by Alison Lloyd
Jem leaned into his dad’s side. He could feel the heavy hopelessness in his dad’s voice. But there was a nugget of love in it too. Jem desperately wanted to tell his dad everything – especially the last part of the plan. But he couldn’t, not in front of these people. He put his face in Horatio’s fur.
‘Isn’t that the ruddy pup from the Captain’s stables?’ said Mr Blain.
‘Does the Captain want her?’ Jem’s dad asked politely.
Alfie gasped.
No! thought Jem. He couldn’t bear to lose Horatio after all this.
‘Not bloody likely,’ said Mr Blain. ‘She’s supposed to be dead.’
Horatio growled at the overseer again. She was very much alive and Jem was not going to let her out of sight. She was worth all the treasure in the world. He would give his life rather than let the Captain have her. He held the puppy up to his dad.
‘This is Horatio,’ he said. ‘She’s our dog now. She’ll be as good as the Old Girl. But we’ve got to watch her, cos she’ll eat anything.’
Jem’s dad ran a hand over her head.
‘I better follow the Captain,’ he said.
Down the hill, Captain Ross had mounted his horse. He kicked the horse’s sides viciously. The horse started forward. But the Captain didn’t. Instead his whole saddle tipped slowly sideways. It upended the Captain on the ground like a sack of dirty potatoes. The strap that Jem had worked on in the stable had finally broken. Even Jem’s dad turned away so the Captain didn’t see him smile.
16
Four weeks later, Jem and his dad came to the Station, with Horatio at their heels. Tommy saw them coming and whistled to Alfie.
Mr Blain and the Captain watched them from the verandah.
Horatio jumped all over Alfie and Tommy.
‘Hello, pup!’ Alfie said. ‘You’ve grown. Cheese must be good for you.’
Jem grinned. In Horatio’s round, cheese-stuffed stomach, she had guarded the pick of Westwood’s loot. Their plan had been stinky, but it had worked. ‘Good for all of us,’ he said.
‘But never again,’ said Jem’s dad, ‘or I’ll tan your hides.’ He gave his son a soft whack on the backside.
Then, with his new hat on his head, Jem’s dad strode onto the verandah. The Captain frowned in surprise.
‘I came to introduce myself,’ Jem’s dad said to the Captain. ‘We’re your new neighbours. We bought part of that big run along the river.’
It was the run Alfie had seen advertised in the newspaper. After Horatio deposited the loot, Jem and his dad had been up to Sydney to buy the land. Now it was Jem’s and his dad’s, thanks to William Westwood. Just a small run, with a future long enough to last Jem’s lifetime.
Captain Ross did not invite his new neighbours in. Without a word, he retreated inside his house and slammed the door.
Not that Jem or his dad cared. Their run included the fort, so Jem invited Alfie and Tommy up there instead.
They lay on the high, sunny rock, with Horatio stretched out at their feet,
‘Here’s your share of Westwood’s loot,’ Jem said. He put a gold ring into each of their palms.
Alfie’s eyes went wide, and he put the ring safely in his pocket.
‘Thank you, Jem,’ he said. ‘That will help pay for my education to be an engineer.’
Jem rolled his eyes. ‘It’s yours to spend on whatever you like, Alfie. As long as you come and build machines on our run.’
Tommy, however, handed his ring back to Jem.
‘No good for me,’ he said. ‘Only make trouble with that Captain. Can’t eat it, anyhow.’
‘Oh.’ Jem was disappointed.
‘But,’ said Tommy, ‘that land we can share. Live on it together. Share some good tucker too.’
‘Deal,’ said Jem, shaking hands with Tommy.
‘What a business,’ said Alfie. ‘I mean, the whole Westwood business.’ And the three of them relived the story, ending with the fire-fight.
Tommy grinned. ‘Captain Ross, he looked like a bunyip,’ he said. ‘Real ugly!’
‘Yeah,’ Jem agreed. ‘We won the crappiest battle in history.’
The boys laughed so hard they rolled on the ground holding their stomachs. And Horatio jumped on them all, panting smelly, happy dog breath in their faces.
Jem felt the gold ring, hard in his palm. He would never again have to do what Captain Ross told him. He would never be so alone as that first night on the Station. He had more than a run. He had his dad, he had mates, and a pup. And William Westwood was still free, ranging the bush.
The bushranger’s boys had triumphed. They were a real flash gang.
Long, long ago there was a Lloyd who fought on the losing side at the Battle of Hastings, in 1066. I wasn’t there myself, of course, but I do love castles, forts, ruins and history. I grew up mostly in Australia, in a new house in a new suburb of Canberra, not far from the Monaro plains. Canberra had no castles, but it did have plenty of bush and rocks to explore. It wasn’t until I was writing this book that I discovered bushrangers had once roamed the same area, and indigenous Australians before that.
Barking irons:
Guns – so-called because they were very noisy and made of iron Dray:
A large, heavy cart without sides
Bolter:
A runaway convict Flash:
Smart, attractive – but also used ironically to mean criminal
Cobber:
Mate Government man:
A convict
Coolamon:
A wooden dish used by Aboriginal people to carry water, food or babies Goongee:
Ngarigo word for a shelter made of bark, also called a gunyah or mia-mia in other parts of Australia
Cove:
Bloke, fellow
Mirigan:
Ngarigo word for dog or tame dingo Tucker:
Food
Mob:
A herd of sheep or cattle, or an Aboriginal tribe or family group Yelp:
Complain or grizzle
Mumugandi:
Ngarigo word for bogong moths Yabber:
Talk (in ‘Pidgin’ a made-up language combining English and Aboriginal words)
Station:
A homestead and farm with sheep or cattle Yarraman:
Pidgin for horse
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Published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2014
Text copyright © Alison Lloyd, 2014
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted.
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Cover and internal design by Tony Palmer
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Cover illustrations copyright © Guy Shield
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ISBN: 978-1-74253-853-2
The Publisher would like to thank Jocelyn Pride and the boys from Scotch College, Melbourne, for their assistance in providing feedback on this story.
THE BEGINNING
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