The Physician's Gun by John Evan Harris

Author:John Evan Harris [Harris, John Evan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Roiall Emerald Publishing

Henry resolved that he would escape, no matter what.

Knives flashed as Sullivan hacked at the bushes to make a path from the rock into the dark trees. He and Burgess put branches across to hide the entrance.

What are they doing?

Kelly got busy with the physician’s rifle, loading a bullet into the breech. He pointed at the weapon, then poked his finger at Henry. “Pow!” He mouthed the word silently, and smirked at Henry’s discomfort.

Levy had been on watch, and he cried out, “Someone coming!”

“Every man to his position!” commanded Burgess. All of them – Burgess, Sullivan, Levy and Kelly – dived behind the rock.

Burgess peered out and grunted. “It’s just an old man.”

“Gold digger?” asked Sullivan.

“Nah – just a bag o’ bones ’n’ rags.”

But Sullivan was interested in the lone traveller, and he got to his feet. “See for meself,” he said. Acting casually, hand in pocket, he sauntered onto the path. Henry strained to hear their conversation.

“Good morning mister,” Sullivan greeted the old man. “Fine day.”

“Good day, sir.” The man sounded nervous – and who wouldn’t be, confronted by this tall, rock-faced boxer?

“Ye comin’ from the goldfields, old fella?”

“No, sir. Been cutting flax down at Pelorus.”

Leave the old man alone, please.

“Cuttin’ flax, ya say,” Sullivan repeated.

Henry risked a peek over Burgess’ shoulder. He saw, up the track, a skinny old man with a swag and shovel.

“Well, I’ll be jogging along then,” said the old man, and hobbled off down the track.

Thank goodness, they’ve let him go.

Sullivan dived back behind the rock. “He’s got gold, all right!” he said to Burgess.

“Whaddya mean? He’s just been cuttin’ flax.”

“That’s his version. Did ya see the way he shifted his knife round the other side when I spoke to ’im?”

Burgess thought this over. “And now he’s seen ya, Sullivan.”

“Bloody oath! He has, too.”

Henry knew evil was afoot. He gave a muffled cry.

Sullivan barked an order – “Kelly, watch ’im” – and hurried after the flax-cutter.

Kelly pointed the rifle at Henry, smirking. Burgess sprang up and followed Sullivan.

Levy cast his eyes upwards. “Good God,” he murmured.

They heard Sullivan call out, “Wait up, old man!”

Henry leaned around to watch. The flax-cutter had reached the bushes, but Sullivan grabbed him.

“Let me go about my business!” the old man pleaded. He reached for his knife.

Sullivan held his arm back. “Ye’ve got gold!”

“No! I’ve only three pounds cash! Take it!”

But it was no good. Burgess took hold of the old man and dragged him towards the bushes.

Can that really be my father? a voice wailed inside Henry’s head.

“Come down ’ere,” Burgess ordered the old man.

“D’you want to murder me?”

“What an idea! Course not.” Burgess took the old man by the throat.

“I’ll go, I’ll go!”

Sullivan and Burgess hauled the old man into the darkness of the bushes. Henry slumped back behind the rock, teary-eyed. Two big men … one frail old man.

Kelly and Levy looked distressed too. Kelly made the sign of the cross. Lying behind the rock, they heard sounds of a scuffle. The old man screamed,

“Murder most foul!”

Levy grimaced.

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