In Bad Company, and other stories

by Rolf Boldrewood

Morgan's Death, told by the Manager.

Peechelbah Station, on the Murray, was a big scattered place, a regular small town. There was the owner's house—a comfortable bungalow, with a verandah all round. He and his family had just come up from town. My cottage was half a mile away. I was the Manager, and could ride or drive from daylight to midnight, or indeed fight, on a pinch, with any man on that side of the country. I was to have gone up to the 'big house' to have spent the evening. But it came on to rain, so I did not go, which was just as well, as matters turned out.

I was writing in my dining-room about nine o'clock when a servant girl from the house came rushing in. 'What's the matter, Mary?' I said, as soon as I saw her face. 'Morgan's stuck up the place,' she half whispered, 'and he's in the house now. He won't let any one leave the room; swore he'd shoot them if they did. But I thought I'd creep out and let you know.'

'You're a good lass,' I said, 'and have done a good night's work, if you never did another. Now, you get back and don't let on you've been away from your cups and saucers. How does he shape?'

'Oh, pretty quiet. Says he won't harm nobody. They're all sitting on the sofa, and he's got his pistols on the table before him.' And back she went.

Here was a pretty kettle of fish! Many things had to be done, so I pulled myself together, and set about to study the proper place for the battle. It was no use trying to rush the house. There were a lot of hands at work on the place and in the men's huts. But in those days you couldn't be sure of half of them. I had a few confidential chaps about, and I intended to trust entirely to them and myself. I was a good man in those days, as I said before.

But here was Morgan in possession—one of the most desperate, bloodthirsty bushrangers that had ever 'turned out' in New South Wales or Victoria. Nothing was surer than, if we made an attempt to besiege the house, he would at once shoot Mr. M'Pherson, and his partner Mr. Telford, who happened to be there with him.

So I had to be politic or all would go wrong.

I first thought of the money. For a wonder I had four hundred pounds, in notes, in my desk. I had got them from the bank to buy land, which was to be sold that week. I didn't often do anything so foolish, you may believe, as to keep forty ten-pound notes in a desk.

The next thing, of course, was to 'plant' it. I made it into a parcel, and taking it over to the creek, hid it under the overhanging root of a tree, in a place that Mr. Morgan, unless he was a thought-reader, like the man we had staying here the other night, would not be likely to find.

This done, I sent my body-servant down to the men's hut, to tell them all to come up to my place—that I wanted to give them a glass of grog. Grog, of course, is never allowed to be kept on a station by any one but the proprietor or manager. But I used to give them a treat now and then, so they didn't think it unusual.

I mustered them in my big room and saw they were all there. Every man had his glass of whisky, as I had promised. Then I said: 'Men! There's a d—d fellow here to-night that you've often heard of—perhaps seen. His name's Morgan! He's stuck up the big house, with Mr. and Mrs. M'Pherson and the family. Now, listen to me. The police will be up directly. I intend to surround the house. But I don't want any of you fellows to run into danger, d'ye see? It's my order—mind that—that you all stop in here, till you have the word to come out. Antonio!' I said—he had been with me for ten years and was a determined fellow; a sailor from the Spanish main, half-Spanish, half-English, and afraid of nothing in the world—'Antonio, you stand near the door. My orders are that no one leaves this room to-night till I tell him. The first man that tries to do so, shoot him, and ask no questions.'

'By ——! I will,' says Antonio, showing his white teeth and a navy revolver.

The men looked queer at this; but they knew Antonio, and they knew me. They had had a glass of grog, besides, and I promised them another by and by. This pacified them; so they brought out some cards and set to at euchre and all-fours. They were safe. I had made up my mind what to do. I never intended Morgan to leave the place alive. I had sent off for the police, and among the men I could trust was a smart fellow named Quinlan, a dead shot and a steady, determined man. He had several times said what a shame it was that a fellow like Morgan should go about terrorising the whole country, and what fools and cowards people were to suffer it. He had his own gun and ammunition, and, when I told him, said he wanted nothing better than to have a slap at him.

We weren't so well off for firearms as we might have been, for I had hid a lot of loaded guns in an empty hut, ready to get hold of in case of sudden need. Confound it, if some of the boys hadn't taken them out the day before to go duck-shooting with. However, we rummaged up enough to arm the picked men, and kept watch.

It was a long, long night, but we were so excited and anxious that no one felt weary, much less inclined to sleep. Mr. Telford was in the house with Mr. M'Pherson, and he chaffed Morgan (they told me afterwards) about having his revolvers out in the presence of ladies. However, he couldn't get him to put them away. He was always most suspicious. Never gave a man a chance to close with him. He was well-behaved and civil enough in the house, and, I believe, only wished one of the young ladies to play him a tune or two on the piano. He drank spirits sparingly, and always used to call for an unopened bottle. He was afraid of being poisoned or drugged. Some of his friends wouldn't have minded much about that even, as there was a thousand pounds reward for his capture, alive or dead. I have good reason for thinking, however, that one or two of the 'knockabouts' would have given him 'the office,' if we hadn't got them all under hatches, as it were.

Daylight came at last. I've had many a night watching cattle in cold and wet, but none that I was so anxious to end as that. Of course I knew our man wouldn't stop till sunrise. He was too careful, and never took any risks that he could help.

And at last, by George! out he came, and walked down towards the yard where his horse was. I had pretty well considered the line he was likely to take, and was lying down, the men on each side of me, as it happened. But, cunning to the last, he made M'Pherson and Telford come out with him, one on each side, not above a yard away from him. As he passed by us we couldn't have fired without a good chance of shooting one of the other two. So we let him pass—pretty close too. However, when he'd passed Quinlan, the track turned at an angle, which brought him broadside on; it wasn't to say a very long shot, nor yet a very close one. It was a risk, too, for of course if he had been missed, the first thing he'd have done would have been to have shot M'Pherson and Telford before any one could have stopped him. But Quinlan had a fair show as he thought, and let drive, without bothering about too many things at once. That shot settled the business for good and all. His bullet struck Morgan between the shoulders and passed out near his chin. He fell, mortally wounded. In an instant he was rushed and his revolvers taken from him. He lay helpless; the spine had been touched, and he was writhing in his death agony, as better men had done before from his pistol.

The first thing he said was, 'You might have sent a fellow a challenge.' One of the men called out, 'When did you ever do it, you murdering dog?' He never spoke after that, and lived less than two hours.

The police didn't come up in time to do anything; no doubt they would have been ready to help in preventing his escape. But I was only too glad the thing had ended as it did. The news soon got abroad that this man—who had kept the border stations of two colonies in fear and trembling, so to speak, for years—was lying dead at Peechelbah. Before night there were best part of two hundred people on the place. I can't say exactly how much whisky they drank, but the station supply ran out before dark, and it was no foolish one either. 'All's well that ends well,' they say. We've had nobody since who's been such a 'terror' to settlers and travellers. But I don't want to go through such a time again as the night of Morgan's death.