Robbery Under Arms Rolf Boldrewood (best way to read an ebook .TXT) đ
- Author: Rolf Boldrewood
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âAnyhow, weâd made it up to come home at Christmas,â says Jim; âbut itâs all one. It would have saved us a deal of trouble in our minds all the same if weâd known there was no warrants out after us two. I wonder if theyâll nail Starlight.â
âThey canât be well off it,â says father. âHeâs gone off his head, and stopped in some swell town in New Zealandâ âCanterbury, I think itâs calledâ âlivinâ tiptop among a lot of young English swells, instead of makinâ off for the Islands, as he laid out to do.â
âHow do you know heâs there?â I said.
âI know, and thatâs enough,â snarls father. âI hear a lot in many ways about things and people that no one guesses on, and I know thisâ âthat heâs pretty well marked down by old Stillbrook the detective as went down there a month ago.â
âBut didnât you warn him?â
âYes, of course, as soon as I heard tell; but itâs too late, Iâm thinking. He has the devilâs luck as well as his own, but I always used to tell him it would fail him yet.â
âI believe youâre the smartest man of the crowd, dad,â says Jim, laying his hand on fatherâs shoulder. He could pretty nigh get round the old chap once in a way, could Jim, surly as he was. âWhat do you think weâd better do? Whatâs our best dart?â
Father shook off his hand, but not roughly, and his voice wasnât so hard when he saidâ â
âWhy, stop at home quiet, of course, and sleep in your beds at night. Donât go planting in the gully, or someoneâll think youâre wanted, and let on to the police. Ride about the country till I give you the office. Never fear but Iâll have word quick enough. Go about and see the neighbours round just as usual.â
Jim and I was quite stunned by this bit of news; no doubt we was pretty sorry as ever we left Melbourne, but there was nothing for it now but to follow it out. After all, we were at home, and it was pleasant to think we wouldnât be hunted for a bit and might ride about the old place and enjoy ourselves a bit. Aileen was as happy as the day was long, and poor mother used to lay her head on Jimâs neck and cry for joy to have him with her. Even father used to sit in the front, under the quinces, and smoke his pipe, with old Crib at his feet, most as if he thought he was happy. I wonder if he ever looked back to the days when he was a farminâ boy and hadnât took to poaching? He must have been a smart, handy kind of lad, and what a different look his face must have had then!
We had our own horses in pretty good trim, so we foraged up Aileenâs mare, and made it up to ride over to George Storefieldâs, and gave him a look-up. Heâd been away when we came, and now we heard he was home.
âGeorge has been doing well all this time, of course,â I said. âI expect heâll turn squatter some day and be made a magistrate.â
âLike enough,â says Jim. âMore than one we could pick began lower down than him, and sits on the Bench and gives coves like us a turn when weâre brought up before âem. Fancy old George sayinâ, âIs anything known, constable, of this prisonerâs anterseedents?â as I heard old Higgler say one day at Bargo.â
âWhy do you make fun of these things, Jim, dear?â says Aileen, looking so solemn and mournful like. âOughtnât a steady worker to rise in life, and isnât it sad to see cleverer men and better workersâ âif they likedâ âkept down by their own fault?â
âWhy wasnât your roan mare born black or chestnut?â says Jim, laughing, and pretending to touch her up. âCome along, and letâs see if she can trot as well as she used to do?â
âPoor Lowan,â says she, patting the mareâs smooth neck (she was a wonderful neat, well-bred, dark roan, with black pointsâ âone of dadâs, perhaps, that heâd brought her home one time he was in special good humour about something. Where she was bred or how, nobody ever knew); âshe was born pretty and good. How little trouble her life gives her. Itâs a pity we canât all say as much, or have as little on our minds.â
âWhose faultâs that?â says Jim. âThe dingo must live as well as the collie or the sheep either. Oneâs been made just the same as the other. Iâve often watched a dingo turn round twice, and then pitch himself down in the long grass like as if he was dead. Heâs not a bad sort, old dingo, and has a good time of it as long as it lasts.â
âYes, till heâs trapped or shot or poisoned some day, which he always is,â said Aileen bitterly. âI wonder any man should be content with a wicked life and a shameful death.â And she struck Lowan with a switch, and spun down the slope of the hill between the trees like a forester-doe with the hunter-hound behind her.
When we came up with her she was all right again, and tried to smile. Whatever put
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