The Bushranger's Secret

by Mrs. Henry Clarke

He looked keenly along the ranges of hills in front of him, but he could not see the towering battlements of Rodwell's Peak. That must lie behind him. M'Pherson had directed him to a small settlement some miles beyond Daintry's Corner. Gray could see the roofs of the houses over the slope of one of the lower hills to the right of him. He determined he would spend the night there if he could reach it in time, but his first business was to find Rodwell's Peak, and then to search for Deadman's Gully. Once the exact spot was reached, he hoped soon to find the treasure. Gray did not anticipate much difficulty in taking it away.

The robbery of the Bank at Adelaide by Dearing had made a great sensation at the time. He had carried off more than £30,000 in gold and notes; and he had managed to change much of the gold and all the notes for Bank of England notes, whose numbers were not known. The notes Gray could easily carry away and much of the gold. The remainder he had determined to leave behind him safely buried. It was better to lose a part than run the risk of discovery by weighting himself too much. A few hours would suffice for this, he thought, then he determined to go down to the settlement for the night, and make his way to Adelaide by another route. Nothing should prevail upon him to go back the same way: he had long ago decided that, and recent events had made his determination more fixed than ever.

But now to reach Rodwell's Peak! Gray carefully examined the ground, and made up his mind that his road lay along the rocky platform or terrace on which the gorge had ended, and which seemed to run along the hills through which the gorge had cleft its way. He made a rough calculation, and then decided to follow the terrace in its westerly direction. He called his horse, which had begun to graze on the short sweet grass that clothed the gentle slopes above the terrace, and set off on the road he had chosen.

If he had looked backwards down the gloomy ravine he had just left behind him, he might have seen a face looking cautiously out through the dark boughs of the trees—an evil sallow face with reddish slanting eyebrows. But Gray did not look back. He was too excited at the near fruition that awaited his hopes. All the fears that had assailed him, all the remorse that had been growing up in him disappeared as mists disappear before the morning sun. He mounted his horse and rode gaily along the broad even platform, whistling as he went. The platform or ledge continued for some time, sloping almost imperceptibly downwards till it ended in a wide, grassy, meadow-like valley, with a giant eucalyptus in the midst of it. Through the valley a stream went singing—every ripple making a line of silver in the sunshine.

Gray crossed the valley, stopping to let his horse drink at the stream, and to take a draught himself. The hills beyond the valley were strewn in places with great boulders, but it was easy to find a path, and Gray made good progress for a time. Then the way became rougher and more precipitous, but Gray pushed hurriedly on; for over the shoulder of the next hill rose the jagged crest of Rodwell's Peak. He knew the knife-like edge of the lower summit, the towering outlines of the peak itself. Now a well-defined track began to disclose itself running in easy curves down the hill and along the rocky bottom.

Gray rode more slowly, his heart beating wildly. This must be the track Harding had spoken of, leading from the settlements below. He kept a sharp look-out, but no sign of a gully disclosed itself, though Rodwell's Peak rose well in front.

The valley, at the bottom of which the track ran, had been wide at first, with sloping shelving sides, richly covered with foliage. But now it was narrowing fast; the sides were growing steeper and steeper, and the vegetation less abundant Gray rode slowly, stopping every now and then to examine the rocks for an opening between them. It could not be far off. Looking down the valley the towering crest of Rodwell's Peak was all that could be seen. It rose at the mouth of the valley like a mighty sentinel guarding the fortress of the hills. But though Gray carefully examined the rocks on either side, he could find no trace of a gully running between them.

He rode on until he reached the point where the valley ended, and the land began to shelve upwards before him. He saw that the track ran across the shoulder of Rodwell's Peak, but he did not follow it. It was useless to do that. He felt certain that the opening into Deadman's Gully lay in the valley behind him.

He turned his horse and rode backwards. As he turned, a sharp sound caught his ears, and he checked his horse to listen. It ceased instantly, and though he stopped there for some moments listening intently it did not recur. The sound had been like the beat of a horse's hoofs against hard rock. But there was no sign of horse or rider to be seen. The valley was silent, save for the hoarse cry of a magpie among the trees and the rush of a stream in the distance.

Gray rode slowly back, but he did not pursue his search with any vigour; he had been too much startled by that sudden sound. He tried to reason himself into believing that it was a mere hallucination of hearing, that the fall of a stone down the steep hill had been mistaken by him for the clatter of a horse's feet. But reason as he would the conviction remained strong within him that it was a horse he had heard, and he was looking more carefully, as he rode down the valley, for other signs of a horseman's presence, than for the opening into Deadman's Gully.