Daughter of the Murray

by Darry Fraser

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she said, Douglas dancing under her.

  ‘Dismount,’ he directed as he slipped off MacNamara. ‘That stable boy said there might be bushrangers out here and I think he was right.’

  Georgina dismounted and held Douglas’s reins tightly in her hands. MacNamara danced on the spot, and Douglas shied at him, bumping his hind quarters. Georgina shushed them both.

  The riders slowed their approach and Dane felt Georgina step closer to him.

  ‘Take MacNamara’s reins and mount up.’ He handed her the reins. ‘If I yell, bolt out of here and back to town. Do you understand?’ He pressed her hands in his, a brief squeeze of encouragement.

  ‘Yes.’ She swung into MacNamara’s saddle. She edged the horse as close to Dane as possible, but he was feigning concern at Douglas’s fetlock.

  ‘Try to look like a boy, would you?’ he muttered between his teeth and handed her up his hat. She crammed it onto her head.

  The horsemen, eight or so, were only a couple of hundred yards away. As they pulled kerchiefs up over their faces they bent low on their mounts and, as one, rushed forward in a gallop.

  ‘Get going. Run for it,’ Dane barked.

  ‘Dane—’ Her eyes met his.

  ‘I’ll head away, then turn back to Echuca. Go.’

  Still she hesitated but he cracked MacNamara hard on the rump. The horse darted forward. She turned him sharply and took off but not before Dane swung onto Douglas’s back. He galloped in the other direction.

  Georgie flew across the open country, Dane’s hat lost in the first couple of leaps. MacNamara pulled harder with every stride, and with her encouragement he unleashed a surge of power. She hugged his neck as they raced back to Echuca. She didn’t even turn to look behind her—the gang of riders would not chase her into town, and if they attempted to, she would easily outrun them.

  It was too late to do anything for Dane even if she could have helped. She would notify the police at Echuca and let them handle it.

  He will be all right … he will be all right …

  The township came up quickly and her only thought was to get to the police, then to the wharf as soon as possible. She’d won her reprieve—her next stop would be Conor Foley.

  She galloped hard into the main street, shouting for directions to the police station. Pedestrians jumped out of her way, waving their arms in alarm, others pointed her further north. She hauled up at the little police station, dismounted, threw the reins around a veranda pole and burst into the office. She stood taking in great gulps of air.

  Two men, seated on either side of a sturdy desk, stared at her. One wore a uniform and the other, a blond-haired man, was in shirtsleeves and trousers.

  ‘You must—’

  ‘Speak when you’re spoken to, boy.’ The uniformed trooper’s pinched face soured at her.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a boy, sergeant,’ the blond-haired man said. ‘Miss, Sergeant Love here will help—’

  Georgie waved her arms. ‘I don’t have time to be polite— I—we were riding just out of town. Bushrangers—’

  ‘Bushrangers?’ Sergeant Love shot out of his seat.

  The other man frowned. ‘Close to town? Which direction?’

  ‘South.’ She was still breathless. ‘And they’re after my—my brother.’

  The blond man strode out the door, across the narrow veranda and onto the dusty main road.

  The sergeant followed, grabbing his hat on the way out. ‘Now, Harry, wait for a couple of us troop—’

  ‘Get moving, man,’ Harry shouted over his shoulder. ‘We may be able to catch them up.’

  Georgie ran outside and watched as the two men shouted orders into the street. The blond man leapt onto a waiting horse tied up out the front, and galloped down the street, shouting names. Men, uniformed and otherwise, poured out of a few shops and the hotel, mounted horses and followed him at a gallop out of town.

  It happened so fast she didn’t realise she was free.

  Yet she was. They were gone.

  But wait—she glimpsed the blond man ride back into town via the back street behind the hotel. That couldn’t be right … he’d been very keen to get out on the road. She must have mistaken—

  No matter. Get going. Conor awaits.

  She took up MacNamara’s reins, and stood for some moments rubbing his face and crooning softly to him. MacNamara stamped and snorted his frustration at the run being cut short. He’d need a rub down before anything else. She reached into the bags tied to the saddle and groped around for her money bag, pulling it out and tucking it against her body under Dane’s heavy waistcoat.

  She headed for the stables behind the Pastoral Hotel, leading MacNamara at a steady pace. As she coaxed the big horse the final few steps inside the main doorway, voices reached her from the stalls.

  ‘Who was it they bailed up, Eddie?’ a gruff voice demanded.

  ‘I don’t know his name, but he stayed at the hotel here last night. Shouldn’t be difficult to find out.’ The stable boy’s voice.

  ‘Would they have got anything from him?’

  Georgie began to move MacNamara towards the stall from where the voices came, but the lad’s answer stopped her short.

  ‘Think they must’ve, Mr B. He had a coupla heavy bags with him, and even came back to check on them last night. Reckon he was good for it. Hope the boys grabbed some for me.’ He chuckled. ‘Though I ’druther have his big black horse.’

  Georgie hardly breathed.

  ‘An’ there was a girl wi’ him.’

  ‘I know that. She was the one to raise the alarm. Jesus Christ, I hope the boys haven’t done anything stupid. I told them to stay clear of town.’

  Georgie began ever so slowly to turn MacNamara around. She lifted one foot to the stirrup …

  The stable lad let out a yell at her and she faltered, her foot slipping to the ground. She steadied, flicked the reins smartly at MacNamara, who shied, backed up and pushed his weight around to bump the stall door shut, trapping the two men. She took off on foot and ran as fast as she could.

  She ran through town, rounded the bend at the end of the shops, and charged along the grassy hill to where the river and the paddle-steamers came into view. She kept on, heard shouts behind her, and dared not slow even to catch her breath.

  Sliding down the dirt slope then taking one great stride after another, she stumbled onto the wharf, going down on all fours. She stopped for a moment, dragging in air, gulping it down, and steadied. She glanced over the edge of the wharf, the water some yards down, and could just make out a familiar-looking boat tied up much further away. She thudded along the boardwalk, eliciting much amusement from the workers, one or two of whom tried to stop her.

  ‘Conor Foley, Conor Foley,’ she muttered as she pushed her way past. She imagined she could hear the two men from the stables close behind her. Near panic, she gulped painfully, glancing wildly here and there, hoping to see—

  Ranald Finn’s Lady Goodnight was almost at the cranes. She dragged her legs into a run again, began to shout for Finn as she bore down on the boat. Then the majestic line of the Lady Mitchell chugged into the port area and took her breath away altogether. Tears blurred her vision.

  And because she kept running towards the Goodnight, and heard Ranald Finn yell up to her, ‘Miss Georgina—be careful,’ she didn’t see the thick bow rope coiled across her path.

  She tripped, landing face first on the wharf above Mr Finn’s paddle-steamer.

  Thirteen

  Douglas tried valiantly to answer Dane’s commands for more speed. He thundered through the bush, weaving where he could to avoid the thick entanglements of Wimmera scrub. Dane hugged his neck and urged him harder.

  The gang of men behind him shouted curses as they plunged into the dense vegetation. Dane knew that had they been on a plain, they would have overtaken him by now. The shouts sounded for some distance, then after a while he could hear nothing. He hauled Douglas to a stop, a
llowing the horse to dance as he cooled down. They made another circle or two and stopped. Dane couldn’t hear any noise except his own and the horse’s heaving breaths. Douglas was blowing hard and his muscles twitched after the exertion. Dane reassured him with a couple of hard pats to his flank and started back to the road.

  He moved as quietly as he could through the bush, knowing the men had not given him up totally. He rode across and back over the dense scrub until he was satisfied they were not lying in wait for him. He dismounted close to the main road and allowed Douglas to feed.

  He reached into the saddlebags and his hand settled on the dress Georgina had swapped earlier in the day in favour of the breeches. It would have to do. He gave a silent apology to May Rossmoyne as he tore great strips from it and began to dry Douglas.

  He thought hard as he worked. Georgina would have made it back to Echuca. He wouldn’t leave her.

  Besides, all the papers he needed for the solicitors were with her on MacNamara. He needed them to try to square this unpleasant business of his father’s, but that would have to wait until he found her, until he knew she was safe. And he could be no more than half an hour or so from Echuca. There wouldn’t be much time lost … providing he could find her.

  He wiped the sweat from the saddle and waited a few minutes while it dried off completely in the noonday sun. Douglas had found a patch of grass and still nipped at it, so Dane waited another few minutes before he saddled up again, mounted and rode cautiously back to Echuca.

  He tied Douglas at the front of shops at one end of town. He stopped a couple of pedestrians to ask if she’d been seen—a girl in boys’ clothes. They waved towards the police station, clearly not impressed.

  He headed for the station and when he entered the office, came upon two troopers hurling abuse at each other. The argument continued even as he walked between the two men, one hefty and hairy, the other tall and slight.

  He shouted them down: ‘I need some information.’

  Hefty turned on him. ‘What is it, mate? We’re in the middle of a police matter here.’

  Dane watched the other man retreat, red-faced, behind a desk. He addressed both of them. ‘I’m looking for a young woman who may have been seeking assistance from you earlier today.’

  Hefty shook his head, glanced at the red-faced man. ‘Description?’

  ‘A dark-haired young woman in boys’ clothing, about yea tall.’ Dane indicated his shoulder.

  ‘No, mate. Didn’t see her in here. Check with the boss. He’s across the road at the pub.’

  Dane ran to the Bridge Hotel. The first person he spotted inside was a blond-haired man who was surrounded by three or four men all talking at once, all agitated. When the man saw Dane enter, he held up his hand and the conversation died away.

  The men looked at Dane and for an instant it was quiet inside. The blond man issued a curt command, ‘Get lost,’ and the group dispersed. He turned away from Dane and settled back into a chair, papers scattered on a small table in front of him.

  Dane continued to the bar, towards a trooper. ‘Your men at the station directed me here,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for a young woman who may have needed some assistance earlier today.’

  Dane went through Georgina’s description again. The trooper shook his head. Dane added she was wearing boys’ clothes.

  ‘And riding a magnificent black horse. Yes,’ the trooper said. ‘She was here—Harry? Harry, that girl dressed in boys’ clothes—where did she go?’ he called across to the blond man seated at his little table. And to Dane he said, ‘And you are her brother?’

  Dane hesitated before nodding. ‘Yes.’

  ‘She came into the station to alert us. You did very well to beat those bushrangers, my man, but we couldn’t find hide nor hair of them.’ He clapped Dane on the back with a hand as big as a shovel. ‘Harry,’ he called to the blond man again as he walked Dane over to him. ‘This here’s the fellow who beat those damned bushies. Here, meet Harry Bolton—and your name, sir?’

  Harry Bolton stood up, extended his hand.

  ‘MacHenry, of Jacaranda, out from Swan Hill. I’m grateful for any light you can shed … ’

  Harry Bolton sized him up a moment. ‘Can’t tell you much, Mr MacHenry. She ran like a mad thing in the direction of the wharf the moment she’d stabled the horse and we’ve not been able to find her either.’

  ‘The wharf?’

  ‘Aye.’ Bolton glanced at the trooper then rubbed a hand over his mouth. ‘Your horse, however, is well looked after and can be retrieved from the stables behind the Pastoral. Perhaps you were thinking to sell him?’

  ‘Thank you. And no, my horse is not for sale. I’ll head for the wharf now, and be back later for my horse.’ He nodded at both men and took his leave, realising with a jolt that if he didn’t find Georgina, he would be taking two horses to Melbourne on his own.

  When he reached the wharf he strode out on the boardwalk, looking over the side at the boats below, weighing up the possibility Georgina might well be on one of them. Most were clearly trade boats, some loaded high with wool bales and timber crates, pulling barges, hardly the sort of vessel a young girl would head towards. Then why on earth would she come to the wharf? Something niggled at the back of his mind, something to do with the paddle-steamers, but he couldn’t remember what. He paced, thinking, trying to sort his thoughts.

  A smooth gliding vessel caught his eye. He could see her name on the wheelhouse and stared a moment at the beautiful Lady Mitchell slowly making her way out of the port area.

  It struck him then, that niggle. Elspeth had rattled on about a riverboat captain. Was that his boat—the Lady Mitchell? How it connected to his present task he didn’t know, but it kept at him. He couldn’t reach the thought, and shrugged again, confounded.

  He stood for a moment on the wharf, the busyness of the men and the cranes working proving no distraction.

  I’ve lost her.

  His chest pained with a peculiar heaviness.

  He didn’t know what else to do to find her. If nobody had seen her, how could he hope to track her? With his head down, he watched his feet scuff at bits of debris. He turned towards the town.

  I’ve lost her.

  Nothing prepared him for the loss. He’d had her under his wing, and as quick as a blink, she was gone. His heart hurt, and his breath was jagged in his throat. A girl, a headstrong, wilful, intelligent girl … and he was besotted. Worse than besotted—he was bereft.

  He stopped as he noticed another small carrier, its name written over the stern: Lady Goodnight. Two men worked the tie ropes, then began clearing empty cargo crates out of their way onto the foredeck. They reached for the ropes and untied bales of wool stacked high on the deck.

  ‘G’day,’ the shorter one called up to Dane and tipped his cap. The other nodded. They continued to toil as he looked down on them.

  ‘Looks to me like yer got the world on yer shoulders, mate,’ Shorty ventured, shoving a bale towards the other man.

  Dane gave a short laugh. ‘I have at that.’ He pushed a hand through his hair. ‘You haven’t by chance sighted a young woman along here, have you?’

  The shorter man straightened and looked up. ‘Plenty of them wandering past,’ he said. The other man jumped below deck. ‘Yer in the wrong place though, if it’s a bit of puss yer after.’

  ‘Not that. She’s a young woman from my family.’

  Another man, weather-beaten, wiry and tall, stepped onto the deck. ‘And which young woman would that be, sir?’ he called.

  ‘Lost perhaps. She was wearing boys’ clothes, had been riding hard before she got lost.’

  The tall man folded his arms. ‘I’m Ranald Finn, the captain of this vessel.’ He waved his arm behind him. ‘Your name, sir?’

  ‘I am Dane MacHenry and she was in my charge—’

  ‘MacHenry, is it?’ Finn interrupted. ‘Well, Mr MacHenry, Miss Georgina is being well looked after.’

  ‘What do you say?’
r />   ‘She was in a state of fright, sir, when she arrived here. She is known to us from our stops at Jacaranda. I believe you’ve been away for some years.’ Finn squinted as he looked Dane up and down.

  ‘That’s right, but that’s naught to do with it. Where is she?’ Dane’s heart rate escalated. She was close by, he knew it. He could feel it.

  ‘Well, sir, as I said, she is well looked after. You have my word for it.’

  ‘Mr Finn, where is she?’ Dane demanded. ‘How do I know she is well looked after?’

  ‘You don’t know, except for what I’m telling you.’ Captain Finn waited a heavy second or two. ‘As we do not know what might have transpired while Miss Georgina was in your—ah, charge.’

  Dane’s hands clenched at his side. ‘That is an unwarranted accusation—’

  Ranald Finn eyed him for a moment, then waved his hand towards the Lady Mitchell, almost gone around the bend and out of sight. ‘We settled Miss Georgina on the Lady Mitchell to return her to your father’s homestead. The journey will take a few days, as you well know, but I can assure you she is in the best of hands. You can go about your business.’ Captain Finn dismissed him, leaving the deck with a curt nod.

  Dane stared for a moment after the captain and shook his head. He rubbed his face, then clenched and unclenched his fists.

  The other men stood by watching, waiting.

  There was no reason for him to challenge the river man. The captain seemed no ruffian. The fact he’d spoken of Dane’s family lent integrity to his story. That and the fact the captain had known of Georgina’s time spent with Dane.

  He watched the Lady Mitchell slip around the bend. Even if he charged off after it, he’d be a mad fool … chances were Captain Finn had issued orders not to stop for anyone along the way. Dane had no way of reaching Georgina.

  He turned abruptly and stalked back to the hotel stables. He would let events take their course. He would collect MacNamara, head down the street to retrieve Douglas and be on his way. Georgina couldn’t get off the paddle-steamer until it docked at Jacaranda—or she wouldn’t, if she knew what was good for her.