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

“Keep the cattle along it, anyway. We’ll soon see what it leads to.”

The cattle ran along the fence, as if they expected to get to the end of their troubles soon. The scrub was terribly thick in places, and every now and then there was a break in the fence, when one of us had to go outside and hunt them until we came to the next bit. At last we came to a little open kind of flat, with the scrub that thick round it as you couldn’t hardly ride through it, and, just as Jim said, there was the yard.

It was a “duffing-yard” sure enough. No one but people who had cattle to hide and young stock they didn’t want other people to see branded would have made a place there.

Just on the south side of the yard, which was built of great heavy stringy-bark trees cut down in the line of the fence, and made up with limbs and logs, the range went up as steep as the side of a house. The cattle were that tired and footsore⁠—half their feet were bleeding, poor devils⁠—that they ran in through the sliprails and began to lay down.

“Light a fire, one of you boys,” says father, putting up the heavy sliprails and fastening them. “We must brand these calves before dark. One of you can go to that gunyah, just under the range where that big white rock is, and you’ll find tea and sugar and something to eat.”

Jim rushed off at once, while I sulkily began to put some bark and twigs together and build a fire.

“What’s the use of all this cross work?” I said to father; “we’re bound to be caught some day if we keep on at it. Then there’ll be no one left to take care of mother and Aileen.”

He looked rather struck at this, and then said quietly⁠—

“You and your brother can go back now. Never say I kept you against your will. You may as well lend a hand to brand these calves; then you may clear out as soon as you like.”

Well, I didn’t quite like leaving the old chap in the middle of the work like that. I remember thinking, like many another young fool, I suppose, that I could draw back in time, just after I’d tackled this job.

Draw back, indeed! When does a man ever get the chance of doing that, once he’s regularly gone in for any of the devil’s work and wages? He takes care there isn’t much drawing back afterwards. So I said⁠—

“We may as well give you a hand with this lot; but we’ll go home then, and drop all this duffing work. It don’t pay. I’m old enough to know that, and you’ll find it out yet, I expect, father, yourself.”

“The fox lives long, and gives the hounds many a long chase before he’s run into,” he said, with a grim chuckle. “I swore I’d be revenged on ’em all when they locked me up and sent me out here for a paltry hare; broke my old mother’s heart, so it did. I’ve had a pound for every hair in her skin, and I shall go on till I die. After all, if a man goes to work cautious and runs mute it’s not so easy to catch him in this country, at any rate.”

Jim at this came running out of the cave with a face of joy, a bag of ship-biscuit, and a lot of other things.

“Here’s tea and sugar,” he said; “and there’s biscuits and jam, and a big lump of cheese. Get the fire right, Dick, while I get some water. We’ll soon have some tea, and these biscuits are jolly.”

The tea was made, and we all had a good meal. Father found a bottle of rum, too; he took a good drink himself, and gave Jim and me a sip each. I felt less inclined to quarrel with father after that. So we drafted all the calves into a small pen-yard, and began to put our brand on them as quick as we could catch ’em.

A hundred and sixty of ’em altogether⁠—all ages, from a month old to nearly a year. Fine strong calves, and in rare condition, too. We could see they were all belonging to Mr. Hunter and Mr. Falkland. How they came to leave them all so long unbranded I can’t say. Very careless they often are on these large cattle-stations, so that sharp people like father and the Dalys, and a lot more, get an easy chance at them.

Whatever father was going to do with them all when he had branded ’em, we couldn’t make out.

“There’s no place to tail or wean ’em,” whispered Jim. “We’re not above thirty miles from Banda in a straight line. These cows are dead sure to make straight back the very minute they’re let out, and very nice work it’ll look with all these calves with our brand on sucking these cows.”

Father happened to come round for a hot brand just as Jim finished.

“Never you mind about the weaning,” he snarled. “I shan’t ask you to tail them either. It wouldn’t be a nice job here, would it?” and father actually laughed. It wasn’t a very gay kind of a laugh, and he shut up his mouth with a sort of snap again. Jim and I hadn’t seen him laugh for I don’t know how long, and it almost frightened us.

As Jim said, it wouldn’t do to let the cattle out again. If calves are weaned, and have only one brand on, it is very hard for any man to swear that they are not the property of the man to whom that brand belongs. He may believe them to be his, but may never have seen them in his life; and if he has seen them on a camp or on the run, it’s very hard to swear to anyone particular red or spotted