Part 88 (2/2)

Desborough saw the excellence of this advice. This was the last piece of broken ground there was. On the right the cliff rose precipitous, and from its side had tumbled a confused heap of broken rock, running out into the glen. Once past this, the man they were pursuing would have the advantage, for he was splendidly mounted, and beyond was clear galloping ground. As it was, he was in a recess, and Desborough and Charles, pus.h.i.+ng forward, succeeded in bringing him to bay. Alas, too well!

George Hawker reined up his horse when he saw escape was impossible, and awaited their coming with a double-barrelled pistol in his hand. As the other two came on, calling on him to surrender, Desborough's horse received a bullet in his chest, and down went horse and man together.

But Charles pushed on till he was within twenty yards of the bushranger, and levelled his pistol to fire.

So met father and son the second time in their lives, all unconsciously. For an instant they glared on one another with wild threatening eyes, as the father made his aim more certain and deadly.

Was there no lightning in heaven to strike him dead, and save him from this last horrid crime? Was there no warning voice to tell him that this was his son?

None. The bullet sped, and the poor boy tumbled from his saddle, clutching wildly, with crooked, convulsive fingers at the gra.s.s and flowers--shot through the the chest!

Then, ere Desborough had disentangled himself from his fallen horse, George Hawker rode off laughing--out through the upper rock walls into the presence of the broad bald snow-line that rolled above his head in endless lofty tiers towards the sky.

Desborough arose, swearing and stamping; but, ere he could pick up his cap, Sam was alongside of him, breathless, and with him another common-looking man--my man, d.i.c.k, no other--and they both cried out together, ”What has happened?”

”Look there!” said Desborough, pointing to something dark among the gra.s.s,--”that's what has happened. What lies there was Charles Hawker, and the villain is off.”

”Who shot Charles Hawker?” said d.i.c.k.

”His namesake,” said Desborough.

”His own father!” said d.i.c.k; ”that's terrible.”

”What do you mean?” they both asked, aghast.

”Never mind now,” he answered. ”Captain Desborough, what are you going to do? Do you know where he's gone?”

”Up into the mountain, to lie by, I suppose,” said Desborough.

”Not at all, sir! He is going to cross the snow, and get to the old hut, near the Murray Gate.”

”What! Merryman's hut?” said the Captain. ”Impossible! He could not get through that way.”

”I tell you he can. That is where they came from at first; that is where they went to when they landed; and this is the gully they came through.”

”Are you deceiving me?” said Desborough. ”It will be worse for you if you are! I ain't in a humour for that sort of thing. Who are you?”

”I am Mr. Hamlyn's groom--d.i.c.k. Strike me dead if I ain't telling the truth!”

”Do you know this man, Buckley?” said Desborough, calling out to Sam, who was sitting beside poor Charles Hawker, holding his head up.

”Know him! of course I do,” he replied; ”ever since I was a child.”

”Then, look here,” said Desborough to d.i.c.k; ”I shall trust you. Now, you say he will cross the snow. If I were to go round by the Parson's I shouldn't get much snow.”

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