea that the

spirit of Macdougal had taken possession of the gorge, and for the future

the place must be a haunt of terror to him. After daybreak, with the

boy's assistance, Done hid all traces of the new-made grave, and by this

time he was grateful for the food Yarra brought from the cave. Breakfast

strengthened him greatly. He had eaten nothing for close upon twenty

hours, and the exhaustive experiences of that time told heavily upon his

enfeebled frame. As a result of his night's reflection and the judgment

that had come with cooler blood, he was determined to visit Lucy at the

station. Yesterday's bitterness towards her had been real enough, but he

assured himself that it was the effect of the extraordinary excitement

worked in his brain by the events of the day. This morning there was upon

him a physical and moral apathy: the reaction left him without interest.

The invalid lassitude possessed him again, and he stood over his

brother's grave for a few minutes, without feeling any recurrence of the

resentments that had so recently blazed within him.

Lucy met him in the garden; she was still pale, but showed no sign of

physical weakness.

'I treated you brutally,' he said abruptly. I am sorry; I was mad with

rage.'

'I know; I understood then. You know I am sorry for you.'

'You saved Macdougal for my own sake, not for his,'

'Yes. Innocent or guilty, your brother was an outlaw, Legally, Macdougal

was justified in killing him, but if you kill Macdougal it will be

murder. Ah! that terrible thought has gone from your mind?'

'Yes; Macdougal is dead.'

'Dead!' She caught his hand, and looked into his face with terror. 'You

have killed him!'

'No. His horse must have collided with a tree as he galloped down the

gorge. Yarra found him.'

'Thank God vengeance was not left to you!'

'It is best. I have buried my brother. The whereabouts of his grave must

be kept secret.'

'Tell me where he lies.' She spoke with eagerness. 'I swear none shall

know from me!'

Done was impressed by her emotion, and the picture of her sobbing figure

prostrate over the body of the outlaw was recalled to his mind. 'Under

the great round boulder above the waterfall to the left, just where the

shadow falls at noon,' he said. 'Better never speak of his death even. I

have warned Yarra, and I think he will be faithful.'

'You can trust me.' She paused for a moment falteringly, and then

continued with an effort and in a low voice: 'I must respect the grave,

for in it my heart is buried. More than my heart,' she continued with

passion--' a part of my very soul. I loved him!' She had made this

confession, feeling that it was her duty to let Jim know that the

tenderness she had felt for him had been swept away in the tide of an

overwhelming love for the other.

Whatever Done's feelings may have been, neither face nor voice betrayed

him. 'Good-bye,' he said, and turned away.

She followed him a few paces, and seized his arm.

'You are not going with unkindness in your heart?' she pleaded.

'No,' he answered. 'I am very sorry for you.'

'I want your friendship always.'