Wanted Dead (17 page)

The heavy blast of a shot-gun sounded inside the house, then the lighter crack of a revolver.

“I'll go and see,” said Riley. “You stay here.”

He assumed the shot-gun had been fired by the Chinaman and he found him standing by the window firing intently into the night obviously at some target.

“What is it?” said Riley.

The Chinaman said something Riley couldn't understand.
Riley stood by his shoulder and looked out the window. He saw a point of flame flare near the fence bordering the home yard. Then he heard the shot and at the same time felt a tearing sensation in his coat. There was someone out there, near the fence. He could see the bulk of a man.

The Chinaman's revolver clicked empty and he picked up another one and started firing again. Riley tried to aim through the window, but he found he couldn't line up his sights.

The man out in the yard fired again. The bullet struck the wall near the window.

“You'd better kneel down,” Riley said to the Chinaman, who was standing squarely in front of the window so that he was exposed to the waist. The Chinaman took no notice but fired steadily until his revolver emptied. Then he moved away from the window, picked up his shot-gun and began to reload it. Riley knelt and thrust his revolver out the window. He still couldn't sight the man, but he fired five quick shots in his general direction. The man fired again and Riley heard the bullet come in the window. It hit something wooden behind him.

The Chinaman was lucky he wasn't standing there then, thought Riley. Then he was aware that the Chinaman was behind him, leaning over him with the shot-gun. The blast of the gun deafened Riley, and left his ears ringing.

The shadow near the fence became suddenly elongated. The man was running. Riley fired at him. He could see him quite clearly now in the moonlight, running along beside the fence around towards the men's quarters. Riley fired again remembering now to aim a couple of feet in front of the running figure. He
fired again, leaning forward out the window. The man kept running. He would be round the corner of the building soon. There was a burst of shots from the other side of the house and Riley saw the man waver. Then an answering volley from the paddocks. Riley fired his last two shots as the man ran out of the line of sight. A dog was barking very close to him and Riley realised he was hanging almost out the window. He pulled back inside the room.

The Chinaman was chattering away excitedly and grinning all over his face. Riley couldn't understand him, but he clapped him on the shoulder and grinned back.

He went back to where he left Collingwood. Mrs. Andrews was still sitting placidly in the hall. She had her hands folded on her lap. Riley smiled at her as he scooped up another handful of cartridges. She smiled back. Remarkable woman, he thought. Collingwood greeted him with: “We should be shooting up those shrubs. We will in a minute, but just look here.”

Riley looked out towards the men's quarters. He could see the glow of a fire, but not the fire itself. It was as though someone had started a blaze out of sight around the corner of the building.

“What do you make of that?” said Collingwood.

The silhouette of a man passed briefly across the glow and Collingwood snapped a shot at him.

“I don't know,” said Riley. “But I do know that if they surround the place and come in on all sides at once we haven't a hope of stopping them.”

“Well, let's hope they don't think of that,” said Collingwood: “Look at this. They must be mad.”

Three moving flames appeared from behind the men's quarters and were floating erratically towards the homestead.
It took Riley several seconds to realise that they were torches being carried by men. At the same time a fusilade of shots thudded against the walls of the homestead. The dogs barking hit a new crescendo of frenzy.

The station hand's rifle exploded harshly and Riley saw one of the flames drop to the ground. He couldn't see the man who'd been carrying it. The other two flames came on towards the homestead.

“Mad,” muttered Collingwood, “absolutely mad.” He was firing his revolvers deliberately.

“Don't aim at the flames,” he said. “Aim about two feet below them.”

Riley stood beside Collingwood at the window. The station hand was kneeling in front of them. All three fired simultaneously. The leading flame dropped to the earth as though it had been thrown. In its light Riley saw the body of a man. The flame seemed to be burning his head.

The third torch was still coming. Two or three bullets rushed through the window near Riley's head and he wished he could move out of range. He could see the man carrying the third torch quite clearly now. He was only twenty yards from the house. Why did he keep coming? He must know he had no chance.

As though the man had suddenly realised just that he stopped and flung the torch towards the verandah, turned and fled back towards the men's quarters. Collingwood and the station hand both fired at him, but he kept running. Riley watched the torches slow arc through the air. It fell harmlessly on to grass, a few feet from the verandah. All three torches were stll burning, marking a crooked path from the homestead to the men's quarters.

“That's one of them done for,” said Collingwood. “He hasn't moved.”

“What about the first one?” Riley said. “What happened to him?”

“I don't know. I never saw him. I think he must have dropped the torch and ran. What on earth did they try that for?

He didn't seem to expect an answer. Riley stared out the window at the figure of the man lying on the ground with the flames at his head, like a halo. He wondered whether any bullet he had fired had found its way into that body. Was this the second man he had killed? Odd how this sort of thing carried with it so little emotion apart from the excitement. Or was there a certain amount of joy in it; was this pleasure he felt as he smelt the biting fumes of gunpowder and looked out into the night where the enemy lay concealed? He rather thought it was.

“Come on,” said Collingwood. “Let's go and flush out those shrubs.”

Riley went with him through to the living room and they stood at the window and conscientiously pumped bullets into the unresisting shrubs. Nothing happened.

“Still,” said Collingwood, “it won't hurt to let them know we have that approach in mind. Not that they're likely to be any trouble if they come carrying torches every time.”

“If I was doing this,” said Riley, “I'd be inclined to make a sort of mine out of a gun powder barrel and ride up to the house with it.”

“That won't occur to them,” said Collingwood confidently. “These people aren't very imaginative.”

“How long do you think they'll keep this up?”

“God knows. Not after dawn anyway, I shouldn't
think. Still that gives them plenty of time. It's not two o'clock yet.”

The shooting had stopped altogether now and even the dogs began to quieten down. Riley and Collingwood walked round the house. The youth Dave wanted to leave his post and move to the side of the house facing the men's quarters.

“I haven't fired a shot, yet, Mr. Collingwood,” he pleaded. “No-one's going to come in this way.”

“You stay where you are,” said Collingwood. “You'll get all the shooting you want before the night's out.”

The old station hand, Andy, they found trying to stem the flow of blood from a wound in his cheek. Only one bullet had come in his window and it had grazed him. Collingwood sent him through to Mrs. Andrews to get the wound bandaged.

“It's just as well they don't know how many people we've got in here,” Riley said,” or they mightn't be so reluctant to rush us.”

“They'll rush us eventually.” said Collingwood. “That's all they can do. Obviously they know there's no point in just staying out there firing at the house. They might have another try at setting us on fire—but I think they might be discouraged about that. No. They'll rush us. The trouble is that once they get on the verandah there's not much we can do about it. Except of course that they've still got to get inside.”

Andy came back with most of his face swathed in an amateurish bandage.

“Lot of bloody good this is,” he said disgustedly.

“It's alright Andy,” said Collingwood. “Keep your head down next time.”

They heard the Chinaman's shot-gun, the first shot for some time, then the rapid fire of a revolver. More
distantly the sound of shots from outside, and men shouting.

They found the Chinaman at his window firing steadily.

He said something to Collingwood who joined him at the window, firing out towards a twinkling line of flashes that came from the fence. There must have been half a dozen men shooting from out there. There wasn't room for Riley at the window and he stood back waiting for one of the others to run out of ammunition. Bullets were hitting the outside wall with staccato rapidity and several came in the window. Some actually passed between Collingwood and the Chinaman. Another dog was hit outside. It didn't yelp. It just stopped barking suddenly, and then Riley could hear its feet scrabbling on the boards. Then it was still.

The heavy crack of a rifle came from the front of the house. That must be the boy shooting.

“They're coming on both sides,” shouted Collingwood. “Go through and help Dave.”

Riley, wincing at the sudden pain in his leg as he tried to run, stumbled through into the front room. Dave was firing the rifle through the window.

“They're in the garden,” he yelled. “Lots of them, in the garden.”

Riley knelt at the window beside the boy. He saw a man run from the front fence and dive behind a shrub. He fired twice at the base of the shrub. He thought he heard a yell. Then a figure crawled from behind the bush on hands and knees, making back towards the fence. Riley fired again. The figure flopped forward on its belly. It was still moving towards the fence. Riley
fired again. The man lay still, another shadow on the shadow laced lawn.

Riley reloaded while he sought another target. A man jumped from behind a bush and ran towards the far corner of the house. Riley fired at him. The men kept running. He disappeared around the corner. Riley heard a shot from the other side of the house.

Someone leaped out of the garden and ran at the house, straight towards the window.

Dave fired his rifle twice. The running man doubled over and sprawled full length near the verandah. Riley saw one of the two dogs tied on the verandah straining towards the body.

“I got 'im. I got 'im,” shouted the boy, “did you see that? I got 'im.”

There were two shots, very close, on the verandah, just outside the window.

Riley realised, as though it was some separate phenomenum, that both the dogs out there were suddenly silent. He heard a scraping of boots on board. Someone was on the verandah. Within feet of them.

Riley thrust his hand out the window and fired five shots quickly.

A hand appeared from below the window on the outside and fired twice into the room.

Dave fired at the hand from a distance of about six inches, but seemed to miss.

Riley thrust his revolver over the window still and fired downwards twice. He wanted to fire more, but didn't want both his revolvers empty, not with someone outside so close. He reloaded quickly, while Dave stood a little back from the window, ready to shoot.

The wall shook with a sudden series of crashes. Someone was hacking at the front door with an axe.

“Stay here,” Riley shouted to the boy, and ran through to the front hall.

The axe head was already splintering through the panelling.

Riley waited until it was pulled out and then fired through the hole. Someone cursed outside and several shots were fired. No bullets came through the door. Riley fired through the hole again. He heard footsteps outside on the verandah. Then a shout and three shots from the room Dave was in.

Riley ran back, unconscious now of the pain in his leg. Dave was half-lying on the floor, the rifle in his hands pointed at the window.

“I'm all right,” he said. He wasn't. Riley could see the stain low on his left side even in the dim light.

A man appeared at the window and Dave fired. The man disappeared. The crashing against the front door started again.

A vivid awareness that this battle might be lost struck Riley for the first time. He ran back to the front door and fired through the widening hole. Half a dozen shots answered him, the bullets chopping into the wall near him. Incongruously he thought of Mrs. Andrews sitting in the hall around the corner. Were her hands still placidly folded?

There seemed to be shooting coming from all sides of the house now, but they were getting in here.

“The front door!” yelled Riley: “The front door‘s down!” but he doubted whether anyone could hear him.

One of his revolvers clicked empty. The door was half gone now and he could see the man with the axe. He fired at him and heard the man grunt. He fell away from the door. But then the axe started its battering again. Riley couldn't see anybody wielding it. He ran
up to the door, thrust his revolver through the hole and fired, once, twice, three times. The revolver was empty.

He fell back into the hall, fumbling with cartridges. There wasn't time for this. He got two into the chambers, pointed the revolver at the disintegrating door and pulled the trigger. He had to pull it three times before the cartridges in the chambers worked round to the firing pin. Two shots and then it was empty again.

The door was down. Men were forcing their way into the house. They were shooting. Riley felt a thud in his right leg. His revolvers were empty. He threw them at the men. The gun rack. It was next to him. He clutched at it; a rifle to use as a club. His hand fell on his sword and he sobbed harshly as he pulled it clear of the scabbard.

A man was pointing a revolver at him. Riley slashed at the man's arm, felt the sword bite in deep. The hall seemed full of men now. Riley charged into them, flailing with the sword. There were shouts. A gun fired twice. Something struck him in the face. He felt the sword crash on somebody's head. A pair of hands were clutching at his legs. He was trampling on a body. There was a flash as a shot was fired. Riley saw a dark face, mouth open, eyes glaring. He thrust with the sword, thrust with all his weight. The point hit something, was resisted, then slid in deep. Someone screamed. The sword was stuck. Riley dragged it clear, held it double handed, smashed into the tangle of bodies in the hall.