In Bad Company and other stories - Rolf Boldrewood

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Janus your Christian name?'

      'Yes.'

      'Janus, is it? Sounds more heathen than Christian; more suitable also, if I mistake not. Now, Janus Stoate, you're my witness, for the present – remember that – and I advise you to be careful what you say, for your own good, and don't "suppose" so much as you did in your answer to my learned friend. You and Hardwick were on friendly terms before shearing, and came down the river together?'

      'Yes, we were friends, in a manner of speakin'.'

      'Were you friends or not? Answer me, and don't fence. Have you not stayed at his house often, for more than a week at a time?'

      'Yes, now and then – workers often help one another a bit. I'd 'a done the same by him if he'd 'a come along the road lookin' for work.'

      'Given him house-room, and three meals a day for a week or more, I daresay. But, let me see —have you a house?'

      'Well, not exactly. I live in Melbourne.'

      'Where?'

      'At a boarding-house.'

      'You left his house, then, for the shearing, the last time you were there. You had board and lodging for the previous night, and came down the river to North Yalla-doora together; is that so?'

      'Yes.'

      'Did you say you were a delegate before the shearing began?'

      'No.'

      'Why not?'

      'For no reason in partic'lar.'

      'Did you and he have a dispute on the road, and part company before you came to North Yalla-doora?'

      'Well, we had a bit of a barney, nothing much.'

      'Oh! nothing much? You were at Tandara while the shearing was going on; and did he and others refuse to come out on strike when you produced a telegram from the Head Centre, or whatever you call him, at Wagga?'

      'He refused to obey the order of the properly app'inted hofficer of the Australian Shearers' Union; and was disrespectful to me, pusson'ly.'

      'Did you then say that you would make it hot for him at the next shed?'

      'I don't remember. But I was displeased at his disloyal haction.'

      'Disloyal to whom? to the Queen?'

      'No, to a greater power than the Queen – to the People, as is represented by the Australian Shearers' Union.'

      'Very good; keep that for your next speech. You'll find out something about the powers of Her Majesty the Queen before long.'

      'Do you not think, Mr. Biddulph,' said the Judge, with much politeness, 'that you have tested this part of the cross-examination sufficiently?'

      'It was necessary to prove malice, your Honour; but I will proceed to the witness's acts and deeds, which are more important. Now, Mr. Delegate, answer these few questions straightforwardly.'

      'I am on my oath, Mr. Lawyer.'

      'I am aware of that; I don't attach much importance to the obligation, I am sorry to say. Did you not say to the President of the Shearers' Committee, during the riot, which might have ended in murder, and did end in arson – "Send a couple of men with Bill Hardwick and put him in the front with a rifle"?'

      'Nothing of the sort.'

      'If it is sworn by a respectable witness that he heard you, will you still deny it?'

      'Certainly I will.'

      'Call Joseph Broad. (I merely call this witness to be identified, your Honour.) Did you see this man at the shearers' camp?' to Stoate.

      'I saw him there, but that's all.'

      'That will do, Broad; go out of Court for the present. Did you hear your President speak to him?'

      'Not to my knowledge.'

      'Did Lynch and another man stand on each side of Hardwick on the bank of the river, and threaten to shoot him if he didn't stop there and hold out his rifle?'

      'I didn't hear them.'

      'Now listen to me, and be very careful how you answer this question. Did you stand close behind him with a revolver and say, "Don't you move for your life"?'

      'Not that I remember. We was all crushed up that close together, as the crew of the steamer fired into us, that a man couldn't tell who was next or anigh him.'

      'Very probably. That will do. Stay,' as Mr. Stoate turned away, and left the witness-box with a relieved expression. 'Go into the box for a moment. How did you come here – walk or ride?'

      'Rode.'

      'Rode your own horse?'

      'No, a police horse; I came up with Sergeant Kennedy.'

      'Oh, then, he lent you a horse – very kind of him – and accompanied you here. How was that?'

      'Well, I believe there was some sort of a case trumped-up against me.'

      'Oh! some kind of a trumped-up case, was there? We'll hear more about that, by and by. That will do for the present, Mr. Delegate.'

      The witness then left the Court, followed by the strange trooper, so closely indeed, that but for the absence of handcuffs he might have been thought to have been in custody.

      'Call Sergeant Kennedy.'

      John Kennedy, being duly sworn, deposed as follows: 'I am a senior Sergeant of Police, stationed at Dilga, on Cowall Creek, which runs into the Darling. I saw the last witness at Tandara Run on December the 20th instant. He was given into my custody by Mr. Macdonald, the manager, charged with wilfully and maliciously setting fire to the run. I searched him in his presence and found on him two half-crowns, a knife, a meerschaum pipe, a plug of tobacco, two sovereigns, a copy of Union Shearers' rules, a letter, and a cheque. The cheque was drawn by John Macdonald in favour of William Hardwick, dated 10th October. The amount was £55: 17s.'

      When this announcement was made an audible murmur arose from the body of the Court, even a few hisses were heard, which were promptly suppressed. Bill opened his eyes in wonder and amazement, and then turned to where Jenny sat crying peacefully to herself, but not from grief. Their money had been recovered, their traitorous enemy disgraced and confounded. She, in her mind's eye, saw her home once more glorified with Bill's presence – a free, unstained man. God was merciful, and she despaired no longer of His goodness.

      'You didn't observe anything in the rules of the A.S.U. as to pocketing the cash of all shearers unfriendly to the Union? No? Then you may go down.'

      'I have no questions to ask this witness,' said the Crown Prosecutor, with emphasis – 'at present, that is to say.'

      So Mr. J. Stoate, who had departed with the trooper, was for greater safety and security lodged in the modern substitute for the dungeon of the Middle Ages, until the Judge, after the finding of the jury, should have pronounced sentence or otherwise on the other prisoners.

      CHAPTER VIII

      'Call Cyrus Cable!' for the defence. As the long-legged, bronzed Sydney-sider lounged up to the witness-box, Bill's face, which had assumed a more hopeful expression, became distinctly irradiated. For this man was one of the shearers who had travelled down with him from Tandara, and had agreed to drop all connection with the Union and its revolutionary tactics. They had both been imprisoned at Poliah; had suffered wrong and indignity at the hands of the insurgents. How had he come up from the Darling, just in the nick of time? Bill didn't know, but if he had seen Dick Donahue outside of the Court he might have guessed.

      'My name's Cyrus Cable, native of Bathurst. I'm a shearer in the season; have a selection at Chidowla, this side of Tumberumba. I know some of the men in the dock; saw them at Poliah when the row was on and the steamer was burnt.'

      'Will you point out any of the prisoners that you can identify?'

      'Well, there's Bill Hardwick, an old mate of mine – and fellow-prisoner, if it comes to that. It's dashed hard lines on him to be scruffed and gaoled by those Union scallowags, first for not joinin' 'em, and then locked up and tried because they ill-treated him

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