The GIRL WHO HELPED NED KELLY

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 745, 19 August 1929, Page 5

The GIRL WHO HELPED NED KELLY

W

CHARLES E. TAYLOR

[ Copyright ]

CHAPTER IX (Continued) As Hart went into the little shop Jack followed him. The bushranger turned ’sharply to Jacobson, “Who’s this?”

“He’s all right—working for me, * Jacobson assured him. The two young men took careful stock of each other. Jack saw a thin-faced boy a few years younger | than himself. His chin had not seen a razor for some days, and his stubbly I cheeks served to accentuate the deep j lines under his piercing dark eyes. ;He leaned heavily against the rough | counter of the shop. j Julie looked through the window. Hart’s eyes met hers and her head j inclined, ever so slightly. Then she j disappeared. i “You’ve been riding hard,” Jack rei marked. “Pretty hard.” j “Your nag looks a bit done up.” “Yes.” . It was clear that the young bushranger was disinclined to talk. He bought some tobacco and matches, and I a few other trifles from Jacobson, and ; left the shop without a word. “He doesn’t look too fit, does he?” Jack commented. Jacobson watched him mount before replying, “Can’t expect anything else.” “I say, Mr. Jacobson, isn’t it an offence to serve an outlaw?” “What’s that?” “There’s a pretty heavy penalty for helping the gang.” “And there’s a pretty heavy penalty if you don’t!” retorted Jacobson, with a trace of bitterness in his tone. “You mean they might cut up rough if you refused to serve them?” -That’s it.” Steve Hart rode along the track to where a giant gum. struck by lightning, had crashed to earth, smashing several lesser trees in its descent. There he halted, and looked carefully round him. Going over to the fallen monarch, he lifted a parcel, carefully wrapped in brown paper, from the i heart of the splintered trunk. Quickly remounting, he half turned in the saddle. Several hundred yards away from the edge of the clearing, a white | handkerchief fluttered. He waved his j in reply, then spurred his horse into a gallop. | After tea that evening Jack asked his employer if he would mind if he took one of the horses, as Jackson had promised him some of his wages if he came back in a week. “You can have the horse, but you won’t get any money,” Jacobson told him. “Could I come, too?” asked Nita; “I’d love a ride through the Dush tonight.” “I’d be delighted to have you,” returned Jack, biting back the refusal that rose to his lips. He would be glad of her company, but her presence might prove awkward. He Was anxious to know how the old couple were faring, and, more important still, he was eager for news of Ned and Kate.

“You don’t seem very keen on having me,” remarked the' girl, with a pretty pout, as they rode between the trees. "Don’t say that, Nita—you know it isn’t true.” . "Well, you didn't jump at my offer.” Briant paused. “it was so—so unexpected, you know. It isn’t often that the daughter of the house suggests riding with the hired man—and a tramp at that.” "Don't be silly, Jack. You know you're not a tramp, and as for being a hired man, you’re miles above us. I do wish you’d tell me why you ran away.” “Who said I ran away?” “Well, why you came to the bush, if you like it better that way.” “Well, if you must know, and you’ll promise to keep it a deadly secret — I murdered my wife and seven children!” She laughed merrily. “Try again.” “I drowned my mother-in-law in her bath water!” “And again.” “I stole the babies’ rattles from an orphanage!” Nita did not laugh this time. Instead. she said a little bitterly, "I suppose it was trouble over some girl.” He reached over and put his hand on hers. “Do I look the sort of fellow who’d bother very much about girls?” She pulled her hand away. “I don’t know.” They rode in sildnee for a while. Then he said:

“You’re a plucky girl, Nita, risking a ride with a stranger like me. Supposing I was a bold, bad man and ran away with you! ” “No one is ever likely to do that," she replied, a little wistfully. “Hundreds of fellows would like the chance!” , She lapsed into silence again, and as they approached Jackson’s he thought of the last ride he had had over that track, when he had sat behind Kate Kelly, a helpless cripple. He contrasted her with the girl who now rode by his side —and wondered what prompted him to so. Jackson’s dogs ran out barking to meet them, then gave vent to joyful yelps of recognition as Briant dismounted. “Good doggies!” he cried as they fawned on him. “I like you all the better for that.” Nita said. He smiled. “Dogs make mistakes sometimes.” "Hardly ever.” Jack was curious to see what sort of reception Jacobson’s daughter would get from the Jacksons. To his surprise they greeted her most cordially. “I’m going to make a cup of tea, dearie,” said the old woman. “You’re just in time.” “But we’ve not long had a big meal.” the girl protested. “Never mind —a cup o’ tea s always welcome after a ride.” Jack took a long time tying up the

horses —long enough to enable him to get the recent news from Sam Jackson.

“Steve Hart called for a few minutes this afternoon, and Kate was here again. She' was asking about you.” “What did she say?” “She said she’d rather you wasn't at Jacobson’s.” “T wonder why?” “You never know —just a woman's fad, maybe.” “I’m supposed to come over here for my wages,” Jack told him with a laugh. “It was the only excuse I could think of for coming. “Then I’ll give you them notes you told me to mind—in front of Nita.” “No, I want you to have that money, Mr. Jackson —I really don’t need it.” The old man shook his head. A sudden idea came to Jack. "Then get something that will help Ned.” “Well, I might do that.” Jackson agreed with some reluctance. “Has Jacobson showed his hand yet?” “Not yet. “I’m beginning to think Tom Stevens was mistaken. They’re a queer family. Julie’s a whole-souled sympathiser, but I can't place Frank and Nita.” “That gal’s as deep as the sea.” “Have the police troubled you since’’” “Not since the night Ned was here.” "Mr. Jackson,” said Briant, earnestly, “I’d give something to know where Ned hid that night.” “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime —maybe not,” answered the old man as he led the way inside. Mrs. Jackson and Nita were chatting gaily; the old woman’s face lighted with pleasure, for with the exception of Kate Kelly and her sister, female visitors came rarely to the little bark humpy by Sheoak Creek. Jack led the conversation into the usual channel. “You’d better be very careful, Mr. Jackson,” Nita said. “The police have* sworn to get you.” “Police can’t get me for nothin’!” he retorted, "no more than they can get your own father!” She caught her breath sharply, and Jackson looked meaningly at his wife. They talked about Ned Kelly and his gang, ventured opinions as to how they were provisioned, how they were warned of danger, and whether it was possible to hold out much longer. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson talked quite dispassionately, as though the outlaws had merely a passing interest for them. Nita was convincingly impersonal, and Jack, enjoying the battle of wits, made only a chance remark now and then. Whenever he mentioned Jennie O’Donnell, however, they always changed the subject.

The old man produced a pound note from his pocket. “I’m sorry 1 had to keep you waitin’ for your wages, boy, but here’s somethin’ to go on with.” Jack hesitated; but. remembering the announced object of his visit, and noting the look in Jackson's eyes, took it. “Thanks very much, Mr. Jackson,” he said, as he put it in his pocket. When they were riding home Nita remarked: “Old Sam's pretty generous with his wages, isn’t he? You were there only about a week, and he gave you a pound and apologised because it wasn’t more.” Remembering her father's offer, and his acceptance of less than half of that. Jack could think of no suitable reply. “Queer old stick, Sam,” she continued. “Yes,” he agreed, without looking at her. When the moon rose above the hills and filled the tree-lined track with glowing lanes of silver, Nita halted her horse. "What a night!”

she exclaimed. “What a night to ride on —and on—to adventure, to hope, to peril, to love, to riches — to death—to everything that lies beyond!” This was a new Nita. and Jack gazed wonderingly at her. “God! If it were only possible!” She said it half to herself as she urged her horse forward. A bit farther on she warned him to mind the hole Into which her horse had nearly stumbled on“ the way out. The veil of romance had dropped from her, and she was herself again—subtle and baffling. Few words passed between them for the rest of the journey. Both seemed to be absorbed in their own thoughts. When they stood near the door, she looked up at him. There was an irresistible challenge in those shining eyes and parted lips. He crushed her to him and kissed her.

CHAPTER X. A JOKE ON THE POLICE

Whatever Nita’s feelings were, she was coldly unemotional when she greeted him at breakfast next morning. When Julie referred to the ride she quickly changed the subject, as though it was insufficiently important for discussion. Macguire. Costello and Leane came to Jacobson’s that day, and Jacobson rode away with them into the bush At Eleven-Mile Creek, within a mile of the Kelly homestead, they halted. From the hill there was a clear view of the shack rendered famous by the Fitzpatrick incident—the episode which made outlaws of Ned and Dan Kelly and opened up a chapter in Australian criminology which for dramatic interest had no parallel. There were two versions of that incident. Fitzpatrick’s was that when he went to arrest Dan on a charge of horse-stealing he was shot in the wrist by Ned and hit over the head with a shovel by Mrs. Kelly. The Kellys’ story was that the mother of the outlaws advised her son not to go unless the policeman could produce a warrant, that Fitzpatrick then became abusive, that Dan tricked him into looking in another direction, took his revolver from him: emptied it and returned it. They declared that the trooper’s slight wound was self-inflicted.

In spite of Fitzpatrick’s reputation for drunkenness and unreliability, his story was believed, and Mrs. Kelly and two men who were present were sent to gaol. Ned and Dan disappeared, and the Government offered a reward of £2OO for their arrest. After the shooting of the police at Stringybark Creek, it was increased to £2,000.

Macguire scraped away the leaves and mould, and with a stick drew a plan, pausing every now and then to give emphasis to some strategic fioint. The others studied it closely —all except Costello, who through a pair of powerful field glasses had been watching the Kelly home. “By God, there’s one of them there now—it looks like Dan! ” he exclaimed. hastily mounting. A man had come out of the hut, and, shading his eyes with his hand, scanned the horizon from everj’ point of the compass. A chestnut horse was tethered to a post nearby. “We'll get him this time, for sure!” gloated Macguire. “Jacobson, roide like the divil to beyant Quinn's, where

ye’ll foind Kenny and Martin. Till them to come in from the north.” Jacobson set spurs to his horse and galloped away through the trees. The three troopers separated. “Shoot if ye’ve a moind to,” was the big Irishman's parting injunction. Heedless of the approaching dancer, the man made no effort to conceal himself. He rubbed down his horse and tightened its girthstraps. Then he drew a bucket of water from the well and carried it inside. He reappeared as the thunder of horses’ hoofs, approaching from four sides, reached his ears. A moment later he was confronted by four men with levelled revolvers. “Hands up, Dan Kelly!” shouted Macguire. “We’ve got you now!” “Dan” threw off “his” hat, and a mass of dark hair fell on “his” shoulders. The smiling face of Mrs. Skillion greeted them! “What’s your hurry?” she asked. For a. while the baffled troopers were dumb -with rage. “We’ve got visitors again, Kate,” Mrs. Skillion called, and Kate, laughing merrily, came to the door. “What are yer doin’ in Dan's clothes?” Macguire demanded. “Just what Oi loike, Misther Macguire,” she replied, imitating his brogue. “Oi can arrist yez for that!” "Oh. don’t be a fool!” said Leane. “They’ve tricked us. and there's nothing more to be said.” “There’s much more to be said!” shouted Macguire. “Yes. but not here. Come on!” As they rode away, Kate called ! after them. “Next time, don't let the sun shine | on your stirrup irons. We can see it : a mile away.” I The discomfited police rode straight

to Jacobson's. 1-Ie had taken a short , cut home, and arrived a few minutes before them. “I don't want you to be seen too much round here,” Jacobson told them. “You never know who's spying.” After some further talk Kenny went inside, and the others rode away. “How's the boy shaping?” asked the trooper, when they w-ere seated. “I can’t quite make him out —yet. He went to Jackson's last night.” “Ah!” “But only for the money the old man owed him. And Nita went with him.”” “What did she go for?” “Don’t know —said she would like the ride.” “Queer.” “t can’t see anything queer about it,” retorted Jacobson hotly. “Well, well, perhaps not. Bill Ellis says he saw the gang ride into the ranges back of Cleggett’s yesterday, and they looked pretty done up. “I don't know' about Bill,” said Jacobson, doubtfully. “He's all right,” Kenny assured him. “What’s that?” “Only the wind.” replied Jacobson, pointing to the window. It was not the wind, but his daughter, Nita, who had listened to the whole of the conversation. As Kenny rose to look out she tiptoed round the house. “You’re getting jumpy, Kenny,” Jacobson remarked. “It’s no w-onder,” admitted the trooper, as he resumed his seat. “Old Josh Herman was stuck up near his place last night, and robbed of £4. He was coming back from Greta after selling a horse. Young fellow-, he said.” j “Mightn't have been any of the j Kellys.”

“Who else could it have been?” “Why ask me? There’s been a good deal of sticking up lately, and the Kellys can’t be everywhere at once.”

“If young Briant could only get out of Jackson when Ned’s coming again, we'd be right,” mused the trooper. “The rest of the gang'd soon give in once we got Ned. Why don’t you suggest it to him?” Jacobson paced the floor irritably. “I tell you I’m not sure of him yet. You leave that to me. It’d be a damn sight better if your mob used their heads a bit more, instead of leaving it to other people.” “Oh. you needn't get shirty!” Kenny complained, “we’re doing our best. 1 thought we could rely on you to fix things with Briant, but you don’t seem ■” “I tell you I'll do that in my own good time,” snapped Jacobsen. “Now I’m going to do a bit of work for myself. Wasted enough of the day as it is.” Jacobson had an ugly temper and, as Kenny wished to avoic an open rupture with him, he said, as he was leaving: “We appreciate all you’re doing and we believe we're going to get them through your help. At times one gets impatient, though.” Over the rise Jack and Frank were stacking wood. As usual, Frank was disinclined to talk. “I say,” remarked Briant, “what’a on your mind?” His companion wheeled round. “What d’you mean?” “You seem to be brooding over something. Not worrying about the Kellys, are you?” cTo be continued tomorrow)