Robbery Under Arms - Rolf Boldrewood (most important books of all time .TXT) 📗

this lift, and better in spirits on the chance of seeing Jeanie again, he was more like his own self. Maddie said he looked so handsome she had half a mind to throw over Joe Moreton after all.

Joe came rather latish, and the old gentleman had a cup of tea and went to bed at once, leaving word for Joe that he wanted to start almost before daylight, or as soon as he could see to drive, so as to get halfway on their stage before the sun was hot.

After Joe had seen to his horses and put the trap away he came into the house and had a glass or two, and wired in with the rest of us like a good ’un. After a bit we see Maddie corner him off and have a long talk, very serious too. After that they went for a walk in the garden and was away a good while. When she came back she looked over at Jim and nodded, as much as to say, “It’s all right,” and I saw poor old Jim’s face brighten up as if a light had passed over it.

By and by she came over and told us all about it. She’d had a hard matter to manage it, for Joe was a square sort of fellow, that had a place of his own, and at first didn’t like the notion of being mixed up with our crowd at all. But he was regular shook on Maddie, and she went at him as only a woman can, and I daresay, though she didn’t tell us, made it part of the bargain, if she was to marry him, to help Jim in this particular way. He was to be well paid for this journey by old Mr. Watson, and he wanted a bit of money before harvest or he wouldn’t have taken the job at all.

The end of it was that Jim and Joe sat up ever so late, pretty well on to daylight, smoking and yarning, and Joe practising Jim in all the things he was to do and say, giving him a kind of chart of the stages, and telling him the sort of answers he was to give to the old chap. It was just before daylight when they knocked off, and then Joe goes and peels off his duds and hands ’em over to Jim, rough greatcoat and all⁠—up to his chin and down to his toes.

Joe takes Jim’s togs. They fitted him all to pieces, and Jim hands him over his horse, saddle, revolver, and spurs, and tells him the old horse is a real plum, and he hopes he’ll be good to him. Then Jim shakes hands with us all round. Blessed if the girls wasn’t up too, and had some coffee smoking hot for us. “We can sleep when you’re all gone,” says Maddie, “and perhaps we shan’t see old Jim any more” (this was said when Joe was out of the room), “so here’s good luck; and when you’ve got your wife and child again don’t forget Maddie Barnes.” Then she shook hands with him, and made a quick bolt to her own room. Queer things women are, my word.

When old Jim drove round to the front with the pair of horses, setting up square with his big coat and Joe’s “full-share” hat on him, we all bursted out laughing. He’d first of all gone to the old gentleman’s room and sung out, “All aboard, sir, time’s up,” just to liven him up a bit. Joe kept away down at the stable.

Well, presently out comes the old chap, with a veil on and his green goggles, winkin’ and blinkin’ as if he couldn’t see a door from a window. He drinks off a cup of coffee and takes a munch of bread and butter, makes a kind of bow to Bella, and shuffles into his carriage. Jim touches up the horses and away they go. We rose a bit of a cheer. Maddie waved her handkerchief out of the window. Jim looked round and raised his whip. That was the last sight any of us had of him for many a day. Poor old Jim!

XLIV

We mounted, and cleared then as quick as we could. We had wasted too much time, and thrown away a chance or two, as it was. Starlight and I said goodbye to Bella. Maddie wouldn’t show out again: said she’d a headache. So Joe was forced to make the best of it, and trust to better luck next time. Off we went⁠—Joe on the right, poncho and all. It was the fun of the world; he looked the dead image of Jim. We yelled again, Starlight and I, and said we’d half a mind to bring him home to the Hollow, and see if dad would be taken in.

But it was near enough turning out no laughing matter for Joe. Just as we were turning off the road into a bit of clear ground we heard the rattle of horses’ hoofs, and a voice we knew sang out, “There they are, by Jove! that’s Jim Marston⁠—I’d know him among a thousand.” With that Sir Ferdinand and half-a-dozen troopers dashed at us, like hawks at a brace of quail. As they came on, every man emptied his revolver.

We knew our horses had the foot of the police nags⁠—bar Sir Ferdinand’s, which was a thoroughbred, in top condition. Not a ball touched us⁠—men in the saddle must be very cool and steady to hit anything smaller than a haystack⁠—so we didn’t want to make a fight of it. They were two to one, for one thing; and we were pretty sure to lose them, we thought, inside of ten miles, at any rate.

We just had time to have one look at poor Joe Moreton. It was rough on him. He was as game as the rest of us, but he hadn’t been