Читать книгу The Sands of Windee - Arthur W. Upfield - Страница 10

Bony Educates a Horse

Marion Stanton was dark of hair, with a creamy complexion. The contrast was the most striking thing about her, noticeable long before the features were examined. Then it was that the observer wondered at the wide level forehead, so indicative of calm reason when allied to the beautifully curved chin, tempered by the soft, dainty mouth that made a man think of all that is delightful in womanhood.

In repose her face was not beautiful, but when it was lit by the light of personality shining from her grey eyes it was to glimpse something of wonder and attraction, a richly lovely woman.

She and Stanton sat on the wide fly-netted south veranda with a small tea laden table between them, father and daughter in appearance as opposite as the poles. The man over sixty, the girl not yet twenty-five; the father slight and lithe, the daughter big-boned and active; the one at sixty showing the effects of a hard, tough life spent mostly on a horse, the other at twenty-five revealing womanly gentleness and grace. Yet to observe them together was to know that one begat the other, for when they smiled it was very often with their eyes alone.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that we are to tin-kettle the Fosters to-morrow night,” Marion observed, pouring her father his second cup.

“I had forgotten, but I am not going,” Stanton said a little grimly. “If you think that I, at my age, intend to travel eighty miles to play the fool round my overseer’s house, then you want to think something else.”

“That is just what I am doing, Dad.”

“Good!”

Stanton drank his tea in silence. His daughter’s expression had subtly changed, and he knew that he was in for a battle he would probably lose, because he had lost every battle but one fought between them since the day his daughter was born. He awaited stoically her next broadside.

“Harry Foster has worked for you since he left school in—let me think—yes, in nineteen-seven,” she said. “Without counting the years he was away fighting the Germans so that you could make more money, he has been working for you for thirteen years. You have never had one single uneasy thought that he wasn’t doing his job with all his heart.”

“I’ve paid him well. I’ve——”

“He has worked hard for you, not so much because of the money, but because you gave him his chance,” went on the inexorable voice. “You gave him his chance because you liked him, far more than because he knew his job. Ethel and he have gone to a lot of trouble for tomorrow night, and if the Big Boss is not there I know they will be ever so disappointed.”

Jeffrey Stanton abstracted from his pocket a tin of tobacco, a packet of cigarette papers and a box of matches. From those articles, which he set on the table before him, he looked at his daughter, and said in the voice of a martyr: “May I smoke?”

“Father, you are going?”

“No!”—emphatically.

“Ethel is my best friend, and you will go just to please me, won’t you?” Her eyes were twin stars. The appeal in them was a vision of beauty. No living man could have won so unequal a battle. Stanton said:

“Damnation!”

“Dear old Dad!” cried she. “I knew you would say yes. For going I’ll make your cigarette for you. I can make them so much better than you can. You always make them with a camel’s hump in the middle.”

Without speaking, he gave her the materials, and, whilst watching her supple fingers, he thought of his wife and the expression he had seen in her eyes the second before she gave him her first kiss.

“If we leave at half-past seven, we shall get there at ten o’clock,” he heard her say when he accepted the cigarette she had made and lit for him. “Mrs Poulton can come with us. You’ll let as many of the men go as want to, won’t you?”

“Decidedly,” Stanton agreed, accepting defeat with quite a good grace. “I’ll push ’em off on the trucks before seven, so that we’ll all get there together. They’ll be fit for nothing on Monday, but what matters work when my lady’s whims must be obeyed?”

She laughed at him, and he laughed at and with her—laughed perhaps with a hint of grimness, yet also with a world of affection. The next instant she said:

“And now that is settled, Dad, I want you to let me ride the grey gelding this afternoon. An hour ago I went over to the yards, and Bony was riding him, and assures me he is as good as gold.”

Bony’s first horse was a grey gelding that had been regarded from birth as Marion Stanton’s own. He was a four-year-old, and out of a mare that had once won the Caulfield Cup, the second most important race in Australia. From the top rail of the horse-yards the detective had watched this beauty running ahead of a mob of a hundred wild, unbroken horses flying before the cracking stockwhips of the riders, and his heart had thrilled at the sight of him. To Stanton, who sat beside him, he had pointed out the grey, asking if it were one of the horses desired to be broken, and Stanton had said:

“Yes. I want you to break him first. He belongs to my daughter. If you can’t break a horse in properly, I want you to say so now, because if anything should happen to my daughter through your bad breaking, it is quite likely that I’ll strangle you.”

Bony had been astonished at the feeling in those words, and, looking straight at his employer, had replied gently: “I think I understand.”

When told by Marion that Bony had judged the grey gelding fit for her to ride, Jeffrey Stanton’s eyes narrowed, not however with opposition. He knew that his girl was probably the best horsewoman in the State, but he knew, too, that ten days is a very short time in which to break in a horse thoroughly. What he said was:

“You must let me talk with Bony first. You see, as yet I’ve had no sample of the fellow’s work. I must be sure before I consent.” The grim, hard lines about his mouth faded and vanished, being replaced by lines tender and rare, when he added: “I have sinned a lot in my time, girlie, but if I were to lose you the punishment would be unjustly severe.”

“Dear old Dad!” she whispered. “I leave it to you.”

Stanton left and went over to the yards where he found the half-caste “mouthing” a pert young miss with a black coat and a white blaze on her forehead. He and the filly had a yard to themselves, and Stanton, looking through the heavy rails, observed with the vision of the expert how light were Bony’s hands on the long reins whilst he walked behind the animal.

Seeing Stanton, the breaker called to the filly to stop. Instantly she obeyed, whereupon he went to her and petted her and murmured to her until the slight trembling of her limbs ceased, and she realized that Man was not so terrible as she had always thought.

“Good day, Jeff!” Bony said, strolling towards Stanton when he had removed the gear from the filly.

“Day, Bony! How’s the grey gelding?” came from the station-owner.

“Fit, I think. Miss Marion was here a little while since looking him over. I’ll try him out for you, if you like.”

“Good!”

Bony turned and opened the gate leading to the largest yard of all, wherein were twenty horses, including the gelding. Moving behind the filly, he snapped his fingers, and she trotted out to the mob all facing her way. From a corner of the small yard Bony took up a bridle, and, going to the gate, whistled shrilly with his fingers. Stanton, looking at the grey gelding, saw him hesitate. Again the breaker whistled, commandingly, imperatively. And the gelding trotted right up to him, then stood quite still whilst the bridle was slipped up his face and over his ears.

Stanton admitted to himself that Bony was a marvellously quick worker. With complete satisfaction he watched the horse being saddled. It gave absolutely no trouble. Bony mounted with swift, effortless ease. The horse stood as still as a park statue. Dismounting, he passed to the off-side and again mounted. Stanton was more than satisfied, for very few horses will permit a rider to mount on the off-side.

Now mounted, the half-caste kneed his horse close to Jeffrey Stanton, and asked him to open the outer gate giving egress from the range of yards. Stanton found Marion beside him, and when he opened the great heavy gate, he saw how her eyes were shining with anticipation and delight.

Clear of the yards, Bony walked the horse away over the deep sand for perhaps a hundred yards, then, turning, brought him back at a canter. Close beside father and daughter he dismounted, and began adjusting a stirrup-leather from which they saw hung a leather thong several feet in length fastened to a strangely fashioned buckle.

Bony faced round on the watchers, and lifted his old felt hat when he saw the girl. Stanton was on the verge of passing favourable judgment when the half-caste drawled in his pleasant voice:

“There are two occupations which I love, one of which is handling horses. Knowing that a lady is to ride this one, I have taken a little more trouble. Madam, I stake my reputation that you will find this horse the most amenable to your wishes, the sweetest-tempered, and the very finest animal you have ever ridden, or ever will ride. I wish to show you one thing to prove to you that his education is perfect. Whatever happens, please remember not to cry out.”

They saw him vault into the saddle, and then, as though he changed his mind, he slid to the ground and climbed aboard the horse as a sailor heaving himself across a donkey at a seaside resort. Stanton was delighted to see that the animal never moved until his rider spoke. The girl’s eyes widened, but she was wondering at Bony’s voice and his command of English.

He rode the gelding slowly from them for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then he swung him round and urged him into a loping gallop. With effortless motion horse and rider swept towards them. Old and hardened in the ways of horseflesh Jeffrey Stanton admitted that he had seen no finer horse, and seldom a finer rider.

Horse and man came on, leaving behind them a cloud of brown dust to rise high in the now windless air. The pride of the horse was arresting. Nearer and nearer he came, effortless, graceful, as though he galloped across a thin red cloud.

And then, when horse and man came abreast of them, they saw Bony sway in the saddle. They saw him deliberately fall sideways. Puzzled and astonished at first, then alarmed, they saw the rider strike the ground and become enveloped in a cloud of dust. The dust rose and was wafted away. Marion wanted to scream, for Bony’s foot was caught in the stirrup-iron. And then, the wonder of it! The horse instantly stopped, swung aside his hindquarters, and stood motionless, looking round and down on the trapped man.

Stanton moved forward to help him extricate his foot from the imprisoning iron, when Bony tugged at the thong and the whole stirrup-leather came away. Dusty and smiling, he rose to his feet to say gravely:

“The only thing poor old Bony cannot do with a horse is to make him speak.”