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Convict

<h4>CHAPTER XXX.</h4> Wearily passed the days; for though active exertion is undoubtedly the best of all mere earthly balms to the hurt mind--and Dudley had plenty of it--yet there are moments when, in perfect solitude, thought will return, and tears open wounds afresh. He strove against it, indeed, as much as man could strive. He laboured incessantly, more for the purpose of occupying his mind with anything but his own dark fate, than to render his abode more comfortable; and when in the watches of the night he awoke, and thought would return, he tried hard to turn it into any other channel than that of memory. Still, in spite of himself, the bitter theme would often recur; in vain he tried to meditate upon mere abstract questions of art, of science, of philosophy; in vain, to fix the mind down to the present and its necessities, all gloomy as that present was; still departed happiness, and bright hopes blasted, would rise up like spectres, and scare peace and tranquillity away. Sometimes he would try to create a feeling of alarm in his own breast at the prospect of the coming winter, when in that lonely scene he should be left in the midst of snows and tempests, with none of the resources of the fruit-tree or the lake; when the wind and the storm would rave round his frail dwelling, and the long night would have no solace, no occupation, but that of listening to the howling of the blast; and he would devote his thoughts and his exertions to provide against the coming of the sad season. He went down to the spot where the tent of Captain M---- had been pitched, and there found fresh proofs of his kindness; for he had left everything that he could possibly spare behind him, together with a few words written on a scrap of paper, giving his address, and assuring his lonely friend that if at any time he could serve him he would do so with pleasure. Then, with fresh means and more serviceable tools than the mere hatchet with which he had first commenced the work, poor Dudley laboured hard to render his dwelling proof against storm or enemy; but the want of nails soon presented itself, and he set out for the sea-shore, thinking, "His kindness would not forget." Nor had it; for after a walk of twenty miles, he found not only the box which had been promised, but two other presents of equal value--a large bag of fresh biscuits, and a ship's hand-lamp surrounded by thick glass. Sometimes, as on this occasion, the expedients to which he was forced to have recourse, called up a melancholy smile. "Where shall I find oil?" he thought, "or any means of nourishing the flame; and yet there must be oleaginous shrubs or trees in the neighbourhood, amongst all the many children of these vast forests. I must learn many a trade before I have done, and must try and construct myself an oil-mill. If all fails, I must come down, as the winter approaches, and see if I can surprise a seal upon the shore." As he thus thought, he seated himself and ate one of the biscuits with a relish for the plain wheaten food which he had never known before. For the last eight or nine days he had tasted nothing but fish or flesh; and he now found that bread is indeed the staff of life; for he arose lighter and yet more refreshed from his simple meal by the sea-shore than he had felt since he commenced his wandering course. He then adjusted the burdens he had to carry, so as to render their pressure as equal as possible, during his long walk back; and I may remark, indeed, that his mathematical studies proved more serviceable to him in existing circumstances than he had ever thought possible. He had always regarded them as fine abstractions, the principal use of which, to a man of the station in which he was born, was to produce a habit of correct reasoning; but now, when he came to apply them practically; he felt how invaluable they are in every walk of life. With his gun under his arm, and laden with a weight of eighty or ninety pounds, he walked slowly on his way, still keeping the summit of the mountain in view. At first his course lay across an arid tract of country, near the sea-shore, producing no vegetation but some thin tall stalks of grass, and thickly strewn with small, flat, circular fragments of stone, exactly resembling the biscuits he was carrying. As the ground rose a little, however, a more prolific soil was obtained, and he entered what is called the scrub, where tall trees, and bushes, and a thousand fruit and flower-bearing shrubs, surrounded him on every side, and often cut off the view of Mount Gambier. Long brakes or paths were still to be found through the thicket, however, and every now and then, for a mile or two, the vegetation was thinner, so that, guiding his course by the sun, and calculating as exactly as he could, the distance which both he and the great orb of day had travelled, he followed a direct line as far as the nature of the ground would permit, and from time to time caught sight of the lofty rocks above the crater, over the leafy wilderness around him. Here and there, however, came a patch of bright green meadow, and at the edge of one of these, before he entered the forest again, he sat down to rest himself, and cast the burdens from his shoulders, for the fatigues he had lately undergone were very great, and he felt the unusual weight he carried. He was dreadfully thirsty too, for he had not found a drop of fresh water on the journey, and the heat was intense. In about half an hour, the decline of the sun, and the gradual lengthening of the shadows, somewhat cooled the air, and a fresh breeze sprang up from sea-ward, agitating the tops of the tall trees. Dudley rose to proceed upon his way, for he had still a walk of more than two hours before him; and with his gun under his arm, he was stooping down to lift his bag of biscuit, when he suddenly heard a step. It was that of a man, and was consequently the more ungrateful to his ear than if it had been that of a beast, however wild and fierce. His gun was instantly in his hand, with both barrels cocked; and the next moment, coming at a quick pace out of one of the glades in the neighbouring wood, appeared a figure not calculated to dissipate any apprehensions. It was that of a man, tall, and powerfully built, and of a most unprepossessing countenance. He was evidently a European, but yet the colour which his skin had acquired by long exposure was almost as dark as that of one of the natives of the land. His black hair, of more than six months' growth, fell wild over his shoulders and brows, and his beard also had been suffered to remain unshorn till it nearly reached his bosom. In this mass of hair, which covered his face, the features, which were sharp and aquiline, seemed planted as if looking through a mask; and the whole, together with the fierce, quick expression, gave the same impression as if one suddenly saw a wild beast glaring through a bush. He was covered with an old, tattered, brown great coat, and had a belt round his waist, and another over his shoulders. In the former were placed a pair of pistols; and the latter supported a knapsack, a large gourd in the shape of a bottle, and several other articles of a very miscellaneous description. He instantly paused on seeing a stranger; and Dudley, forgetting that his own appearance was little less wild and strange, raised his gun to his shoulder, exclaiming, "Halt, whoever you are!" The man instantly advanced a step, crying, with a laugh, "Hail fellow, well met! Don't you see I'm not an officer?" "I don't know," answered Dudley; "but you must halt nevertheless, till I know who you are. Another step, and I fire!" The man paused, for he was out of the range of a pistol, but within that of a gun, otherwise it is probable a shot would have been the first reply. "I tell you I am a poor devil like yourself," he replied, "who have got away from those incarnate fiends at Norfolk Island, have come over here, and taken to the bush. I am half-starved, for I have fed upon raw parrots as long as I could get any, and have not had a morsel for these two days." "That's another case," said Dudley, dropping his gun from his shoulder; "I can help you, and that's enough for me. I have got biscuit here; come and have some." Short parleys and quick intercourse are common in the wilder parts of a colony, where every man, having even a glimmering of civilisation, depends upon others many times each year for the few advantages of society he can ever obtain; Strange it is, that where the violence of barbarism is most strong, the charity of hospitality is most frank and ready. The stranger advanced at once, thrusting back the pistol he had half drawn from his belt, and taking Dudley's hand, he shook it warmly, saying, "You must be new to this place. Just arrived from Norfolk, I dare say. Come, give us some biscuit, man, for I am right down starved." Dudley opened the bag, and the man thrust his hand in at once, drawing out two or three biscuits, which he began to eat voraciously. "That's capital!" he said, adding a fearful oath. "After all, there's nothing like biscuit. Well, I'm glad you didn't fire, for I'd rather have this than lead in my stomach; and it would have cost me a shot in return, when, to say the truth, I haven't got one to spare, for I've got no powder but the charges in my pistols, and one of those I must save for McSweeny. He may take two, perhaps, but I don't think it." "And pray who is he?" asked Dudley. "Oh, the man that betrayed me once!" replied his companion. "A storekeeper I trusted, and he sold me. He killed himself that night, and he knows it. So he's only waiting till I've got leisure, then we'll settle accounts." "Then you mean you'll kill him," said Dudley, guessing the man's meaning, though not very certain. "To be sure," answered the other. "He shall go out of the colony one day soon. Come, I must have another biscuit." "As many as you like," answered Dudley, "and take some with you, if you please; but if you've got any water in that bottle, you shall give me some, for I am as thirsty as you are hungry." "Ay, there's water in it, sure enough, now," replied the other, unslinging the gourd and giving it to him. "There was something better in it not long ago--real Bengal brandy, but that was gone a great deal too soon. Lord! it's just like a dream; how I drank it up; but such as it is, you may have it." Dudley assuaged his thirst, and then returned the man the gourd, saying, "That is better than brandy, and take my word for it, peace is bettor than revenge. Revenge is like that brandy you talk of: you take it to assuage a thirst, and it leaves a more consuming thirst than ever. From the moment you have had it, a burning will seize upon your heart, which nought will ever cool, you will die parched up with crime upon crime, without peace in the present, peace in the past, or peace in the future." The man gazed at him with a look of utter astonishment. "No, I shan't," he replied. "I shall be hanged. That's my death. I always intended it." "But did you ever consider," asked Dudley, "that this life is not all; that there is another beyond this world, to which the pains or the pleasures of this life are nothing?" "Are you a methodist parson, young man?" said the other, knitting his brows at him. "No," answered Dudley; "nothing of the kind. I am a plain man, as you are, but one who has learned to reverence the will of God; to think of the future as well as the present; and to remember in all my actions here that they have a reference to a hereafter, in comparison with which this life and all that it affords is a mere nothing." "Then what the devil brought you here?" asked the other; and after an instant's pause, continued, "Well, I have heard of such things as you talk of, but it is all guess-work. No dead man ever came back to tell me what had happened to him after he was gone. All I see rots as soon as it's put in the ground, and the rest's but a chance, or an old woman's tale. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; so I'll have my will while I live, and risk all the rest." "Did you ever think how much you risk?" asked Dudley, gravely. "Do you know Norfolk Island? Well, suppose for one moment, that all which man can be made to suffer there were increased a thousand fold, and carried on throughout eternity without the possibility of escape, even by death--remember, this is what you risk, and much more." "Pooh! that's nonsense," answered the man. "No one could stand it. Why, sooner than stay there, I stood--one night when they had caught me, after I had got off, and had tied my hands with a strong rope--I stood, I say, with my back to the fire and my wrists to the flame, till the rope was burnt through. There are the marks," he continued, baring his seared and withered arms. "But let us talk of something else. If you are not a parson, you talk very like one, and I hate parsons. What were you convicted of?" "Of killing a man," answered Dudley. "Ay, that was something worth while," replied his companion. "I thought it had been some larceny, or something like that, by the way you talked. But what do you intend to do now? You've run, of course, and that's quite right; but it's a hardish sort of life, especially out here. I'm half sorry I didn't keep in 'tother island; but they ran after me so sharply, than when I got a ship that would take me, which was a great chance--she was a whaler that sent her boat on shore--I thought it was not worth while to stay. Then I found they had got scent of me; and so I've walked six or seven hundred miles altogether, rather than go back to the d--d place. They would have put me in a chain gang directly, and I have seen such things there I don't want to see any more. I dare say I know more of it than you do, for you seem a new hand. I'll tell you what I saw once. I saw two men--they were in the same gang with myself--toss up with a brass halfpenny, which should knock the other's brains out, and be hanged for it afterwards. The lot fell upon James Mills, and he did it handsomely, for he finished the other fellow, whose name was Ezekiel Barclay, with one blow of his pick, and when he was hanged at Hobart Town, he told all the people how it had happened, and why he had done it; and many of them said, I have heard, that it was a great shame to drive men to such a pass--that it was better for one to have his skull smashed, and the other his neck twisted, than to live on slaving any longer." Dudley gave a shudder, so visible, that his hardened companion laughed aloud. "Wait a bit, and you'll get accustomed to such things," he said; "but you'll find it more hard to get accustomed to living here. I'm beating up towards some more civilised place, I can tell you; I have had enough, and too much of this kind of life, and if I find I am to be caught, I'll do something to be hanged for when they have caught me. It's no use going on in this way for ever--but how did you get this biscuit? You've got money, I guess." "Not a penny," answered Dudley, with a smile. "A friend gave me these things to help me on." "A devilish kind friend," replied the man; "but they won't last long, and what will you do after? You're not up to half the tricks, I dare say, for living in the scrub; but I can teach you a thing or two, if you are going my way, for I must be jogging." "I am going to the foot of those hills," replied Dudley, who felt somewhat anxious to make some impression on the man's mind, and turn him from the dreadful purpose he seemed to meditate. "If you like to come with me, I can give you a night's lodging." The man grinned at him with a very peculiar laugh. "Are you not afraid?" he said. "Do you know I'm Jack Brady?" "Not in the least," answered Dudley, "We are companions in misfortune, and you are not a man, I am sure, whatever you may do, either to wrong me or betray me." "That's hearty!" said the man, holding out his hand to him, "I would not betray you if you had killed my brother; and as to wronging you, no man can ever say I harmed him that trusted me." "Well, I do trust you fully," replied Dudley; "I am quite sure of you; and my little store, such as it is, you shall share." "Perhaps I can tell you things which may be of as much service to you," said the man; "so come along, for it's getting late, and I reckon those hills are six miles off or more." "That to the full," replied Dudley, rising. "I am ready; let us go." Perhaps he might not feel quite as sure as he said he was; but, nevertheless, he reflected that they were but man to man, and life was not a thing so valuable in his eyes, to fear the hazard thereof, if he could do good. "I'll carry your lantern," said the man, taking it up as he spoke. "Have you got any oil?" "No," answered Dudley; "it is that which puzzles me; but I think I shall be able to get a seal upon the coast." "Oh! you can manage better than that," said the other. "I'll show you half-a-dozen trees that you can get oil from, and some that have got a kind of fat, of which you can make candles. This is a precious place for vegetables. Nature has been kind to the place; it's man's done all the mischief." "It's the same everywhere," answered Dudley; "let us take care that we don't blame ourselves." "There's truth enough in that," answered Brady; "but come along; you'll soon make a famous bushranger, for you'll forget how to preach, having nobody to preach to." "It will do me very little good, my friend," replied Dudley, as they walked along, "to preach to you or to anybody, as I am neither paid, nor likely to be paid, for doing it; but, depend upon it, if there were more to preach, and more to hear, in our penal settlements, they would be happier places than they are. Good conduct towards our fellow-creatures, and reverence towards God, are the sources of all happiness on earth." "I love my fellow-creatures well enough," said the man, "and would do anything to help them. No man can say I ever took a penny from a poor man, or injured a weak one. It is against my principles, sir, whatever you may think; but many who are here I do not look upon as men at all. They are devils in men's bodies, and nothing more. With them I am at war, and ever will be; and if a man betrays me, that man dies, if I live. There is no use talking about it, for my mind is made up." He spoke in a stern, determined tone, and his face assumed an expression of demoniacal ferocity when he alluded to the fact of being betrayed; but it passed away in a moment or two; and, as if he sought no farther discussion on a subject in regard to which his resolution was taken, he began to look round amongst the trees and shrubs, and at length pointed out one to Dudley, saying, "There, you see those little berries; well, let them get ripe; they'll turn almost quite black in a week or two; and then, if you bruise them between two stones, and put them in a kettle over a little fire, you'll have oil enough for your purposes. There do not seem to be so many good sorts of trees and plants here as on t'other side. Why, there, if it be not a very dry year, a man may live for many a month on what he finds growing wild. But you'll do very well here, too; and, I dare say, farther in, you may find the same sorts of shrubs as over by Port Philip. There's the great, long gum-tree, and cypresses, I see, too; but not so many as in New South Wales. It's a fine country, however, and I like it better, for there are too many men over there. Here there seems to be no one but you and I: at least, I have not seen a living soul but one, beside yourself, for three hundred miles or more." "Is it not dangerous for a stranger, unacquainted with botany, to feed upon the fruits of a land totally new to him?" inquired Dudley. "Oh dear, no!" answered Brady. "Those that have a stone in them you may always eat, and most of those that have a hard shell to them. I don't speak of beans, you know, for many of them are poisonous enough, I believe; but of nuts and such like. But I'll tell you what a man, whom I once knew, did, and it wasn't an unclever sort of trick, which, if you stay long here, you may practise too. He caught a young kangaroo when it was quite little, and bred it up to hop about his place like a dog that had lost its fore-legs. Well, whatever he saw the kangaroo eat, he knew he might eat too, for they're a sort of human creatures, those kangaroos; I never half liked shooting one in my life." Dudley thought how strange that a man, who, for passion or revenge, would shed his fellow's blood like water, should feel repugnance to kill a mere brute, from a fancied resemblance to the human race. Yet such are the inconsistencies of our nature, and we meet with them every day. "It's very good eating, though," continued his companion, "and I dare say, man's good eating enough too, at least I've heard one of those black fellows say so; but of all things that's the best in this country it's the wombat. I should think there must be a good number of them about here, for I've seen a great many of their holes." "What is it like?" asked Dudley. "I never met with one." "It's about the size of a badger, and in shape something like a large rat," replied Brady; "but when, he's roasted, he's for all the world like a young pig; you'd hardly know the difference if it wasn't he's not quite so fat. The first time you see a hole with fresh tracks going in, you dig the fellow out and roast him, and you'll thank me for as good a dinner as ever you had in your life. He bites foully, though, I can tell you, so take care of your hands." "I must lay up some store of provisions for the winter," replied Dudley; "but how to preserve them I do not know, unless I dig a saltpan by the Sea." "Pooh, nonsense!" answered the man, "you'll find plenty of salt-pans ready made. There's too much of that commodity about. I can't say it's very good, for there's mostly something bitter mixed with it; but one must not be dainty in these countries. If you look about, you'll find many a hole of twenty acres or more, with the salt as hard upon the top as ice. And you have nothing to do but to cut yourself a little tank out of the coral limestone, and make a pickling-pan of it." "That would be a laborious business, I'm afraid," replied Dudley, "for which I have not proper tools." "Lord bless you! you can cut it like cheese," replied the bushranger. "Then you've nothing to do but to let it stand out in the air for a little while, and it grows as hard as flint. Why, the man that I was talking about, that I saw between this and Adelaide, has built himself quite a house of it, and all with his own hands." As he spoke, they came to the top of a little rising ground, from which the land sloped away with very gentle undulations for five or six miles. Mount Shanck, with its truncated cone, and Mount Gambier, with its peaky summits, were both within sight; while to the eastward, over a wild extent of scrub, the blue tops of some distant hills were seen, and the ground below, between them and the foot of Gambier, was wonderfully and beautifully varied with wide spaces of rich green pasture, and manifold clumps and small woods of gigantic shadowy trees, the long shadows of which fell upon the verdant meadows as if thrown upon green velvet. "Well, that's mighty pretty!" cried the bushranger, as he and Dudley stopped to gaze. "It puts me in mind of England--doesn't it you? It's for all the world like some great gentleman's park, isn't it now? It's a fine place that England, any how. I've never seen anything like it; d--n them for sending me out of it, I say!" "What a vast variety of different kinds of vegetation!" said Dudley. "What are those dark, gloomy-looking trees there, to the eastward?" "That's what they call the tea-tree," answered his companion; "bad enough tea it would make, however; and this one here, under which we are standing--heaven knows how high it is, for it seems as if it were looking after the clouds up there--they call the stringy bark, and those just below us are the blackwood trees. Those fellows that you see out in the meadows, with their little leaves all strung upon a stalk, they call mimosas here--I don't know what their right name is; but what's better than all, I see you've got lots of juniper here: all those bushes that you see; and when their berries are ripe, if you could but get some molasses, or maize, or anything of that kind, and make a still out of an old kettle, you could brew yourself some capital gin, and be as merry as a king." "Without subjects," said Dudley. "All the merrier for that," answered the bushranger. "I had never a fancy for pig-driving; and ruling a lot of men, every one of whom has his own fancy, must be as bad or worse. Well, it is a beautiful country, surely; and I think one might live very comfortably here, if it was not for that roving spirit one gets. Perhaps one might turn better too, if the folks would but let one; but that's impossible in this country. I was bad enough when I came here, but I'm ten times worse now, and shall be worse every day till I'm hanged." "Did you ever try to be better?" asked Dudley. "Depend upon it you would find it to your advantage." "It's no use," answered the man, "and that you may find some day to your own cost. You've done quite right to come away to a place where there are no other white people but yourself; but they'll find you out here in time; and if I were to stay here, they would hunt me out soon enough, and have me down to a chain gang, and drive me madder than I am. My only safety is in moving about, and then it's difficult to track me. You might as well expect devils to get good as the people in this colony; for if they wanted, there are other devils put on purpose to prevent them. But let us talk about the place, and not the people. I hate that sort of thing." During the latter part of this conversation they had descended slowly through the beautiful country before them, passing under various kinds of trees, with the evening chirp of the cicada spreading a melancholy murmur through the air, and multitudes of black and white cockatoos whirling round in the air, and parroquets of every kind and colour moving about amongst the branches. From amongst the long thick grass at the foot of the descent a tall emu started up, and galloped away upon its long legs across the plains. Every now and then they came upon a thicket covered with beautiful flowers, and they found the bank of a little stream gemmed with the Murray lily, and clothed in different places with a shrub bearing small purple bells. The ice-plant, too, was seen here and there; and had but the mind been at ease, few things more delightful could be found on earth than a ramble through that lovely scene. The spirit of peace and bounty seemed to pervade it all, and a forcible line of a rash but beautiful poet recurred to Dudley's mind, "And all but the image of God is divine." Nevertheless, the impression of all that beauty and the calm spirit which it seemed to give forth, was not without effect even upon his rude companion. He walked on in silence for some way, gazing around him on every side, and at length he said-- "I believe one does not half know how beautiful the country is when one's living in towns. I often think it would be better if people didn't live in towns at all, for you see one gets to like all sorts of things one doesn't care for in the country." "Doubtless there are many more temptations in towns," replied Dudley; "and what is worse than all, less opportunity for a man to commune quietly with his own thoughts; for I am quite sure, that if a person did so always, before he acts, there would not be half the harm done that takes place in the world. The opportunity of doing so is a great blessing, and the habit of so doing a greater blessing still." "I am not quite sure that that's the right cause of mischief," answered the bushranger. "Men seldom do things all at once. It's bit by bit a man gets on. If a man goes into a house and takes a glass of gin or brandy, as the case may be, it is not to get drunk, and he'd most likely do the same if he'd an hour to think of it. It is just to keep his spirits up when they're inclined to get low; then he finds a friend there, and he takes another glass; and then, while they are talking, another, till glass after glass goes into his mouth, and then to his head, and then nobody knows what happens. It's the same with other things too. It's all bit by bit; besides, I believe the devil is in some people: in me, perhaps. I dare say you think so. Now, there are the savage people here: the natives, as they call them; if the devil isn't in them, I don't know what is. They've never had any teaching, and yet they'll do such things as you've no notion of. I've seen them pick a man's pocket with their toes as cleverly as any prig in all London with his hands; and they'll throw those long spears of theirs right into your back, at such a distance that you'd think they couldn't hit a mountain. Then, as for their devilish tricks, they'll kill a man for his fat just as the settlers do a bullock for its tallow, and smear themselves all over with it, and then put red ochre on the top of that. You must keep a sharp look out for them, for there's no trusting them, and there's a whole heap of them not far from here, especially the people they call the Milmenduras, great, tall fellows, with curly hair; and there are the Fatayaries, too, but I don't think they're so bad as the others. I saw some of their wirlies as I came along. They're terrible savages, to be sure, and the only way to keep clear of them is to make them think that you're what they call a 'Mooldthorpe,' a sort of devil--that's what they think of me, and they don't touch me." "I would rather make them think me an angel of good than an angel of evil," answered Dudley. The man laughed aloud. "They'd kill ye, and eat ye, for all that," he answered. "They think, what the officers fancy we think, that it's only worth while minding those who torment or punish us. They care nothing about spirits of good. It's the spirits of evil they care about. Look there, there's one of them looking out now by that little wood! Let's keep clear of his spear; no, it's a kangaroo, upon my life! See how he goes hopping off, thirty feet at a jump, and yet sometimes the wild dogs will catch them, jump as wide as they will, as those dogs in the colony will catch me before I've done, let me roam far or near. I know it's my luck, and so I may as well have my will for a while." This was not exactly the sort of conclusion to which Dudley had hoped to lead him. He thought he discovered some small portion of good amidst the great mass of evil in the man's nature; but he knew not how difficult it is to eradicate weeds which have grown up, year after year, even in a soil which might have been made at one time prolific of other things. Neither had he sufficient experience of such characters to be aware of the best means of planting better thoughts. Whenever he attempted to do so, his companion flew away from the subject, resolved not to hear, and they had reached the foot of Mount Gambier without the least progress having been made. As Dudley began to climb the hill, however, the bushranger exclaimed, "Why, you don't live up there, do you?" "Yes, indeed I do, at the very top," replied Dudley. "Oh! then hang me if I go any farther," answered Brady. "I'm tired, and getting sleepy, and I don't want to add a great bit to my walk off to-morrow. It's full forty miles to Mr. Norries's place, where I intend to sleep. The day after, I dare say I can steal a horse. There's one, I know, at Pringle's sheep farm, and that'll carry me into the bush near Adelaide. It'll be three weeks before I reach it, I dare say, so if you'll give me a day or two's biscuit, I'll thank you." "With all my heart," answered Dudley, who had by this time given up all hope of making an impression on his companion. "You had better take a good stock, as you've such a long way to go." "No," answered Brady, "there's no use a-lumbering one's self. I'll have a dozen; that's enough for three days, at four a day, and before I've eaten them, perhaps I may be as dead as a sheep; besides, Mr. Norries will feed me to-morrow, and I'll make Pringle feed me the day after." "And who is this Mr. Norries?" asked Dudley, somewhat struck by the name. "Is he a runaway convict, like ourselves?" "He's a convict, sure enough," answered Brady; "but at the end of the first year, he got indulgence, as they call it, for good behaviour and helping the governor's secretary at a pinch. Besides, though he's condemned for life, what he did wasn't very bad after all. He was a sort of lawyer, you see, and got into a terrible row, as what they call a Chartist. Devil take me if I know rightly what that means! There were no Chartists in England when I set out on my travels. But, however, he was cast, and sent out to Hobart Town, which he reached just as I started off, a good many months ago. I recollect hearing they were all very civil to him, for they do make distinctions out here, let them say what they will." Dudley listened with eager attention, hesitating not a little as to how he should act in consequence of the unexpected information he had just received. A thirst for some companionship was upon him. To know that a well-educated and intelligent, though misguided man, was within what seemed, in that wild and thinly-peopled tract, but a short distance, gave him a strong desire to open some communication with him, and curiosity as to many events in the past rendered that desire almost irresistible. Yet he doubted and feared, for the idea of being betrayed and carried back to the bondage from which he escaped, was terrible to him. After much hesitation, then, he sent a brief and not very distinct message to Norries by his lawless companion, proposing to watch all the better against surprise thenceforward. "Tell Mr. Norries," he said, "that there is a person living here who knew something of him in former days, and whom he last saw about the time when he was planning those schemes which turned out so ill." "You would not like to tell your name, I suppose?" asked Brady. "No, that is not necessary," replied Dudley. "If he guesses, well; if not, it does not matter." "Well, I think you must give me a couple of charges of powder for my pains," replied the bushranger. "Willingly," replied Dudley, "and some small-shot too. I have no bullets with me but what are in the gun. "That'll do--that'll do," was the reply. And having received the gift, the wild and lawless man shook hands with his unfortunate companion, and saying that he should look out for some low tree to sleep in, he left him to pursue his way towards his solitary dwelling on the mountain-top. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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