THE RAID ON THE STATION
Those same dark hours of this eventful night were also the slowest and
the dreariest on record in the mind of Naomi Pryse. She too had waited
for the moon. At sundown she had stabled her horse, and left it with a
fine feed of chaff and oats as priming for the further work she had in
view. This done, she had consented, under protest, to eat something
herself; but had jumped up early to fill with her own hands a water-bag
and a flask of which she could have no need for hours. It made no
matter. She must be up and doing this or that; it was intolerable
sitting still even to eat and drink. Besides, how could she eat, how
could she drink, when he who should have shared her meal was perhaps
perishing of hunger and thirst in Top Scrubby? It was much more
comforting to cut substantial slices of mutton and bread, to put them up
in a neat packet, and to set this in readiness alongside the flask and
the water-bag. Then came the trouble. There was nothing more to be done.
It was barely eight o'clock, and no moon for two hours and a half.
Naomi went round to the back veranda, picked up the book she had been
reading the day before, and marched about with it under her arm. She had
not the heart to sit down and read. Her restless feet took her many
times to the kitchen and Mrs. Potter, who shook her good gray head and
remonstrated with increasing candor and asperity.
"Go to look for him?" she cried at last. "When the time comes for that,
you'll be too dead tired to sit in your saddle, miss. If you start
before the moon's well up, there'll be no telling a hoof-mark from a
foot-print without getting off every time. You've said so yourself, Miss
Naomi. Then why not go straight to your bed and lie down for two or
three hours? I'll bring you a cup of tea at half-past eleven, and you
can be away by twelve."
Naomi sighed.
"It is so long to wait--doing nothing! He may be dying, poor fellow; and
yet what can one do in the dark?"
"Lie down and rest," said Mrs. Potter, dryly.
"Well, I will try, but not on my bed--on the sitting-room sofa, I think.
Will you light the lamp there, please? And bring the tea at eleven; I'll
start at half-past."
Naomi took a short stroll among the darkling pines--the way that she had
taken the piano-tuner in the first moments of their swift
friendship--the way that he had taken alone last night. She reached the
sitting-room with moist, wistful eyes, which startled themselves as she
confronted the mirror over the chimney-piece whereon stood the lamp. She
stood for a little, however, looking at
herself--steadfastly--inquisitively--as though to search out the secrets
of her own heart. She gave it up in the end, and turned wearily away.
What was the use of peering into her own heart now, when so often
aforetime she had seemed to know it, and had not? There was no use; and
as it happened, no need. For the first thing her eyes fell upon, as she
turned, was the pile of music lying yet where Engelhardt had placed it,
on the stool. The next was his little inscription on the uppermost song.
She knelt to read it again; when she had done so the two uncertain,
left-handed, pencilled lines were wet and blotched with her tears, and
she rose up knowing what she had never known before.
At eleven-thirty--she had set her heart upon that extra half hour if let
alone--Mrs. Potter rattled the tea-tray against the sitting-room door
and entered next moment. She found her mistress on the sofa certainly,
but lying on her back and staring straight at the ceiling. Her face was
very white and still, but she moved it a little as the door opened. She
had not slept? Not a wink. Her book was lying in her lap; it had never
been opened. Mrs. Potter was not slow to exhibit her disappointment, not
to say her disgust. But Naomi sprang up with every sign of energy, and
finished her tea in five minutes. In ten she had her horse saddled. In
twelve she had cantered back to the veranda, and was receiving from Mrs.
Potter the water-bag, the flask, and the packet of bread and meat.
"Have his room nice and ready for him," said the girl, excitedly, "and
the kettle boiling, so that we may both have breakfast the instant we
get in. It will be a pretty early breakfast, you'll see! Do you think
you can do without sleep as long as I can?"
"Well, I know I sha'n't lie down while you're gone, miss."
"Then I'll be tremendously quick, I will indeed. I only wish I'd started
long ago. The moon is splendid now. You can see miles----"
"Then look there, Miss Naomi!"
"Where?"
"Past the stables--across the paddock--toward the fence."
Naomi looked. A black figure was running toward them in the moonlight.
"Who can it be, Mrs. Potter? Not Mr. Engelhardt----"
"Who else?"
"But he is reeling and staggering! Could it be some drunken roustabout?
And yet that's just his height--it must be--it _is_--thank God!"
Her curiosity first, and then her amazement, kept Naomi seated immovable
in her saddle. She wondered later why she had not cantered to meet him.
She did not stir even when his stertorous breathing came painfully to
her ears. It was only when the quivering, spent, and speechless young
man threw his arms across the withers of her horse, and his white face
fell forward upon the mane, that Naomi silently detached the water-bag
which she had strapped to her saddle, and held it to his lips with a
trembling hand. At first he shook his head. Then he raised his wild eyes
to hers with a piteously anxious expression.
"You have heard--that they are coming?"
"No--who?"
"You have heard, or why are you on horseback?"
"To look for you. I was on the point of starting. I made sure you must
be bushed."
"I was. But I got to a camp. They looked after me; I am all right. And
now they are coming in here--they're probably on their way!" Each little
sentence came in a fresh gasp from his parched throat.
"But who?"
"Those two tramps who came the other day, and Simons, the ringer of the
shed. Villains--villains every one!"
"Ah! And what do they want?"
"Can't you guess? The silver! The silver! That fat brute who insulted
you so, who do you suppose he is? Tigerskin's mate--just out of
prison--the man whose finger your father shot off ten years ago! You
remember how he kept his hands in his pockets the other day? Well, that
was the reason. Now there isn't a moment to lose. I listened to their
plans. Half an hour ago--or it may be an hour--they lay down for a
spell. They were drunk, but not very. They only meant to rest for a bit;
then they're coming straight here. They left me tied up--they were going
to bring me with them--I'll tell you afterward how I got loose. I
daren't stop a moment, even to cut adrift their horses. I just bolted
for the moon--I'd heard them say the station lay due east--and here I
am. Thank God I've found you up and mounted! It couldn't have been
better; it's providential. Now you mustn't get off at all; you must just
ride right on to the shed."
"Must I?" said Naomi, with a tight lip and a keen eye, but a touch of
the old banter in her tone.
"We could follow on foot. Meanwhile you would rouse them out at the
shed----"
"And my silver?"
Engelhardt was silent. The girl leant forward in her saddle, and laid a
hand upon his shoulder.
"No, no, Mr. Engelhardt! Captains don't quit their ships in such a
hurry as all that. I'm captain here, and I'll stick to mine. It isn't
only the silver. Still my father smelt powder for that silver, and the
least I can do is to follow his lead."
She slid to the ground as she spoke.
"You will barricade yourself in the store?" said Engelhardt.
"Exactly. It was fixed up for this very kind of thing, after the first
fuss with Tigerskin. They'll never get in."
"And you mean to stick to your guns inside?"
"To such as I have--most certainly."
"Then I mean to stick to you."
"Very well."
"But think--think before it's too late! They are devils, Miss
Pryse--beasts! I have seen them and heard them. Better a hundred times
be dead than at their mercy. For God's sake, take the horse before they
are upon us!"
"I stop here," said Naomi, decidedly.
"Yet Mrs. Potter and I could hold the store as easily as you could. They
shall not get your silver while I'm alive."
"My mind is made up," said the girl, in a voice which silenced his
remonstrances; "but I agree with you that somebody ought to start off
for the shed. I think that you should, Mr. Engelhardt, if you feel equal
to it."
"Equal to it! It's so likely I would ride off and leave two women to the
mercy of those brutes! If it really must be so, then I think the sooner
we all three get into the store----"
It was Mrs. Potter who here put in her amazing word. While the young
people stood and argued, her eyes had travelled over every point of the
saddled horse. And now she proposed that she should be the one to ride
to the shed for help.
"You!" the two cried in one breath, as they gazed at her ample figure.
"And why not?" said the hardy woman. "Wasn't I born and bred in the
bush? Couldn't I ride--bareback, too--before either of you was born? I'm
not so light as I used to be, and I haven't the nerve either; but what I
have is all there in the hour of need, Miss Naomi. Let me go now. I'm
ready this minute."
Naomi had seemed lost in thought.
"Very well!" cried she, whipping her eyes from the ground. "But you
don't know the way to the shed, and I must make your directions pretty
plain. Run to the back of the kitchen, Mr. Engelhardt, you'll see a lot
of clothes-props. Bring as many as you can to the store veranda."
Engelhardt darted off upon his errand. Already they had wasted too many
minutes in words. His brain was ablaze with lurid visions of the
loathsome crew in Top Scrubby; of the murderous irruption imminent at
any moment; of the unspeakable treatment to be suffered at those
blood-stained hands--not only by himself--that mattered little--but by a
woman--by Naomi of all women in the world. God help them both if the
gang arrived before they were safe inside the store! But until the worst
happened she need not know, nor should she guess, how bad that worst
might be. Poor Rowntree's fate, and even his own ill-usage by those
masterless men, were things which Engelhardt was not the man to tell to
women in the hour of alarm. He was clear enough as to that; and having
done up to this point all that a man could do, he jumped at the simple
task imposed by Naomi, and threw himself into it with immense vigor and
a lightened heart. As he dropped his first clothes-prop in the store
veranda, Naomi and the housekeeper were still talking, though the
latter was already huddled up in the saddle. When he got back with a
second, both women were gone; with a third, Naomi was unlocking the
store door; with the fourth and last, she had lit a candle inside, and
was sawing one of the other props in two.
"That'll do," she said, as her saw ran through the wood. "Now hold this
one up for me."
She pointed to another of the stout poles. She made him hold it with one
end inside, and the other protruding through the opening. Then she made
a mark on the prop at the level of the door, sawed it through at her
mark, and cut down the other two in the same fashion. In less than five
minutes the four poles had become eight, which cumbered the floor
within. Then Naomi rose from her knees, flung the saw back into the
tool-box, and made a final survey with the candle. A few flakes of
sawdust lay about the shallow veranda. She fetched a broom from a corner
of the store and whisked them away. Then she removed the key to the
inside, and was about to lock the door upon herself and Engelhardt when
he suddenly stopped her.
"Hold on!" he cried. "I want your boots."
"My boots?"
"Yes, those you've got on--with the dust on 'em, just as they are. They
must be left outside your door, and your door must be locked; you must
keep the key."
Naomi gave him a grateful, an admiring smile.
"That _is_ a happy thought. I'll get it myself. While I'm gone you might
fetch in the axe from the wood-heap; I'd almost forgotten it."
They ran off in different directions. Next minute they were both back in
the store, Engelhardt with the axe. Naomi took it from him, and set it
aside without a word. Her face was blanched.
"I heard something," she whispered. "I heard a cry. Oh, if they've seen
me!"
"We'll lock the door as quietly as possible."
This was done.
"Now the props," said Naomi.
Engelhardt had guessed what they were for. He helped her to fix them,
with one wedged between floor and counter, and the other pressing the
heavy woodwork of the door. It now appeared how craftily Naomi had cut
her timbers. They met the door, two at the top, two at the bottom, and
four about the centre. Still the brave engineer was distressed.
"I meant to hammer them down," she murmured. "Now I daren't."
"We'll put all our weight on them instead," said Engelhardt. They did so
with a will, until each prop had creaked in turn. Then they listened.
"Out with the light," said Naomi. "There are no windows to give us
away--but still!"
He blew it out. As yet his own ears had heard nothing, and he was
beginning to wonder whether Naomi had been deceived. They listened a
little longer. Then she said:
"We're provisioned for a siege. Did you see the flask and things on the
counter?"
"I did. How in the world did you find time to get them ready?"
"I had them ready before you came. They were for you."
The two were crouching close together between the props. It was a
natural though not a necessary attitude. The moon was shining through
the skylight upon one of the walls; the multifarious tins and bottles on
the shelves made the most of the white light; and faint reflections
reached the faces of Naomi and the piano-tuner--so close to each other,
so pale, so determined, and withal so wistful as their eyes met.
Engelhardt first looked his thanks, and then stammered them out in a
broken whisper. Even as he did so the girl raised a finger to her lips.
"Hark! There they are."
"Yes, I hear them. They won't hear us yet a bit."
"They mustn't hear us at all; but off with your boots--we may have to
move about."
She had already kicked off her shoes, and now, because he had only one
of his own, she pulled off his boots with her two hands.
"You should not have done that!"
"Why not?"
"It's dreadful! Just as though you were my servant."
"Mr. Engelhardt, we must be everything to each other----"
She shot up her hand and ceased. The voices without were now
distinguishable.
"To-night!" he muttered, bitterly, before heeding them.
Naomi, on the other hand, was at the last pitch of attention; but not to
him. She inclined her head as she knelt to hear the better. The voices
were approaching from one side.
"Ay, that's where he dropped--just there!" said one. It was Tigerskin's
mate, Bill.
"Take the key from the door!" Engelhardt whispered to Naomi, who was the
nearer it. They had forgotten to do this. For one wild moment the girl
hesitated, then she cautiously reached out her hand and withdrew the key
without a scratch.
"So this is the crib!" they heard Bo's'n say.
"The same old crib," said Bill. "Same as it was ten years ago, only
plastered up a bit. I suppose it _is_ locked, mate?"
The handle was tried. The door shook ever so little. The two inside
gazed at the props and held their breath. If one of them should be
shaken down!
"Ay, it's locked all right; and I reckon it's true enough about the girl
sleeping with the key under her pillow, and all."
"Blast your reckonings!" said Bill. "Make sure the key ain't in the door
on t'other side."
The thimbleful of starlit sky which Naomi had been watching for the last
minute and a half was suddenly wiped away. She heard Bo's'n breathing
hard as he stooped and peered. The key grew colder in her hand.
"No, there ain't no key, Bill."
"That's all right. They're both in their beds then, and that little
suck-o'-my-thumb hasn't got here yet. When he does, God 'elp him!"
The voices were those of Bill and Bo's'n. For the moment these two
seemed to be alone together.
"Ay, ay, we'd string the beggar up fast enough another time!"
"String him up? Yes, by his heels, and shoot holes through him while he
dangled."
"Beginning where you don't kill. Holy smoke! but I wish he'd turn up
now."
"So do I--the swine! But here comes the ringer. What cheer, matey?"
"It's right," said Simons. "The little devil's locked her door; but
there are her boots outside, same as if she was stoppin' at a blessed
'otel. A fat lot she cared whether her precious pal was bushed or
whether he wasn't! We thought you was telling us lies, mother, but, by
cripes, you wasn't!"
"I should think not!" said a fourth voice. "She wouldn't believe he was
lost, but I knew he was; so I just saddled the night-horse after she
was in bed and asleep, and was going straight to the shed to raise a
search-party!"
The pair within were staring at each other in dumb horror. That fourth
voice was but too well known to them both. It was Mrs. Potter's.