Do You Dare? Bushranger's Boys

by Alison Lloyd

  Tommy laid a finger to his lips. Silently, the boys peered out through the shooting slits, taking care not to be seen. The Captain and his men were out of the valley fog now. Jem caught glimpses of blue shirts and red scarves and the glint of iron through the trees.

  ‘Action stations?’ whispered Alfie.

  ‘Action stations,’ Jem confirmed.

  Tommy climbed quietly down the ladder. His job was to cover the tracks of Westwood’s horse. Or at least do enough to confuse the tracks.

  Alfie went and fiddled with the trebuchet contraption that Jem had laughed at.

  Jem fed the last of the cheese to Horatio. She gobbled it happily, in huge gulps, without even chewing. Her tummy was round as a tub. Jem smiled and rubbed her ears.

  ‘Nice work,’ he said.

  Now the Captain had to be convinced that he had cornered the bushranger. While in fact, Westwood was galloping away at breakneck speed, putting mile after mile between himself and the men chasing him. Jem’s job was to become the bushranger and hold up the Captain.

  Jem’s hands were trembling as he picked up the musket. He shook its gunpowder flask. The flask was nearly empty. No wonder Westwood left it behind. Still, there was enough for a couple of shots.

  Jem measured out a charge from the flask, and tipped it down the muzzle. Next he took a folded wad of newspaper and pushed it down on top of the powder, using the ramrod kept beneath the barrel. He didn’t have any proper lead shot, so on top of the wad he dropped in a small stone. Then one more wad of paper. Ram, ram, ram. That should jam it – hard enough to go off  like the end of the world, Jem thought. The last thing was to put powder in the pan and close the frizzen. Then the gun was ready.

  It felt incredibly heavy in Jem’s hands. As heavy as death.

  Keeping as low as possible, Jem hefted the wooden butt to his shoulder. He rested the muzzle on the rock. He could see the men fanning out around the hill. If they went too far round, they might see or hear Westwood. It was time to draw their attention.

  Jem lined up the gun’s sights. The barrel was pointing at the red coat of the Captain. He tilted the barrel downwards, to a spot fifteen yards before the Captain’s feet.

  He took a deep breath, held steady, and pulled the trigger.

  Flash! Bang! The powder ignited.

  BOOM! Sound exploded through the fort and thudded in Jem’s chest. A curl of smoke rose from the frizzen. A grey cloud billowed from the muzzle. Jem couldn’t see the Captain’s party through it. But he could hear them shouting.

  Horatio howled. Jem glanced back.

  Alfie looked pale and startled, but he was comforting the puppy. Jem hoped Tommy was nowhere near.

  ‘That’ll get them buzzing like bees,’ Jem said.

  As soon as he spoke there was an answering boom from below the fort. Shot whistled over their heads. They ducked.

  ‘I thought you wet the powder!’ Jem said to Alfie. The Captain wasn’t supposed to be able to shoot back.

  ‘The Captain must have called in men from other Stations. That’ll be the neighbours, Jem. There are too many to be just from Ross Vale.’ Alfie’s teeth were chattering. He hugged Horatio tight. ‘That was close.’

  Close? Jem hadn’t counted on the men firing at all. The shot made his hair stand on end and his knees turn to water. He hadn’t meant to put their lives in danger. Now it felt like the Captain had lined the whole world up against them.

  But it was too late to go soft now, Jem thought. They had to see the plan through.

  ‘As long as we keep our heads down, the battlements will keep us safe,’ Alfie said.

  Jem hoped so. The men were still a hundred yards away. He had to keep them at that distance.

  A deep voice shouted from below: ‘In the name of the Queen!’

  ‘That’s the Captain,’ Jem and Alfie said together.

  ‘Surrender and come out, William Westwood!’ came the next shout.

  The boys looked at each other.

  ‘It’s working,’ said Jem. ‘The Captain thinks we’re him.’

  ‘By the power of the law, I order you to drop arms!’

  ‘No way,’ breathed Jem. He put his hat on a stick and held it up above the shooting slit. He counted to twenty. Nobody fired. Jem took a quick peek out. He could feel his heart thumping against the rock surface.

  There wasn’t much to see, except motionless gum trees. The Captain’s party had all taken cover behind trees and rocks.

  ‘I think they’re waiting for us to reply,’ said Alfie.

  ‘For Westwood to reply, you mean,’ Jem said. ‘We can’t reply, or they’ll know it’s not him.’

  ‘They’re going to find out sooner or later,’ said Alfie. ‘Now would be a safe time for us to get out.’

  ‘Later is better than sooner,’ Jem said. Every minute was more time for the bushranger to get away.

  Jem saw a strip of blue flickering through the trees on their left. One of the men was beginning to move up to the fort. There – another one on the right.

  ‘They’re advancing,’ Jem told Alfie. They might think Westwood is dead, he thought. He had to slow them down. But not by talking.

  ‘I’ll give ’em their reply,’ Jem said to Alfie. ‘Hold on to Horatio.’

  Jem got the gun ready again. His hands were shaking even more this time. He kept thinking about the men on the other side of the rocks. What if, before he could fire, they got so close they captured him, Alfie and Horatio? Worse still, what if they somehow sneaked up and fired into the fort without looking first? The Captain was not a kind man. He would think it was his legal right to shoot Westwood dead. Only it wouldn’t be the bushranger he shot. It would be Jem or Alfie.

  Be steady as steel, Jem told himself. He lined up the musket through the slit. The sun came out for the first time that morning and glinted off the barrel. Jem hoped the men saw it. He hoped it sent a shiver down their spines.

  In the minute or two it had taken Jem to load the musket, several men had advanced at least ten yards. They must realise it was impossible for a lone bushranger to shoot them all at once. The beauty of Jem’s plan was that he didn’t have to shoot any of them for real. But they didn’t know that.

  The muzzle of the gun wavered. Jem’s hands were still shaking. He couldn’t get the sights to hold steady on any one point. He didn’t trust himself not to accidentally hit something. If he wounded the Captain it would get Jem in trouble. And to wound a horse – Jem winced. The Captain did that kind of thing; Jem wouldn’t. He tilted the gun high this time, well over their heads.

  Flash! Bang! BOOM!

  The explosion shook the fort. Again Horatio howled. Again Jem waved smoke from his face.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  They’d been ready for him this time. Ping! Shot bounced off the rocks. Ping! Ping!

  Jem threw himself on the ground, scraping his arms in his hurry.

  ‘Cripes,’ said Alfie.

  Jem crawled over to him. ‘I think I’ve got enough powder for a couple more shots,’ Jem said. ‘After that, we do your bit then bolt like billy-oh. I’ll go first, with Horatio. Are you ready?’

  Alfie squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. ‘Yes, sir.’

  14

  Jem loaded the musket once more.

  Alfie stroked Horatio and watched.

  ‘Must be a faster way to get a gun to shoot,’ he said. ‘One day I’ll invent something.’

  Jem lay flat as a lizard. He cocked the gun and waited. And waited.

  He waited until he thought he saw something move. Yes – a man was trying to scuttle up the slope, clumsy as a koala on all fours. It was Mr Blain. Jem guessed he was about fifty yards away. At that distance Jem thought he had a chance of hitting the overseer, if he tried. But he aimed high.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Flash!

  There was no boom. Jem swore. Maybe the touch-hole had blocked. Guns could do that, when you didn’t clean them between each shot.

  ‘Hang fire!�
� he called to Alfie. ‘Stay back!’

  There was nothing more dangerous than a gun that was primed and loaded, but hadn’t gone off. Sometimes the moment you put it down, or even touched it against something, it fired, and the bullet zinged anywhere. Jem’s dad had told him stories. Jem didn’t want that happening to him or Alfie or Horatio. There was nothing for it – he had to get rid of the weapon. Jem heaved the gun from his shoulder, and slung it right out the slit. He heard it crash through the branches.

  Boom! Finally the blast ripped through the air. It echoed off the rocks and crackled through the valley. Jem could smell the burnt, bitter gunpowder.

  ‘That’s it, Alfie,’ he said. ‘We’re done.’

  Jem didn’t know whether it would be enough. They’d held up the Captain for about the time it took to eat dinner. Westwood’s safety now depended on his horse. If she’d fully recovered, he’d probably be all right. But Jem couldn’t be sure.

  Alfie grinned. ‘Time for the trebuchet.’

  He handed Horatio to Jem. Her tail was between her legs and she was quivering. She snuggled into Jem’s arms.

  ‘Don’t let her get in the way,’ Alfie said. ‘She could get hurt.’

  Jem saw that Alfie had made a line of cowpats beside his cannon. The holey kettle with a rock in it was now hanging from the bottom of the pole. Into the sling at the top Alfie had loaded a cowpat.

  ‘Ready. . .’ Alfie puffed out his cheeks and lifted the heavy kettle.

  The pole see-sawed. The end with the slingshot and the cowpat dipped to the ground.

  ‘Steady. . .’ said Alfie, breathing hard.

  ‘Fire!’ Alfie let go of the kettle. It dropped with a clatter. The slingshot flipped up, and the cowpat flew out. It flew over the fortifications, into the sky, over the tree tops. Alfie bent double and looked out the shooting slit.

  ‘I reckon that missed ’em,’ Jem said.

  ‘Missed the men,’ said Alfie, ‘but listen.’

  Jem could hear horses whinnying.

  ‘It reached their mounts. Again – quick!’ Alfie reloaded his trebuchet. He slung off another cowpat into the blue.

  Jem heard more whinnying and the Captain shouting at someone: ‘Get back to the horses, damn you!’

  Jem grinned. Horses were flighty creatures. They got spooked by strange objects flying through the air and crashing through bushes. He peeked out the slit.

  ‘Do more!’ he said to Alfie. ‘At least one of their mounts has broken loose.’ The more horses bolted, the less men there would be to chase Westwood, Jem thought. He didn’t like spooking horses, but today was different. Cowpats weren’t going to kill them, but they worked a treat. Only Alfie could have thought that up.

  Alfie sent another missile from his cannon. Then he said, ‘I’m going to do an experiment.’

  This time he loaded two cowpats into the sling at once. When he let the kettle go, the sling swung up with a whoosh. For a moment, Jem thought the poo was too heavy and it wasn’t going to work. But it did. The mighty double bombardment cleared the fortifications and sailed out.

  Alfie scrambled to the slit to see where they landed.

  ‘Huzzah!’ Alfie cheered and pumped his fist in the air. ‘You should’ve seen that!’ he said to Jem. ‘Bullseye! They were wettish ones too.’ He added, ‘Oh, and they’re nearly here.’

  ‘Time to surrender,’ said Jem.

  Alfie sighed. ‘That was the best moment of my life.’

  ‘Quick!’ Jem ordered. He was already on the ladder, holding Horatio tightly under one arm. ‘Your life’s not over – yet. Stuff the loot inside your shirt.’

  15

  The boys scrambled down the ladder. Jem tore the seat of his pants. But the seat of his pants was in for a lot worse from the Captain’s whip, if he and Alfie were caught at the fort. They had to get away from their post.

  Jem and Alfie slithered down into the gap at the base of the rocks. They bent double along the wallaby track, through the thick bush. They crawled under the musket, which was caught on a branch.

  Jem had his hand over Horatio’s muzzle so she wouldn’t make any noise. She wriggled madly, trying to get her head free.

  ‘Shh!’ Jem told her. He whispered to Alfie, ‘I can’t hold her much longer.’

  Alfie pointed to a spot just ahead. They could see sunlight falling through the trees onto an open slope.

  Jem nodded. If they got out there, the wallaby track could remain a secret, as long as the Captain and his men had something else to think about. Jem and Alfie crawled the last few yards. Horatio struggled against Jem, whining and scratching him with her claws.

  When the sunshine touched his shoulders, Jem stood up. He let go of Horatio’s muzzle. Now they needed to make as much noise as possible, so the Captain’s party wouldn’t mistake them for Westwood and shoot at them.

  ‘Arf!’ barked Horatio.

  ‘Coo-ee!’ Jem called.

  ‘Help!’ yelled Alfie.

  Alfie and Jem burst out of the bushes – almost into the arms of Mr Blain. And not just Mr Blain, but of all people, Jem’s dad. Jem could hardly believe it. He stopped in his tracks.

  So did his dad. He fell back a step, as if he’d just been hit. ‘Jem?’

  Before Jem could say anything, Alfie put the next step of the plan into action.

  ‘Look, look,’ he yelled. He pulled the pouch out of his shirt and waved it above his head.

  ‘What in damnation are you two doing here?’ Mr Blain exclaimed.

  ‘No need to speak to kids like that,’ said Jem’s dad. But he looked just as shocked.

  Alfie ignored them and kept shouting: ‘Look, look! We’ve got the bushranger’s loot!’

  The rest of the party came running up the slope. The Captain had clearly called out the whole district, including the magistrate from Bungendore. But where was the Captain? Jem hadn’t seen him.

  Tommy’s uncle hung back, leaning against a big old tree. He caught Jem’s eye and motioned upwards, just slightly. There was Tommy, half-hidden in the branches.

  ‘You!’ said Mr Blain. ‘Which way? Where are the tracks?’

  Tommy’s uncle shrugged. ‘Don’t know, boss.’

  Through the leaves, Tommy gave Jem a thumbs-up. He had done his bit.

  Mr Blain turned to Alfie. ‘Have you seen the outlaw?’

  Alfie nodded. ‘We found his loot!’ he repeated.

  Mr Blain reached for the pouch. Alfie stepped back. Horatio growled and bared her teeth at Mr Blain’s hand.

  The overseer pulled back his arm. ‘Which way did he go?’ he demanded.

  ‘Round that way,’ said Jem. He pointed in the opposite direction to the wallaby track.

  ‘Where’s the Captain?’ the magistrate asked the other men.

  ‘Here.’ The Captain’s voice came from the back of the group.

  Jem stared. The Captain’s hair, his sideburns, his moustache, even his eyebrows and his fine red coat were covered in cow-poo. Sheer joy rose up in Jem. The Captain had copped Alfie’s last missiles full in the face.

  Jem looked at Alfie. Alfie was looking at a point somewhere in the sky. He had sucked in his cheeks and his mouth was twisting in all kinds of odd shapes, as he tried to hold in his giggles.

  Jem had to fake a fit of coughing. The magistrate, Mr Blain and the men did not know where to look either.

  ‘Ahem – pass that pouch to me, boy,’ the magistrate said.

  Alfie handed it over, slowly. It was hard for Jem, too, watching the leather pouch change hands, knowing all the loot was supposed to be theirs.

  But this was what he, Tommy and Alfie had decided. It would buy Westwood’s freedom and maybe their own. Because if the boys handed over the pouch, the men would think they were honest. If the Captain couldn’t prove they had helped the bushranger, he couldn’t punish them.

  But Jem also knew that not all the loot was in the pouch. Three heavy gold rings and a couple of gold coins were missing. He had made sure of that.

  ‘Wh
at Devil’s mischief brought you up here?’ demanded the Captain. Clumps of cowpat dropped from his beard as he spoke.

  Alfie looked all innocent and offended. Jem didn’t trust himself to talk for fear of laughing in the Captain’s face.

  ‘We came up here because there’s a good view,’ said Alfie. ‘We thought we might see where the bushranger was. And we did. The dog found the pouch.’

  The Captain frowned. It was a very black frown, with the extra stuff in his eyebrows.

  ‘Turn out your pockets,’ he ordered.

  Jem and Alfie did as they were told. Alfie had nails and string in his pockets. Jem had stones in his.

  Neither of them had any money on them, anywhere.

  ‘They’re not thieves,’ said Jem’s dad. Jem was glad his dad stood up for him, even though he looked like he would have some words to say later about keeping out of trouble.

  ‘Indeed,’ said the magistrate. ‘Their morals are commendable.’

  There was nothing the Captain could say to that. He might have his suspicions, but the magistrate had declared the boys innocent. They were in the clear.

  ‘Do we get any of the reward?’ Jem asked hopefully.

  ‘No,’ said the magistrate. ‘There’s no reward for anyone. We have found the bushranger’s hideout, but the outlaw has got clean away.’ He turned to the Captain. ‘Which is more than I can say for you, my friend. I suggest we return to your Station for a bath and a good meal.’

  The Captain gritted his teeth. He turned downhill. Then he stopped.

  ‘You.’ He was talking to Jem.

  A stab of fear went through him. Had they forgotten something, or betrayed themselves somehow?

  ‘I don’t want you working for me,’ said the Captain. ‘Go back to your father.’

  Jem nearly cheered.

  But Alfie looked upset. So did Jem’s dad. The rim of his hat tore in his hands.

  The Captain spoke to him as well. ‘And I will never sell my land to you.’

  Then he strode away.

  ‘He likes to put the boot in, that man does,’ Jem’s dad muttered. He looked at his broken hat. ‘I wanted to get the reward, to buy our land. But. . .I’m glad you’re coming home.’ He put his hand on Jem’s shoulder.