The Kangaroo Marines Part 6

"Right you are, I'll run this bit of the business," said Claud, as the Queenslander went off into the darkness. For a long time they picked and shovelled out the soft brown earth.

"What's this?" whispered Sandy, holding something in his hand. Claud switched the light on.

"It's a shin bone."

"Here's the goods," shouted Bill, holding up a bracelet crusted with earth and mildew.

"It's gold, too," said Claud, fingering it.

"And here's some quids," Paddy said, spreading some coins out in his hand.

"Coppers, you mean."

Resuming their task, they soon collected skulls, shin bones, thigh bones, some old bra.s.sware, a ring, some coppers, and many other things of an Eastern kind.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" soliloquised Claud, as he occasionally surveyed the finds with the aid of his monocle and flash lamp. But the greatest find was a large bra.s.s urn of beautiful workmanship.

"Looks like old Rameses' whisky jar," said Bill, turning the urn round under the light of the lamp.

Things were really going well till the Irishman happened to look up.

His eyes at once caught a moving spectre of white advancing slowly towards them.

"Holy Mary, there's a ghost," said he, crossing himself and gripping Claud by the arm. They all looked up, and, sure enough, there was something white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead.

Their eyes riveted on it. Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquently wondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked up the bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket.

He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid get them."

"It's mighty funny," muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyegla.s.s to see the dread apparition more clearly.

"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye. My ould father has seen them when he lived in Kerry. Heaven preserve us!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, crossing himself for about the fiftieth time.

"Ghost or no ghost, Paddy Doolan, I'm going after it," Bill said.

Quietly picking up his tool, he walked forward to the weird, white thing still advancing. He reached it, then turned with it towards the crouching grave wreckers. Halting about ten yards from them, Bill shouted, "Paddy Doolan."

"Yis, Bill," was the timorous reply.

"It's an Irish ghost--a Kerry one."

"What is it?" said Claud, rising and shaking off the supernatural fear which had held him for a moment.

"It's a white donkey on the loose," answered Bill, bursting into laughter. Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in the admiration of the innocent a.s.s which had strayed from its usual haunts.

After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terrible bray, flung up its heels and departed into the night.

They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they with their discoveries that they did not hear the approach of some chattering natives. These dusky gents were within fifty yards of them when Bill whispered, "Keep still--lie down." They obeyed, and lying flat on the ground saw some Arabs go by. They could just see their figures against the sky, and had time to note that they carried shovels.

"On the same game," whispered Bill.

"Yes," said Claud, "I believe they make a speciality of digging up these dead folks. Glad they weren't Kerry ghosts, anyway."

"Be aisy, boys, you'll meet a ghost yet before ye die."

The work was resumed once more. About 2 A.M., when all thought they had had enough of this body-s.n.a.t.c.hing, they were startled with the cry of, "Help, boys! Help! They're killing me."

"By Jove! That's the Queenslander. These n.i.g.g.e.rs are at him. Come on, boys," shouted Claud, lifting his entrenching tool and running towards the place from whence came the cry for help.

"Help! Help!" rang out the cry again, this time it was more m.u.f.fled and weak.

"Where are you, Sambo?"

"In here," came a faint reply.

The sound came from a square building, the door of which was open.

Claud dashed in, flashing his light as he went. Turning a corner, he was amazed by a strange and striking spectacle.

Sambo lay struggling and kicking surrounded by four great hulking Arabs, who had been beating, kicking and biting him in a furious struggle. The faces of all were bleeding and bruised, and blood was splashed over the white sort of overall that the natives wear. To the left of Sambo Claud saw an open tomb. Inside he could just see a kind of coffin arrangement, and on the ground, near at hand, the most varied collection of bra.s.s and other beautiful Eastern wares. This was the cause of the bother.

Crack! went Claud's fist into the eyes of the nearest Arab.

"Take that, ye son of a sea cook," chimed in Bill, giving another the knock-out blow.

"Here's one from Paddy Doolan," shouted the Hibernian as he, too, hit his man. The fourth one was dealt with by Claud. With shrieks and yells of "Allah, Allah!" the Arabs turned, and, jumping a low wall, fled off into the night. Sambo was at once released. Meantime, Sandy, as the unofficial cashier of the expedition, made an inventory of the treasure trove. It appears that Sambo had scented out in a strange way a very ancient and dilapidated tomb, which these Arab robbers had intended to despoil at the same time.

"Here, boys," said Sandy, "it's time we were hame. I've had enough o'

skulls, shin banes and bra.s.s beer bottles."

"An' I've had enough of ghosts," growled Paddy, as they staggered down the road with their load of curios. The car whisked them back to Mena Camp again. Stealthily creeping through the lines, they arrived at their tents. All crept to bed, weary and wiser men. Claud was the last one to fall asleep. He was thinking of Sybil, the girl from the Bush. At last Morpheus claimed him. As he was slipping away into the dreamy unknown he heard Doolan muttering, "Ghosts! Be Jasus! Ghosts!"

CHAPTER V

SYBIL, THE SQUATTER'S GIRL

"By Jove! What a stunning girl. She's a peach!" whispered a Yeomanry subaltern to his Australian friend as a beautiful girl entered the s.p.a.cious dining-room of Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo.

"Why, that's Sybil Graham--haven't seen her since she was a kid. My word, she is a beauty now," said the Australian officer.

"Who is she?"

"One of our squatter's girls. That's her father and mother with her.

They've got miles of land, plenty of sheep and heaps of tin. He'll be a lucky fellow who gets her."

"You know, old chap, I never thought you produced women like that in Australia. No offence, you know. What I really mean is that the sun, the want of what we call society, and the lack of cultured inst.i.tutions such as we have at home, must be a great handicap in bringing up a girl."

"Young man, you're talking through your hat," was the blunt reply. "We have ladies in Australia just as we have at home. And can you guess what we haven't got?"

"No."