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

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. Nulla Mountain 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 lyin’ 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 Aileen.

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 the damper that Warrigal had seen lying in the ashes all burnt to a cinder.

Everything looked as if they’d 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’d 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 Warrigal, 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 into a cross gully, like an old river, which we all knew.

“You see um crow? I b’leeve longa Black Gully.”

Sure enough, just above the drop down, where we used to gallop our ponies in old times and laugh to see ’em 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,” says Jim. “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.”

XLI

We all pulled up at the side of the gully or dry creek, whatever it was, and jumped off our horses, leaving Warrigal 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 Hagan 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 had all been shot⁠—one man through the head, the rest through the body. The two nearest to me had had their hands tied; the bit of rope was lying 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 them 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,” 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 has made ’em think they could catch him; and had Daly and Moran waiting for them⁠—one on each side of this hole here. Warrigal,”⁠—for he had tied up his horse and crept up⁠—“how many bin here?”

Warrigal held up three fingers.

“That one ran down here⁠—one after one. I see ’em boot. Moran stand here. Patsey Daly lie down behind that ole log. All about boot-nail mark. Old man Ben he stand here. Dog bite’m this one.”

Here 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 tumble down fust-like; then two fellow bimeby. One⁠—two⁠—three fellow track go along a flat that way. Then that one get two horses and ridem likit Fish River. Penty blood tumble down here.”

This was the ciphering up of the whole thing. It was clear enough now. Moran and Daly had waited for them here, and had shot down the two first men. Of the others, it