Settling Day

'We have spears and boomerangs, and nullah nullahs and stone hatchets,' said Charlie.

'I think they will come in handy at close quarters,' said Jim with a smile. 'We shall have no occasion to fire them out. We can capture the lot alive.' Then, looking at Charlie, he said, —

'Listen to me. When you hear shots fired rush through the bush and attack the rear of the houses. We shall be in front, and they will not suspect any assault at the back. Creep close up, and hide in the bushes until you hear the signal. There are a lot of blacks over there to the right, and they will probably join you when the fight commences.'

The old man was all attention, and signified that he understood what was required and would carry out the orders.

'My revenge is near,' he said. 'They stole my people and made dogs of them, and they shall die.'

'We want to take them alive,' said Jim. 'Do not kill if you can secure them.'

Charlie struck his spear on the ground and said savagely, —

'Blood for blood, and we spare them not!'

Jim Dennis saw it was useless to argue with him, and he knew if any of Dalton's men fell into King Charlie's hands they would not have an easy death.

They rode back to their comrades, and King Charlie and his men advanced into the bush unseen.

'Back again so soon?' said Mr Dauntsey. 'Anything fresh to report?'

'The best of good luck has befallen us,' said Jim, excitedly. 'Charlie and his tribe are here. The old fellow heard from Sal what we had afoot, and came on here to help us and take his revenge. There's over a hundred of them, and they are by this time concealed in the bush at the back of the houses. When we advance in front and fire they will make a rush in the rear, and I promise you they will not be slow about it.'

'This is splendid,' said Mr Dauntsey. 'What do you say, sergeant?'

'It is the best thing that could have happened, but we shall have to be quick or those black fellows will kill them all. They will show no mercy to any of the gang,' said Machinson.

'We had better all advance in line, about a dozen yards apart,' said Mr Dauntsey, and to this the sergeant agreed.

No time was lost; the wounded man was left in as comfortable a position as possible, and they moved ahead.

'All fire quickly,' said Machinson. 'If you see no one, aim where the smoke is, on the off chance of hitting.'

In a few minutes, when Dalton and his men saw them again advancing, the firing recommenced, and it was sharply returned.

Above the crack of the rifles, however, was heard a terrific yell, which completely drowned the sound of the firing. There was a tremendous crashing in the bush at the rear of the houses and the cries of many blacks.

Dalton and his gang were surprised, and when they realised what had happened were almost in despair. They knew no mercy would be shown them by the blacks and preferred to risk capture at the hands of the police. They did not mean to give in without a desperate struggle, for their lives were at stake.

In Dalton's house, besides himself, were six of his men, including Seth Sharp and Rodney Shaw.

When Shaw discovered Sal had escaped, his rage knew no bounds, and he acted like a madman, so much so that his manager thought he had lost his senses.

Benjamin Nix tried to calm him and partially succeeded.

'Why make such a fuss over her? She's far better away from here,' said Nix.

'I'll be even with her,' replied Shaw; and there and then made up his mind to ride to Barker's Creek and bribe Dalton to scour the country for her.

When he arrived at Dalton's he found affairs had reached a crisis.

Abe Dalton was in no mood to be trifled with or to stand upon ceremony.

'This comes of meddling in your affairs,' he said savagely. 'Curse you and the girl too! You have ruined us all, yourself included, you blundering fool!'

Rodney Shaw commenced to realise the extent of the scrape he had got into, but he did not mean to be beaten.

When Abe Dalton explained to him what had happened, and that his spies had brought in news that an attack was to be made on Barker's Creek Rodney Shaw said, —

'I'll stay with you and see it through. I'd like to get a chance of putting a bullet in Jim Dennis.'

'There's more than you would give a good deal for such a chance,' said Dalton. 'If you mean to stay, well and good; I'm not going to stop you; but let me warn you it will be putting your neck in a noose to be found here. You had better clear out and do the 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 his look that she fainted and rolled on to the ground.

Sal went to her assistance.

'She comes not into my house again,' said Jim.

'What of the man?' asked Sal.

'She can come in,' answered Jim.

'Carry her in.'

'No.'

'Then I will,' and Sal lifted the light form in her arms and placed it on her own bed. 'What you did for me I do for her,' she said.

Maud Dennis, for such it was, although she bore no right to the name, gradually recovered.

Sal was at the bedside and smoothed her hair.

'Who are you?'

There was a faint suspicion of jealousy in the tone of her voice.

'I am Sal, Jim Dennis's housekeeper.'

'Not his wife?'

Sal looked at her with contempt as she answered, —

'No, not his wife.'

'Forgive me. I loved him so much long ago.'

'Then why did you leave him? It was cruel,' said Sal.

'It was kind. I should never have made him happy,' she said.

Jim Dennis came in.

'Leave us alone,' he said to Sal.

'You'll not hurt me, Jim? You'll not kill me?' said the wretched woman. 'Oh, if you knew how I have suffered! I am dying, Jim, and I have come to tell you all.'

'No, I will not kill you, and you deserve to suffer. I want to hear nothing, only one thing – his name,' said Jim Dennis.

'You must hear. I was tempted, tried. I did not tell him who I was, and he would never have known but when he deserted me in London, I meant to follow him some day and denounce him for the villain he is. He knows now, and let him beware of you. He ill-treated me. I lived a wretched life, and then when he had tired of me he cast me off. I wronged you past forgiveness, but how have I suffered for my sins? I worked and slaved day and night until at last I had to fall still lower.'

She shuddered, and he turned his face from her. This was the mother of his Willie! The lad should never know it, never see her. He must send to Barragong at once and have him detained there until he could act.

'I scraped enough money together to pay a passage to Sydney in a sailing vessel, one of the poorer class, and the miseries of that long voyage I shall never forget. In Sydney I found my parents were dead. I had no friends, very little money. I started to walk here. A team-master gave me a lift to Barragong.'

Jim Dennis started. Willie was there. Then he recollected the lad would not have known her had he seen her.

'From Barragong I walked to Swamp Creek, where a kindly man gave me food and rest.'

'Had he a big dog?' asked Jim.

'Yes, it was the dog attracted his attention to me.'

'Dr Tom, just like him,' thought Jim. 'He little thinks who she is.'

'Then I came on here. Let me die here, Jim. I have not long to live. You cannot thrust a dying woman out.'

He made no answer.

She moaned piteously.

'Let me die here, Jim. Let me see Willie before I go and ask him to forgive his wretched mother.'

'You may die here,' said Jim, harshly; 'but you shall never see my boy. You disowned him and he thinks you are dead.'

She was crying bitter tears of repentance, but they had come too late, and she was afraid to die without forgiveness on earth.

'Jim!' she said suddenly as she caught his arm. 'Jim, I dare not die without your forgiveness.'

There was such a look of horror in her eyes that even he was softened, and said quietly, —

'I will forgive you, Maud, freely forgive you; but you must never let Willie know, and he shall not see you.'

'Not even when I am dead?' she asked.

'No, not even then.'

She sobbed bitterly, and Sal, hearing her, felt the tears well up into her eyes.

'I never knew him to be cruel before,' said Sal to herself.

'One thing more,' said Jim Dennis. 'Who was the man?'

'Your friend, Jim. Your black-hearted, treacherous friend,' she answered.

'I had no friends,' he said.

'A man who called himself your friend. He was in Sydney. I met him. He was going to England, and offered to take me and spend his wealth with me, marry me when it was possible.'

Light was dawning upon Jim Dennis, and his hands clenched so that the nails bit into the flesh.

'It was Rodney Shaw,' she said.

Jim Dennis sprang up with an oath.

'By God! can such a villain live?' he cried.

'He had not seen me at Wanabeen, you recollect; he had gone to Sydney before I came here, and lived there some time before he went to England. He is a cruel, heartless man, and ruined our lives. He deserves no pity.'

'He shall have none from me,' said Jim Dennis. 'I will flog him like a cowardly cur and then shoot him.'

'He is a dangerous man,' she said.

Jim Dennis laughed harshly. He was not afraid of such a man or a dozen of them.

'Sal,' he called, 'there is work for me to do before it is too late. Send Silas Dixon for Dr Tom as soon as he comes in.'

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'To kill the man that wronged me and tried to ruin you.'

'Rodney Shaw?' she exclaimed in horror.

'He is the man. Settling day has come at last.'

CHAPTER XXVI

SETTLING DAY

Jim Dennis rode towards Cudgegong, vengeance gnawing at his heart.

So Rodney Shaw was the man who had wronged him, and he, Jim Dennis, had clasped his hand in friendship since then.

How he hated the man, this thief who had robbed him and dishonoured his house. It was with a glow of exultation he thought the hour was at hand when he could call him to account. He meant to settle with Rodney Shaw before he got into the more tender clutches of the law. He would show him no mercy, for he had a double score to pay off now, as there was the insult to Sal to be wiped out.

He worked himself up to such a pitch of savage resentment that he was scarcely answerable for his actions.

This was what he desired, to deaden all the better feelings in him so that there was no possibility of his showing any mercy.

He had heard from Constable Doonan that he had hit Rodney Shaw as he escaped from the fight at Barker's Creek, and the wound might have proved dangerous. So much the better, his enemy could not escape him then.

And Rodney Shaw, what of him?

When he made good his escape from the Creek he rode on to Cudgegong, and arriving there in safety, had his wound dressed. The bullet struck him between the shoulders and caused him intense pain.

He explained as well as he could to Benjamin Nix how it happened, and accounted for his presence at the fight by saying the police had surrounded the place while he was at Dalton's house.

'Doonan fired at me as I was escaping, and that is how I got the wound. Do the best you can for me, Nix, I am in a bad way.'

'It serves you right,' thought Nix, and did his best to relieve him.

Rodney Shaw had something else to contend with in addition to his wound. He had heard from Maud Dennis and discovered who she was, and that she intended to let Jim Dennis know the name of the man who had wronged him.

This preyed upon his mind and made his wound worse. He tossed about restlessly and was soon on the high road to a bad attack of fever.

'I will send for Dr Sheridan,' said Nix.

'It is useless; he will decline to come,' said Shaw.

'I have never known him do so in a serious case,' answered Nix. 'He has even attended Abe Dalton and pulled him through a severe illness. If he attended Dalton surely he will come to you.'

'I tell you it is useless,' persisted Shaw. 'There are matters you know nothing of that will prevent his coming.'

Rodney Shaw, however, knew it would not be long before someone else came, the man he dreaded most to see – Jim Dennis. He wished the shot he had aimed at him had taken effect, then he would have been well rid of him.

He knew when Jim Dennis heard the truth nothing would keep him from Cudgegong. If it had not been for his wound he would have been well on his way to Sydney, and might have escaped. He made an effort to rise, but fell back exhausted. He felt it would be better to risk everything rather than face this angry, wronged man. He called Nix and said, —

'If Jim Dennis calls tell him I am too ill to see him.'

'I will,' was the reply; but Nix thought to himself, 'If Jim Dennis wishes to see you no one can stop him after what you have done.' He meant the abduction of Sal; he did not know of Rodney Shaw's greater sin.

When Jim Dennis arrived at Cudgegong he got off his horse and strode into the house.

Benjamin Nix barred the way, and asked, —

'Do you wish to see Mr Shaw? If so, he is too ill; it would be dangerous to disturb him.'