CHAPTER XXIV.

COMO'S ERRAND.

Although the heat was great, for the sky was cloudless, and the shade, where there was any, inviting and cool, Alec's trusty messenger tarried not for rest or coolness. He seemed to know the importance of the news he carried, for he trotted along without a pause. The only time that Como had travelled that way had been the night before, but with that unerring instinct, which we can so little understand, he made straight for Wandaroo. Except once, to drink at a little cattle-trampled pool which the recent rains had partly filled, he never stopped till he reached the head station, where he arrived dusty, foot-sore, and panting, about two hours after he left Norton's Gap.

Dogs generally seem to possess a keen sense of duty, a quality which is, unfortunately, only too often wanting in man, the nobler animal; and Como made no fuss, and took no credit to himself for this arduous morning's work, knowing that, after all, he had only done what he ought. Mankind, on the other hand, which will not admit the extent of its moral obligations, generally greatly plumes itself when it does occasionally recognise one of its bounden responsibilities, never thinking for a moment that the virtuous action which it considers it has done is really an imperative duty.

Como, who was a privileged animal, made straight for the large general room of the house, and without being seen by any one, entered the door. Finding the room quite silent and empty, he passed carefully out between the muslin curtains on to the sunny boards of the broad verandah. He looked up and down it, but finding that it was as unoccupied as the room, he turned, and pattering along the planks, ran to the kitchen.

Mrs. Beffling, the cook, was standing over the fire, screening her hot, red face from the blaze with a tin plate, cooking something nourishing for the patient, and being intent upon her work, as a good cook should be, she did not observe the presence of the dog. But Como, thinking it was time that some one noticed him, lifted a paw and laid it on her dress. The good woman looked down, and recognising the missing dog, she dropped the tin plate with a crash upon the floor, and lifting up her hands, opened her mouth preparatory to a good scream, but remembering the instructions given that morning by the doctor she snapped her jaws together again before a sound had had time to come out.

Taking the little saucepan from the fire, and placing it carefully on the hob of home-made bricks by the side of the grate, she waddled from the kitchen along the cool, dark passage to the door of the boys' room. There she softly knocked, and Margaret came out.

"Ho! come into the kitching, miss, I've had sich a turn," Here the good old creature thought it would be "genteel-like" to appear faint, so she tottered and gave a gasp.

"Now, Beffy, don't be an old silly. What is it?"

"Ho, miss, Como've come back."

"No! Where is he?" said Margaret, coming out and quietly closing the door behind her.

"He were in the kitching, miss, a minnut ago. I were standin' over the fire a hottin' up that bought beef-tea, miss, which it do not compare to mine, though I says it as shouldn't. For my _best_ beef-tea, which I'm sure I should make for poor dear Master George, is as stiff as glue when cold, and almost gums the lips together when took hot. I learnt how to make it in England, miss, when I was kitching maid, under a aunt of mine who was cook, at Kepton Park, wheer the Honrabble _and_ Reverent Mr.----"

"Yes, yes, but what about Como?"

"Ho, to be sure; Como, of course, yes, miss. I were a-standin' over the fire a-hottin'----"

"Oh, you've told me that before."

"When in leaps Como as bold as brass, and he jumps up agen me, he do, as though to say like 'Beffling, I'm clemmed.'"

This was rather a stretch of imagination on the part of the worthy old soul, but she was so excited that she could not help a little exaggeration, which was quite harmless she thought, and made the story so much more interesting.

However, there was Como true enough when they reached the kitchen, and glad was he to see Margaret when she came in. He had taken a drink of water from one of the tins in the kitchen, and then had stretched himself at full length in his old place beneath the table under the window. He sprang up when he saw Margaret, and rushed to her, and the girl, with tears in her eyes, knelt down on the floor and fondled the dog. They made a very pretty picture, Mrs. Beffling thought, as she stood with her bare red arms akimbo, and her head on one side looking at them.

"Poor old Como, how hot and tired you are. Have you come from Alec?" said the poor girl, with tears in her voice. "Oh! Alec, Alec, where are you? If you could only tell us, Como, if he be alive and where he is. We are in such trouble, doggie." She laid her arms round Como's neck and wiped away upon his smooth forehead a great tear from her cheek. The dog tried to lick her face, forgetting for a moment, it is to be feared, the letter round his neck, in his chivalrous efforts to comfort beauty in distress. Poor Geordie was quite right, Como had the feelings of a true gentleman.

Suddenly Margaret felt the folded bit of paper that was tied under Como's neck. In a voice that rang with excitement, she cried out--

"Give me a knife! quick, quick!"

"Lawks! miss, what for?" said Mrs. Beffling, starting. "You isn't going to kill the dog, sureli!"

"Don't be a donkey," said Margaret, holding out her hand, and forgetting all her boarding-school manners in her excitement.

"No, miss, for sure," replied the cook, snatching a knife from the table and handing it to her.

"Stand still," said Margaret, trembling with eagerness, as she slipped her forefinger under the string and raised it from the dog's neck. She sawed the string through, and, with fingers that shook so from nervousness that she could hardly untie the knots, she at last opened the letter and spread it out. She did not rise, but kneeling where she was on the floor, with the light from the kitchen window pouring on to her flushed cheek, she read the letter:--

"DEAREST MOTHER,--

"I don't know how much you know of what has happened to us. Murri may have told you if he got off. If you know nothing prepare yourself for a great trouble. We had almost got home last night when we were set on by bushrangers and (I don't know how to tell you, it is so terrible) Geordie, when I was away from him for a minute, was thrown from his horse and killed. I feel as though it were my fault, though I don't think I could have helped it if I had been close by. I am just heartbroken, and if it were not for you and Maggie I should not care if I never came back. You are all I have now. Crosby says I must make haste; he is a fellow here who is helping me. I am kept by Starlight at a place called Norton's Gap, which lies south of the Dixieville road, directly after you have passed Badger's Creek. Crosby says ask for Lingan's. This place is close to Lingan's. Let Macleod, or some one, be on the path between the Dixieville road and Lingan's to-morrow night at eleven to try and arrange things. Crosby will be there. He is a big, handsome fellow, with a yellow beard and hair, and clear blue eyes. You will easily know him."

Ah! Margaret, Margaret, what makes you start in that way? You would blush if any one were looking at you now; as it is, you grow pale.

"Let the police at Bateman know where Starlight is; they will be here soon enough then. This is the last bit of paper I have got. I myself am quite well and unhurt. Would it were Geordie instead. He was worth a dozen of me. If you have not found him he is lying by that split gum we burnt, just beyond the Dip. I killed the man that knocked Geordie off his horse. Don't agree to any ransom for me. Crosby says Starlight will try it on.

ALEC."

All the last few lines were so cramped and crowded together that Margaret could hardly make their meaning out. But she did at last, and letting her hands, still holding the letter, sink idly into her lap, she stayed where she was without moving and deep in thought. It was the clattering of horses into the yard that made her look up, and the next instant Yesslett dashed into the kitchen.

"How is he now, Mrs. Beffling?" he whispered, as though his voice would disturb Geordie at the other end of the house. "What did the--oh, Margaret, I didn't see you. What did the doctor say? How long was he here?"

"He got here at seven, just after you and Balchin started out with Murri and Baluderree. He says it was concussion of the brain, but that if we keep him quite quiet he will soon get all right. It was the greatest wonder, he says, that he was not killed straight off."

"Has he gone?"

"Yes, he has told mother what to do, and he has been gone half an hour. Macleod has gone with him to tell the police all about it, and to make them try to find Alec, but we don't know whether they are at Bateman or Parra-parra."

"Ah! poor old Alec, we shall have to think about him now that Geordie is going on all right. If we only knew where he was we wouldn't wait for the police. We can't trace them, Margaret, beyond the Dixieville road. Murri and that other black boy from the camp easily tracked them that far, and then we lost them; a mob of cattle had passed along early this morning or last night and trampled out every hoof mark."

"Never mind, Yess; this will tell you where he is," said Margaret, rising and holding out the letter. "Como brought it just now. Make haste and read it. I must go and tell mother."

Yesslett read the letter with many little muttered expressions of astonishment and sympathy. What he said when he ended it and handed the crumpled paper to Margaret was very characteristic of him.

"Look here, Margaret. Macleod may be away a day or two, and even then may not bring the police with him. I can't bear to think of Alec eating his heart out and believing that Geordie is dead, whilst all the time he is alive and getting better every hour. I shall go and let him know that we are working for him, and that Geordie is alive."

"But, Yesslett, it will be running such a risk."

"Not if I go alone," said the boy, shrewdly. "In the first place, they can't know that Alec has sent the letter to us, and they will think that one--er--_man_ would never trust himself with them alone. I shall be all right, never fear."

He spoke boldly, though modestly, and the light that glowed in his steady eyes said more than his words. He had not, however, quite got rid of a trick of his old nervous manner, that of rubbing the palm of his hand on the back of his breeches. This he still did when greatly moved or excited.

"We ought to speak to mother about it."

"No, don't say anything to her. She has enough on her mind without another responsibility. I shall go on my own hook."

"It is good of you to do all this for us. You are going into danger for our sakes, Chevalier. At any rate, take my advice in this. Don't go in those clean breeches and shirt. Make yourself look dirty and more like a station hand, so that if any of the bushrangers do see you they won't want to stick you up, and you can go to that place near Norton's Gap--what does Alec call it?--as though you wanted a job."

"That's not a bad idea, Margaret."

"You won't be going just yet. I want to see you before you start to send a message to Alec. It will be no use your getting there before evening. I must go now. Beffy, see that Mr. Yesslett has a good breakfast, he has had nothing to-day. And get something for Balchin at the same time." Saying this, with the letter in one hand and the little saucepan of beef-tea in the other, Margaret left the kitchen very thoughtfully.

"Yes, miss, for sure. I likes to see men eat well, and you must be keen, Master Yesslett. Draw up t' table--if y' likes to wait I'll get a cloth. Begin a' the bread 'n' butter whiles I poach 'e a couple of eggs. I knows how y' like 'em, not hard, but set like. Then I'll have a chop down in a brace o' shakes, as my aunt used t' say. There, there, begin, then. Don't sit a thinking; nothin' 'll come out o' your head if y' put nothing into y' stomach."

"I've got a great deal to think of," said Yesslett, looking up, with a smile at her quaintness. "There is Alec in the hands of the bushrangers, and only me to get him out."

"Ah, an' fine an' hungry he'll be, I'll be bound. But you won't help him by refusin' y' vittle, so here's th' eggs to go on with, an' if the sizzlin' o' them chops don't give you a appetite for 'em, I don't know what will."

"Tell Balchin to come in, then. He's as hungry as I am."