John Tincroft, bachelor and benedict

by George E. Sargent

He could not leave his present work unfinished, said the traveller; and as to his own affairs, they were in no such great hurry. Was the home of which the Amazon (as he began to think the young woman)—of which she spoke very far-away? He might very well ask this, for no habitation, nor sign of habitation, had he seen in that day's journey.

"Only half an hour's ride; and if we could but get poor Styles on his horse—"

"You must get the horse to come to him first, and yours too," thought the traveller once more, though he did not say it, when he saw them still capering wildly in the distance. As to his own steed, it had trotted and galloped too many miles that day to take advantage of the confusion, or care for making the most of its liberty. The question, however, was soon set at rest by the young horsewoman rising and uttering a peculiar cry, which first caused the stray animals to prick up their ears, and then to quietly trot back to their mistress's side.

By this time, the man Styles had somewhat rallied, and his returning strength being for the time still further recruited by the contents of a flask which the stranger had in his haversack, he declared himself, though still faint, not beyond the power of necessary exertion. Aided, therefore, by the stranger, he remounted; the Amazon doing the same without assistance. The young traveller then sprang on to his horse, and placed himself on the bridle-hand side of the wounded man, so as to render help, if his strength were to fail.

As the cavalcade proceeded slowly—for the wounded man was manifestly unequal to rapid motion—there was opportunity for a few hurried explanations. For instance, the stranger told how he had recently landed at Sydney, and had been advised—as being used to land-surveying—to join a company of explorers some distance up the country, and was thus far on his journey with that intention, when the opportunity of rendering this slight service was thrown in his way.

On the other hand, the young horsewoman explained that she was the daughter of a bush farmer and grazier, whose station they were now approaching; and that, because of her father's age and infirmities, she had occasionally to visit an out-station; that, in consequence of recent alarms, she had of late, for her protection, been attended by the faithful man-servant, and had also chosen to carry with her the bosom-companion which had fortunately conduced to her deliverance. She knew two of her assailants, she repeated: they were men of bad character, who had formerly been employed at her father's station, and who, having been defeated in an atrocious plot, and sent to the barracks at Sydney for punishment, had escaped, and, as bushrangers, were spreading terror around, at all stations within a widespread area.

These explanations, which the circumstances of the case rendered natural, opened the way for other topics of conversation, relating principally to life in the bush. And this, together with the necessary assistance which the stranger had to give to the disabled man, whose faintness scarcely permitted him to keep the saddle, brought them to Sedley Station, where it was arranged that the traveller should lodge, at any rate till the following morning.

Our readers will have known from the first that the bush traveller in the scene just described was none other than the Walter Wilson of the early part of our narrative. Arriving at Sydney with sufficient means to equip himself, as we have narrated, and learning there that a good chance of getting on in the colony presented itself in joining the band of adventurers who were pushing their way into the interior, he had not hesitated in proceeding in the direction in which they were likely to be found. It was otherwise determined for him, however, that he should stop short in an expedition which eventually proved to be a failure, attended with much physical suffering and some loss of life to those concerned in it.

New as Walter was to bush life, he was not sorry to find himself between clean sheets in a tolerably comfortable chamber, instead of having to roll himself up in his poncho on the bare ground, and under a canopy of sky, as he had anticipated. And we may suppose that his rest that night was as free from unquiet thoughts as it was untroubled by actual alarms. In other words, he slept soundly, and it was not till broad daylight, streamed in upon him in his resting-place that he opened his eyes wonderingly, and then, when he had collected his senses, sprang from his comfortable couch.

On entering the living-room of the log-house, Walter found that the heroine of the preceding evening was not so Amazonian as he had thought her. She was, in fact, so unnerved, he was told, as to be unable to make her appearance at the breakfast-table. Also, he was concerned to hear that the wounded man was in a more critical state than had been suspected. The weapon had not indeed penetrated to any vital part, so as to make the stab immediately fatal; but the internal bleeding had been considerable, and the man was consequently so weakened and faint, and evidently in so critical a state, as to make it necessary to despatch a messenger for surgical assistance.