Читать книгу Outback Outlaw - Chris Blake - Страница 8

Suddenly, the mist vanished. Tom blinked. Shading his eyes from the fierce sun, he saw he was standing in a field of dry-looking grass with a few trees dotted about. Low, craggy hills stretched into the distance. The ground was red and dusty beneath his feet. Everywhere Tom looked there were sheep – hundreds and hundreds of sheep. He had never seen so many sheep in his life.

“Phew, it’s hot!” said Zuma. “Where are we?”

Tom turned round. The Aztec girl was still holding on to Chilli, but the blue paint was gone. She was wearing cord trousers, dusty boots and a long-sleeved shirt with a waistcoat over the top. Her feathered headdress had also vanished. In its place was a large straw hat. Zuma’s long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the black pendant that hung round her neck.

Looking down, Tom saw he was wearing a similar outfit. He thought hard. History was his favourite subject, but their clothes didn’t tell him much about where Tlaloc had sent them this time. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Or when. People have been wearing trousers, shirts and waistcoats for hundreds of years.”

“So much for your amazing brain power. Maybe we could—” Zuma stopped talking and squealed. “Hey, what’s that thing?”

Tom spun round. A grin spread across his face as he saw an animal bouncing across the field. “That,” he laughed, “is a kangaroo. Which means we’re in Australia, and explains why it’s so hot.”

“Aus-where?” Zuma looked puzzled.

“Australia. It’s a big continent on the other side of the world from Mexico,” said Tom. His face lit up with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Everyone says it’s amazing. It’s got loads of plants and animals you can’t find anywhere else in the world and—”

Zuma held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t get carried away, Brains,” she said. “We’re here to find my coin, not for a holiday.”

“OK, OK,” said Tom. “Shall we start by asking your necklace for help?”

Zuma nodded. The black pendant round her neck was magical. The stone gave them clues about where to find Tlaloc’s golden coins. She held up the pendant and said the rhyme that made the stone work:

“Mirror, mirror, on a chain,

Can you help us? Please explain!

We are lost and must be told

How to find the coins of gold.”

Tom and Zuma huddled over the necklace, waiting for a reply. Sure enough, spidery silver writing began to appear on the surface of the black disc:

In a time when outlaws raised a cheer,

Look for the man who knows no fear.

Listen out for a merry song

Follow the trail to the billabong.

Now that you are getting warm,

Seek out the loud bang in a storm.

Four more coins and then you’re free

The swag’s beneath a cabbage tree.

Zuma groaned. “Just once it’d be nice if it told us where to find the coin, rather than talking in riddles.”

Tom grinned. “That would be too simple,” he said. “Plus it’s fun trying to work out what they mean. Who do you think ‘the man who knows no fear’ is?”

“Maybe it’s him,” Zuma replied. She pointed to a man in the next field.

“I’m sure Tlaloc won’t have made it that easy,” said Tom.

“It’s worth a try,” Zuma told him. “Even horrible angry rain gods like Tlaloc make mistakes sometimes.”

Tom and Zuma walked across the stubbly field towards the man Zuma had spotted. Chilli ran at a sheep, barking. Then he quickly jumped into Zuma’s arms when it charged.

“Don’t worry, Chilli,” Tom laughed. “That sheep’s never seen a Chihuahua before – he doesn’t know how tough and brave you can be.”

The sun beat down and Tom was glad of the straw hat shading his face. As they got closer to the man, Tom saw he was holding a sheep between his legs. With expert hands he was snipping off the animal’s wool with large, odd-looking scissors. Next to him was a pile of fleeces.

“Hey there!” Zuma called, as they got closer. “We’re looking for the man who knows no fear.”

The sheep shearer looked confused. “You what?”

“The man who—” Zuma began.

“Maybe you could just point us in the direction of the nearest town,” Tom interrupted.

“It’s that way,” said the man. He scratched his chin and pointed. “You can’t miss it – it’s the only place for miles with more than two buildings.”

The walk took almost an hour under the hot Australian sun. Tom and Zuma often had to push through flocks of sheep that refused to move out of their way. By the time they arrived at the town they were thirsty and tired.

“I hope they have somewhere to cool off,” said Zuma, as they walked down the street.

“I’d love a glass of cold water,” said Tom.

“Forget a glass of cold water,” muttered Zuma. “I want to stand under a great big waterfall.”

Tom looked round, scratching his head. The Australian town was small and looked a lot like the places he and Zuma had seen in the Wild West. The shops and buildings were made of wood, and all had covered walkways in front to shade the townsfolk from the sun. The street was nothing but dusty, baked earth. It was completely empty.

“Where is everyone?” Tom asked.

Zuma shrugged. “Maybe there’s a waterfall round here after all.”

It wasn’t long before Tom’s question was answered. At the other end of the street a group of people appeared. They were walking slowly with their hands in the air. Behind them were three men wearing shabby, dirty clothes. All three looked like they needed a shave. And each was holding a gun.

“Listen up!” one shouted. “Do what you’re told and no one gets hurt.”

Before they could be spotted, Zuma grabbed Tom’s sleeve and pulled him into a grocery store.

“I think it’s a hold-up,” Tom whispered. “Those men look like they’re taking the whole town hostage! They must be outlaws. Let’s get out of here before they find us too.”

“But what about my coin?” Zuma hissed back.

“We’ll worry about the coin later,” said Tom.

Zuma nodded. With Chilli at their heels, they began to creep away. “Follow me,” said Tom, leading Zuma into a narrow alley. “We can hide here.”

“Sorry, mate. I don’t think you can,” said a gruff voice.

Tom gulped as a sandy-haired man with grizzly stubble stepped out in front of them. In the man’s hands was a pistol. It was pointing straight at them.

Tom and Zuma walked backwards out of the alley, raising their hands. “Don’t shoot, we’re just travellers,” said Tom quickly.

“You picked the wrong day to visit this town, traveller,” said the man, with a sneer.

“What’s going on?” asked Zuma. “Who are you?”

The outlaw spat on the ground. Turning his gun on Zuma he said, “Well, missy, I’m Dusty Moore. I belong to Brave Ben Hall’s outback gang. You and your friend here are my hostages. Now move it!”