Tom Gerrard by George Lewis Becke (fastest ebook reader TXT) 📖

the pool, leapt in, and swam across to where their horses were hidden. Tommy, with all the lust of slaughter upon him, tomahawk in hand, ran round the pool to intercept him on the other side.

"Let him go, Tommy, let him go!" shouted Gerrard, who was now feeling faint from loss of blood. "Come back, come back!" and as he spoke, Pinkerton, who could see him, began firing at him.

The black boy obeyed just as Gerrard sank back upon the ground. The still blazing torch, however, revealed his prone figure to the American, who, rising upon one knee, reloaded his revolver. Then Tommy leapt at him, raised his tomahawk, and clove his head in twain.

"Did he hit you, boss?" he cried, as, still holding the ensanguined weapon in his hand, he darted to his master.

"No, Tommy, I'm all right, but bingie mine feel sick.{*} Get water for me, Tommy."


* "I feel faint"


The black boy ran down to the waterhole, filled his cabbage-tree hat with water, and Gerrard drank.

"Go and see if those two men are dead, Tommy, If they are not, take their pistols away. Then make a big fire, and I will come and look at them."

"All right, boss, but by and by." He raised and assisted Gerrard into the cave, laid him down upon his blanket, and placed his head upon one of the bullet-riddled saddles, re-lit the extinguished fire, took off his shirt, tore off the back, and bandaged his master's thigh with it.

"You like smoke now, boss?" "Yes, fill my pipe before you go." Five minutes later Tommy returned. "All three fellow dead," he observed placidly, as he stooped down to the fire and lit his own pipe with a burning coal. "Big man me shoot got him bullet through chest; little man with black beard and nose like cockatoo you shoot, got him bullet through chest too, close up longa troat."

Then he asked if he might go after the two horses, which, hobbled as they were, had gone off at the first sound of the firing, and were perhaps many miles away.

"All right, Tommy. We must not let them get too far away."

The black boy grunted an assent, made the fire blaze up, and taking up his own and Gerrard's bridles, disappeared.

In less than half an hour he returned, riding one horse and leading the other, and found that Gerrard had risen and was looking at the bodies of the three men, which lay stark and stiff under the now bright starlight. Tommy's face wore an expression of supreme satisfaction as he jumped off his horse.

"Other fellow man bung{*} too," he said in a complacent tone.


* Bung---dead.


"Did you shoot him?" cried Gerrard, aghast at more bloodshed.

"Baal me shoot him, boss. I find him longa place where all four fellow been camp in little gully. He been try to put saddle on horse, but fall down and die--_boigan_ been bite him I think it, when he swim across waterhole."

"Come and show me," said Gerrard, and, suffering as he was, he mounted his horse, and followed Tommy. In a few minutes they came to the place where Forreste and his gang had hidden their horses, all of which were tethered.

Lying doubled up on the ground beside a saddle, was the body of Cheyne. He had succeeded in putting the bridle on his horse, and then had evidently fallen ere he could place the saddle on the animal.

Gerrard struck a match, and held it to the dead man's face; it was purple, and hideous to look upon.

"Boigan," said Tommy placidly, as he re-lit his pipe.


CHAPTER XXXI


Three days passed before Gerrard and the black boy were able to leave the Rocky Waterholes. The bodies of their treacherous assailants they interred in the soft, sandy soil at the foot of one of the granite pillars, and then Gerrard took their valises containing their gold, together with their arms and saddle pouches, and rolled them in a blanket, which he strapped on one of the gang's horses, which was to serve as a pack. He intended to hand everything over to the Gold Commissioner, whom he expected to see at Ochos Rios in a few weeks, and who having judicial powers, would, he expected, hold the official inquiry into the deaths 'of the men at the station itself.

Tommy made but little of his wound, and only grinned when Gerrard said he was lucky not to have had his jaw smashed by the bullet. He doctored it in the usual aboriginal manner: first powdering it with wood ashes, and then plastering the whole side of his face with wattle gum.

"My word, Tommy," observed his master gravely, "you got him handsome fellow face now--all the same as me. Plenty fellow lubra want catch you now for benjamin."{*}

* "Plenty of women will want to get you now for a husband."

Gerrard's own wound, although painful, did not prevent him from either walking or riding. The soft wattle gum was a splendid styptic, and two whole days and nights of complete rest did much to accelerate his recovery; and game being plentiful at and about the waterholes, he and Tommy made themselves as contented as possible, for there was still a clear week before the pearling lugger was due at the mouth of the Coen. He had changed his mind about letting Tommy go back alone along the beach, and decided to take him with him in the vessel. The boy's bravery had impressed him greatly, and although he knew his resourcefulness and abilities as a bushman, he thought it would not be fair--for the sake of two horses--to let him run the risk of being cut off by the coastal blacks, while on his way to the station. As for the horses, they would find their way home safely in all likelihood, unless they came across poison bush. The blacks did not often succeed in spearing loose horses, the slower-moving cattle being their favoured victims.

They left the Rocky Waterholes as the strength of the afternoon sun began to wane, and headed due west As they rode round the side of the largest pool, the three horses of the dead men, which were camped under the shade of the Leichhardt trees, brushing the flies off each other's noses with their long tails, raised their heads inquiringly as if to say. "Are you going to leave us here?" and then sedately trotted after them.

Gerrard turned in his saddle. "Let them follow us, if they like, Tommy. They will be company for 'Dutchman' and 'Waterboy.' I think they'll all turn up at the station by and by."

The unexplored country from the Waterholes to the coast was very pleasant to see in all its diversified beauties: deep water-worn gullies whose sides were clothed with wild fig, wattle, and cabbage palms, opening out into fair forest country, well timbered with huge acacias and a species of white cedar, whose pale blue flowers filled the air with their delicious perfume. Bird life was plentiful, the chattering of long-tailed pheasants and the call of many kinds of parrots resounding everywhere, and filling the tree-clad gullies with melodious, reverberating echoes.

Night came on swiftly, but a night of myriad stars in a sky of cloudless blue; and then, fifteen miles from the Rocky Waterholes, they came to a wide but shallow creek, whose banks were well grassed, and which offered a tempting resting-place. Here and there were clumps, or rather groves, of graceful pandanus palms, with long pendant leaves, rustling faintly to the cool night breeze.

"We'll camp here till daylight, Tommy. I'm feeling a bit stiff."

As Tommy unsaddled and hobbled out the horses, Gerrard lit a fire, made the two quart pots of tea, and he and the native had their supper. Then, although they had seen no signs of blacks since they had left Hansen's, they took unusual precautions to prevent being surprised, for Gerrard especially was not in a fit condition for much exertion. Letting the horses graze where they listed, they put out the fire, and carried their saddles, blankets, arms, etc., out to a sandbank in the middle of the creek, and made themselves comfortable for the night on the soft, warm sand--too far away from either bank to fear any danger from a shower of spears.

The night wore all too quickly away for Gerrard, for as he lay on his blanket, gazing upward to the star-studded heavens, he forgot the pain of his wounds in his thoughts of Kate, and he sighed contentedly. In two weeks or so he would be by her side at Ocho Rios.

There had never been what some people call "courtship" between Kate and Gerrard. When she came to the station on her promised visit, her father had come with her. He stayed a few days at Ocho Rios, and then set out on his return to Black Bluff Creek, accompanied by Gerrard, who was going part of the way with him. They had ridden for a mile or two from the station, chatting on various matters, when Gerrard suddenly drew rein.

"Mr Fraser!"

The old man looked up, wondering at the "Mr."

"What is it, Gerrard?"

"I am going to ask your daughter to marry me."

Fraser could not help a smile. "There's no beating about the bush with you, Tom Gerrard." Then he put out his hand, and said with grave kindness: "You are the one man whom I should like to see her marry."

"Thank you," and the younger man's face flushed with pleasure.

Then Fraser, like the tactful man he was, said not a word more on the matter.

"Look here, Gerrard, what is the use of your coming any further with me when you have so much to do? Get back, my son--and I wish you luck. Give Kate my love, and tell her I said so," and then shaking hands with his friend, he struck into a smart canter.

Gerrard rode slowly home. Kate, Jim, and Mary were engaged in making a seine in the cool back verandah. Kate looked up with a smile, surprised and pleased to see him back so soon.

"Will you come with me and shoot some guinea-fowl, Miss Fraser?" Then he hurriedly turned to Jim: "You need not come, Jim. Go on with the seine."

An hour later they returned--without any guinea-fowl. Gerrard was in high spirits. He slapped Jim on the back.

"Let the seine rip, Jim, and get your gun, and we'll try and get some pheasants. We couldn't see a blessed guinea-fowl anywhere; could we, _Kate?_"

"No, _Tom_, we could not; they are horribly scarce to-day, Jim," she replied demurely, as she fled to her room.

After a quiet, restful night, Gerrard and Tommy made an early start, driving the pack-horse in front of them, and followed by the three spare horses. All that day they travelled slowly, and at sunset reached the mouth of the alligator-haunted Coen, where, to Gerrard's delight, they saw a smart, white-painted lugger lying at anchor. In answer to their loud _coo-e-e!_ a boat manned by two Malays, put off, and the master jumped ashore.

"How are you, Mr Gerrard? You see I'm three days sooner than I said, but we got a rattling north-westerly as soon as we rounded Cape York. But what is wrong with your face, Mr Gerrard?" he added sympathetically; "and you're lame too, I see. Niggers, I suppose?"

"No, we haven't