The Rider of Waroona Part 15

CHAPTER VII

SNARED

Durham awakened with a sense of oppression.

For the moment he could not recall where he was. It seemed as though some sound had disturbed him, yet before he opened his eyes he realised the utter silence which reigned.

It was the silence which brought back to him where he was. He had fallen asleep as he lay in the hammock chair on the verandah at Waroona Downs.

In his half-awakened state he made an effort to sit up. But he could not move--arms, legs, body were held as though in paralysis. He could only open his eyes.

Before him, in the faint light shed by the down-turned lamp, he saw the figure of a man, leaning slightly forward, clad in the attire of an ordinary bushman--an unb.u.t.toned jacket hanging loosely open over a cotton shirt; tweed trousers secured at the waist by a narrow strap; travel-stained leggings and heavy boots with well-worn spurs dangling at the heels. The head was covered by a soft felt hat pulled forward, shading the upper part of the face, while the lower was hidden by a thick growth of yellow beard. The hair, where it showed under the hat, was fair almost to whiteness and close-cropped. Eyebrows and lashes of the same light hue gave a sinister expression to the eyes.

Durham recognised him at once as the man Eustace had declared called at the bank after office hours.

Mrs. Burke's presentiment had come true! The men from whom he had so lightly offered to protect her had stolen upon him while he slept.

With a frantic plunge he strove to break free, at the same moment opening his mouth to shout a warning. But even as his lips parted, a hand came from behind him and placed a soft m.u.f.fling substance over his mouth.

"Tie it--tight," the man in front said in a low whisper.

Durham felt the pa.s.sing of a thong round and round his head. He tried to raise his legs to kick the floor of the verandah, but they were too securely fastened to the sides of the chair. He could move neither hand nor foot. He was as helpless as though he were dead.

The man with the yellow beard bent nearer.

"We'll see you again--later," he whispered. "That's a good horse you were riding--Government property, I think, it was. Well, it has changed owners."

He moved noiselessly away and Durham was left alone. Bracing his muscles, he strained at the cords which bound him, trying to writhe himself free. The chair creaked. In a moment the man with the yellow beard was back.

"If you wriggle for a year you won't get free," he said in a harsh whisper. "But I tell you what you will get; that's a crack on the head to keep you quiet. Do you hear? You lay still, or there'll be an ugly b.u.mp on your skull."

He stepped out of sight, and Durham heard the window he had pulled-to quietly pushed open. A rage of mingled anger and jealousy swept over him. Regardless of the threat, he plunged and struggled till the veins in his head were bursting, and he smothered as the m.u.f.fler over his mouth worked up and covered his nostrils.

Suddenly a sound cut through the night which sent his blood cold.

From within the house there came the wild, terrified shriek of a woman.

A hoa.r.s.e shout blended with it, and then the report of a revolver-shot echoed through the place.

For a few minutes there was silence, deathly, nerve-destroying silence.

Durham, trembling with mortification, strained his ears to catch some further sound.

Two shots in quick succession rang out, followed by a rush of scuffling feet, and on the air there came the thud of galloping horses' hoofs.

"They're off, Patsy! The rifle, quick! Quick! Oh, you old fool, be quick! They'll be too far!"

Durham heard the words screamed in a high shrill voice. Thereafter he could only hear the hum of voices dimly.

Presently they came clearer.

"I tell you only two got away, three horses and two men. I saw them.

The other's somewhere. Sure I hope I put a bullet through him, and I believed him when he said he was a police inspector. Oh, what a country to come to. To think that the dirty--oh, look out, Patsy! Look out, you old fool!"

The noise of a shot rang through Durham's head as though a pistol had been fired close to his ear. He saw a splinter fly from the verandah post as the bullet glanced off.

"I've hit him! I've hit him! See if he's dead, Patsy. Don't be frightened. I tell you I'll cover him if he moves."

The light spread clear as the lamp was turned up, and Durham heard the slow-moving footsteps of the old man approaching.

"Bedad! It's all tied up he is!"

Quick footsteps came, and as Durham turned his eyes he saw, looking down at him, with her hair flying loose, her cheeks white, and her eyes wild with excitement, Nora Burke.

"What has happened? What does it mean?" she said slowly. "Patsy, get a knife and--no, let me."

She reached and caught hold of the cord tied round Durham's legs.

"Get a knife, Patsy. It is too tight to untie."

Obedient, the old man brought her the table-knife Durham had used at his supper, and with it she cut through some of the cords.

"Can you move now? Oh, it's a gag they put on you!" she exclaimed, as she leaned over him and cut the thong which held the m.u.f.fler so securely across his mouth.

"Free my arm, and give me the knife," he said, as soon as he could speak. "I will cut quicker."

She placed the knife in his hand when she had slipped the cord twined round his arm. He could scarcely close his fingers on it, so stiff had they become, and he fumbled clumsily before he had cut himself free.

Then he rose to his feet and stood unsteadily.

Patsy had vanished; Mrs. Burke watched him from the shadow at the side of the window.

"You saw them?" he exclaimed. "It was you who fired?"

Before she could answer his eye caught sight of something white lying by the chair. He stooped and picked it up. It was what had been used to m.u.f.fle his cries, and he saw it was a handkerchief.

Instinctively he opened it out, stepped into the full glare of the light and ran his eyes along the edge. At one corner a name, boldly written, showed clear.

"Charles N. Eustace."

He could not repress an exclamation as he read the name.

"What is it?" she cried, as she came over to him.

She gripped his arm as she also read the name.

"Eustace!" she cried. "Eustace--then it was he who----"

She stopped abruptly, staring at him.

"Did you recognise him?" he asked.