Robbery Under Arms [182]
been worse for him; but the other one didn't see a chance, and so he says --
`Give in, what's the good? There's three to two.'
`All right,' says the other chap, the big one; and they put down their pistols.
It was curious now as these two were both men that father and Moran had a down on. They'd better have fought it out as long as they could stand up. There's no good got by givin' in that I ever seen. Men as does so always drop in for it worse in the end.
First thing, then, they tied 'em with their hands behind 'em, and let 'em stand up near their mates that were down -- dead enough, both of them, one shot through the heart and one through the head.
Then Moran sits down and has a smoke, and looks over at 'em.
`You don't remember me, Mr. Hagan?' says he, in his drawling way.
`No,' says the poor chap, `I don't think I do.'
`But I remember you devilish well,' says Moran; `and so you'll find afore we leave this.' Then he took another smoke. `Weren't you warder in Berrima Gaol,' says he, `about seven year ago? Ah! now we're coming to it. You don't remember getting Daniel Moran -- a prisoner serving a long sentence there -- seven days' solitary on bread and water for what you called disobedience of orders and insolence?'
`Yes, I do remember now. I'd forgotten your face. I was only doing my duty, and I hope you won't bear any malice.'
`It was a little thing to you, maybe,' says Moran; `but if you'd had to do seven long days and long cold nights in that devil's den, you'd 'a thought more about it. But you will now. My turn's come.'
`I didn't do it to you more than to the rest. I had to keep order in the gaol, and devilish hard work it was.'
`You're a liar,' says Moran, striking him across the face with his clenched hand. `You had a down on me because I wouldn't knuckle down to you like some of them, and so you dropped it on to me every turn you could get. I was a youngster then, and might have grown into a man if I'd been let. But fellows like you are enough to turn any man into a devil if they've got him in their power.'
`Well, I'm in your power now,' says he. `Let's see how you'll shape.'
`I don't like ye any the worse for being cheeky,' says Moran, `and standing up to me, but it's too late. The last punishment I got, when I was kept in irons night and day for a month because I'd tried to get out, I swore I'd have your life if ever I came across ye.'
`You'll never shoot me in cold blood,' says the poor devil, beginning to look blue about the lips.
`I don't know what old Ben's going to do with the man he found chevying his daughter,' says Moran, looking at him with his deadly black-snake eyes, `but I'm a-goin' to shoot you as soon as I've smoked out this pipe, so don't you make any mistake.'
`I don't mind a shot or two,' says Daly, `but I'm dashed if I can stand by and see men killed in cold blood. You coves have your own reasons, I suppose, but I shall hook it over to the Fish River. You know where to find me.' And he walked away to where the horses were and rode off.
. . . . .
We got fresh horses and rode over quick to Rocky Flat. We took Warrigal with us, and followed our old track across Nulla Mountain till we got within a couple of miles of the place. Warrigal picked up the old mare's tracks, so we knew father had made over that way, and there was no call for us to lose time running his trail any longer. Better go straight on to the house and find out what had happened there. We sent Warrigal on ahead, and waited with our horses in our hands till he come back to us.
In about an hour he comes tearing back, with his eyes staring out of his head.
`I bin see old missis,' he says. `She yabber that one make-believe constable bin there. Gammon-like it surveyor, and bimeby old man Ben gon' alonga hut, and that one pleeceman fire at him and all about, and him break back alonga gully.'
`Any of 'em come back?' says Jim.
`Bale! me see um tent-dog tied up. Cake alonga fireplace, all burn to pieces. No come home last night. I b'lieve
`Give in, what's the good? There's three to two.'
`All right,' says the other chap, the big one; and they put down their pistols.
It was curious now as these two were both men that father and Moran had a down on. They'd better have fought it out as long as they could stand up. There's no good got by givin' in that I ever seen. Men as does so always drop in for it worse in the end.
First thing, then, they tied 'em with their hands behind 'em, and let 'em stand up near their mates that were down -- dead enough, both of them, one shot through the heart and one through the head.
Then Moran sits down and has a smoke, and looks over at 'em.
`You don't remember me, Mr. Hagan?' says he, in his drawling way.
`No,' says the poor chap, `I don't think I do.'
`But I remember you devilish well,' says Moran; `and so you'll find afore we leave this.' Then he took another smoke. `Weren't you warder in Berrima Gaol,' says he, `about seven year ago? Ah! now we're coming to it. You don't remember getting Daniel Moran -- a prisoner serving a long sentence there -- seven days' solitary on bread and water for what you called disobedience of orders and insolence?'
`Yes, I do remember now. I'd forgotten your face. I was only doing my duty, and I hope you won't bear any malice.'
`It was a little thing to you, maybe,' says Moran; `but if you'd had to do seven long days and long cold nights in that devil's den, you'd 'a thought more about it. But you will now. My turn's come.'
`I didn't do it to you more than to the rest. I had to keep order in the gaol, and devilish hard work it was.'
`You're a liar,' says Moran, striking him across the face with his clenched hand. `You had a down on me because I wouldn't knuckle down to you like some of them, and so you dropped it on to me every turn you could get. I was a youngster then, and might have grown into a man if I'd been let. But fellows like you are enough to turn any man into a devil if they've got him in their power.'
`Well, I'm in your power now,' says he. `Let's see how you'll shape.'
`I don't like ye any the worse for being cheeky,' says Moran, `and standing up to me, but it's too late. The last punishment I got, when I was kept in irons night and day for a month because I'd tried to get out, I swore I'd have your life if ever I came across ye.'
`You'll never shoot me in cold blood,' says the poor devil, beginning to look blue about the lips.
`I don't know what old Ben's going to do with the man he found chevying his daughter,' says Moran, looking at him with his deadly black-snake eyes, `but I'm a-goin' to shoot you as soon as I've smoked out this pipe, so don't you make any mistake.'
`I don't mind a shot or two,' says Daly, `but I'm dashed if I can stand by and see men killed in cold blood. You coves have your own reasons, I suppose, but I shall hook it over to the Fish River. You know where to find me.' And he walked away to where the horses were and rode off.
. . . . .
We got fresh horses and rode over quick to Rocky Flat. We took Warrigal with us, and followed our old track across Nulla Mountain till we got within a couple of miles of the place. Warrigal picked up the old mare's tracks, so we knew father had made over that way, and there was no call for us to lose time running his trail any longer. Better go straight on to the house and find out what had happened there. We sent Warrigal on ahead, and waited with our horses in our hands till he come back to us.
In about an hour he comes tearing back, with his eyes staring out of his head.
`I bin see old missis,' he says. `She yabber that one make-believe constable bin there. Gammon-like it surveyor, and bimeby old man Ben gon' alonga hut, and that one pleeceman fire at him and all about, and him break back alonga gully.'
`Any of 'em come back?' says Jim.
`Bale! me see um tent-dog tied up. Cake alonga fireplace, all burn to pieces. No come home last night. I b'lieve