Читать книгу The Outlaws of Weddin Range - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 6

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Ben had no difficulty in disposing of the lease of his run. As soon as his wishes were known, John McGuire, a man who had been associated with him in several business transactions, made an offer which he promptly accepted, and Ben thereupon commenced the work of mustering his horses. The task was not a light one. The run straggled over a wide expanse of difficult and broken country, and as dividing fences were non-existent, Ben's neglected stock had scattered far and wide during his imprisonment. His first care was to patch up the yards, which he found in a disgraceful condition of disrepair, the hand of the fire vandal and the panel thief being everywhere apparent. Ben suspected Constable Garrett, but, lacking proof, he accused nobody. His anxiety, however, to evade the district greatly increased, and he labored like a Titan to get everything in order. Assisted as he was by two willing, capable, and reputable stockmen, the job proceeded apace; nevertheless, although all hands toiled night and day, no more than three-fourths of his horses had been collected at the end of seven weeks. The work was still in full swing when Sir Frederick Pottinger and Sub-inspector Sanderson suddenly appeared upon the scene. They came upon Ben and his two assistants just as the trio, tired out from a very hard day's exertions, were about to discuss the evening meal, seated about their camp-fire near the north end of the stock-yards. The house was not far distant, but Ben hated the sight of it, and, ever since the work of mustering began, he had eschewed its shelter, preferring to live and sleep in the open air. And his men, who knew his reasons and respected his feelings, had never grumbled to forfeit the superior comfort they ought have enjoyed by occupying the empty homestead. Perfectly unconscious of the cause of the police visitation, Ben gave the officers a cordial bush welcome to his camp, and invited them to supper. The invitation was accepted, and Ben hospitably ransacked his stores to set his best dainties before the unexpected guests. During the meal the talk was general, but when pipes were lighted, Ben politely asked what had brought the officers to Sandy Creek. Sir Frederick Pottinger's reply was a startling one. "The Eugowra escort robbery," he said. Ben Hall and the stockmen gazed at him in frank surprise, having heard nothing of the affair, and they eagerly requested information. Pottinger smiled meaningly. "On the fifteenth of this month (June)," said he, "Frank Gardiner and his gang stuck up and overcame the Lachlan gold escort, on the Forbes-road, near Eugowra. They severely wounded one trooper, and they carried off fifteen thousand ounces of gold. It is the greatest highway robbery that has ever been perpetrated. The robbers are still at large."

"What an amazing story!" cried Ben, and his men exclaimed in unison. Their astonishment was sincere, but Sir Frederick Pottinger (let us hope) believed they acted a part. With studied carelessness he got afoot, and at a nod from him Sanderson also rose. Next second Ben and his stockmen were staring into the muzzles of cocked revolvers. "I want you all in the Queen's name," said Pottinger; "you are charged with complicity in the outrage, and I require you to accompany me immediately to Forbes." The prisoners offered no resistance. Indeed, for a time, they were too dazed even to protest. But as the hand-cuffs snapped on Ben's wrists his mind cleared, and he found his tongue. "Look here, Sir Frederick," he began, "you are making a cruel mistake. I give you my word of honor that you are. For the last seven weeks we three have never for one moment been absent from this run. We have been fencing and mustering all the time. I can guess the name of the man who set you on to me. But surely your last experience of his untrustworthiness should have taught you what he is. He hates me, and would stop at nothing to——"

"I'll hear nothing against Constable Garrett," interrupted the chief of police with warmth. "He is a zealous officer, and I esteem him highly."

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Surely he is not unsusceptible to error," he protested. "Look around you, Sir Frederick. Examine the work we have been doing, and I'm sure you will speedily be convinced that I am perfectly innocent, and that for a second time I have been falsely accused."

"It is too dark to examine anything," observed Sub-inspector Sanderson.

"Then," cried Ben, "for heavens' sake wait until to-morrow. Nay, Sir Frederick, do not say 'Impossible.' I implore you to do it. You will lose but a night, and you will gain my eternal gratitude."

"You are very anxious that we should stay the night here," said Pottinger suspiciously.

"It is because my interests are at stake. Because I am certain that when you have seen what we have been doing you will realise how utterly impossible it is that I or either of my hands could have been with Gardiner—a man I have never even seen."

Pottinger smiled meaningly. "Methinks you do protest too much," he quoted; "it seems to me that your anxiety might just as well arise out of a hope of being rescued. Gardiner has been traced to yonder mountains, and for aught I know he may at this very moment be overlooking us. Say no more, Hall. I would like to oblige you, and I trust you may be able to clear yourself as effectively as you did last May at Orange. But my duty is clear. We start at once for Forbes. Sanderson (he turned to the sub-inspector), do you go and saddle up for our prisoners while I keep them under cover here. And use despatch, please. We have a long ride before us, and have lingered here too long already."

Ben Hall looked his captor straight in the eye: "For seven weeks I have been toiling here like any nigger," he said quietly; "my muster is on the verge of completion. If you persist in your intention all my work will be undone and wasted, and a whole season will be lost to me. As I am situated, that would mean something very like my ruin. Will you really put such an injustice on an innocent, and, as God hears me, an honest man? Think the matter over for a moment, Sir Frederick, before you finally decide. And remember this: I have lived in this district ever since I was a little lad. For fifteen years no man has had a fault to find with me. I dare to say that no man could, for I have wronged none and benefited many. Moreover, I am no pauper. In yonder stockyard is enough living wealth, all mine, to put me always over and beyond the reach of want; why, then, should I have broken out to become a thief and an outlaw? My whole life refutes the notion, and paints it either as a senseless fancy or the deliberate invention of an enemy."

Sir Frederick Pottinger listened civilly to Ben's address; but at the last word he shook his head. "You speak well and speciously," he responded, "but my information is precise, and it definitely points to your guilt."

"Although it comes from a tainted source," cried the other pointedly.

Pottinger frowned. "Constable Garrett has been slandered by you before," he said, "I shall listen to no more abuse of him."

"He has sworn to ruin me," cried Ben, "sworn it publicly before a crowd of people."

"Before a crowd of tap-room loungers and criminals, whose word would not hang a mangy dog," sneered the chief.

"And every one of them a better man than he."

Sir Frederick's lips curled, as he kicked the firelight into a brilliant glow. "You are prejudiced," he remarked.

"And you are infatuated."

The chief was seen to flush. "I can well afford to ignore your impertinence," he said loftily, "and let me tell you that Garrett can equally afford to ignore your splenitic hate of him. There was some rivalry between you concerning a woman, was there not? But you need not answer, Mr. Hall, I am tired of gossip. Garrett is a respectable man and a valuable officer, and I am quite satisfied that he would not wilfully mislead me."

Ben, at length, threw every diplomatic consideration to the winds. "Sir Frederick Pottinger," said he, "malignant and unscrupulous constables like Garrett, and infatuated fools of commanders like you are a danger to the community. You are mighty poor thief-catchers, as the records prove, but your worst fault is that you manufacture criminals; not satisfied to fail repeatedly and almost constantly in your duty to protect the public from born rogues, you harry and hound down decent men against whom any member of the force has conceived a grudge until in very desperation they take to the bush. You and your protege would like me to be a robber, and you are trying to make one of me, although you know that I am an honest man. I warn you to take care, for if you succeed I shall be a robber to some purpose, and, by the Lord above us, I shall never rest until I get my full revenge."

The chief of police had a scarlet face before this diatribe was over, yet he did not lose his self-control. Sir Frederick was by no means a brilliant officer, and his many notorious failures to put down and punish violent crime had brought his professional capacity into general discredit. Every word that Ben had spoken hurt him sorely and bitterly galled his self-esteem. But he was an upright man, and his sense of justice was keen. He reflected that Ben might, after all, be innocent, in which case his outbreak might be granted some excuse. Collecting his dignity, he said, coldly. "You have a hot imagination, Mr. Hall; nobody wants you to become a robber; and I, for one, sincerely hope you are as honest as you pretend to be. That, however, remains to be proved. In the meantime I must insist that you keep your malicious and wholly unwarrantable opinions to yourself."

Ben shrugged his shoulders, and said no more. A few moments later the journey to Forbes commenced. It was a long way, and, for the most part, a silent ride. It ended at the town gaol, but Ben was the only one of the three prisoners put into durance vile. The stockmen were merely required to promise that they would report themselves from time to time, and then, much to their surprise, they were set at liberty. The police despised such small game, perhaps.