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diff --git a/78420-0.txt b/78420-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6eaca4e --- /dev/null +++ b/78420-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3482 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78420 *** + + + + + BUSH STUDIES + + + + + ~BARBARA BAYNTON~ + + + BUSH STUDIES + + BY + BARBARA BAYNTON + + + LONDON + DUCKWORTH & CO., + 3, HENRIETTA STREET, W.C. + + MDCCCCII. + + + + + PRINTED BY R. FOLKARD AND SON, + 22, DEVONSHIRE STREET, QUEEN SQUARE, BLOOMSBURY, + LONDON, W.C. + + + + + TO + HELEN McMILLEN + OF SYDNEY + NEW SOUTH WALES + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + A Dreamer 1 + + Squeaker’s Mate 15 + + Scrammy ’And 44 + + Billy Skywonkie 79 + + Bush Church 106 + + The Chosen Vessel 142 + + + + + NOTE. + + + SCRAMMY ’AND. + “Scrammy” indicates malformation of either hand or foot. + + BILLY SKYWONKIE. + “Skywonkie” signifies weather-prophet. + + + + + A DREAMER. + + +A swirl of wet leaves from the night-hidden trees decorating the +little station, beat against the closed doors of the carriages. The +porter hurried along holding his blear-eyed lantern to the different +windows, and calling the name of the township in language peculiar to +porters. There was only one ticket to collect. + +Passengers from far up-country towns have importance from their +rarity. He turned his lantern full on this one, as he took her +ticket. She looked at him too, and listened to the sound of his +voice, as he spoke to the guard. Once she had known every hand at the +station. The porter knew everyone in the district. This traveller was +a stranger to him. + +If her letter had been received, someone would have been waiting +with a buggy. She passed through the station. She saw nothing but an +ownerless dog, huddled, wet and shivering, in a corner. More for +sound she turned to look up the straggling street of the township. +Among the sheoaks, bordering the river she knew so well, the wind +made ghostly music, unheeded by the sleeping town. There was no other +sound, and she turned to the dog with a feeling of kinship. But +perhaps the porter had a message! She went back to the platform. He +was locking the office door, but paused as though expecting her to +speak. + +“Wet night!” he said at length, breaking the silence. + +Her question resolved itself into a request for the time, though this +she already knew. She hastily left him. + +She drew her cloak tightly round her. The wind made her umbrella +useless for shelter. Wind and rain and darkness lay before her on the +walk of three bush miles to her mother’s home. Still it was the home +of her girlhood, and she knew every inch of the way. + +As she passed along the sleeping street, she saw no sign of life +till near the end. A light burned in a small shop, and the sound of +swift tapping came to her. They work late to-night, she thought, and, +remembering their gruesome task, hesitated, half-minded to ask these +night workers, for whom they laboured. Was it someone she had known? +The long dark walk--she could not--and hastened to lose the sound. + +The zigzag course of the railway brought the train again near to +her, and this wayfarer stood and watched it tunnelling in the teeth +of the wind. Whoof! whoof! its steaming breath hissed at her. She +saw the rain spitting viciously at its red mouth. Its speed, as it +passed, made her realise the tedious difficulties of her journey, +and she quickened her pace. There was the silent tenseness, that +precedes a storm. From the branch of a tree overhead she heard a +watchful mother-bird’s warning call, and the twitter of the disturbed +nestlings. The tender care of this bird-mother awoke memories of her +childhood. What mattered the lonely darkness, when it led to mother. +Her forebodings fled, and she faced the old track unheedingly, and +ever and ever she smiled, as she foretasted their meeting. + +“Daughter!” + +“Mother!” + +She could feel loving arms around her, and a mother’s sacred kisses. +She thrilled, and in her impatience ran, but the wind was angry and +took her breath. Then the child near her heart stirred for the first +time. The instincts of motherhood awakened in her. Her elated body +quivered, she fell on her knees, lifted her hands, and turned her +face to God. A vivid flash of lightning flamed above her head. It +dulled her rapture. The lightning was very near. + +She went on, then paused. Was she on the right track? Back, near +the bird’s nest, were two roads. One led to home, the other was the +old bullock-dray road, that the railway had almost usurped. When +she should have been careful in her choice, she had been absorbed. +It was a long way back to the cross roads, and she dug in her mind +for landmarks. Foremost she recalled the “Bendy Tree,” then the +“Sisters,” whose entwined arms talked, when the wind was from the +south. The apple trees on the creek--split flat, where the cows and +calves were always to be found. The wrong track, being nearer the +river, had clumps of she-oaks and groups of pines in places. An +angled line of lightning illumined everything, but the violence of +the thunder distracted her. + +She stood in uncertainty, near-sighted, with all the horror of the +unknown, that this infirmity could bring. Irresolute, she waited for +another flash. It served to convince her, she was wrong. Through the +bush she turned. + +The sky seemed to crack with the lightning; the thunder’s suddenness +shook her. Among some tall pines she stood awed, while the storm +raged. + +Then again that indefinite fear struck at her. Restlessly she pushed +on till she stumbled, and, with hands out-stretched, met some object +that moved beneath them as she fell. The lightning showed a group of +terrified cattle. Tripping and falling, she ran, she knew not where, +but keeping her eyes turned towards the cattle. Aimlessly she pushed +on, and unconsciously retraced her steps. + +She struck the track she was on when her first doubt came. If this +were the right way, the wheel ruts would show. She groped, but the +rain had levelled them. There was nothing to guide her. Suddenly she +remembered that the little clump of pines, where the cattle were, lay +between the two roads. She had gathered mistletoe berries there in +the old days. + +She believed, she hoped, she prayed, that she was right. If so, a +little further on, she would come to the “Bendy Tree.” There long +ago a runaway horse had crushed its drunken rider against the bent, +distorted trunk. She could recall how in her young years that tree +had ever after had a weird fascination for her. + +She saw its crooked body in the lightning’s glare. She was on the +right track, yet dreaded to go on. Her childhood’s fear came back. In +a transient flash she thought she saw a horseman galloping furiously +towards her. She placed both her hands protectingly over her heart, +and waited. In the dark interval, above the shriek of the wind, she +thought she heard a cry, then crash came the thunder, drowning her +call of warning. In the next flash she saw nothing but the tree. “Oh, +God, protect me!” she prayed, and diverging, with a shrinking heart +passed on. + +The road dipped to the creek. Louder and louder came the roar of its +flooded waters. Even little Dog-trap Gully was proudly foaming itself +hoarse. It emptied below where she must cross. But there were others, +that swelled it above. + +The noise of the rushing creek was borne to her by the wind, still +fierce, though the rain had lessened. Perhaps there would be someone +to meet her at the bank! Last time she had come, the night had been +fine, and though she had been met at the station by a neighbour’s +son, mother had come to the creek with a lantern and waited for her. +She looked eagerly, but there was no light. + +The creek was a banker, but the track led to a plank, which, lashed +to the willows on either bank, was usually above flood-level. A +churning sound showed that the water was over the plank, and she must +wade along it. She turned to the sullen sky. There was no gleam of +light save in her resolute, white face. + +Her mouth grew tender, as she thought of the husband she loved, and +of their child. Must she dare! She thought of the grey-haired mother, +who was waiting on the other side. This dwarfed every tie that had +parted them. There was atonement in these difficulties and dangers. + +Again her face turned heavenward! “Bless, pardon, protect and guide, +strengthen and comfort!” Her mother’s prayer. + +Steadying herself by the long willow branches, ankle deep she began. +With every step the water deepened. + +Malignantly the wind fought her, driving her back, or snapping the +brittle stems from her skinned hands. The water was knee-deep now, +and every step more hazardous. + +She held with her teeth to a thin limb, while she unfastened her hat +and gave it to the greedy wind. From the cloak, a greater danger, +she could not in her haste free herself; her numbed fingers had lost +their cunning. + +Soon the water would be deeper, and the support from the branches +less secure. Even if they did reach across, she could not hope for +much support from their wind-driven, fragile ends. + +Still she would not go back. Though the roar of that rushing water +was making her giddy, though the deafening wind fought her for every +inch, she would not turn back. + +Long ago she should have come to her old mother, and her heart gave a +bound of savage rapture in thus giving the sweat of her body for the +sin of her soul. + +Midway the current strengthened. Perhaps if she, deprived of the +willows, were swept down, her clothes would keep her afloat. She took +firm hold and drew a deep breath to call her child-cry, “Mother!” + +The water was deeper and swifter, and from the sparsity of the +branches she knew she was nearing the middle. The wind unopposed by +the willows was more powerful. Strain as she would, she could reach +only the tips of the opposite trees, not hold them. + +Despair shook her. With one hand she gripped those, that had served +her so far, and cautiously drew as many as she could grasp with +the other. The wind savagely snapped them, and they lashed her +unprotected face. Round and round her bare neck they coiled their +stripped fingers. Her mother had planted these willows, and she +herself had watched them grow. How could they be so hostile to her! + +The creek deepened with every moment she waited. But more dreadful +than the giddying water was the distracting noise of the mighty wind, +nurtured by the hollows. + +The frail twigs of the opposite tree snapped again and again in her +hands. She must release her hold of those behind her. If she could +make two steps independently, the thicker branches would then be her +stay. + +“Will you?” yelled the wind. A sudden gust caught her, and, hurling +her backwards, swept her down the stream with her cloak for a sail. + +She battled instinctively, and her first thought was of the +letter-kiss, she had left for the husband she loved. Was it to be his +last? + +She clutched a floating branch, and was swept down with it. Vainly +she fought for either bank. She opened her lips to call. The wind +made a funnel of her mouth and throat, and a wave of muddy water +choked her cry. She struggled desperately, but after a few mouthfuls +she ceased. The weird cry from the “Bendy Tree” pierced and conquered +the deep throated wind. Then a sweet dream voice whispered “Little +Woman!” + +Soft, strong arms carried her on. Weakness aroused the melting idea +that all had been a mistake, and she had been fighting with friends. +The wind even crooned a lullaby. Above the angry waters her face rose +untroubled. + +A giant tree’s fallen body said, “Thus far!” and in vain the athletic +furious water rushed and strove to throw her over the barrier. Driven +back, it tried to take her with it. But a jagged arm of the tree +snagged her cloak and held her. + +Bruised and half conscious she was left to her deliverer, and the +back-broken water crept tamed under its old foe. The hammer of hope +awoke her heart. Along the friendly back of the tree she crawled, and +among its bared roots rested. But it was only to get her breath, for +this was mother’s side. + +She breasted the rise. Then every horror was of the past and +forgotten, for there in the hollow was home. + +And there was the light shining its welcome to her. + +She quickened her pace, but did not run--motherhood is instinct in +woman. The rain had come again, and the wind buffeted her. To breathe +was a battle, yet she went on swiftly, for at the sight of the light +her nameless fear had left her. + +She would tell mother how she had heard her call in the night, and +mother would smile her grave smile and stroke her wet hair, call her +“Little woman! My little woman!” and tell her she had been dreaming, +just dreaming. Ah, but mother herself was a dreamer! + +The gate was swollen with rain and difficult to open. It had been +opened by mother last time. But plainly her letter had not reached +home. Perhaps the bad weather had delayed the mail boy. + +There was the light. She was not daunted when the bark of the old dog +brought no one to the door. It might not be heard inside, for there +was such a torrent of water falling somewhere close. Mechanically +her mind located it. The tank near the house, fed by the spouts was +running over, cutting channels through the flower beds, and flooding +the paths. Why had not mother diverted the spout to the other tank! + +Something indefinite held her. Her mind went back to the many times +long ago when she had kept alive the light while mother fixed the +spout to save the water that the dry summer months made precious. It +was not like mother, for such carelessness meant carrying from the +creek. + +Suddenly she grew cold and her heart trembled. After she had seen +mother, she would come out and fix it, but just now she could not +wait. + +She tapped gently, and called “Mother!” + +While she waited she tried to make friends with the dog. Her heart +smote her, in that there had been so long an interval since she saw +her old home, that the dog had forgotten her voice. + +Her teeth chattered as she again tapped softly. The sudden light +dazzled her when a stranger opened the door for her. Steadying +herself by the wall, with wild eyes she looked around. Another +strange woman stood by the fire, and a child slept on the couch. The +child’s mother raised it, and the other led the now panting creature +to the child’s bed. Not a word was spoken, and the movements of these +women were like those who fear to awaken a sleeper. + +Something warm was held to her lips, for through it all she was +conscious of everything, even that the numbing horror in her eyes met +answering awe in theirs. + +In the light the dog knew her and gave her welcome. But she had none +for him now. + +When she rose one of the women lighted a candle. She noticed how, +if the blazing wood cracked, the women started nervously, how the +disturbed child pointed to her bruised face, and whispered softly to +its mother, how she who lighted the candle did not strike the match +but held it to the fire, and how the light bearer led the way so +noiselessly. + +She reached her mother’s room. Aloft the woman held the candle and +turned away her head. + +The daughter parted the curtains, and the light fell on the face of +the sleeper who would dream no dreams that night. + + + + + SQUEAKER’S MATE. + + +The woman carried the bag with the axe and maul and wedges; the +man had the billy and clean tucker bags; the cross-cut saw linked +them. She was taller than the man, and the equability of her body +contrasting with his indolent slouch, accentuated the difference. +“Squeaker’s mate” the men called her, and these agreed that she +was the best long-haired mate that ever stepped in petticoats. +The Selectors’ wives pretended to challenge her right to womanly +garments, but if she knew what they said, it neither turned nor +troubled Squeaker’s mate. + +Nine prospective posts and maybe sixteen rails--she calculated this +yellow gum would yield. “Come on,” she encouraged the man; “let’s +tackle it.” + +From the bag she took the axe, and ring barked a preparatory circle, +while he looked for a shady spot for the billy and tucker bags. + +“Come on.” She was waiting with the greased saw. He came. The saw +rasped through a few inches, then he stopped and looked at the sun. + +“It’s nigh tucker time,” he said, and when she dissented, he +exclaimed, with sudden energy, “There’s another bee! Wait, you go on +with the axe, an’ I’ll track ’im.” + +As they came, they had already followed one and located the nest. She +could not see the bee he spoke of, though her grey eyes were as keen +as a Black’s. However she knew the man, and her tolerance was of the +mysteries. + +She drew out the saw, spat on her hands, and with the axe began +weakening the inclining side of the tree. + +Long and steadily and in secret the worm had been busy in the heart. +Suddenly the axe blade sank softly, the tree’s wounded edges closed +on it like a vice. There was a “settling” quiver on its top branches, +which the woman heard and understood. The man, encouraged by the +sounds of the axe, had returned with an armful of sticks for the +billy. He shouted gleefully, “It’s fallin’, look out.” + +But she waited to free the axe. + +With a shivering groan the tree fell, and as she sprang aside, a +thick worm-eaten branch snapped at a joint and silently she went down +under it. + +“I tole yer t’ look out,” he reminded her, as with a crow-bar, and +grunting earnestly, he forced it up. “Now get out quick.” + +She tried moving her arms and the upper part of her body. Do this; do +that, he directed, but she made no movement after the first. + +He was impatient, because for once he had actually to use his +strength. His share of a heavy lift usually consisted of a +make-believe grunt, delivered at a critical moment. Yet he hardly +cared to let it again fall on her, though he told her he would, if +she “didn’t shift.” + +Near him lay a piece broken short; with his foot he drew it nearer, +then gradually worked it into a position, till it acted as a stay to +the lever. + +He laid her on her back when he drew her out, and waited expecting +some acknowledgment of his exertions, but she was silent, and as +she did not notice that the axe, she had tried to save, lay with +the fallen trunk across it, he told her. She cared almost tenderly +for all their possessions and treated them as friends. But the +half-buried broken axe did not affect her. He wondered a little, for +only last week she had patiently chipped out the old broken head, and +put in a new handle. + +“Feel bad?” he inquired at length. + +“Pipe,” she replied with slack lips. + +Both pipes lay in the fork of a near tree. He took his, shook out +the ashes, filled it, picked up a coal and puffed till it was +alight--then he filled hers. Taking a small firestick he handed her +the pipe. The hand she raised shook and closed in an uncertain hold, +but she managed by a great effort to get it to her mouth. He lost +patience with the swaying hand that tried to take the light. + +“Quick,” he said “quick, that damn dog’s at the tucker.” + +He thrust it into her hand that dropped helplessly across her chest. +The lighted stick falling between her bare arm and the dress, slowly +roasted the flesh and smouldered the clothes. + +He rescued their dinner, pelted his dog out of sight--hers was lying +near her head, put on the billy, then came back to her. + +The pipe had fallen from her lips; there was blood on the stem. + +“Did yer jam yer tongue?” he asked. + +She always ignored trifles he knew, therefore he passed her silence. + +He told her that her dress was on fire. She took no heed. He put it +out, and looked at the burnt arm, then with intentness at her. + +Her eyes were turned unblinkingly to the heavens, her lips were +grimly apart, and a strange greyness was upon her face, and the +sweat-beads were mixing. + +“Like a drink er tea? Asleep?” + +He broke a green branch from the fallen tree and swished from his +face the multitudes of flies that had descended with it. + +In a heavy way he wondered why did she sweat, when she was not +working? Why did she not keep the flies out of her mouth and eyes? +She’d have bungy eyes, if she didn’t. If she was asleep, why did she +not close them? + +But asleep or awake, as the billy began to boil, he left her, made +the tea, and ate his dinner. His dog had disappeared, and as it did +not come to his whistle, he threw the pieces to hers, that would not +leave her head to reach them. + +He whistled tunelessly his one air, beating his own time with a +stick on the toe of his blucher, then looked overhead at the sun and +calculated that she must have been lying like that for “close up +an hour.” He noticed that the axe handle was broken in two places, +and speculated a little as to whether she would again pick out the +back-broken handle or burn it out in his method, which was less +trouble, if it did spoil the temper of the blade. He examined the +worm-dust in the stump and limbs of the newly-fallen tree; mounted +it and looked round the plain. The sheep were straggling in a manner +that meant walking work to round them, and he supposed he would have +to yard them to-night, if she didn’t liven up. He looked down at +unenlivened her. This changed his “chune” to a call for his hiding +dog. + +“Come on, ole feller,” he commanded her dog. “Fetch ’em back.” He +whistled further instructions, slapping his thigh and pointing to the +sheep. + +But a brace of wrinkles either side the brute’s closed mouth +demonstrated determined disobedience. The dog would go if she told +him, and by and bye she would. + +He lighted his pipe and killed half an hour smoking. With the +frugality that hard graft begets, his mate limited both his and her +own tobacco, so he must not smoke all afternoon. There was no work +to shirk, so time began to drag. Then a goanner crawling up a tree +attracted him. He gathered various missiles and tried vainly to hit +the seemingly grinning reptile. He came back and sneaked a fill of +her tobacco, and while he was smoking, the white tilt of a cart +caught his eye. He jumped up. “There’s Red Bob goin’ t’ our place fur +th’ ’oney,” he said, “I’ll go an’ weigh it an’ get the gonz” (money). + +He ran for the cart, and kept looking back as if fearing she would +follow and thwart him. + +Red Bob the dealer was, in a business way, greatly concerned, when +he found that Squeaker’s mate was “avin’ a sleep out there ’cos a +tree fell on her.” She was the best honey strainer and boiler that he +dealt with. She was straight and square too. There was no water in +her honey whether boiled or merely strained, and in every kerosene +tin the weight of honey was to an ounce as she said. Besides he was +suspicious and diffident of paying the indecently eager Squeaker +before he saw the woman. So reluctantly Squeaker led to where she +lay. With many fierce oaths Red Bob sent her lawful protector for +help, and compassionately poured a little from his flask down her +throat, then swished away the flies from her till help came. + +Together these men stripped a sheet of bark, and laying her with +pathetic tenderness upon it, carried her to her hut. Squeaker +followed in the rear with the billy and tucker. + +Red Bob took his horse from the cart, and went to town for the +doctor. Late that night at the back of the old hut (there were +two) he and others who had heard that she was hurt, squatted with +unlighted pipes in their mouths, waiting to hear the doctor’s +verdict. After he had given it and gone, they discussed in whispers, +and with a look seen only on bush faces, the hard luck of that woman +who alone had hard-grafted with the best of them for every acre and +hoof on that selection. Squeaker would go through it in no time. Why +she had allowed it to be taken up in his name, when the money had +been her own, was also for them among the mysteries. + +Him they called “a nole woman,” not because he was hanging round the +honey tins, but after man’s fashion to eliminate all virtue. They +beckoned him, and explaining his mate’s injury, cautioned him to keep +from her the knowledge that she would be for ever a cripple. + +“Jus’ th’ same, now then fur ’im,” pointing to Red Bob, “t’ pay me, +I’ll ’ev t’ go t’ town.” + +They told him in whispers what they thought of him, and with a +cowardly look towards where she lay, but without a word of parting, +like shadows these men made for their homes. + +Next day the women came. Squeaker’s mate was not a favourite with +them--a woman with no leisure for yarning was not likely to be. After +the first day they left her severely alone, their plea to their +husbands, her uncompromising independence. It is in the ordering of +things that by degrees most husbands accept their wives’ views of +other women. + +The flour bespattering Squeaker’s now neglected clothes spoke +eloquently of his clumsy efforts at damper making. The women gave him +many a feed, agreeing that it must be miserable for him. + +If it were miserable and lonely for his mate, she did not complain; +for her the long, long days would give place to longer nights--those +nights with the pregnant bush silence suddenly cleft by a bush voice. +However, she was not fanciful, and being a bush scholar knew ’twas a +dingo, when a long whine came from the scrub on the skirts of which +lay the axe under the worm-eaten tree. That quivering wail from the +billabong lying murkily mystic towards the East was only the cry of +the fearing curlew. + +Always her dog--wakeful and watchful as she--patiently waiting for +her to be up and about again. That would be soon, she told her +complaining mate. + +“Yer won’t. Yer back’s broke,” said Squeaker laconically. “That’s +wot’s wrong er yer; injoory t’ th’ spine. Doctor says that means +back’s broke, and yer won’t never walk no more. No good not t’ tell +yer, cos I can’t be doin’ everythin’.” + +A wild look grew on her face, and she tried to sit up. + +“Erh,” said he, “see! yer carnt, yer jes’ ther same as a snake w’en +ees back’s broke, on’y yer don’t bite yerself like a snake does w’en +’e carnt crawl. Yer did bite yer tongue w’en yer fell.” + +She gasped, and he could hear her heart beating when she let her +head fall back a few moments; though she wiped her wet forehead with +the back of her hand, and still said that was the doctor’s mistake. +But day after day she tested her strength, and whatever the result, +was silent, though white witnesses, halo-wise, gradually circled her +brow and temples. + +“’Tisn’t as if yer was agoin’ t’ get better t’morrer, the doctor says +yer won’t never work no more, an’ I can’t be cookin’ an’ workin’ an’ +doin’ everythin’!” + +He muttered something about “sellin’ out,” but she firmly refused to +think of such a monstrous proposal. + +He went into town one Saturday afternoon soon after, and did not +return till Monday. + +Her supplies, a billy of tea and scraps of salt beef and damper (her +dog got the beef), gave out the first day, though that was as nothing +to her compared with the bleat of the penned sheep, for it was summer +and droughty, and her dog could not unpen them. + +Of them and her dog only she spoke when he returned. He d----d him, +and d----d her, and told her to “double up yer ole broke back an’ +bite yerself.” He threw things about, made a long-range feint of +kicking her threatening dog, then sat outside in the shade of the old +hut, nursing his head till he slept. + +She, for many reasons, had when necessary made these trips into town, +walking both ways, leading a pack horse for supplies. She never +failed to indulge him in a half pint--a pipe was her luxury. + +The sheep waited till next day, so did she. + +For a few days he worked a little in her sight; not much--he never +did. It was she who always lifted the heavy end of the log, and +carried the tools; he--the billy and tucker. + +She wearily watched him idling his time; reminded him that the wire +lying near the fence would rust, one could run the wire through +easily, and when she got up in a day or so, she would help strain and +fasten it. At first he pretended he had done it, later said he wasn’t +goin’ t’ go wirin’ or nothin’ else by ’imself if every other man on +the place did. + +She spoke of many other things that could be done by one, reserving +the great till she was well. Sometimes he whistled while she spoke, +often swore, generally went out, and when this was inconvenient, dull +as he was, he found the “Go and bite yerself like a snake,” would +instantly silence her. + +At last the work worry ceased to exercise her, and for night to bring +him home was a rare thing. + +Her dog rounded and yarded the sheep when the sun went down and there +was no sign of him, and together they kept watch on their movements +till dawn. She was mindful not to speak of this care to him, knowing +he would have left it for them to do constantly, and she noticed that +what little interest he seemed to share went to the sheep. Why, was +soon demonstrated. + +Through the cracks her ever watchful eyes one day saw the dust rise +out of the plain. Nearer it came till she saw him and a man on +horseback rounding and driving the sheep into the yard, and later +both left in charge of a little mob. Their “Baa-baas” to her were +cries for help; many had been pets. So he was selling her sheep to +the town butchers. + +In the middle of the next week he came from town with a fresh horse, +new saddle and bridle. He wore a flash red shirt, and round his neck +a silk handkerchief. On the next occasion she smelt scent, and +though he did not try to display the dandy meerschaum, she saw it, +and heard the squeak of the new boots, not bluchers. However he was +kinder to her this time, offering a fill of his cut tobacco; he had +long ceased to keep her supplied. Several of the men who sometimes in +passing took a look in, would have made up her loss had they known, +but no word of complaint passed her lips. + +She looked at Squeaker as he filled his pipe from his pouch, but he +would not meet her eyes, and, seemingly dreading something, slipped +out. + +She heard him hammering in the old hut at the back, which served for +tools and other things which sunlight and rain did not hurt. Quite +briskly he went in and out. She could see him through the cracks +carrying a narrow strip of bark, and understood, he was making a +bunk. When it was finished he had a smoke, then came to her and +fidgetted about; he said this hut was too cold, and that she would +never get well in it. She did not feel cold, but, submitting to his +mood, allowed him to make a fire that would roast a sheep. He took +off his hat, and fanning himself, said he was roastin’, wasn’t she? +She was. + +He offered to carry her into the other; he would put a new roof on it +in a day or two, and it would be better than this one, and she would +be up in no time. He stood to say this where she could not see him. + +His eagerness had tripped him. + +There were months to run before all the Government conditions +of residence, etc., in connection with the selection, would be +fulfilled, still she thought perhaps he was trying to sell out, and +she would not go. + +He was away four days that time, and when he returned slept in the +new bunk. + +She compromised. Would he put a bunk there for himself, keep out of +town, and not sell the place? He promised instantly with additions. + +“Try could yer crawl yerself?” he coaxed, looking at her bulk. + +Her nostrils quivered with her suppressed breathing, and her lips +tightened, but she did not attempt to move. + +It was evident some great purpose actuated him. After attempts to +carry and drag her, he rolled her on the sheet of bark that had +brought her home, and laboriously drew her round. + +She asked for a drink, he placed her billy and tin pint besides the +bunk, and left her gasping and dazed to her sympathetic dog. + +She saw him run up and yard his horse, and though she called him, he +would not answer nor come. + +When he rode swiftly towards the town, her dog leaped on the bunk, +and joined a refrain to her lamentation, but the cat took to the bush. + +He came back at dusk next day in a spring cart--not alone--he had +another mate. She saw her though he came a roundabout way, trying to +keep in front of the new hut. + +There were noises of moving many things from the cart to the hut. +Finally he came to a crack near where she lay, and whispered the +promise of many good things to her if she kept quiet, and that he +would set her hut afire if she didn’t. She was quiet, he need not +have feared, for that time she was past it, she was stunned. + +The released horse came stumbling round to the old hut, and thrust +its head in the door in a domesticated fashion. Her dog promptly +resented this straggler mistaking their hut for a stable. And the +dog’s angry dissent, together with the shod clatter of the rapidly +disappearing intruder, seemed to have a disturbing effect on the +pair in the new hut. The settling sounds suddenly ceased, and the +cripple heard the stranger close the door, despite Squeaker’s +assurances that the woman in the old hut could not move from her bunk +to save her life, and that her dog would not leave her. + +Food, more and better, was placed near her--but, dumb and motionless, +she lay with her face turned to the wall, and her dog growled +menacingly at the stranger. The new woman was uneasy, and told +Squeaker what people might say and do if she died. + +He scared at the “do,” went into the bush and waited. + +She went to the door, not the crack, the face was turned that way, +and said she had come to cook and take care of her. + +The disabled woman, turning her head slowly, looked steadily at her. +She was not much to look at. Her red hair hung in an uncurled bang +over her forehead, the lower part of her face had robbed the upper, +and her figure evinced imminent motherhood, though it is doubtful if +the barren woman, noting this, knew by calculation the paternity was +not Squeaker’s. She was not learned in these matters, though she +understood all about an ewe and lamb. + +One circumstance was apparent--ah! bitterest of all bitterness to +women--she was younger. + +The thick hair that fell from the brow of the woman on the bunk was +white now. + +Bread and butter the woman brought. The cripple looked at it, at her +dog, at the woman. Bread and butter for a dog! but the stranger did +not understand till she saw it offered to the dog. The bread and +butter was not for the dog. She brought meat. + +All next day the man kept hidden. The cripple saw his dog, and knew +he was about. + +But there was an end of this pretence when at dusk he came back +with a show of haste, and a finger of his right hand bound and +ostentatiously prominent. His entrance caused great excitement to +his new mate. The old mate, who knew this snake-bite trick from its +inception, maybe, realised how useless were the terrified stranger’s +efforts to rouse the snoring man after an empty pint bottle had been +flung on the outside heap. + +However, what the sick woman thought was not definite, for she kept +silent always. Neither was it clear how much she ate, and how much +she gave to her dog, though the new mate said to Squeaker one day +that she believed that the dog would not take a bite more than its +share. + +The cripple’s silence told on the stranger, especially when alone. +She would rather have abuse. Eagerly she counted the days past and +to pass. Then back to the town. She told no word of that hope to +Squeaker, he had no place in her plans for the future. So if he spoke +of what they would do by-and-bye when his time would be up, and he +able to sell out, she listened in uninterested silence. + +She did tell him she was afraid of “her,” and after the first day +would not go within reach, but every morning made a billy of tea, +which with bread and beef Squeaker carried to her. + +The rubbish heap was adorned, for the first time, with jam and fish +tins from the table in the new hut. It seemed to be understood that +neither woman nor dog in the old hut required them. + +Squeaker’s dog sniffed and barked joyfully around them till his +licking efforts to bottom a salmon tin sent him careering in a +muzzled frenzy, that caused the younger woman’s thick lips to part +grinningly till he came too close. + +The remaining sheep were regularly yarded. His old mate heard him +whistle as he did it. Squeaker began to work about a little burning +off. So that now, added to the other bush voices, was the call from +some untimely falling giant. There is no sound so human as that from +the riven souls of these tree people, or the trembling sighs of their +upright neighbours whose hands in time will meet over the victim’s +fallen body. + +There was no bunk on the side of the hut to which her eyes turned, +but her dog filled that space, and the flash that passed between this +back-broken woman and her dog might have been the spirit of these +slain tree folk, it was so wondrous ghostly. Still, at times, the +practical in her would be dominant, for in a mind so free of fancies, +backed by bodily strength, hope died slowly, and forgetful of self +she would almost call to Squeaker her fears that certain bees’ nests +were in danger. + +He went into town one day and returned, as he had promised, long +before sundown, and next day a clothes line bridged the space between +two trees near the back of the old hut; and--an equally rare +occurrence--Squeaker placed across his shoulders the yoke that his +old mate had fashioned for herself, with two kerosene tins attached, +and brought them filled with water from the distant creek; but both +only partly filled the tub, a new purchase. With utter disregard of +the heat and Squeaker’s sweating brow, his new mate said, even after +another trip, two more now for the blue water. Under her commands he +brought them, though sullenly, perhaps contrasting the old mate’s +methods with the new. + +His old mate had periodically carried their washing to the creek, and +his mole skins had been as white as snow without aid of blue. + +Towards noon, on the clothes line many strange garments fluttered, +suggestive of a taunt to the barren woman. When the sun went down she +could have seen the assiduous Squeaker lower the new prop-sticks and +considerately stoop to gather the pegs his inconsiderate new mate had +dropped. However, after one load of water next morning, on hearing +her estimate that three more would put her own things through, +Squeaker struck. Nothing he could urge would induce the stranger +to trudge to the creek, where thirst-slaked snakes lay waiting for +someone to bite. She sulked and pretended to pack up, till a bright +idea struck Squeaker. He fastened a cask on a sledge and harnessing +the new horse, hitched him to it, and, under the approving eyes of +his new mate, led off to the creek, though, when she went inside, he +bestrode the spiritless brute. + +He had various mishaps, any one of which would have served as an +excuse to his old mate, but even babes soon know on whom to impose. +With an energy new to him he persevered and filled the cask, but the +old horse repudiated such a burden even under Squeaker’s unmerciful +welts. Almost half was sorrowfully baled out, and under a rain of +whacks the horse shifted it a few paces, but the cask tilted and the +thirsty earth got its contents. All Squeaker’s adjectives over his +wasted labour were as unavailing as the cure for spilt milk. + +It took skill and patience to rig the cask again. He partly filled +it, and just as success seemed probable, the rusty wire fastening the +cask to the sledge snapped with the strain, and springing free coiled +affectionately round the terrified horse’s hocks. Despite the sledge +(the cask had been soon disposed of) that old town horse’s pace then +was his record. Hours after, on the plain that met the horizon, +loomed two specks: the distance between them might be gauged, for the +larger was Squeaker. + +Anticipating a plentiful supply and lacking in bush caution, the new +mate used the half bucket of water to boil the salt mutton. Towards +noon she laid this joint and bread on the rough table, then watched +anxiously in the wrong direction for Squeaker. + +She had drained the new tea-pot earlier, but she placed the spout to +her thirsty mouth again. + +She continued looking for him for hours. + +Had he sneaked off to town, thinking she had not used that water, or +not caring whether or no. She did not trust him; another had left +her. Besides she judged Squeaker by his treatment of the woman who +was lying in there with wide-open eyes. Anyhow no use to cry with +only that silent woman to hear her. + +Had she drunk all hers? + +She tried to see at long range through the cracks, but the hanging +bed clothes hid the billy. She went to the door, and avoiding the +bunk looked at the billy. + +It was half full. + +Instinctively she knew that the eyes of the woman were upon her. She +turned away, and hoped and waited for thirsty minutes that seemed +hours. + +Desperation drove her back to the door, dared she? No, she couldn’t. + +Getting a long forked propstick, she tried to reach it from the door, +but the dog sprang at the stick. She dropped it and ran. + +A scraggy growth fringed the edge of the plain. There was the creek. +How far? she wondered. Oh, very far, she knew, and besides there +were only a few holes where water was, and the snakes; for Squeaker, +with a desire to shine in her eyes, was continually telling her of +snakes--vicious and many--that daily he did battle with. + +She recalled the evening he came from hiding in the scrub with a +string round one finger, and said a snake had bitten him. He had +drunk the pint of brandy she had brought for her sickness, and then +slept till morning. True, although next day he had to dig for the +string round the blue swollen finger, he was not worse than the many +she had seen at the “Shearer’s Rest” suffering a recovery. There was +no brandy to cure her if she were bitten. + +She cried a little in self pity, then withdrew her eyes, that were +getting red, from the outlying creek, and went again to the door. She +of the bunk lay with closed eyes. + +Was she asleep? The stranger’s heart leapt, yet she was hardly in +earnest as she tip-toed billy-wards. The dog, crouching with head +between two paws, eyed her steadily, but showed no opposition. She +made dumb show. “I want to be friends with you, and won’t hurt her.” +Abruptly she looked at her, then at the dog. He was motionless and +emotionless. Beside if that dog--certainly watching her--wanted to +bite her (her dry mouth opened), it could get her any time. + +She rated this dog’s intelligence almost human, from many of its +actions in omission and commission in connection with this woman. + +She regretted the pole, no dog would stand that. + +Two more steps. + +Now just one more; then, by bending and stretching her arm, she +would reach it. Could she now? She tried to encourage herself by +remembering how close on the first day she had been to the woman, and +how delicious a few mouthfuls would be--swallowing dry mouthfuls. + +She measured the space between where she had first stood and the +billy. Could she get anything to draw it to her. No, the dog would +not stand that, and besides the handle would rattle, and she might +hear and open her eyes. + +The thought of those sunken eyes suddenly opening made her heart +bound. Oh! she must breathe--deep, loud breaths. Her throat clicked +noisily. Looking back fearfully, she went swiftly out. + +She did not look for Squeaker this time, she had given him up. + +While she waited for her breath to steady, to her relief and surprise +the dog came out. She made a rush to the new hut, but he passed +seemingly oblivious of her, and bounding across the plain began +rounding the sheep. Then he must know Squeaker had gone to town. + +Stay! Her heart beat violently; was it because she on the bunk slept +and did not want him? + +She waited till her heart quieted, and again crept to the door. + +The head of the woman on the bunk had fallen towards the wall as in +deep sleep; it was turned from the billy, to which she must creep so +softly. + +Slower, from caution and deadly earnestness, she entered. + +She was not so advanced as before, and felt fairly secure, for the +woman’s eyes were still turned to the wall, and so tightly closed, +she could not possibly see where she was. + +She would bend right down, and try and reach it from where she was. + +She bent. + +It was so swift and sudden, that she had not time to scream when +those bony fingers had gripped the hand that she prematurely reached +for the billy. She was frozen with horror for a moment, then her +screams were piercing. Panting with victory, the prostrate one held +her with a hold that the other did not attempt to free herself from. + +Down, down she drew her. + +Her lips had drawn back from her teeth, and her breath almost +scorched the face that she held so close for the starting eyes to +gloat over. Her exultation was so great, that she could only gloat +and gasp, and hold with a tension that had stopped the victim’s +circulation. + +As a wounded, robbed tigress might hold and look, she held and looked. + +Neither heard the swift steps of the man, and if the tigress saw +him enter, she was not daunted. “Take me from her,” shrieked the +terrified one. “Quick, take me from her,” she repeated it again, +nothing else. “Take me from her.” + +He hastily fastened the door and said something that the shrieks +drowned, then picked up the pole. It fell with a thud across the +arms which the tightening sinews had turned into steel. Once, twice, +thrice. Then the one that got the fullest force bent; that side of +the victim was free. + +The pole had snapped. Another blow with a broken end freed the other +side. + +Still shrieking “Take me from her, take me from her,” she beat on the +closed door till Squeaker opened it. + +Then he had to face and reckon with his old mate’s maddened dog, that +the closed door had baffled. + +The dog suffered the shrieking woman to pass, but though Squeaker, in +bitten agony, broke the stick across the dog, he was forced to give +the savage brute best. + +“Call ’im orf, Mary, ’e’s eatin’ me,” he implored. “Oh corl ’im orf.” + +But with stony face the woman lay motionless. + +“Sool ’im on t’ ’er.” He indicated his new mate who, as though all +the plain led to the desired town, still ran in unreasoning terror. + +“It’s orl er doin’,” he pleaded, springing on the bunk beside his old +mate. But when, to rouse her sympathy, he would have laid his hand on +her, the dog’s teeth fastened in it and pulled him back. + + + + + SCRAMMY ’AND. + + +Along the selvage of the scrub-girt plain the old man looked long and +earnestly. His eyes followed an indistinct track that had been cut by +the cart, journeying at rare intervals to the distant township. At +dawn some weeks back it had creaked across the plain, and at a point +where the scrub curved, the husband had stopped the horse while the +woman parted the tilt and waved goodbye to the bent, irresponsive old +man and his dog. It was her impending motherhood that made them seek +the comparative civilisation of the township, and the tenderness of +her womanhood brought the old man closer to her as they drove away. +Every week since that morning had been carefully notched by man and +dog, and the last mark, cut three nights past, showed that time was +up. Twice this evening he thought he saw the dust rise as he looked, +but longer scrutiny showed only the misty evening light. + +He turned to where a house stood out from a background of scrub. +Beside the calf-pen near it, a cow gave answer and greeting to the +penned calf. “No use pennin’ up ther calf,” he muttered, “when they +don’t come. Won’t do it ter-morrer night.” He watched anxiously +along the scrub. “Calf must ’ave got ’is ’ed through ther rails an’ +sucked ’er. No one else can’t ’ave done it. Scrammy’s gorn; ’twarn’t +Scrammy.” But the gloom of fear settled on his wizened face as he +shuffled stiffly towards the sheep yard. + +His body jerked; there was a suggestion of the dog in his movements; +and in the dog, as he rounded up the sheep, more than a suggestion of +his master. He querulously accused the dog of “rushin’ ’em, ’stead er +allowin’ Billy (the leader) to lead ’em.” + +When they were yarded he found fault with the hurdles. “Some ’un ’ad +been meddlin’ with ’em.” For two pins he would “smash ’em up with +ther axe.” + +The eyes of the sheep reflected the haze-opposed glory of the setting +sun. Loyally they stood till a grey quilt swathed them. In their eyes +glistened luminous tears materialised from an atmosphere of sighs. +The wide plain gauzed into a sea on which the hut floated lonely. +Through its open door a fire gleamed like the red, steaming mouth +of an engine. Beyond the hut a clump of myalls loomed spectral and +wraith-like, and round them a gang of crows cawed noisily, irreverent +of the great silence. + +Inside the hut, the old man, still querulous, talked to the listening +dog. He uncovered a cabbage tree hat--his task of the past year--and +laid upside down, on the centre of the crown, a star-shaped button +that the woman had worked for him. + +“It’s orl wrong, see!” The dog said he did. “’Twon’t do!” he shouted +with the emphasis of deafness. The dog admitted it would not. “An’ +she done it like thet, ter spile it on me ’er purpus. She done it +outer jealersy, cos I was makin’ it for ’im. Could ’ave done it +better meself, though I’m no ’and at fancy stitchin’. But she can’t +make a ’at like thet. No woman could. The’re no good.” The dog did +not dispute this condemnation. + +“I tole ’er ter put a anker jes’ there,” he continued. He pointed to +the middle of the button which he still held upside down. “Thet’s no +anker!” The dog subtly indicated that there was another side to the +button. “There ain’t,” shouted the old man. “What do you know about +an anker; you never see a real one on a ship in yer life!” There was +an inaudible disparaging reference to “imperdent kerloneyals” which +seemed to crush the dog. To mollify him the man got on his knees, and +bending his neck, showed the dog a faded anchor on the top of the +cabbage tree hat on his head. A little resentment would have served +the dog, but he was too eager for peace. + +Noting this, the old man returned to the button for reminiscences. +“An’ yet you thort at fust a thing like thet would do.” There was a +sign of dissent from the dog. “Yer know yer did--Sir. An’ wot’s more +yer don’t bark at ’er like yer used ter!” + +The dog was uneasy, and intimated that he would prefer to have that +past buried. + +“None er thet now; yer know yer don’t.” Bending the button he +continued, “They can’t never do anythin’ right, an’ orlways, +continerally they gets a man inter trouble.” + +He had accidently turned the button, he reversed it looking swiftly +at the dog. “Carn’t de nothin’ with it. A thing like thet! Might as +well fling it in the fire!” He put it carefully away. + +“W’ere’s ’e now?” he asked abruptly. The dog indicated the route +taken by the cart. + +“An’ ’ow long as ’e bin away?” The dog looked at the tally stick +hanging on the wall. “Yes, orl thet time! What does ’e care about me +an’ you, now ’e’s got ’er! ’e was fust rate afore ’e got er. Wish I +’ad er gorn down thet time ’e took their sheep. I’d er seen no woman +didn’t grab ’im. They’re stuck away down there an’ us orl alone ’ere +by ourselves with only ther sheep. Scrammy sez ’e wouldn’t stay if ’e +wus me. See’s there any signs er ’em comin’ back!” + +While the dog was out he hastily tried to fix the button, but failed. +“On’y mist, no dust?” he asked, when his messenger returned. “No +fear,” he growled, “’e won’t come back no more; stay down there an’ +nuss ther babby. It’ll be a gal too, sure to be! Women are orlways +’avin’ gals. It’ll be a gal sure enough.” + +He looked sternly at the unagreeing dog. “Yer don’t think so! Course +yer don’t. You on ’er side? Yer are Loo!” + +The dog’s name was “Warderloo” (Waterloo) and had three +abbreviations. “Now then, War!” meant mutual understanding and +perfect fellowship. “What’s thet, Warder?” meant serious business. +But “Loo” was ever sorrowfully reminiscent. And accordingly “Loo” was +now much affected and disconcerted by the steady accusing eyes of the +old man. + +“An’ wot’s more,” he continued, “I believe ye’ll fool roun’, ye’ll +fool aroun’ ’er wusser nor ever w’en she comes back with ther babby.” +At this grave charge the dog, either from dignity or injury, was +silent. His master, slowly and with some additions, repeated the +prophecy, and again the dog gave him only silent attention. + +“’Ere she comes with ther babby,” he cried, flinging up his arms in +clumsy feigned surprise. Loo was not deceived, and stood still. + +“Oh I’m a ole liar, am I? Yit’s come ter thet; ez it? Well better fer +I ter be a liar ’n fer you ter lose yer manners,--Sir.” + +In vain Loo protested. His master turned round, and when poor Loo +faced that way, he drew his feet under him on the bunk and faced +the wall. When the distressed Loo, from outside the hut, caught his +eye through the cracks, he closed his own, to stifle remorse at the +eloquent dumb appeal. + +Usually their little differences took some time to evaporate; the +master sulked with his silent mate till some daring feat with snake +or dingo on the dog’s part mollified him. Loo, probably on the look +out for such foes, moved to the end of the hut nearest the sheep. +Two hasty squints revealed his departure, but not his whereabouts, +to the old man, who coughed and waited, but for once expected too +much from poor Loo. His legs grew cramped, still he did not care to +make the first move. It was a godsend when an undemonstrative ewe and +demonstrative lamb came in. + +Before that ewe he held the whole of her disgraceful past, and under +the circumstances, “er imperdence--’er blarsted imperdence--” in +unceremoniously intruding on his privacy with her blanky blind udder, +and more than blanky bastard, was something he could not and would +not stand. + +“None er yer sauce now!” He jumped down, and shook his fist at the +unashamed, silent mother. “Warder,” he shouted, “Warder, put ’em out!” + +Warder did so, and when he came back his master explained to him that +the thing that “continerally an’ orlways” upset him was “thet dam +ole yeo.” It was the only sorrow he had or ever would have in life. +“She wusn’t nat’ral, thet ole yeo.” There was something in the Bible, +he told War, about “yeos” with barren udders. “An’ ’twarn’t as though +she didn’t know.” For that was her third lamb he had had to poddy. +But not another bite would he give this one. He had made up his mind +now, though it had been “worritin’” him all day. “Jes’ look at me,” +showing his lamb-bitten fingers. “Wantin’ ter get blood outer a +stone!” + +He shambled round, covered the cabbage-tree hat and the despised +woman-worked button carefully; then his better nature prevailed. +“See ’ere!” and there was that in his voice that indicated a moral +victory. He took off the cloth and placed the button right side up +and in its proper place. “Will thet do yer?” he asked. + +After this surrender his excitement was so great, that the dog shared +it. He advised War to lie down “an’ ’ave a spell,” and in strong +agitation he went round the sheep yard twice, each time stopping to +hammer down the hurdles noisily, and calling to War not to “worrit; +they’s orlright now, an’ firm as a rock.” + +Through these proceedings the ewe and lamb followed him, the +lamb--lamb fashion--mixing itself with his legs. He had nothing +further to say to the ewe, but from the expression of her eyes she +still had an open mind towards him. Both went with him inside the +hut. Were they intruders? the dog asked. He coughed and affected not +to hear, went to the door, looked out and said the mist was gone, but +the dog re-asked. “I think, War, there’s some er that orker’d little +dam fool’s grub lef’” he said, gently extricating the lamb from +between his legs, “an’ it’ll on’y spile. ’Jes this once ’an no more, +min’ yer, an’ then you skiddy addy,” he said to the ewe. He carried +the lamb outside, for he would not finger-suckle it that night before +Waterloo. + +From his bunk head he took an axe, cut in two a myall log, and +brought in half. He threw it on the fire for a back-log, first +scraping the live coals and ashes to a heap for his damper. + +He filled and trimmed his slush lamp, and from a series of flat +pockets hanging on the wall he took thread, needle, and beeswax. He +hung a white cloth in a way that defined the eye of the needle which +he held at long range; but vary as he would from long to longest the +thread remained in one hand, the needle in the other. Needle, thread, +light, everything was wrong, he told War. “Es fer me, thenk a Lord +I ken see an’ year’s well’s ever I could. Ehm War! See any change?” +War said there had been no change observable to him. “There ain’t no +change in you neither, War!” he said in gratitude to the grizzled +old dog. But he felt that War had been disappointed at his failure, +and he promised that he would rise betimes to-morrow and sew on the +button by daylight. + +“Never mind, War; like ter see ’em after supper?” Comradeship was +never by speech better demonstrated. + +From the middle beam the old man untied two bags. Boiled mutton was +in one, and the heel of a damper in another. + +“No blowey carn’t get in there, eh?” the dog looked at the meat +uncritically, but critically noted the resting place of two disturbed +“bloweys.” + +“No bones!” He had taken great care to omit them. “Neow!” As ever, +War took his word; he caught and swallowed instantly several pieces +flung to him. At the finish his master’s “Eny?” referred to bones. +War’s grateful eyes twinkled. “Not a one.” “Never is neow!” had +reference to a trouble War had had with one long ago. + +It was now time for his own supper, but after a few attempts he +shirked it. “Blest if I evven fergot t’bile th’ billy; funny ef me t’ +ferget!” He held his head for a moment, then filled the billy, and in +a strange uncertainty went towards and from the fire with it, and in +the end War thought there was no sense at all in putting it so far +from the blaze when it had to boil. + +“Tell yer wot, War, w’ile it biles us’ll count ’em. Gimme appertite, +ehm, War?” + +War thought “countin’ ’em” was the tonic. Then together they closed +the door, spread a kangaroo skin on the floor, and put the slush lamp +where the light fell on it. The man sat down, so did War, took off +his belt, turned it carefully, tenderly, and opened his knife to cut +the stitching. This was a tedious process, for it was wax thread, and +had been crossed and re-crossed. Then came the chink of the coins +falling. The old man counted each as it rolled out, and the dog +tallied with a paw. + +“No more?” Certainly more, said War. A jerk, tenderly calculated, +brought another among the seductive heap. + +“All?” no--still the upraised paw. The old man chuckled. + +“Ole ’en gets more b’ scratchin’.” This was the dog’s opinion, and +a series of little undulations produced another, and after still +further shaking, yet another. + +War was asked with ridiculous insincerity, “All?” and with ridiculous +sincerity his solemn eyes and dropped paw said “all.” Then there +was the honest count straight through, next the side show with its +pretence of “disrememberin’,” or doubts as to the number--doubts +never laid except by a double count. In the first, so intent was the +man, that he forgot his mate; though his relief in being good friends +again, had made him ignore his fear. + +But the dog had heard an outside sound, and, moving to the door, +waited for certainty. At this stage the man missed his mate’s eyes. + +He lay face downward, covering his treasure, when he realised that +his friend was uneasy. And as the dog kept watch, he thrust them +back hurriedly, missing all the pleasure and excitement of a final +recount. + +With dumb show he asked several questions of his sentinel, and +took his answers from his eyes. Then, when Warder relieved began +to walk about, the old man with forced confidence chaffed him. He +sought refuge from his own fears by trying to banish the dog’s, and +suggested dingoes at the sheep yard, or a “goanner” on the roof. +“Well ’twas ’possum,” he said, making a pretence of even then hearing +and distinguishing the sound. + +But round his waist the belt did not go that night. Only its bulk in +his life of solitariness could have conceived its hiding place. + +He bustled around as one having many tasks, but these he did +aimlessly. With a pretence of unconcern he attempted to hum, but +broke off frequently to listen. He was plainly afraid of the dog’s +keen ears missing something. But his mate’s tense body proclaimed him +on duty. + +“I know who yer thort ’twas, Warder!” They were sitting side by +side, yet he spoke very loudly. “Scrammy ’and, Ehm?” He had guessed +correctly. + +“An’ yer thort yer see ’im lars’ night!” He was right again. + +“An’ yer thort ’twas ’im that ’ad bin ramsakin’ the place yesterday, +when we was shepherdin’. An’ yer thort ’t must ’ave bin ’im shook +the tommy!” The dog’s manner evinced that he had not altered this +opinion. The old man’s heart beat loudly. + +“No fear, Warder! Scrammy’s gone, gone ’long ways now, Warder!” But +Warder’s pricked ears doing double duty showed he was unconvinced. +“’Sides, Scrammy wouldn’t ’urt er merskeeter,” he continued. “Poor +ole Scrammy! ’Twarn’t ’im shook the tommy, Warder!” The dog seemed to +be waiting for the suggestion of another thief having unseen crept +into their isolated lives, but his master had none to offer. Both +were silent, then the man piled wood on the fire, remarking that he +was going to sit up all night. He asked the dog to go with him to the +table to feed and trim the slush lamp. + +Those quavering shadows along the wall were caused by its sizzeling +flare flickering in the darkness, the dog explained. “Thort it +mighter bin ther blacks outside,” the man said. “They ain’t so +fur away, I know! ’Twar them killed ther lamb down in ther creek.” +He spoke unusually loudly. He hoped they wouldn’t catch “poor ole +one-’anded Scrammy.” He said how sorry he was for “poor ole Scrammy, +cos Scrammy wouldn’t ’urt no one. He on’y jes’ came ter see us cos ’e +was a ole friend. He was gone along ways ter look fur work, cos ’e +was stoney broke after blueing ’is cheque at ther shanty sixty miles +away.” + +“I tole ’im,” he continued in an altered voice, “thet I couldn’t +lend ’im eny cos I ’ad sent all my little bit er money (he whispered +‘money’) to ther bank be ther boss. Didn’ I?” Emphatically his mate +intimated that this was the case. He held his head in his shaking +hands, and complained to the dog of having “come over dizzy.” + +He was silent for a few moments, then, abruptly raising his voice, he +remarked that their master was a better tracker than “Saddle-strap +Jimmy,” or any of the blacks. He looked at the tally stick, and +suddenly announced that he knew for a certainty that the boss and his +wife would return that night or early next morning, and that he must +see about making them a damper. He got up and began laboriously to +mix soda and salt with the flour. He looked at the muddy coloured +water in the bucket near the wall, and altered his mind. + +“I’ll bile it first, War, same as ’er does, cos jus’ neow an’ then t’ +day I comes over dizzy-like. See th’ mist t’s even! Two more, then +rain--rain, an’ them two out in it without no tilt on the cart.” He +sat down for a moment, even before he dusted his ungoverned floury +hands. + +“Pint er tea, War, jes’ t’ warm ther worms an’ lif’ me ’art, eh!” + +Every movement of the dog was in accord with this plan. + +His master looked at the billy, and said, “’twarn’t bilin’,” and +that a watched pot never boiled. He rested a while silently with his +floury hands covering his face. He bent his mouth to the dog’s ear +and whispered. Warder, before replying, pointed his ears and raised +his head. The old man’s hand rested on the dog’s neck. + +“Tell yer wot, War, w’ile it’s bilin’ I’ll ’ave another go at ther +button, cos I want ter give ’im ther ’at soon as he comes. S’pose +they’ll orl come!” He had sat down again, and seemed to whistle his +words. “Think they’ll orl come, Loo?” + +Loo would not commit himself about “orl,” not being quite sure of his +master’s mind. + +The old man’s mouth twitched, a violent effort jerked him. “Might be +a boy arter orl; ain’t cocky sure!” His head wagged irresponsibly, +and his hat fell off as he rolled into the bunk. He made no effort +to replace it, and, for once unheeded, the fire flickered on his +polished head. Never before had the dog seen its baldness. The change +from night-cap to hat had always been effected out of his sight. + +“War, ain’t cocky sure it’ll be a gal?” + +The dog discreetly or modestly dropped his eyes, but his master had +not done with concessions. + +“Warder!” Warder looked at him. “Tell yer wot, you can go every +Sunday evenin’ an’ see if ’tis a boy!” + +He turned over on his side, with his face to the wall. Into the +gnarled uncontrolled hand swaying over the bunk the dog laid his paw. + +When the old man got up, he didn’t put on his hat nor even pick it +up. Altogether there was an unusualness about him to-night that +distressed his mate. He sat up after a few moments, and threw back +his head, listening strainingly for outside sounds. The silence +soothed him, and he lay down again. A faded look was in his eyes. + +“Thort I ’eard bells--church bells,” he said to the dog looking up +too, but at him. “Couldn’t ’ave. No church bells in the bush. Ain’t +’eard ’em since I lef’ th’ ole country.” He turned his best ear to +the fancied sound. He had left his dog and the hut, and was dreaming +of shadowy days. + +He raised himself from the bunk, and followed the dog’s eyes to a +little smoke-stained bottle on the shelf. “No, no, War!” he said. +“Thet’s for sickness; mus’ be a lot worser’n wot I am!” Breathing +noisily, he went through a list of diseases, among which were palsy, +snake-bite, “dropersy,” and “suddint death,” before he would be +justified in taking the last of his painkiller. + +His pipe was in his hidden belt, but he had another in one of those +little pockets. He tried it, said “’twouldn’t draw’r,” and very +slowly and clumsily stripped the edge of a cabbage tree frond hanging +from the rafter, and tried to push it through the stem, but could +not find the opening. He explained to the intent dog that the hole +was stopped up, but it didn’t matter. He placed it under the bunk +where he sat, because first he would “’ave a swig er tea.” His head +kept wagging at the billy. No, until the billy boiled he was going +to have a little snooze. The dog was to keep quiet until the billy +boiled. + +Involuntarily he murmured, looking at his mate, “Funny w’ere ther +tommy’awk’s gone ter!” Then he missed the axe. “My Gord, Warder!” +he said, “I lef’ the axe outside; clean forgot it!” This discovery +alarmed the dog, and he suggested they should bring it in. + +“No, no!” he said, and his floury face grew ghastly. + +He stood still; all his faculties seemed paralyzed for a time, then +fell stiffly on his bunk. Quite suddenly he staggered to his feet, +rubbed his eyes, and between broken breaths he complained of the bad +light, and that the mist had come again. + +One thing the dog did when he saw his master’s face even by that +indifferent light, he barked low, and terribly human. + +The old man motioned for silence. “Ah!” His jaw fell but only for a +moment. Then a steely grimness took possession. He clung to the table +and beckoned the dog with one crooked finger. “Scrammy?” cunningly, +cautiously, indicating outside, and as subtly the dog replied. Then +he groped for his bunk, and lay with his eyes fixed on the billy, his +mouth open. + +He brought his palms together after a while. “’Cline our ’earts ter +keep this lawr,” he whispered, and for a moment his eyes rested on +the hiding place, then turned to the dog. + +And though soon after there was a sinister sound outside, which +the watchful dog immediately challenged, the man on the bunk lay +undisturbed. + +Warder growling savagely went along the back wall of the hut, and +despite the semidarkness his eyes scintillating with menace through +the cracks, drove from them a crouching figure who turned hastily +to grip the axe near the myall logs. He stumbled over the lamb’s +feeding-pan lying in the hut’s shadow. The moonlight glittering on +the blade recalled the menace of the dog’s eyes. The man grabbed the +weapon swiftly, but even with it he felt the chances were unequal. + +But he had planned to fix the dog. He would unpen the sheep, and the +lurking dingoes, coming up from the creek to worry the lambs, would +prove work for the dog. He crouched silently to again deceive this +man and dog, and crept towards the sheep yard. But the hurdles of the +yard faced the hut, and the way those thousand eyes reflected the +rising moon was disconcerting. The whole of the night seemed pregnant +with eyes. + +All the shadows were slanting the wrong way, and the moon was facing +him, with its man calmly watching every movement. It would be dawn +before it set. He backed from the yard to the myall’s scant screen. +Even they had moulted with age. From under his coat the handle of the +axe protruded. His mind worked his body. Hugging the axe, he crept +towards some object, straightened himself to reach, then with the +hook on his handless arm, drew back an imaginary bolt, and stooping +entered. With the axe in readiness he crept to the bunk. Twice he +raised it and struck. + +It was easy enough out there, yet even in imagination his skin was +wet and his mouth was dry. Even if the man slept, there was the dog. +He must risk letting out the sheep. He covered the blade of the axe +and went in a circuit to the sheep, and got over the yard on the +side opposite to the hut. They rushed from him and huddled together, +leaving him, although stooping, exposed. He had calculated for this, +but not for the effect upon himself. Could they in the hut see him, +he would be no match for the dog even with the axe. Heedlessly, +fear-driven, he rushed to where he could see the door, regardless of +exposing himself. Nothing counted now, but that the dog or the old +man should not steal upon him unawares. + +The door was still closed. No call for “Warder!” came from it, though +he stood there a conspicuous object. While he watched he saw an ewe +lamb make for the hut’s shelter. He stooped, still watching, and +listened, but could hear nothing. He crept forward and loosened the +hurdles. Never were they noisier, he was sure. He knew that the sheep +would not go through while he was there. He crept away, but although +the leader noted the freed exit, he and those he led were creatures +of habit. None were hungry, and they were unused to feeding at night, +though in the morning came man and dog never so early they were +waiting. + +Round the yard and past the gateway he drove them again and again. He +began to feel impotently frenzied in the fear that the extraordinary +lightness meant that daylight must be near. Every moment he persuaded +himself that he could see more plainly. He held out his one hand and +was convinced. + +He straightened himself, rushed among them, caught one, and ran it +kicking through the opening. It came back the moment he freed it. +However it served his purpose, for as he crouched there, baffled, +he unexpectedly saw them file out. Then they rushed through in an +impatient struggling crowd, each fearing to be last with this invader. + +When he “barrowed” out the first, he had kept his eyes on the hut, +and had seen an old ewe and lamb run to it and bunt the closed door. +But if there was any movement inside, the noise of the nearer sheep +killed it. + +They were all round the hut, for above it hung the moon, and they +all made for the light. He crept after them, his ears straining for +sound, but his head bobbing above them to watch the still closed +door. + +Inside, long since, the back-log had split with an explosion that +scattered the coals near enough to cause the billy to boil, and the +blaze showed the old man’s eyes set on the billy. The dog looked +into them, then laid his head between his paws, and still watching +his master’s face, beat the ground with his tail. He whined softly +and went back to his post at the door, his eyes snapping flintily, +his teeth bared. Along his back the hair rose like bristles. He sent +an assurance of help to the importunate ewe and lamb. As the sheep +neared the hut, he ran to the bunk, raised his head to a level with +his master’s, and barked softly. He waited, and despite the eager +light in his intelligent face, his master and mate did not ask him +any questions as to the cause of these calling sheep. Why did he not +rise, and with him re-yard them, then gloatingly ask him where was +the chinky crow by day, or sneaking dingo by night, that was any +match for them, and then demand from his four-footed trusty mate the +usual straightforward answer? Was there to be no discussion as to +which heard the noise first, nor the final compromise of a dead-heat? + +The silence puzzled the man outside sorely; he crouched, watching +both door and shutter. The sheep were all round the hut. Man and dog +inside must hear them. Why, when a dingo came that night he camped +with them, they heard it before it could reach a lamb. If only he had +known then what he knew now! His hold on the axe tightened. No one +had seen him come; none should see him go! Why didn’t that old fellow +wake to-night? for now, as he crept nearer the hut, he could hear the +whining dog, and understood, he was appealing to his master. + +He lay flat on the ground and tried to puzzle it out. The sheep had +rushed back disorganised and were again near the hut and yard. Both +inside must know. They were waiting for him. They were preparing for +him, and that was why they were letting the dingoes play up with the +sheep. That was the reason they did not openly show fight. + +Still he would have sacrificed half of the coveted wealth to be +absolutely certain of what their silence meant. It was surely almost +daylight. He spread out the fingers of his one hand; he could see +the colour of the blood in the veins. He must act quickly, or he +would have to hide about for another day. And the absent man might +return. To encourage himself, he tried to imagine the possession +of that glittering heap that he had seen them counting on the mat. +Yet he had grown cold and dejected, and felt for the first time the +weight of the axe. It would be all right if the door would open, +the old man come out and send the dog to round up the sheep. It was +getting daylight, and soon shelter would be impossible. + +He crept towards the hut, and this time he felt the edge of the axe. +Right and left the sheep parted. There was nothing to be gained now +in crawling, for the hostility of the dog told him that he could be +seen. He stood, his body stiffened with determination. + +Mechanically he went to the door; he knew the defensive resources +of the hut. He had the axe, and the stolen tomahawk was stuck in +the fork of those myalls. He had no need for both. The only weapon +that the old fellow had was the useless butcher’s knife. His eyes +protruded, and unconsciously he felt his stiffened beard. + +He breathed without movement. There was no sound now from man or dog. +In his mind he saw them waiting for him to attack the door; this he +did not debate nor alter. He went to the shutter, ran the axe’s edge +along the hide hinges, pushed it in, then stepped back. + +Immediately the dog’s head appeared. He growled no protest, but the +flinty fire from his eyes and the heat of his suppressed breath, +hissing between his bared fangs, revealed to Scrammy that in this +contest, despite the axe, his one hand was a serious handicap. + +With the first blow his senses quickened. The slush lamp had gone out +and there was no hint of daylight inside. This he noted between his +blows at the dog, as he looked for his victim. It was strange the old +fellow did not show fight! Where was he hiding? Was it possible that, +scenting danger, he had slipped out? He recalled the dog’s warning +when his master was counting his hoard. The memory of that chinking +belt-hidden pile dominated greedily. Had the old man escaped? He +would search the hut; what were fifty dogs’ teeth? In close quarters +he would do for him with one blow. + +He was breathing now in deep gasps. The keen edge of the axe severed +the hide-hinged door. He rushed it; then stood back swinging the axe +in readiness. It did not fall for the bolt still held it. But this +was only what a child would consider a barrier. One blow with the axe +head smashed the bolt. The door fell across the head of the bunk, the +end partly blocking the entrance. He struck a side blow that sent it +along the bunk. + +The dog was dreadfully distressed. The bushman outside thought the +cause the fallen door. Face to face they met--determined battle in +the dog’s eyes met murder in the man’s. He brandished an axe circuit, +craned his neck, and by the dull light of the fire searched the hut. +He saw no one but the dog. Unless his master was under the bunk, he +had escaped. The whole plot broke on him quite suddenly! The cunning +old miser, knowing his dog would show his flight by following, had +locked him in, and he had wasted all this time barking up the wrong +tree. He would have done the old man to death that minute with fifty +brutal blows. He would kill him by day or night. + +He ran round the brush sheep yard, kicking and thrusting the axe +through the thickest parts. He had not hidden there, nor among the +myall clump where he had practised his bloody plot. The dog stood at +the doorway of the hut. He saw this as he passed through the sheep on +his way to search the creek. He was half minded to try to invite the +dog’s confidence and cooperation by yarding them. + +He looked at them, and the moonlight’s undulating white scales across +their shorn backs brought out the fresh tar brand 8, setting him +thinking of the links of that convict gang chain long ago. Lord, how +light it must be for him to see that! + +He held out his hand again. There was no perceptible change in the +light. There were hours yet before daylight. He moulded his mind to +that. + +The creek split the plain, and along it here and there a few she-oak +blots defined it. He traversed it with his eyes. There were no likely +hiding places among the trees, and it would be useless to search +them. Suddenly it struck him that the old man might be creeping +along with the sheep--they were so used to him. He ran and headed +them, driving them swiftly back to the yard. Before they were in he +knew he was wrong. Again he turned and scanned the creek, but felt +no impulse to search it. It was half a mile from the hut. It was +impossible that the old man could have got there, or that he could +have reached the more distant house. Besides, why did the dog stay at +the door unless on guard? He ran back to the hut. + +The dog was still there, and in no way appeased by the yarding of the +sheep. He swore at the threatening brute, and cast about for a gibber +to throw, but stones were almost unknown there. A sapling would serve +him! Seven or eight myall logs lay near for firewood, but all were +too thick to be wielded. There was only the clump of myalls, and the +few stunted she-oaks bordering the distant creek. To reach either +would mean a dangerous delay. Oh, by God, he had it! These poles +keeping down the bark roof. He ran to the back of the hut, cut a step +in a slab, and putting his foot in it, hitched the axe on one of +the desired poles and was up in a moment. He could hear the cabbage +fronds hanging from the rafters shiver with the vibration, but there +was no other protest from inside. + +He shifted a sheet of rotten bark; part of it crumbled and fell +inside on the prostrate door, sounding like the first earth on a +coffin, in a way that the dog particularly resented. He knelt and +carefully eyed the interior. The dog’s glittering eyes met his. The +door lay as it had fallen along the bunk. The fire was lightless, yet +he could see more plainly, but the cause was not manifest, till from +the myalls quite close the jackasses chorused. From his post the dog +sent them a signal. Quite unaccountably the man’s muscles relaxed. +“Oh, Christ!” he said, dropping the pole. He sprang up and faced the +East, then turned to the traitorous faded moon. The daylight had come. + +The sweat stung his quivering body. Slowly, he made an eye circuit +round the plain; no human being was in sight. All he had to face was +a parcel of noisy jackasses and a barking dog! He would soon silence +the dog. He took the pole and made a jab at the whelping brute. One +thing he noticed, that if he did get one home, it was only when he +worked near the horizontal door. His quickened senses guessed at +the reason. He could have shifted the door easily with his pole, yet +feared, because, if the old man were under, he would expose himself +to two active enemies. He must get to close quarters with the dog, +and chop him in two, or brain him with the axe. + +He ripped off another sheet of bark, and smashed away a batten that +broke his swing. Encircling a rafter with his hooked arm, he lay +flat, his feet pressing another just over the bunk, because only +there would the dog hold his ground. One blow well directed got home. +He planted his feet firmly, and made another with such tremendous +force that his support snapped. He let go the axe and it fell on the +door. He gripped with his hand the rafter nearest, but strain as he +would he could not balance his body. He hung over the door, and the +dog sprang at him and dragged him down. In bitten agony, he dropped +on the door that instantly up-ended. + +It was daylight, and in that light the power of those open eyes set +in that bald head, fixed on the billy beside the dead fireplace, was +mightier than the dog. His unmaimed hand had the strength of both. He +lifted the door and shielded himself with it as he backed out. + +But that was not all the dog wanted. At the doorway he waited to see +that the fleeing man had no further designs on the sheep. + +It was time they were feeding. Though the hurdles were down, even +from the doorway, the dog was their master. He waited for commands +from his, and barked them back till noon. + +Several times that day the ewe and lamb came in, looked without +speculation at the figure on the bunk, then moved to the dead +fire-place. But though the water in the billy was cold, the dog would +not allow either to touch it. That was for tea when his master awoke. + +There was another circumstance. Those blow flies were welcome to the +uncovered mutton. Throughout that day he gave them undisputed right, +but they had to be content with it. + +Next day the ewe and lamb came again. The lamb bunted several +irresponsive objects--never its dam’s udder--baaing listlessly. +Though the first day the ewe had looked at the bunk, and baaed, +she was wiser now, though sheep are slow to learn. Around that +dried dish outside the lamb sniffed, baaing faintly. Adroitly the +ewe led the way to the creek, and the lamb followed. From the bank +the lamb looked at her, then faced round to the hut, and baaing +disconsolately, trotted a few paces back. From the water’s edge the +mother ewe called. The lamb looked at her vacantly, and without +interest descended. The ewe bent and drank sparingly, meaningly. +The lamb sniffed the water, and unsatisfied, complained. The hut +was hidden, but it turned that way. Again the ewe leisurely drank. +This time the lamb’s lips touched the water, but did not drink. Into +its mouth raised to bleat a few drops fell. Hastily the mother’s +head went to the water. She did not drink, but the lamb did. Higher +up, where the creek was dry, they crossed to tender grass in the +billabong, then joined the flock for the first time. + +Through the thicker mist that afternoon a white tilted cart sailed +joltingly, taking its bearings from the various land marks rather +than from the undefined track. It rounded the scrub, and the woman, +with her baby, kept watch for the first glimpse of her home beyond +the creek. She told her husband that there was no smoke from the +nearer shepherd’s hut, but despite his uneasiness, he tried to +persuade her that the mist absorbed it. + +It was past sun-down, yet the straggling unguarded sheep were +running in mobs to and from the creek. Both saw the broken roof of +the hut, and the man, stopping the horse some distance away, gave the +woman the reins and bade her wait. He entered the hut through the +broken doorway, but immediately came out to assure himself that his +wife had not moved. + +The sight inside of that broken-ribbed dog’s fight with those buzzing +horrors, and the reproach in his wild eyes, was a memory that the man +was not willing she should share. + + + + + BILLY SKYWONKIE. + + +The line was unfenced, so with due regard to the possibility of +the drought-dulled sheep attempting to chew it, the train crept +cautiously along, stopping occasionally, without warning, to clear +it from the listless starving brutes. In the carriage nearest the +cattle-vans, some drovers and scrub-cutters were playing euchre, +and spasmodically chorusing the shrill music from an uncertain +concertina. When the train stopped, the player thrust his head +from the carriage window. From one nearer the engine, a commercial +traveller remonstrated with the guard, concerning the snail’s pace +and the many unnecessary halts. + +“Take yer time, ole die-ard,” yelled the drover to the guard. “Whips +er time,--don’t bust yerself fer no one. Wot’s orl the worl’ to a man +w’en his wife’s a widder.” He laughed noisily and waved his hat at +the seething bagman. “Go an’ ’ave a snooze. I’ll wake yer up ther +day after termorrer.” + +He craned his neck to see into the nearest cattle-van. Four were +down, he told his mates, who remarked, with blasphemous emphasis, +that they would probably lose half before getting them to the scrub +country. + +The listening woman passenger in a carriage between the drover and +the bagman, heard a thud soon after in the cattle-truck, and added +another to the list of the fallen. Before dawn that day the train had +stopped at a siding to truck them, and she had watched with painful +interest these drought-tamed brutes being driven into the crowded +vans. The tireless, greedy sun had swiftly followed the grey dawn, +and in the light that even now seemed old and worn, the desolation of +the barren shelterless plains, that the night had hidden, appalled +her. She realised the sufferings of the emaciated cattle. It was +barely noon, yet she had twice emptied the water bottle, “shogging” +in the iron bracket. + +The train dragged its weary length again, and she closed her eyes +from the monotony of the dead plain. Suddenly the engine cleared its +throat in shrill welcome to two iron tanks, hoisted twenty feet and +blazing like evil eyes from a vanished face. + +Beside them it squatted on its hunkers, placed a blackened thumb on +its pipe, and hissed through its closed teeth like a snared wild cat, +while gulping yards of water. The green slimy odour penetrated to the +cattle. The lustiest of these stamped feebly, clashing their horns +and bellowing a hollow request. + +A long-bearded bushman was standing on the few slabs that formed a +siding, with a stockwhip coiled like a snake on his arm. The woman +passenger asked him the name of the place. + +“This is ther Never--Never,--ther lars’ place Gord made,” answered +one of the drovers who were crowding the windows. + +“Better’n ther ’ell ’ole yous come from, any’ow,” defended the +bushman. “Breakin’ ther ’earts, an’ dyin’ from suerside, cos they +lef’ it,” he added derisively, pointing to the cattle. + +In patriotic anger he passed to the guard-van without answering her +question, though she looked anxiously after him. At various intervals +during the many halts of the train, she had heard some of the +obscene jokes, and with it in motion, snatches of lewd songs from +the drovers’ carriage. But the language used by this bushman to the +guard, as he helped to remove a ton of fencing wire topping his new +saddle, made her draw back her head. Near the siding was a spring +cart, and she presently saw him throw his flattened saddle into it +and drive off. There was no one else in sight, and in nervous fear +she asked the bagman if this was Gooriabba siding. It was nine miles +further, he told her. + +The engine lifted its thumb from its pipe. “Well--well--to--be--sure; +well--well--to--be--sure,” it puffed, as if in shocked remembrance of +its being hours late for its appointment there. + +She saw no one on the next siding, but a buggy waited near the +sliprails. It must be for her. According to Sydney arrangements she +was to be met here, and driven out twelve miles. A drover enquired as +the train left her standing by her portmanteau, “Are yer travellin’ +on yer lonesome, or on’y goin’ somew’ere!” and another flung a twist +of paper towards her, bawling unmusically, that it was “A flowwer +from me angel mother’s ger-rave.” + +She went towards the buggy, but as she neared it the driver got in +and made to drive off. She ran and called, for when he went she would +be alone with the bush all round her, and only the sound of the +hoarse croaking of the frogs from the swamp near, and the raucous +“I’ll--’ave--’is--eye--out,” of the crows. + +Yes, he was from Gooriabba Station, and had come to meet a young +“piece” from Sydney, who had not come. + +She was ghastly with bilious sickness,--the result of an over-fed +brain and an under-fed liver. Her face flushed muddily. “Was it a +housekeeper?” + +He was the rouseabout, wearing his best clothes with awful +unusualness. The coat was too long in the sleeve, and wrinkled across +the back with his bush slouch. There was that wonderful margin of +loose shirt between waistcoat and trousers, which all swagger bushies +affect. Subordinate to nothing decorative was the flaring silk +handkerchief, drawn into a sailor’s knot round his neck. + +He got out and fixed the winkers, then put his hands as far as he +could reach into his pockets--from the position of his trousers he +could not possibly reach bottom. It was apparently some unknown law +that suspended them. He thrust forward his lower jaw, elevated his +pipe, and squirted a little tobacco juice towards his foot that was +tracing semi-circles in the dust. “Damned if I know,” he said with a +snort, “but there’ll be a ’ell of a row somew’ere.” + +She noticed that the discoloured teeth his bush grin showed so +plainly, were worn in the centre, and met at both sides with the pipe +between the front. Worn stepping stones her mind insisted. + +She looked away towards the horizon where the smoke of the hidden +train showed faintly against a clear sky, and as he was silent, she +seemed to herself to be intently listening to the croak of the frogs +and the threat of the crows. She knew that, from under the brim of +the hat he wore over his eyes, he was looking at her sideways. + +Suddenly he withdrew his hands and said again, “Damned if I know. +S’pose its alright! Got any traps? Get up then an’ ’ole the Neddy +while I get it.” They drove a mile or so in silence; his pipe was +still in his mouth though not alight. + +She spoke once only. “What a lot of frogs seem to be in that lake!” + +He laughed. “That’s ther Nine Mile Dam!” He laughed again after a +little--an intelligent complacent laugh. + +“It used ter be swarmin’ with teal in a good season, but Gord +A’mighty knows w’en its ever goin’ ter rain any more! I dunno!” This +was an important admission, for he was a great weather prophet. +“Lake!” he sniggered and looked sideways at his companion. “Thet’s +wot thet there bloke, the painter doodle, called it. An ’e goes ter +dror it, an’ ’e sez wot ’e ’ll give me five bob if I’ll run up ther +horses, an’ keep ’em so’s ’e ken put ’em in ther picshure. An’ ’e +drors ther Dam an’ ther trees, puts in thet there ole dead un, an’ ’e +puts in ther ’orses right clost against ther water w’ere the frogs +is. ’E puts them in too, an’ damned if ’e don’t dror ther ’orses +drinkin’ ther water with ther frogs, an’ ther frogs spit on it! +Likely yarn ther ’orses ud drink ther water with ther blanky frogs’ +spit on it! Fat lot they know about ther bush! Blarsted nannies!” + +Presently he enquired as to the place where they kept pictures in +Sydney, and she told him, the Art Gallery. + +“Well some of these days I’m goin’ down ter Sydney,” he continued, +“an I’ll collar thet one ’cos its a good likerness of ther +’orses--you’d know their ’ide on a gum tree--an’ that mean mongrel +never paid me ther five bob.” + +Between his closed teeth he hissed a bush tune for some miles, but +ceased to look at the sky and remarked, “No sign er rain! No lambin’ +this season; soon as they’re dropt we’ll ’ave ter knock ’em all on +ther ’ead!” He shouted an oath of hatred at the crows following after +the tottering sheep that made in a straggling line for the water. +“Look at ’em!” he said, “Scoffin’ out ther eyes!” He pointed to where +the crows hovered over the bogged sheep. “They putty well lives on +eyes! ‘Blanky bush Chinkies!’ I call ’em. No one carn’t tell ’em +apart!” + +There was silence again, except for a remark that he could spit all +the blanky rain they had had in the last nine months. + +Away to the left along a side track his eyes travelled seachingly, as +they came to a gate. He stood in the buggy and looked again. + +“Promised ther ‘Konk’ t’ leave’im ’ave furst squint at yer,” he +muttered, “if ’e was ’ere t’ open ther gate! But I’m not goin’ t’ +blanky well wait orl day!” He reluctantly got out and opened the +gate, and he had just taken his seat when a “Cooee” sounded from his +right, heralded by a dusty pillar. He snorted resentfully. “’Ere ’e +is; jes’ as I got out an’ done it!” + +The “Konk” cantered to them, his horse’s hoofs padded by the +dust-cushioned earth. The driver drew back, so as not to impede the +newcomer’s view. After a moment or two, the “Konk,” preferring closer +quarters, brought his horse round to the left. Unsophisticated bush +wonder in the man’s face, met the sophisticated in the girl’s. + +Never had she seen anything so grotesquely monkeyish. And the nose +of this little hairy horror, as he slewed his neck to look into +her face, blotted the landscape and dwarfed all perspective. She +experienced a strange desire to extend her hand. When surprise +lessened, her mettle saved her from the impulse to cover her face +with both hands, to baffle him. + +At last the silence was broken by the driver drawing a match along +his leg, and lighting his pipe. The hairy creature safely arranged a +pair of emu eggs, slung with bush skill round his neck. + +“Ain’t yer goin’ to part?” enquired the driver, indicating his +companion as the recipient. + +“Wot are yer givin’ us; wot do yer take me fur?” said the “Konk” +indignantly, drawing down his knotted veil. + +“Well, give ’em ter me fer Lizer.” + +“Will yer ’ave ’em now, or wait till yer get ’em?” + +“Goin’ ter sit on ’em yerself?” sneered the driver. + +“Yes, an’ I’ll give yer ther first egg ther cock lays,” laughed the +“Konk.” + +He turned his horse’s head back to the gate. “I say, Billy Skywonkie! +Wot price Sally Ah Too, eh?” he asked, his gorilla mouth agape. + +Billy Skywonkie uncrossed his legs, took out the whip. He tilted his +pipe and shook his head as he prepared to drive, to show that he +understood to a fraction the price of Sally Ah Too. The aptness of +the question took the sting out of his having had to open the gate. +He gave a farewell jerk. + +“Goin’ ter wash yer neck?” shouted the man with the nose, from the +gate. + +“Not if I know it.” + +The “Konk” received the intimation incredulously. “Stinkin’ Roger!” +he yelled. In bush parlance this was equal to emphatic disbelief. + +This was a seemingly final parting, and both started, but suddenly +the “Konk” wheeled round. + +“Oh, Billy!” he shouted. + +Billy stayed his horse and turned expectantly. + +“W’en’s it goin’ ter rain?” + +The driver’s face darkened. “Your blanky jealersey ’ll get yer down, +an’ worry yer yet,” he snarled, and slashing his horse he drove +rapidly away. + +“Mickey ther Konk,” he presently remarked to his companion, as he +stroked his nose. + +This explained her earlier desire to extend her hand. If the “Konk” +had been a horse she would have stroked his nose. + +“Mob er sheep can camp in the shadder of it,” he said. + +Boundless scope for shadows on that sun-smitten treeless plain! + +“Make a good plough-shere,” he continued “easy plough a cultivation +paddock with it!” + +At the next gate he seemed in a mind and body conflict. There +were two tracks; he drove along one for a few hundred yards. Then +stopping, he turned, and finding the “Konk” out of sight, abruptly +drove across to the other. He continually drew his whip along the +horse’s back, and haste seemed the object of the movement, though he +did not flog the beast. + +After a few miles on the new track, a blob glittered dazzlingly +through the glare, like a fallen star. It was the iron roof of the +wine shanty--the Saturday night and Sunday resort of shearers and +rouseabouts for twenty miles around. Most of its spirits was made on +the premises from bush recipes, of which blue-stone and tobacco were +the chief ingredients. Every drop had the reputation of “bitin’ orl +ther way down.” + +A sapling studded with broken horse-shoes seemed to connect two +lonely crow stone trees. Under their scanty shade groups of dejected +fowls stood with beaks agape. Though the buggy wheels almost reached +them, they were motionless but for quivering gills. The ground both +sides of the shanty was decorated with tightly-pegged kangaroo skins. +A dog, apathetically blind and dumb, lay on the verandah, lifeless +save for eyelids blinking in antagonism to the besieging flies. + +“Jerry can’t be far off,” said Billy Skywonkie, recognising the dog. +He stood up in the buggy. “By cripes, there ’e is--goosed already, +an’ ’e on’y got ’is cheque lars’ night.” + +On the chimney side of the shanty a man lay in agitated sleep beside +his rifle and swag. There had been a little shade on that side in the +morning, and he had been sober enough to select it, and lay his head +on his swag. He had emptied the bottle lying at his feet since then. +His swag had been thoroughly “gone through,” and also his singlet and +trouser pockets. The fumes from the shant-grog baffled the flies. +But the scorching sun was conquering; the man groaned, and his hands +began to search for his burning head. + +Billy Skywonkie explained to his companion that it was “Thet fool, +Jerry ther kangaroo-shooter, bluein’ ’is cheque fer skins.” He took +the water bag under the buggy, and poured the contents into the open +mouth and over the face of the “dosed” man, and raised him into a +sitting posture. Jerry fought this friendliness vigorously, and, +staggering to his feet, picked up his rifle, and took drunken aim at +his rescuer, then at the terrified woman in the buggy. + +The rouseabout laughed unconcernedly. “’E thinks we’re blanky +kangaroos,” he said to her. “Jerry, ole cock, yer couldn’t ’it a +woolshed! Yer been taking ther sun!” + +He took the rifle and pushed the subdued Jerry into the chimney +corner. + +He tilted his hat, till, bush fashion, it “’ung on one ’air,” and +went inside the shanty. “Mag!” he shouted, thumping the bar (a plank +supported by two casks). + +The woman in the buggy saw a slatternly girl with doughy hands come +from the back, wiping the flour from her face with a kitchen towel. +They made some reference to her she knew, as the girl came to the +door and gave her close scrutiny. Then, shaking her head till her +long brass earrings swung like pendulums, she laughed loudly. + +“Eh?” enquired the rouseabout. + +“My oath!” “Square dinkum!” she answered, going behind the bar. + +He took the silk handkerchief from his neck, and playfully tried +to flick the corner into her eye. Mag was used to such delicate +attentions and well able to defend herself. With the dirty kitchen +towel she succeeded in knocking off his hat, and round and round the +house she ran with it dexterously dodging the skin-pegs. He could +neither overtake nor outwit her with any dodge. He gave in, and +ransomed his hat with the “shouts” she demanded. + +From the back of the shanty, a bent old woman, almost on all fours, +crept towards the man, again prostrate in the corner. She paused, +with her ear turned to where the girl and the rouseabout were still +at horse-play. With cat-like movements she stole on till within +reach of Jerry’s empty pockets. She turned her terrible face to +the woman in the buggy, as if in expectation of sympathy. Keeping +wide of the front door, she came to the further side of the buggy. +With the fascination of horror the woman looked at this creature, +whose mouth and eyes seemed to dishonour her draggled grey hair. +She was importuning for something, but the woman in the buggy +could not understand till she pointed to her toothless mouth (the +mission of which seemed to be, to fill its cavernous depths with +the age-loosened skin above and below). A blue bag under each eye +aggressively ticked like the gills of the fowls, and the sinews of +the neck strained into bassi relievi. Alternately she pointed to +her mouth, or laid her knotted fingers on the blue bags in pretence +of wiping tears. Entrenched behind the absorbed skin-terraces, a +stump of purple tongue made efforts at speech. When she held out her +claw, the woman understood and felt for her purse. Wolfishly the old +hag snatched and put into her mouth the coin, and as the now merry +driver, followed by Mag, came, she shook a warning claw at the giver, +and flopped whining in the dust, her hands ostentatiously open and +wiping dry eyes. + +“’Ello Biddy, on ther booze again!” + +The bottle bulging from his coat pocket made speech with him +intelligible, despite the impeding coin. + +He placed the bottle in the boot of the buggy, and turning to Mag, +said “Give ther poor ole cow a dose!” + +“Yes, one in a billy; anything else might make her sick!” said Mag. +“I caught ’er jus’ now swiggin’ away with ther tap in ’er mug!” + +He asked his companion would she like a wet. She asked for water, and +so great was her need, that, making a barricade of closed lips and +teeth to the multitude of apparently wingless mosquitoes thriving in +its green tepidity, she moistened her mouth and throat. + +“Oh, I say, Billy!” called Mag as he drove off. Her tones suggested +her having forgotten an important matter, and he turned eagerly. +“W’en’s it goin’ ter rain?” she shrieked, convulsed with merriment. + +“Go an’ crawl inter a ’oller log!” he shouted angrily. + +“No, but truly, Billy.” Billy turned again. “Give my love to yaller +Lizer; thet slues yer!” + +They had not gone far before he looked round again. “Gord!” he cried +excitedly, “Look at Mag goin’ through ’er ole woman!” + +Mag had the old woman’s head between her knees, dentist-fashion, and +seemed to concentrate upon her victim’s mouth, whose feeble impotence +was soon demonstrated by the operator releasing her, and triumphantly +raising her hand. + +What the finger and thumb held the woman knew and the other guessed. + +“By Gord. Eh! thet’s prime; ain’t it? No flies on Mag; not a fly!” he +said, admiringly. + +“See me an’ ’er?” he asked, as he drove on. + +His tone suggested no need to reply, and his listener did not. A +giddy unreality took the sting from everything, even from her desire +to beseech him to turn back to the siding, and leave her there to +wait for the train to take her back to civilization. She felt she had +lost her mental balance. Little matters became distorted, and the +greater shrivelled. + +He was now more communicative, and the oaths and adjectives so +freely used were surely coined for such circumstances. “Damned” the +wretched, starving, and starved sheep looked and were; “bloody” the +beaks of the glutted crows; “blarsted” the whole of the plain they +drove through! + +Gaping cracks suggested yawning graves, and the skeleton fingers of +the drooping myalls seemingly pointed to them. + +“See me an’ Mag?” he asked again. “No flies on Mag; not a wink ’bout +’er!” He chuckled in tribute. “Ther wus thet damned flash fool, Jimmy +Fernatty,” he continued “--ther blanky fool; ’e never ’ad no show +with Mag. An’ yet ’e’d go down there! It wus two mile furder this +way, yet damned if ther blanky fool wouldn’t come this way every +time, ’less ther boss ’e wus with ’im, ’stead er goin’ ther short +cut,--ther way I come this mornin’. An’ every time Mag ud make ’im +part ’arf a quid! I wus on’l there jus’ ’bout five minits meself, an’ +I stuck up nea’ly ’arf a quid! An’ there’s four gates (he flogged the +horse and painted them crimson when he remembered them) this way, +more ’n on ther way I come this mornin’.” + +Presently he gave her the reins with instructions to drive through +one. It seemed to take a long time to close it, and he had to fix the +back of the buggy before he opened it, and after it was closed. + +After getting out several times in quick succession to fix the back +of the buggy when there was no gate, he seemed to forget the extra +distance. He kept his hand on hers when she gave him the reins, and +bade her “keep up ’er pecker.” “Someone would soon buck up ter ’er if +their boss wusn’t on.” But the boss it seemed was a “terrer for young +uns. Jimmy Fernatty ’as took up with a yaller piece an’ is livin’ +with ’er; But not me; thet’s not me! I’m like ther boss, thet’s me! +No yeller satin for me!” + +He watched for the effect of this degree of taste on her. + +Though she had withdrawn her hand, he kept winking at her, and she +had to move her feet to the edge of the buggy to prevent his pressing +against them. He told her with sudden anger that any red black-gin +was as good as a half chow any day, and it was no use gammoning for +he knew what she was. + +“If Billy Skywonkie ’ad ter string onter yaller Lizer, more ’air on +’is chest fer doin’ so,” (striking his own). “I ken get as many w’ite +gins as I wanter, an’ I’d as soon tackle a gin as a chow anyways!” + +On his next visit to the back of the buggy she heard the crash of +glass breaking against a tree. After a few snatches of song he +lighted his pipe, and grew sorrowfully reminiscent. + +“Yes s’elp me, nea’ly ’arf a quid! An’ thet coloured ole ’og of a cow +of a mother, soon’s she’s off ther booze, ’ll see thet she gets it!” +Then he missed his silk handkerchief. “Ghost!” he said, breathing +heavily, “Mag’s snavelled it! Lizer ’ll spot thet’s gone soon’s we +get ’ithin cooee of ’er!” + +Against hope he turned and looked along the road; felt every pocket, +lifted his feet, and looked under the mat. His companion, in reply, +said she had not seen it since his visit to the shanty. + +“My Gord!” he said, “Mag’s a fair terror!” He was greatly troubled +till the braggart in him gave an assertive flicker. “Know wot I’ll +do ter Lizer soon’s she begins ter start naggin’ at me?” He intended +this question as an insoluble conundrum, and waited for no surmises. +“Fill ’er mug with this!” The shut fist he shook was more than a +mugfull. “’Twouldn’ be ther first time I done it, not ther lars’.” +But the anticipation seemed little comfort to him. + +The rest of the journey was done in silence, and without even a peep +at the sky. When they came to the homestead gate he said his throat +felt as though a “goanner” had crawled into it and died. He asked her +for a pin and clumsily dropped it in his efforts to draw the collar +up to his ears, but had better luck with a hair-pin. + +He appeared suddenly subdued and sober, and as he took his seat after +closing the gate, he offered her his hand, and said, hurriedly, “No +’arm done, an’ no ’arm meant; an’ don’t let on ter my missus--thet’s +’er on the verander--thet we come be ther shanty.” + +It was dusk, but through it she saw that the woman was dusky too. + +“Boss in, Lizer?” There was contrition and propitiation in his voice. + +“You’ve bin a nice blanky time,” said his missus, “an’ lucky fer you: +Billy Skywonkie ’e ain’t.” + +With bowed head, his shoulders making kindly efforts to hide his +ears, he sat silent and listening respectfully. The woman in the +buggy thought that the volubility of the angry half-caste’s tongue +was the nearest thing to perpetual motion. Under her orders both got +down, and from a seat under the open window in the little room to +which Lizer had motioned, she gave respectful attention to the still +rapidly flowing tirade. The offence had been some terrible injustice +to a respectable married woman, “slavin’ an’ graftin’ an’ sweatin’ +from mornin’ ter night, for a slungin’ idlin’ lazy blaggard.” In +an indefinable way the woman felt that both of them were guilty, +and to hide from her part of the reproof was mean and cowardly. +The half-caste from time to time included her, and by degrees she +understood that the wasted time of which Lizer complained was +supposed to have been dissipated in flirtation. Neither the shanty +nor Mag had mention. + +From a kitchen facing the yard a Chinaman came at intervals, and with +that assumption of having mastered the situation in all its bearings +through his thorough knowledge of the English tongue, he shook his +head in calm, shocked surprise. His sympathies were unmistakeably +with Lizer, and he many times demonstrated his grip of the grievance +by saying, “By Cli’ Billy, its a bloo’y shame!” + +Maybe it was a sense of what was in his mind that made the quivering +woman hide her face when virtuous Ching Too came to look at her. She +was trying to eat when a dog ran into the dining-room, and despite +the violent beating of her heart, she heard the rouseabout tell the +boss as he unsaddled his horse, “The on’y woman I see was a ’alf +chow, an’ she ses she’s the one, an’ she’s in ther dinin’-room ’avin’ +a tuck in.” + +She was too giddy to stand when the boss entered, but she turned her +mournful eyes on him, and supporting herself by the table, stood and +faced him. + +He kept on his hat, and she, watching, saw curiosity and surprise +change into anger as he looked at her. + +“What an infernal cheek _you_ had to come! Who sent you?” he asked +stormily. + +She told him, and added that she had no intention of remaining. + +“How old?” She made no reply. His last thrust, as in disgust he +strode out, had the effect of a galvanic battery on her dying body. + +Her bedroom was reeking with a green heavy scent. Empty powder boxes +and rouge pots littered the dressing table, and various other aids +to nature evidenced her predecessor’s frailty. From a coign in its +fastness a black spider eyed her malignantly, and as long as the +light lasted she watched it. + +The ringing of a bell slung outside in the fork of a tree awoke her +before dawn. It was mustering--bush stocktaking--and all the station +hands were astir. There was a noise of galloping horses being driven +into the stockyard, and the clamour of the men as they caught and +saddled them. Above the clatter of plates in the kitchen she could +hear the affected drawl of the Chinaman talking to Lizer. She trod +heavily along the passage, preparing the boss’s breakfast. This +early meal was soon over, and with the dogs snapping playfully at +the horses’ heels, all rode off. + +Spasmodic bars of “A Bicycle Built for Two” came from the kitchen, +“Mayly, Mayly, give me answer do!” There was neither haste nor +anxiety in the singer’s tones. Before the kitchen fire, oblivious to +the heat, stood the Chinaman cook, inert from his morning’s opium. +It was only nine, but this was well on in the day for Ching, whose +morning began at four. + +He ceased his song as she entered. “You come Sydiney? Ah! You mally? +Ah! Sydiney welly ni’ place. This placee welly dly--too muchee no +lain--welly dly.” + +She was watching his dog. On a block lay a flitch of bacon, and +across the freshly cut side the dog drew its tongue, then snapped at +the flies, “That dog will eat the bacon,” she said. + +“No!” answered the cook. “’E no eat ’em--too saw.” + +It was salt; she had tried it for breakfast. + +He began energetically something about, “by-an’-bye me getty mally. +By Cli’ no ’alf cas--too muchee longa jlaw.” He laughed and shook +his head, reminiscent of “las’ a night,” and waited for applause. +But, fascinated, she still watched the dog, who from time to time +continued to take “saw” with his flies. + +“Go ou’ si’, Sir,” said the cook in a spirit of rivalry. The dog +stood and snapped, “Go ou’ si’, I say!” No notice from the dog “Go +ou’ si’, I tella you!” stamping his slippered feet and taking a fire +stick. The dog leisurely sat down and looked at his master with mild +reproof. “Go insi’ then, any bloo’y si’ you li’!” but pointing to +their joint bed-room with the lighted stick. The dog went to the +greasy door, saw that the hens sitting on the bed were quietly laying +eggs to go with the bacon, and came back. + +She asked him where was the rouseabout who had driven her in +yesterday. + +“Oh, Billy Skywonkie, ’e mally alri’! Lizer ’im missie!” He went on +to hint that affection there was misplaced, but that he himself was +unattached. + +She saw the rouseabout rattle into the yard in a spring cart. He let +down the backboard and dumped three sheep under a light gallows. +Their two front feet were strapped to one behind. + +He seemed breathless with haste. “Oh, I say!” he called out to her. +“Ther boss ’e tole me this mornin’ thet I wus ter tell you, you wis +ter sling yer ’ook. To do a get,” he explained. “So bundle yer duds +tergether quick an’ lively! Lizer’s down at ther tank, washin’. Le’ss +get away afore she sees us, or she’ll make yer swaller yer chewers.” +Lowering his voice, he continued: “I wanter go ter ther shanty--on’y +ter get me ’ankerchief.” + +He bent and strained back a sheep’s neck, drew the knife and steel +from his belt, and skilfully danced an edge on the knife. + +She noticed that the sheep lay passive, with its head back, till its +neck curved in a bow, and that the glitter of the knife was reflected +in its eye. + + + + + BUSH CHURCH. + + + I. + +The hospitality of the bush never extends to the loan of a good horse +to an inexperienced rider. The parson bumping along on old Rosey, who +had smelt the water of the “Circler Dam,” was powerless to keep the +cunning experienced brute from diverting from the track. With the bit +in her teeth, her pace kept him fully occupied to hold his seat. At +the edge of the Dam, old Rosey, to avoid the treacherous mud, began, +with humped back and hoofs close together, to walk along the plank, +that pierwise extended to the deeper water. The parson’s protests +ended in his slipping over the arched neck of the wilful brute, on to +the few inches of plank that she considerately left for him. The old +mare drank leisurely, then backed off with the same precaution, and +stood switching the flies with her stunted tail. The parson followed +her and thankfully grabbed the reins. After several attempts to get +up on the wrong side, he led the exacting animal to a log. He removed +the veil he wore as a protection from the sticky eye-eating flies, +so that Rosey might recognise him as her erstwhile rider. It was at +this stage that “flash” Ned Stennard, always with time to kill and a +tongue specially designed for the purpose, rode up and gave him lurid +instructions and a leg up. + +He had come to their remoteness, he told Ned, as they rode along, +to hold a service at a grazier’s homestead some miles distant. +Under Ned’s sympathetic guidance he pulled up at the sliprails of a +cockey’s selection to announce these tidings. It was Ned’s brother’s +place, but Ned, who was not on speaking terms with his sister-in-law, +rode on and waited. + +A group of half-naked children lay entangled among several kangaroo +pups, in a make-believe of shade from a sickly gum tree. A canvas +bag, with a saddle strap defining its long neck, hung from a bough, +and the pups were yelping mildly at its contents, and licking the +few drops of blood that fell. The parson saw the children rub the +swarming flies from their eyes and turn to look at him. An older +girl, bare-footed and dressed in a petticoat and old hat, was +standing near a fire before the wide opening that served as a doorway +to the humpy. She had a long stick, and was employed in permitting +an aged billy-goat to bring his nose within an inch of the simmering +water in the bucket slung over the fire. + +“Are your parents in?” he asked. + +“You aint ole Keogh?” said the girl. + +When he admitted that he wasn’t, he saw her interest in his +personality was gone. “Are your mother and father in?” + +The thirsty billy was sneaking up again to the water, and she let him +advance the prescribed limit before she made the jab that she enjoyed +so thoroughly. “Mum’s gorn ter Tilly Lumber’s ter see t’ ther kid, +and ther rester them’s gorn ter ther Circler Dam.” + +He made known his mission to the girl, but she didn’t divide her +attention. The water would soon be too hot for the billy to drink, +and there was no fun to be got out of the pups. For when she took +the salt pork out of the canvas bag and put it in the bucket, they +wouldn’t try to get it out of boiling water. + +Doubtful of his success, the parson rejoined Ned, and along the dusty +track they jogged. The parson’s part in the dialogue was chiefly +remonstrative as to the necessity of Ned’s variegated adjectives. And +he had frequently to assure the bushman that it would be useless for +him to search in his clerical pockets for tobacco, as he didn’t smoke. + +At the Horse Shoe Bend they overtook hairy Paddy Woods of eighteen +withering summers. Paddy was punching and blaspheming a nine mile +day out of his bullocks. These were straining their load along with +heads bent close to the dust-padded track, silent, for all the whip +weals, but for a cough to free their mouths and nostrils from dust. +Old Rosey, an inveterate yarner, pulled up abruptly; but Paddy, who +had his day’s work cut out to a minute, gave a voiceless side-long +nod in recognition of the parson’s greeting, and went on driving his +team. Probably his share of the conversation, mainly catechismal, +would have been yea and nay nods, but for catching Ned’s eye when the +parson asked if he were married. Paddy struck an attitude of aged +responsibility, and, tipping Ned an intelligent wink, made a pretence +of searching through a dusty past, and replied that he thought he +was. The parson, giving him the benefit of the doubt, enquired if +there were any children for baptism. Paddy, still with an eye on Ned, +reckoned that the number of his offspring was uncertain, but promised +that as soon as he delivered his load of wool he would have a day’s +“musterin’ an’ draftin’ an’ countin’ an’ ear-markin’” and send him +the returns. Ned’s loud laugh and “Good old Paddy” had not the effect +on its young-old recipient’s well-filled tobacco pouch that he had +hoped. The disgusted parson was trying to urge Rosey onward, but +Rosey refused to leave her pleasant company till Ned brought his +switch across her back. + +Ned stayed with Paddy long enough to tell him that, in his opinion, +the black-coated parson was “nothin’ but a sneakin’ Inspector, pokin’ +an’ prowlin’ roun’ fur ole Keogh”--the lessee of the run, and their +common enemy. He added that the green veil he wore over his eyes was +a “mast” (mask), but that it didn’t deceive him. Tobaccoless Ned +tried further to arouse practical admiration from pouch-full Paddy, +by adding that he would ride after this disguised Inspector, “pump +’im dry as a blow’d bladder, an’ then ’ammer ’ell outer ’im.” But +even this serious threat against the parson’s stock-in-trade had no +fruitful result, and putting his empty pipe back he galloped after +his companion. + +As they rode along, the parson in admiration watched the wiry little +bushman dexterously winking both eyes to the confusion of the flies, +and listened to the substitution of words of his own coinage dropped +red hot into the conversation in place of the sulphurous adjectives. +Soon there was but little unknown to Ned’s listener of the inner +history--and with such additions as contrasted unfavourably with his +own--of every selector on this sun-sucked run. In order of infamy +Ned placed the lessee first; a good second came the Land Agent in +the little township whence this pilgrim parson had come. But this +fact was made clear to him, that were the lessee ten times richer, +the Land Agent ten times more unscrupulous, were “dummy” selectors +occupying every acre, Ned was more than a match for them all. + +At a later stage of their journey, when he turned again to the +narratives of his cockey brethren, another circumstance stood out. +It was only when Ned had exhausted the certainty, probability, and +possibility of increase among the mares, cows, ewes, and nannies of +his and the other cockeys’ flocks and herds, that he would descend to +the human statistics, and the parson found that impending probability +and possibility entered largely into Ned’s computation of these. + +From time to time they sighted the cockeys’ humpies, but Ned, intent +on making the most of his amazed listener, kept him on the track to +his destination by promising to call at all the selections on his +way back, and tell them that there was to be a service to-morrow +morning. To emphasise his thoroughness, he added, with a wink of bush +freemasonry, that he would “on’y tell two sorts--them wot arsts me, +an’ them wot don’t.” And this clerical brother, newly initiated into +the mysteries of bush craft, could not have found a better messenger. +But the wonder expressed in his eyes, as he watched this new labourer +in the vineyard cantering briskly away to bear the glad tidings, +would have changed to awe could he have heard the varied versions Ned +gave to the scattered families as to the need of their being at the +grazier’s homestead the first thing next day. Moreover, most of the +conversation related by Ned as having taken place between the parson +and him would have been as new to the former as it was to Ned’s +audience. For the adjectives with which he flavoured the parson’s +share proved him to have readily and fluently mastered the lurid bush +tongue. + +It was shearing time, and being also the middle of the week, most +of the men were away. Those who were at home left their dinners, +and came outside to talk to him. A visitor at meal times is always +met outside the humpy, and the host, drawing a hand across a greasy +mouth, leads the way to the nearest log. The women of the bush have +little to share, and nursing the belief that how they live is quite +unknown to one another, they have no inclination to entertain a +caller. Two of the daily meals consist mainly of sliced damper dipped +in a pan of fat, that always hangs over the fire. Mutton at shearing +time is a rarity, as the men feed at the sheds. Wild pigs caught and +killed by the women make the chief flesh food, but these are often +scarce in the dry season. + +And in addition Ned was no favourite among the women. This was +partly from his being “flash,” but more from his reputation for +flogging his missus. Ned, moreover, had tried to force his example +on the male community by impressing upon them his philosophy, that +it was the proper thing to hit a woman every time you met her, since +she must either be coming from mischief or going to it. As to his +flashness, he considered he had something to be flash about. He had +been twice to Sydney; and not only could he spell by ear, but, given +an uncertain number of favouring circumstances, he could use a pen to +the extent of putting his name to a cheque. Certainly before he would +attempt this, Liz, his missus, had to pen up the goats, shut the hut, +and, with the dogs and the kids, drive the fowls a mile from the +house, and keep them there till Ned fired a gun. Left to himself, Ned +would tear out a cheque, lay it on the table, place a block of wood +on the bottom edge of the paper, to keep his hand from travelling +off it to the table below. Then he had to tie his wrist to the left +side of his belt--he was left-handed--in such a manner that his hand +could not stray to the foreign region above the cheque, ink the pen +with his right hand, and place it in the left. But even then the task +was often unaccomplished. Sometimes he would be so intent on trying +to keep the EDWARD on the line, that it would run to the end of the +paper, excluding the STENNARD, and, despite Ned’s protests anent +insufficient space, the bank did not approve of part of the signature +being placed on the back of the cheque. When he tried to write small +and straight, the result generally seemed satisfactory till a careful +analysis showed a letter or so missing. Or, just as success seemed +probable, his cheque book would give out, or his pen break. It was +bad for Liz and her own boy Joey when either of these accidents +occurred, for he would fire no gun, and, despite all the perspiring +activity of Liz, the kids, and the dogs, some of the fowls would make +their way home to roost on the hut when night came. For allowing him +to be disturbed “jes as I wus gettin’ me ’and in” he would “take it +outer” Liz, or, what was worse to her, “outer” Joey. + +But on this occasion Ned, ever resourceful and now hungry, refused to +be led to a log. His reputation for startling discoveries was against +him, but he knew that many of them must have seen him riding past +with a black-coated stranger, and he trusted to that to support the +story his ingenious imagination had ready for them. Authoritatively +he demanded in each case to see the missus. They came ungraciously, +but after his dark, bodeful hints as to the necessity of their +attending service at the grazier’s homestead next day, he was invited +inside and a place was cleared for him at the table. Quite recklessly +they plied him with pints of tea and damper and dip, sprinkled with +salt, and in some extravagant instances with pepper. And Ned took +these favours as his due, though he knew he was no favourite. + +Flogging and flashness were lost sight of by these anxious women, as +they listened to all he had to say. They coaxed him to wait while +they searched among the few spare clothes in the gin cases with +hide-hinged lids, for land receipts, marriage lines, letters from +Government Departments, registered cattle brands, sheep ear-marks, +and every other equipment that protects the poor cockey from a +spiteful and revengeful Government, whose sole aim was “ter ketch +’em winkin’” and then forfeit the selection. All of these documents +Ned inspected upside down or otherwise, and pronounced with unlegal +directness that “a squint et them ’ud fix ’im if thet’s wot ’e’s +smellin’ after.” He told them to bring them next day. Those of the +men who had swapped horses with passing drovers, without the exchange +of receipts, were busy all afternoon trumping up witnesses. + + + II. + +Next morning the minister was sitting in the rocking chair on the +verandah of the grazier’s house. He had a prayer book in one hand and +a handkerchief in the other, with which he lazily disputed the right +of the flies to roost on his veil. This gave an undulating motion to +the chair which was very soothing after old Rosey’s bumping. He saw +a pair of brown hands part the awning enclosing the verandah. Then a +black head, held in the position of a butting animal, came in view. +Free of the screen, the head craned upwards. He saw a flat, shrewd +face, with black beady eyes set either side of a bridgeless nose. A +wisp of dried grass hung from the wide mouth. + +“Sis wants er ride in thet ther cock ’orse yer in,” said the mouth, +ejecting the grass with considerable force in his direction. + +Sis’ had worked her head in by this. She was fair, with nondescript +hair and eyes, and she was “chawrin’”. + +“Wer’s ther cock ’orse, Jinny?” she asked, for the chair was not +rocking. + +“Ridey it an’ let ’er see it; an’ undo this,” commanded Jinny. + +“Come round to the front,” said the minister mildly, and pointing to +the opening opposite the door. + +They came in and walked up to him, with hoods hanging by the strings +down their backs. + +“Have you come alone?” + +“The ether uns er comin’. Me an’ Sis giv’ ’em ther slip; we didn’ +wanter ’ump ther dash kid.” + +“How far have you walked?” + +“Yer parst our place yesserday mornin’. Didn’ yer see me an’ ther +billy? Gosh, we nigh bust oursels at ther way yer legs stuck out. +Fust I thort yer wus ole Keogh. Yer rides jes’ like er Chinymun.” The +dark one did all the talking. + +“Our Sis wants er ride in this,” she continued. She gave the chair +a lurch that sent the parson’s feet in the air. To avoid the +threatened repetition he gripped both sides and planted his feet +firmly on the boards. + +The younger one poked a stem of dried grass from her mouth through +the mesh of the veil in a line with his left ear. Thoroughly routed, +he sprang up, and the elder child leapt in. + +“’Ere they cum, Jinny,” warned Sis. + +Jinny peeped through the awning. “So they is. You gammon ter them we +aint cum, w’en they arsts yer,” she said to the parson, “an’ we’ll +sneak roun’ ther back. Eh, Sis?” + +Mammy and Daddy--commonly called “Jyne” and “Alick” even by their +offspring--came in with four children, all younger than Jinny and +Sis. Jyne carried the youngest “straddled” across her hip. + +The most pronounced feature of Jyne’s face was her mouth, and it +seemed proud of its teeth, especially of the top row. Without any +apparent effort, the last tooth there was always visible. She was a +great power in the bush, being styled by the folk themselves “Rabbit +Ketcher,” which, translated, means mid-wife. And the airs Jyne gave +herself were justifiable, for she was the only “Rabbit Ketcher” +this side of the township. To bring a qualified mid-wife from +civilization would have represented a crippling expenditure to these +cockies. Jyne’s moderate fees were usually four-legged. + +“D’y ter yous,” said Alick, blinking his bungy eyes, and smiling +good-naturedly at the parson and at the grazier and his wife. He sat +down without removing his hat. Jyne’s teeth saluted them but without +any good nature. Jinny and Sis sneaked in behind their mother. + +“You young tinkers,” cried Jyne, “tyke this chile this minute.” Her +voice, despite the size of her mouth, came through her nose. She put +the baby on the floor, and, taking off her hood, mopped her face with +the inside of her print dress. + +“We wus lookin’ fer you an’ Alick,” said Jinny to her mother, and +winking at the parson. + +“Yes, you wus,--with ther ’ook,” answered Jyne. + +Without further introduction she slewed her head to one side, shut +one eye knowingly, and said to the staring minister, “Ther ain’t a +wink about Jinny.” + +The unblinking daughter instantly offered an illustration of her +wakefulness. “Yer orter seen me an’ gran’dad th’ ether mornin’. ’E +wus milkin’ ther nannies, an’ ther billy you seen ’e wus jes close +agen ’im. I sneaks up to ther billy an’ gives ’im er jab. Lawr ter +see ’im rush et ole Alex an’ bunt ’im! ’E’d er killed th’ ole feller +on’y fer me. Wou’dn’ ’e, mum?” + +“Yer a bol’ gal,” said mum in a proud voice. + +The bewildered minister, to turn the conversation, took a vase of +wild flowers. + +“They belong to the lily tribe, I think,” said the hostess. “They are +bulbous.” + +“Wile hunyions,” sniffed Jyne, making no attempt to conceal her +contempt for this cur of a woman, who thought so much of herself that +she always brought a nurse from town. + +Then came Alick’s brother, “Flash” Ned; they were as unlike as +brothers sometimes are. Ned greeted the parson with bush familiarity. +He had his hat on one side, and was wearing a silk Sydney coat that +reached to his heels. He was followed by Liz with their family of +five. Joey stayed outside, and from time to time dexterously located +his step-father. He was Liz’s child by an early marriage--at least, +she always said she had been married. + +Perched on Liz’s head was a draggled hat that a month ago had been +snow white. This also was one of Ned’s Sydney purchases. It was the +first time Liz had worn it, but she and the children had overhauled +it many times and tried it on. This privilege had been extended to +all the women whose curiosity and envy had brought them to Liz’s +place. Jinny had called on her way to church, and the missing end of +the white feather, after being licked of its ticklesomeness, was now +in her safe keeping. + +Jyne, catching sight of Joey, invited him inside. But the boy, at a +warning glance from his mother, slunk further back. He had run in +the wrong horse for his step-father that morning, and was evading a +threatened hiding that was to remove both skin and hair. Liz would +gladly have taken the hiding herself in place of Joey, but her +interference, as she knew to her cost, would mean one for herself +without saving the boy. + +But for all this Liz thought she was fairly happy. For it was not +every day that Ned tried to sign a cheque or that the sheep got +boxed, or that his horse refused to be caught. Nor did it always rain +when he wanted it fine. Things did not go wrong every day, and he did +not beat her or Joey unless they did. A pound of lollies for her and +the kids from a dealer’s cart when one came round, would make her +think him the best husband in the world. + +There was between Jyne and Ned the opposition that is instinctive +between commanding spirits. Liz yielded obedience first to Ned then +to Jyne. + +“Ow’s Polly?” enquired Liz, her countenance showing the gravity of +the question. + +“Arst ’im,” snarled Jyne, baring her fangs and looking at uneasy +shuffling Alick. “Makin’ ’er dror three casts er worter ten mile, an’ +er thet way. Wil’ pigs eatin’ ’er as I cum along.” + +“No!” said Liz, though she had known it all yesterday. News of such +catastrophes soon spread in the bush. + +“Better corl me a liar at onct,” snapped Jyne. + +Next to arrive were Jyne’s mother and Alick’s father, both of whom +lived with Jyne. The old woman rode on a horse astride a man’s +saddle. The old man led it. She had Jyne’s mouth, or rather Jyne +had hers, but the teeth were gone. The old man greeted the parson +reverently, blew with his breath on the seat, and wiped it carefully +with the handkerchief he had taken from his hat. Even then before +sitting he raised the tails of the coat he had been married in +so long ago. Until Ned’s Sydney purchase his had been the only +decorative coat in the district. + +Tilly and Jim Lumber, with their ten-days-old baby, followed. Jim was +the champion concertina player and bullock driver in the district. He +came as the representative of the several families across the creek, +whom energetic Ned had rounded up the day before. He had been chosen +by them for his size and strength to do battle on their behalf. Ned’s +effort to frighten those women whose husbands were away shearing +into the necessity of attending service had over-reached itself, and +they had been afraid to come. But they had entrusted their precious +documents to Jim’s powerful keeping. He had his own registered brand +tied up in a spotted handkerchief. This he dropped with a clank +beside him as he sat sheepishly and gingerly on the edge of a chair. +He was over six feet, but he sat with his head almost between his +knees, till he resembled a quadruped. His shirt front bulged like +a wallet with his clients’ papers. He slyly took stock of those +assembled. Spry little Tilly got the credit of having done all the +courting. Even after marriage she had always done his share of the +talking. + +“Ow’s ther kiddy maroo?” said Alick to Jim, lisping from the size of +the plug he had just bitten. He had a fatherly interest in all Jyne’s +“rabbit ketchin’.” + +Jim, who never used his voice except to drive his bullocks, answered +with a subterranean laugh. + +“Noo bit er flesh,” said Ned, nodding at the baby. + +“Ow’s Polly this mornin’?” gravely enquired Tilly, as she took a seat +near Jyne. + +“Ah, poor Polly,” quavered Jyne’s mother, and sparing Jyne by telling +of Polly’s untimely end. + +“Well, I’m blest; what a lorse!” said the sympathetic Tilly. She +repeated a well-known story of the bu’stin’ of a poley cow last year. + +Jyne took the baby, and began to rate the mother mildly for “walkin’ +seven mile ser soon,” but Jyne’s mother interposed with a recital +of “wot I dun w’en Jun (John) wur two days old.” John was present, +fully six feet of him, grinning with a mouth bigger than Jyne’s, but +mercifully hidden by a straggled moustache. + +However, Jyne was not to be outdone even by her own mother, and the +narrative of her last, assisted in many minor details by Jinney, aged +eleven, left little to be desired in the way of hardihood. + +Liz kept her teething baby respectfully silent by industriously +rubbing its lower gum with a dirty thumb. She expressed her surprise +at Jyne’s phenomenal endurance by little clicks of the tongue, +shakes of the head, and other signs indicative of admiration and +astonishment. When Jyne finished, she began eagerly on an experience +of her own. “Well, w’en I wus took with Drary (short for Adrarian), +think I could fin’ ther sissers?” + +Jyne, who knew that the recital of a daring feat was coming, +enquired, “W’en yer wus took with Joey?” + +“No,” said Liz, stopping short with a nervous click in her voice, and +looking at Ned. + +The next item was ventriloquising by Jyne per medium of Tilly’s +uneasy baby. “My mammy, she sez, yer dot me all o’a hoo, she sez. +No wunny, she sez, me can’t keep goody, she sez, ’ith me cosey all +o’a hoo, she sez.” She had been examining the baby’s undergear, +and at this stage her tone of baby banter suddenly changed to one +of professional horror. “My Gawd, Tilly!” she cried, the drooping +corners of her mouth nearly covering her upper teeth. “Look w’er +er little belly-bands is--nearly un’er ’er arms,” she explained, +probably to the company, but looking directly at the clergyman. And, +with true professional acumen, she intimated that had she not been on +the spot, an intricate part of the little one’s anatomy in another +minute would “’a bust out a bleedin’ an’ not all ther doctors in ther +worl’ couldn’ astoppt it.” + +The minister was very busy, meanwhile, blushing and getting his books +in order, and with this congregation of ten adults and eighteen +children he began, “Dearly beloved brethren----” + +Jim Lumber gripped his bullock brand, took a swift look at him and +turned to Tilly. It had been settled between them that she was to do +the talking. Alick, who, despite his father’s efforts to enlighten +him as to the nature of a church service, and encouraged by Jyne’s +remark that “they’d eat nothin’,” had also brought his valuable +documents in his shirt front, thrust in a groping hand. + +For a few minutes the adults listened and watched intently, but the +gentle voice of the parson, and his nervous manner, soon convinced +them that they had nothing to fear from him. Ned had been ’pokin’ +borak’ at them again; they added it to the long score they owed him. + +The children wandered about the room. Jinny and Sis invited their +little sister to “Cum an’ see ther pooty picters in the man’s book,” +and they assisted the minister to turn over the leaves of his Bible. + +Alick’s father, who was from the North of Ireland, and, for all his +forty years in the bush, had not lost his reverence for the cloth, +bade his grand-daughters beseechingly to “quet,” whereupon Jinny +showed him quite two inches of inky tongue. Ink was a commodity +unknown in Jinny’s home, and all the unknown is edible to the bush +child. + +“Woman!” he said, appealing to Jinny’s mother, “whybut you bid ’er to +quet?” + +“You orter be in er glars’ ban’ box w’er ther ain’t no children; +thet’s w’er you orter be,” answered Jyne. + +He beckoned to one straggler, a girl of six, with Alick’s face, who +came to him promptly and sat on his knee. + +Presently her brown hand stroked his old cheek. “Gran’ dad,” she said. + +“Choot, darlin’,” he whispered, reverently. + +The child looked at him wonderingly. “I says you’s gran’ dad,” she +repeated, “not ole Alick.” + +He laid his white head on hers. + +“Gran’ dad, ole Tommy Tolbit’s dead.” + +Turning his glistening face to Liz in momentary forgetfulness, he +said solemnly, “The knowledge of this chile!” + +“Ole Talbert” had been dead for two years, and the knowledgable child +had been surprising him so, at least twice a week. + +“We have erred and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep,” murmured +the minister. + +The smaller children wandered in and out of the bedrooms, carrying +their spoils with them. But Jinny and Sis had drawn the now disabled +rocking chair up to the window, and were busy poking faces at two of +Liz’s children, who were standing on the couch inside. One of these +made a vicious smack with a hair-brush at Jinny’s tongue, flattened +against the glass. The ensuing crash stopped even the parson for a +moment. + +Bravely he began again. He paused occasionally for a sudden +subterranean laugh to cease or to put one book after another on the +shelf behind him out of the children’s reach. Just as he read the +last line of the Te Deum, “Oh Lord in Thee have I trusted, let me +never be confounded,” one of Liz’s children tugged at his trousers, +with a muzzled request that his teeth might be freed from a square of +pink soap. Another offered to the baby Liz was nursing a pincushion +she brought from the bedroom. + +“Jyne,” called Jinny from the verandah, “’Ere cums young Tommy Tolbit +by ’isself. You wus right, Jyne; she ain’t cummin’!” + +Even Jyne’s gums gleamed; she looked triumphantly at Alick her +husband, at Liz, then at all but Ned. + +In shambled Tommy, moist and panting. He had been a drover, and had +recently taken up a selection on the run. He was a bridegroom of a +month’s standing. His missus had been a servant at one of the hotels +in the township. + +“Made a start!” he remarked. His voice gave the impression that he +did not mind their not waiting for him. + +“Missus ain’t comin’?” enquired Alick, trying to atone to Jyne for +overloading Polly. + +“Not ter day,” said the bridegroom, but his voice intimated that in +all probability she would have been able to come to-morrow. + +“No!” said Jyne, putting him under fire, and trying to keep the crow +out of her voice. + +“Ain’t very well, is she? Didn’ eat a very ’earty breakfuss this +mornin’?” And a further remark suggested that even if the meal had +been hearty, the usual process of assimilation had not taken place. + +“Ow’s Polly?” he enquired. + +“Cooked,” said Jyne, instantly diverted. + +“Go on!” said the bridegroom, with well feigned astonishment. His +breathless and perspiring state had been caused by his “going on” to +capture one of the wild suckers that had been eating Polly. + +“Let us pray,” said the minister. His host, hostess, and Alick’s +father knelt, but the rest sat as usual. + +The knowledgable child, considering the grandfather’s position an +invitation to mount, climbed on his back. Making a bridle of the +handkerchief round the old fellow’s neck, and digging two heels into +his sides, she talked horse to him. The protesting old man bucked +vigorously, but it was no easy task to throw her. + +The clergyman gave out his text, and the sermon began. + +Jyne’s children commenced to complain of being “’ungery” and a +fair-sized damper was taken from a pillow-slip. This, together with +two tin tots and a bottle of goat’s milk, was given to Jinny and she +was told to do “ther sharin’.” + +The hostess asked Jyne in a whisper to send them to the verandah, and +for a time there was comparative quiet. Such interruptions as “Jinny +won’t gimme nun, Arnie” (Auntie) from Liz’s children being checked by +Jyne with “Go an’ play an’ doan’ ’ave ser much gab, like yer father.” + +“Thet greedy wretch uv er Jinny is guzzlin’ all ther milk inter ’er, +Jyne,” from her own children, was appeased by her promise to “break +ther young faggit’s back w’en I get ’ome.” + +There was a wail of anguished hunger from Liz’s empty children that +aroused paternal sympathy in Ned. “Sep me Gord,” he said, “some +wimmen is like cows. They’ll give ther own calf a suck, but if anyone +else’s calf cums anigh ’em they lif’ their leg an’ kick it ter +blazes.” + +Jyne tossed her head and, with a derisive laugh, expressed the +opinion that “It ’ed fit sum people better if ther munny wasted in +buyin’ flash coats an’ rediclus ’ats wus spent in flour bags.” + +For a short space only the voice of the preacher sounded, as, in +studied stoicism, he pursued his thankless task. Occasionally they +looked at him to see “’Oo ’e wus speakin’ ter,” but finding nothing +directly personal, even this attention ceased. + +Liz leant across to Tilly Lumber and asked, “Fowl layin’?” + +“Ketch ’em er layin’ et Chrissermus.” + +Ned told how he had brought home a number of law books from Sydney, +and that he and an old man he had picked up “wus readin’ ’em.” It was +his intention to absorb such an amount of knowledge that all he would +have to do with the lessee of the run--an ex-barrister--would be to +put him in a bail. What would follow was graphically illustrated by +Ned’s dropping his head, gripping an imaginary bucket between his +knees, and opening and shutting his hands in rhythmic up and down +movements. Some of his audience, remembering his threats and warning +against the parson, thought this pantomime must have an ominous +meaning for the preacher. + +But sceptical Jyne was not impressed. “Upon me soul,” she said, “sum +people is the biggest lyin’ blowers that ever cockt er lip.” + +Alick, always for peace, stepped into the breach. “Comin’ along jes’ +now,” he said, shifting his plug of tobacco from one side to the +other, and aiming at the flies in the fireplace with the juice, “we +’as a yarn with Mick Byrnes. ’E ’as ther luck of er lousy calf. ’E +sez ’e got eightpence orl roun’ fer ’ees kangaroo skins. Damned if I +can.” + +“Now a good plan ’ed be,” said Ned, “ter get a good lot, sen’ ’em +down ter them Sydney blokes. Slip down yerself, go ter ther sale, +don’ let on ’oo yer are, an’ run ’em up like blazes. Thet’s wot I’ll +do with my wool nex’ year.” + +This plan seemed commendable to Alick. “By Goey,” he said, his mild +eyes blinking. + +Jyne never, on any occasion, showed the slightest interest or +attention when Ned was speaking, unless to sniff and lay bare her +bottom teeth, but here she remarked, “Sum people ’ud keep runnin’ ter +Sydney till ’e ’asen’ er penny ter fly with.” + +“If sum people with ser much jawr, an’ ’er mouth ’es big ’es ’er torn +pocket, belonged ter me,” said Ned, “I’d smash er ugly jawr.” + +Jyne slewed hers to an awful angle in his direction, “I’d like ter +see yer try it.” + +A look of agony came into the eyes of the grazier’s wife as she heard +the door of the dining-room open. The children were so quiet, that +she knew they were up to mischief. + +She heard Jinny’s hoarse whisper. “Orl of yez wait an’ I’ll bring +yer sumsin’.” On the dining-room table was the cold food prepared +for the clergyman’s dinner. She looked across at her husband with +dumb entreaty. He, with eyes devoutly on the carpet, was listening +intently to Ned’s account of how he nearly made the squatter take a +“sugar doodle” (back somersault) when he heard that he had been to +Sydney. + +“’Day Keogh,” sez I. + +“’Oo ’ave I ther ’oner of speakin’ ter?” sez ’e. + +“Mr. Stennard,” I sez. + +“Oh indeed,” ’e sez, “very ’appy ter make yer acquaintance, Mr. +Stennard, Esquire,” ’e sez. + +“Never mind no blarsted acquaintance,” I sez, “w’en are yer goin’ ter +take yer flamin’ jumbucks orf my lan’?” I sez. + +“Your lan’,” ’e sez, “I didn’ know you ’ad any lan’ about ’ere,” ’e +sez. + +“Oh, didn’ yer,” I sez, “you ner ther Lan’ Agent won’ frighten me +orf,” I sez, “gammonin’ I’m on er reserve,” sez I, “I’ve paid me +deposit, an’ I’ve been ter Sydney,” I sez, “I put me name ter a +cheque,” sez I, “an’ ----” + +Jyne ceased sniffing, to laugh long and loudly. “Gawd, eh!” she said, +with her eyes on the ceiling and apparently appealing to the flies. +“Wot ’erbout sech game cocks plantin’ under ther dray w’en old Keogh +kem bullyin’ w’en we fust kem out ’ere?” + +Ned went hastily out at the front door “ter squint at ther jumbucks,” +three miles away. Joey, who had been peering round that door, now +appeared at the back. + +“Come in, Joey,” snorted Jyne. “No one ain’t game ter ’it yer w’en +I’m ’ere.” + +The minister still preached, but he had only old Alick for a listener. + +The hostess’ mental picture of Jinny “sharin’” her dinner for +three among that voracious brood was distracting. Only the fear of +suffering in the clergyman’s mind as one of “them” kept her to her +seat. She could give the sermon no attention, but listened to Sis +licking her fingers, and wondered if it was the vinegar or the wine +that caused Jinny’s cough. Presently Jinny set that doubt at rest by +coming in odorous, and with the front of her dress wine-stained. + +“Little ’un snoozin’!” Jinny remarked, lurching giddily towards +her to merrily twirl her fist in the snoozer. The snoozer’s mother +wondered if they had shut the dining-room door. Soon the noise of the +fowls scattering the crockery told her they had not. + +“Thum busted fowls is eatin’ orl yer dinner,” said Jinny dreamily. + +“’Unt ’em out an’ shet ther door,” said sympathetic Jyne. + +“You go, Sis, I’m tired.” Jinny laid her giddy head on the floor, and +went to sleep. + +“Liz,” said Jyne, maliciously, for she immediately grudged Sis’ +efforts to chase the fowls out of the dining-room. “Wot’s thet there +flower?” pointing to the vase. + +“Wile huniyon,” said Liz, promptly. + +“Er, is it? Thet’s orl yer know. Thet’s a bulbers, thet is. Thet’s +ther noo name fer it.” She looked at the grazier’s wife and laughed +ironically. + +“Bulbers! yer goat,” said Liz, laughing dutifully. + +The sermon was over, and the worried minister began the christening. + +The naming of the hostess’ baby was plain sailing. He then drew +towards him a child of about two years, and asked, “What is this +child’s name?” + +“Adrarian,” said Liz. An old shepherd reading to her a love story had +so pronounced the hero’s name. It staggered the minister, until his +hostess spelt “Adrian.” + +“What is its age?” + +“About two year.” + +This was too vague for him, and he pressed for dates. But for these +dwellers in the bush the calendar had no significance. The mother +thought it might be in November. “Cos it wus shearin’, an’ I’d ter +keep Teddy at ’ome ter do ther work.” Teddy was “about ten.” From +these uncertainties the clergyman had to supply the dates for his +official returns to the Government. + +“But Lawd,” as Jyne remarked to ease his perplexity, “wot did it +matter fer a brat of er boy.” She had a family of six, and all were +girls. + +There was much the same difficulty with all the others, an exception +being Tilly Lumber’s baby of under a fortnight. A cowardly look came +into the minister’s eyes as he turned to this grotesque atom already +in the short coat stage. He remembered Jyne’s awful discovery of a +little while back, and shirked the duty of holding it even for a +moment. + +The christening was a matter that had some personal interest for +the elders, and they grouped round the minister. Bridegroom Tommy, +striking the mossy back of Alick’s old father, suggested that he and +Jyne’s mother should get spliced, and he expressed the opinion of the +fruitfulness of such union within record time as a set-off dig at +Jyne. + +She instantly balanced matters between herself and the incautiously +smiling Liz and the laughing unfilial Ned, “Stop scratchin’ yer +’ed, miss; anyone ’ud think there wus anythink in it,” she said to +Liz’s eldest girl, who was brushing the christening water from her +hair. Ned’s stepson she invited to come nearer, and tell her who had +blackened his poor eye. She advised the silent lad “ter get a waddy +ther nex’ time anyone bigger’n yer goes ter ’it yer.” And she gave +him directions by twirling an imaginary waddy swiftly, its circuit +suddenly diverting in a line with Ned’s skull. + +It was long past noon when the ceremony was ended. The minister +drained his glass of water, mopped his face, and heaved a deep sigh. +As the whole congregation still sat on, he gave them a hint that +“church” was out, and their presence no longer required. He spoke +with a show of concern of how very hot they would find the walk home, +and to further emphasise his meaning, he shook hands with all the +adults, and walked to the verandah. Without the slightest concern +they sat on, listening intently to the sounds the hostess made in +trying to scrape together a meal for the clergyman. Apparently they +all meant to stay the day. + +The grazier’s wife appeared for a moment to beckon him to go round +the house into the dining-room. He sat down to the remains of the +dinner the children had left. + +At that moment Jinny, who had been awakened for the christening, +looked round the door. “Our Sis wants ter know w’en’s ’er supper’s +goin’ ter be!” she said. + +This perhaps was an acknowledgment that Sis had already dined. + + + + + THE CHOSEN VESSEL. + + +She laid the stick and her baby on the grass while she untied the +rope that tethered the calf. The length of the rope separated them. +The cow was near the calf, and both were lying down. Feed along the +creek was plentiful, and every day she found a fresh place to tether +it, since tether it she must, for if she did not, it would stray +with the cow out on the plain. She had plenty of time to go after +it, but then there was baby; and if the cow turned on her out on the +plain, and she with baby,--she had been a town girl and was afraid +of the cow, but she did not want the cow to know it. She used to run +at first when it bellowed its protest against the penning up of its +calf. This satisfied the cow, also the calf, but the woman’s husband +was angry, and called her--the noun was cur. It was he who forced her +to run and meet the advancing cow, brandishing a stick, and uttering +threatening words till the enemy turned and ran. “That’s the way!” +the man said, laughing at her white face. In many things he was worse +than the cow, and she wondered if the same rule would apply to the +man, but she was not one to provoke skirmishes even with the cow. + +It was early for the calf to go “to bed”--nearly an hour earlier than +usual; but she had felt so restless all day. Partly because it was +Monday, and the end of the week that would bring her and baby the +companionship of its father, was so far off. He was a shearer, and +had gone to his shed before daylight that morning. Fifteen miles as +the crow flies separated them. + +There was a track in front of the house, for it had once been a wine +shanty, and a few travellers passed along at intervals. She was not +afraid of horsemen; but swagmen, going to, or worse, coming from the +dismal, drunken little township, a day’s journey beyond, terrified +her. One had called at the house to-day, and asked for tucker. + +Ah! that was why she had penned up the calf so early! She feared more +from the look of his eyes, and the gleam of his teeth, as he watched +her newly awakened baby beat its impatient fists upon her covered +breasts, than from the knife that was sheathed in the belt at his +waist. + +She had given him bread and meat. Her husband she told him was sick. +She always said that when she was alone, and a swagman came, and she +had gone in from the kitchen to the bedroom, and asked questions +and replied to them in the best man’s voice she could assume. Then +he had asked to go into the kitchen to boil his billy, but she gave +him tea, and he drank it on the wood heap. He had walked round and +round the house, and there were cracks in some places, and after the +last time he had asked for tobacco. She had none to give him, and he +had grinned, because there was a broken clay pipe near the wood heap +where he stood, and if there were a man inside, there ought to have +been tobacco. Then he asked for money, but women in the bush never +have money. + +At last he had gone, and she, watching through the cracks, saw him +when about a quarter of a mile away, turn and look back at the +house. He had stood so for some moments with a pretence of fixing his +swag, and then, apparently satisfied, moved to the left towards the +creek. The creek made a bow round the house, and when he came to it +she lost sight of him. Hours after, watching intently for signs of +smoke, she saw the man’s dog chasing some sheep that had gone to the +creek for water, and saw it slink back suddenly, as if the man had +called it. + +More than once she thought of taking her baby and going to her +husband. But in the past, when she had dared to speak of the dangers +to which her loneliness exposed her, he had taunted and sneered at +her. She need not flatter herself, he had coarsely told her, that any +body would want to run away with her. + +Long before nightfall she placed food on the kitchen table, and +beside it laid the big brooch that had been her mother’s. It was the +only thing of value that she had. And she left the kitchen door wide +open. + +The doors inside she securely fastened. Beside the bolt in the back +one she drove in the steel and scissors; against it she piled the +table and the stools. Underneath the lock of the front door she +forced the handle of the spade, and the blade between the cracks in +the flooring boards. Then the prop-stick, cut into lengths, held the +top, as the spade held the middle. The windows were little more than +portholes; she had nothing to fear through them. + +She ate a few mouthfuls of food and drank a cup of milk. But she +lighted no fire, and when night came, no candle, but crept with her +baby to bed. + +What woke her? The wonder was that she had slept--she had not meant +to. But she was young, very young. Perhaps the shrinking of the +galvanized roof--yet hardly, since that was so usual. Something had +set her heart beating wildly; but she lay quite still, only she put +her arm over her baby. Then she had both round it, and she prayed, +“Little baby, little baby, don’t wake!” + +The moon’s rays shone on the front of the house, and she saw one +of the open cracks, quite close to where she lay, darken with a +shadow. Then a protesting growl reached her; and she could fancy she +heard the man turn hastily. She plainly heard the thud of something +striking the dog’s ribs, and the long flying strides of the animal +as it howled and ran. Still watching, she saw the shadow darken +every crack along the wall. She knew by the sounds that the man was +trying every standpoint that might help him to see in; but how much +he saw she could not tell. She thought of many things she might do to +deceive him into the idea that she was not alone. But the sound of +her voice would wake baby, and she dreaded that as though it were the +only danger that threatened her. So she prayed, “Little baby, don’t +wake, don’t cry!” + +Stealthily the man crept about. She knew he had his boots off, +because of the vibration that his feet caused as he walked along the +verandah to gauge the width of the little window in her room, and the +resistance of the front door. + +Then he went to the other end, and the uncertainty of what he was +doing became unendurable. She had felt safer, far safer, while he +was close, and she could watch and listen. She felt she must watch, +but the great fear of wakening baby again assailed her. She suddenly +recalled that one of the slabs on that side of the house had shrunk +in length as well as in width, and had once fallen out. It was held +in position only by a wedge of wood underneath. What if he should +discover that! The uncertainty increased her terror. She prayed as +she gently raised herself with her little one in her arms, held +tightly to her breast. + +She thought of the knife, and shielded her child’s body with her +hands and arms. Even its little feet she covered with its white +gown, and baby never murmured--it liked to be held so. Noiselessly +she crossed to the other side, and stood where she could see and +hear, but not be seen. He was trying every slab, and was very near +to that with the wedge under it. Then she saw him find it; and heard +the sound of the knife as bit by bit he began to cut away the wooden +support. + +She waited motionless, with her baby pressed tightly to her, though +she knew that in another few minutes this man with the cruel eyes, +lascivious mouth, and gleaming knife, would enter. One side of the +slab tilted; he had only to cut away the remaining little end, when +the slab, unless he held it, would fall outside. + +She heard his jerked breathing as it kept time with the cuts of the +knife, and the brush of his clothes as he rubbed the wall in his +movements, for she was so still and quiet, that she did not even +tremble. She knew when he ceased, and wondered why. She stood well +concealed; she knew he could not see her, and that he would not +fear if he did, yet she heard him move cautiously away. Perhaps he +expected the slab to fall. Still his motive puzzled her, and she +moved even closer, and bent her body the better to listen. Ah! what +sound was that? “Listen! Listen!” she bade her heart--her heart that +had kept so still, but now bounded with tumultuous throbs that dulled +her ears. Nearer and nearer came the sounds, till the welcome thud of +a horse’s hoof rang out clearly. + +“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!” she cried for they were very close +before she could make sure. She turned to the door, and with her baby +in her arms tore frantically at its bolts and bars. + +Out she darted at last, and running madly along, saw the horseman +beyond her in the distance. She called to him in Christ’s name, in +her babe’s name, still flying like the wind with the speed that +deadly peril gives. But the distance grew greater and greater between +them, and when she reached the creek her prayers turned to wild +shrieks, for there crouched the man she feared, with outstretched +arms that caught her as she fell. She knew he was offering terms if +she ceased to struggle and cry for help, though louder and louder +did she cry for it, but it was only when the man’s hand gripped +her throat, that the cry of “Murder” came from her lips. And when +she ceased, the startled curlews took up the awful sound, and flew +shrieking over the horseman’s head. + + * * * * * + +“By God!” said the boundary rider, “its been a dingo right enough! +Eight killed up here, and there’s more down in the creek--a ewe and a +lamb, I’ll bet; and the lamb’s alive!” And he shut out the sky with +his hand, and watched the crows that were circling round and round, +nearing the earth one moment, and the next shooting skywards. By +that he knew the lamb must be alive; even a dingo will spare a lamb +sometimes. + +Yes, the lamb was alive, and after the manner of lambs of its kind +did not know its mother when the light came. It had sucked the still +warm breasts, and laid its little head on her bosom, and slept till +the morn. Then, when it looked at the swollen disfigured face, it +wept and would have crept away, but for the hand that still clutched +its little gown. Sleep was nodding its golden head and swaying its +small body, and the crows were close, so close, to the mother’s +wide-open eyes, when the boundary rider galloped down. + +“Jesus Christ!” he said, covering his eyes. He told afterwards how +the little child held out its arms to him, and how he was forced to +cut its gown that the dead hand held. + + * * * * * + +It was election time, and as usual the priest had selected a +candidate. His choice was so obviously in the interests of the +squatter, that Peter Hennessey’s reason, for once in his life, had +over-ridden superstition, and he had dared promise his vote to +another. Yet he was uneasy, and every time he woke in the night (and +it was often), he heard the murmur of his mother’s voice. It came +through the partition, or under the door. If through the partition, +he knew she was praying in her bed; but when the sounds came under +the door, she was on her knees before the little altar in the corner +that enshrined the statue of the Blessed Virgin and Child. + +“Mary, Mother of Christ! save my son! Save him!” prayed she in the +dairy as she strained and set the evening’s milking. “Sweet Mary! for +the love of Christ, save him!” The grief in her old face made the +morning meal so bitter, that to avoid her he came late to his dinner. +It made him so cowardly, that he could not say good-bye to her, and +when night fell on the eve of the election day, he rode off secretly. + +He had thirty miles to ride to the township to record his vote. He +cantered briskly along the great stretch of plain that had nothing +but stunted cotton bush to play shadow to the full moon, which +glorified a sky of earliest spring. The bruised incense of the +flowering clover rose up to him, and the glory of the night appealed +vaguely to his imagination, but he was preoccupied with his present +act of revolt. + +Vividly he saw his mother’s agony when she would find him gone. At +that moment, he felt sure, she was praying. + +“Mary! Mother of Christ!” He repeated the invocation, half +unconsciously. And suddenly, out of the stillness, came Christ’s name +to him--called loudly in despairing accents. + +“For Christ’s sake! Christ’s sake! Christ’s sake!” called the voice. +Good Catholic that he had been, he crossed himself before he dared +to look back. Gliding across a ghostly patch of pipe-clay, he saw a +white-robed figure with a babe clasped to her bosom. + +All the superstitious awe of his race and religion swayed his brain. +The moonlight on the gleaming clay was a “heavenly light” to him, and +he knew the white figure not for flesh and blood, but for the Virgin +and Child of his mother’s prayers. Then, good Catholic that once more +he was, he put spurs to his horse’s sides and galloped madly away. + +His mother’s prayers were answered. + +Hennessey was the first to record his vote--for the priest’s +candidate. Then he sought the priest at home, but found that he was +out rallying the voters. Still, under the influence of his blessed +vision, Hennessey would not go near the public houses, but wandered +about the outskirts of the town for hours, keeping apart from the +towns-people, and fasting as penance. He was subdued and mildly +ecstatic, feeling as a repentant chastened child, who awaits only the +kiss of peace. + +And at last, as he stood in the graveyard crossing himself with +reverent awe, he heard in the gathering twilight the roar of many +voices crying the name of the victor at the election. It was well +with the priest. + +Again Hennessey sought him. He was at home, the house-keeper said, +and led him into the dimly-lighted study. His seat was immediately +opposite a large picture, and as the housekeeper turned up the lamp, +once more the face of the Madonna and Child looked down on him, but +this time silently, peacefully. The half-parted lips of the Virgin +were smiling with compassionate tenderness; her eyes seemed to beam +with the forgiveness of an earthly mother for her erring but beloved +child. + +He fell on his knees in adoration. Transfixed, the wondering priest +stood, for mingled with the adoration, “My Lord and my God!” was the +exaltation, “And hast Thou chosen me?” + +“What is it, Peter?” said the priest. + +“Father,” he answered reverently, and with loosened tongue he poured +forth the story of his vision. + +“Great God!” shouted the priest, “and you did not stop to save her! +Have you not heard?” + + * * * * * + +Many miles further down the creek a man kept throwing an old cap into +a water-hole. The dog would bring it out and lay it on the opposite +side to where the man stood, but would not allow the man to catch +him, though it was only to wash the blood of the sheep from his mouth +and throat, for the sight of blood made the man tremble. + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: + +Words in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. +Underlined text is surrounded by tildes, ~like this~. Words may have +multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. +These have been left unchanged, as were jargon, dialect, obsolete and +alternative spellings. Final stops missing at the end of sentences +were added. Duplicate words at line endings were removed. Punctuation +was standardized. Four misspelled words were corrected. Unprinted +letters were added to three words: + + ‘... who from time to t[ime] continued to take ...’ + ‘... She [fea]red more from the look of his eyes,...’ + ‘... and [l]ooked under the mat ...’ + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78420 *** |