The nugget finders

HARRY was very much disturbed by the communication of his new acquaintance, whose name he ascertained to be Wyman. It was not very pleasant, of course, to be a prisoner, but this he could have borne, being confident, sooner or later, of escaping. But to be forced to join these lawless men, and render himself, like them, an outlaw and outcast from respectable society, seemed terrible. He determined that, come what would, he would preserve his integrity and his honest name. He might be ill-treated, but they could not force him to become a bushranger. He talked the matter over with Jack, and the young sailor agreed with him.

Presently the meal was ready, and the two boys were served with the rest. Notwithstanding their precarious position, each ate heartily. It takes a good deal to spoil the appetite of a growing boy.

After eating, the captain, clearing his throat, addressed the band.

“My men,” he said, “we have refreshed ourselves by eating, and now a less pleasant scene awaits us. I am your captain, and to me you have sworn implicit obedience. Is it not so?”

“Yes, yes!” answered the bushrangers.

“But one thing is essential. There must be no traitor, no malcontents among us. A large reward has been offered for my apprehension—five thousand pounds! It shows how much they are afraid of us,” and he raised his head with conscious pride. “Against open enemies we can hold our own, but not against the secret foe who sits beside us as a friend, and eats and drinks with us. When such a one is found, what shall be his fate?”

He paused for a reply, and it came from the lips of all in one stern word—“Death!”

“I am answered,” said the captain. “The sentence has been pronounced, not by my lips but by your own.”

Here he turned to two attendants, who were stationed near at hand. “Bring forth the traitor,” he said.

The two men disappeared within one of the huts, and immediately reappeared, leading behind them a third, with his hands tied behind him. His face was covered by a black cloth, which effectually screened his features.

“Complete your task!” said the captain, with a wave of his hand.

The two guards set the offender with his back to a tree, and producing a rope, quickly passed it round his waist and tied him securely, with his screened face toward the band.

“Wretch!” said the captain in a terrible voice, “you thought to betray us, and expose us to punishment and death, but the doom which you were ready to bring upon us has recoiled upon yourself. You would have sold your captain and comrades for gold. They have pronounced your doom, and it is Death! Have you anything to say?”

The victim did not speak, but slowly inclined his head in hopeless submission to his fate.

“You have nothing to say for yourself. Is there any one to speak for you?”

One of the bushrangers sprang forward impetuously. “Yes, captain, I will speak for him.”

Captain Stockton frowned fiercely, but uttered one word, “Speak!”

The daring outlaw, who had stepped forward a little from the line, commenced: “This man is my brother. We were nursed by the same mother, we played together by the same fireside, we grew into manhood together, and together we joined this band of brothers.”

He paused a moment, and the captain said briefly, “Well?”

“Now,” continued the brother, “you would condemn him to a shameful death, which he does not deserve.”

“Was he not caught attempting to escape? Answer me instantly.”

“Yes, but he had no intention of betraying any of us.”

“What then was his object?” demanded Captain Stockton sternly.

“He meant to leave you. He had become tired of the life of a bushranger. He wished to return to the paths of honesty, and live by labour at some respectable trade.”

“And why was this? Why, after so many years, had he become tired of our noble independence?”

“In one of his missions, undertaken in the interest of the fraternity, he had made the acquaintance of a young girl, modest and attractive. He wished to marry her, but as a bushranger he knew this was impossible. Therefore, he resolved to leave our band, and enter upon a new life. He would never have uttered a word to imperil the safety of his captain or his comrades.”

“And you expect us to believe this?” said the captain with a sneer.

“I do. I swear it is true.”

“And what do you expect me to do, Robert Graham?”

“To consider his temptations, and to show mercy upon him.”

“Perhaps also you expect me to release him, and bid him go his way to the maiden who is waiting for him.”

“It would be a generous act.”

“But I am not so generous,” said the captain. “Your plea is ingenious, but I put no faith in it. It is utterly improbable. What he sought was blood money.”

“No, a thousand times, no!” exclaimed the brother earnestly.

“I say it is so,” said Captain Stockton harshly. “It is plain to every member of the band. Yet, because you have never transgressed I have been willing to listen to you, remembering that he is your brother.”

“Spare his life at least; even if you are convinced that he is guilty. He has not lived his life half out. Be merciful!”

“I cannot,” answered the captain, in an inflexible tone. “If I yielded to such a weakness all discipline would be at an end. If treachery is pardoned, who knows which one among you might be the next to imitate the example of this man. No! justice is stern, and punishment must be inflicted. The guilty must be punished though the heavens fall. Men, stand aside!”

This was addressed to the two men who stood, one on each side of the condemned bushranger.

They obeyed the command of their chief, and he, raising his revolver, pointed it at the breast of the unhappy offender.

There was a moment of intense excitement, Harry and Jack were spellbound.

The silence was broken by a sharp, explosive sound. The deadly weapon had done its work; but it was not the captive who had received the winged messenger of death. It was the captain himself who staggered, and with one convulsive movement fell prone to the earth.

The excitement among the bushrangers was intense. Simultaneously they started forward, and two of them, bending over, lifted the body of their prostrate leader. But he was already dead.

Robert Graham, the man who had caused his death, stood erect and unflinching.

He threw his weapon upon the ground, folded his arms, and said, in a tone devoid of fear: “Comrades, do with me what you will. I could not help doing what I did. It was either my brother’s life or his. Sandy was innocent of the crime charged against him. Is there any one among you that would stand by and see his brother murdered before his eyes when he had the means of preventing it?”

The bushrangers looked at each other in doubt. They had at first accepted the captain’s statement that Sandy Graham was a traitor. His brother’s explanation of his attempted desertion put a new face on the matter. Then, again, there was not one among them that had not tired of their despotic leader. Alive, he had impressed them with fear, but he was far from popular, and had no real friend among them. It was a moment of doubt when a leader was wanted.

“Well,” said Robert Graham, after a pause, “what are you going to do with me? I wait your pleasure.”

“He ought to be served as he served the captain,” said Fletcher, who disliked Graham.

“I say no,” rejoined Rupert Ring, a man of medium height, but of great muscular development. “It was a terrible deed, but had my brother been in Sandy Graham’s shoes, I would have done the same.”

There was a half murmur, which seemed like approval.

“I move, therefore, that we pass over Robert Graham’s deed as one to which he was impelled by brotherly affection, and that we restore Sandy Graham to his place in our ranks, on condition that he does not repeat the offence. Those who agree with me, hold up their right hands.”

All hands were raised except that of Fletcher.

“Release the prisoner,” said Ring, turning to the two attendants.

Instantly the rope was cut, the dark cloth was removed, and Sandy Graham, a tall, athletic, good-looking fellow, stepped forth, his face pale from the terrible strain to which he had been subjected.

“Comrades, brothers,” he said, in a voice indicating deep emotion, “I thank you for giving me back my life. It shall be devoted to your service.”

The first to press forward and grasp his hand convulsively was his brother, Robert Graham.

“Robert,” said Sandy, “but for your brave act I should have been lying dead instead of him,” and he pointed, with a shudder, to the dead captain.

Their conversation was interrupted by Rupert Ring.

“Comrades,” he said, “the captain is dead. We can do nothing without a leader. We should appoint one at once.”

Here Fletcher pushed forward.

“I am the oldest in service among you,” he said. “I was the trusted friend of Captain Stockton. I submit that I have the best claim to be your leader.”

But among bushrangers, as in other communities, the man who is the most anxious to secure office is very apt to be left in the lurch. Now, it happened that Fletcher was by no means a favourite in the band. He was sly and sneaking in his methods, currying favour with the captain, even at the expense of manliness and self-respect, and there were serious doubts as to his courage. If he had been wiser, he would not have made a boast of his standing with the late leader, for the men were heartily tired of his tyranny, and resolved to elect some one in his place who bore no similarity to him.

Rupert Ring smiled slightly as he heard Fletcher’s modest claim.

“Comrades,” he said, “you have heard Fletcher’s appeal. It is true that he is the oldest in service among you. It is for you to consider whether that entitles him to the post of leader. Those of you who are in favour of Dick Fletcher as your leader will signify it by raising your right hands.”

Fletcher’s eye wandered anxiously around the circle. To his chagrin not a single hand was raised save his own. There was a cheer of derision which brought an angry flush to his cheek.

Then a clear voice was heard. It was that of the young man, Wyman, whose conversation with the two boys has already been recorded.

“I nominate Rupert Ring for our leader,” he said.

There was a chorus of approval, which emboldened Wyman to add: “As he can’t very well put the question on his own nomination, I will do so. Those of you who want Ring for your captain, please hold up your right hands.”

All hands were raised except that of Fletcher.

“That settles it,” said Wyman, who was unversed in parliamentary language. “I call for three cheers for Captain Ring!”

The woods echoed to the lusty cheers of the bushrangers. It was evident, from the general expression of satisfaction, that the choice was a popular one.

“Comrades,” said the new captain modestly, “I did not look for this promotion, as you may have thought from my taking the lead just now, but I saw that it was necessary for somebody to act. I don’t know whether you have made a wise choice or not, but I will do my best to make you think so. Since I am your captain, it is my duty first to see that proper honour is paid to the remains of your late captain. Prepare a coffin, and at daybreak we will commit him to the earth.”

“I would like to suggest,” said Fletcher, “that the two boys”—here he turned in the direction where Harry and Jack had been standing, and ejaculated in dismay, “I don’t see them. What has become of them?”

“They have taken advantage of the excitement and confusion to run away, I fancy,” said the new captain quietly.

This was quite true. Just after the fatal shot had been fired, and the attention of all had been taken up by the tragedy, Harry had whispered to Jack, “Now’s our time to escape, Jack. Follow me!”

“I’m with you,” responded Jack promptly, and no one noticed the two as they vanished among the trees.

“Shall I go after them, Captain Ring?” asked Fletcher in excitement. “I’ll take another man, and scour the woods for them.”

“It is not necessary,” said Ring indifferently. “Let them go! They would only be in our way.”

“But,” protested Fletcher, “Captain Stockton meant to take them into the band. They are bright and smart boys, and would grow up into useful members.”

“Heaven forbid!” said Ring earnestly. “Our lives are spoiled already, and we have no chance but to continue. Leave them to grow up innocent.”

“This is strange talk for a captain of bushrangers,” said Fletcher, disappointed.

“Remember that I am your captain,” retorted Ring sharply, “and don’t attempt to interfere with me! Go, I would be alone.”

Fletcher slunk away, mortified and disappointed. It was well for the two boys that he had not been elected captain.