HOCUSSED.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVIII, Issue XXIV, 12 June 1897, Page 744

HOCUSSED.

* Old Nob’s ' bark shanty stood on the flat between * Dead Man’s Gaily * and ‘ The Crabholes.’ The gully, despite its ominous name, was the centre of a rich reefing district. Tall poppet beads and great mounds of tailings made the hillside re semble a vast ant-bed. The thunder of the stampers ceased not by night or day. All the long days and far into the nights •The Shamrock’—as * Old Nob’s’ house was named, in eccentric letters bnrnt into a piece of gin case over the door—resounded with the chinking of glasses, the rattle of dice, a Babel of voices, and Inrid blasphemy. From the rising of the snn until midnight the long bar was crowded with miners in all kinds of garb and every stage of intoxication. Adjacent to the bar was * The Shearing Shed,' a slabbed partition, surrounded with well-worn couches, on which hocussed diggers, sleeping ofl their drunken stupor, were robbed of their money. At the back was a spacious room where the miners danced with bedizened and painted nymphs to the eracked strains of a boosey German band. Enough that * The Shamrock ' was conducted on highly moral principles. Even the commissioner, who had an intimate knowledge of the bouse and its inmates, and the troopers who paid long visits of inspection after closing time, could vouch for its respectability. Bat one night * The Shamrock ’ narrowly escaped losing its reputation. The boss chucker out, a retired pugilist, was patting the finishing touch to his duties by projecting the half-dazed occupants of the rickety couches in * The Shearing Shed ’ into the outer darkness and mud. All at once he struck a snag. One of the ‘ flyblown ' resented the rude disturbance of bis dreams. When he shook himself up, he stood over six feet. He grabbed the chncker-out by the collar and seat of his pants and wiped the floor with him. Then he snatched up various articles of furniture and made things lively. But the troopers in the adjoining room threw down their cards and the obstreperous digger was scrutTed to the lock-up, fighting all the way and swearing he had been robbed of a hundred pounds. The charges against him next morning were ‘drunk and riotous, attempting to break into an hotel, to wit * The Shamrock,’ violently assaulting the police in the execution of their dnty, and tearing their uniforms.’ The bench lectured him as * a dangerous ruffian,’ sentenced him to a month’s hard labour, and ordered him to pay for the damaged uniforms. Bat in the Seattle and confasion one of the inmates of * the shearing shed' had been overlooked, and next morning when the sweeper went to pick up the flotsam and jetsam, he found a corpse. The coroner’s jury fonnd that * Carroty Bill ’ had died of heart disease. No one com-

men ted on the fact that the chief witneoo happened co be the regular medical attendant in * Old Nob’s ’ establishment. As the months wore on the shindy nt * The Shamrock ’ was forgotten, and the remains of * Carroty Bill * were mouldering away in a nameless grave. * Old Nob * had been made a J.P. aa a reward for political services in the last election. The dunce room and its adjuncts still flourished, and * The Shearing Shed * was always full. But * The Shamrock ’ had a new doctor, the other man having kicked out in a howling fib of delirium tremens. One night a red-haired stranger reeled up to the bar. His clothes were stained with the colour of day, and his nose with the delicate pnrple and pink of rum and tobacco and bluestone. He propped himself up against the counter, fumbled in his pockets, produced a roll of bank notes, and peeling off a fiver from the outside flung it on the bar with the recklessness of a mad millionaire. * Washy er poison, boys ? Give it a name,’ he stammered in a voiee hnsky with beery emotion. * Old Nob ’ and the presiding Hebe exchanged significant glances. The red-haired man seemed to be afflicted with an nnqnencbable fiery thirst. Whisky after whisky vanished with the rapidity of sleight of hand. * The hardest case, I ever see,’ whispered the barmaid confidentially to * Flash Ned.’ Even • Old Nob' could not repress a feeling of admiration mingled with fear lest this man with the cast iron throat should escape bis benevolent designs. The man reeled round, clutched the counter, and collapsed over it with his head in a pool of beer. With tender solicitude * Old Nob ’ and the chncker-out led him to the * Shearing Shed ' and laid him on a couch. Left to himself he buried his face in the cushion and sniggered. Four men came in and played euchre at a pound a corner, and the slnmberer set up a stentorians snore.

* Poor he’ll lose his stuff,' said one of the gamblers, *,pub your Hanky ace on that.’

* What the Hanky Hades is that to us J* said another, * play to the left bower.’ * Euchre !’ shouted a third, flopping down the joker with a How that threatened to split the table. * Halloa I There’s “ The Sultan’s Waltz,”' exclaimed the fourth. * I’m down for this dance with Milly Smith.’ As the four men left the room the redhaired man rolled over, opened his eyes and

glanced towards the door. But he shut them again with a snap and resumed his stentorians breathing as he caught a glimpse of a pink dress. The girl entered on tiptoe, listened attentively for a moment, and signalled to someone outside. Then the evil covetous face of * Old Nob ’ peered in. * Quick !’ said the old rascal in a husky whisper, and in the twinkling ot an eye her long slender fingers abstracted the roll of notes. The man never stirred. For hours be slumbered on. Fresh victims were gently deposited on the other couches. One rolled in a heap on the floor and vomited like a dog. The red-haired man staggered to bis feet, and reeled out into the Hack night. A hundred yards away he straightened himself and walked erect.

* Old Nob' is a man of business-like habits. Punctually at half-past ten o'clock next morning he deposited his takings of the previous day at the local branch of the Bank of New South Wales. The receiving teller wasnnnsuallychatty. As he leisurely counted the large roll of notes he commented on the leading items of news in the Miners’ Advocate. * Old Nob * was so charmed with the yonng gentleman's affability, that he was unaware of the entrance of a tall, neatlydreesed man, who stood looking over his shoulder. The clerk nodded to the newcomer, and the old man turned round. There was something in the man’s appearance that caused the publican’s face to blanch with the paleness of death and his limbs to tremble as if palsied with sudden terror. The hair was black instead of red, and the hue of the face had changed to a deep bronze, but the features could not be mistaken. * I want you for passing counterfeit bank notes,' said the man, clapping his hand on * Old Nob’s ’ shoulder. * Who are you ?' cried the astonished publican. * A detective from Sydney, and allow me to present my eard,’ replied the officer. * By God if they’re counterfeit,’ hissed the wretch, completely off his guard, * I got them from you, you devil !* * Once too often,’ rejoined the smiling detective. * You know you went through me six months ago. But I’ve picked up a few wrinkles in the police since then, and now its my innings. I’m not going to shop you for that old affair. You’ll get a bigger dose for this. Come alongquietly, old chap, or I’ll have to slip the bracelets on.’ Five years hard labour was the penalty. A year or two later an unfortunate woman was consigned to a lunatic asylum. In her paroxysms of madness she raved of dark deeds of poisoning and murder. During a brief lucid interval before her death she confessed to a female warder that while a barmaid at * The Shamrock ’ in * Dead Man’s Gully ’ she had hoeussed a man to death. She said her hand trembled and she put in an overdose of the stuff. This is a true story, but the names and places have been disguised. The chief actors in the tragedy have long ago followed their victim.

C. O Montrose.