The GIRL WHO HELPED NED KELLY

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 756, 31 August 1929, Page 34

The GIRL WHO HELPED NED KELLY

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CHARLES E. TAYLOR

f Copyright I

CHAPTER XXIII. ROBBING THE BANK "My God!” gasped Casement, while his companion, who had threatened the ' vengeance of police officialdom, re- j called his temerity and went sickly i white about the gills. His fears were j unfounded, for the only inconvenience I he and his fellow sportsmen suffered waa to be locked up with the rest of the prisoners herded in the storeroom. A little later Ned, Dan and Steve ; Hart, attired in the new clothes taken from the hawker's van. set out upon another expedition which thrilled Australia from Cooktown to the Leeuwin. "I want you to write me a small cheque, Mr. McCauley," said Kelly to tha station manager. "A couple of potinds will do.” McCauley hesitated for a moment before complying, but the look in the outlaw’s eyes speeded his pen. Then, with Joe Byrne in sole charge of the homestead, the trio, accompanied by Gloster's boy. left the station. Ned drove the hawker’s hooded van, and Dan the hunting party’s spring cart, while Steve Hart, riding one of the station horses, brought up the rear. The gang had laid their plans with remarkable precision. A funeral on the outskirts had taken many residents from the township, and a licensing court was engaging the attention of a number of others. There were, therefore, few people in the vicinity of the National Bank when the outlaws pulled up in front of it. "You can’t come in—lt's after hours,” said one of the clerks through the dosed door in response to a knock. “I’ve a cheque of Mr. McCauley’s, and I’m anxious to get it cashed," the bushranger pleaded. "We’re not allowed to do business after three,” replied the voice from inside. “Surely you can oblige me,” persisted Ned. “It’ll be a great convenience if I can cash this cheque now.” The teller half opened the door, and Ned and Hart, brushing him aside, entered the bank.

"I’m Ned Kelly, and 1 want all your money!”

It was a startling announcement, and two revolvers levelled at the clerk’s head added poignancy to it. Mr. Scott, the manager, was brought from his room, and forced to surrender the key of the strongroom, and into a gunny bag its contents were shovelled. It was a handsome haul —about £2,000 in cash, and nearly 30 ounces of gold dust—but Ned was disappointed. “I expected fully £10,000,” he told the manger. “I’m going to burn all these books and bills.” Scott, alarmed at the destruction of j the whole of the hank records, pleaded eloquently for their preservation. ; “They’re no good to you.” he said, “so ! why not let them alone?” “Oh. very well then,” Ned replied. “I waut everyone here to come with j ; me to McCauley’s.” The occupants of the household were mustered—Mrs. Scott, seven chil--1 dren and two servants. The bank i manager’s wife shared none of the j fear exhibited by her maids. She smiled at Ned. and remarked. “You’re a much handsomer and betterdressed man than I expected, and you don’t look a bit blood-thirsty.” This flattery was not lost on the outlaw leader, and he was in the most genial of moods when Scott ini vited him to take a glass of whisky ; with him. “Your health!” said the banker. j ; “Good luck!” responded Kelly, who,' | after waiting for Scott to drink first, j drained his glass at a gulp. “No, no j more, thanks,” he added, as the banker ! tilted the bottle again, j “We’ll want your buggy to take the j family to McCauley’s,” Ned said, j “You’d better put the horse in.” ! “If you want the trap you’ll have to | harness the horse yourself—my 1 groom’s away.” was Scott’s unexpected ! reply. This was talk that Ned was un- . accustomed to, hut he, merely smiled. and went into the yard. While he j got the horse out of the stable, Dan. who had been guarding the back door. I took his place in the bank. ! A little later, the strange cavalcade i set out for Younghusband’s station Ned. with Scott and the money, drove the hawker’s van. Mrs. Scott, the family buggy with some of the children, and Dan, Casement’s cart with the rest of the household. Mart 1

riding the horse on which he came to the township. A mile up the road they encountered the funeral party returning from the cemetery. As they approached the bushrangers warned their prisoners that if they attempted to make any sign they would be instantly shot. It was an anxious moment, but none of the mourners appeared to notice anything unusual in the procession, and Scott., his family, and the bank clerks looked straight ahead of them as the other vehicles passed. .Joe Byrne’s vigil at the homestead had not been without incident. One of the trains which passed close to the station slowed down, and almost pulled up. Byrne watched it with anxious eyes, and there was great | excitement among the prisoners in the storeroom. One of them wished to break a. window and signal to the passengers, but Sam Jackson warned him that any attempt to attract attention meant death —possibly to all of them. One* man got off the train —a telegraph linesman, who had come to look for the cause of the interrupted service. When he walked over to the homestead he was promptly bailed up by Byrne, and added to the prisoners. Scott and the bank clerks also were locked up. and the bushrangers set about preparations for their departure. They were in no hurry to leave, j however, and when they had liad another meal they announced that the prisoners would see something worth watching. Their horses were saddled audgvvhile one kept guard the others indulged in equestriau feats that made the spectators gasp with amazement. Ned Kelly’s reputation as a rider was well earned, as all who formed that strange group of spectators could testify. Setting his horse at full gallop, he picked up small objects from the ground, stood up on the saddle lay outstretched on the horse’s back, dismounted and mounted, and jumped two fences while in a kneeling position. “To think that a man like that is throwing his life away!” remarked Mrs. Scott. , “It’s a terrible business!” the station housekeeper agreed. “If ever I had e. chance to do him a good turn I believe I’d do it!” “I’m sure you’re one of very many.” One of the Scott children who stood

bv her side, her cheeks flushed with excitement at the outlaw leader’s surprising feats, looked up into her mother's eyes. “Mummy, a man who cau do those clever things can't be very wicked, can he ?” “He must be,” exclaimed a boy a few years older than herself. “He pointed a big pistol at Daddy. A good man wouldn’t do that.” “Anyway, he can ride better than j the man we saw in the circus.” de: dared his sister. “He's coming over here!” said the j boy in a frightened voice. While two of his companions rounded up the prisoners and ordered them back into the storeroom. Ned, leading his horse, walked over to where the women and children stood. “I must congratulate you on your riding,” said Mrs. Scott. . The bushranger smiled awkwardly. 1 “I—thanks,” he stammered. *T hope we haven’t put you to any great inconvenience,” he added. “It’s been quite a pleasaut experience,” she assured him. Dan Kelly and Steve Hart, who were impatient to get away with the bank’s money, rode up. “Hadn’t we better be going?” asked Dan. “In a little while.” Kelly had other things to attend to. First, he gave Gloster’s boy, who had accompanied them to Euroa, £2 and the watch taken from the body of Constable Lonergan. The servants of the homestead were presented with several pounds between them. His last act, before riding away, was to ask McCauley and a man named McDougall for their watches. “That was given me by mother, and I’d be sorry to lose it.” pleaded MeDougall. “I know what a good mother is, and ! I wouldn’t think of taking it,” was the bushranger’s unexpected reply. Meanwhile, Byrne had appropriated the bank manager's watch. “We’re off now,” announced Ned, addressing the prisoners from the door of the storeroom. “You all stay here for three hours. If any one of you leaves before then, we’ll track you down and shoot you dead! I look to you. Mr. McCauley, to see that no one makes a fool of himself!” A few mments later the sound of hoofbeats told that the outlaws were riding away with their booty. CHAPTER XXIV. —THE POLICE OUTWITTED By the time O’Donnell, Jennie and Briant had finished their plain but plentiful meal, it was dark. “Well, I suppose, I’d better be moving on,” Jack remarked, as he rose from the table. “I’m much' obliged ' to you both. It isn’t often I get a banquet like that, and I’m very grateful.” Jennie laughed. “I’m sorry for your banquet. But'* —with a more serious face—“you haven't anywhere to go, have you ?” “Oh, any amount of places, l assure you,” he returned with a grin. “You, Jennie, can’t appreciate a bed in the bracken, a shakedown under a log, ,or the luxury of a wombat’s hole. Did you ever sleep in a. wombat's hole. Mr. O’Donnell?” “Indade 1 did wanst, but O’im uot after cravin’ for any more av it. Ye see, it was a convenient place for me at the toime, because —well there were gintlemin in the neighbourhood O’i wasn't anxious to mate —not nearly as anxious as they were to mate me—if ye git the drift av it.” “I quite understand.” And Jack winked at the girl, who turned to him with troubled eyes. “You musu’t sleep in the bush tonight. We can easily find you a shakedown, can’t we. Dad?” “We can that, and ye’re welcome to it.” assented her father. “That’s really very kind of you. Some day, I may be able to pay this debt.” “If ye’ve been av service to Ned the debt's paid beforehand,” O’Donnell declared with considerable feeling. “Ned’s unfortunate in some respects, but in one at least lie’s the luckiest of men. No one ever had more loyal friends, prepared to sacrifice so much to help him.” “If ye knew him as well as we do. ye’d say he desarved it,” said O’Donnell. Jennie shot him a grateful glance, and Briant remarked that lie was sure he was a good fellow at heart. “I . wonder where he is now?” he added. “Ye’ll hear in a day or two.” Jack looked at him inquiringly, but the old man was disinclined to be more communicative. “It must be a terrible strain on you, Jennie,” said Briant. “It is. r know only too well the danger he’s in every day of his life. Yet —yet somehow 1 feel he is safe for some time. Something tells me he’ll be successful in what he’s going to do tomorrow.” “You know why the gang rode south, then?” She inclined her head ever so slightly. “It’s the future that worries me,” she went on. “Oh. if they could only get away!” “That’s what I’ve said all along,’ cried Briant. “They must clear out of Australia.” “ ’Tis asier said than done.” remarked O’Donnell. “I can’t see that. I could help quite a lot, but Ned’s so darned ob* ! stinate —- —” “Ned knows best.” “I’m not so sure of that. It would be a simple matter to lie low for a few months, and at the same time let all his friends spread the news that the gang had reached the coast and taken ship for some other country. Then, when the police really believed it. they could go to Melbourne or Sydney and get away unnoticed. Two of them could go to one port and two to the other.” O’Donuell pulled his straggly whiskers. “That moightn’t be aisy. Ye see. whin Ned’s at the head things is all roight. but if they separated there might be throuble.” ‘ Dan and Steve Hart would be inclined to kick over the traces, eh?” “They’re only bhoys. and the good Lord knows how they moight iet their tongues run away wid their brains, ’specially if they had a dhrop av dhrik. They moight talk boastin' like, and put thimselves away.” “Dan's a bit of a harum-scarum. I know, and Steve's inclined to be erratic. Joe Byrne struck me as being more level-headed. O'Donnell grinned. •To be continued on Monday.) j *NASS«»L —me correct retneC> Tor coughs* ami cold? Rrinas instant relief 1 nn uose? for 1 ? fid 1