Читать книгу The Squatter King - A Romance of Bush Life - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 5

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Nothing but the voices of birds and the call of wandering kine enlivened the solitary tramp of the next two days. During that time, in a stretch of forty-five miles, the traveller met nobody, and saw nobody, save a somnolent aboriginal couple at Goondi Outcamp. That depot, half-encircled by a small lagoon, he well remembered. He had camped there with his mother and sister on their way from Kanillabar to their humbler home in Wonnaroo. His mother cried that night, sitting miserably at the tent door, whilst he and Keira sat by the fire, making rainbows with glowing sticks. The recollection momentarily unstiffened the corners of his mouth, and made him blink as if something had got into his eyes. Other landmarks he recalled; other memories brought strange qualms, as he came into more familiar country, whither occasional excursions had brought him for a brief while long ago.

In the afternoon of the fifth day he topped a low sandhill, and saw on a rise on the opposite side of a plain the scattered buildings of Kanillabar. The sight of the roofs was a relief after the weary tramping over stony ridges and stubby flats. Sitting awhile on his swag, he gazed over the broad demesne and the wide wild lands where once his father ruled. And as he sat there his heart grew heavy, and the vista grew weird and grey. He looked upon the great stockyards and pens with strange feelings, in which there was a tinge of sorrow as the grey ghosts of other years, the dim recollections of his childhood, passed before his mental eye.

The huts and stables stood in line, facing the "big house," store and gardens; between was a broad space, level and green. A score of wide-winged eagles soared gracefully round and round above the homestead, whilst crows fossicked tamely about the sward, and cawed noisily at him from the few big trees and the high cappings as he approached.

Outside the horse-yard, looking through the rails at half a dozen horses, and meditatively stroking his abundant beard, stood Captain Bryne, a well-conditioned man of 50, in a grey alpaca coat and white helmet. Heavy eyebrows, all but meeting, over a red and slightly bulbous nose, gave a somewhat savage aspect to his virile face. Straight in the back as a coolabah, and carrying himself with a natural dignity; he was a man of few words, and as gruff as he was brief.

Alongside, with his elbows squared on a rail, was young Rodney Bryne, the overseer, who was taller and slighter than the captain; his happy face a healthy bronze from his constant outdoor life; and against the stable wall, which formed the top side of the yard, sat a medium-sized man with a short, scraggy moustache, and small grey eyes that were continually blinking and shifting.

Sid dropped his swag against a post, and inquired deferentially if there was any chance of a job thereabouts. The captain measured him with deliberate eyes.

"What sort of a job?" he asked.

"Stockwork," said Sid.

"Can you ride?"

"Yes."

The captain turned to the man who was sitting against the stable.

"Berkley, fetch a bridle and saddle here."

He looked again at Sid, who had suddenly evinced a lively interest in the horses.

He was tired, and had not bargained for a test of his skill straight away. All the same, he did not hesitate, but got into the yard as Berkley brought out the gear.

"Catch that bay horse and get on him," said the captain.

The "bay" was a lengthy, big-boned animal, sleek and handsome from his well-cut head to his vicious-looking heels. Singled off in a corner, he was not hard to catch; neither was he very difficult to saddle, although he showed a timidity, and an inclination to rebel against the tightening of the girths, that was not encouraging.

Leading him into the middle of the yard, Sid screwed down his hat and hitched up his pants in readiness. He would like to have damped the flaps of the saddle, which felt as slippery as glass, and to have mounted outside on the turf; the yard looked as hard as a metalled road. However, he passed the reins at once over the horse's head, the animal crouching and backing as he did so. Mounting was not so easy, the horse watching every movement and sidling away; and as pressure was put on the stirrup he reefed back.

Sid knew enough about horses to know that any dilly-dallying was fatal; if the equine saw that the rider was afraid, he would take advantage of it. To make a good impression on the mutinous quadruped, he handled him masterfully, and at the earliest opportunity sprang quickly into the saddle.

Hardly had he got his off-stirrup when the bay whipped down his head, and with two terrific bucks and a sharp wheel threw him heavily on to his shoulder. The horse continued to buck for a few seconds longer, then stood in a corner and snorted.

Sid was more chagrined than hurt, and without a word he caught the obstreporous brute and re-mounted. Four quick, powerful bucks, and he was thrown from the saddle as if shot from a catapult. He got up slowly, spitting out dust, and without so much as a glance at the spectators caught the rebel once more, and was about to entertain them further when the captain called out: "Wait a bit."

He stepped into the yard, and walked leisurely across.

"Thought you could ride?" he said, standing beside him.

"I'm not used to rough horses," Sid confessed.

"Dropped you hard, eh?" as Sid's hand went mechanically to a tingling hip.

"Yes—a bit."

"And you'd get on him again?"

"Yes." There was fire in the boy's eyes, and determination in the set of his lips.

"Never mind," said the captain bestowing on him a close, frowning sort of scrutiny, in which there seemed to be a glimmer of satisfaction. "You'd better practice on something quieter first."

He took the reins and handed them to Berkley, remarking as he did so:

"Just as well not to let him think he's master."

"You want me to ride him?" Berkley queried, casting an unfriendly glance at Sid.

"Just as well not to let him think he's master," the captain repeated.

Berkley mounted with evident reluctance. He was an ugly rider, but he could stick; and after a couple of rough turns round the yard the bay desisted, and was let go.

Several stockmen, blacks and whites, now rode into the yard. They smiled on the youthful stranger as they passed, for the dust on his clothes and hat, which he was shamefacedly trying to brush off with his hands, told them what had happened. While they unsaddled their horses the captain, holding on to the half-open gate with one foot resting on the bottom bar, again addressed him.

"Where did you work last?"

"At home; I've just left school."

"Oh!" He shoved the gate open, and stood back, meditating, whilst Berkley drove the horses out. Sid, anxiously waiting for the verdict, shook off the rest of his coating of dust in the interval.

"You can take this chap in hand, Berkley," the captain said, as he turned to leave the yard.

From which Sid understood that he was engaged. It was a rough introduction to Kanillabar, but he was pleased.