In Quest of Gold; or Under the Whanga Falls, by Alfred St. Johnston

It was broad daylight when Alec awoke; the sun was pouring a brilliant flood of light into the room through the broken, unscreened window, and he could hear the loud "chirring" of the locusts outside in the morning heat. The room he was in looked even dirtier and more miserable than it had appeared the night before. The floor could not have been cleaned for years, and dust lay thick upon everything that was not in constant use. The white wood table was unscoured, and was littered with bones and crumbs and fragments of stale food. Foster sometimes swept all these remains with his dirty hand on to the floor, but as yet, this morning, he had neglected to do so. A greasy old newspaper that was crumpled and torn with use was lying on the floor, where one of the men had let it fall the night before; and a rusty candlestick, that was clogged with tallow, was standing at the edge of the table where the reader had left it when he rolled to bed. The frowsy hammock in which Starlight had slept was empty, the draggled blue blanket he had used was hanging over the side. Besides Alec there was no one in the room.

For half a moment, when he first awoke, he did not recognise the place he was in, but sitting up and looking round the uncleanly, slovenly room, with a shudder of disgust at his surroundings, he remembered only too vividly where he was. He got up and found a battered galvanised iron bucket full of water at the other side of the hearth, and at this, taking off his tattered shirt, he proceeded, without soap or towels, to wash himself. He had moved into the stream of hot sunshine that poured into the room to dry himself, and with bended head was shaking the water out of his hair in a little dazzling shower of spots, when the creaking door was opened and Martin Crosby stepped into the room.

"Oh, you are awake at last?" said the great genial red-faced fellow, walking across the room and slapping Alec on his naked back. "I've been in to look at you once or twice, and each time found you sleeping like a top."

"All right, put your jumper on, and I'll get you something. We can have a talk while you are eating."

"Where are Starlight and the other fellows?" said Alec, struggling into his shirt, which clung to his damp skin.

"They are down at Lingan's, and won't be back just yet. They left Foster and me to keep our eyes on you, so that you could not give us the slip."

"That's just what I want to do. You will help me, won't you?" said poor Alec, almost trembling with eagerness. "Remember your promise of last night."

"Yes, I'll help you to clear out of this vile den if I possibly can do it. Heaven knows how willingly I would get out of it myself," said Crosby, earnestly.

"I can't. It's no use. I'm in with them too deep. If I did leave there's nothing I could turn my hand to, and nowhere that I could go. I'm done for. You don't know me I can see. I'm the man that did for Squiros down in Brisbane. But I'd do it again, without a moment's hesitation, if I saw that villain serving that poor woman as he did before."

"He was a low, South American sort of Spanish cove, who was mate to a ship from Rio. I met him at Ridley's. What! don't you know Ridley's? Then it is evident you don't know Brisbane—and none the worse for that," he added sotto voce. "Well, we had one or two bits of rows; he was always bumming round there and bossing everybody; and then one night I saw him striking a pretty, decent girl, from Troman's store in Wood Street, that I knew, so I ran up and caught him one with the stick I carried. I didn't mean to hit the little beast so hard, but I was angry, and had a drop on board, and the chap fell down without a word at my feet.

"I tried to bring him round, but he never stirred a muscle. I should have faced it out if I'd been by myself, but Annie was in an awful fright, and lugged me away when the folks began to come up. I got out of Brisbane that night, and had the bad luck to drop in with Kearney—I used to know him years ago—and I told him all about it, and he brought me up here to be out of the way. It served that little brute right, but I can't forget his ghastly face as he fell under the street lamp.

"If it weren't for that I'd have cut this concern as soon as I found out who and what Starlight was. But I'm tied here; wherever I went every one would know that I was Squiros' murderer."

During the last few words, unseen by either of the two men, Foster had been standing by the door that Crosby had left partly open when he came into the room. He had heard all the last words of Crosby's self accusation, and, perhaps feeling sorry for the evident distress of the young fellow, or perhaps moved by that desire to be the first to tell a startling piece of news, which we all feel, he said with a loud laugh—

"Well, you must be a fool to believe that any longer. Why, that Squiros chap is as well as you are, and is 'alf-way back to Rio by this time. We knew it three days a'ter you came 'ere, but Starlight told us not to let on about it as he wanted to keep you in our lot."

With clenched great fists and indrawn breath Crosby listened to Foster's story. His ruddy face flushed redder, but the hardened, reckless look upon it passed away.

"Thank Heaven!" he uttered brokenly and fervently, and his eyes for a moment grew dim. As Foster, still laughing at the credulity and simplicity of the fellow, left the room with the saddle and bridle he had come for, Crosby turned to Alec with a great sigh of relief, and said—

"Then I'm not a murderer;" he laughed an excited sort of laugh as he spoke, and his face brightened. "What a weight that man has taken from my heart. All these two last weeks I have felt utterly hard and reckless, and I didn't care a jot what I did or what became of me. Confound you, Starlight," said he, bitterly, and bringing his fist down on the table with a sounding crash, "I'll not forget this."

"Hush!" said Alec, moving round to where Crosby sat. "Don't speak so loudly; there's no knowing, in this den of thieves, who may be listening. I am glad of this for your sake," said he, laying his hand warmly on the other fellow's shoulder, and giving him a little congratulatory shake by it. "For my sake, too, for you will try to get away with me, now. Won't you?"

Crosby nodded and looked up. His face was wonderfully changed in expression in the last few minutes. The strained, uneasy expression that was visible behind the dare-devil recklessness of it was gone, and even the anxiety that was still apparent in it looked less hard and corrosive.

"I don't know how it is to be done," he said, "but we will try. Starlight, confound him, is so sharp. Whatever you do, be careful before him."

"That would be no good, I fear. Starlight is not one to be taken unawares, he'd get to know of it. Besides, in the first place, it is impossible to send any message."

"If I could only let them know that I was alive I shouldn't care. I have a mother and sister, and they will be breaking their hearts at their double loss. I know Margaret——"

"Margaret! Is Margaret Law your sister—a beautiful, tall, dark girl? What an idiot I've been; why of course she is, you are very like her."

"Yes," said the great fellow, blushing a rosy red, like any girl; "many times last year at my uncle's house."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Alec, a sudden light bursting upon him. "Then you are old Peter Crosby's nephew!"

"Yes. I used to live with him. He adopted me when I was a lad, but he has turned me out since then; he said he couldn't afford to keep me any longer; I ate too much."

"He was quite right, poor old chap," said Crosby, with that tenderness which the very strong and healthy often have for the old and weak. "I have been an awful fool, and haven't lived as decently as I might. He is old now, and couldn't bear to see me squandering my money, although it was my own; he thought I should be asking him for more when mine was all gone. So he turned me out before that time came. He was very good to me when I was a little un."

Whilst Alec was talking with Crosby, Como, having made a little tour of inspection round the house on his own account, came into the room, and seeing food on the table and no one very near it he thought he could not do better than help himself. This he could easily do, as he stood so high that his head was above the level of the table. Having demolished the food, that in his excitement Alec had hardly touched, the dog approached his master, looking, but for a crumb on the side of his mouth, the picture of canine innocence. With a sideway wriggle of his hind quarters, and with a preliminary wave—it was too stately a movement to be called a wag—of his tail, he laid his head on Alec's knee.

Alec always respected dogs' feelings—which are much more acute than most people think—so he noticed the dog, and, without interrupting his talk with Crosby, he caressed Como's tawny head and ears. He was listening to his companion, yet all the time there was a mental picture before him of Como's master lying unburied by that charred black stump, and exposed to the garish sunlight. He could not forget his loss, it was too recent, and the pain of it too keen; the events of the last night seemed burned into his mind in a series of indelible pictures. Suddenly an idea flashed into his mind, and leaping up from his seat, he exclaimed—

"Whatever for?" asked Crosby, surprised by Alec's abrupt movement, and by the earnestness of his face and voice.

"This dog here. Hundreds of times has Geordie—my brother," Alec explained in a voice that shook though he tried to keep it steady, "sent him home to the head station with messages from all parts of the run. He might find his way from here. Anyway it is a chance. Eh, Como, will you?" said Alec.

The dog knew that they were speaking of him, and with ears pricked up and inquiring eyes, he looked at Alec as though waiting for an explanation.

It was with difficulty that Crosby could find what they wanted, but at last he discovered, on the decrepit side table, which was littered with bridles, foul empty bottles, odd bits of iron and straps and rubbish of all sorts, a stockman's dusty pocket-book, in which there were a few unused pages, and with a stump of pencil still fastened in it by the sticky and worn elastic band.

"Here we are!" said he, bringing these trophies in triumph to Alec. "You must look sharp, for I expect they will be coming back directly."

For a moment Alec sat quite still without putting pencil to paper; he had so much to say that he didn't know where to begin. At last he began to write swiftly. He looked up, after a minute or two, at Crosby, who was leaning out of the window, whistling softly to himself, and said—

"Oh, say Norton's Gap, south of the Dixieville road, just after you have passed by Badger's Creek. Tell them to ask for Lingan's. Most people know where that is, though it is out of the way and few come to it."

For a moment or two the stump of pencil rapidly travelled over the paper, and then again Alec paused.

"I don't know what is best to be done. They can't send enough men after me to capture Starlight and all the rest, for, not counting you, of course, there are seven of them including Foster."

"Yes, and probably Lingan and his son would help them, and Lingan's son's wife, too, Big Eliza, who rather likes Starlight, and who is a regular Tartar, and nearly six feet high into the bargain. I can't think why a man, when he does want to marry, chooses a woman like a grenadier with a head of hair like a bearskin."

Alec could not help smiling at this pleasant portrait of Mrs. Lingan, junior, for Martin had a very dry and humorous way of saying things.

"I don't like the idea of sneaking off without a bit of a row with them," said Alec, who was still longing for vengeance; "but I suppose that we must as they are so strong. If I could only have it out with Starlight I shouldn't so much mind."

"You must look on that as a pleasure deferred. Now, then, have you got that letter ready?"

"Yes. I have told them to try to communicate with me through you. I've said that to-morrow night at eleven o'clock you will be on the track that leads from the Dixieville road to Lingan's. I have said what you are like. I expect old Macleod, our manager, will come, and you and he may be able to concoct a plan. I don't think I can say any more."

Alec called Como, who was sitting on his haunches in the sun idly snapping at the flies which buzzed about him, and with a bit of frayed string that Crosby produced from his pocket, he tied the all-important letter round the neck of the dog. He folded the paper as small as possible, and placed it underneath the dog's neck, and hid the string in the hair of his neck, where it was longer and thicker than elsewhere.

They took the dog to the front of the house, and Alec, pointing towards Wandaroo, tried to start him off. But the dog did not seem to understand; in vain Alec said, "Home, Como," "Home, then," "Good dog," "Go home," any one of which would have been enough from Geordie. He was in despair about it, for the dog would not leave him, and he could conceive no other plan of communicating with the station. At last Crosby came to his rescue with a suggestion.

"Try to make him go back to your brother. He may know what you mean when he hears his name."

It was hard for poor Alec to say it, believing, as he did, that his brother was lying dead in the trampled grass where he had fallen the night before, but he remembered how much was at stake, and manfully controlling his voice, he spoke again to the dog, who was looking up at him wistfully.

It almost seemed that he did recognise the name, for with a quick, short bark, and an intelligent flourish of the tail, he started off to Wandaroo.

Very anxiously they watched the dog, as with his long stride he quickly covered the ground, though he appeared to be trotting so easily. He travelled at the same easy pace, and without looking back, till he came to the corner which hid Lingan's house and buildings from the place where they stood. Here the dog suddenly made a bolt of it, and rushing madly along was out of their sight in a moment. They could hear the noise of several men shouting, and then the sharp crack of a pistol shot. Alec turned pale and bit his lip, and looked to Crosby for confirmation of his fears.

"They've seen him, the brutes, and tried to stop him by force, as they failed to do it by persuasion. He may have got off. We must go in. Don't let Starlight see us here. And try not to look so anxious."

They returned to the house, and a moment or two later Starlight and two of the other men came into the room. In a perfectly natural manner, and with rather a complaining tone in his voice, Crosby said—

"What a time you have been. I thought you were never coming back again. I don't want to be boxed up here all day."

"We wanted to see what Lingan had got for those bullocks for us, and it took some time to settle up."

"Some that strayed up here, and whose marks we couldn't make out," said one of the men.

"Don't be a fool, Evans. Why, some bullocks that we drove off from Sheridan's station, all the marks on which we got rid of. But it was before you joined us, Crosby, so you don't get any of the plunder," said Starlight.

With what sickening anxiety Alec awaited Starlight's answer! He almost feared to listen, yet he could hardly breathe till he heard what was Como's fate.

"Oh, just as we were coming out of Lingan's yard we saw that dog, that great beast of yours, Law, trotting calmly off. We called to it, but that made it start off at full rush, so I lugged out my snapper and let fly at it."

"Why, the brute got away. He was going too quick, I think. But it doesn't matter. We don't want a great hulking brute of that sort about the place. He would eat as much as any two men."

When Starlight so lightly dismissed the matter, he little knew what momentous results to him and his gang depended upon that "hulking brute" getting safely away. Alec breathed freely again when he heard that Como had managed to give them the slip, and Martin could not prevent a faint smile flickering in his sunny face. Starlight noticed it, and said—

CHAPTER XXIV.

COMO'S ERRAND.

Although the heat was great, for the sky was cloudless, and the shade, where there was any, inviting and cool, Alec's trusty messenger tarried not for rest or coolness. He seemed to know the importance of the news he carried, for he trotted along without a pause. The only time that Como had travelled that way had been the night before, but with that unerring instinct, which we can so little understand, he made straight for Wandaroo. Except once, to drink at a little cattle-trampled pool which the recent rains had partly filled, he never stopped till he reached the head station, where he arrived dusty, foot-sore, and panting, about two hours after he left Norton's Gap.

Dogs generally seem to possess a keen sense of duty, a quality which is, unfortunately, only too often wanting in man, the nobler animal; and Como made no fuss, and took no credit to himself for this arduous morning's work, knowing that, after all, he had only done what he ought. Mankind, on the other hand, which will not admit the extent of its moral obligations, generally greatly plumes itself when it does occasionally recognise one of its bounden responsibilities, never thinking for a moment that the virtuous action which it considers it has done is really an imperative duty.

Como, who was a privileged animal, made straight for the large general room of the house, and without being seen by any one, entered the door. Finding the room quite silent and empty, he passed carefully out between the muslin curtains on to the sunny boards of the broad verandah. He looked up and down it, but finding that it was as unoccupied as the room, he turned, and pattering along the planks, ran to the kitchen.

Mrs. Beffling, the cook, was standing over the fire, screening her hot, red face from the blaze with a tin plate, cooking something nourishing for the patient, and being intent upon her work, as a good cook should be, she did not observe the presence of the dog. But Como, thinking it was time that some one noticed him, lifted a paw and laid it on her dress. The good woman looked down, and recognising the missing dog, she dropped the tin plate with a crash upon the floor, and lifting up her hands, opened her mouth preparatory to a good scream, but remembering the instructions given that morning by the doctor she snapped her jaws together again before a sound had had time to come out.

Taking the little saucepan from the fire, and placing it carefully on the hob of home-made bricks by the side of the grate, she waddled from the kitchen along the cool, dark passage to the door of the boys' room. There she softly knocked, and Margaret came out.

"Ho! come into the kitching, miss, I've had sich a turn," Here the good old creature thought it would be "genteel-like" to appear faint, so she tottered and gave a gasp.

"No! Where is he?" said Margaret, coming out and quietly closing the door behind her.

"He were in the kitching, miss, a minnut ago. I were standin' over the fire a hottin' up that bought beef-tea, miss, which it do not compare to mine, though I says it as shouldn't. For my best beef-tea, which I'm sure I should make for poor dear Master George, is as stiff as glue when cold, and almost gums the lips together when took hot. I learnt how to make it in England, miss, when I was kitching maid, under a aunt of mine who was cook, at Kepton Park, wheer the Honrabble and Reverent Mr.——"

"Ho, to be sure; Como, of course, yes, miss. I were a-standin' over the fire a-hottin'——"

"When in leaps Como as bold as brass, and he jumps up agen me, he do, as though to say like 'Beffling, I'm clemmed.'"

This was rather a stretch of imagination on the part of the worthy old soul, but she was so excited that she could not help a little exaggeration, which was quite harmless she thought, and made the story so much more interesting.

However, there was Como true enough when they reached the kitchen, and glad was he to see Margaret when she came in. He had taken a drink of water from one of the tins in the kitchen, and then had stretched himself at full length in his old place beneath the table under the window. He sprang up when he saw Margaret, and rushed to her, and the girl, with tears in her eyes, knelt down on the floor and fondled the dog. They made a very pretty picture, Mrs. Beffling thought, as she stood with her bare red arms akimbo, and her head on one side looking at them.

"Poor old Como, how hot and tired you are. Have you come from Alec?" said the poor girl, with tears in her voice. "Oh! Alec, Alec, where are you? If you could only tell us, Como, if he be alive and where he is. We are in such trouble, doggie." She laid her arms round Como's neck and wiped away upon his smooth forehead a great tear from her cheek. The dog tried to lick her face, forgetting for a moment, it is to be feared, the letter round his neck, in his chivalrous efforts to comfort beauty in distress. Poor Geordie was quite right, Como had the feelings of a true gentleman.

Suddenly Margaret felt the folded bit of paper that was tied under Como's neck. In a voice that rang with excitement, she cried out—

"Lawks! miss, what for?" said Mrs. Beffling, starting. "You isn't going to kill the dog, sureli!"

"Don't be a donkey," said Margaret, holding out her hand, and forgetting all her boarding-school manners in her excitement.

"No, miss, for sure," replied the cook, snatching a knife from the table and handing it to her.

"Stand still," said Margaret, trembling with eagerness, as she slipped her forefinger under the string and raised it from the dog's neck. She sawed the string through, and, with fingers that shook so from nervousness that she could hardly untie the knots, she at last opened the letter and spread it out. She did not rise, but kneeling where she was on the floor, with the light from the kitchen window pouring on to her flushed cheek, she read the letter:—

"Dearest Mother,—

"I don't know how much you know of what has happened to us. Murri may have told you if he got off. If you know nothing prepare yourself for a great trouble. We had almost got home last night when we were set on by bushrangers and (I don't know how to tell you, it is so terrible) Geordie, when I was away from him for a minute, was thrown from his horse and killed. I feel as though it were my fault, though I don't think I could have helped it if I had been close by. I am just heartbroken, and if it were not for you and Maggie I should not care if I never came back. You are all I have now. Crosby says I must make haste; he is a fellow here who is helping me. I am kept by Starlight at a place called Norton's Gap, which lies south of the Dixieville road, directly after you have passed Badger's Creek. Crosby says ask for Lingan's. This place is close to Lingan's. Let Macleod, or some one, be on the path between the Dixieville road and Lingan's to-morrow night at eleven to try and arrange things. Crosby will be there. He is a big, handsome fellow, with a yellow beard and hair, and clear blue eyes. You will easily know him."

Ah! Margaret, Margaret, what makes you start in that way? You would blush if any one were looking at you now; as it is, you grow pale.

"Let the police at Bateman know where Starlight is; they will be here soon enough then. This is the last bit of paper I have got. I myself am quite well and unhurt. Would it were Geordie instead. He was worth a dozen of me. If you have not found him he is lying by that split gum we burnt, just beyond the Dip. I killed the man that knocked Geordie off his horse. Don't agree to any ransom for me. Crosby says Starlight will try it on.

Alec."

All the last few lines were so cramped and crowded together that Margaret could hardly make their meaning out. But she did at last, and letting her hands, still holding the letter, sink idly into her lap, she stayed where she was without moving and deep in thought. It was the clattering of horses into the yard that made her look up, and the next instant Yesslett dashed into the kitchen.

"How is he now, Mrs. Beffling?" he whispered, as though his voice would disturb Geordie at the other end of the house. "What did the—oh, Margaret, I didn't see you. What did the doctor say? How long was he here?"

"He got here at seven, just after you and Balchin started out with Murri and Baluderree. He says it was concussion of the brain, but that if we keep him quite quiet he will soon get all right. It was the greatest wonder, he says, that he was not killed straight off."

"Yes, he has told mother what to do, and he has been gone half an hour. Macleod has gone with him to tell the police all about it, and to make them try to find Alec, but we don't know whether they are at Bateman or Parra-parra."

"Ah! poor old Alec, we shall have to think about him now that Geordie is going on all right. If we only knew where he was we wouldn't wait for the police. We can't trace them, Margaret, beyond the Dixieville road. Murri and that other black boy from the camp easily tracked them that far, and then we lost them; a mob of cattle had passed along early this morning or last night and trampled out every hoof mark."

"Never mind, Yess; this will tell you where he is," said Margaret, rising and holding out the letter. "Como brought it just now. Make haste and read it. I must go and tell mother."

Yesslett read the letter with many little muttered expressions of astonishment and sympathy. What he said when he ended it and handed the crumpled paper to Margaret was very characteristic of him.

"Look here, Margaret. Macleod may be away a day or two, and even then may not bring the police with him. I can't bear to think of Alec eating his heart out and believing that Geordie is dead, whilst all the time he is alive and getting better every hour. I shall go and let him know that we are working for him, and that Geordie is alive."

"Not if I go alone," said the boy, shrewdly. "In the first place, they can't know that Alec has sent the letter to us, and they will think that one—er—man would never trust himself with them alone. I shall be all right, never fear."

He spoke boldly, though modestly, and the light that glowed in his steady eyes said more than his words. He had not, however, quite got rid of a trick of his old nervous manner, that of rubbing the palm of his hand on the back of his breeches. This he still did when greatly moved or excited.

"No, don't say anything to her. She has enough on her mind without another responsibility. I shall go on my own hook."

"It is good of you to do all this for us. You are going into danger for our sakes, Chevalier. At any rate, take my advice in this. Don't go in those clean breeches and shirt. Make yourself look dirty and more like a station hand, so that if any of the bushrangers do see you they won't want to stick you up, and you can go to that place near Norton's Gap—what does Alec call it?—as though you wanted a job."

"You won't be going just yet. I want to see you before you start to send a message to Alec. It will be no use your getting there before evening. I must go now. Beffy, see that Mr. Yesslett has a good breakfast, he has had nothing to-day. And get something for Balchin at the same time." Saying this, with the letter in one hand and the little saucepan of beef-tea in the other, Margaret left the kitchen very thoughtfully.

"Yes, miss, for sure. I likes to see men eat well, and you must be keen, Master Yesslett. Draw up t' table—if y' likes to wait I'll get a cloth. Begin a' the bread 'n' butter whiles I poach 'e a couple of eggs. I knows how y' like 'em, not hard, but set like. Then I'll have a chop down in a brace o' shakes, as my aunt used t' say. There, there, begin, then. Don't sit a thinking; nothin' 'll come out o' your head if y' put nothing into y' stomach."

"I've got a great deal to think of," said Yesslett, looking up, with a smile at her quaintness. "There is Alec in the hands of the bushrangers, and only me to get him out."

"Ah, an' fine an' hungry he'll be, I'll be bound. But you won't help him by refusin' y' vittle, so here's th' eggs to go on with, an' if the sizzlin' o' them chops don't give you a appetite for 'em, I don't know what will."

CHAPTER XXV.

YESSLETT'S ADVENTURE.

Yesslett did not start for several hours after he had formed the resolution of riding to Alec's assistance. He made inquiries from different people about the station, and found that he could easily ride to Norton's Gap in two hours and a half, and as he did not wish to arrive there much before sunset, he waited till the long, slow afternoon had passed its prime. He had taken Margaret's advice, and had changed his clothes for old and very shabby ones; he had found an old hat, that looked disreputable even in that part, where new ones were a rarity, and with this flapping a limp and torn brim over his forehead, and with burst and ragged boots, long innocent of blacking, he looked in as poor a plight as any out-of-work lad could do, and as little like the clean and fairly well-clad Yesslett Dudley as it was possible for him to appear.

There was one thing he had determined to do, of the advisability of which he was not fully convinced, and that was to take Alec's horse Amber with him. He knew he could not ride the chestnut himself, for the spirited creature would never let any one but Alec mount him, so he intended leading it by the bridle. His reason for this resolution was hardly plain to himself, but he had some half-formed idea in his brain of possibly managing an escape for his cousin, and he knew that Amber would be invaluable in any such attempt, could he only succeed in getting Alec away for a moment from the men who detained him. Yesslett had no definite plan in his mind when he resolved to take this second horse; he was trusting, in a very boyish manner, to that good fortune which it is so difficult for the young to believe does not always await them. It was this blind confidence that "something would turn up" which prompted his action, and trusting implicitly to Providence, though at the same time with a certain belief in himself, he set out on his Quixotic errand.

Yesslett travelled quietly, wishing to keep his horses as fresh as possible on the chance of his requiring their services that night. He followed the same route that he had passed over in the morning when tracking the bushrangers, and struck the Dixieville road very near the place where Alec had turned on to it the night before. The road was very little used since the dwindling township of Dixieville had gone down in the scale, and at that hour it was quite deserted. Yesslett had, however, carefully primed himself with instructions before he left Wandaroo, and keeping to the road till he came to what he thought, from the descriptions of it given to him, must be Badger's Creek, he turned southward by the side of the shadowy gulch and rode boldly on towards the dark, wild stretch of bush before him. There was no definite road to Norton's Gap and Lingan's, but the frequent passage of the bushrangers' horses and the marks of the Lingan's carts and cattle had formed a sort of track which was indistinct and broad over the more open ground, but which narrowed in again to something bearing the semblance to a path when the way lay through the uncleared bush.

It was nearly sunset by the time that Yesslett had come to the edge of the last belt of bush. He could see the rambling and ill-kept building of the Lingan's station from there, and knew that he had arrived at the end of the first stage of his work. What lay beyond he could not tell; it all depended on chance; he would have to adapt his plans to circumstances. He felt that he was pitting himself against an unknown force, but he believed, as indeed seemed probable, that his very insignificance would be his security. No one would believe that a boy would thus attempt to challenge, single handed, Starlight and all his band. Yesslett himself was quite aware of his own weakness, and that was where his strength lay; he knew that to attempt an appeal to force would be ridiculous, and that his only chance of success in getting Alec away lay in craftiness and cunning.

He did not leave the shelter of the trees and undergrowth of the bush, by which he was quite screened from observation from the house, but directly he saw the buildings he turned to the left and leading his horses into the thicknesses of the bush he fastened them both securely to the trunk of a tree. Both horses had been trained to stand quite still, without pulling at the bridle or endeavouring to get away, when fastened in this manner, and as Yesslett had let them drink only a short time back, and as he had been wise enough to bring a feed of maize—a luxury they rarely got—for each horse, he felt sure that they would remain there quietly enough, at any rate, for an hour or two. He carefully marked the position of the tree to which he had tied the horses, even walking to it several times from the path so that he might make quite sure of finding it at night. At last he was satisfied that he could not mistake the place, and putting on a bold front he left the bush and stepped out into the open ground that lay between it and Lingan's.

Yesslett remembered that Alec had said in his letter that the house he was kept at was close to Lingan's, and as he wanted to reach the former place he began to look about him for Lingan's buildings. He could see no sign of a house except the one before him, and he thought he should have, after all, to go to the door and ask. The place looked deserted; he could see no sign of any one about the house or yard, a mildewed look of sloth and neglect lay upon everything; and instead of being alive with all the usual busy sounds of station life the whole place seemed asleep. Yesslett had approached within a hundred yards of the fence, which enclosed what had once been the garden, when he saw a faint path that seemed to lead along the little valley between the hills at the back of Lingan's. Thinking that this might take him to the place he sought, he turned aside, leaving the buildings on his left, and began to follow this track.

It was not very long before he saw, as he ascended the valley, the house for which he was searching, and without waiting to think what his line of action would be he walked calmly towards it. It must be owned that there was a very quickly beating heart beneath this quiet exterior; but Yesslett had made up his mind to see the inside of that ugly tumbledown dwelling, for he felt convinced that that was where his cousin was kept prisoner, and he was more determined than before, now that he was actually on the spot, to get him out some way or another.

There were several men lounging about outside the house with that appearance of weariness which idleness produces when time hangs heavily upon one's hands. They were leaning against the house on the posts of the old fence, as though the exertion of standing up was more than they could manage. They spoke a word to each other now and then without moving their short pipes from between their teeth. They watched with interest the dusty and rather ragged looking boy as he walked towards them, for visitors to this place were rare; and in their state of tedium and weariness any interruption was welcome. They did not say anything to Yesslett till he approached quite close to them, but they looked at him fixedly; and he found their deliberate scrutiny rather embarrassing, but his appearance must have remained natural enough as nothing about him seemed to strike them as curious. When he had come quite near to them, one of the men, who was sitting on a stump of wood by the side of the door, leaning forward with his elbows on his parted knees, and his hands lightly clasped before him, said to him—

"Now, then, don't be a fool," interrupted another of the men in a surly voice, turning his head fiercely towards the first speaker.

"No, but you was just a-goin' to," said Wetch, in the same savage voice. "No, this ain't Lingan's. This is Brown's run, this is, and old Brown's out just now. You must a' passed Lingan's to get 'ere."

"Does he want a boy? I couldn't see any one stirring down below there," said Yesslett, with a backward nod of his head.

"No, he don't want a boy, so you can clear," said Wetch, drawing his dirty pipe from his dry, cracked lips, and making a wave with it in the direction of the valley.

"Well, do you know any one about here who is in want of a lad?" said Yesslett, as loudly as he dare, on the chance of Alec's hearing and recognising his voice.

"No, but you are very stupid," said a rich voice from the doorway; and looking up Yesslett saw Starlight, with a folded paper in his hand, standing on the lintel. "What is that you want, boy? Here, come into the house, there's a light there; it is getting so dark outside that I can't see you."

Thus, in the easiest manner in the world, Yesslett gained the first step of his purpose. He followed Starlight into the room and cast a rapid glance around it. There was only one tallow candle burning on the table, at which Starlight had been writing, but the room was not very dark, for although dusk had fallen, the warm glow from the sunset sky still lingered there. He could see that Alec either had not heard his voice or had not recognised it, for he did not look up as he came into the room, but sat, with one leg tucked up under him on the rough bench leaning dejectedly at the side of the table.

As Yesslett followed Starlight into the room he managed, unseen by the bushranger, to grasp Alec's forearm firmly to attract his attention, and under cover of Starlight's voice, who was speaking to him, he stooped down as swift as a swallow, and breathed so faint a whisper into Alec's ear that he barely caught it—

So utterly surprised was Alec at finding Yesslett in the room, so astonished at the suddenness of it, and so overjoyed at the glorious news that that faint whisper conveyed to him, that he could not repress a start and an ejaculation of wonder.

"Let me look at you," said Starlight, taking the candle from the table and holding it above Yesslett's face. "I think I can give you a bit of a job if you are honest. I am always most particular about employing honest people only." Here Starlight winked exquisitely, with the eye that was hidden from Yesslett, at some of the men who had come into the room. "Are you honest?"

Now Yesslett was the soul of fun, he never could resist a joke, and now, although in the very hands of as murderous a gang of fellows as was ever gathered together, the thought of giving Starlight a home thrust was to his mind so exquisitely comic as to be quite irresistible. Looking as innocent as a babe, he gazed straight into Starlight's eyes and said, without a flicker of a smile—

"Honest! I hope so, as such things go. I am poor, so perhaps I haven't the same honesty as you and these other gentlemen have, who have horses and dollars too, but honesty enough to prevent me wanting to steal 'em. Is that honest enough, sir?"

Alec sat perfectly aghast at Yesslett's impudence and temerity; but Starlight only broke out into a peal of his beautiful, irresistible laughter, and turning to Crosby, said—

"That is a nasty jar for such of us as have consciences—you and me, for instance, Crosby." Then turning to Yesslett, he said, "You can earn a supper and a shilling by taking this letter to that house just down below there. If they ask you where you got it, you must say that a man met you on the Dixieville road and gave it you, and paid you for taking it to Lingan's."

"Oh! but he didn't, you know—you gave it me," said Yesslett, looking exceedingly simple.

"Poor but honest!" said Starlight, in a theatrical tone, to the five or six guffawing fellows in the room. "Gentlemen, behold what you, perhaps, were once. A long time ago," added he, in a half whisper. "My boy, these scruples do you credit; but let me point out to you that you will be my paid agent, my representative, and that if there be any slight falsehood about it," here he gave a little sigh, and gently shook his head, "mine alone will be the blame, and I alone will undertake to bear the consequences. One or two extra are of little consequence to me," whispered he to the man who was nearest to him.

"All right," said Yesslett, who began to enjoy playing his part now that he saw how well it was going. "Where is the shilling?"

"Oh, the sophistication of the youth of this generation!" said Starlight, with mock melancholy, as he produced the shilling from his pocket. "I have observed that these honest folk are always the most doubtful of others' honesty. Excuse me, I must shut my eyes—it is too painful; I feel convinced that this simple child of nature is about to ring that sterling coin."

"I always bites them," said Yesslett, with a countrified grin, and suiting the action to the word.

"This is appalling. So young and yet so full of guile. It looks as though you were doubtful of my character," said Starlight, in a voice as of one pained and surprised at any such insinuation.

"Oh, no, sir," said Yess, shaking his head in an innocent puzzled manner, but enjoying his own double meaning with the keenest zest, "I'm not doubtful of it at all."

One or two of the men, who were of a humorous turn, roared with laughing at this keen thrust, which was all the more delightful at coming from so innocent and simple a lad as Yesslett appeared to be, and Starlight joined heartily in the laughter, and said—

"I don't see nothin' t' laff at," said Wetch. "Give the boy his supper and let him go."

"'Tis excellent advice, most learned Wetch," said Starlight; and then turning to Kearney, who had rejoined them that morning, he added, "but it appears, in Wetch's case, at any rate, that 'mirth dwelleth not with wisdom.' That boy would be a fortune to us, Kearney, with that innocent face of his."

CHAPTER XXIII. CROSBY ACCOUNTS FOR HIMSELF.

CHAPTER XXIV. COMO'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XXV. YESSLETT'S ADVENTURE.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CROSBY ACCOUNTS FOR HIMSELF.

CHAPTER XXIV.

COMO'S ERRAND.

CHAPTER XXV.

YESSLETT'S ADVENTURE.