The Horse Who Bit a Bushranger Read Free

of a few bad ones.
    Maybe, thought Billy, if Flash Harry’d had a better horse, he might be calling stand and deliver yet.Holding up his pistols while trembling toffs tossed down their money bags…
    ‘I been thinking.’ Jem’s voice dropped to a whisper so Billy had to lean closer to hear. ‘You know what they says about this New South Wales?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It’s fulla forests. Trees so thick the peelers can’t find no one if they runs away. There’s highwaymen there, too. Bushrangers, they calls ‘em.’
    ‘Who told you this?’
    ‘Shh. Keep yer voice down. Don’t want the ‘ole ship to hear. That sailor Tommy Two Tooth told me, last time the bucket came down, when I were ‘elping ‘im with the slops. Two Tooth says there’s country no white man’s ever seen. You can ride fer years and not see a soul. Mountains high as the sky, and only a dozen proper roads in the ‘ole colony.’
    An empty country? Billy had known New South Wales were goin’ to be bad. If it weren’t bad, why send the convicts there? ‘So what?’
    Jem’s elbow jabbed him in the ribs. ‘You daftie, don’t you see? England’s too small. Every tree in England has someone behind it waitin’ to inform to the peelers, but in New South Wales…why, they’d never find us. All we got to do is get ourselves a pair o’ horses. Just imagine, Billy boy. The two of us highwaymen at last.’
    Billy did imagine it. A big black horse for him—white would stand out if they held up a coach at night. A brown horse for Jem—a quiet one, for Jem weren’t no good with horses. Not like Billy. Every horse in the street did what he asked it to, from the carter’s big draught mare to the poor brutes whatpulled the taxi cabs to fine ladies’ riding hacks. Master Higgins had said Billy could make a horse sit down and say its prayers. He’d even hired a horse from the stable, sometimes, and sent Billy to collect the loot from one o’ his customers who didn’t want to show his face in town. General, the horse’s name had been: a real high stepper, with a sweet mouth and—
    ‘I reckon we can do it,’ said Jem confidently. ‘Give us a few months to check out the lay o’ the land. Then we’ll escape together. Bushrangers in New South Wales. We’ve made it this far. Soon, Billy boy. We’ll be there soon.’
    But it was another two days afore Billy felt the change that meant they’d sailed out of the open sea into a harbour. The ship bounced now, instead of plunging up and down the waves.
    The last hours seemed longer than the whole nine months of the voyage. But even when he’d heard the yells of strangers on shore and the thud of rope as the ship was docked, still no one came to open the hatch.
    Another day passed…or was it night? There was no way to tell down there in the darkness. Until the world exploded into light.
    He put his hand up to shield his face. He had longed for the sun so long. He never guessed it could hurt like this.
    He heard rather than saw a rope ladder drop down in the golden glare—the same one he’d climbed down all those months before.
    ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’ Jem felt his way from bunk to bunk.
    Billy followed him, between the narrow bunks, staggering from weakness. All around him men were trying to steady themselves, groaning and swearing, waiting till they were used to the light.
    Up the ladder he went, his hands almost too feeble to grasp the rungs. Up into that light so sharp it nearly cut his flesh, soft from so many months without the sun.
    Then at last he was on the deck. His sight cleared enough to look around.
    A dock, much like the one they’d left at Portsmouth, with wooden wharves and ships—two transport ships like theirs and a pair o’ whalers, with their big harpoons and barrels of whale oil, just like he’d seen back in Bristol. Even the shore looked much like home at first: barrels, carts and buildings of red brick and yellow stone. He could see houses—stone ones and ones