Skeleton Gully by Arthur Watts

Skeleton Gully
by Arthur Watts

I was bushed! After I had spent two hours vainly attempting to find the track, I sat down for a rest and a smoke, and I admitted to myself that I was really bushed. I had started from the township early in the morning for a thirty-mile ride to the Golden Goat Lease. I had done the journey once before, and it was impossible for me to miss the way as long as I kept to the track. Unfortunately, I had been beguiled into the bush in pursuit of a big brown snake, which had been sunning itself in the middle of the track. I do like to kill a snake when I see it so I left my bicycle lying on the track, which at that spot was just the width of a waggon and, picking up a small stick, I ran after the reptile, which was gliding through the bush at a considerable pace. My progress was a good deal impeded by the bush, and it may have taken me sixty seconds to catch up to the snake. But the brute escaped me after all as just as i got within reach, it disappeared down a hole at the foot of a stunted gum-tree.

Feeling decidedly annoyed, I started straight back as I thought for the track. To my amazement, however, I walked and walked, and there was no sign of it. Afterwards I tried to retrace my steps, but without success. I then tried I several different directions, and became at last hopelessly muddled, and very tired. While I was resting I thought over the situation. With the exception of the Golden Goat, I did not know of any settlement in that part of the country. I should have either to find the track or to get within sight of the Golden Goat, which is situated on the side of a long, low hill, and cannot be seen from a great distance. If I failed to do either the one or the other, I might be picked up by a tracker in a few days or, on the other hand, I might join the ranks of the unnumbered company whose names sometimes figure as

“missing friends”

Fortunately, I carried, slung over my shoulder, a square leather case, in which were packed some ham sandwiches and a flask of whisky and water, which I had taken with me for lunch. That would, with economy, keep me alive for several days. After I had rested, and eaten a portion of the precious sandwiches, I started off again through the bush. I had been walking for about twenty minutes, when the ground suddenly dipped, and I stepped out into a small and stony gully. There was only a very scanty bush growth down the sides along the bottom of the gully, which was, however, completely surrounded by the dense and stunted tree-growth. The gully was in the shape of a canoe, and was only about eighty yards long and twenty broad. Much to my surprise there stood on the opposite side of the gully a little, dilapidated wooden hut. As I crossed over to it I passed a number of mounds of sand and holes in the ground, such as are made by miners in when dry-blowing. These did not appear to be recent workings, however, and the little gully was silent as the grave…

I was not surprised when my call outside the hessian camp was not responded to. A brief exploration served to show that the place had been long since deserted, that is, deserted by the living. For to my horror, I found lying inside the camp the complete skeleton of a man, partially covered with the rotted remains of his clothes and the wooden hilt and portion of the blade of a butcher’s knife was sticking out of the skeleton’s ribs!

It was an unpleasant sight, and called up a mental vision of gold, treachery, and murder. Instinct prompted me to get out of the ill-omened camp, but curiosity got the better of instinct, and I looked round the place. The furniture was of a primitive order, and consisted of a table fashioned out of a couple of packing cases, a smaller packing case, which probably did duty as a chair, and a rough bunk with some dirty blankets rolled up on it. In one corner stood a small iron trunk. This was not locked, and I raised the lid, and looked in. It was half filled with mouldering clothes, on the top of which lay a few smoker’s requisites – a couple of pipes, etc and  also a cheap cardboard writing case. I took the latter out of the box, and opened it on the table. It contained some notepaper and envelopes, a pen, but only one sheet of paper which contained writing. This I found to be an unfinished letter. I had hoped to find some clue to the identity of the former owner of the camp in the writing case, but in this I was disappointed.

The letter was dated, “Hannan’s, W.A., April 5, 1895,” and was therefore, written over two years ago. The writer had evidently been an educated man. The writer commenced by saying that after a long spell of bad luck he had by chance discovered, a small gully about two miles from a mine called the Golden Goat. The surface of the bed of the gully was rich in fine gold, and after about four months of hard work he had got together several hundred pounds worth of the precious metal. “No one save myself knows of the existence of my gully, and I get my stores from the Golden Goat by a long detour  through the bush. I take that precaution because if the men at the Goat should suspect that I have ‘struck it rich’ they would be certain to try and find the locality.”

Then came a break in the letter, and a sub-date of April 7. “I went to the Golden Goat to-day” he continued, “and met an old Ballarat miner there who goes by the name of ‘Bushman Joe’ on account of his knowledge of bush lore. He remembered me from the old days, and seemed to be vastly pleased to see me again. We had a drink or two together at a shanty on the lease. I dislike Bushman Joe, he is an ugly looking customer, and had a bad record in the old Victorian days. However, I managed to get away from him, and returned here unobserved.” The last few lines in the letter were startling and suggestive: “A strange thing has just happened. While I was writing I heard my dog growl and bark. I hurried outside the camp, but it is rather dark to-night, and I could see nothing. I whistled and called over and over again, but the dog has not returned. It is very extraordinary. He is a faithful and obedient brute. I feel very uneasy tonight, a sort of feeling that there is someone near the place. I have a quantity of gold here, and the idea of any one prowling about makes me nervous. Most of the spoil is, however, artfully hidden. But I have no doubt my fears are groundless. I suppose the lonely life I have led here has got on my nerves.”

Those last lines were smudged a little. There was no signature, and as the letter had commenced “My dear Jack” and as there are so very many Jacks – it did not seem likely to afford a clue to the murdered man’s identity. After reading the letter I had no doubt but that the man had been murdered, and his gold stolen. It also seemed probable that the “Bushman Joe” mentioned in the dead mans letter had been the criminal. “Joe” had been known as a clever bush-man, and that meant that he knew how to track. If he had tracked the prospector to the gully, it was easy to suppose that the dog had attacked him, and had, perhaps, been silenced with the knife which had afterwards slain his master. The letter supplied a clue to the mystery.

Meanwhile the sun had set and the daylight was dying away. It behoved me to think about my plans for the night. The interior of the camp was very dusty and dirty, and there was also the grinning skeleton. I certainly did not intend passing the night in his company! But there had been no rain as yet that year, and everything was quite dry outside. The weather, too, was warm for April, and there was a perfectly clear sky, and no wind. I soon decided what to do. First of all I collected a good stock of firewood and lit a fire in a suitable spot for camping. Then I went into the bush, and broke off two or three armfuls of brushwood, and threw that down near the fire to serve as a couch.

That done, I ate some more sandwiches, and drank some whisky and water, for I was both hungry and thirsty. I took care, however, to leave a couple of sandwiches for the morrow. By the time I had finished my rather slender meal the night had closed in. Although there was no moon, the stars shone brightly in the clear sky, and it was not very dark in the gully. I filled and lit my pipe, and lay back on my brushwood couch. A few feet away my camp fire glowed, warming the atmosphere around me, and the smoke streamed up in a long grey column into the motionless air.

About twenty yards from where I lay stood the deserted camp. I am not very subject to superstitious fears, and yet, as I thought of the solitary occupant of the camp – a silent witness of an unknown crime – I could not keep my mind from, dwelling upon ghostly matters. But at length I became drowsy. A feeling of lazy comfort crept over me. I knocked the ashes out of my pipe, put it aside, and almost immediately dropped off to sleep.

The consciousness of the presence of an intruder awakened me. I raised myself upon my elbow, and looked cautiously around. The camp fire had burned low, but one big log still glowed, warm and red. I could see no one. Yet I was certain that someone or something was close by me. Although I could neither see nor hear it. I felt it was there. As the consciousness of that invisible presence grew upon me, the blood began to run cold in my veins. But I made an effort to recover my self-possession. I told myself that there was nothing to fear, and gradually that instinctive and unreasoning dread of the supernatural which is common to animals as well as to mankind wore off. And as my fears decreased the unseen presence seemed to draw nearer to me, until at last it pervaded my whole being. I became in a similar condition to an hypnotic state. My thoughts and the movements of my body seemed to be controlled by another will than mine.

Under this strange influence I rose from my couch and moved slowly towards the old camp. Entering, I walked to one corner, where lay a short-handled spade. I picked this up, and walked out again, without glancing at the silent occupant. Then I passed across the bottom of the gully, climbed up the side, which at that place was steep and stony, and entered the bush. I had not gone far when I stopped before a tree which had grown higher than its neighbours. At the foot of that tree I commenced to dig. When I had shovelled out a few spadefuls of sand the spade struck something hard and metallic. Throwing the tool aside, I knelt down and peered into the hole. Half buried in the sand lay a small square tin, such as tea is packed in. I drew it out. It seemed very heavy. I rose from my knees, and as I did so, a bright ray of light from the newly risen moon fell across my eyes. Immediately a great blackness seemed to cover me. I lost consciousness, and the last sensation I can remember was a dim idea that I was walking- walking on and on through the bush.

When I awoke the sun was high in the heavens. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. To my astonishment I found myself lying by the side of the track, and close by was my precious bicycle. Just as I had left it the day before. I jumped up and stretched my limbs, which ached and seemed cramped by my hard bed. Then my eyes fell upon a small, square tin, which lay at my feet. I picked it up, and, like a flash of light, I remembered my strange adventure of the night. The tin was heavy, several pounds in weight and it was also rusty, so that it was with some difficulty that I got the lid off.

As I had expected – the tin was filled with gold in small grains. A few moments later I was wheeling along the track towards the Golden Goat with about £400 worth of gold in my leather knapsack. Captain Thomas, the manager of the Golden Goat, received me with open arms. “I am so glad you have come” he said. “One of the men died last night of fever, and I know you can do the burial business!”

“Humph! that’s a cheerful welcome,” I replied ; “and, by the way, I have a curious story to tell you.” “Have you then? Well, come and have some lunch first, and we can chat afterwards over our pipes.” An hour later we sat side by side under the verandah of the manager’s house. ” Now for your yarn! ” observed Thomas, who was puffing clouds of smoke from a handsomely coloured meershaum. “Alright,” I replied, “but first tell me who the dead man is, and when the burial is to come off.” “I have arranged for the burial at four o’clock,” said Thomas, “and, from what I have heard of the man’s character, it will require all your priestly aid to save his soul from damnation. I don’t know his name. He always called himself Bushman Joe.”

“Bushman Joe! What a strange name.”

Er-do you know, Thomas, I don’t think I will tell you that story after all.” “As you like,” replied Thomas sulkily, “a parson knows his own mind.” Thomas dearly loves a yarn! Nearly twelve months have passed since my ride to the Golden Goat. Worldly things have prospered with me since then, and the £480 which I got for my gold was the foundation of my prosperity. I have no doubt that sceptical wiseacres will say that the adventure I have narrated is an invention. They are welcome to their opinion. As for me, I feel glad that “Bushman Joe” did not reap the full reward of his crime, and that, owing to the sagacity of the unknown victim, the better portion of that reward was left to me..

Some day the inevitable prospector will find that hidden gully. When he does, and when he has looked into the deserted camp, he is sure to christen the place ” Skeleton Gully”