Читать книгу Three Years with Thunderbolt - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 7

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Next morning when I awoke I had utterly forgotten what had happened on the previous night, but as I drowsily turned over on my side I caught sight of Thunderbolt's sleeping face, and, with a rather painful shock, I remembered, and I realised, moreover, that I had pledged myself to a career of crime. A thrill of fear shot through my breast, and I asked myself was it yet possible for me to turn back. Could I not, while Thunderbolt still slept, steal away from his side, and plunge into the bush? Next instant, however, a thought of my stepfather stifled the awakening impulse, and before I could answer my own questions Thunderbolt and I were looking into each other's eyes.

"Will, my boy," he said, smiling kindly, "I see you are here still. I dreamed that you had cleared out, and I can tell you I feel quite cut up about it."

"No fear, Fred," I answered, with a little guilty shiver, "I'll not leave you like that."

He got up and produced two cakes of soap from his swag. One he tossed to me, and with the other he strolled off towards the creek, saying he would take a bath. I followed suit, and a little later we were splashing in the creek, shouting and singing like a pair of blithe-hearted children. The hot morning sun served us for a towel, and when we had dressed again Thunderbolt directed me to prepare breakfast while he looked after his horse. He was away for so long that I began to feel quite anxious about him, when of a sudden I heard distant hoof-beats, and he soon appeared, approaching me at full gallop, mounted on Combo, and leading another horse by a bridle. The led horse was by no means such a fine animal as Combo, but he looked speedy, and did not lack breeding, as I perceived at a glance.

"Hello, Fred!" I shouted. "I thought you had cleared out. Where did you get that horse?"

"Oh, not far off. I had him stalled in Clarke's paddock. What do you think of him, Will?"

"No slouch," said I. "He looks as if he could both run and stay."

"I'm glad you like him," replied the outlaw, "for from this moment he is yours!"

I shouted with delight, and darted forward to examine my prize more closely. The more I looked at him the more I liked him. He was an upstanding grey with black points. His head was small and beautifully shaped, and although his barrel was a trifle long his chest was broad, and he was ribbed up like a greyhound. "I annexed him from a station down south about three months ago," said Thunderbolt. "Fortunately, he is as quiet as a lamb, for you'll have to ride him barebacked until I can steal a saddle for you."

"That won't trouble me," I cried, and a second later I was astride the animal, and off at a smart canter through the bush to try his paces. When I returned Thunderbolt was half through his breakfast, so tying my horse I joined him, and made a hearty meal. During that forenoon Thunderbolt gave me my first lesson in pistol shooting, and so apt a pupil did I prove that the outlaw presented me with his spare revolver.

After lunch he decided to shift camp, as his habit was never to stay in one spot for any length of time, lest the police should get wind of his whereabouts. We mounted, therefore, and set out towards the house of Charley ———'s father, at which place we intended to call for news. We had not proceeded for more than three miles, however, when we came upon the selector himself and a mounted trooper, with whom the former was in animated converse.

"Shall we run for it, Fred?" I muttered excitedly.

Thunderbolt smiled. "Not much," he replied. "There is not a policeman in the country who would dare to tackle me single-handed. You watch!"

He set spurs to his horse and approached the pair at a slow trot. I close behind him.

The policeman looked at us very sharply, but he made no attempt to interfere with our progress, and he even returned a surly, "Good morning," in answer to Thunderbolt's genial greeting.

Nothing had ever so thoroughly surprised me, for in my boyish innocence I had until that moment believed a policeman to be the incarnation of stern and reckless bravery. I confess, however, that long after we had passed the talking pair I had a curious cold feeling in my back, just as though I expected a bullet to pursue and strike me.

Thunderbolt made very merry over the trooper's cowardice, and when I explained my old opinion to him, he laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Why, Will," he cried at last, "policemen are human beings like ourselves, and they don't care about courting bullets any more than other men do. Did you think they were made to order like machines?" I recognised then the folly of my previous impression, and I never afterwards felt much fear of the police.

Late in the afternoon we reached Carlisle Gully, but while we were still half a mile away from the public-house there Thunderbolt explained to me a plan that he had formed to procure me a saddle. Acting on his instructions, I dismounted and walked to the Carlisle Hotel, leaving him to follow later on leading my horse.

I found the landlord standing in the bar-room.

"Good-day," said he.

"Good-day, sir," I replied. "Have you seen a drover riding a chestnut horse and leading a grey?"

He shook his head. "None that I know of, my lad."

"Dash it!" I cried. "He should be here by now."

"Where are you camped?" asked the landlord.

"Down the road a bit, with a cart," I answered, carelessly.

Just then Thunderbolt rode up. "Hallo, Jack!" he cried to me. "Where is the cart?"

"About a quarter of a mile down the road," I replied. Thunderbolt then asked me if I had any feed in the cart for the horses. I replied that I had none left, and he pretended to be very annoyed.

"Why not feed them in my stables?" suggested the landlord.

Thunderbolt hesitated a bit, but finally agreed. The landlord called the groom, and our horses were led off, whereupon Thunderbolt entered the bar and invited the landlord to drink. When the groom re-appeared Thunderbolt shouted for him, too, and they kept on drinking for the next couple of hours, by which time both the landlord and the groom were very drunk. Thunderbolt, however, although he took quite as much liquor as the others, did not seem to be affected, and at a nod from him I stole at length away from the bar, and made my way to the stables. There were four saddles there on the rack besides Thunderbolt's. I chose the best of the lot, and strapped it upon my grey horse. I then saddled Combo, and returned to the hotel.

"All right!" I said to the outlaw. "What about getting back to camp, Harry?"

"Net yet," replied Thunderbolt. "The Bendemeer coach will be here soon, and, as I'm expecting a parcel, I reckon we will wait."

"I want to see if there are any police aboard," he added, in an undertone. "If there are not, we'll stick it up!"

I felt very excited at that, and had to walk about in order to keep control over my nerves. Thunderbolt, on the other hand, was as cool as possible, and he kept on shouting for the landlord and the groom for the next hour, when both fell asleep in their chairs. He then went behind the bar and emptied the till into his pockets. We were still counting the money (it amounted to about £3) when we heard the mailcoach coming in the distance. We at once slipped out of the house and darted for our horses, which we led out from the stables to the side of the hotel, which was darkest. Peering from the shadows, we watched, unseen, the coach draw up before the hotel. It had scarcely stopped before the driver and five policemen climbed down on to the road and began to stretch their cramped limbs.

"The odds are too great," said Thunderbolt, in a whisper. "Come on, Will!" We very quietly mounted, and when the police had gone into the bar we walked our horses out upon the road, and slipped, unnoticed, away. A few minutes later we were galloping along in the direction from which the coach had come, and we made our camp that night a few miles further on, and not 50 yards from the main Bendemeer road, so frank a contempt had Thunderbolt for the police.

For the next few months we led a very quiet life, and did not commit a single crime. When we needed provisions we rode into a village, after reconnoitring for police, and bought what we required at the stores. The police were after us the whole time, it is true; but we never once encountered them, for among the settlers all over the New England district Thunderbolt had many staunch friends, and these kept us informed of all the plots formed by the police to trap us or track us down. Our life during that time was extremely pleasant, although uneventful. Thunderbolt was a most charming companion to me. He had read a great many romantic novels in his younger days, and he had so wonderful a memory that he could repeat them almost by rote. Moreover, he liked relating these stories as much as I did listening to them, so we were mutually entertained. We occupied the hours of daylight shifting camp, roving about leisurely from place to place, far through the lonely bush, so that we might never be located by our hunters. I loved the evenings best, however, for then we always lazed by the camp fire, and Thunderbolt either told me exciting stories of adventure by flood and field or sang sweet songs to me with his pathetic and melodious voice. I had never been so happy in my life before, and I grew to like my outlawed partner more and more with the passing of each day; aye, and respect him, too. Thunderbolt was doubtless a bad man in the sense that he was a law-breaker and lived by the crime of violent theft. But in most other ways he was as good a man as I have met before or since. For one thing, he was exceptionally clean minded, and in all our intercourse I never heard him use any foul language, nor say a thing that a woman would have blushed to hear. He hated meanness of any sort, and all the small vices bred of bush life and ways of living. In his personal habits he was almost finickingly particular, and if deprived by force of circumstances of his morning bathe in a creek or stream, he was out of sorts for the rest of the day. He was as careful of his hands as a city gentleman, and on one occasion when I broke his nail scissors he obliged me to ride with him 30 miles out of our course in order to visit a town where he could procure another pair. His worst fault was his temper. It was quick and frightfully passionate, and once aroused he stormed like a fury until the fit passed. Then, however, he was so full of remorse for what he had said and done that it was impossible not to forgive him. Our first quarrel occurred when I broke his scissors. He saw me do it, and although he must have perceived that it was by accident, he lost his self-control on instant. His face turned scarlet, and he advanced upon me with clenched fists, shouting and cursing like a madman. I was so terrified by the suddenness of the attack that I fell back until I was brought up by a tree. I thought he meant to kill me. Next moment, however, he stopped short, his face white as a sheet, and in a trembling voice he began to ask my pardon, calling himself intermittently by all the evil names that he could think of.

On another occasion, late one afternoon, on which it was my turn to prepare our evening meal, I inadvertently allowed the damper to burn, whereupon he broke out into another fit of ungovernable rage. I was better prepared for him then, however, and I returned him as good as he gave, for I thought to myself that the best way to cure him would be to show him that I had a spirit equal to his own. Seizing a brand from the fire I whirled it in his face, and I swore that unless he withdrew his threats at once I would mark him for life. The affair ended very curiously. He burst out on a sudden into an immoderate fit of laughter, which was so infectious that soon I was laughing too, and we shook hands on a common impulse. But he told me afterwards that he was very glad I had shown so much pluck, and he begged me, if ever he lost his temper again, not to give way to him. "For," said he, "I would not hurt you for the world when in my senses, Will, my lad, and if you were to strike me I'd calm off quickly, since, whatever else I am I'm not a coward, and I'd shoot myself before I'd strike a young 'un like you!"

The encounters that I have related, instead of breeding bitterness between us, rather sealed our friendship than otherwise, and for my part, before three months had gone by, I felt such a lively affection for my companion that I was ready to lay down my life for him. This was not such a strange thing as it might appear to some of those who read these pages, for it must be remembered that since I was a child of six I had been treated by my stepfather with the utmost brutality, and seldom had a day passed while I was at home in which I was not kicked or thrashed—often quite unjustly.

Thunderbolt, on the other hand, treated me with the greatest kindness and courtesy. It was within his power to have made me his servant had he liked, and to have obliged me to perform the major portion at least of the rough work attendant upon our gipsy wandering life.

The man was, however, too fine a gentleman at heart to take advantage of my youth, even despite the fact that he was naturally of an indolent disposition. He shared what work there was to do equally between us, and, although I was more than willing to perform the lion's portion, he never allowed me to do more than his sense of justice had originally allotted me. Beyond that, he invariably displayed an affectionate consideration for my health and comfort, and when we camped for the night he always took care to see that I was "snugger," as he called it, before he lay down to sleep himself.

It can, therefore, scarcely be wondered at that I, a boy of 15, with such a past as I had to look back upon, should have become speedily reconciled to a life which, however lawless, seemed infinitely preferable to that which I hated to remember. It is true that I often pined to see my mother, and sometimes, too, I felt apprehensive of the future. But I cannot claim that I was more reflective than other bush lads of my age. I lived for the most part from day to day, and it only required that Thunderbolt should sing me a song, or tell me one of his stirring stories, to banish from my heart all traces of dull care.

By the end of the period I have named we had wandered as far north as the Queensland border. I thought that the outlaw intended to cross the line, but, to my surprise, one morning as we were riding along he pulled up, without giving me a previous hint of his intention, and pointed south.

"Look!" he cried.

I peered for a moment or two in the direction indicated, but, although I strained my eyes, I could see nothing unusual—only road, sky, and plain.

"What is it, Fred?" I asked at last.

"The Moonbi Ranges," he replied.

"What nonsense," I gasped. "You cannot see them, I'm sure—they are nearly 200 miles away!"

"I can see them!" he protested. "Ay, and I can see my wife and kiddies, too. Will, I am homesick."

"Homesick!" I repeated, stupidly.

"Yes, laddie; I am homesick. I want to see my wife again, and the kiddies. And now is the time. I've been so long away from the Moonbi that the police will have grown careless by this, and they won't be watching out for me. Besides, we have had a good holiday. We must get to work. My wife will be wanting money."

"All right, Fred," I replied. "But I thought you had plenty of coin left yet."

"No, Will, only enough to last us on the road. I left a hundred with a friend at Barraba to give Sunday before we started, and we have lived like fighting cocks since then. Come on!"

Without more ado we forthwith began our journey back towards our starting point, and we reached the Moonbi less than a week afterwards without having met with any adventure worthy of note. On the afternoon of our arrival we pitched our camp in a big gully situated a few hundred yards from the main Barraba road, and about four miles from the cottage in which Thunderbolt's wife and family resided. All that day the outlaw had been hilariously rejoicing at the prospect of seeing his wife again so shortly, and the nearer we approached our destination the more like an excited schoolboy he behaved, shouting and singing as blithely as though he were the happiest man in the world, rather than a robber, with a price set upon his head. As soon as dusk fell he mounted his horse, and would not even wait to partake of the supper that I had prepared for him. Indeed, I fancy that he had had to fight himself to wait for the dark, necessary as such a precaution was.

With a cheery "Good-bye, Will. I'll be back when you see me!" he swung off down the gully at a reckless pace, and I soon lost sight of him. It was the first time that I had been alone for several months, and I felt miserable. But, fortunately, I was very weary, and before long I fell asleep.

When I awoke the sun was shining, and Thunderbolt was standing over me, holding Combo by the bridle, a black frown upon his face.

"What, Fred!" I cried, "back already? Is anything the matter?"

"The police! Damn them!" he replied. "I hadn't been in the house two hours before a sergeant and two troopers came along. I had to slip out of the back and take to the bush."

"Did they see you?"

"No; but they are watching Sunday as if she was a mouse, and they were cats. They never let her alone for a day at a time. They would arrest her as my accomplice if they dared. But, thank God, they can't do that. Its against the law, as she is my lawfully wedded wife."

"Did you wait till they went?"

"I waited a bit, but the swine camped on the verandah, and I had to sneak away at last. Never mind, I'll fix 'em. I'll give 'em something to do besides terrorising women. And I'll see my wife again as well before two days go by, if I die for it—by God!"

"What will you do, Fred?"

"Rest ourselves, and let the horses rest to-day; but to-night we'll light out for the Moonbi, and to-morrow morning we'll stick up the mail coach. And then, Will, I'll show you how to outwit the police. But I'm tired out, laddie, now, and I guess I'll take a sleep."

Suiting the action to his words, he handed over Combo to me, and crept beneath a ledge of the gully that was shaded from the sunlight. There he spread out his rug, and, casting himself down, was soon slumbering in a fashion that showed me how utterly worn out he must have been.