In Bad Company and other stories

Up to this stage of the affair the conditions were not unlike those of the Goimbla siege. The robbers lost a man in each case. But here the circumstances varied materially. The attack on Mr. Keightley's household was during daylight – the one on Mr. Campbell's after nightfall. On the death of O'Malley, the robbers decided upon a retreat; but soon after Bourke fell, a discovery was made that Mr. Keightley's ammunition had been expended. He was therefore at their mercy, and had no alternative but to yield.

The four persons then in the house – Mr. and Mrs. Keightley, Dr. Pechey, a relative of the lady of the house, and a servant woman – surrendered themselves to the bushrangers, who announced their intention of shooting Mr. Keightley in requital for their comrade's death. To this end he was marched to some distance by two of the bushrangers, while the others were holding a colloquy with Mrs. Keightley and the servant, who passionately implored them to spare Mr. Keightley's life.

They retorted that he had not spared Bourke's, and also that 'he had boasted that he would have the reward which the Government had offered for their capture.'

Mrs. Keightley replied that he had never dreamed of a reward: he was the last man to take blood-money; if he had shot Bourke it was in defence of his home, which any man would do. Furthermore, if they would allow her to ride to Bathurst, she would undertake to bring them five hundred pounds in notes on the following day.

'How could you get that?' asked Ben Hall.

'From my father. You know that he is a wealthy man, and would gladly give it to me for such a purpose. Surely you will not kill my husband in cold blood before my face?'

The lady was young and beautiful. Her tears and entreaties in this dread position were such as to have moved the sternest heart. She was a native-born Australian, like themselves.

They had shed blood, but it had been in fair fight. They had never been accused of inhumanity otherwise. They relented, finally agreeing to take the five hundred pounds if brought to a certain tree, visible for a considerable distance, by a specified hour on the next day. The messenger was to come alone. They would hold her husband as a hostage for the performance of the bond.

The two men told off as executioners had by this time called upon their prisoner to turn his back towards them for the fatal shot.

'I have never done that to any man living, and will not now,' returned he; 'fire away!'

As he folded his arms and looked his captors in the face, a voice was heard from below —

'Hold on! There's to be no shooting; we've agreed to take the money.'

Mrs. Keightley was then suffered to depart in company with Dr. Pechey for Bathurst, while her husband remained in the custody of the gang, pending the arrival of the ransom. It may be imagined that his feelings were of a mingled nature. He was assured of the safety of his wife. Still, he could not be free from anxiety as to his own, in case of default of payment or pursuit by the police.

But the brave woman well performed her part. As the appointed hour on the next day drew perilously near, a horseman was seen from afar to approach the track to the well-known fire-scathed tree. He reached it, and throwing down a package, returned as he came. It was speedily taken possession of, and found to contain one hundred five-pound notes.

Then Mr. Keightley was released.

Many years have elapsed since these events took place. Few of the actors are now living. The hand of time and the Nemesis of the law have thinned the ranks of the combatants. Their deeds and adventures are passing into the domain of legend and tradition. In a few decades they may take rank with Dick Turpin and Claude Duval, while the feats of Gardiner's 'Darkie' may be quoted by the 'coming race' as in rivalry with those of Black Bess of sainted memory.

THE END

1

Pronounced 'Waūgăh Waūgăh.'

2

Written in 1884.

3

Written in 1885. A prophecy fulfilled in February 1900.

4

There is no corn in Egypt now (as far as Queensland is referred to) it must be admitted with deep regret. The famine in the land has reached the biblical record of 'seven years of drouth.'