The GIRL WHO HELPED NED KELLY

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 765, 11 September 1929, Page 5

The GIRL WHO HELPED NED KELLY

By

CHARLES E. TAYLOR

t Copyright 1

CHAPTER XXXlll.—(Continued). •’Oh, Joe, what did you shoot poor Aaron ior?” she wailed. “He*U never put me away again,” replied Byrne, noting with grim satisfaction that his victim was dead. *T wanted that fellow, and now that I’ve got him I'm satisfied! Who's that?” —as a footstep was heard in the next room. ‘‘lt's only a man looking for work,” replied the bereaved mother-in-law, with fear in her eyes. Inside the bedroom four troopers shivered with excitement and fear. Here was at least one of the gang upon whose capture they were bent, but Aaron Sherritt’s death had come with a tragic suddenness that had robbed them of all initiative. “Whoever you are, come out, or be killed like dogs!” shouted Byrne, as he fired several shots into the walls. The troopers showed no anxiety to Accept the invitation, and the bushrangers, alter threatening to set the hut on fire, and making a show of their desperate intention by piling brushwood against one corner of it and striking matches, walked quickly away. When hey had regained their horses and mounted, Dan said, “If they wero troopers in there we should have got them.” Byrne remained silent. "We shouldn't have missed a chance like that,” Dan persisted. Something that sounded like a sob escaped the other man. Dan's lips formed a sneer. “He deserved it, didn’t he?” “Poor Aaron —he was . . . my friend!” cried Joe, brokenly. News of Sherritt’s murder spread with amazing rapidity. Settlers on out-of-the-way holdings on the King, the Ovens, the Buffalo and the Broken Rivers discussed it excitedly. Even those who sympathised with the gang were shocked, although some of them protested that it was a just penalty for treachery. Jack Briant was horrified. He despised Sherritt, for he had had firsthand evidence of his duplicity, but never had he imagined that Byrne’s vengeance would take such a terrible form. What would he have done under similar circumstances? he asked himself a dozen times. Would he have avoided his treacherous friend, and risked the danger which Sherritt’s assistance to the police made more immiment? Had Ned approved of the crime? He hated to think that he had. If the outlaw's were to be believed, the tragedy in the Wombat Ranges bore some resemblance of a fair fight, but this was cold-blooded, premeditated murder. Because of the sadness he saw in Jennie’s eyes, he did not mention the matter to her, and never once did her father refer to it. Tossing sleeplessly on bis bed. Briant came to a fixed decision. He w-ould clear out, autl avoid all further intercourse with the bushrangers and their friends. He mentioned his plans to Nita, who heard them with dismay. “And does that mean the end?” she kaid, in a voice that rasped his heartstrings. Jack kissed her, almost reverently it seemed to the tortured girl. “There is only one end to our love, dear. When I go 1 shan’t go far.” “Then”—with eager entreaty—“why hot come back to us?” Briant shook his head. “I couldn't do that. Your father ” “Is not better than S'nerritt. I know what yon were going to say. Don’t leave me. Jack! You mean so much to me!”

Sobbing, she clung to him, and he put his arms around her. Suddenly she tore herself away. “I’m asking too much, I know,” she said, with a calmness that seemed prompted by despair. “You aren’t one of us. You must go back to where you belong. You made me very happy for a while. Jack. Please think of me sometimes.” “I shall think of you always, because you will be with me always. When X go back, you go with me. And it’s going to be soon. There’s no one in the world but you, dear.” For one brief moment her eyes shone with the joy of reciprocated love, but she shook her head sadly. “It would be too big a sacrifice, and I couldn’t ask it. Your friends would despise me, and you would soon realise the mistake you had made.” “Despise you!” There was anger in his voice. “No one could do that. Because yon have lived in the bush, does that make you any the less worthy? Beside the simpering, empty-headed fools of the city you are a queen! I want you, Nita, and by God! nothing shall keep you from me!” His intensity thrilled her, but her face was no index of the tumult that raged in her heart. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked deeply into her eyes. “Is my love so poor a thing that you can’t trust it? If you were only half as good and beautiful and true, I would still want you. Don’t you lovo me, Nita?” “Love you!” she cried. “X love you as no man ever before was loved. It is because of that that I will not let you suffer. You left a girl in Melbourne —what of her?” “I left a little fool who did not know her own mind!” was his bitter reply. “She is nothing to me now.” Memory of that pleading letter—a letter which she had meanly destroyed—flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. Should she tell him? He would hate her for her duplicity, and she couldn’t bear that. “What is it to be dear?” “You must give me time to think. You know that I love you, but, oh. Jack, I want to be sure what it would mean! I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.” “But you do hurt me!” he insisted. “You doubt me. I want you to come away with me. We can be married at Benalla, and go on to Melbourne. Won’t you trust me, dear?” “With my life! Yet —yet ” “Yet?” “Please don't torture me. Jack. I would go anywhere you asked me if I were sure it meant happiness for you. But I must be sure of that.” “I know I’m asking a lot of you—to marry a swaggie whose name you might not even know.” She smiled at him. “I suspected that,” she whispered. Pie looked at her for a moment, then said very seriously: "Fellows who run away to the bush and take another name aren't the sort that are fit to marry a girl like you, wear; but believe me, I’m not as bad as you might think. I’ve been a fool—no, not that, because if I hadn’t come I should never have met you. Shall I tell you who I am, and why I came?” “No, not now,” she answered, unhesitatingly. “You have asked me to trust you, and I am content. But I want you to trust me, too. Why didn’t I think of that before? Jack, dear, if you won’t come back to us, whv not go to poor old Sam Jackson’s place? It’s still empty, and likely to be. I’d love to think that you were near me.”

“By jove! I will—but on one condition.” She searched his face for an explanation. “It is that in a week you make up your mind.” “In a week I will let you know,” she replied. He kissed her. “I know what your answer will be.” “God grant that you may be right!” she murmured, as she left him. CHAPTER XXXIV. A CLOSE CALL It was harder to part from the O’Donnells than Briant expected. Jennie’s eyes were moist when she heard of liis decision, and the old man showed a depth of feeling that astonished him. “We’re rough, God knows,” he faltered, “but ye’re welcome to anything we have. It’s dull in the bush here, but ye’ve made it a bit brighter fer both av us.” “Please don’t think me ungrateful. I owe a lot to you, and soon I hope to repay your kindness. I’m not going far, and occasionally I’ll pop in and see you.” “Must you go at all?” Jennie asked. “I must. I’m going to camp at old Sam Jackson’s place for a while. Then I’ll be moving on.” “But why go there? Why not stay with us till you go away altogether? We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we, Dad?” “We would that!” responded O’Donnell, with convincing heartiness. “You make me feel a cur, glad of your hospitality when helpless, but anxious to get away the moment I’m well. It isn’t that, I assure you. I’ve been very happy here, and I’d like to stay on, but, believe me, I must go.” Jennie’s eyes widened. “But why to Jackson’s? Surely it would be better here?” “It would be much more comfortable, I’ll admit that, but—but, someday I may tell you why I have to go.” “If you’ve made up your mind to go, you must take something to eat with you,” said Jennie, walking to the kitchen door. “Av coorse,” agreed O’Donnell, pushing Briant into a chair. “Oi owe ye some wages, bhoy, and—” “Wages!” Jack exclaimed. “You don’t owe me- a penny. What about Jennie’s weeks of nursing? I’m the one who’s in debt, Mr. O'Donnell, and I’m not likely to forget it. If ther’e were more people like you, the world would be a better place.” He bent toward the old man and lowered his voice. “If you've any influence at all with Ned, urge him to clear out. The police are getting stronger every day They must get him in the end.” O’Donnell’s face showed the anxiety in his heart. “Oi’ve tried, hut it’s no use.” “For Jennie's sake, try again!” The big Irishman lowered his head, and sighed. “It’s madness to try and hang out,” Jack continued. “The bush is alive with troopers, and the big reward’s likely to affect men who have been loyal—or at least, those who’ve been neutral or indifferent. Ned's feeling the strain—you can see that for yourself—and if he cracks up the gang would be captured in no time. The Sherritt —er —affair, has made things much worse—” He noticed the pain in O’Donnell’s eyes, and added hastily. “Four men can’t defy the police force indefinitely.” “God knows, ye’re right, bhoy,” responded O’Donnell, sadly. Jennie re-entered, with a big parcel tied up in an old piece of canvas, with a billycan and a pannikin. "There! That'll keep you going for a while. I wish you weren’t going, Jack!” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “So do 1, Jennie, but I can't help it. I shall never forget your kindness. You couldn't have done more for me | if you had been my father and sister. ! Good-bye. for a little while.” j He brushed back her hair, and pressed his lips reverently to her i forehead. Then, turning, he gripped j her father’s toil-stained band. | “I'm proud to have known you, Mr. j O’Donnell! Good-bye! ”

“And may God Almoighty -watch over ye!” responded the old man, with quivering lip. From the door they watched him until he waved to them from a. bend in the road and was lost to sight.. Throwing herself into her father's arms, Jennie sobbed aloud. Smoke was issuing from Jackson’s chimney when Briant arrived there. Who had taken up his quarters in the deserted hut? Possibly a tramp. As he stood, hesitating whether to proceed, or to alter his plans by going elsewhere, the door opened, and Constable Martin came out and crossed the yard. Police! Evidently the place was being used as one of the numerous ontstations which had been established throughout the country in which the Kelly’s hiding-places were believed to be. That settled it. He could not be seen in company with the police for fear of confirming the suspicions which a number of people still entertained regarding him, Aaron Sherritt’s fate was a tragic reminder of what might happen to anyone suspected of treachery. As he turned to walk back to O’Donnell’s Martin caught sight of him, and shouted a greeting. Jack waved his hand without stopping. Martin ran over to him. “Off on the wallaby again?” he laughed. “Yes, got to be moving on.” “Tired of your Irish friends, eh?” “1 wouldn’t say that. I finished up my job there, and have got to get another somewhere else.” A rumble of thunder made him look at the sky. Big black clouds were banking up, and there was that peculiar stillness in the air that often heralds a storm. “We’ll get it in a minute or two,” remarked the trooper, following his gaze. “You’d better come over to the hut, and wait till it’s over.” Another peal of thunder, louder than the first, emphasised the soundness of his advice. “1 think you’re right.” Much against his inclination, Jack followed the trooper into the hut. There another surprise awaited him. A second man was sitting on a box reading, and when he looked up, Briant recognised him as Superintendent Hare. The police chief’s surprise was almost as great as his own. ‘“Good evening,” he said, a little stiffly, as though memories of their previous meeting at Jacobson’s still lingered. “Good evening, sir,” Jack responded. He noticed that, except for the rough table and a few boxes, the scanty furniture that had served the Jackson’s had disappeared. A hilly was boiling over the fire, and two tins of fish, a loaf of bread afld a hunk of cheese on a box showed that a meal was being got ready. “I advised him to come in until the storm was over,” Martin explained, as the first big drops of rain were heard on the roof. “It sounds as though we’re going to get it,” Hare remarked. “You’d better sit down. You look as though you’re leaving,” with a glance at Jack’s swag. “Yes. after another job,” Briant replied, avoiding the eyes that seemed to look right through him. “A very good job might have been yours, if you’d been sensible." ‘.‘Yes?” Superintendent Hare put down his paper, and leaned forward. “You know what I mean —er —er — Briant. I know that you have more information about the Kellys than you care to divulge. It’s hard to understand your motives. Your attitude is hardly what one would expect from the nephew of Sir Thomas Russell. That surprises you. does it?”—as Jack .sat bolt upright. "You must give the police credit for some capacity. You know as well as we do that the three places where you stayed since you came to this district are homes of notorious Kelly sympathisers. That might have been mere coincidence, yet, on the other hand, it might not.” “The jobs I’ve had have suited me very well,” said Briant, awkwardly. | The police chief smiled. “Hardly ! the work to which you’ve been accus- | tomed, I should say.” “Was the job you speak of one to | which I’ve been accustomed?” "Well, it would have been more in ; keeping with your birth and educatiou. i Also, it would have been of material

assistance in ridding the country of a gang of desperate criminals. Let us forget that for the moment—tea is j ready.” Martin opened the fisli and, appor- 1 tioned three helpings on tin plates. \ “Oh, I’ve food here,” said Jack, inj dicating the parcel which Jennie had ! prepared for him. ! “Surely your antipathy toward the police doesn’t go so far as to prevent your sharing their food?” Hare remarked, with some irritation. “Of course not. I’ve no antipathy toward the police.” The Superintendent kept up a running fire of questions during the meal, j Some of them were cleverly framed, * and Jack had some difficulty in ' answering them without saying too | much—or too little. When Sherritt’s death was men* | tioned, Briant said: Some of the responsibility for that rests with the police.” j Hare winced. “Surely you don't i condone that crime?” I “Not in the slightest, yet the police

helped to make him a traitor to his i friends.’* “The police have justification in taking every means of capturing a gang of desperate criminals,” retorted ’ Hare. “I suppose so, yet it doesn't appeal to my sense of fair play.” “Fair play! Fair play! How can you connect fair play with murderers and robbers? Was it fair play to kill Kennedy, Scanlon and Lonergan? Was it fair play to rob the banks at Euroa and Jerilderie?” Briant could think of no suitable reply, so remained silent. Half an hour later, when the rain had ceased and the stars had come out again, Jennie O'Donnell, carrying some dainties she had cooked, rode across the hills to Sam Jackson's, her face aglow with the pleasurable anticipation of giving Briant an agreeable surprise. Tethering her horse to the

i fence, she w alked over to the hut. i | The sound of voices caused her to ! I | stop suddenly. Stepping cautiously, ; j she mounted a log which gave her a i i j view through the narrow window of i ! the scene inside the candle-lighted \ < J room. The smile left her lips, and her eyes i | dilated with amazement and horror. . j Jack with the police! That w*as why j he was so anxious to get to Jackson’s! He was a traitor after all! I The thought struck her like a blow, ] and, stumbling from the log, like one j bereft of sight, she groped her way ) back to her horse. A moment later | she was galloping madly in the direc- ; | tion of her home. About 9 o’clock Hare and Martin ! ' left the hut. “You might be here when we get ' back.” the Superintentent remarked. “Well, I’m off early in the morning,” J j Br iant replied. j The police occupancy of the hut had r j upset all his plans. He would find > ! j some other shelter, but first would j 4 have to tell Xita and Jennio of his j

intentions. Rolling himself as comfortable as possible for the night. It was daylight when he awoke. Neither of the policemen had returned. An hour later, having breakfasted off some of the food which Jennie had induced him to take with him, he shouldered his swag, and with rapid strides made off in the direction of Jacobson’s. (To be continued tomorrow)