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

line of road, so he provided himself with a first-chop repeating rifle before he left Sydney, plenty of cartridges, and two or three books⁠—he was as great a chap for reading as ever I seen. I used to shear for him once⁠—and then starts away for the station with only a boy with him, just the same as usual.

Well, they cut away through the bush and went out wide, coming into the road behind him, and began to close him up. As soon as he sees this, he gets out of the buggy and tells the boy to walk the horse quietly up the hill. He picks his man, takes a steady pot at Moran, who was riding ahead, and dashed near tumbled him. The bullet went so close that the wind of it half turned him round. The second shot touched the mane of Daly’s horse. They didn’t wait for the third, but hooked it out into the timber.

Then they tried coming up on the outside; but the moment they got within range he made such rattling good practice at them that they saw if they came any closer he’d empty half their saddles, if he didn’t do more, before they could rush him. So they thought a gold watch and a £5-note or two (squatters never carry much cash, because they can cash their cheques anywhere) wasn’t good enough for the risk.

So they hauled off and left him to finish his journey in peace. He stopped at the public-house an hour, fed his horses, and lunched himself. Then he went on quiet, and they never troubled him after.

XLV

Whatever put it into their heads I don’t know, but they started straight off, and never pulled rein till they got to a station belonging to a Mr. Hamilton. They were that savage at missing their tip with Mr. M’Crea that they thought they’d pay off scores with the next swell they could drop on to. Mr. Hamilton was a man that Moran hated, because he always went armed and kept his house ready to stand a siege night and day. He’d been in India a good deal, and was a great hunting man, and a dead shot, everybody said. Anyhow, most people thought there was no change to be got out of him, but Moran was in one of his black tempers and swore he’d burn the house about his ears if he didn’t hand out and be dashed civil over it too.

There was a shanty about five miles off. They stopped there drinking till it was dark, and then started off and rode over to Kadombla, as the station was called. All the people in the house that night were Mr. Hamilton and his wife and children, the housemaid and a man-cook in the kitchen. The men’s hut was near a mile off, where the station-buildings were. Moran, Burke, Daly, and Wall were in this racket; they thought they were quite able for the job, particularly as it was a night surprise.

They rode into the paddock in front of the house, where there was a field of growing oats that came right up to the garden fence, and tied up their horses down by the creek. Then they walked up through the oats and looked at the house in at the lighted windows. Mr. Hamilton was sitting reading, and his wife sewing near the fireplace. It looked all right, but they knew that he had a gun in every room of the house, with ammunition handy. He never sat down without a revolver about him, and could pick a bird off a bush with it. After a bit it was settled that Daly, who was the quickest on his pins, should get round by the back door and the rest threaten to fire through the windows at Mr. Hamilton as soon as he was well inside the house, so that he’d be attacked on two sides. As it turned out Mr. Hamilton was too quick for them, for his wife heard Daly’s footsteps; and as soon as Daly showed at the back door Mr. Hamilton stood ready for him at the end of the passage with his revolver in his hand. Both let drive at the same moment, and neither hit. Daly went out the way he came, and Mr. Hamilton draws back into his parlour just as the other three let fly through the windows and smashed half the glass. He returned their fire half a dozen times over⁠—so quick and true that they began to think he must have some else in the house with him. He had two double-barrels and his rifle. Mrs. Hamilton brought him his cartridges from time to time, so he kept such a rattle going they had enough to do to mind themselves and durst’nt make a rush like they thought at first.

They called out to him that if he didn’t give in they’d burn the house down and roast every living soul in it. He shouted back for them to do their worst⁠—to come on like men and not crawl about behind cover. They swore and cursed that they’d make it a warning to him; but they didn’t see their way just at first, it wasn’t good enough, with his bullets pitching in among ’em close and sharp. One ball went through Burke’s hat, and another made a hole in Moran’s poncho, which he’d just hung on a tree. After a bit Moran crawls up and manages to set fire to the stable that had a good lot of hay in and the master’s favourite horse. It blazed up at once and made everything as bright as day. The poor brute of a horse screamed and made a horrid sort of cry, roasted alive, by degrees, but through it all they heard Mr. Hamilton’s shout that he would have one of their lives for this. Moran, they say, laughed like a devil all the time, and said Hamilton would be frizzling himself in another half