Shadow of the Osprey (28 page)

T
he blast of a Colt revolver in a crowded hotel bar is bound to get people’s attention. Michael froze – as did John Wong – with his cards in his hands. The Irish mercenary cautiously reached for the pistol in his coat pocket.

‘Fellow diggers!’ a voice boomed from the main entrance. ‘The name’s Luke Tracy and I’m one of you.’ The silent miners turned to stare at the tall man framed by the doorway. Was he another miner driven out of his mind by the tropical sun or lack of luck on the Palmer? ‘I need your help in settling a matter with a low son of a bitch who is drinking here right now,’ Luke continued. ‘He’s not a miner, but a blood-sucking lawyer, who cheats honest hard-working miners out of their rights.’

A low growl of sympathetic voices rose for the man with the gun. Fancy-dressed townsmen living off the sweat of honest miners were not a favourite with them and rheumy eyes cast about for anyone who might be better dressed than themselves. Accusing glares settled on a few merchants, bankers and horse traders. Mumbles of ‘I’m not a bloody lawyer!’ came from the unfortunate men who fell under the scrutiny of the hostile miners.

Only Hugh Darlington said nothing as he desperately sought a means of escape. His worst nightmare had come true, and he felt that Kate O’Keefe was behind the reappearance of the man whom he had cheated years earlier, then betrayed to the police.

A burly miner who knew and disliked Hugh Darlington grabbed him by the scruff of his expensive coat. ‘You mean this fella?’ he growled, as he easily held him off the floor. The crowd obligingly parted.

‘That’s the man himself,’ Luke drawled ominously.

‘Some of you here might know me,’ Henry piped up beside Luke. ‘For those who don’t I used to be a trap and can tell you from what Mister Tracy has told me it sounds like Mister Darlington here has a case to answer. So I would ask you to listen and pass your judgment after you hear what he has to say.’

The bulk of the patrons nodded and Hugh felt sick with fear. It all smacked of a kangaroo court in the making.
Natural justice,
some called the system!

Luke held up the tattered paper. ‘This is a receipt for money I gave Darlington a few years back. The money came from gold I prospected up these ways back in ’68. Darlington here took the money for himself and handed me into the traps out of a sense of duty to the gold laws. At least that is what I thought at the time. But I have since learned he swindled me. Sergeant . . . sorry, Mister James here can tell you what I am saying is true and I’m prepared to swear on any Bible you give me to that fact.’

The murmur from the miners grew louder and had a disturbing edge of anger. The big miner who held the Rockhampton lawyer off the floor growled, ‘What ’ave yer got to say fer yerself Darlington?’

Hugh knew he would need to be very careful in choosing his words. This was not a jury impressed by the technicalities of the law – only the facts of what had actually occurred. ‘If Mister Tracy feels he has a grievance against me,’ he replied with all the calmness he could muster, ‘then I am prepared to settle with him at my office in Rockhampton any time he should choose.’

‘Not good enough,’ a voice called from the angry crowd. ‘Settle the matter now. Mister Tracy has waited long enough.’ The protest was taken up by the patrons in the bar.

‘Gentlemen!’ Hugh commanded in his best courtroom voice. ‘I think Mister Tracy can retrieve the money from Missus O’Keefe as that is who I gave the money to.’

At the mention of his sister’s name, Michael half rose from his chair. This was not their fight, John hissed as he pulled him down.

‘Mister Darlington here,’ Luke said in an icy tone, ‘has come to Cooktown with threats of taking the money from Missus O’Keefe which is rightly her own. The rest, which he has, is mine. But threatening a woman is about all you could expect from a man who has never got dirt on his hands, like any honest hard-working digger here.’

‘Gentlemen! Gentlemen!’ Hugh called desperately above the rising din of angry voices. ‘What Mister Tracy is telling you about Missus O’Keefe is a lie. She entered into a business arrangement with me, and the money was to be repaid at a time of my choosing. You can ask her!’

‘The money you gave her was not yours to give Darlington,’ Luke snarled above the angry voices of the miners. Most of them knew and respected Kate O’Keefe. Although she was a tough business woman, she was fair to them in their dealings, and generous to their families when they were down on their luck. ‘You know that fully well. You are the liar Darlington. A no-good lying son of a bitch,’ he added savagely.

Hugh paled. He could see the inevitability of where events were taking him. The man was challenging him and he was suddenly very frightened. Even the miners who crowded the hotel bar that late afternoon sensed what was bound to happen.

‘You called me a liar Mister Darlington,’ Luke retorted calmly, ‘and I call you a liar.’ The miners in the bar fell into a hushed silence. Luke was smiling grimly and when he continued to speak the miners were left in no doubt as to what the silence had given birth to. ‘So how about we settle this outside like gentlemen. Just you and I and Colonel Samuel Colt,’ he said, as he let his hand fall to the big revolver tucked in his leather belt.

Hugh could feel the sweat on his hands, and watched with terrible fascination as Henry James limped towards him, with a revolver in his hand. When he reached Hugh, he held up six bullets for the crowd to see. Then he loaded the pistol and passed the gun to Hugh who accepted it as reluctantly as if the man had passed him a venomous snake.

Luke held up one bullet for the crowd to witness, and loaded his gun. The significance of the single round was not lost on the miners: the American had given the lawyer the better odds. A courageous sporting gesture from one of the miners’ own. Then Luke turned his back and walked out the front door of the hotel onto the street.

The miners spilled eagerly out to follow the American prospector into the relative privacy of a side street. The momentum of the crowd pushed Hugh before them. Michael and John followed the miners to witness the duel. Curious bystanders realised that a fight was about to occur, not an unusual occurrence, in the tough frontier town.

Many hurried away to avoid getting caught up in what usually ended in a free-for-all brawl. Others remained, when they learned from the patrons of the hotel that the fight with pistols was one to the death. Money changed hands as the two men stood facing each other down the short length of the dusty street. The odds favoured the lawyer – only because he had six shots to the American’s single one.

John Wong accepted a wager from a miner that the lawyer would kill the crazy Yankee. He liked the odds of six to one that the miner had given in favour of the lawyer winning the duel. But John did not think he would lose his bet. He had carefully watched the way the American moved and liked what he saw. The man had the deadly grace of a hunting cat, and like the hunting cat, showed no fear. A man who did not fear death was fully in control of his senses.

The mention of his sister’s name in the hotel had caught Michael’s attention. Just what was this American to his sister? he asked himself with a frown. If the prospector was killed, then he might never know.

The spectators were careful to give both men a wide berth as they squared off for the duel. The destructive power of a stray Colt bullet at close range was impressive.

The American prospector appeared calm but the lawyer was visibly afraid. Hugh had fired pistols before, but only at bottles for fun, and it seemed that the American who faced him cared little whether he lived or died. It was a disconcerting demeanour to confront and Hugh sensed that he was looking death in the face.

This was not like the savage verbal attacks on the opposition’s arguments in a courtroom where he had impressed with his legal rhetoric. This was raw justice, more fitting to medieval times, when the man left standing was deemed to be innocent. To his credit, Hugh realised that a plea for an alternative means of settling the matter would have been construed as craven, unfitting for a man of his social standing.

‘We won’t worry about any fancy rules here, Darlington,’ Luke said in a loud, calm voice. ‘There will only be one rule and it will be simple. I’ll give you the first opportunity to shoot me. If you fail I will shoot you. Do you have any questions?’

Hugh looked about desperately for support and saw none. It was obvious who the miners were backing – on moral grounds, if not financial. ‘I just want it known that I am doing this under duress,’ he said addressing the spectators. ‘And that the death of Mister Tracy will be an act of self-defence forced upon me by the present circumstances.’

He turned to face Luke and raised his pistol. A hush fell on the spectators. Breaths were held frozen by the realisation that a man was about to die. Michael felt admiration for the courage of the American who stood rock still, waiting for certain death. Whoever he was to Kate, he mused, he had guts.

Hugh sighted along the barrel levelled at Luke. But sweat dripped into his eyes and he lowered the heavy gun. As he wiped the sweat from his eyes with a clean handkerchief, a tiny murmur of discontent rose from the crowd. They were angry at the possibility that they might not be able to collect on bets. Hugh put away the handkerchief and raised his pistol.

Once again the hush fell over the spectators. Hugh held the gun for only a second before he squeezed the trigger. Even though the shot was expected, the blast of the revolver caused many amongst the crowd to flinch.

Luke spun and fell sideways as the heavy lead bullet hit him. Blood spurted from his earlobe where the bullet had clipped him. For one terrible second he thought he was going to die. Blood drenched his shoulder as he attempted to struggle to his feet. Darlington was better with a gun than he had anticipated and he still had five shots left! A long moan from the tense spectators tapered away to an expectant hush. Now it was the Yankee’s turn.

Hugh levelled his gun at Luke as he was rising to his feet. The rules were forgotten. This was raw survival where reputations meant little if you were dead. He snapped off a second shot. The bullet threw up a puff of dust where Luke had been a split second before.

As he rose from the ground Luke fired his single shot and Hugh felt the bullet strike with a vicious thwack in the centre of his forehead. He crumpled and fell to his knees. He was shot, and he felt the blood trickle from the wound. ‘I’m dead,’ he moaned pitifully, as he clasped his hands to his forehead.

But death did not come quickly. His head ached as he felt the stickiness of blood between his fingers. To all intents and purposes I’m alive, he thought. He was also vaguely aware that the once-hushed crowd was now laughing uproariously. How could they be so callous towards the plight of a dying man, he thought in confusion.

‘Like you I lied Mister Darlington,’ Luke said with a broad grin as he stood over the lawyer in the dusty street. ‘I loaded with two rounds in my pistol – not one. The first was a kind of special bullet I made,’ he continued with his gun pointed at Hugh’s head. ‘You aren’t going to die but you will have a bad headache for a while. Never heard anyone dying from a wax and strawberry jam bullet before. But you might just die from the second round I’m keeping for you unless you transfer the rest of my money to Kate O’Keefe as we originally planned way back in Rockhampton. You’ve got two days.’

With a roar of hearty approval for the ingenious joke on the crooked lawyer, the crowd surged forward to lift Luke onto their shoulders and chair him back to the hotel. Drinks would flow and the story be retold to those who were unlucky enough to miss the fun. It was a grand joke, that only a man with a steel nerve could pull off. And the elaborate joke would echo in the laughter of miners, teamsters and stockmen around campfires for many a year to come. Such an incident could have adverse ramifications for a man’s reputation if he had aspirations to public office in a frontier colony and Darlington knew it. He was now a man hell-bent on using the law to his advantage to crush the man who had humiliated him before the crowd of tough miners.

Michael followed the crowd back into the hotel to share in John’s win. The miner, who had lost his bet with the big Eurasian, had vainly tried to argue that all bets were off because the lawyer was still alive. But John argued that the American had won by default. Darlington had ignored the rules and fired a second shot out of sequence. The miner pondered on his logic, but still refused to concede he had lost the bet. He only conceded when John grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him against a rickety fence. The coal-black eyes of the young man reminded the frightened miner of a deadly snake. He paid up.

Michael’s estimation of the American rose considerably. Here was a man worth having beside you in a tough situation, he thought, as the miners deposited Luke on the bar. And there was the matter of the man’s relationship with his sister Kate, he pondered. He had a feeling he should keep the man close, so that he could determine just who – or what – the prospector was in Kate’s life.

‘The traps are comin’!’ a miner called out above the din of celebration. They’re acomin’ to arrest the Yankee!’ A silence descended on the bar. ‘Not on his life,’ someone roared and the cry went up in support of Luke.

Michael grabbed John by the arm and hissed in his ear, ‘We have to get the Yankee out of here before the traps get him.’ John agreed, and the two men pushed their way through the crowd, milling protectively around their new-found hero.

‘Mister Tracy,’ Michael called to Luke who was standing on the bar and holding a rag to his bloody ear. ‘We’ll get you out of here before you end up in the lockup.’

Above the din Luke heard Michael’s suggestion and glanced around. Through a window of the hotel he could see three grim-faced uniformed police officers striding down the street. ‘Good idea,’ he said as he leapt from the bar. ‘But I have to see Kate O’Keefe before we go and explain some things.’

‘Not a good idea,’ Michael growled, as he helped make a way through the crowd of back-slapping patrons congratulating Luke on his courageous gesture. ‘You might get her involved.’