Part 89 (1/2)

”That's just it, don't you see? You can be round at the huts before him. That's what I mean,” said d.i.c.k. ”Take Mr. Buckley's horse, and ride him till he drops, and you'll get another at the Parson's. If you have any snow, it will be on Broadsaddle; but it won't signify. You go round the low side of Tambo, and sight the lake, and you'll be there before him.”

”How far?”

”Sixty miles, or thereabouts, plain sailing. It ain't eleven o'clock yet.”

”Good; I'll remember you for this. Buckley, I want your horse. Is the lad dead?”

”No; but he is very bad. I'll try to get him home. Take the horse; he is not so good a one as Widderin, but he'll carry you to the Parson's.

G.o.d speed you.”

They watched him ride away almost south, skirting the ridges of the mountain as long as he could; then they saw him scrambling up a lofty wooded ridge, and there he disappeared.

They raised poor Charles Hawker up, and Sam, mounting d.i.c.k's horse, took the wounded man up before him, and started to go slowly home.

After a time, he said, ”Do you feel worse, Charles?” and the other replied, ”No; but I am very cold.” After that he stayed quite still, with his arm round Sam Buckley's neck, until they reached the Brentwoods' door.

Some came out to the door to meet them, and, among others, Alice. ”Take him from me,” said Sam to one of the men. ”Be very gentle: he is asleep.” And so they took the dead man's arm from off the living man's shoulder, and carried him in; for Charles Hawker was asleep indeed--in the sleep that knows no waking.

That was one of the fiercest and firmest stands that was ever made by bushrangers against the authorities. Of the latter five were shot down, three wounded, and the rest captured, save two. The gang was destroyed at once, and life and property once more secure, though at a sad sacrifice.

One trooper was shot dead at the first onset,--a fine young fellow, just picked from his regiment for good conduct to join the police.

Another was desperately wounded, who died the next day. On the part of the independent men a.s.sisting, there were Charles Hawker killed, Doctor Mulhaus shot in the left arm, and Jim with his leg broke; so that, on that evening, Captain Brentwood's house was like a hospital.

Captain Brentwood set his son's leg, under Dr. Mulhaus' directions, the Doctor keeping mighty brave, though once or twice his face twisted with pain, and he was nearly fainting. Alice was everywhere, pale and calm, helping every one who needed it, and saying nothing. Eleanor, the cook, pervaded the house, doing the work of seven women, and having the sympathies of fourteen. She told them that this was as bad a job as she'd ever seen; worse, in fact. That the nearest thing she'd ever seen to it was when Mat Steeman's mob were broke up by the squatters; ”But then,” she added, ”there were none but prisoners killed.”

But when Alice had done all she could, and the house was quiet, she went up to her father, and said,--

”Now, father, comes the worst part of the matter for me. Who is to tell Mrs. Hawker?”

”Mrs. Buckley, my dear, would be the best person. But she is at the Mayfords', I am afraid.”

”Mrs. Hawker must be told at once, father, by some of us. I do so dread her hearing of it by some accident, when none of her friends are with her. Oh, dear! oh, dear! I never thought to have had such times as these.”

”Alice, my darling,” said her father, ”do you think that you have strength to carry the news to her? If Major Buckley went with you, he could tell her, you know; and it would be much better for her to have him, an old friend, beside her. It would be such a delay to go round and fetch his wife. Have you courage?”

”I will make courage,” she said. ”Speak to Major Buckley, father, and I will get ready.”

She went to Sam. ”I am going on a terrible errand,” she said; ”I am going to tell Mrs. Hawker about this dreadful, dreadful business. Now, what I want to say is, that you mustn't come; your father is going with me, and I'll get through it alone, Sam. Now please,” she added, seeing Sam was going to speak, ”don't argue about it; I am very much upset as it is, and I want you to stay here. You won't follow us, will you?”

”Whatever you order, Alice, is law,” said Sam. ”I won't come if you don't wish it; but I can't see----”

”There now. Will you get me my horse? And please stay by poor Jim, for my sake.”

Sam complied; and Alice, getting on her riding-habit, came back trembling, and trying not to cry, to tell Major Buckley that she was ready.

He took her in his arms, and kissed her. ”You are a brave, n.o.ble girl,”

he said; ”I thank G.o.d for such a daughter-in-law. Now, my dear, let us hurry off, and not think of what is to come.”