Featherstonhaugh

Brookong station lay half-asleep     Dozed in the waning western glare     (Twas before the run had stocked with sheep     And only cattle depastured there)     As the Bluccap mob reined up at the door     And loudly saluted Featherstonhaugh.     My saintly preacher, the leader cried,     I stand no nonsense, as youre aware,     Ive a word for you if youll step outside,     Just drop that pistol and have a care;     Ill trouble you, too, for the key of the store,     For were short of tucker, friend Featherstonhaugh.     The muscular Christian showed no fear,     Though he handed the key with but small delay.     He never answered the ruffians jeer     Except by a look which seemed to say,     Beware, my friend, and think twice before     You raise the devil in Featherstonhaugh.     Two hours after he reined his horse     Up in Urana, and straightway went     To the barracks, the trooper was gone, of course,     Blindly nosing a week-old scent     Away in the scrub around Mount Galore.     Confound the fellow! quoth Featherstonhaugh.     Will any man of you come with me     And give this Bluecap a dressing-down?     They all regarded him silently     As he turned his horse, with a scornful frown.     Youre curs, the lot of you, to the core,     Ill go by myself, said Featherstonhaugh.     The scrub was thick on Urangeline     As he followed the tracks that twisted through     The box and dogwood and scented pine     (One of their horses had cast a shoe).     Steeped from his youth in forest lore,     He could track like a nigger, could Featherstonhaugh.     He paused as he saw the thread of smoke     From the outlaw camp, and he marked the sound     Of a hobble-check, as it sharply broke     The silence that held the scrub-land bound.     There were their horses, two, three, four,     Its a risk, but Ill chance it! quoth Featherstonhaugh.     He loosened the first, and it walked away,     But his comrades silence could not be bought,     For he raised his head with a sudden neigh,     And plainly showed that hed not be caught.     As a bullet sang from a rifle-bore,     Its time to be moving, quoth Featherstonhaugh.     The brittle pine, as they broke away,     Crackled like ice in a winters ponds,     The strokes fell fast on the cones that lay     Buried beneath the withered fronds     That softly carpet the sandy floor,     Swept two on the tracks of Featherstonhaugh.     They struck that path that the stock had made,     A dustily-red, well-beaten track,     The leader opened a fusillade     Whose target was Featherstons stooping back     But his luck was out, not a bullet tore     As much as a shred from Featherstonhaugh.     Rattle em, rattle em fast on the pad,     Where the sloping shades fell dusk and dim.     The managers heart beat high and glad     For he knew the creek was a mighty swim.     Already he heard a smothered roar,     Theyre done like a dinner! quoth Featherstonhaugh.     It was almost dark as they neared the dam.     He struck the crossing as true as a hair;     For the space of a second the pony swam,     Then shook himself in the chill night air.     In a pine-tree shade on the further shore,     With his pistol cocked, stood Featherstonhaugh.     A splash, an oath, and a rearing horse,     A thread snapped short in the fateful loom,     The tide, unaltered, swept on its course     Though a fellow creature had met his doom:     Pale and trembling, and struck with awe,     Bluccap stood opposite Featherstonhaugh.     While the creek rolled muddily in between     The eddies played with the drowned mans hat.     The stars peeped out in the summer sheen,     A night-bird chirruped across the flat,     Quoth Bluecap, I owe you a heavy score,     And Ill live to repay it, Featherstonhaugh.     But he never did, for he ran his race     Before he had time to fulfil his oath.     I cant think how, but, in any case,     He was hung, or drowned, or maybe both.     But whichever it was, he came no more     To trouble the peace of Featherstonhaugh.