Burgess hauled Henry behind the rock and sat him down.
“Watch an’ learn, ’Enry,” he said. “Watch an’ learn.”
He leaned close. Henry studied the man’s facial features. What ridiculous sideburns! What evil black eyes!
“You’re me son, ’Enry, wevva ya like it or not.” Burgess was quiet as he addressed him. Almost gentle. Then he thumped Henry on the arm. “So toughen up.”
Agh! Henry slumped back against the rock, sucking his breath against the pain in his arm. I hate this man! He watched as they gathered behind the rock.
Kelly caressed his newly acquired rifle. He held it up for Henry to see, pointing at his name carved into the stock, and grinned. What will I tell the doctor? Henry wondered. I probably won’t ever see him again, anyway.
Levy checked his fob watch. Of all of them, Henry thought, Levy seemed the only one who quietly went about his business with no malice. But he’s still part of the gang.
Sullivan tucked Smith’s doctor’s bag next to him. Then he crouched beside Henry, so close that Henry could smell the sweat and dirt on the big man’s filthy clothes.
Sullivan pulled out Miriama’s beautiful scarf again, and rammed it into Henry’s mouth. Then tied his own filthy neckerchief tight over the scarf to keep it in place.
Henry gagged. He took several deep, slow breaths through his nose. I must stay calm.
Sullivan turned his attention to Doctor Smith’s bag. He ran his rough fingers over it, slowly, as if stroking a piece of silk. Then he stared at the name engraved on it. “Z. Smith?” he grunted. “What the hell?”
He spat, then opened the bag and fossicked through metal instruments and other medical paraphernalia. The stethoscope took his fancy, but he did not know what it was, and twirled it around Henry’s head before dropping it back in the bag.
Henry glared at him.
“Ah ha!” Sullivan’s eyes widened, and he pulled out a bottle. “Laudanum!” he chortled. “Happy times!”
He looked up to see Henry watching him with tears in his eyes. Sullivan smirked and blew him a kiss.
You monster! Henry resolved right then that he would escape, no matter what. He remembered the cowboy stories he’d read in the dime novels: the hero always managed to break his bonds to free himself. So he shuffled around in the dirt until he could feel a sharp part of the rock behind him, and began to rub his taut leather bonds against it.
Whenever none of the gang was watching, Henry rubbed furiously.
“Listen up, lads,” said Burgess, “we got work to do. Kelly, Levy: stay behind the rock. Keep watch. Sullivan, ’elp me cut a track into the bush.”
Sullivan growled: “Aye aye, ya majesty.”
Henry continued to rub his bonds.
Henry resolved that he would escape, no matter what.
Knives flashed as Sullivan hacked at the bushes to make a path from the rock into the dark trees. He and Burgess put branches across to hide the entrance.
What are they doing?
Kelly got busy with the physician’s rifle, loading a bullet into the breech. He pointed at the weapon, then poked his finger at Henry. “Pow!” He mouthed the word silently, and smirked at Henry’s discomfort.
Levy had been on watch, and he cried out, “Someone coming!”
“Every man to his position!” commanded Burgess. All of them – Burgess, Sullivan, Levy and Kelly – dived behind the rock.
Burgess peered out and grunted. “It’s just an old man.”
“Gold digger?” asked Sullivan.
“Nah – just a bag o’ bones ’n’ rags.”
But Sullivan was interested in the lone traveller, and he got to his feet. “See for meself,” he said. Acting casually, hand in pocket, he sauntered onto the path. Henry strained to hear their conversation.
“Good morning mister,” Sullivan greeted the old man. “Fine day.”
“Good day, sir.” The man sounded nervous – and who wouldn’t be, confronted by this tall, rock-faced boxer?
“Ye comin’ from the goldfields, old fella?”
“No, sir. Been cutting flax down at Pelorus.”
Leave the old man alone, please.
“Cuttin’ flax, ya say,” Sullivan repeated.
Henry risked a peek over Burgess’ shoulder. He saw, up the track, a skinny old man with a swag and shovel.
“Well, I’ll be jogging along then,” said the old man, and hobbled off down the track.
Thank goodness, they’ve let him go.
Sullivan dived back behind the rock. “He’s got gold, all right!” he said to Burgess.
“Whaddya mean? He’s just been cuttin’ flax.”
“That’s his version. Did ya see the way he shifted his knife round the other side when I spoke to ’im?”
Burgess thought this over. “And now he’s seen ya, Sullivan.”
“Bloody oath! He has, too.”
Henry knew evil was afoot. He gave a muffled cry.
Sullivan barked an order – “Kelly, watch ’im” – and hurried after the flax-cutter.
Kelly pointed the rifle at Henry, smirking. Burgess sprang up and followed Sullivan.
Levy cast his eyes upwards. “Good God,” he murmured.
They heard Sullivan call out, “Wait up, old man!”
Henry leaned around to watch. The flax-cutter had reached the bushes, but Sullivan grabbed him.
“Let me go about my business!” the old man pleaded. He reached for his knife.
Sullivan held his arm back. “Ye’ve got gold!”
“No! I’ve only three pounds cash! Take it!”
But it was no good. Burgess took hold of the old man and dragged him towards the bushes.
Can that really be my father? a voice wailed inside Henry’s head.
“Come down ’ere,” Burgess ordered the old man.
“D’you want to murder me?”
“What an idea! Course not.” Burgess took the old man by the throat.
“I’ll go, I’ll go!”
Sullivan and Burgess hauled the old man into the darkness of the bushes. Henry slumped back behind the rock, teary-eyed. Two big men … one frail old man.
Kelly and Levy looked distressed too. Kelly made the sign of the cross. Lying behind the rock, they heard sounds of a scuffle. The old man screamed,
“Murder most foul!”
Levy grimaced. His hand touched his throat as he imagined what was taking place. Henry, distraught, rubbed hard at his bonds.
“Aaaaghhh!” Henry froze at the cry.
There was a THUMP – the sound of Sullivan’s killer punch to the fragile chest of the flax-cutter.
Kelly touched his own chest. Levy flinched and closed his eyes. “God forgive us.”
Exactly at that moment, the leather thong holding Henry’s hands snapped. He flexed his numb fingers and pulled the strap away from his wrists.
He looked around to take stock of the situation.
Levy and Kelly were both preoccupied. The physician’s rifle lay next to Kelly. The doctor’s bag was nearby.
Now’s the time. Before they get back. He could hear them in the bushes, probably burying their victim. Now, Henry, now!
Henry jumped to his feet and grabbed the doctor’s bag.
Kelly was gobsmacked. “Whaaa?” He picked up the rifle, but Henry swung the bag hard and knocked the gun out of Kelly’s hands.
The rifle hit Levy on the chest. He yelped. “Damnation!”
Kelly scrabbled for the rifle, and Henry did not wait. He ran for his life.
As he fled, he yanked down Sullivan’s smelly neckerchief and pulled Miriama’s scarf from his mouth.
He charged away like a hunted animal, holding the doctor’s bag and Miriama’s scarf. Run, run!
A dark shape burst from the forest, shovel in hand, in time to see Henry running across the field. Sullivan waved the shovel in the air. “Come back, you little toad!”
Not on your life! Henry kept running.
Levy pointed to the ridge. “They’re coming!”
Henry was relieved. Now they won’t chase me!
Kelly raised the rifle and took aim at Henry, but Levy stopped him. “No! Ye’ll give the game away!”
Kelly lowered the gun, muttering.
“The diggers are here!” Levy told him. Kelly peered up the track and saw the distant figures of several men and packhorses.
Sullivan had spotted the diggers too, but he was determined to deal to the skinny kid. “Get him!” he snarled at Kelly as he charged past, pistol in hand. Kelly leapt to his feet and followed with the physician’s rifle. He and Sullivan scrambled across the open ground, bent low.
Henry ran wildly, arms flailing, the doctor’s bag swinging. I’m faster! They can’t catch me. Then, abruptly, he stopped.
He was at the top of a steep ravine. Far below was a shallow creek full of rocks.
I’m trapped! What can I do?
Behind him, Sullivan took aim with his pistol. I’m going to die like a dog!
Shaking, Henry raised the doctor’s bag in front of his chest and closed his eyes.
Sullivan squeezed the trigger.