The Gold Hunters' Adventures Part 142

"But you have no weapons," Mr. Wright said.

"Ain't I got 'em? Look here!" and to my surprise, he produced from the bosom of his flannel s.h.i.+rt a large pair of horse pistols, which he had borrowed from one of the farm hands.

"You'll do; go ahead," our host said. And as we sallied into the entry we saw that all the laborers were drawn up in a line, as though to take formal leave of us.

"Please, sir, let me go wid you," I heard the familiar voice of the Irishman, who greeted me on my arrival, say.

"And me," cried a dozen voices, in the same breath.

"I don't want you all, but Mike may go," was the brief reply.

"Glory to G.o.d! we'll lick thunder out of all the b.l.o.o.d.y bushrangers that iver dared to show their homely faces this side of the Loddon. I'm off;"

and Mike, who feared that the order for his going would be revoked, s.n.a.t.c.hed a long spear that stood in the entry, and rushed out of the house hatless and shoeless, and full of fight.

"Take good care of the house, Jackson," Mr. Wright said, addressing his servant, who stood near him.

"You don't wish me to accompany you, sir?" he asked.

"No, no. Stay here and take care of the house, and mind that you defend it against all odds, in case of an attack."

"Bushrangers move quick," muttered Kala.

"I'm coming. Now, gentlemen, we will try the speed of your limbs;" and out of the house we sallied, and stood in the driving storm for a few minutes, completely blinded by the sudden transition from light to pitchy darkness.

"Follow Kala," muttered the native; but the request was an impossibility, because Kala was invisible even a foot from where we stood.

"Give the strangers your arms, and lead them until their eyes get accustomed to the darkness," Mr. Wright said, addressing the natives.

"That is a good arrangement for us, but how are you to find the way?"

cried Mr. Brown.

"We know every foot of land within a circle of five miles," was the prompt response of our host; and to show that he made no idle boast, he started towards the field of wheat which we had noticed early in the afternoon, while we followed close at his heels as best we could, much to the disgust of the natives, I have no doubt, for they could scarcely restrain their impatience at the slowness of our pace.

The dogs saluted us with a mighty howl as we pa.s.sed them, but a word from their master quieted their valor, and by the time we had got clear of the cattle pens our eyes were sufficiently accustomed to the darkness, and were enabled to dispense with the guidance of Kala and Iala, who gladly got at the head of the column and led the way towards the creek, which it was stated the bushrangers would have to pa.s.s.

"Under this tree," said our host, pointing to a gum tree of gigantic proportions, "I killed one of the largest diamond snakes that I ever saw in the country. There used to be a nest of them near this place, but I think that they are exterminated by this time. You recollect the snake, do you not?" he continued, addressing the natives in their dialect.

"We remember," was the brief reply.

"Couldn't you conveniently change the conversation?" Mr. Brown asked, and I shared his interest in the matter, for I didn't like the topic in so dark a night.

"Pooh! you ain't afraid of snakes, are you?" Mr. Wright asked, in a tone that implied that he was not.

"Well, I don't care if I confess that I have seen more agreeable sights than a d----n big, black snake, with a mouth large enough to swallow a baby without much trouble. I don't wish to be rigid, but it strikes me that I prefer daylight when the conversation is tending towards such cheerful topics."

I could see that Mr. Brown was intently engaged in scanning the ground while speaking, as though he feared there might be a few of the varmints unkilled from the nest spoken of.

"About a mile further, gentlemen," and we felt thankful for the information, for a more disagreeable night's tramp, so far, I had never experienced. Still, the thoughts of the two suffering women enabled me to keep my spirits up, and to press forward with eagerness to the point at which we expected to relieve them.

There was no cessation to the rain, and the lightning was as vivid as ever, but the thunder was rolling away to the southward, and muttering and growling as though sorry at having relinquished the battle without more of a struggle.

"If I was only as wet within as I'm without, it's in fighting trim I'd be," Mike said, addressing the shepherd, who was tugging along with the most stoical indifference as to the fulling rain and bad road.

"I can fight, wet or dry," was the answer.

"And can't I do the same?" asked Mike, inclined to take umbrage at the remark.

"Show me a thing that an Irishman can't do as well as an Englishman,"

cried Mike.

"Can you play the ghost like me?" demanded the shepherd.

"And why not?"

"Because, who ever heard of a ghost speaking with the brogue?" asked the stockman, triumphantly.

"Bedad, I didn't think of that," Mike muttered, completely crushed by this new evidence of his companion's superiority.

"If you two grumblers don't stop your wrangling I'll choke you," Mr.

Wright exclaimed, angrily.

"I'm dumb," Mike said.

"I'm silent as a corpse," cried the undertaker.

"I'll spake no more this night," continued Mike.

"See that you don't," answered our host.

"Divil a bit, till I see a bushranger, and then I'll give him a taste of my spear."

"That you may do, and you shall have a gla.s.s of grog for every one that you kill," answered Mr. Wright.

"Holy St. Patrick! you don't say so. Don't any one go near 'em but me.

I'll fight the thaves and vagabonds every one, single handed and alone, like a Killarney man that I am."

For twenty minutes we continued on our course, expecting to strike the creek every moment,--yet the night was so dark that it was impossible to tell whether we were on the trail, or wading over the pasturage of the farm.

Even Kala was at fault, and glanced towards the trees, and examined them to discover if we were in the proper locality, but apparently without much success, and I began to think that our expedition was a failure, when the native uttered a grunt.

"Well, Kala, what now?" asked Mr. Wright

"There be creek," he said, and by the aid of a flash of lightning we could see his thin black arm pointing to a line of trees on our right.

"And the trail?" suggested our host.

"We reach it by and by. Come now, and don't talk."

We followed the native, with the renewed hope of soon terminating an adventure, and as we gained the edge of the gum trees, which were convincing proof that we were near the water, the Australians bent themselves to the task of finding the trail, or the place where the bushrangers were expected to ford. On their hands and knees they crawled about from place to place, aided occasionally by a flash of lightning, but still they were unsuccessful, though not discouraged. Their natures were too patient for that.