Robbery Under Arms by Rolf Boldrewood (epub read online books TXT) 📕

The sun was near down when we started for home, and it was late enough when we got there⁠—dark as pitch, too, for a storm came on, and you couldn’t see your horse’s head in front of you. I often wonder how we got through this and lots of other nights, riding without knocking our brains out against trees, or riding over drops and places deep enough to smash us and our horses to bits.

The only thing was that Warrigal knew every foot of the country night or day, and he could see in the dark, I really believe, like a cat. He went first and we all followed, one after the other. The horses did the most of it themselves, and wonderful animals they are. They’d put their heads down, and seem to smell out the right track to take. Sometimes we’d get a crack from an overhanging bough, but we weren’t going fast. There was no place to camp, and our lives were not that valuable, Starlight said, that it mattered much one way or the other.

Next morning we had nothing to do of course, and plenty of time to think it all over. We were none of us sorry that the thing was settled, and the battle bound to come off. We were like soldiers in camp, only they’re safe as long as they stay in them, except fever gets among em, and the enemy presses ’em day and night. I daresay they think they might as well be killed one way as the other. Better die fighting, with the chance of a step or a good lump of prize money. Anyhow, there’s nothing a man, that is a man, hates as much as he does doing nothing; and the more he’s got on his mind that hurts and stings him every time he turns it over, the more wild he is for something that’ll clear it all off and give him something fresh to think about.

Now we had something to think about the time didn’t pass so slow. No end of things had to be looked after, you bet. What we were going to tackle was no foolish boy’s play; there was no use going at it bullheaded, and not having everything all square and regular beforehand. So we tackled the work in real earnest⁠—much like as if we were going a long overlanding journey, and it was no use looking for things to be got on the road. A long journey it might be for some of us, but we didn’t bother our heads about that. It was all in the day’s work.

Father was in great buckle, and as busy as a knockabout man when the super’s looking at him. There was all the saddles and bridles to see to, some of ’em wanted stuffing and mending up. He was as good as a regular saddler, was father at that game, and had tools and needles, cobbler’s wax, and all the rest of it, handy in a box he kept in the cave.

Then there were the horses, we had them to get up and exercise a bit and get into trim. They wanted to be pretty fit. They would have to go their darn’dest⁠—as Arizona Bill used to say⁠—that day, if they never went again.

It was just far enough for us to ride over from The Hollow and get back again within the 24 hours, and a good pull too. It wouldn’t do for us to camp that night anywhere within reach of the camp. The police would be out like so many packs of hounds all over the country; not a gully or a creek within fifty miles they wouldn’t be through and over.

We had to bring spare horses and packsaddles with us for our share. Warrigal could lead one and dad the other. They required to be fast and strong too. They’d have a heavyish weight to carry, and to keep up a cruel pace all the way back to The Hollow, mostly in the dark, and over a brutal rough road. Often and often have I sworn at it, and the day I first rode there the packsaddles had to be girthed and surcingled up that tight that you’d think they’d cut a horse in two to keep them from slipping and rolling about. It wouldn’t do to have ’em turn underneath the horse’s bellies.

Then there were our own fancy nags. Starlight, of course, wasn’t likely to mount anything but Rainbow. He was in grand trim, sure enough, and looked like a king, as he was. He’d been ridden and exercised every day since we’d come back, and he’d hardened a bit and was fit to go for a man’s life if ever a horse was. His neck was like iron, and his legs clean as a three-year old. He looked as if he’d never done a day’s work in his life.

“I wonder what they’d think of the old horse in the desert,” says Starlight, “he has some Arab blood in him. I’d like to run him a three-mile race, owners up, against the best stallion in the Nejd. He’d have the pull for pace, of course, and if the Aneyzah can stay better than he can, they’re worthy of all the lies that have been told about them, and that’s a wide word.”

“If there’s gamer horses than Rainbow, it must be in another and better world,” I says, “there may be as good, but there’s no better in Arabia, or anywhere else under the sun.”

“We’ll have to try his pace and pluck next Friday,” says Starlight. “That’ll be our Waterloo day. We’ll see who comes best out of it.”

Starlight was quite cheerful now. His eyes were brighter and his step was as light again. Even Jim began to look a little more alive. He’d got up his horse, and began to take a sort of interest in him. One of the horses we brought