Читать книгу Son of Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 3

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THE Court was crowded. It was not often that a case of assault and cattle-stealing, coupled with an attempt at another robbery, came to enliven the Victorian country town, and each of the benches available for spectators was tightly packed. Already the air was close and heavy. The spectators bore it as best they could, looking forward hopefully to cool drinks at the break for lunch.

In more than one way the district considered that this was not an ordinary case. To begin with, it was associated with a new discovery of a gold-field, in itself a thrilling matter in Australia; already hundreds of men were digging feverishly in the wild hill-country where the first lucky man had carelessly kicked over a stone with a gleaming yellow streak some months before, and had since found enough to warrant big headlines in the city papers.

Then, too, the place was well known. The reef had been found on the outlying parts of Billabong Station, and David Linton of Billabong and his family had a popularity that went far beyond their own district. It was a happy station, where there were old hands who had worked half a lifetime for David Linton and were valued as friends: where new-comers met a friendliness that made them settle down with every intention of becoming old hands. There were no labour troubles on Billabong. The shearers who visited it yearly knew its reputation; knew they were coming to a place where they found a welcome, with everything arranged for smooth working. Throughout the district the name of Linton stood for justice and kindliness; which meant far more to the owners of Billabong than the fact that a gold-mine had been discovered on the station.

Gold, however, brings very different types of men in its train. The rush had scarcely affected the main station of Billabong, since its hill-country was more easily reached from the north. There was no prospect of a find to tempt diggers into the fertile plains where the Lintons’ sheep and cattle still grazed undisturbed. But into the hills had poured all sorts and conditions of men, good and bad: among them some who dreamed only of getting rich quickly, and had few scruples as to how it should be done. Trouble had come; and the man standing in the dock to-day was learning, much against his will, that to make trouble is not always a paying game.

He was a huge man, singularly unpleasant in appearance. Dirk hair grew low on his forehead; his fierce and brutal face was marked by the scars and the deformed ear that were the badges of a prize-fighter. Someone had likened him to a gorilla, and no description could have fitted him better. He slouched against the rail of the dock, looking savagely round the crowded benches; bitter hatred in his eyes as he stared at the three tall men of Billabong, David Linton and his son and son-in-law.

They did not look at him at all. The trial was necessary, the prisoner richly deserved all that was coming to him; but the whole affair was hateful to them, and they longed for it to be over. The long-drawn-out process of swearing-in the jury had been wearying, and the opening speeches and preliminary evidence seemed to take a needlessly long time. “Pity they can’t push things along a bit and put the poor brute out of his misery,” muttered Jim Linton, as one constable after another clumped in and out of the witness-box. “Can’t imagine how people find any fun in crowding in to stare at this sort of thing.”

“Queer taste,” agreed Wally Meadows. “I’d feel better if I could smoke.” He fingered his pipe longingly.

There were few women in the Court: none at all from Billabong. Here and there a brightly-coloured hat broke the lines of bareheaded men; their owners looking rather self-conscious and stiff. Only two among the feminine spectators were too deeply interested in the proceedings to care who looked at them. They were strangers to each other, but chance had put them together in a corner and from time to time they exchanged whispers.

One was a tall, thin woman with a hatchet face and dark eyes that held a twinkle. She was dressed in a faded jumper and riding-breeches, a battered felt hat pulled low on her forehead; so manly, at the first glance, that the constable on duty had been on the point of sternly instructing her to remove her hat in Court. He had checked himself just in time, which perhaps was as well for him, for the masculine-looking lady had a tongue which was no respecter of policemen.

Her neighbour was sturdily built, and had once been pretty. She was still young, but her face was lined and her eyes, set deeply, were haggard and anxious. She gripped her hand-bag as it lay on her knee so that her knuckles showed white. The thin woman had looked at her curiously when she came in, hurrying as if she feared to be late.

“Not started yet?” the new-comer had said, looking at the empty dock.

“No, but the Judge’ll be in pretty soon now.”

“Where—where’s the prisoner?”

“Oh, they don’t bring him along yet. Know anything about him?”

The other had shaken her head. “I’m a stranger here. Just thought I’d look in.”

“Well, you picked a good show. I wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China. You’ve read about it in the papers, of course?”

“Yes. I suppose there’s no doubt he did all they said, is there?”

“All, an’ a lot more. He’s got no defence at all—reg’lar farce tryin’ ’im, if you ask me. But I s’pose they’ve got to: the Law’s funny that way. Anyhow, it’s a real ’oliday for me to see ’im there. I seen plenty of him on the diggin’s, an’ the more I seen the less I liked ’im.”

The other was silent for a moment, looking down.

“Do you know the ... the people who got him run in?”

“Know ’em?” ejaculated the thin woman. “You bet I do. They’re friends of mine. That’s old Mr. Linton over there on the front seat, an’ Jim Linton’s the big chap on one side of ’im. The dark fellow on the other side is young Meadows, what married ’is daughter. They’re real white men, they are—done me many a good turn. An’ the two kids are young Bill Blake an’ ’is pal; it was them that trapped McGill at the finish. They don’t look half scared, do they? They reckoned it was goin’ to be a lark to come to Court, but I’ll bet they’d be glad to be out of it now. But Bill’ll give his evidence all right, or I’ll eat me ’at. Plenty of backbone, Bill’s got.”

“Did—did McGill hurt them?” asked her neighbour, watching the two fresh young faces beside Jim Linton.

“Well, ’e wasn’t ezactly gentle with ’em. But they got their own back all right: I reckon ’e’s sorry ’e ever met them. There’s the chap he really hurt—the ol’ Chow over yonder, next to the black fellow. He came close up to killin’ ol’ Lee Wing, an’ that’s what got the Lintons real mad. Lee Wing’s worked on Billabong for donkey’s years, an’ they think the world of ’im. He’s such a little bit of a chap, too—you’d ’ardly think that even a brute like McGill would ’ave gone for ’im, twice ’is size as ’e is, would you?”

“I suppose he must have been sort of desperate.”

“Desperate bad-tempered, if you ask me,” said the thin woman scornfully. “He’d had the father of a lickin’ from Jim Linton the day before, an’——”

Her neighbour started. “Linton licked him?”

“Good an’ plenty,” stated the thin woman, with great enjoyment. “I seen it all. Fought foul, too, McGill did, but that didn’t ’elp ’im. Why, you look real shocked, missus. You take my word, ’e deserved all ’e got.”

“Oh, I just didn’t know,” stammered the other. She stared at Jim Linton with hard eyes. “What did he want to go fighting for?”

“Lor’, ’e ’ad enough reason——” the thin woman began hotly. She fell silent suddenly as a stir in the Court heralded the entrance of the Judge.

The strange woman had watched restlessly for the appearance of the prisoner. Her eyes dwelt on him with a kind of hungry questioning; but when he looked her way he showed no hint of recognition, glancing aside indifferently. He had swaggered in, defiantly careless of being the centre of attraction to the crowd: possibly even enjoying it.

“Narsty-lookin’ beggar, isn’t he?” whispered the thin woman.

Her neighbour did not seem to hear. She was looking intently at the Judge, as if wondering what chances of mercy lay behind his keen face. She was very tired. In a half-dream she listened to the opening stages.

Counsel for the prosecution stated his case. The accused had come to the diggings with a number of men he had gathered, to try their luck. They had worked claims, but had found no gold. Food had been difficult to get; there was a long and rough journey to the nearest township. Young cattle were running in the hills, close at hand; a temptation to men who scarcely saw fresh meat. The Lintons had suspected for some time that calves were being killed by McGill’s party, and at length McGill himself had been caught red-handed. A Billabong stockman, a trusted aboriginal tracker, had been detailed to watch him. This man would swear that he followed the accused in the scrub and had seen him shoot and kill a calf and skin the carcase. Many witnesses had been present when he brought the meat back to his camp.

Counsel for the prosecution paused and drank a little water—possibly reflecting that his wig and gown were trials that no man should be expected to endure in a stuffy Court on a hot day.

“Even for this,” he continued, “the owners of the stolen cattle were not willing to call in the police and make a charge against the accused. They contented themselves, after a ... er ... somewhat heated interview, with warning the offending party off the diggings. Most of the men left next day. But the jury will be told that the accused did not go with his men: that instead, he visited the headquarters camp by stealth and made a brutal attack on one Lee Wing, an old Chinese employed as cook by Mr. David Linton, causing him grievous bodily harm; and that, leaving him unconscious, he made a desperate attempt to possess himself of gold belonging to the original finders of the reef; having, by threats, violence and intimidation, compelled two young boys to lead him to its place of concealment in a cave. But for the adroitness of these boys he would probably have succeeded in his project.”

The faces of the pair beside Jim Linton became extremely red at this point. They looked down modestly, wishing themselves anywhere else—even back at school.

Counsel’s voice droned on without any change of expression. He sat down presently: policemen gave evidence as to arrest of the accused, with the usual formalities. Proof of ownership of the cattle and the gold was given by a short, fair-haired young fellow, Robert Rainham. The thin woman nudged her neighbour as he left the witness-box.

“He’s English—sort of partner of the Lintons. Jim Linton’s goin’ to marry his sister next week. Good sort, Bob Rainham—he’s the chap as found gold first of all.”

It did not interest the stranger. She looked at the Billabong party resentfully, glancing from them to the hulking figure in the dock. They all looked so sure of themselves, so prosperous: and he was an outcast, without a friend in Court. Even the foxy-faced little lawyer for the defence looked as if he did not like his job. He had had no questions to put to the witnesses so far. But as Jim Linton’s name was called he looked more interested.

Jim towered in the box, almost as big a man as the prisoner. He gave his evidence in a quiet voice, making no attempt to enlarge on the accused’s doings. Yes, they had for some time put up with the cattle-stealing which they knew was going on. They were all very busy on their claims; it did not seem worth while to take steps. It was only when it became more daring that they had decided that something must be done about it, and had put a black stockman on to track the accused. He was able to report the shooting of a beast in time to enable them to meet McGill at his camp when he rode in with the meat in a sack.

“Did he admit his guilt?”

“No. He said he had shot a wallaby.”

“I presume,” said Counsel, “that it is not possible, to confuse the carcases of a calf and a wallaby?”

“Quite impossible,” said Jim gravely. There was a sound of suppressed laughter from the body of the Court.

“You had the meat examined before witnesses?”

“Yes. Most of the men on the diggings were there.”

“Did the accused give any explanation?”

“None at all.”

“And you did not threaten prosecution?”

“No. It did not seem worth while. I warned him and his gang that they had better clear out, and the men did so next morning, leaving McGill behind.”

The thin woman muttered something under her breath impatiently. She was clearly disappointed. The stranger, trying to catch what she said, could only hear, “Wot about the fight?” in despairing tones. She gave her attention to the witness again.

“We found Lee Wing, our old cook, unconscious at our camp,” Jim was saying. “He must have been quite alone when he was attacked. He was very badly knocked about—kicked, as well as beaten. It was some time before we could bring him round. When he was able to speak he told us that McGill had surprised him half-asleep.”

“Welly bad luck, that!” said Lee Wing from his seat—and was hushed into silence by a shocked policeman.

“Where did you find the accused?”

“In the undergound passage leading to the small cave where we stowed washed gold. He remained there until the police arrived.”

Counsel intimated that he had no further questions to ask. Counsel for the defence had only one.

“Can you swear that so far as your personal knowledge goes the accused had entered the caves for the sole purpose of stealing gold?”

“Certainly not,” said Jim blandly. “He might have gone there either for concealment or for exploration!”

Derisive laughter in Court was sternly checked, and Jim left the box. The thin woman showed exasperation.

“Why, they haven’t brought out half they could!” she whispered. “Not a single word about the fight, or when ol’ Lee Wing caught him tryin’ to rob their sluice-boxes! Clean daft, I call it——”

Walter Meadows was called. The little lawyer looked at him keenly. Younger than Jim Linton, more boyish, and he looked strained and tired: easier to handle than the big, grave fellow who had settled thankfully into his seat beside little Bill Blake. His evidence was mainly in support of his brother-in-law’s; he had been with him when the battered and senseless form of Lee Wing had been found. Wally believed that his ordeal was over. But Counsel for the defence stood up, ready for warfare.

“I should like to ask this witness if he can deny that before the alleged cattle-stealing he was on bad terms with the accused.”

Wally frowned.

“I did not consider myself on any terms whatever with him.”

“Yet you visited his camp and acted with violence and threats?”

“Not with violence. I told him what I thought of him for offensive conduct.”

“Possibly my client might have had something to say to you on the same score. I suggest that almost from the time he came to the diggings there was a deliberate attempt on the part of you and your friends to stir up bad feeling against him.”

“That’s not true!” said Wally hotly.

The little man smiled unpleasantly.

“Is it true that when my client visited your home and asked for food, relying on the customary Bush hospitality to strangers, your wife refused it?”

“My wife had excellent reasons for what she did,” Wally retorted, his dark face flushing.

“But she did refuse it?”

“Certainly. He was offensive——”

“It is so natural for wealthy land-owners to consider any poor man offensive when he may be suspected of wanting a share in their gold-field,” said the lawyer gently. “Were you present when he was turned hungry from your doorstep?”

“No, but——”

“Then of course you have no direct evidence to give on the point——”

Counsel for the prosecution protested hotly. The Judge ruled that the questions had nothing to do with the case against the accused, and directed the Counsel for the defence to keep to the matter in hand. This the Counsel for the defence, having gained exactly what he wished, was quite ready to do. He fixed his eyes on Wally again, realizing happily that he was extremely angry.

“You were with your brother-in-law when the Chinese was found unconscious. Have you any proof that the accused was the man who attacked him?”

“Why, Lee Wing’s own word, of course.”

“Yet Lee Wing was half asleep, we are told, when he was rushed. And he is an old man, easily able to make a mistake in his alarm and confusion.”

“Lee Wing is not the man to feel either,” said Wally flatly.

“That remains to be proved. Moreover, he is your servant, very ready to suspect the one man who had fallen out with you.”

“But they exchanged words before McGill knocked him down.”

“With anyone present?”

“How could there be? Lee Wing was alone.”

“Then there is only the word of a Chinese against the word of a white man——”

“I’d take Lee Wing’s word against a hundred white men’s,” exclaimed Wally furiously.

“But a jury of white men might not be so ready,” the suave voice gave back. “Does it occur to you that a good deal of the evidence alleged against my client depends on the statements of an aged Chinese and a totally illiterate blackfellow? And that both are the devoted servants of those who accuse him?”

“Yes—and as honest as the day,” retorted Wally. “And there is more evidence than that.”

“Can you supply it?”

“No. You’ll get that later.”

“Let us hope for the sake of the prosecution that it will be more convincing. I have no further questions to put to you.”

Wally went back to his seat, seething with anger: conscious of having let his temper get the better of him and bewildered at the way in which he had been handled. Somehow or other the fellow had contrived to create an atmosphere of suspicion against them: he had dragged his wife into it as if he knew that none of them would willingly let Norah appear in Court to give evidence. Who would have dreamed that he would bring up that matter of McGill’s visit to Billabong?

He glanced across the Court-room and met the eyes of a woman he did not know. She was deadly pale, but the eyes blazed at him with such an intensity of hatred that he forgot the lawyer in his astonishment. He knitted his brows, staring at her questioningly. Why on earth should a perfect stranger look at him like that? Then the fierce eyes drooped, and the woman slumped forward and slid to the floor.

There was mild commotion in the Court. The thin woman was bending over the stranger, trying to help her. The Judge gave a sharp order: two constables moved quickly and the unconscious woman was carried out. The Judge glanced at his watch.

“The Court is certainly very hot,” he remarked—and adjourned for lunch.