YESSLETT'S ADVENTURE.
Yesslett did not start for several hours after he had formed the
resolution of riding to Alec's assistance. He made inquiries from
different people about the station, and found that he could easily ride
to Norton's Gap in two hours and a half, and as he did not wish to
arrive there much before sunset, he waited till the long, slow
afternoon had passed its prime. He had taken Margaret's advice, and had
changed his clothes for old and very shabby ones; he had found an old
hat, that looked disreputable even in that part, where new ones were a
rarity, and with this flapping a limp and torn brim over his forehead,
and with burst and ragged boots, long innocent of blacking, he looked
in as poor a plight as any out-of-work lad could do, and as little like
the clean and fairly well-clad Yesslett Dudley as it was possible for
him to appear.
There was one thing he had determined to do, of the advisability of
which he was not fully convinced, and that was to take Alec's horse
Amber with him. He knew he could not ride the chestnut himself, for the
spirited creature would never let any one but Alec mount him, so he
intended leading it by the bridle. His reason for this resolution was
hardly plain to himself, but he had some half-formed idea in his brain
of possibly managing an escape for his cousin, and he knew that Amber
would be invaluable in any such attempt, could he only succeed in
getting Alec away for a moment from the men who detained him. Yesslett
had no definite plan in his mind when he resolved to take this second
horse; he was trusting, in a very boyish manner, to that good fortune
which it is so difficult for the young to believe does not always await
them. It was this blind confidence that "something would turn up" which
prompted his action, and trusting implicitly to Providence, though at
the same time with a certain belief in himself, he set out on his
Quixotic errand.
Yesslett travelled quietly, wishing to keep his horses as fresh as
possible on the chance of his requiring their services that night. He
followed the same route that he had passed over in the morning when
tracking the bushrangers, and struck the Dixieville road very near the
place where Alec had turned on to it the night before. The road was
very little used since the dwindling township of Dixieville had gone
down in the scale, and at that hour it was quite deserted. Yesslett
had, however, carefully primed himself with instructions before he left
Wandaroo, and keeping to the road till he came to what he thought, from
the descriptions of it given to him, must be Badger's Creek, he turned
southward by the side of the shadowy gulch and rode boldly on towards
the dark, wild stretch of bush before him. There was no definite road
to Norton's Gap and Lingan's, but the frequent passage of the
bushrangers' horses and the marks of the Lingan's carts and cattle had
formed a sort of track which was indistinct and broad over the more
open ground, but which narrowed in again to something bearing the
semblance to a path when the way lay through the uncleared bush.
It was nearly sunset by the time that Yesslett had come to the edge of
the last belt of bush. He could see the rambling and ill-kept building
of the Lingan's station from there, and knew that he had arrived at the
end of the first stage of his work. What lay beyond he could not tell;
it all depended on chance; he would have to adapt his plans to
circumstances. He felt that he was pitting himself against an unknown
force, but he believed, as indeed seemed probable, that his very
insignificance would be his security. No one would believe that a boy
would thus attempt to challenge, single handed, Starlight and all his
band. Yesslett himself was quite aware of his own weakness, and that
was where his strength lay; he knew that to attempt an appeal to force
would be ridiculous, and that his only chance of success in getting
Alec away lay in craftiness and cunning.
He did not leave the shelter of the trees and undergrowth of the bush,
by which he was quite screened from observation from the house, but
directly he saw the buildings he turned to the left and leading his
horses into the thicknesses of the bush he fastened them both securely
to the trunk of a tree. Both horses had been trained to stand quite
still, without pulling at the bridle or endeavouring to get away, when
fastened in this manner, and as Yesslett had let them drink only a
short time back, and as he had been wise enough to bring a feed of
maize--a luxury they rarely got--for each horse, he felt sure that they
would remain there quietly enough, at any rate, for an hour or two. He
carefully marked the position of the tree to which he had tied the
horses, even walking to it several times from the path so that he might
make quite sure of finding it at night. At last he was satisfied that
he could not mistake the place, and putting on a bold front he left the
bush and stepped out into the open ground that lay between it and
Lingan's.
Yesslett remembered that Alec had said in his letter that the house he
was kept at was close to Lingan's, and as he wanted to reach the former
place he began to look about him for Lingan's buildings. He could see
no sign of a house except the one before him, and he thought he should
have, after all, to go to the door and ask. The place looked deserted;
he could see no sign of any one about the house or yard, a mildewed
look of sloth and neglect lay upon everything; and instead of being
alive with all the usual busy sounds of station life the whole place
seemed asleep. Yesslett had approached within a hundred yards of the
fence, which enclosed what had once been the garden, when he saw a
faint path that seemed to lead along the little valley between the
hills at the back of Lingan's. Thinking that this might take him to the
place he sought, he turned aside, leaving the buildings on his left,
and began to follow this track.
It was not very long before he saw, as he ascended the valley, the
house for which he was searching, and without waiting to think what his
line of action would be he walked calmly towards it. It must be owned
that there was a very quickly beating heart beneath this quiet
exterior; but Yesslett had made up his mind to see the inside of that
ugly tumbledown dwelling, for he felt convinced that that was where his
cousin was kept prisoner, and he was more determined than before, now
that he was actually on the spot, to get him out some way or another.
There were several men lounging about outside the house with that
appearance of weariness which idleness produces when time hangs heavily
upon one's hands. They were leaning against the house on the posts of
the old fence, as though the exertion of standing up was more than they
could manage. They spoke a word to each other now and then without
moving their short pipes from between their teeth. They watched with
interest the dusty and rather ragged looking boy as he walked towards
them, for visitors to this place were rare; and in their state of
tedium and weariness any interruption was welcome. They did not say
anything to Yesslett till he approached quite close to them, but they
looked at him fixedly; and he found their deliberate scrutiny rather
embarrassing, but his appearance must have remained natural enough as
nothing about him seemed to strike them as curious. When he had come
quite near to them, one of the men, who was sitting on a stump of wood
by the side of the door, leaning forward with his elbows on his parted
knees, and his hands lightly clasped before him, said to him--
"Well, young Ugly, what d' you want at this shanty?"
"Is this Lingan's?" said Yesslett by way of answer.
"No, this ain't Lingan's. This yere do--main is Star----"
"Now, then, don't be a fool," interrupted another of the men in a surly
voice, turning his head fiercely towards the first speaker.
"Fool yerself, Wetch! I ain't said nothing."
"No, but you was just a-goin' to," said Wetch, in the same savage
voice. "No, this ain't Lingan's. This is Brown's run, this is, and old
Brown's out just now. You must a' passed Lingan's to get 'ere."
"Does _he_ want a boy? I couldn't see any one stirring down below
there," said Yesslett, with a backward nod of his head.
"No, he don't want a boy, so you can clear," said Wetch, drawing his
dirty pipe from his dry, cracked lips, and making a wave with it in the
direction of the valley.
"Well, do you know any one about here who is in want of a lad?" said
Yesslett, as loudly as he dare, on the chance of Alec's hearing and
recognising his voice.
"What are you yellin' at--I ain't deaf?"
"No, but you are very stupid," said a rich voice from the doorway; and
looking up Yesslett saw Starlight, with a folded paper in his hand,
standing on the lintel. "What is that you want, boy? Here, come into
the house, there's a light there; it is getting so dark outside that I
can't see you."
Thus, in the easiest manner in the world, Yesslett gained the first
step of his purpose. He followed Starlight into the room and cast a
rapid glance around it. There was only one tallow candle burning on the
table, at which Starlight had been writing, but the room was not very
dark, for although dusk had fallen, the warm glow from the sunset sky
still lingered there. He could see that Alec either had not heard his
voice or had not recognised it, for he did not look up as he came into
the room, but sat, with one leg tucked up under him on the rough bench
leaning dejectedly at the side of the table.
As Yesslett followed Starlight into the room he managed, unseen by the
bushranger, to grasp Alec's forearm firmly to attract his attention,
and under cover of Starlight's voice, who was speaking to him, he
stooped down as swift as a swallow, and breathed so faint a whisper
into Alec's ear that he barely caught it--
"Geordie is all right."
So utterly surprised was Alec at finding Yesslett in the room, so
astonished at the suddenness of it, and so overjoyed at the glorious
news that that faint whisper conveyed to him, that he could not repress
a start and an ejaculation of wonder.
"What's that?" said Starlight, sharply.
"I didn't speak," said Yess, innocently.
"Let me look at you," said Starlight, taking the candle from the table
and holding it above Yesslett's face. "I think I can give you a bit of
a job if you are honest. I am always most particular about employing
honest people only." Here Starlight winked exquisitely, with the eye
that was hidden from Yesslett, at some of the men who had come into the
room. "Are you honest?"
Now Yesslett was the soul of fun, he never could resist a joke, and
now, although in the very hands of as murderous a gang of fellows as
was ever gathered together, the thought of giving Starlight a home
thrust was to his mind so exquisitely comic as to be quite
irresistible. Looking as innocent as a babe, he gazed straight into
Starlight's eyes and said, without a flicker of a smile--
"Honest! I hope so, as such things go. I am poor, so perhaps I haven't
the same honesty as you and these other gentlemen have, who have horses
and dollars too, but honesty enough to prevent me wanting to steal 'em.
Is that honest enough, sir?"
Alec sat perfectly aghast at Yesslett's impudence and temerity; but
Starlight only broke out into a peal of his beautiful, irresistible
laughter, and turning to Crosby, said--
"That is a nasty jar for such of us as have consciences--you and me,
for instance, Crosby." Then turning to Yesslett, he said, "You can earn
a supper and a shilling by taking this letter to that house just down
below there. If they ask you where you got it, you must say that a man
met you on the Dixieville road and gave it you, and paid you for taking
it to Lingan's."
"Oh! but he didn't, you know--you gave it me," said Yesslett, looking
exceedingly simple.
"Poor but honest!" said Starlight, in a theatrical tone, to the five
or six guffawing fellows in the room. "Gentlemen, behold what you,
_perhaps_, were once. A long time ago," added he, in a half whisper.
"My boy, these scruples do you credit; but let me point out to you that
you will be my paid agent, my representative, and that if there be any
slight falsehood about it," here he gave a little sigh, and gently
shook his head, "mine alone will be the blame, and I alone will
undertake to bear the consequences. One or two extra are of little
consequence to me," whispered he to the man who was nearest to him.
"All right," said Yesslett, who began to enjoy playing his part now
that he saw how well it was going. "Where is the shilling?"
"Oh, the sophistication of the youth of this generation!" said
Starlight, with mock melancholy, as he produced the shilling from his
pocket. "I have observed that these honest folk are always the most
doubtful of others' honesty. Excuse me, I must shut my eyes--it is too
painful; I feel convinced that this simple child of nature is about to
ring that sterling coin."
"I always bites them," said Yesslett, with a countrified grin, and
suiting the action to the word.
"This is appalling. So young and yet so full of guile. It looks as
though you were doubtful of my character," said Starlight, in a voice
as of one pained and surprised at any such insinuation.
"Oh, no, sir," said Yess, shaking his head in an innocent puzzled
manner, but enjoying his own double meaning with the keenest zest, "I'm
not doubtful of it at all."
One or two of the men, who were of a humorous turn, roared with
laughing at this keen thrust, which was all the more delightful at
coming from so innocent and simple a lad as Yesslett appeared to be,
and Starlight joined heartily in the laughter, and said--
"Take the simpleton away before he makes me ill."
"I don't see nothin' t' laff at," said Wetch. "Give the boy his supper
and let him go."
"'Tis excellent advice, most learned Wetch," said Starlight; and then
turning to Kearney, who had rejoined them that morning, he added, "but
it appears, in Wetch's case, at any rate, that 'mirth dwelleth not with
wisdom.' That boy would be a fortune to us, Kearney, with that innocent
face of his."
"Ah, but it would so soon change!"
At which both worthies laughed.