Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Night’s Work.
“What shall I do?” said Nic to himself.
Being faint, and feeling half stunned, no answer came; and he looked round at the beautiful country, which appeared newer and more beautiful than ever in the orange-gold of approaching evening, while all within was black with misery and despair.
He never knew before how much he liked the stern, manly fellow who that next morning was to be tied up and flogged; and the more Nic thought of the horrible punishment the deeper grew his misery, as he felt what a helpless boy he was in the matter; and a number of wild plans began to enter his head.
He had no gun with him now, but he could ride back, fetch it, and wait till morning. Then he would ride up to the Wattles just when they were going to tie up Leather, take his place beside him, and, with presented gun, dare any one to touch his father’s servant.
Then the weak tears came into the boy’s eyes, and he laughed a piteous, contemptuous laugh at himself for harbouring such a silly, romantic notion.
And all the while Sorrel went on at his steady walk, growing cool and comfortable, refreshed too by the light feed he had had and the rub down.
They went slowly on till sunset, when Nic drew rein, and sat gazing at the large orange ball sinking away beyond the mountains.
“So beautiful!” he said, forced into admiration of the glories of the coming evening; “and poor Leather lying there handcuffed and waiting to be flogged.”
He leaped from his horse and threw the rein over its head.
“There!” he cried, patting the soft arched neck, “eat away, old chap. You needn’t be miserable if I am. I can’t go and leave poor Leather like this.”
He threw himself down on the grass to think—to try and make out some plan, while the birds winged their way overhead back to their roosting places, and here and there the kangaroos and their many little relatives began to steal out of the woodland shelters they had affected through the heat of the day, to lope about like huge hares, look around for danger, and then begin to browse.
At first the only idea that would come to the boy was that he would wait there till daybreak, and then ride the three or four miles he had come in his homeward direction back to the Wattles, getting there in good time; and when the preparations were being made for punishment he would ride boldly up and make a final appeal to Mr Dillon to either let Leather off or to defer everything till the doctor returned.
“Poor Leather!” he said to himself: “he’ll see that I have not deserted him.”
Crop, crop, crop; the horse went on browsing away upon the rich grass, but keeping close at hand, as if liking its master’s company, and raising its head now and then to whinny softly.
The sun had gone down, and the glorious tints were dying out on and beyond the mountains. Then a great planet began to twinkle in the soft grey of the west, which rapidly grew of a dark purple, lit up again with a warm glow and grew purple once more, with the planet now blazing like a dazzling spot of silver hung high in the heavens.
Soon after, it would have been dark but for the glorious display of golden stars which now encircled the vast arch overhead, far more beautifully in that clear air than Nic ever remembered to have seen at home.
And all this splendour of the heavens made him the more miserable, for it seemed to him as if at such a time everything ought to be dark and stormy.
The night birds were out, and strange cries, wails, and chuckling noises reached his ears, mingled with the whirr and whizz of crickets and the soft pipe and croak of frogs in and about a water-hole not far away.
Once or twice, half startled, Nic thought he saw dusky, shadowy figures stealing along, and his heart beat fast; but he soon told himself that it was all fancy, for if any one had approached the horse would have been alarmed, whereas it was close at hand cropping the grass contentedly, its loud puff of breath with which it blew away insects upon the grass sounding regular in its intervals.
It was restful lying there, but Nic’s faintness increased, and he was glad to pick a few leaves and blades of grass to chew and keep down the famished feeling which troubled him. But that calm night-time was glorious for thought, and before long he had determined that, come what might, he would wait for another hour or two and ride back to the Wattles and set Leather free.
For he knew whereabouts the convict was imprisoned. The man who attended to Sorrel had said it was behind the house. Then what could be easier than to ride round, and, close up, find which was the big shed, and give Leather a signal; and then, with one working outside, the other in, it would be easy enough. Why, if he could not get the wooden bar away with which these big sheds were mostly fastened, he could guide Sorrel alongside, stand on the saddle, and remove some of the bark or shingle roofing.
Nic forgot hunger, misery, and despair in the glow of exultation which came over him, and he felt contempt for his readiness to give up and think that all was over.
“More ways of killing a cat than hanging it,” he said, with a little laugh, and lying upon his back in a thoroughly restful position he set himself to watch the stars, till all at once they turned blank, and he leaped to his feet in alarm and went to pat his horse.
“That won’t do,” he muttered. “Done up, I suppose, and it was the lying on my back and leaving off thinking. But I couldn’t have slept for many minutes.”
For the matter of that the time might have been two or three hours, for aught he could have told; but as it was he had not been asleep a minute when he sprang back into wakefulness, and, determined now not to run any more risks, he stopped with his horse, resting against its flank and thinking of what a great solitary place he was in, and how strange it seemed for that vast country to have so few inhabitants.
His aim was to wait until everybody would be asleep at the Wattles, and then ride softly up, when he felt that there would be light enough for his purpose, which ought not to take long.
The time glided away slowly, but at last he felt that he might start, and after seeing that the bridle was all right he proceeded to tighten the girths. But Sorrel had been pretty busy over that rich grass, and Nic found that if he did anything to those girths he ought to let them a little loose.
“You greedy pig!” he said, patting the horse affectionately, “eating away like that and enjoying yourself when your master starves.”
The horse whinnied.
“Ah! don’t do that,” said Nic in alarm. “You would spoil everything.”
He mounted and cantered back for a good two miles, finding no difficulty, for the horse went over the same ground again. Then Nic drew rein and walked on and on till he thought he must have missed the place in the dark; but all at once below him he saw a faint light move for a few moments, and disappear.
Evidently a lantern which some one had carried into the house.
Nic checked his horse for quite a quarter of an hour, and then walked it slowly down the slope, till there, dimly showing up before him, he could make out building after building, looming all dim and ghostly-looking, but plain enough to one whose eyes had grown accustomed to the dark.
But there were fences to avoid, and there was an enclosed garden; so the boy felt that the wisest plan would be to take a pretty good circuit round and then go up to the back.
Starting to do this, he was very nearly thrown, for Sorrel suddenly made a tremendous bound and cleared a large tree trunk, which had been felled and lay denuded of all its branches right across his way.
This was a shock; and it had other effects, for at the heavy beat of hoofs a deep-mouthed dog suddenly set up a tremendous bark, which was taken up by half a dozen more in chorus, accompanied by the rattling of chains in and out of kennels.
Nic paused, with his heart beating, but the barking went on, and a voice was heard to shout faintly:
“Lie down!”
But the dogs still barked, and a window was opened and a loud voice, which Nic recognised, shouted:
“Hullo! What is it, my lads?”
The barking turned to a burst of whimpering and whining, and after a few sharp commands to lie down Nic heard the window closed; and the rattling of the dogs’ chains began again, a whimper or two, and then all was silent once more.
Meanwhile Nic had peered carefully round, and became aware of the fact that there were several pieces of timber lying about, as if a group of trees had been felled where he stood, and cautiously dismounting and leading his horse, he began to guide it out of the dangerous place.
But he had hardly achieved this when the barking broke out again, making Nic mount and ride slowly off, while the window was once more thrown open, and the voice the boy had recognised as the magistrate’s cried sharply:
“What is it there, boys?” the dogs barking wildly in reply.
Just then a shrill whistle rang out, and directly after a man shouted.
“All right, sir, here!”
“What’s the matter with the dogs, Belton?”
“Dunno, sir. Dingo, perhaps.”
“Or something else. Here: go and see if that scoundrel’s all right.”
“He’s all right, sir. I’ve been twice. Just come from there now.”
“Humph! That’s right, my lad. But they seem very uneasy.”
“Well, yes, sir, they do,” said the man; “but they often have a fit like this. Lie down, will yer!”
There was a general rattling of chains at this, while every word had come distinctly to Nic’s ears in the soft silence.
“Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
There was shutting of the window, and then the man said slowly:
“I’ll bring a whip round to some on yer directly. Hold yer row!”
One dog barked as if protesting.
“Quiet, will yer!” cried the man. “Think nobody wants to sleep?”
Then silence, an uneasy rattle of a chain, the banging of a door, and Nic wiped the perspiration from his brow.
The case seemed hopeless, but he would not give up. Twice over he tried to get round to the back of the house, but the dogs were on the alert; and the last time, just as he drew rein closer than he had been before, the window was opened, two flashes of light cut the darkness, and there came the double report of a gun, making Sorrel bound and nearly unseat his rider.
“See any one, sir?” cried the man, hurrying out.
“No; but I’m sure there’s some one about. Get your gun. I’ll be down directly, and we’ll keep watch.”
The window closed, and Nic heard the man growl at the dogs:
“You’ve done it now. Keep watch, eh? But I’ll pay some on yer to-morrow.”
The dogs burst out barking again, for Nic was guiding his horse away in despair, feeling that he could not accomplish his task; then he waited till he was a few hundred yards distant, and cantered on, feeling that in all probability some of the dogs would be loosened and come after him.
As he rode he listened, and there was the yelping as of a pack, making him urge Sorrel into a gallop; but the sounds died out, and at the end of a mile he drew rein, for there was no suggestion of pursuit.
Nic walked his horse beneath one of the great trees, and sat there like a statue, thinking, and trying hard to come to some determination. To get at the building where Leather was imprisoned was not the easy task he had thought. In fact, he felt now, that with all those dogs about, that he had not noticed the previous afternoon, when they were probably away with the shepherds, it was impossible.
“What shall I do?” he said to himself again; and he cudgelled his brain in the hope of some idea coming, but all in vain.
And so a good hour passed, when, sick and in despair, he determined to make one more essay, for he argued, with a bitter smile, “The dogs may be asleep.” At any rate he would try, and if he failed he would ride up in the morning, and they should not flog the poor fellow while he was there.
“Yes,” he said, “the dogs may be asleep; but suppose Mr Dillon or his men are keeping watch.”
He had put his horse in motion, and was riding out of the black shadow, but drew rein sharply, and Sorrel stopped short, for away in the distance came the loud yelping and baying of dogs in pursuit of something, just as he had heard them in the Kentish woods at home when laid on the scent of a fox, but not with the weird, strange sound heard now on the night air.
“What does it mean?” thought Nic, as his heart seemed to stand still and then began to beat with heavy throbs; for the idea came that Leather had broken out—was escaping—was coming in his direction; and at that moment there was a pause—a silence which jarred the boy’s nerves.
Had they got him?
No; for the dogs were in full pursuit once more, probably on the fugitive’s scent, and faintly heard there were shouts as of some one urging the pack on.
How long what followed took Nic never knew, for he was listening, intensely excited, and agitated as to whether he should go or stay, when the thought came that perhaps the dogs were on his scent; but he cast that idea away as foolish, for he had been mounted nearly all the time.
Then all at once, as the hounds were evidently coming nearer and the shouts plainer, Nic felt that he must sit out the affair and hear what had happened; when Sorrel drew a deep breath, there was a heavy breathing, and a man came on at a steady trot straight for the shadow in which Nic sat, so that the next moment he was upon him.
“Back, for your life!” came hoarsely, as the man raised his arm.
“Leather!”
“You here!” panted the convict. “But quick—they’re after us. Canter right away.”
As he spoke he took a firm grip of the nag’s mane, and as it sprang off ran easily by its side, the docile beast making straight for home.
For some minutes they went on like this, with the sounds growing fainter; and then the convict broke the silence.
“Master Nic,” he whispered, “I am innocent, my lad. I did not use the axe. That ruffian struck me with the fork handle till my manhood revolted against it, and I knocked him down with my fist, boy—my fist.”
“Yes, I know: Sam told me,” said Nic hoarsely. “I came to try and get you away.”
“God bless you, my lad! I couldn’t bear to stay there and be disgraced more than I have. It was too hard.”
“How did you escape?”
“Broke the handcuffs apart, climbed to the rafters, pulled open the bark thatching and let myself down; but the dogs gave the alarm.”
“Well, they shan’t have you now,” cried Nic, pulling up. “Jump on and ride home. I’ll run beside you. They can’t take you away again.”
The convict laughed bitterly.
“You foolish boy,” he said gently, “the law is on their side. No. Good-bye, lad. Don’t forget me. You know the truth, but you must not be mixed up with my escape. You have done nothing yet. Off with you—home!”
“But you, Leather, what are you going to do?” said Nic huskily.
“Escape if I can, and I think I shall.”
“But where—what to do? Wait till father comes home?”
“No. What can he do? Dillon will send me to the chain gang as a dangerous man; and I am now, boy—I am, for it shall only be my dead body they shall take.”
“Leather!”
“No, Nic. Frank Mayne, an honest man. Home with you, boy!”
“But you?”
“I? There’s room enough yonder. To begin a new life of freedom—a savage among the blacks.”
There was a smart blow of the open hand delivered on the horse’s neck, and the startled beast sprang forward into a wild gallop, which the boy could not for the moment check. When he did, and looked round, there was the darkness of the night, the cry of some wild bird; the baying of the dogs had ceased, and he was quite alone.
“He can’t be far,” thought the boy, and he whistled softly again and again, but there was no reply. He tried to pierce the darkness, but it was very black now, and he noticed that the stars had been blotted out, and directly after there came pat; pat, pat—the sound of great drops of rain, the advance-guard of a storm.
It would have been useless to try and follow the convict, and at last Nic let his impatient horse move on at a walk, then it cantered, and then galloped straight for the Bluff, as if trying to escape from the pelting rain, while it quivered at every flash and bounded on as the lightning was followed by a deafening roar.
“There’ll be no trail to follow,” cried Nic exultantly; “it will all be washed away, and he’ll shelter himself under some tree. But hurrah! I shall see him again. Let old Dillon flog the whipping-post, or, if he’s disappointed, let him have old Brookes.”
For a peculiar feeling of exultation had come upon the boy, and the storm, instead of being startling, seemed grand, till he rode into the enclosure, seeing that lights were in three of the windows, and a trio of voices cried:
“Nic, is that you?”
“Yes, all right,” he shouted. “So hungry. In as soon as I’ve seen to my horse.”
Five minutes after he ran in dripping wet, and had hard work to keep Mrs Braydon from embracing him.
“Not till I’ve changed, mother,” he cried.
“But where have you been?”
“Over to Dillon’s, to get him not to punish Leather, and let him come away.”
“Yes, Nic?” cried Janet excitedly.
“He wouldn’t let him come.”
Janet heaved a piteous sigh and sank back in her chair, while Nic hurried to his room to get rid of his soaking garments.
When he came out to go to the room where the meal had been kept waiting all those many hours for his return, he met Janet.
“You coward!” she whispered: “you have not tried.”
“I did my best,” whispered Nic. “But, I say, Jan, can you keep a secret?”
“Yes: what?” she cried excitedly.
“Old Dillon must be as mad as mad. Leather has escaped, and has made for the myall scrub.”
Janet uttered a peculiar sound: it was caused by her pressing her hands to her lips to suppress a cry, as she ran to her own room.
“Poor chap!” said Nic to himself. “I’m glad she likes him too.”
Chapter Thirty.
The Quest.
As Nic had supposed would be the case, hoof-marks were either obliterated or looked faint and old from the heavy soaking they had received in the storm, while those made by a man were invisible, unless to the ultra-keen eyes of some natives.
He noted this when he went out that same morning in pretty good time, for he felt convinced that Mr Dillon would give him the credit of helping Leather to escape.
It was a glorious morning, the dust being washed away by the storm, and everything looking beautifully fresh and green in the sunshine.
When he went out he was soon aware of something else being wrong, for Brookes was rating the three blacks, who had thoroughly enjoyed their truant holiday, and would have stayed away for days in the myall scrub, but the bush in wet weather is to a blackfellow not pleasant, from the showers of drops falling upon his unclothed skin. Consequently the storm had sent them back, and they were all found clothed and curled up fast asleep in the wool-shed by old Sam, who had roused them up.
His words had brought Brookes on the scene, armed with a stout stick, with which he was thrashing them, while the rascals were hopping about in a peculiar shuffling dance, whose steps consisted in every one wanting to be at the back and pushing his fellow to the front.
Bungarolo was the least adept player, and Damper and Rigar managed to keep him before them as a kind of breastwork or shield, behind which they could escape the threatening stick.
“Baal mumkull! baal mumkull! (don’t kill),” he kept crying piteously.
“But that’s all you’re fit for, you lazy rascals. Where did you go?”
“Plenty go find yarraman. Budgery yarraman (good horses). Plenty go find. Run away.”
“I don’t believe it. What horses ran away?”
“Kimmeroi, bulla, metancoly (one, two, ever so many),” cried Rigar, from the back.
“It’s all a lie. Come: out with you!”
“No, leave him alone, Brookes,” said Nic sternly. “I’ll have no more quarrelling to-day.”
The man faced round sharply.
“Look here, young master, are you going to manage this here station, or am I?” he cried.
“I am, as far as I know; and I won’t have the black-fellows knocked about.”
The three culprits understood enough English to grasp his meaning, and burst out together in tones of reproach:
“Baal plenty stick. No Nic coolla (angry). Black-fellow nangery (stay), do lot work.”
“Work! Yes,” cried Nic. “Go away with you, and begin.”
The three blacks set up a shout like school-children who had escaped punishment, and danced and capered off to the work that they had left the day before.
“Look here, sir—” began Brookes again.
“Why don’t you hold your tongue, Brooky?” cried old Sam. “You ain’t looked in the glass this morning, or you’d see enough mischief was done yesterday.”
“Who spoke to you?” cried Brookes fiercely.
“Not you, or you’d get on better. Young master’s quite right. You can’t deal with the blacks that way.”
“Breakfast!” cried a clear voice; and Nic turned to find his sister Janet coming to meet him, looking very pale, but quite contented.
“I shall keep it a secret, Nic,” she whispered. “I’m so glad, for all that seemed so dreadful to me.”
At that moment Mrs Braydon appeared at the door, she too looking pale, but eager to welcome her son; and no allusion was made during breakfast to the previous day’s trouble.
But hardly had they finished when Nibbler burst into a deep-toned volley of barking, which immediately started the two collies, and they rushed round to the front.
“Some one coming,” cried Hilda. “Oh,—they’re bringing back poor Leather!”
Nic sprang to the window, to see Mr Dillon, followed by five of his men, three blacks, and seven or eight dogs, among which were three gaunt, grey, rough-haired, Scottish deer-hounds.
The boy had expected that Mr Dillon would come, but his sister’s words staggered him and gave him a sharp pang.
The next moment, though, he saw that she was wrong; and turning from the window, he exchanged glances with Janet, as he said quite coolly, “What does he want so soon?” and made for the door, thinking that he knew well enough that they were on a man-hunting expedition, but congratulated himself on the convict’s long start.
“Good morning, Mr Dominic,” said the magistrate, riding up, while the two collies ran on to investigate the strange dogs, and Nibbler tore furiously at his chain.
“Good morning, sir,” said Nic. “Here, Rumble—rumble! Come here, both of you! Hi, Samson! Shut these two dogs up in one of the sheds.”
“Yes,” said the visitor, “or there’ll be a fight.” Then, as Sam came running up and relieved Nic of his task of holding the pair by their black frills, “Will you be good enough to walk a little way from the house, young man? I want a word or two with you.”
“He can’t know I was there,” thought Nic; and he walked beside the visitor’s horse till it was checked, and the rider looked down sharply at the boy.
“Now, young gentleman,” he said, “I don’t want to quarrel with your father’s son, but I am a man who never allows himself to be played with. You played me a pretty trick last night.”
“I, sir? How?”
“Do you want telling?”
“Of course, sir.”
Nic felt the magistrate’s eyes piercing almost into his very thoughts; but, at the same time, he saw those armed men and that pack of dogs ready to hunt down the convict, and if he could avoid it he was determined not to say all he knew.
“You came over to my place last night and broke a way out for that fellow to escape.”
“I did not,” said Nic firmly.
“Do you mean to tell me that you did not bring over a handcuff key which your father has, and climb in at the roof and unlock the bracelets?”
“I do tell you so!” said Nic. “I did not know we had such a thing.”
“On your word as a gentleman?”
“On my word as a gentleman,” said Nic. Then to himself: “If he asks me if I came over, I must say Yes.”
“Then I beg your pardon,” said Mr Dillon. “But you have him here?”
“No,” said Nic, “he is not here.”
“I must ask your men. Will you summon them?”
“The blacks too?” said Nic.
“Yes, all of them, please.”
“Hi, Sam!” cried Nic, as the old man banged to and fastened the door where he had shut up the dogs. “Call Brookes and the blacks; then come here.”
“Right, sir,” said the old man; and Mr Dillon went on:
“He got away somehow, and the dogs were after him till the storm spoiled the scent.”
“Then you can’t flog him,” said Nic in triumph.
“Not this morning, of course,” said Mr Dillon good humouredly. “All right, my young friend, you’ll come round to my way of thinking.”
“Never,” said Nic firmly.
“That’s a long time, squire. But don’t you look so satisfied. You really do not imagine that our friend can get away?”
“There’s plenty of room,” said Nic.
“To starve, my led. But, mark my words, if we don’t run him down this morning, he’ll come back before long to ask for his punishment, if the myall blacks have not speared him and knocked him on the head.”
Just then the men came forward, and the magistrate’s attention was taken up, so that he did not see Nic’s shudder.
“Oh, Brookes,” said Mr Dillon, “that fellow broke out and ran for the bush last night?”
“What?” cried the man, changing colour.
“Has he made you deaf?” said Mr Dillon. “Your Leather got away last night. Have you seen him?”
“No, no,” said Brookes, who looked unnerved. “But you’ll run him down, sir?”
“Of course. And you, Samson?”
“No, sir, he hasn’t been back here. Here, you—Bung, Rig, Damper: have you seen Leather ’smorning?”
“Plenty mine see Leather chop rail.”
“Yes, yes, that was yesterday. ’Smorning?”
The three blacks made a peculiar sound, and threw up their chins.
“No good, Belton,” said Mr Dillon. “Back to the bunya clump. I have an idea that he struck off there, so as to keep up by the river. Don’t care to mount and come and see a convict hunt, squire, I suppose?” said the magistrate inquiringly.
Nic gave him a furious look, and Mr Dillon nodded good humouredly and rode after his men, the dogs beginning to bark as they started back, to be answered by Nibbler and the collies, who thrust their noses under the bottom of the door.
“Won’t take them big stag-hounds long to hunt him down,” said Brookes, trying to hide his nervousness with a grin.
“Think they’ll catch him, Sam?” said Nic.
“Well, sir, it’s just about like a pair o’ well-balanced wool scales,” said the old man rather sadly. “Dogs has wonderful noses of their own. But there, I ’spose we shall hear.”
Nic went off to the stables, for he had not the heart to go indoors. And as he stood by his horse the desire came upon him strongly to mount and ride after Mr Dillon’s party, so as to know everything that happened, but he felt that it might appear to the poor fellow that he was with the party trying to hunt him down, and he stayed and hung about the station all day.
“Bung,” he said toward evening, “you like Leather?”
“Plenty mine like damper.”
“No, no; I mean did Leather ever knock you about?”
“Baal, no. Budgery (good).”
“Go over to the Wattles, Mr Dillon’s, and find—did catch Leather. You pidney? (understand).”
The man gave him a sly look, laughed, and ran into the cow-shed, to come out directly after in his dress clothes, and armed. Then with a shout he ran off at a long, quick trot toward the track.
It was getting toward midnight when he returned, to cooey under the boy’s window.
“Well, did you find out?”
“No catch. White fellow plenty run along myall bush.”
“Here, catch,” cried Nic, and he pitched the man a big piece of damper and the blade-bone of a shoulder of mutton; and then, as he closed the window, he fancied he heard whispering outside his door, and another door closed.
Chapter Thirty One.
Black Sympathy.
Nic found the next day that in their tiny world of the Bluff there were others sufficiently interested in the convict’s fate to have been making inquiries about the proceedings instituted by Mr Dillon; for on going round the place in the fresh early morning to see how the live stock was getting on, the first person he met was old Sam, who saluted him with one of his ugly smiles, and a chuckle like that of a laughing jackass—of course the bird.
“They didn’t ketch him, Master Nic,” he cried.
“Why, you ought to be vexed, Sam,” replied the boy.
“Yes, I know that, sir; but I ain’t. I don’t like Leather ’cause he’s a convict, and it ain’t nice for honest men to have them sort for fellow-servants. But I don’t want him ketched and flogged. Not me.”
“But will they catch him, do you think, Sam?”
“Ah, that’s what nobody can say. Most likely yes, because if the dogs get on his scent they’ll run him down.”
“But the rain?”
“Ay, that’s in his favour, sir. But, then, there’s another thing: the blacks will be set to work again.”
“But they can’t scent him out.”
“Nay; but they can smell him out with their eyes and run him down. Bound to say, if I set our three to work, they’d find the poor lad.”
“They are very keen and observant.”
“Keen, Master Nic? Ay! It’s a many years now since I shaved; but if I took to it again I shouldn’t use rayshors, sir, but blackfellows’ sight. Steel’s nowhere to it.”
“But how do you know they didn’t catch him?”
“I sent Damper and Rigar to see the fun, and they came back to me grinning, and told me.”
“But did Mr Dillon set his blacks to work tracking?”
“Ay, that he did; but it strikes me they didn’t want to find the poor chap. It’s like this, you see, Master Nic. Yes’day morning, as soon as our three found out, from Brooky’s face looking like a bit o’ unbaked damper, and his tied-up head, that he’d been having it, they asked me how it was, and I told ’em. Next minute I goes into the cow-shed to see what the noise was, and them three chaps—for they’re just like little children—there they were, with jyned hands, having a crobbery sort o’ dance.”
“Why?”
“Why, sir? Just because they were precious glad that Brooky had found his master. They didn’t say so, but I knew. You don’t suppose, because a chap’s face is black, he likes to be hit with sticks, and kicked, and sneered at. They’re little children in big black bodies, master; but they like the man who shares his damper and mutton with ’em and never gives ’em a dirty word a deal better than him as treats ’em as if they was kangaroos.”
“Of course, Sam.”
“They get their likes same as little children do. The lazy black rascals!” continued the old man, grinning; “they always want to be at play, and I give it ’em well sometimes, but they know they deserve it; and, after all, they’d do anything for me, Master Nic, and so they would for you.”
“Oh, I’ve done nothing to please them, Sam.”
“Oh yes you have, Master Nic, often; and just you look here—they didn’t show their white teeth for nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you, sir. They was along with Dillon’s blackfellows yes’day most o’ the arternoon, and Dillon’s blackfellows didn’t find old Leather.”
“No; you said so before.”
“Ay, I did, sir; but don’t you see why they didn’t hit out Leather’s track?”
“Because the rain had washed it away.”
“Nay!” cried Sam, with a long-drawn, peculiar utterance; “because our fellows wouldn’t let ’em. They belongs to the same tribe.”
“Ah!” cried Nic.
“That’s it, sir. Our boys give ’em a hint, or else they’d ha’ found him fast enough.”
“Then he’ll escape!” cried Nic eagerly.
“Nay! There’s no saying. Government’s very purticlar about running a pris’ner down. ’Bliged to be. Soon as it’s reported as Leather’s jumped for the bush, some o’ they mounted police’ll be over, and they’ll bring blackfellows with ’em as don’t know him and don’t belong to our boys’ tribe, and they’ll find him. ’Sides, there’s black tribes in the bush as’d take a delight in throwing spears at him. And then again, how’s a white man going to live? He ain’t a black, as’ll get fat on grubs, and worms, and snakes, and lizzars, and beadles, when he can’t get wallabies and birds. But there, we shall see. I’m sorry he jumped for the bush; but don’t you go and think I want to see him caught and flogged.”
“I don’t, Sam.”
“Then you’re right, Master Nic; on’y raally you mustn’t keep me a-talking here. I say, though,” he whispered confidentially, and chuckling with delight all the time, “Brooky won’t enjy his wittles till Leather is ketched.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s going about, sir, in the most dreadfullest stoo. He walked over in the night to the Wattles, and come back all of a tremble, and he’s got a loaded gun behind the wool-shed door, and another behind the stable.”
“Yes; I saw that, and wondered how it came there.”
“He put it there, sir,” chuckled the old man. “Just you watch him next time you see him. He’s just like a cocksparrer feeding, what keeps on turning his head to right and then to left and all round, to see if Leather’s coming to pounce on him and leather him. The pore chap don’t know it, but he’s sarving out Mister Brooky fine. There, now I must go, sir, raally. One word, though: Brooky’s doing nothing but grumble, and look out for squalls, and the master away—not as that matters so much, for the way in which you’re a-steppin’ into his shoes, sir, is raally fine. But I want things to look to-rights when he comes back.”
Chapter Thirty Two.
A False Scent.
Two days, three days glided by, and the convict was not found. Then a week passed, and another, and he was still at large; but a letter was brought up from the post, a couple of the mounted police being the bearers. This letter, from the doctor, told that Sir John O’Hara was dangerously ill, and that his life was despaired of; it was impossible to leave him till a change took place; and the letter ended affectionately, with hopes that Nic was managing the station well, and that all was going on peacefully.
The mounted police were going on to Mr Dillon’s, and on their return in three days they were to take back Mrs Braydon’s answer.
The men had just ridden off after a rest and a hearty meal, when, as Nic turned to re-enter the house and hear the letter read over again, he saw old Sam’s head over the garden fence, and the handle of his spade held up as a signal.
“Want me, Sam?”
“Ay, sir; come in here. I don’t want Brooky to see me talking to you as if I was telling tales. We has to live together, and we’re bad enough friends without that.”
Nic went round by the gate, and the old man sunk his voice.
“He’s been at ’em, sir.”
“Who has been at what?”
“I don’t mean what you mean, sir. Brooky got at them two police. Know what that means?”
“About Leather?” cried Nic.
“That’s it, sir. There’ll be another hunt ’safternoon and to-morrer; and if they don’t ketch him then, when they go back they’ll take a ’spatch from Mr Dillon, and we shall have a lot of ’em down here.”
Nic’s face contracted from his mental pain.
“Don’t you look like that, my lad. They ain’t got him yet. Do you know, I shouldn’t wonder if he’s gone right away with Bung’s tribe, and they won’t get him. But I say, Master Nic, you won’t go over to the Wattles, will you?”
“No, certainly not.”
“But you’d like to hear?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I tell you what, sir: just you tell our three that, as they’ve been very good boys, they may have a holiday and go and get a good lot o’ bunya nuts.”
“Get a lot of what?” said Nic, in a tone of disgust.
“Bunya nuts, sir: grows on them trees something like firs. They ain’t half bad, I can tell you.”
“But I don’t want to send them out nutting,” said Nic. “They’re better at work.”
“You don’t understand, sir. I saw them staring over the fences at the perlice. You give them leave, and off they’ll go and watch everything, just as if they were on’y playing about. Then we shall know everything.”
In the result, there was very little to know; for when the three blackfellows came back that night, they could only tell that there had been a long hunt for the convict. They got to know, too, that there was to be another next day.
Then the police returned, received their letters for the doctor, and as they rode off for their long journey to the port they told Nic in confidence not to make himself uncomfortable, for they would be back soon with a little troop and some trackers, and that then they would soon catch the escaped man.
“I don’t suppose he’ll venture near the station, sir; but if he does, and don’t surrender, you’re justified in shooting him down.”
Nic drew his breath hard as he went back to the house very thoughtfully, but he said nothing indoors.
That afternoon he mounted, and sent the two collies nearly frantic by whistling to them to come after him; and as they dashed on Nic rode after at an easy canter, to take a long round amongst the grazing, off-lying cattle, and carry out another project he had in mind.
It was very pleasant riding there through the far-stretching, park-like place, and that afternoon the number of birds he passed was enormous, but Nic did not shoot at them. A large iguana, a hideous, dragon-like creature, ran to a big tree, making Sorrel start as it crossed his path, and then the great lizard crept up among the branches, puffing itself out, waving its tail, and looking threatening and dangerous. But Nic paid no heed to it, instead of shooting it for the blacks’ supper. And twice over large snakes were left unmolested, in spite of the furious barkings of the dogs, and their reproachful looks, which seemed to say, “Why didn’t you shoot?”
For Nic had been thinking that if he extended his round day by day, he would, sooner or later, come upon Leather, who must be in hiding somewhere near, for he would never dare to go right off into the wilds and seek starvation.
There were the dogs too; and in all probability they would scent him out, and he could warn him of the coming of the police.
But though Nic extended his rounds more and more, the days glided by, and neither in open glade, deep ravine, ferny gorge, hollow forest monarch, nor dense patch of bush did he come upon the slightest token of the convict ever having been there.
Then in despair he tried a new plan. He quietly got the three blacks together and explained to them what he wanted, and rode behind them in high glee as they trotted on, spear in hand.
“What a stupid I was not to think of this before!” he said to himself; full of confidence. But that night he rode back low-spirited and dull. The blacks had shown him holes in trees, out of which they chopped opossums; the lairs of kangaroos; the pool where a couple of egg-laying, duck-billed platypi dwelled; and trees bearing a kind of plum, and others with nuts: but no signs of Leather.
He tried the next day, and at another time would have been fascinated by the unusual-looking objects the blacks pointed out; but now he wanted to find the convict, and everything else was as nothing; for he felt certain that if the party came over from Port Jackson, the result would be that Leather would be hunted out, refuse to surrender, and be shot down.
But the trips with the blacks all proved to be dismal failures.
Oh yes, they understood.
“Plenty come along find Leather. Corbon budgery. My word, come along.”
But they found him not; and when bullied, they smiled, looked stupid, or shook their heads.
“It’s because they won’t find him, Master Nic. They know all the time,” said old Sam.
Acting upon this idea, Nic attacked the three blacks separately, telling them he was sure they knew where Leather was in hiding, and insisting upon being told; but the only result he obtained in each case was a stare of surprise and puzzlement. The man’s face puckered up, and at last he mumbled out:
“No pidney (understand). Mine no take Leather fellow in myall. Mine no been see it mandowie (tracks).”
“Be off!” said Nic; and the others talked in a similar way, and went “off;” looking the quintessence of stupidity.
“You’re all wrong, Sam,” said Nic, the next time he ran against the old man.
“What about, sir—them calves?”
“No, no—about the blacks. I questioned each of them, and they were all as stupid as could be.”
“No, I ain’t wrong, sir. You get ’em all three together, and promise ’em plenty of damper, some sugar, and a pot each of your ma’s jam; then you’ll see.”
“I’ll soon do that,” said Nic. “They’re in the wool-shed.”
“But Brooky’s there, sir.”
“No, I saw him go off toward the fern gully an hour ago, with a gun upon his shoulder.”
“Look here, sir. You’d better lock up all the guns, and keep ’em till they’re wanted, or maybe we shall be having mischief done.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mean, sir? As Brooky’s always going about with a gun, and on the watch. He don’t want a gun to go and look round o’ they cows. He feels as Leather’s close handy somewhere, and afraid he’ll take him unawares. If you was to ask him, he’d tell you he was sure the blacks knew where Leather’s hiding. There, I’m sorry for him after all.”
“So am I, poor fellow.”
“Nay, I don’t mean Leather: I mean Brooky. He can’t even sleep of a night for fear Leather should come and pay him out. It sarves him right, I know, for he always was a brute to Leather; but there, he’s being paid back pretty severe. You go and talk to them there black boys. You’ll get it out of them with that jam.”
Nic strode across toward the wool-shed, and found the blacks jabbering away hard, and evidently quite excited; but they heard his steps, and three rough black heads came softly into sight, one round each doorpost, and the other above a couple of broad boards which ran in grooves, used to keep pigs or other animals from entering to make a warm bed in the wool. But the moment they caught sight of their young master they disappeared, the middle man going off cart-wheel fashion, like a black firework, with arms and legs flying, so as to get behind a stack of wool.
“Here, you fellows,” cried Nic, looking over the board, “come here!”
“Baal go floggee blackfellow,” protested Bungarolo.
“No mine no flog,” cried Nic.
“Mas Nic corbon budgery (very good). All come along.”
This brought out the other two grinning.
“Mine come fish?” cried Damper.
“No; I want to find Leather fellow. You boys pidney where he is.”
The faces ceased grinning, and looked as if carved out of some burned wooden stump, all hard, solid, and immovable.
“There, I know: so no nonsense. You all take me and show me Leather fellow’s mandowie, and I’ll give you plenty damper, plenty mutton, plenty sugar and jam.”
“Mine no find mandowie (tracks),” said Rigar. “You pidney (know), Damper?”
“Mine no pidney,” said Damper. “Mandowie myall. Bungarolo pidney?”
“Bung no pidney,” said that gentleman.
“Yes, you all pidney—more sugar, more jam, more damper,” cried Nic.
But the men only stared blankly; and growing impatient at last with the three ebony blacks, Nic left them to go back to Sam, but turned sharply, to see that they were all three watching him with their faces in a broad grin.
This exasperated him so that he made a rush back to look into the long dark shed, where he could see wool everywhere, but no traces of the blacks, who seemed to have disappeared.
“I’ll bring a whip,” he shouted, and then went away, laughing at the way the men were scared.
“Sam’s right,” he said: “they are like big black children. Here! Hi! Samson,” he shouted, and the old man came to meet him. “They don’t know.”
“Don’t know, sir? What makes you say that?”
Nic related his experience, and Sam grinned.
“And they laughed at you,” he said, showing his teeth. “Why was that? On’y because they enjoyed being as they thought too clever for you, Master Nic. They know, sir; but it’s no use—they won’t tell. They like you and me; but if they’d speak out to us as they do to one another, they’d say, ‘No mine tell Leather fellow, Mas Nic, plenty mine jam, damper. Leather fellow mumkull.’”
“Mumkull? Afraid Leather would kill them for telling?”
“That’s it, sir, safe.”
There was something to stir the pulses of Nic soon after, and he somehow felt glad that he did not know the convict’s hiding-place, for a dozen of the colonial mounted police rode up, followed by half a dozen black trackers and a couple of chained and muzzled, fierce-looking dogs, whose aspect sent a shiver through Nic, excited the indignation of the collies, and drove Nibbler into a fit of fury, making him bound to the end of his chain so savagely that he dragged his tub kennel out of its place and drew it behind him, making him look like some peculiar snaily quadruped trying to shed its shell.
“Better shut up your dogs, sir,” said the policeman who had been once before. “Letter for Mrs Braydon.”
The dogs were quieted and shut away, so that they could not commit suicide by dashing at the powerful brutes held in leash; and once more, while the police were being refreshed, Mrs Braydon read her letter over to her children, who learned that the governor was no better, that the doctor was bound to stay, and that while he regretted this, and the bad news about the assigned servant, every assistance ought to be given to the police who had come to fetch him back to the chain gang.
Nic said nothing, but after a time he saddled Sorrel, and rode with the police leader as they started for their first search.
“Now, Mr Braydon,” said the man, “your father said that we must take this fellow; so as in all probability you know where he is, perhaps you’ll tell us which way to go and capture him.”
“I don’t know,” said Nic quickly.
The man smiled.
“You needn’t disbelieve me,” said Nic warmly. “I tell you I haven’t the least idea.”
“And if you had, you wouldn’t tell us, eh?”
“I’m not going to answer questions,” said Nic. “But mind this: if you find him, I won’t have him shot down.”
“Then he mustn’t shoot at us, sir,” said the man, smiling, “so you’d better send him word if you know where he is. Forward!” he cried, and the party trotted toward the Wattles, but turned off a little over half-way there, and to Nic’s horror he felt that they had hit upon the place where he and the convict parted that night just as the storm came on. And here, after a few words from the head of the little force, two of the blacks came forward and began to quarter the ground like dogs, their bodies and heads bent forward, and their eyes searching the grass with the keenest eagerness.
But it was a long time before either of them showed that he had found signs.
Then one stopped short, dropped upon his knees, uttered a cry, and his fellows ran softly up behind him, keeping close to each other, and being careful not to go near the track or whatever it was that he had found.
Then began a low excited jabbering, during which the mounted men sat fast, one of them holding the leash which restrained the dogs.
At last the quick discussion ended, and the first black rose from his knees and made a sign to the police leader to come forward, Nic without hesitation following and peering over the blacks, who gave way a little, while the first pointed down to something which Nic expected to find was a footstep, but which proved to be a big common knife, rusted by exposure to rain and air.
This was picked up now and handed to the leader, while Nic’s eyes dilated a little, for he felt sure that he had seen the knife before; and in the convict’s hands, when he was eating his cold meat and damper beneath a tree.
“Yes,” he said to himself with a little shiver, “that is his knife. He must have dropped it here. It had a buckhorn handle, and on the other side three crosses had been filed pretty deeply.” He remembered that fact well.
Just then the police leader turned round sharply, saw his interested look, and said, in a decisive, imperative tone of voice:
“You know that knife, sir?”
To gain time the boy held out his hand, drawing his breath hard, and striving to control his voice and make it firm.
Then, as he took the knife, he examined it as if in doubt, hesitating about turning it over, and then handing it back, saying firmly, “No.”
“That’s a lie,” thought the man, as he retook the knife, “and my lord here is trying to keep the lair hidden. He knows.”
But the knife had no crosses filed in the handle, and Nic was breathing freely, when he noticed that the black was pointing to something else—a faintly marked footprint, evidently made by a coarsely made sandal or shoe. Beyond this was another, and again beyond another.
“That’s right—go on!” rang in his ears, and the next moment the party was again in motion, with the blacks bending low, and from walking beginning to trot, while the policeman pressed his horse closer to Nic’s.
“Easy trail to follow, sir,” he said. “Now, then, don’t you think you’d better save us further trouble by taking us straight across country to your man’s form?”
“I told you I did not know where he was hiding,” said Nic shortly.
“You did, sir, but I thought I’d save trouble. These birds are a bit desperate when run down, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like to see him shot when he refuses to surrender. Now, would you?”
“No,” said Nic, rather faintly.
“Out with it then, and we’ll take him by surprise—surround him after dusk. Then it will mean a flogging or two, and another year in the gang, and perhaps a fresh chance. Better than being buried, sir, in the bush.”
Nic remained silent, but with his brow contracted.
“Very well, sir, but you see. Why, I can trace that track as I ride. We could find him now without the blacks.”
Still Nic held his peace, and rode on beside the man, as mile after mile was traced, leading, to the boy’s surprise, toward the Bluff, but curving off a mile from home, as if to go round it to reach the other side.
And so it proved, the blacks trotting on till they did pass the house half a mile away; and Nic jumped to the conclusion that the poor fellow had made for the fern gully, up which, somewhere probably on the riverside, was his lair.
They went right on, without once being at fault, the footprints, with the left sole badly cracked across, showing clearly at times in the soft soil, till the place where the black-fish were caught was passed, and the valley slope mounted for the open ground, where the sheep was kicked into the rift that ran down toward the water.
From here the footsteps went right across toward the station, and the leading black ran them easily and triumphantly right up to the men’s bothy, at whose door Brookes stood hollow-cheeked and anxious.
“Got him?” he cried hoarsely, when, to his surprise, the blacks dashed at him and had him down, while the leader secured and held up one of his boots with the sole toward the head of the police.
“Mine find,” he cried, pointing to a crack across the sole; and Nic forced the nag away, and trotted off to the stable to hide his laughter, and then stood patting his horse, feeling quite heartsick from the tension now relieved.
For he had made sure that so as to be in a place not likely to be searched Leather had come by night to the station, and that he would be found hidden in one of the piles of wool, whereas it was evident that Brookes had been over to the Wattles, and had come that way back, searching along the fern gully, to make sure of Leather not being in hiding there.
For two days more the police hunted in every direction, but neither the keen eyes of the blacks nor the senses of the dogs were of any avail, and at last the search was given up.
“We shall find him back here some day,” said the head policeman, “if he’s still alive. But,”—the man looked significantly at Nic—“they don’t always have life left in ’em when we do find ’em. Good day, sir. We may look you up again.”
They rode off, and the station was free of them, for they had made a sort of barrack of the wool-shed, where the fleeces made most satisfactory beds; and as they grew less and less, Nic turned away, to see the light all at once blaze, as it were, into his darkened mind.
“How stupid!” he said, half aloud. “Why, I know where he is hiding, after all.”
He looked up, and there was Brookes watching him with curious eye.