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In A New World; or, Among The Gold Fields Of Australia, a fiction by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 17. A Welcome In The Wilds |
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_ CHAPTER XVII. A WELCOME IN THE WILDS Before Lucy could reach the door, it was opened, and a stalwart man of middle age paused on the threshold, in evident surprise. "Whom have you here, Lucy?" he asked in a tone of displeasure. "Two boys, papa, who came here in distress, having lost their way." "Did I not caution you against admitting strangers?" continued her father with a slight frown. "Yes, but these are boys, not men." Harry Vane thought it was time to start. "I hope, sir," he said, "you won't blame your daughter for her kindness to us. We stood greatly in need of friendly help, having been robbed of everything by the bushrangers, from whom we managed by good luck to escape some hours since." The shepherd regarded Harry keenly, and proceeded to cross-examine him. "You say you were captured by the bushrangers?" he said. "Yes, sir." "When was this?" "This morning, just after breakfast." "Where did it happen?" Harry told him. "Where were you going?" "To the mines at Bendigo." "How large was your party?" "There were only three of us--a countryman of ours and ourselves." "Where is he?" "The bushrangers robbed him and let him go." "Why did they not release you and your friend?" "Because, as a young member of the band told us, the captain meant to spare us to join the band." "You are young to be travelling to the mines. What countrymen are you?" "We are Americans." "Humph! your story sounds well enough, but how do I know that you are not spies of the bushrangers?" Harry Vane's eyes flashed indignantly. "I hope you won't think so badly of us," he said. The shepherd seemed somewhat impressed by his indignant denial, which certainly seemed genuine enough, but wanted information on one point. "How did you manage to escape? That doesn't seem very probable, at any rate." "We both took advantage of the excitement occasioned by the murder of Captain Stockton----" he began. "What!" exclaimed the shepherd in profound astonishment, "Captain Stockton murdered! When? By whom?" Of course Harry told the story, but that need not be repeated. The shepherd listened in evident excitement. "If this is true," he said, "nothing better could have happened for this part of Australia. This man--Stockton--is noted everywhere as the most desperate and cruel of the bushrangers. I can't begin to tell you how many atrocious crimes he has committed. He killed my brother in cold blood three years since,"--here the shepherd's face darkened--"because he defended the property of another, and tried to save it from being stolen. If he is dead I am deeply, profoundly grateful!" "You need have no doubt on that point, sir," said Harry. "Jack and myself saw him shot down. There can be no doubt of his death." "I believe you speak the truth. You don't look as if you were deceiving me. So you took the opportunity to give the bushrangers legbail, eh?" "We didn't stay to bid them good-by," said Harry, smiling. "We ran till we were out of breath, but saw no one on our track. Probably it was some time before we were thought of, and our escape noticed. We have been walking ever since, and were ready to drop with hunger and fatigue when we espied the light of your cottage, and ventured to ask for help." "You are welcome to all that we can do for you," said the shepherd, his tone changing. "I was suspicious at first, for the bushrangers are up to all sorts of tricks, but the news you have brought insures you a welcome. At last my poor brother is avenged, and the bloodthirsty villain who killed him has gone to his account. You don't know who is elected in his place?" "No, sir, we came away at once." "Of course, of course; I should have thought of that." "I hope it isn't Fletcher," said Jack. "Ha! what do you know of Dick Fletcher?" "More than we want to. He it was who passed himself off on us as a returned miner, and betrayed us into the hands of his comrades." "I know of him, too. He would be as bad as the captain if he dared, but he is a coward. His turn will come after a while. But, Lucy,"--here he addressed his daughter,--"you are not treating your guests very well. Where are your potatoes and other vegetables?" "They were so hungry they preferred not to wait for them, papa." "You may put them in the pot now. I want them, and I think our young friends will be able to eat them later." "You are very kind, sir, but I am afraid Jack and I will not be able to compensate you. The bushrangers took all we had, and left us penniless." "I don't want your money, boy. You are welcome to all you get in this house. We don't have visitors very often. When they do come, they have no bills to pay." "Unless they are bushrangers, father!" said Lucy with a smile. "If they are bushrangers, they will meet with a still warmer reception," said the shepherd grimly. "And now, daughter, hurry up supper, for I have a very fair appetite myself." Lucy moved about quietly but actively in obedience to her father's directions. An hour later, or perhaps less, the table was spread once more, and all got up to it. The boys, though the edge of their appetite was taken away, managed to eat the vegetables with a relish, not having had a chance to eat any for a considerable time, except at their hotel in Melbourne. After supper they sat down beside the fire and talked. Living so much alone, the shepherd and his daughter were anxious to hear all that the boys could tell them of the great world from which they lived aloof. Later in the evening, the shepherd, whose name, by the way, was Andrew Campbell, said, "Now, let us have a little music. Lucy, bring me the bagpipe." His daughter went into an adjoining room, and brought out a Highland bagpipe, which Campbell received, and straightway began to play upon it some characteristic Scotch tunes. It was loud and harsh, but the boys enjoyed it for want of better. "Don't you sing, Miss Lucy?" asked Harry, when her father laid down the instrument. "No," answered the girl, smiling. "I wish I did. Father is very fond of singing." "Aye, am I; Lucy's mother sang, but the gift has not descended to her." "Harry is a professional singer," said Jack. "He sings in public." "Please sing something, then," pleaded Lucy. "If you really wish it," answered Harry. "I shall be glad to hear you, young sir," said the shepherd. Harry hesitated no longer, but sang at once, choosing such Scotch melodies as he knew in preference. The shepherd's eyes glistened, and he was evidently much moved. "It calls back my early days, when as a lad I trod the heath in Scotland," he said. "You are a fine singer. I don't mind when I have enjoyed an evening as much." "I am very glad, sir, if I have been able in this way to repay your kindness," said Harry. "Don't speak of it, lad," said the shepherd, lapsing into his Scotch mode of speech. "We shan't miss the bit sup we have given you." At nine o'clock all retired for the night, for the shepherd must be up early in the morning to look after his flocks. Harry and Jack slept in a small room back. They were very tired, and fell asleep as soon as their heads struck the pillow. _ |
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