Читать книгу The Squatter King - A Romance of Bush Life - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 7

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Sid got many a buster during the first few weeks, for the horses were always fresh in the mornings, and would put down their heads and buck as soon as he threw his leg across the saddle.

"Get a monkey hold, lad," Ben advised him. "It will help you to stick on."

The monkey-hold was a small strap buckled through the dees on one side of the saddle, and used as a grip for the right hand. With this contrivance the difficulty of riding the "pig-jumpers" was soon overcome. He was so delighted that he almost fancied he had grown an inch taller.

From the first he was associated with two pretty girls, having to attend to their horses when they went for their evening rides. They were Wilga Bryne, the captain's only daughter, and Myee Norrit, who belonged to Mooban, a neighbouring squattage, and was at Kanillabar for schooling. Myee occasionally rode with him after the cows. She was a warm, vivacious little personality, smart and graceful in form and action, who joyed in a gallop across hill and dale, with her face lifted to the gentle wind, filling her healthy lungs with it as it filled and played with her rich brown tresses. She loved the open air; to her the bush was a never-ending glory, always sweet and beautiful with myriad flowers, and musical with the songs of birds. In those radiant hours the excited glow in her cheeks, and the sparkling, mischievous eyes gave her a bewitching beauty. She was just about 16 at this time, but tall, plump, and self-possessed; she was courageous without being bold; and, above all, she was industrious and handy.

It was not long before Sid felt a warmer, heavier throb in his heart, and found himself thinking of her when his head was on the pillow. Still there was never anything in their talk that could be called lovemaking. They were good friends; but then Myee was a gracious little lady who had a kind word and a sweet smile for everybody.

With Berkley Hart he did not get on so well. Berkley was not of an amiable disposition. He was selfish and deceitful; he valued the boss's favour above everything else, and when the captain and the captain's girls showed an interest in the lad, Berkley was jealous and revengeful. Sid was full of pluck, smart and quick-witted; qualities which, added to the old grudge against the family, made Berkley hate him.

They did not quarrel, though Berkley had "roused" on his patient help more than once; but there were many little things that rankled, many indignities that hurt. Sid did not complain about having to do the dirty work and the hard jobs while Berkley took it easy; it was the latter's domineering manner that he most objected to, and his vindictiveness on being displaced in any little temporary post of honour that he considered his prerogative.

One day the stockmen were burning off a paddock above the homestead, and Sid had cantered in for matches. He was walking back through the garden from the overseer's room, when Myee stepped out of the shrubbery, clicking a pair of secateurs. In her other hand she carried a bunch of white wood flowers. At her waist was a blue cluster gathered from the paddock, and on her head a man's slouch hat. In a soft, cream coloured dress, against the sheeny green of lapunya foliage, she presented to his admiring gaze a picture of health and loveliness.

If you had come five minutes sooner you'd have been useful," she said, brushing back an unruly ringlet from her forehead.

"In what way?" asked Sid.

She held up the flowers, and there was a quizzical smile on her lips as she looked from them to the whitewood tree and back to him.

"Did you climb for them?"

"I had to; they were too high to reach from the ground. And the old gardener's always troubled with rheumatics when there's anything like that to be done. The twinges seize him with remarkable suddenness."

"I wish I'd been there," Sid exclaimed. "It would have been a treat."

"To climb for the flowers?"

"No?"

"What then?"

"To see you climb."

"Oh! Is that all the use you'd have been?" Her forehead wrinkled, and a light frown clouded her piquant face. "And why would it have been a treat to see me climb?"

"Well, one doesn't see a pretty girl in a tree every day."

"If everybody were like you," she retorted, "it would not be such a novelty."

"I didn't mean that," said Sid, more seriously. "You know I would do anything for you."

"How do I know you would?" came the quick rejoinder.

Nonplussed, he laughed, and thrust his hat back, at the same time moving close to her side.

"What a tantalising little minx you are!"

"Minx!" Her eyes questioned him saucily.

He pondered it for a moment, while a little dimple formed in the girl's cheek. Then he said in a low voice:

"That's not what I'd like to call you."

"What would you like to call me?" she promptly asked, her serenity undisturbed. She had a measure of fearlessness in her composition, a mixture of innocence and astuteness, that was at times disconcerting.

"I daren't tell you," he said, with a cheerful frankness that made her laugh.

"Faint heart—" She stopped, and half turned away, looking archly at him.

His arm flung out suddenly, and before she could define his purpose he drew her to him in a crushing embrace, and kissed her half a dozen times on cheek and mouth: then darted away through the shrubbery towards the gate where he had left his horse.

Myee drew a long breath, and her face flamed crimson at the outrage.

"You impudent wretch!"

Her little foot hit the ground hard, and for awhile she stood looking after him, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes flashing fire. With an indignant motion she tossed back her dishevelled tresses, her heart beating like a frightened bird's.

Soon the mood changed. Her head drooped, and as she turned slowly towards the house her mouth softened into a smile.

Sid had meanwhile encountered Berkley in a little arbour, near the gate. Berkley's business there was evident from his first remark.

"You're earnin' your cheque pretty easy these times."

"You don't pay it, do you?" Sid queried.

"Don't give me any cheek," Berkley snapped back. "I'm paid to see that you earn it; anyway."

"I'm with the overseer to day," Sid reminded him.

"I sent you with him," was the quick retort.

"He told you to, I suppose?"

"No; he asked me."

"That's the same thing with a boss."

Berkley regarded him with a gleam of contemptuous humour, while there was more than a touch of arrogance in his demeanour.

"He asked me if I could spare you."

Sid was silent, and Berkley saw that he had scored. He was not a product of democratic Australia, and it pleased him to humble the spirit of his subordinate.

"Nice carryings on," Berkley continued, pleasantly, following him through, the gate. "Insultin' a girl of the house."

"I didn't insult her," Sid protested.

"Perhaps you think you paid her a high compliment?" Berkley sneered. "The captain won't think so, anyway."

Sid flushed angrily at the veiled threat, but he said quietly:

"The captain doesn't know; and if she doesn't tell him it won't be wise for anybody else to mention it."

"Why not?" sharply.

"Suppose she denied that such a thing happened?"

For a moment Berkley glared at him, his teeth set hard. Then he said: "Perhaps you'll deny that you're dallyin' about here instead o' doin' what you were sent to do?"

The boy's lips twitched at the thought that Berkley had intercepted and detained him; but he swung into the saddle without further argument, and cantered away. Wolgan Bight paddock was formed by a semi-circular sweep of Mooeen Creek, and a line of fence across the neck. In this bight the fire was raging fiercely. Ben Bruce and the overseer had gone along the fence, lighting the grass; and four aborigines followed after them, quelling the flames with boughs as they swept through the barrier. The wind was blowing into the bight, and so the back fire travelling against it was easily put out. Sid and a blackfellow brought up the rear, chopping off burning portions of the posts and rails with tomahawks, and leading their horses.

They had been at this some time when the overseer galloped up, his face flushed and blackened.

"Who lit the grass at the top?" he cried, pulling up sharply.

"I don't know," Sid answered. "We've only just noticed it."

Rod Bryne muttered to himself as he turned in his saddle and looked along the sweeping blaze. Then he said: "You've got a good horse, Sid. (I can't trust mine.) Do you think you could gallop into the bight before the fire gets there?"

Sid looked up in surprise, vaguely wondering what madcap's errand he was to be sent on.

"Old Ben is fair in that corner—perhaps unaware of this top fire. He can't swim—and he's on a young horse. There'll be no getaway on this side in a minute, and that fire has cut off all chance of escape at the top. . . . If you think you can't manage it, let me have your horse and I'll go. . . . He's an old camp-horse, and will carry two over the creek—"

Sid waited to hear no more—though Rod had dismounted, but dropped his tomahawk and sprang into the saddle. The gap in the fire line was rapidly closing, the hissing flames singeing the horse as he bounded through. For awhile it was a wild race, the long, fiery tongues leaping out as if they were living things endeavouring to cut off the rider. But the old horse responded gamely to the touch of the rowels, and with ears laid back, sped unfalteringly through smothering smoke.

There was still a narrow strip of unburnt grass along the creek. The air was thick with smoke and cinders, and half suffocated and blinded, Sid galloped down between a broad sheet of deep water and a long ridge of flames. The strip diminished quickly, forcing him every moment closer to the brink of the creek.

Nearing the point, and seeing he could go no farther, he coo-eed, and listened. An answering coo-ee came from the creek a little below him. He jogged and slided down the steep bank, and presently saw Ben Bruce clinging to a snag. The fire was already leaping over the top of the bank, and red cinders dropped hissing in the water.

The horse plunged straight in, and swam away like a dog.

"Quick, Ben!" cried Sid, as he came to the snag. Reaching out, he caught the man's hand, and helped him to a seat behind the saddle. They swam down-stream to a place where the bank rose gradually from the water's edge, and landing there they threw themselves down on the soft sand.

"Where's your horse" asked Sid.

"At the bottom of the creek."

"Drowned?"

"He was only a colt, but quiet an' strong, an' I thought he'd pull me through. I didn't see the fire at the top till it had cut me off, an' there was no get-out except by crossin' the creek. I can't swim a stroke; but I reckoned it was better to be drowned than roasted. So I sent him into it, an' hang me if he didn't go straight to the bottom. I got to that snag somehow, an' clung to it like a barnacle. It was lucky you came, lad—I was getting cramped, . . . an' the flames—look! they're leaping right round where I was."

"It's a wonder you didn't hear me coming," said Sid, watching the flames shooting far out from the tall rushes that grew along the edge.

"There was too much noise to hear anything," Ben rejoined. "The smoke had me a bit flummoxed, too."

When the fire had burned out, a troop of horsemen, headed by Rod Bryne, galloped down to the opposite bank.

"Hulloo!" cried Rod. "How are you?"

"Not quite cooked yet," Ben shouted. "Who fired that grass at the top?"

"Berkley Hart." The wind had freshened after Sid left the homestead, and the captain had sent Berkley out to see if the men wanted any more help; and seeing the unburnt strip at the top corner, Berkley had promptly helped by running a connecting line of fire across it.