The sun had just set as the four youths, in company with two men, mounted their horses and took the track leading to Bullaroi. Strange to say, the lads showed no signs of fear, nor were they bound with cords."By jingo!" cried Tom, who had just put his horse at a big log and cleared it in fine style, followed in order by Joe, Sandy, and Neville, "this is the grandest outin' I've ever had!""It's a' very weel," answered Mr. M'Intyre, who with Denny Kineavy had been following the tracks of some strayed cattle which were making for the ranges, and were passing the cliff opening while the cave explorers were ringing the welkin with cheers, "but supposin' that instead o' us, it 'd really been the bushrangers returnin' and catcht ye trespassin'? What then, ma laddies?"This query raised visions of possibilities that sobered the vaulting spirits of the pals for some brief moments. Very thankful were they in a moment of reflection that they had been bailed up by a friendly enemy."Heigho!""What's matter, Joe?""Fun's all over: measly school opens to-morrow!"CHAPTER XXVIIA RESPITE"Ah! those were the days of youth's perfect spring,When each wandering wind had a song to sing,When the touch of care and the shade of woeWere but empty words we could never know,As we rode 'neath the gum and the box trees high,And our idle laughter went floating by."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.Joe little thought when making the melancholy statement, "measly school opens to-morrow," how prophetic the utterance was.The first words that greeted the party on their return to the homestead were: "School won't open for another three weeks; the town's full of measles."The pals tried hard to look sober and concerned as Mrs. M'Intyre dilated upon the nature of the epidemic. It was a vain attempt. To their credit be it said, they were very poor hypocrites. Whatever sorrow they might feel on account of their friends who were in the grip of the disease was more than counterbalanced by the blissful intimation that, owing to the epidemic which had unexpectedly broken out, the school authorities had resolved, for at least three weeks, to keep the school closed."There's no going home at present, boys. I wouldn't dream of letting you return. I'll just write to your mothers to say I intend keeping you here, unless they want you particularly. I feel sure they will be thankful for your absence at such a time. So you'll have to make the best of it, boys. Are you sorry?""Well—er—of course—I'm a——""Yes—a—of course—you're—a—shedding tears at the thought of staying here another fortnight or so—aren't you, Joe? You and Tom do look as miserable as moulting fowls in wet weather at the bare thought of holiday extension."The lads burst out laughing at Jessie's sally, and declared that it was the crummiest news they had received during the holidays."That's a' very weel, and ye needna fash, laddies, that you'll ootwear your welcome. But here's some news that may no' be so pleasant," said the squatter, who had been busy with his mail. "Here's a letter frae Inspector Garvie to say that Ben Bolt and his mate are in the deestric' again. He stuck up Dirrilbandie Station three days ago, drivin' a' the hands aboot the homesteed, along wi' Wilson and his faimily, into ane o' the men's huts, in which they were held by his youthfu' confederate while he ransacked the place.""Oh! the poor Wilsons! Did he hurt any of them? and did he get much?"In reply to a fusillade of questions from the excited household, M'Intyre stated that though Ben Bolt was in one of his black humours, was in fact on the point of shooting one of the men for cheeking his mate, and was only dissuaded from this atrocity by the pleading of Mrs. Wilson, no one was injured. He had taken a considerable amount of loot, however, in the shape of jewellery; also a pair of new improved revolvers, as well as three horses, one of them being Wilson's handsome chestnut gelding, the finest hack in the district, and for which he had a short time previously refused seventy pounds from the police authorities.There had been an outcry against the Government for not having provided a better class of mount for the troopers. Again and again the schemes of the police to capture the bushrangers in various parts of the colony failed, chiefly because they were out-classed in horse-flesh. A tardy Government, aroused at last to action by the clamour of the people, was doing its best to remedy this unequal condition."I suppose, sir, the police are in full chase of the desperadoes?""They're doin' their best, ye may be sure, Mr. Neville. Garvie has two pairties oot scoorin' the country, and is holdin' himsel' in readiness to move to ony pint at a moment's notice. As the scoondrels hae cut the Walcha telegraph line, the presumption is they will be raidin' the place, and Sergeant Hennessey is following up with the utmost speed. The Sub wants the loan o' Jacky or Willy, or both, as trackers, and to let him ken at aince should there be ony signs o' them on Bullaroi, 'specially aboot the caves.""Are you goin' to lend him the boys, father?""Weel, it's very awkward, but I'll hae to assist the coorse o' juistice when ca'd upon. We maun dae oor pairt to catch the rascals.""Suppose youhadtumbled across the 'rangers in the caves, boys?""Well! an' s'p'osin' we had, Miss Jessie?" replied Tom, whose answer in tone and query suggested unspeakably bad things for the outlaws had they been unfortunate enough to meet the cave heroes."Let me pit ye a sum in arithmeetic, Thomas, ma laddie; juist a sma' sum in proportion. If twa stock wheep hondles, pinted at fowr cave explorers, each wi' a lighted candle in his hand, would cause the said candles to drop to the flure and fowr pair o' hands to go up like a toy acrobat when ye pu' the strings, what attitudes would the aforesaid explorers strike if a pair o' rale loaded peestols had been presented?""Tom is always a duffer at proportion," interjected Joe laughingly. "He has a trick of givin' answers that make Simpson sit up. To tell you the truth, sir, I don't think that the real article could have given us a greater shock. Speaking for myself, I confess that I've never had so bad an attack of the shakes before. My skin went goosey in a moment, an' my hair stood up like a hedgehog's spikes. I couldn't 'a' said a word for a hatful of sovereigns. You see, sir,it was all very real to us for the moment, and none of the others felt any better than myself, I bet tuppence.""Joe's quite right, sir. I had a most dreadful feeling as we stood there in the black darkness. It seemed as if a vast abyss had suddenly engulfed us and we were sinking to fathomless depths.""I'll back up Joe and Mr. Neville, dad. My word, when you spoke, it was as if some one had suddenly pulled me out of a dreadful nightmare."The pals went to bed early, as they were tired out after the unwonted exertions of the day, but not to sleep. They were too excited for that."I say, chaps," exclaimed Sandy, jumping out of bed after he had tossed about for a few minutes, dragging his stretcher alongside the bigger bed, "let's settle what we're goin' to do.""Was just thinking of doin' a sleep, Master M'Intyre, when you commenced to drag the jolly stretcher with enough noise to wake the seven sleepers. An' as for ole Tom, I fancied I heard a snore comin' through a hole in his pumpkin——""Pumpkin yourself, Blain. I'm as wide awake as you, or that grinnin' ape Sandy.""How d'yer know I'm grinnin'?""'Cause I can see your jolly teeth shinin' in the dark. But I say, ole chap, I'm on for a confab. Ouch! my legsarestiff. Wish I'd taken that hot bath your mother advised. Whatcher got in your ole noddle?""Something big, mates, but the difficulty will be with mother. You see, now ole Ben's prowlin' about, mother'll be hard to persuade.""Well, tell us what's up your sleeve; we can discuss ways an' means after.""It's this: go on a campin' trip to the Bay, where there's grand fishin'; then go out to the gold-diggin's, an' put in a couple o' days with the fossikers.""Jemima! that'd be no end of a prime lark! It'd top off our stay here, wouldn't it, Tom?""Susan Jane! it would that, Joe. My word, it'd be a scrumptious finish! but what charnce would we have of carrying it out?""I don't think that either your Jemima or Susan Jane'll have much to do with it. Mother'll be the chief obstacle.""What about a tent, Sandy? We'd have to get one, wouldn't we?""There'll be no trouble about that part of the business. There's a big drover's tent in the harness-room; 'sides, Harry has a small one he'd lend if necessary. Lemme see: whatwouldwe want? First an' foremost, a tent or tents, an' a packhorse to carry 'em an' the other things. Then plenty o' prog, o' course: fishing lines—there's tip-top schnapper-fishin' down the Bay, to say nothin' of jew, bream, an' whitin'. Then, the guns—we ought to get some good shootin'; both fur an' feather.""A fryin'-pan and a camp-oven 'ud come in handy, pannikins too, and some tin plates.""Yes, yes, we'll need those; at any rate, the fryin'-pan for the fish. Don't think there'll be any need to bother about a camp-oven: it's a plaguey thing to carry; we wouldn't use it 'cept for bread, an' we can make plenty of damper in the ashes. But I'll tell you what we must have, an' that's a couple o' small barrels an' a good few pounds o' salt.""Why, what for?""Fish. We'll be down at the Bay pretty near a week, I reckon; an' as we'll catch whips o' fish, it'd be a fine chance to dry some, an' salt some as well. Mother's got two good barrels that hold about half-a-hundred-weight each; they're salmon casks. The salmon's all used, an' I reckon schnapper is as good as salmon any day. That reminds me we'll want three or four sheath-knives; they'll come in handy for scalin' an' splittin' the fish.""I say, Sandy, when'll we start?""Start! Ah—well—we'll talk about that when we get leave—which, let me tell you, is pretty doubtful. 'Twouldn't take long to get ready once we have permission: a day at most. I declare I'm gettin' sleepy. Good-night, chaps."The boys opened at short range during the breakfast hour the next morning. In other words, they pled most vigorously for permission to camp out for a week or so, according to the programme concocted the night previously. The chief objection lay in the reappearance of Ben Bolt in the district. It was all in vain that the boys insisted that even were the redoubtable 'ranger to visit their camp, which was most unlikely—he would not harm them: would, in fact, have no interest in bailing up a parcel of boys. Mr. M'Intyre showed palpable signs of yielding, and had it been left to him would have granted a reluctant permission. The insurmountable barrier, as indeed the boys knew beforehand, lay in Mrs. Mac's excessive fear. She held the fort, so to speak, against all comers."I'm more sorry than I can tell you, boys, to say no, but nothing you could say would alter my mind. Neither Joe's mother nor Tom's would dream of letting them go camping out while those dreadful men are about."The pals felt the reasonableness of the refusal, and showed not a flicker of resentment, though of course their disappointment was keen."I say, chaps, let's put in the mornin' fishin'," suggested Joe.The vote was unanimous, and in a few minutes, armed with rods and lines and a tomahawk—the latter for use in cutting grubs out of the honeysuckle trees—the boys wereen routeto some of the deep pools in the creek. They had a really good time with some giant perch. The dangling grubs formed an irresistible lure to these voracious denizens of the water-holes, and the fishermen had no reason to grumble at the result. On their return home to lunch they were dumbfounded with the news shouted out by Denny as soon as they were within speaking distance, "Owld Ben's dead!—shot by the p'lice in th' ranges."The whole household was greatly excited by the news, which had been brought by a stockman from Captain White's station. There seemed no reason to doubt the intelligence, which had come via the "bush telegraph." Hennessey's lot had picked up the 'rangers' tracks and partly surprised them in the mountains. The outlaws promptly but barely succeeded in getting away. They gradually drew away, however, from all save the Sergeant, who was on a new mount—one of the Tocal noted breed—which proved to be a "ringer."The leader and his companion, who was a light weight, tried every dodge to shake off the pursuit, and in this they were past masters; but they had to reckon with Hennessey, who was one of the finest troopers in the force—as dare-devil a rider as Ben Bolt himself.After some marvellous riding among the ravines and tangled mountain scrub—during which a few long-range shots had been exchanged—Hennessey began to draw upon the outlaws. Even that equine magician, Samson, was reaching his limits. The capture of this illusive freebooter seemed now a certainty, could the Sergeant hold out another ten minutes.He was now within a hundred yards of his man. He lagged a little behind his youthful mate, who was riding the chestnut gelding looted from Wilson's station. Had he wished he could have shot the 'ranger down; but being extremely anxious to capture him alive for the bigger reward, he refrained. The only advantage Ben Bolt possessed was an intimate knowledge of the ground, by which he often gained a bit. They were now racing up a steep ravine which presently terminated abruptly at a precipice. Down this the outlaws apparently flung themselves; or so it appeared to Hennessey.Arriving at the spot a few seconds later, the trooper perceived a winding, narrow pass. He was a stranger to the precipitous track, but both the bushrangers and their horses were familiar with it, for they slithered and scrambled down at breakneck speed: a single stumble, and man and horse would inevitably be dashed to pieces. In vain did the gallant Sergeant spur his steed towards the pass. His horse resolutely refused to face it. His chances of capture are fast diminishing to a vanishing point, as in a few minutes his prize will have escaped.The outlaws have now reached the comparatively even ground below, distant about five hundred yards from where the trooper stood gnashing his teeth in rage, and praying that they might break their necks before they reach the bottom. Fortune favoured them, however, and they might have made good their escape without further trouble. But, instead of galloping off to safe cover, they reined up their steeds, while Ben Bolt, standing in his stirrups, shouted at the top of his voice an insulting message for the Sub-Inspector, making at the same time an ironical bow.While this little piece of comedy was being enacted, and just as the bushranger was in the act of bowing, the Sergeant had dismounted. Swiftly throwing his rifle to his shoulder and adjusting his sights in an eye wink, he made a hasty but true shot. The outlaw had not finished his bow ere he toppled from his steed and lay prone, shot through the heart.Such was the news brought by the stockman, and accepted by the station folk."Weel, it was bound to come sooner or later. It's what happens to a' law-breakers—simply the choice of bullet or rope. It's no' for us to ca' the unfortunate and misguided mon names. If a's true, he suffered a grave injuistice at the hands o' the police when but a youth, which embittered his whole life an' gave a moral twist to his actions. We maun leave him to Ane above wha mak's nae mis-judgments."CHAPTER XXVIIITHE CAMP BY THE SEA"Bright skies of summer o'er the deep,And soft salt air along the land,The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,Sinks gently on the yellow sand;And grey-winged seagulls slowly sweepO'er scattered bush and white-limbed tree,Where the red cliffs like bastions standTo front the salvos of the sea,Now lulled by its own melody."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS."And now, boys, what about the camping-out project? I see no reason why you shouldn't carry out your little plan, now all danger's removed; indeed, I should love you to have the jaunt. Who were going?"The boys could hardly believe the good news, it was so sudden."Us three, and Denny, if father could spare him, mother," was Sandy's remark."Oh, ye can tak' the laddie. He's due for a holiday, onyway. So's Harry, for that matter. I can do wi'oot 'em for a spell."Harry was nothing loth, and entered into the scheme with considerable enthusiasm. As an old bushman he was able to give good advice in the matter of camping-out requirements, and was later to render signal service by which a life was saved.Behold the party, early the next morning, accoutred and ready for the road; making, as they held their steeds, quite an imposing cavalcade. Two stout roadsters were requisitioned for packing purposes; for the maternal solicitude of Mrs. Mac was both prolific and varied, judged by the articles of food and service which she forced upon the travellers.The squatter's pawky humour found ample scope for indulgence. He expressed a hope that "the pairty would keep a guid look oot for traces o' the lost Leichhardt expeedetion; and look oot for alleegaitors when ye strike the Gulf o' Carpeentairia."The girls, too, indulged in good-humoured banter, raising hearty laughs against the boys, in which the victims joined as lustily as any.Said Maggie, striking a grandmotherly attitude, "There are three things I would warn you against, boys; damp socks, draughts, and earwigs. Don't leave out the flour when mixing the damper. Have you packed the tape measure, Sandy?""Tape measure! What in the name of Madge Wildfire do you mean?""Why," cried Jessie, breaking in, "to measure the giant jew fish that will snap Joe's line as he is in the very act of landing it.""Whatcher givin' us, Jess?""It will also come in handy," continued the saucy girl, turning on Tom, "to record the girth, length, and throat capacity of the monster snake that you, Tom, are sure to see when roaming alone in the scrub.""That's one for your nob, Tom!""Your turn next, Sandy," retorted that youth."Then there's the 'old-man' kangaroo that me brither Sandy will shoot at, missing by 'just an hair's-breadth,' of course, and which he will declare—when he returns to camp—to be as 'high as one of those extinct mammals that Simpson has in his natural history book'; at any rate as 'big as Bullocky Bill's off side poler.'""But, Miss Jessie, how wud th' bhoys put th' measure on th'——?""As for Dennis Kineavy," continued the sprite, "he will be sure to run into a group of mermaa-des, when diving in the deep blue sa-ay, who will be discussing the all-important question of waist measurement. As Denny's an expert in fairies and hobgoblins, he will be appointed judge and referee."So, amid laughter and banter, and final good-byes, the gay party start for the Bay.Neville was prevented from joining them through important business interests in Sydney. The "call" of the bush, however, was strong and insistent, and, as he bade farewell, he announced his determination of returning at no long date to settle as a landholder.The road to the Bay passed within a short distance of the caves, and, despite the news of the tragic end of Ben Bolt, the lads, as they jogged past the neighbourhood, were unable to rid themselves of a feeling that the outlaw still lurked about his old haunt, and felt relieved when they had left this region behind them.The journey to the Bay proved uneventful save in one particular. In mounting a very steep incline, the cinch strap, that formed the final fastening of the pack on one of the animals, broke, whereupon the pack-saddle, being loosely girthed, worked backwards. Some of the contents, also, fell to the ground, frightening the horse, who bolted along the road, parting with sundry utensils and eatables, which lined the track for some distance at irregular intervals. The frightened steed was at length secured, the wreckage gathered and replaced—this time more securely—and the journey resumed.The Bay is reached without further mishap or adventure. After coasting it for some little space the party cast anchor, in seamen's parlance, on a miniature promontory which jutted for a furlong or so into the waters of the Bay, forming a grassy, treeless plateau throughout its area. The advantage of this site was apparent to the group of campers, inasmuch as the foreshores of the Bay were covered for the most part with a stunted scrub that extended to the beach. The advantage was twofold: it obviated the necessity of clearing a space for the tents, and it was comparatively free from bush vermin.To the southern part of the Bay, distant some six miles, was the Pilot Station; while towards the northern extremity, where a large creek debouched into the sea, was a camp of cedar-getters. Otherwise, in its shore vicinity, the Bay was uninhabited.Two hours of daylight yet remained, and the members of the party made instant preparation for pitching camp. The necessary tent poles and pegs were speedily secured from the neighbouring scrub, and, under the direction of the experienced stockman, willing hands are busily engaged in the erection.The bigger tent was set upon a ridge pole that rested in the forks of two upright saplings which had been firmly fixed in the ground. When the requisite number of pegs had been hammered into the ground, the tent was hauled taut by cords passed through eyelet holes at intervals along each side, and about thirty inches from the bottom. This under section of the tent assumed a perpendicular position, forming the walls, which were secured by the same method. This formed the pals' cover, while the smaller tent sufficed for the other two. A rough shed formed of four uprights, with a brushwood roof, held the provisions and saddles.So expeditiously were all these arrangements made that ere the darkness fell they were completed, and Denny—who was promoted to the responsible position of cook—was building a fire for tea-making purposes. Meanwhile the horses were led to a small, freshwater lagoon in the vicinity, where they were belled and short-hobbled, and left to browse on the succulent grass. The last act of preparation was that of cutting a quantity of gum bushes for bedding. No sweeter or healthier bed can be contrived than a layer of fragrant eucalyptus leaves. The beds had scarcely been made ere the welcome summons to supper came, in the Irish boy's best brogue: "Jintilmen, will yees come to ta-ay?"There is a charm peculiar to an evening meal taken in the open. The charm is heightened in the present instance by the contiguity of the sea. The youths dine to the musical accompaniment of the rolling waves, which strike the beach in deep, muffled thunder-tone, rising crescendo fashion as they race to a finish along the shelly incline. Then, landward, are the insistent noises of the things of the forest. Ever and anon the soft tinkle-tinkle of "The horse-bell's melody remote" is to be heard as the cropping animals move over the lush grass. The illimitable dome above is alive with sparkling lights. Thus an environment is created which gives a sacramental aspect to the feast. At least it forms a romantic picture which centres in the fire-lit faces of the happy, care-free youths.Supper ended, they eagerly discuss their projects, the while they clean their guns and fix the fishing tackle.On the morn, at earliest dawn, they will try likely spots for fish, and have a swim in the briny. And now the slow movements of the tongue, with frequent yawns, proclaim the nightly toll which nature is wont to exact.Ere the pale dawn is flushed the pals, sleep banished, half-dressed, tongues wagging, trudge along the beach to the rocky point of the promontory, stopping here and there at likely places to dig in the sand for whelks, which make capital bait. The water is fairly deep where the nose of the promontory marks the terminal point, and soon lines are unwound, hooks are baited, and practised hands fling the lead-weighted hempen cords far into the Bay. Fair success rewards their efforts. Sandy's line hardly reached the bottom ere he experienced the delightful thrill of a fierce tug, followed by a smart, strong rush which betokened a good fish. After a few minutes' play he landed a fine specimen of black bream, scaling over two pounds.Sandy and Tom had varying luck with black and white bream, and flat-head. Joe, however, was out of it. He did, indeed, have a gigantic bite soon after Sandy had captured his first fish. The line whizzed through his fingers with a rush that skinned them as he began to take a pull. When the line had reached its limit it snapped like a piece of pack-thread. The biter was either a young shark or a big jew fish. After this no fish troubled the boy. His mates struck their fish at frequent intervals, while his line remained motionless. After a time he wound up and left his companions. Retracing his steps some distance along the beach, he halted at a shelving rock that ran out into the water. It looked a likely spot, and he determined to try with a lighter line than the one he had been using. Baiting his hook with a soldier crab, he made a cast, and almost immediately had a bite, hauling in a black-back whiting. It was a good specimen, weighing at least a pound. He had good sport for about half an hour, catching in all about a dozen whiting and half a dozen soles.The sport began to slacken about an hour after sunrise, and the pals, having captured sufficient for the day's requirement, set to work and cleaned their catches. This task finished, they have a plunge in the sparkling and cool waters of the Bay.Meanwhile Harry attended to the horses, and did little jobs about the camp, whilst Denny devoted his attention to the preparation of the breakfast. The lads returned in due course with the spoils of the sea, and with appetites as keen as a razor. In a few minutes the pan is full of sizzling fish, which are presently transferred to a hot dish, and the pan is filled with a fresh lot."Goin' to try 'nuther panful, Denny?" said Tom, when the second lot had been demolished."Anuther pan! Howly Moses! div yees hear him! Och, thin, me bhoy, ye'd soon rise th' price ov fish. Not anuther scrap will Oi cook f'r yees. Oi've kep' th' rest f'r dinner? Sure, if we go on loike this 'twill be Fridah ivry da'; glory be!"The morning was devoted to a go-as-you-please programme, in which there was much disporting in the water; even the juvenile pastime of building castles in the sand was not consideredinfra dig.In the afternoon the whole party set out for Schnapper Point. It was on this spot that the fond expectations of the lads were centred. It was reputed to be the best fishing ground in the extensive Bay, and owed its name to the fact that school-schnapper frequented its vicinity. A schnapper trip—taken as a rule in a small steamer—is voted one of the finest outings by Australian sportsmen. This highly prized fish, be it said, is known variously, according to its age and changing habits. It often attains large dimensions, weighing up to thirty pounds.None of the party had previously visited the Point. Their great concern was to find out if suitable bait could be procured in its neighbourhood. The principal bait was a small species of whiting. These, they discovered, were to be obtained without much trouble on shelly patches along the beach.Early next morning the campers are astir, and busily engaged in necessary preparations. After a hearty breakfast, in which the corned round and the spiced beef are conspicuous features, behold the young sports jogging along the beach towards Schnapper Point. A stoppage is made at the whiting patch, where the fishermen are kept going for an hour with very fine lines. By this time they have secured about two hundred small fish as bait.And now, having arrived at the fishing ground, leaving Harry and Denny to attend to the horses, the pals, all eager for the promised sport, unwind their heavy schnapper lines, and prepare for the catch.It was agreed that the boys were to fish, while Harry, who voted fishing a bore, and was devoted to the gun, would scour the adjacent scrub for birds, and the forest beyond for kangaroo; Denny having promised the boys a "foine boilin'" of kangaroo-tail soup. To quote the actual words in which he preferred his request—"If Harry wud shute wan iv thim fellas as hops wid their ta-ales, and carries their childre in their pockets,[#] Oi, wud ma-ake sich a soup as niver was."[#] The natural pouch of the marsupial for bearing its young.The shooter, armed with a fowling-piece and a short rifle, after attending to the horses, disappeared in the scrub in search of game. Meanwhile the fishers, having cast their lines, assume an expectant attitude.To their great disappointment there are no bites; not even the stimulating nibble. The patience of these amateurs is sorely tried. A whole hour passes without the slightest sensation of a bite. Lines are cast and recast. The fishermen move to and fro, to no useful purpose."Well, of all the rotten frauds of places for fishin', this takes the bun! Dash it! we'd better have stayed at the camp an' fished there. At least we'd——""Howld yer whisht, bhoys!" said Denny in an excited whisper. "Oi'm jist goin' to git a boite; th' line's thrimblin' sure. Faith 'tis a Dutchman smellin' the ray-shons, Oi'm thinkin'.""It's not a schnapper, if that's what you mean by a Dutchman. No nibblin' about a schnapper, Denny. More likely a crab.""By Saint Michael! Joe, div yes call that a crab? Be dad, thin, it's a big sa-ay whale, or maybe one iv thim mare-mades Miss Jassie warned me aginst. Be th' hokey, th' loine's cuttin' me fingers!"The line, which for a minute or two had given faint twitches, and a few premonitory shakes, now suddenly whizzed through the Irish boy's fingers."Take a pull on her, an' steady her!" cried Sandy. "You'll lose fish an' line, too, if you're not mighty smart."Denny thereupon made a "brake" of his fingers, which steadied the fish after it had run out about fifty yards or so of the line. He began to haul it as if it were attached to a sulky calf. The fish was a heavy one, and a fighter; but what Denny lacked in skill he made up in strength. Fortunately for the angler the line was stout and new, or it would surely have snapped in the struggle. By sheer strength the fish is drawn to land.CHAPTER XXIXAT THE MERCY OF THE SEA-TIGER:A NARROW SHAVEThe pals watched the seaman-like efforts of Denny to land his "sa-ay whale," or "mare-made," with great curiosity."It's no schnapper, unless, maybe, a real boss 'un. More like a young shark," was the remark passed by Joe.Their curiosity is soon satisfied; the fish is now in the shallows, and the next moment is drawn to the water's brink. Denny has landed a monster sting-ray.It was the first of the kind the Irish boy had ever seen, and, as he pulled the struggling ray into the shallows and exposed its body, he was struck mute for a few seconds with astonishment, and not a little alarm, at its uncanny appearance. Dropping his line in the excitement, he half turned to the boys, and, pointing to the floundering fish, exclaimed, "Begorrah! 'tis th' div-vil himsilf. Saints presarve us, but if yen's not he'es ta-ale! Or, ma'be 'tis th' dhragon phwat Father Daly towld us about at Mass larsht Sun-day.""He'll be a drag-off in a moment," cried Joe, making a clutch at the line, for the brute was wriggling into the deeper water. The next minute the ray was smacking the earth with his flappers, and whipping it with his tail."Phwat be th' crathure, anny ways, Sahndy?""It's a stingaree, Denny. Mind you don't touch its tail, or you will find out to your cost that it's the dragon, black angel, an' 'th' owld bhoy,' all mixed up like an Irish stew. Run for the tommy, an' we'll whip it off.""And does it bite wid its ta-ale loike a schn-ake, bhoys?""No, you precious duffer! it's got a spike near the tip that it rams into you like a needle, an' then look out! Yellow Billy trod on one once when he was havin' a bogey down below Tareela, in the river—they make a hole in the mud an' lie there—an', by jings! he was ravin' mad in twenty minutes. The doctor had to shove a syringe into his arm, and squirt laudnaum, or somethin', to quiet him down. There!" flourishing the tomahawk, "that's off, clean as a whistle!""My word!" continued Sandy, a moment later, "we'll keep the tail for Harry. He promised Bill Evans, the jockey, to get one for him if he could. He's goin' to ride White's horse at the Armidale races, an' he's the laziest o' mokes he reckons. Bill says it'll be only by sheer floggin' that he'll fetch him along. Says if he only had a stingaree-tail whip[#] he could do the trick."[#] The sting-ray tail is sometimes used for this purpose. It is a cruel instrument of flagellation in the hands of an unfeeling rider."This is not schnapper fishin'," interjected Joe. "My word! the stingaree'll make stunnin' bait. Put a bit on your hook, Denny, it may entice 'em."Sandy cut off a slice from the flapper and baited Denny's hook with it. The line had hardly reached the bottom ere it was seized by a fish—a monster. The fish did not rush, he bored; the resistance was of a sullen nature. Joe came to Denny's help, and between them they drew the fish to land. It proved to be a huge rock cod, or groper, as it is more commonly called, scaling close upon a hundredweight."A jolly groper, by dad! We're in luck all right," exclaimed Tom. "We'll have groper steak for supper to-night; besides, we can pickle one half of this cove and dry the other."Their luck had changed in more respects than one. The ray and the groper seemed to be avants courier for the school-schnapper, which now began to bite freely.For the next two hours the boys were kept well employed, landing near upon forty fish, varying from three to twelve pounds in weight. The tide now began to ebb, and after that there were no more bites. It was just as well, for by this time they had caught as many fish as they could cure. Counting the groper, they had nigh upon three hundredweight. The weight of these when scaled and cleaned would be reduced by at least one-fourth, leaving about two hundred and fifty pounds of choice fish."What's bes' thing to do now, Joe?""W-e-l-l—er—I dunno. Oh, I say, how'd a jolly swim go down?""Spiffin'! A swim, a feed, an' then start cleanin' the fish an' gettin' 'em ready for smokin' an' saltin'. 'Bout noon I reckon it is.""Come on, Denny," cried Joe, as they walked down to a sloping beach a little back from the Point; "come an' have a dip in the briny.""Bedad, thin, that same will Oi not. 'Twu'd be threadin' on wan iv these stinkin'-rays Oi'd be. Oi can seem to feel th' brute's dirty pisen fangs already in me leg. No, no, thanks be, Oi'm not takin' th' wather tra-atement at prisint. Oi'll go an' start the foire so as to be ready f'r yees; that is, if th' sharks div not ma-ake mince-ma-ate of yees."Was it a premonition which caused a cold, tingling thrill to run along Joe's nervous system, from tip to toe; to be followed by the creeps, which made goose-flesh of his smooth skin? Disagreeable as the sensation is to the lad for the time, it lasts but for a moment, and in less than no time, so to speak, he is revelling in the glories of the crisp, emerald-tinted wavelets of the Bay.It should be stated that Schnapper Point did not extend into the Bay at right angles to the beach. It inclined northward, and at the spot where the boys were bathing was not more than two hundred yards from the beach."Say, chaps," shouted Joe, who was some distance out, "I'm going to swim over to the main beach."So saying, he swam slowly towards the other side, enjoying to its fullest extent the luxury of the exercise. He had covered about a third of the distance when he heard a great commotion behind him.Denny, who had been attending to the fire, had his attention attracted by a moving object in the sea. Gazing intently thereon for a moment, he left his occupation and ran swiftly towards the boys."Look, bhoys! look at that gra-ate fish sa-alin' in forninst the Point. Troth, it's a monsther groper, Oi'm thinkin'! Glory! but he'es a gra-ate big bullock-groper!"So saying, Denny came towards the boys with a puzzled air, as though his description of the object to which he was pointing did not exactly determine its species."Whereaway, Denny?" exclaimed Sandy, who was paddling in the surf, standing up and gazing in the direction indicated. "A bullock-groper. That's a new creature surely. Never heard——Hello! why, it's a—— Hi, hi! Joe! Joe!" shouted the lad in a wildly excited state. "Joe, there's a big shark roundin' the Point an' coming this way. Come back, quick! quick!"Joe, who was almost on a level with the water, was unable to locate the enemy as quickly as the others. It was not until he began to tread water that his eye caught the moving object. In a flash he realised his danger, for it was a large tiger-shark, the man-eater of the sea. Not even the man-eater of the jungle, roused through the blood-lust to a killing frenzy, could be more merciless to his victim than this cold-blooded, pitiless, silent tiger of the seas.Terrible as was the shock, his courage survived. He conned the situation, and formed his judgment in a moment. The shark was eighty yards or so above him, swimming parallel with Schnapper Point beach, and within thirty yards or so of it. As far as he could judge the fish was ignorant of his presence, but were he to return to his companions he could not expect to escape its vigilant eyes; would be crossing its bow, so to speak; and, were it in an attacking mood, would not have the ghost of a show.His only hope of escape lay in keeping along his course, getting to the farther shore in the smallest number of minutes possible. All this cogitation did not cover twenty seconds, and the boy resumed his swim with the utmost vigour.Had not something happened to divert the shark from its course nothing alarming would have occurred, for Joe was rapidly widening the distance, and every stroke was improving his chances. The boys on shore, with the hope of frightening the monster away altogether, began to make a great clatter; pelting the shark at the same time. No more fatal policy could have been adopted. The only result of their tactics was to divert the shark from its course, and to drive it out in the direction of their comrade.Almost as soon as the brute's course was changed it sighted the swimmer. This it indicated by giving two or three strong strokes with its powerful tail, and gliding at a rapid rate in the wake of the lad. Joe was made acquainted with this change of course by the frantic cries of his mates. Throwing his head over his shoulder for a moment, he saw the shark heading directly for him. He knew in that moment that unless the miraculous happened his hours were numbered, and in a few seconds—or minutes at most—his body would be mangled by this pitiless sea-tiger. Yet, although this terrible result appeared an absolute certainty to the fleeing youth, he did not lose his head, but swam with a strong and steady stroke. There is such a thing as hoping against hope. He would not surrender life; it must be torn from him. Joe's home upbringing, with his father's daily chapter and prayer, sent his thoughts heavenwards in this his moment of extreme peril: "What time I am afraid I will put my trust in Thee."Here was the situation. Joe was about sixty yards from the beach, while the relentless pursuer was within thirty yards of him. His mates were powerless to aid him, and were racing round to the spot where he intended to land as swiftly as their legs could carry them.The shark glided within a few yards of the lad, and then swam round him, while conning him. This the boy felt to be simply the preliminary, yet every stroke was taking him nearer the shore. The water should be even now shoaling. Might he dare to sound it? But, alas! the enemy seems to understand this, and gives a cunning look as it half-raises its body from the water, and scrutinises its helpless victim preparatory to making its final swoop."God help me!" cries the youth, with a dry sob; his last moment has come. In that supreme moment—as in the case of drowning men—the whole past came before him. Home, parents, sisters, brothers, pals! There, almost within arm's-length, is his merciless foe; while there is still quite a stretch of water between him and the beach.The great, cold-blooded, insatiable fish is poised for the final spring. A single second now, and——Instead of falling upon its victim, the huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in a circle. What had really happened Joe knew not. He no longer swam shorewards, but, half stupefied, watched the "flurries" of the frenzied fish as it lashed the water in rage or pain.Then he heard a great splashing shorewards, and a voice shouting encouraging words. Turning in that direction, the boy beheld, with unutterable joy, Harry, rifle in hand, rushing through the water to him. In a few seconds the stockman is abreast Joe, the water being only up to his arm-pits. Pointing the rifle at the fish, which was circling in blind fashion, but a few yards off, the rifleman—for it was he, under God, who worked the miracle—drove a bullet through the shark's brain."My word! 'twas a touch-and-go, old feller!" exclaimed the man, as he put an arm round the boy—who had, in a sense, collapsed—and drew him to the shore. "There now, Joey, me brave boy. Y're all right, ain't ye? Y're not the chap ter faint, I know. Here's the others," as the rest dashed up, breathless; the Irish boy fairly crying with excitement.They could do nothing for a while but look at Joe as he sat leaning against a mangrove—where Harry had placed him—making a brave but weak effort to smile. The reaction had set in, and the boy felt it was only by the most resolute exercise of his will that he kept from swooning.Tom, who was blowing like the proverbial grampus, stuttered at last: "Let's m-make tr-racks h-home, b-boys. I-I'd rather be b-b-bailed up by a thousand 'r-rangers, than w-w-w-one of th-hose sea-devils. Oh! the sight of the m-monster as he r-rose to make a d-dive at p-poor Joe! Y-yes, let's c-clear.""Clear, be hanged! What are you drivelling about, you jolly idiot?" It was just the tonic Joe needed. "We're not goin' to let a thing like this spoil our sport, not by a long shot. I'm all right. Was a bit knocked out for a few minutes, I will confess. Tell you what, boys; I'll never be nearer death till my last moment comes. That I am alive is due, first to God, an' then to ole Harry, here. 'Twas a great shot, that first one of yours. 'Nother second later an' 'twould have been too late. Ugh! don't believe I'll ever get the green glitter of the thing's eyes outer my mind. Tell you what, I'll jolly well punch the first cove that hints at goin' home. I vote we go back an' scale an' gut the jolly fish.""Bedad, thin, it's a plucky wan y'are, Joe, me bhoy! Y're th' mahn f'r me money ivry toime. But, ye'll not do a sthroke iv wark till yees have a feed. Faith, Oi'll do a sthreak an' get th' billy boilin' f'r a pipin' hot cup o' tay. It's what we all want; Joe in particular." Suiting his action to the word, the cook strode off in quick time to prepare the lunch.Meanwhile the dead shark had drifted into the shallows until it stranded on the beach. The party now made a closer examination of the brute. The first shot, fired from the bank as the creature raised itself, had caught it in the throat; the second passed through the eye to the brain."Why, it's a tiger-shark!" exclaimed Harry; "twelve foot if he's an inch. Thought 'twas a blue-nose at fust; they're bad enough, but this joker's the worst kind that swims the sea. My word, Joe, it'd been all U P if this chap'd once got 'is teeth intil yer.""Budgeree, budgeree, you bin shootem shark? Him murry bad p-feller. Catchem plendy black p-feller; eaten. This p-feller live longa Point plendy years."
The sun had just set as the four youths, in company with two men, mounted their horses and took the track leading to Bullaroi. Strange to say, the lads showed no signs of fear, nor were they bound with cords.
"By jingo!" cried Tom, who had just put his horse at a big log and cleared it in fine style, followed in order by Joe, Sandy, and Neville, "this is the grandest outin' I've ever had!"
"It's a' very weel," answered Mr. M'Intyre, who with Denny Kineavy had been following the tracks of some strayed cattle which were making for the ranges, and were passing the cliff opening while the cave explorers were ringing the welkin with cheers, "but supposin' that instead o' us, it 'd really been the bushrangers returnin' and catcht ye trespassin'? What then, ma laddies?"
This query raised visions of possibilities that sobered the vaulting spirits of the pals for some brief moments. Very thankful were they in a moment of reflection that they had been bailed up by a friendly enemy.
"Heigho!"
"What's matter, Joe?"
"Fun's all over: measly school opens to-morrow!"
CHAPTER XXVII
A RESPITE
"Ah! those were the days of youth's perfect spring,When each wandering wind had a song to sing,When the touch of care and the shade of woeWere but empty words we could never know,As we rode 'neath the gum and the box trees high,And our idle laughter went floating by."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
"Ah! those were the days of youth's perfect spring,When each wandering wind had a song to sing,When the touch of care and the shade of woeWere but empty words we could never know,As we rode 'neath the gum and the box trees high,And our idle laughter went floating by."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
"Ah! those were the days of youth's perfect spring,
When each wandering wind had a song to sing,
When the touch of care and the shade of woe
Were but empty words we could never know,
As we rode 'neath the gum and the box trees high,
And our idle laughter went floating by."
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
Joe little thought when making the melancholy statement, "measly school opens to-morrow," how prophetic the utterance was.
The first words that greeted the party on their return to the homestead were: "School won't open for another three weeks; the town's full of measles."
The pals tried hard to look sober and concerned as Mrs. M'Intyre dilated upon the nature of the epidemic. It was a vain attempt. To their credit be it said, they were very poor hypocrites. Whatever sorrow they might feel on account of their friends who were in the grip of the disease was more than counterbalanced by the blissful intimation that, owing to the epidemic which had unexpectedly broken out, the school authorities had resolved, for at least three weeks, to keep the school closed.
"There's no going home at present, boys. I wouldn't dream of letting you return. I'll just write to your mothers to say I intend keeping you here, unless they want you particularly. I feel sure they will be thankful for your absence at such a time. So you'll have to make the best of it, boys. Are you sorry?"
"Well—er—of course—I'm a——"
"Yes—a—of course—you're—a—shedding tears at the thought of staying here another fortnight or so—aren't you, Joe? You and Tom do look as miserable as moulting fowls in wet weather at the bare thought of holiday extension."
The lads burst out laughing at Jessie's sally, and declared that it was the crummiest news they had received during the holidays.
"That's a' very weel, and ye needna fash, laddies, that you'll ootwear your welcome. But here's some news that may no' be so pleasant," said the squatter, who had been busy with his mail. "Here's a letter frae Inspector Garvie to say that Ben Bolt and his mate are in the deestric' again. He stuck up Dirrilbandie Station three days ago, drivin' a' the hands aboot the homesteed, along wi' Wilson and his faimily, into ane o' the men's huts, in which they were held by his youthfu' confederate while he ransacked the place."
"Oh! the poor Wilsons! Did he hurt any of them? and did he get much?"
In reply to a fusillade of questions from the excited household, M'Intyre stated that though Ben Bolt was in one of his black humours, was in fact on the point of shooting one of the men for cheeking his mate, and was only dissuaded from this atrocity by the pleading of Mrs. Wilson, no one was injured. He had taken a considerable amount of loot, however, in the shape of jewellery; also a pair of new improved revolvers, as well as three horses, one of them being Wilson's handsome chestnut gelding, the finest hack in the district, and for which he had a short time previously refused seventy pounds from the police authorities.
There had been an outcry against the Government for not having provided a better class of mount for the troopers. Again and again the schemes of the police to capture the bushrangers in various parts of the colony failed, chiefly because they were out-classed in horse-flesh. A tardy Government, aroused at last to action by the clamour of the people, was doing its best to remedy this unequal condition.
"I suppose, sir, the police are in full chase of the desperadoes?"
"They're doin' their best, ye may be sure, Mr. Neville. Garvie has two pairties oot scoorin' the country, and is holdin' himsel' in readiness to move to ony pint at a moment's notice. As the scoondrels hae cut the Walcha telegraph line, the presumption is they will be raidin' the place, and Sergeant Hennessey is following up with the utmost speed. The Sub wants the loan o' Jacky or Willy, or both, as trackers, and to let him ken at aince should there be ony signs o' them on Bullaroi, 'specially aboot the caves."
"Are you goin' to lend him the boys, father?"
"Weel, it's very awkward, but I'll hae to assist the coorse o' juistice when ca'd upon. We maun dae oor pairt to catch the rascals."
"Suppose youhadtumbled across the 'rangers in the caves, boys?"
"Well! an' s'p'osin' we had, Miss Jessie?" replied Tom, whose answer in tone and query suggested unspeakably bad things for the outlaws had they been unfortunate enough to meet the cave heroes.
"Let me pit ye a sum in arithmeetic, Thomas, ma laddie; juist a sma' sum in proportion. If twa stock wheep hondles, pinted at fowr cave explorers, each wi' a lighted candle in his hand, would cause the said candles to drop to the flure and fowr pair o' hands to go up like a toy acrobat when ye pu' the strings, what attitudes would the aforesaid explorers strike if a pair o' rale loaded peestols had been presented?"
"Tom is always a duffer at proportion," interjected Joe laughingly. "He has a trick of givin' answers that make Simpson sit up. To tell you the truth, sir, I don't think that the real article could have given us a greater shock. Speaking for myself, I confess that I've never had so bad an attack of the shakes before. My skin went goosey in a moment, an' my hair stood up like a hedgehog's spikes. I couldn't 'a' said a word for a hatful of sovereigns. You see, sir,it was all very real to us for the moment, and none of the others felt any better than myself, I bet tuppence."
"Joe's quite right, sir. I had a most dreadful feeling as we stood there in the black darkness. It seemed as if a vast abyss had suddenly engulfed us and we were sinking to fathomless depths."
"I'll back up Joe and Mr. Neville, dad. My word, when you spoke, it was as if some one had suddenly pulled me out of a dreadful nightmare."
The pals went to bed early, as they were tired out after the unwonted exertions of the day, but not to sleep. They were too excited for that.
"I say, chaps," exclaimed Sandy, jumping out of bed after he had tossed about for a few minutes, dragging his stretcher alongside the bigger bed, "let's settle what we're goin' to do."
"Was just thinking of doin' a sleep, Master M'Intyre, when you commenced to drag the jolly stretcher with enough noise to wake the seven sleepers. An' as for ole Tom, I fancied I heard a snore comin' through a hole in his pumpkin——"
"Pumpkin yourself, Blain. I'm as wide awake as you, or that grinnin' ape Sandy."
"How d'yer know I'm grinnin'?"
"'Cause I can see your jolly teeth shinin' in the dark. But I say, ole chap, I'm on for a confab. Ouch! my legsarestiff. Wish I'd taken that hot bath your mother advised. Whatcher got in your ole noddle?"
"Something big, mates, but the difficulty will be with mother. You see, now ole Ben's prowlin' about, mother'll be hard to persuade."
"Well, tell us what's up your sleeve; we can discuss ways an' means after."
"It's this: go on a campin' trip to the Bay, where there's grand fishin'; then go out to the gold-diggin's, an' put in a couple o' days with the fossikers."
"Jemima! that'd be no end of a prime lark! It'd top off our stay here, wouldn't it, Tom?"
"Susan Jane! it would that, Joe. My word, it'd be a scrumptious finish! but what charnce would we have of carrying it out?"
"I don't think that either your Jemima or Susan Jane'll have much to do with it. Mother'll be the chief obstacle."
"What about a tent, Sandy? We'd have to get one, wouldn't we?"
"There'll be no trouble about that part of the business. There's a big drover's tent in the harness-room; 'sides, Harry has a small one he'd lend if necessary. Lemme see: whatwouldwe want? First an' foremost, a tent or tents, an' a packhorse to carry 'em an' the other things. Then plenty o' prog, o' course: fishing lines—there's tip-top schnapper-fishin' down the Bay, to say nothin' of jew, bream, an' whitin'. Then, the guns—we ought to get some good shootin'; both fur an' feather."
"A fryin'-pan and a camp-oven 'ud come in handy, pannikins too, and some tin plates."
"Yes, yes, we'll need those; at any rate, the fryin'-pan for the fish. Don't think there'll be any need to bother about a camp-oven: it's a plaguey thing to carry; we wouldn't use it 'cept for bread, an' we can make plenty of damper in the ashes. But I'll tell you what we must have, an' that's a couple o' small barrels an' a good few pounds o' salt."
"Why, what for?"
"Fish. We'll be down at the Bay pretty near a week, I reckon; an' as we'll catch whips o' fish, it'd be a fine chance to dry some, an' salt some as well. Mother's got two good barrels that hold about half-a-hundred-weight each; they're salmon casks. The salmon's all used, an' I reckon schnapper is as good as salmon any day. That reminds me we'll want three or four sheath-knives; they'll come in handy for scalin' an' splittin' the fish."
"I say, Sandy, when'll we start?"
"Start! Ah—well—we'll talk about that when we get leave—which, let me tell you, is pretty doubtful. 'Twouldn't take long to get ready once we have permission: a day at most. I declare I'm gettin' sleepy. Good-night, chaps."
The boys opened at short range during the breakfast hour the next morning. In other words, they pled most vigorously for permission to camp out for a week or so, according to the programme concocted the night previously. The chief objection lay in the reappearance of Ben Bolt in the district. It was all in vain that the boys insisted that even were the redoubtable 'ranger to visit their camp, which was most unlikely—he would not harm them: would, in fact, have no interest in bailing up a parcel of boys. Mr. M'Intyre showed palpable signs of yielding, and had it been left to him would have granted a reluctant permission. The insurmountable barrier, as indeed the boys knew beforehand, lay in Mrs. Mac's excessive fear. She held the fort, so to speak, against all comers.
"I'm more sorry than I can tell you, boys, to say no, but nothing you could say would alter my mind. Neither Joe's mother nor Tom's would dream of letting them go camping out while those dreadful men are about."
The pals felt the reasonableness of the refusal, and showed not a flicker of resentment, though of course their disappointment was keen.
"I say, chaps, let's put in the mornin' fishin'," suggested Joe.
The vote was unanimous, and in a few minutes, armed with rods and lines and a tomahawk—the latter for use in cutting grubs out of the honeysuckle trees—the boys wereen routeto some of the deep pools in the creek. They had a really good time with some giant perch. The dangling grubs formed an irresistible lure to these voracious denizens of the water-holes, and the fishermen had no reason to grumble at the result. On their return home to lunch they were dumbfounded with the news shouted out by Denny as soon as they were within speaking distance, "Owld Ben's dead!—shot by the p'lice in th' ranges."
The whole household was greatly excited by the news, which had been brought by a stockman from Captain White's station. There seemed no reason to doubt the intelligence, which had come via the "bush telegraph." Hennessey's lot had picked up the 'rangers' tracks and partly surprised them in the mountains. The outlaws promptly but barely succeeded in getting away. They gradually drew away, however, from all save the Sergeant, who was on a new mount—one of the Tocal noted breed—which proved to be a "ringer."
The leader and his companion, who was a light weight, tried every dodge to shake off the pursuit, and in this they were past masters; but they had to reckon with Hennessey, who was one of the finest troopers in the force—as dare-devil a rider as Ben Bolt himself.
After some marvellous riding among the ravines and tangled mountain scrub—during which a few long-range shots had been exchanged—Hennessey began to draw upon the outlaws. Even that equine magician, Samson, was reaching his limits. The capture of this illusive freebooter seemed now a certainty, could the Sergeant hold out another ten minutes.
He was now within a hundred yards of his man. He lagged a little behind his youthful mate, who was riding the chestnut gelding looted from Wilson's station. Had he wished he could have shot the 'ranger down; but being extremely anxious to capture him alive for the bigger reward, he refrained. The only advantage Ben Bolt possessed was an intimate knowledge of the ground, by which he often gained a bit. They were now racing up a steep ravine which presently terminated abruptly at a precipice. Down this the outlaws apparently flung themselves; or so it appeared to Hennessey.
Arriving at the spot a few seconds later, the trooper perceived a winding, narrow pass. He was a stranger to the precipitous track, but both the bushrangers and their horses were familiar with it, for they slithered and scrambled down at breakneck speed: a single stumble, and man and horse would inevitably be dashed to pieces. In vain did the gallant Sergeant spur his steed towards the pass. His horse resolutely refused to face it. His chances of capture are fast diminishing to a vanishing point, as in a few minutes his prize will have escaped.
The outlaws have now reached the comparatively even ground below, distant about five hundred yards from where the trooper stood gnashing his teeth in rage, and praying that they might break their necks before they reach the bottom. Fortune favoured them, however, and they might have made good their escape without further trouble. But, instead of galloping off to safe cover, they reined up their steeds, while Ben Bolt, standing in his stirrups, shouted at the top of his voice an insulting message for the Sub-Inspector, making at the same time an ironical bow.
While this little piece of comedy was being enacted, and just as the bushranger was in the act of bowing, the Sergeant had dismounted. Swiftly throwing his rifle to his shoulder and adjusting his sights in an eye wink, he made a hasty but true shot. The outlaw had not finished his bow ere he toppled from his steed and lay prone, shot through the heart.
Such was the news brought by the stockman, and accepted by the station folk.
"Weel, it was bound to come sooner or later. It's what happens to a' law-breakers—simply the choice of bullet or rope. It's no' for us to ca' the unfortunate and misguided mon names. If a's true, he suffered a grave injuistice at the hands o' the police when but a youth, which embittered his whole life an' gave a moral twist to his actions. We maun leave him to Ane above wha mak's nae mis-judgments."
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE CAMP BY THE SEA
"Bright skies of summer o'er the deep,And soft salt air along the land,The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,Sinks gently on the yellow sand;And grey-winged seagulls slowly sweepO'er scattered bush and white-limbed tree,Where the red cliffs like bastions standTo front the salvos of the sea,Now lulled by its own melody."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
"Bright skies of summer o'er the deep,And soft salt air along the land,The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,Sinks gently on the yellow sand;And grey-winged seagulls slowly sweepO'er scattered bush and white-limbed tree,Where the red cliffs like bastions standTo front the salvos of the sea,Now lulled by its own melody."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
"Bright skies of summer o'er the deep,
And soft salt air along the land,
And soft salt air along the land,
The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,
Sinks gently on the yellow sand;
Sinks gently on the yellow sand;
And grey-winged seagulls slowly sweep
O'er scattered bush and white-limbed tree,
O'er scattered bush and white-limbed tree,
Where the red cliffs like bastions stand
To front the salvos of the sea,
To front the salvos of the sea,
Now lulled by its own melody."
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.
"And now, boys, what about the camping-out project? I see no reason why you shouldn't carry out your little plan, now all danger's removed; indeed, I should love you to have the jaunt. Who were going?"
The boys could hardly believe the good news, it was so sudden.
"Us three, and Denny, if father could spare him, mother," was Sandy's remark.
"Oh, ye can tak' the laddie. He's due for a holiday, onyway. So's Harry, for that matter. I can do wi'oot 'em for a spell."
Harry was nothing loth, and entered into the scheme with considerable enthusiasm. As an old bushman he was able to give good advice in the matter of camping-out requirements, and was later to render signal service by which a life was saved.
Behold the party, early the next morning, accoutred and ready for the road; making, as they held their steeds, quite an imposing cavalcade. Two stout roadsters were requisitioned for packing purposes; for the maternal solicitude of Mrs. Mac was both prolific and varied, judged by the articles of food and service which she forced upon the travellers.
The squatter's pawky humour found ample scope for indulgence. He expressed a hope that "the pairty would keep a guid look oot for traces o' the lost Leichhardt expeedetion; and look oot for alleegaitors when ye strike the Gulf o' Carpeentairia."
The girls, too, indulged in good-humoured banter, raising hearty laughs against the boys, in which the victims joined as lustily as any.
Said Maggie, striking a grandmotherly attitude, "There are three things I would warn you against, boys; damp socks, draughts, and earwigs. Don't leave out the flour when mixing the damper. Have you packed the tape measure, Sandy?"
"Tape measure! What in the name of Madge Wildfire do you mean?"
"Why," cried Jessie, breaking in, "to measure the giant jew fish that will snap Joe's line as he is in the very act of landing it."
"Whatcher givin' us, Jess?"
"It will also come in handy," continued the saucy girl, turning on Tom, "to record the girth, length, and throat capacity of the monster snake that you, Tom, are sure to see when roaming alone in the scrub."
"That's one for your nob, Tom!"
"Your turn next, Sandy," retorted that youth.
"Then there's the 'old-man' kangaroo that me brither Sandy will shoot at, missing by 'just an hair's-breadth,' of course, and which he will declare—when he returns to camp—to be as 'high as one of those extinct mammals that Simpson has in his natural history book'; at any rate as 'big as Bullocky Bill's off side poler.'"
"But, Miss Jessie, how wud th' bhoys put th' measure on th'——?"
"As for Dennis Kineavy," continued the sprite, "he will be sure to run into a group of mermaa-des, when diving in the deep blue sa-ay, who will be discussing the all-important question of waist measurement. As Denny's an expert in fairies and hobgoblins, he will be appointed judge and referee."
So, amid laughter and banter, and final good-byes, the gay party start for the Bay.
Neville was prevented from joining them through important business interests in Sydney. The "call" of the bush, however, was strong and insistent, and, as he bade farewell, he announced his determination of returning at no long date to settle as a landholder.
The road to the Bay passed within a short distance of the caves, and, despite the news of the tragic end of Ben Bolt, the lads, as they jogged past the neighbourhood, were unable to rid themselves of a feeling that the outlaw still lurked about his old haunt, and felt relieved when they had left this region behind them.
The journey to the Bay proved uneventful save in one particular. In mounting a very steep incline, the cinch strap, that formed the final fastening of the pack on one of the animals, broke, whereupon the pack-saddle, being loosely girthed, worked backwards. Some of the contents, also, fell to the ground, frightening the horse, who bolted along the road, parting with sundry utensils and eatables, which lined the track for some distance at irregular intervals. The frightened steed was at length secured, the wreckage gathered and replaced—this time more securely—and the journey resumed.
The Bay is reached without further mishap or adventure. After coasting it for some little space the party cast anchor, in seamen's parlance, on a miniature promontory which jutted for a furlong or so into the waters of the Bay, forming a grassy, treeless plateau throughout its area. The advantage of this site was apparent to the group of campers, inasmuch as the foreshores of the Bay were covered for the most part with a stunted scrub that extended to the beach. The advantage was twofold: it obviated the necessity of clearing a space for the tents, and it was comparatively free from bush vermin.
To the southern part of the Bay, distant some six miles, was the Pilot Station; while towards the northern extremity, where a large creek debouched into the sea, was a camp of cedar-getters. Otherwise, in its shore vicinity, the Bay was uninhabited.
Two hours of daylight yet remained, and the members of the party made instant preparation for pitching camp. The necessary tent poles and pegs were speedily secured from the neighbouring scrub, and, under the direction of the experienced stockman, willing hands are busily engaged in the erection.
The bigger tent was set upon a ridge pole that rested in the forks of two upright saplings which had been firmly fixed in the ground. When the requisite number of pegs had been hammered into the ground, the tent was hauled taut by cords passed through eyelet holes at intervals along each side, and about thirty inches from the bottom. This under section of the tent assumed a perpendicular position, forming the walls, which were secured by the same method. This formed the pals' cover, while the smaller tent sufficed for the other two. A rough shed formed of four uprights, with a brushwood roof, held the provisions and saddles.
So expeditiously were all these arrangements made that ere the darkness fell they were completed, and Denny—who was promoted to the responsible position of cook—was building a fire for tea-making purposes. Meanwhile the horses were led to a small, freshwater lagoon in the vicinity, where they were belled and short-hobbled, and left to browse on the succulent grass. The last act of preparation was that of cutting a quantity of gum bushes for bedding. No sweeter or healthier bed can be contrived than a layer of fragrant eucalyptus leaves. The beds had scarcely been made ere the welcome summons to supper came, in the Irish boy's best brogue: "Jintilmen, will yees come to ta-ay?"
There is a charm peculiar to an evening meal taken in the open. The charm is heightened in the present instance by the contiguity of the sea. The youths dine to the musical accompaniment of the rolling waves, which strike the beach in deep, muffled thunder-tone, rising crescendo fashion as they race to a finish along the shelly incline. Then, landward, are the insistent noises of the things of the forest. Ever and anon the soft tinkle-tinkle of "The horse-bell's melody remote" is to be heard as the cropping animals move over the lush grass. The illimitable dome above is alive with sparkling lights. Thus an environment is created which gives a sacramental aspect to the feast. At least it forms a romantic picture which centres in the fire-lit faces of the happy, care-free youths.
Supper ended, they eagerly discuss their projects, the while they clean their guns and fix the fishing tackle.
On the morn, at earliest dawn, they will try likely spots for fish, and have a swim in the briny. And now the slow movements of the tongue, with frequent yawns, proclaim the nightly toll which nature is wont to exact.
Ere the pale dawn is flushed the pals, sleep banished, half-dressed, tongues wagging, trudge along the beach to the rocky point of the promontory, stopping here and there at likely places to dig in the sand for whelks, which make capital bait. The water is fairly deep where the nose of the promontory marks the terminal point, and soon lines are unwound, hooks are baited, and practised hands fling the lead-weighted hempen cords far into the Bay. Fair success rewards their efforts. Sandy's line hardly reached the bottom ere he experienced the delightful thrill of a fierce tug, followed by a smart, strong rush which betokened a good fish. After a few minutes' play he landed a fine specimen of black bream, scaling over two pounds.
Sandy and Tom had varying luck with black and white bream, and flat-head. Joe, however, was out of it. He did, indeed, have a gigantic bite soon after Sandy had captured his first fish. The line whizzed through his fingers with a rush that skinned them as he began to take a pull. When the line had reached its limit it snapped like a piece of pack-thread. The biter was either a young shark or a big jew fish. After this no fish troubled the boy. His mates struck their fish at frequent intervals, while his line remained motionless. After a time he wound up and left his companions. Retracing his steps some distance along the beach, he halted at a shelving rock that ran out into the water. It looked a likely spot, and he determined to try with a lighter line than the one he had been using. Baiting his hook with a soldier crab, he made a cast, and almost immediately had a bite, hauling in a black-back whiting. It was a good specimen, weighing at least a pound. He had good sport for about half an hour, catching in all about a dozen whiting and half a dozen soles.
The sport began to slacken about an hour after sunrise, and the pals, having captured sufficient for the day's requirement, set to work and cleaned their catches. This task finished, they have a plunge in the sparkling and cool waters of the Bay.
Meanwhile Harry attended to the horses, and did little jobs about the camp, whilst Denny devoted his attention to the preparation of the breakfast. The lads returned in due course with the spoils of the sea, and with appetites as keen as a razor. In a few minutes the pan is full of sizzling fish, which are presently transferred to a hot dish, and the pan is filled with a fresh lot.
"Goin' to try 'nuther panful, Denny?" said Tom, when the second lot had been demolished.
"Anuther pan! Howly Moses! div yees hear him! Och, thin, me bhoy, ye'd soon rise th' price ov fish. Not anuther scrap will Oi cook f'r yees. Oi've kep' th' rest f'r dinner? Sure, if we go on loike this 'twill be Fridah ivry da'; glory be!"
The morning was devoted to a go-as-you-please programme, in which there was much disporting in the water; even the juvenile pastime of building castles in the sand was not consideredinfra dig.
In the afternoon the whole party set out for Schnapper Point. It was on this spot that the fond expectations of the lads were centred. It was reputed to be the best fishing ground in the extensive Bay, and owed its name to the fact that school-schnapper frequented its vicinity. A schnapper trip—taken as a rule in a small steamer—is voted one of the finest outings by Australian sportsmen. This highly prized fish, be it said, is known variously, according to its age and changing habits. It often attains large dimensions, weighing up to thirty pounds.
None of the party had previously visited the Point. Their great concern was to find out if suitable bait could be procured in its neighbourhood. The principal bait was a small species of whiting. These, they discovered, were to be obtained without much trouble on shelly patches along the beach.
Early next morning the campers are astir, and busily engaged in necessary preparations. After a hearty breakfast, in which the corned round and the spiced beef are conspicuous features, behold the young sports jogging along the beach towards Schnapper Point. A stoppage is made at the whiting patch, where the fishermen are kept going for an hour with very fine lines. By this time they have secured about two hundred small fish as bait.
And now, having arrived at the fishing ground, leaving Harry and Denny to attend to the horses, the pals, all eager for the promised sport, unwind their heavy schnapper lines, and prepare for the catch.
It was agreed that the boys were to fish, while Harry, who voted fishing a bore, and was devoted to the gun, would scour the adjacent scrub for birds, and the forest beyond for kangaroo; Denny having promised the boys a "foine boilin'" of kangaroo-tail soup. To quote the actual words in which he preferred his request—"If Harry wud shute wan iv thim fellas as hops wid their ta-ales, and carries their childre in their pockets,[#] Oi, wud ma-ake sich a soup as niver was."
[#] The natural pouch of the marsupial for bearing its young.
The shooter, armed with a fowling-piece and a short rifle, after attending to the horses, disappeared in the scrub in search of game. Meanwhile the fishers, having cast their lines, assume an expectant attitude.
To their great disappointment there are no bites; not even the stimulating nibble. The patience of these amateurs is sorely tried. A whole hour passes without the slightest sensation of a bite. Lines are cast and recast. The fishermen move to and fro, to no useful purpose.
"Well, of all the rotten frauds of places for fishin', this takes the bun! Dash it! we'd better have stayed at the camp an' fished there. At least we'd——"
"Howld yer whisht, bhoys!" said Denny in an excited whisper. "Oi'm jist goin' to git a boite; th' line's thrimblin' sure. Faith 'tis a Dutchman smellin' the ray-shons, Oi'm thinkin'."
"It's not a schnapper, if that's what you mean by a Dutchman. No nibblin' about a schnapper, Denny. More likely a crab."
"By Saint Michael! Joe, div yes call that a crab? Be dad, thin, it's a big sa-ay whale, or maybe one iv thim mare-mades Miss Jassie warned me aginst. Be th' hokey, th' loine's cuttin' me fingers!"
The line, which for a minute or two had given faint twitches, and a few premonitory shakes, now suddenly whizzed through the Irish boy's fingers.
"Take a pull on her, an' steady her!" cried Sandy. "You'll lose fish an' line, too, if you're not mighty smart."
Denny thereupon made a "brake" of his fingers, which steadied the fish after it had run out about fifty yards or so of the line. He began to haul it as if it were attached to a sulky calf. The fish was a heavy one, and a fighter; but what Denny lacked in skill he made up in strength. Fortunately for the angler the line was stout and new, or it would surely have snapped in the struggle. By sheer strength the fish is drawn to land.
CHAPTER XXIX
AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA-TIGER:A NARROW SHAVE
The pals watched the seaman-like efforts of Denny to land his "sa-ay whale," or "mare-made," with great curiosity.
"It's no schnapper, unless, maybe, a real boss 'un. More like a young shark," was the remark passed by Joe.
Their curiosity is soon satisfied; the fish is now in the shallows, and the next moment is drawn to the water's brink. Denny has landed a monster sting-ray.
It was the first of the kind the Irish boy had ever seen, and, as he pulled the struggling ray into the shallows and exposed its body, he was struck mute for a few seconds with astonishment, and not a little alarm, at its uncanny appearance. Dropping his line in the excitement, he half turned to the boys, and, pointing to the floundering fish, exclaimed, "Begorrah! 'tis th' div-vil himsilf. Saints presarve us, but if yen's not he'es ta-ale! Or, ma'be 'tis th' dhragon phwat Father Daly towld us about at Mass larsht Sun-day."
"He'll be a drag-off in a moment," cried Joe, making a clutch at the line, for the brute was wriggling into the deeper water. The next minute the ray was smacking the earth with his flappers, and whipping it with his tail.
"Phwat be th' crathure, anny ways, Sahndy?"
"It's a stingaree, Denny. Mind you don't touch its tail, or you will find out to your cost that it's the dragon, black angel, an' 'th' owld bhoy,' all mixed up like an Irish stew. Run for the tommy, an' we'll whip it off."
"And does it bite wid its ta-ale loike a schn-ake, bhoys?"
"No, you precious duffer! it's got a spike near the tip that it rams into you like a needle, an' then look out! Yellow Billy trod on one once when he was havin' a bogey down below Tareela, in the river—they make a hole in the mud an' lie there—an', by jings! he was ravin' mad in twenty minutes. The doctor had to shove a syringe into his arm, and squirt laudnaum, or somethin', to quiet him down. There!" flourishing the tomahawk, "that's off, clean as a whistle!"
"My word!" continued Sandy, a moment later, "we'll keep the tail for Harry. He promised Bill Evans, the jockey, to get one for him if he could. He's goin' to ride White's horse at the Armidale races, an' he's the laziest o' mokes he reckons. Bill says it'll be only by sheer floggin' that he'll fetch him along. Says if he only had a stingaree-tail whip[#] he could do the trick."
[#] The sting-ray tail is sometimes used for this purpose. It is a cruel instrument of flagellation in the hands of an unfeeling rider.
"This is not schnapper fishin'," interjected Joe. "My word! the stingaree'll make stunnin' bait. Put a bit on your hook, Denny, it may entice 'em."
Sandy cut off a slice from the flapper and baited Denny's hook with it. The line had hardly reached the bottom ere it was seized by a fish—a monster. The fish did not rush, he bored; the resistance was of a sullen nature. Joe came to Denny's help, and between them they drew the fish to land. It proved to be a huge rock cod, or groper, as it is more commonly called, scaling close upon a hundredweight.
"A jolly groper, by dad! We're in luck all right," exclaimed Tom. "We'll have groper steak for supper to-night; besides, we can pickle one half of this cove and dry the other."
Their luck had changed in more respects than one. The ray and the groper seemed to be avants courier for the school-schnapper, which now began to bite freely.
For the next two hours the boys were kept well employed, landing near upon forty fish, varying from three to twelve pounds in weight. The tide now began to ebb, and after that there were no more bites. It was just as well, for by this time they had caught as many fish as they could cure. Counting the groper, they had nigh upon three hundredweight. The weight of these when scaled and cleaned would be reduced by at least one-fourth, leaving about two hundred and fifty pounds of choice fish.
"What's bes' thing to do now, Joe?"
"W-e-l-l—er—I dunno. Oh, I say, how'd a jolly swim go down?"
"Spiffin'! A swim, a feed, an' then start cleanin' the fish an' gettin' 'em ready for smokin' an' saltin'. 'Bout noon I reckon it is."
"Come on, Denny," cried Joe, as they walked down to a sloping beach a little back from the Point; "come an' have a dip in the briny."
"Bedad, thin, that same will Oi not. 'Twu'd be threadin' on wan iv these stinkin'-rays Oi'd be. Oi can seem to feel th' brute's dirty pisen fangs already in me leg. No, no, thanks be, Oi'm not takin' th' wather tra-atement at prisint. Oi'll go an' start the foire so as to be ready f'r yees; that is, if th' sharks div not ma-ake mince-ma-ate of yees."
Was it a premonition which caused a cold, tingling thrill to run along Joe's nervous system, from tip to toe; to be followed by the creeps, which made goose-flesh of his smooth skin? Disagreeable as the sensation is to the lad for the time, it lasts but for a moment, and in less than no time, so to speak, he is revelling in the glories of the crisp, emerald-tinted wavelets of the Bay.
It should be stated that Schnapper Point did not extend into the Bay at right angles to the beach. It inclined northward, and at the spot where the boys were bathing was not more than two hundred yards from the beach.
"Say, chaps," shouted Joe, who was some distance out, "I'm going to swim over to the main beach."
So saying, he swam slowly towards the other side, enjoying to its fullest extent the luxury of the exercise. He had covered about a third of the distance when he heard a great commotion behind him.
Denny, who had been attending to the fire, had his attention attracted by a moving object in the sea. Gazing intently thereon for a moment, he left his occupation and ran swiftly towards the boys.
"Look, bhoys! look at that gra-ate fish sa-alin' in forninst the Point. Troth, it's a monsther groper, Oi'm thinkin'! Glory! but he'es a gra-ate big bullock-groper!"
So saying, Denny came towards the boys with a puzzled air, as though his description of the object to which he was pointing did not exactly determine its species.
"Whereaway, Denny?" exclaimed Sandy, who was paddling in the surf, standing up and gazing in the direction indicated. "A bullock-groper. That's a new creature surely. Never heard——Hello! why, it's a—— Hi, hi! Joe! Joe!" shouted the lad in a wildly excited state. "Joe, there's a big shark roundin' the Point an' coming this way. Come back, quick! quick!"
Joe, who was almost on a level with the water, was unable to locate the enemy as quickly as the others. It was not until he began to tread water that his eye caught the moving object. In a flash he realised his danger, for it was a large tiger-shark, the man-eater of the sea. Not even the man-eater of the jungle, roused through the blood-lust to a killing frenzy, could be more merciless to his victim than this cold-blooded, pitiless, silent tiger of the seas.
Terrible as was the shock, his courage survived. He conned the situation, and formed his judgment in a moment. The shark was eighty yards or so above him, swimming parallel with Schnapper Point beach, and within thirty yards or so of it. As far as he could judge the fish was ignorant of his presence, but were he to return to his companions he could not expect to escape its vigilant eyes; would be crossing its bow, so to speak; and, were it in an attacking mood, would not have the ghost of a show.
His only hope of escape lay in keeping along his course, getting to the farther shore in the smallest number of minutes possible. All this cogitation did not cover twenty seconds, and the boy resumed his swim with the utmost vigour.
Had not something happened to divert the shark from its course nothing alarming would have occurred, for Joe was rapidly widening the distance, and every stroke was improving his chances. The boys on shore, with the hope of frightening the monster away altogether, began to make a great clatter; pelting the shark at the same time. No more fatal policy could have been adopted. The only result of their tactics was to divert the shark from its course, and to drive it out in the direction of their comrade.
Almost as soon as the brute's course was changed it sighted the swimmer. This it indicated by giving two or three strong strokes with its powerful tail, and gliding at a rapid rate in the wake of the lad. Joe was made acquainted with this change of course by the frantic cries of his mates. Throwing his head over his shoulder for a moment, he saw the shark heading directly for him. He knew in that moment that unless the miraculous happened his hours were numbered, and in a few seconds—or minutes at most—his body would be mangled by this pitiless sea-tiger. Yet, although this terrible result appeared an absolute certainty to the fleeing youth, he did not lose his head, but swam with a strong and steady stroke. There is such a thing as hoping against hope. He would not surrender life; it must be torn from him. Joe's home upbringing, with his father's daily chapter and prayer, sent his thoughts heavenwards in this his moment of extreme peril: "What time I am afraid I will put my trust in Thee."
Here was the situation. Joe was about sixty yards from the beach, while the relentless pursuer was within thirty yards of him. His mates were powerless to aid him, and were racing round to the spot where he intended to land as swiftly as their legs could carry them.
The shark glided within a few yards of the lad, and then swam round him, while conning him. This the boy felt to be simply the preliminary, yet every stroke was taking him nearer the shore. The water should be even now shoaling. Might he dare to sound it? But, alas! the enemy seems to understand this, and gives a cunning look as it half-raises its body from the water, and scrutinises its helpless victim preparatory to making its final swoop.
"God help me!" cries the youth, with a dry sob; his last moment has come. In that supreme moment—as in the case of drowning men—the whole past came before him. Home, parents, sisters, brothers, pals! There, almost within arm's-length, is his merciless foe; while there is still quite a stretch of water between him and the beach.
The great, cold-blooded, insatiable fish is poised for the final spring. A single second now, and——
Instead of falling upon its victim, the huge brute lashed the water into foam, and swam round and round in a circle. What had really happened Joe knew not. He no longer swam shorewards, but, half stupefied, watched the "flurries" of the frenzied fish as it lashed the water in rage or pain.
Then he heard a great splashing shorewards, and a voice shouting encouraging words. Turning in that direction, the boy beheld, with unutterable joy, Harry, rifle in hand, rushing through the water to him. In a few seconds the stockman is abreast Joe, the water being only up to his arm-pits. Pointing the rifle at the fish, which was circling in blind fashion, but a few yards off, the rifleman—for it was he, under God, who worked the miracle—drove a bullet through the shark's brain.
"My word! 'twas a touch-and-go, old feller!" exclaimed the man, as he put an arm round the boy—who had, in a sense, collapsed—and drew him to the shore. "There now, Joey, me brave boy. Y're all right, ain't ye? Y're not the chap ter faint, I know. Here's the others," as the rest dashed up, breathless; the Irish boy fairly crying with excitement.
They could do nothing for a while but look at Joe as he sat leaning against a mangrove—where Harry had placed him—making a brave but weak effort to smile. The reaction had set in, and the boy felt it was only by the most resolute exercise of his will that he kept from swooning.
Tom, who was blowing like the proverbial grampus, stuttered at last: "Let's m-make tr-racks h-home, b-boys. I-I'd rather be b-b-bailed up by a thousand 'r-rangers, than w-w-w-one of th-hose sea-devils. Oh! the sight of the m-monster as he r-rose to make a d-dive at p-poor Joe! Y-yes, let's c-clear."
"Clear, be hanged! What are you drivelling about, you jolly idiot?" It was just the tonic Joe needed. "We're not goin' to let a thing like this spoil our sport, not by a long shot. I'm all right. Was a bit knocked out for a few minutes, I will confess. Tell you what, boys; I'll never be nearer death till my last moment comes. That I am alive is due, first to God, an' then to ole Harry, here. 'Twas a great shot, that first one of yours. 'Nother second later an' 'twould have been too late. Ugh! don't believe I'll ever get the green glitter of the thing's eyes outer my mind. Tell you what, I'll jolly well punch the first cove that hints at goin' home. I vote we go back an' scale an' gut the jolly fish."
"Bedad, thin, it's a plucky wan y'are, Joe, me bhoy! Y're th' mahn f'r me money ivry toime. But, ye'll not do a sthroke iv wark till yees have a feed. Faith, Oi'll do a sthreak an' get th' billy boilin' f'r a pipin' hot cup o' tay. It's what we all want; Joe in particular." Suiting his action to the word, the cook strode off in quick time to prepare the lunch.
Meanwhile the dead shark had drifted into the shallows until it stranded on the beach. The party now made a closer examination of the brute. The first shot, fired from the bank as the creature raised itself, had caught it in the throat; the second passed through the eye to the brain.
"Why, it's a tiger-shark!" exclaimed Harry; "twelve foot if he's an inch. Thought 'twas a blue-nose at fust; they're bad enough, but this joker's the worst kind that swims the sea. My word, Joe, it'd been all U P if this chap'd once got 'is teeth intil yer."
"Budgeree, budgeree, you bin shootem shark? Him murry bad p-feller. Catchem plendy black p-feller; eaten. This p-feller live longa Point plendy years."