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

knew to lose him. Now, once for all, no more of that, Marston, and mind your own business. I’m the superior officer in this ship’s company⁠—you know that very well⁠—your business is to obey me, and take second place.”

Father growled out something, but did not offer to deny it. We could see plainly that the stranger was or had been far above our rank, whatever were the reasons which had led to his present kind of life.

We stayed for about ten days, while the stranger’s arm got well. With care and rest, it soon healed. He was pleasant enough, too, when the pain went away. He had been in other countries, and told us all kinds of stories about them.

He said nothing, though, about his own former ways, and we often wondered whatever could have made him take to such a life. Unknown to father, too, he gave us good advice, warned us that what we were in was the road to imprisonment or death in due course, and not to flatter ourselves that any other ending was possible.

“I have my own reasons for leading the life I do,” he said, “and must run my own course, of which I foresee the end as plainly as if it was written in a book before me. Your father had a long account to square with society, and he has a right to settle it his own way. That yellow whelp was never intended for anything better. But for you lads”⁠—and here he looked kindly in poor old Jim’s honest face (and an honest face and heart Jim’s was, and that I’ll live and die on)⁠—“my advice to you is, to clear off home, when we go, and never come back here again. Tell your father you won’t come; cut loose from him, once and for all. You’d better drown yourselves comfortably at once than take to this cursed trade. Now, mind what I tell you, and keep your own counsel.”

By and by, the day came when the horses were run in for father and Mr. Starlight and Warrigal, who packed up to be off for some other part.

When they were in the yard we had a good look at his own horse⁠—a good look⁠—and if I’d been a fellow that painted pictures, and that kind of thing, I could draw a middlin’ good likeness of him now.

By George! how fond I am of a good horse⁠—a real well-bred clinker. I’d never have been here if it hadn’t been for that, I do believe; and many another Currency chap can say the same⁠—a horse or a woman⁠—that’s about the size of it, one or t’other generally fetches us. I shall never put foot in stirrup again, but I’ll try and scratch out a sort of likeness of Rainbow.

He was a dark bay horse, nearly brown, without a white hair on him. He wasn’t above 15 hands and an inch high, but looked a deal bigger than he was, for the way he held his head up and carried himself. He was deep and thick through behind the shoulders, and girthed ever so much more than you’d think. He had a short back, and his ribs went out like a cask, long quarter, great thighs and hocks, wonderful legs, and feet of course to do the work he did. His head was plainish, but clean and bony, and his eye was big and well opened, with no white showing. His shoulder was sloped back that much that he couldn’t fall, no matter what happened his fore legs. All his paces were good too. I believe he could jump⁠—jump anything he was ridden at, and very few horses could get the better of him for one mile or three.

Where he’d come from, of course, we were not to know then. He had a small private sort of brand that didn’t belong to any of the big studs; but he was never bred by a poor man. I afterwards found out that he was stolen before he was foaled, like many another plum, and his dam killed as soon as she had weaned him. So, of course, no one could swear to him, and Starlight could have ridden past the Supreme Court, at the assizes, and never been stopped, as far as this horse was concerned.

Before we went away father and Starlight had some terrible long talks, and one evening Jim came to me, and says he⁠—

“What do you think they’re up to now?”

“How should I know? Sticking up a bank, or boning a flock of maiden ewes to take up a run with? They seem to be game for anything. There’ll be a hanging match in the family if us boys don’t look out.”

“There’s no knowing,” says Jim, with a roguish look in his eye (I didn’t think then how near the truth I was), “but it’s about a horse this time.”

“Oh! a horse; that alters the matter. But what’s one horse to make such a shine about?”

“Ah, that’s the point,” says poor old Jim, “it’s a horse worth talking about. Don’t you remember the imported entire that they had his picture in the papers⁠—him that Mr. Windhall gave £2,000 for?”

“What! the Marquis of Lorne? Why, you don’t mean to say they’re going for him?”

“By George, I do!” says Jim; “and they’ll have him here, and twenty blood mares to put to him, before September.”

“They’re all gone mad⁠—they’ll raise the country on us. Every police trooper in the colony’ll be after us like a pack of dingoes after an old man kangaroo when the ground’s boggy, and they’ll run us down, too; they can’t be off it. Whatever made ’em think of such a big touch as that?”

“That Starlight’s the devil, I think,” said Jim slowly. “Father didn’t seem to like it at first, but he brought him round bit by bit⁠—said he knew a squatter in Queensland he could pass him on to; that they’d keep him there for a year and get a crop