Robbery Under Arms Rolf Boldrewood (best way to read an ebook .TXT) 📖

First thing, then, they tied ’em with their hands behind ’em, and let ’em stand up near their mates that were down⁠—dead enough, both of them, one shot through the heart and one through the head.

Then Moran sits down and has a smoke, and looks over at ’em.

“You don’t remember me, Mr. Hagan?” says he, in his drawling 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 afore we leave this.” Then he took another smoke. “Weren’t you warder in Berrima Gaol,” says he, “about seven year 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 on bread and water for what you called disobedience of orders 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’d had to do seven long days and long cold nights in that devil’s den, you’d ’a thought more about it. But you will now. My turn’s come.”

“I didn’t do it to you more than to the rest. I had to keep order in the gaol, and devilish hard work it was.”

“You’re a liar,” says Moran, striking him across the face with his clenched hand. “You had a down on me because I wouldn’t knuckle down to you like some of them, and so you dropped it on to 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.”

“Well, 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. The last punishment I got, when I was kept in irons night and day for a month because I’d tried to get out, I swore I’d have your life if ever I came across ye.”

“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 chevying his daughter,” says Moran, looking at him with his deadly blacksnake eyes, “but I’m a-goin’ 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 Daly, “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 the 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 Warrigal with us, and followed our old track across Nulla Mountain till we got within a couple of miles of the place. Warrigal picked up the old mare’s tracks, so we 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 Warrigal on ahead, and waited with our horses in our hands till he come back to us.

In about an hour he comes tearing back, with his eyes staring out of his head.

“I bin see old missis,” he says. “She yabber that one make-believe constable bin there. Gammon-like it surveyor, and bimeby old man Ben gon’ alonga hut, and that one pleeceman fire at him and all about, and him break back alonga gully.”

“Any of ’em come back?” says Jim.

“Bale! me see um tent-dog tied up. Cake alonga fireplace, all burn to pieces. No come home last night. I b’lieve shot ’em old man longa gully.”

“Come along, boys,” says Starlight, jumping into his saddle. “The old man might have been hit. We must run the tracks and see what’s come of the governor. Four to one’s big odds.”

We skirted the hut and kept out wide till Warrigal cut the tracks, which he did easy enough. We couldn’t see a blessed thing. Warrigal rode along with his head down, reading every tuft of grass, every little stone turned up, every foot of sand, like a book.

“Your old fader run likit Black Gully. Two fellow track here⁠—bullet longa this one tree.” Here he pointed to a scratch on the side of a box tree, in which the rough bark had been shivered. “Bimeby two fellow more come; ’nother one bullet; ’nother one here, too. This one blood drop longa white leaf.”

Here he picked up a dried gum 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 Moran’s horse, pigeon-toes; me know ’em,” says Warrigal. “Off side one Daly’s roan horse, new shoes on. You see ’um hair, rub himself longa 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. Ride on, boys.”

We said nothing to each other, but rode along as fast as Warrigal could follow the line. The sky, which was bright enough when we 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