A BUSHMAN'S BANKER.
When Bobby Murray rode from Birralong with a couple of months' supply of
stores for the mining camp, he found that during his brief absence the
others had made great progress in their work. The boulder which had
first revealed the secrets of Peters's reef, had been entirely broken up
and crushed, with such crude appliances as the three were able to
construct, the result, a heap of coarse gold, testifying that, even if
crude, the appliances were effective. Other boulders had also been
disposed of and the free, coarse gold extracted; while the tailings, or
residue from the crushings, were carefully piled up by Palmer Billy, the
blowpipe of Peters, now almost a fetish with the former sceptic, having
shown that gold in considerable quantity still remained to be extracted.
They had also sunk a shallow trial shaft near the site of the original
boulder, and though the hole was only a few feet deep, it showed on all
sides the same class of stone. Lower down the slope of the hill there
were also outcrops of the stone, and, as Palmer Billy said, it seemed as
though, now they had struck it, there was no getting away from the
payable ore.
The two more experienced miners of the party debated as to the best
methods of working their find, and had decided that they should all work
as they had commenced, until they had won enough gold to set them on
their feet, financially, whatever might occur. With it, three should
journey to Birralong, and place it in the keeping of Marmot, while
one--Palmer Billy bespoke the post--should remain on the ground, and
"hold" it in case other prospectors came along. Then, when their first
earnings were in the safe keeping of Marmot, Tony and Murray were to
return, while Peters journeyed to the nearest mining official, declared
the find, and had the reward claims of the four, as pegged out,
proclaimed and secured.
"Peters's reef will run to a township then, boys, and my swamp will be a
fortune in corner lots," Palmer Billy exclaimed with enthusiasm.
"Or a tank for the sharks when they come along," Tony said.
"Sharks? If a darned shark comes around now we'll roast him. It's the
last chance I'll ever have of striking it rich, and this time I'm going
to be fly," Palmer Billy retorted.
For nearly six weeks they worked on, always with success, until the gold
they had won filled several canvas bags they made for it, and amounted
to as heavy a load as the four horses could carry, in addition to the
three men and their swags and stores.
Leaving Palmer Billy comfortable in camp, Peters, Tony, and Murray
started for Birralong. By following the route Murray had taken when he
returned with the stores, they managed to reach the scene of Gleeson's
rush on the second evening; and while camping there, Murray pointed out
that as no one was expecting them in the township for at least another
month, it might be as well if one of them rode in and told the township
they were coming. He volunteered to ride in as soon as it was daylight,
and tell Marmot that the others were bringing a pack-horse laden with
gold, which they wanted to leave in his charge. It was a good idea,
Peters said; and with the morning Murray started, the other two
following leisurely and some hours after.
When they arrived at Marmot's, early in the afternoon, they found him on
the verandah with Murray, while the latter's horse, still sweating, was
hitched up to one of the posts in front.
"My word! you've come along at a pace," Marmot exclaimed, as they rode
up. "Murray here was saying----"
"Where's the use of wasting time when you've struck it?" Tony
interrupted to ask; adding, as he looked at Murray's horse, "Been
raising the district?"
"I just told one or two," Murray replied. "I reckoned there'd be a
sing-song to-night at the Rest."
"But what's this about a team-load of nuggets coming in?" Marmot said,
advancing to the top of the verandah steps and looking at Tony and
Peters as they dismounted. "You'll want an escort. We'll have to send
Leary back to the coast for a sergeant and a squad of troopers; and then
the bank'll have to be told. It won't be safe to plank all that gold in
a bank at once without telling them it's coming."
Peters laughed.
"There's no team-load," he said. "The boy has been pulling your leg.
We've got it on the pack-horse here, and the bank where it's going, for
the present, anyway, is in there;" and he nodded towards the store.
Marmot braced himself up, and then, fearing lest they should see how
proud he was at the flattery of their trust, attempted to demur.
"But, boys, this is a big contract," he said seriously. "I'm on to run a
tally for most things; but--how much do you make it?"
"Say about a couple of thousand ounces and you overshoot it," Peters
answered.
"And good gold--four notes an ounce gold?"
"Ah, now you're getting into expert talk," Peters replied. "It looks all
right, but it hasn't been assayed, and it hasn't been weighed yet. We've
got it; that's our point."
He and Tony were loosening the bags from where they were fastened to the
pack, and as he spoke, he removed one, and came up to the verandah with
it in his hands.
"Where will you have it?" he asked.
"Put it in the post-office safe," Marmot replied, with dignity, as he
led the way into the store and round behind one of the counters, where a
yellow-japanned tin box, with a broken brass lock and a dented lid,
rested in peaceful indifference to the title given to it since the
half-crown's worth of postage stamps Marmot kept on hand were placed in
it with other post-office valuables.
He stood by the box as five bags, all similar to the one Peters first
produced, were placed in it. Then he closed the lid carefully, passed a
piece of string round it, and sealed it with the Birralong date-stamp.
"That's as safe as the Queensland National," he exclaimed, as he stood
up with pride on his face and faced the three lucky diggers.
"It ought to be, unless Birralong has changed," Tony answered, with a
short laugh. "Now, suppose we give the Rest a chance?"
Marmot looked round and smiled. Then he went to the back door, closed
and bolted it, and came on to the verandah where they were, closing and
locking the door after him, and suspending on a nail a notice-board,
always ready, and bearing the legend, "Gone to Rest."
"Looks well," Peters said, eyeing the notice.
"Ah, that's his work," Marmot answered, looking at Tony. "He cut the
'the' out, and I've never had time to write another."
He came down from the verandah, mounted the pack-horse, sitting far back
behind the pack like an Arab on a donkey, and once more headed the
procession from the store to the Rest--a procession which grew in size
as it passed down the township road, and collected the units of the male
population from their various habitations.
"How's old Slaughter getting on?" Tony asked Marmot, after greeting
Smart and Cullen.
"Oh, _him_?" Marmot answered evasively, as he glanced over at Murray,
who, however, did not manifest any interest in the matter.
"I didn't see him last time I was in," Tony went on. "How is the old
chap keeping? Still a whale on----"
"It's risky," Marmot whispered excitedly, interrupting him. "Ain't you
heard? Ain't young Murray heard? Don't you know?"
"Know what?" Tony asked.
"Why, about--about Slaughter and the girl."
"Slaughter and the girl? What girl? You don't mean----" Tony, filled
with admiration for Ailleen, the greater because it was suppressed,
immediately became alert and suspicious.
"_His_ sister," Marmot answered under his breath, jerking his head
towards Murray.
Tony looked at him for a moment too surprised to speak. Then he burst
out laughing.
"You have found out something this time," he said, in a bantering tone.
"Who made up that fairy tale?"
"It's no fairy tale. It's true," Marmot answered. "There's Tommy Nuggan
coming. Ask him about it, if you won't believe me."
Tony, as soon as the reasons for the procession and the direction of its
route had been duly explained to and accepted by Nuggan, reined in his
horse beside him, and, dismounting, walked with him.
"Marmot said you'd tell me all about the latest yarn from the
verandah--about Slaughter," Tony said.
"Ah," Nuggan exclaimed, "you were a bit surprised to hear it, I take
it? Any one would be who didn't know the man as I did. It didn't
surprise me. No; not much. I've seen it coming for years, bless you. I
didn't talk about it up yonder," he went on, nodding towards Marmot's
store, "because a word up there is as good as fifty next day, and spread
all over the district at that. No; that ain't my style. I saw it, and I
said, 'Nuggan, my boy,' I said, 'this ain't your game. If the girl goes
to the old man, it's his and her game, not yours.'"
"Only she didn't go," Tony said.
"Didn't she? Then perhaps you know more than I do, and can tell me----"
"I can tell you if you put that yarn about you've started as good a
fairy tale as was ever told," Tony interrupted. "Why, Nellie Murray and
Dickson have been thick for----"
"Have they?" Nuggan, in his turn, interrupted. "And you think Dickson
has time for any one now since Yaller-head went out to Barellan? I know,
I do. I don't tell no fairy tales. No more than when I said it was
strange you being the only one at the Flat who wasn't sandy or mousey in
the hair. I don't make no error. I've got eyes, and I uses them."
It was Nuggan's pride to think that Birralong had never been in want of
any information on any subject after reference had been made to him. It
was therefore bitter to hear his latest version of the last local
problem airily dismissed as a fairy tale.
"You've got no call to criticize," he went on, as Tony did not answer.
"If you want to know, I can tell you; and there's a heap of things
you'd give your head to know now, I take it. I've heard many a tale I
don't repeat, and I could make most people look rather foolish if I
wanted to. When you go out to the Flat next time just ask who Mrs. Garry
was. Talk about _my_ fairy tales! Take care you ain't one yourself.
Maybe Yaller-head could give you news about it if she wanted to. Only
she don't, now she's got young Dickson. There ain't no mystery about
where _he_ came from."
He was indignant at the calling in question of his word, and as he
smarted himself, so did he try to make Tony smart. It was true that he
used his eyes, and little escaped them; he might have added that he also
used his imagination, and that what escaped the one was secured, always,
by the other. He fell back as he concluded, in case Tony should score in
return; but as the procession had reached the Rest, Tony swallowed the
unpleasant effect of Nuggan's words, and, having turned his horse into
the paddock by the side of the hotel, entered with the others the room
where, on his last visit, the great billiard-match had been played.
As on that former occasion the news spread that there was money to be
spent at the Rest, so it did on this occasion, and long before sunset
there was a mighty gathering to do honour to the men who, having lost
one pile, had set out again and won another. The drought still lay over
Birralong, the rain which had caused such fortunate unpleasantness to
Tony and his mates having apparently only fallen on the heights of the
range. For many miles around the township the grass was brown and
withered, only waiting for a stray spark to set it ablaze and sweep the
country with a greater desolation than even the drought could effect.
The stock on the selections was thin and poor, the horses were weedy and
weak, and the selectors, hearing that Tony and his mates had returned
with more gold, hurried into the Rest to hear what they could in the
hopes of sharing in the miners' luck. To profit by any good-will there
might be, men who were weary with counting their debts and discounting
the chances of paying them, kept the ball rolling by "setting 'em up"
when they thought it came to their turn, despite the repeated assertion
by Tony and his two comrades that they were providing the evening's
entertainment.
The sun went down, and the cool, dark evening reigned outside, but
within the Rest the gathering was growing uproarious as the selectors
gave free vent to spirits held in check for many weeks by the depressing
weight of the unending drought. A commotion among the horses which were
in the paddock beside the hotel, and on to which the room looked out,
gave a moment's pause to the noise within. One man went out to see what
had caused the stir. He dashed back into the room with a white, scared
face and startled eyes.
"Marmot's store's afire!" he shouted.
Helter-skelter the men rushed out, Tony and his mates in front. On the
rise at the end of the township the flames gleamed as they flared from
the wooden building, which burned like matchwood. From the distance in
the opposite direction came the sounds of horses, galloping away from
the township.
Peters sprang towards the paddock fence.
"Our gold!" he yelled. "They've biffed us!"
The slip-rails In the paddock fence were down, and two of the horses
were missing. While most of the men rushed away up to the burning store,
five stayed behind--Tony, Peters, Murray, and two young selectors who
had come in to join the fun.
"It's a tough ride. Who knows the country best?" Peters asked, as he
swung into the saddle.
"Teddy Morton," some one answered shortly; and the selector named, slim,
active, and sunburned, wheeled his horse to the front without a word and
drove his spurs home.
Out along the road he raced, sitting tight in the saddle with the reins
hanging loose, catching rather than hearing on the air as it rushed past
his ears the thud of the horses' hoofs galloping away ahead. Behind him
the others rode, silent, the horses following the leader of their own
instincts. Two miles farther on the faint sounds ahead ceased, and each
one of the five knew that the fugitives had turned from the roadway into
the open bush. They knew the place--there was rugged, broken country a
mile from the road, deep cross gullies with treacherous banks, and
patches of wattle scrub close-growing and dark, where a man might ride
to his death at every stride of his horse. And down the road they raced,
till they saw by the loom of the open bush where the boundary fences
ceased. The leader turned his horse in his stride, and the four behind
turned theirs. A fallen log; a rut; a snag; and one rider's race would
be done; for the pace they were going left no escape if once a horse
came down. Through the low-grown brush they crashed. A rider ducked to
miss a branch that was level with his head; a horse swerved sharp to the
right to dodge an old and charred tree-stump; another propped as it
caught its step to clear a fancied jump--and the riders gripped their
saddle-pads and rode with their hands low down. Somewhere ahead their
quarry raced--and three of them thought of their gold--somewhere ahead
their coming was heard, and murder might lurk in the shade. It might be
a bullet; it might be a spear; it might be a shattered spine; but Morton
stuck to his racing lead, and the four pressed close behind.
Away ahead three others rode, two on stolen mounts. They had seen the
gleam of the fire burst out as they galloped past the Rest; they heard
the shouts of the laughter, and they laughed as they rode away, for they
had robbed the store and set it on fire, and every man of the township
was in at the Rest drinking to the success of the diggers whose gold was
being carried off. They had no plans beyond the robbing of the store,
and now, as it was necessary to divide the spoil, they made for the
broken country so as to be able to carry the division through without
fear of interruption. The man who was on his own horse had the gold
strapped in front of him; the others were one on each side, watchful
lest he should slip away with the prize. The man on the left watched his
companion so carefully that he failed to see a sudden break-away of the
ground. His horse stumbled, and its rider was jerked forward out of the
saddle on to its neck. The noise startled the horse in the middle, and
it swung on one side just at the edge of the break-away. Before it could
check itself, it slipped, and the effort made to recover carried it over
the edge, causing it to fall heavily on its side and on its rider. The
scream of the horse and the yell of the rider echoed through the bush.
The man's companions reined in their horses, and one of them dismounted.
"Make a blaze of twigs if you can't see," the one who remained in the
saddle called out, and, to help, he also alighted.
The gleam of yellow light when it sprang up revealed the horse lying
with a jagged stump through it, and beyond it the rider, with one leg
twisted and bent up under him. One of the two went over and stooped
down, taking the man by his shoulders and pulling him along the ground
till his leg was straight, when he let him fall again. The man groaned
as his back came heavily against the ground.
"Listen!" the other exclaimed, as he stood up. "They're after us. Collar
the gold and clear."
He sprang to where the injured horse was impaled, and tugged at the
straps that held the bags. His companion came to his assistance.
"Hold the horses, you fool! Be ready to ride for it."
The straps were loose by the time the other man was in his saddle, with
the reins of the second horse on his arm.
"Here!" the first exclaimed as he rushed up with the bags in his arm.
"Take them quick."
The second man took them, and let go the reins, which the other seized.
"Tap! My God, Tap, you're not----"
The man addressed turned savagely with an ugly oath.
"It's the mare. Kill the mare before you go. She's hurt, bad," the
injured man groaned.
Tap scrambled into the saddle.
"Here, where's my share?" he cried to his companion.
The other spurred his horse.
"Ride for it," he called back, as he dashed into the shadow ahead; and
at the same moment the sounds of the others crashing through the bush
behind them came to Tap's ears.
"Don't leave the mare--think of the pain she's in," the man on the
ground cried out, as he strove to rise, and fell back, writhing in
agony.
The sound of Tap's horse galloping away came to him with the sounds of
others approaching. The light from the little fire Tap had made was just
enough to show where the five pursuers reined up in time to miss the
sudden drop in the ground. The man's eyes gleamed as he saw them, and he
tried to pull out a revolver.
"Morton and I'll ride on; fix him up and follow," Peters shouted, as
Murray, having dismounted, rushed across and seized the man's hand.
While Murray took the revolver from the man's pocket, the young selector
threw enough twigs on the fire to make it blaze up brightly. Tony,
noticing the state of the impaled mare, cried out--
"Poor brute! Here, lend me that pistol, Murray, till I put it out of
misery."
The gleaming eyes of the injured man followed him as he went over to the
mare and ended its agony. Murray stooped and tried to move him into a
more easy position, and only then did the gleaming eyes leave Tony's
face.
"Damn you!" he said, as he looked up for a moment at Murray.