Do You Dare? Bushranger's Boys

by Alison Lloyd

  A chill went over him from head to foot. Jem knew the information was as powerful as a weapon. He imagined how it would feel to let the Captain know he held it. The Captain would have to respect him. Jem could go back to his dad and tell him they were both free men. They would work to nobody’s orders, masters of their own land. Just the thought of it made Jem feel taller.

  ‘Jem?’ Alfie sat up to look at him, even though it was too dark to make out each other’s faces. ‘You don’t. . .you won’t. . .you can’t, Jem, never! To sell him out for money!’

  Damn it, thought Jem. Why did Alfie have to figure things out?

  ‘I thought you were all for the law,’ Jem said.

  ‘All for keeping the law,’ said Alfie. ‘But when I heard Westwood’s story, I started to think people should get a second chance. I know Westwood has stolen stuff, but you’ve stolen stuff, and I helped too. Do you think Westwood should be hanged?’

  Of course Jem didn’t think so. He liked the bushranger, he really did. But he would really, really like twenty pounds too. Twenty pounds could fix his life.

  Jem reasoned that if Westwood was caught, the bushranger would probably just be shipped off to Van Diemen’s Land, to be a convict for a bit longer. Surely he wouldn’t be hanged? Eventually everything would be all right.

  ‘The Captain’s only out for himself, or he wouldn’t have all this.’ Jem waved a hand to mean the homestead, the Station and all its stock. ‘If he’s going to find Westwood, I want to get something out of it.’

  Alfie was silent.

  ‘But I didn’t say I’d do it,’ Jem added. He realised he had started to care about what Alfie thought. He wondered if that made him weak.

  ‘You better not,’ said Alfie. ‘Don’t say we’ll do slaps or an arm-wrestle to settle it either. If you dob in Mr Westwood, you’ve broken the gang. No more mates.’

  Alfie turned his back on Jem.

  ‘All right, all right, don’t wet your pants,’ Jem said. He turned his back on Alfie.

  But he could not get comfortable. The idea of selling out stuck into him and wouldn’t go away, just as if he had a pistol jammed into his waistband.

  Then Alfie really poked him in the ribs. ‘Jem!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you realise,’ Alfie whispered, ‘Westwood may never get to court.’

  ‘That would be fine, according to you.’

  ‘No, Jem, the manhunt tomorrow – Mr Blain was preparing his gun. The Captain has more firearms too. Westwood could be shot – here, tomorrow! We should do something, Jem. I’ve got an idea.’ Jem could hear determination in Alfie’s voice. ‘We spike the Captain’s gunpowder.’

  Jem was silent. Part of him wanted to stuff up anything that belonged to the Captain. Part of him wanted to help William Westwood. Part of him didn’t want to lose Alfie and Tommy as friends, which he would if he sold out Westwood. But he was used to being a loner, caring for nobody but his dad and their animals. To pass up the chance to have land of his own was too hard.

  ‘It’s risky,’ he said, thinking that would put Alfie off.

  ‘Then have you thought of this?’ Alfie said. ‘When Westwood’s caught, and you collect the reward, what will he do? If you’ve told on him, then he’ll tell on you. And me and Tommy. And what will happen to Horatio?’

  ‘Fork it.’ Jem kicked the bedstead. He was so frustrated he wanted to break something. Alfie was right. There would be no reward then – it would only go from bad to worse, for everybody. ‘We’ll do it your way,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘I knew you’d say that, Jem! This way we won’t have to steal anything and we won’t hurt anyone.’

  11

  So before dawn next day, Jem and Alfie ‘borrowed’ the keys once more. They sneaked out of the hut and into the house on icy feet. They took some firewood down to the study, as if they were going to reset the fire.

  The Captain was not up. All the Station’s firearms were laid out on his desk, ready to go for the day.

  While Jem stood guard at the door, Alfie opened the gunpowder flasks. One by one, he spat in them, closed them up, and gave them a bit of a shake. Simple. Alfie was clever, Jem thought, no two ways about it. If the powder wasn’t dry, it wouldn’t go off properly. Now the Captain’s firearms were not worth spit.

  Neither was the reward. Jem felt the pain of losing something that had almost been his.

  ‘We’ve fixed him,’ Alfie whispered as they left the house.

  ‘Yeah, but he’s fixed me,’ Jem muttered.

  ‘That’s blood money, Jem,’ Alfie said. ‘It’s cursed. It would never do you any good.’

  Jem shuddered. In the silent grey of dawn, Alfie’s words had a strange ring of truth.

  ‘There’s only one problem,’ he whispered back. ‘The Captain doesn’t know his powder’s damp. So he’ll still go after Westwood today. He might get Horatio if he catches them by surprise.’

  ‘Not until this pea-soup fog lifts.’

  The boys could barely see the buildings across the yard. The paddocks were whited out. The hill with the hideout might as well not exist.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Jem, realising what they had to do next. ‘We’ll warn Westwood and Horatio now. Nobody will see us.’

  ‘Let’s go to the camp and get Tommy,’ Alfie whispered. ‘He should come along for this.’

  Jem agreed, and they headed to the creek.

  At the edge of the camp they stopped and whistled. Tommy soon appeared, wrapping his blanket tight around his bony body. Jem told him about the manhunt.

  Tommy already knew. Mr Blain had come to the camp yesterday, he told them.

  ‘We’re going to warn Westwood,’ Jem said.

  Tommy shook his head. ‘I don’t like all them guns,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Alfie. He explained what they’d done, and why the Station’s firearms wouldn’t work. ‘Please, Tommy? We need you.’

  Tommy smiled. ‘You need me, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, might be better if you’re with us,’ Jem said.

  ‘Okay,’ said Tommy, ‘I’ll come then.’

  The three of them went upstream for a way, then they followed Tommy into the bush. Somewhere in the thick whiteness, cattle mooed. It was a low, lost sound.

  ‘I wish they wouldn’t do that,’ Alfie said. ‘It feels like we’re in enemy territory.’

  Jem knew what he meant. He didn’t recognise the way they were going. Without the landmarks of the creek and the buildings the land seemed foreign. It was exciting, but also creepy.

  Tommy must have felt it too, because he was singing one of his songs very softly.

  Suddenly Tommy froze. Jem’s heart jumped. Tommy pointed. A black shape loomed ahead of them. Jem heard the tearing noise of an animal cropping grass. It must be a stray cow, Jem thought. It better not be a bull, not this close. His heart thudded. Then the animal moved. It had a white splash on the dark outline of its nose. It was too slim for a bull. It was the diamond-faced filly.

  ‘Captain’s yarraman,’ said Tommy. ‘Mr Westwood’s now.’

  ‘Yep,’ said Jem. They had come up the back of the hill, where Westwood was hiding the horse. It was time to give the signal. They didn’t want the bushranger shooting at them by mistake. Jem whistled.

  An excited bark came in reply.

  At the fort, Westwood was yawning, and rubbing himself to get warm. His face was unshaven and dirty. Jem couldn’t help thinking that he looked restless, like an animal penned up and waiting for branding.

  ‘You’re early,’ the bushranger said. ‘That’s good, I hope?’

  The boys looked at each other.

  Jem spoke. ‘The Captain is on to you.’

  ‘What?’ Westwood put his hands on his pistols.

  ‘We didn’t tell,’ Alfie put in quickly. ‘They don’t know where you are. Yet. Or even if you’re near for sure.’

  ‘But they think you stole the food and there’s a reward for your capture,’ Jem added.

 
Westwood ran his hands through his hair. It must have been the grey light, as well as the dirt staining the young man’s face, but Jem thought the bushranger looked haunted.

  Tommy spoke. ‘That Captain, he’s getting a real good tracker,’ he said. ‘My uncle.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell your uncle that Mr Westwood isn’t a bad man?’ Alfie asked.

  Tommy looked away from Alfie. His long, dark eyelashes hid his eyes. ‘Mr Blain has one of them.’ He pointed at Westwood’s musket. ‘I’m real sorry, Mr Alfie. I don’t like trouble with nobody. But. . .’ he shrugged.

  But Mr Blain was armed, and Tommy’s people were afraid of him, Jem thought.

  Westwood hung his head, thinking. The misty air was so damp Jem could taste it. Jem knew what an Aboriginal tracker could do. They read the ground and the bush like Alfie read the newspaper. He realised that Westwood had to leave quickly to get a head start on the Captain. Westwood was a man on the run again.

  But at least he was not living under the Captain’s boot.

  Jem took a deep breath. ‘Let me come with you,’ he said.

  If he joined Westwood, Jem could get the twenty pounds by robbery. Maybe he could even get it off the Captain. Jem knew he would never get to live on that land himself. He would never muster cattle or shear sheep with Horatio at his heels. But his dad could find somewhere else. And if Jem didn’t follow Westwood, the Captain stood in the way of his dream anyhow. Without money, Jem and his dad were doomed to a life of taking off their hats and bowing their heads to the Captain.

  Westwood shook his head. ‘I like company,’ he said. ‘But with two of us on the one horse we won’t get away fast enough.’

  ‘I’ll walk to my dad’s and meet you there,’ Jem said.

  ‘That’s a long way,’ Alfie said. ‘Don’t do it, Jem.’

  ‘I’d make it.’ Jem gritted his teeth. ‘Then we could hide out in the mountain ranges behind here. In summer we could join up with Tommy’s tribe and eat those moths you talk about.’

  Jem expected Tommy to smile. But he didn’t.

  ‘Long time to summer, Jem,’ he said. ‘Them mountains are cold. That’s no good.’

  Horatio gave a little whine, as if she agreed.

  Westwood stroked her head. ‘I’ll take the pup to Long Swamp. But don’t join me, that’s my advice. Mine’s a bad business,’ he said.

  12

  Westwood began picking up his things. ‘Did anyone follow you?’ he asked.

  Jem didn’t think so, but. . . Jem and Alfie looked at Tommy. He would know.

  Tommy shook his head.

  ‘Right then,’ said Westwood, ‘you boys keep an eye on the Station. I’ll arrange the saddlebags to make space for the dog.’

  Jem, Alfie and Tommy lay on the rock and looked out. Damp seeped through the worn patches of Jem’s clothes. Everything was still white below. If anyone was down there – owners or convicts, Europeans or Aborigines – they were hidden. It felt to Jem like all the differences that separated them on the Station had been blotted out.

  ‘It’s like being at sea,’ said Alfie. ‘A sea of fog.’

  ‘Pity I can’t sail over it back to England,’ Westwood said sadly. ‘Well!’ He shoved his hat on his head, at that same stylish angle. Even now he could almost be off to a day at the races, Jem thought. ‘As I can’t sail on it, I’d best plunge in.’

  William Westwood held out his hand to the boys. Alfie shook it.

  ‘Alfred Goods,’ Westwood said with a grin, ‘you’ve truly got the goods,’ he tapped his head, ‘up there.’

  Westwood shook hands with Jem. His grey eyes gazed steadily into Jem’s. ‘You’d make a very fine Station owner,’ he told Jem. ‘Men and animals will follow you, if you let them. You’d do better not to follow my wild ways. It’s your choice. I wish I could make it afresh.’

  Jem looked down at the bushranger’s tanned hand holding his own. The blue sun tattoo blurred for a moment. The mist was getting in his eyes, Jem told himself.

  ‘Tommy – best of luck.’

  Tommy was still lying on the rock. He didn’t turn around.

  ‘Mr Westwood’s leaving, Tommy,’ Alfie reminded him.

  ‘Come and see,’ Tommy said over his shoulder. ‘Watch through there.’

  They crowded behind Tommy, and looked down through the shooting slit. In the bush in front, Jem could clearly see the wet leaves hanging heavy on the gum trees. He realised the mist had thinned. The plain was still foggy though.

  ‘Nothing doing,’ said Jem.

  ‘Wait,’ said Tommy.

  They waited for maybe a minute. Westwood shifted restlessly. Horatio whined to be picked up.

  ‘There.’

  A pinprick of red showed like a drop of blood on the white plain. Nothing was that colour except the Captain’s jackets.

  Westwood swore. He grabbed his saddlebags.

  Jem hugged Horatio. He buried his face in the folds of fur at her neck. She licked his nose, and then his ear. She tickled so much he had to pull away.

  ‘Hold still, dumb dog,’ he growled.

  Jem pulled up the kettle.

  Alfie and Tommy were still watching out. ‘We can see them better now. Looks like they’re moving slowly along the creek,’ Alfie said. ‘I guess they don’t know which direction to go yet.’

  Tommy agreed. ‘They’re looking for tracks. Huntin’ about.’

  Jem hoped Tommy’s uncle wouldn’t follow theirs. But Westwood wasn’t waiting to see. He swung his feet over the edge of the rock, feeling for Alfie’s ladder.

  Jem put Horatio in the kettle. She tried to get out. Jem quickly lowered the kettle over the edge. It rocked madly. One of her paws slipped through the hole in the bottom.

  ‘Woof!’ Horatio barked in protest. She looked up at Jem with confused wrinkles on her furry forehead.

  ‘Not far now. You’ll be right.’ Jem slowly fed out the rope.

  Westwood had caught a bag on one of the ladder’s crazy nails. He wasn’t ready to catch the kettle. Horatio put her paws on its rim and it rocked more. She began to howl.

  ‘Aa-oo!’ One of her ears had turned inside out. She looked so sad and funny Jem almost laughed. ‘Aa-oo!’ The howl echoed all around the rocks. ‘Aaa-oo-oo!’

  ‘Shut her up, Jem, for God’s sake,’ said Alfie.

  ‘Too late, maybe,’ said Tommy.

  ‘They’ve halted,’ Alfie said urgently. ‘No, they haven’t – they’re moving again. At a trot. They’re coming this way!’

  They must have heard Horatio, Jem thought. She had given them away. Not on purpose, just because she was young and scared and didn’t know better. He cursed himself for not carrying her down properly.

  ‘Jem!’ Westwood was calling up to him.

  Jem looked down the ladder.

  ‘I can’t take her,’ Westwood said. ‘Sorry, Jem. She’ll bring the whole crowd after me. I’ve got to bolt. Thank the gang – your cut is in the pouch, for being such chums.’

  Westwood touched the brim of his hat in farewell. Then he pushed through the bush, and was gone.

  Jem wanted to be with him. He wanted to pat the bushranger’s horse on the rump and wish Westwood good luck and God speed. He wanted to say, ‘See you again, mate.’

  But there was no time. Instead he hurried to pull Horatio up. As soon as she was in his arms again she stopped howling and started wagging her tail. He gave her a stern look.

  ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’

  She looked at him as if she was trying to figure it out.

  ‘He’s left,’ Jem told Alfie and Tommy.

  ‘Not a minute too soon,’ said Alfie. ‘They’re only a mile off. There’s quite a lot of them, most on horseback.’

  Jem felt a terrible pang of fear and guilt. Westwood had such a short head start. ‘It’s not Horatio’s fault. It’s mine. She’s just a puppy,’ he said. ‘She shouldn’t be mixed up in this bushranging business.’

  ‘None of us should,’ said Alfie. ‘Not even Westwood
.’

  ‘He left that gun behind,’ Tommy said.

  Jem saw the Captain’s musket propped up in the goongee where Westwood had slept.

  The musket wasn’t all the bushranger had left behind. Horatio was sniffing at a rock ledge where a chunk of cheese sat just above her reach. Beside the cheese was a flat fold of leather. Horatio bumped the leather object off the ledge with her nose. She pounced on it and started ripping at the cords that tied it.

  ‘Hey, let me see that,’ Jem said. He held the sides of Horatio’s mouth and prised the leather away from her sharp teeth. What had Westwood said about their cut? The pouch fell open. Coins poured onto the ground – silver and gold. Banknotes fluttered down. Three jewelled rings rolled at Jem’s feet.

  ‘Oh, boys!’ Jem gasped. This was more money than Westwood had taken from the Captain. This was more money than Jem had ever seen. This was the bushranger’s loot – their share of the bushranger’s loot.

  Jem guessed it was worth over hundreds of pounds. It was more than enough to buy the run for Jem and his dad.

  Jem and Alfie stared at the loot in wonder.

  Tommy didn’t. ‘We gotta go,’ he said. ‘That Captain’s lot are coming close.’

  ‘No,’ said Jem. ‘I won’t split.’

  13

  ‘Don’t be daft. We’ll be caught, Jem!’ said Alfie. ‘We’ve got to go.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Jem. ‘I’ve got a plan. We’ll hold them off and buy Westwood some time. I know what to do with the loot too.’

  Alfie chewed his lip as Jem explained. ‘That’s going to take a lot of nerve,’ he said, once Jem had finished describing the plan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jem, ‘but we’ve got nerve, haven’t we? We’re not stealing or murdering. We’re giving Westwood another chance. And we’ll show the Captain what we’re made of. Tommy, are you in?’

  Tommy nodded. ‘I’m in.’

  ‘Horatio, you’ll do your bit?’ Jem waved the cheese past the black tip of her nose.

  She licked her lips and perked her ears.