Settling Day - Nat Gould (best novels to read to improve english .TXT) 📗

best you can for yourself.'

Rodney Shaw, however, decided to remain. He thought Dalton and his men would easily repulse any attack made upon them, and Dennis might be killed in the struggle. He meant to have a shot at him if possible, for he had learned something during the past week that had caused him to tremble whenever he thought of the owner of Wanabeen. What that something was will be related later on.

This was how Rodney Shaw came to be at Barker's Creek, which was the worst place he could possibly be found in.

'These blacks will do for us,' said Dalton, savagely; 'and it is all the fault of you fellows keeping the gins here.'

'We must fight it out,' said Shaw. 'Curse the blacks!'

He took a steady aim and fired at Jim Dennis, but missed.

The tumult was tremendous. The black fellows, now they were let loose and had a chance of revenge, were so many infuriated savages. They yelled and danced, brandishing their spears, and rushed upon the houses, heedless of the shots fired at them.

In the blacks' camp at the creek there was a regular pandemonium. The gins shrieked with terror and thought their end was at hand, and so it was for many of them. Some of these black women had left behind in King Charlie's camp husbands and brothers, and they now took their revenge by spearing or clubbing them. It was a horrible scene, but King Charlie took no heed of it, nor did he attempt to stay the slaughter. In his savage way he regarded it as an act of justice, and he may have been right.

Round Dalton's house the fight was fierce. At the rear the blacks were forcing an entrance, at the front the police had already battered in the door.

All were on foot now and it soon became a hand-to-hand conflict.

Seeing the game was up, Rodney Shaw thought of his own safety.

At the back of the house several horses were stabled, and these had not been injured, although they were frightened. Shaw thought if he could make a rush for it he might reach them and gallop off. They were all saddled and bridled ready for an emergency.

The blacks were now swarming into the house, and Dalton's men kept them back with their revolvers.

Passing into a side room, Shaw saw a chance of escape.

The attack was mainly confined to the other part of the house, where a desperate stand was being made. Squeezing himself through the small window, Rodney Shaw managed to reach the ground safely.

Clutching his revolver, he hurried across to the horses. He was kicked and jostled by the excited animals, but escaped serious injury.

Mounting one he had fairly under control, he was riding away when some of the blacks saw him and with a yell rushed after him.

Constable Doonan also saw him, and, making for his horse, was quickly in pursuit.

Shaw, however, was too far ahead, and Doonan, halting, pulled out his carbine, took a steady aim and fired.

His shot he saw took effect, but Rodney Shaw did not fall. 'I hit him,' said Doonan. 'That will prove he was here.' Then he rode back, dismounted, and drawing his revolver, rushed into the fighting mob.

Blood flowed freely and many blacks lay dead, but still Dalton and his men held out.

From the other houses the members of the gang came out and joined in the fight, for they knew it was their last chance.

Dr Tom was busy looking after the wounded.

Jim Dennis was hit in the fleshy part of the arm, but went on fighting.

Two of the constables were mortally wounded, and the doctor was doing what he could for them.

Willie Dennis had accounted for one man, and from a distance watched the fight.

'Help me, Willie,' said the doctor. 'You will be more use here than over yonder.'

Ten of Dalton's men were killed by the blacks, and the remainder were nearly all wounded.

Dalton fought like a tiger, and when he saw Sergeant Machinson and another constable rushing upon him to seize him, he shouted,—

'So you have done for me at last, sergeant. Take that!'

He fired his revolver, and the unfortunate man fell dead, shot through the heart.

Adye Dauntsey saw him fall, and fired at Dalton, hitting the hand in which he held his revolver, and shattering it. He was at once secured.

There was no resistance now except on the part of Seth Sharp, who fought like a wild beast, but he was eventually beaten down and firmly bound.

The house presented the appearance of a shambles.

The body of Sergeant Machinson was carried outside, and Dalton said as they passed him, as he lay bound on the floor,—

'That's how I treat men who play me false. He's better dead. He was false to his trust and false to me.'

Adye Dauntsey heard him, but made no remark. The sergeant, whatever his misdeeds, had paid for them with his life while doing his duty.

They were all tired and worn out after the struggle. Many blacks had been killed, and King Charlie and his tribe set about burying them by Mr Dauntsey's orders.

The attacking party had lost two constables and Sergeant Machinson, and nearly all of them bore marks of the severe encounter.

Seth Sharp and Abe Dalton were firmly secured, and only five other men of the gang were taken alive. The blacks had already set fire to the houses and humpies, and Barker's Creek was in flames.

'They have settled the difficulty for us,' said Mr Dauntsey, 'and I think it is the best thing that could have happened. Barker's Creek will be wiped out at last.'

CHAPTER XXV

A STRICKEN WOMAN

The affair at Barker's Creek caused a great sensation, and the Sydney and Melbourne papers had long accounts of it, chiefly supplied by Adye Dauntsey and Dr Tom Sheridan. The latter took care to let it be known how Rodney Shaw had acted, and his report was the cause of a startling and unexpected dénoûment.

A week after the fight Jim Dennis had retired for the night. He was alone in the house with Sal, as Willie had gone to Barragong for a change. He had been out all day, and, being thoroughly tired, slept soundly.

During the night a woman might have been seen toiling with weary steps across the lonesome land. She was footsore and hungry, well-nigh starving. She had been at Swamp Creek and found there no rest or shelter. She seemed to shrink from contact with everyone, and had it not been for the doctor's dog she would have gone on without food or drink. Baalim was sniffing round his master's house as usual, on the lookout for a canine encounter, when he saw this woman. Baalim knew every man, woman and child in Swamp Creek, and he perceived she was a stranger. Such an important fact must be communicated to the doctor.

The dog bounded into the house barking furiously, and Dr Tom, coming out to administer a caution to him, saw the woman standing, uncertain, outside in the street.

'She looks deuced tired and hungry,' he thought, and without hesitation called to her.

'My good woman, you look tired,' he said. 'Have you come far?'

'From Sydney,' she said in a weak voice.

Dr Tom was staggered and incredulous. Sydney was some hundreds of miles away.

'A team-master gave me a lift as far as Barragong,' she explained. 'I have walked from there.'

'Come in and rest, and I will find you something to eat,' said the worthy doctor.

She hesitated, but he insisted, and she came inside.

'She's seen better days,' thought Dr Tom, but delicately forbore questioning her, although he wondered what she could want at Swamp Creek if she had no friends, which seemed probable.

She ate like a famished woman, and he was sorry. When she had finished she thanked him and left, and he made no effort to detain her; he had no right to do so.

He watched her walk wearily down the street and leave the town.

'Poor soul!' he said to Baalim as he patted his ugly head. 'She's seen trouble, old dog; and, by Jove! she must have been a handsome woman once. What a pity! Where the deuce can she be going to?'

Her meal at Dr Tom's had given her strength, and under the starlit sky she struggled on. She followed the coach track and at intervals sat down to rest.

Towards morning she came in sight of Wanabeen and stopped. For fully half an hour she stood and looked at Jim Dennis's home. Her eyes filled with tears which coursed down her sunken cheeks, and she sank down upon her knees and tried to pray.

The words could not come, for there was a great sin upon her soul. Her breath came in sobs and gasps, she panted like a wounded creature. Staggering to her feet, she pushed on hurriedly, fearing her strength would fail, and at last sank, exhausted, on the steps of Jim Dennis's house, much as Sal had done years before.

Then she passed into a fitful slumber, and as Jim Dennis had found Sal, so the half-caste found her.

Sal rubbed her eyes and looked.

'A white woman!' she exclaimed, and then felt afraid.

What could a white woman want here? How did she get there?

Sal looked at her long and earnestly, and something in the woman's face seemed familiar to her.

Where had she seen a face like that?

She must call Jim Dennis and let him act as he thought best.

She roused him and he started up.

'Is it late, Sal?'

'No, early, about five'

'What has happened?' he said sharply, noticing the scared look on her face.

'There's a woman asleep on the steps—a white woman.'

Jim Dennis clutched her arm.

'A white woman,' he repeated in a hoarse voice.

'Dress and go out to her,' said Sal.

Jim Dennis put on his clothes mechanically; he dreaded he knew not what.

'A white woman,' he muttered, 'and she has tramped it here.'

He went out in a hesitating kind of way.

'What is she like?' he asked quietly, but she noticed the tremor in his voice.

'Go and see. She is asleep. You can look at her face.'

He had not pulled on his boots, and he went quietly outside. He looked at the sleeping woman and staggered back as though he had been stabbed. He put his hand to his face to shut out the sight.

What a flood of memories rushed over him.

Sal watched him. She knew now where she had seen such a face before. It was like Willie's face when he was at the point of death.

Jim Dennis looked at the sleeping woman again, and his features became hard and stern; his mouth was cruel and his eyes flashed ominously.

Yes, it was Maud come back. The woman who had so deeply wronged him and blighted his name, the woman who had disowned her own son—he could have forgiven her, perhaps, but for that.

He went inside and took up his revolver.

Sal looked at him, terrified, then she darted forward and held him by the arm.

'No, no, not that, master, not that. I know her. It is Willie's face. You found me there half dead and carried me in your arms and restored me to life. You cannot kill her. She is Willie's mother!'

He still held the revolver and shook her off.

'It is murder, murder—and a woman in her sleep. Jim Dennis, you are a coward for the first time! Deal with the man who wronged her and you. Have a settling day with him first.'

She had roused him. The taunt struck home.

'By God! I will, Sal. Settling day with him. It will be a heavy one.'

Out on to the verandah he went again, and when the woman opened her eyes she saw the man she had so deeply wronged looking down upon her like an embodiment of the spirit of vengeance.

So terrified was she at