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- Herausgeber: SAMPI Books
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
In a frontier mining settlement, two young men set out from the diggings and fail to return. Their horse, riderless and in distress, eventually makes it back to town, raising alarm. A search party is organized, including a trooper and a seasoned miner, to track down what happened. Their journey leads them through rough bushland, past ominous terrain, toward a ravine known as Bluemansdyke, where the clues begin to reveal a darker mystery. Suspense builds as the party follows trails, uncovers signs of wrongdoing, and edges closer to confronting the unknown forces at play.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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The Gully of Bluemansdyke
Arthur Conan Doyle
SYNOPSIS
In a frontier mining settlement, two young men set out from the diggings and fail to return. Their horse, riderless and in distress, eventually makes it back to town, raising alarm. A search party is organized, including a trooper and a seasoned miner, to track down what happened. Their journey leads them through rough bushland, past ominous terrain, toward a ravine known as Bluemansdyke, where the clues begin to reveal a darker mystery. Suspense builds as the party follows trails, uncovers signs of wrongdoing, and edges closer to confronting the unknown forces at play.
Keywords
Gold Rush, Justice, Bushrangers
NOTICE
This text is a work in the public domain and reflects the norms, values and perspectives of its time. Some readers may find parts of this content offensive or disturbing, given the evolution in social norms and in our collective understanding of issues of equality, human rights and mutual respect. We ask readers to approach this material with an understanding of the historical era in which it was written, recognizing that it may contain language, ideas or descriptions that are incompatible with today's ethical and moral standards.
Names from foreign languages will be preserved in their original form, with no translation.
The Gully of Bluemansdyke A true colonial story
Broadhurst's Store was closed, but the little back room looked very comfortable that night. The fire cast a ruddy glow on ceiling and walls, reflecting itself cheerily on the polished flasks and shot-guns which adorned them. Yet a gloom rested on the two men who sat at either side of the hearth, which neither the fire nor the black bottle upon the table could alleviate.
"Twelve o'clock," said old Tom, the storeman glancing up at the wooden timepiece which had come out with him in '42. "It's a queer thing, George, they haven't come."
"It's a dirty night," said his companion, reaching out his arm for a plug of tobacco. "The Wawirra's in flood, maybe; or maybe their horses is broke down; or they've put it off, perhaps. Great Lord, how it thunders! Pass us over a coal, Tom."
He spoke in a tone which was meant to appear easy, but with a painful thrill in it which was not lost upon his mate. He glanced uneasily at him from under his grizzled eyebrows.
"You think it's all right, George?" he said, after a pause.
"Think what's all right?"
"Why, that the lads are safe."
"Safe! Of course they're safe. What the devil is to harm them?"
"Oh, nothing; nothing, to be sure," said old Tom. "You see, George, since the old woman died, Maurice has been all to me; and it makes me kinder anxious. It's a week since they started from the mine, and you'd ha' thought they'd be here now. But it's nothing unusual, I suppose; nothing at all. Just my darned folly."
"What's to harm them?" repeated George Hutton again, arguing to convince himself rather than his comrade. "It's a straight road from the diggings to Rathurst, and then through the hills past Bluemansdyke, and over the Wawirra by the ford, and so down to Trafalgar by the bush track. There's nothing deadly in all that, is there? My son Allands as dear to me as Maurice can be to you, mate," he continued; "but they know the ford well, and there's no other bad place. They'll be here tomorrow night, certain."
"Please God they may!" said Broadhurst; and the two men lapsed into silence for some time, moodily staring into the glow of the fire, and pulling at their short clays.
It was indeed, as Hutton had said, a dirty night. The wind was howling down through the gorges of the western mountains, and whirling and eddying among the streets of Trafalgar; whistling through the chinks in the rough wood cabins, and tearing away the frail shingles which formed the roofs. The streets were deserted, save for one or two stragglers from the drinking shanties, who wrapped their cloaks around them and staggered home through the wind and rain towards their own cabins.
The silence was broken by Broadhurst, who was evidently still ill at ease.
"Say, George," he said, "what's become of Josiah Mapleton?"
"Went to the diggings."
"Ay; but he sent word he was coming back."
"But he never came."
"And what's become of Jos Humphrey?" he resumed, after a pause.
"He went digging, too."
"Well, did he come back?"
"Drop it, Broadhurst; drop it, I say," said Hutton, springing to his feet and pacing up and down the narrow room. " You're trying to make a coward of me! You know the men must have gone up country prospecting or farming, maybe. What is it to us where they went? You don't think I have a register of every man in the colony, as Inspector Burton has of the lags."
