The Bushranger's Secret Part 8

The old man turned a wondering face upon him.

"Wad ye keep the door barred on sic a nicht as this, if there's onybody outside i' the wind and rain? A braw laddie like you suld hae nae fears: ye suld leave that to the women, puir feeble folk."

Gray's face grew scarlet at the rebuke. He said no more, and M'Pherson opened the door and peered out into the dark, stormy night. He shouted once or twice, but there was no answer nor sound of footsteps. If the dog had heard footsteps they had now ceased; and only the voices of wind, and rain, and rus.h.i.+ng torrent came up the glen.

CHAPTER V.

DEADMAN'S GULLY.

Gray reached Daintry's Corner before noon on the following day. For some miles before reaching his destination his road had lain through a deep narrow gorge, with gigantic walls on each side of almost perpendicular rock. Much of the rock was bare, and of a sullen, cheerless brown, but here and there trees sprang out of hollows and showed green against the rock, and dark-leaved climbing plants flung their long arms from crevice to crevice, and hung in gloomy wreaths along the broken ground.

The morning had come with suns.h.i.+ne and gentle breezes, but no suns.h.i.+ne reached this frowning ravine, and the air there was damp, and heavy, and close.

The ravine had run in an almost straight line for some miles, and Gray was beginning to weary for its end, when he suddenly checked his horse with a start of amazement and dismay. Some few hundred yards before him the ravine apparently came to a full stop. A great precipice rose up before him closing up the end of the gorge--a precipice far too steep for any track to run over it.

Gray began to think he had come to a cul de sac, and that he should be obliged to retrace his steps, but before doing so he determined to ride on to the foot of the precipice before him and examine the ground carefully.

A new surprise awaited him there. He found that the gorge took a sudden turn here, in fact, ran on at right angles to its former course, though considerably narrower and closed in by walls of rock higher and gloomier than ever.

The bottom of this new part of the gorge was not open and gra.s.sy, but studded thickly with enormous trees clad in dark heavy foliage. It was a gloomy spot to enter, and Gray hesitated; yet it was evident the track went this way. There was the mark of a horse's footstep just before him, freshly made too!

Gray's eyes fell on this as he was looking along the ground, and he sprang off his horse to more closely examine it. Some one had evidently pa.s.sed here quite lately. As Gray looked he saw that the footsteps ceased a short way up the glen, and that when they ceased the ground was slightly broken away as if horse and rider had tried to climb the cliff. With a rush of sudden, unexplainable terror, Gray looked up the steep impa.s.sable wall of rock. Horse and rider had gone that way! But how?--and for what purpose? He listened intently, but no sound came to his ear that spoke of a living presence. An oppressive silence reigned on every side.

Gray was no coward, but the blood forsook his cheek and his knees trembled under him. Who was it that was haunting him thus? He dared not make any answer to himself. He dared not stay longer in that dark and silent spot. Taking his horse by the bridle he led him hastily onwards, picking his way with difficulty through the mighty tree-trunks and among the wave-worn boulders that lay between them. The trees grew so near together that it was impossible to see more than a yard or so ahead.

Gray was stumbling blindly on, with the belief growing in him that the gorge was impa.s.sable, and that he would be forced to go back past that spot in the cliffs which chilled him to think of; when suddenly the light grew brighter through the trees, a keen breeze blew upon his face; in a few steps, the trees ended, and the gorge ceased. Gray found himself standing on a rocky platform commanding a glorious view.

There lay the hills, rising range after range before him, bathed in the suns.h.i.+ne of early noon. It was a wonderful prospect--a sight to make one's heart leap up; and Gray stood entranced, drinking in all its beauty, forgetting himself and his errand.

But not for long. He had soon to consider his path; and, as he looked round him with that purpose in his mind, all the glory seemed to die out of the scene, and his pleasure in it pa.s.sed away. For this must be Daintry's Corner, Gray concluded. He must be very near the end of his journey.

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 antic.i.p.ate 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 gra.s.s 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 a.s.sailed 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, gra.s.sy, 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 suns.h.i.+ne.

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 hoa.r.s.e 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.

It was quite accidentally that, about half-way down the valley, he noticed a crevice in the rocks, on his left hand, thickly hung with creepers. It was more a crack in the rock than a crevice, so narrow was it, and only by looking some distance up could it be seen at all, for its lower portion was entirely hidden by a curtain of hanging foliage. But it was the only opening of any sort that Gray had discovered, and he determined to examine it more closely, though it seemed absurd to suppose that this could be the entrance he sought.

He rode up to the bottom of the fissure and dragged aside the heavy creepers. A wild thrill went through him as he discovered that the crack widened towards the ground into an opening just large enough for a man and horse to pa.s.s through. Gray could not see where the dark pa.s.sage before him led, for after a few yards it took a sudden turn to the right, but he determined at once to make a thorough investigation.

He got off his horse and cut away with some difficulty enough of the curtaining foliage to allow an easy pa.s.sage through. Then, with a long fearful look up and down the lonely valley, he entered the cleft. His entrance disturbed a vast number of bats, that flew shrieking out of the damp hollows of the rocks and whirled wildly round him. Their cries had an eerie sound well in keeping with the gloomy spot. But Gray pushed doggedly on, soothing his good horse with voice and hand, and becoming more and more convinced that he was on the right track.

After some distance the pa.s.sage widened, and he began to see broad daylight ahead of him. A few yards more and he came out into a narrow valley heaped with rocks.

It was a gloomy, dreadful place, shut in by high, bare, precipitous cliffs. The pa.s.sage by which Gray had just entered seemed to be the only mode of access: no human foot could scale those dark overhanging cliffs. There was but little vegetation. Some coa.r.s.e gra.s.s grew in the hollows and on the ledges of the rocks, and a gray-leaved repulsive-looking bramble spread its gnarled branches thickly along the uneven bottom of the gully.

But Gray looked in vain for the mighty tree he had expected to see, towering up in the midst of the valley. There were no trees of any kind in the place. Yet Gray felt sure that he had reached the right spot, and a discovery he made after a brief survey supported his opinion. This was a ruined hut built under the shelter of a shelving piece of rock. It was a hut built of logs; the roof was partly off and the roughly made door was lying rotting on the ground. This deserted, ruinous hut only added a new touch of desolation to the dreary gully.

Gray involuntarily s.h.i.+vered as he stood before it and his horse tugged restlessly at the bridle.

He fastened the horse securely to the door-post and stepped into the hut. The floor was of beaten earth. It was heaped up now with the _debris_ of the fallen roof, but Gray could see where the rude hearth had been and where a half-smouldered log still lay. The walls were intact. They were strongly built of heavy logs fastened securely together. The hut might have been built for a miniature fortress, so strong were its walls.

Who had built the hut? Where had the logs come from that formed its walls? Gray carefully considered these questions. He remembered now that Harding had told him of some big trees that were in the gully when a gang of bushrangers, who had made the place their home, had been broken up. There were trees in the gully then. What had become of them?

Gray stepped hastily out and carefully examined the ground. It did not take him long to find the scarred trunks of a few trees hidden by the brambles. He cut away the brambles, and tried by measuring to decide which had been the largest tree. But he could not decide. The trunks were all about the same size. Either the trunk of the largest tree had been taken away altogether, or it had not been much larger than the trunks of the other trees.

Wearied out by his search, Gray returned to the hut. He sat down on one of the fallen rafters of the roof and considered what it was best to do next. He was beginning to feel hopeless. The direction had seemed so clear on Dearing's map. He had been so certain that he would easily find the treasure if he once could reach the gully. Yet here he was, apparently as far off as ever from the attainment of his hopes.

Some hours had now pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.s 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.