Sourced from:  [Western Star and Roma Advertiser (Toowoomba, Qld.), 25 January 1896]

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By John Mackie

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When I went out in 1882 to the Gulf of Carpentaria, it was undoubtedly a wild and unsettled place. Burketown, a resurrected township smelling of sawdust and whisky was the Ultima Thule of civilisation in that part of Australia. The country to the west of it was inhabited only by a few squatters at long intervals apart, or by roving bands of wild blacks, and was the happy hunting-ground or hiding-place of a number of men wanted by the police for horse-stealing, or something worse. The latter were dangerous and troublesome neighbours to have anything to do with. For obvious reasons, to recognise a man and call him by his proper name then, was, in nine cases out of ten, to commit an unpardonable error, and apt to lead to disagreeable consequences.

It was in the month of October, about the commencement of the thunder-storms and the hot weather, when, in charge of a waggon-load of goods found myself on my way, to a cattle station called Lily-Lagoons that had just been opened up one hundred and thirty miles to the West of Burketown. It .might have been about three o'clock in the afternoon when, seeing a storm gathering, our party pushed on so as to reach the shelter of one of those back-block shanties that spring tip as if by magic wherever there is a chance of intercepting a few stray cheques, and to unhitch before the tropical downpour overtook us. I remember as I rode up to the old slab building, with its bark roof, strip of veranda, and general air of untidiness, that I caught a glimpse of some men disappearing into the bush in rear of the buildings; they were making for a yard hard by, where I made sure their horses were. Such an experience is by no means an uncommon one in certain outlying parts of the Gulf country, where, generally speaking, there are always a few men keeping out of the way of the police, and who are apprehensive on the approach of strangers, and make themselves scarce until they are assured as to their identity.

Let the reader not put any erroneous construction upon my conduct when I admit sending a certain precocious larrikin, whom I had met before, to make their minds easy and to fetch them back. I could not afford to be other than good terms with such a crew—horse flesh was a costly and difficult commodity to replace in the Gulf in those days. When I entered the rough bar-room, Cassidy the publican, held out his right-hand patronisingly towards me, and with his left placed a black bottle on the counter.

I shook hands with him and exchanged compliments; for Jack was as good as his master in the Gulf, so not to be hail fellow-well-met with every one argued a sad lack of policy, and marked one as the possible victim of future misfortune. According to the custom of a stranger when entering a bush 'hotel', I called upon the bleary-eyed and shaky-looking devotees of old Silunos, in the guise of several bush-men present, to 'breast the bar.' This they did with an alacrity which, if expended in a better cause, would have been praiseworthy in the extreme. As soon as possible, however, I escaped from the noisy and unpleasantly demonstrative little crowd, and went outside to await the team. I was selecting a spot on which to halt the waggon, when, from behind a huge blood-wood tree, there came a sound of someone moaning, and going round, I discovered a man lying on his face, evidently in the clutches of that demon of the Gulf, malarial fever. He nervously grasped an empty canvas water-bag in one hand, and did not seem to be aware of my presence. I appropriated the bag, went down to the lagoon, filled it with water, and came back to him. Tapping him on the shoulder, I said: 'Here, mate, have a drink.'

Now, no one knows, save those who have experienced the torments of the fierce fever-thirst, what a pleasant salutation this is. When addressed, he rolled over on his back, and I saw his face for the first time. Having a good memory for descriptions I recognised him. He was Billie Main, a young fellow not yet four-and-twenty years of age, and who had at least half a-dozen warrants out against him for horse-stealing in various parts of the colony. Not utterly bad, however, or without certain good points, strange as it may seem; but alas! easily led; one who, from the commission of a foolish and unpremeditated act of dishonesty, and the keeping of bad company, had been led to commit more serious crimes, until he had cut himself off from all chances of honest employment, and now lived the miserable life of a hunted wild animal. There is a little that is in reality attractive in the lives of such as Billie, in spite of what a certain absurd and pernicious kind of literature says, and which is generally penned by those who knew nothing of the stern and hideous truth. There was nothing in Billie's face that was suggestive of the criminal and fool-hardy deeds for which he had been noted. As it was, I was an utter stranger to him, moreover, someone whom he could not exactly make out; so for the minute he yarded me with not a little apprehension on his face, and said: 'Then you're not a trap?' 'What do you take me for?' I responded, knowing there was only one way of talking to such men, and I confess feeling not a little sorry for him in his helpless condition; he looked so utterly wretched and neglected. 'You'd better take a drink, like a good fellow. And look here; you want to get back to the; shanty, for there's a thunder-storm coming up. I'll stow your saddles and gear under the tarpaulin of my waggon when it comes—and here it is.' And up lumbered the heavily-laden waggon, with its driver, 'offsider,' and twelve horses. I stowed away Billie's belongings - he all the time watching me with a strange mixture of surprise and curiousity.

'You're a new chum, I s'pose?' he remarked at length.

'Well yes, I answered; 'I don't suppose a couple of years in the country amounts for much. But get up; it's going to rain.' 'Thought as much as how you were a new chum,' he said, paying no attention to my last remark, and taking another drink. 'When you've been in this country a little longer, you won't trouble your head 'bout every poor beggar you happens to find lying under a gum-tree, and whom you don't know.'

'Well, Billie Main,' I said, 'I happen to know you; and I do not mean to assert that the honour of your acquaintance is such that I'd care to go, blowing about it to any of my very particular friends. 'But that has nothing to do with it. I've had the fever myself, and don't intend to let you lie here; so get up, my old hero. Here, give me your arm, a drenching in the state you're in now would just about fix the business for you.'

'Well, you are a rum 'un', he said, raising himself wearily on his hands into a sitting position. Then looking at me with a somewhat more reassured and pleasanter expression on his face; he added: 'S'pose I've got to do as you tell me, boss.' His was a pinched, pale, weary-looking face—not the kind of face one would associate with the companionship of horse thieves and perhaps murderers. His voice was pitched in that soft, drawling intonation peculiar to natives of New South Wales; and, in spite of the reputation he bore, he could look one squarely enough in the eyes. 'A good man gone wrong,' I thought, 'and neglect and ignorance lie at the bottom of it all.' That his natural inclinations were neither of the ungrateful nor vicious sort when uninfluenced by the 'flash', bad company he had a weakness for, I knew; and despite what he said, I believe that Billie would have been the first man to help a stranger.

He was weak as a kitten; so giving him my arm, I led him over to the shanty, where he muttered a few words of thanks, I suppose—and flinging himself down on a rude stretcher under the verandah, lay silent with his head in his hands. An hour: or so later, when the fierce and sudden thunderstorm had lifted, we hitched up our team and went on again. But as for Billie, I did not see him again for two years. Strange rumours were afloat concerning him in the meantime ; and once he was reported as having stolen horses at three different places, widely apart, at the same time, which goes to prove the truth of the adage, 'Give a dog a bad name, and you may as well hang him.'

A cold-blooded murder had been committed on the Georgetown gold-diggings, and the police wanted a man named McDonell, badly, for it. Indeed, he had committed more than one murder; but as he was known to be a desperate and dangerously reckless man, those who were inclined to assist the law were chary about meddling with him. Since the Georgetown murder, the police had been scouring the country everywhere; but then, Australia is quite a respectable-sized hiding-place, and nothing had been heard of him.

It was late in the afternoon, in the month of October, and I had occasion to visit a distant part of our main paddock fence; some ten miles away from the head station. This fence ran parallel to the only track (that is, trail or road) in that part of the country, which was the Port Darwin track, but was some two miles off it. I was alone; and, strange to say, contrary to my wont, had left my revolver behind. I was pacing along easily, admiring the beauty of the evening, and thinking of nothing in particular, when amongst the trees, some hundred yards outside the fence, I observed the glimmering of a fire. Blacks or white men? At least it would not be difficult to see; so putting my horse at the fence, I took the top-rail neatly. This practice of mine—always teaching my horse to jump—was to stand me in good stead yet.

White men at the 'Yellow water-hole'— but what were they doing so far off the track? In another minute I had ridden, right in amongst them, and unthinkingly jumped off my horse. In another minute I would have given all I possessed to have been on his back again, and anywhere but in that company. There were three men, and they had neither seen nor heard me approach. One was stooping over the fire in the act of taking a damper from the ashes; and the other two were sitting with their backs against a fallen tree, evidently enjoying a smoke. However, I stammered out 'Good-evening, mates,' and tried to look as if I were glad at having dropped across them.

Then I experienced a chilling sensation of dismay; for as the two men leaped to their feet, I recognised the notorious McDonell, as blood-thirsty and unprincipled a wretch as ever lived. There was no mistaking him; the same bill that offered the five hundred pounds reward that would lead to his capture described him too fully. There was the bluish scar right across the left cheek; the cruel, shifty black eyes, and the coarse, animal like face. The second man, Smythe, McDonell's companion in crime—was not an unhandsome man, but still evil-looking. They were both men who would think no more of shooting anyone who stood between them and liberty than they would think of crushing a spider. But, suddenly, the third man turned, and I saw who it was—Billie Main. He looked somewhat anxious for a minute when he recognised me; but suddenly his brow cleared and he came forward.

Now, I confess that though Billie bore none of the best of characters—indeed the reverse—I was somewhat relieved at seeing him there. I could not help thinking that there was a something about him, in spite of his unenviable reputation, which hinted at his not being destitute of common humanity. I had a pretty shrewd guess that McDonell and Smythe, divining I had recognised them, would not care about letting me go back again to civilisation, knowing that the police were somewhere in the neighbourhood. Oh, how foolish I appeared in my own eyes, having come out without my revolver! I was in an awkward fix, truly, I saw the two first mentioned men slip their hands down towards their revolver pouches. Then McDonell, looking around to see if I were alone, sang out: 'Hilloa ! mister, what the dickens do you mean by riding into a man's camp like this, and making so mighty free?'

But here Billie came to my assistance, for with a ready laugh and shaking me heartily by the hand, he said to McDonell: 'It's all right, Dan; it's Dick Holmes, one of the boys, and one of the right sort—I'll answer for him. He's head-stockman to old "T.B.," and minds his own business. I'll go bail he'll keep his mouth shut.' Inwardly I blessed Billie's presence of mind and tact; so seeing that my only chance of being allowed to leave that company was by playing a part and conciliating them, I tied up my horse alongside one of theirs that stood saddled; hard by and said to McDonell. A nice sort of reception you'd give a man, mate. But I'll forgive you if you give me a drink of tea and a fill of tobacco. I came away without anything this morning, and have been riding all day. Ah! that's better—this to McDonell, who had indicated the billy alongside the fire, with an inclination of his head. I took a drink of tea and cut a fill of tobacco from the plug that Smythe handed me. Now, hospitality of this nature is as much a sacred rite with the Australians; as the breaking of bread is with the people of the East, so I felt somewhat more at my ease. I could not help admiring Billie's cunning ; for after one glance at me that was full of meaning, he talked as if he had known me for years, and in a way that, had any unenlightened party over heard, would have seriously compromised my character. Of course I saw his drift, which was to impress his comrades with the idea that I was the last man in the world to go talking about their whereabouts. I must confess that his evident anxiety to put me in a good light in their eyes struck me with a rather unpleasant significance. For desperate men all three, and with the shadow of the gallows resting over two of them, was it likely that they would let me a comparative stranger, walk right out of their camp, perhaps right into a police one, and 'give them away,' just when they were within some thirty miles of the Northern Territory boundary line, past which the Queensland police might not follow them? And all the time I could see McDonell was turning over something in his mind. Only once did I catch the restless glint of those ferret-like, black eyes, and they convinced me that there was little chance of leaving that camp alive, if he only took it into his head that I was not to be trusted. As it was, he and Smythe observed a disconcerting silence, and I replied and talked to Billie in a strain that it is to be hoped I shall never require to adopt again when talking to anyone. Let a man's life be at stake, however, and he will do many a thing that, his conscience condemns. And, after all, I frankly confess to being no hero. It helps to keep me from having any inordinate opinion of myself now, when I think that, had a stranger heard me talking then, he would have thought I was a lit companion for Billie and his mates.

But it would not do to stop in that camp too long, or they might mistake my motives. Besides, I was becoming all the time more nervous on account of the peculiarly sinister manner of McDonell and Smythe, and was anxious to have it over—such as it might be.

And now the go-go-burra or laughing jackass had begun his noisy cachinnation, as he does first thing in the morning and just before sundown. Innumerable tree frogs, and members of the insect world, now that the sun was getting lower and the air became cooler, began to make the Australian forest instinct with strange sounds, the like of which can only be heard in a tropical forest at night-fall. Flocks of screeching parrots and parrakeets, many-hued pigeons, and noisy leather-heads, swooped down to drink at the water-hole as if oblivious of our presence; and the graceful fronds of palms, with their lace-like tracery, became darkly and sharply silhouetted against the gray sky.

It was a strange and significant fancy that struck me just then, that some of their drooping leaves should resemble the nodding plumes on a hearse. It is strange, but true, that in positions of the most imminent danger the most trivial details will impress themselves on one's mind. But it was necessary that I should have daylight to leap back over the fence again, so I rose from the ground on which I had seated myself. I do not deny that it cost me an effort even to take this urgent step. It was no mere presentiment, but a palpable sense of imminent and impending danger that possessed me now.

'Well, mates, time I was going,' I said. 'By the way, if you want a ''fifty" of flour, we can let you have it'. Billie can come along with me, and I'll slip it out to him. No one need know who gets it. If you're going into the Territory you may find it useful. Billie jumped at the idea; but the other two silenced him. 'They did not require it,' they said. 'In fact they were nearer the station than they cared about.'

I walked towards my horse. Now, I think there is no more disagreeable sensation than to turn your back to a man and think that he is meditating putting a bullet into you. You dare not look round in case you may precipitate the action; and you feel a cold, creepy sensation running down your spine, as if someone were pouring cold water down your back. It is a horrible thing to think that you may be launched into eternity at any moment without preparation. My fingers were twitching nervously as I untied the reins from the tree, and prepared to mount. The three men had drawn together; but I could not look at them. How utterly at their mercy I was then! Just as I put my left foot into the stirrup, there was a sudden movement—an imprecation—the 'ping' of a pistol. 'Zip!'— a bullet buried itself in the bark of a tree close to my head, and McDonell exclaimed : 'Curse you, Billie, you've spoiled the shot!' I sprang into the saddle, just in time to see Billie endeavouring to prevent McDonell from firing again. 'Hold hard, my hearty!' To lie well forward on my horse, and dig my heels well into his flanks, was the work of a second. Like a bolt shot from a crossbow, 'Eclipse' sprang forward and dashed away through the scrub. Ping! ping! ping!—something like a red hot needle being thrust through my left arm, and a shot that made the blood spurt from the neck of my poor horse. A narrow shave, truly! I was now running some hundred yards from the fence and parallel to it. In another minute I heard the dull, quick thud of a horse's hoofs behind me. Looking back, I saw McDonell, hatless, evil-looking, and with a revolver in his right hand, tearing after me, mounted on the horse I had seen tied up in the camp. I knew now that he meant to get close up alongside me so as to make sure work of both me and 'Eclipse.'

Oh, if I could only have had a weapon of some sort in my hand, to have faced that fiend ! But strategy was my only hope. 'Eclipse' was a jumper, and nothing more. I knew it was only a question of time till McDonell was alongside. It was a mad, wild ride. Trees and bushes flew past at express speed. Like a man who has been snatched from the jaws of death; by drowning, I can still recall distinctly every soul-harrowing, ; every complex; pertinent, and trivial thought that coursed through my brain just then. I can remember speculating on the theories of the Greek philosopher regarding the soul after death; even wondering if the hands at the station would find my lifeless body, provided McDonell did not burn it. I can remember thinking that this neck-or-nothing ride of mine resembled one I had read of in some old German legend, or Tam o' Shanter's by the waters of Doom. But the Scottish farmers gray mare had a good hard road to stretch her limbs on, while poor 'Eclipse' had to dash and dodge through treacherous forest country. I looked once over my shoulder, and saw the ugly face of McDonell with a wicked grin upon it. He was gaining upon me at every stride, and there was a deadly glitter in his cold, black eyes—no mercy there. Another hundred yards, and then his horse would be close upon mine. Now for a supreme effort.

Quick as thought I pulled 'Eclipse' over to the right, and McDonell shot past with a curse. Now for the fence. I bent low, and shouted to my horse: it was neck or nothing, life or death. McDonell had wheeled and was close upon me. "Would he follow, or would he shoot? My heart was in my mouth, but 'Eclipse' took the top-rail in that waning light like a bird— and cleared it. Bravo, Eclipse!

Clatter-c-r-rash !!!

I looked back. McDonell's horse had jumped foul of the top-rail, and striking it, pitched wildly, rolling over and over again with its rider. There was an explosion. McDonell had shot himself with his own revolver in the fell, and lay like a bundle of rags on the ground. When I picked him up, he was stone-dead—gone to answer for his crimes before a higher tribunal than any man could arraign him at.

I rode to the station, and found the troopers there. Hurrying back we surprised Smythe, who had followed up and discovered his dead mate. He was too much stunned and taken aback to make much of a resistance, and in two minutes the cold, gleaming handcuffs were on his wrists. But Billie had fled the camp; doubtless apprehensive of McDonell's anger for his interference on my behalf. I confess to having been glad of this. Poor Billie! He was meant for better things; he was at least not one of those on whom a kindly meant action is thrown away.