Adventure Magazine Cover — page 124: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

II4 “What, wait!” pleaded Rushton. ‘Wait until they’re clear of the bush and you can see them. Whatever you do don’t shoot et.” “‘Hobble ’em ’ere?’”’ came Mitcham’s voice. “vil do.” That was Gilding speaking. “T wonder how many more nights’ sleep I’ve got to lose? I’ve had enough of this slaughterman’s job. I wish you could get at this Rushton of yours.” “°R’s balmy, if you awsk me,’ said Mitcham, “but ’e’s cunning. Can’t get no nearer to ’im by day than you can to a yarri, and at night he loses ’imself some- where. I can’t make out what’s keeping am ‘ere,’” “You poke around a bit and see if you can unearth him,” grumbled Gilding. “He must be near that box of stuff he stowed away. I’ll do some more dirty work. Old John’s going to bust a couple of blood-vessels if this goes on much longer. Besides it’s risky. Where’s that —— hobble of mine anyhow?” ‘“‘Aw, what the ——?” Rushton had stepped out behind them blocking their retreat down the track. “Stick ’em up quick!” he ordered. ‘‘And keep ’em up.” There followed a pause, then came an oath, a scurry of feet, red flames spouted in the darkness, detonations echoed and re- echoed beneath the low vault of the scrub. They fired at point blank range. A horse reared up, its forefeet beating the air. Above the crash of the guns arose a scream, high-pitched and shrill, the scream of a man in torture. Somebody fell heavily. A figure leaped upon the back of a bucking horse. “Get him!” But the horse bolted, thundering down the track. The man on the ground coughed and coughed, gurgled and coughed again and died. The man was Gilding. By the light of a match they looked at his face, and quickly blew out the match. One glance at the smashed face wiped from their minds all feeling of exultation. The last throbbing echo of the battle died away and again came the bullfrogs’ chorus— unhurried, unchanging, everlasting— “Clunk-clunk! Clunk-clunk!” It rang in the ears like a dirge. “They asked for it,” exclaimed Lund, angrily defending his action. “If they hadn’t tried to fight back 2 Adventure “But they did,” Rushton snapped. ‘‘Let’s get away from here. I want to lie down somewhere where I shan’t have to listen to those frogs!” Later, as they hurried through the mist, Lund grumbled: “T wish it had been Mitcham——’”’ “Amen!” said Rushton. “That’s not such a bad epitaph. And now we might as well begin worrying about the next move Burdette will make. I don’t think he’s going to be particularly pleased when he hears the glad tidings.”’ possessing Rushton but the simple truth about the matter was that it could not be done. With his one helper and his handful of badgered, bellowing cows he held on to fifteen thousand -acres of first- class land like a limpet. He could not be frightened off, he could not be driven off, nor could he be legally ousted. Water re- serves, traveling reserves, mineral rights, squatter’s rights—he had covered himself at every possible turn. And John Burdette when he read his attorneys’ report, the report of his friend in the survey depart- ment, the report of his friend on the govern- ment staff, all these, went very red in the face and tore off his collar which was choking him. John Burdette was stumped, perplexed, apoplectic—and more firmly convinced than ever that by hook or by crook he would eventually come into possession of the Stony Rises Run. But everything he tried failed. Gilding died. The death had to be hushed up and lied about. Every man working for him was suspicious. None of them could be trusted. Oh, they were sober and quiet and indus- trious, but not one of them was loyal. They hated him and he knew it. They would bleed him if they ever found out. Then there was Mitcham to be silenced and paid for his silence,-paid and paid and paid. Ten pounds here and ten pounds there. Mitcham, the grinning ape, getting even at last! The mob of store cattle, two thousand strong, came up the day after Gilding’s death. They had to be taken care of. Instead of being bundled straight across the Shaw on to virgin soil they had to be left to eat their heads off in the lucerne and rye grass. IT WAS all very well to talk of dis- Go DOOLK 1@)