Читать книгу Quinton's Rouseabout and Other Stories - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 6

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M'Nab hated the "Cockies" like poison! especially one named Able Brock, who had selected only three miles from his homestead. Other settlers came after him, and cut squares and angles out of M'Nab's run all over the place, and he blamed Brock for it all. For years he had enjoyed a straight road through Brock's to his out-camps, but when Brock fenced, he was compelled to go a long way round. The fences also made double work for him at mustering time, and what galled him worse than all was the fact that he had to pay half the cost of erecting them. So it became one of the main objects of his life to drive him out—by fair means or otherwise. M'Nab had no conscience worth speaking of, and Brock's little ragged urchins didn't appeal to him in the least. Sentiment didn't pay in a case like that.

For five years M'Nab harassed his unwelcome neighbour. Not that he openly interfered with him himself, but his boundary-rider, known as "Squeaker the Station Spy," was always on watch, specially at night and early morning. Did he find a weak spot in Brock's fence he would make a convenient gap there, and then lie in wait for his cattle to come out and trespass on M'Nab's property. As soon as they did so, Squeaker would round them up and run them into the pound. It cost Brock a lot of money in releasing impounded stock, and a good deal of time and labour repairing fences. But he got even.

Brock had two grown-up sons, and one day, while enjoying a smoke in a quiet corner, they observed Squeaker deliberately break the fence where half a dozen of their cows were feeding. They let them go out, and they let Squeaker drive them away. Then they got their horses, ran in 50 head of M'Nab's cattle, and arrived at the pound with them an hour after Squeaker. Driving charges left Brock with a good balance after paying damages on his own stock, and, though a subsequent lawsuit swallowed some of it, still he came out victorious. He learned enough, too, to let the fence remain broken. M'Nab was equally responsible for its repairs, and Brock was determined that he should remedy what he had damaged.

So the impounding went on. M'Nab had plenty of money to fight, while Brock was poor, but the wily Scot soon discovered that he was more than paying the expenses of both. For every hoof he took of Brock's, the latter mustered ten of his. It didn't matter to the selector whether they were inside or outside provided no one saw him; they got to the pound all the same.

In the end, M'Nab rode out himself, and superintended, whilst Squeaker patched up the fence. But it galled and made him the more bitter against his enemy.

M'Nab now changed his tactics. An offer of £500 was scorned by the selector. He certainly wanted the money, but he was determined not to give in. M'Nab had a suspicion that some of the selectors were getting cheap beef at his expense, and also augmenting their percentage of calves from his run. He prayed that he might catch Brock in an act of this kind, and he put every temptation in his way. Fat, unbranded heifers and "clean skins" were let run in the vicinity, and were closely watched by Squeaker. Some times the latter's zeal got the better of his discretion, and he would be discovered prying around. Then the boys would set after him, vowing to thump him into a mummy if they caught him. Many a night he went speeding back to the homestead for his natural, with the boys galloping at his heels, yelling threats of vengeance, cracking stockwhips, and occasionally firing a gun. Squeaker was mightily scared, and his appearances in the neighbourhood became rarer and rarer. For all that, his vigilance never relaxed.

Overlooking the selection was a high, wooded knoll, and this was Squeaker's lookout. The Brocks knew it, and they prepared a trap to catch him. A young heifer was turned out near the house, and at sun down Brock and one of his boys drove it round to the back, and put it in again, with one of M'Nab's, where the fence had been patched. Then the boy climbed into the tree with a rifle, and shot one of the beasts from an overhanging limb when his father drove it under him. The boy slipped down immediately after, and both went hurriedly to work with their knives, pausing frequently to look carefully around them.

Squeaker had witnessed it all and trembling with excitement, he rode full gallop into town, and full gallop back with the sergeant and a trooper, picking up M'Nab on the way.

While the flaying was in progress the other son rode up with a rope and blocking tackle, and as soon as the hide was off they swung the carcase to a low limb and left it there while they went home and had tea.

When they returned in the moonlight with a horse and cart, the police, M'Nab, and Squeaker were waiting for them.

"Well, Sergeant, what's the trouble?" asked Brock, pulling up.

"You've been doing a bit of of butchering here, I believe?" said the Sergeant.

"I have," Brock admitted.

"I want to see the hide and the head of that beast," the Sergeant continued.

The hide had been spread on a log a few yards away, and the head placed on a stump close to it.

"There you are," said Brock, pointing them out. "Mr. M'Nab can tell yon whose beast it is."

The examination occupied several minutes, during which time Brock lowered the carcase into the cart, and took down the ropes. Then he drove along for the hide. The Sergeant met him with a grim smile; whilst M'Nab, in a low voice, appeared to be cursing Squeaker.

"What's your object in killing in this manner, Mr. Brock?" asked the Sergeant.

"Well, it's this way, Sergeant," said Brock. "In the first place, she was the devil's own to yard, and I didn't want to knock her about; and, in the second place, I thought it would be a pleasant little diversion for Mr. M'Nab's man there—Squeaker as they call him. You see he has to perch up on that knoll there day and night, week after week, month after month, to see that I conduct myself properly; and you know how wearisome that is when nothing unusual ever happens. So I thought, as I had to kill somewhere in the paddock, that I might as well do it here, where it would interest him, and relieve monotony of his long watch...You can have a roast off her if you care to carry it, Sergeant."

M'Nab didn't wait to hear any more, he walked away muttering; whilst Squeaker slunk off as though he wished to hide himself.

With that incident ended the espionage and persecution, and great peace reigned between the two factions.