Part 18

"Something big, mates, but the difficulty will be with mother. You see, now ole Ben's prowlin' about, mother'll be hard to persuade."

"Well, tell us what's up your sleeve; we can discuss ways an' means after."

"It's this: go on a campin' trip to the Bay, where there's grand fishin'; then go out to the gold-diggin's, an' put in a couple o' days with the fossikers."

"Jemima! that'd be no end of a prime lark! It'd top off our stay here, wouldn't it, Tom?"

"Susan Jane! it would that, Joe. My word, it'd be a scrumptious finish! but what charnce would we have of carrying it out?"

"I don't think that either your Jemima or Susan Jane'll have much to do with it. Mother'll be the chief obstacle."

"What about a tent, Sandy? We'd have to get one, wouldn't we?"

"There'll be no trouble about that part of the business. There's a big drover's tent in the harness-room; 'sides, Harry has a small one he'd lend if necessary. Lemme see: what _would_ we want? First an' foremost, a tent or tents, an' a packhorse to carry 'em an' the other things. Then plenty o' prog, o' course: fishing lines--there's tip-top schnapper-fishin' down the Bay, to say nothin' of jew, bream, an' whitin'. Then, the guns--we ought to get some good shootin'; both fur an' feather."

"A fryin'-pan and a camp-oven 'ud come in handy, pannikins too, and some tin plates."

"Yes, yes, we'll need those; at any rate, the fryin'-pan for the fish. Don't think there'll be any need to bother about a camp-oven: it's a plaguey thing to carry; we wouldn't use it 'cept for bread, an' we can make plenty of damper in the ashes. But I'll tell you what we must have, an' that's a couple o' small barrels an' a good few pounds o' salt."

"Why, what for?"

"Fish. We'll be down at the Bay pretty near a week, I reckon; an' as we'll catch whips o' fish, it'd be a fine chance to dry some, an' salt some as well. Mother's got two good barrels that hold about half-a-hundred-weight each; they're salmon casks. The salmon's all used, an' I reckon schnapper is as good as salmon any day. That reminds me we'll want three or four sheath-knives; they'll come in handy for scalin' an' splittin' the fish."

"I say, Sandy, when'll we start?"

"Start! Ah--well--we'll talk about that when we get leave--which, let me tell you, is pretty doubtful. 'Twouldn't take long to get ready once we have permission: a day at most. I declare I'm gettin' sleepy. Good-night, chaps."

The boys opened at short range during the breakfast hour the next morning. In other words, they pled most vigorously for permission to camp out for a week or so, according to the programme concocted the night previously. The chief objection lay in the reappearance of Ben Bolt in the district. It was all in vain that the boys insisted that even were the redoubtable 'ranger to visit their camp, which was most unlikely--he would not harm them: would, in fact, have no interest in bailing up a parcel of boys. Mr. M'Intyre showed palpable signs of yielding, and had it been left to him would have granted a reluctant permission. The insurmountable barrier, as indeed the boys knew beforehand, lay in Mrs. Mac's excessive fear. She held the fort, so to speak, against all comers.

"I'm more sorry than I can tell you, boys, to say no, but nothing you could say would alter my mind. Neither Joe's mother nor Tom's would dream of letting them go camping out while those dreadful men are about."

The pals felt the reasonableness of the refusal, and showed not a flicker of resentment, though of course their disappointment was keen.

"I say, chaps, let's put in the mornin' fishin'," suggested Joe.

The vote was unanimous, and in a few minutes, armed with rods and lines and a tomahawk--the latter for use in cutting grubs out of the honeysuckle trees--the boys were _en route_ to some of the deep pools in the creek. They had a really good time with some giant perch. The dangling grubs formed an irresistible lure to these voracious denizens of the water-holes, and the fishermen had no reason to grumble at the result. On their return home to lunch they were dumbfounded with the news shouted out by Denny as soon as they were within speaking distance, "Owld Ben's dead!--shot by the p'lice in th' ranges."

The whole household was greatly excited by the news, which had been brought by a stockman from Captain White's station. There seemed no reason to doubt the intelligence, which had come via the "bush telegraph." Hennessey's lot had picked up the 'rangers' tracks and partly surprised them in the mountains. The outlaws promptly but barely succeeded in getting away. They gradually drew away, however, from all save the Sergeant, who was on a new mount--one of the Tocal noted breed--which proved to be a "ringer."

The leader and his companion, who was a light weight, tried every dodge to shake off the pursuit, and in this they were past masters; but they had to reckon with Hennessey, who was one of the finest troopers in the force--as dare-devil a rider as Ben Bolt himself.

After some marvellous riding among the ravines and tangled mountain scrub--during which a few long-range shots had been exchanged--Hennessey began to draw upon the outlaws. Even that equine magician, Samson, was reaching his limits. The capture of this illusive freebooter seemed now a certainty, could the Sergeant hold out another ten minutes.

He was now within a hundred yards of his man. He lagged a little behind his youthful mate, who was riding the chestnut gelding looted from Wilson's station. Had he wished he could have shot the 'ranger down; but being extremely anxious to capture him alive for the bigger reward, he refrained. The only advantage Ben Bolt possessed was an intimate knowledge of the ground, by which he often gained a bit. They were now racing up a steep ravine which presently terminated abruptly at a precipice. Down this the outlaws apparently flung themselves; or so it appeared to Hennessey.

Arriving at the spot a few seconds later, the trooper perceived a winding, narrow pass. He was a stranger to the precipitous track, but both the bushrangers and their horses were familiar with it, for they slithered and scrambled down at breakneck speed: a single stumble, and man and horse would inevitably be dashed to pieces. In vain did the gallant Sergeant spur his steed towards the pass. His horse resolutely refused to face it. His chances of capture are fast diminishing to a vanishing point, as in a few minutes his prize will have escaped.

The outlaws have now reached the comparatively even ground below, distant about five hundred yards from where the trooper stood gnashing his teeth in rage, and praying that they might break their necks before they reach the bottom. Fortune favoured them, however, and they might have made good their escape without further trouble. But, instead of galloping off to safe cover, they reined up their steeds, while Ben Bolt, standing in his stirrups, shouted at the top of his voice an insulting message for the Sub-Inspector, making at the same time an ironical bow.

While this little piece of comedy was being enacted, and just as the bushranger was in the act of bowing, the Sergeant had dismounted. Swiftly throwing his rifle to his shoulder and adjusting his sights in an eye wink, he made a hasty but true shot. The outlaw had not finished his bow ere he toppled from his steed and lay prone, shot through the heart.

Such was the news brought by the stockman, and accepted by the station folk.

"Weel, it was bound to come sooner or later. It's what happens to a' law-breakers--simply the choice of bullet or rope. It's no' for us to ca' the unfortunate and misguided mon names. If a's true, he suffered a grave injuistice at the hands o' the police when but a youth, which embittered his whole life an' gave a moral twist to his actions. We maun leave him to Ane above wha mak's nae mis-judgments."

*CHAPTER XXVIII*

*THE CAMP BY THE SEA*

"Bright skies of summer o'er the deep, And soft salt air along the land, The blue wave, lisping in its sleep, Sinks gently on the yellow sand; And grey-winged seagulls slowly sweep O'er scattered bush and white-limbed tree, Where the red cliffs like bastions stand To front the salvos of the sea, Now lulled by its own melody." GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.

"And now, boys, what about the camping-out project? I see no reason why you shouldn't carry out your little plan, now all danger's removed; indeed, I should love you to have the jaunt. Who were going?"

The boys could hardly believe the good news, it was so sudden.

"Us three, and Denny, if father could spare him, mother," was Sandy's remark.

"Oh, ye can tak' the laddie. He's due for a holiday, onyway. So's Harry, for that matter. I can do wi'oot 'em for a spell."

Harry was nothing loth, and entered into the scheme with considerable enthusiasm. As an old bushman he was able to give good advice in the matter of camping-out requirements, and was later to render signal service by which a life was saved.

Behold the party, early the next morning, accoutred and ready for the road; making, as they held their steeds, quite an imposing cavalcade. Two stout roadsters were requisitioned for packing purposes; for the maternal solicitude of Mrs. Mac was both prolific and varied, judged by the articles of food and service which she forced upon the travellers.

The squatter's pawky humour found ample scope for indulgence. He expressed a hope that "the pairty would keep a guid look oot for traces o' the lost Leichhardt expeedetion; and look oot for alleegaitors when ye strike the Gulf o' Carpeentairia."

The girls, too, indulged in good-humoured banter, raising hearty laughs against the boys, in which the victims joined as lustily as any.

Said Maggie, striking a grandmotherly attitude, "There are three things I would warn you against, boys; damp socks, draughts, and earwigs. Don't leave out the flour when mixing the damper. Have you packed the tape measure, Sandy?"

"Tape measure! What in the name of Madge Wildfire do you mean?"

"Why," cried Jessie, breaking in, "to measure the giant jew fish that will snap Joe's line as he is in the very act of landing it."

"Whatcher givin' us, Jess?"

"It will also come in handy," continued the saucy girl, turning on Tom, "to record the girth, length, and throat capacity of the monster snake that you, Tom, are sure to see when roaming alone in the scrub."

"That's one for your nob, Tom!"

"Your turn next, Sandy," retorted that youth.

"Then there's the 'old-man' kangaroo that me brither Sandy will shoot at, missing by 'just an hair's-breadth,' of course, and which he will declare--when he returns to camp--to be as 'high as one of those extinct mammals that Simpson has in his natural history book'; at any rate as 'big as Bullocky Bill's off side poler.'"

"But, Miss Jessie, how wud th' bhoys put th' measure on th'----?"

"As for Dennis Kineavy," continued the sprite, "he will be sure to run into a group of mermaa-des, when diving in the deep blue sa-ay, who will be discussing the all-important question of waist measurement. As Denny's an expert in fairies and hobgoblins, he will be appointed judge and referee."

So, amid laughter and banter, and final good-byes, the gay party start for the Bay.

Neville was prevented from joining them through important business interests in Sydney. The "call" of the bush, however, was strong and insistent, and, as he bade farewell, he announced his determination of returning at no long date to settle as a landholder.

The road to the Bay passed within a short distance of the caves, and, despite the news of the tragic end of Ben Bolt, the lads, as they jogged past the neighbourhood, were unable to rid themselves of a feeling that the outlaw still lurked about his old haunt, and felt relieved when they had left this region behind them.

The journey to the Bay proved uneventful save in one particular. In mounting a very steep incline, the cinch strap, that formed the final fastening of the pack on one of the animals, broke, whereupon the pack-saddle, being loosely girthed, worked backwards. Some of the contents, also, fell to the ground, frightening the horse, who bolted along the road, parting with sundry utensils and eatables, which lined the track for some distance at irregular intervals. The frightened steed was at length secured, the wreckage gathered and replaced--this time more securely--and the journey resumed.

The Bay is reached without further mishap or adventure. After coasting it for some little space the party cast anchor, in seamen's parlance, on a miniature promontory which jutted for a furlong or so into the waters of the Bay, forming a grassy, treeless plateau throughout its area. The advantage of this site was apparent to the group of campers, inasmuch as the foreshores of the Bay were covered for the most part with a stunted scrub that extended to the beach. The advantage was twofold: it obviated the necessity of clearing a space for the tents, and it was comparatively free from bush vermin.

To the southern part of the Bay, distant some six miles, was the Pilot Station; while towards the northern extremity, where a large creek debouched into the sea, was a camp of cedar-getters. Otherwise, in its shore vicinity, the Bay was uninhabited.

Two hours of daylight yet remained, and the members of the party made instant preparation for pitching camp. The necessary tent poles and pegs were speedily secured from the neighbouring scrub, and, under the direction of the experienced stockman, willing hands are busily engaged in the erection.

The bigger tent was set upon a ridge pole that rested in the forks of two upright saplings which had been firmly fixed in the ground. When the requisite number of pegs had been hammered into the ground, the tent was hauled taut by cords passed through eyelet holes at intervals along each side, and about thirty inches from the bottom. This under section of the tent assumed a perpendicular position, forming the walls, which were secured by the same method. This formed the pals' cover, while the smaller tent sufficed for the other two. A rough shed formed of four uprights, with a brushwood roof, held the provisions and saddles.

So expeditiously were all these arrangements made that ere the darkness fell they were completed, and Denny--who was promoted to the responsible position of cook--was building a fire for tea-making purposes. Meanwhile the horses were led to a small, freshwater lagoon in the vicinity, where they were belled and short-hobbled, and left to browse on the succulent grass. The last act of preparation was that of cutting a quantity of gum bushes for bedding. No sweeter or healthier bed can be contrived than a layer of fragrant eucalyptus leaves. The beds had scarcely been made ere the welcome summons to supper came, in the Irish boy's best brogue: "Jintilmen, will yees come to ta-ay?"

There is a charm peculiar to an evening meal taken in the open. The charm is heightened in the present instance by the contiguity of the sea. The youths dine to the musical accompaniment of the rolling waves, which strike the beach in deep, muffled thunder-tone, rising crescendo fashion as they race to a finish along the shelly incline. Then, landward, are the insistent noises of the things of the forest. Ever and anon the soft tinkle-tinkle of "The horse-bell's melody remote" is to be heard as the cropping animals move over the lush grass. The illimitable dome above is alive with sparkling lights. Thus an environment is created which gives a sacramental aspect to the feast. At least it forms a romantic picture which centres in the fire-lit faces of the happy, care-free youths.

Supper ended, they eagerly discuss their projects, the while they clean their guns and fix the fishing tackle.

On the morn, at earliest dawn, they will try likely spots for fish, and have a swim in the briny. And now the slow movements of the tongue, with frequent yawns, proclaim the nightly toll which nature is wont to exact.

Ere the pale dawn is flushed the pals, sleep banished, half-dressed, tongues wagging, trudge along the beach to the rocky point of the promontory, stopping here and there at likely places to dig in the sand for whelks, which make capital bait. The water is fairly deep where the nose of the promontory marks the terminal point, and soon lines are unwound, hooks are baited, and practised hands fling the lead-weighted hempen cords far into the Bay. Fair success rewards their efforts. Sandy's line hardly reached the bottom ere he experienced the delightful thrill of a fierce tug, followed by a smart, strong rush which betokened a good fish. After a few minutes' play he landed a fine specimen of black bream, scaling over two pounds.

Sandy and Tom had varying luck with black and white bream, and flat-head. Joe, however, was out of it. He did, indeed, have a gigantic bite soon after Sandy had captured his first fish. The line whizzed through his fingers with a rush that skinned them as he began to take a pull. When the line had reached its limit it snapped like a piece of pack-thread. The biter was either a young shark or a big jew fish. After this no fish troubled the boy. His mates struck their fish at frequent intervals, while his line remained motionless. After a time he wound up and left his companions. Retracing his steps some distance along the beach, he halted at a shelving rock that ran out into the water. It looked a likely spot, and he determined to try with a lighter line than the one he had been using. Baiting his hook with a soldier crab, he made a cast, and almost immediately had a bite, hauling in a black-back whiting. It was a good specimen, weighing at least a pound. He had good sport for about half an hour, catching in all about a dozen whiting and half a dozen soles.

The sport began to slacken about an hour after sunrise, and the pals, having captured sufficient for the day's requirement, set to work and cleaned their catches. This task finished, they have a plunge in the sparkling and cool waters of the Bay.

Meanwhile Harry attended to the horses, and did little jobs about the camp, whilst Denny devoted his attention to the preparation of the breakfast. The lads returned in due course with the spoils of the sea, and with appetites as keen as a razor. In a few minutes the pan is full of sizzling fish, which are presently transferred to a hot dish, and the pan is filled with a fresh lot.

"Goin' to try 'nuther panful, Denny?" said Tom, when the second lot had been demolished.

"Anuther pan! Howly Moses! div yees hear him! Och, thin, me bhoy, ye'd soon rise th' price ov fish. Not anuther scrap will Oi cook f'r yees. Oi've kep' th' rest f'r dinner? Sure, if we go on loike this 'twill be Fridah ivry da'; glory be!"

The morning was devoted to a go-as-you-please programme, in which there was much disporting in the water; even the juvenile pastime of building castles in the sand was not considered _infra dig_.

In the afternoon the whole party set out for Schnapper Point. It was on this spot that the fond expectations of the lads were centred. It was reputed to be the best fishing ground in the extensive Bay, and owed its name to the fact that school-schnapper frequented its vicinity. A schnapper trip--taken as a rule in a small steamer--is voted one of the finest outings by Australian sportsmen. This highly prized fish, be it said, is known variously, according to its age and changing habits. It often attains large dimensions, weighing up to thirty pounds.

None of the party had previously visited the Point. Their great concern was to find out if suitable bait could be procured in its neighbourhood. The principal bait was a small species of whiting. These, they discovered, were to be obtained without much trouble on shelly patches along the beach.

Early next morning the campers are astir, and busily engaged in necessary preparations. After a hearty breakfast, in which the corned round and the spiced beef are conspicuous features, behold the young sports jogging along the beach towards Schnapper Point. A stoppage is made at the whiting patch, where the fishermen are kept going for an hour with very fine lines. By this time they have secured about two hundred small fish as bait.

And now, having arrived at the fishing ground, leaving Harry and Denny to attend to the horses, the pals, all eager for the promised sport, unwind their heavy schnapper lines, and prepare for the catch.

It was agreed that the boys were to fish, while Harry, who voted fishing a bore, and was devoted to the gun, would scour the adjacent scrub for birds, and the forest beyond for kangaroo; Denny having promised the boys a "foine boilin'" of kangaroo-tail soup. To quote the actual words in which he preferred his request--"If Harry wud shute wan iv thim fellas as hops wid their ta-ales, and carries their childre in their pockets,[#] Oi, wud ma-ake sich a soup as niver was."

[#] The natural pouch of the marsupial for bearing its young.

The shooter, armed with a fowling-piece and a short rifle, after attending to the horses, disappeared in the scrub in search of game. Meanwhile the fishers, having cast their lines, assume an expectant attitude.

To their great disappointment there are no bites; not even the stimulating nibble. The patience of these amateurs is sorely tried. A whole hour passes without the slightest sensation of a bite. Lines are cast and recast. The fishermen move to and fro, to no useful purpose.

"Well, of all the rotten frauds of places for fishin', this takes the bun! Dash it! we'd better have stayed at the camp an' fished there. At least we'd----"

"Howld yer whisht, bhoys!" said Denny in an excited whisper. "Oi'm jist goin' to git a boite; th' line's thrimblin' sure. Faith 'tis a Dutchman smellin' the ray-shons, Oi'm thinkin'."

"It's not a schnapper, if that's what you mean by a Dutchman. No nibblin' about a schnapper, Denny. More likely a crab."

"By Saint Michael! Joe, div yes call that a crab? Be dad, thin, it's a big sa-ay whale, or maybe one iv thim mare-mades Miss Jassie warned me aginst. Be th' hokey, th' loine's cuttin' me fingers!"

The line, which for a minute or two had given faint twitches, and a few premonitory shakes, now suddenly whizzed through the Irish boy's fingers.

"Take a pull on her, an' steady her!" cried Sandy. "You'll lose fish an' line, too, if you're not mighty smart."

Denny thereupon made a "brake" of his fingers, which steadied the fish after it had run out about fifty yards or so of the line. He began to haul it as if it were attached to a sulky calf. The fish was a heavy one, and a fighter; but what Denny lacked in skill he made up in strength. Fortunately for the angler the line was stout and new, or it would surely have snapped in the struggle. By sheer strength the fish is drawn to land.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

*AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA-TIGER: A NARROW SHAVE*

The pals watched the seaman-like efforts of Denny to land his "sa-ay whale," or "mare-made," with great curiosity.

"It's no schnapper, unless, maybe, a real boss 'un. More like a young shark," was the remark passed by Joe.

Their curiosity is soon satisfied; the fish is now in the shallows, and the next moment is drawn to the water's brink. Denny has landed a monster sting-ray.