The Bushranger's Secret

by Mrs. Henry Clarke

Some hours had now passed since Gray entered the gully. The afternoon was drawing to a close. There were only a few hours of daylight before him.

Gray had brought a little food with him, pressed upon him by the kindly old Scotsman. He took down his knapsack and ate the food. It was no matter of regret to him that he had only a sufficient store for one meal. Nothing would have induced him to spend the night in the gully. Even now, in the broad daylight, an unreasoning terror was taking hold of him. Every little sound, the movement of his horse, the cry of a bird as it flapped its way across the sky, the rustle of the long grass in the hollows of the cliffs, even his own footsteps as he moved to and fro, struck upon him with a sense of fear. He could have sworn once that he had heard a footstep that was not his own, a slow and wary footstep, among the brambles. So sure was he, that he sprang to the door and looked out. There was nothing to be seen. And with a bitter laugh at his own fears he went back and sat down. But he made up his mind there and then that he would not stay much longer in the gully. He would not have spent the night there for all the wealth the world could offer him.

He had now to consider what was best to do in the short period of daylight that lay before him. It seemed a hopeless task to dig south of each of the trunks in the gully, yet what else was there to be done? It was best for him to set about it at once. He decided this, and yet he sat still. He could not make up his mind to go out into the gully again. The place was becoming a horror to him.

As he sat thus on the broken rafter, thinking miserably of the task before him, his eyes fixed themselves on the little window of the hut. It was the only window and was very small. It was, in fact, a hole drilled in one of the beams.

With that strange power the mind has, of carrying on two trains of thought at once, Gray found himself, in the midst of his weary thoughts about the hidden treasure, wondering why the window had been made so small and such an odd round shape. The explanation quickly occurred to him. The hut had been built by men who were in daily fear of capture. It had been built not so much as a shelter from the weather, for there were deep caves in the rocks that would have served that purpose, but as a means of defence. Safe inside the hut, with the door shut and that small window guarded by a good rifle, one man might have defied a score.

Gray guessed, and guessed truly, that Dearing had built the hut. The gang of bushrangers who had formerly used the gully for their lurking-place had lived in the caves. The gully was an unknown place then, and having once reached it all fear of detection was over. But when once the place was discovered, some means of defence within it was necessary, and Dearing had built this place.

Gray remembered Dearing's face as he staggered into the hut, the look of abject horrible fear upon it. What days and nights he must have spent in this gully, watching, waiting, no rest, never safe for a single moment!

"Poor wretch!" Gray murmured to himself. "What a life to live!" And his thoughts went back, by force of sudden contrast, to the life of another lonely man. He remembered how M'Pherson had answered, with a glad, deep peace in his old face, "It's no lonely here. There's voices everywhere."

Gray would not dwell on that. He rose, throwing back his head and straightening himself with a quick proud gesture. He told himself he had no part or lot with the fears of Dearing, any more than with that strange faith that kept M'Pherson glad in his lonely old age. There was no need for him, he said to himself, to have the fear of man before his eyes; and if he need not fear man, what was there to fear? Nothing. He repeated it to himself. Nothing. It was only women and uneducated men who believed in the supernatural.

Yet even as he said it his face turned an ashy white; the great sweat-drops broke out upon his brow, his knees trembled under him. He had heard again the sound of a cautious footstep and the rustle of the brambles as if some hand was moving them. He rushed to the door of the hut and looked round; but as before all was still and silent. He gave a loud shout, but no answer came, save the echo from the rocks. He waited there some moments, but he saw no sign of a human presence.