CRACK! The bullet whistled through the air and smacked into the doctor’s bag.
The bag stopped the bullet!
But Henry lost his balance and stumbled backwards. He tumbled down the bank, smashing through bushes, still clutching the bag.
Sullivan and Kelly, panting from their chase, appeared at the top of the ravine and watched Henry fall.
He crashed into the creek, dazed, and crying from the pain. Through blurry eyes, he saw a thin trail of his blood snake into the water. My blood! My head…
As Henry lay in the creek, stunned, Sullivan looked back towards Maungatapu Rock. “The diggers!” He peered down at Henry, motionless in the creek.
“He’s dead,” said Kelly.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” said Sullivan. “Git down there an’ finish him awf,” he ordered, “and get the bag.”
Stooped low, Sullivan ran back to the rock. The gold miners were halfway down the slope towards them.
“He looks dead enough,” Kelly muttered.
Henry didn’t move a muscle. Please don’t come and check on me!
Kelly examined his precious waistcoat and brushed a sleeve. “Why me?” he complained aloud. “Since Adam was born…”
But he knew better than to disobey Sullivan. Henry listened to Kelly’s grunts and cusses as the outlaw began to clamber down the cliff face, slithering towards the creek, using the rifle as support.
Kelly took care to avoid sharp branches: he did not want to damage his waistcoat. But the dirt and clay were slippery, and halfway down his feet shot from under him, and he sat with a thump.
“Oath!” He stood, clutched a branch, and continued to scramble down. Despite his care, a branch snagged his sleeve and ripped it. “Oh, Lordy! That’s done it!”
He squinted at Henry in the creek. “Hey!” he shouted.
Henry did not move a muscle. Play dead!
His eyes were wide open as he listened to Kelly.
If I keep still, he’ll go away.
“Noooo!”
There was a desperate cry from one of the gold diggers. Henry gritted his teeth. The gang had begun their deadly work. Hopefully, Kelly would run back and join them.
“Hey, you!” Kelly called out. Henry heard a clod of dirt sail through the air. Thwack! It hit his head. He winced.
CRACK! The sound of a gunshot echoed across the open space behind Kelly. Henry moved his head very slowly to see whether Kelly was leaving. But the man was becoming more agitated. Henry gasped as he saw him pick up a rock the size of his fist.
Please, no! You’ll kill me!
“Hey, kid!” Kelly hurled the rock. Henry waited.
The rock smacked into Henry’s leg with a dull THONK.
Aaaaaagh!!! Henry screamed silently. He had never felt such pain. Not even when Duke trod on him that time. Nooooooo! The pain shot up his leg. Then back down again. But still he did not move.
He lay crumpled in the stream, fighting to stay conscious, biting his lip till it bled. A jumble of images and thoughts cascaded through his head. Sullivan’s hands around his throat. His father’s headstone: bring justice to the fatherless. The physician’s gun.
His longing to have a gun of his own.
My leg hurts so badly. God help me!
I’m going to die and no one will ever find me and—
I’m not even sixteen.
“Noooo!” There was another scream from near Maungatapu Rock, so chilling that it sent startled birds flapping from the foliage. Even Kelly flinched.
The terrible sound unnerved Henry, too. I can’t stand this! He peered around to see where Kelly was. The man had turned his back on him and begun to scramble back up the slope.
He’s going! Henry struggled to his feet. “Aagh!” The pain in his leg was so bad that he could not help crying out loud.
I shouldn’t have stood up!
Kelly turned around. “Of all the…!”
Henry cried out as Kelly came leaping back down the slope towards the creek, wielding the rifle. In his anger and surprise, he forgot his waistcoat as he smashed through the bushes.
Henry scrambled towards the far side of the creek, dragging his injured leg.
Henry scrambled towards the far side of the creek, dragging his injured leg.
Kelly was close behind. He tumbled into the creek, crying out as he thudded into the rocks. “Come back!” He got to his feet, rubbing his shoulder and gasping with pain.
Henry reached the far bank, scooped up the doctor’s bag, and clambered up the bank.
“Please, no!” There was another distant sound: a man’s anguished cry.
Kelly stopped and glanced back. Then he continued his chase. Henry had disappeared into the dense undergrowth. Kelly charged into the bushes after him.
WHAM!
Henry slammed into Kelly, knocking him off his feet. The rifle he was holding whacked him on the forehead.
“Tarnation!”
Henry turned and burrowed into the undergrowth.
In desperation, Kelly clawed at the rifle, cocked it, and fired into the bushes.
CRACK!
The bullet smashed through the branches only a few feet away from Henry, sending twigs and leaves flying. He stopped in his tracks and gasped. That small lead projectile would have ended his days.
He looked back.
Kelly sat on the riverbank, winded, his clothes torn. “Mother of God…” He peered back up the ravine. “Sullivan’ll kill me,” he said aloud.
Henry turned away and pushed and clawed his way through the bushes, gritting his teeth at the stabbing pain in his leg.