“greet her with applausive breath,

freedom gaily doth she tread;

in her right a civic crown,

in her left a human head.”

i

nspector puttis, n.m.p., is pacing the verandah of borbong head-station house. the hour is early, and although the active little man was one of the liveliest of last night’s party of bronzed and loud-voiced men, who held wild carousal till the “wee, sma’ hours,” he is up betimes, as usual, to enjoy a cup of tea in the cool morning air, and issue instructions for the day to the “boys” of his troop. the loose verandah boards creak under his diminutive wellington boots, as with military strut he marches to and fro; and each time he reaches the end of his beat and right-about-faces to 356 move back again, a sable crow upon a native orange tree hard by, who is acting as sentry to some feathered thieves by the kitchen door, raises his hoarse voice in a warning caw.

the inspector’s head is bent forward, and after a custom of his when thinking deeply, he carries his hands folded behind his back. this morning they rest upon an empty revolver case, suspended from the wide, white-leather belt which he always wears when upon active duty.

if the man before us would only cease frowning at the boards, and, arranging his thoughts, give us the benefit of the same in words, they would probably be after this fashion:—

“yes, i don’t see how he can miss me this time. and the risk is not so very great, as we shall have rain enough to-night, or to-morrow at furthest, to drown any tracks. i will take his horses away; then either himself, or one, perhaps two, of the blacks, will have to go after them. the rest will be easy. if his body ever is found, and it’s not likely, they will think he was in the black camp and got shot there, and, as everybody round about here will have a finger in that affair, nobody will dare to make a fuss about it.”

a loud flapping of wings, as the crows at the back of the house fly off at the approach of footsteps, now arouses the inspector from his meditations.

“ah, yegerie!” he says, as his black orderly presents himself, and stands “attention” after duly saluting his officer.

“why didn’t you report yourself here to me directly you arrived?” puttis adds, for, casting a rapid glance at the boy, the inspector—having almost as sharp 357 an eye as the best tracker in his troop—has discovered some wood ashes upon the new arrival’s boots.

yegerie, who has just returned from doing a piece of special duty, has waited to warm his cold, stiff fingers at the camp-fire before hobbling out his horse, and he trembles now before the master who seems to see and know everything. inspector puttis does not appear to expect his black trooper to answer the question put to him, but marches up the verandah and back again. then he halts opposite yegerie, and examines him as to how he has performed instructions given him.

“everything right?”

“all lite, marmie,” replies the boy, saluting again. “mine bin come up werry slow. mine bin come longer ribber. no leabe it any tracks” (anglicé, all right. i have been delayed by following up river bed, in order to leave no tracks).

“what tracks you see?”

“i bin see tracks longer six yarraman. i bin catch it; see um mob” (i have seen the tracks of six horses. i have seen also the party). “i bin see one white beggar, one pickaninnie white beggar, three black beggar. one fellow myall, him make it the walk all about longer mob” (one wild black walked alongside the party).

“ah, that’s right! who’s on guard at the camp?”

“sambo and dick, marmie.”

“run ring round camp. report to me if you see a track directly. that’ll do. dismiss.”

the boy salutes and disappears silently.

we pause here to explain that on the vast majority of up-country runs the native station-hands reside 358 in villages of huts, built by themselves in close proximity to the head and out stations. no other aborigines are allowed even to cross the run, far less to live on it. on the arrival of a “rounding-up” party or a police troop at a station, a guard is generally placed over the station black camp, to prevent any of its inhabitants giving the alarm to such runaway blacks, or myalls, who may be camped—in contravention of the squatter’s decrees—in the vicinity. the police officer has just commanded yegerie to walk round the camp and see if there are any signs of such a messenger having escaped the sentries and set out during the night.

half an hour passes, and then the musical clatter of cups and plates is heard in the dining-room, as the breakfast things are laid—or, to speak more accurately, flung—upon the long table, in serried rows, by a laughing, chattering bevy of dark-skinned damsels belonging to mr. manager browne’s harem.

there are few up-country bachelor squatters but solace themselves for the absence of white ladies by indulging their leisure moments in the society of a private, selected circle of native girls—popularly known as the “stud gins.” many of these dark-eyed houris are remarkably handsome, and after a year or two at “government house” they are relegated to the black camp for the use of the black and white station-hands.

but to return to inspector puttis. with his usual abstemiousness he drank but little last evening, and his nerves are in perfect order for the day’s, or rather night’s, work before him. he is, of the whole “rounding-up” party collected beneath the hospitable 359 roof of borbong head-station house, the only one that feels much inclined for breakfast that morning.

so when charlie, the clean, yellow-faced chinese cook, informs him that the morning meal is “all lie” (anglicé, all right, or ready), he turns immediately towards the glass-door of the dining-room. but just then the rattle of a buggy coming at a furious pace towards the station arrests his attention, and he waits to see who is so rash as to drive so fast over the rough ground.

“giles, for a tenner!” he mutters half out loud; “no other fool would drive like that.”

the dust cloud occasioned by the arrival of the vehicle presently subsides, and, amidst a crashing of breakers suddenly applied and a volley of blasphemy, a pair of reeking horses are pulled back on to their haunches. then a red-faced, burly form clambers slowly down from the trap, and after kicking an attendant “boy” gives him some directions, and waddles hurriedly towards the house.

“well, puttis, i’ve found you at last.”

“morning, giles. want me particularly?” inquires the police officer.

“want you? yes, by jupiter! haven’t i driven all night from bulla bulla to try and catch you?”

“indeed!” observes the smaller man, keenly observing the excited face of mr. giles, as he mops it with a red silk handkerchief. “come in and have a nip.”

the squatter half turns, by force of custom, towards the door, then he stops, and says hurriedly, “no, i won’t. here, come outside. i want to speak to you first.”

360

“you’ve had good news, giles,” remarks the inspector, his sun-dried cheeks wrinkling up into a grin, and exposing his large, canine teeth.

“how the devil do you know?”

“never mind, old friend. what have you to tell me?”

the men stroll out by the kitchen garden, where giles takes a seat upon a low, rustic gate, beneath a sweetly scented gum-tree. looking nervously round about to be sure that they are alone, the owner of murdaro turns to his companion, and in a low voice asks, “what have you done about angland?”

“nothing,” replies the inspector; adding hurriedly, “did you tell miss mundella you were coming to see me?”

“thank the lord, i’m in time!” exclaims giles, quite ignoring the question put to him. “now, listen ter me, puttis, and don’t interrupt. firstly, you mustn’t interfere with angland. i’ll explain why directly. secondly, i’m going to repudiate my agreement with lileth.”

“stay!” exclaims puttis, half shutting his eyes and causing his parchment cheeks to warp once more into a sardonic smile. “in that case, must make fresh bargain.”

the low, wooden gate groans beneath mr. giles, as he shakes his podgy sides with a series of defiant laughs, which he raps out with a double, postman’s-knock-like abruptness.

“ah!” thinks inspector puttis, looking at him, “he has the air of a man who holds good cards. wonder what his game is?”

“i am going to repudiate my agreement,” repeats 361 mr. giles. “i am going to repudiate everything.” his voice grows more cheerful and confident as he proceeds to disclose his intentions. “and if you’re the sensible chap i take you ter be, you’ll just listen ter what i’ve got ter say.”

the police officer leans over the low gate, and, nodding his head as a sign that he agrees to keep silent, prepares to listen. “i’ve had a letter from angland,” the squatter continues, “which has altered my opinions of him. he writes from palmerville to say he’s just returned from where that—where dyesart the explorer pegged out.” the sonorous clanking of a bullock-bell, the signal for breakfast, here interrupts the speaker. “there’s tucker ready, so i’ll cut short what i was going to say. angland writes to say he finds as i’m indebted to him, as heir to dyesart, for a large amount; but don’t intend pressing me, as was his uncle’s wish. and then, blow me if he don’t say that he wants to marry glory! when i told the gal blessed if she didn’t seem to expect it. and lastly, what d’yer think of this? if he ain’t found my little georgie!” the speaker’s sensual face looks almost handsome for an instant, as a momentary blaze of parental pride and love warms the sinful old heart. “yes, he’s found my little georgie as i lost six year ago!”

in the excitement caused by disclosing the news of the discovery of his long-lost son and heir, mr. giles springs from the gate, and after performing a short pas seul upon the ground,—much resembling the clumsy prancings of a pole-prodded street bear,—he turns to puttis, and suddenly seizing his hand wrings it violently.

362

“how did he get hold of boy?” asks the inspector, as the squatter resumes his seat upon the gate.

“oh, i’ll tell you all about that another time.” mr. giles’s face has resumed its ponderously would-be cunning expression as he goes on: “not only that, but it appears dyesart had just discovered a whacking big mountain of gold, or something of the sort, up there, just before he kicked the bucket,—a sort of second mount morgan, and i’m to have a share in it.”

inspector puttis faces round at this, and beneath the stern, determined stare of the little man, mr. giles feels and looks very uncomfortable.

“congratulate you on your luck. lost son restored. rich son-in-law. debts forgiven. but,”—the police officer grins as he growls the next words,—“but you’ll not forget your friends? awkward rather if angland should happen to hear of your late contract with your niece, eh?”

“we won’t have a row about it!” exclaims giles weakly, avoiding the inspector’s gaze; “why should we? and look here,” he adds in a tone in which the bully gradually becomes discernible,—“look here, i’ve got copies of certain letters you’ve received from lileth about angland. ah! that’s got you, has it? and i can prove you received them, that’s more. you can’t prove i had anything to do with ‘this arrangement,’ as lileth calls it. i defy you to do it.”

“don’t try it, old friend,” observes puttis, pulling his moustache; “don’t try it. i’ve got the ‘joker’ to play yet. don’t forget that.”

“you mean my nephew,” responds giles. “i’ve squared him all right. and i can prove, moreover,363 that it was you got him a hiding-place at ulysses. can you beat that?”

“yes!” hisses puttis, whose inventive genius is only equalled by a valuable faculty he possesses for bringing all kinds of novel resources to his aid upon an emergency arising. “d’you remember the musical box miss mundella received from brisbane a month ago?”

“what has that got ter do with all this?” asks giles, looking in a puzzled way at the calm, firm face that is grinning coolly up at him.

“well, old friend, musical box all sham. ’twas a phonograph. all your talk taken down. even your swear words.” the speaker pauses a moment, then adds, “have another card to play. do you want it?”

mr. giles remembers the fact of a so-called musical box having arrived at murdaro, which lileth had informed him, and with perfect truth, had been broken in coming up from the coast, and would not play. like all ignorant persons, he has an almost superstitious dread of the more modern appliances, of which he has read such wonderful stories in that sole source of his information regarding the outside world, the weekly press. it never for a moment enters his head that puttis is “bluffing him,” to use a colonial term. giles has been flattering himself up to this minute that he is at last free from the machinations of his tyrant niece, and the horrible thought that she has still got him in her power, and can reproduce his late conversations with her by means of a phonograph, so flurries his loosely strung brain, that for a time he becomes quite unable to see that, for their own sakes,364 neither puttis nor lileth are likely to take that step, even if it were in their power to do so. it is not so much that he fears how he might suffer in body or estate at the hands of angland, should his villainies be made patent; but rather a sneaking, cowardly horror of what his circle of squatter acquaintances would think of him, should they discover by means of this threatened exposé, how he, giles, the man who has always loudly affected to consider woman as an inferior creation, has been all this time guided, even governed, by one—and a young one at that.

before a minute has elapsed, however, the squatter has recovered considerably from the effects of the shock that puttis’s words have dealt him, and his wits are sharpened by the very desperateness of his position.

“that’s mighty clever of you both, that is,” giles says, with an attempt at a careless laugh—which breaks down as he catches sight of the inspector’s watchful, grinning face. “look here, though this plan of yours might hurt me with angland, what good will it do you? you’ll all be in for conspiracy to defraud.”

“pshaw!” exclaims miss mundella’s fiancé, “angland won’t prosecute his father-in-law. we stand behind the father-in-law. but here’s browne coming to drag us in to breakfast. say, what about deed of partnership in run for lileth? must i play my joker?”

“i’m going to repudiate all that, i tell you,” replies giles doggedly. “if you’re fools enough to bring it into court, i’ll swear i was drunk or something.”

inspector puttis grins again, and, drawing an 365 imaginary card from his pocket, leans forward as if to play it, and speaks in a low, hurried voice, for mr. browne is slowly approaching.

“once upon a time there was a stockman on nango run; let me see, he was head-stockkeeper if i remember rightly. he had a sister, and her only fault was a blind devotion to the interests of her brother. she was——”

“curse you, what d’you mean?” gasps giles, going through the eye-bulging and general inflammatory symptoms which we have already had occasion to describe.

“the owner and manager of nango at this time,” continues puttis in a louder voice, for mr. browne, seeing his friends are evidently busy, has moved away again, “at this time was a wealthy young man, who had been bred and born to believe in the jewish system of salvation.” mr. giles continues silent, though breathing stentoriously. “a successful trick was played upon the hebrew squatter.”

“don’t go too far,” gasps giles, adding pleasantly, “or i’ll wring your blooming neck.”

“i won’t risk it, old friend,” laughs puttis coolly. “i’ve shown you corner of card. how d’you like it?”

mr. giles does not appear anxious to criticise the appearance of the figurative “joker,” and remains silent.

“if things must go to court,” the inspector continues in a careless tone of voice, “we’d have to show a reason why you should have made present to lileth of share,—a quid pro quo. now, a certain agreement made between her mother and you would nicely suit our purposes. i think you take my meaning.”

366

both men again remain silent for a time, then inspector puttis closes the interview with the following words, by which he routs his opponent entirely, “you know me, giles; i don’t shirk at the hurdles. if too high i’ll break the timber. now lileth’s entitled to this share and more. i’m not very partial to half-bred jewesses generally, but this one i know to be an heiress, although she’s not aware of it herself. besides, she’s the niece of a very dear old friend.” the little man grins up at his big victim, with the same kind of smile that no doubt a small spider puts on, could we but catch it doing so, when in the act of putting the finishing turns to the silken hammock in which it has managed to swaddle an intrusive blue-bottle.

“yes, friend giles, i’ve started on last lap. don’t stand in the way. will be worse for you. don’t want to tell lileth how she came to be heiress. would spoil my chance with her. would hate me. secret need never be unearthed. but if you attempt repudiation, or lileth goes in for jilting me when she gets her own again, then out comes my trump card, my little ‘joker.’ now, old friend, let’s go to breakfast. hope you’ve got a good appetite.”

an hour after this conversation, inspector puttis despatches a native trooper with orders to recall two others, who are watching a party of horsemen approaching borbong run.

after some clever man?uvring the “boy”—known officially as native constable dick—succeeds in discovering his fellows, without attracting the attention of any of the members of the cavalcade which has been under their surveillance, and the three blacks return together stationwards. not long afterwards the 367 travellers, who are claude, don, joe, and the two desert trackers, prepare to camp just within the borbong boundary, by a water-hole lying in the course of agate creek. close by on their right hand rise the dark, bush-draped heights of the rocky promontory forming the boundary between murdaro and borbong runs, in whose fastnesses billy had waited for claude’s coming.

“big fellow rain come alonger night, muckerie” (anglicé, heavy rain to-night, friend), observes general gordon to don, as the two return from hobbling out the horses; and the white youth, to whom claude has decided to impart the secret of his birth upon the morrow, goes straightway and informs our hero what the native meteorologist has prophesied.

“well, we’ll have to put up with wet jackets, my boy,” answers angland, “for billy and williams have got our tents with them at the mine. but perhaps,” he adds, looking at the darkening cliffs, “we’ll be able to get a dry roost for the night up there somewhere, if there are any caves about. tell gordon i want him.” the black villagers, whose hamlet is only some four miles distant, fortunately know of a suitable shelter, and soon the party are spreading their blankets beneath an overhanging, smoke-discoloured slab of granite, some fifty feet above the plain. down below, beyond the water-hole, the horses are feeding upon a patch of herbage, whence comes the musical jangle through the darkness of a solitary bell, which is clanking against old rupert’s busy jaws.

claude feels very happy as, forming one of the picturesque group round the fire, he sits smoking368 beneath the rocky portico. to-morrow, all being well, he will feast his eyes and soul in the presence of the girl he loves so well; to whom, blessed thought, he can now, being wealthy, approach honourably as a suitor for her hand and heart. to-morrow he will see his little friend don—now “george,” but always to be don to him—welcomed to a home where a parent and sister await him. to-morrow, taking his uncle’s cloak upon his shoulders, he will begin the great work of humanity to which the dead explorer has asked him to dedicate half of the vast wealth of the “golden cliffs.”

to-morrow the wonderful prophecy concerning the mysterious pillythilcha doolkooro—whispered and repeated for many cruel years by trembling slaves and fugitives in tireless camps—will begin its humanizing fulfilment: a bright to-morrow of mercy for the unhappy race that dyesart had pitied, beginning with the emancipation and protection of the villagers who had succoured the doctor’s faithful servant billy—without whose devoted courage and assistance the “valley of glowing embers” would still be waiting for a hand to rouse the great slumbering moora-moora to defend his children.

claude sits smoking long after his companions have fallen asleep, for his brain is far too busy with happy thoughts for it to become drowsy. by-and-by he notices that gordon’s prognostications are about to be fulfilled, and rain-clouds are flying across the starlit heavens from the north-east,—dark, shadowy masses of vapour, “like flocks of evil birds,” heralding an approaching thunderstorm.

“if the creek rises we shall be cut off from the 369 horses,” thinks claude, as he hears the awe-inspiring mutterings of thunder echoing down the valley.

“suppose i must go out and turn the brutes back this way myself,” he says to himself, adding in a louder voice, “here, joe, you young rascal. come, turn out and lend me a hand.” but the youngster sleeps on, or pretends to do so, and angland, hearing the heavy drops of rain that, like skirmishers before the advance guard of the shower, begin to pat, pit-pat, plop around, thinks that it is a pity to disturb the boy, and determines to go alone, as the horses are at no great distance, and so save the youth a ducking.

angland therefore rakes up the fire into a blaze, so that it may serve as a beacon to guide him on his way back to the camp, and as he steps forth into the darkness he hears the buzz of a heavy tropical rainfall coming nearer and nearer over the forest leaves.

stumbling down the hill the best way he can in the darkness, over awkward boulders and through detaining brushwood, claude soon finds himself upon the plain. the horse-bell sounds delightfully near at hand, and crossing the bed of the creek with some difficulty, he finds it already knee-deep in water, although quite dry when he passed it three hours before. another minute or two and he is alongside of the bell-horse, and by stooping can distinguish the heads of several of the others standing out against the lighter sky on the horizon like inferior silhouettes. then, as if some one had pulled the string of an enormous shower-bath suspended in the great black cloud overhead, down comes the rain in one mighty cataract that370 floods the plain around with tons of water per acre in as many seconds,—a true tropical shower that will fill the half-empty water-holes in a few minutes to overflowing. it is not long, however, before the downfall lessens in violence, and then, using old rupert as a blind, claude drifts gradually towards the other horses, which are momentarily revealed by the white glare of lightning flashes. some of the animals are naturally rogues at any time, and now are doubly difficult to approach, having become timid and treacherous under the combined effects of heaven’s fiery and watery display.

after a hard fight, however, a series of highly scientific strategic movements brings the work of unhobbling to a close, and mounting his own mare barebacked, which claude knows he can reckon on as a good swimmer, he drives the little mob of horses across the level ground, now six inches deep in water, towards the river. an almost constant succession of lightning flashes shows to the rider the frightened animals before him for the first hundred yards,—then, suddenly, the electric display ceases, and the rain pours sullenly down; and claude finds himself sitting on a wet, trembling steed in perfect darkness, without the slightest idea of which direction he ought to pursue in order to find the camp, whose fire he has long lost sight of.

our young friend, whose bush experience has not been lengthy enough to teach him to trust his steed rather than himself in such an emergency, now goes through the usual bewildering tactics of a new “hand.” one minute pushing on hurriedly, the next stopping to listen for rupert’s bell, anon trying to retrace his 371 steps, till he is completely lost, and as cold and miserable as he was jolly and warm half an hour before.

by-and-by the storm begins to withdraw from off the face of the sky like the black edge of a magic-lantern slide, and a patch of starlit heaven shows towards the east, shining all the brighter apparently for having had such a washing.

claude now gradually makes out that he is close under a cliff, and strains his eyes into the darkness to see more; when, hiss! and the blackness before him is suddenly dissolved into fire. a blue-white column of flame has leapt from the cloud above and struck the earth close in front with frightful force, and everything around whirls into sparks, chaos, then silent darkness.

for, unconscious of the mighty crash of thunder that, like a thousand exploding shells, follows instantly upon the flash, claude is lying stunned and bleeding beneath a tree against which his frighted steed has thrown him, on the other side of the valley to that where his camp amongst the rocks is situated.