*CHAPTER II*
*"THE BUSHRANGERS*
"_Poins_: Tut! our horses they shall not see. I'll tie them in thewood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I havecases of buckram for the nonce to immask our noted outward garments.
"_Prince_: But I doubt they will be too hard for us."
SHAKESPEARE, Henry IV.
After leaving Tom Hawkins, or, to put it more correctly, after Tom hadpaddled away in his punt, Joe Blain proceeded to look up Jimmy Flynn,the blacksmith's apprentice, and Yellow Billy, a half-caste youth, whosefather followed the occupation of a timber-getter in the ranges. YellowBilly was generally employed as yard boy at the Travellers' Best Inn,and a rough time he often had, especially when the timber-getters weredissolving their hard-earned gold in alcohol.
One of Billy's duties was to milk the cows and tend the calves. Amongthe latter was a yearling steer, which he broke in and rode on thequiet. Many an hour's frolic the boys had in the moonlight in ridingthe steer. This animal had a good slice of the rogue in itscomposition, with a propensity for buck-jumping. When in a certain moodit would be as stubborn as a donkey and as savage as a mule.
After standing, say for some minutes, never budging, in spite ofthwackings and tail-twistings, it would suddenly take to buck-jumping.Oh, my, couldn't it buck! Woe betide the unlucky rider when it was inthis mood. Torn from his hold--a rope round its brisket--one momentbehold him sprawling over its back, the next whirling through space,finally deposited with more force than elegance on the turf. All this,however, was great fun for the boys, who encouraged the brute in itsbucking moods, each mounting in turns, to lie prone sooner or later onmother earth, amid the uproarious laughter of his fellows.
Billy was the exception. He was a born rider. Unable to shift him fromits back, the brute became quite docile in his hands, and kept itstricks for the others.
Jimmy and Billy were ready and willing to fill their parts in the bill.The former, at "knock off," went out to the town common to round hisgoats, and Billy promised to be ready, "steered," so to speak, by thetime appointed.
The road fixed upon was the track that led out from the township to alarge sawmill, distant about six miles. It was a solitary road, passingthrough a scrub-belt, crossing several minor creeks, threading its wayover a rocky ridge, winding through a rather wild defile, and ending atthe mill; the sort of place, indeed, to present numerous opportunitiesfor the criminal enterprise on hand. A spot where one could get "niceand creepy," as Joe said to Yellow Billy, much to that young man'sdisquiet.
The plan of campaign was simple enough. Joe, Tom, and Sandy were to setout as soon as possible after sundown and choose their spot for attack;while Jimmy was to drive the Royal Billy-goat Mailcart, with TrooperYellow Billy a little in advance, as per custom.
The embryo bushrangers, unfortunately, had only one horse between them;the one Sandy rode to school. Mr. Blain's horse, on which the boyscounted, was being used by the minister to take him to a moonlightservice some distance out from the river. It was settled, therefore,that the three boys should bestride Sandy's stout cob, which was wellable to carry these juvenile desperadoes.
"Mother!" shouted Joe, as he strode into the house in the lateafternoon, from the wood-pile, where he had been chopping the next day'ssupply, "we're going to have grand fun to-night."
"What sort of fun, my son?"
"Bushranging along the sawmill road. Can I go mother? We've got such agrand plot."
"Well, I don't mind; but don't be out late."
"S'pose I can have the gun?"
"The g-u-n!"
"Yes, mother. No need to fear. It's all play."
"Well, don't load it."
"Only with powder to make a bang."
"I don't like the idea, my boy. Gun accidents often happen in play.You remember Jim Andrews----"
"Oh yes, mother, but that's different! It was loaded."
In the end, owing to the boy's importunity, Mrs. Blain reluctantlyconsented.
Early tea being duly dispatched, the boys made the necessarypreparations for their dark deed. Joe produced a pair of knee-boots,the some time property of his father. He made them fit by sticking ragsinto the toes. He thrust his trousers' legs into the boot-tops, andwound a red scarf round his waist, through which he stuck a boomerangand nulla-nulla. A 'possum-skin cap adorned his head. His final actwas to fasten on a corn-tassel moustache, and to strap his gun acrosshis back. The broad effect of the costume was to make this youthfuloutlaw a cross, as it were, between Robinson Crusoe and a Greek brigand.
Indeed he quite terrified his two sisters, as he suddenly entered thesitting-room to the accompaniment of a blood-curdling yell. This thegirls match with a shriek that wakes up the sleeping baby, bringing themother in with a rush.
For a moment Mrs. Blain, seeing Joe in the half-light, thought someruffian had entered.
"It's very thoughtless and wrong of you, Joe, to frighten your sisters.I--I--I'm quite angry with you----"
"Very sorry, mater," said Joe, with a serio-comic air. "I only meant togive them a start."
The girls, however, began to laugh, Joe looked such an oddity. Theyturned the tables on him by quizzing him most unmercifully. At last ouryoung hero was very glad to beat a retreat to the backyard, where hefound Sandy busy in saddling the horse.
Joe's confederate had roughened himself as much as circumstancespermitted. In lieu of a skin cap he tied a big handkerchief round hishat, and stuck a couple of turkey-tail feathers through it. He hadmanufactured a brace of pistols out of short lengths of bamboo, withcorn-cobs, stuck in bored holes at an angle, to form the stocks. These,with a boomerang and nulla-nulla slung at either side, and a short spearfixed in his belt at the back and standing over his head, made him inappearance more like a red Indian than a Colonial free-booter.
"All ready, Hawkeye?"
"Yes, ole pal. The mustang is waiting, and the brave will vault intothe saddle at Thundercloud's word of command," answered Hawkeye inbastard Cooperese. Fenimore of that ilk was Sandy's favourite author.
"Hast thou heard the signal of Red Murphy?" said Joe, falling into thestrain of speech.
"No, Thundercloud. No sound from our brither of the hither shore hathbeen borne on the wings of the wind across the----"
"Oh, stow that rot, Sand--Hawkeye! I wonder?----"
"Yon's the cry of the chiel," broke in the would-be brave, as at thatmoment the cooee of Tom Hawkins, alias Red Murphy, rose in the stillair, faint from the distance, but distinct.
"A single cooee! Rippin! he's comin'. Let's mount and wait at thelanding."
Hardly had the boys reached the river-bank ere Red Murphy appeared,attired much as the others, with the addition of an old blunderbussbelonging to his father.
"It's all right, boys! Hurroar! Dad broke the handle of thecorn-sheller this evening, and sent me over with it to the blacksmith's.I'm to wait till it's mended. Wait a jiff an' I'll be with you," criedhe, as he ran to the smithy, returning as fast as his legs could bringhim, with the news that the broken handle could not be repaired underthree hours owing to other urgent work.
Joe rapidly detailed the plan, informing Tom, at the same time, that hisname and character were to be that of Red Murphy, one of theblood-thirstiest and most rapacious cut-throats in the Colonies.