Pals: Young Australians in Sport and Adventure

by Carol Norton

  *CHAPTER III*

  *A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER*

  "_Falstaff_: I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen ofthem two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight timesthrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cutthrough; my sword hacked like a handsaw _ecce signum_. I never dealtbetter since I was a man; all would not do."--SHAKESPEARE, _Henry IV_.

  Joe had barely made his explanations before the rumbling of theapproaching cart was heard. It was the Royal Mail starting on itsadventurous trip.

  "Time to be off, pals!" cried the leader. "Now then, Hawkeye, whip 'emup."

  Off started the trio, Thundercloud, Hawkeye, and Red Murphy; eachdelivering a blood-curdling yell which rang up and down the street, asthey passed through it at a smart canter. It had never fallen to thelot of horse, before, to bear upon its back at the same time three suchferocious outlaws, bent on so diabolical an errand. Behind them, and ata slower pace, came the Royal Mail goatcart, drawn by four strongbillies, skilfully driven by coachman Jimmy, and attended by TrooperBilly astride his cud-chewing steed.

  After leaving the township the road skirted the river for a mile or so,then, crossing a plank bridge, bore away to the hills. The silver moonshone from the clear sky through the pure air, making the tree shadowsas they lay across the road to resemble fallen timber. The nocturnal'possum, having ventured to the ground to feed upon the tender grass,scudded up the trees, frightened by the rumbling vehicle and the baaingsteeds. The thud of paddy-melon[#] and wallaby could be distinctlyheard, as they smote the earth in their jumping movements; while fromthe heights of some lofty tree the mopoke[#] tolled his mournful cry.

  [#] "Paddy-melon," a small marsupial or pouch-bearing mammal.

  [#] "Mopoke," the Australian crested goat-sucker.

  The coach had now passed the three-mile creek, and still there was nosound of disturbing element. The coachman and trooper, havingintelligence to the effect that the 'rangers were "out," and hadthreatened to "stick" up the gold-escort, were on the _qui vive_. Theysurmised that the attack would come in the scrub-belt, and about thespot where the creek intersected. Here the tall, overhanging trees,interlaced as they were with a thick vinous growth, effectually barredthe moon's rays.

  It was the ideal spot for ambush, and the hearts of the boys beatfaster, and a nervous apprehension amounting to fear seized them, asthey passed among the shadows. Everything had a distorted appearance,and again and again they trembled, as it were, on the verge of attack.They had chatted freely until the darkness of the scrub closed in uponthem. Under its oppression, and by reason of the dread uncertainty,what had before seemed to be only a prime lark now presented itself as agrim reality.

  They drove on slowly now, conversing only in whispers, for the nightsilences, the deepening shadows, and the unseen before them, allcontributed to the mental mood which affected the boys. The creek banksand bed, save for a solitary moon-ray which silvered the rippling water,were enwrapped in thick darkness. Pulling up at the brink, the boysheld a short conversation.

  "Goin' ter cross, Jimmy?"

  "I--I--s'pose so, Billy. Measly black ahead, ain't it?"

  "You're not frightened, are you?"

  "Wot! me? No fear! Y'are yourself!"

  "I like that! Wot's to be frightened of?"

  Yet the boys, if truth be told, were a good deal alarmed by the unwonteddarkness and stillness.

  "Well, s'pose we'd better be gettin' on. Don't care how soon we gitouter this hole. You cross ahead, Billy, an' do a bit o' scoutin'.I'll wait here till you git up the bank on the other side."

  Yellow Billy didn't like the prospect, and would have proposed turningback, but was afraid of being called a coward. Therefore, despite anapprehension of the darkness, accentuated by his aboriginal strain, andvery much against his will, the half-caste plunged down the creek bed,and mounted the other side without let or hindrance, greatly to hissurprise and relief.

  But where are the 'rangers?

  Of them the darkness gave no token and the silence is unbroken. Jimmyhad some difficulty in getting his leaders to tackle the creek. It wasonly after he left the cart, seized their heads, and half-dragged theminto the water that he effected his purpose. The scrub thinned outshortly after passing the creek, and the spirits of the boys rose withthe increasing moonlight.

  "They missed a grand charnce at the crick, Billy!"

  "By dad, they did that! I wonder where they are. P'raps they've givenus the slip."

  The road took a sudden turn just here, leading over a rocky ridge. At afarther sharp turn, under the lee of a bank, a big log lay across theroad.

  "Hello, here's a go, Jimmy! You'll have to drive round. No! you can'tdo that. Wait a moment an' I'll----"

  "Bail up!"

  The cry, crisp and startling, rang out, as three figures darted from theshadow of a huge tree which stood near. Thundercloud, the leader of theband of bushrangers, pointed his gun at the driver. Hawkeye made a dashat the trooper, while Red Murphy seized hold of the leading billies.

  "Hands up!" cried Thundercloud in the highest style of bushranging."Your money or your life!"

  Trooper Billy was not disposed to yield without a struggle, and at thefirst cry he whipped out his pistol, firing at his aggressor pointblank, missing the leader but hitting his confederate, Hawkeye, whotumbled down with a loud squeal, as unlike an Indian war-whoop as it ispossible to imagine. Simultaneously, Thundercloud discharged his gun atJimmy the coachman, who, instead of putting his hands up at thechallenge, began to lash the billies, and had just turned them off thelog, when--pop, crash! went the two weapons.

  And now the unforeseen occurred. The steer and the billies bolted!Down the ridge and along the road they dashed at breakneck speed; thesteer roaring and kicking, the four strong billies baaing, and neitherdriver nor rider could control the brutes. Away they scurried along therough bush-track, the cart bumping and rocking over the ruts; every jumpof the trap bringing a fresh bleat from the fear-stricken goats.

  After racing along for nearly a mile and finding his steed unmanageable,getting frightened too, Yellow Billy slipped over the stern, and by goodluck dropped upon his feet. It was different with Jimmy, who gallantlyhung on to the billies. The creek was what he most feared, and it wasvery close now. He had, however, got a pull on the beasts, and theywere slackening a little, but, as ill-luck would have it, on going downa gully one of the wheels caught a tree root, and in a jiffy capsizedthe cart, sending the driver head over heels into a clump of bracken.

  The incident gave fresh impetus to the runaways, who rushed on baaing;dashing at length down the steep incline of the creek, the cart righteditself as it tumbled adown the gradient. They tore over the stream andup the bank, finally leaving the track, and getting boxed up in thescrub.

  After lying in a stunned condition for a few minutes, Jimmy scrambledup. But the moment he put his weight on his right foot he let out ayell, caused by the terrific pain that shot through his ankle. It wasunbearable, and he tumbled down in an almost fainting condition.

  Meanwhile the outlaws stood aghast at the unexpected and startling turnof events. Thundercloud was the first to recover his speech.

  "Great Caesar! who would have dreamt of a bolt? Just listen to thebrutes!" as the animals tore along, baaing and roaring in a way possibleonly to frightened billies and calves.

  "I--I--didn't know he'd loaded his pistol. I--I--I thought for sure Iwas a goon coon," gasped Hawkeye, who, after lying for a minute underthe impression that he was mortally wounded, got up, rubbing his faceand head, half terrified as his hands became wet with flowing blood, andonly reassured after Joe had declared that the blood was from his nose.As a matter of fact, he had sustained a smart blow upon his prominentfeature with the pistol wad; his cheeks, also, were scorched with thepowder flare.

  Red Murphy, who had just grasped the billies' heads when the guns werefired, was thrown down in th
eir mad rush, and had his shins severelybarked on the rocky ground.

  "Drat the brutes! Oh, I say, here's a go! Listen to the beggars!Ain't they footin' it?"

  "To horse! to horse, pals!" cried Thundercloud, making hasty strides toa patch of scrub where they had tied up the horse. In a few seconds thethree were mounted and away with a swinging canter, adding their yellsto the cries of the beasts. They were soon up to the spot where Jimmyhad come to grief, when, thundering down the gully, the horse made a shyat the prostrate coachman, shooting off Thundercloud and Red Murphy.They scrambled up quickly, none the worse for their spill. Hawkeyeimmediately reined in his steed and rejoined his dismounted companions.

  The boys were greatly concerned to find Jimmy in this condition. Theaffair began to assume a serious aspect. They were no longer outlaws andpolice: they were pals, and Jimmy was suffering intense pain from hissprained ankle. After a short consultation the boy was placed on thehorse, which was led by Sandy. The others followed behind, making asomewhat mournful spectacle. In due course they reached the goatcart,now in possession of Yellow Billy, who had disentangled the team and waswaiting for the others to come along. The steer meanwhile continued hiscareer at headlong speed, until he pulled up at the milking yards in anexhausted condition. Mrs. Blain, as the hours sped by, began to getconcerned at the non-return of the boys. Concern deepened into anxiety.She became a prey to evil imaginings, as do all our dear mothers. Theyare lost! ... Some dreadful accident has happened! ... That gun! ...Their legs, arms, necks, are broken! And so on and on, running over thewhole gamut of catastrophy.

  She goes out to scan the streets, and listens with strained ears forsome enheartening sound of footsteps. Lights are out in the village.Even the dogs are sleeping. No shuffle of advancing feet; no rattle ofwheels as they grind in the ruts: no sound, indeed, is borne upon thenight wind save the mystic noises of the flowing river, which fill theair with a deep undertone. Above this, at intervals, come the splashingsounds of the jumping fish; the smooth splash of the falling mullet, thetail flutter of the rising perch. The wood-duck's soft quack-quack, andthe red-bill's chuckle, are to be heard as they move among the sedges.No landward sound!

  Stay! a dark shadow swiftly steals along the earth like a spirit of evilomen, and passes through the house, across the street, as it strikes thewalls. While from above comes a wail as that of a lost soul.

  The poor woman quivers and shivers at the unwonted sight and sound. Sheknows not that the apparition is the shadow of a black swan, which issailing high up in the heavens; it crosses the moon, and utters itsmelancholy note as it wings its flight to the feeding grounds. Themother is now on the outskirts of the town, under the shadows of thetrees. Every leaf is a tongue; every tongue whispers--Something! whichdries the throat and fills the ears with heart-thumps. "Why did I? ...That gun! ... What will father? ... Why don't they come? ... Whichtrack? ... Hark! Yes, 'tis the galloping hoofs ... Oh, God! it is thesteer! ... Riderless! ... This way, then.... On, on, on! ... At last!..."

  "Cheer up, mother ... no harm done ... Jimmy had a bit of a buster an'sprained his ankle.... Scold us, mother, but--don't cry!"

  The hour is verging on midnight as five weary lads, four billies, onehorse, and one thankful woman straggled into the silent township. Allromance, for the moment, had gone out of bushranging.