There was life in Engelhardt yet, though for some time he lay as good as dead. The thing that revived him was the name of Naomi Pryse on the lips of the late ringer of the Taroomba shed. The piano-tuner listened for more without daring to open his eyes or to move a muscle. And more came with a horrifying¹ flow of foul² words.  
"She had the lip to sack me! But I'll be even with her before the night's out. Yes, by cripes, by sunrise she'll wish she'd never been born!"
 
"It's not the girl we're after," said Bill's voice, with a pause and a spit. "It's the silver." And Engelhardt could hear him puffing³ at his pipe.
 
"It's gold and silver. She's the gold."
 
"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 stick to my messmates. But we've stiffened⁴ two people already. It's two too many."
 
"What about your skipper down at Sandridge?"
 
"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 Providence⁶ 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 skull⁷ and cut and run for it. We meet and we pal⁸ on. The likeliest pair in the Colony! And here's old Simons, knocked cock-eye by this 'ere gal⁹, and swearing revenge by all that's bloody¹⁰. He has a couple of horses, too—just the very thing we wanted—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'[Pg 164] 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 wigs¹¹.' 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 struck and a pipe lit. His veins¹² were frozen; he was past a tremor¹³.
 
"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 steering¹⁴ with a low moon."
 
The other two laughed.
 
"These 'ere sailors," said Bill, "they're a blessed treat. Always in such an almighty¹⁵ funk of getting bushed¹⁶. 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 up her ladyship, and make her let us into the store——"
 
"Lug¹⁸ her out by her hair," suggested Simons. "I'll do that part."
 
"Or do we smash into it for ourselves? That's the game Tigerskin an' me tried, ten years 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 was 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 sha'n't die, because that's what she'd like best; but she shall apologize to me under my own conditions—you wait and see what they are. They'll make you smile. The little devil! Twelve pound a week! By cripes, but I'll make her wish she was as dead as her friend here. I'll teach her——"
 
"Stiffen⁵ me purple," roared Bill, "if the joker's not alive after all!"
 
The rogues¹⁹ were sitting round their fire in a triangle, Simons with his back to the supposed corpse¹⁷; when he looked over his shoulder, there was his dead man glaring at him with eyes like blots²⁰ of ink on blood-stained paper.
 
Engelhardt, in fact, had been physically²¹ unable to lie still any longer and hear Naomi so foully²² threatened and abused. But the moment he sat up he saw his folly²³, and tried, quick as thought, to balance it by gaping²⁴ repeatedly in Simons's face.
 
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said he, in the civilest manner. "I'd been asleep, and couldn't think where I was. I assure you I hadn't the least intention of interrupting you."
 
His voice was still terribly husky. Bill seized the water-bag and stuck it ostentatiously between his knees. Simons only scowled²⁶.
 
"Please go on with what you were saying," said Engelhardt, crawling to the fire and sitting down between these two worthies²⁷. "All I ask is a drink and a crust. I've been out all day without bite or sup. Yes, and all last night as well! That's all I ask. I am dead tired. I'd sleep like a stone."
 
No one spoke²⁸, but presently, without a word, Bill took a pannikin, filled it from the water-bag, and sullenly²⁹ handed it to the piano-tuner. Then he knifed a great wedge from a damper and tossed it across. Engelhardt could scarcely believe his eyes, so silently, so unexpectedly was it done. He thanked the fellow with unnecessary warmth, but no sort of notice was taken of his remarks. He was half afraid to touch without express permission the water which he needed so sorely. He even hesitated, pannikin in hand, as he looked from one man to the other; but the villanous trio merely stared at him with fixed³¹ eyeballs, and at last he raised it to his lips and swallowed a pint³² at one draught³³.
 
Even the mouthful he had fought for earlier in the evening—even that drop had sent a fresh stream of vitality³⁴ swimming through his veins. But this generous draught made a new man of him in ten seconds. He wanted more, it is true; but the need was now a mere³⁰ desire; and then there was the damper under his eyes. He never knew how hungry he was until he had quenched³⁵ his thirst and started to eat. Until he had finished the slice of damper, he took no more heed³⁶ of his companions than a dog with a bone. Bill threw him a second wedge, and this also he devoured³⁷ without looking up. But his great thirst had never been properly slaked³⁸, and the treatment he was now receiving emboldened³⁹ him to hold out the pannikin for more water. Even this was granted him, but still without a word. Since he had arisen and joined them by the fire, not one of the men had addressed a single remark to him, and his own timid expressions of thanks and attempts at affability[Pg 169] had been received all alike in impenetrable silence. Nor were the ruffians talking among themselves. They just sat round the fire, their rough faces reddened by the glow, their weapons scintillating⁴⁰ in the light, and stared fixedly⁴¹ at the little man who had stumbled among them. Their steady taciturnity soon became as bad to bear as the conversation he had overheard while feigning⁴² insensibility. There was a kind of sinister⁴³ contemplation in their looks which was vague, intangible, terrifying. Then their vile²⁵ plot ringing in his ears, with dark allusions⁴⁴ 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 syllable⁴⁵. When Engelhardt looked at him, however, the heavy face and squinting⁴⁶ eyes met him with a series of grimaces⁴⁷, so grotesque⁴⁸, 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 chuckling⁴⁹; 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 rations⁵⁰?"
 
"They say as 'e tunes⁵¹ pianners," said Simons.
 
"Then he don't hang out on Taroomba?"
 
"No; 'e only come the other day, an' goes an' breaks his arm off 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 belly⁵² 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.
 
............