Do You Dare? Bushranger's Boys

by Alison Lloyd

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Westwood patted Alfie on the back. ‘I put my wits to work in the lock-up. After a deal of trouble, I got out. And out is where I plan to stay.’

  Anyone who’d survived that many adventures, and escaped that many times, had Jem’s respect.

  The boys showed Westwood the secret entrance into the fort and how to bring up the ladder. Jem got Tommy to teach him the whistle signal too.

  Westwood was impressed with the fort. ‘This is a sterling set-up,’ he said.

  Alfie flushed. He shifted from one foot to the other, like he couldn’t decide which side to come down on. ‘We’ve got to go back,’ he said. ‘Or we’ll be in trouble for being late.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want that,’ said Westwood. ‘And we don’t want blabbing either, hey?’

  Jem shook his head.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ said Tommy.

  Westwood patted his stomach. ‘Me and Horatio need some food too, gang. I’m famished.’

  Alfie frowned. Jem guessed what he was thinking. Rations on the Station were controlled. Jem and Alfie had no dinner to spare. Asking for more food was asking for a hiding.

  ‘Couldn’t you hunt something with your guns?’ Jem asked.

  ‘And announce by the gunshots that I’m here?’ said the bushranger, sliding the ladder into place for them. ‘I think not.’

  7

  ‘Can you get tucker from your camp?’ Jem asked Tommy, as they came near Ross Vale.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, not meeting Jem’s eyes.

  ‘No, he can’t,’ said Alfie. ‘He doesn’t want to say no to you, but they don’t have much to eat down there.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Jem asked Tommy.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Tommy softly. ‘Them sheep and cows eat the grass, make the creek muddy, so there’s no wallabies, no fish. We get real hungry.’ He clutched his stomach, pretended to stagger and made a growling noise. ‘Our bellies get real loud – louder than mirigan.’ He laughed.

  So did Jem and Alfie, but it was too bad really.

  That left only one way of getting food that Jem could think of: stealing. It would serve the Captain right for being a mean old cove. The only thing that bothered Jem was getting caught.

  Later, over the dishes, Jem told Alfie, ‘We need the storeroom keys. You have to get them off your mother.’ Mrs Goods had a set because she was the cook.

  That more than bothered Alfie. He was shocked. ‘We mustn’t do that!’ he said. ‘We’ll be flogged. My mother will lose her job. Where would we go then?’

  They could be flogged, Jem knew. Part of him was scared. But the food problem was urgent, and Jem wasn’t going to let fear stop him.

  ‘We could already be flogged for hiding him,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got to do this for Horatio. A gang doesn’t let each other down.’ A gang was what Westwood had called them, and when Westwood said it, it sounded manly. ‘Tell you what, we’ll have a contest. Best man wins. I win means we do it. You win means we don’t.’

  Alfie picked up a large spoon and tensed for the fight. ‘You’re on.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Jem. ‘You already won at slaps. We’ll arm-wrestle.’

  Jem wiped his wet palms on his trousers. He cleared a pile of plates and pulled stools up to the bench.

  Alfie hesitated. ‘Stealing is wrong, Jem.’

  ‘Not if we’re doing it to help. Come on, just this once,’ Jem said. ‘Nobody will know. Like nobody knows about the fort. You didn’t have a problem with that secret, did you?’

  Alfie took a deep breath and flexed his fists. They sat down: Jem on one side of the bench, Alfie on the other. They clasped hands across it.

  ‘Ready, set, go!’ said Alfie.

  Jem turned his arm to iron – from his fingers, down through his wrist and his elbow and back up to his shoulder. He saw Alfie’s jaw set.

  For the first few seconds, Jem held his own. Then he began to test Alfie out. He pushed a bit harder, then harder still.

  The muscles on Alfie’s neck had tightened like rope. Jem’s knuckles went white. Their hands shook. Slowly they began to dip towards the bench. Jem’s hand was on top. Jem squeezed harder.

  Alfie’s fingertips went purple. His eyes bulged with effort. Alfie moved his elbow to get a better angle. Jem felt the shift in his hand – Alfie gave just a fraction, but it was enough. With a surge of strength, Jem pushed Alfie’s hand down, until it slammed into the bench.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Fair’s fair,’ said Jem.

  ‘Fair’s fair,’ said Alfie, although he was very pale. ‘Tonight, after lights out.’

  That night the boys waited for Mrs Goods to go to sleep. Alfie lay stiff as a board. The wind picked up a corner of the roof and banged it up and down. After a long time, Jem gave Alfie a little push.

  ‘Go on,’ he whispered.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Alfie whispered back.

  ‘Alfie,’ Jem said sternly, ‘“England expects that every man shall do his duty.” Are you going to just spout the words and play around, or are you in it for real?’

  ‘I’m in,’ Alfie muttered. He climbed out of bed as slowly as an old man, and crept across the floor. A curtain divided the bed from his mother’s. Alfie lifted it carefully and stepped through. The curtain fell behind him, and he disappeared.

  Jem waited for a long time, with only the wind to listen to.

  Finally he heard a clink in the darkness.

  ‘Got ’em,’ Alfie breathed. Mrs Goods’ keys swayed before Jem’s face.

  It was Jem’s turn now. Alfie had agreed to get the keys, but he had said he would not steal.

  Jem got out of bed. He held the keys tight to stop them rattling. The roof banged and banged. Jem wished it would shut up. What if it woke Mrs Goods?

  He reached the door. Alfie pushed up the wooden latch. He opened the door part way, so the wind didn’t gust in. Jem slipped through the narrow gap.

  Outside it was blowy all right. Metal was clunking in the yard – perhaps the chains on the dray. And that other noise was the loose bucket by the water spout. Jem let the sounds tell him where he was. He couldn’t use a candle in this weather.

  Most of the food stores were kept in the coolroom. Jem had never been in there. But he knew where it was, dug into the earth beside the kitchen and the scullery, not far from Mrs Goods’ hut.

  Jem hunched up against the wind. He thought of Horatio and Westwood, on top of the hill. He hoped the puppy wasn’t scared. A night like this gave anyone the creeps.

  Jem reached the storeroom wall. He felt his way to the door. There was the padlock, big and heavy. He tried the keys until one fitted. The lock was stiff, but with a bit of rattling, Jem felt it fall open. The bolt screeched as he shot it back.

  Jem was glad the wind covered his noise. From now on, Jem thought, if he got caught, no excuse would do any good. He could explain being in the yard. But nothing would hold as a reason for breaking into the stores.

  The door opened with a whoosh. Jem shuffled forward into the blackness, feeling his way with his toes. There were four steps, then a corner, and a fifth step.

  Jem stretched out his hands. His fingers ran along a wooden outline in front of him – shelves. He could feel boxes and sacks. But what was in them? He lifted the lid of a wooden box and stuck one finger in a grainy powder. Jem licked his finger and tasted. Salt. No one could fill their stomach with that. Jem tasted the next sack – sugar. No good for Horatio, but. . . Jem put his arm in the sack, and drizzled a handful straight into his mouth. The sugar was crunchy and deliciously sweet.

  Jem heard a rustle behind him. It was the wind, gusting around the door, giving a warning tug at his clothes. He’d better hurry up.

  On the ground were several sacks the same size. Most of them were tightly tied, but one was half-full. The sacks held powder too, a tasteless powder that Jem decided was flour. Flour could be made into damper. Jem put the half-full sack behind him on the steps.

  He felt his way to the far side of the room. A
small keg had a very tight lid, but Jem levered it off with the key ring. Inside it smelt faintly spicy. Jem stuck a finger in, and licked it.

  What in blazes! The bitter powder felt like it was burning a hole in Jem’s tongue. Jem spat several times on the floor. Then he jammed the lid back on.

  Jem wanted to bolt. But he didn’t have enough food yet. The wind in the rafters whispered to hurry. He found another shelf with large, waxy rounds on it. He leaned over and sniffed. Mmm, cheese. One of those would be perfect.

  Jem stumbled to the top of the steps, with cheese under one arm and flour under the other. Then he heard voices.

  ‘Mr Blain, good evening, sir.’ Alfie’s voice blew across the yard in a snatch of wind.

  Jem froze. He could hear the overseer’s low voice, but not his reply.

  Mr Blain was on the prowl. Jem hid behind the storeroom door, and closed it ever so softly, leaving a chink to watch through.

  ‘A noise woke me too,’ said Alfie, loud and clear. ‘So I came out to pee. There’s nobody about the house or the yard. But I thought I heard something in the stable.’

  Jem couldn’t hear any more of the conversation. He saw Mr Blain’s lamp change direction. Alfie had sent him the wrong way.

  Hugging the food, Jem sprinted across the yard.

  Wham! He had forgotten about the pump. Its handle had cracked him fair across the shin. He tripped and fell hard.

  ‘Who’s that?!’ Mr Blain’s lamp turned back to the yard again.

  It was too far to Mrs Goods’ hut. Mr Blain would see Jem if he tried to make it there. Jem didn’t dare stand up. Instead he crawled under the dray, dragging the food with him. And huddled by one of the big wheels.

  Jem watched the lamp flicker across to the pump. He saw Mr Blain’s outline in the light. He saw the outline of a whip in his other hand. Mr Blain turned around slowly, searching the yard. Jem pulled his shirt over his face, so his skin wouldn’t reflect the lamplight. He held his breath. Mr Blain’s footsteps crunched over the frosty dirt. They walked up to the dray, and past it.

  ‘Blithering wind,’ Jem heard him mutter.

  Jem counted to ten before he peered out. He saw Mr Blain’s lamp disappear into the stable. Jem grabbed the sack and darted across to Mrs Goods’ hut.

  Alfie was waiting at the door. Without a word he let Jem in, then bolted the door behind him. Alfie went to replace the keys under his mother’s pillow. Jem got back into bed. He took the flour and cheese with him, because he couldn’t think of a better place to hide them.

  As his heartbeat began to slow, and the bed warmed up, Jem felt a glow of satisfaction. He had won another small victory over the Captain. He had got what he wanted, and Alfie had had his back all along.

  ‘Thanks, Alf,’ he whispered as Alfie slipped under the blanket.

  Alfie sighed. ‘I don’t want you to steal,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want you to get caught either.’

  8

  Everything on the Station was twitchy and restless in the morning. Doors banged, the wind bothered the animals, and the tops of the gum trees swayed. The stockmen buttoned their jackets and put their heads down as they left the kitchen.

  Jem and Alfie hurried through the breakfast dishes.

  ‘We’ve got to get up to the fort –’ Jem began.

  Alfie stuck his elbow in Jem’s ribs. ‘Shh!’

  Mrs Goods was coming into the scullery. ‘So you’re nearly done,’ she said. ‘When you finish, I want you to bring water.’ She inspected the clean plates, and gave some cutlery back to Jem to be washed again. ‘What with this wind and all the firewood you got yesterday, it’s a good day to wash the laundry.’

  Alfie groaned.

  ‘Whose laundry?’ Jem asked, as Mrs Goods left.

  ‘Everybody’s.’ Alfie rolled his eyes. ‘The Captain’s, all the men’s, yours, mine, hers. . .You have no idea how many petticoats my mother wears.’

  ‘I don’t want to know,’ Jem said.

  ‘You will soon,’ said Alfie. ‘We’ll have to help: fetch water, stir the copper, scrub the clothes, and peg ’em up. Then do it all over again for the next tub-full.’

  ‘But what about the supplies?’ said Jem. The cheese and flour were still under the blankets on Alfie’s bed.

  ‘They’ll have to wait.’

  ‘What if she wants to wash the blankets?’ Jem asked.

  ‘Normally in winter she doesn’t,’ Alfie said, ‘I don’t think.’

  ‘I don’t think’ didn’t sound very safe to Jem. Alfie looked worried too. He had dark circles under his eyes that made his nose stand out even more.

  ‘Good thing you’re here though,’ Alfie said. ‘We’ll be faster.’

  ‘Let’s get to it,’ Jem said.

  Jem and Alfie were lugging buckets for the first tub of clothes when they saw Captain Ross. He had a ring of keys in his hand. He strode from the kitchen to the storeroom.

  Jem wondered what he was up to. The Captain didn’t usually do housekeeping.

  The boys went into the laundry. Mrs Goods was stoking the fire under the big washing copper.

  The next thing they knew, the Captain was there behind them. Alfie squeaked. Jem jumped. Water sloshed onto the Captain’s boots.

  ‘Deuce take you!’ he cursed.

  Mrs Goods stood up quickly and curtseyed. ‘Sorry, sir.’ She gave the boys a sharp ‘behave yourselves’ look.

  The Captain looked sour, as usual. ‘I want a word if you please, Mrs Goods.’

  ‘Stay here and watch the fire,’ she told the boys. She followed the Captain out.

  Jem and Alfie only pretended to watch the fire. Actually they watched the Station owner cross the yard to the storeroom. He stopped at the door. Mrs Goods put her hand to her apron pocket, where she kept the keys in the daytime.

  ‘You did put them back, didn’t you?’ Jem asked Alfie.

  ‘Definitely,’ Alfie said. ‘See?’

  Mrs Goods held out the keys to the Captain.

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ said Jem.

  Without taking the keys, the Captain unhooked the padlock.

  ‘You did lock the door again, didn’t you?’ Alfie asked Jem.

  Jem felt his insides lurch.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. Last night he had been carrying stuff in both hands. All he could think of was not to drop it and not to get caught by Mr Blain. Jem couldn’t say for sure whether he had locked the door. In fact, he probably hadn’t.

  Mrs Goods came marching back across the yard. She looked annoyed.

  ‘As soon as the water’s hot, put in those clothes. Carefully,’ she instructed. ‘I have to get the inventory for that man.’

  ‘What’s an inven-thingy?’ Jem asked as soon as she left again.

  ‘An inventory,’ said Alfie gloomily, ‘is a list of stuff, like supplies. If the Captain wants to see it –’

  ‘– it means trouble,’ Jem finished. Things weren’t looking good for him.

  Alfie was nervously pulling at his collar. ‘Don’t tell me you’ll work something out,’ he said. ‘It was your something that got us in this trouble in the first place.’

  ‘All right, book-brain,’ said Jem angrily. ‘You find a way out of this then.’

  ‘We’ll put them back,’ Alfie said. ‘That’ll fix it.’

  ‘How are we going to do that?’ Jem retorted. ‘And what about Horatio and Westwood?’

  ‘Westwood will have to think of something else.’

  But it was too late. Mrs Goods had got a black book from the house, which Alfie said was the inventory. His mother and Captain Ross went down the steps into the storeroom.

  ‘Even if they work out what’s missing, they won’t know it’s us,’ Jem said. ‘Nobody saw us.’

  ‘They won’t know it’s you,’ Alfie replied. ‘Mr Blain saw me, remember.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Jem. He couldn’t let Alfie take the rap. They had to stick together.

  ‘They can’t prove anything as long as they don’
t find the cheese and flour,’ he said. ‘The Captain won’t think it was you anyway. He’ll probably blame me.’ You’re not the son of a convict, he thought, but didn’t say it.

  Captain Ross came out of the storeroom, and stepped onto the verandah. He began to ring the big iron triangle that was used for a dinner bell. It was way too early for lunch. Yet the Captain kept ringing it, on and on.

  ‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ said Alfie.

  ‘What?’ said Jem. Alfie sounded more like he was praying than swearing.

  ‘When he rings it like that,’ Alfie explained, ‘it means an emergency or a muster. Everybody has to come.’

  Mr Blain was already on his way from the stables.

  Jem’s mind was racing. He looked around the yard. If they tried to hide anything there, they would be seen. He looked out to the bare paddocks. One of those old gum trees would be hollow, but how could he run all the way out there and back without being noticed? Then he saw Tommy and his people walking towards the yard. They must have heard the triangle too.

  Captain Ross frowned. ‘Tell the blacks to go,’ he said loudly to Mr Blain.

  Mr Blain held his arms out wide as if the Aborigines were sheep to be herded. ‘We no need you,’ he said. ‘You not part of the count.’

  But Tommy did count, Jem thought. He was exactly the person Jem and Alfie needed.

  ‘You douse the fire,’ Jem told Alfie. ‘Take as long as you can, so they have to come looking for you.’

  Jem grabbed a bucket. He left the laundry, but instead of joining the men in the yard, he ducked behind Alfie’s hut. Tommy’s family were chatting in their language, heading behind the buildings, out of sight of the yard. Jem put his fingers in his mouth and gave the signal whistle. Tommy turned around and Jem waved him over.

  ‘Can you wait here a minute?’ Jem said. There was no glass in the windows of Mrs Goods’ hut. Jem opened the shutters and wiggled himself over the windowsill. He landed on the floor by Alfie’s bed. His heart pounding, he lifted the blankets. The round cheese and the sack were still there. Jem grabbed them, and wriggled back out.