The Bushranger's Secret

by Albert Bigelow Paine

  CHAPTER IX.

  FACING DEATH

  Lumley paused a moment before answering that last speech of Gray's.Then his tone was mild and smooth.

  "What's the good of talking like that, mate? But just look there." Hepointed to his foot again as he spoke. "Does it look as if 'twouldcarry me half a dozen miles? Or a mile? Or a couple of yards? AndI've hurt my side as well. Broke a rib or two, maybe. I triedcrawlin' a while ago, but I couldn't even manage that. I'm no betterthan a log--only fit for the crows, partner. What's the good of waterto me when I can't get at it?"

  His tone was so mild and reasonable that Gray felt no difficulty inanswering him.

  "But half a dozen miles is nothing to me. Give me that bottle. I'llbe back before sunrise." He paused a moment, and then as he saw theexpression in the other's face he added impetuously, "I swear it. Goodheavens, Lumley, you don't think I would desert you? You don't thinkthat?"

  The fury that had once or twice swept away Lumley's coolness had comeupon him again, and he no longer cared to restrain it. He liftedhimself, shaking one clenched fist towards Gray.

  "Do you think I'd trust you for a single minute, you smooth-tonguedhypocrite!" he screamed. "You'd be glad enough to leave me lyin' here,wouldn't you? But you're not going to get the chance, Mr. GentlemanGray. We'll stick together, like partners should. The crows sha'n'tfeast on me alone, I'll tell you that."

  Gray made no attempt to answer him just then. When Lumley stoppedspeaking and sank back with a groan of pain on the sand, Gray turnedand walked away a few paces, and stood trying to get some mastery overthe trembling sick misery that seemed ready to overpower him. Therewas no anger in his heart against the man whose deep, laboured breathshe could still hear behind him. It was only natural, Gray said tohimself, that he should believe him capable of deserting him. He haddeserved to be thought willing to commit even such a baseness as that.

  Yet if he could not convince Lumley that he was to be trusted, therewas nothing but death for both of them. Gray had felt incapable ofreasoning with his companion for the moment, incapable even of speech.He had felt ready to give up the struggle--to let it all end there.But as he stood fighting manfully with his weakness, strength came tohim--power to will and act as a brave man should. The far-offmoon-clear skyline, the stars faintly shining in the upper blue, thesolemn moonlight, the rustle of the wind in the dry grasses, all seemedto have a message for him--to whisper hope, to lift him out of himself,to give him courage to make another fight for life.

  He went back to Lumley, and sat down again where he had sat before.

  "Listen to me a moment, Lumley," he said. "You say you know wherewater is?"

  "_Say_ I know? I _do_ know, partner; you may lay your life to that,"responded Lumley harshly.

  He had been lying watching Gray, wondering what his next move would be.Gray's quiet manner was a surprise to him.

  "Very well, you do know. Now, I will tell you what I am going to do.I shall wait a few moments for you to tell me where it lies--"

  "You may wait a hundred years if you like," broke in Lumley with asavage look.

  "And then I mean to set off to try and find it for myself," went onGray, as if Lumley had not spoken. "You have told me too much if youdid not mean to tell me more. I shall walk six miles in one direction,and if I do not get in sight of the trees, I shall walk back and tryagain. I must hit upon them at last, you know."

  "You'd never do it," said Lumley scoffingly. "You're nigh beatalready. You'd die in your tracks."

  "You're wrong there," returned Gray, with a quiet confidence that hadits due effect on his companion. "I shall not be walking aimlessly,you see, and in this moonlight there's no fear of going over the sameground again. I am convinced I shall reach the water in time enoughfor myself. It is you who will probably suffer for keeping back theinformation you possess."

  "What d'ye mean by that?" broke from Lumley fiercely.

  "Just this," said Gray, keeping his glance steadily fixed upon him: "ifI could reach this water without delay I should be able to get back toyou with a supply; but if I wear out my strength in getting there, Imay not be able to get back to you in time. Surely you can see that?"

  Lumley glared at him like a trapped beast.

  "You're just the one to come back, ain't you?" he exclaimed. "A covewhat murdered his own mate for a bit of flimsy. You're one to betrusted, ain't you?"

  "You must believe that if you will," said Gray calmly. His voicefaltered as he went on after a momentary pause. "I betrayed mymate--the truest, best mate man ever had; but I'll be true to you,Lumley, if you'll give me the chance. I am not the man I was."

  The only answer Lumley vouchsafed to that was a harsh mocking laugh.Gray did not speak again, and they sat in silence for some moments,while Lumley dragged up his injured foot and rubbed it, keeping afurtive scrutiny on Gray's determined face. When he had first heardGray's call and answered it, he had not made up his mind as to whetherhe should trust him or no, and through their first talk he had waveredto and fro--now feeling ready to risk the chance that Gray would comeback to him, now savagely vowing within himself that they should bothdie, almost within sight of the water that would be life to them,rather than Gray should alone escape. At the last this savage mood hadconquered, and he had felt it impossible to trust Gray with hisprecious secret.

  But now he began to see clearly enough that he had outwitted himself.The trees were so near, and such a striking landmark, that Gray wascertain to find them if he had strength enough to persevere for somehours in the search; and that he had strength enough, Lumley could notbut believe as he looked at his quiet resolute face.

  The silence continued for some moments. It was broken by Gray.

  "I think I have given you time enough," he said, getting deliberatelyon his feet. "Now, which is it to be, Lumley? I shall start inanother moment."

  A fierce oath escaped Lumley's lips.

  "I'll not be left to rot here," he snarled out. "I'll walk it somehow.Give me your arm, partner."

  He made a clutch at it, and dragged himself slowly and painfully to hisfeet. The agony of movement turned Lumley's face to the clammy hue ofdeath, but he would not give way to the pain. He essayed to walkforward, but after the first step Gray stood still.

  "You can't do it, Lumley. It is madness to attempt it."

  Lumley glared at him for a moment, and then suddenly yielded.

  "You're right, partner; I'm beat. You've got the best of it this time.Now help me back again, and I'll tell you all I know."

  Gray helped him back to the hillock, and put his foot in as comfortablea position as possible.

  "I'll be back to you before many hours are over, Lumley. I'll make allthe haste I can," he said, his tone softened by a sudden pity for thedisabled man.

  Lumley looked up at him with implacable eyes.

  "Ill believe you when I see you, mate. But you've bested me all round,and I've got to trust you, you see."

  He dragged out the flat bottle from his pocket, and held it up to Gray.

  "Turn your back on the moon and walk straight on; and if I ever see youagain you're a bigger fool than I take you for."

  "I shall come back," Gray said briefly.

  He pocketed the bottle, and turned sharply away in the direction Lumleyhad pointed out.

  He was hardly conscious of fatigue as he pressed across the sandywaste. Even the torture of thirst had grown less since hope had cometo him. He hurried on with strong, eager footsteps, expecting everymoment to see the trees lift themselves against the sky. Once theterrible thought came to him that Lumley had been deceiving him all thetime, and his story of the water was a lie; but as he rememberedLumley's looks and words, and recalled the intensity of excitement inhis face when he had left him, he knew that there was indeed waterclose at hand. Then, again, when he seemed to have been walking for along time, and the horizon still lay before him bare and unbroken, hebegan to suspect that Lumley had wilfully misled h
im, and the water layin another direction.

  But it was almost immediately after this that his foot struck against ashrub, and looking down he saw he had come upon a banksia, a sign, ashe was bushman enough to know, that better country was close ahead.The green leaves of the pretty little shrub were a welcome sight, andit was shortly after passing this that he saw the tops of the cypressesbegin to show themselves against the sky-line, as the mast of a shiplifts first above the sea-line.

  Gray pushed on with renewed energy, and it was not long before he wasclose to the gloomy trees. A cloud of birds, the crows Lumley hadspoken of, rose from the trees as Gray approached, and flew screamingover his head. He listened to their harsh voices with a shudder, andhastily struck away to the left, where a low ridge crossed the plainand hid what lay beyond.

  It took him some time to reach and breast the ridge, and his strengthwas nearly at an end when he at last gained the top and looked down onthe shallow valley below. He could not see the shining stretch ofwater Lumley had spoken of, the valley was too thickly covered withshrubby undergrowth for that. But even in the moonlight Gray could seethat this undergrowth was densely green, and that the trees that sprangabove it were full of life and vigour.

  And as he descended the ridge he came upon a faint track through theunderwood--a native track, Gray felt sure, and one that led to thewater. He hurried along it, piercing deeper and deeper into the darkrecesses of the wood. But the darkness had no terrors for Gray. Hefelt the track under his feet, and pressed boldly onward, pushing awaythe interlacing boughs with his hands as he went. And presently therecame a faint light through the trees ahead, and in a few more steps hecame out into a little open space, and saw the reflection of themoonlight in a round, deeply-fringed pool close before him.

  For the moment he saw nothing but the glimmering sheen of that water.He flung himself down with a cry, and plunged his face in it. It wasstagnant, it was thick with mud and floating weeds, but it was fresh,and to Gray it was purest nectar. He had self-control enough left notto drink too much at once, but he lay by the side of the pool withhands and arms buried deep in it, utterly oblivious for the moment ofeverything but the mere physical delight the water brought to him.

  How long he lay there he never knew. He could never recall that timeexcept as a vague memory. He could remember breaking out of the woodand seeing the little moonlit pool before him, but after that it wasall confused. What brought him back to clear consciousness was amovement somewhere on the other side of the pool, where the branches ofa tree cast a flickering shadow on the grass. Gray started up, dizzyand trembling; but his first glance showed him what it was. His horsehad found its way to the water before him, drawn by some sure andmarvellous instinct, and now had drawn close again to the pool, gazingacross at its master with mild recognizing eyes.

  Gray cautiously approached it, fearing it might start away; but itshowed no desire to escape. It arched its neck and whinnied joyfullywhen Gray came close. It was evidently delighted to feel its master'shand again. Gray stood by its side, patting it and speaking to it,finding strange delight in its joyful welcome. The wallet containingthe money still hung at the saddle, with the rough bag in which Lumleyhad carried the food.

  Gray, standing by the horse, took out some food and hurriedly ate it.He would not trust himself to sit down again; he felt that sleep mightsuddenly overcome him unawares. When he had eaten a few morsels--hefound it too difficult to swallow to be able to eat much--he carefullyfilled the bottle he carried, and the larger bottle that was in the bagwith the food, drank a deep draught himself and allowed his horse todrink, and then, holding the horse by the bridle, he began to pick hisway along the path by which he had come.

  The horse followed him quietly; it was only when they emerged from thewood and began to ascend the slope of the ridge that it showed thefirst signs of unwillingness. Gray had to encourage it by voice andhand before he could prevail upon it to take the upward path.

  Gray was able to discern more clearly now how worn out the poorcreature was by all it had gone through. He felt an impulse once tolet it have its way, and let it remain in the valley, but he dismissedthe impulse at once. The horse was too useful, too necessary to bedispensed with.

  They reached the brow of the ridge, and there Gray rested for a while.He had not mounted the horse, he had determined to go on leading it forsome time longer at least. He doubted if it had strength left to carryhim. He stood beside the horse with the bridle in his hand, and lookeddown upon the vast plain stretching away from the foot of the ridge.

  Up to that point Gray, since finding the horse, had actedinstinctively, almost as an automaton might act. He was so worn out,so numb with privation and fatigue, that he had not gone in thoughtbeyond the present moment. But now it was as if a cloud had liftedfrom his brain; he saw the whole position in a glance. What had beenhis heart's dearest wish was fulfilled for him. All he had coveted,all he had betrayed his mate Harding to get, was at last within hisgrasp. He had but to turn his horse's head away from that silent,secret-keeping bush, and the gold was safely his.

  Gray did not thrust the thought from him; he let his mind dwell uponit, he regarded it steadily; for his eyes had been opened to see inwhat the real happiness and worth of life consisted. Through sufferingand humiliation he had learnt to measure things at their right value.In contact with a man who had deliberately chosen evil to be his goodhe had been taught what evil meant. The temptation that had once beentoo strong for him was no longer a temptation. He could see the fullbaseness of it now. Better death, better open confession and adishonoured name, than life and honour bought by treachery and guile.

  The trees stood up dark and funereal against the cloudless sky. Hispath lay beneath them, and on towards the moonlit east.

  "Come, we must start, old fellow," Gray said to the reluctant horse,and he began to descend the slope of the ridge.