At Large

by E. W. Hornung

  II

  SUNDOWN

  There was no time for thought, much less for action, beyond that takenpromptly by Flint, who shot his own hands above his head without amoment's hesitation, and whispered to Dick to do the same. Any othermovement would have been tantamount to suicide. Yet it was with his eyesopen and his head cool that Flint gave the sign of submission.

  The horsemen sat dark and motionless as the trees of the sleeping forestaround them. They were contemplating the completeness of their triumph,grinning behind their masks.

  Flint saw his chance. Slowly, very slowly, his left arm, reared rigidlyabove his head, swayed backward; his body moved gently with his arm; hiseyes never left the two mysterious mounted men.

  He felt his middle finger crowned by a cool ring. It was the muzzle ofhis precious Colt. One grasp, and at least he would be armed.

  He turned his wrist for the snatch, gazing steadily all the while at thetwo vague shadows of men. Another second--and a barrel winked in thestarlight, to gleam steadily as it covered Flint's broad chest. He whohad called upon them to throw up their hands spoke again; his voiceseemed to come from the muzzle of the levelled rifle.

  "Stretch an inch more, you on the near-side, and you're the last deadman."

  Flint shrugged his shoulders. The game was lost. There was no more needto lose his head than if the game had been won. There was no need at allto lose his life.

  "I give you best," said he, without the least emotion in hisextraordinary voice.

  "Fold your arms and come down," said the man with the rifle, his fingeron the trigger.

  Flint did as he was ordered.

  "The same--you with the reins."

  Edmonstone's only answer was a stupefied stare.

  "Jump down, my friend, unless you want helping with this."

  Dick obeyed apathetically; he was literally dazed. At a sign from theman with the rifle he took his stand beside Flint; three paces in frontof the luckless pair shone the short barrel of the Winchester repeater.The other robber had dismounted, and was standing at the horses' heads.

  In this position, a moment's silence fell upon the four men, to bebroken by the coarse, grating laughter of a fifth. Edmonstone turned hishead, saw another horseman issuing from the trees, and at oncerecognised the burly figure of the traveller who had borrowed hismatch-box less than an hour before. At that moment, and not until then,Dick Edmonstone realised the situation. It was desperate; all was lost!The lad's brain spun like a top: reason fled from it; his hand clutchednervously at the pocket where the money was, and he swore in his heartthat if that went, his life might go with it.

  In another instant the hairy ruffian had ridden his horse close up toEdmonstone, whipped his foot from the stirrup, and kicked the youngsterplayfully in the chest--on that very spot which his thoughtless gesturehad betrayed.

  At this the other bushrangers set up a laugh--a short one.

  With a spring like a young leopard, Dick Edmonstone had the big horsemanby the beard, and down they came to the ground together. There, in thesand, they rolled over each other, locked in mortal combat--writhing,leaping, twisting, shifting--so that the leader of the band, though hepointed his rifle at the struggling men, dared not fire, for fear ofhitting the wrong one. But there came a moment when the strugglingceased, when Flint sprang forward with a hoarse cry on his lips andSundown took careless aim with the Winchester.

  Dick Edmonstone was lying on his back with white, upturned face. Twocrushing weights pinned down each arm below the shoulder; his adversarywas kneeling on him with grinding teeth and a frightful face, and onehand busy at his belt. His hand flew up with a gleam. It was at thatmoment that the man with the rifle raised it and fired.

  The bearded ruffian shook his hand as though hit, and the haft of aknife slipped from it; the bullet had carried away the blade. With acurse he felt for his revolver.

  "Don't be a fool, Jem Pound," said the marksman quietly, lowering hissmoking piece. "Before you bring the lot of us to the gallows, I'll puta bullet through your own fat head. Get up, you big fool! Cut the mokesadrift, and turn everything out of the wagon."

  The man Pound rose sulkily, with a curious last look at the youngEnglishman's throat, and hell-fire in his little eyes.

  "Ben, watch this cove," the chief went on, pointing to Flint, "and watchhim with the shooter. I'll see to the youngster myself. Come here, myfriend."

  The speaker was plainly no other than the rascal who called himselfSundown; the hawkers heard the sobriquet on the lips of the other maskedman, and their glances met. He was wrapped in a cloak that hid him fromhead to heels, stooped as he walked, and was amply masked. What struckFlint--who was sufficiently cool to remain an attentive observer--wasthe absence of vulgar bluster about this fellow; he addressedconfederates and captives alike in the same quiet, decisive tones,without either raising his voice to a shout or filling the air withoaths. It appeared that Ned Kelly had not been the last of the realbushrangers, after all.

  "You come along with me," said he, quietly; and drew Dick aside,pointing at him the rifle, which he grasped across the breech, with afinger still upon the trigger.

  "Now," continued Sundown, when they had withdrawn a few yards into thescrub, "turn out that pocket." He tapped Edmonstone on the chest withthe muzzle of the rifle.

  Dick folded his arms and took a short step backward.

  "Shoot me!" he exclaimed, looking the robber full in the face. "Why didyou save me a minute ago? I prefer to die. Shoot me, and have done withit."

  "Open your coat," said the bushranger.

  Edmonstone tore open not only his coat, but his shirt as well, thusbaring his chest.

  "There. Shoot!" he repeated hoarsely.

  Sundown stared at the boy with a moment's curiosity, but paid no heed tohis words.

  "Empty that pocket."

  Dick took out the pocket-book that contained all the funds of the firm.

  "Open it."

  Dick obeyed.

  "How much is in it?"

  "A hundred and thirty pounds."

  "Good! Cheques!"

  "More notes."

  The robber laughed consumedly.

  "Take them, if you are going to," said Dick, drawing a deep breath.

  Sundown did take them--pocket-book and all--still covering his man withthe rifle. The moon was rising. In the pale light the young fellow'sface was ghastly to look upon; it had the damp pallor of death itself.The bushranger eyed it closely, and half-dropped the bushranger'smanner.

  "New chum, I take it!"

  "What of that?" returned Dick bitterly.

  "And not long set up shop?"

  Dick made no answer. Sundown stepped forward and gripped his shoulder.

  "Say, mate, is this hundred and odd quid so very much to you?"

  Still no answer.

  "On oath, now: is it so very much?"

  Dick looked up wildly.

  "Much? It is everything. You have robbed me of all I have! You havesaved my life when I'd as soon lose it with my money. Yes, it's all Ihave in the world, since you want to know! Do you want to madden me, youcur? Shoot me--shoot, I tell you. If you don't I'll make you!" And theyoung madman clenched his fist as he spoke.

  That instant he felt himself seized by the neck and pushed forward, witha ring of cold steel pressing below his ear.

  "Here you--Jem Pound--have your revenge and bind this cub. Bind tight,but fair, for I'm watching you."

  In five minutes the blood would scarcely circulate in a dozen differentparts of Edmonstone's body; he was bound as tightly as vindictivevillain could bind him, to the off hind-wheel of his own wagon. Sundownstood by with the rifle, and saw it done.

  Flint had already been bound to the near hind-wheel, so that thepartners were lashed back to back--both able to watch their propertylooted at the rear of the wagon, but unable to exchange glances.

  Sundown strolled about during the operation, which his subordinatesco
nducted with deepening disgust, till he returned and asked what theyhad got.

  "Precious little," was the answer. "Stock sold out--boxes mostly empty."

  Nevertheless some few varieties of bush merchandise strewed the ground,and hats, boots, and pipes were quickly selected by Jem Pound and theman addressed as Ben; though as for Sundown, he seemed content with asupply of smoking materials, and, indeed, to be more or less preoccupiedwhile the plunder went forward. At length, at a word from him, the othermen mounted their horses, while their leader walked round to where Flintwas spread-eagled against the wheel.

  "Is there anything you want before we go?" the bushranger inquired, ascivilly as you please.

  "Yes," said Flint; "I want you to fill my pipe, stick it in my mouth,and put a match to it, if you will be so good."

  The other laughed, but complied with the full request before turning hisattention to young Edmonstone.

  "As for you," he said, "here's your pocket-book. I couldn't take such atreasure from you. Better keep it in memory of the fortune (the immensefortune of a hundred and thirty pounds) it once contained. Not that Ihave quite emptied it, though; I may be a devil, but I never clean a manout quite; so you'll find enough left to get you a night's lodging andsome tucker. And--and don't forget old Sundown altogether; you may beable to put in a good word for him some day!"

  These last words, though spoken after a pause, were thrown off lightlyenough; yet somehow they were unlike the rest that had gone before.Before their sound had died away Sundown was in his saddle, and thesound of horses galloping through the scrub was growing faint and faraway.

  Flint was the first to free himself. It took him hours. His teeth ached,his fingers bled, before the last knot that bound his hands was undone.His knife quickly did the rest.

  He went straight to Edmonstone, who had not spoken since the gangdecamped. Flint found him pale and cold, with a very hard expressionupon his face. Dick allowed himself to be set free without aword--without so much as an intelligent glance.

  The horses could be heard munching bits of bushes close at hand. Theywere easily caught. Nor was it a difficult task to a ready-handed fellowlike Flint to splice the traces, which the bushrangers had cut.

  The crestfallen partners were on the point of reentering the wagon, whenFlint saw the pocket-book lying where it had been dropped.

  "Better take it," said Flint sorrowfully.

  In utter apathy Dick picked it up.

  "Wouldn't you see if they've cleaned it entirely?" suggested Flint.

  With listless fingers Edmonstone withdrew the elastic and opened thepocket-book.

  By this time the moon had mounted high in the clear southern sky; by herpure white rays they might have read small print. Flint's heart smotehim; it was by his doing they had carried so many notes, through a fadof his about opening their banking account with hard cash; at chequesthe bushrangers might easily have turned up their noses, as bushrangershad done before. But now, as it was--poor, poor young devil!

  A cry broke the silence, and rang out loud and wild upon the still nightair. It came from Flint's side. He turned to find his companiontottering and trembling.

  Dick Edmonstone had dropped the pocket-book, and was nervously countinga roll of crisp, crackling papers.

  "They are all here!--all! all!" he whispered in a strange, broken voice.

  "Never!"

  "Yes, all--all! Only think of it; our fortune is not lost, afterall--it's made--the key to it is in my hand again! Jack, the fellow hadpity on me. No, I mean on us. I don't mean to be selfish, Jack; it'sshare and share alike, between you and me, and always will be. But ifyou knew--if you knew! Jack, I'll put in that good word for him--I'llmake it more than words, if ever I get the chance! For I do owe himsomething," said the poor fellow, carried away by reaction andexcitement, so that his breaking voice trembled between sobs andlaughter. "I do owe that Sundown something. God bless him--that's all_I_ say."

  But Flint said nothing at all; he was much too amazed for words.