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

“Well, if that ain’t the cheekiest thing I ever heard tell of,” says I laughingly. “To put up a yard at the back of a man’s run, and muster his cattle for him! I never heard the like before, nor anyone else. But suppose the cove or his men come across it?”

“ ’Tain’t no ways likely,” says father. “They’re the sleepiest lot of chaps in this frontage I ever saw. It’s hardly worth while touching them. There’s no fun in it. It’s like shooting pheasants when they ain’t preserved. There’s no risk, and when there’s no risk there’s no pleasure. Anyway that’s my notion.”

“Talking about risks, why didn’t you work that Marquis of Lorne racket better? We saw in the papers that the troopers hunted you so close you had to kill him in the ranges.”

Father looked over at us and then began to laugh⁠—not long, and he broke off short. Laughing wasn’t much in his line.

“Killed him, did we? And a horse worth nigh on to two thousand pounds. You ought to have known your old father better than that. We did kill a chestnut horse, one we picked out a purpose; white legs, white knee, short under lip, everything quite regular. We even fed him for a week on prairie grass, just like the Marquis had been eating. Bless you, we knew how to work all that. We deceived Windhall his own self, and he thinks he’s pretty smart. No! the Marquis is all safe⁠—you know where.”

I opened my eyes and stared at father.

“You’ve some call to crow if you can work things like that. How you ever got him away beats me; but not more than how you managed to keep him hid with a ring of troopers all round you from every side of the district.”

“We had friends,” father said. “Me and Warrigal done all the travelling by night. No one but him could have gone afoot, I believe, much less led a blood horse through the beastly scrub and ranges he showed us. But the devil himself could not beat him and that little brute Bilbah in rough country.”

“I believe you,” I said, thinking of our ride yesterday. “It’s quite bad enough to follow him on level ground. But don’t you think our tracks will be easy to follow with a thousand head of cattle before us? Any fool could do that.”

“It ain’t that as I’m looking at,” said father; “of course an old woman could do it, and knit stockings all the time; but our dart is to be off and have a month’s start before anybody knows they are off the run. They won’t think of mustering before fat cattle takes a bit of a turn. That won’t be for a couple of months yet. Then they may catch us if they can.”

We had a long talk with Starlight, and what he said came to much the same. One stockman they had “squared,” and he was to stand in. They had got two or three flash chaps to help muster and drive, who were to swear they thought we were dealers, and had bought cattle all right. One or two more were to meet us farther on. If we could get the cattle together and clear off before anything was suspected the rest was easy. The yard was nearly up, and Jim and I wired in and soon finished it. It didn’t want very grand work putting into it as long as it would last our time. So we put it up roughly, but pretty strong, with pine saplings. The drawing in was the worst, for we had to hump the most of them ourselves. Jim couldn’t help bursting out laughing from time to time.

“It does seem such a jolly cheeky thing,” he said. “Driving off a mob of cattle on the quiet I’ve known happen once or twice; but I’m dashed if ever I heard tell of putting up duffing improvements of a superior class on a cove’s run and clearing off with a thousand drafted cattle, all quiet and regular, and him pottering about his home-station and never dropping to it no more than if he was in Sydney.”

“People ought to look after their stock closer than they do,” I said. “It is their fault almost as much as ours. But they are too lazy to look after their own work, and too miserable to pay a good man to do it for them. They just get a half-and-half sort of fellow that’ll take low wages and make it up with duffing, and of course he’s not likely to look very sharp after the back country.”

“You’re not far away,” says Jim; “but don’t you think they’d have to look precious sharp and get up very early in the morning to be level with chaps like father and Starlight, let alone Warrigal, who’s as good by night as day? Then there’s you and me. Don’t try and make us out better than we are, Dick; we’re all d⁠⸺ scoundrels, that’s the truth of it, and honest men haven’t a chance with us, except in the long run⁠—except in the long run. That’s where they’ll have us, Dick Marston.”

“That’s quite a long speech for you, Jim,” I said; “but it don’t matter much that I know of whose fault it is that we’re in this duffing racket. It seems to be our fate, as the chap says in the book. We’ll have a jolly spree in Adelaide if this journey comes out right. And now let’s finish this evening off. Tomorrow they’re going to yard the first mob.”

After that we didn’t talk much except about the work. Starlight and Warrigal were out every day and all day. The three new hands were some chaps who formed part of a gang that did most of the horse-stealing in that neighbourhood, though they never showed up. The way they managed it was this.