CHAPTER XV

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*A BUSH RIDE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES*

"Then hey for boot and horse, lad! And round the world away; Young blood will have its course, lad! And every dog his day." KINGSLEY.

The weather in Australia at Christmas is not ideal for riding parties. Midsummer heat and dust, together with hordes of flies, largely countervail the delights of the saddle.

The enthusiastic party that cantered along the tracks leading from the Bullaroi homestead on this particular Christmas, with one exception, made small bones about either dust or heat. Neville, however, was irritated by the dust which the horses' feet knocked up. Nor would he seek alleviation as did the others by leaving the track at every opportunity. The victim of prejudice and conventionality, expressed in terms of cussedness, he obstinately stuck to the dusty track. The boys and Jessie frisked here and there, making short cuts, jumping gullies and logs, and generally enjoying themselves. They raised, it is true, clouds of dust, to the annoyance of the new chum, as they pounded along the track on their return to the others, after having forged ahead some distance; behaving, in short, like gambolling dogs. Mag would have dearly loved the frolic, but hospitality's demands made it imperative that she--the eldest--should partner the guest.

Neville was no rider. His knowledge of the ways of the horse was of the most elementary kind. Had he had the common sense to have admitted that palpable fact, many of his painful experiences, and indeed tortures, would have been minimised, if not altogether avoided.

Like all inexperienced riders, he responded to every movement of the horse. He had no sense of balance. He held the reins shoulder high, and was for ever jerking them. When his body was not stiffly straight it inclined forward. The inevitable result was made abundantly manifest in chafed limbs and aching bones. With Neville, as with most new-chum riders, the trousers legs _would_ work up from the bottom, displaying a section of calf, to the great amusement of the boys, who baa'd most vehemently at such times.

This, however, must be reckoned for grace in Neville: he made no complaint, nor admitted any discomfort. He was forward in his criticisms of the boys' style of riding: their seats were un-English and cowboy.

No greater contrast between the riders could well be imagined than that which the new chum and the pals presented. Theirs was to the manner born, to be confounded neither with cowboy nor military. While there is an utter absence of stiffness in the Australian style, there is at the same time nothing bordering on the truculent as affected by the cowboy. The movements are willowy and rhythmic. Horse and man are one and indivisible. This means to both the minimum of work with the maximum of ease.

How far removed from this attainment was poor Neville! His figure was of the ramrod pattern for the first few miles--ultra military, so to speak. His feet, well through the stirrups, inclined outwards at a sharp angle; his left arm, held at right angle as rigid as a semaphore, gripped the reins; while his right clutched the stockwhip with tenacious grasp. The steed, a fair pacer in experienced hands, in his became a veritable jogger. He rose and fell in springless fashion with every motion of the horse.

It was not in Neville's power to maintain that iron rigidity, and so he gradually inclined forward. His back became bowed, and his nose at times was in imminent danger of the horse's head. His arms, too, hung listlessly at either side, until at last his appearance resembled nothing so much as a doubled-up Guy Fawkes perched on a rail. Yet his dogged spirit, essentially British, half courage, half cussedness, bore him up.

Nearing the caves, the party, with the exception of Neville and his companion, raced ahead, and by the time that the latter arrived were cooling off beneath the shade of some coolibahs.

And now disaster of such a character as to shake from him the last remains of superiority and propriety, overwhelming him in the depths of humiliation, overtook poor Neville. These mortifying results were brought about by his attempted gallantry.

The selected camp, as related, was beneath the grateful shade of a cluster of coolibah[#] trees that grew on the banks of a mountain stream, close to the mouth of the caves. Seeing that Maggie was about to dismount unassisted, the youth exclaimed in eager tones, "Wait a moment, Miss M'Intyre!" and so saying, threw himself from his horse in order to do the gallant by helping his companion down, "as they do in England."

[#] Water gum trees.

Sad to say, however, so cramped and stiff were his limbs, especially his nether extremities, that the instant he touched ground his legs doubled in a powerless condition, and he fell prone to the earth. Unfortunately, the ground at the spot where he tumbled down began to slope towards the creek. In his frantic efforts to rise quickly to his feet he overbalanced himself, and began to roll down the incline. He saved himself for a second, and the impending disaster might have been averted but for the confounded stockwhip, which led to his undoing in a most effectual way. This weapon, which he still held in his clenched right hand, got entangled with his legs by some means, lasso fashion, bringing him smartly to the ground again in a fresh attempt to rise. The sloping bank at this point became almost precipitous: with a rapid turn over-and-over, he rolled down the steep gradient, crashed through an undergrowth of bushes and bracken that fringed the perpendicular bank of the creek, and shot out into its clear, deep waters.

This unrehearsed performance, taking less time to act than to relate, brought a powerful shriek from Maggie, who, arrested in her intention to dismount unaided by Neville's proffered aid, beheld from her horse the undignified collapse of her escort, with its quickly succeeding acts of comedy and tragedy.

The others, who were witnesses of this performance, hugely enjoyed it, giving a loud hurrah as the new chum splashed into the creek. There was one exception. Sandy, who was on his way to the creek with the billy can, and who realised in a moment that the discomfited Englishman had fallen into a deep pool,--the very spot where he had often fished for big perch,--threw away the billy and rushed to the spot where the unfortunate man had fallen in. Only that day had Neville declared that "my water exercises have been confined to the house bath."

Beyond the agitated surface there were no signs of their visitor in the water. Without pause, the lad took a header to the bottom, which was at least ten feet from the top, discerned the sunken man kicking and clawing, hauled him to the surface, and towed him to the bank. Here willing hands were ready to grip the victim of this misadventure and pull him to land.

As soon as he was dragged to safety, the cause of his abject helplessness in the water was revealed. The stockwhip had so encircled his legs as to prevent the free use of them, besides which the shock of the whole accident had to an extent numbed his senses.

In sooth he was a sorry sight as he lay on the turf. The immersion did not cover more than half a minute; it was long enough, though, to take him to the verge of unconsciousness and to fill his lungs and stomach with water. The boys speedily unwound the whip, and subjected Neville to some rough but wholesome treatment, during which process the water was rapidly ejected from his interior regions.

The girls, as soon as Neville was landed, discreetly withdrew. Merriment had dissolved into pity.

"Poor Mr. Neville! I'm _so_ sorry. Isn't it a shame, Mag?"

"Seems like a dream; it all happened so quickly and unexpectedly. I'm afraid father'll be very angry about it. The poor fellow was going to be so gallant, too. 'Permit me to assist you,' he said, and the next moment----"

Here the whole scene comes up so vividly and comically that, strive as she may, Maggie cannot withhold laughter of a somewhat hysterical kind. And so, between laughter and tears, the two girls superintended the billy-boiling and tea-making business.

Meanwhile the lads, stripping Neville under the lee of the bank, wrung his clothes, and then re-dressed him, bringing him up to the fire little the worse for his cold douche. The girls quickly recognised the finer qualities of Neville's character, which broke through the crust of his artificiality in the hour of adversity.

"I'm very sorry to have caused this trouble, Miss M'Intyre. No one's to blame but myself. Your brother and his mates have been exceedingly kind to me. Indeed, I owe a debt to your brother that I can never repay, for without doubt he saved my life. I was utterly helpless with that wretched whip curled around me."

Indeed, it was true. The accident might easily have had a fatal termination, and the thought of it (for all that Neville cut such a grotesque figure in his shrunken clothes) drove the last remains of latent hilarity away. Maggie assured the forlorn-looking youth that no thanks were due to any one; that all deplored the accident, and were thankful that the finale inclined rather to the comic than the tragic.

"Take this pannikin of hot tea, Mr. Neville. Father says that whisky's not in it with tea for recruiting one's jaded energies."

As there was no need for starting on the return ride awhile, the three boys, leaving the girls and Neville at the camp, proceeded to the caves.

The caves, three in number, were connected with one another by narrow entrances. The outermost one had an inlet through a narrow crevice. This opening was concealed from the casual eye by a sentinel-like boulder which stood directly opposite, and about eighteen inches in advance of the wall of rock. It was a squeeze for any one above the average size to get through.

Before its occupation by the bushrangers the outer cave, by evident signs, formed a favourite wallaby haunt. These had been disturbed and hunted by the bushrangers, who from time to time, according to police report, used it as a hiding-place. They had often lain there when the district was filled with troopers. On one occasion, as was afterwards known, Ben Bolt and his mate, a youth of eighteen years, lay concealed for weeks. The boy had been badly wounded in the thigh during a brush with the police in the New England ranges. Ben Bolt, who was passionately attached to him, by incredible labour and consummate skill--for the pursuing police were on their tracks all the time--brought his wounded mate to the caves in order that he might lie in safety until his sores were healed.

Sandy was the only one of the lads who knew anything about the caves. In company with his father he had visited them a few weeks previously. He therefore acted as a guide to the party.

The fissure, a mere crack in the limestone rock, extended in tortuous fashion for some distance. Lengthening out and making a curve, it suddenly broadened into a chamber of respectable dimensions. At the entrance of the crevice Sandy had lit a candle, one being sufficient for the cramped passage. Before entering the cave proper, all three candles brought for that purpose were lit.

The cave was bat-inhabited. Large numbers of these uncanny creatures, which were clinging to the roof and sides, disturbed and dazzled by the light, flew about in aimless fashion, often striking the boys in their uncertain flight. Numbers of them fastened on to their clothes and limbs with their claw-like pinions.

Joe and Tom, to whom this was a new experience, were uneasy and a good bit scared. Their nervousness increased when the fluttering nocturnals more than once extinguished the lights.

"You must do as I do, boys!" sang out Sandy, who was in advance, as they walked cautiously over the uneven and stone-littered floor. Sandy had removed his hat and held it over the candle. This, while it darkened all above, gave ample light on the floor space, and protected the candle from the nocturnals. The others thereupon followed suit, and soon reached the opening on the opposite side that led to the second chamber.

This narrow passage made a stiff ascent for some yards, inclining to the left, and then extending like a funnel. Sandy was proceeding very cautiously, for the opening into the interior cave was made at about ten feet from its floor. A rough ladder of lawyer vines hung from the opening in the wall to the basement. Down this the boys speedily slipped, and found themselves in a dome-like space, bigger by far than any room, barn, or church that they had seen. The atmosphere was very chill, and the continual drip of falling water made a monotonous sound. A narrow, clear stream of running water flowed along one side, disappearing in a floor crack near the far corner.

Contrary to what one would have expected, the lime crystals were few, and for the most part small; not to be mentioned in the same breath with the matchless statuary of the far-famed Jenolan Caves. On the ground, however, were some interesting stalagmites, whose grotesque figures highly amused the boys. At the first sight, though, a fearsome feeling possessed them. They were children of the sun, and this new and cryptic experience in the cold, dark, vaulted chamber quickened their pulses and shortened their breaths.

Everything seemed to have a ghostly appearance to the pals. It was a fitting abode for spectral creatures, and they had a feeling that at any moment such might appear. This sensation, however, was of short duration. A few minutes' familiarity with their surroundings dissipated it, and the lads moved freely in their investigations.

"Didn't you say there was another cave adjoining this, Sandy?"

"Yes, I'll show it to you in a few minutes."

While the question was being asked and answered, Sandy was peering into a crevice immediately behind a huge stalagmite, and in a dark corner of the cave.

"This looks as if it might open out somewhere, but the opening's jammed with a big limestone boulder."

"Let's have a pull at it," said Tom, as he leaned forward to take hold of a projecting point.

"No go, Tom. Look at its weight! See how tightly it's wedged! You'll never budge that. It'll need a crowbar to shift it. Come along, boys, and we'll take a peep at the other cave, just to say we've seen it; then we must make tracks back."

Sandy, however, bore in mind this sealed chamber which was destined later to yield important and far-reaching results. He made for a low, narrow aperture in the wall, at a far corner, which opened directly into a vault-like ceil--a small bedroom or pantry, as the case might be.

"Here's where the rangers camped," said Sandy, when the boys had struggled through. "Here's their beds, an' there's where they had their fire."

A couple of sheets of stringy-bark, placed stretcher-fashion on crossed sapling frames, formed the sleeping-bunks of the outlaws. On these were placed a quantity of bracken which made a comfortable resting-place for men who more often than not slept upon the ground.

"I say, Sandy," remarked Joe, after standing a moment in deep thought, "this is an all-right place for hidin' in, but where'd they keep the mokes? That's what beats me."

"It beats more'n you. It beats father. It beats the police. Yes, they can't get a clue. Must have had the horses handy, too; for when the police got into the cave the time they tracked 'em here, the rangers couldn't have been gone more'n a few minutes, 'cause a fire was still burning in Ben Bolt's room, as they call it. The bobbies have searched inside and outside and all over the ridge for another opening, but can't find it."

"They've clean bunged the p'lice, the cute beggars!" exclaimed Tom, with a grin. "Wonder if they'll ever come back again. Ole Ben's a game un. They say he wears a reversible suit of different colours. An' sometimes he straps up a leg an' fastens a wooden peg on it an' stumps along, led by a dog on a string like a blind beggar."

"He's always bluffin' the police, anyway," said Joe. "The Sub-Inspector was at our place about a month ago, telling father how he an' the others were fooled not so long ago."

"Tell us, Joe."

"Well, 'twas like this. A bushman on a piebald horse rode up to the police camp out Kean's swamp way, bearing a note from Sub-Inspector Garvie, ordering them to cross the ranges an' get into Walcha secretly, as he possessed reliable information to the effect that Ben Bolt intended to stick up the bank two days later.

"It appears this same man called at the Sub's quarters earlier in the day, who was laid up with a sprained leg. This chap told how he'd been in Ben Bolt's company two nights previously. The ranger and his mate--the same boy as was wounded--came upon him as he lay by his fire in the evening, and asked permission to camp alongside. They pretended to be stockmen in search of strayed heifers, and made out that they had come across their tracks just at nightfall. As it was a goodish way to the station, they would be glad to sleep by his fire and get after the cattle at dawn.

"The man said that as soon as he spotted 'em he knew 'em, but he was too frightened to let on. He gave 'em some grub, an' then lay down in his blanket. As soon as they had scoffed the prog they lay down too, on the off side of the fire.

"The man didn't go to sleep, though he pretended to. By an' by the two men began to talk in low tones. He could hear 'em, though, pretty well, and found out that they were goin' to stick up the Walcha bank. The date they named was four days from that night. Although the chap lay as if he were dead he didn't sleep a wink. Just before daylight the coves saddled their horses, which had been short-hobbled, and singing out, 'So-long,' they galloped off.

"'And what prompted you to bring this information?' said the Sub.

"'Well, if you cop the rangers,' he answered, 'I shall expect something substantial for supplying these particulars.'

"'As for that, you'll get your share. And now you can do something further that'll help you in the matter of reward. Take this note to Sergeant Henessey, who is camping with four police and a tracker in the foothills, at the head of Kean's swamp.'

"The Sub-Inspector, who had hastily written a note of instruction to the Sergeant, handed it to the man, who said his name was Sam Kelly. Sam promised to deliver it by daybreak; which he did. As soon as the Sergeant read it, he roused up the men, and after a hasty meal it was 'Saddle up.' A few minutes later the troopers were on their way to cop the rangers. Now listen: that very day, towards evening, the Port Macquarie mail was stuck up!"

"My eye!" said Sandy, "weren't the p'lice sold! Fancy ole Ben goin' into the lion's den with his information an' then takin' the letter out to the camp, an' none of 'em cute enough to twig 'im! He's a downy cove is Ben. Ain't he, Joe?"

"They say," concluded Joe, "that the piebald he rode was his favourite horse, the blood-bay he calls Samson."

"But how was it he turned him piebald?"

"_Painted patches of pipeclay on him!_"

"Now, then," exclaimed Sandy, pulling out his watch, "we've only a few minutes left, an' we mustn't be late, as Mr. Neville won't be able to ride fast."

"Poor old Fevvers!" exclaimed Tom reminiscently. "This hasn't been much of a treat for him."

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