The Crooked Stick Or Pollies's Probation Part 15

'Which way will they attempt to enter?' said Bertram, lighting a cigarette. 'Here or at the house?'

'From what I was told,' said the sergeant, with an air of satisfaction, 'they will come to the barracks, to this very room, and a better line--for us--they couldn't have taken. They know this place and all the ins and outs of the premises well. Their dart is to knock up the storekeeper, Mr. Newman, and make him hand over whatever they want--or will--or the cash-box. They know the back entrance from here to the house.'

'Which they'll never set foot in,' said Bertram. 'If we don't give a good account of them here, prepared as we shall be when they turn up, we deserve never to pull trigger again.'

'I've had a few close brushes with men of their sort,' said Herne, with a grim smile of satisfaction, 'but I don't know that ever I saw a neater thing than what we're working now. We've got 'em on toast. You see, sir, what a beautiful room this is?'

Devereux looked round the unadorned apartment with a slight expression of inquiry.

'I mean to be "stuck up in" of course. Don't know that I ever saw the equal of it. They begin in the verandah. We're safe to hear their step or voices. It's all dark, of course. They light a match to rouse up Mr.

Newman. They know that's his room on the right-hand side there. You and I stand just inside this bedroom, Constable Gray and Mr. Atherstone about there. The moment they light their match, we call on them to surrender in the Queen's name. Mr. Gateward, who's behind the bale of sheepskins, lights a lantern that stands all ready, so as we can see what we're about, and in a brace of shakes the thing's over.'

'It's quite certain there's no more than two of them, sergeant?' said Mr. Gateward. 'You're sure of that, I reckon. Not that we mind much, but it might make a difference.'

'There might be a third man. I heard that "Johnny the Pacer" was seen at Warrambong the other day. But he's more in the horse-duffing line than where there's shooting going on.'

'However, you never know when these fellows will turn out. There's been a warrant out for him these two years.'

'We shall be all the better matched,' said Bertram. 'The more the merrier, as long as we're only man to man. I wonder Atherstone isn't over yet. I suppose the ladies had better not know anything about the visitors we expect.'

'Begging your pardon, sir,' said Gateward, with a look of resolve upon his face. 'It will be best to put them on their guard. It would give them a shock if they woke up and heard the shooting. They're neither of them ladies as will scream and faint or act with any foolishness.'

'I think Gateward is right,' said the sergeant gravely. 'If they're prepared, depend upon it they'll be brave and steady; ladies mostly are in the real push of danger. And Mrs. Devereux hasn't lived here all these years without knowing about bushrangers, more's the pity.'

'Had reason to know 'em too well,' said the overseer, shaking his head.

'You won't frighten Miss Pollie, sir, and the missus, for, as quiet as she looks, she isn't to say timorsome.'

'I hear horses now,' said the young man. 'Atherstone and your trooper, I suppose. If you think it's best for the ladies to know, we will tell them.'

'And I'll go with Gateward and get something to eat,' said the sergeant.

'I've had a long ride, and nothing's pa.s.sed my lips since sunrise. We shall all want something before the night's over.'

Harold Atherstone rode into the stable-yard, followed by a slight, wiry-looking young fellow in the uniform of the mounted police. He was mounted upon an upstanding, well-bred bay, and led a saddled roan, the points and condition of which denoted blood, good keep, and regular stabling.

'You'll find spare stalls or boxes there, constable,' said Bertram.

'Charley, the groom, is somewhere about. He'll give you a hand to bed down your horses.'

'This is a queer business, Atherstone,' said he, when the trooper had departed with the horses. 'We shall have sharp shooting if these fellows turn up, and I suppose there's no doubt about it.'

'It will be the first time I ever knew Miles Herne wrong,' said Atherstone, 'if they're not here at the hour he says. I wish to Heaven they had picked Maroobil for their next bit of devilry. However, it can't be helped. It's lucky we were both in the way, and doubly fortunate that we've had timely warning.'

'By Jove! yes,' said the other, 'and I was near as could be going away back this morning. How savage I should have been! Come into my room and dress. I can tell you all about Herne's arrangements. What a smart fellow he is, and as cool as a cuc.u.mber!'

'If you'd known all the close things I've seen him in, and the arrests he's made, you'd say so,' replied the other. 'He's the show trooper of the North-West. They always detail him when there's anything specially dangerous to be done. He'll be promoted this time if he bags these fellows, and I hope to Heaven he may.'

When the two young men made their appearance in the dining-room, there was but little need for them to speak.

'I know there is something dreadful the matter,' said Pollie, 'by Harold's grave face. I suspected Sergeant Herne didn't turn up here for nothing. That was a trooper and two police horses that came with you, Harold, was it not? Better tell us at once. Mother is growing pale with anxiety.'

'Do not be afraid for us,' said the widow, with a sad smile. 'I have borne too much sorrow to have room for fear.'

'The whole mighty matter,' said Harold, thinking that he could best describe the affair in the familiar terms which would perhaps divest the intelligence of sudden terror, 'is that Herne has got news of these bushranger fellows. Thinks they might possibly pay Corindah a visit to-night.'

'Is that all?' exclaimed Pollie, her head raised, her face aglow with excitement, while her large bright eyes sparkled with an expression much more akin to pleasurable expectation than fear. 'Why, I thought some one was dead--that some terrible, irrevocable accident had happened. And what time will they arrive? I suppose they won't send in their cards?'

'My darling, do not talk so lightly,' said her mother, whose set, grave expression showed in how different a light she regarded the news. 'These men have blood upon their hands. More will be shed yet, I fear, and whose it may be we know not.'

'We must not be too serious over it either, Mrs. Devereux,' said Atherstone. 'With the preparations we have been able to make and a superior force well armed, the only fear in Herne's mind, I suspect, is that one of their telegraphs may get wind of our plan, and warn them away. About midnight is the time they were likely to be about, if his scouts spoke truly.'

'Why, it will be something like the midnight attack in _Wild Sports of the West_,' said Pollie, 'that I used to devour when I was a tiny girl.

Don't you remember, Harold, when the daughter of the house comes in with an ap.r.o.n full of cartridges? Oh! I shall be so disappointed if they don't come after all.'

The young men felt much inclined to laugh at the genuine desire for fight, the keen enjoyment of a probable _melee_, which Pollie had evidently inherited with her Milesian blood. But one look at the white face and drawn lips of Mrs. Devereux checked them. 'The names,' she said, 'have you heard the names?'

'One of them is called----' said Bertram, anxious to exhibit his knowledge of the affair.

'Called Mossthorne--William Mossthorne,' interposed Harold, with a meaning look at Devereux. 'The other is a stranger. They are not sure whether he is the man they fancy or not. We shall know if he comes one way or the other.'

Mrs. Devereux looked relieved. Her face had a far-off, dreamy expression, as if she were recalling the old days of sudden misery, of woe unutterable, of hopeless agony, from which she had been so long recovering. But for the bright-eyed girl, that now with eager face and fearless brow brought back her father's very face to her, she told herself that she never would have cared to live. And now, after all these years, the old accursed work was to recommence, with, perhaps, loss of valuable life, with enmity and bloodshed certainly. At their very gates too; beneath their hitherto inviolate roof-tree. When was it all to end?

However, she felt it inc.u.mbent on her as the chatelaine to put a brave face upon the matter. There was not the slightest chance of victory on the part of the outlaws, outnumbered and outmatched as they would be.

She therefore exerted herself during the remainder of the meal to appear resolute and steadfast. She even gave advice which her long experience of colonial manners and customs enabled her to offer.

'Bertram, above all things, you mustn't be rash,' she said. 'Remember that these are not men to hold cheaply. They are cunning and artful, besides being brave with the desperation of despair. Don't think because you have been a soldier, that these bush brigands are to be despised. My poor husband paid dearly for that mistake.'

The young man looked up cheerfully. 'My dear aunt,' he said, 'I don't despise our friends the bush robbers, or whatever they call them. I think them very ugly customers. Some of the shearers we had the row with last year would be truly formidable with arms in their hands. But I am a consistent fatalist in these matters. One man gets shot in such an affray; around another the bullets rain harmless. If I am fated to drop, I shall do so, and not otherwise.'

'And what are _we_ to do all the time?' inquired Pollie, with an air of disapproval. 'Go to bed and sleep? Just as if any one could, with a battle coming off next door. I suppose we must stay quiet till it is all over? What a dreadful thing it is to be a woman!'

'Very likely there won't be any engagement at all; it may not come off,'

said Harold. 'So I would not advise you to lie awake on the chance of it. You may lose your rest for nothing. In fact, the chances are six to four--firstly, that they'll surrender directly they see us prepared to receive them; secondly, that they won't come into the barracks at all.

They may turn back, like dingoes suspecting a trap.'

'Pray Heaven it may be so!' said Mrs. Devereux. 'I am not unwilling to take my share of the risk and loss for the country's good. But oh! if it should turn out to be a false alarm, how thankful I should be!'

The evening pa.s.sed off without much to distinguish it from other evenings, momentous as was the contingent finale. Mrs. Devereux was absent and preoccupied. Pollie was alternately in high spirits or depressed and silent. Atherstone and Bertram talked in a matter-of-fact sort of way about things in general, but made no further allusion to the subject which engrossed their thoughts.

At ten o'clock the ladies retired, rather to the relief of the young men. Mrs. Devereux did not omit, however, to again urge upon Bertram the necessity of caution and prudence.

'I shall not risk my precious person unwisely,' he said, a little impatiently; 'but why do you not warn Atherstone here in the same maternal manner? I know you regard him as an old and valued friend. Is he so much more experienced than I--who have done a little soldiering, you will recollect--or is my life more precious than his in your eyes?'

'Harold knows very well,' said the widow simply, 'how I feel towards him. But he can take care of himself among these people, whereas you, my dear Bertram, are at a disadvantage. I do you no injustice when I compare you with my darling husband, who lost his life, as you may do to-night, from contempt of his adversary and want of proper caution.'

'Harold, you are to take care of yourself, and Bertram too. Do you hear?' called out Pollie, who was in the pa.s.sage. 'You are to tell him what to do, for of course, being newly arrived, he will know nothing.