Dan Lyons’ Doom E-Book

Mary Fortune

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

This novel was published as a series in several Australian newspapers. The action takes place on a small Victorian gold mine. This is a story about murder, retribution, guilt and cruel justice.

Leseprobe

Contents

I. RESIGNATION

II. THE DESERTED CLAIMS

III. [UNTITLED]

IV. THE FORTUNE-TELLER OF MOUNT ROBAN

V. THE DEAD MAN'S CURSE

VI. THE NUGGET CLAIM

VII. "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!"

VIII. MRS. BRADY'S SONS

IX. LOST

X. TADY'S SECRET

XI. DAN!

XII. IN THE SAND AND FERNS

XIII. HE IS MY BROTHER!

XIV. [UNTITLED]

XV. LITTLE DANIEL ON THE TRACK

XVI. WHAT GOLD WILL DO

XVII. THE MURDERER'S DREAM

XVIII. THERE ARE TWELVE OF US

XIX. AND LAST

I. RESIGNATION

“AND this is the place?” the tall, refined- looking young man asked, as he seated himself on a stone upon the hillside and surveyed the country at his feet. “This is Marranga you have talked to me so much about, Tady?”

“‘Tis, misther Leonard; we are in it a last, praises be. There faceint you is big Mount Roban, with the little township lying at the pit of it, just the same as it was twelve years ago. And now look below you to your right: do you see the low house wid the trees a’most a-top of it, and Roban Creek creeping along by it like a thread of silver in the grass? Well, that’s St. Herrick’s place.”

“Ah, I see it, Tady; and your golden claim, where did it lie?”

“Where it lies yet, please God. Do you see the big dead tree sticking white like a skeleton, out of the slope behind the house? The claims were not twenty yards from that.”

“Well, now Tady, just tell me the story of the St. Herrick’s on the spot while I smoke a pipe. It has always seemed to me a very unreal story; perhaps I may feel more like crediting it if I hear it here on the spot from which I can see the scene itself.”

“You were ever an’ always a hard nut, misther Leonard, and wouldn’t believe the priest himself if he wint against you; but here you are now, afther travellin’ thousands av miles to make a liar of me an’ you can’t do it.”

Leonard Prosser laughed pleasantly as he manipulated his tobacco, and looked slyly at the comical figure seated near him on the grass.

“I don’t know so much about that, Tady. What witnesses have you at Marranga?”

“I was just wonderin’,” Tady returned, thoughtfully. “If he’s here yet. There’s a gentleman lives in one of them white houses beyant the bridge that can tell you the story as well as I can, an’ bedad, he maytell it, for I don’t never again. I’m tired of being misbelieved and misdoubted.”

“If I thought you were in earnest, I’d go right back to Corbally again,” the young man replied, laughingly, as he put a match to his pipe and began to smoke enjoyably, “but I know that you cannot wish for a greater proof of my confidence in you than that I should have followed you half round the world to see Marranga and the lost claim.”

“That’s true, sur, but all the same I’d like Mr. Pollard to tell you about it, if he’s to the fore, but twelve years is a long time.”

“Who was Mr. Pollard?”

“He was a magistrate, an’ a great friend intirely of Colonel St. Herrick’s. But here, I’ll say no more till we go down to the township.–See, there’s the coach just turnin’ ‘round the Gap road–she’ll get in an hour before us.”

The young gentleman did not reply. He was thoughtfully scanning the landscape beneath and around him with the doubly intense enjoyment of a lover of nature debarred from a view of her charms for the many weeks occupied by a long sea voyage, and thinking not a little about the events connected with the St. Herricks, of whom he had so often heard from his humble friend, Thadeus Connor. As they are seated there, silently, let me describe the two dissimilar beings who play no uneventful part in this.

Leonard Prosser was twenty-three, and a picture of handsome and muscular health. In his bronzed face, every feature indicated an intelligent and lovable nature, his dark hazel eyes especially having the clear, frank expression of a thoughtful yet frank and fearless nature. He was attired in serviceable, well-cut tweed, and had a soft brown felt hat on his short brown curls.

Thadeus Connor was thirty-five, if a day, and was about as ordinary a specimen of humanity as you could imagine. He was short of stature, thin-limbed and big-jointed. His arms were too long for the size of his little form, and his eyes; set deep in their sockets under penthouses of red hair, were fiery and small like a ferret’s. His round shoulders and odd figure were exaggerated by a tightly fitting coat and trousers of a bright blue, decorated amply with brass buttons, and brilliant peacock’s feather was stuck in the front of his stiff, low-crowned black hat.. A very glittering Albert denoted the presence of a watch in his pocket, and a great gold ring adorned one of his stumpy little fingers. The expression of every line of his form and every twinkle of his little eyes was of cunning and self-conceit, but those who knew the little Irishman well could have told how true and faithful was the heart few gave him credit for possessing.

“There’s a path close to us on the right; where it goes to?” said Leonard, breaking the silence at last.

“The place where the Colonel was buried on the side of the hill,” replied the Irishman, as he tuned his face over his shoulder to scan the track alluded to; “but by the piper that played before Moses, wherever it goes to there’s an angel comin’ down it.”

As was only natural, young Prosser turned also to see what had drawn the exclamation from his humble friend, and he too saw coming along the green hillside, a form that might at least have been one in a dream of heaven so sweet and unearthly it was in the fairest loveliness.

About eleven years old, as I have said the girl was small for her age and by far too delicately slender. She was attired in a pale blue dress over which fell down to very waist a cloud of the most lovely fair hair that ever grew on a child’s head. It was not golden hair, but that far rarer hue that resembles the side of a young fawn with the gloss of satin on very hair. The pale face, overshadowed by the drooping brim of a of a broad Tuscan hat was so delicately outlined in every feature that no waxen one was ever more perfectly modelled, nor yet had a brighter rose on its cheeks, and in every line o the face and form there was expressed a calmness and peace that was surely not of this world.

As the girl neared the men she looked at them steadily, and without a trace of fear in the soft blue eyes over which the fair lashes fell like a veil; but the great dog moved steadily to her side and examined the friends cautiously as she paused before them and spoke.

“You are strangers?” she asked gently.

“Yes, quite strangers,” Leonard replied, with a smile that at once assured the child she was addressing one who was to be trusted.

“We have only come to Marranga within the hour; and you?”

“I? I am no stranger. I was born at Marranga.”

There was a pause, in which Tady’s small eyes seemed to settle themselves on the child’s face with a great wonder in them.

“Are you the gentleman who has taken St. Herrick’s?” she asked hesitatingly, as she gazed at Leonard, while she held more closely to her breast a cluster of golden blossoms she was carrying.

“I think not; we have as yet made no arrangements for residing at Marranga.”

“I beg your pardon,” the child said gently; “but Herrick’s was mama’s home once, and we heard some gentleman had rented it. I did so hope it would be someone nice.”

The last sentence was repeated thoughtfully, as her eyes wandered down to the low house among the trees that Tady had pointed out as St. Herrick’s.

“Stay Miss,” the Irishman said eagerly, as the girl was turning to go on her way. “Are you a St. Herrick?”

“Yes, I am Resignation St. Herrick–the late Colonel St. Herrick was my father.”

“I thought so,” Tady cried, “you have the poor Colonel’s eyes as like as two peas.”

“Mama says so; did you know him? did you know my dear father?” and the rosy flush spread from the soft cheeks all over the fair face.

“Yes, Miss, I knew him well. I was here at Marranga I suppose before you were born.”

“Yes, it must have been. Papa was dead before I was born, that is the reason mama called me Resignation. Did you love my papa?”

“Everyone respected and liked him,” Tady said quickly.

“No, not everyone; there was a bad man–you forget–the man who killed him.”

“Yes, the curse o’ God on him, I forgot Dan Lyons!” Tady cried angrily.

“Hush, do not speak wrong words. God knows best himself. May I shake hands with you because you know my dead papa?”

“God bless the child!” the honest Irishman said, as he clasped the little slender hand that was tendered him.

“You will shake hands with me, too, as a new friend? My name is Leonard Prosser,” the young gentleman said, putting out his hand also, “and will you introduce me to your dog? Dogs and I are always great friends.”

“My dog is called Guardian, sir, for he takes care of me, and is a very faithful dog. Are you going to stay here sir?”

“Yes, dear, we think of remaining for some time near Marranga.”

“I am glad, I shall see you again. Goodbye now,” and the child made a grave bow to Leonard and Tady, and then glided down the path toward St. Herrick’s.

“Isn’t that quare now?” the Irishman asked as they stood and watched the light form passing through the underwood that skirted the eminence on which they had been seated, “that we should meet Colonel Herrick’s daughter the very first on landing in the place?”

“It is a strange coincidence, truly. This child was not born then, when you left Marranga, Tady?”

“No, but one was expected if the mother lived. God help her, it was a hard trial she had to bear. What do you say to getting down to the township now, Mr. Leonard? The coach is nearly in, and we’d better be seein’ afther our thraps.”

II. THE DESERTED CLAIMS

A FEW hours later found Leonard Prosser and his companion, the little Irishman, seated in Mr. Pollard’s office at Marranga, and Tady jubilant over the fact of that gentleman being still a resident of that neighborhood. He had introduced his young master, and given the J.P. a sketch of his doings during his absence from Australia, and now he was greedily inquiring as to the events of the last twelve years in quiet Marranga.

“And so you tell me that a pick has never been struck in them claims since, Mr. Pollard?”

“Not since our poor friend’s exhumation, Tady. None of the claims had paid well, you know, and they were abandoned after that awful murder. Even you went, Tady.”

“I wint, yes,” the Irishman said aggressively, “but ’twasn’t on account of the bad prospect, for we had the best in No. 2, but on account of the place gettin’ a bad name–you know that yourself, sir.”

“Yes, a story of the claim being haunted got abroad, and every shaft was deserted; but as I said before, there was not much temptation–no lead was ever found.”

“I don’t know that,” obstinately asserted Tady, “I had a fool of a mate, or I believe we were on the right track. An’ thin’ I got the master’s letter callin’ me home to look afther Mr. Leonard here.”

“He means my father,” explained the young gentleman. “You must know that Tady and I are foster brothers, and his jaunt out to the diggings was an escapade of which his friends did not approve.”

“Well, I’m back again in spite of ‘em,” said Tady; “And now, Mr Pollard, tell Mr. Leonard the story–no one knows it better nor yourself.”

“It was a sad story,” the pleasant-looking, middle-aged gentleman went on, as he pushed the wine toward his new friend, young Leonard; “and a great shock to me person was the death of my friend, Colonel St. Herrick. It is about fifteen yean ago now, I think, since he first settled here with a wife as beautiful as an angel, and a son who died shortly after their arrived at Marranga. The colonel had some independent means, and built the house known yet as St. Herrick’s on the ground he purchased; but when, some years after, the gold fever found its way to Marranga, he was one of the first who sank a shaft and found, as he considered, sufficient indications of the precious metal to induce further efforts.

“For some time, however, he could not succeed in inducing anyone to join him, the few residents being occupied in farming, or business of one kind or other, and the place having not yet become known sufficiently to encourage regular diggers. At last, however, the Colonel came to me one day in great spirits with the news that he had employed a man who had accidentally called in travelling toward the Murray.

“It was some time, however, before St. Herrick told me that he had been previously and unfavourably acquainted with Dan Lyons, and when the facts came out and were made public there were many who wondered that my friend would have ventured on such a step as permitting the man to work as his partner, as well as become an inmate of his home. The facts appeared to be that in Ireland, through the evidence of St. Herrick, Dan Lyons had been sentenced to ten years penal servitude for shooting with intent at a land bailiff, whom he was obnoxious to, and that the evidence was never forgiven, the murder of poor St. Herrick was a proof.”

“It was Dan Lyons, then, who committed the foul dead?” Leonard questioned.

“Undoubtedly, though the wretch has escaped and baffled justice. It was Lyons himself that gave the alarm that No. 1 claim had fallen in. You remember that, Tady?”

“Av coorse, I mind it well. There was a regular hullabaloo when he kem to No. 2 screechin’ that the claim was fell in an’ that the Colonel was below. There was only four shafts an’ half of ’em deserted, and round about No. 1 was so druv wid drives that we knew ’twas unsafe to stand anear where the great gap of ground fell in. The way ’twas done at last was by putting a drive in from No. 4, an’ it took us three days to do it.”

“Aye,” responded Mr. Pollard, “three terrible days for the poor widow who would hope to the last, though we all knew that the Colonel must have perished for want of air shortly after the ground fell in. Lyons pretended to be one of the most active workers, but he was in reality retarding the search, and he disappeared from the moment that St. Herrick’s corpse was seen with a note-book in one stiffened hand and a pencil in the other.”

“The poor fellow had left evidence against his murderer?”

“Yes. In the few scrawled words written in darkness and in the oppression of death, he told how Lyons had cut away the props and told him of the revenge he had planned–told him of it ere he escaped himself, and while the soil was slowly settling down between him and his victim. There was no more but a blessing on his wife and his unborn babe.”

“We saw the little girl to-day,” Leonard said, and he related what had passed between Resignation and them. “She is a lovely girl,” he added, “but looks very delicate.”

“She has grown up with the very shadow of the grave on her,” Mr. Pollard returned. “The very name given her was the last that should have been chosen, for her mother has never been and never will be resigned. She nourishes a morbid idea that somehow and some day she will see her husband’s murderer brought to justice here on the spot where he died, and the dead father is almost the sole subject of conversation between, her and her little girl.”

“Where do they live now?” Tady asked.

“In a little house I had built for them after the Colonel’s death. On his affairs being settled it was found that there was but a few hundreds left after the house and land was paid off. St. Herricks being put in the market, I bought it myself, and offered to take Mrs. St. Herrick as a tenant, but she declared it would be impossible to remain where she had been so happy, and where everything would remind her of her dead husband, so I built the cottage where they now live; it is on the slope above the old place, Tady; you will remember it?”

“Yes, Sir, well.”

“The property has been a loss to me,” the good man continued, “for a story of its being haunted stood in the way of its being occupied. Now, however, I have just secured a tenant whose profession ought to prevent any superstitious terrors from affecting him.”

“What is he?”

“By his dress, I should say a member of some religious order, and his mother calls him Father James.”

“He has a family, then?”

“A mother and sister, and one serving man, as far as I could see. And now about yourselves. You really mean to attack the old ground again, Tady?”

“Wi’ the help o’ God. I’m as sure as I sit here that there’s lumps of gold in that gully, Mr. Pollard.”

“Well I hope there may be, for your sake, and Mr. Leonard’s too. Where are you going to put up?”

“At the hotel, for the present, Mr. Pollard,” replied Leonard. “I must have a look at these wonderful claims before I decide on entering the life of a digger, for I must confess that I don’t at all share Tady’s certainty of a golden claim.”

“More shame for you to say it,” cried Tady, angrily, as he got up from his seat; “but if you’re comin’, we have no time to lose, Mr. Leonard.”

“We had proposed a visit to the claims,” young Prosser explained. “It is not a long walk, I believe.”

“About half a mile only. Stay, Mr. Prosser; if you have no objection, I will walk with you. It is years since I saw the place, which has, as you may suppose, sad recollections for me.”

It was a lovely spring afternoon; and as the trio crossed Roban Creek and mounted the slope beyond, it was an almost simultaneous impulse that slackened their steps to admire the scene around them. The gliding waters of the creek, glistening among its fringes of sweet-scented flowering wattle; the stately Mount Roban, heaving up his huge sides, laden with their wealth of forest, flushed in the warm, bright sunbeams; the sweep of far pasture, dotted for miles with content sheep and cattle, until lost in the low line of blue hills in the distance–all formed as sweet a landscape as Leonard Prosser had ever gazed upon.

“It is lovely,” he said, “and so different from what I fancied. My idea of Tady’s diggings was of something wild and rough, and not of a loveliness such as this.”

“In ten minutes you will see something more like what you expected, Mr. Prosser,” observed the J.P. “The gully is even wilder now than when you left it, Tady. The curse of shed blood seems to be on its very grass.”

Turning to the right they passed the overgrown garden that surrounded the dwelling known as “St. Herricks,” and then entered a gully wild enough to fulfil all Leonard’s dreams. It seemed to be a cleft in the hills down which the dry track of a winter torrent, and up the sloping sides of which straggling trees grew, and wild foliage flourished rankly. Here and there were broad level spots that had been swept in winters gone by from the green hill sides, and toward one of these level places the steps of Mr. Pollard turned. A spot that looked weird enough to justify all that Mr. Pollard had said of it, where the grass vainly struggled to hide the sunken level and the thrown up heaps that denoted the place where they had dug to recover the body of a foully-murdered man. Huge trees without one sign of leafy verdure on them stretched their bare, bleak, crooked limbs over it as if in warning and guard, and among the scarred, hard soil, where no grass would grow, a few treacherous holes with lichen waving long tendrils down their cavernous depths, denoted where the deserted shafts of the long ago miners had been.

“Is this at all like what you expected, Mr. Leonard?” the gentleman asked, as he paused on the edge of the sunken level.

“It is worse,” almost whispered the young man, while Tady gazed around him with horror. “I scarcely wonder that men would be unwilling to work here, even for gold; What do you say, Tady?”

“I don’t know what to say, sir; there’s an awful change here sure enough, and they say that a curse will always lie where a man has been killed. What happened the trees, Mr. Pollard? They were fine box trees twelve years ago.”

“There was a bush fire that helped the desolation, I believe, Tady. Can you point out your old claim?”

“For sure, sir. The Colonel’s No. 1 was here where the ground’s low, and ours was that one beyant there, where the green thing is swinging about.”

They advanced to the edge of Tady’s old shaft and looked down into the darkness, Leonard lifted a stone and threw it down, and as it splashed into hidden water the Irishman shuddered as if a cold wind had struck him.

“I think your gold-digging at Marranga will never be resumed, Tady,” young Prosser said. “There is water down there, and a flooded claim is no joke to tackle. At all events, I resign on the spot all interest in No. 2, it would seem to me like digging in a grave.”

“The place of graves has not always been respecter in the search for gold in our new land,” observed Mr. Pollard, “but let us go; I own I shall be glad to get away from this melancholy spot.”

“What was I sent here for at all?” murmured the Irishman discontentedly. “Day an’ night I was dreamin’ of it for eleven year; warnin’s of all sorts, I had to come back again to the ould place; what was it for if ’twas not for the goold?”

“Maybe ’twas to meet the priest, Tady,” Leonard said smilingly. “Is this your new tenant approaching, Mr. Pollard? I should judge so from his dress.”

“Yes, it is he,” replied Mr. Pollard, as he paused to speak to the clergyman who was approaching.

Father James was a man so strange in form and movement, as to draw the eyes of both Leonard and his foster-brother closely upon him; he was tall and gaunt in make, and his long, priest-like black coat hung so loosely around him as to suggest a decrease in bulk since it had been made for him. Indeed, the face, showing palely under the broad brim of the clerical hat that was drooped over it, was that of an invalid–the white, hollow, close- shaved cheeks, the great, sunken dark eyes, with the blue circles round them, suggesting a far from perfect state of health.

On meeting him Tady, with the usual respect of his countrymen for their clergy, made him a respectful reverence, that was acknowledged by a curt nod as the stranger stopped to speak to his landlord.

“A strange looking man and a sickly one, I should say,” observed Leonard when they had separated by some steps. “He belongs to some foreign order I think–eh, Tady?”

“Aye, sir, the dress is different from our clergy; but what eyes he has–they seemed to look right through me, an’ I declare it seems to me as if I’d seem ’em before somewhere.”

“Maybe you did, Tady. There were two or three continental priests at Corbally collecting for some charity last summer.”

“‘Twas none of them, Mr Leonard, for I never lost a mass while they were there, an’ I seen ’em all.”

“I don’t think you ever lost a mass if you could help it, Tady. What will you do here? I understand there is no chapel here.”

“No!” replied Tady viciously, “it’s mostly Protestants that are at Marranga–the hathens; I beg your pardon, Mr. Leonard, I was forgettin’ you wor one, but you must own that if there were as many Catholics about, the place wouldn’t be without a church or chapel. Well, I’m glad, anyhow, that there is a priest. If he’s in orders ‘twill be a great comfort to me.”

They were now rejoined by Mr. Pollard, whose pleasant countenance had a broad smile on it as they moved on, Tady falling, as he always did, a little in the rear.

“You have heard something pleasant from our clerical friend?” said Leonard. “I don’t know that it was exactly the agreeable nature of what Father James told me that tickled me, but it was the idea of Paddy’s sensations when he hears it. What do you think the priest told me, Tady?”

“He wouldn’t tell you anything bad, anyhow,” the Irishman replied stoutly.

“Of course not, but something very unexpected. What do you think he is going to do, Mr. Prosser?”

“I can’t guess.”

“He is going to open up the old ground we have just been inspecting. He is going over to see it now. He says that he has a man with him who knows the ground, and who has a’ great opinion of the prospects in No. 1 before it was abandoned, and he’s going to take possession of that claim. What do you think of that, Tady?”

“I’ll tell you what I think!” cried Connor, triumphantly. “I think that priest or no priest he won’t get No. 2 claim, for I’ll go back and peg it out this minnit! By Jove, we can set all the ghosts in the country at defiance now when there’s a clergyman in the ground, an’ we’ll take plinty av gold back to ould Corbally yet afther all, Mr. Leonard!”