The Boss of Taroomba

by E. W. Hornung

  CHAPTER V

  MASTERLESS MEN

  Naomi had seated herself on the tall stool at the bookkeeper's desk, onwhich she had placed in array the silver that was still unclean. Thisincluded a fine old epergne, of quaint design and exceedingly solidproportions; a pair of candlesticks, in the familiar form of theCorinthian column--more modern, but equally handsome in their way; asilver coffee-pot with an ivory handle; and a number of ancient skewers.She tackled the candlesticks first. They were less tarnished than mighthave been expected, and in Naomi's energetic hands they soon regainedtheir pristine purity and lustre. As she worked she talked freely of herfather, and his family in Wales, to Engelhardt, for whose benefit shehad unpacked many of the things which she had already cleaned, and setthem out upon the counter after shutting it down as before. He, too, wasseated, on the counter's farther edge, with his back half-turned to thedoor. And the revelation of so much treasure in that wild place made himmore and more uneasy.

  "I should have thought you'd be frightened to have this sort of thing onthe 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 thoughtfully at the door, whichwas standing ajar. She even gave the steps of her Corinthian column arest from tooth-brush and plate-powder.

  "That reminds you?"

  "Yes--of bushrangers. We once had some here, before they becameextinct."

  "Since you've had the plate?"

  "Yes; it was the plate they were after. How they got wind of it no oneever knew."

  "Is it many years ago?"

  "Well, I was quite a little girl at the time. But I never shall forgetit! I woke in the night, hearing shots, and I ran into the veranda in mynight-dress. There was my father behind one of the veranda posts, with arevolver in each hand, roaring and laughing as though it were thegreatest joke in the world; and there were two men in the store veranda,just outside this door. They were shooting at father, all they knew, butthey couldn't hit him, though they hit the post nearly every time. I'llshow you the marks when we go over to lunch. My father kept laughing andshooting 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 theother bolted for his horse. He got away, too; but he left somethingbehind 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 waspicked up between this and the place where he mounted his horse. Fathergot him on the wing!" said Naomi, proudly.

  "Was he caught?"

  "No, he was never heard of again."

  "And the man who was shot?"

  "He was as dead as sardines. And who do you suppose he turned out tobe?"

  Engelhardt shook his head.

  "Tigerskin the bushranger! No less! It was a dirty burgling business fora decent bushranger to lose his life in, now wasn't it? For they neverstuck up the station, mind you; they were caught trying to burst intothe store. Luckily, they didn't succeed. The best of it was that at theinquest, and all that, it never came out what it was they really wantedin our store. Soon afterward my father had the windows blocked up andthe whole place cemented over, as you see it now."

  Naomi was done. Back went the tooth-brush to work on the Corinthiancolumn, and Engelhardt saw more of the pretty hair, but less of thesweet face, as she bent to her task with redoubled vigor. Sweet she mostcertainly was in his sight, and yet she could sit there, and tell him ofblood spilt and life lost before her own soft eyes, as calmly as thoughsuch sights were a natural part of a young girl's education. For a spacehe so marvelled at her that there was room in his soul for no othersensation. Then the towering sun struck down through the skylight,setting light to the silver, and brushing the girl's hair as she leantforward, so that it shone like spun copper. From that moment thepiano-tuner could only and slavishly admire; but he was not allowed muchtime for this slightly perilous recreation. Abruptly, impulsively, asshe did most things, Naomi raised her face and gave him a nod.

  "Now, Mr. Engelhardt, it's your turn to talk. I've done my share. Whoare you, where do you come from, and what's your ambition in life? Itreally is time I knew something more about you."

  The poor fellow was so taken aback, and showed it so plainly, that Naomisimplified her question without loss of time.

  "It doesn't matter who you are, since you're a very nice youngman--which is the main thing. And I know that you hail from oldEngland, which is all I have any business to know. But come! you musthave some ambitions. I like all young men to have their ambitions. Idistrust 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 inthe opera? Or sentimental songs in your dress-suit, with a tea-rose inyour button-hole and a signet-ring plain as a pike-staff to the backrow? Somehow or other I don't think you're sleek enough for a tenor orcoarse enough for a bass. Certainly I know nothing 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?"

  "Oh, Miss Pryse!"

  "Well, then, what?"

  "How can I say it? I should like, above everything else--if only I evercould!--to write music--to compose." He said it shyly enough, withdowncast 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 notlaughed at him after all!

  "I should say that you would compose very well indeed," remarked Naomi,naively.

  "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 anygood as a composer. Only that's what you'd call my ambition. In anycase, I don't know enough to try yet, except to amuse myself when I'malone. I have no technique. I know only the rudiments of harmony. I doget ideas; but they're no use to me. I haven't enough knowledge--oftreatment--of composition--to turn them to any account. But I shall havesome day! Miss Pryse, do you know why I'm out here? To make enough moneyto go back again and study--and learn my trade--with plenty of time andpains--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, mycoming out at all. I wasn't twenty-three at the time. It was a splendididea, like everything she does or says or thinks! How I wish you knew mymother! She is the best and cleverest woman in all the world, though sheis so poor, and has lived in a cottage all her life. My father was aGerman. He was clever, too, but he wasn't practical. So he neversucceeded. But my mother is everything! One day I shall go back to herwith my little pile. Then we shall go abroad together--perhaps toMilan--and I shall study hard-all, and we'll soon find out whetherthere's anything in me or not. If there isn't, back I come to thecolonies to tune pianos and sell music; but my mother shall come with menext time."

  "You will find that there is something in you," said Naomi. "I can seeit."

  Indeed, it was not unreasonable to suppose that there was somethingbehind that broad, high forehead and those enthusiastic and yetintelligent eyes. The mouth, too, was the delicate, mobile mouth of theborn artist; the no
strils were as sensitive as those of a thoroughbredracehorse; and as he spoke the young man's face went white-hot withsheer enthusiasm. Clearly there was reason in what Naomi thought andsaid, though she knew little about music and cared less. He beamed ather without answering, and she spoke again.

  "Certainly you have ambition," she said; "and honestly, there's nothingI admire so much in a young man. Please understand that I for one amwith you heart and soul in all you undertake or attempt. I feel quitesure that I shall live to see you famous. Oh, isn't it splendid to be aman and aim so high?"

  "It is," he answered, simply, out of the frankness of his heart.

  "Even if you never succeed, it is fine to try!"

  "Thank Heaven for that. Even if you never succeed!"

  "But you are going to----"

  "Or going to know the reason why!"

  To a sympathetic young woman who believes in him, and thus stimulateshis belief in himself; who is ready with a nod and a smile when his mindoutstrips his tongue; who understands his incoherences, and is with himin his wildest nights; to such a listener the ordinary young man withenthusiasm can talk by the hour together, and does. Naomi was one such;she was eminently understanding. Engelhardt had enthusiasm. He had morethan it is good for a man to carry about in his own breast. And there isno doubt that he would have spent the entire morning in putting hisburden, bit by bit, upon Naomi as she sat and worked and listened, hadno interruption occurred. As it was, however, she interrupted himherself, and that in the middle of a fresh tirade, by suddenly holdingup her finger and sharply enjoining silence.

  "Don't you hear voices?" she said.

  He listened.

  "Yes, I do."

  "Do you mind seeing who it is?"

  He went to the door. "There are two men hanging about the stationveranda," he said. "Stay! Now they have seen me, and are coming thisway."

  Naomi said not one word, but she managed to fetch over the office-stoolin the haste with which she sprang to the ground. At a run she roundedthe counter, and reached the door just as the men came up. She pushedEngelhardt out first, and then followed him herself, locking the doorand putting the key in her pocket before turning to the men. Last ofall, 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 totravellers. We don't give meat here as a rule; so will you take thesemen over to the kitchen, and tell Mrs. Potter I wish them each to have agood helping of cold mutton? Then bring them back to the store."

  "We don't seek no favors," growled the man who had spoken first.

  "No?" said Naomi, with a charming smile. "But I'm sure you need somemeat. What's more, I mean you to have some!"

  "Suppose we take the tea and flour first, now we are at the store!"

  "Ah, I can't attend to you for a few minutes," said the girl, casually.As she spoke she turned and left them, and Engelhardt gathered herunconcern from the snatch of a song as she entered the main building.The men accompanied him to the kitchen in a moody silence. As forhimself, he already felt an extraordinary aversion for them both.

  And indeed their looks were against them. The one who had spokenoffensively about the meat was a stout, thick-set, middle-aged man, whogave an impression of considerable activity in spite of his great girth.Half his face was covered with short gray bristles, like steel spikes.Though his hands were never out of his pockets, he carried his head likea man of character; but the full force of a bold, insolent, vindictiveexpression was split and spoilt by the most villanous of squints.Nevertheless the force was there. It was not so conspicuous in hiscompanion, who was, however, almost equally untoward-looking in his ownway. He was of the medium size, all bone and gristle like a hawk, andwith no sign upon his skin of a drop of red blood underneath. The handswere brown and furry as an ape's, with the nails all crooked and brokenby hard work. The face was as brown, and very weather-beaten, with apair of small black eyes twinkling out of the ruts and puckers likepools in the sun upon a muddy road. This one rolled as he walked, andwore brass rings in his ears; and Engelhardt, who had come out fromEngland in a sailing ship, saw in a moment that he was as salt as junkall through. Decidedly he was the best of the two, though his eyes werenever still, nor the hang of his head free and honest. And on the wholethe piano-tuner was thankful when his share of the trouble with thesemen was at an end, and they all came back to the store.

  Rather to his surprise, Naomi was there before them, and busy weighingout the traveller's quantum of sugar, tea, and flour, for each man. Whatwas really amazing, however, was the apparent miracle that had put everytrace of the silver out of sight.

  "No work for us on the station?" said the stout man, before they finallysheered 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 impudent manner. "Mayhap weshall be coming to see you again, miss, one o' these fine days ornights. My dear, you look out for us! You keep your spare-room inreadiness! A feather-bed for me----"

  "Stow it, mate," said the other tramp, as he hitched his swag across hisshoulders. "Can't you hump your bluey and come away decent?"

  "If you don't," cried Engelhardt, putting in his little word in agigantic 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 theworse? I've a blessed good mind to take and crumple you up for manure, Ihave. And a blessed bad barrerful you'd make! See here, my son, I reckonyou've got one broke bone about you already; mind out that I don't leavea few pals to keep it company. A bit more of your cheek, and I'll makeyou so as your own sweetheart--a fine girl she is, as ought to be abovethe likes of you; but I suppose you're better than nothing--I tell youI'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-amusedanger. "Wot good is this going to do either me or you, or any blessedbody else?"

  "It'll do somebody some harm," returned the other, "if he opens hismouth again. Yes, I'll clear out before I smash 'im! Good-by, my dear,and a bigger size to you in sweethearts. So long, little man. You maythank your broke arm that your 'ead's not broke as well!"

  They were gone at last. Naomi and Engelhardt watched them out of sightfrom the veranda, the latter heaving with rage and indignation. He wasnot one to forget this degradation in a hurry. Naomi, on the other hand,who had more to complain of, being a woman, was in her usual spirits infive minutes. She took him by the arm, and told him to cheer up. He madebitter answer that he could never forgive himself for having stood byand heard her spoken to as she had been spoken to that morning. Shepointed to his useless arm, and laughed heartily.

  "As long as they didn't see the silver," said she, "I care very littlewhat 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 itin again!"

  "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 veranda, and now stood fingering one ofthe whitewashed posts. It was pocked about the middle with ancientbullet-marks.

  "This was the post my father stood behind. Not much of a shelter, wasit?"

  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 wentto the door, the big brute was showing the little brute
this veryveranda-post!"

  Naomi considered.

  "There's not much in that," she said at last. "It's the custom fortravellers to wait about a veranda; and what more natural than theirspotting these holes and having a look at them? As long as they didn'tspot my silver! Do you know why I came over to the house before puttingit away?"

  "No."

  "To get this," said Naomi, pulling something from her pocket. She waslaughing rather shyly. It was a small revolver.