Next morning theArgusreported that a man had been found dead on a vacant piece of ground near the gaol; that several robberies had been effected by an armed man; and that money, to a large amount, had been stolen. A description of the man was given, which proved to me that he was no other than "Thunder-and-Lightning." There was much excitement in the city; but the climax was reached when it became known, soon after ten o'clock, that the manager of a suburban bank had been found on the premises, gagged, and bound hand and foot. He told an extraordinary story. He had been awakened in the middle of the night by a man, who held a pistol to his ear, and told him that he would be instantly shot if he made the slightest noise. The manager discovered that his arms were alreadybound by a stout rope, and that he was powerless to resist. Another man came and gagged him, then tied his legs.
The robbers found the key to the safe, and effected an entrance. To their intense disgust they only got about £200 in notes (chiefly tens), £25 in gold, and a little silver. Seeing there was no more money, one of the men gave the manager a blow with the butt end of a pistol, which stunned him. When he recovered the men had decamped. He gave me a description of them, and "Thunder-and-Lightning" was one, without doubt.
I felt very small, for the scoundrel had been within my grasp, and I had let him slip. I made a vow that I would hunt him down and take his life, or lose my own in the attempt.
I obtained a search-warrant, and proceeded to the house I had been watching the night before, picking up three policemen in plain clothes at the local office, and directing two of them to go to the back of the house, while I, with the other man, went to the front. I knocked several times, but got no answer. Then I tried the door; it gave to my touch and flew open. When I let the men in atthe back, we searched the place, and found the bird had flown. Looking out of a window, I saw there was a lane running from the public-house I had visited the previous night to the place where I was. Some incidents of yesterday were unravelling.
Leaving the three men, I went out by the front way, and walked to the public-house open and above-board, as bold as brass. I strolled into the parlour, and rang the bell. A frowsy little boy of about twelve years answered my call. He had a pasty face, snub nose, big mouth, greenish eyes, and red hair. I knew a face the very image of it, but I could not remember where I had seen it.
"Did you ring, mate?" the boy said.
"Yes, I'll take a glass of colonial ale."
"All right," he replied, and went away to get it.
Now he had not been gone a minute, when I suddenly remembered whose face he was the image of. He was as like Pat Kineen, our messenger, as two split peas are like each other. I heard him coming back.
"Your name might be Kineen?" I said.
"It is that same, shure!"
"And the other name may be Patsy?"
"Shure, you've hit the bull's-eye! It is."
I had made a bold guess. I said, "I've come from your father. He and I are chums."
"An' what may you want wid me?"
"I want you to take me to a man who is staying here. I know his name, but I was to ask for a man with a big scar on his face."
"I wasn't to tell anybody who didn't give the word."
"Ah, ah! I see. 'Mum' is the word."
"Faith, ye've got it! 'Mum' is the word an' no mistake."
I had stumbled on the right word. The combination had opened the lock.
"Well, take me to him as quick as you can."
"It isn't a him: it's a she. He's gone, he has, this morning."
"Well, take me to her, then. I'm a friend."
I slipped a shilling into his hand, and he led the way, muttering, "You're a gintleman."
He went to the top of the stair, I following, ready to grab him if he tried to bolt. He stopped at a door in a dark passage, and knocked three times, then whispered, "Mum."
The door opened at once. I grasped two hands, and said, "How are you?" then slipped a pair of handcuffs over a woman's wrists.
I went inside and locked the door. I was in a regular trap, for I felt convinced there were some desperate characters in the house who would not stick at a trifle. There was not a moment to lose, so I dragged the woman to the window, threw the sash open, and whistled three times. My men popped their heads out of the door of the house I had left them in, saw me, and came up the lane at a rapid run.
In the meantime the woman screamed and alarmed the house. The door was burst open; a man rushed in and threw himself upon me. Just then, however, my three men ran forward and secured him in a trice.
I had made a haul. The net result was I had caught two fish that were worth catching. I am actually trying to make a pun, which is excusable, as my success was great. For the last twenty-four hours I had been as hard-faced as a dissenting chapel. There hadn't been a smile in me. The game was whist. There wasn't a "joker" in thepack. It was my deal now. I had turned up an honour, and had some good trumps in my hand.
The woman was the one I had followed the night before, and the man was the accomplice of "Thunder-and-Lightning" in the bank robbery. Notes were found in their possession, which were proved by the numbers to have been some of the stolen ones.
The prisoners were lodged in the nearest police station, much to my satisfaction. I walked away on the tips of my toes, and with my head held high. There was exhilaration in the air, and I felt as if I had swallowed a "pick-me-up."
As I returned to the office the conversation I had with Pat Kineen came fresh into my memory. How did he know I was "to go afther the biggest thafe of the wurrld" I should like to know? and why was his son acting as potboy in the hotel? Then Patsy's unguarded admissions pointed to something not yet cleared up. Pat had been got at. I had a bone to pick with him, and I would get into the marrow, so I gnawed away at it, ruminated over it, and digested it.
When I arrived at the office I saw that Pat hadhad some information of what had taken place. He was trying to hide something. His face looked scared and his hands shook.
"It's a beautiful day, Pat."
"Illigant indade, Misther Wallace," he said, with a curious shake in his voice.
I knocked at the chief's door, went in and shut it, then said in a whisper, "I suspect Pat Kineen of a crime, and wish to arrest him."
"Good heavens! what's the matter?"
"I believe he is at the keyhole now."
I went on tiptoe and put my eye to the hole. A pupil, with anxious inquiry, was trying to solve a problem on the other side. I opened the door and pulled it with all my force. As I expected, Pat fell sprawling into the room.
"What is all this?" said the chief, starting up in a rage.
"This," said I, as cool as a water-melon at four in the morning, "is Pat Kineen, the companion of thieves and a sharer of the plunder."
"Och!" said Pat. "Oi was just clanin' the door-handle whin Misther Wallace pulled me into the room as I was hangin' on to it."
"You'll hang higher than that, Pat, if you don't take care," I said.
"Go away, Pat," said the chief, "and don't hang on to door-handles and get so suspiciously near keyholes again."
"Oh no!" I said; "I arrest him in the Queen's name for being a companion of thieves, and assisting 'Thunder-and-Lightning' to escape."
"Be careful what you are doing, Wallace!" said the chief.
"Oh, I am very careful!" I said; "I've got a tight grip of him."
"The divil take him!" yelled Pat. "If I'd a blackthorn I'd shplit his head wid it."
"Would you kindly see what Pat was hiding in his drawer?" I said to the chief.
He went at once, Pat and I following.
"In that corner," said I, pointing to the left-hand side.
"Here is a £10 note," said the chief.
"What is the number?"
"21,105."
"Whist!" said Pat to me; "don't tell an' I'll give you fifty pounds."
I paid no heed to him, but said, "That is one of the notes stolen from the bank."
"Me mother's first cousin's sister's son," said Pat, stammering wildly, "giv' me that for change av a sovereign this marnin'!"
"You'll get your change in your sovereign's gaol for three years, note that!" I said. I can't help making a pun or two when I'm in high spirits, even if they are bad ones. I was elated with my success, and no mistake. This is the only excuse I have.
I may as well say here that the woman was found guilty of receiving some of the stolen notes. The man I arrested in the hotel was found guilty of robbing the bank. It was proved that Pat had warned "Thunder-and-Lightning," and had been rewarded by getting a share of the stolen money. Heavy sentences were passed upon them, with hard labour.
This was my first big case. I was complimented on all sides, and got promotion with a good salary tagged on.
Well, "Thunder-and-Lightning" was too quick for us. He had flashed on the town, shot his bolt, and disappeared. For two months the criminal outlook was clear. I had nothing to do but take a survey of the horizon in the morning, and an observation at noon. There were no outbursts of murder or robbery. "Thunder-and-Lightning" was lying low. I knew he would break out some day.
One morning I received secret intelligence that he had been seen in the Puzzle ranges, near the Strathbogie country. This was enough for me. I scented the battle afar off. I happened to be reading at the time, but I threw down my book at once, and got instructions to go to the front without delay. In about two hours I had rigged myself up as a digger. A digger's signboardat that time was made up of a pair of moleskin trousers, a blue "jumper," a pair of heavy boots, and a slouch hat. With a swag over my shoulder, I made my way to the coach office about five o'clock in the afternoon. The coach by which I proposed to go was just driving up.
"Hullo, old fellow!" said an acquaintance of mine. "Off to the diggings?"
"Yes, I'm going to have a try."
"So long then; wish you luck."
Having bought a ticket, I took an inside seat, not caring to advertise myself in big letters on the front page. I might as well be under the gaze of the hundred eyes of theArgusas sit and be conned like a book by every passer-by. When a coach trundles along any one who runs, or walks, may read.
I pulled my hat over my eyes, and settled myself as if I meant to take a sleep. This attitude disarms criticism, and provokes contempt. A good imitation of a snore decides the business. The sleeper is either a fool or drunk.
The coach went down the street as far as the post-office, and stopped to take the mails. In afew minutes we were round the corner, and bowling up Elizabeth Street at the rate of ten miles an hour, going into a rut occasionally, like diving into the trough of the sea, for the roads were uncommonly bad in those days. The passengers bumped about, and cannoned off each other like bowls on a green, amid much laughing. It was lively! I smiled between the snores. We soon got used to the motion, and timed ourselves, as a rider does on a trotting horse.
About every fifteen miles, as I judged, we changed horses, and went on with a fresh spurt. Sometimes the coach would travel on one wheel for a second or two, or on one side, then on the other. Then we travelled, for an hour or more, on level ground, and would suddenly skid, with the break on, down a steep hill, in and out among the rocks, to the bottom, and then slowly labour up the next rise.
About ten o'clock we stopped at a wayside inn. Some one called out, "Supper." There was no need to announce it. It announced itself with a nasal effect. The nose had the news first. The air was full of it, shouting "onions."
Everybody but myself went to supper. I wouldn't show myself in the fierce glare of the kerosene lamps; so I sat where I was, pulled out my sandwich case, and had a square meal then washed it down with a swig of brandy and water.
In half an hour the passengers clambered to their seats, the driver shouted, "All aboard!" cracked his whip, and we were off. It was black as pitch, the road was sticky, the air clammy, and the coachman looked like the Wild Huntsman careering to the bottomless pit. I had had enough make-believe sleep, and was very wide awake. I peered through the curtain and looked out. It was a blindman's holiday. We came to a steep pinch, and the horses stopped. All the men were ordered to get down and walk. It was a relief to stretch one's legs, so I went ahead, and the rest of the passengers lumbered behind. Some of them were soon blown in trying to keep pace with the horses. When the band begins to march you must keep up with it, or you'll lose the music. When the coach stopped at the top of the hill three men were missing,but they soon came up, and we went on again. The dreary night died by inches; I thought the day would never dawn. When it came, dancing over the mountains, I retired behind my hat.
About noon we arrived at the town of Benalla. This was as far as I was going by coach, so I got down at the hotel where the horses were changed. Here I got a wash and a good dinner.
I went into the town, with my swag on my back, and steered a southerly course towards the mountains. A young woman, who had lost nearly all her teeth, and hadn't sense enough to keep her mouth shut, showed me the Mansfield road, and told me that some rich diggings had been discovered near Pepper Hill. I promised to give them a try.
The road was as intricate as a railway guide. Branch tracks switched off here and there, and wandered about till they were bogged or "bushed." Noble red gum-trees scented the air. A pastoral symphony was performed by an orchestra of magpies, laughing jackasses, and cockatoos. Kingfishers flashed like jewels; parrots, clad in rainbows, chattered; the whip-bird cracked his thong,and made the forest ring; native bears placidly stared; bees and honey-suckers were competing for cargo in the same line.
It was a peaceful scene. I was quite enchanted, and would willingly have abandoned the enterprise for the life of the simple farmer, whistling at the plough or calling the cattle home. Should I return in peace with the trophies of war, or leave my bones to bleach in the sun and wind until the last trump shall echo among the mountains?
I had been walking for some hours, when I saw, away to the left, a long, low house nestling among trees. I jumped over a bush-fence, and took a straight aim for a chimney that blew a wreath of smoke out of its pipe. The sun was going down. The birds were settling themselves in bed, and tucking their heads among the feathers.
When I at last scrambled down to the broad flat that stretched away to the Broken River, I suddenly found myself among a number of cows and big calves, which skipped about on the smallest number of legs there is any record of. The economy of nature is surprising. A little goes a long way.A dog on three legs is nothing to what I saw. I was rather scared when they came round me to stare. Like country folks, they were inquisitive, and wanted to know what I was fooling around for.
Just then a man, with a limp in his left leg, and a crooked stick in his right hand, came up. This was old Sailor Tom, as I found out afterwards, who was driving the cattle home to milk. I gave him a civil "Good evening."
"Good evening, mate," said Tom. "D'ye come from the new diggin's? Some says as there's lumps o' goold there as big as me 'ead; other some it's a 'shicer.'"
"No," I said; "but I'm goin' there. D'ye think ye'r boss would gi'e me a bed?"
"Oh yes," said Tom, "he'll find ye a bed if ye can find the sleep, that's fair. Ye see the strangers' hut has had the kangaroo dogs in it, so the population's lively an' aboundin'. The fleas is in possession of the field after the last bloody battle wi' a 'sundowner,' when he went to bed an' board there. I found 'im in the mornin', like a waterlogged ship, sinkin' fast, wi' the whole crew workin'hard at the pumps, and suckin' away for bare life."
"An' what became o' the man?" I said.
"Oh! we just towed 'im away, an' patched 'im up. 'Ee vowed 'ee wouldn't cruise on this station no more; says 'ee, 'This 'ere station's too 'eavily stocked, an' the breed too lively to my fancy.'"
I determined to give the strangers' hut a wide berth, for one flea in bed is one too many for me.
Sailor Tom began to laugh when he saw my glum looks, and said, "Ye can spread ye'r blankets in the spare bunk in my hut. That's it," pointing to a low slab building with a bark roof. "Jist go up there; I'll be wi' ye in a jiffy when I've done milkin'. Get up, Polly!"
I went to the hut, and finding a rough bench at the door, sat down to rest after my long walk. Tom proved a kindly soul; he brought me a big pannikin of tea, a chop, and a piece of bread. After a good meal I turned into the bunk, and was soon fast asleep.
Somewhere about two in the morning I awoke with a start. The clattering of a horse's hoofs was heard passing close to the hut, and a wild halloorattled the loose window-pane, and echoed from the hill. To my astonishment, another halloo burst out from powerful lungs close to my ear.
"Dang it!" said Sailor Tom, "ain't that a stretcher for the windpipe. 'Ope 'ee 'eard it."
"Who?" I said.
"I'm blest! then you don't belong to them parts? That's 'Thunder-an'-Lightnin's' signal to me w'en 'ee goes by across our ford; an' I answers 'im."
"An' what for?" says I.
"As much as to say there's no bobbies aroun'; do you twig?"
"I twig," said I. "'An where's he off to now?"
"To the Dead Horse diggin's for sarten. I can 'ear 'is 'orse's 'oofs clatterin' up the track."
"Wish he hadn't wakened me out o' a sound sleep."
"I tell ye there's music in 'is voice, an' money too; beats the Hightalian Hopera to fits!"
"Do you say so?" says I. "D'ye think he's in want o' a volunteer?"
"I think," said Tom, "'ee can make a vacancyfor a likely lad o' your stamp. Maybe I'll enlist ye!"
I turned over on my side, and grunted, "Good night." I didn't sleep another wink. I had not come up here for nothing. The Lord had delivered Goliath into my hand.
I rose with the sun, and dressed myself in haste. While I was making my preparations, I saw Sailor Tom looking at me with one eye.
"I'm off," I said—"want to travel before the sun gets hot."
"I see," said Tom, "as the blind man said who couldn't see at all. Then ye won't 'ave breakfast?"
"No; but many thanks for all your kindness. By-the-by, which is the track to the Dead Horse dig-gin's?"
"W'en ye get out o' the 'ome paddock you'll see a blasted red-gum; go up to it an' cross the road; then you'll come on a blazed track; follow that up, an' you'll strike Dead Horse in twenty-five miles. An' a word in ye'r ear! If you meet 'Thunder-an'-Lightnin',' tell 'im you're a friend o' mine, an' ye want to jine the troop. Say I recommend ye. Show 'im this." He took a copper token out of histrousers' pocket, and handed it to me. I looked at it carefully, and saw a rude representation of forked lightning. "Show 'im this," he repeated, "an' tell 'im Sailor Tom enlisted ye. Jist whisper 'mum,' for that's the watchword. 'E'll know that I've enlisted ye. Now remember! 'mum's' the word."
"I'll remember. Good-bye, and thanks; I'll look him up." I lifted the latch and walked away, through the home paddock, up to the blasted tree, across the road, where I found the blazed track, and went joyfully on my way.
I was in no hurry, for I did not wish to arrive at the diggings till night was setting in. I had food in my swag when I wanted it. My pistols were in my belt. I felt right as a trivet, and was very confident. About dusk I came to Pepper Hill, a quarter of a mile from the track, and took a seat on the outcrop of a quartz reef that trended north and south. In the valley I could see tents, and smoke rising from the fires. I ate some bread and cake, and felt refreshed. Just then I heard the crack of a rifle away to the east. When you are after game, look for tracks; when after bush-rangers, listen for the crack of firearms. I locatedthe exact spot where the shot came from, for I saw a puff of smoke rise behind a bush. I walked quickly down the hill in that direction. It was now dark.
I stole along on the soft, short grass till I judged I was near the spot. A low sobbing sound caught my ear. Instinctively I cocked one of my pistols, and held it in my right hand, creeping nearer and nearer, on hands and feet, till I came to something white, from which the sobbing came.
"I'm a friend," I said. "What's the matter?"
"I'm shot. Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?" And a torrent of hysterical moaning followed from a woman's voice.
"My good woman," I said, "what has happened? Tell me quick!"
After a short time she was sufficiently calm to say, "My man has been murdered in that tent down there. When I was running away to give the alarm I was shot through the leg."
"Where is the man who did it?"
"In the tent. You can see it lighted up from where you stand."
"I will come back with help for you in a short time. Make no noise, as you value your life."
I went away like a shadow on tiptoe—a shade could not make less noise—and was soon at the back of the tent. It was lit by a candle. Through the thin canvas I could see a man with a fiddle on his knee. He took it up and tuned it. "Ha! ha!" he laughed, "I haven't played a tune for five years; but I'll have one now, in spite of all the fiends in hell." He struck a note or two, and glided into the tune of "Donnybrook Fair." "That's something like," he said. "Now for 'Rafferty's Wake!' That's the ticket! If I had a gallon of brandy I'd give him such a wake as has never been seen on Dead Horse, and make every man-jack on the place dance while I covered them with my pistol. Curse him! I wish I had never seen him. Only got ten ounces, and I was told he had made as much as five hundred." Then he played "Rafferty's Wake" again, but slid into the gloomy strains of "The Last Man."
He banged the fiddle on the table in a rage, then took it up and patted it. Putting it under his chin once more, he played the most mournfulair I ever heard, which made my flesh creep and my hair stand on end. Then he played "The Last Man."
"Curse the tune!" he roared. "If this is the last man I'm going to shoot I'll give him decent burial. Dead men tell no tales, and buried ones show no sign."
While all this was going on my eyes were not idle. On the rude bed lay the ghastly figure of a man—a hole in his forehead, and his face covered with blood. A rifle and a pistol lay on the table beside the murderer, also a chamois leather bag; and a small pile of gold dust was scattered near it. A brandy bottle and a pannikin, from which he had evidently been imbibing freely, stood at his elbow. I could easily have shot him, but that wasn't my game. "A living dog is better than a dead lion." I would watch and wait.
Then he went to a corner of the tent and took up a pick and shovel, with which he walked out and strode down the gulley, evidently with the intention of digging a hole into which to put the body. He hummed a lively tune for a few bars, dropping into a minor key, and ending with asnatch from "The Last Man," as if he couldn't help it. This annoyed him. He swore a round oath, and clattered the pick and shovel together. I thought he was going to throw them down and come back, but he went on. I was after him like a weasel on a rabbit's track.
The moon came out grey and ghostly, so I easily kept him in sight. I felt sure he was "Thunder-and-Lightning." Something in his gait told me he was the man. He turned from side to side, apparently looking for a digger's trial-hole that would suit his purpose. When he had found one he threw down the pick and shovel, and peered into the excavation. It seemed to satisfy him, for he jumped into it and began to make it deeper.
I thought this was the proper moment to introduce myself, so I went softly to the edge of the hole and whispered, "Mum." He gave a start, for I had stolen so noiselessly he was taken aback, and stopped to look at me.
"Good evening, captain," I said; "I come from Sailor Tom. He enlisted me in your troop if you'll have me. Here is the proof." Then I showed him the token I had received from Tom. He took itand examined it by the pale light, then felt it with his forefinger.
Before I knew what he was doing he had pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at me. I felt Death's scythe swishing at my heart. My life wasn't worth a minute's purchase, but I did not flinch or wink an eye.
"Say the oath after me."
"All right, captain; I'm ready."
Then he said, "I enlist as one of Captain 'Thunder-and-Lightning's' men."
I repeated, "I enlist as one of Captain 'Thunder-and-Lightning's' men."
"I swear I will obey him even to death."
"I swear I will obey him even to death."
"And shed my last drop of blood at his command."
"And shed my last drop of blood at his command."
"That's all," he said, lowering the pistol. "You are one of my men now, and as likely a young fellow as there is under my command. Give me your hand."
I put it out, and he gave it such a vice-like gripI was very glad when he let go; but I think I gave him as good a squeeze as I got.
"You're of the right sort!" he said, after he released me. "Now, the first command I have to give you is to carry a dead man and bury him here. I always try the nerve of a new recruit."
"You'll find, captain, that I have plenty of nerve, and more in the bank to draw from."
"Come along then, and go before me to that tent you see up there."
I was actually driven, like a dumb beast, to the tent where the murdered man lay, and was told to go in.
"Blast him!" said "Thunder-and-Lightning." "Look at him! See his ghastly eye! Did you ever see a dead man stare like that? I never felt like this before. I'm going mad! No! No! it's only my nerves that have given way."
He seized the brandy bottle, poured about half a pint into the pannikin, and drank it to the last drop.
"Ha! that is better! now I'll play a tune. Shall it be 'Rafferty's Wake?' D—— it, man, why don't you speak?"
"Yes," I said, "'Rafferty's Wake.' Ha! ha! well spoken, captain! You go before, and I'll follow with the body. We'll give him an illegant funeral."
"D—— you! You're a man after my own heart. You've got the nerve of twenty men! Just like me."
The brandy was working. He strutted about with the fiddle, and ran the bow up and down the strings. I followed him with the dead man in my arms, who was a little fellow and light.
The murdering ruffian marched before me playing "Rafferty's Wake," making the strings squeal and skirl, while he shouted, "That's something like! go it!" He arrived at the brink of the intended grave, and I was just behind him, when I gave a sudden lunge and struck him on the back with the dead man, which sent him sprawling, head foremost, into the hole. The murdered digger seemed to clutch him round the neck, and fell in with him. I sprang on top of them in a moment.
I forced "Thunder-and-Lightning's" right hand behind his back and held it there, while I slipped a pair of handcuffs out of my pocket and secured it;then I wrenched the left hand in the same manner and handcuffed it.
I was so elated I could not contain myself any longer. I shouted "hurrah," and laughed loud and long. I suppose my nerves had been strung to such a pitch I had to let them down a little.
"Thunder-and-Lightning" lay quite still. At first I thought he was dead, as he had fallen upon his head. Perhaps his skull was broken; but, as I never knew an Irishman to be killed by a fall on his head, I soon felt pretty easy in my mind that he was all right. Hard knocks with shillelahs, for thousands of years, have developed a thickening of the bone; or is it a survival of the fittest?
I slipped his pistols into my belt, then coo-ed for ten minutes, and fired a shot. To my great delight I heard a cautious, "What's the matter? Where are you?"
"I'm here! I want help!" I shouted. Three men and six dogs soon made their appearance.
"Wha may you be, my fine fallow, an' what's the maiter?" said an old man, who was holding abull-dog by a chain, and saying to him, "Doun, Nero, doun!"
I told them in few words that the digger who had lived up the hill had been murdered, that his wife had been shot in the leg, that she was lying a short distance beyond, and that I had captured the murderer.
"Jist let ma doug Nero hand 'im by the cauf o's leg, an' he winna get awa," said the old man.
"Poor Tom, and poor Lizzie," said the men, who were decent fellows, and very sympathetic. Two of them went away to attend to the woman; one of them stayed with me. In a short time Lizzie was carried to a tent, and given into the care of some women. The police were informed of what had taken place, and two of them came. We marched the murderer to the lock-up, then I called for a lantern, and flashed it in his face. He was "Thunder-and-Lightning"; no mistake about that—broken nose, black eyes, and scar.
There is not much more to tell. I took charge of the scoundrel, and hardly lost sight of him, till he was safely lodged in Her Majesty's gaol inMelbourne. He was tried, found guilty of murder, and hanged by the neck till he was dead. His Excellency the Governor thanked me warmly, and a large money reward with immediate promotion came very opportunely.
THE END
And Other Australian Tales.
By ANDREW ROBERTSON.
PRESS NOTICES.
Academy,February 6th, 1892.
"Mr. Robertson, who publishes the volume containing 'The Kidnapped Squatter and other Australian Tales'—which by the way are not exclusively Australian—is neither a Stevenson nor a Haggard, but he has an eye to character, and he can tell an incident well. The best story in his collection is also the longest—that in which Jack Reevely discovers his mysterious uncle, and thereby attains wealth and happiness. There are several good characters in this story, notably the old woman, Mrs. McWhae, and the detective, McWillie. Altogether, this is as pleasant and original a volume of short stories as has been printed for a very long time."
Anti-Jacobin.
"If we are right in supposing that 'The Kidnapped Squatter and other Australian Tales,' by Andrew Robertson, are first attempts at writing fiction, the author may be commended on making a far more successful commencement than many a novice. The book displays undoubted originality, not only in conception, but in method of treatment too. The cleverness with which traits of character are hit off is promising, whilst the dry, unaffected humour that sometimes comes to the surface indicates the possession of a gift which, when discreetly exercised, is a very winning one. The style, on the whole, is crisp and terse, seldom halting and never vapouring. Here and there bits of word-painting (with Nature as the subject) are done in no grandiloquent or inartistic fashion.... The stories are rousing and healthy, and deal mostly with rough-and-ready Australian settlers."
Table Talk.
"In the same department of literature high praise is given by the reviewers to 'The Kidnapped Squatter and other Australian Tales' by Andrew Robertson. Of this gentleman we are not able to speak from personal acquaintance, but we may congratulate him on having scored a real success as a story teller. His merits are simplicity, straightforwardness, knowledge of Australian life and scenery, and the capability of depicting clearly what he sees and notes. These are cardinal merits in the writer of fiction."
Land and Water.
"The four tales this volume contains are pleasantly told and devoid of the impossible and brutal element which too often pervades literature of this class. The second story, 'All for Glittering Gold' is exciting enough to suit the taste of any schoolboy greedy of adventure, and the same may be said of 'A Bush Adventure.' The country where these scenes are laid is graphically described, but not with too much length to detract from the interest of the subject. Mr. Robertson may be said to thoroughly understand the audience he plays to, and is able, while amusing and interesting them, to raise their tone and earn their respect and liking. The pathos contained in 'Jack Reeveley' will make the story pleasant reading for older heads than a book of this stamp usually appeals to, and we heartily recommend Mr. Robertson's book to all who are desirous of giving an acceptable volume to their boy-friends at Christmas."
London and New York:LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.