Because “Tent-Peg” on the Bogan isn’t on the map of Australia, it must not be inferred that the little township does not exist. Indeed, any old colonist who knows his way about will tell you that the place is in the sister colony, and consists of one public-house, a blacksmith’s shop, a store, a church (about the shape and size of a haystack), and a small branch bank.
The latter building presented nothing of the polish and artistic finish, or the magnificence of many of our metropolitan banks, but it was one of the most snug and cosy institutions in the whole country, within its walls. No doubt Toney Buck, the messenger, was of the same opinion, as he sat dozing before a warm coal fire, this severe winter night, with no other company than a large black cat, of the male gender, for his companion.
Toney Buck was an orphan, aged twelve years, or thereabouts, and acted in the dual rôle of servant to the manager and messenger to the bank. The boy slept on the premises, and the manager having gone to visit a neighbouring squatter, his servant had been ordered to sit up until he returned. There Toney sat in the manager’s armchair, bowing and nodding to the fire, as if it had been some great fetish to whom he was paying homage. Toney was a very practical lad. Nothing fanciful or dreamy ever bothered Toney. Had the boy been otherwise, I’m afraid he wouldn’t have had anything to do with the bank, because his employers were anything but poets or visionaries, as some of my borrowing friends can testify. However, be this as it may, every time our hero opened his heavy eyelids after each jerk forward, he encountered the round, black, winking orbs of Tabby fixed full upon his face, with a strange expression stamped thereon. Indeed, more than once Toney felt certain that the cat actually laughed at him, and when discovered in the act, instantly attempted to compose its features and wink at the fire in a knowing way. It is not a very easy task for a sleepy boy, who feels as if his eyelids were freighted with four-pound weights, to rouse himself and his waking faculties all in a moment, but Toney managed to sit bolt upright after a time and to stare at his companion. Toney fancied he could stare. So he could without a doubt; but the cat could and did stare harder than Toney. Its eyes never moved, in their fixed look, from his face, yet he could see their colour change from black to pale sea-green, and from green to grey, and then turn flaming red as the fire. Toney feeling uncomfortable, removed his chair farther back, muttering, “Oh, bother the cat!”
“Whirr. You’re another,” replied a voice instantly.
The messenger was in the act of sitting down again, but he gave a jump as if a snake had bitten him. He looked first at Tabby, and then at the fire bewildered, and said, “Who spoke?”
“I did,” replied the cat.
“Good gracious! Are you sure now?” inquired Toney, with the scales—or the weights, rather—fallen from his eyeballs.
“I did say ‘You’re another’; and so you are. If you bother me I’ll bother you!” replied Tabby, whisking his long tail.
“Oh, my! I never knew cats could talk, although I’ve heard their voices sometimes, of a night, to some tune.”
“None of your sneers, Toney,” interrupted Tabby quickly. “There are more wonderful things in Australia than a talking cat, and some noises to which our midnight concerts are as sweet music in comparison. Listen to me. The bank will be robbed this very night. There!”
“Talking cat—the bank robbed. I—I hope I’m awake,” cried Toney, tugging at his unkempt hair in astonishment.
“I hope you are, for there are those coming who will soon arouse you,” replied the cat, jumping on the back of a chair, and erecting his back in the form of a rainbow. “Hark! that noise is worse than our caterwauling. Hear them forcing in the door of the front office.”
As the cat spoke there came upon their ears first a low grating noise, then followed a sound as if the heavy door of the bank had been wrenched off its hinges. “Lord help us! It’s the bushrangers, and master’s away. Oh! what shall I do?” and the poor boy began to cry bitterly.
“Stop crying. Wait and see!” Tabby hadn’t time to say more, ere three men, with masks upon their faces, and armed with revolvers, rushed into the room.
“Hallo! only a boy here. Where’s the manager?” inquired one of the robbers, grasping Toney.
“He isn’t here, sir.”
“Come, none o’ that,” cried the man gruffly. “Tell us where he is, or I’ll shove you a-top of that fire.”
Toney looked at the fire, and then at the bushranger, and began to cry afresh.
“Where’s the manager?”
“Gone to Mr. Hilton’s, the station on the river.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, as certain as that you will be hanged.”
The man let go his hold of Toney instantly, and stared first at the cat and then at the messenger, as if he was puzzled as to which had answered him. He appeared to decide in favour of the boy, for he said hoarsely, “No cheek, my fine kiddie, or I’ll roast you like a chicken. Bring the keys of the safe, quick.”
“Master has them in his pocket, sir.”
The robber swore a frightful oath, then held converse with his companions in an undertone. After which they produced a cord, and having tied the lad hand and foot, left him in the room with the cat, locked the door on the outside, and proceeded to ransack the bank.
Poor Toney! What could he do against three armed men? The manager, his master, had been very good to him. He was father and mother and brother and sister all in one. What would he say when he returned and found the place robbed—the money gone? Hadn’t he entrusted all the gold, and notes, and papers—worth thousands and thousands of pounds—into his (Toney’s) custody, and here were villains breaking open these sacred coffers with hammer and crowbar in ruthless plunder! In his trouble, he almost wished the bushrangers would come in and roast him as they had promised to do. Even that would be preferable to facing his kind master.
“Toney. Hi, Toney!” The boy jumped. He had forgotten all about the cat.
“You were always kind to me, Toney, and I’m going to help you now.”
“How can a cat help anybody?” replied poor Toney.
“Ah! but I wasn’t always a cat, Toney.”
“Oh, bother; I suppose you mean when you were a little kitten,” muttered the boy.
“No, I don’t, Toney Buck. I never was a kitten. I mean when I was a happy fairy in Elfland, before I was changed into a cat for being cruel and selfish.”
“Snooks!” answered Toney sceptically.
“Who?”
“Snooks! It won’t do, you know. There ain’t no fairies, nor moonland, and such nonsense.”
“Supposing my shape were to change again, here under your very nose; would you believe what you saw?”
“Rather! but you can’t do it, puss.”
“Can’t I? You shall see,” replied Tabby. “Say: ‘Sevle naila rtsua’ very slowly. Now!”
“ ‘Sevle naila rtsua,’ ” cried the boy in a brisk tone; but he had no sooner uttered the words than the black cat vanished into thin air, and in its place he beheld a wee, thin, elderly gentleman dressed in hunting costume, seated astride the back of the chair, who bowed very politely and lifted his hat to the astonished messenger.
“Well I never!” cried Toney. “Who are you, pray?”
“ ‘Sevle naila rtsua!’ ” replied the little man, laughing.
“What is ‘Sevle naila rtsua’?” demanded the boy.
“Read the letters backwards and join the first two syllables together.”
“Ah! A-u-s-t-r-a-l-i-a-n—E-l-v-e-s—Australian Elves, eh?”
“That’s it, Toney; I’m proud to be one of them, my boy. Now I’ll show you how a cat can help you out of this scrape,” answered the wee man, with a smile only to be seen on the face of a fairy. “I’m going out at that broken pane in the window there, straight to Dick Holmes’ stable, take out the steeplechaser ‘Nightwind,’ ride as fast as he can go to the junction, return with half-a-dozen troopers by a short cut, and secure these ruffians red-handed with their booty.
“Hurrah!” cried Toney in his enthusiasm.
“Hush, boy. Not so loud,” said the elfin; “they may hear you. I must away on my errand quickly; yet mind, Toney, if you don’t see the bank cat here again, I’m always to be found on the banks of the Bogan. Keep good heart. Good-bye.”
With a hop, skip, and a jump the wee man was through the broken pane and astride the horse “Nightwind” before the boy could realise that he was alone.
Meanwhile the strong-room of the bank resounded with the heavy blows dealt by the robbers upon the solid doors of the iron safe, which for a long time withstood their utmost attempts to break it open. Poor Toney sat in fear and trembling, and counted the minutes as they fled by, listening to the noises without, and wondering if the little elfin man would really do what he promised. It seemed hardly possible that he could sit a horse at all, much less guide the crack steeplechaser “Nightwind” across country on a dark night. Nevertheless, the confident tone of the fairy before he jumped out at the window reassured him, and hope began to gather in Toney the messenger.
Alas! that hope was dispelled the next moment by a loud shout from the bushrangers, which proclaimed that the safe had yielded. Had the robbers been less intent upon the bags of gold and silver which met their gaze, it is probable they would have seen the half-dozen police-troopers who entered, carbine in hand, and surrounded them. When the ruffians did see them, however, it was too late to resist, and they were taken away out into the darkened night, some of them never to see the light of the sun again as free men.
At the trial of the bushrangers the police couldn’t swear who gave the information about the bank, and I believe it remains a mystery to this day.