Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Four.“How many did you bring down?”“I won’t believe it,” whispered Rifle, angrily. “Father always doubted him. Poor old Shanter has been speared.”There was a sob in his throat as he uttered those last words, and then a terrible silence fell upon them.“Have you boys placed the cask and chest in the fireplace?” said the captain out of the darkness.There was a rush to the chimney, and the dangerous spot was blocked up, each working hard to make up for what seemed to be a dangerous neglect on his part.“But suppose poor old Shanter comes back,” whispered Tim, “and tries to get in that way when he finds the door fastened.”“He wouldn’t come near in the dark,” said Norman with a sigh; and then to himself, “even if he was alive.”Once more silence where the three boys were guarding the back of the premises, and then there was a faint rustling noise, followed by the sharpclick,clickof guns being cocked.“Who’s that?” whispered Rifle.“Only I, my boys,” said Mrs Bedford in a low voice, and she kissed each in turn, and clung to the sturdy lads for a few moments. “Your father wishes me to go now and leave you. God bless and protect you!”She stole away again, and the two girls came in turn to say good-night, and then go away again to watch or sleep as they could.“I don’t care,” muttered Tim, rebelliously. “I say Shanter wouldn’t go and sneak away like that.”“And so do I, my dear,” said Aunt Georgie. “He was only a savage, but he had grown as faithful as a dog, and so we told your father, but he’s as stubborn as—”“Aunt,” cried the captain, “what are you doing here?”“To your room, please. You are hindering the boys from keeping proper watch.”“Good-night; God bless you, my dears!” whispered Aunt Georgie, in a husky whisper. “It’s very dreadful, but I’m sure he is killed.”“Look out!” whispered Norman, a short time after. “It isn’t quite so dark, and I can see some one moving. Shall I fire?”“No. It may be Shanter.”It was not. A few minutes later Norman had a narrow escape from death, for a spear was thrust through the loophole, and a shot being fired in reply, half a dozen spears came rattling at the thick shutter; and this time the boys distinctly heard the black fellows come softly up and drag their weapons out of the wood, just as they were alarmed by a fresh attempt to enter by the chimney, and some one on the roof was trying to tear up the shingles.“Fire, boys, fire!” cried the captain; while shots rang out from the front. The boys fired, Tim directing his two charges through the ceiling, where he imagined enemies to be lying, the others firing through the loophole.There was the customary rush overhead, the sound of falls, fierce yelling, as a pair of spears struck the house, and Norman uttered a sharp cry.“Any one hurt?” cried the captain, excitedly. “Marian, aunt, go and see. I can’t leave here.”“No: not hurt,” shouted Norman. “Spear came through the loophole, passed through my shirt and under my arm.”“Thrust or thrown?” cried Uncle Jack.“Thrown,” was the reply, as the hissing of wads driving out confined air, and the thudding of ramrods were heard.“They know Shanter isn’t here,” whispered Rifle, as he finished his loading. “They’ve killed him, and that’s what makes them so fierce.”He seemed to be right, for the defenders passed a cruel night; but morning dawned, and the enemy had not gained a single advantage more than before.That morning was devoted to nailing planks all over the roof, for fortunately they were plentiful. Others were nailed across the doors, back and front, just leaving room for people to creep in and out; and this being done, the captain took the glass once more to scour their surroundings; while Sam German and the boys fetched water and wood, fulfilling Shanter’s duties, till an ejaculation from the captain made them look up.“The wretches! They have speared or driven off all the horses, boys; we must get a sheep killed for provender, or we may not have another chance. There, work and get done. You must all have some rest before night.”Norman was just going into the house as the captain spoke these words, and the boy turned away from the door to get round to the side, where he could be alone. He had been about to join his mother and the girls, but his father’s words brought a despairing feeling upon him, and he dared not meet them for fear they should read his thoughts.“What’s the matter, Man?” said a voice behind him. “Ill?”It was Rifle who spoke, and Norman turned so ghastly a face to him that the boy was shocked.“Here, let me fetch father,” he said.“No, no; stop! I shall be better directly.”“But what was it?”“The horses—the horses!”“Oh, don’t make a fuss about them. We’ve got to think of ourselves. We can get some more horses, I daresay.”“Yes, but not when we want them,” said Norman, angrily. “Can’t you see: they were our last chance.”Rifle stared.“What—you mean?” he faltered.“Of course. Father would have stayed here to the last to try to protect the home he has made, but when things came to the worst, we should have had to mount some morning and gallop off.”In spite of the peril they were in, Rifle laughed.“Get out!” he cried. “You would never have got Aunt Georgie upon a horse.”“Can’t you be serious for a minute,” cried Norman, angrily. “Don’t you see that our last chance has gone?”“No,” said Rifle, sturdily. “Not a bit of it. We’ve only been firing duck and swan shot so far. Now, I’m going to ask father if we hadn’t better fire ball. Come on. Don’t grump over a few horses. We don’t want to ride away and be hunted for days by black fellows.”“Where are you going?”“To get in that sheep while we can. Perhaps to-morrow they’ll be driven farther away.”Norman nodded, and looked hard at his brother, for he could not help admiring his sturdy courage.“We’re going now, father,” cried Rifle.“Well, take care. Creep along by the fence, keeping it between you and the scrub there. Get round the sheep, and drive all before you till they are close in here. Then pounce upon two and hold on. We’ll come and help you.”The task looked risky, for the sheep were a couple of hundred yards away, and it was felt that the blacks were in the scrub. But they had not shown themselves, and might be a sleep, or so far away that the bold dash made by the boys would be unseen. But all the same the captain and Uncle Jack covered their advance, ready with loaded guns to protect the boys should the blacks make any sign.The arrangement seemed to be unnecessary, for the two lads, carrying their pieces at the trail, reached the fence, under whose cover they went out quite a hundred yards. Then halting and carefully scanning the nearest patch of scrub, they rose and walked fast, partly away from the sheep, so as to be well beyond them before they turned to their left, got behind, and drove them gently toward the house.All this had to be done slowly and deliberately so as not to startle the flock, but, as Rifle said, it was ticklish work.“Yes. I expect to see black heads starting up every moment,” whispered Norman. “Now then, we’re far enough. Quickly and steadily. Come along.”The boys bore round to their left so as to be between the sheep and the open country, and the outsiders of the flock began to move before them without taking alarm, stopping to munch a bit of grass now and then, and causing others to move in turn; till, as the boys walked on, they at last had their backs to the scrub and the sheep going steadily toward the house.“Wasn’t so difficult after all,” said Rifle, quietly. “Couldn’t we pen three or four? Why is father signalling?”“Hi! look out!” shouted Norman, for he had seen his father waving one hand excitedly; and casting an eye back there were twenty or thirty spear-armed savages just darting out of the scrub, and running swiftly in pursuit.The sight of the enemy made the boys start forward at once; the sheep began to trot, then increased their pace as the boys ran faster, and, dividing into two little flocks, tore past north and south of the house and enclosures, in front of which stood the captain and Uncle Jack, with Sam German running out to their support.“Quick, boys!” shouted the captain. “Run on and get under cover.”At that moment Rifle saw Tim at the door of the house waving his hands, and to the boys’ horror there was the reason: another crowd of black figures were racing up from the trees and bushes down by the river.But they, like the other party, had a good distance to come, and the issue was never for a moment doubtful.One incident, though, made the captain shout angrily.Just in those exciting moments Mrs Bedford ran out of the house, and would have gone on in her dread and horror toward where her husband and sons seemed to her to be in deadly peril; but Tim flung his arms about her, and held her in spite of her struggles.It was a matter of very few moments.As the one part of the sheep ran by the front, and seeing the blacks advancing, galloped off to avoid them, Norman and Rifle reached the fences, turned, and stood ready to cover the captain and Uncle Jack, shouting the while to Tim to get Mrs Bedford in.At the cry from Norman, Sam German too had turned, run back past the house door, and stood facing the blacks advancing from the other direction.“In with you all: run!” roared the captain, as he and his brother now fell back rapidly, guarding the front as Mrs Bedford was dragged in through the narrow opening; the boys followed, and, thanks to their military training, each as he got through the partly nailed up doorway, took a place at the side with gun levelled to protect the next comer.It was close work.Uncle Jack was the next in; then Sam German; and four guns were protruding over his head as the captain dashed up with the rapid beat of the blacks’ feet very close on either side.“Back!” he panted as he forced himself through, and shut to the door, which resounded with the impact of spears as the bars were thrust into their places. Then a tall black with wide eyes and gleaming teeth moved up to thrust his spear through the loophole, but a flash came from the narrow opening, and he dropped, rose, turned to flee, and dropped again.Another ran up, and the captain’s second barrel flashed out its contents, with the result that the black turned, ran back a dozen yards or so, and fell upon his face.“Load that,” said the captain hoarsely, passing back his gun, and seizing that nearest to him—the one Sam German held. For he kept to his place at the loophole in the thick door, and thrusting out the barrel, drew trigger twice at a party of six who dashed now to the door.Click.A pause.Click.In each case a tiny shower of sparks followed the fall of the hammer, and the captain uttered an angry roar like that of some stricken beast.“Back!” he cried; and all fell away from the door, to right and left.It was time, for three spears were thrust through the narrow slit as the gun was withdrawn, and kept on darting about as far in every direction as their holders could reach.“German!” cried the captain, tossing the gun to the man, “and after all I have said!”Norman stepped forward to fire, but his father checked him.“Give me your piece,” he said; and taking it and cocking both locks, he dropped a bullet in each of the barrels, felt with the ramrod that they were well home, and then going down on one knee, took careful aim through the darkened loophole and fired.There was a roar and a crash; the spears were withdrawn, and the captain rose and stepped forward, firing the second barrel from the loophole itself.“Another,” he said quietly; and taking Tim’s gun as the sound of loading went on, he suddenly cried, “Who’s at the back?”For there was a curious noise in the direction of the kitchen, followed by a shot, a yell, the sound of some one struggling, and they dashed into the place to see, as well as the darkness and smoke would allow, the embers from the hearth scattered and burning all about the kitchen, and a black figure writhing on the floor.As he entered, Uncle Jack was in the act of passing his gun up the wide chimney—once more temporarily opened; there was a report, a yell, and another figure fell right on the burning fragments left on the hearth, rolled over, and lay motionless.“Nearly surprised me,” said Uncle Jack, coolly loading just as Rifle fired twice from the loophole of the back door, when there was a rush overhead and then silence.“They’ve drawn back about thirty yards,” said Rifle, loading as his father trampled out the burning embers, which were filling the place with a stifling smoke.“Better pour water on the fire and put it quite out,” said the captain to his brother.“No: water may be scarce soon,” was the reply. “We’ll tread it out.”“Coming on again!” shouted Rifle; and as there was the customary sound of spears sticking into the woodwork, the boy fired twice, his charges of big shot scattering and wounding far more than he ever knew.Just then four shots were fired quickly from the front, there was a savage yelling, and as the captain ran forward, Sam German could be dimly-seen beginning to recharge his piece.“She were loaded this time, master,” he said fiercely, “and some on ’em knowed it.—How many did you bring down, Master ’Temus?”“Don’t know,” said the boy huskily, as he hurriedly reloaded.“Yer needn’t be ashamed to say, my lad,” cried the old gardener. “We’re fighting for ladies, and agen savage wretches as won’t let honest folk alone. There, I’m ready for another now.”“Don’t fire till they attack,” said the captain. “Do you hear, Norman: no waste.”“I hear, father,” said the boy quietly, as he stood with his piece resting in the opening, and his bronzed face on the watch.“Hurray!” came from the back, and at the same moment Norman shouted: “They’re retiring, father;” and then a low sobbing came from the inner room.

“I won’t believe it,” whispered Rifle, angrily. “Father always doubted him. Poor old Shanter has been speared.”

There was a sob in his throat as he uttered those last words, and then a terrible silence fell upon them.

“Have you boys placed the cask and chest in the fireplace?” said the captain out of the darkness.

There was a rush to the chimney, and the dangerous spot was blocked up, each working hard to make up for what seemed to be a dangerous neglect on his part.

“But suppose poor old Shanter comes back,” whispered Tim, “and tries to get in that way when he finds the door fastened.”

“He wouldn’t come near in the dark,” said Norman with a sigh; and then to himself, “even if he was alive.”

Once more silence where the three boys were guarding the back of the premises, and then there was a faint rustling noise, followed by the sharpclick,clickof guns being cocked.

“Who’s that?” whispered Rifle.

“Only I, my boys,” said Mrs Bedford in a low voice, and she kissed each in turn, and clung to the sturdy lads for a few moments. “Your father wishes me to go now and leave you. God bless and protect you!”

She stole away again, and the two girls came in turn to say good-night, and then go away again to watch or sleep as they could.

“I don’t care,” muttered Tim, rebelliously. “I say Shanter wouldn’t go and sneak away like that.”

“And so do I, my dear,” said Aunt Georgie. “He was only a savage, but he had grown as faithful as a dog, and so we told your father, but he’s as stubborn as—”

“Aunt,” cried the captain, “what are you doing here?”

“To your room, please. You are hindering the boys from keeping proper watch.”

“Good-night; God bless you, my dears!” whispered Aunt Georgie, in a husky whisper. “It’s very dreadful, but I’m sure he is killed.”

“Look out!” whispered Norman, a short time after. “It isn’t quite so dark, and I can see some one moving. Shall I fire?”

“No. It may be Shanter.”

It was not. A few minutes later Norman had a narrow escape from death, for a spear was thrust through the loophole, and a shot being fired in reply, half a dozen spears came rattling at the thick shutter; and this time the boys distinctly heard the black fellows come softly up and drag their weapons out of the wood, just as they were alarmed by a fresh attempt to enter by the chimney, and some one on the roof was trying to tear up the shingles.

“Fire, boys, fire!” cried the captain; while shots rang out from the front. The boys fired, Tim directing his two charges through the ceiling, where he imagined enemies to be lying, the others firing through the loophole.

There was the customary rush overhead, the sound of falls, fierce yelling, as a pair of spears struck the house, and Norman uttered a sharp cry.

“Any one hurt?” cried the captain, excitedly. “Marian, aunt, go and see. I can’t leave here.”

“No: not hurt,” shouted Norman. “Spear came through the loophole, passed through my shirt and under my arm.”

“Thrust or thrown?” cried Uncle Jack.

“Thrown,” was the reply, as the hissing of wads driving out confined air, and the thudding of ramrods were heard.

“They know Shanter isn’t here,” whispered Rifle, as he finished his loading. “They’ve killed him, and that’s what makes them so fierce.”

He seemed to be right, for the defenders passed a cruel night; but morning dawned, and the enemy had not gained a single advantage more than before.

That morning was devoted to nailing planks all over the roof, for fortunately they were plentiful. Others were nailed across the doors, back and front, just leaving room for people to creep in and out; and this being done, the captain took the glass once more to scour their surroundings; while Sam German and the boys fetched water and wood, fulfilling Shanter’s duties, till an ejaculation from the captain made them look up.

“The wretches! They have speared or driven off all the horses, boys; we must get a sheep killed for provender, or we may not have another chance. There, work and get done. You must all have some rest before night.”

Norman was just going into the house as the captain spoke these words, and the boy turned away from the door to get round to the side, where he could be alone. He had been about to join his mother and the girls, but his father’s words brought a despairing feeling upon him, and he dared not meet them for fear they should read his thoughts.

“What’s the matter, Man?” said a voice behind him. “Ill?”

It was Rifle who spoke, and Norman turned so ghastly a face to him that the boy was shocked.

“Here, let me fetch father,” he said.

“No, no; stop! I shall be better directly.”

“But what was it?”

“The horses—the horses!”

“Oh, don’t make a fuss about them. We’ve got to think of ourselves. We can get some more horses, I daresay.”

“Yes, but not when we want them,” said Norman, angrily. “Can’t you see: they were our last chance.”

Rifle stared.

“What—you mean?” he faltered.

“Of course. Father would have stayed here to the last to try to protect the home he has made, but when things came to the worst, we should have had to mount some morning and gallop off.”

In spite of the peril they were in, Rifle laughed.

“Get out!” he cried. “You would never have got Aunt Georgie upon a horse.”

“Can’t you be serious for a minute,” cried Norman, angrily. “Don’t you see that our last chance has gone?”

“No,” said Rifle, sturdily. “Not a bit of it. We’ve only been firing duck and swan shot so far. Now, I’m going to ask father if we hadn’t better fire ball. Come on. Don’t grump over a few horses. We don’t want to ride away and be hunted for days by black fellows.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get in that sheep while we can. Perhaps to-morrow they’ll be driven farther away.”

Norman nodded, and looked hard at his brother, for he could not help admiring his sturdy courage.

“We’re going now, father,” cried Rifle.

“Well, take care. Creep along by the fence, keeping it between you and the scrub there. Get round the sheep, and drive all before you till they are close in here. Then pounce upon two and hold on. We’ll come and help you.”

The task looked risky, for the sheep were a couple of hundred yards away, and it was felt that the blacks were in the scrub. But they had not shown themselves, and might be a sleep, or so far away that the bold dash made by the boys would be unseen. But all the same the captain and Uncle Jack covered their advance, ready with loaded guns to protect the boys should the blacks make any sign.

The arrangement seemed to be unnecessary, for the two lads, carrying their pieces at the trail, reached the fence, under whose cover they went out quite a hundred yards. Then halting and carefully scanning the nearest patch of scrub, they rose and walked fast, partly away from the sheep, so as to be well beyond them before they turned to their left, got behind, and drove them gently toward the house.

All this had to be done slowly and deliberately so as not to startle the flock, but, as Rifle said, it was ticklish work.

“Yes. I expect to see black heads starting up every moment,” whispered Norman. “Now then, we’re far enough. Quickly and steadily. Come along.”

The boys bore round to their left so as to be between the sheep and the open country, and the outsiders of the flock began to move before them without taking alarm, stopping to munch a bit of grass now and then, and causing others to move in turn; till, as the boys walked on, they at last had their backs to the scrub and the sheep going steadily toward the house.

“Wasn’t so difficult after all,” said Rifle, quietly. “Couldn’t we pen three or four? Why is father signalling?”

“Hi! look out!” shouted Norman, for he had seen his father waving one hand excitedly; and casting an eye back there were twenty or thirty spear-armed savages just darting out of the scrub, and running swiftly in pursuit.

The sight of the enemy made the boys start forward at once; the sheep began to trot, then increased their pace as the boys ran faster, and, dividing into two little flocks, tore past north and south of the house and enclosures, in front of which stood the captain and Uncle Jack, with Sam German running out to their support.

“Quick, boys!” shouted the captain. “Run on and get under cover.”

At that moment Rifle saw Tim at the door of the house waving his hands, and to the boys’ horror there was the reason: another crowd of black figures were racing up from the trees and bushes down by the river.

But they, like the other party, had a good distance to come, and the issue was never for a moment doubtful.

One incident, though, made the captain shout angrily.

Just in those exciting moments Mrs Bedford ran out of the house, and would have gone on in her dread and horror toward where her husband and sons seemed to her to be in deadly peril; but Tim flung his arms about her, and held her in spite of her struggles.

It was a matter of very few moments.

As the one part of the sheep ran by the front, and seeing the blacks advancing, galloped off to avoid them, Norman and Rifle reached the fences, turned, and stood ready to cover the captain and Uncle Jack, shouting the while to Tim to get Mrs Bedford in.

At the cry from Norman, Sam German too had turned, run back past the house door, and stood facing the blacks advancing from the other direction.

“In with you all: run!” roared the captain, as he and his brother now fell back rapidly, guarding the front as Mrs Bedford was dragged in through the narrow opening; the boys followed, and, thanks to their military training, each as he got through the partly nailed up doorway, took a place at the side with gun levelled to protect the next comer.

It was close work.

Uncle Jack was the next in; then Sam German; and four guns were protruding over his head as the captain dashed up with the rapid beat of the blacks’ feet very close on either side.

“Back!” he panted as he forced himself through, and shut to the door, which resounded with the impact of spears as the bars were thrust into their places. Then a tall black with wide eyes and gleaming teeth moved up to thrust his spear through the loophole, but a flash came from the narrow opening, and he dropped, rose, turned to flee, and dropped again.

Another ran up, and the captain’s second barrel flashed out its contents, with the result that the black turned, ran back a dozen yards or so, and fell upon his face.

“Load that,” said the captain hoarsely, passing back his gun, and seizing that nearest to him—the one Sam German held. For he kept to his place at the loophole in the thick door, and thrusting out the barrel, drew trigger twice at a party of six who dashed now to the door.

Click.

A pause.

Click.

In each case a tiny shower of sparks followed the fall of the hammer, and the captain uttered an angry roar like that of some stricken beast.

“Back!” he cried; and all fell away from the door, to right and left.

It was time, for three spears were thrust through the narrow slit as the gun was withdrawn, and kept on darting about as far in every direction as their holders could reach.

“German!” cried the captain, tossing the gun to the man, “and after all I have said!”

Norman stepped forward to fire, but his father checked him.

“Give me your piece,” he said; and taking it and cocking both locks, he dropped a bullet in each of the barrels, felt with the ramrod that they were well home, and then going down on one knee, took careful aim through the darkened loophole and fired.

There was a roar and a crash; the spears were withdrawn, and the captain rose and stepped forward, firing the second barrel from the loophole itself.

“Another,” he said quietly; and taking Tim’s gun as the sound of loading went on, he suddenly cried, “Who’s at the back?”

For there was a curious noise in the direction of the kitchen, followed by a shot, a yell, the sound of some one struggling, and they dashed into the place to see, as well as the darkness and smoke would allow, the embers from the hearth scattered and burning all about the kitchen, and a black figure writhing on the floor.

As he entered, Uncle Jack was in the act of passing his gun up the wide chimney—once more temporarily opened; there was a report, a yell, and another figure fell right on the burning fragments left on the hearth, rolled over, and lay motionless.

“Nearly surprised me,” said Uncle Jack, coolly loading just as Rifle fired twice from the loophole of the back door, when there was a rush overhead and then silence.

“They’ve drawn back about thirty yards,” said Rifle, loading as his father trampled out the burning embers, which were filling the place with a stifling smoke.

“Better pour water on the fire and put it quite out,” said the captain to his brother.

“No: water may be scarce soon,” was the reply. “We’ll tread it out.”

“Coming on again!” shouted Rifle; and as there was the customary sound of spears sticking into the woodwork, the boy fired twice, his charges of big shot scattering and wounding far more than he ever knew.

Just then four shots were fired quickly from the front, there was a savage yelling, and as the captain ran forward, Sam German could be dimly-seen beginning to recharge his piece.

“She were loaded this time, master,” he said fiercely, “and some on ’em knowed it.—How many did you bring down, Master ’Temus?”

“Don’t know,” said the boy huskily, as he hurriedly reloaded.

“Yer needn’t be ashamed to say, my lad,” cried the old gardener. “We’re fighting for ladies, and agen savage wretches as won’t let honest folk alone. There, I’m ready for another now.”

“Don’t fire till they attack,” said the captain. “Do you hear, Norman: no waste.”

“I hear, father,” said the boy quietly, as he stood with his piece resting in the opening, and his bronzed face on the watch.

“Hurray!” came from the back, and at the same moment Norman shouted: “They’re retiring, father;” and then a low sobbing came from the inner room.

Chapter Twenty Five.Twenty-Four Hours’ Peace.Victory was won for the time being; and as the two groups drew back toward the shelter of the scrub, they could be seen carrying the wounded and those who had fallen. Ten minutes later they were close up to the trees, when a thought struck the captain.“Quick, Norman, unbar that door. Marian, every one there, keep close. No one is to come out.” He then called to German, who followed him into the kitchen, and together they bore out the bodies of the two blacks who had obtained an entrance, one of them still showing signs of life.They carried one at a time some distance out into the open, having the satisfaction of seeing that the enemy had halted and were watching them, while by the time the second body was lowered on to the grass, the blacks were returning at a swift run.But long before they were near the besieged were back in shelter, and the enemy, as they came up, contented themselves by yelling and making threatening gestures with their spears before retiring, once more bearing off their two companions.“And now for preparations for the night attack,” said the captain, quietly. “Why, boys, it was like regular warfare. Your advance compelled the enemy to develop his strength and forced on a general engagement.—Come girls, all of you, and have a little fresh air before dark.”And as the door was opened and the fresh evening breeze floated in to waft away the horrible dank odour of burnt gunpowder, it seemed hardly possible to believe that so deadly an encounter could have occurred lately, and no one on their side been even scratched.“But I should have liked to save some of that mutton,” said Rifle, thoughtfully. “It is quite time we had a change.”The hour came for barricading the door only too soon, and once more the watch commenced, half of the tiny garrison lying down, while Aunt Georgie and one of the girls pressed for leave to share the watch, urging that they were not weary, and would perhaps be able to detect by eye or ear the approach of danger.The captain, who was nearly exhausted by his efforts, reluctantly consented, and lay down for a few minutes, giving orders that he should be called at the slightest alarm, and a few minutes after—as he believed—he sprang up looking puzzled and confused.For the door was wide open, the morning sun shining in, and there was the sharp crackling of a fire, and the smell of baking bread.“What is the meaning of this?” he said.“Only that you’ve slept all night, father, and never moved,” cried Rifle, merrily.“But I gave orders to be called at the slightest alarm.”“And there never was the slightest alarm,” cried the boy, joyfully.—“Hi! Man—Tim—father’s awake.”Norman and his cousin came to the door gun in hand.“See anything?” cried Rifle.“No.—Morning, father.—I believe they’ve gone.”“Impossible! But you have not heard them all night?”“Not once.”“But you should not have let me sleep.”“I ordered them to,” said Mrs Bedford, quietly. “Who needed rest more?”At that moment Uncle Jack and Sam came round from the back, where they had been reconnoitring.“Ah, Ned,” said the former, “heard the news? Too good, I’m afraid, to be true.”“Yes, yes; don’t let’s put any faith in it,” said the captain, and he went out, glass in hand, to scan every patch of scrub.“Not a sign of them; no fire. But—” He looked round again before finishing his sentence:“No sheep—no cattle.”“Not a hoof left,” said Uncle Munday, grimly. “But that is the most hopeful sign.”“What do you mean?” said his brother.“They seem to have driven everything away, and gone off with them into the bush.”The captain did not speak, nor relax the watchfulness kept up, but as the day wore on various little things were done to increase the strength of the place, and one of these was to saw off a portion of a spiked harrow which Sam German had made, and force this up into the chimney some six feet above the fire, and secure it there with big nails driven between the stones of the chimney, thus guarding against danger in that direction.Cows, sheep, pigs, all were gone; but the fowls and ducks were about the place and not likely to be driven away, so that there was no fear of a failure in the supply of food; in fact, they felt that they could hold out in that way for months. For if a fowl could not be caught from its night perch, it could be shot by day and caught up. The danger was the want of water.So far there was plenty in the tubs, but they dare not use it for washing purposes. It was too valuable, and the captain’s brow grew dark as he thought of how they were to fetch more from the river or falls.“We shall have to go away from here, boys,” Tim said, towards evening. “This place will never seem safe again.”“Father won’t go,” said Rifle. “He never gives up. I wouldn’t, after getting such an estate as this. Why, it would be worth thousands upon thousands in England.”“And it’s worth nothing here if the blacks spear us.”“They’d better!” cried Rifle, defiantly. “They’ve had enough of us. You see, they will not trouble us again.”“There!” he cried, the next morning, triumphantly, Lor they had passed a perfectly peaceful night; “the beggars are all gone.”The captain, who was using his glass, heard the boys’ words and looked round.“Don’t be too sure, my lad,” he said, sadly. “But thank Heaven for this respite.”“Oh, we’ll beat them off again, father, if they do come,” said the boy, boastfully; and then he coloured beneath his father’s steadfast gaze.“Don’t act in that spirit for all our sakes, my lad,” said the captain. “All of you mind this: the watchfulness must not be relaxed even, for a moment. Ah! I’d give something if that fellow Shanter had been staunch. He could have relieved our anxiety in a very short time.”“Let me go and see if I can discover any signs of them, father,” said Norman.“What would you say if I tell you I am going?” replied the captain, quietly.“No, no,” cried the boys in chorus. “You might be speared.”“Exactly,” said the captain. “No, boys, we are no match for the blacks in trying to track them down.”“They are adepts at hiding, and we might pass through a patch of scrub without seeing a soul, when perhaps a dozen might be in hiding.”“I wish poor old Shanter was here,” sighed Rifle.“Yes: he would be invaluable,” said Uncle Jack. That night passed in peace, and the next, giving them all such a feeling of security that even the captain began to think that the lesson read to the enemy had been sufficient to make them drive off their plunder and go; while, when the next day came, plans were made for a feint to prove whether the blacks were still anywhere near; and if it was without result, an attempt was to be made to refill the tubs. The next day some of the vigilance was to be relaxed, and avoiding his wife’s eyes as he spoke, the captain said, aloud:“And then we must see if it is not possible to renew our stock, for none of the poor creatures are likely to stray back home. Not even a horse.—Boys,” he said, suddenly, “I’m afraid your friend has to answer for this attack. The love of the horses was too strong for him.”Another twenty-four hours of peace followed, but at the last minute the captain had shrunk from sending down to the nearest point of the river for water, which could only be dragged up by hand after the water-tub had been filled.Then night came on once more.

Victory was won for the time being; and as the two groups drew back toward the shelter of the scrub, they could be seen carrying the wounded and those who had fallen. Ten minutes later they were close up to the trees, when a thought struck the captain.

“Quick, Norman, unbar that door. Marian, every one there, keep close. No one is to come out.” He then called to German, who followed him into the kitchen, and together they bore out the bodies of the two blacks who had obtained an entrance, one of them still showing signs of life.

They carried one at a time some distance out into the open, having the satisfaction of seeing that the enemy had halted and were watching them, while by the time the second body was lowered on to the grass, the blacks were returning at a swift run.

But long before they were near the besieged were back in shelter, and the enemy, as they came up, contented themselves by yelling and making threatening gestures with their spears before retiring, once more bearing off their two companions.

“And now for preparations for the night attack,” said the captain, quietly. “Why, boys, it was like regular warfare. Your advance compelled the enemy to develop his strength and forced on a general engagement.—Come girls, all of you, and have a little fresh air before dark.”

And as the door was opened and the fresh evening breeze floated in to waft away the horrible dank odour of burnt gunpowder, it seemed hardly possible to believe that so deadly an encounter could have occurred lately, and no one on their side been even scratched.

“But I should have liked to save some of that mutton,” said Rifle, thoughtfully. “It is quite time we had a change.”

The hour came for barricading the door only too soon, and once more the watch commenced, half of the tiny garrison lying down, while Aunt Georgie and one of the girls pressed for leave to share the watch, urging that they were not weary, and would perhaps be able to detect by eye or ear the approach of danger.

The captain, who was nearly exhausted by his efforts, reluctantly consented, and lay down for a few minutes, giving orders that he should be called at the slightest alarm, and a few minutes after—as he believed—he sprang up looking puzzled and confused.

For the door was wide open, the morning sun shining in, and there was the sharp crackling of a fire, and the smell of baking bread.

“What is the meaning of this?” he said.

“Only that you’ve slept all night, father, and never moved,” cried Rifle, merrily.

“But I gave orders to be called at the slightest alarm.”

“And there never was the slightest alarm,” cried the boy, joyfully.—“Hi! Man—Tim—father’s awake.”

Norman and his cousin came to the door gun in hand.

“See anything?” cried Rifle.

“No.—Morning, father.—I believe they’ve gone.”

“Impossible! But you have not heard them all night?”

“Not once.”

“But you should not have let me sleep.”

“I ordered them to,” said Mrs Bedford, quietly. “Who needed rest more?”

At that moment Uncle Jack and Sam came round from the back, where they had been reconnoitring.

“Ah, Ned,” said the former, “heard the news? Too good, I’m afraid, to be true.”

“Yes, yes; don’t let’s put any faith in it,” said the captain, and he went out, glass in hand, to scan every patch of scrub.

“Not a sign of them; no fire. But—” He looked round again before finishing his sentence:

“No sheep—no cattle.”

“Not a hoof left,” said Uncle Munday, grimly. “But that is the most hopeful sign.”

“What do you mean?” said his brother.

“They seem to have driven everything away, and gone off with them into the bush.”

The captain did not speak, nor relax the watchfulness kept up, but as the day wore on various little things were done to increase the strength of the place, and one of these was to saw off a portion of a spiked harrow which Sam German had made, and force this up into the chimney some six feet above the fire, and secure it there with big nails driven between the stones of the chimney, thus guarding against danger in that direction.

Cows, sheep, pigs, all were gone; but the fowls and ducks were about the place and not likely to be driven away, so that there was no fear of a failure in the supply of food; in fact, they felt that they could hold out in that way for months. For if a fowl could not be caught from its night perch, it could be shot by day and caught up. The danger was the want of water.

So far there was plenty in the tubs, but they dare not use it for washing purposes. It was too valuable, and the captain’s brow grew dark as he thought of how they were to fetch more from the river or falls.

“We shall have to go away from here, boys,” Tim said, towards evening. “This place will never seem safe again.”

“Father won’t go,” said Rifle. “He never gives up. I wouldn’t, after getting such an estate as this. Why, it would be worth thousands upon thousands in England.”

“And it’s worth nothing here if the blacks spear us.”

“They’d better!” cried Rifle, defiantly. “They’ve had enough of us. You see, they will not trouble us again.”

“There!” he cried, the next morning, triumphantly, Lor they had passed a perfectly peaceful night; “the beggars are all gone.”

The captain, who was using his glass, heard the boys’ words and looked round.

“Don’t be too sure, my lad,” he said, sadly. “But thank Heaven for this respite.”

“Oh, we’ll beat them off again, father, if they do come,” said the boy, boastfully; and then he coloured beneath his father’s steadfast gaze.

“Don’t act in that spirit for all our sakes, my lad,” said the captain. “All of you mind this: the watchfulness must not be relaxed even, for a moment. Ah! I’d give something if that fellow Shanter had been staunch. He could have relieved our anxiety in a very short time.”

“Let me go and see if I can discover any signs of them, father,” said Norman.

“What would you say if I tell you I am going?” replied the captain, quietly.

“No, no,” cried the boys in chorus. “You might be speared.”

“Exactly,” said the captain. “No, boys, we are no match for the blacks in trying to track them down.”

“They are adepts at hiding, and we might pass through a patch of scrub without seeing a soul, when perhaps a dozen might be in hiding.”

“I wish poor old Shanter was here,” sighed Rifle.

“Yes: he would be invaluable,” said Uncle Jack. That night passed in peace, and the next, giving them all such a feeling of security that even the captain began to think that the lesson read to the enemy had been sufficient to make them drive off their plunder and go; while, when the next day came, plans were made for a feint to prove whether the blacks were still anywhere near; and if it was without result, an attempt was to be made to refill the tubs. The next day some of the vigilance was to be relaxed, and avoiding his wife’s eyes as he spoke, the captain said, aloud:

“And then we must see if it is not possible to renew our stock, for none of the poor creatures are likely to stray back home. Not even a horse.—Boys,” he said, suddenly, “I’m afraid your friend has to answer for this attack. The love of the horses was too strong for him.”

Another twenty-four hours of peace followed, but at the last minute the captain had shrunk from sending down to the nearest point of the river for water, which could only be dragged up by hand after the water-tub had been filled.

Then night came on once more.

Chapter Twenty Six.“It was poor old Shanter.”As was their custom now, the boys were outside passing the telescope from one to the other for a final look round, while the ladies clustered by the open door, loth to leave it for the closeness of their room, when the captain came round from the back and gave orders for closing.“I think we will try to run down a tub to the water in the morning, boys,” he said. “There surely cannot be any danger now. I have been on the roof trying to make out a fire anywhere in the bush, and there is not a sign.”He went in after the ladies, and, as Tim put it, the drawbridge was pulled up and the portcullis lowered; but just as the door was half-way to, Norman caught hold.“Look!” he whispered hoarsely; “what’s that?”The others craned their necks over the stout plank which crossed the door, and gazed at something dark away in the lower pasture toward the river.Then they drew back, Norman closed the door, and began securing it, while Tim ran to the inner room.“Come and help to fasten this, uncle,” he said quietly.“Eh? Yes, my boy,” said the captain, following him, and Tim seized his arm.“Quick!” he whispered, “they’re coming on again in front.”The captain seized gun and ammunition; Uncle Jack and Sam German were roused from sleep, which was to last till they came on duty to watch; a few imperative words were uttered to the ladies; and once more everyone was at his post, waiting with beating heart for the attack. But it did not come.An hour had passed, then another, and when the captain whisperingly asked whether the boys were sure, and whether they might not have been deceived, and taken the black shadows of evening or a depression of the ground for an enemy, they began to think that they must have been mistaken. So the captain went to the back to speak to Uncle Jack and Sam German, who were there that night, the latter solacing himself with a pipe of tobacco, which he was smoking while his companion watched.“A false alarm, I think, Jack,” said the captain. “So much the better.”“But I don’t mind. It shows how thoroughly the boys are on the Alert,” he was going to whisper, but he did not speak, for at that moment there was a faint rustling overhead; the brothers pressed each other’s hands, and Sam German laid his pipe softly in the chimney, took up his gun, and listened.The next minute the soft rustle continued, and a noise as of someone in pain was heard, while the listeners in the darkness knew perfectly that a black had lowered himself and stood barefooted upon the sharp spikes.Another attempt was made and another. The blacks, being emboldened by the perfect silence within, tried a fresh plan, which consisted in lowering down a heavy piece of wood, and began to batter the new protection. But a couple of shots fired up the chimney had the customary result, and there was silence once more.This was the most painful part of the attack, for every nerve was on the strain to make out where the next attempt at entrance would be made, and after the respite of the past peaceful days this fresh alarm seemed more depressing than even the first coming of the enemy. For the defenders could only feel how hopeless their case was, and as the captain thought of his wife’s look that evening, he was fain to confess that he would have to give up and settle where the help of neighbours was at his command.All at once there were a couple of shots from the front, followed by a tremendous yelling, and then silence again for a full hour, when it was plain that the enemy were preparing for a rush at the back, where at least a dozen shots were fired before they drew back.Their tactics had been the same as of old, the blacks savagely rushing up to the doors and making furious thrusts with their spears, which were met now by large pieces of wood used as shutters and held across the loopholes, and as soon as they could be drawn aside, by the delivery of a charge or two of swan-shot.This went on at intervals, hour after hour, till a feeling of despair began to take possession of the defenders. Hot, weak, parched with thirst, and worn by the terrible anxiety that came upon them like a black cloud, their efforts were growing more feeble, when, in spite of a stern prohibition on the part of the captain, the girls brought them bread and water just as one of the most desperate attacks had lulled. One minute there had been the sound of spears striking window and door, while a breaking and rending went on as the blacks tried to tear away the wooden sides of the house, and climbed upon the roof; the defenders not daring to fire for fear of making holes through which spears might be thrust, and the next all was silent, and the tears started to the boys’ eyes as the voice of mother or sister was heard pressing them to eat or drink.It was the same in every case: they could not eat, but drank with avidity, the cool water seeming to act as a stimulant, and thrill them with new life.“Back, quick, girls!” said the captain, suddenly; “they’re coming on again;” and then he uttered a groan, for he had seen something which destroyed his last hope, and filled him the next moment with a maddening desire to destroy.If he could only hurl one of the little powder kegs he had brought so carefully right out into the wilderness—hurl it with a fuse amongst the yelling savages who sought their lives; and then he uttered a low laugh.“No need,” he said to himself softly. “No need. We shall die avenged.”“What’s that, father—lightning?” said Norman, sharply; but there was no reply.It was Rifle who spoke next, but only to utter the ejaculation: “Oh!”But what a world of meaning there was in the word, as with a hiss of rage the boy thrust his piece from the loophole and sent two heavy charges of shot right into the midst of a crowd of blacks who were coming up to the house carrying fire-sticks and brushwood, with which they ran round and piled it up against the angle formed by the kitchen where it projected at the back. There was a tremendous yelling as the boy fired, and two men fell, while others ran about shrieking; but the mischief was done, and in a few minutes there was a burst of flame, and a peculiar pungent odour of burning wood began to find its way in and threaten suffocation.“What’s to be done, father?” whispered Norman, as light began to show through the thin cracks or chinks of the wooden wall.“I’d say go out and die fighting like men, boys,” said the captain, with a groan; “but there are women. Come, we must not give up,” he added, and going to the loophole nearest to him he set the example of firing with unerring aim, whenever he had the chance, at an enemy.Uncle Jack followed suit, and in obedience to orders, the boys went on steadily reloading.But the side of the house was growing hot; the kitchen had caught, the crackling of the dry wood began to increase to a roar, and that side of the house was rapidly growing light as day, when Uncle Jack said in a whisper, which the boys heard: “Ned, lad, it’s very hard for us, but we’ve had our day. Can nothing be done?”A tremendous triumphant yelling drowned any attempt at speaking on the captain’s part, but as it lulled for a few moments, he said, “Nothing. We have done all we could.”“Rifle, Tim,” whispered Norman, in horror, “couldn’t we get out by the front and take them down to the scrub? The wretches are all on this side.”“Impossible, boys,” said the captain, sternly. “Can’t you hear? they are piling wood by the other door.”Rifle uttered a sobbing groan, and just then there was a flash of light in the front, and a furious burst of shouts as a tongue of flame shot up past the loophole, accompanied by a crackling roar.“Your hands, boys,” said a deep low voice, that was wonderfully soft and musical just then; “destroy no more life. God bless you all, and forgive me!”At that moment there was a burst of sobs; then it seemed as if all emotion was at end, and the little group gathered together, feeling that all was over, for already the smoke was forcing its way in by crack and chink, a feeling of difficulty of breathing was rapidly coming on, and the yelling of the blacks was growing strange and unreal, when Rifle sprang up from his knees.“Yes, yes,” he shouted; and again with all his might, “yes!”For there was a wild shout close at hand.“Marmi! Marmi!”The yelling ceased, and all now started to their feet, for there was the beating of hoofs, and in rapid succession shot after shot, with good old English shouts of rage, as a party of mounted men galloped by, tearing on in full pursuit of the fleeing enemy.“Quick!” roared the captain. “Guns, boys, quick!”As he spoke he dashed to the front, tore down bar and board, and banged the door back.A burst of flame rushed in, but the brushwood touching the woodwork was being torn away, and through the flames they saw a fierce black face and two bare arms tossing the burning wood aside.“Marmi! Marmi! Rifle—’Temus! Coo-ee, coo-ee!”“Coo-ee!” yelled Rifle; and he tried to cry again, but the word stuck in his throat as he forced his way out over the burning twigs, his father next.“Sam! Jack!” yelled the captain, “your fork—anything. Boys—water.”He rushed round to the back, closely followed by the black figure, on which the firelight glistened, and began tearing away the burning brushwood. This was being tossed aside by Sam the next moment, and then buckets of water were brought, and none too soon, for the angle of the house was now blazing furiously.But the water made little impression, and the captain shouted:“Quicker, boys! More, more!”“There ain’t no more,” growled Sam, sourly.“What!”“Stand back, all of you,” cried the captain in a stern voice. “Jack! the women! get them to a distance. The place must go, and you know—”“Look out!” shouted Norman, and he ran forward and threw something at the bottom of the blazing wall.There was one sharp flash, a puff of hot flame, a great cloud of smoke, and then darkness, with the side of house and kitchen covered with dull sparks.“Hurrah!” rose from the boys; and the captain drew a deep breath, full of thankfulness.“All the powder from the big flask, father,” cried Norman. “There must have been a pound.”At that moment there were shouts, as a dozen mounted men cantered up, cheering with all their might, and the task of extinguishing the still burning wood was soon at an end.Amidst the congratulations that followed little was said about the blacks.“Come back?” cried a familiar voice, fiercely. “I only wish they would, eh, Henley?”“My dear Freeston,” was the reply, “I never felt such a strong desire to commit murder before.”“God bless you all, gentlemen,” cried the captain in a broken voice. “You have saved our lives.”There was a low murmur here from the rescuers.“But how—how was it?” asked the captain; “how did you know?”“Don’t you see, father?” cried Rifle, indignantly; “it was poor old Shanter.”“What? You went for help, Tam?”“Yohi,” said the black simply. “Baal budgery stop along. All go bong.”“My good brave fellow,” cried the captain, seizing the black’s hand in a true English grip.“Wow! wow! yow!” yelled Shanter, struggling to get free, and then blowing his fingers. “Marmi hurt mine. Burn hands, burn all down front, put out fire.”“Tam, I shall never forgive myself,” cried the captain.“Forgib mine,” cried the black eagerly; “forgib plenty soff damper—forgib mine horse fellow to ride?”“Yes, yes, anything,” cried the captain, “and never doubt you again.”“Yohi,” cried Shanter. “Where big white Mary? Mine want damper.”He hurried off to where the ladies were seated, trying to recover their calmness after the terrible shock to which they had been exposed, while the captain turned to the leaders of the rescue party.“And the black came to you for help?”“Yes,” said Dr Freeston. “He came galloping up with a drove of horses, I don’t know how many days ago, for it has been like an excited dream ever since. I ran to Henley, and we got ten stout fellows together, and rode on as fast as we could, but I’m afraid that we have punished your horses terribly as well as our own.”“Oh, never mind the horses,” cried Henley, “they’ll come round. But we came in time, and that’s enough for us.”The captain could not speak for a few moments. Then he was himself again, and after all were satisfied that there was not the slightest danger of the fire breaking out again, proper precautions were taken to secure the horses, watch was set, and the rescue party had quite a little banquet in the kitchen, one which Rifle declared to be a supper at breakfast time, for morning was upon them before some of the most weary had lain down to sleep, and slept in peace.

As was their custom now, the boys were outside passing the telescope from one to the other for a final look round, while the ladies clustered by the open door, loth to leave it for the closeness of their room, when the captain came round from the back and gave orders for closing.

“I think we will try to run down a tub to the water in the morning, boys,” he said. “There surely cannot be any danger now. I have been on the roof trying to make out a fire anywhere in the bush, and there is not a sign.”

He went in after the ladies, and, as Tim put it, the drawbridge was pulled up and the portcullis lowered; but just as the door was half-way to, Norman caught hold.

“Look!” he whispered hoarsely; “what’s that?”

The others craned their necks over the stout plank which crossed the door, and gazed at something dark away in the lower pasture toward the river.

Then they drew back, Norman closed the door, and began securing it, while Tim ran to the inner room.

“Come and help to fasten this, uncle,” he said quietly.

“Eh? Yes, my boy,” said the captain, following him, and Tim seized his arm.

“Quick!” he whispered, “they’re coming on again in front.”

The captain seized gun and ammunition; Uncle Jack and Sam German were roused from sleep, which was to last till they came on duty to watch; a few imperative words were uttered to the ladies; and once more everyone was at his post, waiting with beating heart for the attack. But it did not come.

An hour had passed, then another, and when the captain whisperingly asked whether the boys were sure, and whether they might not have been deceived, and taken the black shadows of evening or a depression of the ground for an enemy, they began to think that they must have been mistaken. So the captain went to the back to speak to Uncle Jack and Sam German, who were there that night, the latter solacing himself with a pipe of tobacco, which he was smoking while his companion watched.

“A false alarm, I think, Jack,” said the captain. “So much the better.”

“But I don’t mind. It shows how thoroughly the boys are on the Alert,” he was going to whisper, but he did not speak, for at that moment there was a faint rustling overhead; the brothers pressed each other’s hands, and Sam German laid his pipe softly in the chimney, took up his gun, and listened.

The next minute the soft rustle continued, and a noise as of someone in pain was heard, while the listeners in the darkness knew perfectly that a black had lowered himself and stood barefooted upon the sharp spikes.

Another attempt was made and another. The blacks, being emboldened by the perfect silence within, tried a fresh plan, which consisted in lowering down a heavy piece of wood, and began to batter the new protection. But a couple of shots fired up the chimney had the customary result, and there was silence once more.

This was the most painful part of the attack, for every nerve was on the strain to make out where the next attempt at entrance would be made, and after the respite of the past peaceful days this fresh alarm seemed more depressing than even the first coming of the enemy. For the defenders could only feel how hopeless their case was, and as the captain thought of his wife’s look that evening, he was fain to confess that he would have to give up and settle where the help of neighbours was at his command.

All at once there were a couple of shots from the front, followed by a tremendous yelling, and then silence again for a full hour, when it was plain that the enemy were preparing for a rush at the back, where at least a dozen shots were fired before they drew back.

Their tactics had been the same as of old, the blacks savagely rushing up to the doors and making furious thrusts with their spears, which were met now by large pieces of wood used as shutters and held across the loopholes, and as soon as they could be drawn aside, by the delivery of a charge or two of swan-shot.

This went on at intervals, hour after hour, till a feeling of despair began to take possession of the defenders. Hot, weak, parched with thirst, and worn by the terrible anxiety that came upon them like a black cloud, their efforts were growing more feeble, when, in spite of a stern prohibition on the part of the captain, the girls brought them bread and water just as one of the most desperate attacks had lulled. One minute there had been the sound of spears striking window and door, while a breaking and rending went on as the blacks tried to tear away the wooden sides of the house, and climbed upon the roof; the defenders not daring to fire for fear of making holes through which spears might be thrust, and the next all was silent, and the tears started to the boys’ eyes as the voice of mother or sister was heard pressing them to eat or drink.

It was the same in every case: they could not eat, but drank with avidity, the cool water seeming to act as a stimulant, and thrill them with new life.

“Back, quick, girls!” said the captain, suddenly; “they’re coming on again;” and then he uttered a groan, for he had seen something which destroyed his last hope, and filled him the next moment with a maddening desire to destroy.

If he could only hurl one of the little powder kegs he had brought so carefully right out into the wilderness—hurl it with a fuse amongst the yelling savages who sought their lives; and then he uttered a low laugh.

“No need,” he said to himself softly. “No need. We shall die avenged.”

“What’s that, father—lightning?” said Norman, sharply; but there was no reply.

It was Rifle who spoke next, but only to utter the ejaculation: “Oh!”

But what a world of meaning there was in the word, as with a hiss of rage the boy thrust his piece from the loophole and sent two heavy charges of shot right into the midst of a crowd of blacks who were coming up to the house carrying fire-sticks and brushwood, with which they ran round and piled it up against the angle formed by the kitchen where it projected at the back. There was a tremendous yelling as the boy fired, and two men fell, while others ran about shrieking; but the mischief was done, and in a few minutes there was a burst of flame, and a peculiar pungent odour of burning wood began to find its way in and threaten suffocation.

“What’s to be done, father?” whispered Norman, as light began to show through the thin cracks or chinks of the wooden wall.

“I’d say go out and die fighting like men, boys,” said the captain, with a groan; “but there are women. Come, we must not give up,” he added, and going to the loophole nearest to him he set the example of firing with unerring aim, whenever he had the chance, at an enemy.

Uncle Jack followed suit, and in obedience to orders, the boys went on steadily reloading.

But the side of the house was growing hot; the kitchen had caught, the crackling of the dry wood began to increase to a roar, and that side of the house was rapidly growing light as day, when Uncle Jack said in a whisper, which the boys heard: “Ned, lad, it’s very hard for us, but we’ve had our day. Can nothing be done?”

A tremendous triumphant yelling drowned any attempt at speaking on the captain’s part, but as it lulled for a few moments, he said, “Nothing. We have done all we could.”

“Rifle, Tim,” whispered Norman, in horror, “couldn’t we get out by the front and take them down to the scrub? The wretches are all on this side.”

“Impossible, boys,” said the captain, sternly. “Can’t you hear? they are piling wood by the other door.”

Rifle uttered a sobbing groan, and just then there was a flash of light in the front, and a furious burst of shouts as a tongue of flame shot up past the loophole, accompanied by a crackling roar.

“Your hands, boys,” said a deep low voice, that was wonderfully soft and musical just then; “destroy no more life. God bless you all, and forgive me!”

At that moment there was a burst of sobs; then it seemed as if all emotion was at end, and the little group gathered together, feeling that all was over, for already the smoke was forcing its way in by crack and chink, a feeling of difficulty of breathing was rapidly coming on, and the yelling of the blacks was growing strange and unreal, when Rifle sprang up from his knees.

“Yes, yes,” he shouted; and again with all his might, “yes!”

For there was a wild shout close at hand.

“Marmi! Marmi!”

The yelling ceased, and all now started to their feet, for there was the beating of hoofs, and in rapid succession shot after shot, with good old English shouts of rage, as a party of mounted men galloped by, tearing on in full pursuit of the fleeing enemy.

“Quick!” roared the captain. “Guns, boys, quick!”

As he spoke he dashed to the front, tore down bar and board, and banged the door back.

A burst of flame rushed in, but the brushwood touching the woodwork was being torn away, and through the flames they saw a fierce black face and two bare arms tossing the burning wood aside.

“Marmi! Marmi! Rifle—’Temus! Coo-ee, coo-ee!”

“Coo-ee!” yelled Rifle; and he tried to cry again, but the word stuck in his throat as he forced his way out over the burning twigs, his father next.

“Sam! Jack!” yelled the captain, “your fork—anything. Boys—water.”

He rushed round to the back, closely followed by the black figure, on which the firelight glistened, and began tearing away the burning brushwood. This was being tossed aside by Sam the next moment, and then buckets of water were brought, and none too soon, for the angle of the house was now blazing furiously.

But the water made little impression, and the captain shouted:

“Quicker, boys! More, more!”

“There ain’t no more,” growled Sam, sourly.

“What!”

“Stand back, all of you,” cried the captain in a stern voice. “Jack! the women! get them to a distance. The place must go, and you know—”

“Look out!” shouted Norman, and he ran forward and threw something at the bottom of the blazing wall.

There was one sharp flash, a puff of hot flame, a great cloud of smoke, and then darkness, with the side of house and kitchen covered with dull sparks.

“Hurrah!” rose from the boys; and the captain drew a deep breath, full of thankfulness.

“All the powder from the big flask, father,” cried Norman. “There must have been a pound.”

At that moment there were shouts, as a dozen mounted men cantered up, cheering with all their might, and the task of extinguishing the still burning wood was soon at an end.

Amidst the congratulations that followed little was said about the blacks.

“Come back?” cried a familiar voice, fiercely. “I only wish they would, eh, Henley?”

“My dear Freeston,” was the reply, “I never felt such a strong desire to commit murder before.”

“God bless you all, gentlemen,” cried the captain in a broken voice. “You have saved our lives.”

There was a low murmur here from the rescuers.

“But how—how was it?” asked the captain; “how did you know?”

“Don’t you see, father?” cried Rifle, indignantly; “it was poor old Shanter.”

“What? You went for help, Tam?”

“Yohi,” said the black simply. “Baal budgery stop along. All go bong.”

“My good brave fellow,” cried the captain, seizing the black’s hand in a true English grip.

“Wow! wow! yow!” yelled Shanter, struggling to get free, and then blowing his fingers. “Marmi hurt mine. Burn hands, burn all down front, put out fire.”

“Tam, I shall never forgive myself,” cried the captain.

“Forgib mine,” cried the black eagerly; “forgib plenty soff damper—forgib mine horse fellow to ride?”

“Yes, yes, anything,” cried the captain, “and never doubt you again.”

“Yohi,” cried Shanter. “Where big white Mary? Mine want damper.”

He hurried off to where the ladies were seated, trying to recover their calmness after the terrible shock to which they had been exposed, while the captain turned to the leaders of the rescue party.

“And the black came to you for help?”

“Yes,” said Dr Freeston. “He came galloping up with a drove of horses, I don’t know how many days ago, for it has been like an excited dream ever since. I ran to Henley, and we got ten stout fellows together, and rode on as fast as we could, but I’m afraid that we have punished your horses terribly as well as our own.”

“Oh, never mind the horses,” cried Henley, “they’ll come round. But we came in time, and that’s enough for us.”

The captain could not speak for a few moments. Then he was himself again, and after all were satisfied that there was not the slightest danger of the fire breaking out again, proper precautions were taken to secure the horses, watch was set, and the rescue party had quite a little banquet in the kitchen, one which Rifle declared to be a supper at breakfast time, for morning was upon them before some of the most weary had lain down to sleep, and slept in peace.

Chapter Twenty Seven.“Can’t you see?”For the blacks made no further sign, and when, headed by the captain, the little party boldly took up the trail that morning, it was to find that the enemy had fled in haste, and not until it was felt to be utterly useless to follow farther was the pursuit given up. But that attempt to hunt them down was not without result. Shanter was with the party, riding in high delight with the three boys, and every now and then, in his eager scouting on his “horse fellow”—as he called the rough colt he rode—he was able to show how terribly the myall blacks had been punished, and not to dwell upon horrors brought by the wretched savages upon themselves, the punishment they had received was terrible.To Shanter was due the discovery of the cattle, somewhat diminished in numbers, but safe, where they had been driven into the bush; and so excited was the black all through that he almost forgot the terrible burns he had received on hands, arms, and chest.The only sign of discontent he displayed was when it was decided to turn back, the captain having halted at the end of the second day, the provisions growing scarce. It was after due consultation and the decision that the blacks were certainly not likely to rally for some time to come, and the captain had said that he did not want to slaughter the poor wretches, only keep them away.Then the horses’ heads were turned, and Shanter rode up to the boys in a great state of excitement.“Baal go back,” he cried; “plenty come along. Mumkull black fellow.”“No, no,” said Norman. “Black fellow gone along. Come back and take care of white Marys.”“Yohi,” said Shanter, thoughtfully, and he looked at his burned arms. “Big white Mary gib mine soff rag an’ goosum greasum make well. Soff damper. Come along.”It was not without some feeling of dread that the party returned toward the station, lest another party of blacks should have visited the place in their absence; and when they reached the open place in the scrub where they had left the cattle grazing, the captain reluctantly said that another expedition must be made to bring them in. But unasked, Shanter in his quality of mounted herdsman, announced that he was going to ‘’top along’ and bring the cattle home, so he was left, and the party rode on, the boys leaving Shanter unwillingly.“Black fellows come again,” said Rifle at parting.Shanter grinned.“No come no more. Plenty too much frighten.”All was well when the party rode over Wallaby Range and up to Dingo Station, and saving the blackened boards and shingles, and the marks of spears, it was surprising how very little the worse the place looked. For Uncle Jack, Sam German, Mr Henley, and the doctor—both the latter having elected to remain behind—had worked hard to restore damaged portions; and once more the place looked wonderfully beautiful and peaceful in the evening light.Three days later, after being most hospitably entertained, ten of the rescue party took their leave to go back to Port Haven; the other two had hinted that they should like to stay a few days longer, to have a thorough rest; and the captain had warmly begged that they would, while Aunt Georgie laughed to herself and said in her grim way, “I smell a rat.”For the two who stayed were Mr Henley the sugar-planter, and Dr Freeston.The captain was in the highest of spirits soon after, for Shanter, looking exceedingly important on his rough colt with his spear across his knees, rode slowly up, driving the whole of the sheep, pigs, and cattle, which made for their old quarters as quietly as if they had never been away, even another speared cow being among them, very little the worse for her wound in spite of the flies.“Hah!” cried the captain, rubbing his hands as the party all sat at the evening meal; “and now, please Heaven, we can begin again and forget the past.”A dead silence fell, and as the captain looked round he saw that the eyes of wife, daughter, and niece were fixed upon him sadly, and that Aunt Georgie’s countenance was very grim.“Shall I speak, Henley?” said the doctor.“If you please,” said that gentleman, with a glance at Ida.“Then I will.—Captain Bedford,” said the doctor, “you will forgive me, sir, I know; but I must beg of you for the sake of the ladies to give up this out-of-the-way place, and come close, up to the settlement. We feel that we cannot leave you out here unprotected. Think of what would have happened if we had not arrived in the nick of time.”There was a terrible silence, and Sam German, who was having his meal in the kitchen with Shanter, came to the door, every word having been audible.At last the captain spoke in a low hoarse voice.“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have thought of it all, till drawn both ways as I am, my brain seems almost on fire. I love my people as an Englishman should, and all my work has been for their sake. I would do anything to save them pain, but I ask you how can I give up this lovely home I have won from the wilderness—a place where Heaven smiles on a man’s labour, and I can see, with plenty of hard work, a happy contented life and prosperity for us all. I will not appeal to my dear wife and the girls, because I know they will say, ‘Do what you think best,’ but I do appeal to you, aunt. It is not fair to expose you to such risks. Shall I give up? Shall I, after putting my hand to the plough, want faith and go back?”“Idowish you wouldn’t ask me such things, Ned, my boy,” cried Aunt Georgie, taking out her handkerchief to wipe her glasses. “Give up, now we are all so settled and comfortable and happy, all for the sake of a pack of savages? I’ll learn how to shoot first. I say, no! boy, no!”“Brother Jack,” continued the captain, “I have dragged you from your club fireside, from your London friends, and made you little better than a labourer here, tell me what shall I do?”“Your duty, Ned,” said Uncle Jack, warmly. “The nip has been terrible, but I was never better nor happier in my life.—Don’t look at me reproachfully, Marian, dear; don’t turn away, girls.—Ned, lad, when I took the other handle of the plough, I said I wouldn’t look back, and I will not. If you ask me, I say fight it out as an Englishman should, and as Englishmen have for hundreds of years.”“Hurrah!” shouted the three boys together. “Three cheers for Uncle Jack!”“Then I need not ask you, boys?”“No, father,” said Norman. “You’ve taught us how to fight, and we shall be better able to meet the niggers if they come again.”“Hear, hear!” cried Rifle and Tim, emphatically; and they went behind Mrs Bedford’s chair, as if to show how they would defend her.“One more,” said the captain. “Sam German, you have shared our sufferings; and it is due to you, our faithful servant of many years, that I should not leave you out. What do you say?”“What do I say, sir?” cried the gardener, fiercely; as he strode forward and brought his fist down heavily on the table. “I say, go and leave that there garden, with all them young trees and plants just a-beginning to laugh at us and say what they’re a-going to do? No, sir; no: not for all the black fellows in the world.”Sam scowled round at everybody, and went back to the kitchen door.“That settles it, gentlemen,” said the captain, quietly. “After a life of disappointment and loss, I seem to have come into the promised land. I am here, and with God’s help, and the help of my brother, my servant, and my three brave boys, I’ll stay.”“And Shanter, father,” shouted Rifle.“Yes, and the trusty black whom I so unjustly doubted.”“Marmi want Shanter?” said the black, thrusting in his head.“Yes: that settles it, captain,” said the doctor. “I don’t wonder at it. I wouldn’t give up in your place.—Will you speak now, Henley?”“No, no, go on. I can’t talk,” said the young planter, colouring.“Very well then, I will.—Then the fact is, Captain Bedford, my friend Henley here is not satisfied with his land at Port Haven. He can sell it advantageously to a new settler, and he has seen that tract next to yours, one which, I agree with him, looks as if it was made for sugar. Miss Henley, his sister, is on her way out to keep house for him, so he will get one up as quickly as possible.”“Yes,” said Henley, “that’s right. Now tell ’em about yourself.”“Of course,” said the doctor, quietly. “My sister is coming out with Miss Henley, and I have elected to take up the tract yonder across the river, adjoining yours.”“You?” said the captain. “Where will you get your patients?”“Oh, I am sure to have some. Here’s one already,” he said, laughingly. “I mean to dress that poor fellow’s burns.”“Baal—no—baal,” shouted Shanter, fiercely. “Big white Mary—soff rag, plenty goosum greasum.”“Be quiet, Shanter,” said Aunt Georgie, grimly.“But,” cried the captain. “Oh, it is absurd. You are throwing away your chances.”“Not at all, sir. I don’t see why a doctor should not have a farm.”“But really—” began the captain.“One moment, sir,” cried the doctor, interrupting; “will you come and settle near your fellow-creatures?”“You have heard my arguments, gentlemen. It is my duty to stay.”“Yes,” said the doctor; “and in reply, Henley here and I say that it is our duty as Englishmen to come and help to protect you and yours.”Uncle Jack and the captain rose together, and took the young men’s hands, and then the party left the table to stroll out into the garden, upon as lovely an evening as ever shone upon this beautiful earth.Every one looked happy, even Shanter, who was fast asleep; and as Norman, who was alone with his brother and cousin, looked round at the scene of peace and beauty, he could not help thinking that his father had done well. But his thoughts were rudely interrupted by Rifle, who threw himself on the grass, kicked up his heels, burst into a smothered fit of laughter, and then sat up to wipe his eyes.“Oh, what a game!” he cried.“What’s a game?” said Tim. “What’s the matter, Man? Is there some black on my nose?”“No!” cried Rifle. “Why, you blind old mole, can’t you see?”“See what?”“Why Mr Henley and the doctor want to come and live out here. Look.”“Well, what at? They’re talking to Ida and Hetty. That’s all.”“That’s all!” cried Rifle, scornfully. “But it isn’t all. They want to marry ’em, and then we shall all live happily afterwards. That’s it. Isn’t it, Man?”Norman nodded.“Yes, I think he’s right, Tim. I am glad, for I think they are two good fellows as any I ever met.”Rifle was right. For in the future all came about as he had said, saving that all was not happiness.Still Dingo Station became one of the most prosperous in our great north-east colony, and as fresh tracts of the rich land were taken up, the troubles with the blacks grew fewer and died away.One word in conclusion. Sam German declared pettishly one day that there never was such a hopeless savage as Shanter.“You couldn’t teach him nought, and a lazier beggar never lived.”It was unjust: Shanter could learn in his way, and he worked hard for Marmi (the captain), harder still for “Big white Mary,” to whom he was a most faithful servant, but only in work that took his fancy.“Oh,” said Norman, one day, “I am glad father wouldn’t give up.”“Give up?” cried Rifle, scornfully. “Why, he would have been mad!”And Tim cried, “Why, we shouldn’t have been called ‘The Dingo Boys’ if he had.”“Who calls us ‘Dingo Boys?’” cried Rifle, sharply.“The people at Port Haven and all about when they speak of Wallaby Range,” replied Tim.“Like their impudence,” said Rifle importantly.“Don’t be so cocky, Rifle,” said Norman quietly. “Let them if they like. What’s in a name?”The End.

For the blacks made no further sign, and when, headed by the captain, the little party boldly took up the trail that morning, it was to find that the enemy had fled in haste, and not until it was felt to be utterly useless to follow farther was the pursuit given up. But that attempt to hunt them down was not without result. Shanter was with the party, riding in high delight with the three boys, and every now and then, in his eager scouting on his “horse fellow”—as he called the rough colt he rode—he was able to show how terribly the myall blacks had been punished, and not to dwell upon horrors brought by the wretched savages upon themselves, the punishment they had received was terrible.

To Shanter was due the discovery of the cattle, somewhat diminished in numbers, but safe, where they had been driven into the bush; and so excited was the black all through that he almost forgot the terrible burns he had received on hands, arms, and chest.

The only sign of discontent he displayed was when it was decided to turn back, the captain having halted at the end of the second day, the provisions growing scarce. It was after due consultation and the decision that the blacks were certainly not likely to rally for some time to come, and the captain had said that he did not want to slaughter the poor wretches, only keep them away.

Then the horses’ heads were turned, and Shanter rode up to the boys in a great state of excitement.

“Baal go back,” he cried; “plenty come along. Mumkull black fellow.”

“No, no,” said Norman. “Black fellow gone along. Come back and take care of white Marys.”

“Yohi,” said Shanter, thoughtfully, and he looked at his burned arms. “Big white Mary gib mine soff rag an’ goosum greasum make well. Soff damper. Come along.”

It was not without some feeling of dread that the party returned toward the station, lest another party of blacks should have visited the place in their absence; and when they reached the open place in the scrub where they had left the cattle grazing, the captain reluctantly said that another expedition must be made to bring them in. But unasked, Shanter in his quality of mounted herdsman, announced that he was going to ‘’top along’ and bring the cattle home, so he was left, and the party rode on, the boys leaving Shanter unwillingly.

“Black fellows come again,” said Rifle at parting.

Shanter grinned.

“No come no more. Plenty too much frighten.”

All was well when the party rode over Wallaby Range and up to Dingo Station, and saving the blackened boards and shingles, and the marks of spears, it was surprising how very little the worse the place looked. For Uncle Jack, Sam German, Mr Henley, and the doctor—both the latter having elected to remain behind—had worked hard to restore damaged portions; and once more the place looked wonderfully beautiful and peaceful in the evening light.

Three days later, after being most hospitably entertained, ten of the rescue party took their leave to go back to Port Haven; the other two had hinted that they should like to stay a few days longer, to have a thorough rest; and the captain had warmly begged that they would, while Aunt Georgie laughed to herself and said in her grim way, “I smell a rat.”

For the two who stayed were Mr Henley the sugar-planter, and Dr Freeston.

The captain was in the highest of spirits soon after, for Shanter, looking exceedingly important on his rough colt with his spear across his knees, rode slowly up, driving the whole of the sheep, pigs, and cattle, which made for their old quarters as quietly as if they had never been away, even another speared cow being among them, very little the worse for her wound in spite of the flies.

“Hah!” cried the captain, rubbing his hands as the party all sat at the evening meal; “and now, please Heaven, we can begin again and forget the past.”

A dead silence fell, and as the captain looked round he saw that the eyes of wife, daughter, and niece were fixed upon him sadly, and that Aunt Georgie’s countenance was very grim.

“Shall I speak, Henley?” said the doctor.

“If you please,” said that gentleman, with a glance at Ida.

“Then I will.—Captain Bedford,” said the doctor, “you will forgive me, sir, I know; but I must beg of you for the sake of the ladies to give up this out-of-the-way place, and come close, up to the settlement. We feel that we cannot leave you out here unprotected. Think of what would have happened if we had not arrived in the nick of time.”

There was a terrible silence, and Sam German, who was having his meal in the kitchen with Shanter, came to the door, every word having been audible.

At last the captain spoke in a low hoarse voice.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have thought of it all, till drawn both ways as I am, my brain seems almost on fire. I love my people as an Englishman should, and all my work has been for their sake. I would do anything to save them pain, but I ask you how can I give up this lovely home I have won from the wilderness—a place where Heaven smiles on a man’s labour, and I can see, with plenty of hard work, a happy contented life and prosperity for us all. I will not appeal to my dear wife and the girls, because I know they will say, ‘Do what you think best,’ but I do appeal to you, aunt. It is not fair to expose you to such risks. Shall I give up? Shall I, after putting my hand to the plough, want faith and go back?”

“Idowish you wouldn’t ask me such things, Ned, my boy,” cried Aunt Georgie, taking out her handkerchief to wipe her glasses. “Give up, now we are all so settled and comfortable and happy, all for the sake of a pack of savages? I’ll learn how to shoot first. I say, no! boy, no!”

“Brother Jack,” continued the captain, “I have dragged you from your club fireside, from your London friends, and made you little better than a labourer here, tell me what shall I do?”

“Your duty, Ned,” said Uncle Jack, warmly. “The nip has been terrible, but I was never better nor happier in my life.—Don’t look at me reproachfully, Marian, dear; don’t turn away, girls.—Ned, lad, when I took the other handle of the plough, I said I wouldn’t look back, and I will not. If you ask me, I say fight it out as an Englishman should, and as Englishmen have for hundreds of years.”

“Hurrah!” shouted the three boys together. “Three cheers for Uncle Jack!”

“Then I need not ask you, boys?”

“No, father,” said Norman. “You’ve taught us how to fight, and we shall be better able to meet the niggers if they come again.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Rifle and Tim, emphatically; and they went behind Mrs Bedford’s chair, as if to show how they would defend her.

“One more,” said the captain. “Sam German, you have shared our sufferings; and it is due to you, our faithful servant of many years, that I should not leave you out. What do you say?”

“What do I say, sir?” cried the gardener, fiercely; as he strode forward and brought his fist down heavily on the table. “I say, go and leave that there garden, with all them young trees and plants just a-beginning to laugh at us and say what they’re a-going to do? No, sir; no: not for all the black fellows in the world.”

Sam scowled round at everybody, and went back to the kitchen door.

“That settles it, gentlemen,” said the captain, quietly. “After a life of disappointment and loss, I seem to have come into the promised land. I am here, and with God’s help, and the help of my brother, my servant, and my three brave boys, I’ll stay.”

“And Shanter, father,” shouted Rifle.

“Yes, and the trusty black whom I so unjustly doubted.”

“Marmi want Shanter?” said the black, thrusting in his head.

“Yes: that settles it, captain,” said the doctor. “I don’t wonder at it. I wouldn’t give up in your place.—Will you speak now, Henley?”

“No, no, go on. I can’t talk,” said the young planter, colouring.

“Very well then, I will.—Then the fact is, Captain Bedford, my friend Henley here is not satisfied with his land at Port Haven. He can sell it advantageously to a new settler, and he has seen that tract next to yours, one which, I agree with him, looks as if it was made for sugar. Miss Henley, his sister, is on her way out to keep house for him, so he will get one up as quickly as possible.”

“Yes,” said Henley, “that’s right. Now tell ’em about yourself.”

“Of course,” said the doctor, quietly. “My sister is coming out with Miss Henley, and I have elected to take up the tract yonder across the river, adjoining yours.”

“You?” said the captain. “Where will you get your patients?”

“Oh, I am sure to have some. Here’s one already,” he said, laughingly. “I mean to dress that poor fellow’s burns.”

“Baal—no—baal,” shouted Shanter, fiercely. “Big white Mary—soff rag, plenty goosum greasum.”

“Be quiet, Shanter,” said Aunt Georgie, grimly.

“But,” cried the captain. “Oh, it is absurd. You are throwing away your chances.”

“Not at all, sir. I don’t see why a doctor should not have a farm.”

“But really—” began the captain.

“One moment, sir,” cried the doctor, interrupting; “will you come and settle near your fellow-creatures?”

“You have heard my arguments, gentlemen. It is my duty to stay.”

“Yes,” said the doctor; “and in reply, Henley here and I say that it is our duty as Englishmen to come and help to protect you and yours.”

Uncle Jack and the captain rose together, and took the young men’s hands, and then the party left the table to stroll out into the garden, upon as lovely an evening as ever shone upon this beautiful earth.

Every one looked happy, even Shanter, who was fast asleep; and as Norman, who was alone with his brother and cousin, looked round at the scene of peace and beauty, he could not help thinking that his father had done well. But his thoughts were rudely interrupted by Rifle, who threw himself on the grass, kicked up his heels, burst into a smothered fit of laughter, and then sat up to wipe his eyes.

“Oh, what a game!” he cried.

“What’s a game?” said Tim. “What’s the matter, Man? Is there some black on my nose?”

“No!” cried Rifle. “Why, you blind old mole, can’t you see?”

“See what?”

“Why Mr Henley and the doctor want to come and live out here. Look.”

“Well, what at? They’re talking to Ida and Hetty. That’s all.”

“That’s all!” cried Rifle, scornfully. “But it isn’t all. They want to marry ’em, and then we shall all live happily afterwards. That’s it. Isn’t it, Man?”

Norman nodded.

“Yes, I think he’s right, Tim. I am glad, for I think they are two good fellows as any I ever met.”

Rifle was right. For in the future all came about as he had said, saving that all was not happiness.

Still Dingo Station became one of the most prosperous in our great north-east colony, and as fresh tracts of the rich land were taken up, the troubles with the blacks grew fewer and died away.

One word in conclusion. Sam German declared pettishly one day that there never was such a hopeless savage as Shanter.

“You couldn’t teach him nought, and a lazier beggar never lived.”

It was unjust: Shanter could learn in his way, and he worked hard for Marmi (the captain), harder still for “Big white Mary,” to whom he was a most faithful servant, but only in work that took his fancy.

“Oh,” said Norman, one day, “I am glad father wouldn’t give up.”

“Give up?” cried Rifle, scornfully. “Why, he would have been mad!”

And Tim cried, “Why, we shouldn’t have been called ‘The Dingo Boys’ if he had.”

“Who calls us ‘Dingo Boys?’” cried Rifle, sharply.

“The people at Port Haven and all about when they speak of Wallaby Range,” replied Tim.

“Like their impudence,” said Rifle importantly.

“Don’t be so cocky, Rifle,” said Norman quietly. “Let them if they like. What’s in a name?”

|Chapter 1| |Chapter 2| |Chapter 3| |Chapter 4| |Chapter 5| |Chapter 6| |Chapter 7| |Chapter 8| |Chapter 9| |Chapter 10| |Chapter 11| |Chapter 12| |Chapter 13| |Chapter 14| |Chapter 15| |Chapter 16| |Chapter 17| |Chapter 18| |Chapter 19| |Chapter 20| |Chapter 21| |Chapter 22| |Chapter 23| |Chapter 24| |Chapter 25| |Chapter 26| |Chapter 27|

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