COMO'S ERRAND.
Although the heat was great, for the sky was cloudless, and the shade,
where there was any, inviting and cool, Alec's trusty messenger tarried
not for rest or coolness. He seemed to know the importance of the news
he carried, for he trotted along without a pause. The only time that
Como had travelled that way had been the night before, but with that
unerring instinct, which we can so little understand, he made straight
for Wandaroo. Except once, to drink at a little cattle-trampled pool
which the recent rains had partly filled, he never stopped till he
reached the head station, where he arrived dusty, foot-sore, and
panting, about two hours after he left Norton's Gap.
Dogs generally seem to possess a keen sense of duty, a quality which
is, unfortunately, only too often wanting in man, the nobler animal;
and Como made no fuss, and took no credit to himself for this arduous
morning's work, knowing that, after all, he had only done what he
ought. Mankind, on the other hand, which will not admit the extent of
its moral obligations, generally greatly plumes itself when it does
occasionally recognise one of its bounden responsibilities, never
thinking for a moment that the virtuous action which it considers it
has done is really an imperative duty.
Como, who was a privileged animal, made straight for the large general
room of the house, and without being seen by any one, entered the door.
Finding the room quite silent and empty, he passed carefully out
between the muslin curtains on to the sunny boards of the broad
verandah. He looked up and down it, but finding that it was as
unoccupied as the room, he turned, and pattering along the planks, ran
to the kitchen.
Mrs. Beffling, the cook, was standing over the fire, screening her hot,
red face from the blaze with a tin plate, cooking something nourishing
for the patient, and being intent upon her work, as a good cook should
be, she did not observe the presence of the dog. But Como, thinking it
was time that some one noticed him, lifted a paw and laid it on her
dress. The good woman looked down, and recognising the missing dog, she
dropped the tin plate with a crash upon the floor, and lifting up her
hands, opened her mouth preparatory to a good scream, but remembering
the instructions given that morning by the doctor she snapped her jaws
together again before a sound had had time to come out.
Taking the little saucepan from the fire, and placing it carefully on
the hob of home-made bricks by the side of the grate, she waddled from
the kitchen along the cool, dark passage to the door of the boys' room.
There she softly knocked, and Margaret came out.
"Ho! come into the kitching, miss, I've had sich a turn," Here the good
old creature thought it would be "genteel-like" to appear faint, so she
tottered and gave a gasp.
"Now, Beffy, don't be an old silly. What is it?"
"Ho, miss, Como've come back."
"No! Where is he?" said Margaret, coming out and quietly closing the
door behind her.
"He were in the kitching, miss, a minnut ago. I were standin' over the
fire a hottin' up that bought beef-tea, miss, which it do not compare
to mine, though I says it as shouldn't. For my _best_ beef-tea, which
I'm sure I should make for poor dear Master George, is as stiff as glue
when cold, and almost gums the lips together when took hot. I learnt
how to make it in England, miss, when I was kitching maid, under a aunt
of mine who was cook, at Kepton Park, wheer the Honrabble _and_
Reverent Mr.----"
"Yes, yes, but what about Como?"
"Ho, to be sure; Como, of course, yes, miss. I were a-standin' over the
fire a-hottin'----"
"Oh, you've told me that before."
"When in leaps Como as bold as brass, and he jumps up agen me, he do,
as though to say like 'Beffling, I'm clemmed.'"
This was rather a stretch of imagination on the part of the worthy old
soul, but she was so excited that she could not help a little
exaggeration, which was quite harmless she thought, and made the story
so much more interesting.
However, there was Como true enough when they reached the kitchen, and
glad was he to see Margaret when she came in. He had taken a drink of
water from one of the tins in the kitchen, and then had stretched
himself at full length in his old place beneath the table under the
window. He sprang up when he saw Margaret, and rushed to her, and the
girl, with tears in her eyes, knelt down on the floor and fondled the
dog. They made a very pretty picture, Mrs. Beffling thought, as she
stood with her bare red arms akimbo, and her head on one side looking
at them.
"Poor old Como, how hot and tired you are. Have you come from Alec?"
said the poor girl, with tears in her voice. "Oh! Alec, Alec, where are
you? If you could only tell us, Como, if he be alive and where he is.
We are in such trouble, doggie." She laid her arms round Como's neck
and wiped away upon his smooth forehead a great tear from her cheek.
The dog tried to lick her face, forgetting for a moment, it is to be
feared, the letter round his neck, in his chivalrous efforts to comfort
beauty in distress. Poor Geordie was quite right, Como had the feelings
of a true gentleman.
Suddenly Margaret felt the folded bit of paper that was tied under
Como's neck. In a voice that rang with excitement, she cried out--
"Give me a knife! quick, quick!"
"Lawks! miss, what for?" said Mrs. Beffling, starting. "You isn't going
to kill the dog, sureli!"
"Don't be a donkey," said Margaret, holding out her hand, and
forgetting all her boarding-school manners in her excitement.
"No, miss, for sure," replied the cook, snatching a knife from the
table and handing it to her.
"Stand still," said Margaret, trembling with eagerness, as she slipped
her forefinger under the string and raised it from the dog's neck. She
sawed the string through, and, with fingers that shook so from
nervousness that she could hardly untie the knots, she at last opened
the letter and spread it out. She did not rise, but kneeling where she
was on the floor, with the light from the kitchen window pouring on to
her flushed cheek, she read the letter:--
"DEAREST MOTHER,--
"I don't know how much you know of what has happened to us. Murri
may have told you if he got off. If you know nothing prepare
yourself for a great trouble. We had almost got home last night
when we were set on by bushrangers and (I don't know how to tell
you, it is so terrible) Geordie, when I was away from him for a
minute, was thrown from his horse and killed. I feel as though it
were my fault, though I don't think I could have helped it if I had
been close by. I am just heartbroken, and if it were not for you
and Maggie I should not care if I never came back. You are all I
have now. Crosby says I must make haste; he is a fellow here who is
helping me. I am kept by Starlight at a place called Norton's Gap,
which lies south of the Dixieville road, directly after you have
passed Badger's Creek. Crosby says ask for Lingan's. This place is
close to Lingan's. Let Macleod, or some one, be on the path between
the Dixieville road and Lingan's to-morrow night at eleven to try
and arrange things. Crosby will be there. He is a big, handsome
fellow, with a yellow beard and hair, and clear blue eyes. You will
easily know him."
Ah! Margaret, Margaret, what makes you start in that way? You would
blush if any one were looking at you now; as it is, you grow pale.
"Let the police at Bateman know where Starlight is; they will be
here soon enough then. This is the last bit of paper I have got. I
myself am quite well and unhurt. Would it were Geordie instead. He
was worth a dozen of me. If you have not found him he is lying by
that split gum we burnt, just beyond the Dip. I killed the man that
knocked Geordie off his horse. Don't agree to any ransom for me.
Crosby says Starlight will try it on.
ALEC."
All the last few lines were so cramped and crowded together that
Margaret could hardly make their meaning out. But she did at last, and
letting her hands, still holding the letter, sink idly into her lap,
she stayed where she was without moving and deep in thought. It was the
clattering of horses into the yard that made her look up, and the next
instant Yesslett dashed into the kitchen.
"How is he now, Mrs. Beffling?" he whispered, as though his voice would
disturb Geordie at the other end of the house. "What did the--oh,
Margaret, I didn't see you. What did the doctor say? How long was he
here?"
"He got here at seven, just after you and Balchin started out with
Murri and Baluderree. He says it was concussion of the brain, but that
if we keep him quite quiet he will soon get all right. It was the
greatest wonder, he says, that he was not killed straight off."
"Has he gone?"
"Yes, he has told mother what to do, and he has been gone half an hour.
Macleod has gone with him to tell the police all about it, and to make
them try to find Alec, but we don't know whether they are at Bateman or
Parra-parra."
"Ah! poor old Alec, we shall have to think about him now that Geordie
is going on all right. If we only knew where he was we wouldn't wait
for the police. We can't trace them, Margaret, beyond the Dixieville
road. Murri and that other black boy from the camp easily tracked them
that far, and then we lost them; a mob of cattle had passed along early
this morning or last night and trampled out every hoof mark."
"Never mind, Yess; this will tell you where he is," said Margaret,
rising and holding out the letter. "Como brought it just now. Make
haste and read it. I must go and tell mother."
Yesslett read the letter with many little muttered expressions of
astonishment and sympathy. What he said when he ended it and handed the
crumpled paper to Margaret was very characteristic of him.
"Look here, Margaret. Macleod may be away a day or two, and even then
may not bring the police with him. I can't bear to think of Alec eating
his heart out and believing that Geordie is dead, whilst all the time
he is alive and getting better every hour. I shall go and let him know
that we are working for him, and that Geordie is alive."
"But, Yesslett, it will be running such a risk."
"Not if I go alone," said the boy, shrewdly. "In the first place, they
can't know that Alec has sent the letter to us, and they will think
that one--er--_man_ would never trust himself with them alone. I shall
be all right, never fear."
He spoke boldly, though modestly, and the light that glowed in his
steady eyes said more than his words. He had not, however, quite got
rid of a trick of his old nervous manner, that of rubbing the palm of
his hand on the back of his breeches. This he still did when greatly
moved or excited.
"We ought to speak to mother about it."
"No, don't say anything to her. She has enough on her mind without
another responsibility. I shall go on my own hook."
"It is good of you to do all this for us. You are going into danger for
our sakes, Chevalier. At any rate, take my advice in this. Don't go in
those clean breeches and shirt. Make yourself look dirty and more like
a station hand, so that if any of the bushrangers do see you they won't
want to stick you up, and you can go to that place near Norton's
Gap--what does Alec call it?--as though you wanted a job."
"That's not a bad idea, Margaret."
"You won't be going just yet. I want to see you before you start to
send a message to Alec. It will be no use your getting there before
evening. I must go now. Beffy, see that Mr. Yesslett has a good
breakfast, he has had nothing to-day. And get something for Balchin at
the same time." Saying this, with the letter in one hand and the little
saucepan of beef-tea in the other, Margaret left the kitchen very
thoughtfully.
"Yes, miss, for sure. I likes to see men eat well, and you must be
keen, Master Yesslett. Draw up t' table--if y' likes to wait I'll get a
cloth. Begin a' the bread 'n' butter whiles I poach 'e a couple of
eggs. I knows how y' like 'em, not hard, but set like. Then I'll have a
chop down in a brace o' shakes, as my aunt used t' say. There, there,
begin, then. Don't sit a thinking; nothin' 'll come out o' your head if
y' put nothing into y' stomach."
"I've got a great deal to think of," said Yesslett, looking up, with a
smile at her quaintness. "There is Alec in the hands of the
bushrangers, and only me to get him out."
"Ah, an' fine an' hungry he'll be, I'll be bound. But you won't help
him by refusin' y' vittle, so here's th' eggs to go on with, an' if the
sizzlin' o' them chops don't give you a appetite for 'em, I don't know
what will."
"Tell Balchin to come in, then. He's as hungry as I am."