“I thought you English people were so brave,” said satirical Miss Gertrude: “you make yourselves out to be in your history-books.”
But Sydney, though Miss Smith had talked as if Venus was just like any common horse, was very fond of Miss Smith. She was pretty, and only five years older than himself. Besides, he was acting master of the house, and a little gentleman to boot. So he said,
“Be quiet, children; you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Miss Smith isn’t used to the colony.—Don’t be alarmed, Miss Smith. I will see that you come to no harm.”
And then he began to talk to his mother about what they had better do. Just because he was a manly little fellow, he was not ashamed to take his mother’s advice.
Now Mrs. Lawson was as little disposed as Sydney to let Mr. Warrigal do as he liked. She knew that her husband would have run the risk of being “stuck up,” if he had been at home, rather than have obeyed the bushranger’s orders, and that he would be very pleased if they could manage to defy the rascal. Still, it was a serious matter to provoke Messrs. Warrigal and Co. to pay the house a visit. She felt sure that Sydney would fight, and she meant to fire at the robbers herself if they came; but would she and Sydney be able to stand against three armed men? Not a shepherd or stockman or horsebreaker about the place was to be depended upon; and Ki Li, the Chinaman cook, though a very good kind of fellow, would certainly go to bed in his hut if the robbers came by day, and stay in bed if the robbers came by night. John Jones, the “new chum” ploughman, whose wife was Mrs. Lawson’s servant, slept in the house, and he was too honest to band with the bushrangers in any way; “but then, he’s such a sheep, you know, mamma,” said Sydney.
There was time to send word to the police at Jerry’s Town; but who was to go? Any of the men, except Ki Li and John Jones, would be as likely as not to go to Warrigal’s camping-place instead of to the Jerry’s Town police-barracks; and Ki Li would be afraid to go out in the dark, and John Jones would be afraid to ride anything but one of the plough horses, and that only at an amble. It wouldn’t do for Sydney to leave the place, since he was the only male effective on it; so what was to be done? But little Harry had heard his mother and brother talking, and, as soon as he made out their difficulty, he looked up and said,
“Why, mamma, I can go. Syd, lend me your stock-whip, and let me have Guardsman.”
Neither mother nor brother had any fear about Harry’s horsemanship (up-country Australian boys can ride when they are not much bigger than monkeys), but they scarcely liked to turn the little fellow out for a long ride by night. However, he knew the way well enough. Three-Mile Flat didn’t lie in his road, and if he didn’t fall in with any of the Warrigal gang, nobody would harm him; and, finally, there was no one else to go to Jerry’s Town who would or could go in time.
So Sydney went to the stable and slipped the bridle on Venus, and rode her down to the flat by the creek, to drive up Guardsman. And then he put the saddle and bridle on Guardsman and brought him round to the garden-gate, where Harry stood flicking about Sydney’s stock-whip very impatiently, whilst his mamma kissed him and tied a comforter round his neck. Sydney gave Harry a leg up, and cantered with him to the slip-panels, to take them down for him.
As soon as he was through, Harry shouted “Good night,” and gave Guardsman his head, and was off like a little wild boy. After one or two failures, that made his face tingle, he managed to crack Sydney’s stock-whip almost as cleverly as Sydney could have done. It rang through the still moonlight bush, and when Sydney lost sight of him, Harry, tired of the monotony of flat riding, was steering Guardsman stem on for a grey log that glistened like frosted silver in the moonshine.