 CHAPTER 36 When we found that by making darts and playing hide-and-seek with the police in this way we could ride about the country more comfortable like, we took matters easier. Once or twice we tried it on by night and had a bit of a lark at Jonathan's, which was a change after having to keep dark so long. We'd rode up there after dark one night and made ourselves pretty snug for the evening when Bella Barnes asked us if we'd dropped across Moran and his mob that day. No, says I, didn't know they were about this part, why weren't they at Moncton's the day before yesterday? Ah, but they came back last night, past the house today going towards Mr. Whitman's at Darjalak. I don't know, but I expect they're going to play up a bit there, because of his following them up that time the police nearly got Moran. What makes you think that? They're only going for what they can get, perhaps the riding-horses, and any loose cash that's knocking about. Billy the boy was here for a bit, says Maddie, I don't like that young brat, he'll turn out bad, you take my word for it, but he said Moran knew Mr. Whitman was away at Castle Ray station, and was going to make it a warning to them all. Well, it's too bad, said Bella, there's no one there but Mrs. Whitman and the young ladies, it's real cowardly, I call it, to frighten a parcel of women, but that Moran's a brute, and hasn't the feelings of a man about him. We must ride over, boys, says Starlight, yawning and stretching himself. I was looking forward to a pleasant evening here, but it seems to me we ought to have a say in this matter. Whitman's gone a trifle fast and been hard on us, but he's a gentleman, and goes straight for what he considers his duty. I don't blame him. If these fellows are half drunk they'll burn the place down, I shouldn't wonder, and play hell's delight. And Miss Falkland's up there too, staying with the young ladies, says Maddie. Why, Jim, what's up with you? I thought you wasn't taking notice. Come along, Dick, says Jim, quite horse-like, making one jump to the door. Dash it, man, what's the use of us wasting time drawing here? Bye, if there's a hair of her head touched our break Moran's neck and shoot the lot of them down like craze. Goodbye, girls, I said, there's no time to lose. Starlight made a bow, polite to the last, and passed out. Jim was on his horse as we got to the stable door. Warrigal fetched Starlight, and in half a minute, Jim and he were off together along the road full split, and I had as much as I could do to catch them up within the next mile. It wasn't twenty miles to Whitman's place, Darjaluk, but the road was good, and we did it in an hour and twenty minutes or thereabouts. I know Starlight lit a match and looked at his watch when we got near the front gate. We could see nothing particular about the house, the lights shone out of the windows, and we heard the piano going. Seems all right, says Starlight. Wonder if they came after all? They'll think we want to stick the place up if we ride up to the whole door. Get off and look out tracks, Warrigal. Warrigal dismounted, lit a couple of matches, and put his head down close to the soft turf, as if he was going to smell it. Wear tracks, says Starlight. There, says Warrigal, pointing to something we couldn't see if we'd looked for a month. Been gone that way. That one track Moran's horse. I know him. Turn foot in, lick it, cow. Four more track follow up. Why, they're in the house now, the infernal scoundrel, says Starlight. You stay here with the horses, Warrigal. We'll walk up. If you hear shooting, tie them to the fence and run in. We walked up very quiet to the house. We'd all been there before, and knew where the front parlor was, over the lawn and two flower beds, and then up to the big bow window. The others stood under an old white cedar tree that shadowed all round. I looked in, and by George my face burned, cold as it was. There was Moran lying back in an armchair, with a glass of grog in his hand, taking it easy and making himself quite at home. Burke and Daley were sitting in two chairs near the table, looking a long way from comfortable, but they had a couple of bottles of brandy on the table, and glasses, and were filling up. They'd had quite as much as was good for them. The eldest, Miss Whitman, was sitting at the piano, playing away, tune after tune, while her eyes were wondering about and her lips trembling, and every now and then she'd flush up all over her face. Then she'd turn as white as a sheet, and look as if she'd fall off the stool. The youngest daughter was on her knees by her, on the other side, with her head in her lap. Every now and then I could hear a sob come from her, but Stifled like as if she'd tried to choke it back as much as she could. Burke and Daley had their pistols on the table, among the bottles, though what they wanted them there for I couldn't see, and Moran had stuck his on the back of the piano, that showed me he was close up drunk, for he was a man as never hardly let go of his revolver. Mrs. Whitman was sitting crouched up in a chair behind her daughter, with a stony face, looking as if the end of the world was come. I hardly knew her again, she was a very kind woman, too, many a glass of grog she'd given me at shearing time, and medicine, too, once I was sick there with influenza. But Miss Falkland, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She was sitting on the sofa against the wall, quite upright, with her hands before her, and her eyes looking half proudly, half miserable, around the room. You couldn't hardly tell she was frightened, except by a kind of twitching of her neck and shoulders. Presently, Moran, who was more than half-boosed as it was, and kept on drinking, calls out to Miss Whitman to sing a song. Come, Miss Polly, says he, you can sing away fast enough for your dashed old father, and some of them swells from Bathurst. By George, you must tune your pipe a bit this time for Dan Moran. The poor girl said she couldn't sing just then, but she'd play as much as he liked. You'd better sing now, he draws out, unless you want me to come and make you, I know you girls once coaxing sometimes. Poor Miss Mary breaks out at once into some kind of a song, the pitifulest music ever you listen to. Only I wanted to wait a bit, so as to come in right once for all, I'd have gone at him, hammering tongs at very minute. Before this time, Burke and Daley were going in steady at the brandy, finished one bottle and tackled another. They began to get noisy and talked a lot, and sung a kind of chorus to Miss Mary's song. After the song was over, Moran swore he'd have another one. She'd never sing for him any more, he said, unless she took a fancy to him, and went back to the Wedden Mountains with them. It ain't a bad name for a mountain, is it, Miss, says he, grinning, then, fixing his black snake-eyes on her, he poured out about half a tumbler of brandy and drank it off. By Gummy says, I must have a dance, blessed if I don't. First chop music, good room this, three gals, and the misses, course we must. I'm regular shook on the polka. You play us a good and polly, or whatever your name is. Dan Moran's going to enjoy himself this night if he never sees another. Come on, Burke, Patsy, stand up, you blamed fool. Here goes for my partner. Come Moran, says Burke, none of your larks, we're very jolly, and the young ladies ain't on for a hop, are you miss? And he looked over at the youngest Miss Whitman, who stared at him for a moment, and then hid her face in her hands. Are you going to play as I told you, says Moran, do you think you know when you well off? The tone of voice he said this in, and the look, seemed to frighten the poor girl, so that she started an old-style polka there and then, which made him bang his heels on the floor, and spin round, as if he'd been at a dance house. As soon as he'd done two or three turns, he walks over to the sofa, and sits down close to Miss Folkland, and put his arm round her waist. Come, Fanny Folkland, says he, or whatever they call you, you're so dashed-proud you won't speak to a bush-cove at all. You can go home by and by, and tell your father that you had a twirl round with Dan Moran, and help to make the evening past pleasant at Darjelek, afore it was burned. Anything like the disgust, misery, and rage mixed up that came into Miss Folkland's face all in a moment and together like I never saw. She made no sound, but her face grew paler and paler. She turned white to the lips, as trembled and worked in spite of her. She struggled fierce and wild for nigh a solid minute to clear herself from him, while her beautiful eyes moved about like I've seen a wild animal caught in a trap. Then when she felt her strength wasn't no account against his, she gave one piercing, terrible scream, so long and unnatural like in the tone of it that it curdled my very blood. I lifted up the window sash quick and jumped in, but before I made two steps, Jim sprang past me and raised his pistol. Drop her, he shouts to Moran, you hound. Leave go, Miss Folkland, or by the living god I'll blow your head off, Dan Moran, before you can lift your hand. How dare you touch her, you cowardly dog! Moran was that stunned at seeing us show up so sudden that he was a good bit took off his guard, cool card as he was in a general way. Besides he'd left his revolver on the piano close by the armchair, where his grog was. Burke and Daley were no better off. They found Starlight and Morrigal covering them with their pistols, so that they'd have been shot down before they could so much as reach for their tools. But Jim couldn't wait, and just as Moran was rising on his feet, feeling for the revolver that wasn't in his belt, and that I never heard of his being without but that once, he jumps at him like a walleroo, and catching him by the collar and waist belt, lifts him clean off his feet as if he'd been a child, and brings him again the corner of the wall with all his full strength. I thought his brains was knocked out, dashed if I didn't. I heard Moran's head sound against the stone wall with a dull sort of thud, and on the floor he drops like a dead man, never made a kick. By George we all thought he had killed him. Stash that now, says Burke, don't touch him again, Jim Marston. He's got as much as we'll do him for a bit, and I don't say it, don't serve him right. I don't hold with being rough to women. It ain't manly, and we've got wives and kids of our own. Then why the devil didn't you stop it, says Starlight? You deserve the same source, you and daily, for sitting there like a couple of children, and letting that ruffian torment these helpless ladies. If you fellows go on sticking up on your own account, and I hear a whisper of your behaving yourselves like brutes, I'll turn policemen myself for the pleasure of running you in. Now mind that, you and daily, too. Where's Wall and Hulbert? They went to yard the horses. That's fair game, and all in the day's work. I don't care what you take or whom you shoot for that matter, as long as it's all in fair fight, but I'll have none of this sort of work if I'm to be captain, and you're all sworn to obey me, mind that. I'll have to shoot a man yet, I see, as I've done before now, before I can get attended to. That brutes coming too, lift him up, and clear out of this place as soon as you can, I'll wait behind. They blundered out, taking Moran with them, who seemed quite stupid like, and staggered as he walked. He wasn't himself for a week after, and longer too, and threatened a bit, but he soon saw he'd no show, as all the fellows, even to his own mates, told him he deserved all he got. Old Jim stood up by the fireplace after that, never stirring nor speaking, with his eyes fixed on Miss Folkland, who had got back her colour, and though she panted a bit, and looked raised like, she wasn't much different from what we'd seen her before at the old place. The two Mrs. Whitman, poor girls, were standing up with their arms round one another's necks, and the tears running down their faces like rain. Mrs. Whitman was lying back in her chair with her hands over her face, crying to herself quiet and easy, and wringing her hands. Then Starlight moved forward, and bowed to the ladies, as if he was just coming into a ballroom, like I saw him once at a swell ball they gave for the hospital at Turon. Permit me to apologise, Mrs. Whitman, and to you, my dear young ladies, for the rudeness of one of my men, whom I unhappily was not able to restrain. I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Whitman, and I hope you will express my regret that I was not in time to save you from the great annoyance to which you have been subjected. Oh, I shall be grateful all my life to you, and so I am sure will Mr. Whitman when he returns, and oh, Sir Ferdinand, if you and these two good young men, who, I suppose, are policemen in plain clothes, had not come in, goodness only knows what would have become of us. I am afraid you are laboring under some mistake, my dear madam. I have not the honour to be Sir Ferdinand Moringer or any other baronet at present, but I assure you I feel the compliment intensely. I am sure my good friends here, James and Richard Maston, do equally. Here the Mrs. Whitman, in spite of all their terror and anxiety, was so tickled by the idea of their mother mistaking Starlight and the Mastons for Sir Ferdinand and his troopers, that they began to laugh, not but what they were sober enough in another minute. Ms. Folkland got up then, and walked forward, looking just the way her father used to do. She spoke to Starlight first. I have never seen you before, but I have often heard of you, Captain Starlight, if you will allow me to address you by that title. Believe me when I say that by your conduct tonight you have won our deepest gratitude, more than that our respect and regard. Whatever may be your future career, whatever the fate that your wild life may end in, always believe there are those who will think of you, pray for you, rejoice in your escapes, and sorrow sincerely for your doom. I can answer for myself, and I am sure for my cousins also. Here the Mrs. Whitman said, Yes indeed we will, to our life's end. Then she turned to Jim, who still stood there looking at her with his big grey eyes, that had got ever so much darker lately. To you, poor old Jim, she said, and she took hold of his brown hand and held it in her own. I am more sorry than I can tell to hear all I have done about you and Dick, too. This is the second time you have saved me, and I am not the girl to forget it, if I could only show my gratitude. Is there any way? There's Jeannie, just them two words, he said. Your wife? Oh, yes, I heard about her. Looking at him so kind and gentle, like, I saw it all in the papers. She's in Melbourne, isn't she? What is her address? Esplanade Hotel St. Kilda, says Jim, taking a small bit of a letter out of his pocket. Very well, Jim, I have a friend who lives near it. She will find her out and do all for her that can be done. But why don't all of you contrive to get away somehow from this hateful life, and not bring ruin and destruction on the heads of all who love you? Say you will try for their sake, for my sake. It's too late, Miss Folkland, I said. We're all thankful to you for the way you've spoken. Jim and I would be proud to shed our blood for you any time, or Mr. Folkland, either. We'll do what we can, but we'll have to fight it out to the end now, and take our chance of the bullet coming before the rape. Good night, Miss Folkland, and good luck to you always. She shook hands heartily with me and Jim, but when she came to Starlight he raised her hand quite respectful like, and just touched it with his lips. Then he bowed low to them all and walked slowly out. When we got to the public house, which wasn't far off, we found that Moran and the other two had stayed there a bit, till Wall and Hulbert came, then they had a drink all round and rode away. The publican said Moran was in an awful temper, and he was afraid he'd have shot somebody before the others got him started and clear of the place. It's a mercy you went over, Captain, says he, that'd have been the devil to pay else—he swore he'd burn the place down before he went from here. He'll get caught one of these fine days, says Starlight. There's more risk at one station than half a dozen roadscrimages, and that he'll find clever as he thinks himself. Where's Mr. Whitman Jack, says I, to the landlord. He wasn't a bad sort, old Jack Jones. What made him leave his place to the mercy of the world, in a manner of speaking? Well, it was this way. He heard that all the shepherds at the lower station had cut it to the diggings, you see, so he thought he'd make a dart up to the castle ray and wriggle the place a bit. He'll be back a full morning. How do you know that? Well, he's ridin' that famous row in Poneyer, his, and he always comes back from the station in one day, though he takes two to go, eighty-five miles every yard of it. It's a big day, but that Poneyer rummin' and can jump his own height easy. He'll be welcome home to-night. I dare say he will, and no wonder, the Mrs. must have been awful frightened and the young ladies, too. Good night, Jack, and we rattled off. It wasn't so very late after all when we got back to Jonathan's, so as the horses wanted a bit of a rest and a feed, we roused up the girls and had supper—a very jolly one it was, my word. They were full of curiosity, you bet, to know how we got on when they heard Moran was there and the others, so bit by bit they picked it out of us. When they heard it all, Maddie got up and threw her arms around Jim's neck. I may kiss you now you're married, she says, and I know there's only one woman in the world for you, but you deserve one from every woman in the country for smashing that wretch Moran. It's a pity you didn't break his neck. Never mind, old man, Miss Falkland won't forget you for that. You take my word. I'm proud of you that I am." Jim just sat there and let her talk to him. He smiled in a serious kind of way when she ran over to him first, but instead of a good-looking girl, it might have been his grandmother for all he seemed to care. You're a regular old image, Jim, says she. I hope none of my other friends will get married if it knocks all the go-out of them, same as it has from you. However, you can stand up for a friend, can't you? You wouldn't see me trod upon. Do you think you would now? I'd stand up for you, I know, if you was bested anywhere." My dear Maddie, says Starlight, James is in that particular stage of infatuation when a man only sees one woman in the whole world. I envy him, I assure you. When your day comes you will understand much of what puzzles you at present. I suppose, oh, said Maddie, going back to her seat with a wandering queer kind of look, but it must be dreadful dull being shut in for weeks and weeks in one place, perhaps, and with only one man. I have heard it asserted, he says, that a slight flavour of monotony occasionally assails the honeymoon. Variety is the salt of life, I begin to think. Some of these fine days, Maddie, will both get married and compare notes. You'll have to look out then, says Bella. All the girls about here are getting snapped up quick. There's such a lot of young bankers, government officers, and swells of all sorts about the diggings now, not to reckon the golden home men, that we girls have doubled the pull we had before the gold, why there was my old schoolmate Clara Mason was married last week to such a fine young chap, a surveyor. She'd only known him six weeks. Well, I'll come and dance at your wedding if you'll send me an invite, says Starlight. Will you, though, she said, wouldn't it be fun, unless Sir Ferdinand was there? He's a great friend of mine, you know. I'll come if his Satanic Majesty himself was present. He occasionally does attend a wedding, I've heard, and bring you a present, too, Bella. Mind it's a bargain. There's my hand on it, says she. I wonder how you'll manage it, but I'll leave that to you. It mightn't be so long, either. And now it's time for us all to go to bed. Jim's asleep, I believe, this half hour. CHAPTER 37 This bit of Barney, of course, made bad blood betwixt us and Morrin's mob, so for a spell Starlight and Father thought it handier for us to go our own road and let them go theirs. We never could agree with chaps like them, and that was the long and short of it. They were a deal too rough and ready for Starlight, and as for Jim and me, though we were none too good, we couldn't do some of the things these coves was up to, nor stand by and seen them done, which was more. This time we made up our mind to go back to the Hollow and drop out of notice altogether for a bit, and take a rest like. We hadn't hurt anything of Eileen and the old mother for weeks and weeks, so we fixed it that we should sneak over to Rocky Flat one at a time and see how things were going and hearten them up a bit. When we did get to the Hollow, instead of being able to take it easy as we expected, we found things had gone wrong as far as the Devil could send him, that way if he tried his best. It seems Father had taken a restless fit himself, and after we were gone had crossed Nullamountain to some place above Rocky Flat, to where he could see what went on with a strong glass. Before I go further I might as well tell you that, along with the whacking big reward that was offered for all of us, a good many coves, as fancied themselves a bit, had turned amateur policemen and had all kinds of plans and dodges for catching us dead or alive. Now men that take to the bush like us don't mind the regular paid force much nor bear them any malice. It's their duty to catch us or shoot us if we bolt, and ours to take all sorts of good care that they shan't do either if we can help it. Well, as I was saying, we don't have it in for the regulars in the police. It's all fair pullin', pull Devil, pull Baker. Someone has to get the worst of it. Now it's us, now it's them. That gets took or rubbed out and no more about it. But what us cross coves can't stand, and are mostly sure to turn nasty on, is the notion of fellows going into the manhunting trade with us for game, either for the fun of it or for the reward. That reward means that money paid for our blood, we don't like it. It may seem curious, but we don't. And them has take up that line as a game to make money or fun out of, when they've no call to, find out their mistake, sometimes when it's a deal too late. Now we had heard that a party of four men, some of them, had been jail warders and some hadn't, had made it up to follow us up and get us one way or the other, if it was to be done. They weren't in the police, but they thought they knew quite as much as the police did, and besides, the reward five thousand pounds, if they got our lot or any one of the others, was no foolish money. Well nothing would knock it out of these chap's's head that we were safe to be grabbed in the long run trying to make it into the old home. This was what made them gammon to be surveyors when they first came, as we heard about, and go measuring and tape-lining about, when there wasn't a child over eight years old on the whole creek that couldn't have told with half an eye, there wasn't nothing of this sort. While his bad luck would have it, just his father was getting down towards the place he meets Moran and Daley, who were making over to the Fish River on a cattle-duffing lay of their own. They were pretty hard up, and Moran, after his roughened tumble with Jim, in which he had come off second best, was ready for anything, anything that was bad, that is. After he'd a long yarn with them about cattle and horses and what not, he offered them a ten-pound note each if they'd do what he told them. Dad always carried money about with him. He said it came in handy. If the police didn't take him, they wouldn't get it, and if they did take him, why, nothing would matter much, and it might go with the rest. It came in handy enough this time, anyhow, though it helped what had been far better left undone. I remember what a blinded rage father got into when he first had Eileen's letter, and heard that these men were camped close to the old house, poking about there all day long, and worrying and frightening poor Eileen and mother. Well it seems on this particular day that they had been into the little township, and I suppose got an extra glass of grog. Anyhow when they came back they began to be more venturesome than they generally were. One chap came into the house and began talking to Eileen, and after a bit mother goes into her bedroom and Eileen comes out into the veranda and begins to wash some clothes in a tub, splashing the water pretty well about and making it a bit uncomfortable for anyone to come near her. What must this fool do, but begin to talk about what white arms she'd got, not that they were like that much, she had done too much hard work lately to have her arms, or her hands either look very grand. And at last he began to be saucy, telling her, as no Marston girl ought to think so much of herself considering who and what she was. While the end of it was father heard a scream and he looked out from where he was hidden and saw Eileen running down the garden and the fellow after her. He jumps out and fires his revolver slap-bang at the chap. It didn't hit him, but it went that close that he stopped dead and turned round to see who it was. Ben Marston, by all that's lucky boys, says he, as two of the other chaps came running down at the shot. He got the old serpent out of his hole at last. With that they all fires at father, as quick as they could draw, and Eileen gives one scream and starts running along the track up the hill that leads to George Storfield's place. Father drops one of the bullets that hit him, but not so bad as he couldn't run. So he ups again and starts running along the gully, with the whole four of them shouting and swearing after him, making sure they got him to rights this time. Two hundred a man, boys, the big fellow in the lead says, and maybe we'll take tea with the rest of them now. They didn't know the man they were after, or they just as soon had gone to take tea, as they called it, with a tiger. Father put on one of his old poacher dodges that he had borrowed from the lap wing in his own country that he used to tell us about when we were boys. Our wild duck will do just the same, and made himself out a deal worse than he was. Father could run a bit too. He had been fast for a mile when he was young, and though he was old now, he never carried no flesh to signify, and was as hard as nails. So what with knowing the ground, and they being flat countrymen, he kept just out of pistol-shot, and yet showed enough to keep him filled up with the notion that they'd run him down after a bit. They fired a shot every now and then, thinking a chance one might wing him, but this only let mourn and daily see that someone was after Dad, and that the hunt was coming their way. They held steady, where they had been told to stop, and looked out for the men they had been warned of by Father. As he got near this place, he kept letting them get a bit nearer and nearer to them, so as they followed him just where he wanted. It gave them more chance of hitting him, but he didn't care about that. Now his blood was up, not he. All he wanted was to get them. Dad was the coolest old cove when shooting was going on ever I see. You'd think he minded bullets no more than bottle-corks. Well he goes stumbling and dragging himself like up the gully, and they cocksure of getting him, closing up and shooting quicker and quicker, when just as he jumps down the black gully steps a bullet did hit him in the shoulder under the right arm and staggers him in good earnest. He had just time to cut down the bank and turn to the left along the creek channel, throwing himself down on his face among the bushes when the whole four of them jumped down the bank after him. He stands as Moran, and they looked up and saw him and Daly covering them with their revolvers. Before they had time to draw two of them rolls over as dead as doornails. The other two were dumbfounded and knocked all of a heap by suddenly finding themselves face to face with the very men they'd been hunting after for weeks and weeks. They held up their pistols, but they didn't seem to have much notion of using them, particularly when they found that father had rounded on them too and was standing a bit away on the side looking very ugly with his revolver held straight at them. Give in, put down your irons, says Moran, or buy, we'll drop you where you stand. Come on, says one, I think he intended to make a fight for it. He'd have been better off if he had. It couldn't have been worse for him, but the other one didn't see a chance, and so he says, give in, what's the good, there's three to two. All right, says the other chap, the big one, and they put down their pistols. It was curious now, as these two were both men that father and Moran had a down on. They'd better have fought it out as long as they could stand up. There's no good got by giving in that I ever seen. Moran, as does so, always drops in for it worse in the end. First thing, then, they tied him with their hands behind him and let him stand near their mates that were down, dead enough both of them, one shot through the heart, one through the head. Then Moran sits down and has a smoke and looks over at him. You don't remember me, Mr. Hagen, says he, in his drawing way. No, says the poor chap, I don't think I do. But I remember you, devilish well, says Moran. And so you'll find before we leave this. Then he took another smoke. Weren't you the water at Bermia Jail, says he, about seven years ago? Ah, now we're coming to it. You don't remember getting Daniel Moran, a prisoner, serving a long sentence there, seven days solitary and bred in water for what you called disobedience of waters and insolence. Yes, I do remember now, I'd forgotten your face, I was only doing my duty, and I hope you won't bear any malice. It was a little thing to you, maybe, says Moran, but if you had to do seven long days and long cold nights in that devil's den, you'd have thought more about it, but you will now, my turns come. I didn't do it to you more than the rest, I had to keep water in the jail, and devilish hard work it was. Your lyre, says Moran, striking him across the face with his clenched hand. You had it down on me because I wouldn't knuckle down to you, like some of them, and so you dropped it on me every turn you could get. I was a youngster then, and might have grown into a man if I'd been let, but fellows like you are enough to turn any man into a devil if they've got him in their power. While I'm in your power now, says he, let's see how you'll shape. I don't like ye any the worse for being cheeky, says Moran, and standing up to me. But it's too late. That last punishment I got, when I was kept in iron's night and day for a month, because I tried to get out, I swore I'd have your life if I ever came across you. You'll never shoot me in cold blood, says the poor devil, beginning to look blue about the lips. I don't know what old Ben's going to do with the man he found Chevion his daughter, says Moran, looking at him with his deadly, black, snake eyes. But I'm going to shoot you, as soon as I've smoked out this pipe. So don't you make any mistake. I don't mind a shot or two, says Dailey, but I'm dashed if I can stand by, and see men killed in cold blood. You coves have your own reasons, I suppose. But I shall hook it over to Fish River. You know where to find me. And he walked away to where the horses were, and rode off. We got fresh horses, and rode over quick to Rocky Flat. We took Warngull with us, and followed our old track across Nullam Mountain, till we got within a couple of miles of the place. Warngull picked up the old mayor's tracks, so he knew father had made over that way, and there was no call for us to lose time running his trail any longer. Better go straight on to the house, and find out what had happened there. We sent Warngull on ahead, and weighed it with our horses in our hands till he came back to us. In about an hour he comes tearing back, with his eyes staring out of his head. I've been sealed, Missy, he says. She yabber, that one make-believe constable been there, gammon-like at Surveyor, and Bimbee old man Ben got along a hut, and that one policeman fire at him, and all about, and him break back along a gully. Any of them come back, says Jim. Bail, Missy, him tent-dog tied up. Cake along fireplace. All burned the pieces. No come home last night. I believe shot him old man along a gully. Come along, boys, as starlight jumping into his saddle, the old man might have been hit. We must run to tracks, and see what comes of the governor. Four to one's big odds. We skirted the hut, and kept out wide till Warngull cut the tracks, which he did easy enough. We couldn't see a blessed thing. Warngull rode along with his head down, reading every tuft of grass, and every little stone turned up every foot of sand, like a book. Your old father run lickety-black gully to fellow's track here. Bullet this one tree. He pointed to a scratch on the side of a box-tree, in which the rough bark had been shivered. Bimbee, too, fellow-more, come. Another one bullet, another one here, too. This one blood drop on a white leaf. He picked up a dried, dumb leaf, which had on the upper side a dark red spot, slightly irregular. We had it all now. We came to a place where two horses had been tied to a tree. They had been stamping and pawing, as if they had been there a goodish while, and had time to get pretty sick of it. That near-side one, Warngull's horse, Pigeon-toes, may know some, says Warngull. Offside one, Daly's roan horse, new shoes on. You see Hare rub himself along a tree. What the blazes were they doing hereabouts, says Starlight. This begins to look complicated. Whatever the row was, Daly and he were in it. There's no one rich enough to rob hereabouts, is there? I don't like the look of it. Write on, boys. We said nothing to each other, but rode along as fast as Warngull could follow the line. This sky, which was bright enough when we had started, clouded over, and in less than ten minutes the wind rose and rain began to pour down in buckets, with no end of thunder and lightning. Then it got that cold we could hardly sit on our horses for trembling. The sky grew blacker and blacker. The wind began to whistle and cry till I could almost swear I heard someone singing out for help. Nullamountain was as black as your hat, and a kind of curious feeling crept over me. I hardly knew why, as if something was going to happen. I didn't know what. I fully expected to find Father dead, and though he wasn't altogether a good father to us, we both felt bad at the notion of his lying there cold and stiff. I began to think of him as he used to be when we were boys, and when he wasn't so out and out hard, and had a kind word for poor mother, and a kiss for little Eileen. But if he were shot or taken, why hadn't these other men come back? We had just ridden by their tents, and they looked as if they'd just been left for a bit by men who were coming back at night. The dog was howling and looked hungry. Their blankets were all thrown about. Anyhow there was a kettle on the fire which was gone out, and more than that there was a damper that Warren Gull had seen lying in the ashes, all burnt to a cinder. Everything looked as if they had gone off in a hurry, and never come back at night or since. One of their horses was tied with a tether-rope close to the tent poles, and he had been walking round and trampling down the grass as if he'd been there all night. We couldn't make it out. We rode on, hardly looking at one another, but following Warren Gull, who rattled on now, hardly looking at the ground at all, like a dog, with a burning scent. All of a sudden he pulls up and points to a dip in a cross gully, like an old river, which we all knew. You see him crow, I believe, along Black Gully. Sure enough, just above the drop-down, where we used to gallop our ponies in old times and laugh to see them throw up their tails, there were half a dozen crows and a couple of eagle-hawks high up in the sky, wheeling and circling over the same place. By George they've got the old man's this gym. Come on, Dick, I never thought poor old Dad would be run down like this. Or he's got them, says Starlight, curling his lip in a way he had. I don't believe your old Governor's dead till I see him. The Devil himself couldn't grab him on his own ground. CHAPTER 38 OF ROBERRY UNDER ARMS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer. ROBERRY UNDER ARMS By Rolf Bolderwood CHAPTER 38 We pulled up at the side of the gully or dry creek, whatever it was, and jumped off our horses, leaving Warngall to look after them, and ran down the rocky sides of it. Great God, Starlight cries out, what's that? And he pointed to a small sloping bit of grass just underneath the bank. Who are they? Can they be asleep? They were asleep, never to wake. As we stood side by side by the dead men, for there were four of them. We shook so. Jim and I, that we leaned against one another for support. We had never seen a sight before that like it. I never want to do so again. There they lay, four dead men. We didn't know them ourselves, but guessed they were Hagen and his lot. How else did they come there? And how could Dad have shot them all by himself and laid them out there? Were Daly and Moran with him? This looked like Moran's damnable work. We looked and looked. I rubbed my eyes. Could it be real? The sky was dark, and the daylight going fast. The mountain hung over us, black and dreadful looking. The wind whimpered up and down the hillside with a sort of cry in it. Everything was dark and dismal, and almost unnatural looking. All four men were lying on their backs side by side, with their eyes staring up to the sky, staring, staring. When we got close beside them, we could see they all had been shot, one man through the head, the rest through the body. The two nearest to me had their hands tied. The bit of rope was lined by one, and his wrist was chafed. One had been so close to the man that shot him, that the powder had burnt his shirt. It wasn't for anything they had, either. For every man's notes, and one, had four fives and some ones, were pinned to the outside of their pockets, as if to show everyone that those who killed them wanted their blood and not their money. This is a terrible affair, boys, as said Starlight, and his voice sounded strange and hoarse. I never thought we should be mixed up with a deed like this. I see how it was done. They have been led into a trap, your father, as made them think they could catch him, and had Daley and Moran waiting for them, one on each side of this hole here. Warngall, Freya tied up his horse and crept up. How many been here? Warngall held up three fingers. That one ran down here, one after one. I see him boot. Moran stand here. Patsy Daley, lie down behind that old log. All about bootnail, Mark. Old man Ben, he stand here. Dog bite him this one. He stooped and touched a dead man's ankle. Sure enough, there was the mark of crib's teeth, with the front one missing that had been kicked down his throat by a wild mare. Two fellow tumbled down first like, then two fellow bimby. One, two, three. Fellow track go along a flat that way. Then one gets two horses, and ride him lick fish river. Plenty blood tumble down here. This was the siphering up of the whole thing. It was clear enough now. Moran and Daley had waited for them here, and it shot down the first two men. Of the others it was hard to say whether they died in fair fight or had been taken prisoners and shot afterwards. Either way it was bad enough. What a noise it would make. The idea of four men, well known to the government, and engaged in hunting down outlaws on whose head, a price was set, to be deliberately shot, murdered in cold blood, as there was some ground for thinking to be the case. What would be the end of it all? We had done things that were bad enough, but a deliberate cold blood at shameful piece of bloodshed like this had never been heard of in New South Wales before. There was nothing more to be done. We couldn't stay any longer looking at the dead men. It was no use in burying them, even if we had the time. We hadn't done it, though we should be sure to be mixed up with it somehow. We must be moving, lads, said Starlight. As soon as this gets wind, there'll be another rush out this way, and every policeman and newspaper reporter in the country will be up at Black Gully. When they're found, everybody will see that they've been killed for vengeance and not for plunder. But the sooner they're found, the better. Best to send word to Billy the boy, I said, he'll manage to lay them on without hurting himself. All right, Warren Gull knows a way of communicating with him. I'll send him off at once, and now the sooner we're at the hollow, the better for everybody. We rode all night. Anything was better than stopping, still with such thoughts as we were likely to have for companions. About daylight we got to the hollow, not far from the cave we found father's old mare, with the saddle on and the reins trailing on the ground. There was a lot of blood on the saddle, too, and the reins were smeared all about with it. Red they were, to the buckles, so was her mane. We knew then something was wrong, and that the old man was hard hit, or he'd never have let her go loose like that. When we got to the cave the dog came out to meet us, and then walked back, whining in a queer way, towards the log at the mouth, where we used to sit in the evenings. There was father, sure enough, lying on his face in a pool of blood, and to all appearances as dead as the men we just left. We lifted him up, and starlight looked close and careful at him, by the light of the dawn that was just showing up over the treetops to the east. He's not dead, I can feel his heart beat, he said. Carry him in, boys, and we'll soon see what's the matter with him. We took his waistcoat and shirt off, a coat he never wore, unless it was raining. Hard work we had to do it. They were so stuck to his skin where the blood had dried. By gum he's been hit bad enough, says Jim. Look here and here, poor old dad. There's not much poor about it, Jim, says starlight. Men that play at bowls must expect to get rubbers. They've come off second best in this row, and I wish it had been different for several reasons. Dad was hit right through the top of the left shoulder. The ball had gone through the muscle and lodged somewhere. We couldn't see anything of it. Another bullet had gone right through him, as far as we could make out, under the breast on the right hand side. That looks like a good-bye shot, says starlight. See how the blood comes welling out still. But it hasn't touched the lungs. There's no blood on his lips, and his breathing is all right. What's this? Only through the muscle of the right arm? That's nothing. And this graze on his ribs, a mirror scratch. Dash more water in his face, Jim, he's coming too. After a few minutes he did come to, sure enough, and looked round when he found himself in bed. Where am I, says he. You're at home, I said, in the hollow. Dashed if I ever thought I'd get here, he says. I was that bad. I nearly tumbled off the old mare, miles away. She must have carried me in while I was unsensible. I don't remember nothing after we began to get down the track into the hollow. Where is she? Oh, we found her near the cave, with a saddle and bridal on. That's all right. Bring me a taste of grog, will you? I'm most dead with thirst. Where did I come from last, I wonder. Oh, I seem to know now. Then accounts with that dog that insulted my gal. Moran got square with the other. That'll earn him to leave old Ben Marston alone when he's not meddling with them. Never mind talking about that now, I said. You had a near shave of it, and it will take you all your time to pull through now. I wasn't it bad till just as I was going to drop down in the black gully, he said. I stood one minute, and that cursed Wretch Hagen had a steady shot at me. I had one at him afterwards, though, with his hands tied, too. God forgive you, says Jim, for shooting men in cold blood. I couldn't do it for all the gold and turran, nor for no other reason. It'll bring us bad luck, too. See if it don't. You're too soft, Jim, says the old man. You ain't a bad chap. But any young fella of ten years old can buy and sell you. Where's the brandy in water? Here it is, says Jim, and then you lie down and take a sleep. You'll have to be quiet and obey orders now. That is, if a few more years life's any good to you. The brandy in water fetched him to pretty well. But after that he began to talk, and we couldn't stop him. Toward the night he got worse and worse, and his head got hotter, and he kept on with all kinds of nonsense, screeching out that he was going to be hung, and they were waiting to take him away. But if he could get the old mayor, he'd be all right, besides a lot of mixed up things about cattle and horses that we didn't know the right of. Starlight said he was delirious, and that if he hadn't someone to nurse him, he'd die as sure as fate. We couldn't always be staying with him, and didn't understand what was to be done much. We didn't like to let him lie there and die, so at long last we made up our minds to see if we could get Eileen over to nurse him for a few weeks. Well we scribbled up a bit of a letter and set Waringall off with it. Wasn't it dangerous for him? Not a bit of it. He could go anywhere, all over the whole country, and no trooper of them all could manage to put the bracelets on him. The way he'd work it would be to leave his horse a good way the other side of George store fields, and to make up as a regular black fellow. He could do that first rate and talk their lingo too, just like one of themselves. Jinn or black fellow it was all the same to Waringall. He could make himself as black as soot and go barefooted with a blanket or possums rug round him and beg for sycopens, and nobody ever bowled him out. He took us in once at the diggins. Jinn chucked him a shilling and told him to go away and not come bothering near us. So away Waringall went and we knew he'd get through somehow. He was one of those chaps that always does what they're told and never comes back and says they can't do it, or they've lost their horse, or can't find the way, or they've changed their mind or something. No once he started there was no fear of him not scoring somehow or other. Whatever Starlight told him to do day or night, foul weather or fare, afoot or on horseback, that thing was done if Waringall was alive to do it. What we'd written to Eileen was, telling her, that Father was that bad we hardly thought he'd pull through, and that if she wanted to save his life she must come to the hollow and nurse him. How to get her over was not the easiest thing in the world, but she could ride away on her old pony without anybody thinking, but she was going to fetch up the cows and then cut straight up the gully to the old yard in the scrub on Nulla Mountain. One of us would meet her there with a fresh horse and bring her safe into the hollow. If all went well she would be there in the afternoon on a certain day. Anyhow we'd be there to meet her, come or no come. She wouldn't fail us, we were dead sure. She had suffered a lot by him and us too, but like most women the very moment anything happened to any of us, even the dad, everything flew out of her head except that we were sick or sorry and wanted her help. Help of course, wasn't she willing to give that, and her rest and comfort, health, even life itself, to wear herself out hand and foot for any one of her own family? So poor Eileen made her way up all alone to the old scrub stockyard. Eileen and I had ridden up to it pretty early. He wouldn't stop behind with a nice well-bred little horse that had shown a bit at country races for her to ride on. We waited there a goodish while, we lying down and our horses hung up not far off for fear we might be jumped by the police at any time. At last we seized the old pony's head, coming bobbing along through the scrub along the worn-out cattle-track, grown up as it was, and sure enough there was Eileen on him, with her gray riding skirt and an old felt hat on. She'd nothing with her. She was afraid to bring a hearth-port of clothes or anything, for fear they should any of them tumble that she was going a long way and perhaps follow her up. So she had the hand over that to Warngall and trust to him to bring it on some way or other. We saw her before she saw us, and Jim gave a whistle just as he used to do when he was coming home late at night. She knew it at once, and a smile for a minute came over her pale face, such a sad sort of one it was, too, as if she was wondering at herself that she could feel that pleased at anything. Whatever thoughts was in her mind, she roused up the old pony and came toward us, quick as soon as she catches sight of us. In two seconds Jim had lifted her down in his strong arms and was holding her off the ground and hugging her as if she had been a child. How the tears ran down her cheek. Through all the time she was kissing him with her arms round his neck and me, too, when I came up, just as if we were boys and girls again. After a bit she wiped her eyes and said, "'Housefather!' Very bad I said, off his head and raving. It'll be a close thing with him. Here's your horse now, and a good one, too. We must let the old pony go. He'll make home fast enough.' She patted his neck and we turned him loose. He slewed round and went away steady, picking a bit as he went. He'd be home next day easy enough, and nobody the wiser where he'd been to. We brought a bit to eat and a glass of wine for the girl in case she was faint. But she wouldn't take anything but a crust of bread and a drink of water. There was a spring that ran all year round near the cattle-yard, and off we went. Her lieutenant, holding his head up, and showing himself off, he didn't get such a rider on his back every day. What a dear horse, she said, and she pulled him together a bit like, and settled herself fair and square in the saddle. Oh, how I could enjoy all this, if—if—oh, my God, shall we ever know a moment's peace and happiness in this world again? Or are we always to be sunk in wretchedness and misery as long as we live? We didn't lose much time after that, you be sure. Up and down, thick and open, rough or smooth, we made the pace good, and Eileen gave us all we knew to keep ahead of her. We had a good light when we got to the drop-down into the hollow. The sun was just setting, and if we'd had time or thought to give to the looks of things, no doubt it was a grand sight. All the hollow was lighted up, and looked like a green sea with islands of trees in it. The rock towers on the other side of the range were shining and glittering, like as if they were made of crystallized quartz or diamonds, red and white. There was sort of a mist creeping up the valley at the lower end, under the mountain that began to soften the fire-colors and mix them up like. Even the mountain that mostly looked black and dreary, frowning at our ways, was of purple and gold, with pale shadows of green and gray. Eileen pulled up as we did, and jumped off our horses. So, this is the hollow, she said, half talking to herself, that I've heard and thought so much about. What a lovely, lovely place. Finally it ought to have a different effect on the people that lived here. Better come off, Ali, and lead your horse down here, says Jim. Unless you want to ride down like Starlight did the first time we saw him. Starlight, is he here, she said, in a surprised sort of way? I never thought of that. Of course he is. Where else should he be? Why don't you lead on, Dick? Since you get off, it's not altogether safe, I said, though Lieutenants all write on his old pins. Safe, she said, with a bitter sort of laugh. What does it matter if a Marston girl does break her neck, or her heart, either? She never said another word, but sat upright, with a set face on her, as the old horse picked his way down after ours, and except when he put his foot on a rolling stone, never made a slip or a stumble all the way down, though it was like going down the side of a house. When we got to the valley, we put on a spurt to the cave, and found Waringall sitting on the log in front of us. He'd got home first, of course, and there was Eileen's bundle, a bigish one, too, alongside of him. We could hear father raving and screaming out inside Dreadful. Starlight wasn't in eye-hand anywhere. He had walked off when Waringall came home, and left him to watch the old man. He'd been like that all the time, Waringall? No, captain says, big one's sleep. He'd give him medicine-like, then wake up, and go on like that. I believe him bad along a cobra. Eileen had jumped off her horse, and got into the old man the moment we came up, and she heard his voice. All that long night we could hear him talking to himself, groaning, cursing, shouting, arguing. It was wonderful how a man who talked so little as father could have had so many thoughts in his mind. But then they are all boxed up together in every man's heart. At a time like this they come racing and tumbling out like a flock of sheep out of a yard when the hurdle's down. What a dashed queer thing human nature is when you come to think of it, that a man should be able to keep his tongue quiet and shut the door on all the sounds and images and wishes that go racing about inside of his mind like wild horses in a paddock. One day he'll be smiling insensible, looking so honest all the time. Next day a knock on the head, or a little bane goes crack in the brain, as the doctor told me. Then the rails are down and everything comes out with a rush into the light of day, right and wrong, foul and fair, station brands and clear skins, it don't make no difference. Father was one of the closest men that ever lived. He never told us much about his old life at home or after he came out here. Now he was letting things drop here and there that helped us to a few secrets he never told to no man. They made poor Eileen a bit more miserable than she had been before. If that was possible, but it didn't matter much to us. We were pretty tired ourselves that night, and so we got Eileen all she wanted and left her alone with him. While we were away to meet her, someone had taken the trouble to put up a bit of a partition separating that part of the cave from the other. It was built up of stone. There was plenty about, and not so roughly done, either. It made Eileen feel a lot more comfortable. Of course there was only one man who could have done it, and that was Starlight. CHAPTER XXXIXIX of robbery under arms. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer. Libri Under Arms by Rolf Boldrewood CHAPTER XXXIX Towards morning father went into a heavy sleep. He didn't wake till the afternoon. Poor Eileen was able to get a dose and change her dress. After breakfast, while we were having a bit of a chat, in walks Starlight. He bowed to Eileen, quite respectful, as he always did to a woman, and then shook hands with her. Come to the hollow, Miss Marston, he said. I can't say how charmed I am in one sense, though I regret the necessity which brought you here. I'm glad to come, and only for poor fathers being so bad I could delight in the life here. How do you find your father? He is asleep now, and perhaps the rest will do him good. He may awake free from fever, says Starlight. I took the risk of giving him an opiate before you came, and I think the result has been favourable. Oh, I hope he will be better when he wakes, says Eileen, and that I shall not have to watch through another dreadful night of raving. I can hardly bear it. You must make your brothers take their share. It is not fair to you. Thank you, but I feel as if I couldn't leave him to anybody but myself. He seems so weak now. A little neglect might kill him. Pardon me, Miss Marston. You overrate the danger, depend upon it. Your respected parent will be quite a different man in a week, though it may be a month or more before he is fully recovered. You don't know what a constitution he has. You have given me fresh hope, she said. I feel quite cheered up, that is, and she sighed. If I could be cheerful again about anything. Here she walked into the cave and sat down by Father to watch till he awoke, and we all went out about our daily work, whatever it was, nothing very wonderful I dare say, but it kept us from thinking. Starlight was right. As luck would have it, Father woke up a deal better than when he laid down. The fever had gone away. His head was right again. He began to ask for something to eat, least ways to drink first. But Eileen wouldn't give him any of that, and very little to eat. Starlight had told her what to do, in case he wanted what wasn't good for him. And as she was pretty middling obstinate like himself, she took her own ways. After this he began to get right. It wasn't easy to kill old Dad. He seemed to be put together with wire and whip-cord, not made of flesh and blood like other men. I don't wonder, Old England's done so much and gone so far with her soldiers and sailors, if they was bred like him. It's my notion. If they was caught young, kept well under command, and led by men they respected, a regiment or a man of war's crews like him would knock smoke out of any other thousand men the world could put up. Was the pity, there ain't some better way of keeping him straight than there is. He was weak for a bit, very weak. He had lost a deal of blood, and try how he would, he couldn't stand up long at a time, and he had to give in and lie down in spite of himself. It fretted him a deal, of course. He had never been on his back before, and he couldn't put up with it. Then his temper began to show again, and Eileen had a deal to bear and put up with. We got a few books, and there was the papers, of course, so she used to read to him by the hour. He was very fond of hearing about things, and, like a good many men, that can't read and write, he was clever enough in his own way. When she'd done all the newspapers, they were the old ones, would took care, not to get any fresh ones, for fear she'd see about Hagen and the others. She used to read about battles and sea-fights to him. He cared about them more than anything. And one night, after her reading to him about the Battle of Trafalgar, he turned round to her and says, I ought to have been in that packet, Allie, my girl. I was near going for a sailor once, on board a man of war, too. I tried twice to get away to sea, and that was before I snared my first hair, and something stopped me both times. Once I was fetched back and flogged, and pretty nigh starved. I never did no good afterwards. But it came across to me, many and many a times, that I'd been a different sort of chap, if I'd had my will then. I was always fond of work, and there couldn't be too much fighting for me, so a man of war in those days would have been just a thing to straighten me. That was the best chance I ever had. Well, I don't say, as if I haven't had others, plenty in this country, and good ones, too. But it was too late. I'd got set. When a man's young, that's the time he can be turned right way or wrong. It's none so easy afterwards. He went to sleep then, and Eileen says that was the only time he ever spoke to her in that way. We never heard him talk like that, nor nobody else, I expect. If we could have got some things out of our heads, that was the pleasantest time ever we spent in the Hollow. After Father could be left by himself for a few hours, we got out the horses, and used to take Eileen out for long rides all over the place from one end to the other. It did her good, and we went to every hole and corner in it. She was never tired of looking at the great rock towers, as we used to call them, where the sandstone walls hung over, just like the pictures of castles, till Starlight said, in the evenings you could fancy you saw flags waving and sentinels walking up and down on them. One afternoon we went out to the place where the old hermit had lived, and died. We walked over his old garden, and talked about the box we'd dug up, and all the rest of it. Starlight came with us, and he persuaded Eileen to ride rainbow that day, and, my word, they made a splendid pair. She dressed herself up that afternoon, just a little bit more than common, poor thing, and put a bit of pink ribbon on, and trimmed up her hat, and looked as if she began to see a little more interesting things. It didn't take much to make her look nice, particularly on horseback. Her habit fitted her out and out, and she had the sort of figure that, when a girl can ride well, and you see her swaying, graceful and easy like, to every motion of a spirited horse, makes you think her handsome more than any woman can look on the ground. We rode pretty fast always, and it brought a bit of color to her face. The old horse got pulling and prancing a bit, though he was at fine tempered he'd carry a child almost, and Jim and I thought we hadn't seen her look like herself before this for years past. It was a beautiful warm evening, though summer was over, and we were getting into the cold nights and sharp mornings again, just before the regular winter weather. There was going to be a change, and there were a few clouds coming up from the northwest, but for all that it had been quite like a spring day. The turf on all the flats in the hollows was splendid in sound. The grass had never been cut up with too heavy stocking, which ruins half the country, I believe, and there was a good thick undergrowth underneath. We had two or three little creeks to cross, and they were pretty full except at the crossing places, and rippled over the stones and sparkled in the sun like the brooks we'd heard tell of in the old country. Everything was so quiet and bright and happy looking that we could hardly fancy we were the men we were, and that all this wild work had been going on outside of the valley that looked so peaceful and innocent. There was starlight riding alongside of Eileen on his second best horse, and she was no commoner either, though she didn't come up to rainbow no nor other horse I ever saw. Getting away in his pleasant, easy-going way, you'd think he hadn't got a thing to trouble him in the world. She, for a wonder, was smiling and seemed to be enjoying herself for one sin away, with the old horse arching his neck and spinning along under her as light as a greyhound and as smooth as oil. It was something like a pleasant ride. I never forgot that evening, and I never shall. We rode up to the ruined hut of a solitary man who had lived there so long and watched the sun go down so often behind the rock-towers from his seat under the big peach tree. What a wonderful thing to think of, Eileen says, and she slipped down off her side-saddle. We dismounted, too, and hung up our horses. Only the think that he was living here before we were born or father came to rocky flat. Oh, if we could have come here when we were little, how we should have enjoyed it. It would have seemed fairyland to us. It always astonishes me, said Starlight, how any human being can consent to live year after year the same life in the same place. I should go mad half a dozen times over. Change and adventure are the very breath of my nostrils. He had the memory of his dead wife to keep him, said Eileen. Her spirit soothed the restless heart that would have wondered far into the wilds again. It may be so, said Starlight dreamily. I have known no such influences, an outlaw eye, by forest laws almost since the days of my boyhood. I shall be so to the day of my death, he added. If I were a man, I should go everywhere, said Eileen. Her eyes sparkling and her face regular lighted up. I have never been anywhere, or seen anything, hardly so much as a church, a soldier, a shop window, or the sea. Begging his pardon for putting him last. But oh, what a splendid thing to be rich. No, not that altogether, but to be able to go wherever you liked, and have enough not to be troubled about money. To be free and have a mind at ease, it doesn't seem so much, said Starlight, talking almost to himself. And yet, how we fools and madmen shut ourselves out of it forever, forever, sometimes by a single act of folly, hardly crime, that comes after. The sun is going down behind the great rock tower, Eileen says, as if she hadn't heard him. Perhaps she didn't. When people have a lot on their minds, they're half their time thinking their own thoughts. How all the lovely colors are fading away. Life seems so much like that, a little brightness, then gray twilight, night, and darkness so soon after. Now and then there's a star you must admit that, Miss Marston, says he, cheerful and pleasant again. He was never down for long at a time. And there's that much abused luminary, the moon. You'll see her before we get home. We're her sworn votaries and worshipers, you know. We had to ride a bit to get home with any kind of light, for we didn't want father to be growling or kicking up a row with warren gal that we had left to look after him. But a few miles didn't matter so much on such a road, and with horses in such buckle as ours. The stars came out after a while, and the sky was that clear, without a cloud in it, that it was a better light to ride by than the moon throws. Tom and I sometimes rode on one side and sometimes the other. But there was old rainbow always in the lead, playing with his bit, and arching his neck, and going with Eileen's light weight on him, as if he could go on all night at the same pace and think nothing of it. And I believe he could. When we got home, dad was grumpy, and wondered what we wanted riding the horses about when there was nothing to do and nothing to see. But warren gal had made him a pot of tea, and he was able to smoke now, so he wasn't so bad after all. We made ourselves pretty comfortable. Eileen said she'd got a good appetite for a wonder, and we sat chatting round the fire and talking away quite like old days till the moon was pretty high. Father didn't get well all at once. He went back twice because he would try to do too much, and wouldn't be said by Starlight or Eileen either when he took a thing into his head. Then he'd have to be nursed and looked after day and night again, just the same as ever. So it took near a month before he was regularly on his pins again, and going about as he did before he was hit. His right arm was a bit stiff, too. It used to pain and make him swear awful now and again. Anyhow, Eileen made us set comfortable and happy while she was there. We didn't care how long he took getting well. Those were out and out the pleasantest days we ever spent in the hollow. The best time almost Jim and I had had since we were boys. Nearly every day we rode out in the afternoon. And there wasn't a hole or corner, a spring or creek inside the walls of the old hollow that we didn't show Eileen. She was that sort of girl. She took an interest in everything. She began to know all the horses in cattle as well as we did ourselves. Rainbow was regular, given up to her, and the old horse after a bit knew her as well as his master. I'd never seen a decent horse that didn't like to have a woman on his back, that is, if she was young and lispsome, and could ride a bit. They seemed to know in sort of a way. I've seen horses that were no chop for a man to ride, and that wouldn't be particular about bucking you off if the least thing started them, but went as quiet as mice with a girl on their backs. So Eileen used to make Rainbow walk and amble his best, so that all the rest of us, when she did it for fun, had to jog. Then she'd jump him over a log or the little trickling deep creeks that ran down to the main water, or she'd pretend to have a race, and go off full gallop, riding him at his best for a quarter of a mile. Then he'd pull up as easy as if he had never gone out of a walk. How strange all this is, she said one day. I feel as if I were living on an island. It's quite like playing at Robinson Caruso. Only there's no sea. We don't seem to be able to get out all the same. It's a happy, peaceful life, too. Why can't we keep on forever like this, and shut out the wicked, sorrowful world altogether? Quite of your opinion, Miss Marston. Why should we ever change, says Starlight. Who was sitting down with the rest of us by the side of our biggest river? We had been fishing all the afternoon and done well. Let us go home no more. I am quite contented. But what about poor Jim? He looks sadder every day. He's fretting for his wife, poor fellow, and I don't wonder. You are one of those natures that never change, Jim, and if you don't get away soon, or see some chance of rejoining her, you will die. How you are to do it, I don't know. I am bound to make a try next month, says Jim. If I don't do something towards it, I shall go mad. You could not do a wiser thing, said Starlight, in one way or a more foolish thing in another. In time, why should we not make the best of the pleasant surroundings with which nature provides us here? Green turf, sparkling water, good sport, and how bright a day. Could we be more favoured by fortune, slippery dame that she is? It is an Australian decameron without the naughty stories. Do you know, sometimes I really think I'm enjoying myself, said Eileen, half to herself. Then I feel that it must be a dream. Such dreadful things are waiting for me, for all of us. Then she shuddered and trembled. She did not know the most dreadful thing of all yet. We had carefully kept it from her. We chanced at not reaching her ears until after she got home safe and had time to grieve over it all by herself. We had a kind of feeling, somehow, that us four might never meet again in the same way or be able to enjoy one another's company for a month without fear of interruption again as long as we lived. So we all made up our minds in spite of the shadow of evil that would crawl up now and then to enjoy each other's company while it lasted and make the best of it. Starlight for all that seemed altered like and every now and then he'd go off with Warringall and stay away from daylight to dark. When he did come he'd sit for hours with his hands before him and never say a word to any one. I saw Eileen watch him when he looked like that. Not that she ever said anything, but pretended to take it as a matter of course. Other times he'd be just as much the other way. He'd read to her and he had a good many books, poetry, and all kinds of things stowed away in that part of the cave he called his own. They'd talk about other countries that he'd been in and the strange people he'd seen, by the hour together while she would sit listening and looking at him, hardly saying a thing, and regular bound up in his words. And he could talk once he said a-going, I never saw a man that could come up to him. Eileen wasn't one of those sort of girls that took a fancy to any good-looking sort of fellow that came across her. Quite the other way. She seemed to think so little about it that Jim and I always used to say she'd be an old maid, and never marry at all. And she used to say she didn't think she ever would. She never seemed to trouble her head about the thing at all. But I always knew that if ever she did set her fancy upon a man and take a liking to him it would not be for a year or two, but forever. Though she had mother's good heart and softness about her, she had a dash of dad's obstinacy in her blood, and once she made up her mind about anything she wasn't easily turned. Jim and I could see clear enough that she was taking the star light, but then so many women had done that, had fallen in love with him, and had to fall out again, as far as we could see. He used to treat them all alike, very kind and respectful, but like a lot of children. What was the use of a wife to him? No, he said once or twice, I can bear my fate, because my blood does not run in the veins of a living soul in Australia. If it were otherwise I could not bear my reflections. As it is, the revolver has more than once nearly been asked to do me last service. Though both Eileen and he seemed to like each other, Jim and I never thought there was anything in it, and let them talk and ride and walk together, just as they pleased. Eileen always had a good word for star light, and seemed to pity him so for having to lead such a life, and because he said he had no hope of ever getting free from it. Then of course there was a mystery about him. No one knew who he'd been, or almost where he had come from, next to nothing about him had ever come out. He was an Englishman, that was certain, but he must have come young to the colony. No one could look at him for a moment and see his pale, proud face, his dark eyes, half scornful, half gloomy, except when he was set up a bit, and then you didn't like to look at them at all, without seeing that he was a gentleman to the tips of his delicate-looking fingers, no matter what he had done or where he'd been. He was rather over-the-middle-size, because he was slight-made. He always looked rather tall than not. He was tremendous strong, too, though he didn't look that, and as active as a cat, though he moved as if walking was too much trouble altogether, and running not to be thought of. We didn't expect it would do either of them much good. How could it, even if they did fall in love with one another, and make it up to get married? But they were both able to take care of themselves, and it was no use interfering with them either. They weren't that sort. Starlight had plenty of money, besides his share of the gold. If we could ever get away from this confound that rock-wall prison, good as it was in some ways, and if he and Eileen and the rest of us could make a clean start of it and get to America, we could live there free and happy yet, in spite of all that had come and gone. Eileen wasn't like to leave poor old mother as long as she wanted her, so it couldn't come off for a year or two at earliest, and many things were sure to happen in the meanwhile. So he let all the talking and walking and riding out in the evenings go on as much as they pleased, and never said anything or seemed to take any notice at all about it. All this time mother was at George store fields. When Eileen ran over that time, he said it wasn't fit for them to live at Rocky Flat by themselves, so he went over that very day, like a good fellow as he was, and brought over the old woman, and made them both stay at his house safe and comfortable. When Eileen said she had to go away to nurse dad, he said he would take care of mother till she came back, and so she'd been there all the time. They knew Mrs. Storefield, George's mother, well in the old times, so they used to sit by the kitchen fire when they wanted to be extra comfortable, and knit stockings, and talk over the good old times to their hearts' content. If it hadn't been for old Mrs. Storefield, I don't expect mother would have contentured herself there. The cottage was so grand. Eileen told us, and Gracie had the dress a bit now. George had kept on making more money in every way he tried it. And of course he began, bit by bit, to live according to his means. He'd bought cattle station on the Lachlan just when gold broke out first, and everybody thought station property was never going to be worth nothing again. Now since cattle had risen, and meat, and all to such a price, he was making money hand over fist. Other than that, as I said before, he'd been made a magistrate, and all the swells began to take notice of him. Not altogether, because he had made money, either. What I call the real swells, as far as I see, won't do that. If they don't care for a man, no matter how much money he's made, they hold shy of him. But if he's a straight-going, good sort of fellow, that has his head screwed on the right way, and don't push himself forward too much, they'll meet him half way, and a very good thing too. We could see George was going upward and out of our lot, beginning to mix with different people, and get different notions. Not but what he was always kind and friendly, in his way to Eileen and mother, and would have been to us if he had ever seen us. But all his new friends were different kind of people, and after a bit Eileen said we'd only be remembered as people he had known when he was young. And soon, when the old lady died, we'd be asked into the kitchen and not into the parlor. Eileen used to laugh when she'd talk like this, and say she'd come and see George when he married a lady, and what fun it would be to remind Gracie of the time they thrashed the oats out together at Rocky Flat. But still, laughin' all, I could see, though she talked that way, it made her feel wretched all the while, because she couldn't help thinking that we ought to have done just as well as George, and might have been my hand as far forward if we'd kept straight, if only we'd kept straight. Ah, there was where the whole mistake lay. It often seems to me as if men and women ought to have two lives, an old one and a new one, one to repent of the other, the first one to show men what they ought to keep clear of in the second. When you think how foolish-like and childish man or woman commits their first fault, not so bad in itself, but enough often to shut them out from nearly all their chances of good in this world, it does seem hardish that one life should end all under the sun. Of course, there's the other, and we don't know what's coming. There's so many different notions about that a chap like me gets puzzled and looks on it as out of his line altogether. We weren't sorry to have a little excuse to stop quiet at home for this month. We couldn't have done no good by mooching about, and ten to one, while the chase was so hot, after all that we're supposed to have had a hand in rubbing out Hagen and his lot, we should have been dropped upon. The whole country was alive with scouting parties, as well as the regulars. He would have thought the end of the world was come. Father couldn't have done a better thing for himself and all of us than to get hit as he did. It kept him and us out of harm's way, and put them off the scent while they hunted Moran and Burke and the rest of their lot for their lives. They could hardly get a bit of damper out of a shepherd's hut without it being known to the police, and many a time they got off by the skin of their teeth. End of Chapter 39. RECORDING by Richard Kilmer, Rio Medina, Texas CHAPTER 40 OF ROBBRY UNDER ARMS THE LADY HE SAID HE DIDN'T SEE WHAT GOOD ILEEEN COULD DO, STOPPING ANY longer in the hollow, unless she meant to follow up bush-ranging for a living. She'd better go back and stay along with her mother. If George Storefield liked to have them there well and good, things looked as if it wasn't safe for a man's wife and daughter, and if he got into trouble to live peaceable and quiet in their own house. He didn't think they need be afraid of anyone interfering with them for the future, though. Here Dad looked so dark that Eileen began to think he was going to be ill again. We'd all start and go a bit of the way with her the next day. To the old stockyard, or a bit farther, she could ride from there and take the horse back with her and keep him if she liked. You've been a good gal to me, he says to her. You always was one, and your mother's been a good woman, and a good wife. Tell her I said so. I'd no call to have done the things I have, or left home because it wasn't tidy and clean, and a welcome always when I came back. It's been rough on her, and on you too, my gal. And if it will do her any good, tell her I'm dashed sorry. You can take this trifle of money. You needn't boggle at it. It's honest got and earned, long before this other racket. Now you can go. Kiss your old dad. Like it's not, you won't see him again. We got the horses in. I lifted her up onto the saddle, and she rode out. Her horse was all on the square, so there was no harm in her taking him back with her, and off we went. Dad didn't go after all. We took it easy, out to the old stockyard. We meant to camp there for half an hour, and then to send her on, with warring gall to keep with her and show her the way home. We didn't want to make the time too short. What a lovely day it was. The mountain sides were clogged up with mist for an hour after we started. Still, anyone that knew the climate would have said it was going to be a fine day. There wasn't a breath of air. Everything was at still that not a leaf on any of the trees so much as stirred. When we came to the pass out of the valley, we none of us got off. It was better going up than coming down, and it would have tired Eileen out at the start to walk up. So the horses had to do their climbing. It didn't matter much to them. We were all used to it horses and riders. Jim and I went first, then warring gall, then Eileen and Starlight. After we got up to the top, we all stopped and halted a bit to look around. Just then, as if it waited for us, the sun came out from behind the mountain. The mists lifted and rolled away as if they had been gray curtains. Everything showed clear out, like a playhouse. The same Jim and I used to see in Melbourne. From where we stood you could see everything, the green valley flats with the big old trees and clumps, some of them just the same as they'd been planted. The two little river-like silver threads winding away among the trees, and far on the opposite side the tall gray rock towers shining among the forest edges of the high green wall. Somehow the sun wasn't risen enough to light up the mountain. It looked as black and dismal as if it was nightfall coming on. Good-bye, old Hollow. Eileen called out, waving her hand. Everything looks bright and beautiful except the mountain. How gloomy it appears. As if it held some dreadful secret, doesn't it? Ah, what a pleasant time it has been for me. Am I the same Eileen Marston that went in there a few weeks since? And now, I suppose, there will be more misery and anxiety waiting for all of us when I get back. Well, come what will. I have had a little happiness on this earth. In heaven there must be rest. We all rode on, but none of us seemed to care to say much. Every step we went seemed to be taking us away from the place where we had all been so happy together. The next change was sure to be for the worse. What it would be or when it would come none of us could tell. Starlight and Eileen rode together most of the way and talked a good deal we could see. Before we got to the stockyard she rode over to Jim and cheered him up as much as she could about Jeannie. She said she'd write to her and tell her all about him and how happy we'd all been together lately, and tell her that Jim would find some way to get down to her this spring if he could manage it any road. If I'm above ground tell her I'll be with her, says poor old Jim, before Christmas. If she doesn't see me then I'll be dead, and she may put on black and make sure she's a widow. Oh, come you mustn't talk like that, Jim, and look to the bright side a bit. There's a good chance yet, now the country's so full of diggers and foreigners, you try your luck and you'll see your wife yet. Then she came to me and talked away just like old times. You're the eldest dick, she said, and so it's proper for me to say what I'm going to say. Then she told me all that was in her heart about Starlight. He and she had made it up that if he could get away to a foreign country she would join him there and take mother with her. There was to be no Marion or love-making unless they could carry out that plan. Then she told me that she had always had the same sort of feeling toward him. When I first saw him I thought I had never seen a man before, never one that I could care for or think of marrying. And now he has told me that he loves me, loves me, a poor ignorant girl that I am, and I will wait for him all my life and follow him all round the world. I feel as if I could die for him or wear out my life in trying to make him happy. And yet, and yet she said, and all her face grew sad and put on the old look that I knew so well, so hopeless, so full of quiet Marion of pain. I have a kind of feeling at my heart that it will never be. Something will happen to me or to him. We are all doomed to sorrow and misfortune. Nothing can save us from our fate. Eileen, dear, I said, you are old enough to know what's best for yourself. I didn't think Starlight was on for Marion any woman, but he's far and away the best man we've ever known. So you can please yourself. But you know what the chances are. If he gets clear off, or any of us, after what's been done, you're right. But it's a hundred to one against it. I'll take the odds, says she, holding up her head. I'm willing to put my life in happiness, what little there's left of it on the wager. Things can't well be worse. I don't know, I said. I want to tell you. I must tell you something before we part, though I'd a deal rather not. But you'll bear it better now than in a surprise. Not more blood, more wickedness, she said, in a half whisper. And then she looks up stern and angry-like. When is this list of horrible things to stop? It was none of our doing. Morgan and Daley were in it, and— And none of you swear that, she said so quickly, and pitiful like. None of us, I said. Nor yet Orangal. Then who did it? Tell me all. I'm not a child. I will know. You remember the man that was rude to you at Rocky Flat, and father and he fired at one another? Of course I do, cowardly wretch, that he was. Then Morgan was waiting for them up the gully. I wondered that they did not come back the next day. They never came back, I said. Why, you don't mean to tell me that they are all dead, all four? Those strong men? Oh, surely not, Dick. And she caught hold of my arm, and looked up into my face. Yes, Eileen, all. We came after, and followed up dad. When we got home, it's a wonder he did it by himself. But we saw them, all four, lying stretched out. She put down her head and never spoke more till we parted. We turned back, miserable enough all of us, God knows. After having Eileen to make the place bright and pleasant, and cheer us all up, losing her was just as if all the little pleasure we had in our lives was dropped out of them, like the sun going out of the sky, and the wind rising, like the moon clouding over, and a fog burying up everything, dark and damp, the same as we'd had it, many a time cattle-driving by night. We hardly spoke a word to one another all the way home, and no wonder. The next day we all sat about, looking more down on our luck, dad said, than any day since we'd turned out. Then Starlight told him about him and Eileen, and how they made it up to be married some day or other. Not yet, of course, but if he could get away by Melbourne to some of these places, the islands on the Pacific coast, where vessels were always sailing for, he didn't see why his luck shouldn't change. I've always thought your daughter, he says to father, one of the grandest women I ever met, in any degree, gentle or simple. She has had the imprudence to care for me, so unless you have some well-grounded objection, and I don't say you haven't mind you, I should, if I were in your place, you may as well say you're contented, and wish us luck. Father was a long time before he said anything. He sat there, looking very sullen and set-like, while Starlight lit a cigar, and walked quietly up and down, a few paces off. Dad answered at last. I don't say, but what other lads would have sued it better if they had come off. But most things go contrary in this world. The only thing, as I'm doubtful of, Captain, is your luck. If that's bad, all the trying and crying won't set it right. And it's great odds, as you'll be caught or shot, before the year's out. For that matter, every one of us is working for government on the same road. But the gal's a good gal, and if she said her fancy on you, I won't block her. You're a pair of dashed fools, that's all, bothering your heads with the like, at a time like this, when you boys are all more likely to have a rope round your necks, than any gal's arms. That are bad. Have your own way. You always managed to get it, somehow or other, ever since I knowed you. After this, Father lit his pipe, and went into the cave. By and by he comes out again, and catches the old mayor. I ain't been out of this blessed hole, he said, for a month of Sundays. I'm dead tired of seeing nothing and doing nothing. I'll crawl over to old Davies for our letters and papers. We ain't heard nothing for a year, seems to me. Dad was strong enough to get about in the saddle again, and we weren't sorry to get shut of him for a bit. He was that cranky at times. There was no living with him. As for ourselves, we were regular wild for some sort of getaway, for a bit of a change. So we hadn't talked it over very long, before we made up our minds to take a run over to Jonathan Barnes's, and have a bit of fun, just to take the taste out of our mouths of Eileen's going away. We had to dress ourselves very quiet and get fresh horses, nags that had nothing particular about them to make people look, at the same time with a bit of go in them in case we were pushed at any time. No sooner said than done. We went to work and got everything ready, and by three o'clock we were off, all three of us, and never in better heart in our lives, for a bit of fun or devilment. It didn't matter which came first. When we got to Jonathan's it was late-ish, but it didn't matter to us or to the girls neither. They were always ready for a bit of fun, night or day. However, just at first they pretended to be rather high and mighty about this business of Hagans. Oh, it's you, is it, says Bella, after we walked in? I don't know, as it's safe for us to be knowing such dangerous characters. There's a new law against harboring, Father says. He's pretty frightened. I can tell you, and for two pins we'd be told to shut the door in your faces. You can do that if you like now, says I. We shan't want telling twice, I daresay, but what makes you so stiff tonight? Why, Hagans business, of course, said Maddie, four men killed in cold blood. Only I know you couldn't and wouldn't be in it. I'd not know any of you for a crow. There now. Quite right, most beautyous, Madeline, says Starlight. It was a very dreadful affair, though I believe there was some reason for old Ben to be angry. Of course, you know we weren't within miles of the place when it was done. You remember the night we were here last? Of course we do, Captain, quite well. Weren't you going to dance at Bella's wedding and all? You'll have to do that sooner than we expected, though. Glad to hear it. But listen to me, my dear. I want you to know the truth. We rode straight back to the place where we live and, of course, found the old man gone away from the place. We tracked him right enough, but came up when it was all over. Daly and Moren were the chief actors in that tragedy. Well, we said it was Moren's work from the first, didn't we, Bill? It's just the line he's cut out for. I always think he ought to have a bowl and a dagger. He looks like the villain on the stage. On or off the stage he can support the principal part in that line most naturally, says Starlight, but I prophesize he will be cut off in the midst of his glorious career. He's beastly cunning, but he will be trapped yet. It's a pity Jim can't stay a few days with us, said Maddie. I believe we'd find a way of passing him on to Victoria. I know more than one or two or a half a dozen either that has been put through the same way. For God's sakes, Mad, lay on me, says poor Jim, and I'll go on my knees to you. Oh, I dare say, says Maddie, looking saucy. But I like a man to be fond of some woman in a proper way, even if it isn't me. So I'll do what I can to help you, to your wife and pick and any. We must get you into the police force, Maddie, says Starlight, or make you a sort of inspector, unattached, if you're so clever at managing these little affairs. But what's the idea? Well, she says, settling herself in a chair, spreading out her dress, and looking very knowing. There's an old gentleman, being driven all the way overland, in a sort of light Yankee trap, and the young fellow that's driving has to find horses and feed him, and get so much for the trip. Who is it, says I? Oh, you know him, says Maddie, looking down. He's a great friend of mine. A steady going, good conducted chap. And he's a little, you understand, well, shook on me. I could persuade him a bit, that is. I don't doubt that at all, says I. Oh, you know him a little. He says he saw you at Tehran. He was working with some Americans. His name's Joe Morton. I remember him well enough. He used to wear a mustache and a chin beard, and talk Yankee. Only, for that, he was a good deal like Jim. We always said so. Do you see anything now, Dick? You, that so sharp, says Maddie. Bless my soul, says Starlight. Of course. It is as clear as your beautiful eyes. Jim is the shavest beard, talk like a Yankee, and go in Joe Morton's place. I see it all. Maddie persuading Joe to consent to the exchange of duties. But what will his employers say? Oh, he's as bad as bad can be, with a sandy blight, says Maddie. Where's Green Goggle's, poor old gentleman? He'll never know nothing, and he'll be able to swear up for Jim if the police pull him anywhere this side of the Murray. We'd told Maddie that money didn't stand in the way, so she was to promise Joe the full sum that he was to get for his contract would be paid to him in cash that night. Jim had to pay his own expenses as he went, the same as he was to do himself. Of course she could get the money from old Jonathan. A word from us then was worth a deal more than that had come to. Money wasn't the worst thing we had to care about. They would have to change clothes, and he'd tell Jim about the horses, the stages, and how to answer the old Cove, and what to do to humor him as they went along. If he'd had his full eyesight he might have noticed some difference. But as it was, it was as much as the poor old chap, she believed, could see there was a driver at all. His eyes were bound up mostly. He had a big shade over him, and was half the night swabbing and poulticing and putting lotion into him. He'd got sandy blight that bad. It would take months to get right. Once you get a touch like that, it's a terror, I can tell you. I had it that bad myself I had to be let about. After a lot of talking, that Jim was to try as luck as revered Mr. Jackson's coachman, he was mad to get away somehow, and such another chance might never turn up in a month of Sundays. He would have plenty of time to shave his beard and make himself look as like as ever he could to Joe Morton. Maddie said she'd see after that, and it would be as good as a play. Lucky for old Jim, we'd all taken a fancy at the Turan, for once in a way, to talk like Arizona Bill and his mates, just for the fun of things. There were so many Americans there at first, and there were such swells, with their silk sashes, buoy knives, and broad leafed, full share hats, that lots of the young native fellows took a pride in copying them, and could walk and talk, and guess and calculate wonderful well considering. Besides, most of the natives have a sort of slow, sleepy way of talking, so it partly came natural to this chap Joe Morton and Jim. They couldn't be a better chance, so we thought we'd stay a day and give Jim a send-off all square and regular. It wasn't no ways too safe, but we wanted a bit of jollification, and we thought we'd chance it. That night we had a regular good ball. The girls got some of the young fellows from roundabout to come over, and a couple or two other girls, and we had no end to fun. There was plenty of champagne, and even Jim picked up a bit, and what, with being grateful to Maddie for giving him this lift, and better in spirits on the chance of seeing Jeannie again, he was more like his own self. Maddie said he'd look so handsome, she had half a mind to throw over Joe Morton after all. Joe came rather lateish, and the old gentleman had a cup of tea and went to bed at once, leaving word for Joe that he wanted to start almost before daylight or as soon as he could see the drive, so as to get halfway on their stage before the sun was off. After Joe had seen through his horses and put the trap away, he came into the house and had a glass or two, and wired in with the rest of us like a goodon. After a bit we see Maddie corner him off and have a long talk, very serious too. After that they went for a walk in the garden, and was away a good while. When she came back she looked over at Jim and nodded, as much as to say it's all right, and I saw poor old Jim's face brighten up as if a light had passed over it. By and by she came over and told us all about it. She had had a hard matter to manage it, for Joe was a square sort of fellow that had a place of his own, and at first didn't like the notion of being mixed up with our crowd at all. But he was regular shook on Maddie, and she went at him as only a woman can, and I daresay, though she didn't tell us, made it part of the bargain, if she was to marry him, to help Jim in this particular way. He was to be well paid for this journey by old Mr. Watson, and he wanted a bit of money before harvest, or he wouldn't have taken the job at all. The end of it was that Jim and Joe sat up ever so late, pretty well on to daylight, smoking and yarning, and Joe practising Jim in all the things he was to do and say, giving him a kind of chart of the stages and telling him the sort of answers he was to give to the old chap. It was just before daylight when they knocked off, and then Joe goes and peels off his duds and hands him over to Jim, rough great coat and all, up to his chin and down to his toes. Joe takes Jim's tugs. They fitted him all to pieces, and Jim hands him over his horse, saddle revolver and spurs, and tells him the old horse is a real plum, and he hopes he'll be good to him. Then Jim shakes hands with us all round. Blessed if the girls wasn't up to, and had some coffee smoking hot for us. We can sleep when you're all gone, said Maddie, and perhaps we shan't see old Jim any more. This was said when Joe was out of the room. So here's good luck. And when you've got your wife and child again, don't forget Maddie Barnes. Then she shook hands with him and made a quick bolt to her own room. Queer things women are, my word. When old Jim drove round to the front with a pair of horses, setting up square with his big coat and Joe's full-share hat on him, we all burst it out laughing. He had first of all gone to the old gentlemen's room, and sung out all aboard, sir, times up just to liven him up a bit. Joe kept away down at the stable. Well presently out comes the old chap, with a veil on and his green goggles winking and blinking as if he couldn't see a door from a window. He drinks off a cup of coffee and takes a munch of bread and butter, makes a kind of bow to Bella, and shuffles into his carriage. Jim touches up the horses and away they go. We rose a bit of a cheer. Maddie waved her handkerchief out of the window. Jim looked round and raised his whip. That was the last sight any of us had of him for many a day. Poor old Jim.