'Good-bye,' shouted Jim, and they sent him an answering cry.
'Two hours' start or more. Which way must I go?' thought Jim. 'If it is Dalton's men who have taken him, I know their ropes as well as they do themselves. They'll make for Barker's Creek. I'll chance it.'
Barker's Creek was a small hamlet consisting of half-a-dozen shanties, all occupied by the members of the gang of which Abe Dalton was the head. They were a lawless, licentious lot, blacks and whites living together, regardless of law or order. There were about two dozen white men, and double that number of gins,—old and young,—and black fellows, camped around the wooden structures in humpies.
These blacks were part of King Charlie's tribe, but the old chief had cast them off; savage that he was, he had an instinctive feeling that his people were better than Dalton's men. He cursed them as they threw in their lot with the white men, and his sentence of excommunication was heard by those of the tribe who remained with him, and they carried the tidings into many places far distant. Even these blacks, uncouth and savage, had their laws, and rendered obedience to their old king.
It was a dangerous place was Barker's Creek, and its tenants ought to have been rooted out, but Abe Dalton was a cunning man and had contrived to keep Sergeant Machinson from meddling in his affairs.
Jim Dennis had no intention of riding alone into Barker's Creek. He wanted to catch his men before they arrived there.
He had a fresh horse under him, and he made the most of his mount.
He rode over the plain at a great pace, from time to time pulling up and dismounting to look for tracks. His practised eye soon found them, and sure enough there were three horses going in the direction of Barker's Creek.
'It's all right,' he muttered. 'I only hope I shall come up with them. I feel in a fighting humour, and they will have to stand and deliver, "hands up"; they are used to the sounds, they will know what they mean. It will put me in a bit of a hole if they reach Barker's Creek first. Machinson will swear I had a hand in sending the horse there, and that my ride over to Cudgegong was a ruse to deceive them and get the horse away; any cock-and-bull story would serve his purpose so long as it got me into a hole.'
He galloped on at a fast pace, and towards evening saw his men in the distance. They were in no hurry, and evidently did not fear pursuit. The horse was with them and going quietly.