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EACH VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY.
Stanton
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 3011.
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
BY
ERNEST WILLIAM HORNUNG.
IN ONE VOLUME.
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(Continued on page 3 of cover.)


COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 3011.
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
BY
ERNEST WILLIAM HORNUNG.
IN ONE VOLUME.


1950 B 307
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
By the same Author,
BRIDE FROM THE BUSH
UNDER TWO SKIES
TINY LUTTRELL
I vol.
I vol.
I vol.


THE
BOSS OF TAROOMBA
BY
ERNEST WILLIAM HORNUNG,
AUTHOR OF “A BRIDE FROM THE BUSH,” ETC.
COPYRIGHT EDITION.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1894.


ABR
18548304
A. 137833
-


CONTENTS.
CHAPTER 1.
Page
The little Musician
7
CHAPTER II.
A Friend indeed
20
CHAPTER III.
“Hard Times”
33
CHAPTER IV.
The Treasure in the Store
51
CHAPTER V.
Masterless Men
67
CHAPTER VI.
£ 500
85
CHAPTER VII.
The Ringer of the Shed .
99
CHAPTER VIII.
"Three Shadows".
120


6
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IX.
Page
140
No Hope for him
CHAPTER X.
160
Missing
.
CHAPTER XI.
Lost in the Bush
176
CHAPTER XII.
Fallen among Thieves
187
CHAPTER XIII.
A Smoking Concert
206
CHAPTER XIV.
The Raid on the Station
222
CHAPTER XV.
The Night Attack .
239
CHAPTER XVI.
In the Midst of Death
· 263


THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
CHAPTER I.
THE LITTLE MUSICIAN.
THEY were terribly sentimental words, but the
fellow sang them as though he meant every
syllable. Altogether, the song was not the kind
of thing to go down with a back-block audience,
any more than the singer was the class of man.
He was a little bit of a fellow, with long
dark hair and dark glowing eyes, and he swayed
on the music-stool, as he played and sang, in a
manner most new to the young men of Taroomba.
He had not much voice, but the sensitive lips
took such pains with each word, and the long,
nervous fingers fell so lightly upon the old piano,
that every one of the egregious lines travelled


8
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
whole and unmistakeable to the furthest corner
of the room. And that was an additional pity,
because the piano was so placed that the per-
former was forced to turn his back upon his
audience; and behind it the young men of
Taroomba were making great game of him all
the time.
In the moderate light of two kerosene lamps,
the room seemed full of cord breeches and
leather belts and flannel collars and sunburnt
throats. It was not a large room, however, and
there were only four men present, not counting
the singer. They were young fellows, in the
main, though the one leaning his elbow on the
piano had a bushy red beard, and his yellow
hair was beginning to thin. Another was reading
The Australasian on the sofa; and a sort of twist
to his moustache, a certain rigour about his un-
shaven chin, if they betrayed no sympathy with
the singer, suggested a measure of contempt for
the dumb clownery going on behind the singer's
back. Over his very head, indeed, the red-
bearded man was signalling maliciously to a
youth who with coarse fat face and hands was
mimicking the performer in the middle of the


THE LITTLE MUSICIAN.
9
room; while the youngest man of the lot, who
wore spectacles and a Home-bred look, giggled
in a half-ashamed, half-anxious way, as though
not a little concerned lest they should all be
caught. And when the song ended, and the
singer spun round on the stool, they had cer-
tainly a narrow escape.
“Great song!” cried the mimic, pulling him-
self together in an instant, and clapping out a
brutal burlesque of applause.
“Shut up, Sandy,” said the man with the
beard, dropping a yellow-fringed eyelid over a
very blue eye. “Don't you mind Mr. Sanderson,
sir," he added to the musician; "he's not a bad
chap, only he thinks he's funny. We'll show
him what funniment really is in a minute or two.
I've just found the very song! But what's the
price of the last pretty thing?”
“Of 'Love Flees before the Dawn'?” said the
musician, simply.
“Yes."
“It's the same as all the rest; you see-
Here the mimic broke in with a bright con-
genial joke.
"Love how much?” cried he, winking with


IO
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
his whole heavy face. “I don't, chaps, do
you?”
The sally was greeted with a roar, in which
the musician joined timidly, while the man on
the sofa smiled faintly without looking up from
his paper.
“Never mind him," said the red-bearded
man, who was for keeping up the fun as long
as possible; "he's too witty to live. What did
you say the price was?”
“Most of the songs are half-a-crown.”
“Come, I say, that's a stiffish price, isn't it?"
“Plucky stiff for fleas!” exclaimed the wit.
The musician Aushed, but tossed back his
head of hair, and held out his hand for the
song.
"I can't help it, gentlemen. I can't afford
to charge less. Every one of these songs has
been sent out from Home, and I get them from
a man in Melbourne, who makes me pay for
them. You're five hundred miles up country,
where you can't expect town prices.”
"Keep your hair on, old man!” said the wit,
soothingly.
“My what? My hair is my own business!"


THE LITTLE MUSICIAN.
II
The little musician had turned upon his
tormentor like a knife. His dark eyes were glar-
ing indignantly, and his nervous fingers had
twitched themselves into a pair of absurdly un-
serviceable white fists. But now a freckled hand
was laid upon his shoulder, and the man with
the beard was saying, “Come, come, my good
fellow, you've made a mistake; my friend Sander-
son meant nothing personal. It's our way up
here, you know, to chi-ak each other and our
visitors too.”
“Then I don't like your way," said the little
man, stoutly.
“Well, Sandy meant no offence, I'll swear to
that.”
“Of course I didn't,” said Sanderson.
The musician looked from one to the other,
and the anger went out of him, making way for
shame.
“Then the offence is on my side,” said he,
awkwardly, "and I beg your pardon."
He took a pile of new music from the piano,
and was about to go.
“No, no, we're not going to let you off so
easily,” said the bearded man, laughing.


12
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“You'll have to sing us one more song to
show there's no ill-feeling," put in Sanderson.
“And here's the song," added the other.
“The very thing. I found it just now. There
you are—“The World's Creation!'”
“Not that thing!” said the musician.
“Why not?"
“It's a comic song.”
“The very thing we want.”
“We'll buy up your whole stock of comic
songs,” said Sanderson.
“Hear, hear,” cried the silent youth who
wore spectacles.
“I wish you would,” the musician said,
smiling
“But we must hear them first.”
"I hate singing them.”
"Well, give us this one as a favour! Only
this one.
Do."
The musician wavered. He was a very sensi-
tive young man, with a constitutional desire to
please, and an acute horror of making a fool of
himself. Now the whole soul of him was aching
with the conviction that he had done this already,
in showing his teeth at what had evidently been


THE LITTLE MUSICIAN.
13
meant as harmless and inoffensive badinage. And
it was this feeling that engendered the desperate
desire at once to expiate his late display of
temper, and to win the good opinion of these
men by fairly amusing them after all. Certainly
the song in demand did not amuse himself, but
then it was equally certain that his taste in
humour differed from theirs. He could not de-
cide in his mind. He longed to make these men
laugh. To get on with older and rougher men
was his great difficulty, and one of his ambi-
tions.
“We must have this,” said the man with the
beard, who had been looking over the song.
“The words are first chop!”
“I can't stand them,” the musician con-
fessed.
“Why, are they too profane?”
"They are too silly."
“Well, they ain't for us. Climb down to our
level, and fire away."
With a sigh and a smile, and a full comple-
ment of those misgivings which were a part of
his temperament, the little visitor sat down and
played with much vivacity a banjo accompani-


14
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
ment which sounded far better than anything
else had done on the antiquated weather-beaten
bush piano. The jingle struck fire with the
audience, and the performer knew it, as he went
on to describe himself as “straight from Old Vir-
ginia," with his "head stuffed full of knowledge,”
in spite of the fact that he had “never been to
'Frisco or any other college"; the entertaining in-
formation that “this world it was created in the
twinkling of two cracks” bringing the first verse
to a conclusion. Then came the chorus-of
which there can scarcely be two opinions. The
young men caught it up with a howl, with the
exception of the reader on the sofa, who put his
fingers in his ears. This is how it went:
“Oh, walk up, Mr. Pompey, oh, walk up
while I
say,
Will you walk into the banjo and hear the parlour play?
Will you walk into the parlour and hear the banjo ring?
Oh, listen to de darkies how merrily dey sing!”
The chorus ended with a whoop which as-
sured the soloist that he was amusing his men; and
having himself one of those susceptible, excitable
natures which can enter into almost anything,
given the fair wind of appreciation to fill their
sails, the little musician began actually to enjoy


THE LITTLE MUSICIAN.
15
the nonsense himself. His long fingers rang out
the tinkling accompaniment with a crisp, con-
fident touch. He sang the second verse, which
built up the universe in numbers calculated to
shock a religious or even a reasonably cultivated
order of mind, as though he were by no means
ashamed of it.
And SO
far as culture and
religion were concerned he was tolerably safe-
each fresh peal of laughter re-assured him of
this. That the laugh was with him he never
doubted until the end of the third verse. Then
it was that the roars of merriment rose louder
than ever, and that their note suddenly struck
the musician's trained ear as false.
through the next verse with an overwhelming
sense of its inanity, and with the life gone out
of his voice and fingers alike. Still they roared
with laughter, but he who made them knew now
that the laugh was at his expense.
He turned
hot all over, then cold, then hotter than ever.
A shadow was dancing on the music in front of
him; he could hear a suppressed titter at the
back of the boisterous laughter; something
brushed against his hair, and he could bear it all
no longer. Snatching his fingers from the keys,
He sang


16
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
he wheeled round on the music-stool in time to
catch the heavy youth Sanderson in the mimic
act of braining him with a chair; his tongue was
out like a brat's, his eyes shone with a baleful
mirth, while the red-bearded man was rolling about
the room in an ecstasy of malicious merriment.
The singer sprang to his feet in a palsy of
indignation. His dark eyes glared with the dumb
rage of a wounded animal; then they ranged
round the room for something with which to
strike, and before Sanderson had time to drop
the chair he had been brandishing over the
other's head, the musician had snatched up the
kerosene lamp from the top of the piano, and
was poising it in the air with murderous intent.
Yet his anger had not blinded him utterly. His
flashing eyes were fixed upon the fat mocking
face which he longed to mark for life, but he
could also see beyond it, and what he saw made
him put down the lamp without a word.
At the other side of the room was a door
leading out upon a verandah; it had been open
all the evening, and now it was the frame of an
unlooked-for picture, for a tall strong girl was
standing upon the threshold.


THE LITTLE MUSICIAN.
17
“Well, I never!” said she calmly, as she
came into their midst with a slow, commanding
stride. “So this is the way you play when I'm
away, is it? What poor little mice they are, to
be sure!”
Sanderson had put down the chair, and was
looking indescribably foolish. The boy in the
spectacles, though he had been a merely passive
party to the late proceedings, seemed only a little
less uncomfortable. The man on the sofa and
the little trembling musician were devouring the
girl with their eyes. It was the personage with
the beard who swaggered forward into the breach.
“Good evening, Naomi,” said he, holding out
a hand which she refused to see. “This is Mr.
Engelhardt, who has come to tune your piano for
you. Mr. Engelhardt-Miss Pryse.”
The hand which had been refused to the
man who was in a position to address Miss Pryse
as Naomi, was held out frankly to the stranger.
It was a firm, cool hand, which left him a stronger
and a saner man for its touch.
“I am delighted to see you, Mr. Engelhardt.
I congratulate you on your songs, and on your
spirit too. It was about time that Mr. Sander-
The Boss of Taroomba.
2


18
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
son met somebody who objected to his peculiar
form of fun. He has been spoiling for this ever
since I have known him!”
“Come, I say, Naomi," said the man who was
on familiar terms with her, “it was all meant in
good part, you know.
You're rather rough upon
poor Sandy."
“Not so rough as both you and he have been
upon a visitor. I am ashamed of you all!”
Her scornful eyes looked black in the lamp-
light; her eyebrows were black. This with her
splendid colouring was all the musician could be
sure of; though his gaze never shifted from her
face. Now she turned to him and said kindly-
“I have been enjoying your songs immensely
—especially the comic one. I came in some
time ago, and have been listening to everything.
You sing splendidly.”
“These gentlemen will hardly agree with you."
“These gentlemen," said Miss Pryse, laying
an unpleasant stress on the word, "disagree with
me horribly at times. They make me ill. What
a lot of songs you have brought!"
“I brought them to sell," said the young
fellow, blushing. "I have just started business-


THE LITTLE MUSICIAN.
19
set up shop at Deniliquin--a music shop, you
know. I am making a round to tune the pianos
at the stations."
“What a capital idea! You will find ours in
a terrible state, I'm afraid.”
“Yes, it is rather bad; I was talking about it
to the boss before I started to make a fool of
myself."
“To the boss, do you say?"
“Yes.”
“And pray which is he?”
The piano-tuner pointed to the bushy red
beard.
“Why, bless your life," cried Naomi Pryse,
as the red beard split across and showed its
teeth, “he's not the boss! Don't you believe it.
If you've anything to say to the boss, you'd better
come outside and say it."
“But which is he, Miss Pryse?”
“He's a she, and you're talking to her now,
Mr. Engelhardt!”
2*


20
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
CHAPTER II.
A FRIEND INDEED.
“Do you mean to say that you have never
heard of the female boss of Taroomba?” said
Naomi Pryse, as she led the piano-tuner across
the verandah and out into the station yard. The
moon was gleaming upon the galvanised-iron
roofs of the various buildings, and it picked out
the girl's smile as she turned to question her com-
panion.
“No, I never heard of you before," replied
the piano-tuner stolidly. For the moment the
girl and the moonlight stupefied him. The scene
in the room was still before his eyes and in his
ears.
“Well, that's one for me! What station have
you come from to-day?"
“Kerulijah.”
“And you never heard of me there!
Ah
well, I'm very seldom up here. I've only come


A FRIEND INDEED.
21
for the shearing. Still, the whole place is mine,
and I'm not exactly a cipher in the business
either; I rather thought I was the talk of the
back-blocks. At one time I know I was. I'm
very vain, you see.”
“You have something to be vain about,” said
the piano-tuner, looking at her frankly.
She made him a curtsey in the moonlit yard.
“Thank you kindly. But I'm not satisfied
yet; I understand that you arrived in time for
supper;
didn't
you hear of me at table?”
“I just heard your name.”
“Who mentioned it?"
“The fellow with the beard.”
“Prettily?”
“I think so. He was wondering where you
He seems to know you very well ?”
“He has known me all my life. He is a
sort of connection. He was overseer here when
my father died a year or two ago. He is the
manager now.”
“But you are the boss?"
“I am so! His name, by the way, is Gilroy
-my mother was a Gilroy too. See? That's
why he calls me Naomi; I call him Monty when
were.


22
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
I am not wroth with him. I am disgusted with
them all to-night! But you mustn't mind them;
it's only their way.
.
Did you speak to the over-
seer, Tom Chester?"
“Which was he?”
“The one on the sofa.”
“No, he hardly spoke to me.”
“Well, he's a very good sort; you would like
him if you got to know him. The new chum
with the eye-glasses is all right, too. I don't
believe those two were to blame. As for Mr.
Sanderson, I wouldn't think any more about him
if I were you; he really isn't worth it."
"I forgive him," said the musician, simply;
“but I shall never forgive myself for playing the
fool and losing my temper!”
“Nonsense! It did them good, and they'll
think all the more of you. Still, I must say I'm
glad you didn't dash the kerosene lamp in Mr.
Sanderson's face!"
“The what?” cried Engelhardt, in horror.
“ “The lamp; you were brandishing it over
your head when I came in.”
“The lamp! To think that I caught up the
lamp! I can't have known what I was doing!"


A FRIEND INDEED.
23
common.
He stood still and aghast in the sandy yard;
they had wandered to the far side of it, where
the kitchen and the laundry stood cheek-by-jowl
with the wood-heap between them, and their
back-walls to the six-wire fence dividing the yard
from the plantation of young pines which bordered
it upon three sides.
“You were in a passion,” said Miss Pryse,
smiling gravely. “There's nothing in this world
that I admire more than a passion—it's so un-
Şo are you! There, I owed you a
pretty speech, you know! Do you mind giving
me your arm, Mr. Engelhardt?”
But Engelhardt was gazing absently at the
girl, and the road between ear and mind was
choked with a multitude of new sensations. Her
sudden request made no impression upon him,
until he saw her stamping her foot in the sand.
Then, and awkwardly enough, he held out his arm
to her, and her firm hand caught in it impatiently.
“How slow you are to assist a lady! Yet I
feel sure that you come from the old country?”
“I do; but I have never had much to do with
ladies."
The piano-tuner sighed.


24
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Well, it's all right; only I wanted you to
take my arm for Monty Gilroy's benefit. He's
just come out on to the verandah. Don't look
round. This will rile him more than anything."
“But why?”
“Why? Oh, because he showed you the
hoof; and when a person does that, he never
likes to see another person being civil to the
same person. See? Then if you don't, you'd
better stand here and work it out while I run
into the kitchen to speak to Mrs. Potter about
your room.”
“But I'm not going to stay!” the piano-tuner
cried, excitedly.
“Now what are you giving us, Mr. Engel-
hardt? Of course you are going to stay. You're
going to stay and tune my poor old piano. Why,
your horse was run out hours ago!”
“But I can't face those men again.
“What rubbish!”
“After the way I made a fool of myself this
evening!"
“It was they who made fools of themselves.
They'll annoy you no more, I promise you. In
any case, they all go back to the shed to-morrow


A FRIEND INDEED.
25
evening; it's seven miles away, and they only
come in for Sunday. You needn't start on the
piano before Monday, if you don't like.”
“Oh no, I'll do it to-morrow," Engelhardt said
moodily. He now felt bitterly certain that he
should never make friends with the young men
of Taroomba, and shamefully thankful to think
that there would be a set occupation to keep him
out of their way for the whole of the morrow.
“Very well, then; wait where you are for two
twos.”
Engelhardt waited. The kitchen door had
closed upon Miss Naomi Pryse; there was
sense in watching that any longer. So the piano-
tuner's eyes climbed over the waterspout, scaled
the steep corrugated roof, and from the wide
wooden chimney leapt up to the moon.
It was
at the full. The white clear light hit the young
man between his expressive eyes, and still he
chose to face it. It gave to the delicate eager
face an almost ethereal pallor; and as he gazed
on without flinching, the raised head was proudly
carried, and the little man looked tall. To one
whom he did not hear when she lifted the kitchen
latch and opened the door, he seemed a different
no


26
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
being; she watched him for some moments before
she spoke.
“Well, Mr. Engelhardt?”
“Well,” said he, coming down from the moon
with an absent smile, and slowly.
"I have been watching you for quite a minute.
I believe it would have been an hour if I hadn't
spoken. I wish I hadn't! We're going to put
you in that little building over there-we call it
the 'barracks.' You'll be next door to Tom
Chester, and he'll take care of you. There's no
occasion to thank me; you can tell me what you've
been thinking about instead."
“I wasn't thinking at all.”
“Now, Mr. Engelhardt!” said Naomi, holding
up her finger reprovingly. “If you weren't think-
ing, I should like to know what you were doing?”
"I was waiting for you."
“I know you were. It was very good of you.
But you were smiling too, and I want to know
the joke."
“Was I really smiling?”
“Haven't I told you so? Have you signed
the pledge against smiles? You look glum enough
for anything now.”


A FRIEND INDEED.
27
“Yes?”
“Very much yes! I wish to goodness you'd
smile again."
“Oh, I'll do anything you like.” He forced
up the corners of his mouth, but it was not a
smile; his eyes ran into her like bayonets.
“Then give me your arm again,” she said,
“and let me tell you that I'm very much sur-
prised at you for requiring to be told that twice."
“I'm not accustomed to ladies,” Engelhardt
explained once more.
“That's all right. I'm not one, you know.
I'm going to negotiate this fence. Will you have
the goodness to turn your back?”
Engelhardt did so, and saw afar off in the
moonlit verandah the lowering solitary figure of
the manager, Gilroy.
“Yes, he sees us all right," Miss Pryse re-
marked from the other side of the fence. “It'll
do him good. Come you over, and we'll make
his beard curl!”
The piano-tuner looked at her doubtfully, but
only for one moment. The next he also was
over the fence and by her side, and she was


28
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
leading him into the heart of the pines, her strong
kind hand within his arm.
“We'll just have a little mouch round," she
said confidentially. "You needn't be frightened."
“Frightened!” he echoed defiantly. The
hosts of darkness could not have frightened such
a voice.
“You see, I'm the boss, and I'm obliged to
show it sometimes."
“I see.”
“And you have given me an opportunity of
showing it pretty plainly."
“Oh!”
“Consequently I'm very much obliged to you;
and I do hope you don't mind helping me to
shock Monty Gilroy?”
“I am proud."
But the kick had gone out of his voice, and
to her hand his arm was suddenly as a log of
wood. She mused a space. Then—
“It isn't every one I would ask to help me
in such—in such a delicate matter,” she said, in
a troubled tone. “You see I am a woman at the
mercy of men. They're all very kind and loyal
in their own way, but their way is their own, as


A FRIEND INDEED.
29
22
you know. I thought as I had given you a hand
with them-well, I thought you would be in sym-
pathy."
“I am, I am—Heaven knows!”
The log had become exceedingly alive.
“Then let us skirt in and out, on the edge
of the plantation, so that Mr. Gilroy may have
the pleasure of seeing my frock from time to
time."
“I'm your man.”
“No, not that way—this. There, I'm sure he
must have seen me then.”
“He must."
“It's time we went back; but this will have
done him all the good in the world," said Naomi.
“It's a pity you haven't a manager whom
you can respect and like," the piano-tuner re-
marked.
Naomi started. She also stopped to lace up
her shoe, which necessitated the withdrawal of
her hand from the piano-tuner's arm; and she
did not replace it.
“Oh, but I do like him, Mr. Engelhardt,” she
explained as she stooped. “I like Mr. Gilroy
very much; I have known him all my life, you


30
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
know. However, that's just where the disad-
vantage comes in-he's too much inclined to
domineer. But don't you run away with the
idea that I dislike him; that would never do
at all.”
The piano-tuner felt too small to apologise.
He had made a deadly mistake—so bad a one
that she would take his arm no more. He looked
up at the moon with miserable eyes, and his
brain teemed with bitter self-upbraiding thoughts.
His bitterness was egregiously beyond the mark;
but that was this young man's weakness. He
would condemn himself to execution for the
pettiest sin. So ashamed was he now that he
dared not even offer her his hand when they got
back to the verandah, and she consigned him to
the boy in spectacles, who then showed him his
room in the barracks. And his mistake kept
him awake more than half that night; it was only
in the gray morning he found consolation in
recollecting that although she had declared so
many times that she liked Monty Gilroy, she had
never once said she respected him.
Had he heard a conversation which took
place in the station yard later that night, but


A FRIEND INDEED,
31
only a little later, and while the full moon was
in much the same place, the piano-tuner might
have gone to sleep instead of lying awake to
flagellate his own meek spirit; though it is more
likely that he would have lain quietly awake for
very joy.
The conversation in question was
between Naomi Pryse and Montague Gilroy, her
manager, and it would scarcely repay a detailed
report; but this is how it culminated:
“I tell you that I found you bullying him
abominably, and whenever I find you bullying
anybody I'll make it up to that body in my
own way. And I won't have my way criticised
by you."
“Very good, Naomi. Very good indeed! But
if you want to guard against all chance of the
same thing happening next week, I should re-
commend you to be in for supper next Saturday,
instead of gallivanting about the run by yourself
and coming in at ten o'clock at night.”
“The run is mine, and I'll do what I like
while I'm here."
“Well, if you won't listen to reason, you might
at least remember our engagement.”
“You mean your engagement? I remember


32
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
the terms perfectly. I have only to write you a
cheque for the next six months' salary any time
I like, to put an end to it.
And upon my
word, Monty, you seem to want me to do so to-
night!”


"HARD TIMES."
33
CHAPTER III.
“HARD TIMES.”
sense.
It was the middle of the Sunday afternoon,
when the young men of Taroomba were for the
most part sound asleep upon their beds. They
were wise young men enough, in ways, and to
punctuate the weeks of hard labour at the wool-
shed with thoroughly slack Sundays at the home
station was a practice of the plainest common-
To do otherwise would have been to fly
in the face of nature. Yet just because Naomi
Pryse chose to settle herself in the verandah out-
side the sitting-room door with a book, the young
man who had worked harder than any of the
others during the week must needs be the one
to spend the afternoon of rest at her feet, and
with nothing but a lean verandah-post to shelter
his broad back from the sun.
This was Tom Chester, of whom Naomi had
spoken highly to her protégé the piano-tuner.
The Boss of Taroomba.
3


34
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
Tom was newly and beautifully shaved, and he
had further observed the Sabbath by putting on
a white shirt and collar, and a suit of clothes in
which a man might have walked down Collins
Street; but he seemed quite content to sit in
them on the dirty verandah boards, for the sake
of watching Naomi as she read. She had not a
great deal to say to him, but she had com-
manded him to light his pipe, and as often as
she dropped the book into her lap to make a
remark she could reckon upon a sympathetic
answer, preceded by a puff of the tobacco-smoke
she loved.
“It is a dreadful noise, though, isn't it?”
Naomi had observed more than once.
“It is so," Tom Chester would answer, with a
smile and another puff.
“He made such a point of setting to work
this morning, you know, and it's so good of him
to work on Sunday. I don't see how we can
stop him.”
Then Naomi would sit silent, but not reading,
and would presently announce that she had
counted the striking of that note twenty-nine
times in succession. Once she made it sixty-six;


“HARD TIMES."
35
but the piano-tuner behind the closed door had
broken his own record, and seemed in a fair way
of hammering out the same note a hundred times
running, when Monty Gilroy came tramping along
the verandah with blinking yellow eye-lashes, and
his red face pale with temper. Miss Pryse was
keeping tally aloud when the manager blundered
upon the scene.
“I say, Naomi, how long is this to go on?”
exclaimed Gilroy, in a tone that was half-
complaining, half-injured, but wholly different
from that which he had employed towards her
the night before.
“Eighty-three, eighty-four, eighty-five,” counted
Naomi, giving him a nod and a smile.
“I hadn't been asleep ten minutes when he
awoke me with his infernal din.”
“Ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-
three--"
“It's no joke when a man has been over the
board the whole week,” said Gilroy, trying to
smile, nevertheless.
“Ninety-seven, ninety-eight — well, I'll be
jiggered!"
“Ninety-eight it is,” said Tom Chester.
3*


36
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Yes, he's changed the note. He might have
given it a couple more! Still, it's the record. Now,
Monty, please forgive us; we're trying to make
the best of a bad job, as you see.”
“It is a bad job,” assented Gilroy, whose
rueful countence concealed (but not from the
girl) a vile temper smouldering. “It's pretty
rough, I think, on us chaps who've been working
like Kanakas all the week.”
“Well, but you were pretty rough upon poor
Mr. Engelhardt last night; so don't you think
that it serves you quite right?”
"Poor Mr.Engelhardt!" echoed Gilroy savagely.
“So it serves us right, does it?" He forced a
laugh. “What do you say, Tom?”
“I think it serves you right, too,” answered
Tom Chester, coolly.
Gilroy laughed again.
“So you're crackin', old chap," said he,
genially. He generally was genial with Tom
Chester, for whom he entertained a hatred
enhanced by fear. “But I say, Naomi, need this
sort of thing go on all the afternoon?”
“If it doesn't he will have to stay till to-
morrow."


“HARD TIMES.”
37
“Ah! I see.”
“I thought you would. The piano was in a
bad way, and he said there was a long day's
work in it; but he seems anxious to get away
this evening, that's why he began before break-
fast.”
“Then let him stick to it, by all means, and
we'll all clear out together. I'll see that his horse
is run up-I'll go now.”
He went.
“That's the most jealous gentleman in this
colony," said Naomi to her companion. "He'd
rather suffer anything than leave this little piano-
tuner and me alone together!"
“Poor little chap,” said Chester of the
musician; he had nothing to say about Gilroy,
who was still in view from the verandah, a
swaggering figure in the strong sunlight, with his
hands in his cross-cut breeches' pockets, his
elbows sticking out, and the strut of a cock on
its own midden. Tom Chester watched him with
a hard light in his clear eye, and a moistening of
the palms of his hands. Tom was pretty good
with his fists, and for many a weary month he
had been spoiling for a fight with Monty Gilroy,


38
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
who very likely was not the only jealous gentle-
man on Taroomba.
All this time the piano-tuner was at his
fiendish work behind the closed door, over which
Naomi Pryse had purposely mounted guard. Dis-
tracting repetitions of one note were varied only
by depressing octaves and irritating thirds. Oc-
casionally a chord or two promised a trial trip
over the keys, but such promises were never ful-
filled. At last Naomi shut her book, with a hope-
less smile at Tom Chester, who was ready for her
with an answering grin.
"Really I can't stand it any longer, Mr.
Chester.”
“You have borne it like a man, Miss Pryse."
“I wanted to make sure that nobody bothered
him. Do you think we may safely leave him
now?"
“Quite safely. Gilroy is up at the yards, and
Sanderson only plays the fool to an audience.
Let me pull you out of your chair.”
“Thanks. That's it. Let us stroll up to the
horse-paddock gate and back; then it will be
time for tea; and let's hope our little tuner will
have finished his work at last."


“HARD TIMES.”
39
“I believe he has finished now," Tom Chester
said, as they turned their backs on the home-
stead. “He's never run up and down the board
like that before."
“The board!” said Miss Pryse, laughing. “No,
don't you believe it; he won't finish for another
hour."
Tom Chester was right, however. As Naomi
and he passed out of earshot, the piano-tuner
faced about on the music-stool, and peered wist-
fully through the empty room at the closed door,
straining his ear for their voices. Of course he
heard nothing; but the talking on the verandah
had never been continuous, so that did not sur-
prise him. It gladdened him, rather. She was
reading. She might be alone; his heart beat
quicker for the thought. She had sat there all
day, of her own kind will, enduring his melancholy
performance; now she should have her reward.
His eyes glistened as he searched in his memory
for some restful, dreamy melody, which should at
once soothe and charm her ears aching from his
crude unmusical monotonies. Suddenly he rubbed
his hands, and then stretching them out and lean-
ing backward on the stool he let his fingers fall


“HARD TIMES.”
41
scorn,
chair. That, indeed, was a relief. To find her
sitting there unmoved was what his soul had
dreaded.
But now that his work was done, the piano-
tuner felt very lonely and unhappy. To escape
from these men with whom he could not get on
was his strongest desire but one; the other was
to stay and see more of the glorious girl who
had befriended him; and he was torn between
the two, because his longing for love was scarcely
more innate than his shrinking from ridicule and
He knew this, too, and had as profound
a scorn for himself as any he was likely to meet
with from another. His saving grace was the
moral courage which enabled him to run counter
to his own craven inclinations.
Thus in the early morning he had apologised
to Sanderson, the store-keeper, for the loss of his
temper overnight: after lying awake for hours
chewing the bitterness of this humiliating move,
he had determined upon it in the end. But
determination was what he had it takes not a
little to bring you to apologise in cold blood to
a rougher man than yourself. Engelhardt had
done this, and more. At breakfast and at dinner


42
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
he had made heroic efforts to be affable and at
ease with the men who despised him; though
each attempt touched a fresh nerve in his sensitive
self-conscious soul. And now, because from the
verandah he could descry Gilroy and Sanderson
up at the stock-yards, and because these men
were the very two whose society he most dreaded,
his will was that he must join them then and
there.
He was a man himself; and if he could not
get on with other men, that was his own look-
out. No doubt, too, it was his own fault. It
was a fault of which he swore an oath that he
would either cure himself or suffer the con-
sequences like a man. He may even have taken
a private pride in being game against the grain.
There is no fathoming the thoughts that generate
action in egotistical, but noble natures, whose
worst enemy is their own inner consciousness.
Gilroy and Sanderson were in the horseyard,
leaning backward against the heavy white rails.
Their pipes were in their mouths, and they were
watching Sam Rowntree stalk a wiry bay horse
that took some catching. Sam was the groom,
and he had just run up all the horses out of the


“HARD TIMES."
43
horse-paddock. The yard was full of them.
Gilroy hauled a freckled hand out of a cross
pocket to point at the piano-tuner's nag.
“Poor-looking devil,” said he.
“Yes, the kind you see when you're out with-
out a gun,” remarked the wit. “Quite good
enough for a thing like him, though.” Some as-
sociation of ideas caused him to glance round to-
wards the homestead through the rails. “By the
hokey, here's the thing itself!” he cried.
The pair watched Engelhardt approach.
“I'd like to break his beastly head for him,"
muttered the manager. “The cheek of him,
spoiling our spell with that cursed row!”
The piano-tuner came up with a pleasant
smile that was an effort to him, and pretended
not to notice Sanderson's stock remark, that
“queer things come out after the rain.”
“You'll be glad to hear, gentlemen, that I've
finished my job,” said he, airily.
“Thank God,” growled Gilroy.
“I know it's been a great infliction—_"
“Oh no, not at all,” said Sanderson, winking
desperately. We liked it. It's just what we do
like. You bet!"


“HARD TIMES.”
45
Here Sanderson whispered something to Gil-
roy, who said carelessly to Engelhardt-
“Can you ride?"
“I can ride my own moke.”
“Like a turn on Hard Times?”
“Yes! I should.”
This was said in a manner that was all the
more decided for the moments of deliberation
which preceded it. The piano-tuner was paler
even than usual, but all at once his jaw had
grown hard and strong, and there was a keen
light in his eyes. The others looked at him,
unable to determine whether it was a good rider
they were dealing with or a born fool.
“Fetch him out of the yard, Sam," said Gilroy
to the groom. “This gentleman here is going to
draw first blood.”
Sam Rowntree stared.
“You'd better not, mister," said he, looking
doubtfully at the musician. “He's fresh off the
grass—hasn't had the saddle on him for two
months.”
“Get away, Sam. The gentleman means to
take some of the cussedness out of him. Isn't
that it, Engelhardt?”


46
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
а.
"I mean to try," said Engelhardt, quietly.
A lanky middle-aged bushman, who had loafed
across from the men's hut, here spat into the
sand without removing the pipe from his teeth,
and put in his word.
“Becod, then ye’re a brave man! He bucks
like beggary. He's bucked me as high as
blessed house!”
“We'll see how high he can buck me,” said
Engelhardt.
Gilroy was losing interest in the proceedings
The little fool could ride after all; instead of
being scored off, he was going to score. The
manager thrust his hands deep in his cross
pockets, and watched sullenly, with his yellow
eyelashes drooping over his blue eyes. Suddenly
he strode forward, crying-
“What the blazes are you up to, you idiot?”
Engelhardt had shown signs of mounting on
the off-side, but was smiling as though he had
done it on purpose.
"He's all right," said the long stockman with
the pipe. “He knows a thing or two, my word.”
But his style of mounting in the end hardly
tallied with this theory. The piano-tuner scram-


“HARD TIMES.”
47
bled into the saddle, and kicked about awk-
wardly before finding his stirrups; and the next
thing he did was to job the horse's mouth with
the wanton recklessness of
pure
innocence.
The
watchers held their breath. As for Hard Times,
he seemed to know that he was bestridden by
an unworthy foeman, to appreciate the humour
of the situation, and to make up his evil mind
to treat it humorously as it deserved. Away he
went, along the broad road between homestead
and yards, at the sweetest and most guileless
canter. The rider was sitting awkwardly enough,
but evidently as tight as he knew how. And he
needed all the grip within the power of his loins
and knees. Half-way to the house, without a
single premonitory symptom, the wiry bay leapt
clean into the air, with all its legs gathered up
under its body, its head tucked between its
knees, and its back arched like a bent bow.
Down it came, with a thud, then up again like
a ball, again and again, and yet again.
At the first buck Engelhardt stuck nobly; he
evidently had been prepared for the worst. The
second displayed a triangle of blue sky between
his legs and the saddle; he had lost his stirrups


48
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
and the reins, but was clinging to the mane with
all ten fingers, and to the saddle with knees and
shins.
“Sit tight!” roared Gilroy. “Stick to him!”
yelled Sanderson. “Slide off as he comes down!”
shouted the groom.
But if Engelhardt heard them he did not
understand. He only knew that for the first
time in his life he was on a buck-jumper: and
that he meant to stay there as long as the Lord
would let him. A wild exhilaration swamped
every other sensation.
The blue sky fell before
him like a curtain at each buck; at the fifth his
body was seen against it like a burst balloon;
and after that, Hard Times was left to the more
difficult but less exciting task of bucking himself
out of an empty saddle.
They carried Engelhardt towards the house.
But Naomi came running out and met them half-
way, and Tom Chester was at her back. From
the verandah the two had seen it happen. And
in all that was done during the next minutes
Naomi was prime mover.
“You call yourselves men. Men indeed!
There's more manhood lying here than ever


“HARD TIMES.”
49
there was or will be in the two of you put to-
gether!”
"Hear, hear!”
The voices were those of Miss Pryse and
Tom Chester. They were the first that Engel-
hardt heard when his senses came back to him.
But the first thing that was said to him when he
opened his eyes was said by Gilroy:
“Why the devil didn't you tell us you couldn't
ride?"
He did not answer, but Tom Chester said
coolly before them all:
“He can ride a jolly sight better than you
can, Gilroy. You sit five bucks and I'll give you
five notes.”
There was bad blood in the air. The piano-
tuner could not help it. His head was all wrong,
and his right arm felt red-hot from wrist to
elbow; he discovered that it was bare, and in
the hands of Miss Pryse. He felt ashamed, it
was such a thin arm. But Miss Pryse smiled at
him kindly, and he smiled faintly back at her;
he just saw Tom Chester tearing the yellow backs
off a novel, and handing them to the kneeling
girl; then once more he closed his eyes.
The Boss of Taroomba.
4


50
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“He's off again,” said Naomi. “Thank God
I can set a joint. There's nothing to watch, all
of you! Sam, you may as well turn out this
gentleman's horse again. If anybody thought of
getting rid of him to-night, they've gone the
wrong way about it, for now he shall stay here
till he's able to go on tuning pianos.”
And as she spoke Naomi looked up, and sent
her manager to the rightabout with a single stare
of contempt and defiance.


52
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
"Thank you," he said, opening his eyes again.
“That was awfully good of you.”
“What was?” asked the other, in some as-
tonishment. “I thought you were stunned.”
“No, not this last minute or two; but my
head's splitting; I want to sleep it off.”
“Poor chap! I'll leave you now. But what
induced you to tackle Hard Times, when you
weren't a rider, sweet Heaven only knows!”
"I was a fool,” said Engelhardt, wearily.
“You leave that for us to say,” returned the
other. “You've got some pluck, whatever you
are, and that's about all you want in the bush.
So long."
He went straight to Naomi, who was awaiting
him outside with considerable anxiety. They
hovered near the barracks, talking all things over
for some time longer. Then Naomi herself stole
with soft, bold steps to the piano-tuner's door.
There she hesitated, one hand on the latch, the
other at her ear. It ended in her entering his
room on tiptoe. A moment later she was back
in the yard, her fine face shining with relief.
“He's sleeping like a baby,” she said to
Chester. “I think we may perhaps make our


THE TREASURE IN THE STORE.
53
minds easy about him now-don't you? I was
terribly frightened of concussion; but that's all
right, or he wouldn't be breathing as he is now.
We'll let him be for an hour or two, and the
send Mrs. Potter to him with some toast and tea.
Perhaps you'll look him up last thing, Mr. Chester,
and give him a hand in the morning if he feels
well enough to get up?"
"Certainly I would, Miss Pryse, if I were here;
but we were all going out to the shed to-night,
as usual, so as to make an early start --
“I know; I know. And very glad I shall be
to get quit of the others; but I have this poor
young man on my mind, and you at least must
stop till morning to see me through. I shall
mention it myself to Mr. Gilroy."
“Very well,” said Chester, who was only too
charmed with the plan. "I'll stop, with all my
heart, and be very glad to do anything that I
can.”
With Chester it was certainly two for himself
and one for the unlucky Engelhardt. He made
the most of his evening with Naomi all to himself.
It was not a very long evening, for Gilroy delayed
his departure to the last limit, and then drove off


54
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
in a sullen fury, spitting oaths right and left and
lashing his horses like a madman. This mood of
the manager's left Chester in higher spirits than
ever; he had the satisfaction of feeling himself
partly responsible for it. Moreover, he had given
Gilroy, whom he frankly detested, the most ex-
cellent provocation to abuse him to his face be-
fore starting; but, as usual, the opening had been
declined. Such were the manager of Taroomba
and his subordinate the overseer; the case was
sufficiently characteristic of them both. As for
Chester, he made entertaining talk with Naomi as
long as she would sit up, and left her with an
assurance that he would attend to the piano-
tuner like a mother. Nor was he much worse
than his word; though the patient knew nothing
until awakened next morning by the clatter and
jingle of boots and spurs at his bedside.
“What is it?” he cried, struggling to sit up.
“Me,” said Chester. “Lie perfectly tight. I
only came to tell you that your breakfast's coming
in directly, and to see how you are.
How are
you? Had some sleep?"
“Any quantity," said Engelhardt, with a laugh
that slipped into a yawn. “I feel another man.”


56
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“A fiddle and a half.”
“Then you don't look it."
“But I soon shall. What's a dislocated arm?
Steady on, I say, though. Easy over the stones!”
Chester was nonplussed.
“My dear fellow, you're bruised all over.
It'd be cruel to touch you with a towel of cotton-
wool.”
“Go on,” said Engelhardt. “I must be dried
and dressed. Dry away! I can stand it."
The other exercised the very greatest care;
but ribs and shoulder on the same side as the
injured arm were fairly dappled with bruises,
and it was perfectly impossible not to hurt.
Once he caught Engelhardt wincing. He was
busy at his back, and only saw it in the mirror.
“I am hurting you!” he cried.
“Not a bit, sir. Fire away!”
The white face in the mirror was still racked
with pain.
“Where did you get your pluck?" asked
Chester casually, when all was over.
"From my mother," was the prompt reply;
“such as I possess.”
“My boy,” said Chester, “you've as much as


THE TREASURE IN THE STORE.
57
most!” And, without thinking, he slapped the
other only too heartily on the bruised shoulder.
Next moment he was sufficiently horrified at
what he had done, for this time the pain was
more than the sufferer could conceal. In an
instant, however, he was laughing off his friend's
apologies with no less tact than self-control.
“You're about the pluckiest little devil I've
ever seen,” said the overseer at last.
“I thought
so yesterday, I know so to-day.”
The piano-tuner beamed with joy. “What
rot,” however, was all he said.
"Not it, my boy! You're a good sort.
You've got as much pluck in one hair of your
head--though they are long 'uns, mind-as that
fellow Gilroy has in his whole composition. Now
I must be off to the shed. I should stroll about
in the air, if I were you, but keep out of the sun.
If you care to smoke, you'll find a tin of cut-up
on the corner bracket in my room, and Miss
Pryse 'll give you a new pipe out of the store if
you want one.
You'll see her about pretty soon,
Oh yes, she had breakfast with
She means to keep you by main force till
you're up to piano-tuning again. Serve Gilroy
I should say.
me.


58
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
jolly well right, the brute! So we'll meet again
this week-end; meanwhile, good-bye, old chap,
and more power to the arm.”
Engelhardt watched the overseer out of sight,
with a mingled warmth and lightness of heart
which for the moment were making an unusually
happy young man of him. This Chester was the
very incarnation of a type that commonly treated
him, as he was too ready to fancy, with con-
tempt; and yet that was the type of all others
whose friendship and admiration he coveted most.
All his life he had been so shy and so sensitive
that the good in him, the very best of him, was
an unknown quantity to all save those who by
accident or intimacy struck home to his inner
nature. The latter was true as steel, and brave,
patient, and enduring to an unsuspected degree;
but a cluster of small faults hid this from the
ordinary eye.
The man was a little too anxious
to please-to do the right thing—to be liked or
loved by those with whom he mixed. As a
natural consequence, his anxiety defeated his
design. Again, he was a little too apt to be
either proud or ashamed of himself-one or the
other-he never could let himself alone. Where-


THE TREASURE IN THE STORE.
59
fore appreciation was inordinately sweet to his
soul, and the reverse proportionately bitter. Mere
indifference hurt him no less than active disdain;
indeed, where there was the former, he was in
the bad habit of supposing the latter; and thus
the normal current of his life was never clear of
little unnecessary griefs of which he was ashamed
to speak, but which he only magnified by keeping
them to himself. Perhaps he had his compen-
sating joys. Certainly he was as often in exceed-
ingly high spirits as in the dumps, and it is just
possible that the former are worth the latter.
In
any case he was in the best of spirits this morn-
ing; nor by any means ashamed of his slung
arm, but rather the reverse, if the whole truth
be told. And yet, with a fine girl like Naomi,
and a smart bushman like Tom Chester, both
thinking well of him together, there surely was
for once some slight excuse for an attack of self-
satisfaction. It was transitory enough, and rare
enough, too, Heaven knows.
In this humour, at all events, he wandered
about the yard for some time, watching the
verandah incessantly with jealous eyes. His
saunterings led him past the rather elaborate


60
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
well, in the centre of the open space, to the
store on the further side. This was
a solid
isolated building, very strongly built, with an
outer coating of cement, and a corrugated roof
broken on the foremost slope by a large-sized
skylight. A shallow verandah ran in front, but
was neither continued at the ends nor renewed
at the back of the building. Nor were there any
windows; the piano-tuner walked right round to
see, and on coming back to the door (a remark-
ably strong one) there was Naomi fitting in her
key. She was wearing an old black dress, an
obvious item of her cast-off mourning, and over
it, from her bosom to her toes, a brilliantly white
apron, which struck Engelhardt as the most charm-
ing garment he had ever seen.
“Good business!” she cried at sight of him.
“I know how you are from Mr. Chester. Just
hold these things while I take both hands to this
key; it always is so stiff.”
The things in question, which she reached
out to him with her left hand, consisted of a box
of plate powder, a piece of chamois leather, a
tooth-brush, and a small bottle of methylated
spirits; the lot lying huddled together in a saucer.


THE TREASURE IN THE STORE.
61
“That does it,” continued Naomi as the lock
shot back with a bang and the door flew open.
“Now come on in. You can lend me your only
hand. I never thought of that.”
Engelhardt followed her into the store. In-
side it was one big room, filled with a good but
subdued light (for as yet the sun was beating
upon the hinder slope of corrugated iron), and
with those motley necessaries of station life which
are to be seen in every station store. Sides of
bacon, empty ration-bags, horse-collars and hames,
bridles and reins, hung promiscuously from the
beams. Australian saddles kept their balance on
stout pegs jutting out from the walls. The latter
were largely lined with shelves, like book-cases,
but laden with tinned provisions of every possible
description, sauces and patent medicines in bottles,
whisky and ink in stone jars, cases of tea, tobacco,
raisins, and figs. Engelhardt noticed a great green
safe, with a couple of shot-guns and a repeating-
rifle in a rack beside it, and two or three pairs
of rusty hand-cuffs on a nail hard by. The floor
was fairly open, but for a few sacks of flour in a
far corner.
It was cut up, however, by a raised
desk with a high office stool to it, and by the


62
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
permanent, solid-looking counter which faced the
door. A pair of scales, of considerable size and
capacity, was the one encumbrance on the counter.
Naomi at once proceeded to remove it, first toss-
ing the weights on to the flour bags, one after
the other, and then lifting down the scales before
Engelhardt had time to help her. Thereafter she
slapped the counter with her flat hand, and stood
looking quizzically at her guest.
“You don't know what's under this counter,"
she said at last, announcing an obvious fact with
extraordinary unction.
“I don't, indeed,” said the piano-tuner, shaking
his head.
“Nor does your friend Mr. Sanderson, though
he's the store-keeper. He's out at the shed
during shearing-time, branding bales and seeing
to the loading of the drays. But all the rest of
the year he keeps the books at that desk or
serves out rations across this counter; and yet he
little dreams what's underneath it.”
“You interest me immensely, Miss Pryse.”
“I wonder if I dare interest you any more?”
“You had better not trust me with a secret."


THE TREASURE IN THE STORE.
63
“Why not? Do you mean that you couldn't
keep one?"
case
“I don't say that; but I have no right---'
“Right be bothered,” cried Naomi crisply;
“there's no question of right.”
Engelhardt coloured up.
“I was only going to say that I had no right
to get in your way and perhaps make you feel it
was better to tell me things than to turn me
out,” he explained humbly. "I shall turn myself
out, since you are too kind to do it for me. I
meant in any
to take a walk in the
pines.”
“Did I invite you to come in here, or did I
not?” inquired Miss Pryse.
“Well, only to carry these things. Here
they are.”
He held them out to her, but she refused to
look at them.
“When I tell you I don't want you, then it
will be time for you to go,” she said. “Since
you don't live here, there's not the least reason
why you shouldn't know what no man
place knows, except Mr. Gilroy. Besides, you
>>
on the


THE TREASURE IN THE STORE.
65
Indeed, she had perched herself on the
counter while speaking; and now, spinning round
where she sat, she was down on the other side
and fumbling at a padlock before her companion
could open his mouth.
“Isn't it very dangerous?” he said at length,
as Naomi stood up and set the padlock on the
desk.
men
"Hardly that. Mr. Gilroy is absolutely the
only person who knows that it is here. Still, the
bank would be best, of course, and I mean to
have it all taken there one of these days. Mean-
while, I clean my silver whenever I come up
here. It's a splendid opportunity when my young
are all out at the shed. I did a lot last
week, and I expect to finish off this morning."
As she spoke the top of the counter answered
to the effort of her two strong arms, and came
up with a jerk. She raised it until it caught,
when Engelhardt could just get his chin over the
rim, and see a huge heavily-clamped plate-chest
lying like a kernel in its shell. There were more
locks to undo. Then the baize-lined lid of the
chest was raised in its turn. And in a very few
The Boss of Taroomba.
5


66
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA,
minutes the Taroomba store presented a scene
which it would have been more than difficult to
match throughout the length and breadth of the
Australian bush.


MASTERLESS MEN.
67
CHAPTER V.
MASTERLESS MEN.
NAOMI had seated herself on the tall stool at
the book-keeper's desk, on which she had placed
in array the silver that was still unclean. This
included a fine old epergne, of quaint design and
exceedingly solid proportions; a pair of candle-
sticks, in the familiar form of the Corinthian
column-more modern, but equally handsome in
their way; a silver coffee-pot with an ivory handle;
and a number of ancient skewers. She tackled
the candle-sticks first. They were less tarnished
than might have been expected, and in Naomi's
energetic hands they soon regained their pristine
purity and lustre. As she worked she talked
freely of her father, and his family in Wales, to
Engelhardt, for whose benefit she had unpacked
many of the things which she had already cleaned,
and set them out upon the counter after shutting
it down as before. He too was seated, on the


68
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
counter's further edge, with his back half-turned
to the door. And the revelation of so much
treasure in that wild place made him more and
more uneasy.
“I should have thought you'd be frightened
to have this sort of thing on the premises,” he
could not help saying.
“Frightened of what?”
“Well-bushrangers."
“They don't exist. They're as extinct as the
dodo. But that reminds me!”
She broke off abruptly, and sat staring thought-
fully at the door, which was standing ajar. She
even gave the steps of her Corinthian column a
rest from tooth-brush and plate-powder.
“That reminds you?”
“Yes-of bushrangers. We once had some
here, before they became extinct.”
“Since you've had the plate?”
“Yes; it was the plate they were after. How
they got wind of it no one ever knew.”
“Is it many years ago?”
“Well, I was quite a little girl at the time.


MASTERLESS MEN.
69
every time.
But I never shall forget it! I woke in the night,
hearing shots, and I ran into the verandah in my
night-dress. There was my father behind one of
the verandah posts, with a revolver in each hand,
roaring and laughing as though it were the greatest
joke in the world; and there were two men in
the store-verandah, just outside this door. They
were shooting at father, all they knew, but they
couldn't hit him, though they hit the post nearly
I'll show you the marks when we
go over to lunch. My father kept laughing and
shooting at them the whole time. It was just the
sort of game he liked. But at last one of the
men fell in a heap outside the door, and then
the other bolted for his horse.
He got away
too; but he left something behind him that he'll
never replace in this world or the next.”
“What was that?” asked Engelhardt with a
long breath.
“His little finger. My father amputated it
with one of his shots. It was picked up between
this and the place where he mounted his horse.
Father got him on the wing!" said Naomi proudly.
“Was he caught?”
“No, he was never heard of again.”


70
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“And the man who was shot?”
“He was as dead as sardines. And who do
you suppose he turned out to be?"
Engelhardt shook his head.
“Tigerskin the bushranger! No less! It was
a dirty burgling business for a decent bushranger
to lose his life in, now wasn't it? For they never
stuck up the station, mind you; they were caught
trying to burst into the store. Luckily they didn't
succeed. The best of it was that at the inquest,
and all that, it never came out what it was they
really wanted in our store. Soon afterwards
my father had the windows blocked up and
the whole place cemented over, as you see it
now.”
Naomi was done. Back went the tooth-brush
to work on the Corinthian column, and Engel-
hardt saw more of the pretty hair, but less of
the sweet face, as she bent to her task with
redoubled vigour. Sweet she most certainly was
in his sight, and yet she could sit there, and tell
him of blood spilt and life lost before her own
soft eyes, as calmly as though such sights were
a natural part of a young girl's education. For
a space he so marvelled at her that there was


72
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
them when they have none. So what's yours?
Out with it quick!”
She discerned delight behind his blushes.
“Come on, I can't wait! What is it?”
“I suppose it's music.”
“I knew it. Oh, but that's such a splendid
ambition!”
“Do you really think so?”
“It's grand! But what do you aspire to do?
Mephistopheles or Faust in the opera? Or senti-
mental songs in your dress-suit, with a tea-rose
in your button-hole and a signet-ring plain as a
pike-staff to the back row? Somehow or other I
don't think you're sleek enough for a tenor or
coarse enough for a bass. Certainly I know no-
thing at all about it.”
“Oh, Miss Pryse, I can't sing a bit!”
“My dear young man, I've heard you.”
“I only tried because they made me—and to
sell my wretched songs.”
“Then is it to be solos on the piano?”
“I'm not good enough to earn my rations at
that.”
“The organ— and a monkey? Burnt cork
and the bones?”


MASTERLESS MEN.
73
“Oh, Miss Pryse!”
“Well, then, what?”
“How can I say it? I should like, above
everything else—if only I ever could!—to write
music--to compose." He said it shyly enough,
with downcast eyes, and more of his blushes.
"And why not?”
“Well, I don't know why not-one of these
days.”
His tone had changed. He had tossed up
his head erect. She had not laughed at him
after all!
“I should say that you would compose very
well indeed,” remarked Naomi naïvely.
“I don't know that; but some day or other I
mean to try.”
“Then why waste your time tuning pianos?”
“To keep myself alive meanwhile. I don't
say that I shall ever do any good as a composer.
Only that's what you'd call my ambition. In any
case, I don't know enough to try yet, except to
amuse myself when I'm alone. I have no technique.
I know only the rudiments of harmony. I do get
ideas; but they're no use to me. I haven't enough


74
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
knowledge of treatment of composition - to
turn them to any account. But I shall have some
day! Miss Pryse, do you know why I'm out here?
To make enough money to go back again and
study—and learn my trade-with plenty of time
and pains—which all trades require and demand.
I mean all artistic trades. And I'm not doing so
very badly, seeing I've only been out three years.
I really am beginning to make a little. It was
my mother's idea, my coming out at all. I wasn't
twenty-three at the time. It was a splendid idea,
like everything she does or says or thinks! How
I wish you knew my mother! She is the best
and cleverest woman in all the world, though
she is so poor, and has lived in a cottage all her
life. My father was a German. He was clever
too, but he wasn't practical. So he never suc-
ceeded. But my mother is everything! One day
I shall go back to her with my little pile. Then
we shall go abroad together--perhaps to Milan-
and I shall study hard-all, and we'll soon find out
whether there's anything in me or not. If there
isn't, back I come to the colonies to tune pianos
and sell music; but my mother shall come with
me, next time.”


MASTERLESS MEN.
75
“You will find that there is something in
you,” said Naomi. “I can see it."
Indeed, it was not unreasonable to suppose
that there was something behind that broad, high
forehead and those enthusiastic and yet intelligent
eyes. The mouth, too, was the delicate, mobile
mouth of the born artist; the nostrils were as
sensitive as those of a thoroughbred racehorse;
and as he spoke the young man's face went
white-hot with sheer enthusiasm. Clearly there
was reason in what Naomi thought and said,
though she knew little about music and cared
less. He beamed at her without answering, and
she spoke again.
“Certainly you have ambition,” she said; "and
honestly, there's nothing I admire so much in a
young man. Please understand that I for one
am with you heart and soul in all you undertake
or attempt. I feel quite sure that I shall live to
see you famous. Oh, isn't it splendid to be a
man and aim so high?”
“It is,” he answered simply, out of the frank-
ness of his heart.
“Even if you never succeed, it is fine to
try!”


76
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Thank Heaven for that. Even if you never
succeed!”
was
was
“But you are going to--'
“Or going to know the reason why!”
To a sympathetic young woman who believes
in him, and thus stimulates his belief in himself;
who is ready with a nod and a smile when his
mind outstrips his tongue; who understands his
incoherences, and is with him in his wildest
flights; to such a listener the ordinary young man
with enthusiasm can talk by the hour together,
and does. Naomi one such; she
eminently understanding. Engelhardt had enthu-
siasm. He had more than it is good for a man
to carry about in his own breast. And there is
no doubt that he would have spent the entire
morning in putting his burden, bit by bit, upon
Naomi as she sat and worked and listened, had
no interruption occurred. As it was, however,
she interrupted him herself, and that in the
middle of a fresh tirade, by suddenly holding up
her finger and sharply enjoining silence.
“Don't you hear voices?” she said.
He listened.


MASTERLESS MEN.
77
“Yes, I do."
“Do you mind seeing who it is?”
He went to the door. “There are two men
hanging about the station verandah," he said.
“Stay! Now they have seen me, and are coming
this way.”
Naomi said not one word, but she managed
to fetch over the office-stool in the haste with
which she sprang to the ground. At a run she
rounded the counter, and reached the door just
as the men came up. She pushed Engelhardt
out first, and then followed him herself, locking
the door and putting the key in her pocket before
turning to the men. Last of all, but in her
most amiable manner, she asked them what they
wanted.
“Travellers' rations,” said one.
"Especially meat," added the other.
“Very good,” said Naomi, “go to the kitchen
and get the meat first. Mr. Engelhardt, you may
not know the station custom of giving rations to
travellers. We don't give meat here as a rule;
so will you take these men over to the kitchen,


80
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
Rather to his surprise, Naomi was there be-
fore them, and busy weighing out the traveller's
quantum of sugar, tea, and flour, for each man.
What was really amazing, however, was the ap-
parent miracle that had put every trace of the
silver out of sight.
“No work for us on the station?" said the
stout man, before they finally sheered off, and
in a tone far from civil, to Engelhardt's thinking.
“None, I'm afraid,” said Naomi, again with
a smile.
“Nor yet at the shed?” inquired the other,
civilly enough.
“Nor yet at the shed, I am sorry to say.”
“So long, then," said the fat man, in his im-
pudent manner. “Mayhap we shall be coming
to see you again, miss, one o' these fine days or
nights. My dear, you look out for us! You keep
your spare-room in readiness! A feather-bed for
me
“Stow it, mate," said the other tramp, as he
hitched his swag across his shoulders. “
“Can't
you
hump your bluey and come away decent?”


MASTERLESS MEN.
81
"If you don't,” cried Engelhardt, putting in
his little word in a gigantic voice, “it will be the
worse for you!”
The big fellow laughed and swore.
“Will it, my little man?” said he. “Are you
going to make it the worse? I've a blessed good
mind to take and crumple you up for manure, I
have. And a blessed bad barrerful you'd make!
See here, my son, I reckon you've got one broke
bone about you already; mind out that I don't
leave a few pals to keep it company. A bit more
of your cheek, and I'll make you so as your own
sweetheart—a fine girl she is, as ought to be
above the likes of you; but I suppose you're better
than nothing. -I tell you I'll make you so as your
sweetheart-
It was the man's own mate who put a stop
to this.
“Can't you shut it and come on?” he cried,
with a kind of half-amused anger.
“Wot good
is this going to do either me or you, or any
blessed body else?”
“It 'll do somebody some harm,” returned the
other, "if he opens his mouth again. Yes, I'll
The Boss of Taroomba.
6


82
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
clear out before I smash 'im! Good-bye, my dear,
and a bigger size to you in sweethearts. So long,
little man.
You
may
thank
your
broke arm that
your ’ead's not broke as well!”
They were gone at last. Naomi and Engel-
hardt watched them out of sight from the
verandah, the latter heaving with rage and in-
dignation. He was not one to forget this de-
gradation in a hurry. Naomi, on the other hand,
who had more to complain of, being a woman,
was in her usual spirits in five minutes. She
took him by the arm, and told him to cheer up.
He made bitter answer that he could
forgive himself for having stood by and heard
her spoken to as she had been spoken to that
morning. She pointed to his useless arm, and
laughed heartily.
“As long as they didn't see the silver," said
she, “I care very little what they said.”
“But I care!”
“Then you are not to. Do you think they
saw the silver?"
“No; I'm pretty sure they didn't. How quickly
you must have bundled it in again!"
never


MASTERLESS MEN.
83
“There was occasion for quickness. We must
put it to rights after lunch. Meanwhile come
along and look here."
She had led the way along the verandah, and
now stood fingering one of the white-washed
posts. It was pocked about the middle with
ancient bullet-marks.
“This was the post my father stood behind.
Not much of a shelter, was it?”
Engelhardt seemed interested and yet distrait.
He made no answer.
“Why don't you speak?” cried Naomi. “What
has struck you?”
“Nothing much," he replied. “Only when
you heard the voices, and I went to the door, the
big brute was showing the little brute this very
verandah-post!”
Naomi considered.
“There's not much in that,” she said at last.
“It's the custom for travellers to wait about a
verandah; and what more natural than their
spotting these holes and having a look at them?
As long as they didn't spot my silver! Do you
6*


84
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
know why I came over to the house before
putting it away?”
“No."
“To get this,” said Naomi, pulling something
from her pocket. She was laughing rather shyly.
It was a small revolver.


£500.
85
CHAPTER VI.
£500.
“AND what is your other name, Mr. Engel-
hardt?”
“Hermann."
“Hermann Engelhardt! That's a lovely name.
How well it will look in the newspapers!”
The piano-tuner shook his head.
“It will never get into them now," said he,
sadly.
“What nonsense!” exclaimed the girl. “When
you have told me of all the big things you dream
of doing one day! You'll do them every one
when you go home to England again; I'll put my
bottom dollar on you.”
“Ah, but the point is whether I shall ever go
back at all.”
“Of course you will."
“I have a presentiment that I never shall.”


86
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Since when?" inquired Naomi, with a kindly
sarcasm.
“Oh, I always have it, more or less."
“You had it very much less this morning,
when you were telling me how you'd go home
and study at Milan and I don't know where-all,
once you'd made the money."
“But I don't suppose I ever shall make it.”
“Bless the man!” cried Naomi, giving him
up, for the moment, in despair. She continued
to gaze at him, however, as he leant back in his
wicker chair, with hopeless dark eyes fixed ab-
sently upon the distant clumps of pale green
trees that came between glaring plain and cloud-
less sky. They were sitting in the verandah
which did not face the station yard, because it
was the shady one in the afternoon. The silver
had all been properly put away, and locked up
as carefully as before. As for the morning's
visitors, Naomi was herself disposed to think no
more of them or their impudence; it is therefore
sad to relate that her present companion would
allow her to forget neither. With him the in-
cident rankled characteristically: it had left him
solely occupied by an extravagantly poor opinion


£500.
87
of himself. For the time being, this discoloured
his entire existence and prospects, draining his
self-confidence to the last drop. Accordingly he
harped upon the late annoyance, and his own
inglorious share in it, to an extent which in an-
other would have tried Naomi very sorely indeed;
but in him she rather liked it. She had a book
in her lap, but it did not interest her nearly so
much as the human volume in the wicker chair
at her side. She was exceedingly frank about
the matter.
“You're the most interesting man I ever met
in my life,” was her very next remark.
“I can't think that!”
He had hauled in his eyes some miles to see
whether she meant it.
"Nevertheless, it's the case. Do you know
why you're so interesting?”
“No, that I don't!"
“Because you're never
the same for two
seconds together."
His face fell.
“Among other reasons," added Naomi, nod-
ding kindly


88
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
But Engelhardt had promptly put himself
upon the spit. He was always doing this.
“Yes, I know I'm a terribly up-and-down kind
of chap," said he miserably; "there's no happy
medium about me."
“When you are good you are very good in-
deed, and when you are bad you are horrid!
That's just what I like. I can't stand your always-
the same people. They bore me beyond words;
they drill me through and through! Still, you
were very good indeed this morning, you know.
It is too absurd of you to give a second thought
to a couple of tramps and their insolence!”
"I can't help it. I'm built that way. To
think that I should have stood still to hear you
insulted like that!”
“But you didn't stand still.”
"Oh, yes, I did.”
"Well, I wish you wouldn't bother about it.
I wish you wouldn't bother about yourself.”
“When I am bad I am horrid," he said, with
a wry smile, "and that's now.”
“No, I tell you I like it. I never know where
I've got you. That's one reason why you're so
interesting.”


£500.
89
His face glowed, and he clasped her with his
glance.
“How kind you are!” he said softly. "How
you make the best of one, even at one's worst!
But oh, how bitterly you make me wish that I
were different!”
“I'm very glad that you're not,” said Naomi;
"everybody else is different.”
“But I would give my head to be like every-
body else—to be hail-fellow with those men out
at the shed, for instance. They wouldn't have
stood still this morning."
“Wouldn't you as
soon be hail-fellow with
me?” asked the girl, ignoring his last sentence.
“A million times sooner, of course! But surely
you understand?”
“I think I do."
“I know you do; you understand everything.
I never knew
anyone like you,
never!”
“Then we're quits,” said Naomi, as though
the game were over.
And she closed her eyes.
But it was she who began it again; it always
was.
“You have one great fault,” she said ma-
ternally


90
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“I have a thousand and one."
“There you are.
You think too much about
them. You take too much notice of yourself;
that's your great fault.”
“Yet I didn't think I was conceited.”
“Not half enough! That's just it. Yet you
are egotistical.”
He looked terribly crestfallen. “I suppose I
am," he said dolefully. “In fact, I am."
“Then you're not, so there!"
“Which do you mean?”
“I only said it to tease you.
Do you sup-
pose I'd have said such a thing if I'd really
thought it?"
“I shouldn't mind what you said. If you
really do think me egotistical, pray say so
frankly."
“Of course I don't think anything of the
kind!”
“Is that the truth?”
“The real truth.”
(It was not.)
“If it's egotistical to think absolutely nothing
of yourself,” continued Naomi, "and to blame
yourself and not other people for every little


£500.
91
thing that goes wrong, then I should call you a
twenty-two-carat egotist. But even then your
aims and ambitions would be rather lofty for the
billet."
"They never seemed so to me," he whispered,
“until you sympathised with them.”
“Of course I sympathise,” said Naomi, laugh-
ing at him. It was necessary to laugh at him
now and then. It kept him on his feet; this
time it led him from the abstract to the con-
crete.
“If only I could make enough money to go
home and study, to study even in London for
one year," murmured Engelhardt, as his eyes
drifted out across the plains. “Then I should
know whether my dreams ever were worth dream-
ing. But I have taken root out here, I am be-
ginning to do well, better than ever I could have
hoped. At our village in the old country I was
glad enough to play the organ in church for
twelve pounds a year. Down in Victoria they
gave me fifty without a murmur, and I made a
little more out of teaching. Oh! didn't I tell you
I started life out here as an organist? That's
how it was I was able to buy this business, and


92
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
I am doing very well indeed. Two pounds for
tuning a piano! They wouldn't credit it in the
old country.”
“The man before you used to charge three.
A piano-tuner in the bush is an immensely wel-
come visitor, mind. I don't think I should have
lowered my terms at all, specially when you have
no intention of doing this sort of thing all your
days."
“Ah well, I shall never dare to throw
it up."
“Never's not a word I like to hear you use,
Mr. Engelhardt. Remember that you've only
been out here three years, and that you are not
yet twenty-six. You told me so yourself this
morning."
"It's perfectly true," said Engelhardt. "But
there's one's mother to consider.
about her. I am beginning to send her so much
money now. It would be frightful to give that
up, just because there are tunes in my head now
and then, and I can't put them together in proper
harmony."
“I should say that your mother would rather
have you than your money, Mr. Engelhardt.”
I told you


£500.
93
“Perhaps so, but not if I were on her hands
composing things that nobody would publish.”
“That couldn't be. You would succeed.
Something tells me that you would. I see it in
your face; I did this morning. I know nothing
about music, yet I feel so certain about you.
The very fact that you should have these am-
bitions when you are beginning to do well out
here, that in itself is enough for me.”
He shook his head, without turning it to
thank her by so much as a look. The girl was
glad of that. Though he had so little confidence
in himself, she knew that the dreams of which
he had spoken more freely and more hopefully
in the morning were thick upon him then, as he
sat in the wicker chair and looked out over the
plains, with parted lips and such wistful eyes that
Naomi's mind went to work at the promptings of
the heart in her which he touched. It was a
nimble, practical mind, and the warm heart
beneath it was the home of noble impulses,
which broke forth continually in kind words and
generous acts. Naomi wore that heart upon her
sweet frank face, it shone with a clear light out
of the fearless eyes that were fixed now so long


94
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
and so steadily upon the piano-tuner's eager
profile. She watched him while the shadow of
the building grew broader and broader under
his eyes until all at once it lost its edges, nd
there were no more sunlit patches on the plain.
Still he neither moved nor looked at her. At
last she touched him on the arm. She was
sitting on his right, and she laid her fingers
lightly upon the splints and bandages which were
her own handiwork.
“Well, Mr. Engelhardt?”
He started round, and she was smiling at
him in the gloaming, with her sweet warm face
closer to his than it had ever been before.
“I have been very rude,” he stammered.
“I am going to be much ruder.”
“Now you are laughing at me.”
“No, I am not. I was never further from
laughing in my life, for I fear that I shall offend
you, though I do hope not.”
He saw that something was upon her mind.
“You couldn't do it if you tried,” he said,
simply.
“Then I want to know how much money
you think you ought to have to go home to


96
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“To lend it to me!"
“Why not?”
“Five hundred pounds!”
“My dear young man, I'm ashamed to say
that I should never feel it. It's a sporting offer
merely. Of course I'd charge interest—you'd
dedicate all your nice songs to me.
Why don't
you answer? I don't like to see you in the bush,
it isn't at all the place for you; and I do want to
send you home to your mother. You might let
me, for her sake. Have you lost your tongue?
Her hand had remained upon the splints and
bandages; indeed, she had forgotten that there
was a living arm inside them, but now something
trivial occurred that made her withdraw it, and
also get up from her chair.
“Are you on, or are you not?”
“Oh, how can I thank you? What can I
say?"
“Yes or no," replied Naomi, promptly.
“No, then. I can't-I can't-
“Then don't. Now not another word No,
there's no offence on either side, unless it's I that
have offended you. It was great cheek of me,


£500.
97
after all. Yes, it was! Well, then, if it wasn't,
will you have the goodness to lend me your ears
on an entirely different matter?"
“Very well; with all my heart; yet if only I
could ever thank you——”
“If only you would be quiet and listen to
me! How are the bruises behaving? That's
all I want to hear now."
“The bruises ? Oh, they're all right; I'd
quite forgotten I had any."
“You can lean back without hurting?"
“Rather! If I put my weight on the left
side it doesn't hurt a bit."
“Think you could stand seven miles in a
buggy to-morrow morning?”
“Couldn't I!”
“Then I thought of driving over to the shed
in the morning; and you shall come with me, if
you're good.”
For an instant he looked radiant. Then his
face clouded over as he thought again of her
goodness and his own ingratitude.
“Miss Pryse,” he began—and stuck—but his
tone spoke volumes of remorse and self-abase-
ment.
The Boss of Taroomba.
7


THE RINGER OF THE SHED.
99
CHAPTER VII.
THE RINGER OF THE SHED.
A SWEET breeze and a flawless sky rendered
it an exquisite morning when Naomi and her
piano-tuner took their seats behind the kind of
pair which the girl loved best to handle. They
were youngsters both, the one a filly as fresh as
paint, the other a chestnut colt, better broken,
perhaps, but sufficiently ready to be led astray.
The very start was lively. Engelhardt found
himself holding on with his only hand as if his
life depended on it, instead of on the firm gloved
fingers and the taut white-sleeved arm at his
side. He looked from the pair of young ones
to that arm and those fingers, and back again
at the pair. They were pulling alarmingly,
especially the filly. Engelhardt took an anxious
look at the driver's face. He was prepared to
find it resolute but pale. He found it trans-
figured with the purest exultation.
After all,
17*


100
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
this was the daughter of the man who had re-
turned the bushranger's fire with laughter as loud
as his shots; she was her father's child; and from
this moment onward, the piano-tuner felt it a new
honour to be sitting at her side.
“How do you like it?" she found time to ask
him when the worst seemed over.
"First-rate," he replied.
“Not in a funk?”
“Not with you.”
“That's a blessing. The filly needs watching
— little demon! But she shan't smash your other
arm for you, Mr. Engelhardt, if I can prevent it.
No screws loose, Sam, I hope?”
“Not if I knows it, miss!”
Sam Rowntree had jumped on behind to
come as far as the first gate, to open it. Already
they were there, and as Sam ran in front of the
impatient pair the filly shied violently at a
blue silk fly-veil which fluttered from his wide-
awake.
“That nice youth is the dandy of the men's
hut,” explained Naomi, as they tore through the
gates, leaving Sam and his fly-veil astern in a
twinkling. “I daren't say much to him, because


THE RINGER OF THE SHED.
IOI
he's the only man the hut contains just at present.
The rest spend most nights out at the shed, so I
should be pretty badly off if I offended Sam. I
wasn't too pleased with the state of the buggy,
as a matter of fact. It's the old Shanghai my
father used to fancy, and somehow it's fallen on
idle days; but it runs lighter than anything else
we've got, and it's sweetly swung. That's why I
chose it for this little trip of ours. You'll find it
like a feather-bed for your bruises and bones
and things—if only Sam Rowntree used his
screw-hammer properly. Feeling happy so far?”
Engelhardt declared that he had never been
happier in his life. There was more truth in
the assertion than Naomi suspected. She also
was happy, but in a different way. A tight rein,
an aching arm, a clear course across a five-mile
paddock, and her beloved Riverina breeze be-
tween her teeth, would have made her happy at
any time and in any circumstances. The piano-
tuner's company added no sensible zest to a per-
formance which she thoroughly enjoyed for its
own sake; but with him the exact opposite was
the case.
She was not thinking of him. He
was thinking only of her. She had her young


102
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
bloods to watch. His eyes spent half their time
upon her grand strong hand and arm. Suddenly
these gave a tug and a jerk, both together. But
he was in too deep a dream either to see what
was wrong or to understand his companion's ex-
clamation.
“He didn't!” she had cried.
"Didn't what?” said Engelhardt. "And who,
Miss Pryse?”
“Sam Rowntree didn't use his screw-hammer
properly. Wretch! The near swingle-tree's down
and trailing."
It took Engelhardt some moments to grasp
exactly what she meant. Then he saw. The
near swingle-tree was bumping along the ground
at the filly's heels, dragged by the traces.
Already the filly had shown herself the one to
shy as well as to pull, and it now appeared
highly probable that she would give a further
exhibition of her powers by kicking the Shanghai
to matchwood. Luckily the present pace was
too fast for that. The filly had set the pace
herself. The filly was keeping it up. As for
the chestnut, it was contentedly playing second
fiddle with traces drooping like festoons. Thus


THE RINGER OF THE SHED.
105
They drove down the length of the shed,
which had small pens attached on either side,
with a kind of port-hole opening into each. Out
of these port-holes there kept issuing shorn sheep,
which ran down little sloping boards, and thus
filled the pens.
At one of the latter Naomi
pulled up.
It contained twice as many sheep as
any other pen, and a good half of them were
cut and bleeding. The pens were all numbered,
and this one was number nineteen.
“Bear that in mind,” said Naomi. “Nine-
teen!”
Engelhardt looked at her.
Her face was
flushed and her voice unusually quiet and hard.
But she drove on without another word, save of
general explanation.
“Each man has his pen,” she said, “and
shears his sheep just inside those holes. Then
the boss of the shed comes round with his note-
book, counts out the pens, and enters the number
of sheep' to the number of each pen. If a shearer
cuts his sheep about much, or leaves a lot of
wool on, he just runs that man's pen-doesn't
count 'em at all. At least, he ought to. It seems
he doesn't always do it.”


THE RINGER OF THE SHED.
107
sheep between them. The wool-sorter's seemed
the softest job in the shed. Boys brought him
fleeces—perhaps a dozen a minute-flung them
out upon the table, and rolled them up again
into neat bundles swiftly tied with string. These
bundles the wool-sorter merely tossed over his
shoulder into one or other of the five or six bins
at his back.
“He gets a pound a thousand fleeces,” Naomi
whispered, “and we shear something over eighty
thousand sheep. He will take away a cheque of
eighty odd pounds for his six weeks' work.”
“And what about the shearers?”
“A pound a hundred. Some of them will
go away with forty or fifty pounds."
“It beats piano-tuning,” said Engelhardt, with
a laugh. They crossed an open space, mounted
a few steps, and began threading their way down
the left-hand aisle, between the shearers and the
pen from which they had to help themselves to
woolly sheep. The air was heavy with the smell
of fleeces, and not unmusical with the constant
swish and chink of forty pairs of shears.
“Well, Harry?” said Naomi, to the second


108
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
man they came to. “Harry is an old friend of
mine, Mr. Engelhardt—he was here in the old
days. Mr. Engelhardt is a new friend, Harry,
but a very good one, for all that. How are you
getting on? What's your top-score?”
“Ninety-one, miss-I shore ninety-one yester-
day.”
"And a very good top-score too, Harry. I'd
rather spend three months over the shearing than
have sheep cut about and wool left on. What
was that number I asked you to keep in mind,
Mr. Engelhardt?”
“Nineteen, Miss Pryse."
“Ah, yes! Who's number nineteen, Harry?”
Harry grinned.
“They call him the ringer of the shed,
miss."
"Oh, indeed. That means the fastest shearer,
Mr. Engelhardt—the man who runs rings round
the rest, eh, Harry? What's his top-score, do
you suppose?"
“Something over two hundred.”
“I thought as much. And his name?"
“Simons, miss.”
“Point him out, Harry.”
>>


THE RINGER OF THE SHED.
109
“Why, there he is; that big chap now helping
himself to a woolly.”
They turned and saw a huge fellow drag out
an unshorn sheep by the leg, and fling it against
his moleskins with a clearly unnecessary violence
and cruelty.
“Come on, Mr. Engelhardt," said Naomi, in
her driest tones; “I have a word to say to the
ringer of the shed. I rather think he won't ring
much longer."
They walked on and watched the long man
at his work. It was the work of a ruffian. The
shearer next him had started on a new sheep
simultaneously, and was no further than the
brisket when the ringer had reached the buttocks.
On the brisket of the ringer's sheep a slit of
livid blue had already filled with blood, and
blood started from other places as he went
slashing on. He was either too intent or too in-
solent to take the least heed of the lady and the
young man watching him. The young man's
heart was going like a clock in the night, and
he was sufficiently ashamed of it. As for Naomi,
she was visibly boiling over, but she held her
tongue until the sheep rose bleeding from its


IIO
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
а.
fleece. Then, as the man was about to let the
poor thing go, she darted between it and the
hole.
“Tar here on the brisket!” she called down
the board.
A boy came at run and dabbed the
wounds.
“Why didn't you call him yourself?" she
then asked sternly of the man, still detaining his
sheep.
“What business is that of yours?" he returned
impudently.
"That you will see presently.
sheep did you shear yesterday?"
“Two hundred and two."
“And the day before?”
“Two hundred and five."
“That will do. It's too much, my man, you
can't do it properly. I've had a look at your
sheep, and I mean to run your pen. What's more,
if you don't intend to go slower and do better
you may throw down your shears this minute!”
The man had slowly lifted himself to some-
thing like his full height, which was enormous.
So were his rounded shoulders and his long,
How many


114
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
look and gesture, “there'll be further trouble.
This is only the beginning. There'll be trouble,
and maybe worse, until you make a change."
Naomi felt inexpressibly uncomfortable.
"Mr. Gilroy is the manager of this station,"
said she, for once with a slight tremor in her
voice. “Any difference that you have with him,
you must fight it out between you. I am quite
sure that he means to be just. I at any rate
must interfere no more. I am sorry I interfered
at all.”
So they let her go at last, the piano-tuner
following close upon her heels. He had stuck
to her all the time with shut mouth and twitching
fingers, ready for anything, as he was ready still.
And the first person these two encountered in
the open air was Gilroy himself, with so white a
face and such busy lips that they hardly required
him to tell them he had heard all.
“I am very sorry, Monty,” said the girl, in a
distressed tone which highly surprised her com-
panion; "but I simply couldn't help it. You can't
stand by and see a sheep cut to pieces without
opening your mouth. Yet I know I was at
fault.”


116
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
his cheque. Miss Pryse has thought fit to sack
him over my head!”
Instantly her penitence froze to scorn.
“That was unnecessary,” she said, in the
same quiet tone she had employed towards the
shearer, but dropping her arm and halting dead
as she spoke. “If this is the way you treat the
men, no wonder you can't manage them. Come,
Mr. Engelhardt!”
And with this they turned their back on the
manager; but not on the shed; that was not
Naomi's way at all. She was pre-eminently one
to be led, not driven, and she remained upon the
scene, showing Engelhardt everything, and ex-
plaining the minutest details for his benefit, much
longer than she would have dreamt of staying in
the ordinary course of affairs. This involved
luncheon in the manager's hut, at which meal
Naomi appeared in the highest spirits, cracking
jokes with Sanderson, chaffing the boy in spectacles,
and clinking pannikins with everyone but the
manager himself. The latter left early, after
steadily sulking behind his plate, with his beard
in his waistcoat and his yellow head presented
like a bull's. Tom Chester was not there at all.


THE RINGER OF THE SHED.
117
Engelhardt was sorry, though the others treated
him well enough to-day-Sanderson even cutting
up his meat for him. It was three o'clock before
Naomi and he started homeward in the old
Shanghai.
With the wool-shed left a mile behind, they
overtook a huge horseman leading a spare horse.
“That's our friend Simons," said Naomi. "I
wonder what sort of a greeting he'll give me.
None at all, I should imagine.”
She was wrong. The shearer reined up on
one side of the track, and gave her a low bow,
wideawake in hand, and with it a kind of a
glaring grin that made his teeth stand out like
brass-headed nails in the afternoon sunshine.
Naomi laughed as they drove on.
“Pretty, wasn't it? That man loves me to
distraction, I should say. On the whole we may
claim to have had a rather lively day. First
came that young lady on the near side, who's
behaving herself so angelically now; and then
the swingle-tree, which they've fixed up well
enough to see us through this afternoon at any
rate. Next there was our friend Simons; and
after him, poor dear Monty Gilroy-who had


“THREE SHADOWS."
I 21
group of
revealed to her what she had never come in
contact with before-a highly sensitised specimen
of the artistic temperament. She did not know
it by this name, or by any name at all; but she
was not the less alive to his little
interesting peculiarities, because of her inability
to label the lot with one phrase. They interested
her the more for that very reason; just as her in-
stinct as to the possibilities that were in him was
all the stronger for her incapacity to reason out
her conviction in a satisfactory manner.
Her in-
tellectual experience was limited to a degree;
but she had seen success in his face; and she
now heard it in his voice when he quoted verses
to her, so beautifully that she was delighted to
listen whether she followed him or not. Her
faith in him was sweetly unreasonable, but it was
immensely strong. She was ready and
eager to back him heavily; and there are those
who would rather have one brave girl do that
on instinct, than win the votes of a hundred
clear heads, basing their support upon a logical
calculation.
For reasons of her own, however, Naomi
decided overnight to take her visitor a little less
even


1 22
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
seriously to his face. She had been too con-
fidential with him concerning station affairs past
and present; that she must drop, and at the
same time discourage him from opening his heart
to her, as he was beginning to do, on the
slightest provocation. These resolutions would
impose a taboo on nearly all the subjects they
had found in common. She quite saw that, and
she thought it just as well. Too much sympathy
with this young man might be bad for him.
Naomi realised this somewhat suddenly in the
night, and it kept her awake rather longer than
she liked. But she rose next morning fully re-
solved to eschew conversation of too sympathetic
a character, and to encourage her young friend
in quotations from the poets instead. Obviously
this was quite as great a pleasure to him, while
it was a much safer one—or so Naomi thought
in her innocence. But then it was a very genuine
pleasure to her too, because the poetry was en-
tirely new to her, and her many-sided young
man knew so much and repeated it so charm-
ingly.
It was incredible, indeed, what a number of
the poets of all ages he had at his finger-ends,


“THREE SHADOWS.”
125
may be
and you say it isn't verse. Verse, forsooth! It's
poetry—it's gorgeous poetry!"
“It
gorgeous,
but I don't call it
poetry unless it rhymes," said Naomi stoutly.
"Gordon always does."
Gordon, the Australian poet, she was for
ever throwing at his head, as the equal of any
of his English bards. They had already had
a heated argument about Gordon. Therefore
Engelhardt said merely-
"You're joking, of course?"
“I am doing nothing of the sort.”
“Then pray what do you call Shakespeare”
-pausing in front of her with his hand in his
pocket—"poetry or prose?”
“Prose, of course.”
"Because it doesn't rhyme?"
“Exactly.”
“And why do you suppose it's chopped up
into lines?”
“Oh, I don't know-to moisten it perhaps.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“To make it less dry.”
“Ah! Then it doesn't occur to you that
there might be some law which decreed the end


I 26
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
of a line after a certain number of beats, or
notes--exactly like the end of a bar of music, in
fact?"
“Certainly not,” said Naomi. There was a
touch of indignation in this denial. He shrugged
his shoulders and then turned them upon the
girl, and stood glowering out upon the yard. Be-
hind his back Naomi went into fits of silent
laughter, which luckily she had overcome before
he wheeled round suddenly with a face full of
eager determination.
His heart now appeared
set upon convincing her that verse might be
blank. And for half an hour he stood beating
his left hand in the air, and declaiming, in feet,
certain orations of Hamlet, until Mrs. Potter, the
cook-laundress, came out of the kitchen to pro-
tect her young mistress if necessary. It was not
necessary. The broken-armed gentleman was
standing over her, shaking his fist and talking at
the top of his voice; but Miss Pryse was all
smiles and apparent contentment; and, indeed,
she behaved much better for a while, and did
her best to understand. But presently she began
to complain of the “quotations” (for he was
operating on the famous soliloquy), and to pro-


“THREE SHADOWS."
127
fane the whole subject. And the question of
blank verse was discussed between them no
more.
She could be so good, too, when she liked,
so appreciative, so sympathetic, so understanding.
But she never liked very long. He had a ten-
dency to run to love-poems, and after listening
to five or six with every sign of approval and de-
light, Naomi would suddenly become flippant at
the sixth or seventh. On one occasion, when
she had turned him on by her own act afore-
thought, and been given a taste of several past-
masters of the lyric, from Waller to Locker, and
including a poem of Browning's which she allowed
herself to be made to understand, she inquired
of Engelhardt whether he had ever read any.
thing by “a man called Swinton.”
“Swinburne," suggested Engelhardt.
“Are you sure?” said Naomi, jealously. “I
believe it's Swinton. I'm prepared to bet you
that it is!”
“Where have you come across his name?”
the piano-tuner said, smiling as he shook his
head.
"In the preface to Gordon's poems."


128
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
Engelhardt groaned.
“It mentions Swinton—what are you laugh-
ing at?
All right! I'll get the book and settle
it!”
She came back laughing herself.
“Well?” said Engelhardt.
“You know too much! Not that I should
accept anything that preface says as conclusive.
It has the cheek to say that Gordon was under
his influence. You give me something of his,
and we'll soon see.”
“Something of Swinburne's?”
“Oh, you needn't put on side because you
happen to be right according to a preface. I'll
write and ask The Australasian! Yes, of course
I mean something of his."
Engelhardt reflected. “ There's poem
called “A Leave-taking,'” said he, tentatively, at
length.
“Then trot it out,” said Naomi; and she set
herself to listen with so unsympathetic an ex-
pression on her pretty face, that he was obliged
to look the other way before he could begin.
The contrary was usually the case. However, he
managed to get under way:-
a


“THREE SHADOWS.”
129
“Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.
“ Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is there?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show
She would not know.
“Let us go home and hence; she will not weep—-
2
“Stop a moment,” said Naomi, “I'm in a
difficulty. I can't go on listening until I know
something."
"Until you know what?” said Engelhardt,
who did not like being interrupted.
“Who it's all about—who she is !” cried
Naomi, inquisitively.
“Who-she-is," repeated the piano-tuner,
talking aloud to himself.
“Yes, exactly; who is she?”
"As if it mattered!” Engelhardt went on
The Boss of Taroomba.
9


130
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
As you
in the same aside. “However, who do you say
she is?”
“I? She may be his grandmother for all I
know. I'm asking you."
“I know you are.
I was prepared for you to
ask me anything else."
“Were you? Then why is she such an ob-
stinate old party, any way? She won't hear and
she won't know. What will she do? Now it
seems that you can't even make her cry! “She
will not weep' was where you'd got to.
seem unable to answer my questions, you'd better
go on till she does."
“I'm so likely to go on," said Engelhardt,
getting up.
Naomi relented a little.
“Forgive me, Mr. Engelhardt; I've been be-
having horribly. I'm sorry I spoke at all, only I
did so want to know who she was.”
"I don't know myself."
“I was sure you didn't!"
“What's more, I don't care. What has it got
to do with the merits of the poem?”
“I won't presume to say.
I only know that


132
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“I do love to make you lose your wool!” she
informed him, in a minute or two, with a sudden
attack of candour. “I like you best when you
give me up and wash your hands of me!”
This cleared his brow instantaneously, and
brought him back to her chair with a smile.
“Why so, Miss Pryse?”
“Must I tell you?”
“Please."
“Then it's because you forget yourself, and
me, too, when I rile you; and you're delightful
whenever you do that, Mr. Engelhardt.”
Naomi regretted her words next moment;
but it was too late to unsay them. He went on
smiling, it is true, but his smile was no longer
naïve and unconsidered; no more were his recita-
tions during the next few hours. His audience
did her worst to provoke him out of himself, but
she could not manage it. Then she tried the
other extreme, and became more enthusiastic
than himself over this and that, but he would not
be with her; he had retired into the lair of his
own self-consciousness, and there was no tempting
him out any more.
When he did come out of


134
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Have you quite exhausted the poetry that
you know by heart, Mr. Engelhardt?”
“Quite, I'm afraid, Miss Pryse; and I'm sure
you must be thankful to hear it.”
“Now you're fishing,” said Naomi with a smile
(not one of her sweetest); “we've quarrelled about
all your precious poets, it's true, but that's why I
want you to trot out another. I'm dying for an-
other quarrel, don't you see? Out with some-
body fresh, and let me have shies at him!”
“But I don't know them all off by heart—I'm
not a walking Golden Treasury, you know.”
“Think!” commanded Naomi. When she did
this there was no disobeying her. He had found
out that already.
“Have you ever heard of Rossetti-Dante
Gabriel?”
“Kill whose cat?” cried Naomi.
He repeated the poet's name in full. She
shook her head. She was smiling now, and kindly,
for she had got her way.
“There is one little thing of his--but a beauty
--that I once learnt,” Engelhardt said, doubtfully.
“Mind, I'm not sure that I can remember it, and


“THREE SHADOWS."
135
I won't spoil it if I can't; no more must you
spoil it, if I can."
“Is there some sacred association, then?”
He laughed. “No, indeed! There's more of
a sacrilegious association, for I once swore that
the first song I composed should be a setting for
these words.”
"Remember, you've got to dedicate it to me!
What's the name of the thing?”
“Three Shadows.'”
“Let's have them, then.”
“Very well. But I love it! You must promise
not to laugh.”
“Begin,” she said sternly, and he began!-
"I looked and saw your eyes
In the shadow of your hair,
As a traveller sees the stream
In the shadow of the wood;
And I said, “My faint heart sighs
Ah me! to linger there,
To drink deep and to dream
In that sweet solitude.”»»
“Go on," said Naomi, with approval. "I hope
you don't see all that; but please go on.”


136
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
He had got thus far with his face raised
steadfastly to hers, for he had left his chair and
seated himself on the edge of the verandah, at
her feet, before beginning. He went on without
wincing or lowering his eyes:-
“I looked and saw your heart
In the shadow of your eyes,
As a seeker sees the gold
In the shadow of the stream;
And I said, “Ah me! what art
Should win the immortal prize,
Whose want must make life cold
And heaven a hollow dream?"""
“Surely not as bad as all that?” said Naomi,
laughing. He had never recited anything so feel-
ingly, so slowly, with such a look in his eyes.
There was occasion to laugh, obviously.
“Am I to go on,” said Engelhardt, in des-
perate earnest, “or am I not?”
“Go on, of course! I am most anxious to
know what else you saw."
But the temptation to lower the eyes was now
hers; his look was so hard to face, his voice was
grown sọ soft.


“THREE SHADOWS."
137
“I looked and saw your love
In the shadow of your heart,
As a diver sees the pearl
In the shadow of the sea;
And I murmured, not above
My breath, but all apart
Here he stopped. Her eyes were shining.
He could not see this, because his own were dim.
“Go on," she said, nodding violently, “do
go on!”
“That's all I remember.”
“Nonsense! What did you murmur?"
"I forget."
“You do no such thing.”
“I've said all I mean to say.”
“But not all I mean you to. I will have the
lot."
And, after all, his were the eyes to fall; but
in a moment they had leapt up again to her face
with a sudden reckless flash.
“There are only two more lines,” he said;
"you had much better not know them.”
"I must,” said she. “What are they?”
“Ah! you can love, true girl,
And is your love for me?'"


“THREE SHADOWS.”
139
“Then look over your shoulder, and you will
see him for yourself."
A horseman had indeed ridden round the
corner of the house, noiselessly in the heavy sand.
Monty Gilroy sat frowning at them both from his
saddle.


140
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
CHAPTER IX.
NO HOPE FOR HIM.
“I'm afraid I have interrupted a very interest-
ing conversation?" said Gilroy, showing his teeth
through his beard.
Naomi smiled coolly.
“What if I say that you have, Monty?"
“Then I'm sorry, but it can't be helped,”
replied the manager, jumping off his horse, and
hanging the bridle over a hook on one of the
verandah posts.
“Ah, I thought as much," said Naomi, dryly.
She held out her hand, however, as she spoke.
But Gilroy had stopped before setting foot in
the verandah. He stood glaring at Engelhardt,
who was not looking at him, but at the fading
sky-line away beyond the sand and scrub, and
with a dazed expression upon his pale, eager
face. The piano-tuner had not risen; he had


NO HOPE FOR HIM.
141
merely turned round where he sat, at the sound
of Gilroy's voice.
Now, however, he seemed neither to see nor
to heed the manager, though the latter was tower-
ing over him, white with mortification.
“Now then, Mr. Piano-tuner, jump up and
clear; I've ridden over to see Miss Pryse on
urgent business-
“Leaving your manners behind you, evidently,"
observed that young lady, “or I think you would
hardly be ordering my visitors out of my verandah
and my presence!”
“Then will you speak to the fellow?” said
Gilroy, sulkily. “He seems deaf, and I haven't
ridden in for my own amusement. I tell you it's
an important matter, Naomi.”
“Mr. Engelhardt!” said Naomi, gently. He
turned at once. “Mr. Gilroy," she went on to
explain, “has come from the shed to see me
about something or other. Will you leave us for
a little while?”
“Certainly, Miss Pryse.” He rose in sudden
confusion. "I-I beg your pardon. I was think-
ing of something else.”
It was only Naomi's pardon that he begged.


NO HOPE FOR HIM.
145
“You don't love Gilroy, I imagine.”
“No, I don't,” replied Tom Chester, after a
pause.
“But Miss Pryse does!” Engelhardt exclaimed
bitterly.
The other made a longer pause.
He was
lathering his chin. “Not she," said Tom, coolly,
at length.
“Not! But she's engaged to him, I hear?”
“There's a sort of understanding."
“Only an understanding?”
“Well, she doesn't wear a ring, for one thing.”
“I wish you would tell me just how it stands,"
said Engelhardt, inquisitively. His heart was beat-
ing, nevertheless.
“Tell you?" said Tom Chester, looking only
into the glass as he flourished his razor. “Why,
certainly. I don't wonder at your wanting to
know how a fine girl like that could go and
engage herself to a God-forsaken image like
Gilroy. I don't know, mind you. I wasn't here
in Mr. Pryse's time; but everyone says he was a
good sort, and that the worst thing he ever did
was to take on Gilroy, just because he was some
sort of relation of his dead wife's. He's second
The Boss of Taroombu,
IO


146
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
cousin to Miss Pryse, that's what Gilroy is; but
he was overseer here when the boss was his own
manager, and when he died Gilroy got the
management, naturally. Well, and then he got
the girl too—the Lord knows how. She knew
that her father thought well of the skunk, and
no doubt she herself felt it was the easiest way
out of her responsibilities and difficulties.
Ay,
she was a year or two younger then than she is
now, and he got the promise of her; but I'll bet
you an even dollar he never gets her to keep.”
The piano-tuner had with difficulty sat still
upon the bed, as he listened to this seemingly
impartial version of the engagement which had
numbed his spirit from the moment he heard of
it. Tom Chester had spoken with many pauses,
filled by the tinkle of his razor against a healthy
beard three days old. When he offered to bet
the dollar, he was already putting the razor away
in its case.
“I won't take you,” said Engelhardt. “You
don't think she'll marry him, then?” he added,
anxiously.
“Tar here on the brisket,” remarked Chester,
in the shearer's formula, as he dabbed at a cut


NO HOPE FOR HIM.
147
that he had discovered under his right jaw,
“What's that? Marry him? No; of course she
won't.”
Engelhardt waited while the overseer per-
formed elaborate ablutions and changed his
clothes. Then they crossed over together to the
front verandah, which was empty; but as they
went round to the back the sound of voices came
fast enough to their ears. The owner and her
manager were still talking in the back verandah,
which was
now in darkness, and their voices
were still raised. It was Tom Chester's smile,
however, that helped Engelhardt to grasp the
full significance of the words that met their ears.
Gilroy was speaking.
“All right, Naomi! You know best, no doubt.
You mean to paddle your own canoe, you say,
and that's all very well; but if Tom Chester re-
mains on at the shed there'll be a row, I tell you
straight."
“Between whom?" Naomi inquired.
“Between Tom Chester and me.
he's stirring up the men against me! You your-
self did mischief enough yesterday; but when he
came in he made bad worse, It may be an un-
I tell you
IO *


148
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
I am
dignified thing to do, for the boss of the shed;
but I can't help that, I shall have to fight him.”
“Fight whom?” said Chester, in a tone of
interest, as he and Engelhardt came upon the
scene together.
"You,” replied Naomi, promptly. “You have
arrived in the nick of time, Mr. Chester.
sorry to hear that you two don't hit it off together
at the shed.”
“So that's it, is it?" said Tom Chester, quietly,
glancing from the girl to Gilroy, who had not
opened his mouth. “And you're prepared to hit
it off somewhere else, are you? I'm quite ready.
I have been wanting to hit it off with you, Gilroy,
ever since I've known you.”
His meaning was as plain as an italicised
joke. They all waited for the manager's reply.
“Indeed!” said he, at length, out of the kindly
dark that hid the colour of his face. “So you
expect me to answer you before Miss Pryse, do
you?"
“On the contrary, I'd far rather you came
down to the stables and answered me there.
But you might repeat before Miss Pryse what-


NO HOPE FOR HIM.
149
ever it is you were telling her about me behind
my back.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort.”
“Then I must do it for you,” said Naomi,
firmly.
“Do,” said Gilroy. And diving his hands
deep into his cross-pockets, he swaggered off the
scene with his horse at his heels and his arm
through the reins.
“I think I can guess the kind of thing, Miss
Pryse," Tom Chester waited to say; "you needn't
trouble to tell me, thank you.” A moment later
he had followed the manager, and the piano-
tuner was following Tom; but Naomi Pryse re-
mained where she was. She had not lifted a
finger to prevent the fight which, as she saw for
herself, was a good deal more imminent than he
had imagined who warned her of it five minutes
before.
“Will you take off your coat?” said Chester,
as he caught up Gilroy between homestead and
stables.
"Is it likely?” queried Gilroy, without looking
round.
"That depends whether you're a man, Thę


150
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
light's the same for both. There are lanterns in
the stables, whether or no. Will you take off your
coat when we get there?”
“To you? Manager and overseer? Don't be
a fool, Tom.”
“I'll show you who's the fool in a brace of
shakes,” said Tom Chester, following Gilroy with
a swelling chest. “I never thought you had
much pluck, but, by God, I don't believe you've
got the pluck of a louse!”
Gilroy led on his horse without answering.
“Have you got the pluck of a louse?” the
overseer sang into his ear. Gilroy was trembling,
but he turned as they reached the stable.
“Take off your coat, then,” said he doggedly;
“I'll leave mine inside."
Gilroy led his horse into the stable. Instead
of taking off his coat, however, Tom Chester stood
waiting with his arms akimbo and his eyes upon
the open stable door.
“Aren't you going to take it off?” said an
eager yet nervous voice at his side.
mean to fight him after all?”
It was the piano-tuner, whose desire to see
the manager soundly thrashed was at war with
“Don't you


NO HOPE FOR HIM.
151
scene.
his innate dread of anything approaching a violent
He could be violent himself when his
blood was up, but in his normal state the mere
sound of high words made him miserable.
“Hulloa! I didn't see that you were there,”
remarked Chester, with a glance at the queer
little figure beside him. “Lord, yes; I'll fight
him if he's game, but I won't believe that till I
see it, so we'll let him strip first. The fellow
hasn't got the pluck of I knew he hadn't!
That's just what I should have expected of
him!”
Before Engelhardt could realise what was
happening, a horse had emerged from the
shadow of the stable door, a man's head and
wide-awake had risen behind its ears as they
cleared the lintel, and Gilroy, with a smack of
his whip on the horse's flank, and a cut and a
curse at Tom Chester, was disappearing in the
dusk at a gallop. Chester had sprung forward,
but he was not quick enough. When the cut
had fallen short of him, he gathered himself
together for one moment, as though to give chase
on foot; then stood at ease and watched the
rider out of sight.


152
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Next time, my friend,” said he, "you won't
get the option of standing up to me. No; by
the Lord, I'll take him by the scruff of his dirty
neck, and I'll take the very whip he's got in his
hand now, and I'll hide him within an inch of
his miserable life. That's the way we treat curs
in these parts, d'ye see? Come on, Engelhardt.
No, we'll stop and see which road he takes
when he gets to the gate. I can just see him
opening it now. I might have caught him up
there if I'd thought. Ah! he's shaking his fist at
us; he shall smell mine before he's a day older!
And he's taken the township track; he'll come
back to the shed as drunk as a fool, and if the
men don't dip him in the dam I shall be very
much surprised."
“And Miss Pryse is going to marry a crea-
ture like that!” cried Engelhardt, as they walked
back to the house.
“Not she,” said Chester, confidently.
“Yet there's a sort of engagement.”
“There is; but it would be broken off to-
morrow if I were to tell Miss Pryse to-night of
the mess he's making of everything out at the
shed. The men do what they like with him,


NO HOPE FOR HIM.
153
and he goes dropping upon the harmless in-
offensive ones, and fining them and running their
sheep; whereas he daren't have said a word to
that fellow Simons, not to save his life. I tell
you there'd have been a strike last night if it
hadn't been for me. The men appealed to me,
and I said what I thought. So his nibs sends
me mustering again, about as far off as he can,
while he comes in to get Miss Pryse to give me
the sack. Of course that's what he's been after.
That's the kind of man he is. But here's Miss
Pryse herself in the verandah, and we'll drop the
subject, d'ye see?”
Naomi herself never mentioned it. Possibly
from the verandah she had seen and heard
enough to enable her to guess the rest pretty
accurately. However that may be, the name of
Monty Gilroy never passed her lips, either now
in the interval before dinner, or at that meal,
during which she conversed very merrily with
the two young men who faced one another on
either side of her. She insisted on carving for
them both, despite the protests of the more
talkative of the two. She rattled on to them in-
cessantly--if anything, to Engelhardt more than


154
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
to the overseer. But there could be no question
as to which of these two talked most to her.
Engelhardt was even more shy and awkward than
at his first meal at Taroomba, when Naomi had
not been present. He disappeared immediately
after dinner, and Naomi had to content herself
with Tom Chester's company for the rest of the
evening.
That, however, was very good company at
all times, while on the present occasion Miss
Pryse had matters for discussion with her overseer
which rendered a private interview quite necessary.
So Engelhardt was not wanted for at least an
hour; but he did not come back at all. When
Chester went whistling to the barracks at eleven
o'clock he found the piano-tuner lying upon his
bed in all his clothes.
“Hulloa, my son, are you sick?” said Tom,
entering the room. The risen moon was shining
into it on all sides of the looking-glass.
“No, I'm well enough, thanks. I felt rather
sleepy."
“You don't sound sleepy! Miss Pryse was
wondering what could be the matter. She told


NO HOPE FOR HIM.
155
come
me to tell you that you might at least have said
good-night to her.”
“I'll go and say it now,” cried Engelhardt,
bounding from the bed.
“Ah, now you're too late, you see," said
Chester, laughing a little unkindly as he barred
the doorway.
“You didn't suppose I'd
away before I was obliged, did you? Come into
my room, and I'll tell you a bit of news.”
The two rooms were close together; they
were divided by the narrow passage that led
without step or outer door into the station yard.
It was a lined, set face that the candle lighted
when Tom Chester put a match to it; but that
was only the piano-tuner's face, and Tom stood
looking at his own, and the smile in the glass
was peculiar and characteristic. It was not con-
ceited; it was merely confident. The overseer of
Taroomba was one of the smartest, most resolute,
and confident young men in the back-blocks of
New South Wales.
“The news,” he said, turning away from the
glass and undoing his necktie, “may surprise you,
but I've expected it all along. Didn't I tell you
before dinner that Miss Pryse would be breaking
up


156
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
off her rotten engagement one of these days?
Well, then, she's been and done it this very after-
noon.”
“Thank God!” cried Engelhardt.
“Amen," echoed Chester, with a laugh. He
had paid no attention to the piano-tuner's tone
and look. He was winding a keyless watch.
"And is he going on here as manager?”
Engelhardt asked presently.
“No, that's the point. Naomi seems to have
told him pretty straight that she could get along
without him, and on second thoughts he's taken
her at her word. She got a note an hour ago
to say she would never see him again. He'd
sent a chap with it all the way from the town-
ship.”
“Do you mean to say he isn't coming
back?"
“That's the idea. You bet he had it when
he shook his fist at us as he opened that gate.
He was shaking his fist at the station and all
hands on the place, particularly including the
boss. She's to send his things and his cheque
after him to the township, where they'll find him
drunk, you mark my words. Good riddance to


158
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“I've heard that you own
more Riverina
stations than any other firm or company?”
“Yes; this is about the only one around here
that we haven't got a finger in. That's why I
came here, by the way, for a bit of experience.”
“Then you don't want to marry her for her
money. You'll have more than she ever will!
Isn't that so?”
“What the blue blazes do you mean, Engel-
hardt?”
Chester had sat bolt upright in his bed. The
piano-tuner was still on the foot of it, and all the
fire in his being had gone into his eyes.
“Mean?” he cried. “Who cares what I
mean? I tell you that she thinks more of you
than ever she thought of Gilroy. She has said
so to me in as many words. I tell you to go in
and win!”
He was holding out his left hand.
“I intend to," said Tom Chester, taking it
good-naturedly enough. “That's exactly my game,
and everybody must know it, for I've been play-
ing it fair and square in the light of day. I may
lose; but I hope to win. Good-night, Engelhardt.


160
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
CHAPTER X.
MISSING
Naomi's room opened upon the back verandah,
and in quitting it next morning it was not un-
natural that she should pause to contemplate the
place where so many things had lately happened,
which, she felt, must leave their mark upon her
life for good or evil. It was here that she might
have seen the danger of unreserved sympathy
with so sensitive and enthusiastic a nature as that
of the piano-tuner. Indeed, she had seen it, and
made suitable resolutions on the spot; but these
she had broken, and wilfully shut her eyes to
that danger until the young man had told her,
quite plainly enough, that he loved her. Nay,
she had made him tell her that, and until he did
so she had purposely withheld from him the
knowledge that she was already engaged. That
was the cruel part of it, the part of which she
now most sincerely ashamed.
Yet some
was


MISSING.
161
power stronger than her own will had compelled
her to act as she had done, and certainly she
had determined beforehand to take the first op-
portunity of severing all ties still existing between
herself and Monty Gilroy. And it was here that
she had actually broken off her engagement with
him within a few minutes of her announcement
of it to Hermann Engelhardt. Still she was by
no means pleased with herself as she stepped
out into the flood of sunshine that filled the back
verandah of a morning, and saw everything as it
had been overnight, even to the book she had
laid aside open when Gilroy rode up.
It was
lying shut in the self-same spot. This little dif-
ference was the only one.
She went round to the front of the house,
looking out rather nervously for Engelhardt on
the way. Generally he met her in the front
verandah, but this morning he was not there.
[rs. Potter was laying the breakfast-table, but
she had not seen him either. She looked search-
ingly at her young mistress as she answered her
question.
“Are you quite well, miss?” she asked at
The Boss of Taroomba.
II


162
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
That nasty
length, without preamble. "You look as though
you hadn't slep' a wink all night.”
“No more I have,” said Naomi calmly.
“Good gracious, miss!” cried Mrs. Potter,
clapping down the plate-basket with a jingle.
“Whatever has been the matter?
toothache, I'll be bound!”
“No, it wasn't a tooth this time. I may as
well tell you what it was,” added Naomi, "since
you're bound to know sooner or later. Well,
then, Mr. Gilroy has left the station for good,
and I am not ever going to marry him. That's
all.”
“And I'm thankful--"
Mrs. Potter checked herself with a gulp.
“So am I,” said her mistress, dryly; “but it's
a little exciting, and I let it keep me awake.
You are to pack up his boxes, please, so that' I
may send them to the township in the spring-
cart. But now make haste with the tea, for I
need a cup badly, and I'll go and sing out to
Mr. Engelhardt. Did you call him, by the way?”
“Yes, miss, I called him as usual.”
Naomi left the breakfast-room, and was ab-


MISSING
163
sent some three or four minutes. She came back
looking somewhat scared.
“I've called him, too,” she said, “at the top
of my voice. But there's no making him hear
anything. I've hammered at his door and at his
window too; both are shut, as if he wasn't up.
I do wish that you would come and see whether
he is.”
A moment later Mrs. Potter was crossing the
sandy yard, with Naomi almost treading on her
ample skirts until they reached the barracks,
which the elderly woman entered alone. No
sooner, however, had she opened Engelhardt's
door, than she called her mistress to the spot.
The room was empty. It was clear at a glance
that the bed had not been slept in.
“If he hasn't gone away and left us without
a word!” cried Mrs. Potter indignantly.
“I am looking for his valise," said Naomi.
“Where has he generally kept it?”
“Just there underneath the dressing-table.
He has taken it with him. There's nothing
belonging him in the room!”
“Except that half-crown under the tumbler,
which is evidently meant for you. No, Mrs. Potter,
II*


164
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
I'm afraid you're right. The half-crown settles it.
I should take it if I were you. And now I'll have
my breakfast, if you please.”
“But, miss, I can't understand --"
“No more can I. Make the tea at once,
please. A little toast is all that I require with it."
And Naomi went slowly back towards the
house, but stopped half way, with bent head and
attentive eyes, and then went slower still. She
had discovered in the sand the print of feet in
stockings only. These tracks led up to the
verandah, where they ended opposite the sitting-
room door, which Naomi pushed open next mo-
ment. The room wore its ordinary appearance,
but the pile of music which Engelhardt had
brought with him for sale had been removed
from the top of the piano to the music-stool; and
lying conspicuously across the music, Naomi was
mortified to find a silk handkerchief of her own,
which the piano-tuner had worn all the week as
a sling for his arm. She caught it up with an
angry exclamation, and in doing so caught sight
of some obviously left-handed writing on the top-
most song of the pile. She stooped and read


MISSING
165
“ These songs for Miss Pryse, with deep grati-
tude for all her kindness to Hermann
Engelhardt.”
It was a pale, set face that Mrs. Potter found
awaiting her in the breakfast-room when the toast
was ready and the tea made. Very little of the
toast was eaten, and Mrs. Potter saw no more of
her young mistress until the mid-day meal, to
which Naomi sat down in her riding-habit.
"Just wait, Mrs. Potter,” said she, hastily help-
ing herself to a chop. “Take a chair yourself.
I want to speak to you."
“Very good, miss,” said the old lady, sitting
down.
“I want to know when you last set eyes on
Sam Rowntree.”
“Let me see, miss. Oh, yes, I remember; it
was about this time yesterday. He came to the
kitchen, and told me he was going to run up a
fresh mob of killing-sheep out of Top Scrubby,
and how much meat could I do with? I said
half a sheep, at the outside, and that was the last
I saw of him.”
“He never came near you last night?”
>>
>>


168
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
I'm sure,
to fetch the mail, but I hope I shall see that
young gentleman too, so that I may have an
opportunity of telling him what I think of him.”
"I should, miss, I should that!” cried Mrs.
Potter, with virtuous wrath. “I should give him
a piece of my mind about his way of treating
them that's good and kind to him.
miss, the notice you took of that young man--
“Come, I don't think he's treated you so
badly," interrupted Naomi, tartly. “Moreover, I
am quite sure that he must have had some reason
for going off so suddenly. I am curious to know
what it was, and also what he expects me to do
with his horse. If he had waited till this morn-
ing I would have sent him in with the buggy,
and saved him a good old tramp. However, you
don't mind being left in charge for an hour or
someh, Mrs. Potter? No one ever troubles the
homestead during shearing, you know.”
"Oh, I shall be all right, miss, thank you,"
Mrs. Potter said cheerfully; and she followed
Naomi out into the yard, and watched her, in
the distance, drag a box out of the saddle-room,
mount from it, and set off at a canter towards
the horse-paddock gate.


MISSING.
169
But Naomi did not canter all the way. She
performed the greater part of her ride at a quiet
amble, leaning forward in her saddle most of the
time, and deciding what she should say to the
piano-tuner, while she searched the ground nar-
rowly for his tracks. She had the eagle eye for
the trail of man or beast, which is the natural
inheritance of all children of the bush. Before
saddling the night-horse, she had made it her
business to discover every print of a stocking sole
that had been left about the premises during the
night; and there were so many that she had now
a pretty definite idea of the movements of her
visitor prior to his final departure from the station.
He had spent some time in aimless wandering
about the moonlit yard. Then he had stood out-
side the kitchen, just where she had left him
standing on the night of his arrival; and after-
wards had crossed the fence, just where they had
crossed it together, and steered the very same
course through the pines which she had led him
that first evening. Still in his stockings, carrying
his boots in his one hand and his valise under
that arm (for she came to a place where he had
dropped one boot, and, in picking it up, the valise


172
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Sam did tell me”-she had begun, when
she was promply shut up.
“Who cares about Sam?” cried Naomi. “He's
a good bushman; he can take care of himself.
Besides, wherever he is, Sam isn't bushed.
But anything may have happened to Mr. Engel-
hardt!”
“What do you think has happened?" the old
lady asked inanely.
“How am I to know?” was the wild answer.
“I have nothing to go on. I know no more than
you do.”
Yet she stood thinking hard, with her horse
still bridled and the reins between her fingers.
She had taken off the saddle. Suddenly she
slipped the reins over a hook and disappeared
into the saddle-room. And in a few moments
she was back, with a blanched face, and in her
arms a packed valise.
“Is this Mr. Engelhardt's?”
Mrs. Potter took one look at it.
"It is,” she said. “Yes, it is his!”
“Take it, then," said Naomi, mastering her
voice with difficulty, “while I hunt up his saddle
and bridle. If they are gone, all the better.


MISSING.
173
Then I shall know he has his horse; and with a
horse nothing much can happen to one."
She disappeared again, and was gone a little
longer; but this time she came back desperately
self-possessed.
“I have found his saddle. His bridle is not
there at all. I know it's his saddle, because it's
a pretty good one, and all our decent saddles
are in use; besides, they all have the station
brand upon them. This one has no brand at
all. It must be Mr. Engelhardt's; and now I
know exactly what he has done. Shall I tell
you?"
Mrs. Potter clasped her hands.
“He has taken his bridle,” said Naomi, still
in a deadly calm, “and he has set out to catch
his horse. How he could do such a thing I can't
conceive! He knows the run of our horse-paddock
no more than you do. He has failed to find his
horse, tried to come back, and got over the fence
into Top Scrubby. You don't know what that
means! Top Scrubby's the worst paddock we
have. It's half-full of mallee, it's six miles which-
ever way you take it, and the only drop of water
in it is the tank at the township corner. Or he


174
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
may be in the horse-paddock all the time. People
who don't know the bush may walk round and
round in a single square mile all day long, and
until they drop. But it's no good our talking
here; wherever he I mean to find him.”
As she spoke she caught her saddle from the
rail across which she had placed it, and was for
flinging it on to her horse again, when Mrs. Potter
interposed. The girl was trembling with excite-
ment. The sun was fast sinking into the sand
and scrub away west.
In half an hour it would
be dark.
“And no moon till ten or eleven," said Mrs.
Potter, with sudden foresight and firmness.
“You mustn't think of it, miss; you mustn't in-
deed!”
“How can you say that? Why should you
stop me? Do you mean me to leave the poor
fellow to perish for want of water?”
“My dear, you could do no good in the
dark," said Mrs. Potter, speaking as she had not
spoken to Naomi since the latter was a little girl.
“Besides, neither you nor the horse is fit for any-
thing more until you've both had something to
eat and drink.”


MISSING
175
“It's true!”
Naomi said this in helpless tones and with
hopeless looks. As she spoke, however, her eyes
fastened themselves upon the crimson ball just
clear of the horizon, and all at once they filled
with tears. Hardly conscious of what she did or
said, she lifted up her arms and her voice to the
sunset.
“Oh, my poor fellow! My poor boy! If only
I knew where you were—if only I could see you
now!"


176
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
CHAPTER XI.
LOST IN THE BUSH.
HAD Naomi seen him then she would have
found some difficulty in recognising Hermann
Engelhardt, the little piano-tuner whom already
she seemed to have known all her life. Yet she
had made a singularly shrewd guess at his where-
abouts. Top Scrubby held him fast enough.
And when Naomi stretched her arms towards the
sunset, it is a strange fact that she also stretched
them towards the lost young man, who was lying
between it and her, not three miles from the spot
on which she stood.
Within a mile of him ran the horse-paddock
fence, which he had crossed by mistake at three
o'clock that morning. He had never
seen it
again. All day he had wandered without strik-
ing track, or fence, or water. Once indeed his
heart had danced at the sudden revelation of foot-
prints under his very nose. They were crisp and


LOST IN THE BUSH.
177
was
clean and obviously recent. All at once they
took a fatally familiar appearance. Slowly he
lifted his right foot and compared the mark of it
with the marks he had discovered. They were
identical. To put the matter beyond a doubt he
got both his feet into a couple of the old foot-
prints. They fitted like pipes in a case. And
then he knew that he was walking in circles, after
the manner of lost men, and that he stood
precisely where he had been three hours be-
fore.
That a bitter moment. There were
others and worse before sundown. The worst of
all was about the time when Naomi Aung out
her arms and cried aloud in her trouble.
His staggering steps had brought him at last,
near sundown, within sight of a ridge of pines
which he seemed to know. The nearer he came
to them the surer did he become that they were
the station pines themselves. Footsore and faint
and parched as he was, he plucked up all his
remaining strength to reach those pines alive. If
he were to drop down now it would be shameful,
and he deserved to die. So he did not drop
until he gained the ridge, and found the pines
The Boss of Taroomba.
I 2


178
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
merely the outer ranks of a regular phalanx of
mallee scrub. There was no mallee among the
station pines. Nor would it have been possible
to get so near to the homestead without squeez-
ing through the wires of two fences at least. He
had made a hideous and yet a fatuous mistake,
and, when he realised it, he flung himself on his
face in the shade of a hop-bush and burst into
tears. To think that he must perish miserably
after all, when, not five minutes since, he had
felt the bottle-neck of the water-bag against his
teeth—the smell of the wet canvas in his nostrils
-the shrinking and lightening of the bag between
his palms as the deep draught of cold water
brought his dead throat to life.
It was all over now. He turned his face to
the sand, and waited sullenly for the end. And
presently a crow flew down from a pine, and
hopped nearer and nearer to the prostrate body,
with many a cautious pause, its wise black head
now on one side, now on the other. Was it a
dead body or a man asleep? There would have
been no immediate knowing had not the crow
been advancing between the setting sun and the
Its shadow was a yard long when it came
man.


LOST IN THE BUSH.
179
now
His eyes
were
between Engelhardt's eyes, which were wide open,
and the patch of sand that was warm with his
breath. An instant later the crow was away with
a hoarse scream, and Engelhardt was sitting up
with a still hoarser oath upon his lips; indeed,
he was inarticulate even to his own ears; but he
found himself shaking his only fist at the crow,
a mere smut upon the evening sky, and
next moment he was tottering to his feet.
He could hardly stand.
burning, his tongue swollen, his lips cracking like
earth in a drought. He was aching, too, from
head to foot, but he was not yet food for the
He set his teeth, and shook his head
once or twice. Not yet-not yet.
The setting sun made a lane of light through
the pines and mallee. The piano-tuner looked
right and left along this lane, wondering which
way to turn. He had no prejudice in the matter.
All day he had been making calculations, and
all day his calculations had been working out
wrong. Like the struggles of a fly in a spider's
web, each new effort left him more hopelessly
entangled than the last. So now, without thinking,
for thought was of no avail, he turned his face
crows.
12*


LOST IN THE BUSH.
181
was but little more regret. His head and his
heart grew light together, and when at last he
determined to sit down and be done with it all,
his greatest care was the choice of a soft and
sandy place. It was as though he had been
going to lie down for the night instead of for all
time. And yet it was this, the mere fad of a
wandering mind, that saved him; for before he
had found what he wanted, suddenly—as by a
miracle-he saw a light.
In a flash the man was alive and electrified.
All the nerves in his body tightened like harp-
strings, and the breath of life swept over them,
leaving his heart singing of Naomi and his
mother and the deeds to be done in this world.
And the thrill remained; for the light was no
phantom of a rocking brain, but a glorious
reality that showed brighter and lighter every
mon at.
Yet it was a very long way off. He might
never reach it at all. But he rushed on with
never a look right or left, or up or down, as if
his one chance of life lay in keeping his grip of
that light steadfast and unrelaxed. His headlong


LOST IN THE BUSH.
185
But Engelhardt could only stare at the great
hairy paw thrust under his nose. It had no little
finger. He was trying to remember what this
meant.
“Drink out o' that, you swine," thundered
Bill, “and be damned to you!”
Human nature could endure no more. In-
stead of drinking, Engelhardt knocked the man's
hand up, and made a sudden grab at the water-
bag. He got it, too, and had swallowed a
mouthful before it was plucked away from him.
The came pouring out of Bill's mouth like
sheep racing through a gate. But the piano-tuner
had tasted what was more to him than blood,
and he made a second dash at the bag, which
resulted in a quantity of water being spilled; so
without struggling any more, he fell upon his face
with his lips to the wet sand.
“Let the joker suck," said Bill; “I'll back the
sand!”
But Engelhardt rolled over on his left side
and moved no more.
Simons knelt over him.
“He's a stiff ’un, mates. My blessed oath he


186
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
is! That's number two, an' both on 'em yours,
Bill.”
Bill laughed.
“That'll be all right,” said he.
“Where's my
pipe got to? I'm weakenin' for a smoke.”


188
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
stick to my
•I didn't dislike her," said the sailor-man.
“I'd leave her be."
“She didn't sack you from the shed. Twelve
pound a week it meant, with that image over the
board!”
“Bo's’n’d let the whole thing be, I do
believe,” said Bill, "if we give 'im ’alf a chance."
“Not me," said Bo's'n. “I'll
messmates. But we've stiffened two people already.
It's two too many."
“What about your skipper down at Sand-
ridge?”
“Well, I reckon he's a stiff ’un too."
“Then none o' your skite, mate,” said Bill,
knocking out a clay pipe against his heel. “Look
ye here, lads; it's a blessed Providence that's
raked us together, us three. Here's me, straight
out o' quod, coming back like a bird to the place
where there's a good thing on.
Here's Bo’s'n,
he's bashed in his skipper's skull and cut and
run for it.
We meet and we pal on. The like-
liest pair in the Colony! And here's old Simons,
knocked cock-eye by this 'ere gal, and swearing
revenge by all that's bloody. He has a couple
of horses too—just the very thing we wanted-


FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
189
so he's our man. Is he on? He is. Do we
join hands an'cuss an' swear to see each other
through? We do-all three. Don't we go to the
township for a few little necessaries an' have a
drink on the whole thing? We do. Stop a bit!
Doesn't a chap and a horse come our way, first
shot off? Don't we want another horse, an' take
it, too, ay and cook that chap's hash in fit an'
proper style? Of course we do. Then what's
the good o' talking? Tigerskin used to say
“We'll swing together, matey, or by God we'll
drive together in a coach-and-four with yeller
panels and half-a-dozen beggars in gold lace
and powdered wigs.' So that's what I say to you.
There's that silver. We'll have it and clear out
with it at any blessed price. We've let out some
blood already. A four-hundred-gallon tankful
more or less can make no difference now. We
can only swing once. So drink up, boys, and
make your rotten lives happy while you have
'em. There's only one thing to settle: whether
do we start at eleven, or twelve, or one in the
morning?"
Engelhardt heard a pannikin passed round
and sucked at by all three. Then a match was


190
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
struck and a pipe lit. His veins were frozen; he
was past a tremor.
“Eleven's too early,” said Simons; “it's getting
on for ten already. I'm for a spell before we
start; there's nothing like a spell to steady your
nerve."
"I'd make it eight bells—if not seven," argued
the Bo's'n. "The moon'll be up directly. The
lower she is when we start, the better for us.
You said the station lay due east, didn't
you,
Bill? Then it'll be easy steering with a low
moon."
The other two laughed.
“These 'ere sailors," said Bill, "they're a
blessed treat. Always in such an almighty funk
of getting bushed. I've known dozens, and
they're all alike.”
“There's no fun in it,” said the Bo's'n. “Look
at this
poor
devil.”
Engelhardt held his breath.
“I suppose he is corpsed?” said Bill.
"Dead as junk.”
“Well, he's saved us the trouble. I'd have
stuck the beggar as soon as I'd stick a sheep.
There's only one more point, lads. Do we knock


FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
191
up her ladyship, and make her let us into the
store-
we
was
“Lug her out by her hair," suggested Simons.
“I'll do that part.”
“Or do smash into it for ourselves?
That's the game Tigerskin an’ me tried, ten year
ago. It wasn't good enough. You know how it
panned out. Still, we ain't got old Pryse to
reckon with now. He was a terror, he was! So
what do you say, boys? Show hands for sticking-
up-and now for breaking-in. Then that settles
it.”
Engelhardt never knew which
way
it
settled.
“The she-devil!” said Simons. “The little
snake! I can see her now, when she come along
the board and sang out for the tar-boy all on her
own account. That little deader, there, he was
with her. By cripes, if she isn't dead herself by
morning she'll wish she was! I wonder how she'll
look to-night? Not that way, by cripes, that's
one thing sure! You leave her to me, mates! I
shall enjoy that part. She shan't die, because
that's what she'd like best; but she shall apolo-
gise to me under my own conditions—you wait


FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
195
a kind of sinister contemplation in their looks
which was vague, intangible, terrifying. Then
their vile plot ringing in his ears, with dark
allusions to a crime already committed, made the
piano-tuner's position sickening, intolerable. He
spoke again, and again received no answer. He
announced that he was extremely grateful to them
for saving his life, but that he must now push on
to the township. They said nothing to this. He
wished them good-night; they said nothing to
that. Then he got to his feet, and found himself
on the ground again quicker than he had risen.
Bill had grabbed him by the ankle, still without
a syllable. When Engelhardt looked at him, how-
ever, the heavy face and squinting eyes met him
with a series of grimaces, so grotesque, so obscene,
that he was driven to bury his face in his one
free hand, and patiently to await his captors' will.
He heard the Bo's'n chuckling; but for hours, as
it seemed to him, that was all.
“Who is the joker?” said Bill at last. “What
does he do for his rations?”
“They say as 'e tunes pianners," said Simons.
“Then he don't hang out on Taroomba?”
"No; 'e only come the other day, an' goes
13*


196
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
an’ breaks his arm off of a buck-jumper. So they
were saying at the shed.”
“Well, he enjoyed his supper, didn't he? It's
good to see 'em enjoying theirselves when their
time is near.
Boys, you was right; it would have
been a sin to send 'im to 'ell with an empty
belly an' a sandy throat. If ever I come to swing,
I'll swing with a warm meal in my innards, my
oath!”
Engelhardt held up his head.
“So you mean to kill me, do you?” said he,
very calmly, but with a kind of scornful indigna-
tion. Bill gave him a horrible leer: but no an-
swer.
“I suppose there's nothink else for it," said
Simons, half regretfully; "though mark you, mates,
I'm none so keen on the kind o' game."
“No more ain't I,” cried the Bo's'n, with
vigour. “I'd give the cove a chance, Bill.”
“How?” said Bill.
“I'd lash the beggar to a tree and leave him
to snuff out for hisself.
Engelhardt laughed aloud in mock gratitude.
“Oh, I ain't partickler as to ways," said Bill.
“One way's as good as another for me. There's


FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
197
no bloomin' 'urry, any’ow. The moon ain't up
yet, and before we go this beggar's got to tell us
things. He heard what we was saying, mates.
I seen it in his eye. Didn't you, you swine?”
Engelhardt took no kind of notice.
“Didn't you—you son of a mangy bandi-
coot?”
Still Engelhardt would have held his tongue;
but Bill started kicking him on one side, and
Simons on the other; and the pain evoked an
answer in a note of shrill defiance.
“I did!” he cried. “I heard every word.”
“We're after that silver."
“I know you are.”
“You've seen it?"
“I have.”
“Tell us all about it."
“Not I!”
For this he got a kick on each side.
“Is it in the store yet?”
No answer.
“Is the chest easy to find?”
No answer.
“Is it covered up?"
"Or underground?”


198
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Or made to look like something else?”
Each man contributed a question; none elicited
a word; no more did their boots; it was no use
kicking him.
There was a long pause.
Then Bill said-
“You've lost your hat. You need another.
Here you are.”
He had blundered to his feet, stepped aside
out of the ring of light, and spun a wideawake
into Engelhardt's lap. He started. It was adorned
with a blue silk fly-veil.
"Recognise it?"
He had recognised it at once; it was Sam
Rowntree's; and Sam Rowntree had been missing,
yesterday, before Engelhardt himself said his
secret farewell to the homestead.
He looked for more. No more was said.
The villains had relapsed into that silence which
was more eloquent of horror than all their threats.
But Bill now flung fresh branches on the fire;
the wood crackled; the flames spurted starward;
and in the trebled light, Engelhardt, peering
among the trees for some further sign of Sam,
saw that which set the pores pringling all over
his skin.


FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
199
man
It was the glint of firelight upon a pair of
spurs that hung motionless in the scrub-not
a yard from the ground—not ten paces from
the fire.
He looked again: the spurs were fixed to a
pair of sidespring boots: the boots hung out of a
pair of moleskins, with a few inches of worsted
sock in between. All were steady, immovable,
as the stars above. He could see no higher than
the knees; but that was enough; a hoarse cry
escaped him, as he pointed with a quivering
finger, and turned his white face from
to man.
Neither Simons nor the Bo's'n would meet
his look; but Bill gripped his arm, with a loud
laugh, and dragged him to his feet.
“Come and have a look at him," he said.
“He isn't pretty, but he'll do you good.”
Next instant Engelhardt stood close to the
suspended body of the unfortunate Rowntree.
Both hands were tied behind his back, his hair
was in his eyes, and the chin drooped forward
upon his chest like that of a man lost in thought.
“See what you'll come to," said Bill, giving
the body a push that set it swinging like a pen-


202
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Let me see--
“You'd best look slippy!”
“Well, there's not much more. A cake-
basket, some napkin-rings, and a pair of nut-
crackers. And that's about all.
It's all I saw,
anyhow.”
“All silver?”
“I shouldn't think it.”
“You liar! You plucky well know it is.
And not a bad lot neither, even if it was
the lot. By the Lord, I've a good mind to
strip and sit you on that fire for not telling
me the truth!”
"Easy, mate, easy!” remonstrated the Bo's'n.
“That sounds near enough."
“By cripes,” cried Simons, “it's near enough
for me.
'Taint the silver I want. It's the gold,
and that's the girl!”
“You won't get her," said Engelhardt.
“Why not?"
“She'll put a bullet through you.”
“Can she shoot straight?”
“As straight as her father, I should say. I
never saw him. But I've seen her.”
“What do?"


FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
203
crow
“Stand in the verandah and knock a
off the well fence-with her own revolver."
“By cripes, that's a lie.”
(It was.)
“I'm not so blooming sure,” said Bill. “I re-
collect how the old man dropped Tigerskin at nigh
twenty yards. She was with him, too, at the time
-a kid out of bed. I took a shot at her and
missed. She'd be as likely as not to knock a
hole through one or other of us, lads, if you
hadn't got me to see you through. You trust to
Bill for ideas! He's got one now, but it'll keep.
See here, you swine, you! When was it you saw
all what you pretend to have seen, eh?”
Engelhardt laughed. His answer could do
no harm, and it gave him a thrill of satisfaction
to score even so paltry a point against his bestial
antagonist.
“It was the day you two came around the
station.”
“That morning?”
“Yes."
“Where did you see it?”
“In the store.”
“Before we came?”


204
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“While you were there. When Miss Pryse
locked the door, it was all over the place. While
we were in the kitchen she got it swept out of
sight.”
“Good God!” screamed Bill; “if only I'd
known. You little devil, if only I'd guessed it!”
His vile face was convulsed and distorted
with greed and rage; his hairy, four-fingered fist
shaking savagely in Engelhardt's face. Bo’s'n
remonstrated again.
“What's the sense o' that, messmate? For
God's sake shut it! A fat lot we could ha' done
without a horse between us.”
“We could have rushed the store, stretched
'em stiff--"
“And carried a hundredweight o'silver away
in our bluies! No, no, my hearty; it's a darn
sight better as it is. What do you say, Simons?”
"I'm glad you waited, but I'm bleedin' dry.”
“An' me too," said Bill, sulkily, as he un-
corked a black bottle. “Give us that pannikin,
you spawn!”
Engelhardt handed it over unmoved. He
was past caring what was said or done to him
personally. Bill drank first.


FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.
205
“Here's fun!” said he, saluting the other two
simultaneously with a single cross-eyed leer.
“. An' they say so—an’ we hope so!”” chanted
the Bo’s'n, who came next. “Anyway, here's to
the moon, for there she spouts!”
As he raised his pannikin, he pointed it over
Engelhardt's shoulder, and the latter involuntarily
turned his head. He brought it back next mo-
ment, with a jerk and a shudder. Far away, be-
hind the scrub, on the edge of the earth, lay the
moon, with a silvery pathway leading up to her,
and a million twigs and branches furrowing her
face. But against the top of the great white disc
there fell those horrible boots and spurs, in grisly
silhouette, and still swaying a little to the mourn-
ful accompaniment of the groaning bough above.
Surely the works of God and man were never
in ghastlier contrast than when Engelhardt turned
his head without thinking and twitched it back
with a shudder. And yet to him this was not
the worst; he was now in time to catch that
which made the blood run colder still in all his
veins.


206
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
CHAPTER XIII.
A SMOKING CONCERT.
SIMONS was toasting Naomi Pryse. It took
Engelhardt some moments to realise this. The
language he could stand; but no sooner did he
grasp its incredible application than his self-
control boiled over on the spot.
“Stop it!” he shrieked at the shearer. “How
dare you speak of her like that? How dare
you?”
The foul mouth fell open, and the camp-fire
flames licked the yellow teeth within. Engelhardt
was within a few inches of them, with a doubled
fist and reckless eyes. To his amazement, the
man burst out laughing in his face.
“The little cuss has spunk,” said he. “I
like to see a cove stick up for 'is gal, by cripes
I do!”
“So do I,” said Bo's'n. “Brayvo, little man,
brayvo!"


A SMOKING CONCERT.
207
“My oath,” said Bill, “I'd have cut 'is stinkin'
throat for 'alf as much if I'd been you, matey!”
“Not me,”
said Simons. “I'll give 'ima
drink for 'is spunk. 'Ere, kiddy, you wish us
luck!”
He held out the pannikin. Engelhardt shook
his head. He was, in fact, a teetotaler, who had
made a covenant with himself, when sailing from
old England, to let no stimulant pass his lips
until his feet should touch her shores again. The
covenant was absolutely private and informal, as
between a man and his own body; but no power
on earth would have made him break it.
“Come on," said Simons. “By cripes, we
take no refusals here!”
“I must ask you to take mine, nevertheless."
“Why?”
“Because I don't drink.”
“Well, you've got to!”
“I shall not!”
Simons seemed bent upon it.
Perhaps he
had taken a drop too much himself; indeed, none
of the three were entirely above such a suspicion;
but it immediately appeared that this small point
was to create more trouble than everything that


208
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
had gone before. Small as it was, neither man
would budge an inch. Engelhardt said again
that he would not drink. Simons swore that he
should either drink or die. The piano-tuner
cheerfully replied that he expected to die in any
case, but he wasn't going to touch whisky for
anybody; so he gave Simons leave to do what he
liked and get it over—the sooner the better. The
shearer promptly seized him by his uninjured
wrist, twisted it violently behind his back, and
held out his hand to Bo's'n for the pannikin.
Engelhardt was now helpless, his left arm
prisoner and in torture, his right lying useless in
a sling. Bo's'n, however, came to his rescue once
more, by refusing to see good grog wasted when
there was little enough left.
“What's the use?” said he. “If the silly
devil won't drink, we'll make him sing us
song. He says he tunes pianners. Let him tune
а
a
up now!”
“That's better," assented Bill.
“The joker
shall give us a song before we let his gas out;
and I'll drink his grog. Give it here, Bo’s'n.”
The worst of a gang of three is the strong
working majority always obtainable against one


210
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
him. As for the shearer, the ferocity of his at-
titude towards the doomed youth was now second
to none. He sat very close to him, with a hellish
scowl and a great hand held ready to blast any
áttempt at escape.
But none was made. The
piano-tuner stuck his thumbs into his ears, covered
his closed eyes with his palms, and tried both to
think and to pray. He could not think: vague
visions of Naomi crowded his mind, but they
formed no thought. Nor could he pray for any-
thing but courage to meet his fate.
Within a
few yards of him was the body of a dead man
murdered by these thieves among whom he him-
self had fallen. He could not but doubt that
they were about to murder him too. His last
hour had come. He wanted courage. That was
all he asked for as he sat with plugged ears and
tight-shut eyes.
He was aroused by a smart kick in the ribs.
As he got up to go to his doom, Bill seized him
by the shoulders and pushed him roughly towards
the hanging rope; it hung so low, it bisected the
rising moon.
"Let me alone,” he cried, wriggling fiercely.
“I can get there without your help.”


A SMOKING CONCERT.
211
“Well, we'll see.”
He got there fast enough. A little deeper
in the scrub he could see a shapeless mass of
moleskin and Crimean shirting, with a spurred
boot half covered by a stiff hand. He was thank-
ful to turn his face to the blazing camp-fire, even
though the noose went round his neck as he
did so.
“Now then," said Bill, hauling the rope taut,
“will you give us a song or won't you?”
He could not speak.
“If you sing us a song we may give you an-
other hour,” said the Bo’s’n from the ground.
Simons and he had been whispering together.
Bill shook his head at them.
“That rests with me," said he to Engelhardt.
“Don't you make any mistake.”
“Another hour!” cried the young man bitterly,
as he found his voice. “What's another hour?
If you're men at all put an end to me now and
be done with it."
“How's that?” said Bill, hauling him upon
tip-toe. “No, no, sonny, we want our song first,”
he added, as he let the rope fall slack again.
14*


2 1 2
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Sing up, and there's no saying what'll hap-
pen,” cried the Bo’s'n cheerily.
“What shall I sing?”
"Anything you like."
“Something funny to cheer us up."
“Ay, ay, a comic song!”
Engelhardt wavered—as once before under
the eyes and ears of a male audience. I'll do
my best,” he said at last. And Bo’s'n clapped.
A minute later the bushrangers' camp was
the scene of as queer a performance as ever was
given. A very young man, with a pallid, blood-
stained face, and a rope round his neck, was
singing a “comic” song to a parcel of cut-throats
who were presently to hang him, as they had
hanged already the corpse at his heels. Mean-
while they surrendered themselves like simple in-
nocents to a thorough enjoyment of the fine fun
provided The replenished camp-fire lit their
villainous faces with a rich red glow. They
grinned, they laughed, they displayed their
pleasure and satisfaction each after his own
fashion. The fat man shook in his fat; the long
man showed his grinning teeth; the sailor-man
slapped his thighs and rolled on the ground in


A SMOKING CONCERT.
213
-
paroxysms of spirituous mirth. It must have
been the humour of the situation, rather than
that of the song, which so powerfully appealed
to them. The former had the piquant charm of
being entirely their own creation. The latter was
that poetic paraphrase of the early chapters of
the Book of Genesis which the singer had tried
upon another back-block audience but a few
nights before. Of the two, this audience, as such,
was decidedly the better. At any rate they let
him get to the end. And when that came, and
Bo's'n clapped again, even the other two joined
in the applause.
“By cripes,” said Simons, “that's not so bad!”
“Bad?” cried the enthusiastic Bo's'n. “It's
as good as fifty plays.
We'll have some more,
and I'll give you a song myself.”
“Right!” said Bill. “The night's still young.
.
Stiffen me purple if we haven't forgot them weeds
we laid in at the township! Out with 'em,
mateys, an' pass round the grog; we'll make a
smokin' concert of it. A bloomin' smoker, so
help me never!”
The cigars were unearthed from the pockets
of Bill himself. He and Simons at once put two


214
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
of them in full blast. Meantime, Bo’s'n was try-
ing his voice.
“Any of you know any sailors' chanties?”
said he.
A pause, and then-
“Yes, I do."
The voice was none other than Engelhardt's.
“ You! The devil you do! How's that, then?”
“I came out in a sailing ship.”
“What do you know?”
“Some of the choruses."
“Blow the land down’?”
“Yes-best of all.”
“Then we'll have that! Messmates, you join
his nibs in the chorus. I sing yarn and chorus
too. Ready? Steady! Here goes!”
And in a rich, rolling voice, that had been
heard above many a gale on the high seas, he
began with the familiar words—
“O where are you going to, my pretty maid ?—
Yo-ho, blow the land down!
O where are you going to, my pretty maid ?—
And give us some time to blow the land down!”
The words were not long familiar. They
quickly became detestable. The further they


A SMOKING CONCERT.
215
went, of course, the more they appealed to Simons,
Bill, and the singer himself. As for Engelhardt,
obviously he was in no position to protest; nor
could mere vileness add at all to his discomfort,
with that noose still round his neck, and the
rope-end still tight in Bill's clutch. Then the
refrain for every other line was no bad thing in
itself; at all events, he joined in throughout, and
at the close stood at least as well with his perse-
cutors as before.
It now appeared, however, that sailors' chanties
were the Bo's'n's weakness. He insisted on sing-
ing two more, with topical and impromptu verses
of his own.
As, for instance-
66
The proud Miss Pryse may toss 'er 'ead-
An' they say so-an’ we hope so-
The proud Miss Pryse will soon be dead-
The pore-old-gal!”
Or again, and as bad-
“O, they call me Hanging Johnny-
Hurray! Pull away!
An' I'll soon hang you, my sonny-
Hang-boys-hang!”
These are but opening verses.
There were
many more in each case, and they were bad


A SMOKING CONCERT.
217
“No, something serious, this trip,” Bill said,
contradictiously. “You know warri mean, you
lubber--somethin' soothin' for a night-cap-
somethin' Christy-mental. Go ahead an' be
damned to ye!”
Engelhardt had no time to consider, to reflect,
to choose. The signal to start instantly was given
by a series of sharp, throttling jerks at the rope.
Almost before he was himself aware of it, he was
giving them the well-known “Swannee River.”
It was the first “Christy-mental” song that had
risen to his mind and lips. Moreover, he gave it
with all the pathos and expression of which he
was capable, and that, as we know, was not in-
considerable. They did not join in the chorus.
This made it the easier. He tried to forget that
these men were there, and, throwing his gaze aloft,
sung softly—even sweetly—to the stars. Doubt-
less it was all acting, and by a cunning instinct,
that he went so slow in the final chorus:
“Oh, my heart is sad and weary,
Everywhere I roam;
Oh, darkies, but my heart is weary,
Far from the old folks at home.”
And yet one knows that it is possible to act


A SMOKING CONCERT.
219
three were still dangerously sober; and the second
bottle was empty now; and there was no third.
Engelhardt confronted them with hope, but not
confidence, and listened, more eagerly than he
dared to show, to Bill's harangue.
“Young man,” said he, "you're not such a
cussed swine's I thought. Sing or swing, says I.
You sings like a man. So you shan't swing at
all—not yet. No saying what we'll do in an
hour or two. Pr’aps we're going to take you
along with us to the station, to show us things,
an' p'raps we ain't. You make your miseral life
happy, to go on with. You bloomin' beggar, you,
we respite you! Bo’s'n, take the same rope an'
lash the joker to that tree.”
Bill stopped to see it done. He was quite
sober enough to be sufficiently particular in this
matter; as was Bo's'n, to perform his part in
sailor-like fashion. In five minutes the thing was
done.
“What do you think of that?” cried the sea-
man, with a certain honest sort of deep-sea pride.
“It'll do, matey."
“By cripes, he'll never get out o' that!”
In fact, from his chin to his knees, the poor


220
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
piano-tuner was encased in a straight-waistcoat
of rope—the rope that had been round his neck
for the last half-hour. Even the injured arm was
inside. Nor could he move his feet, for they were
tied separately at the ankles. Otherwise there
was only one knot in what was indeed a master-
piece of its kind.
“I hope you'll be comfortable,” said the Bo’s'n
with a quaint touch of remorse, "for split me if
you didn't sing like a blessed cock-angel! And
never you fear," he added under his breath, “for
we ain't agoin' to hang you.
Not us! And if
there's anything we can do for you afore we take
our spell, say the word, messmate, say the word.”
The piano-tuner shook his head.
“Then so long and---"
“Stop! you might give us a cigar.”
It was given readily.
“Thanks; and now you might light it."
This also was done, with a brand from the
dying fire.
“Good-night,” said Bo's'n.
“And thank you,” added Engelhardt.
The sailor stopped to give a last admiring
glance at his handiwork; then he joined his com-


A SMOKING CONCERT.
221
panions, who were already spread out upon the
broad of their backs; and Engelhardt was left to
himself at last-unable to move hand or foot-
with a corpse at hand and the murderers under
his eyes--with the risen moon shining full upon
his face, and the vilest of vile cigars held tight
between his teeth.
And he was no smoker; tobacco made him
sick.
Nevertheless, he kept that bad weed alight,
and very carefully alight, for ten minutes by
guess-work. Then he depressed his chin, knocked
off an inch of ash against the topmost coil, ap-
plied the red end to the rope, and sucked and
puffed for his life and Naomi's.


THE RAID ON THE STATION.
223
arm.
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 verandah,
picked up the book she had been reading the
day before, and marched about with it under her
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 can-
dour 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 get-
ting 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


THE RAID ON THE STATION.
225
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 mis-
tress 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 dis-
gust. 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 verandah, and was re-
ceiving 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
The Boss of Taroomba.
15


226
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
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 shan't lie down while you're
gone, miss."
“Then I'll be tremendously quick, I will in-
deed. 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-to-
wards the fence.”
Naomi looked. A black figure was running
towards 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 rousabout? 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.
-


THE RAID ON THE STATION.
227
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 for-
ward
upon
the mane, that Naomi silently de-
tached the water-bag which she had strapped to
her saddle, and held it to his lips with a trem-
bling 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 horse-
back?”
“To look for you. I was on the point of
starting I made sure you must be bushed.”
But I got to a camp. They looked
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!”
“I was.
after me;
15*


THE RAID ON THE STATION.
229
“We could follow on foot.
Meanwhile you
would rouse them out at the shed"
“And my silver?”
Engelhardt was silent. The girl leant for-
ward 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 in-
side?”
“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


230
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
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 amaz-
ing 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.


THE RAID ON THE STATION.
231
“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
verandah."
Engelhardt darted off upon his errand. Al-
ready 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 hap-


THE RAID ON THE STATION,
233
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 verandah. 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 my-
self. 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, Engel-
hardt with the axe. Naomi took it from him,


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
243
was
moonlight. So far all was as Naomi had hoped
and calculated.
But no further. When the poor soul saw the
open door she stopped dead, hesitated half a
second, and then ran like a heavy doe for it and
Naomi. The latter had made adverse signals in
vain. She drew aside to let the woman in, and
was also in time to prevent Engelhardt from
slamming the door. She shut it gently, turned
the key with as much care as before, and with a
sternly-whispered “hush!” kept still to listen.
The other two stood as silent, though Mrs. Potter,
in the moment of safety and of reaction,
heaving and quivering all over, shedding tears
like rain, and swaying perilously where she stood.
But she kept her feet bravely during that critical
minute; it was but one; the next, a shout of
laughter from the distance made it clear that by
a miracle the incident had passed unobserved
and unsuspected.
“We may think ourselves lucky,” said Naomi
severely. Next moment she had thrown her arms
round the old woman's neck, and was covering
her honest wrinkled face with her tears and
kisses.
16*


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
245
When they find you're not, they'll waste their
time looking all over the place for you—every-
where but here."
“Ay, but they'll come here in the end, and
then may the Lord have mercy on our souls!”
“Come, come. They're not going to get in
as easily as all that. And if they do, what with
the Winchester-
“Hush!” said Engelhardt. He was kneeling
among the props, with his ear close to the bottom
of the door.
All three listened. The voices were louder
and more distinct. The men had come outside.
“I don't believe she's there at all,” said one.
“I see no light.”
“Go you and have a look, Bo's'n. Prick the
old squaw up with the p'int o' your knife. But
if you find her trying to hide, or up to any o’
them games, I'd slit her throat and save the
barney."
"By cripes, so would I!”
“Ay, ay, messmates, but we'll see -we'll see.”
All the voices were nearer now. Naomi had
taken Mrs. Potter's hand, and was squeezing it
white. For some moments they could make out
>>


246
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
nothing more. Bo's'n had evidently gone over to
the kitchen. The other two were talking in low
tones somewhere near the well-palings. Suddenly
a muffled shout from the kitchen reached every
ear.
“She's not here at all.”
“Not there!"
“Come and look for yourselves.”
“By gock," cried Bill, "let me just get my
grip on to her fat neck!”
A moment later the three could be heard
ransacking the kitchen, and calling upon the
fugitive to come out, with threats and impre-
cations most horrible to hear even in the distance;
but as they drew nearer, working swiftly from
out-building to out-building, like ferrets in a rabbit-
warren, the ferocity of their language rose to such
a pitch that the hunted woman within fell back
faint and trembling upon the counter. Naomi
was quick as thought with the flask; but her own
cool hand and steady eyes were as useful as the
brandy, and the fit passed as swiftly as it had
While it lasted, however, the only one to
follow every move outside was the assiduous
Engelhardt. He had not yet risen from his
come.


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
247
knees; but he raised himself a little as Mrs.
Potter stood upright again, supported by Naomi.
"It's all right,” he whispered. “They've no
idea where you are.
Simons has had a look in
the barracks, and Bo's'n in the pines. But they've
given you up now. They're holding a council of
war within five yards of us!”
“Let's listen," said Naomi. “Their language
won't kill us."
They had quite given up Mrs. Potter. This
was evident from the tail-end of a speech in which
Bill bitterly repented not having “stiffened” both
her and Engelhardt at sight.
“As for getting to the shed,” said Simons,
who was the obvious authority on this point,
“that'll take her a good hour and a half on foot.
It'd be a waste of time and trouble to ride after
her, though I'd like to see Bill at work on her
-I should so! If she had her horse, it'd be
another thing."
“Ay, ay,” cried the Bo’s'n. “Let the old gal
rip.”
Bill had been of the same opinion a moment
before; but this indecent readiness to be beaten
by an old woman was more than he could share


248
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
or bear.
He told his mates so in highly abusive
terms. They retorted that he was beaten by
that same old woman himself. Bill was not so
sure of that: what about the bedroom with the
boots outside? Nobody had looked in there.
A brisk debate ensued, in which the voice
of Simons rose loudest. Bill, on the other hand,
spoke in a much lower tone than usual; his words
did not penetrate into the store; it was as though
they were meant not to. And yet it was Bill
who presently cried aloud:
“Then that's agreed. We all three go to-
gether to rouse her up anyhow, whether the old
gal's there or whether she isn't. Come on!”
Apparently they went then and there.
“Nice for me!” whispered Naomi. “Nice
for us both, Mrs. Potter, if we weren't safe _-"
A bovine roar seemed to burst from their
It was Bill outside the door.
“Tricked 'em, by God!” he yelled. “Here
they are. Never mind that room.
they're here-both of 'em; I heard 'em whisper-
ing."
“Bill, you're a treat,” said the Bo’s'n, running
up.
“I never see such a man--
very midst.
I tell you
-"


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
249
“Where's Simons?”
“He was bound to have a look for hisself.
Here he comes. Well, messmate, where is she?”
“Not there,” cried Simons with an oath. “The
room's as empty as we are. There's been no one
in it all night.”
Bill laughed.
“I knew that, matey. You might have saved
yourself the trouble when I. sang out. She's-in
-here." And he kicked the store door three
times with all his might.
“Who is?” said Simons.
“Both on 'em. What did I tell you? They
started whisperin' the moment they thought we'd
sheered off.”
“They're not whisperin' now,” said Simons
at the keyhole. "By cripes, let's burst the door
in!”
"Hold on," said Bill. "If they're not born
fools they'll listen to reason. Out o' the light,
matey. See here, ladies, if you walk out now
you may live to spin the yarn, but if you
don't--" He broke away into nameless blas-
phemies.
The cruel voice came hoarse and hot through


250
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
the keyhole. Engelhardt opened his mouth to
reply, but Naomi clapped a warm palm upon it,
and with the other hand signalled silence to Mrs.
Potter.
“We've given 'em their chance," said Bill after
a pause. “Come on, chaps. One, two, all to-
gether—now!”
There was a stampede of feet in the shallow
verandah, and then a thud and a crash, as the
three men hurled themselves against the door.
But for their oaths outside, in the store it was as
though nothing had happened. Not a timber
had given, not a prop was out of place. Naomi's
white face wore a smile, which, however, was in-
stantly struck out by a loud report and a flash
through the keyhole.
Engelhardt crouched lower, picked something
from the floor, and passed it up to Naomi in his
open hand.
She carried it into the moonlight. It was a
wisp of the musician's long hair, snipped out by
the bullet.
They stood aside from the keyhole. More
bullets came through, but all at the same angle.
The women caught up a sack of flour, rolled it


252
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“They must have gone for something!” ex-
claimed Naomi.
“They have," said the piano-tuner coolly.
“A battering-ram!”
“Then now's our time,” cried the girl. “It's
absurd to think of our being cooped up here
with any quantity of fire-arms, and no chance of
using one of them! First we must light up. Chop
that candle in two, Mrs. Potter.
It'll see us
through to day-break, and there's nothing to keep
dark any longer, so the more light now the
better. Ah, here's the tool-box, and yes! here's
the brace and bits. Now this is my little plan.”
She took the brace, fitted it with the largest
bit, and was making for the door.
“What are you going to do?” said Engel-
hardt.
“Make a loophole to fire through.”
“And for them to fire through too!”
"Well, that can't be helped.”
“Excuse me, I think it can. I've been puzzling
the thing out for the last hour. I've a better plan
than that!"
“Let me hear it."
“A tomahawk!"


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
253
She gave him one from the tool-box.
“May I hack the roofing a bit?”
“As much as ever you like.”
“Now a pile of boxes--here-just at the left
of the door—and four feet high.”
The women had it ready in a twinkling. They
then helped him to clamber to the top-no easy
matter with an arm that was not only useless,
but an impediment at every turn. When he stood
at his full height his head touched the corrugated
iron some twenty inches from the obtuse angle
between roof and wall.
He reached out his hand for the tomahawk,
and at the height of his eyes he hacked a slit in
the iron, prising the lower lip downward until he
could see well out into the yard. Then, a hand-
breadth above the angle, he made a round hole
with the spike of the tomahawk, and called for a
revolver. Naomi produced a pair. He took one,
and worked the barrel in the round hole until
it fitted loosely enough to permit of training.
Then he looked down. There was no sign of
the thieves.
"Have you plenty of cartridges, Miss Pryse?”
"Any amount."
>>


254
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“Well, I don't expect to spill much blood
with them; but on the other hand I'm not likely
to lose any myself.” The work and the danger
had combined to draw his somewhat melancholy
spirit out of itself. Or perhaps it was not the
danger itself, but the fact that he shared it with
Naomi Pryse.
Whatever the cause, the young
man was more light-hearted than was his wont.
“They'll fire at the spot I fire from,” he explained
with a touch of pride; "they'll never think of my
eyes being two feet higher up, and their bullets
must strike the roof at such an angle that no
charge on earth would send them through. Mind,
it'll be the greatest fluke if I hit them; but they
aren't to know that; and at any rate I may keep
them out of worse mischief for a time.”
“You
may
and you will,” said Naomi en-
thusiastically. “But still we shall want my loop-
hole!”
“Why so?"
“The verandah!”
For some moments Engelhardt said nothing.
When at last he found his voice it was to abuse
himself and his works with such unnecessary
violence that again that soft warm palm lay for


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
255
an instant across his lips. His pride in his own
ingenuity had been cruelly humbled, for he had
to confess that he had entirely forgotten to reckon
with the store-verandah: a perfect shelter against
even the deadliest fusillade from his position.
“Very well,” he cried at last. “We'll drill a
hole through the door, but we must drill it near
the top, and at an angle, so that they can't put
a bullet through it at a distance."
“Then let me do it," said Naomi. She sprang
upon the flour bag, and the hole was quickly
made. Still the men did not return. “Lucky
thing I remembered the axe in time!" she con-
tinued, remaining where she was. “They would
have hacked in the door in no time with that. I
say, Mr. Engelhardt, this is my post. I mean to
stick here."
“Never!” he cried.
“But you can't work both revolvers.”
“Well, then, let us change places. You'll
probably shoot straighter than I should. I'll
stand on the flour-bag with the barrel of the
other revolver through the hole you've made. If
any one of them gets in a line with it, well,
there'll be a villain less!”


256
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“And Mrs. Potter shall load for us,” cried
Naomi. “Do you know how?”
“Can't say I do, miss.”
“Then I'll show you."
This was the work of a moment. The old
bush-woman was handy enough, and cool enough
too, now that she was getting used to the situation.
It was her own idea to bring round the store-
keeper's tall stool, to plant it among the props,
within reach of Naomi on the boxes and of
Engelhardt on the flour-bag, and to perch herself
on its leather top with the box of cartridges in
her lap. Thus prepared and equipped, this strange
garrison waited for the next assault.
“Here they come," cried Naomi at last, with
a sudden catch in her voice. “They're carrying
a great log they must have fished out from the
very bottom of the wood-heap. All the top part
of the heap was small wood, and I guess they've
wasted some more time in hunting for the axe.
But here they are!" She pushed her revolver
through the slit in the roof, and the sharp report
rang through the store.
“Hit anybody?” said Engelhardt next mo-
ment.


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
257
“No. They're stopping to fire back. Ah, you
were right.”
As she spoke there was a single report, fol-
lowed by three smart raps on the sloping roof.
The bullet had ricochetted like a flat stone flung
upon a pond. Another and another did the
same, and Naomi answered every shot.
“For God's sake take care!” cried the piano-
tuner.
“I am doing so."
“Hit any one yet?”
“Not yet; it's impossible to aim; and they've
never come nearer than the well-palings. Ah!”
“What now?"
“They're charging with the log."
Engelhardt slipped his revolver into his pocket,
and grasped the shelf that jutted out over the
lintel. He felt that the shock would be severe,
and so it was. It came with a rush of feet and
a volley of loud oaths—a crash that smashed
the lock and brought three of the clothes-props
clattering to the ground. But those secured by
gimlet and bradawl still held; and though the
lower part of the door had given an inch the
The Boss of Taroomba.
17


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
259
standing but a foot from the door, and when
Engelhardt removed his eye and slipped his
pistol-barrel in the place, he knew that it covered
his midriff, though all that he could see through
the half-filled hole was a fragment of the obscene,
perspiring face. It was enough to show him the
ludicrous change of expression which followed
upon a sudden lowering of the eyes and a first
glimpse of the protruding barrel. Without a
moment's hesitation Engelhardt pressed the trigger
while Bill was stupidly repeating-
“And then and then -_-"
A flash cut him short, and as the smoke and
the noise died away, Engelhardt, removing the
pistol once more and applying his eye, saw the
wounded brute go reeling and squealing into the
moonshine with his hand to his middle and the
blood running over it. To the well-palings he
reeled, dropping on his knees when he got there,
but struggling to his feet and running up and
down and round and round like a mad bull, still
screaming and blaspheming at the top of his
voice, and with the blood bubbling over both his
hands, which never ceased to hug his wound.
His mates rushed up to him, but he beat them
17*


260
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
off, cursing them, spitting at them, and covering
them with blood as he struck at them with his
soaking fists. It was their fault. They should
have let him have his way. He would have done
for that hell-begotten swine who had now done
for him. It was they who had killed him-his
own mates--and he told them so with shrieks
and curses, varied with sobs and tears, and yet
again with wild shots from a revolver which he
plucked from his belt. But he dropped the
pistol after madly discharging it twice, and clap-
ping his hand to his middle, as though he could
only live by pressing the wound with all his force,
he rushed after them, foaming at the mouth and
squirting blood at every stride. At last he seemed
to trip, and he fell forward in a heap, but turned
on one side, his knees coming up with a jerk, his
feet treading the air as though running still. And
for some seconds they so continued, like the
screws of a foundering steamer; then he rolled
over heavily; his two companions came up at a
walk; one of them touched him with his foot;
and Engelhardt stepped down from the flour-bag
with a mouth that had never relaxed, and a frown
that had never gone.


THE NIGHT ATTACK.
261
Naomi was no longer standing on the boxes;
but she was sitting on them, with her face in her
hands; and in the light of the two candle-ends,
Mrs. Potter was watching her with a white dazed
face.
“Cheer up!” said Engelhardt. “The worst is
over now.”
"Is he dead?” said Naomi, uncovering her
face.
“As dead as a man can be.”
“And you shot him?”
She knew that he had; but the thing seemed
incredible as she sat and looked at him; and by
the time it came fully home to her, the little
musician was inches taller in her eyes.
“Yes, I shot the brute; and I'll shoot that
shearer too if I get half a chance."
Naomi felt nervous about it, and sufficiently
shocked. She was dubiously remarking that they
had not committed murder, when she was roughly
interrupted.
“Haven't they!”
“Whom have they murdered?"
“You'll see.”
“I know!” cried Mrs. Potter, with sudden in-


262
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
spiration; but even as they looked at her, a voice
was heard shouting from a respectful distance
outside.
“We're going," it cried. “We've had enough
of this, me and Simons have. Only when they
find that chap in the paddock, recollect it was
Bill that hung him. But for us he'd have hung
you too!”
They listened very closely, but they heard no
more. Then Naomi stood up to look through the
slit in the roof.
“The yard is empty,” she cried. “Their
horses are gone! Oh, Mr. Engelhardt--Mr. Engel-
hardt--we are saved!"


264
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
"If you ask me, Miss Naomi, I think it's
beneath us to sit here another minute for a
couple of rascals who will be ten miles away by
this time."
“Then let us go. I will take the Winchester,
and if they are still about we must just slip in
again quicker than we came out. But I think
it's good enough to chance."
“So do I," said the piano-tuner, “most de-
cidedly."
“Then down with the props.
They have
served us very well, and no mistake! You must
keep them in your kitchen, Mrs. Potter, as a
trophy for all time."
The old woman made no reply. Of what
she was thinking none ever knew. Her life had
run in a narrow, uneventful groove. Its sole ad-
venture was probably the one now so nearly at
an end. Ten years ago she had been ear-witness
of a somewhat similar incident. And now she
had played a part, and no small part, in another
and a worse. At her age she might have come
out shaken and shattered to the verge of imbe-
cility, after such a night. Or she might have
felt inordinately proud of her share in the bush-


IN THE MIDST OF DEATH.
267
back with a table-cloth. And she was crying
bitterly when, a minute later, he slipped his left
hand under her foot and helped her into the
saddle.
They never drew rein until the long, low
wool-shed was well in sight. The sun was up.
It was six o'clock. They could see the shearers
swarming to the shed like bees to a hive. The
morning air was pungent as spiced wine. Some
colour had come back to Naomi's cheeks, and it
was she who first pulled up, forcing Engelhardt
to do the same.
“Friday morning!” she said, walking her
horse. “Can you realise that you only came last
Saturday night?"
“I cannot.”
“No more can I! We have been through so
much-_"
“Together.”
“Together and otherwise. I think you must
have gone through more than I can guess, when
you were lost in Top Scrubby, and when you fell
in with those fiends. Will you tell me all about
it some time or other?"


IN THE MIDST OF DEATH.
269
“Well, thank heaven for that!”
"But why?"
“Because I said
“Well, what did you say?"
She caught his bridle, and, by stopping both
horses, forced him to face her at last.
“Surely you can guess? I had just got to
know about Tom Chester, and I felt there was
no hope for me, so I thought-
__"
“Stop; what had you got to know about Tom
Chester, please?"
“That he cared for you.”
“Indeed! To me that's a piece of news.
Mind, I care for him very much as a friend-as
a hand.”
“Then you don't-
"No, indeed I don't.”
“O Naomi, what am I to say? In that letter
I said it all—when I had no hope in my heart.
And now
“And now you have called that letter awful
nonsense, and yourself an idiot for writing it!”
She was smiling at him-her old, teasing
smile-across the gap between their horses. But
his eyes were full of tears.


270
THE BOSS OF TAROOMBA.
“O Naomi, you know what I meant!”
“And I suppose it has never occurred to you
what I mean?”
He stared at her open-eyed.
“Will you marry me?” he blurted out.
“We'll see about that,” said Naomi, as he
took her hand and they rode onward with
clasped fingers. “But I'll tell you what I am on
to do. I'm on to put Taroomba in the market
this very day, and to back you for all that it
fetches. After that there's Europe-your mother
–Milan-and anything you like, my dear fellow,
for the rest of our two lives."
THE END.


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Cornell University Library
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The boss of Taroomba.
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