The Gold-Stealers

Chapter XVI

Edward Dyson


DICK’S LIMBS were all stiff and sore when he awakened, but he was wolfishly hungry, and that fact satisfied his mother that he had suffered no particular physical injury. He was still much paler than usual and suspiciously reserved, but he ate a good breakfast, and would have given his mother even more gratifying evidence of the perfect state of his health Had not Miss Chris interrupted his meal by a sudden and disconcerting entrance. The young woman came into the room breathless, eager-eyed, and white to the lips. She drew herself up by the door, and made a poor pathetic effort to compose herself, to frame her plea in conventional words; but she was too agitated to remember customary greetings.

“Tell me! Tell me!” she said faintly.

Dick sat stock still, wondering what new thing had happened, asking himself how much Chris knew of his secret; but sympathetic little Mrs. Haddon started up in astonishment.

“Tell you what, my dear?” Then light came to her. “About the accident?”

“Yes, oh, yes! Is it true? They say he is dying!”

“It isn’t true. He is not very badly hurt. His mother went to the hospital with him, an’ has come back. It’s concussion, the doctors say, an’ nothin’ serious.”

Miss Chris was plucking nervously at the bosom of her dress with her left hand, steadying herself against the table with her right; now that she knew there was no occasion for her great alarm, woman-like she trembled on the verge of tears. Mrs. Haddon had resumed her seat, and for a moment the eyes of the two women met; then, much to the boy’s astonishment, Miss Chris covered her face with her hands and darted forward and knelt by his mother’s side, and there was a repetition of the incident in which he had figured a few hours earlier. Mrs. Haddon clasped Christina to her tender breast, and spoke little soothing speeches over the fair head, whilst Chris wept a little, and laughed a little, and clung tightly to her friend.

“Yes, yes, I know, my dear,” whispered Mrs. Haddon. “I know, I know. But don’t you fret. It’ll all come out right.”

The women seemed thoroughly to understand each other, but to Dick this was quite inexplicable. He perceived, however, that Miss Chris was troubled in some way, and all his romantic chivalrous feelings were stirred, and his determination to spare her at all costs was strengthened again. Looking at the pair, and remembering the consolation he had derived from his mother’s strong embrace, the boy wondered what peculiar virtue lay in that kindly bosom that seemed to make it the natural refuge of the afflicted; and, wondering, he stole out and left the two together.

When the women of Waddy had anything exceptional to talk about they talked amazingly, and on this particular Monday there was so much of interest to be discussed that even the most voluble could only do justice to the subjects by neglecting domestic duties and devoting themselves to back-gate arguments. Harry Hardy’s accident was considered and debated from many points of view. Harry was twice reported dead during the morning—on the authority of Mrs. Ben Steven and Mrs. Sloan—but this was contradicted by Mrs. Justin, who declared that the young man still breathed, but was suffering from many and various injuries which she alone was able to minutely describe. Then Mrs. Hardy arrived home from Yarraman, and it became known that the injuries were not likely to prove mortal; so the subject lost interest and was abandoned in favour of Richard Haddon and his blood thirsty gang. ‘The boy Haddon’ had been captured after a desperate encounter, and would be called upon to stand his trial, along with the poor lads he had so grievously misled, at Yarrarnan next day. It was conceded that he was about to meet his deserts at last; but there was some slight difference of opinion as to the exact nature of Dick’s deserts. Some of the ladies thought ten years’ imprisonment with various floggings and other heavy penalties in the way of solitary confinement, leg-irons, and an unvarying diet of dry bread and water would be the severest punishment with which the youthful malefactor could reasonably be afflicted. Mrs. Ben Steven stood out resolutely for hanging, and, taking into account the thrilling report of his crimes supplied by the extraordinary issue of the Yarraman Mercury, many of the ladies were compelled to admit that this extreme view was probably the correct one; besides, it possessed the advantage of coinciding admirably with long-established popular opinion about Dick’s end. They generously admitted, however, that they were sorry for his mother, poor lady.

The Mercury could not very well have made more of what it called ‘The Outbreak of a New Gang’ in its Sunday extraordinary. A whole page was filled with various accounts of the depredations of the gang, the terrifying appearance of its members, and certain moral reflections thrown in by the editor for the benefit of the Government and the police. There was ‘Mr. Bilison’s account,’ ‘Mr. Hogan’s account,’ and ‘the account given by Master Mathieson.’ Each of these persons had been stuck up by the gang, and had escaped most miraculously after displaying great daring in the face of a bloodthirsty fire. The Mercury exhausted all its resources in the way of large black capitals and display type to do justice to the biggest sensation that had come in its way for years, and the appearance of the paper created the most profound amazement throughout the town and district. Gable was described as a cunning scoundrel whose affectations of almost imbecile simplicity might easily have deceived intelligences less keen than those at the service of the Mercury, and neither Messrs. Billson and Hogan nor Master Mathieson hinted that their assailants were anything less than grown men of the largest size and most ferocious type.

Alas! in Monday morning’s Mercury the editor was reluctantly compelled to repudiate the most enthralling portions of Sunday’s story, but he still took a very serious view of the affair, and vehemently contended that recent facts did not in any way tend to relieve the Government of its responsibilities in the matter of increased police-protection for Yarraman and district. It had transpired that the perpetrators of the series of outrages on the Cow Flat road were boys, undisciplined and dangerous youths, fully armed and led by the man Gable, whose mental infirmities were of such a nature as to render him unfit to be at large in a civilised community. The Mercury was informed that all the young ruffians who had taken part in the sticking-up incidents were in custody, and would appear in the police court on the following morning.

Mrs. Haddon, who still believed Dick’s strange reserve and lack of spirits to be due to his fear of the law and the dread prospect of having to appear in court, endeavoured indirectly (and very cleverly, as she imagined) to ease his mind. She did not wish him to think he had done no wrong, or that she did not regard his conduct as most reprehensible; but his mute misery appealed to her motherly heart, and she heaped derision on those ‘fool men’ who had been deluded by the silly pretence of a pack of boys, and who would be the laughing-stock of the whole countryside when the truth was made known in court and the magistrates abused them for cowards and simpletons. This was comforting to Dick; but in truth he thought little of the pending court case, and it gave him no concern even when he found himself in the troopers’ hands. His secret weighed heavily upon him, and the sight of Mrs. Hardy, erect and brave and composed as ever, but with traces of suffering in her face that the boy could not fail to detect, brought home to him an aspect of the case that he had not considered up to now. Her son Frank was a prisoner suffering for a crime committed by Ephraim Shine: in protecting Shine for Christina’s sake he must sacrifice Mrs. Hardy, Frank, and Harry.

The problem tried Dick sorely, but he had plenty of time to think it over and he determined to wait for Harry’s story. He must be true to Chris in any case, and he knew her love and admiration for her father were deep and sincere. He could not understand it: he admitted to himself that affection for such a man as the searcher was quite absurd and uncalled for; but he knew full well that the blow would fall upon the girl with crushing force, and his heart fought for her, and every romantic impulse he cherished bade him be leal and bold in the cause of the queen of her sex. In the end he resolved that if Harry had not recognised his assailants he would warn Shine in some way, and when the searcher had made good his escape he would tell the whole truth. This, according to his boyish logic, was fair treatment to all parties, so the resolution brought him some peace of mind.

The appearance of the Waddy bushrangers in the police court excited extraordinary interest at Yarraman, and Tuesday morning witnessed something very like an exodus from Waddy. Every man and woman who could possibly get away made the journey to Yarraman, all as partisans of the prisoners. In Waddy Dick and his fellow imps could not be too severely condemned; but Waddy refused to recognise the right of outsiders to abuse them, and however vicious they may have been, it was felt to be the duty of the township to stand by its own as against the ‘townies’ and the witnesses from Cow Flat.

The court was packed, and most of the people of Waddy had to be content to stand with the crowd that filled the street. An attempt had been made at the last moment to alter the charge against the boys to insulting behaviour, or something equally trivial, and all in court looked for much amusement. In fact, the tremendous bushranging sensation had degenerated into something very like a farce.

The witnesses for the prosecution were the three young men from McIvor’s run, who made the gallant attack upon the gang and captured Gable; Billson, the farmer who had been bailed up in his cart; Hogan, the horseman; the boy Mathieson, the tollman, and the woman, Cox by name.

The young men were now sober and subdued, and the evidence they gave differed materially from the story told to the police on Saturday night when they cantered into Yarramnan with their prisoner, drunk and vainglorious. They admitted now that the gang did not make a very strenuous resistance to their gallant charge, but insisted that the boys were armed with revolvers, and that Gable struggled like a demon; and the old man, standing amongst his fellow prisoners, evidently immensely delighted with the part he was playing, smiled brightly upon the court and ejaculated “Oh, I say! Oh, crickey!” apropos of nothing in particular.

Bilison testified to having been bailed up on the Cow Flat road by a gang of bushrangers, who demanded his money or his life and fired upon him. He described his hairbreadth escape with primitive eloquence, and was certain the gang meant to murder him. He was too agitated at the time to notice whether the bushrangers were men or boys. It was he who overtook the three young men, but they could not be induced to turn back till the boy Mathieson came up with them and declared the highwaymen to be a mob of boys.

Hogan was equally positive about the firearms, and thought he heard the bullets whistling past his ears, but could not swear to it. At this stage the defendants’ lawyer, who had been harrowing the witnesses with many questions and heaping ridicule upon their devoted heads, called for the prisoners’ arms to be produced, and the sight of the toy pistols with their mutton-boned barrels provoked yells of laughter in the court, which were presently echoed in the streets.

But it was not till brawny Mrs. Cox took her stand in the witness-box that the absurdity of the Mercury’s story and the charge was exposed fully to a delighted audience. Mrs. Cox marched into the box in an aggressive way, saluted the book with an emphatic and explosive kiss, and then stood erect, square-shouldered and defiant, giving the court and all concerned to understand by her attitude that it must not be imagined any advantage could be taken of her. She told her story in a bluff dogmatic way. She was bailed up by the miscreants and scared out of her seven senses. They demanded her money or her life, and she believed that it was their intention to leave her ‘welterin’ in her gore’; and having said as much she squared round upon the lawyer, arms akimbo and head thrown back, inviting him to come on to his inevitable destruction.

“Come, come, madam,” said the barrister, “you must not tell us you imagined for a moment you were ever in any serious danger from these terrible fellows.”

“Mustn’t! mustn’t!” cried Mrs. Cox. “An’, indeed, why not, sir? Who’re you to tell me I musn’t?”

Mrs. Cox stopped deliberately and carefully rolled up both sleeves of her dress. Then, unhampered and in customary trim, she smote the cedar in front of her and cried:

“Mustn’t, indeed!”

“No offence, ma’am,” said the small lawyer in a conciliatory tone; “no offence in the world. Please explain what you did when attacked by the prisoners.”

“What” d I do? First I said a prayer for me soul.”

“And then?”

“And then I grabbed one o’ the young imps, an I—,”

Here Mrs. Cox’s actions implied that she had a struggling bushranger in her grip. She drew him over her knee, and then, for the education and edification of the court, went through the task of enthusiastically spanking a purely imaginary small boy.

The pantomime was most convincing, and provoked roars of laughter that completely drowned the shrill pipe of the policeman fiercely demanding order; when the noise had subsided Gable, flushed with excitement and with dancing eyes and jigging limbs, cried out “Oh, crickey!” with such gusto that the laughter broke loose again in defiance of all restraint, and was maintained until the chairman of the bench, himself almost apoplectic from his efforts to swallow his mirth, arose and talked of clearing the court; then the crowd, fearful of missing the fun to come, quietened in a few seconds and the case was resumed.

“You thrashed the young rip, Mrs. Cox,” said the lawyer. “You did well. A pity you did not serve them all alike and save us the folly of this most ridiculous case.”

“I did grab another,” said the witness, “an’ I—” Mrs. Cox repeated her eloquent pantomime.

“Oh, crickey!” cried Gable. “Oh, I say, here’s a lark!”

“Silence in court,” squealed the asthmatical policeman.

“Excellent,” said the lawyer. “And so, madam, you drove off this desperate and bloodthirsty gang by simply slapping them all round?”

“Yes, after I’d been assaulted with a goat,” cried the witness, flushing with a recollection of her wrongs and shaking a formidable fist at the prisoners. “After I’d been assaulted with a goat sooled on by one o’ the bla’guards.”

The lawyer spoke a few soothing words:

“You deserve the thanks of the community, Mrs. Cox, for the businesslike way in which you suppressed this diabolical gang. Your method is in pleasing contrast with the ridiculous effeminacy of the previous witnesses. I have no doubt you would treat an adult bushranger in exactly the same way.”

“Or a lawyer either,” said Mrs. Cox, detecting sarcasm.

The case was practically decided when Mrs. Cox stepped down. The bench desired to have some evidence as to Gable’s character, and leading residents of Waddy described his infirmity, and spoke of him as unentirely harmless and innocent old man. The case was dismissed; but the chairman, in acquitting the prisoners, took occasion to remind their parents that if the excellent example set by Mrs. Cox were followed by them all, it would probably tend to the moral advantage of the boys and the benefit of society at large.

The return to Waddy was something in the nature of a triumphal march in which the late prisoners figured as heroes, but they lost importance immediately after reaching the township. A new topic of great interest had sprung up during the absence of the crowd; news had arrived of Harry Hardy’s recovery, and it was known that his injuries were not the result of a fall of reef, but were inflicted by gold-stealers who had got into the mine in some mysterious way and had escaped again just as mysteriously. Already Waddy had decided upon the identity of the culprits who, it was confidently asserted, would be found amongst the small community of Chinamen whose huts were situated on the bank of the creek at a distance of about two miles from the township, and who made a precarious living by fossicking and growing vegetables. Waddy always settled matters of this kind out of hand, and the presence of those Chinamen saved it much mental trouble in accounting for thefts small or great.

 

Late that night Joe Rogers and the searcher sat together in a hidden place in the corner paddock discussing the turn events had taken. The last three days had told upon Shine, who was pallid, hollow-cheeked, and nervous; he fumbled always with his bent bony fingers bunched behind him, and when in the presence of others twisted and turned his curious feet continuously with a dull anxiety that irritated the men beyond bearing. Now, crouched amongst the scrub by the side of his mate, he whined about their danger.

“We should ’a’ cleared. We oughter clear now. We’ll be nabbed if we stay.”

“We’ll be nabbed if we bolt,” replied Rogers. “The man as cleared now would be spotted as the guilty party, an’ half the p’lice in the country ’d be up an’ after him. No, here we are, an’ here we stick fer better or worse.”

“But if they’ve got the gold, why don’t they do somethin’? There’s no word of it. Rogers, if you’re foolin’ me over this—”

“Will you stop twiddlin’ those cursed feet of yours an’ listen to me? They haven’t got the gold, but I think I’ve guessed who has. That young whelp Haddon.”

“Dickie Haddon? How, how? Where’s it now?”

“How in thunder should I know? But I know the troopers didn’t get it. They would have made some noise about it afore this. See here, they were huntin’ that kid when they went into the quarry. He must ’a’ hid somewhere about when he heard them comin’; p’raps in that very tree. Then he dragged the gold away before we got back, an’ hid it. That’s my idea.”

“An’ d’ye think he saw us?”

“I don’t. He’d ’a’ split at once.”

“Well, well, an’ what’ll you do?”

“Collar young Haddon, an’ frighten the truth out o’ him or break every bone in his cursed skin.”

“But he’d know then, you fool.”

“Will he? I’ll take all sorts o’ care he doesn’t know me, you can take your colonial oath on that.”

“An’ if you get the gold back, no dirty tricks. It’s halves, you know—fair halves!”

“Yes, an’ haven’t you always got your share all fair an’ square? An’ what ye you ever done fer it but whimper an’ cant an’ snuffle, like the cur you are?”

“I was goin’ to give it up after this,” whined Shine, disregarding Joe’s outburst, “an’ get married again, an’ live God-fearin’ an’ respectable.”

Rogers glared at him in the darkness, and laughed in an ugly way.

“Marry!” he sneered. “Man, the little widow wouldn’t have you. She’s waitin’ fer Frank Hardy; an’, as fer yer God-fearin’ life, you’re such an all-fired hippercrit, Shine, that I believe you fool yourself that you’re a holy man in spite o’ everythin,’ ’pon me soul I do!”

“Ah, Joseph Rogers, the devil may triumph fer a while, but I’m naturally a child o’ grace, an’ if you’d on’y turn—”

Rogers uttered an oath, and drawing back struck the searcher in the face with his open hand.

“Enough o’ that!” he cried. “None o’ your sick’nin’ Sunday-school humbug fer me, Mr. Superintendent. We’ve talked o’ that before.”

Shine arose, and moved back a few paces.

“I’d better be goin’,” he said. “’Taint fer us to quarrel, Joseph. Leave the usual sign when we’re to meet again.”

Bent over his unconscionable feet, he stole away amongst the trees, and a few minutes later Rogers moved oft slowly in another direction, towards the lights of the Drovers’ Arms. His thoughts as he strolled were not very favourable to his fellow criminal.

“Let me once get my hands on that gold,” he muttered, “an’ I’ll bolt for ’Frisco.”


The Gold-Stealers - Contents    |     Chapter XVII


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