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

We didn’t sit staring at her all the time, you bet. We could see the boy ever so far off. We gathered up our reins and went after her, not in a hurry, but just collecting ourselves a bit to see what would be the best way to wheel the brute and stop her.

Jim’s horse was far and away the fastest, and he let out to head the mare off from a creek that was just in front and at the end of the plain.

“By George!” said one of the men⁠—a young fellow who lived near the place⁠—“the mare’s turning off her course, and she’s heading straight for the Trooper’s Downfall, where the policeman was killed. If she goes over that, they’ll be smashed up like a matchbox, horse and rider.”

“What’s that?” I said, closing up alongside of him. We were all doing our best, and were just in the line to back up Jim, who looked as if he was overhauling the mare fast.

“Why, it’s a bluff a hundred feet deep⁠—a straight drop⁠—and rocks at the bottom. She’s making as straight as a beeline for it now, blast her!”

“And Jim don’t know it,” I said; “he’s closing up to her, but he doesn’t calculate to do it for a quarter of a mile more; he’s letting her take it out of herself.”

“He’ll never catch her in time,” said the young chap. “My God! it’s an awful thing, isn’t it? and a fine young lady like her⁠—so kind to us chaps as she was.”

“I’ll see if I can make Jim hear,” I said, for though I looked cool I was as nearly mad as I could be to think of such a girl being lost before our eyes. “No, I can’t do that, but I’ll telegraph.”

Now Jim and I had had many a long talk together about what we should do in case we wanted to signal to each other very pressing. We thought the time might come some day when we might be near enough to sign, but not to speak. So we hit upon one or two things a little out of the common.

The first idea was, in case of one wanting to give the other the office that he was to look out his very brightest for danger, and not to trust to what appeared to be the state of affairs, the sign was to hold up your hat or cap straight over your head. If the danger threatened on the left, to shift to that side. If it was very pressing and on the jump, as it were, quite unexpected, and as bad as bad could be, the signalman was to get up on the saddle with his knees and turn half round.

We could do this easy enough and a lot of circus tricks besides. How had we learned them? Why, in the long days we had spent in the saddle tailing the milkers and searching after lost horses for many a night.

As luck would have it Jim looked round to see how we were getting on, and up went my cap. I could see him turn his head and keep watching me when I put on the whole box and dice of the telegraph business. He “dropped,” I could see. He took up the brown horse, and made such a rush to collar the mare that showed he intended to see for himself what the danger was. The cross-grained jade! She was a well-bred wretch, and be hanged to her! Went as if she wanted to win the Derby and gave Jim all he knew to challenge her. We could see a line of timber just ahead of her, and that Jim was riding for his life.

“By⁠—! they’ll both be over it,” said the young shearer. “They can’t stop themselves at that pace, and they must be close up now.”

“He’s neck and neck,” I said. “Stick to her, Jim, old man!”

We were all close together now. Several of the men knew the place, and the word had been passed round.

No one spoke for a few seconds. We saw the two horses rush up at top speed to the very edge of the timber.

“By Jove! they’re over. No! he’s reaching for her rein. It’s no use. Now⁠—now! She’s saved! Oh, my God! they’re both right. By the Lord, well done! Hurrah! One cheer more for Jim Marston!”

It was all right. We saw Jim suddenly reach over as the horses were going stride and stride; saw him lift Miss Falkland from her saddle as if she had been a child and place her before him; saw the brown horse prop, and swing round on his haunches in a way that showed he had not been called the crack “cutting-out” horse on a big cattle run for nothing. We saw Jim jump to the ground and lift the young lady down. We saw only one horse.

Three minutes after Mr. Falkland overtook us, and we rode up together. His face was white, and his dry lips couldn’t find words at first. But he managed to say to Jim, when we got up⁠—

“You have saved my child’s life, James Marston, and if I forget the service may God in that hour forget me. You are a noble fellow. You must allow me to show my gratitude in some way.”

“You needn’t thank me so out and out as all that, Mr. Falkland,” said Jim, standing up very straight and looking at the father first, and then at Miss Falkland, who was pale and trembling, not altogether from fear, but excitement, and trying to choke back the sobs that would come out now and then. “I’d risk life and limb any day before Miss Falkland’s finger should be scratched, let alone see her killed before my eyes. I wonder if there’s anything left of the mare, poor thing; not that she don’t deserve it all, and more.”

Here we all walked forward to the deep creek bank.