CHAPTER XXVII

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*A RESPITE*

"Ah! those were the days of youth's perfect spring, When each wandering wind had a song to sing, When the touch of care and the shade of woe Were but empty words we could never know, As we rode 'neath the gum and the box trees high, And our idle laughter went floating by." GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.

Joe little thought when making the melancholy statement, "measly school opens to-morrow," how prophetic the utterance was.

The first words that greeted the party on their return to the homestead were: "School won't open for another three weeks; the town's full of measles."

The pals tried hard to look sober and concerned as Mrs. M'Intyre dilated upon the nature of the epidemic. It was a vain attempt. To their credit be it said, they were very poor hypocrites. Whatever sorrow they might feel on account of their friends who were in the grip of the disease was more than counterbalanced by the blissful intimation that, owing to the epidemic which had unexpectedly broken out, the school authorities had resolved, for at least three weeks, to keep the school closed.

"There's no going home at present, boys. I wouldn't dream of letting you return. I'll just write to your mothers to say I intend keeping you here, unless they want you particularly. I feel sure they will be thankful for your absence at such a time. So you'll have to make the best of it, boys. Are you sorry?"

"Well--er--of course--I'm a----"

"Yes--a--of course--you're--a--shedding tears at the thought of staying here another fortnight or so--aren't you, Joe? You and Tom do look as miserable as moulting fowls in wet weather at the bare thought of holiday extension."

The lads burst out laughing at Jessie's sally, and declared that it was the crummiest news they had received during the holidays.

"That's a' very weel, and ye needna fash, laddies, that you'll ootwear your welcome. But here's some news that may no' be so pleasant," said the squatter, who had been busy with his mail. "Here's a letter frae Inspector Garvie to say that Ben Bolt and his mate are in the deestric' again. He stuck up Dirrilbandie Station three days ago, drivin' a' the hands aboot the homesteed, along wi' Wilson and his faimily, into ane o' the men's huts, in which they were held by his youthfu' confederate while he ransacked the place."

"Oh! the poor Wilsons! Did he hurt any of them? and did he get much?"

In reply to a fusillade of questions from the excited household, M'Intyre stated that though Ben Bolt was in one of his black humours, was in fact on the point of shooting one of the men for cheeking his mate, and was only dissuaded from this atrocity by the pleading of Mrs. Wilson, no one was injured. He had taken a considerable amount of loot, however, in the shape of jewellery; also a pair of new improved revolvers, as well as three horses, one of them being Wilson's handsome chestnut gelding, the finest hack in the district, and for which he had a short time previously refused seventy pounds from the police authorities.

There had been an outcry against the Government for not having provided a better class of mount for the troopers. Again and again the schemes of the police to capture the bushrangers in various parts of the colony failed, chiefly because they were out-classed in horse-flesh. A tardy Government, aroused at last to action by the clamour of the people, was doing its best to remedy this unequal condition.

"I suppose, sir, the police are in full chase of the desperadoes?"

"They're doin' their best, ye may be sure, Mr. Neville. Garvie has two pairties oot scoorin' the country, and is holdin' himsel' in readiness to move to ony pint at a moment's notice. As the scoondrels hae cut the Walcha telegraph line, the presumption is they will be raidin' the place, and Sergeant Hennessey is following up with the utmost speed. The Sub wants the loan o' Jacky or Willy, or both, as trackers, and to let him ken at aince should there be ony signs o' them on Bullaroi, 'specially aboot the caves."

"Are you goin' to lend him the boys, father?"

"Weel, it's very awkward, but I'll hae to assist the coorse o' juistice when ca'd upon. We maun dae oor pairt to catch the rascals."

"Suppose you _had_ tumbled across the 'rangers in the caves, boys?"

"Well! an' s'p'osin' we had, Miss Jessie?" replied Tom, whose answer in tone and query suggested unspeakably bad things for the outlaws had they been unfortunate enough to meet the cave heroes.

"Let me pit ye a sum in arithmeetic, Thomas, ma laddie; juist a sma' sum in proportion. If twa stock wheep hondles, pinted at fowr cave explorers, each wi' a lighted candle in his hand, would cause the said candles to drop to the flure and fowr pair o' hands to go up like a toy acrobat when ye pu' the strings, what attitudes would the aforesaid explorers strike if a pair o' rale loaded peestols had been presented?"

"Tom is always a duffer at proportion," interjected Joe laughingly. "He has a trick of givin' answers that make Simpson sit up. To tell you the truth, sir, I don't think that the real article could have given us a greater shock. Speaking for myself, I confess that I've never had so bad an attack of the shakes before. My skin went goosey in a moment, an' my hair stood up like a hedgehog's spikes. I couldn't 'a' said a word for a hatful of sovereigns. You see, sir, _it was all very real to us for the moment_, and none of the others felt any better than myself, I bet tuppence."

"Joe's quite right, sir. I had a most dreadful feeling as we stood there in the black darkness. It seemed as if a vast abyss had suddenly engulfed us and we were sinking to fathomless depths."

"I'll back up Joe and Mr. Neville, dad. My word, when you spoke, it was as if some one had suddenly pulled me out of a dreadful nightmare."

The pals went to bed early, as they were tired out after the unwonted exertions of the day, but not to sleep. They were too excited for that.

"I say, chaps," exclaimed Sandy, jumping out of bed after he had tossed about for a few minutes, dragging his stretcher alongside the bigger bed, "let's settle what we're goin' to do."

"Was just thinking of doin' a sleep, Master M'Intyre, when you commenced to drag the jolly stretcher with enough noise to wake the seven sleepers. An' as for ole Tom, I fancied I heard a snore comin' through a hole in his pumpkin----"

"Pumpkin yourself, Blain. I'm as wide awake as you, or that grinnin' ape Sandy."

"How d'yer know I'm grinnin'?"

"'Cause I can see your jolly teeth shinin' in the dark. But I say, ole chap, I'm on for a confab. Ouch! my legs _are_ stiff. Wish I'd taken that hot bath your mother advised. Whatcher got in your ole noddle?"

"Something big, mates, but the difficulty will be with mother. You see, now ole Ben's prowlin' about, mother'll be hard to persuade."

"Well, tell us what's up your sleeve; we can discuss ways an' means after."

"It's this: go on a campin' trip to the Bay, where there's grand fishin'; then go out to the gold-diggin's, an' put in a couple o' days with the fossikers."

"Jemima! that'd be no end of a prime lark! It'd top off our stay here, wouldn't it, Tom?"

"Susan Jane! it would that, Joe. My word, it'd be a scrumptious finish! but what charnce would we have of carrying it out?"

"I don't think that either your Jemima or Susan Jane'll have much to do with it. Mother'll be the chief obstacle."

"What about a tent, Sandy? We'd have to get one, wouldn't we?"

"There'll be no trouble about that part of the business. There's a big drover's tent in the harness-room; 'sides, Harry has a small one he'd lend if necessary. Lemme see: what _would_ we want? First an' foremost, a tent or tents, an' a packhorse to carry 'em an' the other things. Then plenty o' prog, o' course: fishing lines--there's tip-top schnapper-fishin' down the Bay, to say nothin' of jew, bream, an' whitin'. Then, the guns--we ought to get some good shootin'; both fur an' feather."

"A fryin'-pan and a camp-oven 'ud come in handy, pannikins too, and some tin plates."

"Yes, yes, we'll need those; at any rate, the fryin'-pan for the fish. Don't think there'll be any need to bother about a camp-oven: it's a plaguey thing to carry; we wouldn't use it 'cept for bread, an' we can make plenty of damper in the ashes. But I'll tell you what we must have, an' that's a couple o' small barrels an' a good few pounds o' salt."

"Why, what for?"

"Fish. We'll be down at the Bay pretty near a week, I reckon; an' as we'll catch whips o' fish, it'd be a fine chance to dry some, an' salt some as well. Mother's got two good barrels that hold about half-a-hundred-weight each; they're salmon casks. The salmon's all used, an' I reckon schnapper is as good as salmon any day. That reminds me we'll want three or four sheath-knives; they'll come in handy for scalin' an' splittin' the fish."

"I say, Sandy, when'll we start?"

"Start! Ah--well--we'll talk about that when we get leave--which, let me tell you, is pretty doubtful. 'Twouldn't take long to get ready once we have permission: a day at most. I declare I'm gettin' sleepy. Good-night, chaps."

The boys opened at short range during the breakfast hour the next morning. In other words, they pled most vigorously for permission to camp out for a week or so, according to the programme concocted the night previously. The chief objection lay in the reappearance of Ben Bolt in the district. It was all in vain that the boys insisted that even were the redoubtable 'ranger to visit their camp, which was most unlikely--he would not harm them: would, in fact, have no interest in bailing up a parcel of boys. Mr. M'Intyre showed palpable signs of yielding, and had it been left to him would have granted a reluctant permission. The insurmountable barrier, as indeed the boys knew beforehand, lay in Mrs. Mac's excessive fear. She held the fort, so to speak, against all comers.

"I'm more sorry than I can tell you, boys, to say no, but nothing you could say would alter my mind. Neither Joe's mother nor Tom's would dream of letting them go camping out while those dreadful men are about."

The pals felt the reasonableness of the refusal, and showed not a flicker of resentment, though of course their disappointment was keen.

"I say, chaps, let's put in the mornin' fishin'," suggested Joe.

The vote was unanimous, and in a few minutes, armed with rods and lines and a tomahawk--the latter for use in cutting grubs out of the honeysuckle trees--the boys were _en route_ to some of the deep pools in the creek. They had a really good time with some giant perch. The dangling grubs formed an irresistible lure to these voracious denizens of the water-holes, and the fishermen had no reason to grumble at the result. On their return home to lunch they were dumbfounded with the news shouted out by Denny as soon as they were within speaking distance, "Owld Ben's dead!--shot by the p'lice in th' ranges."

The whole household was greatly excited by the news, which had been brought by a stockman from Captain White's station. There seemed no reason to doubt the intelligence, which had come via the "bush telegraph." Hennessey's lot had picked up the 'rangers' tracks and

## partly surprised them in the mountains. The outlaws promptly but barely

succeeded in getting away. They gradually drew away, however, from all save the Sergeant, who was on a new mount--one of the Tocal noted breed--which proved to be a "ringer."

The leader and his companion, who was a light weight, tried every dodge to shake off the pursuit, and in this they were past masters; but they had to reckon with Hennessey, who was one of the finest troopers in the force--as dare-devil a rider as Ben Bolt himself.

After some marvellous riding among the ravines and tangled mountain scrub--during which a few long-range shots had been exchanged--Hennessey began to draw upon the outlaws. Even that equine magician, Samson, was reaching his limits. The capture of this illusive freebooter seemed now a certainty, could the Sergeant hold out another ten minutes.

He was now within a hundred yards of his man. He lagged a little behind his youthful mate, who was riding the chestnut gelding looted from Wilson's station. Had he wished he could have shot the 'ranger down; but being extremely anxious to capture him alive for the bigger reward, he refrained. The only advantage Ben Bolt possessed was an intimate knowledge of the ground, by which he often gained a bit. They were now racing up a steep ravine which presently terminated abruptly at a precipice. Down this the outlaws apparently flung themselves; or so it appeared to Hennessey.

Arriving at the spot a few seconds later, the trooper perceived a winding, narrow pass. He was a stranger to the precipitous track, but both the bushrangers and their horses were familiar with it, for they slithered and scrambled down at breakneck speed: a single stumble, and man and horse would inevitably be dashed to pieces. In vain did the gallant Sergeant spur his steed towards the pass. His horse resolutely refused to face it. His chances of capture are fast diminishing to a vanishing point, as in a few minutes his prize will have escaped.

The outlaws have now reached the comparatively even ground below, distant about five hundred yards from where the trooper stood gnashing his teeth in rage, and praying that they might break their necks before they reach the bottom. Fortune favoured them, however, and they might have made good their escape without further trouble. But, instead of galloping off to safe cover, they reined up their steeds, while Ben Bolt, standing in his stirrups, shouted at the top of his voice an insulting message for the Sub-Inspector, making at the same time an ironical bow.

While this little piece of comedy was being enacted, and just as the bushranger was in the act of bowing, the Sergeant had dismounted. Swiftly throwing his rifle to his shoulder and adjusting his sights in an eye wink, he made a hasty but true shot. The outlaw had not finished his bow ere he toppled from his steed and lay prone, shot through the heart.

Such was the news brought by the stockman, and accepted by the station folk.

"Weel, it was bound to come sooner or later. It's what happens to a' law-breakers--simply the choice of bullet or rope. It's no' for us to ca' the unfortunate and misguided mon names. If a's true, he suffered a grave injuistice at the hands o' the police when but a youth, which embittered his whole life an' gave a moral twist to his actions. We maun leave him to Ane above wha mak's nae mis-judgments."

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