Wanted Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

towards the police, and his sword and carbine were safely rolled away in his camping gear. He’d hidden his pistol holster as well and his pistol, together with the one he’d taken from the bushranger, was tucked into his belt under his coat. He’d taken out the caps because he’d been rather afraid the weapons might go off of their own accord.
    An immense, shaggy old man was leaning on the slab of wood that passed for a bar. He said nothingand made no movement when Riley walked in. The shanty was in deep gloom, or seemed so to Riley after the bright sunlight outside. Half a dozen barrels stood in one corner of the room with boxes near them, presumably to serve as tables and chairs. Another barrel stood on a bench beside the old man. It had a wet bag over it to cool the beer. Riley would have liked a glass of beer but he had already drunk the Colonial brew on the mistaken assumption that it would be much the same as the mildly stimulating drink he’d known at home, and he now knew better than to drink it on an empty stomach.
    â€œAny chance of a bite to eat?” he said to the old man.
    â€œStew or cold mutton,” said the old man in a voice that seemed to have a very harsh passage on its way out. Riley thought he detected the remnants of an Irish accent, but he couldn’t be sure. The old man still hadn’t stirred and there had been no visible movement when he spoke in the mess of grey, stained hair that hung around his mouth.
    â€œI’ll have mutton then, thanks,” said Riley.
    Staring straight ahead, out the door, the old man raised his voice.
    â€œDish o ’mutton,” he called, and this time Riley thought perhaps he had a German accent. He still could see no movement in the man’s lips; but then he couldn’t see his lips for hair.
    He heard faint noises of assent from behind the hessian curtain dividing the bar from some room out the back, presumably the kitchen.
    Riley stood uncertainly where he was in the middle of the room. The old man still stared out the door. What an extraordinarily big man he was, thought Riley.His shoulders seemed to be about four feet across. His head was crowned by a great thatch of grey-white hair that spread, at a roughly even length, down his cheeks and under his chin. A huge gnarled nose rose magnificently from the growth on his upper lip and his large, wide-set, staring eyes were almost hidden by his eyebrows. He was not unlike an English sheep dog, thought Riley; but what a magnificent build. He must have been really impressive when he was young, say about a hundred years ago.
    â€œNice day,” said Riley, tentatively.
    The old man said nothing.
    Riley shrugged and walked across the room to the barrels and boxes. He selected the most stable looking of the boxes and sat down, quite slowly because he found the pistol barrels tended to dig uncomfortably into his lower abdomen if he moved suddenly.
    He turned to the old man again.
    â€œYou wouldn’t have any bird shot I could buy, would you?”
    â€œYairs,” came the voice from the beard.
    Riley wondered whether the old man was a dummy kept there as a front by whoever worked in the kitchen and given semblance of life by the art of ventriloquism. Or perhaps he wasn’t a dummy as such, perhaps he had died some time ago; he looked so dried out and leathery that he probably wouldn’t even have needed to be stuffed.
    â€œCould I have a couple of pounds?” Riley asked politely.
    â€œGirl’ll get it for you. Ask her,” said the voice from the beard.
    There was no girl immediately in evidence, but Riley assumed she would eventually show up.
    She appeared almost immediately from behind the hessian curtain bearing a tin plate of cold mutton and hot, boiled potatoes. Riley’s first impression was that he’d met her before and he almost stood up to greet her. She was about eighteen, dressed in a skirt and high necked white blouse, quite a nice