The Bushranger's Secret

by Mrs. Henry Clarke

He was sleeping still when Gray roused himself from the heavy stupor of despair that had come upon him and sat up. There lay the grim horrible wilderness all about him. A short distance off the horses were standing with drooping heads and panting sides. In the scanty shadow of the bramble Lumley lay asleep.

Gray got up and walked to Lumley's side, and stood looking down on the evil face as if his eyes were drawn there by some horrible fascination. The convict slept heavily, his face turned upwards to the sky. Gray saw that his lips were wet. He had water, then! Gray had suspected that he had, but he did not try to find out where it was hidden. He turned away with a shudder and flung himself down upon the ground again.

It was growing dusk when Lumley woke from that heavy sleep. He started up wildly and looked round him. For days he had kept awake fearing treachery from Gray if he let sleep overcome him. Now he had been sleeping for many hours. The sun had been blazing in a clear sky when he fell asleep; now the sky was covered with thick gray clouds, and night was close at hand. He looked round him and saw at once the two horses. A second glance showed him Gray lying with his face upon one arm not far from him. Lumley approached, and saw that he was asleep.

He bent over him to satisfy himself the sleep was not feigned, and then turned towards the horses. It was not difficult to catch them, and he had prepared to mount when an idea struck him. Taking a scrap from his pocket, the page on which Gray had reproduced Dearing's map for him, he scrawled a few words, putting the paper on his saddle to write. Then he softly approached Gray, and stuck the paper into the sand by a branch of bramble. When this was done he crept back again to the horses.

He remained looking at them reflectively for a moment. His own horse stood with drooping head and panting sides, evidently nearly done for, but Gray's horse had borne the long journey well. Lumley had already fastened the bag containing the money and the pistols to his own saddle, but now he shifted it to the other. Gray's horse turned an uneasy glance on him as he did so; and Lumley had a little difficulty in mounting it. But he got into the saddle at last, and taking the bridle of his own horse in his hand he rode away, giving a backward look now and then to the man he was deserting.

Night came, a thick starless night with clouds hanging low over the desert. A cool wind came with the clouds and blew on Gray, and he slept. He was worn out, and he slept hour after hour. The dawn was breaking when he at last awoke. His sleep had been so deep, so dreamless, that in it he had forgotten all that had happened. But memory came quickly back. He started up and looked round for Lumley and the horses.

All was still, with a stillness unknown save in desert lands. The silence was profound. In the gray dawn he could see the plains with perfect distinctness. He looked round him from horizon to horizon. There was no living thing in sight. He was alone.

He understood instantly what had happened. Lumley had deserted him. His first feeling was one of absolute relief. He had escaped from that hateful bondage. It was not for some moments that he realized the hopelessness of his position. Ignorant of the track, alone, on foot, without water or food, what hope was there for him of escaping from the desert? Gray knew how little hope there was. As he had deserted Harding, so he in turn had been deserted. As Harding had perished, so he too would perish. He looked his fate in the face with the calmness of despair.

Before he had fallen asleep he had made up his mind to give himself up to the police and meet the charge brought against him if once he escaped from the wilds. It seemed to him now as if God had refused him a chance of proving his repentance. He was to perish in the wilderness, an outcast from God and man.

He sank down on the ground again, and sat there with his elbows on his knees, his head propped on his hands, staring steadily before him. In the dawn the wide level spaces of the wilderness resembled the pastures that had surrounded their hut. Gray found himself remembering his life there with intense clearness. He saw Harding busy about the hut, ever cheerful, ever ready. He saw him among the cattle, strong of hand, alert of eye. He saw him riding home in the twilight, talking of his wife and his little lads; turning in his stirrups to give a word of cheer to Watch; or bearing Gray's grumbling talk with cheerful patience.