The Girl Who Helped Ned Kelly

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 761, 6 September 1929, Page 5

The Girl Who Helped Ned Kelly

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CHARLES E. TAYLOR

[ Copyright ]

CHAPTER XXVIII. CRIPPLED! “May his soul, and the souls oli all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen!” As the last sad words of the priest died away. Briant looked again at the bereaved old woman. She had crumpled up into the arms of the bushranger, who, without glancing at the other mourners, carried her tenderly to her lonely home. All eyes were now turned on Macguire. Wonder ingly they watched him reverently cross himself over the little mound of earth, replace his hat, walk to the sliprails, and mount the horse that stood tethered there. In another moment he had ridden away. Brian t’s first thoughts were of Ned Kelly, and he led those who hurried over to the hut. Mrs. Jackson was alone, staring ahead of her with eyes that betrayed a sorrow too deep for tears. The outlaw had disappeared. Sam Jackson’s death made a deep impression on the whole countryside. It brought home to the. outlaws’ friends the desperate nature of the game they were playing. Although they had known for months that the hills and gullies were full of armed meu with authority to shoot to kill, this was the first time death had stalked in their midst. Some wavered in their allegiance to the gang, but none of them had the courage to go over to the enemy. When it was found that Jackson had given his life to save the men on whose behalf he had endured hardship and persecution, it was felt that while friends could only pray for the rest of his soul, something could be done for his widow. But Mrs. Jackson was not to bo found. When Angus McCullagh, Jim Kerry and Charlie Wicks called at her hut to find out how best they could help, the place was deserted. Where she had gone was not certain, although it was believed that she joined a Carried daughter in Sydney. Macgutre’s attendance ar the funeral was talked of everywhere. It formed the subject of a serious interview between the constable and Superintendent Hare. “Yes, sorr, Oi wint,” Macguire con-

\ Cessed. “Oi believe 'twas moi bullet ! that killed him, and. Oi just had to he there!” “I don’t see that.” J Macguire looked at. him as though Jhe had not heard aright. “D’ye mane ! to say, sorr ” j “I mean to say that it was a most extraordinary procedure,” snapped his superior officer. “I am told that Ned i Kelly was there also, and you made jno attempt to capture him.” ‘Oi wint to pray for the soul av a malm Oi belave Oi’d kilt. ’Twas a toime av pace, sorr, and we were in the prisence av a servant av God.” “That Is no excuse why you should neglect your duty.” Macguire’s red whiskers began to bristle. “Is it mol resigna-a-tion you’d loike, Mr. Superintendent?” Hare had. not bargained for this. Macguire was a good officer in spite of his fiery temper, and he had more intimate knowledge of the mountains I than any other man in the force, j “I —i won’t go as far as that, MacI guire, hut all the same I wish you Ito know that 1 think .your conduct very—er —very irregular, to say the least.” “The old fool!” muttered the trooper when he left the office. “Made no effort lo capture him, eh? Wid half a hoondered thaves and murderers ready to tear me to paces! Bah!” The more Macguire thought of his chiefs censure the more it rankled. He was still brooding over it when Briant, returning from a visit to Benalla to purchase stores, met him. “Good day,” said Jack genially. “Might I congratulate you upon your fine action the other day?” The big trooper disliked and distrusted this stranger from the city concerning whom there was so much mystery, hut he was bubbling over with resentment at the superintendent, and he felt he had to talk to someone. "It was a fine, manly thing to do,” Briant added. “’Tis a pity other people don’t take it that way,” growled the trooper. Then he unburdened himself, cursI ing with picturesque emphasis his j superior officer and all his relatives for many generations, When he

I spoke of Sam Jackson, however, it I was with something akin to revel*' S ence. I “Why,” exclaimed Briant, “I j | thought you were his greatest enemy.” “Oi’m the inimy of no mahn who’s , paid for his sins. The hand av God i was in this. Jackson was punished, just as ye'll be punished, bhoy, if ye don't keep clear av that murderin’ | gang.” Jack pondered deeply over that warning next day when, misjudging the fall of a tree he was helping O’Donnell to cut, he was smothered in its crashing descent. He tried to rise, but a big limb kept him prisoner. When eventually O’Donnell cut it away, he found that his right leg was useless. Jennie and her father carried him into the house. j “The damn thing’s broken,” declared Briant, wincing with pain, j “That means that I’ve got to go to I Melbourne, somehow. I’ll be weeks ion my back. Curse the luck!” ! “Of course, you’d be more com- } fortable in the city,” said Jennie. ; “It isn't a question of comfort. I’ll | need a lot of waiting on—wont be able j to do a thing for myself. If ! there was a hospital in Benalla where i I could go to I’d prefer that.. T don’t | want to go to Melbourne, but there I doesn't seem any other way.” Jennie looked at her father, j “Couldn’t you and I look after him, Dad? Nita’d come as often as she j could. I know.” j Jack flushed with pleasure. If he went away that would mean separation, and the thought hurt him. “Oi’m as rough as a currycomb mesilf.” said O’Donnell, “but Jennie’s as tinder as a chicken. We’d be glad to liev ye sthay here if ye could sthand it.” Jack shook his head. “It'd be asking too much. I couldn’t think of it.” “Well,” said O’Donnell with a grin, j “If ye’ve made up your moind to go j away divil a wan’ll sthop ye!” | “In other words,” laughed Briant, “if 1 want to go away you’re not going to help me?” “Look at that now! The malm’s brains works like a stame ingin!” The old fellow winked at his daughter. “We’ll be glad to do anything we can for you, you kuow that, Jack.” There was an unmistakable note of sincerity in the girl’s voice. “You don’t know what it’d mean. I’m a rotten patient, anyhow.” “Well, thin, be off wid yez!” cried O’Donnell, waving his arms as though shooing away a depredatory hen. Jennie had taken off her apron. “I’m going to Benalla for a doctor. Your leg’s got to be set. I broke mine once, and I know the pain of it.” i In a surprisingly short time they ; heard galloping hoofbeats. Without a ! word O'Donnell left the room. TTe I was hack in a minute with a cup in | his hand. | “Ye’re lookin’ a bit whoite about I The gills. A drhop of the cratur won’t I do ye anny harm.” I “You’ve a heart as big as an elej phant’s. Good luck! By jove! that’s 1 good whisky!” | “Is there anny had whisky?” demanded O’Donnell with such vehemence that Jack had to smile in spite of the pain that racked him. “You lay quoet there. Jennie’ll be back in a jiffy wid a dochter if she has | to drag him here be the scruff av j his neck.” It was a very long “jiffy” before ; she returned, however. To Briant it seemed hours. At last she came, and with her Dr. Frost, a little fat man with a very red face and very white : whiskers. ! He frowned at his patient. “What do you mean by breaking

your leg and dragging me out here? Don't you know I’ve been hard at it since early this morning? Broken arms, broken noses, sprains and bellyaches! God save my soul! I don’t know what’s coming over the people! Let’s have a look at you!” With a gentleness that belied his roughness of speech, he set the fractured limb and bound it up. Great beads of perspiration stood on Briant’s forehead, but he made no sound. Dr. Frost looked down on him with an expression that was half protest, half admiration. ‘‘Why didn’t you yell, damn you! They all do!” “I’ll ypll, if you like,” responded Jack, with a wan smile. “AVhat are you doing in these parts?” suddenly demanded the doctor. “Huasping my bluey.” “Liar! I suppose it’s no affair of mine. You lie quiet now. I won’t be out again till they send for me.” At the door he paused. “I suppose you’ve got enough money to pay for this” “That’ll be a,ll right, doctor,” Jennie cut in. “You needn’t worry about that." “H’mph!” said Dr. Frost, as he left the hut. Jennie noticed the astonishment in Jack’s eyes and smiled. “He's alwaj r s like that—-a real tiger —but he’s as good as gold. You were very brave, Jack!” “I didn’t feel very brave, I can tell you. 1 oughtn’t to stay here, Jennie. | If you've got a, bit of paper and an envelope I’ll write to some people in Melbourne to arrange for getting away.” “Haven’t a bit of paper in the house,” she said, with a sly glance at her father. The days dragged on by leaden feet. Nita was a daily caller, and Briant counted the hours between her welcome visits. Jennie found a good deal of time to give him, and O'Donnell did his best to entertain him in his own awkward way. There were few books in the house, but Nita brought him a supply—among them “Lorna Doone,” which, she told him was a favourite of Ned Kelly’s. One night as he was dozing off to sleep he was startled to see the bushranger at his bedside. “Bad luck!” he remarked. “Anything I can do?” “No, thanks. Ned. They’re jolly good to me here, and I can’t be grateful enough.” “If there’s anything you want, let Jennie know. We're rich now,” he added with a laugh. The outlaw was in much higher spirits than Jack had ever seen him

before. It was only when mention was made of Sam Jackson’s death that his face clouded. “Sam died trying to save us,” he said, then lapsed into a long silence. “ Greater love hath no man than this, that he gave his life for his friend',” Jack quoted. Ned did not speak for some time. Then he said, half to himself, “I wonder was it Macguire who got him?” “What would you do if you knew, Ned?” He tapped his revolver significantly. “But—but you wouldn't do that!” “ ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’. If I knew that Macguire had shot Sam Jackson, I’d get him tomorrow, even if I had to walk into the Benalla police station to do ,Jt. Sam was too good a man to he shot down like a dog. You don’t know wha.t that old fellow went through for us ” “I have a pretty good idea.” Ned shook his head. “You don’t know half of it.” Jennie’s appearance ended the discussion. Ned took a seat beside her, and slipped his arm round her waist. Contentedly she let her head fall on his shoulder. Briant sighed. The love of such a -fine girl for this hunted outlaw depressed him. It could end only in sorrow, and Jennie did not seem to have been made for that. They talked of many things,' and Ned discussed the details of the bank robbery quite casually. Jack noticed, too. that Jennie was In no w r ise shocked over the affair—lndeed, she seemed to regard it merely In the light of a triumph for her lover. O’Donnell seemed to derive great satisfaction from the fact that the bank had lost its money. He appeared to cherish some personal grudge against banks generally, and remarked that it was only a case of a robber being robbed. “Euroa was No. 1,” said Ned significantly. Jennie did not seem at all alarmed at the prospect of his engaging in further perilous exploits. The success of the Euroa affair had put the gang and their supporters into the best of spirits, which the increased activity of the police failed to dampen. CHAPTER XXIX. Aaron sherritt. During the next week Jack Briant had many visitors. Big Manton came along one day and brought a couple of chickens, which Jennie cooked deliciously. Manton did not share the general optimism of the Kelly sympathisers. “It’s getting harder and harder for the boys to dodge the police,” he said. “They can’t go on like this much longer.” “The Euroa affair seems to . have bucked them up a lot,” Jack suggested. “It was a neat bit of work. The reward’s up to £I,OOO a man now, and there’s plenty of people round about here as could do with the money.’ “That certainly makes it harder. I ; suppose some of the bank’s money will j be cut up, though.” “Yes, but that won’t go far.” “There’s the expectation of more that might keep the waverers sweet,” Briant remarked. Manton looked at him questioningly, as if wondering how much he knew, but he made no comment. He had not gone long when John Caveudish, the schoolmaster, and Red Regan, looked in. Next dav he had two more visitors—Paddy O'Rourke, whose pocket bulged with a bottle of whisky, and Tom Stevens, who was anxious that Jack's leg should be rubbed with a concoction of gum

leaves and iguana oil of liis own mixing, which he declared would knit bones in a way “somethin’ surprising.” Briant humoured him by accepting it with a fine show of gratitude. His next caller was a tall, finelybuilt young man, whom he had seen only once before. “You don’t know Aaron Sherritt, do you. Jack?” asked Jenine. “No, I've not had that pleasure.” “I heard that you busted your leg, so I thought I’d look along and see you.” said Sherritt. “It’s pretty lonely on your back for days and weeks.” “Everybody’s been so kind that I haven't felt it very much. It was jolly good of you to come along, though.” “Any friend of Ned’s is a friend of mine,” Sherritt declared. Sharland’s Egg Preservative keeps eggs in perfect condition for over 12 months; Is 3d tin. All stores. 14

I I Briant smiled. “I don’t know that ' I can claim any particular friendship with Ned. You see. I’m only a stranger in these parts.” “Oh. I didn’t think 3*oll were so I friendly now. Well, 3*oll can’t be very well, can you? You only see one another once in a while.” “I saw* Jo.e last night at his mother’s “Oh, I thought 3*ou had done the gang many a good turn.” Jack was about to reply when he noticed Jennie making signs to him. She put her finger to her lips and shook her head, which he interpreted as a warning to be careful. So he said. “I’m afraid someone’s been inventing yarns.” Sherritt showed surprise. *‘Wh3', Joe B>*rne told me a lot about you when you were at poor old Sam Jackson's.” “Joe used to be a particular chum of Aaron’s,” Jennie said, coming from the kitchen.

“Used to be! Why, he’s my best chum now!” Sherritt declared with some show of anuoyance. “What made you sa3” that, Jennie?” place. I'm going to marry his sister,” turning to Briant. (To be continued tomorrow)