My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventuresDoyle, Arthur Conan
General
My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventures
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Detective and mystery stories, English
The American looked at him approvingly. He had learned in his
wanderings that an Irishman who grows quieter when deeply stirred is a
very dangerous specimen of the genus _homo_.
“Good lad!” he muttered; and the two went down the street together
toward the station-house, followed by half a dozen of the more resolute
of the crowd.
One word before we proceed with our story, or our chronicle rather, as
every word of it is based upon fact. The colonial trooper of fifteen or
twenty years ago was a very different man from his representative of
to-day. Not that I would imply any slur upon the courage of the latter;
but for reckless dare-devilry and knight-errantry the old constabulary
has never been equalled. The reason is a simple one. Men of gentle
blood, younger sons and wild rakes who had outrun the constable, were
sent off to Australia with some wild idea of making their fortunes. On
arriving they found Melbourne by no means the El Dorado they expected;
they were unfit for any employment, their money was soon dissipated,
and they unerringly gravitated into the mounted police. Thus a sort of
colonial “Maison Rouge” became formed, where the lowest private had as
much pride of birth and education as his officers. They were men who
might have swayed the fate of empires, yet who squandered away their
lives in many a lone wild fight with native and bushranger, where
nothing but a mouldering blue-ragged skeleton was left to tell the tale.
* * * * *
It was a glorious sunset. The whole western sky was a blaze of flame,
throwing a purple tint upon the mountains, and gilding the sombre edges
of the great forest which spreads between Trafalgar and the river
Wawirra. It stretched out, a primeval, unbroken wilderness, save at
the one point where a rough track had been formed by the miners and
their numerous camp-followers. This wound amid the great trunks in
a zigzag direction, occasionally making a long detour to avoid some
marshy hollow or especially dense clump of vegetation. Often it could
be hardly discerned from the ground around, save by the scattered
hoof-marks and an occasional rut.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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