by Carol Norton
*CHAPTER XV*
*A BUSH RIDE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES*
"Then hey for boot and horse, lad! And round the world away; Young blood will have its course, lad! And every dog his day." KINGSLEY.
The weather in Australia at Christmas is not ideal for riding parties.Midsummer heat and dust, together with hordes of flies, largelycountervail the delights of the saddle.
The enthusiastic party that cantered along the tracks leading from theBullaroi homestead on this particular Christmas, with one exception,made small bones about either dust or heat. Neville, however, wasirritated by the dust which the horses' feet knocked up. Nor would heseek alleviation as did the others by leaving the track at everyopportunity. The victim of prejudice and conventionality, expressed interms of cussedness, he obstinately stuck to the dusty track. The boysand Jessie frisked here and there, making short cuts, jumping gulliesand logs, and generally enjoying themselves. They raised, it is true,clouds of dust, to the annoyance of the new chum, as they pounded alongthe track on their return to the others, after having forged ahead somedistance; behaving, in short, like gambolling dogs. Mag would havedearly loved the frolic, but hospitality's demands made it imperativethat she--the eldest--should partner the guest.
Neville was no rider. His knowledge of the ways of the horse was of themost elementary kind. Had he had the common sense to have admitted thatpalpable fact, many of his painful experiences, and indeed tortures,would have been minimised, if not altogether avoided.
Like all inexperienced riders, he responded to every movement of thehorse. He had no sense of balance. He held the reins shoulder high, andwas for ever jerking them. When his body was not stiffly straight itinclined forward. The inevitable result was made abundantly manifest inchafed limbs and aching bones. With Neville, as with most new-chumriders, the trousers legs _would_ work up from the bottom, displaying asection of calf, to the great amusement of the boys, who baa'd mostvehemently at such times.
This, however, must be reckoned for grace in Neville: he made nocomplaint, nor admitted any discomfort. He was forward in hiscriticisms of the boys' style of riding: their seats were un-English andcowboy.
No greater contrast between the riders could well be imagined than thatwhich the new chum and the pals presented. Theirs was to the mannerborn, to be confounded neither with cowboy nor military. While there isan utter absence of stiffness in the Australian style, there is at thesame time nothing bordering on the truculent as affected by the cowboy.The movements are willowy and rhythmic. Horse and man are one andindivisible. This means to both the minimum of work with the maximum ofease.
How far removed from this attainment was poor Neville! His figure wasof the ramrod pattern for the first few miles--ultra military, so tospeak. His feet, well through the stirrups, inclined outwards at asharp angle; his left arm, held at right angle as rigid as a semaphore,gripped the reins; while his right clutched the stockwhip with tenaciousgrasp. The steed, a fair pacer in experienced hands, in his became averitable jogger. He rose and fell in springless fashion with everymotion of the horse.
It was not in Neville's power to maintain that iron rigidity, and so hegradually inclined forward. His back became bowed, and his nose attimes was in imminent danger of the horse's head. His arms, too, hunglistlessly at either side, until at last his appearance resemblednothing so much as a doubled-up Guy Fawkes perched on a rail. Yet hisdogged spirit, essentially British, half courage, half cussedness, borehim up.
Nearing the caves, the party, with the exception of Neville and hiscompanion, raced ahead, and by the time that the latter arrived werecooling off beneath the shade of some coolibahs.
And now disaster of such a character as to shake from him the lastremains of superiority and propriety, overwhelming him in the depths ofhumiliation, overtook poor Neville. These mortifying results werebrought about by his attempted gallantry.
The selected camp, as related, was beneath the grateful shade of acluster of coolibah[#] trees that grew on the banks of a mountainstream, close to the mouth of the caves. Seeing that Maggie was aboutto dismount unassisted, the youth exclaimed in eager tones, "Wait amoment, Miss M'Intyre!" and so saying, threw himself from his horse inorder to do the gallant by helping his companion down, "as they do inEngland."
[#] Water gum trees.
Sad to say, however, so cramped and stiff were his limbs, especially hisnether extremities, that the instant he touched ground his legs doubledin a powerless condition, and he fell prone to the earth.Unfortunately, the ground at the spot where he tumbled down began toslope towards the creek. In his frantic efforts to rise quickly to hisfeet he overbalanced himself, and began to roll down the incline. Hesaved himself for a second, and the impending disaster might have beenaverted but for the confounded stockwhip, which led to his undoing in amost effectual way. This weapon, which he still held in his clenchedright hand, got entangled with his legs by some means, lasso fashion,bringing him smartly to the ground again in a fresh attempt to rise.The sloping bank at this point became almost precipitous: with a rapidturn over-and-over, he rolled down the steep gradient, crashed throughan undergrowth of bushes and bracken that fringed the perpendicular bankof the creek, and shot out into its clear, deep waters.
This unrehearsed performance, taking less time to act than to relate,brought a powerful shriek from Maggie, who, arrested in her intention todismount unaided by Neville's proffered aid, beheld from her horse theundignified collapse of her escort, with its quickly succeeding acts ofcomedy and tragedy.
The others, who were witnesses of this performance, hugely enjoyed it,giving a loud hurrah as the new chum splashed into the creek. There wasone exception. Sandy, who was on his way to the creek with the billycan, and who realised in a moment that the discomfited Englishman hadfallen into a deep pool,--the very spot where he had often fished forbig perch,--threw away the billy and rushed to the spot where theunfortunate man had fallen in. Only that day had Neville declared that"my water exercises have been confined to the house bath."
Beyond the agitated surface there were no signs of their visitor in thewater. Without pause, the lad took a header to the bottom, which was atleast ten feet from the top, discerned the sunken man kicking andclawing, hauled him to the surface, and towed him to the bank. Herewilling hands were ready to grip the victim of this misadventure andpull him to land.
As soon as he was dragged to safety, the cause of his abjecthelplessness in the water was revealed. The stockwhip had so encircledhis legs as to prevent the free use of them, besides which the shock ofthe whole accident had to an extent numbed his senses.
In sooth he was a sorry sight as he lay on the turf. The immersion didnot cover more than half a minute; it was long enough, though, to takehim to the verge of unconsciousness and to fill his lungs and stomachwith water. The boys speedily unwound the whip, and subjected Nevilleto some rough but wholesome treatment, during which process the waterwas rapidly ejected from his interior regions.
The girls, as soon as Neville was landed, discreetly withdrew.Merriment had dissolved into pity.
"Poor Mr. Neville! I'm _so_ sorry. Isn't it a shame, Mag?"
"Seems like a dream; it all happened so quickly and unexpectedly. I'mafraid father'll be very angry about it. The poor fellow was going to beso gallant, too. 'Permit me to assist you,' he said, and the nextmoment----"
Here the whole scene comes up so vividly and comically that, strive asshe may, Maggie cannot withhold laughter of a somewhat hysterical kind.And so, between laughter and tears, the two girls superintended thebilly-boiling and tea-making business.
Meanwhile the lads, stripping Neville under the lee of the bank, wrunghis clothes, and then re-dressed him, bringing him up to the fire littlethe worse for his cold douche. The girls quickly recognised the finerqualities of Neville's character, which broke through the crust of hisartificiality in the hour of adversity.
"I'm very sorr
y to have caused this trouble, Miss M'Intyre. No one's toblame but myself. Your brother and his mates have been exceedingly kindto me. Indeed, I owe a debt to your brother that I can never repay, forwithout doubt he saved my life. I was utterly helpless with thatwretched whip curled around me."
Indeed, it was true. The accident might easily have had a fataltermination, and the thought of it (for all that Neville cut such agrotesque figure in his shrunken clothes) drove the last remains oflatent hilarity away. Maggie assured the forlorn-looking youth that nothanks were due to any one; that all deplored the accident, and werethankful that the finale inclined rather to the comic than the tragic.
"Take this pannikin of hot tea, Mr. Neville. Father says that whisky'snot in it with tea for recruiting one's jaded energies."
As there was no need for starting on the return ride awhile, the threeboys, leaving the girls and Neville at the camp, proceeded to the caves.
The caves, three in number, were connected with one another by narrowentrances. The outermost one had an inlet through a narrow crevice.This opening was concealed from the casual eye by a sentinel-likeboulder which stood directly opposite, and about eighteen inches inadvance of the wall of rock. It was a squeeze for any one above theaverage size to get through.
Before its occupation by the bushrangers the outer cave, by evidentsigns, formed a favourite wallaby haunt. These had been disturbed andhunted by the bushrangers, who from time to time, according to policereport, used it as a hiding-place. They had often lain there when thedistrict was filled with troopers. On one occasion, as was afterwardsknown, Ben Bolt and his mate, a youth of eighteen years, lay concealedfor weeks. The boy had been badly wounded in the thigh during a brushwith the police in the New England ranges. Ben Bolt, who waspassionately attached to him, by incredible labour and consummateskill--for the pursuing police were on their tracks all thetime--brought his wounded mate to the caves in order that he might liein safety until his sores were healed.
Sandy was the only one of the lads who knew anything about the caves.In company with his father he had visited them a few weeks previously.He therefore acted as a guide to the party.
The fissure, a mere crack in the limestone rock, extended in tortuousfashion for some distance. Lengthening out and making a curve, itsuddenly broadened into a chamber of respectable dimensions. At theentrance of the crevice Sandy had lit a candle, one being sufficient forthe cramped passage. Before entering the cave proper, all three candlesbrought for that purpose were lit.
The cave was bat-inhabited. Large numbers of these uncanny creatures,which were clinging to the roof and sides, disturbed and dazzled by thelight, flew about in aimless fashion, often striking the boys in theiruncertain flight. Numbers of them fastened on to their clothes andlimbs with their claw-like pinions.
Joe and Tom, to whom this was a new experience, were uneasy and a goodbit scared. Their nervousness increased when the fluttering nocturnalsmore than once extinguished the lights.
"You must do as I do, boys!" sang out Sandy, who was in advance, as theywalked cautiously over the uneven and stone-littered floor. Sandy hadremoved his hat and held it over the candle. This, while it darkenedall above, gave ample light on the floor space, and protected the candlefrom the nocturnals. The others thereupon followed suit, and soonreached the opening on the opposite side that led to the second chamber.
This narrow passage made a stiff ascent for some yards, inclining to theleft, and then extending like a funnel. Sandy was proceeding verycautiously, for the opening into the interior cave was made at about tenfeet from its floor. A rough ladder of lawyer vines hung from theopening in the wall to the basement. Down this the boys speedilyslipped, and found themselves in a dome-like space, bigger by far thanany room, barn, or church that they had seen. The atmosphere was verychill, and the continual drip of falling water made a monotonous sound.A narrow, clear stream of running water flowed along one side,disappearing in a floor crack near the far corner.
Contrary to what one would have expected, the lime crystals were few,and for the most part small; not to be mentioned in the same breath withthe matchless statuary of the far-famed Jenolan Caves. On the ground,however, were some interesting stalagmites, whose grotesque figureshighly amused the boys. At the first sight, though, a fearsome feelingpossessed them. They were children of the sun, and this new and crypticexperience in the cold, dark, vaulted chamber quickened their pulses andshortened their breaths.
Everything seemed to have a ghostly appearance to the pals. It was afitting abode for spectral creatures, and they had a feeling that at anymoment such might appear. This sensation, however, was of shortduration. A few minutes' familiarity with their surroundings dissipatedit, and the lads moved freely in their investigations.
"Didn't you say there was another cave adjoining this, Sandy?"
"Yes, I'll show it to you in a few minutes."
While the question was being asked and answered, Sandy was peering intoa crevice immediately behind a huge stalagmite, and in a dark corner ofthe cave.
"This looks as if it might open out somewhere, but the opening's jammedwith a big limestone boulder."
"Let's have a pull at it," said Tom, as he leaned forward to take holdof a projecting point.
"No go, Tom. Look at its weight! See how tightly it's wedged! You'llnever budge that. It'll need a crowbar to shift it. Come along, boys,and we'll take a peep at the other cave, just to say we've seen it; thenwe must make tracks back."
Sandy, however, bore in mind this sealed chamber which was destinedlater to yield important and far-reaching results. He made for a low,narrow aperture in the wall, at a far corner, which opened directly intoa vault-like ceil--a small bedroom or pantry, as the case might be.
"Here's where the rangers camped," said Sandy, when the boys hadstruggled through. "Here's their beds, an' there's where they had theirfire."
A couple of sheets of stringy-bark, placed stretcher-fashion on crossedsapling frames, formed the sleeping-bunks of the outlaws. On these wereplaced a quantity of bracken which made a comfortable resting-place formen who more often than not slept upon the ground.
"I say, Sandy," remarked Joe, after standing a moment in deep thought,"this is an all-right place for hidin' in, but where'd they keep themokes? That's what beats me."
"It beats more'n you. It beats father. It beats the police. Yes, theycan't get a clue. Must have had the horses handy, too; for when thepolice got into the cave the time they tracked 'em here, the rangerscouldn't have been gone more'n a few minutes, 'cause a fire was stillburning in Ben Bolt's room, as they call it. The bobbies have searchedinside and outside and all over the ridge for another opening, but can'tfind it."
"They've clean bunged the p'lice, the cute beggars!" exclaimed Tom, witha grin. "Wonder if they'll ever come back again. Ole Ben's a game un.They say he wears a reversible suit of different colours. An' sometimeshe straps up a leg an' fastens a wooden peg on it an' stumps along, ledby a dog on a string like a blind beggar."
"He's always bluffin' the police, anyway," said Joe. "The Sub-Inspectorwas at our place about a month ago, telling father how he an' the otherswere fooled not so long ago."
"Tell us, Joe."
"Well, 'twas like this. A bushman on a piebald horse rode up to thepolice camp out Kean's swamp way, bearing a note from Sub-InspectorGarvie, ordering them to cross the ranges an' get into Walcha secretly,as he possessed reliable information to the effect that Ben Boltintended to stick up the bank two days later.
"It appears this same man called at the Sub's quarters earlier in theday, who was laid up with a sprained leg. This chap told how he'd beenin Ben Bolt's company two nights previously. The ranger and hismate--the same boy as was wounded--came upon him as he lay by his firein the evening, and asked permission to camp alongside. They pretendedto be stockmen in search of strayed heifers, and made out that they hadcome across their tracks just at nightfall. As it was a goodish way tothe station, they would be glad to
sleep by his fire and get after thecattle at dawn.
"The man said that as soon as he spotted 'em he knew 'em, but he was toofrightened to let on. He gave 'em some grub, an' then lay down in hisblanket. As soon as they had scoffed the prog they lay down too, on theoff side of the fire.
"The man didn't go to sleep, though he pretended to. By an' by the twomen began to talk in low tones. He could hear 'em, though, pretty well,and found out that they were goin' to stick up the Walcha bank. Thedate they named was four days from that night. Although the chap lay asif he were dead he didn't sleep a wink. Just before daylight the covessaddled their horses, which had been short-hobbled, and singing out,'So-long,' they galloped off.
"'And what prompted you to bring this information?' said the Sub.
"'Well, if you cop the rangers,' he answered, 'I shall expect somethingsubstantial for supplying these particulars.'
"'As for that, you'll get your share. And now you can do somethingfurther that'll help you in the matter of reward. Take this note toSergeant Henessey, who is camping with four police and a tracker in thefoothills, at the head of Kean's swamp.'
"The Sub-Inspector, who had hastily written a note of instruction to theSergeant, handed it to the man, who said his name was Sam Kelly. Sampromised to deliver it by daybreak; which he did. As soon as theSergeant read it, he roused up the men, and after a hasty meal it was'Saddle up.' A few minutes later the troopers were on their way to copthe rangers. Now listen: that very day, towards evening, the PortMacquarie mail was stuck up!"
"My eye!" said Sandy, "weren't the p'lice sold! Fancy ole Ben goin'into the lion's den with his information an' then takin' the letter outto the camp, an' none of 'em cute enough to twig 'im! He's a downy coveis Ben. Ain't he, Joe?"
"They say," concluded Joe, "that the piebald he rode was his favouritehorse, the blood-bay he calls Samson."
"But how was it he turned him piebald?"
"_Painted patches of pipeclay on him!_"
"Now, then," exclaimed Sandy, pulling out his watch, "we've only a fewminutes left, an' we mustn't be late, as Mr. Neville won't be able toride fast."
"Poor old Fevvers!" exclaimed Tom reminiscently. "This hasn't been muchof a treat for him."
