'The “Banner” comes next,' says Starlight, tearing it open. 'We shall
have something short and sweet after the “Star”. How's this?
STARLIGHT AGAIN.
This mercurial brigand, it would appear, has paid Turon another visit,
but, with the exception of what may be considered the legalised robbery
of the betting ring, has not levied contributions. Rather the other way,
indeed. A hasty note for Mr. Dawson, whom he had tricked into temporary
association by adopting one of the disguises he can so wonderfully
assume, requested that gentleman to receive the Handicap Stakes, won by
his horse, Darkie, alias Rainbow, and to hand them over to the treasurer
of the Turon Hospital, which was accordingly done.
Sir Ferdinand and the police had been decoyed away previously nearly
100 miles by false intelligence as to Moran and his gang. Our town and
treasure were thus left undefended for forty-eight hours, while a daring
criminal and his associates mingled unsuspected with all classes. We
have always regarded the present system--facetiously called police
protection--as a farce. This latter fiasco will probably confirm the
idea with the public at large. We, unlike a contemporary, have no morbid
sympathy with crime--embroidered or otherwise; our wishes, as loyal
subjects, are confined to a short shrift and a high gallows for all who
dare to obstruct the Queen's highway.'
'That's easy to understand, barrin' a word here and there,' says father,
taking his pipe out of his mouth and laying it down; 'that's the way
they used to talk to us in the old days. Dashed if I don't think it's
the best way after all. You know where you are. The rest's flummery. All
on us as takes to the cross does it with our eyes open, and deserves all
we gets.'
'I'm afraid you're right, governor; but why didn't these moral ideas
occur to you, for instance, and others earlier in life?'
'Why?' says father, getting up and glaring with his eyes, 'because I
was a blind, ignorant dog when I was young, as had never been taught
nothing, and knowed nothing, not so much as him there' (pointing to
Crib), 'for he knows what his business is, and I didn't. I was thrashed
and starved, locked up in a gaol, chained and flogged after that, and
half the time for doing what I didn't know was wrong, and couldn't know
more than one of them four-year-old colts out there that knocks his head
agin the yard when he's roped, and falls backards and breaks his neck if
he ain't watched. Whose business was it to have learned me better? That
I can't rightly say, but it seemed it was the business of the Government
people to gaol me, and iron me, and flog me. Was that justice? Any man's
sense 'll tell him it wasn't. It's been them and me for it since I got
my liberty, and if I had had a dozen lives they'd all have gone the same
road!'
We none of us felt in the humour to say much after that. Father had got
into one of his tantrums, and when he did he was fit to be tied; only
I'd not have took the contract for something. Whatever it was that had
happened to him in the old times when he was a Government man he didn't
talk about. Only every now and then he'd let out just as he did now, as
if nothing could ever set him straight again, or keep him from fighting
against them, as he called the swells and the Government, and everybody
almost that was straightgoing and honest. He'd been at it a good many
years, one way and another, and any one that knew him didn't think it
likely he'd change.
The next dust we got into was all along of a Mr. Knightley, who lived a
good way down to the south, and it was one of the worst things we ever
were mixed up in. After the Turon races and all that shine, somehow or
other we found that things had been made hotter for us than ever since
we first turned out. Go where we would, we found the police always quick
on our trail, and we had two or three very close shaves of it. It looked
as if our luck was dead out, and we began to think our chance of getting
across the border to Queensland, and clear out of the colony that way,
looked worse every day.
Dad kept foraging about to get information, and we sent Warrigal and
Billy the Boy all over the country to find out how it was things were
turning out so contrary.
Sir Ferdinand was always on the move, but we knew he couldn't do it all
himself unless he got the office from some one who knew the ropes better
than he did.
Last of all we dropped on to it.
There was one of the goldfields commissioners, a Mr. Knightley, a very
keen, cool hand; he was a great sporting man, and a dead shot, like Mr.
Hamilton. Well, this gentleman took it into his head to put on extra
steam and try and run us down. He'd lost some gold by us in the escort
robbery, and not forgotten it; so it seems he'd been trying his best to
fit us ever since. Just at first he wasn't able for much, but later on
he managed to get information about us and our beat, whenever we left
the Hollow, and he put two and two together, and very nearly dropped on
us, as I said before, two or three times. We heard, too, that he should
say he'd never rest till he had Starlight and the Marstons, and that
if he could get picked police he'd bring us in within a month, dead or
alive.
We didn't care much about blowing of this sort in a general way; but
one of dad's telegraphs sent word in that Mr. Knightley had a couple of
thousand pounds worth of gold from a new diggings lodged at his private
residence for a few days till he could get the escort to call for it;
that there was only him and a German doctor, a great scholar he was,
named Schiller, in the house.
Moran and Daly knew about this, and they were dead on for sticking up
the place and getting hold of the gold. Besides that, we felt savage
about his trying to run us in. Of course, it was his duty and that of
all magistrates and commissioners in a general way. But he wasn't an
officer of police, and we thought he was going outside of his line.
So when all came to all, we made up our minds to learn him a lesson to
stick to his own work; besides, a thousand ounces of gold was no foolish
touch, and we could kill two birds with one stone. Moran, Daly, and
Joe Wall were to be in it besides. We didn't like working with them.
Starlight and I were dead against it. But we knew they'd tackle it by
themselves if we backed out. So we agreed to make one thing of it.
We were to meet at a place about ten miles off and ride over there
together.
Just about ten o'clock we closed in on the place, and left Billy the Boy
and Warrigal with the horses, while we sneaked up. We couldn't get near,
though, without his knowing it, for he always had a lot of sporting
dogs--pointers, retrievers, kangaroo dogs, no end. They kicked up a
deuce of a row, and barked and howled enough to raise the dead, before
we got within a quarter of a mile from the house.
Of course he was on his guard then, and before long the bullets began to
fly pretty thick among us, and we had to take cover to return fire and
keep as dark as we could. No doubt this Dr. Schiller loaded the guns and
handed them to him, else he couldn't have made such play as he did.
We blazed away too, and as there was no stable at the back we surrounded
the house and tried hard to find an opening. Devil a chance there seemed
to be; none of us dared show. So sure as we did we could hear one of
those Winchester rifle bullets sing through the air, almost on the top
of us. We all had a close shave more than once for being too fast.
For more than half the night he kept cannonading away, and we didn't
seem able to get any nearer the place. At last we drew lots which should
try and get up close to the place, so as to make a rush while we poured
in our broadside and open a door to let us in.
The lot fell upon Patsey Daly. 'Good-bye, all,' he said. 'I'm dashed if
I don't think Knightley will bag me. I don't half like charging him, and
that's God's truth. Anyhow I'll try for that barrel there; and if I get
behind it I can fire from short range and make him come out.'
He made a rush, half on his hands and knees, and managed to get behind
this barrel, where he was safe from being hit as long as he kept well
behind it. Then he peppered away, right and left.
On the left of the verandah there was a door stood partly open,
and after a bit a man in a light overcoat and a white hat, like Mr.
Knightley always wore, showed himself for a second. Daly raps away at
this, and the man staggers and falls. Patsey shows himself for a moment
from behind the cask, thinking to make a rush forward; that minute Mr.
Knightley, who was watching him from a window (the other was only an
image), lets drive at him, cool and steady, and poor Patsey drops like a
cock, and never raised his head again. He was shot through the body. He
lingered a bit; but in less than an hour he was a dead man.
We began to think at last that we had got in for a hot thing, and
that we should have to drop it like Moran's mob at Kadombla. However,
Starlight was one of those men that won't be beat, and he kept getting
more and more determined to score. He crept away to the back of the
building, where he could see to fire at a top window close by where the
doctor and Mr. Knightley had been potting at us.
He had the repeating rifle he'd won from me; he never let it go
afterwards, and he could make wonderful shooting with it. He kept it
going so lively that they began to be hard pressed inside, and had to
fire away twice as much ammunition as they otherwise would. It always
beat me how they contrived to defend so many points at once. We tried
back and front, doors and windows. Twenty times we tried a rush, but
they were always ready--so it seemed--and their fire was too hot for us
to stand up to, unless we wanted to lose every second man.
The shooting was very close. Nearly every one of us had a
scratch--Starlight rather the worst, as he was more in the front and
showed himself more. His left arm was bleeding pretty free, but he tied
a handkerchief over it and went on as if nothing had happened, only I
could see that his face had that set look he only got now and then, and
his eyes began to show out a fierce light.
At last we began to see that the return fire was slacking off, while
ours was as brisk as ever.
'Hurrah!' says Starlight, 'I believe they'll give in soon. If they had
any cartridges they would have had every man of us in that last rush.
Let's try another dodge. Here goes for a battering-ram, Dick!'
He pointed to a long, heavy sapling which had been fetched in for a
sleeper or something of that sort. We picked it up, and, taking a run
back, brought it with all its weight against the front door. In it
went like a sheet of bark; we almost fell as we ran forward and found
ourselves in a big, dark hall. It seemed very queer and strange,
everything was so silent and quiet.
We half expected another volley. But nothing came. We could only stand
and wait. The others had gone round the side of the house.
'Get to a corner, Dick; they're always the safest places. We must mind
it isn't an ambush. What the devil's the matter? Are they going to
suicide, like the people in the round tower of Jhansi?'
'There are no women here,' I said. 'There's no saying what Mr. Knightley
might do if his wife had been here.'
'Thank God, she's away at Bathurst,' said Starlight. 'I hate seeing
women put out. Besides, everybody bows down to Mrs. Knightley. She's as
good as she's handsome, I believe, and that's saying a great deal.'
Just then Moran and Wall managed to find their way into the other side
of the house, and they came tearing into the hall like a pair of colts.
They looked rather queer when they saw us three and no one else.
'What in thunder's up?' says Moran. 'Are they all gone to bed, and left
us the spare rooms? Poor Patsey won't want one, anyhow.'
'Better make some search upstairs,' says Starlight. 'Who'll go first?
You make a start, Moran; you like fighting people.'
'Couldn't think of going before the Captain,' says Moran, with a grin.
'I'll follow where you lead.'
'All right!' says Starlight; 'here goes,' and he started to walk
upstairs, when all of a sudden he stopped and looked up as if something
had surprised him above a bit. Then he stepped back and waited. I
noticed he took off his hat and leaned against the wall.
It was an old-fashioned house for that part of the world, built a good
many years ago by a rich settler, who was once the owner of all that
side of the country. The staircase was all stone, ornamented every way
it could be. Three or four people could walk abreast easy enough.
Just about half-way up was a broad landing, and on this, all of a
sudden, appeared four people, inclined by their ways to come down to
where we were, while we were all wondering, for a reason you'll see
afterwards.
It was Mr. Knightley who took the lady's arm--it was his wife, and she
had been there all the time, firing at us as like as not, or at any
rate helping. The others followed, and they all walked quite solemn and
steady-like down the stairs together.
It was a strange sight. There we were standing and leaning about the
dark hall, staring and wondering, and these people walking down to meet
us like ghosts, without speaking or anything else.
Mr. Knightley was a tall, handsome man, with a grand black beard that
came down to his chest. He walked like a lord, and had that kind of
manner with him that comes to people that have always been used to be
waited on and have everything found for them in this world. As for
his wife, she was given in to be the handsomest woman in the whole
countryside--tall and graceful, with a beautiful smile, and soft fair
hair. Everybody liked and respected her, gentle and simple--everybody
had a good word for her. You couldn't have got any one to say different
for a hundred pounds. There are some people, here and there, like this
among the gentlefolk, and, say what you like, it does more to make coves
like us look a little closer at things and keep away from what's wrong
and bad than all the parsons' talk twice over. Mrs. Knightley was the
only woman that ever put me in mind of Miss Falkland, and I can't say
more than that.
So, as I said before, it was quite a picture to see them walk slowly and
proudly down and sweep into the hall as if they'd been marching into a
ballroom. We had both seen them at the ball at the Turon, and everybody
agreed they were the handsomest couple there.
Now they were entering their own hall in a different way. But you
couldn't have told much of what they felt by their faces. He was a proud
man, and felt bitterly enough that he had to surrender to a gang of
men that he hated and despised, that he'd boasted he could run down and
capture in a month. Now the tables were turned. He and his beautiful
wife were in our power, and, to make matters worse, one of our band lay
dead, beside the inner wall, killed by his hand.
What was to be his doom? And who could say how such a play might end?
I looked at our men. As they stepped on to the floor of the hall and
looked round Mrs. Knightley smiled. She looked to me like an angel from
heaven that had come by chance into the other place and hadn't found
out her mistake. I saw Starlight start as he looked at her. He was still
leaning against the wall, and there was a soft, sorrowful look in his
eyes, like I remember noticing once before while he was talking to
Aileen about his early days, a thing he never did but once. Part of her
hair had straggled down, and hung in a sort of ringlet by her face. It
was pale, but clear and bright-looking, and there was a thin streak
of blood across her forehead that showed as she came underneath the
lamp-light from the landing above.
I looked over at Moran. He and Wall sat in a corner, looking as grim
and savage as possible, while his deadly black eyes had a kind of gloomy
fire in them that made him look like a wild beast in a cage.
Mr. Knightley was a man that always had the first word in everything,
and generally the best of an argument--putting down anybody who differed
from him in a quiet, superior sort of way.
He began now. 'Well, my men, I have come down to surrender, and I'm
sorry to be obliged to do so. But we have fired our last cartridge--the
doctor thought we had a thousand left--in which case, I may as well tell
you, you'd never have had this pleasure. Captain Starlight, I surrender
my sword--or should do so if I had one. We trust to receive honourable
treatment at your hands.'
'I'm sure the Captain will never permit any harm to come to me,' says
Mrs. Knightley, with a look in her eyes that, in spite of herself, said
a deal more than words. 'Why, I danced “vis-a-vis” to him in a quadrille
at the Turon ball.'
'I shall never forget the honour,' says Starlight, walking forward and
bowing low. 'Permit me to offer you a chair, madam; you look faint.'
As he did so she sank down in it, and really looked as if she would
faint away. It wouldn't have been much wonder if she had after what
she'd gone through that night.
Then Mr. Knightley began again. He wanted to know how he stood. He
didn't like the look of Moran and Wall--they were a deal too quiet for
him, and he could read men's faces like a book. The other two prisoners
were the German Dr. Schiller--a plucky old chap, who'd been a rebel and
a conspirator and I don't know what all in his own country. He'd seen
too much of that kind of thing to trouble himself over much about a
trifle of this kind. The old woman was a family servant, who had been
with them for years and years. She was a kind of worshipper of theirs,
and was ready to live or die with her mistress.