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Updated: June 21, 2025
The further he got from the scene of the murder, the lighter grew his spirits. He turned the situation over in his mind and found abundant satisfaction in it; his primitive logic told him that there was no evidence against him. It is doubtful who was the most surprised, the troopers or Bradby when he stumbled unexpectedly into their camp that evening.
Bradby stirred uneasily, threw out one arm, rolled over on his side, and in an instant was wide-awake. He sat up abruptly and gazed around. Abel Cumshaw was still sleeping peacefully, his head pillowed on the saddle-bags that contained the plunder. Mr. Bradby smiled grimly at the sight. Softly, without waking his companion, he rose from his rough bed and glided to the open doorway.
The moon was now well up in the heavens, and its fitful light creeping through the leafy roof above, made gibbering ghosts of the swaying gums. Mr. Abel Cumshaw and his companion, Jack Bradby, had been brought up in the Australian bush, their nerves were as steady as a rock, and where others saw grim visions of fancy they saw only waving bushes and stripped gums.
Quite possibly Bradby made some slight variation he wouldn't have the necessary instruments to make his figures absolutely exact but, as I've said before, I don't see that we can go very far wrong. Whatever variation there is won't matter much once we start digging. If we allow a foot or so in all directions we'll be on the safe side. What do you think, Cumshaw?"
This time he covered about double the distance, then stopped short and scratched a cross on the ground with the toe of his boot. When he returned to the hut Abel Cumshaw was just getting up. "Hallo, Jack," he greeted Bradby. "Been stirring long?" "No," said Bradby shortly. Then, perhaps fancying his tone was a little too abrupt, he continued, "I've just been for a bit of a tour round."
Bradby's frame shook spasmodically, and when the other looked again there was blood on his pale lips. "Through the lung," muttered one of the others who had some knowledge of medical science. The first man repeated his question in another form. Bradby looked at him with a strangely inscrutable face and with eyes that were already darkening with the shadow of death. "Where's the gold?
All the same, I'm willing to bet that the place's deserted." "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't," suggested Bradby. "However, you go off as you say and I'll wait here for you." Abel Cumshaw threw the reins to his companion, slid his revolver holsters round to the front within easy reach, should he need the weapons they contained, and slipped through the trees with the silence of a marauding tom-cat.
At the entrance Cumshaw paused. "Nearer fourteen than ten," he said thoughtfully. "Very likely," said Bradby indifferently. "What about that meal? I'm as hungry as a hunter." They were on short commons. Bradby ate heartily, remarking once that there'd be food enough to go round to-morrow. Cumshaw laughed and said he hoped so, but that to-morrow was a day that never came to some people.
Bradby pulled back sharply, in some way jarring his animal's sore leg as he did so. It reared up on its haunches with the pain, and in the most approved manner bucked its rider off. He shot up in the air, described a beautiful half-circle, and sailed through the barrier of wattle like a human projectile. Cumshaw slipped off his horse with the quickness of thought.
Did this man but like to speak he would be once again Cumshaw the bushranger, the man who had been hand in glove with Bradby, and who, through some miracle of mischance, had not been bracketed with his dead colleague. Bryce knew all apparently, and a word from him . Cumshaw shivered. "You can trust me," Bryce said softly. "I guess I know your secret now.
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