Free Australian Hauntings: A Second Anthology of Australian Colonial Supernatural Fiction by James Doig

His own brother! He must have opened his shirt to feel if the heart beat, after the first deadly shot in self-defence and in the heat of passion.
    “He probably would know nothing at first. His brother would be altered with a long beard on. They had been parted for long. He had, at the time he started after him from the hotel, no knowledge of his whereabouts, or even existence. What ‘Flash Jack’s’ antecedents may have been, of course, I do not know, but it may be taken for granted that no idea of fratricide had ever entered Tom’s head. The man’s altered looks, after a long lapse of years, his unrecognised appearance, with long hair and bush clothes, his face twitching with evil passions, the wish to shoot Tom probably working in his mind. So the shots had been exchanged, Tom’s with sudden and deadly effect. Then can you fancy the awful reaction, the terrible conviction, and the dread confirmation of the appalling horror of the unwitting deed? Then the sudden despair and anguish, amounting to a passion, a fury, a morbid madness, and culminating at the last in a quick self-annihilation? God knows what he thought! I knew the poor fellow’s character pretty well—good ideas, kind heart, but stubborn and determined, moved too much by sudden impulse. A man who, once having decided his course, would carry it out unflinchingly, never thinking of the consequences. And he took his own life, after all! I thought he would have lasted for many happy and prosperous years.
    “I left Sydney and started up country, as I had another cattle-droving job from O’Hooligan’s on the Tarcoo. I should have a chance of seeing to poor Tom’s grave, and, strange to say, it had been arranged for me to take delivery of O’Hooligan’s cattle at Bylo, the very place where the whole unfortunate affair had happened.
    “This new duty was much more satisfactory in detail, to my mind. Four hundred prime fat cattle for the Adelaide market. It paid better, but took a long time on the road. But there is not the anxiety, if the season is good, that one experiences with ‘stores’. I had two of my best men with me, and would have to purchase an American waggon and a pair of horses.
    “The three of us made Belala, on the Gunyahgo, and we were lucky enough to complete our purchase of waggon and horses there.
    “I found, on arrival, a letter awaiting me from Harper of Fassifern, asking me as a favour to travel fifty merino rams, very valuable animals out of the Belala stud flock, from thence to his place, Fassifern, on the head waters of the Tarcoo, the next station but one from O’Hooligan’s. Luckily, I had plenty of time to spare. It had been a dry season, but all my horses were in good order.
    “One of the Fassifern black boys had ridden in with the letter. His name was ‘Boro’. I sent the wagon with my head cattleman down the Gunyahgo and across from Brandyville to Bylo, to await O’Hooligan’s draft. I had a clear fortnight, and I didn’t want to disoblige Harper, as he had drafts of cattle in prospect from Fassifern, and he always gave me a job of droving when he could.
    “So I accepted the rams willingly enough, the more especially as, after having delivered them safely at Fassifern, I could go down the Tarcoo to Bylo, see O’Hooligan on the way for final instructions, take over the cattle, and make a fair start from Bylo. Also there was the welcome prospect of putting a few more pounds into my pocket.”
    “Always there or thereabouts when ‘dibs’ are served out!” muttered Jemmy from his corner.
    “Ma certie, ye heathen, a thocht ye were deid,” snapped McIlwaine en parenthèse , and went on.
    “I took the Fassifern black boy, ‘Boro,’ with me of course. He might just as well work for his ‘tucker’ instead of crawling back, and stopping a night or two at the blacks’ camp. That was the worst bit of work I did on the trip.
    “I thought he might be useful tracking in case of mishap, as the rams were worth over