Kitabı oku: «The Tale of Timber Town», sayfa 17

“Two.” He emptied a pannikinful of gold into Carnac’s bag.

“Three.” Sweet William received a like measure.

“Four.” Dolphin helped himself.

“That makes four pints of gold,” he said. “What d’you say, mates, will she go round another turn?”

“No,” said Carnac, “try a half-pint all round.”

Dolphin fetched a smaller pannikin from the swags, and the division of the gold continued.

To share the nuggets equally was a difficult matter, and a good deal of wrangling took place in consequence. This, however, was quieted by the simple expedient of tossing a coin for disputed pieces of gold. The biggest nuggets being thus disposed of, the smaller ones were measured in the half-pint pot, till at length the envious eyes of the goldsmith saw the last measureful disappear into its owner’s bag.

This exceedingly delicate matter being settled, the bushrangers sat round the fire, drank tea which they brewed in a black “billy,” lit their pipes, and – as is invariably the case with a gang of thieves – enacted again the awful drama in which they had lately played their horrible parts.

Shivering on the damp floor of the dripping gallery, Tresco strained his ears to hear every diabolical detail of the conversation.

“Garstang, old man, Dolly’s right; you’d better see to that shirt of yours. It looks as if you’d killed a pig in it.”

“The chap I chiv’d was as fat as a pig, anyway,” said the crooked-mouthed murderer, as he attempted to rub out the guilty stains with a dirty piece of rag. “The blood spurted all over me as soon as I pulled out the knife.”

“Take it off, man; it looks as bad as a slaughterman’s,” said the leader of the gang. “Throw it in the fire.”

“I consider I did my man beautifully,” said Carnac. “I told him to say his prayers, and while he knelt I just shot him behind the ear. Now, I call that a very pretty method of dying – no struggling, no fuss, no argument, simply a quick departure in an odour of sanctity.” And the gentlemanly murderer laughed quietly and contentedly.

“The blanky banker went ratty when he saw my gun,” said Sweet William. “I had to fair yank ’im through the supple-jacks an’ lawyers. It was something horrid – it made my arm ache. At larst I says, ‘Look ’ere, are you goin’ to walk, or am I to shoot you?’ An’ he kept on sayin’, ‘All the gold is on the horse; don’t take it all, please,’ till I felt sick. ‘Up you git,’ I says, an’ I dragged ’im through the bush, and then bli’me if ’e didn’t sit down an’ cough an’ cry. Such dam’ foolishness made me lose patience. I just ‘squeezed’ ’im where he sat.”

“My bloke was the devil to die,” said Garstang. “First I shot him one way, then I shot him another; an’ at larst I had to chiv ’im with the knife, though it was the larst thing I wanted to do.”

“They should all have been ‘squeezed,’” said Dolphin, “and nothing’s easier if you’ve got the knack – noiseless, bloodless, traceless, the only scientific way of doin’ the work.”

“All of which you’ve said before, Dolly.” Sweet William rose and groped his way to the mouth of the cave.

“It’s the blamed horses that bother me,” said Carnac. “We left their carcases too near the track. We should have taken them a mile or more along, and have shoved them over a precipice, down which they might have fallen by accident in the storm. As it is, they’ll be putrid in a fortnight, and make the track impassable.”

“By which time,” said Dolphin, “we shall be out of reach.”

“What about the Bank?” Garstang asked the question almost insolently. “I thought you ’ad such wonderful plans of yer own.”

“The thing’s easy enough,” retorted Dolphin, “but the question is whether it’s worth while. We’ve made a haul to be proud of; never did men have a better streak o’ luck. We’ve taken hundreds of ounces from a strong escort, which we stopped at the right place, just in the right way, so that they couldn’t so much as fire a shot. It would be a crying shame to spoil such a job by bein’ trapped over a paltry wooden Bank.”

“Trapped be sugared!” said Garstang.

“The inference ’ll be” – Sweet William had returned from the cave’s mouth, and took up the conversation where he left it – “everybody with any sense’ll say the escort an’ the banker made orf with the gold – nothin’ but blood’ounds could ever find their bodies.”

“It’s bin a wonderful time,” said Dolphin, “but we can’t expect such luck to foller us around like a poodle-dog.”

“I’m for havin’ a slap at the Bank, anyway,” growled Garstang.

“Imagine the effect upon the public mind – the robbery of an escort and a bank, both in one week!” This was how the gentlemanly Carnac regarded the question. “It’d be a record. We’d make a name that wouldn’t easily be forgotten. I’m for trying.”

“Well, it’s stopped raining, blokes,” said Sweet William, “but outside it’s dark enough to please an owl. If we want to get into Timber Town without bein’ seen, now’s the time to start.” So saying, he picked up his “swag,” which he hitched upon his back.

The other men rose, one by one, and shouldered their packs, in which each man carried his gold.

With much lumbering, stumbling, and swearing, the murderers slowly departed, groping their way to the mouth of the cave by the light of the fire, which they left burning.

Tresco waited till the last sound of their voices had died away, then he stretched his cramped, benumbed limbs, heaved a deep sigh of relief, and rose to his feet.

“My God, what monsters!” He spoke under his breath, for fear that even the walls should hear him. “If they had found me they’d have thought as little of cutting my throat as of killing a mosquito. If ever I thanked God in my life – well, well – every nerve of me is trembling. That’s the reaction. I must warm myself, and have a bite of food.”

After carefully scattering the murderers’ fire, he groped his way to his inner cell, and there he made his best endeavours to restore his equanimity with warmth, food, and drink.

CHAPTER XXXI

The Perturbations of the Bank Manager

The windows of the Kangaroo Bank were ablaze with light, although the town clock had struck eleven. It was the dolorous hour when the landlord of The Lucky Digger, obliged by relentless law, reluctantly turned into the street the topers and diggers who filled his bar.

Bare-headed, the nails of his right hand picking nervously at the fingers of his left, the manager of the Bank emerged from a side-door. He glanced up the dark street towards the great mountains which loomed darkly in the Cimmerian gloom.

“Dear me, dear me,” murmured he to himself, “he is very late. What can have kept him?” He glanced down the street, and saw the small crowd wending its way from the hostelry. “It was really a most dreadful storm, the most dreadful thunderstorm I ever remember.” His eye marked where the light from the expansive windows of the Bank illumined the wet asphalt pavement. “Landslips frequently occur on newly made tracks, especially after heavy rain. It’s a great risk, a grave risk, this transporting of gold from one place to another.”

“’Evenin’, boss. Just a little cheque for twenty quid. I’ll take it in notes.”

The men from The Lucky Digger had paused before the brilliantly lighted building.

“Give him a chance… Let him explain… Carn’t you see there’s a run on the Bank.”

“Looks bad… Clerks in the street… All lighted up at this time o’ night… No money left.”

“Say, boss, have they bin an’ collared the big safe? Do you want assistance?”

The Manager turned to take refuge in the Bank, but his tormentors were relentless.

“Hold on, mate – you’re in trouble. Confide in us. If the books won’t balance, what matter? Don’t let that disturb your peace of mind. Come and have a drink… Take a hand at poker… First tent over the bridge, right-hand side.”

“It’s no go, boys. He’s narked because he knows we want an overdraft. Let ’im go and count his cash.”

The Manager pulled himself free from the roisterers and escaped into the Bank by the side door, and the diggers continued noisily on their way.

The lights of the Bank suddenly went out, and the Manager, after carefully locking the door behind him, crossed over the street to the livery stables, where a light burned during the greater part of the night. In a little box of a room, where harness hung on all the walls, there reclined on a bare and dusty couch a red-faced man, whose hair looked as if it had been closely cropped with a pair of horse-clippers. When he caught sight of the banker, he sat up and exclaimed, “Good God, Mr. Tomkinson! Ain’t you in bed?”

“It’s this gold-escort, Manning – it was due at six o’clock.”

“Look here.” The stable-keeper rose from his seat, placed his hand lovingly on a trace which hung limply on the wall. “Don’t I run the coach to Beaver Town? – and I guess a coach is a more ticklish thing to run than a gold-escort. Lord bless your soul, isn’t every coach supposed to arrive before dark? But they don’t. ‘The road was slippy with frost – I had to come along easy,’ the driver’ll say. Or it’ll be, ‘I got stuck up by a fresh in the Brown River.’ That’s it. I know. But they always arrive, sometime or other. I’ll bet you a fiver – one of your own, if you like – that the rivers are in flood, and your people can’t get across. Same with the Beaver Town coach. She was due at six o’clock, and here’ve I been drowsing like a more-pork on this couch, when I might have been in bed. An’ to bed I go. If she comes in to-night, the driver can darn well stable the ’orses himself. Good night.”

This was a view of the question that had not occurred to Mr. Tomkinson, but he felt he must confer with the Sergeant of Police.

The lock-up was situated in a by-street not far from the centre of the town. The Sergeant was sitting at a desk, and reading the entries in a big book. His peaked shako lay in front of him, and he smoked a cigar as he pored over his book.

He said nothing, he barely moved, when the banker entered; but his frank face, in which a pair of blue eyes stood well apart, lighted up with interest and attention as Mr. Tomkinson told his tale. When the narrative was ended, he said quietly, “Yes, they may be weather-bound. Did you have a clear understanding that the gold was to be brought in to-day?”

“It was perfectly understood.”

“How much gold did you say there was?”

“From fifteen to twenty thousand pounds’ worth – it depends on how much the agent has bought.”

“A lot of money, sir; quite a nice little fortune. It must be seen to. I’ll tell you what I will do. Two mounted constables shall go out at daylight, and I guarantee that if the escort is to be found, they will find it.”

“Thank you,” said Tomkinson. “I think it ought to be done. You will send them out first thing in the morning? Thank you. Good night.”

As the banker turned to go, the Sergeant rose.

“Wait a moment,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

They walked contemplatively side by side till they reached the main street, where a horseman stood, hammering at Manning’s stable-gate.

“Nobody in?” said the Sergeant. “You had better walk inside, and put the horse up yourself.”

“I happen to know that the owner has gone to bed,” said Tomkinson.

The horseman passed through the gateway, and was about to lead his sweating mount into the stables, when the Sergeant stopped him.

“Which way have you come to-day?” he asked.

“From Bush Robin Creek,” replied the traveller.

“You have ridden right through since morning?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“Did you overtake some men with a pack-horse?”

“No. I passed Mr. Scarlett, after the thunderstorm came on. That was on the other side of the ranges.”

“How did you find the rivers? Fordable?”

“They were all right, except that on this side of the range they had begun to rise.”

“Perhaps the men we are expecting,” said the nervous banker, “took shelter in the bush when the storm came on. You may have passed without seeing them.”

“Who are the parties you are expecting?” asked the traveller.

“Mr. Zahn, the agent of the Kangaroo Bank, was on the road to-day with a considerable quantity of gold,” replied the Sergeant.

“You mean the gold-escort,” said the traveller. “It left about three hours before I did.”

“Do you know Mr. Zahn?” asked the Sergeant.

“I do. I’ve sold gold to him.”

“I’ll take your name, if you please,” said the Sergeant, producing his pocket-book.

“Rooker, Thomas Samuel Rooker,” said the traveller.

“Where are you to be found?”

“At The Lucky Digger.”

“Thank you,” said the Sergeant, as he closed his book with a snap and put it in his pocket. “Good night.”

“Good night,” said the traveller, as he led his horse into the stable. “If I can be of any use, send for me in the morning.”

“It’s pretty certain that this man never saw them,” said the Sergeant, “therefore they were not on the road when he passed them. They must have been, as you say, in the bush. There is plenty of hope yet, sir, but I should advise you to get up pretty early to-morrow morning, if you want to see my mounted men start. Good night.”

With a gloomy response, Mr. Tomkinson turned his steps towards the Bank, there to toss on a sleepless bed till morning.

CHAPTER XXXII

The Quietude of Timber Town Is Disturbed

The crowd which had gathered in front of the verandah of the Post Office of Timber Town was made up, as is not uncommon with crowds, of all sorts and conditions of men. There were diggers dressed in the rough clothes suitable to their calling and broad-brimmed felt hats; tradesmen, fat with soft living, and dressed each according to his taste; farmers, in ready-made store-clothes and straw hats; women, neatly, if plainly, dressed as suited the early hour of the day; a few gaily-dressed girls, and a multitude of boys.

Nailed to the wooden wall of the building was a poster, printed with big head-lines, upon which the interest of all present was centred.

NOTICE

FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD!!!

WHEREAS persons of the names of ISAAC ZAHN, PETER HEAFY, WILLIAM JOHNSON, and JAMES KETTLE have mysteriously disappeared; AND WHEREAS it is supposed that they have been murdered on the road between Bush Robin Creek and Timber Town; AND WHEREAS, further, they had in their custody at the time a considerable quantity of gold, the property of the Kangaroo Bank;

THIS IS TO NOTIFY that should those persons, or any of them, have been murdered, a reward of FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS (£500) will be given to any person who shall give information that will lead to the conviction of the murderers; AND A LIKE REWARD will be given to any person who shall give such information as shall lead to the restoration of the stolen gold to its lawful owners.

(Signed) WILLIAM TOMKIN TOMKINSON,

Manager,

Kangaroo Bank,

Timber Town.

“Isaac Zahn? He was the gold-buying clerk. I knew ’im well. An’ if you ask me, I think I know who put ’im away.”

“You’re right, John. D’you call to mind that long-legged toff at The Lucky Digger?”

“I do. ’E caught Zahn a lick under the jaw, an’ kicked ’im into the street. I seen ’im do it.”

“That’s the bloke.”

“Hi! Higgins. Here, old man. D’you want five hundred pounds?”

“I ain’t partic’lar, George – I don’t know the man’s name.”

“But you saw that bit of a scrap in The Lucky Digger, between one of these parties as is murdered and the toff from the Old Country.”

“I was in the bar.”

“Well, there was very bad blood between them – you see that? And I heard the toff tell Zahn that the next time ’e saw ’im he’d about stiffen ’im. I heard it, or words to that effect. Now, I want you to bear witness that what I say is true.”

“Yes, yes, I remember the time. You mean Mr. Scarlett, the man who discovered the field.”

“There’s wheels within wheels, my boy. They were rivals for the same girl. She jilted young Zahn when this new man took up the running. Bad blood, very bad blood, indeed.”

“But is he dead? Has there been a murder at all? Collusion, sir, collusion. Suppose the escort quietly appropriated the gold and effaced themselves, they’d be rich men for life, sir.”

“You’re right, Mr. Ferrars. Until the bodies are found, sir, there is no reason to believe there has been murder.”

At this moment the local bellman appeared on the scene, and stopped conversation with the din of his bell. Subsequently, after the manner of his kind, and in a thin nasal voice, he proclaimed as follows: – “Five hundred pound reward – Five hundred pound reward. – It being believed – that a foul murder has been committed – on the persons of – Isaac Zahn, Peter Heafy, William Johnson, James Kettle – citizens of Timber Town – a search-party will be formed – under the leadership of Mr. Charles Caxton – volunteers will be enrolled at the Town Hall – a large reward being offered – for the apprehension of the murderers – Five hundred pound – Five hundred pound!”

He then tucked his bell under his arm and walked off, just as unconcernedly as if he were advertising an auction-sale.

By this time a crowd of two or three hundred people had assembled. A chair was brought from The Lucky Digger, and upon this a stout man clambered to address the people. But what with his vehemence and gesticulations, and what with the smallness of his platform, he stepped to the ground several times in the course of his speech; therefore a lorry, a four-wheeled vehicle not unlike a tea-tray upon four wheels, was brought, and while the orator held forth effusively from his new rostrum, the patient horse stood between the shafts, with drooping head.

This pompous person was succeeded by a tall, upright man, with the bearing of a Viking and the voice of a clarion. His speech was short and to the point. If he had to go alone, he would search for the missing men; but he asked for help. “I am a surveyor,” he said. “I knew none of these men who are lost or murdered, but I appeal to those of you who are diggers to come forward and help. I appeal to the townsfolk who knew young Zahn to rally round me in searching for their friend. I appeal for funds, since the work cannot be done without expense; and at the conclusion of this meeting I shall enrol volunteers in the Town Hall.”

He stood down, and Mr. Crewe rose to address the crowd, which had now assumed such proportions that it stretched from pavement to pavement of the broad street. All the shops were closed, and people were flocking from far and wide to the centre of the town.

“Men of Timber Town,” said Mr. Crewe, “I’m not so young as I was, or I would be the first to go in search of these missing men. My days as a bushman are over, I fear; but I shall have much pleasure in giving £20 to the expenses of the search-party. All I ask is that there be no more talking, but prompt action. These men may be tied to trees in the bush; they may be starving to death while we talk here. Therefore let us unite in helping the searchers to get away without delay.”

A movement was now made towards the Town Hall, and while the volunteers of the search-party were being enrolled two committees of citizens were being formed in the Town Clerk’s office – the one to finance, and the other to equip, the expedition.

While these things were going forward, there stood apart from the crowd four men, who conversed in low voices.

“It’s about time, mates, we got a bend on.”

“Dolly, you make me tired. I ask you, was there ever such a chance. All the traps in the town will be searching for these unfortunate missin’ men. We’ll have things all our own way, an’ you ask us to ‘git.’”

“’Strewth, Garstang, you’re a glutton. S’far’s I’m concerned, I’ve got as much as I can carry. I don’t want no more.”

The four comrades in crime had completely changed their appearance. They were dressed in new, ready-made suits, and wore brand-new hats, besides which they had shaved their faces in such a manner as to make them hardly recognisable.

Dolphin, who, besides parting with his luxuriant whiskers and moustache, had shaved off his eyebrows, remarked, with the air of a man in deep thought, “But there’s no steamer leaving port for two days – I forgot that. It seems we’ll have to stay that long, at any rate.”

“And I can’t bear bein’ idle – it distresses me,” said Sweet William.

“This’ll be the last place where they’ll look for us,” remarked Carnac. “You take it from me, they’ll search the diggings first.”

“When they’ve found the unfortunate men, they’ll be rampin’ mad to catch the perpetrators.” This from Dolphin.

A rough, bluff, good-natured digger pushed his way into the middle of the group. “Come on, mates,” he said; “put your names down for a fiver each. It’s got to be done.” And seizing Garstang and Sweet William, he pulled them towards the Town Hall.

“G’arn! Let go!” snarled Garstang.

“Whatyer givin’ us?” exclaimed William, as she shook himself free. “The bloke’s fair ratty.”

“Here! Hi!” Dolphin called to the enthusiastic stranger. “What’s all this about missing men? What’s all the fuss about? – as like as not the men are gone prospecting in the bush.”

“A gold-buyer with 5000 oz. of gold doesn’t go prospecting,” replied the digger. “Come and read the notice, man.”

The four murderers lounged towards the Post Office, and coolly read the Bank Manager’s placard.

“They’ve got lost, that’s about the size of it,” said Garstang.

“Why all this bobbery should be made over a few missin’ men, beats me,” sneered Dolphin.

“Whenever there’s a ‘rush’ in Australia, there’s dozens of men git lost,” said Sweet William, “but nobody takes any notice – it’s the ordinary thing.”

“But there’s gold to the value of £20,000 gone too,” said the enthusiastic stranger. “Wouldn’t you take notice of that?”

“It’ll turn up,” said Carnac. “They must have lost their way in the thunderstorm. But you may bet they’re well supplied with tucker. Hang it all, they might come into town any minute, and what fools we’d look then.”

“P’r’aps their pack-horse got frightened at the lightning and fell over a precipice. It might, easy.” This was William’s brilliant suggestion.

“An’ the men are humpin’ the gold into town theirselves,” said Garstang. “There ain’t any occasion to worry, that I can see. None at all, none at all. Come an’ have a drink, mate. I’ll shout for the crowd.”

The five men strolled towards The Lucky Digger, through the door of which they passed into a crowded bar, where, amid excited, loud-voiced diggers who were expressing their views concerning the gold-escort’s disappearance, the four murderers were the only quiet and collected individuals.