Storyteller.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 15, 8 July 1893, Page 13

Storyteller.

A WOMAN’S PERFIDY. (By J. D. F., in the Adelaide Observer.) I am an old man now, and inclined to be garrulous, so you must excuse me if I am . a trifle long-winded. I bave told tbe tale often, and it is always painful to me; still, as you are strangers, I do not mind telling it once again. You see, g’entlemen, it is all about a ball. It was like tbis : When I first came to the Manaro country I could not work like the others did, but the people took pity on me. I used to teach the children, and I used also to play the Addle at any of the social gatherings. Well, I was playing at the ball I am going to tell you about. The ball was held in a large barn, and all the country-side was there. There was one face that I missed, however —the face of my boy. He was not my boy in reality, but I was a lone man, having no kin, and I had, taught him; and even as a little fellow he had taken to me, and I loved him. I thought that he was nobler, truer, and braver than the others; perhaps be was not, but I used to think so. He was brought or dragged up on one of the stations, and when he came to me he was so quick and bright that I thought he would make a scholar ; but it was not to be. You see; he had to work, and it was the old story. What time he had to spare he would not devote to study—the attractions of the bush were too great for him. I think I see him now with his .fair- face puckered up over some mathematical problem; or some rule in English grammar. He and I were great friends, and he never had . any secrets from me, so when lie fell in love with Catherine Brady I did not oppose him, although I did not like Catherine. They all said that she was pretty, but I could not see it. I had taught her, and knew that her disposition was bad, for even as a child she would tell tales of her school companions. As I said before, I was playing at the ball, and I missed Ned Austen, He was away —it is no Bse disguising the truth. You have all heard of cattle-duffing; it was wrong, no doubt. They used to .steal the squatters’ cattle here and take them over the dividing range through the jungle to Victoria, and sell them in Omeo. They did not return empty-handed either, fer they used to bring some of the miners’ horses back with them. Omeo was in full swing in those days, and fat beasts were fetching £8 a head. Foxtwenty years the track through the dividing range was kept a secret fx-om the police. I could take you and show you the old duffing-yards even at this day. My boy was no worse than the i-est. I could mention men that stand high in the colony now who made their first money cattle-duffing. Besides, I x-eckon a lot of it was the squatters’ limit. None of the land was fenced, and the stock was left more that half the year with no one to look after it, and as th# Bible says, “Who is thex-e amongst us that can cast the fix-st stone ? ” My boy was away with Mike Power. He ought to have been back long before, and we had no word. That night as I looked at the dancers I could not help thinking how he would have enjoyed that ball. Cathex-ine was belle, so the young men agx-eed. I watched her dancingand flirting with Will Bux*k, a squat-tex-’s man, who was steady, and had saved a few pounds. She did not seem to miss Ned one bit, and I wondered if anyone else in the whole crowd thought of him but me. When thex-e was an interval I put my fiddle down and would have had a 44 pitch,” but they were all on to me to sing-. I used to sing then, but I have nevextouched the fiddle ox- sung a note since that night I gave them, “ She wox-e a wreath gf roses,” a song I had leax-ixt as. a boy in another land. My sense of hearing

was pax-ticularly keen that night, and all the time I was singing I, was listening, to the sound of a hoi’se s hoofs approaching the barn. I was not a bit surprised wheii I had.finished to see Ned walk in. There were cxles all round of Hello! Ned, and where’s Mike ? ”.. “ Mike’s away behind.” He came across to me. “ Well, dad,” he said in his hearty-manner. 44 How goes it P ” I could see by his face that something serious had happened to him. I knew him so "well that it was always easy for me to read his countenance. “ Something is wrong, Ned ? ” 44 Yes ; the very mischief. I will tell you.later on.” He made his way to Catherine’s side and was laugbing and talking to hex-. I started and played a set dance. In the middle of it he came over to me and told me what follows, and if my playing were faulty —mind I never-heax-d any complaint—it was not to be wmndered at. 44 Mike is dead, dad; -what do you think of that ? ” 44 Hood heavens ! ” 44 1 will tell you from the beginning how it all happened. We got to Omeo all right and sold our cattle—ninety of them at £7 10s a head. I have the money on me now 7 . We succeeded with a lot of difficulty, which I have not got time to go into, in - getting together a mob of horses. One of the owners of the horses and a tx*ooper tracked us out of Omeo. On the fourth night they came upon us. I was asleep |at the time and Mike was on watch. I was awoke by firing, and was just in time to see by the light of the fire Mike drop—shot dead. I fired at random and killed the trooper.” 44 How long ago is: this ? ” 44 About two months, as near as I can reckon it.” 44 What has kept you so long ? ” 44 1 got bushed, but never mind that. You have not heard the worst.” I nodded my head to listen. 44 After I shot the trooper the minercleared, but before he went he sung out — 44 1 know you, Ned Austen, and you shall swing for this as true as 1 am a miner.” 44 He knew your name.” 44 Yes, and that’s what puzzles"me. I have tried for days to think w r here I had met him, but without avail.” 44 He could not have learned your name at Omeo ? ” 44 It’s impossible; I always use a false one there. He must have know-n me somewhere else; at the saleyards at Goulbux-n probably.” 44 It’s a w-onder that we never heax-d anything of the affair up here. All New South Wales and Victoria must be on the alert by this time.” 44 Unless ” 44 Unless what ? ” 44 Unless he got bushed like I did.” “I would not x-eckon on that; you know we nevex- do hear anything up here. But you ought never to be hex-e.” 44 I know that, and I am off to Queensland to-mox-x-ow. I only came because I wanted to see you, and I wanted to see ”: — 44 Cathex-ine Brady.” He nodded. 44 You will not tell her, Ned,” I said in alax-m. 44 1 will not tell her F why not ? The girl is true enough. I shall not tell hex-, however; I have not the heart, and that is the tx-uth.” 44 How did you get bushed ? ” 44 1 will tell you in a minute. Is there any dxlnk about? ” 44 Yes, there is some brandy in that box.” He helped himself copiously ; then he came back to me and said — 44 In the fixing the horses broke away. 1 was too fx-ightened to attempt to get them tog-ethex- again, so I stax-ted home with only my own two hox-ses. Somehow or other I was careless enough to get off the tx-ack and I got buslied. I got into a di’eadfal place. The trees were the biggest I evex- saw in my life. There were firs like aver-age-sized trees, and an undex-gx-owth that eventually became

impassable, and. I had to cut nay track. The whole place was wet and cold. You can understand that I had to discard my horses, and that I had to eat ’possums, which were very plentiful. As far as I can gauge it this place is not far from the seaeoast of the Ninety-mile Beach.” “ You have another horse now ? ” “Yes, a chestnut; he’s a ringer. I bought him near Bombala. He had need to be good to carry me to Queensland.” So this was the end of it. All the bright dreams I had cherished of spending my declining years at Ned’s fireside with his children around my knee were over. My poor, unfortunate, misguided boy! He went away and danced with Catherine, and laughed and joked. Once or twice he came back and helped himself to brandy, which made me caution him. “ Don’t get drunk, Ned.” “No fear of that. I couldn’t to-night if I drank a bucketful.” Later in the evening Catherine and he approached me talking earnestly, and 1 could catch their conversation. “ What do you m«an, Ned P Ido not understand you. I thought you said if this trip was successful you would not have to go away any more P” “I did say so ; but don’t you understand it has not been successful, and I must go away to-morrow. I cannot help it, dear.” “ You are most mysterious to-night, and I hate mysteries. Why must you go away in such a hurry ?” “ I cannot tell you; you must trust me. Do you love me, Kate ?” “ You know I do.” “ Well enough to trust me through good and evil report and through whatever should happen ?” “How funny you are; of course I do, Ned.” “Swear to be true to .me then; swear, Kate!” “Very well,” she said, “ I swear. They are going to dance the Caledonians, let us take our places, Ned.” She laughed gaily and they went away to dance. I looked at her in the pride of her youth and beauty, and could I not help thinking what a frivolous thing she was. She little kneAv of the dark tragedy that was overhanging her lover, and perhaps it was well she did not. I started the Caledonians. The airs were the dear old familiar ones of my native land, and they always stirred my heart. I was so absorbed in the music that I did not notice passing events, but suddenly I became aware that something was wrong. I stopped playing ; two troopers were in the room. My eye sought Ned, he had disappeared. It seems that he had caught the first glimpse of them, and had managed to get out of the barn unobserved. “Is Edward Austen here P” said the elder trooper ; the other seemed but a boy. There was a dead silence, and as no one. ventured to speak I said—“No, we have not seen Edward Austen or Ned Austen, as we call him, for many months.” “ That's odd,” said the trooper, “ we tracked him here.” “If I may be so bold to ask,” said I, “ What is the. matter P” “.Murder —wilful murder. Look here, good people, Edward Austen is wanted for the murder of Trooper Patrick Dillon, whom he shot in Yictoria near the New South Wales border ten weeks ago. If any of you harbour him after this notice you will be an accessory after the fact to murder, and that is a serious offence, as you know. There are other charges against him—horse stealing, for example, and there is no doubt that cattle stealing can be proved also. The Government will give £IOO for his apprehension alive or dead.” If a thunderbolt nad fallen in the ballroom there could not have been a greater sensation. • ‘ “If he is about hex*e,” continued the trooper, “he cannot escape. I haye four men stationed outside the bam. How my heart beat. I rightly guessed; .that Ned was hiding in the

shadow of the barn. He could not be safe for long, but while he was free there was always a chance. “Ned Austen is not here, as you can see for-yourself,” I said. “Can we offer you anything to drink, trooper?”

He hesitated a minute and looked round the bam.

“ I don’t mind. We will just take a nip, and if the ladies will oblige us, will dance a few steps to show that there is no ill-feeling. Let me introduce myself. lam Sargeant William Lisle, mounted trooper, and this is my brother Dick.” I introduced William Lisle to Catherine, and the others got Dick Lisle a partner. I commenced the Caledonians over again, I watched the sergeant and Catherine dancing, and I thought what a handsome pair they made. The sergeant was one of the finest men I had ever seen, and he was perfectly graceful. The men out of bravado, and to hide their, feelings, became noisy. There was a good deal of stamping on the slab floor. “ Half-chain,” I called out, and then high above the din c&me the sergeant’s voice, “ Stop the dance, our man is making away.” Catherine had betrayed him. All was confusion in a minnte, and there was a rush for the door. Ned, from the shadow of the barn, had heard the sergeant’s voice, and he made at all hazards for his horse. Strange to say, in spite of a shot or two, he mounted in safety, and clearing the sliprails which barred the entrance to the barn made up the side of the mountain. It was a beautiful moonlight night, as clear as day. One of those December nights on Manaro when it is a pleasure to be alive. The excitement was intense. Dick Lisle was the first of the troopers to get away, and he rode up the mountain close behind him. When the track turned, Ned checked his horse and shouted to the trooper, “ Go back, or I’ll fire.” For answer Dick Lisle fired at him and missed. Ned retaliated and shot Dick Lisle dead. They brought the poor young trooper into the barn, and his brother wailed over him. “ Ah, Dick!” and he shed tears that were no disgrace to his manhood. “ Dead ? and I have to break it to our mother. The last words she said to me on leaving home were, ‘ Take care of Dick,’ and this is how I have fulfilled my trust. Fool! dolt! that I was. That lying old fiddle-player is the cause of all this ; arrest him at once.” ; They handcuffed me while the sergeant walked about irresolute up and down the barn. This hesitation did not last long, and he walked towards the door. One of the troopers spoke to him for instructions. “ You remain here until to-morrow might, and if I am not back by that time push on with the body. lam going to seek the murderer, and 1 will never come back without I bring him alive or dead with me, so help me God !” We heard the serg’eant ride away, and then the people slowly dispersed in coteries. I -noticed how they all avoided Catherine as if she had the plague. If ever I loathed any human creature I loathed her that night. It was the £IOO that had tempted her, and her greediness had already cost one life, and it would probably cost another one before long. All the people spoke to me, and shook hands and symphathised with, my imprisonment. Eventually I and the troopers were left alone. I could not sleep. I was too excited for that. The troopers sat together and conversed in whispers, occasionally helping themselves to brandy in moderation. The body of the young trooper was lying on the table where the refreshments had been, covered with a white cloth. I was terribly anxious about my boy. It was true that he. was born.'and' bred in Manaro : and what man knew Manaro Bush better than he did? , To suggest that any trooper could catch him on his own 'mountain would have been received with derision ; but yet I feared the worst, and I could hot shake-the

depression off. Even if he. did get away he would be a marked man for the rest of his life. My bright dreams were ended. Better he had never come into my life. The night went down, and in the morning a few people gathered round the barn out of curosity, and they spoke kindly to me' Then they went away and more came, and so on all day long.

It was late in the afternoon when I heard a horseman approaching, and the troopers said it was Lisle. Yes, it was Lisle, and what was that thing he carried bn the saddle before him F It was my boy. He was dead.

There is little more to tell. It appears that, Sergeant Lisle was a better bushman than anyone gave him credit for. When Ned stopped his horse beside a creek to have a spell, the trooper, who had ridden hard, came up with him. According to the trooper’s account they exchanged shots, and he succeeded in breaking Ned’s right arm. He then closed with him, and in the- struggle they rolled into the creek together, and either strangled or drowned him. Anyhow, he killed my boy.

Soon after these events Catherine left the neighbourhood and was never heard of on Manaro ao-ain. Sergeant -r • i • « ® O Lisle is a rich man to-day.

I am what you see me. Will I have a drink of whisky P Thank you, kindly, gentlemen.