The nugget finders

HARRY didn’t need to be told that bushrangers in Australia correspond to bandits in Italy and highwaymen in other countries. Stories of their outrages were common enough, and among the dangers apprehended in a journey to or from the mines, that of meeting with a party of this gentry was perhaps the most dreaded.

Though Obed Stackpole betrayed no emotion, but was outwardly quiet, his heart sank within him when he saw the bushrangers strung along the road.

Meanwhile Harry had been scanning the faces of the men who confronted them, and made a surprising discovery.

“Look, Obed,” he said eagerly, “at that man on the extreme right.”

Mr. Stackpole did look.

“Dick Fletcher!” he ejaculated.

But at this point the leader of the bushrangers broke silence.

“Do you surrender?” he asked in brief, commanding accents.

“I think we shall have to, squire,” answered Obed, to whom the demand was naturally addressed.

“You must give up what money you have about you,” was the next demand.

“It’s mighty inconvenient, squire. I’m a good many thousand miles away from home, and——”

“Peace, fool! Produce whatever you have of value.”

“I haven’t got much. You’ve tackled the wrong man, squire.”

“Fletcher, search that man!” said the captain of the band.

Dick Fletcher dismounted from his horse, and with evident alacrity advanced to the side of the Yankee.

“I think we’ve met before,” said Obed significantly.

“I think we have,” said the outlaw, showing his teeth. “I told you we should meet again.”

“I can’t say I’m overjoyed at the meeting. However, I respect you more now, when you show yourself in your true colours, than when you sneaked up to me at night, and searched my pockets, pretending all the while to be a friend.”

“Take care how you talk!” said Fletcher, frowning. “Yesterday you were three to one, now you are in my power.”

“So you’re a highway robber, are you, Fletcher? Well, I can’t say I’m very much surprised. I guess that’s what you’re most fit for.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” said Fletcher, touching his hip pocket. “It isn’t safe for you to insult me.”

“Just so! You have a right to be brave with all them men at your side.”

“What are you doing there, Dick Fletcher? Why don’t you proceed to business?” demanded the leader impatiently.

“Empty your pockets, Stackpole!” said Fletcher, in a peremptory tone.

“All right.”

The Yankee plunged his hands into his pockets, and produced in succession a jack-knife, a plug of tobacco, a bunch of keys, and a couple of buttons.

“Take them, Fletcher,” he said, “if you want ’em more than I do.”

“What do you mean with this tomfoolery?” demanded Fletcher, perceiving an impatient frown on the face of his chief. “Hand over your money.”

“I guess you’ll have to search me, Fletcher. You’ve done it before,” answered Obed imperturbably. “I’ve mislaid my money, and you may know where it is better than I do.”

Fletcher took him at his word, and proceeded to search, using some roughness about it.

“Be careful, Fletcher,” said Obed. “I’m a tender plant, and mustn’t be roughly handled.”

Every pocket was searched, but no money was found. Dick Fletcher looked puzzled.

“I can’t find anything,” he said to the captain.

“Rip open his clothes,” said the leader impatiently. “He has some place of concealment for his gold, but it won’t avail. We shall find it.”

Fletcher whipped out a knife and was about to obey directions, but Obed anticipated him.

“I’ll save you the trouble, Fletcher,” he said. “As you’re bound to have the money, I may as well give it up. Just hand over that jack-knife, won’t you?”

Fletcher hesitated, not understanding his meaning.

“Oh, I’ll give it back to you if you want it, but I need it to get the money.”

Upon this the knife was given back to him.

Obed cut open the lining of his pantaloons, and drew out four five-pound bank-notes. They were creased and soiled, but this did not impair their value.

“I guess that’s what you were after,” said Obed. “I can’t say you’re welcome to them, but that doesn’t make any difference to you, I take it.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” demanded the chief of the bushrangers, looking very much disappointed.

“Every cent, squire.”

The leader turned to Fletcher.

“Didn’t you tell us this man was well fixed?” he asked.

“I thought so,” answered Fletcher, crestfallen.

“I thought you knew it. Why, this is a contemptibly small sum, and doesn’t pay for our trouble.”

“You’re right, squire,” said Obed. “It ain’t worth carryin’ away. You may as well give it back, Fletcher.”

“That’s a different matter,” continued the captain. “Once more, is that all the money you have about you?”

“It is, squire.”

“Be careful what you say, for if we catch you in a lie, we’ll string you up to the nearest tree.”

“It’s as true as preachin’, squire. I never lie. I’m like Washington. I dare say you’ve heard of him.”

A further search was made, but no money was found, luckily for Obed, since there is reason to believe that the outlaw would have carried out his threat.

“The fellow here fooled you, Fletcher,” said the captain sternly. “Take care how you bring us any more false reports.”

“There are the boys,” suggested Fletcher uncomfortable under the rebuke.

“Search them also.”

This was done, or rather it would have been done, had not Harry and Jack, fully realising the futility of resistance, produced promptly all the money they had. So much, however, had been spent on the outfit, that between them they could only muster about seven pounds.

“Humph!” said the captain contemptuously, “that’s a big haul, upon my word!”

“There are the cattle and supplies,” said Fletcher.

“They will be of use. Here, Peter, do you and Hugh drive the team into the woods, and prepare some dinner for the band. We will be there directly.”

Two men, unmounted, who seemed to be servants, came forward, and proceeded to obey orders.

“Hold on, squire!” exclaimed Obed in alarm “You ain’t goin’ to take our team, are you?”

“Most certainly I am. If you had had a large sum in money, we would have spared you this. As it is, we must have them.”

“But we shall starve, without money or food.”

“That is nothing to me.”

“Well, boys, come along,” said Obed in a despondent tone. “Our prospects ain’t over bright, but something may turn up.”

Meanwhile there was a quiet conference among the bushrangers.

“Hold!” said the captain, as Harry and Jack were about to leave the scene with their older companion. “You can go,” turning to Obed, “but the boys remain with us.”

Harry and Jack exchanged a glance of dismay. To be stripped of all they had was a serious misfortune, but in addition to be made prisoners by the bushrangers was something of which they had not dreamed. Obed, too, was taken aback. He had become attached to his young companions, and he was very sorry to part with them. He could not forbear a remonstrance.

“Look here, squire,” he said familiarly to the captain, “what do you want to keep the boys for? They won’t do you any good, and it’ll cost considerable to keep ’em. They’re pretty hearty.”

Harry and Jack could not help laughing at this practical argument.

The captain of the bushrangers frowned.

“I am the best judge of that,” he said. “You are lucky to be let off yourself. Don’t meddle with matters that don’t concern you.”

“Take me, if you want to,” said Obed independently. “I shall be lonesome without the boys.”

“You had better go while there is a chance,” said the captain menacingly. “If you give me any more trouble, I will have my men tie you to a tree and leave you here.”

Harry was afraid the threat would be carried out, and begged Obed to make no further intercession.

“I have no doubt we shall meet again,” he said. “These gentlemen will no doubt release us soon.”

He was by no means confident of this, but he thought it politic to take things cheerfully.

“The boy has sense,” said the captain approvingly.

“Well, good-bye, boys,” said Obed, wringing the hands of his two young friends. “I shall feel awfully lonely, that’s a fact, but as you say, we may meet again.”

“Good-bye, Obed,” said each boy, trying not to look as sorrowful as he felt.

Obed Stackpole turned and walked slowly away. His prospects were by no means bright, for he was left without money or provisions in the Australian wilderness, but at that moment he thought only of losing the companionship of the two boys, and was troubled by the thought that they might come to harm among the bushrangers.

“If I only knew where they were goin’ to take ’em,” he said to himself, “I’d foller and see if I couldn’t help ’em to escape.”

To follow at once, however, he felt would be in the highest degree imprudent, and he continued to move away slowly, but without any definite idea of where he intended to go.

“Follow me, men,” said the leader. He turned his horse’s head and rode into the wood.

The eucalyptus trees are very tall, some attaining a height of hundreds of feet. They begin to branch high up, and there being little if any underbrush in the neighbourhood, there was nothing to prevent the passage of mounted horsemen. The ground was dry also, and the absence of bogs and marshy ground was felt to be a great relief.

The boys were on foot, and so were two or three of the bushranger’s party. As already intimated, they were of inferior rank and employed as attendants. In general the party was silent, and the boys overheard a little conversation between the captain and Dick Fletcher, who rode beside him.

“You haven’t distinguished yourself this time, Fletcher,” said the chief in a dissatisfied tone. “You led me to think that this party had money enough to repay us for our trouble.”

“It isn’t my fault,” said Fletcher, in an apologetic tone. “The Yankee completely deceived me. He was always boasting of his money.”

“He doesn’t seem like that kind of a man,” said the captain thoughtfully. “What could have been his object?”

“He must have meant to fool me. I am ashamed to say he did.”

“Couldn’t you have found out whether his boasts were correct?”

“That is just what I tried to do,” answered Fletcher. “I crept to his side early one morning, and began to explore his pockets, but he woke up in an instant and cut up rough. He seized me by the throat, and I thought he would choke me. That made me think all the more that he carried a good deal of money about with him.”

“The boys, too—did you think they were worth plundering?”

“Oh, no, I never was deceived about them,” replied Fletcher promptly. “I concluded that, even if they had money, the Yankee was their guardian, and took care of it. They are all Americans, you know.”

He spoke glibly, and the captain appeared to credit his statements. The boys listened with interest and with a new appreciation of Fletcher’s character. They could easily have disproved one of his statements, for they knew very well that Obed never boasted of his money, nor gave any one a right to suppose that he carried much with him. On this point he was very reticent, and neither of them knew much of his circumstances. However, it would have done no good to contradict Fletcher, for his word with the captain would have outweighed theirs, and he would have found a way to punish them for their interference.

“In future,” said the captain, “I advise you to make sure that the game is worth bagging. As it is, you have led us on a fool’s errand.”

“That may be,” Fletcher admitted, “but it wasn’t so last time. The Scotch merchant bled freely, you must allow.”

“Yes, you did better then.”

As Harry listened he began to understand that Fletcher acted as a decoy, to ingratiate himself with parties leaving Melbourne for the mines, and then giving secret information to the bushrangers with whom he was connected, enabling them to attack and plunder his unsuspecting companions.

“That’s a pretty mean sort of business,” he said to Jack, when he had an opportunity to speak to him without being overheard. “I’d rather be a robber right out than lure people into danger.”

“So would I,” responded Jack. “That Fletcher’s worse than a pirate.”

So they went on, but slowly, that the boys, though compelled to walk, had little difficulty in keeping up. They were necessarily anxious, but their predominant feeling was of curiosity as to their destination, and as to the bushrangers’ mode of life.

At length they came out of the woods into more open ground.

On a slight rise stood a collection of huts, covered with sheets of the bark of the gum-tree, held on by ties of bullock hide. For the most part they contained but one room each. One, however, was large, and, the boys afterwards learned, was occupied by the captain of the bushrangers. Another served as a stable for the horses of the party.

This Harry judged to be the home of the outlaws, for no sooner had they come in sight of it than they leaped from their horses and led them up to the stable, relieving them of their saddles. Then the bushrangers sat down on the ground, and lounged at their ease. The attendants forthwith made preparations for a meal, appropriating the stores which had just been taken from Obed and the boys. The captives were not sorry that there was a prospect of a meal, for by this time they were hungry. They followed the example of their companions, and threw themselves down on the ground.

Next to them was a young bushranger, apparently about twenty-two years of age, who had a pleasant face, indicative of good humour.

“How do you like our home?” he asked, turning to Harry with a smile.

“It is a pleasant place,” answered Harry.

“How would you like to live here?”

“I don’t think I should like it,” Harry replied honestly.

“And why not? Is it not better than to be pent up in a city? Here we breathe the pure air of the woods; we listen to the songs of the birds; we are not chained to the desk or confined from morning till night in a close office.”

“That is true, but are there not some things you do not like about it,” asked Harry significantly.

“Such as what?”

“Is it not better to earn your living, even if you are chained to a desk, than to get it as you do?”

Harry felt that he was rather bold in asking this question, but he was reassured by the pleasant face of the young outlaw.

“Well,” admitted the latter, “there are some objections to our life.”

“It would not do for all to get their living as you do.”

“That is true. Some must work, in order that others may relieve them of a portion of their property.”

“Are you not afraid of being interfered with?”

“By the mounted police?”

“Yes.”

“We are strong enough to overcome them,” said the bushranger carelessly.

“What is the name of your captain?” asked Harry.

“Stockton. No doubt you heard of him in Melbourne.”

Harry shook his head.

The outlaw seemed surprised. “I thought everybody in Australia had heard of Ben Stockton,” he said. “He has a great name,” he added with evident pride. “He is as strong as a lion, fears nothing, and his name is associated with some of the most daring robberies that have ever taken place in this country.”

“And still he is free,” said Harry suggestively.

“The authorities are afraid of him. They have offered a reward for his capture, but it doesn’t trouble him. He only laughs at it.”

They were far enough away from the rest of the party to carry on their conversation unheard—otherwise, neither Harry nor his informant would have ventured to speak with so much freedom. At this eulogium, however, Harry scanned, with some curiosity, the face and figure of the famous bushranger, who was sitting about three rods distant. He was a man of large frame, powerfully built, with hair and beard black as night, and keen, penetrating eyes that seemed to look through those upon whom they were fixed. He had about him an air of command and conscious authority, so that the merest stranger could not mistake his office. About his mouth there was something which indicated sternness and cruelty. He was a man to inspire fear, and Harry, after a steady examination, felt no surprise at the man’s reputation.

“How long has he been captain?” asked Harry.

“Ever since I joined the band,” answered the young man. “I don’t know how much longer.”

“How long have you been a member of the band?”

“Five years.”

“You must have been a mere boy when you joined.”

“I was seventeen. I am twenty-two now.”

“I should like to ask you a question, but you may not like to answer it.”

“Go on! If I don’t care to answer, I will tell you so.”

“What induced you to join the bushrangers?”

“I will tell you,” said the young man, showing neither offence nor reluctance. “I was employed in Melbourne in a business establishment. One of my fellow-clerks stole some money, and, to screen himself, managed to implicate me by concealing a part of the stolen money in my coat pocket. I knew no way to prove my innocence, and my employer was not a man to show pity, so I escaped from Melbourne and took refuge in the bush. There I fell in with Captain Stockton, who offered me a place in his band. I accepted, and here I am.”

“But for the act of your fellow-clerk you would have been an honest business man to-day, then?”

“Very likely.”

“What a pity!” said Harry regretfully, for he was much attracted by the open face and pleasant manners of the young man.

“So I thought at first, but I became used to it. After a while I grew to like the free life of the bush.”

“I don’t call it free. You can’t go back to Melbourne for fear of arrest.”

“Oh yes, I have been there several times,” said the young man carelessly.

“How did you manage it?” asked Harry, puzzled.

“I disguised myself. Sometimes the captain sends me on special business.”

“Like Fletcher?” asked Harry quickly.

“No; I shouldn’t like that work. It suits him, however.”

“I never should have taken you for a bushranger. You look too honest.”

The other laughed.

“I think I was meant to be an honest man,” he said. “That is, I am better suited to it. But fate ordained otherwise.”

“Fate?”

“Yes; I believe that everything that happens to us is fated, and could not have been otherwise.”

“You think, then, that you were fated to be a bushranger?”

“I am sure of it.”

“That, then, accounts for it not troubling you.”

“You are right. We can’t kick against fate, you know.”

“I shouldn’t like to believe as you do,” said Harry earnestly.

“You’ll come to believe it sooner or later,” said the outlaw, with an air of conviction.

“Then what is the use of trying to lead a good and honourable life?”

“That’s just what I say. There isn’t any use.”

Harry had never before met any one holding such views of fate. He was interested but repelled. He felt that he could not and would not accept any such idea, and he said so.

“You’ll change your mind after you become one of us,” said his companion.

“After what?” ejaculated Harry.

“I suppose you know you are to become one of us.”

“But that will never be. How can you think such a thing!”

“Because I know it is to be. Why do you think the captain brought you here? He had your money, and couldn’t get any more out of you.”

“Do you really mean what you say?” asked Harry, his heart filled with a sickening apprehension that this might be true.

“Of course I do. The captain likes young people. You two boys are smart and bright, and he is going to make you members of the band.”

“He can’t! I’ll die first!” exclaimed Harry, with suppressed energy.

“You will see. But hush! don’t speak so loud. For my part I shall be very glad to have you among us.”

At this moment their companion was called away, and Harry, bending toward Jack, whispered in his ear: “I am afraid he is right about the captain’s intentions. We must try to escape as soon as there is any chance.”

“I’m with you,” Jack whispered back.