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Story 3-Chapter XIX.
Mr Meadows’s Weakness

Mr Meadows struggled on, hour after hour, with his companions, only enabled to keep up with them by their exceedingly slow progress; for, from time to time, he would sit for a few minutes while they passed on for some little distance, and then, following the track, he would overtake them at their slow, watchful pace.

He pressed on; sometimes tottering, sometimes resting so long that he had to strive hard to reach the last man. The heat seemed to overcome him; and at last, seating himself by the bright stream, upon whose banks he was, he let five, ten, twenty minutes, an hour slip away, heedless of all save the exhaustion that had enervated him.

Gradually a delicious sleep stole upon him, and then for a while all was blank.

But at length the weary man awoke, and started in pursuit of his companions, reproaching himself for his cruelty in sleeping at an hour like this; though, at the time, his forward progress was but a weary totter from tree to tree, against whose trunks he was often glad to lean his hands.

“It is of no use,” he groaned. “I’m worn out; and until Nature has done her part of restoration, I am helpless as a child.”

He sat down, and rested again, and then rose; for the distant report of a gun fell upon his ear; repeated, too, once or twice; and turning from his companions’ track, he faced towards that side of the Gap from amidst whose craggy fastnesses the sound seemed to proceed.

“I have no strength,” muttered Mr Meadows feebly; “but I have still my eyesight, and I may be able to play the spy. Why are they not here? They have gone on too far; but if they hear the firing, they will soon return.”

He passed through the dense undergrowth, and then stopped short, for he had hit upon a well-marked track, which looked as if the grass had been trampled down by footprints to and fro.

“Strange,” he said, “that it should fall to the weakest of the party to discover this. I’ll go on; but not in the guise of warfare;” and he leaned his gun against a tree, and toiled patiently along the track. No easy task, for it led up and up, along the valley side, higher and higher; each few steps giving a view over the tops of the trees just passed.

“Not the way taken by the gallant young man,” he muttered, “for not one of the branches he was to have broken, has met my eye. It is plain that I have not struck upon his track; but I may be able to report good news to our friends on my return.”

Once more came the faint, muffled sound of a gun; and collecting his fast-flagging energies, Mr Meadows pushed on, until breathless, and with bleeding hands and knees, he stood looking down with astonishment into a little rocky amphitheatre, strewn with provisions and the plunder taken by the convicts from the Moa’s Nest.

He stepped down, for the place appeared to be quite forsaken, and vainly tried to make out the cause of its being untenanted, when, looking round, he started with dismay; for half-seated, half-lying, with his back to the rocks, was the form of a human being, but so disfigured, that it seemed impossible for life to exist in such a ruin. But life was there; for, to the clergyman’s horror, he saw that the man was engaged with a knife in his left hand, slowly and deliberately trying to back off his right at the wrist.

For a few moments, Mr Meadows could not speak; then, hurrying up, he arrested the man, exclaiming, “Surely, friend, that operation cannot be necessary?”

“Let it be – let it be,” was the answer, in a strange, muttering voice, which came from the mutilated face. “It’s a vile hand – a bad hand, stained with crime.”

It required but little effort to wrest the knife from the convict’s hand; and then, binding a handkerchief round the bleeding wrist, Mr Meadows gazed, shuddering, in the man’s face, as his head fell back, and he fainted.

“He cannot live through those injuries,” muttered the clergyman. And leaning forward, he dropped a little brandy from the flask he carried between the man’s lips, when, after a few minutes, he revived, and spoke in a more collected way.

“Is any one there?” he asked.

“Yes; there is one here,” was the reply.

“Come back to finish your work, I suppose?” said the man hoarsely; and he raised his arms, as if to protect his head, but only to drop them directly.

“Where are your companions?”

“Companions – companions?” said the wounded man inquiringly. “Who, then, are you?”

“One of those whom you so much injured.”

“Injured – injured? What does it mean? What’s this red blind over my eyes? Where are we – in the valley? Or – I can’t see – can’t see with my eyes, nor yet with my understanding!” he gasped, apparently struggling hard with his misty, clouded intellect. “Yes, I can – I know now. Where is the girl?”

“Yes; where is the poor girl?” repeated Mr Meadows anxiously; and he again poured a few drops between the poor wretch’s lips.

“Girl! Yes, yes; I saved her. I told young Murray I’d pay him. Lee’s girl, the other woman told me. I knew the Lees once, at home. Yes, at home; and I saved her twice, and they saved her.”

He trailed off into a wild, incoherent string; and in spite of all Mr Meadows’s efforts and anxiety, no farther information could he obtain. He was about to turn and leave the dreadful spectacle, when he felt a light touch upon his arm; and starting round, he saw, standing pale and trembling by his side, a woman whom he hardly recognised as one of the shepherds’ wives he had more than once seen at the Moa’s Nest.

He elicited that she had lain concealed amidst the ferns for many hours past, so overcome with dread, that, though provisions in abundance had been almost within sight, she had not dared to crawl out until she heard a voice she knew to be friendly.

She told, too, how the miserable man at their side had twice acted in defence of Katie and herself; and how, in the midst of a wild struggle and confusion, Katie had been snatched away: when, availing herself of the absence of the convicts in pursuit, the woman had crawled amongst the ferns, and lain there, not daring to more. Then, some time after, she heard the oaths and raging of the men on their return, and the murderous way in which they had set upon their companion, whom they accused of betraying them, leaving him at last, probably for dead.

“And I did not dare to move, sir,” she sobbed; “but had to lie there, listening to his groans, hour after hour, till I prayed that he might die out of his misery, as I felt that I must, or else be driven mad.”

“But where do you think they are now?” said Mr Meadows.

“Somewhere up the valley that runs beside here, sir; and that’s where Miss Katie must have been taken, if they’ve not killed her, for there’s been shooting ever since.”

“Did you not see who snatched her away?”

“No, sir, no; it was all in the night-time, when she was clinging tightly to me, and I was struck down at the same moment.”

“Let us descend from here, my child,” he said; “for there are friends below in the valley, seeking for us.”

He turned to lead his new companion away, but she suddenly exclaimed, “They’re coming again! O, sir, save me – save me!” – and she clung to Mr Meadows, who heard far down below him the rustling and snapping of the trees, as if several people were forcing their way through them. “That’s the way they went,” sobbed the woman; “and they’re coming again.”

Mr Meadows had no doubt as to the truth of what she said; and glancing round, he tried to make out the part of the rocky wall around by which he had descended, but for a while his efforts were fruitless; and he could not leave the woman to search for his path, since at the least effort to unclasp her hands, she clung to him the tighter, imploring him in whispers not to leave her – not to go away.

“No, no; we will go together. Quick! the wretches are upon us, and we shall be taken. Heaven give me strength! What shall I do?”

His tones were anguished, for the crashing through the leaves seemed now to be close at hand; while, as he spoke, the woman fell from him, quite inanimate.

“Must I leave her?” he murmured to himself; and then he stooped and tried to lift her, but it was beyond his strength, and in his despair it seemed to him that he must be already seen. An hour sooner, he would not have cared so much; but, with the information he had gained and the care of this poor creature upon his hands, he felt that he would give anything to escape; for might not this snatching away of Katie mean an act of daring performed by Murray or the savage, and the shots fired, a conflict still going on between them?

The leaves and boughs crashed together, and whoever they were, either friends or foes, were coming ever nearer and nearer.

(Twelve lines of the scan are not readable here.)

The trees could be plainly seen moving now, and Mr Meadows caught a glimpse of an approaching figure. It was only a shadowy glimpse, but exerting his little remaining strength he dragged his companion on her side, forced her down amongst the waving undergrowth, and then crouched himself, gazing with swimming eyes between the strands down into the amphitheatre, and wondering whether, after all, his efforts had not been in vain.

Story 3-Chapter XX.
Friends in Need

It seemed almost impossible for the convicts not to have seen them, as now, to the number of five, they leaped down and seized the provisions that lay scattered about, hunting out such bottles as remained, and more than once coming so near to Mr Meadows that he hardly dared to breathe. Then they went farther away, first one and then another, contemptuously kicking the body of their late associate.

But it was after they had gathered and tied up a portion of the food that the danger of the hiding couple culminated; for once more drawing near, a convict said:

“Now then, down into the valley once, just for a look about for squalls, and then back again.”

“After breakfast and a bit of ’bacca,” said another, coolly seating himself, when his companions laughed and followed his example.

Mr Meadows shuddered. They were so near, that he felt that they must hear them if they moved; and still he knew that in another few minutes they would trample upon him and the woman in their downward progress. It must be done; the attempt must be made; and after turning and gazing at the convicts, he bent down towards the pale face at his side.

He had no occasion to speak; for he read in her looks that she had heard every sound. He dared not trust himself to state his wishes, but pointed along the track so plainly marked through the long grass, here abundant; and slowly the woman rose to her knees, then, with a slight rustling, to her feet, and began to glide gently away.

Mr Meadows could not watch her, but dared only to keep his eyes fixed upon those of one of the seated convicts, just seen through the leaves; when, to his consternation, he saw him shift his position so as to gaze, as it were, right in his watcher’s face, till, trembling with dread, Mr Meadows’s eyelids sunk, and he knelt there motionless.

When he again unclosed his eyes, the man had ceased to look in his direction; and then, calling up his strength, he slowly backed, inch by inch, upon his hands and knees, till the descending nature of the ground took him below the edge which overhung the depression where the convicts were seated. Then, and then only, he raised himself gradually into a stooping position, listened attentively, and, with beating heart, began softly, step by step, to follow the woman, whose own retreat he tried vainly to hear.

Gradually he set down each foot, lest a sound should follow, holding his breath, and pressing a hand upon his heart to stay its throbbings; when, accelerating his pace, he strode on to overtake the woman, whom he could now see hurrying down from stone to stone, or along the well-marked grassy track, with fear-given wings.

He trembled lest she should miss the track in her fright; but no, she kept to it without deviating, until she reached the spot where Mr Meadows left his gun; and there he overtook her.

What was to be his course? Should they proceed farther up the Gap, or down towards the ruins? Friends should be coming from either way, unless they had returned, and passed downwards, giving up the search so far, until joined by the expected reinforcements.

He was woodman enough, though, from his long residence in the colony, to be able, in a short time, to determine whether his companions had returned. Though the upward tracks were easy to find, no descending footprints could he discover; but a joyful cry was half uttered as twice he came upon a broken twig, which told him of the promise of Edward Murray, and showed that he had passed in that direction.

There needed now but little reflection for Mr Meadows to decide what course would be the best. Up the valley there were certainly friends; down the valley there might be; but it was uncertain.

Turning then to the woman, who had followed him step by step, he pointed upwards; and in silence they moved towards the higher portion of the Gap. But they had hardly traversed a quarter of a mile before she halted, exclaiming:

“I can’t go any farther, sir;” and, without another word, she sank fainting upon the grass.

“Then we must sit and rest, my child, until our friends come,” he said in encouraging tones, which did much towards soothing the woman; and then, opening the wallet slung by his side, he forced her to partake of some refreshment.

They waited patiently as the afternoon wore on, listening for some token of coming friends. Once voices were heard approaching, evidently those of the convicts; but they soon passed away again; and at last came the rustling sound of cautiously advancing footsteps, to right of them, to left of them, and in front, and ever coming nearer and nearer.

“Friends, my child, friends,” said the old man cheerfully.

But the woman looked at him with a troubled anxious gaze, not doubting his word, but distrusting his ability to tell; until, rising suddenly from where they sat, he called loudly, and, from close at hand, the cry was responded to.

“No news, sir – not a bit,” said Lawler; for it was he. “We did not miss you till we got to the top; but perhaps it was as well you stopped behind, and saved yourself fatigue that you could scarcely have borne.”

“Quite as well, John Lawler,” said Mr Meadows, smiling faintly; “but I have not been idle;” and he pointed to the trembling woman behind him.

Lawler gave a low whistle, which was responded to from different quarters; and in a few minutes the party of settlers had collected round, listening eagerly to Mr Meadows’s narration; when it was immediately decided to make their way at once to the track, leaving one of their party to watch for the hoped-for aid, and then proceed to the convicts’ lair, following their trail to where it was evident that some conflict must be going on.

But they had no occasion to weaken their little force. Before they reached the path that led upwards, it was plain that some one was approaching; and, after due precautions, a joyful encounter took place; when, eager and forgetful of fatigue, the now tolerably strong company filed up the track.

It was now so plainly beaten that it was followed quickly; Mr Meadows, who declared himself sufficiently rested, insisting upon being one of the party, lest they should fail for want of guidance; while one of the new-comers was intrusted with the care of the shepherd’s wife.

Well armed and determined, and now outnumbering the enemy, though they knew it not, there seemed every prospect of Justice laying her sword upon the outlaws’ heads.

The depression was reached at last; and men’s brows darkened as they looked upon the scattered plunder; but they paused not; and half-an-hour’s climbing and toiling brought the party to the entrance of the narrow gorge, where they halted to look inquiringly at Mr Meadows.

Marks on grass and mossy stone were plain enough to be seen, though, after a short inspection; and a careful advance was made over the rugged ground, until the leader stopped short, to point out something he had discovered.

Only a trifle; but enough to convince them that they were on the right track; for upon a thorny bush hung a shred, evidently fresh torn from a woman’s dress – a significant fact, when found in one of the wilds far away from a civilised home.

Then, satisfied of the near approach of the conflict, each man looked to his piece, and eagerly scanning every rock and stone in advance, they pressed on, until suddenly the foremost man raised his hand, and pointed to where, far in advance, and high above them, they could see perched up a figure, upon whose bright gun-barrel the sunbeams played and flashed, as, resting upon a stone, he seemed intently gazing at something in advance.

Lawler was acting the part of leader; and he appointed two of the party to watch this one man.

“If he turns to fire, bring him down,” he said sternly.

The attention of the rest of the party was directed to what seemed the end of the gorge; for, right in front, they could now see the upper part of the vast scarped rock, from whose ledge so gallant a defence had been kept up; but it was not until they had advanced another hundred yards, so as to surmount a broad ridge of stone, that they could see the ledge, up which, with their companions eagerly watching their progress, and covering them with their guns, two of the convicts had clambered.

These two had just reached the shelf, so that, in another minute, they would have stood upon it, when the sharp echoing crack of a rifle was heard, almost accompanied by two more; for the man upon the rock high up had suddenly turned, caught sight of the coming danger, and fired. His aim, however, was too rapid to be effectual; while, in answer to the double shot from below, the convict started to his feet, dropped his piece, clutched at the air for a few moments, and then leaped upwards, to fall heavily into the gorge.

The two men who had scaled the rock slipped back, hung by their hands; and then one fell; while the other, with catlike activity, managed to descend unhurt; but only to fall, the next instant, under the volley sent in answer to that of the enemy, who, roused to action by their fellow’s shot, had faced round and fired at their assailants.

Then followed a rapid exchange of firing for some five minutes; but the advantage was all on the side of the settlers, who had the greater part of the cover; and upon a sharp dash being made with clubbed guns, after the convicts had fired, and before they had time to reload, a fierce hand-to-hand struggle ensued, in which more than one settler fell beneath the outlaws’ knives; for they fought desperately, like rats at bay, till, one by one, they were beaten down; till the remainder sullenly threw away their arms, and suffered themselves to be bound.

Story 3-Chapter XXI.
Just in Time

Immediately after the victory over the convicts, all attention was drawn to the ledge; but not before the wounded had received the needful attention, careful arrangements being made to prevent farther danger.

But there was a manifest repugnance exhibited amongst those present to attempt to mount the ledge, whose silence terrified the men who had but a few minutes before faced death by rifle and knife; but at last, stern and rugged of brow, John Lawler laid down his gun, and, with much difficulty, made his way up to stand upon the ledge, peering forward into the rift for a few moments, and then, stifling the sob which rose from his breast, he turned sorrowfully, and pointed to the rough green rope yet lying by; and, upon its being thrown up, he held one end, while a couple of his companions climbed to his side.

“The savage isn’t dead,” said one, kneeling by Wahika’s side, and laying a hand upon his breast.

Carefully making the rough rope fast round him, they lowered the savage down; when, with the tears dimming their eyes, the three stout-hearted men stood gazing upon the couple before them, till they were reverently lowered down in the same way, to be received in the arms of Mr Meadows, who then knelt anxiously, rose hastily to fetch water and dash it in their faces, and afterwards tried to force some between their teeth.

“No hope, sir,” whispered Lawler sorrowfully, as he watched his proceedings.

“Mr Lawler,” was the stern reply, “it is our duty on this earth never to be too soon disheartened. I have hope here; and I pray heaven that that hope may not be vain.”

In spite of his weakness, Mr Meadows was now unceasing in his efforts to restore animation to those who had been found upon the rocky ledge. For a time, though, all his toil seemed vain. It was a hard battle, too; for he who ministered was more fit to receive ministrations.

At last, though, there was a faint sigh from Katie’s lips; and, soon after, a few muttered, unmeaning words from Murray told that the flame of life still burned feebly.

Wahika, too, with the hardihood of the savage, had, sooner even than his fellow-sufferers, shown that he was ready to fight for the last few sparks of life faintly burning in his breast; though had the rough, surgical aid of the old clergyman been much longer delayed, those sparks must have died out.

“Little flower of Moa’s Nest?” he said at last, in an inquiring whisper, as his eager eyes gazed from face to face.

“Safe, I hope, friend savage,” said Mr Meadows, as he laid a cool, wet hand upon the New Zealander’s fevered brow, when a quiet, satisfied smile flitted over the tattooed face; and he closed his eyes, to wait patiently, as became a warrior, for the fate that was to be his.

“Thank heaven, friend Lawler!” said Mr Meadows, at the end of an hour; “matters are even looking hopeful. I was ready to despair myself at one time; but providentially, I was able to conquer the weakness. Prompt action, John Lawler – prompt action has gained us the day. And now, good men and true, prepare something in the shape of a litter, and let us bear these poor sufferers gently down from this dreadful place before the night falls.”

“Mind! Take care! Here, lean on me, sir,” cried Lawler eagerly; for Mr Meadows had turned deadly pale, and now reeled, and would have fallen but for the friendly arm.

“Thanks. Lawler, thanks,” said Mr Meadows. “I’m afraid that I am very weak. I feel unstrung by what we have gone through; and it only wanted the sight of that poor fellow Bray, carried down – but a few hours ago a strong, healthy man – now so much clay – it only wanted that to completely overcome me.”

In a few minutes, though, Mr Meadows’s brave heart sustained him again; and in spite of all advice to the contrary, he insisted upon superintending the removal of the sufferers, himself adjusting their heads, that the rough journey might not add fresh pangs.