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

straight back to the⁠—to where we lived⁠—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 Moran were the chief actors in that tragedy.”

“Oh, we said it was Moran’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 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 prophesy he will be cut off in the midst of his glorious career. He’s beastly cunning, but he’ll be trapped yet.”

“It’s a pity Jim can’t stay a few days with us,” says Maddie; “I believe we’d find a way of passing him on to Victoria. I’ve known more than one or two, or half-a-dozen either, that has been put through the same way.”

“For God’s sake, Mad, lay me on!” says poor Jim, “and I’ll go on my knees to you.”

“Oh! I daresay,” 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 pickaninny.”

“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,” says she, 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 ’em, 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 the Turon; he was working with some Americans. His name’s Joe Moreton.”

“I remember him well enough; he used to wear a moustache 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’s so sharp?” says Maddie.

“Bless my soul,” says Starlight, “of course, it is as clear as your beautiful eyes. Jim is to shave his beard, talk like a Yankee, and go in Joe Moreton’s place. I see it all. Maddie persuading Joe to consent to the exchange of duties.”

“But what will his employer say?”

“Oh! he’s as bad as bad can be with the sandy blight,” says Maddie, “wears green goggles, 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 needn’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 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’d 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 humour 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 was bound up mostly; he had a big shade over ’em, and was half the night swabbing and poulticing, and putting lotion into ’em. 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’ve had it that bad myself I had to be led about.

After a lot of talking, that Jim was to try his luck as the Rev. Mr. Watson’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 Moreton. 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 Turon, for once in a way, to talk like Arizona Bill and his mates, just for the fun of the thing. There were so many Americans there at first, and they were such swells, with their silk sashes, bowie 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 Moreton, and Jim. There 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 a 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 round about to come over, and a couple or two other girls, and we had no end of fun. There was plenty of champagne, and even Jim picked up a bit; and what with being grateful to Maddie for giving him