by Mark Stewart
“WHY DID you tell them to take everything?” moaned Barry.
Dan strained against the rope which secured him to the tree. His confident facial expression vanished, replaced by a look of pure evil. Revenge seemed permanently impregnated into his mind and forever glued to his lips. He started to tremble from head to feet in rage.
“I wanted to convince them we’re a soft touch. I’m itching for a fight. When we escape from these ropes, we’ll track them down. I can assure you, brother; we’ll take back more than what they stole from us. I want their land, their money, their horses, cows, sheep, and anything else of value. I want it all. Mark my words once I have everything they own I want their lives. Brother, there is no way I’m having the gold, the money including the time I took in the planning of the robbery to have the loot slip through our fingers. The money is going to see us through for the remainder of our lives. The minute I set my gaze on the shiela from the train I knew she was trouble. Seeing how she came looking for a fight, I’m going to give it to her.”
“I’m backing you all the way,” roared Barry.
Dan leaned forward, straining his torso against the rope. He frantically darted his head from side to side scouring the area around the tree looking for something to cut through the rope. Sitting back against the tree he looked exhausted.
“The woman must think she’s so clever in the way she cleared the bush around the tree. There’s nothing I can use to cut the rope.”
“Brother, revenge has clouded your eyes. If you look towards me, the tree has a rough edge where a kangaroo must have broken off a low branch. The wood has dried making the stub look sharp. If I could move, I’d wriggle sideways. The black man tied the rope so tight around my waist I feel any sudden movement will saw me in half.”
Dan spied the wooden outcrop only inches from his left wrist. He shuffled painfully slow towards it. A full minute ticked past before he could position the rope on the wooden stub. He looked at Barry. His frown vanished.
“We’ll teach the woman a new meaning of clever the moment we find her.”
Dan furiously set to work by jigging up and down. The strands which made up the outer layer of the rope started to snap. Several times he stopped, completely exhausted. The moment his strength returned he again attacked the rope.
“By the looks of things you might be there quite a while,” stated Barry assessing the work.
“I don’t care how long it takes I have one goal in mind. I’m more than determined to reach it.”
Forty-five minutes later Dan finally pulled his arms free of the rope. For several minutes, he leaned his back against the tree unable to move. Slowly blood flowed freely through the veins in his arms. The numbness in his hands diminished. Slowly standing he faced his brother, whispering through gritted teeth.
“I can smell our money. I’ll have you free in a minute.”
Grabbing a small rough rock at the edge of the un-cleared area Dan marched back to his brother. In a few minutes, he’d successfully scraped the rope away from his arms.
“Barry, let’s go. Remember whatever the woman owns will soon be ours.”
“Any ideas on where to start looking?” asked Barry uncoiling his aching muscles.
Dan pointed to the badly damaged scrub. “I reckon they rode North towards the river. At any rate, five horses walking through the scrub will leave a rather large mess. I’m sure we’ll come across someone sooner or later who has seen the woman and the black man travelling together.”
Dan and Barry scurried up the hill. Even in the dark, they found the trail easy to follow. By mid afternoon, they came across a campsite in a small clearing. The bushrangers spied a man busying himself lighting a small fire between four piles of stones. Barry and Dan burst through the bush, bailing the man up.
“Have you seen a white woman and a black man travelling through here, five horses in tow?” asked Dan.
“Yes, I saw them at breakfast. They were looking for food. I needed a horse. We exchanged.”
“Did they happen to say where they were going?” asked Barry.
“They said they were travelling north to a sheep station three hours west of Bendigo. You two look a might tired. I’m about to make rabbit stew; you’re more than welcome to stay. I have plenty.”
“Thanks for the invite, we’re starving,” shrieked Barry.
Dan walked over to the grey mare. He patted the beast on the neck, pulled a Smith and Wesson from the old timer’s saddle bag, stuffing it deep into his back pocket. “The animal is a mighty fine looking horse.”
“Sure is,” replied the old timer. “When I arrive in Bendigo I’ll be selling her to the highest bidder. Should fetch me a few pounds I reckon.”
Dan faked a grin at the old timer before walking over to join his brother squatting at the fire.
The two bushrangers created idle chit-chat. They told a few one line jokes and helped the old timer to prepare the meal. The three ate, devouring almost the entire meal. The old timer threw the leftover scraps onto the fire then cracked open a whisky bottle.
Each man drank a third.
“We have to be going,” urged Dan, his words sounding slightly slurred.
“It’s getting late, do you want to stay till sun up?”
Dan stood. Hovering over the old man he pulled the Smith and Wesson from his back pocket.
“I showed you friendship. I don’t deserve to be shot dead.”
“The rabbit tasted tuff,” mocked Barry, standing.
Dan aimed the gun at the man’s chest. He pulled the trigger. Wearing a sly grin, he watched the old man crumble to the ground. “Barry, let’s ride.”
Both men mounted the old timer’s horse. The old man opened his dying eyes. At a snail’s pace, he pulled a small gun from behind his back, aiming it the best he could at the closest man. On his last breath, he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN