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

that we can do better. A fight’s a fight, and if Patsey got his gruel it might have happened to Mr. Knightley himself. As for shooting in cold blood, I’m not on, and so I tell you.”

“I suppose you think you and Starlight’s going to boss the lot of us, because you’ve been doing it fine at the Turon races along with a lot of blasted swells as ’ud scrag us if they had the chance, and we’re to take so much a head for our dashed lives, because we’re only working chaps. Not if Dan Moran knows it. What we want is satisfaction⁠—blood for blood⁠—and we’re a-goin’ to have it, eh, mates?”

Wall and Hulbert hadn’t said anything before this. They were not bad chaps underneath, but Moran was such a devil when he was raised that they didn’t like to cross him. Besides, they had a down on Mr. Knightley, and wanted to sheet it home to him somehow. They had got to the brandy too, and it didn’t make matters any better, you take my word for it.

Starlight didn’t speak for a minute or two. I couldn’t think what he was at. If Jim had been there we should have been right, three to three. Now we were two to three. I knew Starlight had a good card to play, and was ready to play it, but he was waiting on the deal. Mr. Knightley must have had some sort of notion of the hand; he was wonderful quick at picking up the points of the game.

He said nothing, and looked as cool as you please, smoking his cigar as if he had nothing on his mind and wanted a rest. The lady sat quite still and pale, but her beautiful eyes kept wandering round from one to another, like some pretty creature caught in a trap. Dr. Schiller found it hard lines on him to keep quiet all this time⁠—he couldn’t hold it in no longer.

“Good heafens!” he says, “are you men, and will not say nodings when you haf such an ovver as dis? Subbose you shood us all, what then? Will not the whole coundry rice and hund you down like mat docks?”

“That won’t make it any better for you, mate,” says Moran, with a grin. “When you and he’s lying under that old tree outside, it’ll make no odds to yer whether our rope’s a long or a short ’un.”

“Quite right, Moran,” says Mr. Knightley. “Doctor, he has you there.”

Starlight moved a step or two over towards him, as if he was uncertain in his mind. Then he says to Wall and Hulbert⁠—

“See here, men; you’ve heard what Moran says, and what I think. Which are you going to do? To help in a brutal, cowardly murder, and never be able to look a man in the face again, or to take this money tomorrow?⁠—a hundred and seventy each in notes, mind, and get away quietly⁠—or are you going to be led by Moran, and told what you are to do like children?”

“Oh come, Dan, let’s take the stuff,” says Wall. “I think it’s good enough. What’s the use of being contrary? I think the Captain’s right. He knows a dashed sight more than us.”

“He be hanged!” says Moran, with eyes glaring and the whole of his face working like a man in a fit. “He’s no Captain of mine, and never was. I’ll never stir from here till I have payment in blood for Daly’s life. We may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I’ve sworn to have that man’s life tonight, and have it I will.”

“You’ll have ours first, you bloodthirsty, murdering dog,” says Starlight; and, as he spoke, he slipped his revolver into Mr. Knightley’s hand, who covered Moran that moment. I drew mine, too, and had Wall under aim. Starlight’s repeating rifle was up like lightning.

Mrs. Knightley covered her eyes, the old woman screamed, and the doctor sat down on a chair and puffed away at his meerschaum pipe.

“We’re three to three, now,” says Starlight; “you’ve only to move a finger and you’re a dead man. Wall and Hulbert can have a hand in it if they haven’t had shooting enough for one evening. Do your worst, you black-hearted brute! I’ve two minds to take you and run you in myself, if it’s only to give you a lesson in manners.”

Moran’s face grew as black as an ironbark tree after a bush fire. He raised his revolver, and in one second we should have been in the middle of a desperate hand-to-hand fight; and God knows how it might have ended hadn’t Hulbert struck up his arm, and spoke out like a man.

“It’s no use, Dan, we won’t stand it. You’re a dashed fool and want to spoil everything for a bit of temper. We’ll take the notes and let Mrs. Knightley and the doctor clear out for Bathurst if you’ll say honour bright that you’ll be at the Black Stump by tomorrow evening at five, and won’t give the police the office.”

Moran, slow and sulkily, put down his hand and glared round like a dingo with the dogs round him⁠—as if he didn’t know which to snap at first. Then he looked at Mr. Knightley with a look of hellish rage and spite that ten devils couldn’t have improved upon, and, throwing himself down on a chair, drank off half a tumbler of brandy.

“Settle it amongst yourselves, and be ⸻ to you,” he said. “You’re all agin me now; but, by ⸻, I’ll be square with some of ye yet.”

It was all over now. Mr. Knightley took a match out of the silver matchbox at his watch-chain, and lit another cigar. I saw the tears trickling through Mrs. Knightley’s fingers. Then she turned away her head, and after a minute or two was as calm and quiet as ever.

“You know your way about the place, Wall,” says Mr. Knightley, as if he was in his own house, just the same as usual; “run up the horses, there’s