Part 15 (1/2)

They had lost all sight of the pursuers, though once Bradby caught a glimpse of smoke far away to the east, smoke that he fancied came from the mid-day fire of the troopers.

They halted at sunset in the shadow of a clump of red gums and made the first meal since morning. As a result of a hurried consultation they decided to press on until midnight. But the horses were wearied with the rough and constant travelling, and it took the better part of two hours for them to cover a little under three miles.

”They've got to have a rest and so have we,” Bradby said finally. ”The pace is killing, and I'm quite satisfied that the police are taking it fairly easy. We've got scared over nothing. They might not even be on our track. At any rate I suggest we finish for the night and get what sleep we can.”

Abel c.u.mshaw raised no objection to this--as a matter of fact he was almost falling from his mount out of sheer saddle-weariness--so a halt was called, the horses were unsaddled, the men unrolled their blankets and settled down to slumber just as the silver ghost of the moon flooded the place with its cool white light.

It was broad daylight when they awoke, and the sun was already high up in the heavens.

”Somewhere about nine or ten o'clock,” c.u.mshaw guessed. ”We've slept in, Jack.”

Bradby ruefully admitted that this was so, but excused it on the ground that they would be better fitted for the day's work.

”I'm hanged if I like this game,” c.u.mshaw growled as they made a meagre breakfast on almost the last of their rations. ”The food's running short, and it's only a matter of time until they wear us down. You know what it means for us, Jack, if they catch us with the gold. Now I've got an idea, and if we carry it out I see a chance of escaping scot-free.

The gold's weighing us down, so what we've got to do is to get rid of it.”

”You're surely not going to throw it away after all we've gone through,”

said Bradby, aghast at the proposal.

”No, I'm not,” c.u.mshaw told him. ”What I suggest is that we hide it somewhere handy, make a note of the spot, and then clear out of this particular section for a time. We can easily keep afloat for a couple of months, and when the hue and cry has died down, we can come back and dig it up at our leisure. We'll gain nothing by sticking to it now and we'll run a chance of losing everything.”

”Not a bad idea,” Bradby agreed. ”But the trouble's to find a suitable spot.”

”We pa.s.sed dozens of such places already, Jack. We're just as likely to strike something as good or even better during the course of the day.

The whole country-side is honeycombed with hiding-places; it's like a rabbit-warren.”

”There's nothing like being an optimist,” Bradby said. ”Have it your way, Abel. Now the sooner you find some nice secure little spot the better for us, I'm thinking. For one thing the food's running short, as you just remarked, and for another I don't intend keeping up this dodging game for ever. We can't last; they'll wear us down.”

”That's supposing they don't get tired and go home,” said the cheerful Mr. c.u.mshaw.

”Not much chance of that,” Mr. Bradby retorted. ”I only wish they would.”

During the morning Bradby's horse developed lameness, and, though the two men slackened the pace in order to give it every chance, by mid-day it could barely limp along.

”This won't do,” said Bradby in despair. ”We're losing time we can ill afford. All the same this old crock'll have to struggle on until nightfall, and then we'll see whether we'll have to shoot it.”

”I don't like shooting a horse,” c.u.mshaw remarked. ”It's like murder.”

Bradby's only answer was a muttered oath. The trials of the Journey were bringing out the worst side of the man, a side that c.u.mshaw had never seen before. He eyed his companion thoughtfully. If the wilderness was to get on Bradby's nerves at this early stage, c.u.mshaw could see that there was likely to be very serious trouble before the end came. The air in the highlands was laden with a freshness which, while it stung the men to action, at the same time put a keen edge on their tempers. Both of them were children of the warm, sun-kissed lowlands, and the difference of even a few degrees of temperature had a remarkable effect on them. With Abel c.u.mshaw it was such as to send a warm glow into his cheeks; the cold bite of the air made his blood sparkle like new wine and urged him on to fresh efforts. It affected Mr. Bradby in another and a worse way. He became sullen, and there was a certain marked vindictiveness in the way he spurred his lame horse on to exertions that were plainly too much for it. Once or twice Abel was on the point of remonstrating with him, but for the sake of peace he held his tongue and waited, in the hope that the day would bring forth some measure of relief. But nothing happened that morning, and the hope died within him.

Late that day, when the pace had slowed down almost to a crawl, they stumbled across the place by the simplest kind of accident. They had been dropping down to lower levels the greater part of the day, and somewhere about three o'clock in the afternoon--they were not quite sure of the hour, since the sun was masked by the trees--they found themselves in what looked like a narrow gully. Both sides of it were lined with thick bushes of golden wattle that shut out all view on either hand. There were shadows galore in this narrow gully, and the place itself looked almost as dark as the entrance to the Pit. c.u.mshaw, who had a cla.s.sical education and had not been able to forget it, any more than the fact that he had once been a gentleman, murmured under his breath.

”What's that?” Bradby asked sharply.

c.u.mshaw repeated his quotation. ”Facilis est descensus Averno,” he said.

”What does that mean?” Bradby enquired, in the tone of a man who imagines he is being insulted in a language he does not understand.