Those adventurous wayfarers only who have traced the sources of the
Snowy River, which in its southward course pierces the fertile district
of Gippsland, are familiar with the strange wild region which lies
between it and the northern watershed, where the Ovens, the Mitta Mitta,
and the King rivers swell with their hurrying waters the Mississippi of
Australia. The scenery is of a weird and wondrous majesty. Far as eye
can reach, a verdurous plain extends--a mountain park, in truth, it may
be called, differing from almost any other such formation in Australia.
Three thousand feet above the sea, a sheet of snow in the mid-winter, it
is a prairie waving with giant grasses when remorseless suns are
scorching the heart of the continent into barrenness. Standing on the
northern edge of the Dargo plateau, what a landscape bursts upon the
view! Mount Feathertop, divided by a ravine two thousand feet in depth
from Mount Bogong, with Kosciusko, king of Austral Alps, like twin
Titans, rise snow-crowned in awful majesty amid the mist and cloud rack
of the illimitable mountain world. Storm-swept and desolate is this
region in winter. The strayed traveller wanders beneath an endless
succession of wooded peaks, descends abysmal glens, and seems doomed to
traverse eternally the unbroken solitudes of the primeval forest.
Here first arose the hamlet, later on the mining township, of Omeo,
taking its name from the lonely lake so named by the wild tribes who had
hunted on its borders and fished in its depths from immemorial ages. Who
shall count the years from the launching of the first frail bark canoe
on its lonely waters? Situated in closest proximity to the region of
snows, which, if not eternal, commence to crown the mountain summits in
the early autumn, it is separated from the more civilised portions of
New South Wales and Victoria by roads which border precipices, by
mountain tracks, known only to the cattle-drover and the horse-stealer,
which, overhanging rivers thickly strewn with granite crags, offer
suicide on easy terms to the careless or the despondent.
Rivers, full-fed from a thousand springs which have their sources in
these mountains, rush from unexplored heights in the springtime, or
murmur musically the long green summer through, when the great levels
of Australian deserts are sun-baked as the plains of Hindostan.
Here dwell in scattered families or sparsely settled hamlets the various
classes of Australian highlanders. Hardy, active, fearless are they as
their Scottish prototypes;--originally recruited from the wandering
stock-rider, or in later years the lonely gold-seeker prospecting the
basaltic dykes and quartz-filled fissures of the foot-hills of the
Australian Alps. Herds of half-tamed or wholly wild cattle and horses
roam the profuse pastures, richly verdant during the short summer,
though snow-covered and deathlike during the winter months. Here, late
lingering and entrapped, they often perish, a company of skeletons
within a circle formed by unavailing trampling of the surrounding snow
only remaining in the spring to show the operation of nature's stern,
irrevocable laws.
Lonely and chiefly silent this mountain land--dividing the watersheds of
three colonies--pierced by precipitous defiles--barred of access by
rugged ranges, the only means of crossing the savage region being by
dangerous tracks skirting terrific precipices, sometimes, as is the
well-known King River pass, narrow, elevated, almost in mid air, with
abysmal deeps on either side.
The first dwellers in these dread solitudes were men inured to every
peril of the Australian bush, to whom the faint trail of the wilderness
was familiar as the field-path to the village rustic. Strayed cattle and
ownerless horses accumulated in the virgin mountain pastures. These were
at first driven to the nearest market by tracks only known to the
outlaws of the waste, or their confederates the stock-riders in charge
of rarely visited cattle-stations. Suddenly the trade developed, owing
to the higher prices ruling since the gold eruption. An organised system
of horse and cattle stealing arose. Outlying lots of fat cattle were
'cut out' or separated from the border herds of Monaro or Gippsland, and
crossed into opposite colonies. Detection in such cases was well-nigh
impossible. Much of the illegal work was done at night. If pursued, the
tracks were purposely blinded by station cattle driven across the trail,
while, from the rugged character of the country, strangers were at a
special disadvantage. Horses averaging from fifty to a hundred pounds
each, if capable of drawing a wash-dirt cart or transporting a digger's
movables from one mining district to another, were profitable plunder.
Chief among these _caterans_ of the southern highlands--raiders, however,
of a lower grade than their Scottish prototypes--was the well-known and
deeply distrusted Caleb Coke--an ex-convict who had 'served his
time,'--that is, completed the term of penal servitude to which he had
been originally sentenced. He had graduated in a school of lawless
license tacitly permitted by the customs of the country. Commencing as a
stock-rider on Monaro Plains, then a wild unsettled region, he and his
convict companions reigned unchecked amid the aboriginal tribes. Reports
of capricious cruelty or savage vengeance against the blacks were more
than whispered. Wild tales were told of lawless deeds--of inoffensive
natives wantonly shot down in satisfaction for stock killed or
missing--of reckless indulgence in all the baser passions by these
modern buccaneers. The lack of police supervision enabled them to revel
in every species of lawlessness unchecked and unchallenged, and as
surely as any deed involving exceptional craft or cruelty came to light
the name of Caleb Coke was rarely absent from the recital.
Rudely reared and wholly uneducated, this man represented the type of
Englishman that in earlier days helped to found the reputation of
British sailors and soldiers. Smugglers, mutineers, or buccaneers they
might become, but, whatever their faults, they possessed the cardinal
quality of courage in a degree unequalled by any other nation.
Scarcely above the middle height, and possessing no remarkable muscular
development, Coke had proved himself the possessor of a measure of
endurance and sinewy strength which rendered him totally indifferent to
the hardships of a life in the wilderness. Heat or cold, night or day,
on foot or on horseback, all seemed alike to Caleb Coke. Like many of
the early stock-riders, though born in English hamlets and grown to
manhood before expatriation, the erstwhile poachers, smugglers, or
deer-stealers took kindly to the wild life of the interior of Australia.
Long used to watch the habits and follow the haunts of fur and feather,
the tracking of the half-tamed herds of cattle and horses came natural
to the quick eyes, from childhood studious of the waste. Those among
these exiled shepherds and stock-riders whom favourable conditions of
life tended to soften saved their money, acquired property, and founded
families not undistinguished in the future. On the other hand, all whom
misfortune had soured or crime indurated, found in their newly acquired
quasi-freedom the means of safely engaging in practices more secret but
not less nefarious than of old, or criminal operations on a scale
hitherto unprecedented.
With the formation of a rich goldfield at Omeo, the centre of a
proverbially lawless region and a roving population, the results may be
imagined. Cash became plentiful, and was habitually carried in large
sums on the persons of gold-buyers and other speculators. Crime for a
while seemed about to overshadow the land. Fierce of aspect, ruthless in
beak and talon, 'the eagles were gathered together.' Had there been an
Asmodeus of the mountain, how plainly would he have descried, almost
without the aid of _le diable boiteux_, the Alsatia from which, as
surely as the levin-bolt from the thunder-cloud, wrong and rapine were
destined to result.
With his habitual want of caution, Lance Trevanion made the acquaintance
of Caleb Coke soon after he reached Omeo. That worthy, wily and
unscrupulous, found means to ingratiate himself with the stranger,
apparently flush of money, and no novice in mining. He made a point of
providing horses when there was a newly-discovered 'rush' to inspect. In
certain ventures, as so often happens, when the broad road is to be
traversed, all his 'tips' proved correct. His advice, _quoad hoc_,
seemed uniformly trustworthy. Coke, however, had an advantage on his
side of which Trevanion little dreamed. Before long he was fully posted
in Lance's history; whereas, of Mr. Coke's eventful career, beyond the
careless chatter of goldfields, Lance knew nothing. Still less did he
suspect aught of the sinister influence behind Coke. Not many days had
elapsed after Lance had resolved to take up his abode at Omeo before he
received a letter from Tessie Lawless, to whom he had sent a few lines
by his returning guide. It was addressed to Mr. Harry Johnson, miner, to
the care of the chief storekeeper, a man of multifarious trusts and
responsibilities, keeping the post-office among other duties, and being
entrusted with all deposits, from a parcel of gold to a quartz-crushing
machine--from a 'last will and testament' to a baby 'to be left till
called for.'
Tessie Lawless's missive--the outflow from a heart as true and faithful
as ever beat in a woman's bosom--ran as follows--
'MELBOURNE HOSPITAL.
'When you receive this you will be safe--safe from persecutors,
and once more--oh! that I should have to write such words--a
free man again. What misery and degradation you have suffered!
my poor dear unjustly punished----. I dare not even write your
name for fear of--of consequences. But I shall be proud and
happy all my life through that I was able to contrive to set
you free--free! I have seen Mr. Wheeler since, and I could not
help laughing, anxious and miserable as I have been, and am, at
the way in which the affair was managed.
'You will see by the heading of my letter where I live. I am
not a patient, but I was so restless and anxious until I heard
of your safety that I took a situation as nurse in the
Melbourne Hospital. There has been a good deal of
sickness--fever, rheumatism, and so on--since the gold, and we
are all kept hard at work night and day. I was always fond of
helping sick people, and the work suits me exactly. So now you
know where to find me. Address--"Nurse Hester Lawless, Fever
Ward."
'I know, of course, that though Omeo is an out-of-the-way
place, you stand a chance of being arrested at any time. So,
for _my_ sake, if you value my feelings, be as careful as you
can. Don't make friends unless you are certain about them. You
have _paid dearly for that_, haven't you? My cousin Kate
married Trevenna soon after the trial. They are somewhere about
Monaro, and not likely to come across you, thank goodness. He
doesn't treat her well, they say, so I can fancy what their
life is. _It serves her right!_ You mustn't think me cruel, but
I never shall forgive her as long as I live. I heard that Ned
had got out of gaol, but am not sure whether it is true. Poor
Ned! he was not all bad. I hope he may clear out to another
colony, and keep straight for the future.
'I have been rambling on, but must now say good-bye. Good-bye,
too, in earnest. I shall not write again unless I hear
anything, and want to send you warning. You know my heart--I
need not say that if you only tell me to "come" I will follow
you to the end of the world. I do not advise you to do it--the
other way, indeed--but L---- T---- must judge for himself;
though he might easily win a grander wife, but he will never
never find a more loving and devoted mate than poor
'TESSIE.'
'A truer woman never breathed!' Lance ejaculated, as he read this letter
in the lonely hut. 'But for her I should still be in those beastly
hulks--perhaps chucked overboard some morning, with a round shot for a
steadier! What in the world shall I do? What can I write to her? If she
comes up here it will be sure to make people talk. They always try to
find out more about a digger that's married than single, and if they
find out too much, that infernal Dayrell, or some other ambitious
trooper, will have the office given him, and _both_ of us made miserable
for life. No! she's the dearest little girl in the world, and I may as
well make up my mind to tour California or South Sea Islands with her
for a wife, as she says. England must be for me a foreign land
henceforth, and Estelle--poor Estelle--a beautiful dream! England's no
country for a man with a stain on his honour.'
'"My native land, good-bye!" as Byron says. _He_ never saw it again, for
that matter. Heigho! I wonder if I shall? Something tells me his fate
will be mine. An early death, though there is no Greece to fight for--no
such luck in store for Lance Trevanion as a patriot's grave--a hero's
tomb. I used to think of such things once, strange to say. How queer it
seems that a soldier's death in the open, and so many many other things
are henceforth for me _impossible_.
'I see nothing for it but to hang on here, putting the crowd off the
scent by working, talking, dressing like any other digger, till I get my
share of Number Six by degrees from Charlie Stirling,--trump that he
is,--then clear for Callao or 'Frisco without beat of drum, taking
Tessie Lawless with me.'
* * * * *
Both before and since the conviction of Ned Lawless, who was one of the
originators of the Omeo cattle-stealing gang, Lawrence Trevenna had been
a partner in crime, a sharer in ill-gotten profits. He it was at
Eumeralla whom the miners, the police, and indeed Tessie Lawless
herself, had seen from time to time, and had mistaken for Lance
Trevanion. They might well be excused. With some allowance for
discrepancies in speech and manner, only observable when the two men
stood side by side, few people could have told the difference.
His nature, inheriting the strongest proclivities to lawlessness of
every shade and scope, needed but the occurrence of suitable conditions
to develop into the commission of the darkest deeds. The comparatively
easy profession of stock-lifting had, after his first chance wayfaring
to the Monaro district within a few months after he quitted the ship,
commended itself to him as an exciting and lucrative line of life.
Athletic, bold, and attractive after a fashion, he had singled out Kate
Lawless as the object of his admiration before the migration of the
family to Ballarat. Becoming aware of the reckless girl's flirtation
with his rival and antagonist of the voyage, he had sworn to take a
deadly revenge. With the aid of the Sergeant, and acting upon the girl's
jealous mood, he had been enabled to gratify his hatred to the full; and
now he heard through Caleb Coke, whose information from various sources
was rarely inaccurate, that his enemy had escaped from prison and was
actually living in Omeo.
Trevenna's practice in connection with the 'duffing racket,' as Coke
would have expressed it, was to travel through from Monaro with drafts
of stolen animals and to await the arrival of others of the gang at
Dargo, a place about fifty miles from Omeo. The men who met him were not
suspected in their own neighbourhood, and as the stock were unknown
locally, were enabled to drive them down the Snowy River into Gippsland
or into Melbourne market by devious ways, known but to themselves,
without arousing suspicion. Thus the mining and general population of
Omeo had rarely seen and never noticed Trevenna. His beat lay on and
around the Monaro district. Occasionally, when conference with Coke was
necessary, he met him at the hut at Mount Gibbo, a lonely and rarely
visited spot. As far as the Omeo people were concerned, Trevenna was, to
all intents and purposes, an unknown man. It was, in a sense, against
his interest to meet with Lance Trevanion at present. He therefore took
general precautions against such an event, keeping himself, however,
well posted up, through Coke, as to his rival's movements.
The destined meeting took place, however, after a fashion wholly
unexpected by either, Fate proving, as of old, too strong for the
machinations of mortals.
Trevanion had appointed a day to go with Coke to one of the newly opened
reefs which bade fair to make Omeo the premier goldfield of Australia.
It was at no great distance from the old man's hut. Lance had borrowed a
horse and ridden to the point indicated by Coke, and after an hour's
ride found the reef which they had come to inspect. It was in truth
wonderfully rich,--the stones 'strung together with gold,' as the
prospectors expressed it. Lance secured a share which could hardly fall
short of an astounding profit as the claim developed; and when Coke
suggested riding to his hut for a meal he readily assented.
The day was fine, the mountain air clear and bracing. The view, as they
gradually ascended one of the foot-hills of the main Alpine range, was
far-stretching and majestic. At the distance of a few miles, but
apparently almost overhanging the lonely hut,--a substantial building,
very solidly constructed,--arose the sullen shape of Mount Gibbo,
snow-capped, and ever bearing on its granite ribs the marks of the
Alpine winter.
A couple of savage-looking kangaroo dogs and a collie of suspicious
aspect walked forward from the massive hut-door, which Lance noticed was
carefully secured by a padlock. A narrow bridge of logs led across a
sedgy runlet, which, like many mountain streams, was unfordable, except
in occasional spots. From the hut could be seen any man or beast
approaching at a considerable distance. The idea crossed Lance's mind
that in the middle ages it would have been a most suitable site for the
castle of a robber baron. He smiled as he thought that perhaps his
friend Mr. Coke was only a later survival of those picturesque
tax-gatherers.
Dismounting at the door, Coke hung his bridle-rein over a wooden peg
driven into a stump close by, and, motioning to his companion to do
likewise, unlocked the door.
'Hold on!' he said, as he pushed back the heavy door cautiously, and,
leaning forward, pulled out by the collar a brindled bull-dog of such
ferocious aspect that Lance drew back involuntarily.
'You seem to believe in dogs, Coke,' said he, as he noted the savage
brute's red eye and grim jaw half approvingly. 'He would be rather a
surprise to any one that called upon you when you were not at home.'
'He's not easy stopped when he goes for the throat,' said the old man,
dragging the brute along by the collar and fastening him to a chain
stapled into a section of a hollow log, which served as a kennel. 'He's
a queer customer, is Lang. He dashed near settled a cove as got into the
hut once by the winder when I was away. I was just back in time not to
have to bury him, but it was a near thing.'
'One would think you had something valuable in your hut that you have to
guard it so well,' said Lance, looking at the dog, now lying down
licking his paws and showing his formidable teeth from time to time.
'Maybe I have, maybe I haven't,' said the old man sourly. 'Anyhow, I
don't like people coming about my place when I'm away. I've always kept
a dorg or two as wasn't safe at close quarters. They know it now, black
fellows and white both, and lets us alone, eh, Lang, old man?'
The dog gave a low growl as he spoke, while at the same moment the
collie and the kangaroo hounds raised their heads, and turning towards
the road, which wound along a rocky incline from the eastward, gave a
joint whimper, and seemed on the point of breaking out into a chorus of
barking. Lance, looking instinctively in the same direction, saw a
horseman emerging from a patch of timber, nearly a mile distant, and
apparently riding at speed towards the hut. The dogs, however, appeared
to have come to a conclusion in their own minds favourable to the
approaching stranger, inasmuch as they lay down and awaited events.
'D--n him,' growled the old man, as, shading his eyes mechanically with
his hands, he gazed searchingly at the horseman. 'What the devil brings
him here now?'
'You know him then?' queried Lance.
'Know him? Well, yes,' answered Coke, with the tone of a man disgusted
with things in general. 'Maybe you do too, and if you'll take a fool's
advice, you'll neither make nor meddle with him. He's pretty hot
property, is Larry Trevenna.'
'My God!' groaned out Lance, as his face flushed high, and then grew
pale to the lips. 'This is more than I could have hoped for. Now look
here, Coke,' and he turned upon the old man with a subdued wrath in
every look and tone that, fearless as he was, awed the ruffianly elder.
'This Trevenna did me the worst wrong that one man can do another.
Through his villainy I have been chained, starved, gaoled, treated like
a dog--falsely accused, too, if ever man was. If I shoot the infernal
hound as he pulls up his horse, I should be doing a good deed. If I
don't, it is only that he may feel that, man to man, I am his master,
and the punishment I intend to give him will not be so soon over. But if
you interfere, by word or deed, by God! I'll shoot the pair of you like
dogs.'
He touched his pistol as the last words came from his lips in low
concentrated tones. His chest heaved, his hands were clenched until the
muscles in his bare arms stood out like cordage, and the lurid fire in
his deep-set eyes glowed as though ready to leap forth with volcanic
flame. The resistless force of long-repressed passion asserted itself at
this supreme moment.
The crafty veteran recognised the necessity of neutrality, and assumed
his position with promptitude. 'Larry must take his chance. It's dashed
little I care which way it goes. I'll see fair play, anyhow.'
There was little time to say more. The horseman had crossed the creek
and, riding at a hand-gallop, pulled up at the door, throwing his
bridle-reins, stock-rider fashion, on the ground, and leaving the
hard-ridden hackney, a grand three-parts bred animal, to recover his
wind and graze on the green tussock grass till he should need him.
Without apparently taking notice of the stranger who, in ordinary
miner's garb, stood by the old man,--most probably taking him for a
wandering prospector or hard-up 'hatter,'--he called out, advancing the
while--
'I say, old King of the Duffers, do you know there's half-a-dozen chaps
from Monaro waiting for you at Dobbs' Hole? They've a stunning lot of
nags with them, so you'd better scratch all you know and get there
before dark. Who's this cove? Perhaps he'll give us a hand? I must have
a pot of tea first, though.'
He moved towards the hut door, near which Lance and the old man were
standing. Lance stepped forward.
'So we meet again, Lawrence Trevenna?'
Trevenna was no coward. Still the sudden apparition of a deadly
enemy--as if he had arisen from the earth--would disturb the equilibrium
of most men. He started back. But a life filled with risk and imminent
peril had schooled his nerves. He smiled, as if in apparent
good-fellowship.
'By Jove! So it's _you_, Trevanion? Who'd have thought of seeing you
here? Well, you've slipped the clinks, it seems. I was always dashed
sorry you got into that scrape so deep. You'd better go shares with Coke
and the rest of us in this lay. There's money in it--pots and pots of
it.'
'D--n you and your money too, you scoundrel!' shouted Lance, advancing
upon him with hate burning in his eyes and vengeance written on every
line of his countenance. 'You!--You propose to me to share in your
villainies? Have not you and your accomplices worked me ruin enough
already? Put up your hands!'
Trevenna smiled and took his ground. Among the younger members of the
lawless gang with which he had allied himself he had seen many a similar
encounter, half or wholly in earnest. And in the pugilistic practice so
popular among Australian youths of all classes, Larry Trevenna, to which
cognomen he had been, for greater convenience, reduced, was held to be,
if not the very cleverest of that wild band, so near the top of the
class that there were few--very few--that cared to arouse his anger.
He had, as he supposed, advanced considerably in the science of the
prize ring, and fondly trusted that the fast and vigil inseparable from
a bushman's life would render him more than a match for any infernal
swell (as he would have phrased it), especially one who had so lately
'done time,' and been therefore precluded from the enjoyment of fresh
air and exercise.
Old Caleb Coke's rugged features writhed themselves into a saturnine
grin as he watched the savage onset with an inherited instinctive
interest.
'Dashed if I ever seen a better-matched pair,' he growled out, half
unconsciously. 'I'd a walked twenty mile when I was a youngster to see a
battle like it. It's even betting--Larry's a quick hitter and pretty
fit, but I doubt he's met his match. Well, it's d--d little to me who
wins. First blood to Larry, by ----!'
By this time the two men were hard at it. The heavy blows on face and
body, which in such a contest fall fast and furious, sounded strangely
clear in the rarified mountain atmosphere--the old stock-rider and the
dogs the sole spectators. These last--comrades of mankind under such
ever-changing conditions--looked on with manifest interest. The
bull-dog, indeed, until warned by a kick from his master, being minded
to smash his chain and make a third in the encounter. The blow from
Trevenna to which Coke had alluded had split the flesh above the cheek,
showing the white bone underneath, as if gashed by a knife. Its effect
was due less to want of skill on Lance's part than to his desperate
determination to get to close quarters with his foe. And, indeed, all
unheeding of the punishment, which would have staggered another man
less iron-sinewed and agile, he forced his opponent before him with a
succession of blows, delivered with such terrific power and rapidity
that Trevenna's guard was completely broken in, eventually sending him
to the earth, half stunned and motionless.
Lawrence Trevenna had underrated his foe in more than one respect.
During the few weeks which he had spent in Omeo Lance Trevanion had
worked harder than he had ever done in his life before. Partly to dull
the memories of the past, as well as to quiet the haunting fear of
apprehension, he had toiled incessantly. The keen air, the healthy
appetite, the free intercourse with his fellow-men, had restored him to
fullest strength and activity. Never in his life, as he stepped forward
to meet his foe, had he felt more fully conscious of muscular strength
and deer-like elasticity--those glorious physical gifts with which only
early manhood is endowed.
As they fronted each other for the second time, face to face and eye to
eye, as is the wont of men of British race in such a contest, Coke could
not fail to be impressed with their extraordinary likeness to each
other, and the similarity of their general cast of feature. The colour
of the hair was identical, and but for a slight deviation in the
direction of coarseness on the one hand, and that indescribable
something which belongs to the man of birth on the other, they could
hardly have been distinguished from each other by a casual spectator. In
their eyes, so remarkable in both, burned in that hour the deadliest
fire of hate, the difference alone being that while it glowed
furnace-bright in the orbs of Lance Trevanion, Trevenna's glare, in
demoniacal malice, resembled the rage of a wild beast.
'By ----,' said the old man, as once more he marked the blood-stained
faces of the desperate combatants, who again went at each other with
silent fury, 'I could fancy as they was brothers. They ought to shake
hands and travel the country. What a circus they'd be able to run. Ha!
Larry's down agen. The Ballarat cove's too good for him.'
It was even so. For a short time only it appeared as if the issue was
doubtful. There was but little thought of evasion or parrying of blows
on either side. The terrific rally with which the second round ended
would have brought to a close more than one world-famous fight. But
Lance Trevanion fought as though each arm--like the Familiar of the
enchanter--wielded an iron flail. And when Lawrence Trevenna went down,
beaten dead and senseless from the last tremendous 'upper cut,' it was
evident that he would not come to time.
'That last left-hander knocked him out,' said the old man, with a grin
of qualified approval, while a strange expression lurked in his evil
eyes. 'It ain't no use follerin' it up, as I see. Dip that pannikin in
the bucket while I sluish his neck a bit. You ain't settled him this
time, Harry, but it's a d--d close shave.'
'He deserves death at my hands a dozen times over,' said Lance, gazing
down upon the fallen man, as Coke raised his bleeding face, and, after
an interval, succeeded in restoring animation, while the dogs stood
around licking their lips, as if the savour of blood had aroused their
ferocious instincts. 'But I have done with him for the present. Let him
cross my path again at his peril.'
Thus speaking, he turned to where his horse had been secured and made
preparations for departure, waiting, however, in order to satisfy
himself as to the condition of his late antagonist. That personage,
after a few minutes, was sufficiently recovered to raise himself to a
sitting posture, and eventually to his feet, when he supported himself
by leaning against a tree.
But though temporarily worsted in the conflict, Trevenna had no whit
abated of the ferocity with which he had commenced the encounter.
Declining, with a wave of the hand, the proffer of bush hospitality by
the old man, Lance Trevanion made as though to mount his horse, when
Trevenna shook his hand, and, with a voice hoarse and almost
inarticulate, arrested his departure.
'Stop!' he said. 'I want a word with Trevanion before he goes. You've
had the best of it now. I didn't think you were so good, blast you! But
I'll see you at my feet yet. I've got the girl you were so sweet on, and
you may thank her for being what you are--a runaway convict; d'ye hear
that, Lance Trevanion? Kate Lawless is my wife now, and d--d well broke
to come to heel when I crack the whip, you take your oath. I've got
square with you so far, and by ----!' and here the ruffian swore a
blasphemous oath, 'I'll be more than even with you yet.'
He paused, apparently more from exhaustion than from other reasons, for
his disfigured face, all blood-stained though it was, grew ghastly pale
as he swayed forward as though he would have fallen.
Lance rode towards him, and for an instant raised his hand; then gazing
at him with deepest contempt, made answer--
'No doubt you have treated your unfortunate wife as only brutes like
yourself are given to do. You are repaid in some slight degree for any
cruelty to her, little as she deserves it at my hands. As for you, you
scoundrel, I will shoot you like a dog if you come across me again. So I
give you fair warning.'
Then Lance Trevanion mounted his horse, unheeding of food or shelter.
For, as if the elemental powers had awaited the issue of the conflict,
the sky was suddenly overcast, the wind arose and wailed stormily. The
ranges were blotted out by driving mists, and without warning one of the
sudden storms of a mountain region broke wrathfully over the plain.
Another man might have sought protection. At any other time such a
thought might have crossed his mind. But the fierce spirit of Lance
Trevanion in that hour of overwrought feeling joyed in the elemental
turmoil. Facing the tempest, he sent the spurs into his horse and drove
recklessly into the very teeth of the storm; the drenching rain, the
blinding lightning, the thunder rolling above him and echoing along the
mountain crags, only serving as distractions to the yet fiercer tumult
raging within. Two hours' desperate riding over flooded creeks, through
forest and flat, rocky ridge and sedgy morass, brought him to Omeo. The
storm-swept streets were deserted, the stores and hotels filled. Pulling
up at the door of his hut, he unsaddled his horse, whose heaving flanks
sufficiently attested the pace at which he had covered the distance, and
turned him loose, with all reasonable expectation that he would discover
his owner's abode, after the manner of 'mountain' horses, accustomed
from colt-hood to find their way to particular localities, wholly
irrespective of times and seasons.
This duty performed, he unlocked the door, carrying the saddle and
bridle inside with him. His steed trotted off briskly, after a
preliminary shake, and apparently made a straight course for his home.
Nor was the act of turning him loose on that wild winter evening amid
the still driving rain and bitter wind in any sense cruel and
unfeeling. The stock-rider to whom he belonged would remark in such a
case that the rain would wash his coat clean from mud or sweat stain. He
had never been shod in his life, never known a rug or a stable, and was
as impervious to disease of the throat or lungs as his ancient comrades,
the wild cattle of the snowfields.