Читать книгу Son of Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 5

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PEOPLE hurried back to the Court House in good time after lunch. Rumours had gone round that McGill’s lawyer had been trying to spring surprises; that it was possible that the case was not going to be so easy as it looked. Fresh interest was given to the spectators by the appearance of Norah and Tommy, who sat between David Linton and Wally, looking about them with frank curiosity: careful, when McGill was brought in, to keep their eyes from his direction.

Dick Yorke was unhappy. Bill had impressed on him, walking back from the hotel, that there was nothing to be scared about. Bill had been so fierce that Dick privately wondered if he wasn’t a bit scared himself of what the foxy-faced lawyer might do to them.

“Don’t you see, you old ass, Dick, we can’t go wrong? We’ve got so little to tell, but it all counts. And we know every word of it. Jim says I’m to be called first—you’ve only got to stick to every word I say.”

“And suppose you forget anything?”

“How on earth can we forget? We’ve only one story to tell, and each bit fits into another. Bob says the beginning’s the worst, until we get used to the sound of our own voices. And we’ll have the decent lawyer for that part. By the time McGill’s bird begins to ask questions we’ll be feeling right as rain.”

It had sounded cheering enough then, but Dick wasn’t so sure now, sitting in the stuffy Court and looking at the foxy-faced enemy, who showed not the slightest interest in them. To their horror, the counsel for the prosecution came presently and chatted to him in a most friendly manner; after which both boys held the unshakable view that no lawyer was to be trusted a yard.

Then things were beginning again, and the once-respected Counsel was on his feet and asking for permission to recall James Linton: and Jim was in the box looking perfectly unconcerned, while both lawyers squabbled fiercely—the enemy protesting against the reopening of a matter which had already been put aside as having no bearing on the case. Finally the Judge ruled that as accusations of an unfriendly feeling had been made, they might be answered. Jim was asked to state what had occurred between his sister and the accused.

“I think,” he said in his slow, pleasant voice, “that the accused is the only man who has ever been refused food at Billabong. And he would not have been refused it if he had asked for it civilly. But he and one of his men came to the house, and unfortunately found my sister alone, except for her little son. Later our old housekeeper appeared; the rest of us were out in the paddock. The men, and in particular the accused, were rude and threatening; they had not come for a meal, but—in their own words—to have a look round. The accused, however, went further, and ordered my sister insultingly to prepare a meal for them——”

Counsel for the defence broke in, hotly protesting that this had nothing to do with the case in hand.

“The witness may proceed,” said the Judge, who was clearly interested. Bill and Dick, having momentarily clutched at each other in dismay, breathed freely again.

“My sister refused. Her child was in her arms; the little fellow had shown that he disliked the accused’s manner to his mother. The accused ordered her to give the boy to him, declaring that he would teach him a lesson. He seized his arm to pull him away from her. Fortunately the child’s scream was heard by a dog who is devoted to him, and the dog arrived in time to prevent further trouble. Except, that is, for the accused.”

A ripple of laughter went round the Court.

“Were you present at any part of this scene?” asked Counsel for the prosecution.

“I arrived in time to find the accused in some confusion. The dog was ... er ... attached to his leg.”

The emotion that broke out in the benches at this moment had to be sternly repressed. Counsel for the defence, looking sour, rose in his turn.

“Did your sister incite this savage dog to attack the accused?”

“She did not. It was not necessary: the dog knew his duty.”

“It seems curious,” said the little lawyer with a sneer, “that this story was not ready to be told when the matter was before the Court this morning.”

“It was not told because my brother-in-law had no wish to bring his wife into the Court. Moreover, he was not present, so his evidence would only have been hearsay. We saw no reason to mention the incident; it had nothing to do with the charges against the accused. We considered that our dog had punished him, and that ended the matter. But my sister is now in Court, if her evidence is required. And Mrs. Brown, our housekeeper, could be brought to corroborate her statements.”

The lawyer sat down, accepting defeat. The Judge referred to his notes and put a question on his own account.

“It has been suggested in previous evidence that your brother-in-law visited the accused’s camp and spoke to him with violence. Was that in connection with this incident?”

“Yes. My brother-in-law went alone to their camp when he heard of it, and offered to fight any or all of them.”

“Was that challenge accepted?”

“No. The other men seemed unwilling to meet him. The accused, unfortunately, was lame at the time.”

“Was his lameness due to the action of your nephew’s dog?”

“I think it probable, sir,” said Jim gently.

Once more laughter in Court had to be checked. It was doubtful if the Judge’s mouth was quite under control. He bent his head over his notes for a moment before looking up sharply.

“There is no need to call further evidence in this matter. Next witness.”

Norah drew a long breath of relief. She felt Wally’s hand close hard over hers: they smiled at each other. The little lawyer was very far from smiling. He was reflecting bitterly on the pitfalls of acting for a client who kept back vital facts from his legal adviser—but his bitterness was slightly eased by the knowledge that the dog had bitten the client.

Billy, the black stockman of Billabong, was next: and Billy in the witness-box was a problem for any lawyer, since his English, limited at any time, almost deserted him in his hour of need, and he merely gaped at the questions and muttered unintelligibly, casting agonized looks at his employer. Finally the Judge suggested that Mr. Linton might act as interpreter, and Counsel thankfully agreed.

“Billy,” said David Linton, quietly. “You remember tracking some fellow shooting calves in the scrub?”

“Plenty mine remember orri’, Boss.”

“Well, you just tell me about it. You tell true, mind, Billy. Where did you start?”

“Mine start from gold-camp, trackem that pfeller,” said Billy, indicating McGill with a contemptuous jerk of his thumb. “Him ride about in scrub long time, mine bin plenty dodge round, walk about, watchem close. Him nebber spot this pfeller—him plenty sulky chap, plenty stupid. Him findem calf longa gully, shootem quick, sit down longa calf an’ skinnem, cut ’em up calf quick, takem camp. Mine bin run back camp one-time, tellem Mas’ Jim.”

“I hope that is clear, sir?” asked Mr. Linton.

“I think I may say that I caught his drift,” said the Judge guardedly. “Has the jury been able to understand this part of the evidence?”

The jury consulted together, and the foreman stated that they had understood. He desired to ask if Mr. Linton could guarantee the black witness as a man to be relied on.

“He has been with us over thirty years, and I would trust him with anything on Billabong,” said David Linton. “I could bring a dozen witnesses to swear to his character.”

Even the Counsel for the defence shrank from dealing further with Billy, and he was allowed to go. Old Lee Wing took his place, a small, broad-shouldered figure, his yellow face placid. He told his story quietly. He had been resting after dinner at the camp near the caves, waking up suddenly to find McGill near him. McGill threatened to kill him if he called out. No, he did not call—not because of McGill, but because he knew the little boys were in the cave, and he was afraid they would come out and get hurt. McGill was very angry with everybody, and said he was going to have the last laugh. He shook him and dragged him about: then he knocked him down. Lee Wing did not know anything after that until he found Mas’ Jim and Mas’ Wally looking after him.

“Can you swear that it was the accused and not some other man?” asked Counsel for the defence.

“I swear that, all li’. No other man’s so big—not even Mas’ Jim.”

“Was there any other man who was not friendly to you?”

“No. All camp welly fliendly with Lee Wing.” He smiled. “Any digger sick, Boss lettee me cally um soup.”

A large digger at the back of the Court was here understood to remark “You bet he did,” but was instantly suppressed.

“Had the accused any special reason for attacking you?”

“Welly good leason.” For an instant the slanting brown eyes were fixed on the man in the dock. There was indeed a cause for making McGill long to hit Lee Wing’s head whenever he could safely do so, but at the moment the last thing he wanted was to hear it detailed in Court. He quailed visibly under the steady gaze.

“Look at me, please, not at the accused,” said the lawyer sharply. “What was that reason?”

“Me cave-guard. Evelyone else away at shaft. S’pose me see him go cave, me makee hollible shindy, evelyone come one-time. Muchee more better for him he bash me. Keepee me quiet.”

“Did you make any resistance?”

“Whaffo?” said Lee Wing, with a shrug. “Him top-size bigger. Me watchee his eyes, dlop back as him hit, all-same not get quite killee.” The thick slow voice made every broken word clear; there was no listener who could not picture the giant towering over him, see the great fist driving into his face. Counsel for the defence regretted that he had asked the question. He sat down.

“Call Percival Blake.”

Bill had not expected that, and it shook him badly. The hated name of Percival might have been left out, he felt; even if mistaken godfathers and godmothers had saddled him with it, to Billabong he was just Bill. His cheeks matched his hair in redness as he marched across to the box. Also his heart was pounding curiously, and there was an unpleasant dryness in his mouth. Would he be able to speak at all? Then he caught Jim’s eyes. Jim was looking at him steadily, reassuringly, and the eyes were smiling.

“Your name?”

“Percival Blake.” Beastly to have to say it right out in front of everyone: he managed little more than a whisper.

“Age?”

“Twelve.”

“Do you know the nature of an oath?”

“Well, rather!” said Bill, with memories of bullock-drivers and shearing-sheds. He saw Jim’s mouth twitch: everyone was laughing. Gosh, was he going to make a fool of himself from the start? He pulled himself together with a violent effort, staring at his questioner.

Counsel for the prosecution was kind: so was the Judge. They might almost have had boys of their own. They let him tell his story his own way, without a lot of fool questions. That wasn’t so bad, once his tongue began to feel that it belonged to him again.

“Dick Yorke and I were in the little cave way back in the hill where the gold was kept—there’s a long twisty passage leading out to the big front cave. It’s got a big gap in the floor in one place, with two planks for a bridge. We had two torches and one got smashed, so we came back to get another—there’s always a lot kept in the front cave. We’re never allowed to be in the inner cave without two torches, in case a battery conks out. It’s black dark in there.

“So we came out into the big cave, and McGill was there, and he grabbed us. He said we needn’t yell, ’cause Lee Wing couldn’t hear us if we did. He said, ‘He won’t move for a long while.’ He twisted our wrists and said he’d deal with us one at a time unless we showed him where the gold was hidden. So I said I’d show him. And we got a torch apiece and went back to the little cave. McGill got a bit excited when he saw the bags of gold, and I got my chance to knock his torch out of his hand, and it smashed on the ground and the bulb broke. And Dick and I dodged behind him and beat it for all we were worth back along the passage.”

He glanced at McGill. The eyes that met his were so savage that it was a relief to look back quickly at the Judge.

“Your action left the accused in complete darkness, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, sir. He came after us, but he only had matches, and they’re not much good in those places. We scooted to the gap in the floor, and when we got across we pulled the planks over to our side so’s he couldn’t cross it. We ran on a bit and waited till he showed up, and we held our torches so’s he could only see our faces and yelled out to warn him about the gap.”

“Could he have jumped it?”

Bill grinned broadly.

“Oh, yes, easy—if he’d had the pluck. But he couldn’t see very well by match-light, and we told him the rock was cracked at the edge, and might give under him. It might, too,” he added reflectively; “he’s a good weight.”

“Go on.”

“I ... I don’t think there’s any more, sir. Oh, we talked a bit, and he offered us a fiver if we’d put the bridge back. So we said what we thought of that, and we cleared out, and he just stayed there. We went like smoke to see what he’d done to Lee Wing, and he was just coming round, and Jim and Wally were giving him brandy. That’s all, sir.”

Counsel for the prosecution remarked that he had no questions to ask this witness. Counsel for the defence stood up. He made an attempt to shake Bill’s evidence over the words used by the accused about Lee Wing.

“Did the accused say definitely that he had hurt the Chinese? Be careful how you answer.”

“No,” said Bill, reddening. “He said Lee Wing wouldn’t hear us, no matter how we yelled. And that couldn’t mean anything except that he was knocked out.”

“You are not here to tell us what anything could or could not mean. We want facts. I suggest that you were ready to jump to the conclusion that the accused had hurt him.”

“So would anyone be who knew McGill,” the boy gave back.

“Ah—then you did jump to the conclusion. But that is not evidence. On your own showing, no admission was made by the accused.”

“Yes, there was. He said Lee Wing wouldn’t move for a long time.”

“That is no proof that the accused was the man who made him incapable of moving. How many more conclusions did you jump to?”

“I never jumped to any,” muttered Bill sulkily.

“Did you not? What proof have you that the accused meant to steal the gold?”

Bill gaped at him.

“Why—why, what else was he doing there?”

“You are here to answer questions, not to ask them. What proof have you?”

“Well——!” gasped Bill. Words failed him: he could only stare at his tormentor helplessly.

“Just so. I suggest that there is something a little too good about this story of yours. Do you expect the Court to believe that you had all your course of action planned out—to strike the torch out of the accused’s hand and contrive to trap him?”

Bill’s head went up.

“Yes, of course. Ages ago.”

“What does that mean?” rapped out the lawyer.

“Well—wouldn’t you? That’s my own private cave for playing smugglers in, and bushrangers and things: I’ve thought and thought of the things I could do if ever I got stuck up in there. Just for a game, like thinking what you’d do if you heard burglars in a house. And of course the only thing when you aren’t very strong is to trap ’em in the dark somehow.” Bill’s voice was growing louder and angrier. “There’s never any light in that cave ’cept torches or hurricane lanterns, and lanterns would be pretty hard, so I always planned it out with torches. And it just worked out like my game, so there!”

The Court roared. Even stern policemen were helpless for a moment. The Judge dropped his notes, dived for them, and was some time before he found them—reappearing with a rather flushed face. When order was restored it was seen that Counsel for the defence had sat down, desiring nothing further of the witness. Bill retired, redder than ever.

Dick, entering the box with his heart in his shoes, found himself let off lightly, since his story merely confirmed that of his chum in every detail. There were no more witnesses. Speeches by the lawyers followed, one side driving home all the evidence, the other struggling manfully to prove that his client was an ill-used man. The Judge summed up; the jury retired. They were not long absent, returning with a verdict that surprised nobody—“Guilty.”

Applause broke out among the rows at the back—to be silenced by the majesty of the Law. McGill, his face set in savage lines, stared at the floor while the Judge spoke. His speech was mercifully short. It laid some stress on the prisoner’s previous record as shown by the police. It was not a pretty record. The verdict of the crowd was that he got off easily now with a sentence of five years’ penal servitude.

.......

“Well, thank goodness that’s over!” said Jim in heartfelt accents.

They were back in the sitting-room at the hotel. In contrast to the dreariness of lunch it seemed quite festive now: even the dusty maroon curtains had ceased to offend Norah. Tea was ready on the table: they gathered round, suddenly discovering that they were hungry. Norah was busy at the tea-pot.

“I feel quite young again,” she said. “This horrible trial has been a weight on my mind for months. Now we’ll just forget all about it. Bill, do look after yourself and Dick and eat a huge tea. It will be late before you get home, and I don’t think either of you ate much lunch.”

“Well, we had three goes of port-wine-jelly, anyhow,” said Bill.

She wrinkled her nose. “Did you like that stuff as much as all that?”

“No, it was foul. But we thought port was the sort of stuff to buck us up before we gave evidence!”

“My poor blessed lambs!” she said. “Why didn’t I guess! Bill, dear, all the port in that compound came out of a packet.”

“Of glue,” added Tommy solemnly.

“Well, how were we to know? Anyway, we both felt bucked.” He hesitated. “At least, I thought I did, but not in my tummy.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jim said. “Three goes!” He regarded the heroes with admiration. “All the same, something bucked you, old man: you got through your show all right.”

“That lawyer-chap was a beast,” said Bill. “He made me feel like nothing on earth for a bit. It’s an awful feeling when you don’t know how he’s going to turn the least little word you say inside out, and you haven’t got time to think up an answer properly.”

“It’s all that,” said Wally in heartfelt tones.

“Well, he had a hard row to hoe,” remarked Mr. Linton. “Few lawyers can have had less chance of saving a client’s skin. I suppose he just grasped at anything he could think of. McGill must be sorry now that he wasted his money on employing him. Possibly he has friends who put up the money—he never struck us as having much himself, did he?”

“Well, he’s got a fiver, anyhow,” put in Dick. “The one we wouldn’t take.”

“Fivers go a terribly short distance with lawyers,” Bob said. “By the way, I was talking to Mrs. Walker as we came out of the Court House—she’s in deep gloom because McGill only got five years, but then, she would be. She has an idea that the woman who sat beside her this morning, the one who fainted, you know, has something to do with McGill.”

“Well, I suppose he has belongings somewhere,” observed Mr. Linton. “But I don’t envy them. They ought to have a nice rest for five years now.” He looked at his watch. “You and Dick haven’t much time, Bill. Are your things ready?”

“Just about,” said Bill, swallowing half a cake in a gulp. “We’ll get ’em.”

They all piled into the big Billabong car, Jim at the wheel. The station was not far away: people were hurrying through the entrance. On the platform Dick and Bill espied the foxy-faced lawyer, suit-case in hand. They hastily removed their belongings to a distant spot.

“Catch me travelling in the same carriage as that blighter!” stated Bill.

“I fancy he will be feeling the same thing,” said Tommy. “I don’t believe he liked you, Bill.”

“He’s not much better than McGill, if you ask me,” retorted Bill. “There she comes, Dick! Let’s grab an empty carriage if we can.”

They did so, and leaned out of the windows, glaring fiercely at any would-be traveller who came near. None paused: all were travellers who preferred a peaceful journey.

“Good-bye, everyone. It’s been ripping fun—in spots.”

“Good luck at school, both of you. Come back next holidays.”

“Rather! Wish we could be at your wedding, Jim. It’s jolly mean of you to get married in term time. Can’t you make him put it off, Tommy?”

“He’s terribly difficult, Bill dear. But we’ll be here when you come back.”

“You’d just better. Give Davie a pat on the back for me, Norah. Wish I’d seen him.”

“He would have liked that too,” said Davie’s mother. “Queer how he likes you, Bill!”

“Yes, isn’t it? But he’s got more sense than you’d think—considering who his father is.” The red head ducked just too late to save his cap from a long arm.

“You give me back that cap, Wally. It’s the only decent one I’ve got for school to-morrow.”

“Take it,” said Wally, tossing it in. “I’ll deal with you when you come back. Keep your eye on him, Dick—he doesn’t behave well on train journeys. Get him to tell you about his first trip to Billabong. It’s a sad story.”

There was a long whistle from the engine.

“Good-bye, old offsider.”

“Good-bye, Jim. ’Bye, everybody. Cheerio!”

The train drew out slowly, the red head and the fair one framed in the open windows, handkerchiefs waving wildly.

“And that’s that,” said Jim. “What next? Do we go home to-night, or do we spend it in that most uninteresting hotel, where I slept last night on a feather-bed ten inches too short for me?”

“Is it too far for you girls?” asked David Linton.

They said eagerly that it was not. Norah murmured something about being expected by Davie, and Tommy appeared ready to sleep cheerfully in the car if need be.

“Well, midnight should see us home,” said David Linton with relief. “Let’s telephone to Brownie that we’re coming, and get on the road.”