Читать книгу Billabong Adventurers - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 5

Table of Contents

Weddings are supposed to end stories, but, because this book is not a love-story, the wedding comes out of its usual setting and becomes a jumping-off place for the events which were to follow. This is not to say that it is not a story about people who loved each other. For Norah Linton and Wally Meadows had done that almost all their lives, beginning with the lonely orphan boy’s affection for the little girl who was kind to him, and who was half a boy herself; so that when they grew up, the deeper and truer relationship came to them so naturally and simply that it seemed as if it were the only thing that could possibly happen. They were very sure of each other; but, being matter-of-fact people, they did not become sentimental. They lived their love-story, but they did not talk much about it; and as it was entirely their own affair, they did not give me permission to write about it. But as to what happened to them after they were married—well, that was simply a proof that adventures may come to the most matter-of-fact people; and there is no harm in setting down the tale.

Until the last two days it was very difficult to realize that there was to be a wedding at Billabong at all. Every one went about the daily work in the usual way: Norah and Wally rode and picnicked and bathed in the lagoon with the others just as they had always done, and helped to muster cattle and draft them with the concentrated energy of people who asked no better job. Wedding-presents, which might have rolled in daily, to induce a wedding atmosphere, were checked in their headlong course by the fact that Cunjee, the nearest post-town, was many miles away, and nobody seemed to have time to go in for them. Mrs. Brown was certainly engaged in a terrific orgy of cooking, assisted by Mrs. Evans, the overseer’s wife, and Mrs. O’Reilly, whose husband had a small farm, and who sternly declined to be absent from any of the preparations. But then, orgies of cooking were not unknown at Billabong, which, like all lonely station-houses, had its seasons of lavish hospitality; so that the feverish activity in the kitchen scarcely counted as evidence. Jean Yorke, who had come from Melbourne to act as a bridesmaid, openly lamented the absence of the correct spirit.

“But what do you expect me to do?” Norah protested laughingly. “Sit in a corner and look languishingly at Wally? But he’d think I was mad. Besides, there’s too much to be done on the run—you see, shearing has put aside all the ordinary work with the cattle, and we want to help while we’re here. Also, we both love going after cattle!”

“Oh, I know—and of course it’s fun,” Jean answered. “But that’s just your ordinary life, and I did think you’d be a bit different. Every other girl would be simply wild about her presents and her trousseau, and you—why, you haven’t got a trousseau at all. And you don’t seem to care!” Her voice was a wail.

“But I don’t want a trousseau,” Norah said. “I’ve got heaps of clothes. What would I do with them if I went and bought a heap of new things I didn’t want?”

“Every one wants clothes,” said Jean in a voice of hushed solemnity.

“Well—naturally. But I’ve got them—quite nice clothes, too. Where would be the sense of buying a new outfit just because I’m going for a motor-tour with Wally? I’ll get new frocks when I want them. As for wedding-presents—well, of course I love them, and I think people have been wonderfully good. But somehow, just now, Billabong seems to count enormously to me, and I want to be a part of it as long as ever I can. Do be understanding, Jeanie.”

“I’ll try, but it’s hard,” said Jean, mournfully. “After all, you’re only planning to get married once, and as far as I can see, you’ll muster old bullocks all your life, precisely as you’ve always done. I should think you’d get tired of anything with horns and a tail! Thank goodness, you’ve got a perfectly scrumptious wedding-dress; I was horribly afraid you’d want to get married in riding-kit!”

“I might—but Dad and the boys wanted me to have a white frock,” said Norah, laughing. “And you can’t say a word against my going-away things, either, young Jean!”

Jean sniffed delicately.

“Good and plain, like a family cake,” she answered. “You always did know a good bit about tailor-made things, Norah, though I’ll admit I’d have liked something a bit more fussy. Still, for the very peculiar honeymoon you’re having I suppose it’s the best thing. But one oughtn’t to choose one’s going-away dress just to be useful.” She brought out the last word with a fine scorn.

“Consider all the bacon and eggs I’ll be frying in it!” murmured the bride.

“Not much, you won’t!” retorted Jean, with surprising discernment. “It’s my belief you’ll live in a coat and breeches throughout the trip!” She sighed. “Old ones, at that!”

“I hoped you wouldn’t guess that—but I might have known you would,” said Norah, meekly. “They’re ever so handy, for cooking.”

“I should let Wally cook,” said her friend, with firmness.

“Poor Wally will probably be lying on his back under the car, inspecting its vitals,” said Norah. “And I’m not quite sure how he cooks, either, so I think I had better take on the job. He can clean the frying-pan.”

“Well, it’s a queer way of having fun,” meditated Jean. “But you always were queer, Norah, though you’re an old dear all the same. Are you ever going to send in to Cunjee for more presents? I’m certain that the station is simply clogged with them!”

“Gracious, I hope not!” Norah ejaculated. “Just think of all the letters I’d have to write—and Dad says he’s ruined with buying stamps already. But the cart is going in to-day, as well as the car; ever so many people are coming. And Wally and Jim are going to bring out the new car. You had better go too.”

“Well, I’m glad something is beginning to happen that at least dimly suggests a wedding,” said Jean. “It’s high time, since to-day is Monday, and I’m told the affair is fixed for Wednesday! It would be fun to go in. Won’t you be coming too?”

Norah shook her head.

“No—I want to stay with Dad. It’s the last day we’ll have together, so we’re going for a long ride, ending up with tea with Tommy and Bob. I know you won’t mind, Jean dear. We’ll have a wild time opening presents to-night, if the number is as terrible as you seem to think.”

“I hope it is, at any rate,” said Jean. “Do we go before or after lunch?”

“Before, because Jim and Wally want to spend a few inquiring hours with the new car before they come out. Jim is haunted by awful fears that we’ll break down in lonely places—not that it would matter enormously if we did, since we’ll be prepared to camp out. You will have to lunch in the township, and I warn you that to dine at the Cunjee hotel is an adventure in itself. It isn’t quite like your beloved ‘Australia.’ ”

“I shall eat an egg,” declared Jean, delicately.

Long before the car came round Norah and her father made their escape. They went across to the stables, finding Murty putting the finishing touches to their horses—Monarch, Mr. Linton’s great black, and bay Garryowen, who whinnied at the sight of his mistress and came nosing about her pocket in search of the apple that never failed to be there for him. The sunlight glinted and rippled on their satin coats as they stamped and switched their tails at the flies. Murty held the stirrup as Norah swung herself into the saddle.

“Will you be ridin’ him again, Miss Norah, before you go?”

“I’m afraid not, Murty,” Norah answered regretfully. “I expect I shall have to stay at home to-morrow—there will be people here, and I shall be busy.”

“I thought that ’ud be the way of it. Well, he’s fit as a fiddle to give you a good day, Miss Norah; and I’ll see that he’s just as fit for you when you come home.”

“I’m certain of that, Murty. You won’t let anyone but yourself ride him, will you?”

“Yerra, if annywan barrin’ meself puts a leg over him I’ll want to know the reason why,” declared Murty—“unless ’twas the Masther or Mr. Jim, an’ it won’t be either, because he’s not up to their weight. I have the advantage of them, in ridin’ light. That Billy ’ud give the eyes out of his black head to ride him; ’tis himself has always the great wish for Garryowen. Never a gate he’d open if he was on him; he’d go out of his way to find fences to be puttin’ him over!”

“I’d rather he didn’t have the chance,” said Norah. “Billy can ride, but he’s too mad when he gets on a good horse. You might lend him Monarch, Dad!”

“I have too much respect for Monarch’s legs,” said her father. “There he is now, the black villain! Billy!” He gave a sharp whistle, and a black “boy” of uncertain age, who had been hovering modestly in a stall, came out and favoured his master with a look of innocent inquiry.

“I thought I told you to take the cart in to the station,” said Mr. Linton, severely.

Billy’s air of pained surprise was a study in expressions.

“That pfeller Tom plenty gone,” he said. “Boss, you plenty tell me take cart get gum-tree.”

“I did not, and you know it, you rascal,” replied his master. “Tom was to take the cart out for bush.”

“Plenty that pfeller Tom he mix-up,” Billy murmured

“You didn’t mix-up, Billy, and you know it. What for?”

Billy was silent a moment, digging a bare black toe into the dust. Then he looked up with a grin that held something wistful.

“Boss, me plenty want get gum-tree Missy Norah weddin’.”

“I thought as much,” said David Linton—“so you got Tom to swap jobs. What did you give him, Billy?”

“Gibbit plenty bacca that pfeller,” said Billy, grinning. “Mas’ Wally him gibbit me plenty big plug. Now Tom got.”

“An’ it took him an hour to get round Tom,” said Murty, laughing. “Billy can’t argue much, sir, ’cause he has to fall back on ‘plenty’ for every second word. But he sat on an old bucket and held the baccy out towards Tom until he gave in. He’s been leppin’ mad to be in the job of fixin’ up the barn, an’ it clean broke his heart to be ordered off to Cunjee.”

“Don’t be cross with him this time Dad,” pleaded Norah. “You won’t do it again, will you, Billy?”

“Plenty not,” murmured Billy. He put a black hand on Garryowen’s neck, raising his dog-like eyes for a moment. The squatter hesitated. Then he laughed.

“No use being cross, I suppose, with the first wedding in the family coming off,” he said. “I might have remembered that he’d want to be in the thick of it. All right, Billy—but don’t you disobey orders again. You take the other cart out, and mind you bring home good bush.”

Billy dived into the stable and emerged with an axe ground to razor sharpness. He ran his thumb over the glittering edge.

“Make him plenty sharp,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Mine bin poddy up this pfeller, cut bush for Missy Norah.”

“An’ that’s thrue enough, sir,” Murty put in. “The black image has been puttin’ an edge on that axe for days!”

“Thank you, Billy,” Norah said. She leaned from her saddle and patted the black boy’s shoulder. “You’ll bring home the best boughs on Billabong, won’t you?”

“Plenty!” said Billy, eagerly. He sprang to hold the gate open as they rode through, and returned to whet his axe anew, a black vision of dog-like loyalty.

Norah and her father rode in silence for a while, until the home-paddock was left behind, and a fold in the hills hid the homestead from them. Then they gave the impatient horses their heads, and cantered steadily towards the hills, the eager hooves brushing through the deep rye-grass and clover underfoot. Sleek bullocks lifted lazy, incurious eyes as they passed: but there were no dogs to-day, and no whip spoke, so they knew that they were not to be disturbed, and returned placidly to their grazing. A flock of plover rose near them, trim and dainty spurwings, spruce and well-groomed in their close-fitting suits of brown and black and white; farther off a heron sailed slowly across towards the marsh where the ceaseless “cric-crac” of countless frogs sent him an invitation to dinner. No touch of summer had come to mar the freshness of a late spring: everywhere was greenness and plenty and the sense of energy and growth. It was Billabong at its best and loveliest: Billabong, which had always been the heart of the world to the girl who rode across its familiar plains. There was no tree on all its acres that Norah did not know: no bush-grown gully or cleared hill that had not held the spirit of adventure and delight since first she had ridden over it on a dumpy Shetland pony, ablaze with pride at being her father’s companion. And if Billabong were the heart of the world to Norah, to David Linton Norah was the heart of Billabong.

The horses slackened of their own accord as they neared the belt of timber by the river, beyond which rose a low range of scrub-covered hills. A cattle-track ran along the bank; they followed it in single file, noting unconsciously every detail of the bird-life around them, the flowers that spangled the grass or climbed riotously in the tea-tree, but saying nothing. Norah was trying to realize that this was her last ride as Norah Linton; that when she came back things would have changed, in some mysterious manner—that Billabong would no longer be all that mattered most. It did not seem a possible thing; she put the thought from her after a while. Even if she belonged to Wally, was not Wally altogether a part of Billabong? And then, too, she remembered a time when Wally had been in the valley of the shadow of Death, and she had known, suddenly, that nothing in the world counted, except to bring him back.

They camped by the river to eat the sandwiches they had brought. As they sat down in the shade of a clump of scrub David Linton cast a keen glance at her troubled face.

“Not worrying, Norah?” he asked.

She put out her hand in an old gesture that had been hers from childhood, rubbing his coat-sleeve.

“Daddy—it isn’t going to make any difference? We’ll always be the same, you and Jim and I?”

“Life can’t go on without change,” he said quietly. “I’d willingly have kept you all children for ever, but I know that couldn’t be. The only thing to do is to welcome change for the good there will be in it. So if there is a difference, my girl, it will be all for the best, and we’ll get new happiness out of it. You’re not to worry about Jim and me, because we’re happy in your happiness.”

“You’re such dears to me,” she said. “There never was anyone like you and Jim.”

“Well—we’ve had you,” he said dryly. “And don’t forget that the working partnership remains unchanged, except that I’ll have a new son. After all, I’ve had great luck. You might have married a strange Englishman when we were over yonder, and given me a son-in-law to whom I should have had to be respectful! And as it is—I have Wally. I’m not asking anything better, Norah.”

“When you say that, everything is all right,” she said.

“Of course I say it. When you have watched a boy from his childhood: seen him grow up straight and clean and honest: seen him answer to a test when a big call comes—well, you don’t mind giving him your daughter, even if she is—you. But, my goodness, how I should have mistrusted that strange Englishman! You don’t know how I dreaded him, all the years we were in England!”

“And the poor man never turned up!” said Norah, laughing.

“Just as well for him. He would have had to face three fierce guardians, in Jim and Wally and me. And just think how Murty would have turned up his nose at him!”

“And I’d have come to Billabong on occasional polite visits,” said Norah. “Good gracious, it doesn’t bear thinking of! How very relieved you must have been when you found that it was only Wally!”

“I was,” said David Linton. “So I think it would be better if you put all foolish thoughts out of your curly head, and tried to realize that a wedding should be—and is going to be—a very cheerful affair. Jim and I are quite cheerful, because we don’t intend to lose you at all.”

“And I certainly don’t intend to be lost,” said Norah. “So that’s all right. Life is going to be more fun than ever, and we’ll have to be tremendously busy when we come back, with all the new country the boys are going to develop. Wally is mad to try irrigation on some of his part, and make an enormous fortune out of lucerne. He has visions of fattening bullocks as they were never fattened before, and beating you at every sale!”

“Nice sort of son-in-law!” said her father, with a chuckle. “I’ll begin to regret the Englishman.”

“Yes, won’t you? And the building of the new house will be exciting, and making the garden. Hogg is planning to work out all his pet schemes over it—he seems to take it for granted that you’re going to lend him to us. I don’t see why, between gardens and lawns and vegetables and orchards, we shouldn’t stretch right across to Billabong after a while!”

“And run a ring-fence round the whole—that’s rather a bright idea,” said the squatter. “And as I get old I will solemnly propel my wheel-chair between the two houses, backwards and forwards, all day!”

“Don’t be horrid!” returned his daughter. “You’re never going to get old.”

“Well, no sooner than I can help, at any rate.” Mr. Linton rose, stretching his long limbs. “Come on—we have been lazy long enough, and there’s a good deal of country to see yet before we get to the Rainhams’.”

They caught the grazing horses, unhobbled them, and saddled up; and, crossing the river by a ford where the water rippled to the girths, struck into the hill-country beyond. Here were young store-bullocks, wild and restless, that broke into an uneasy trot as the riders approached and vanished, galloping, down stony gullies; and once they caught a glimpse of a little mob of unbroken young horses, learning to develop sure-footedness among the hills before the time should come to yard and handle them and train them to stock-work.

“Some good ones in that lot,” said the squatter, eyeing them keenly. “We’ll edge a bit nearer and get a look at them; that big chestnut should be up to Jim’s weight or mine in a few years, and there’s a black mare I have my eye on for Wally. Slip off your horse, Norah; we’ll get nearer them on foot.”

They tied their horses within view of the mob, to hold its attention, and crept quietly across a gully and up a rough hill-side, taking cover wherever possible. Soon they obtained a vantage-ground above the young horses, where they could peer between rocks without being seen. The youngsters were plainly uneasy: they watched the saddled horses, moving restlessly and pawing the ground. The big chestnut colt was in the lead: his coat was rough and matted, and he moved yet with the awkwardness of youth, but he gave promise of being a magnificent horse. Near him, Mr. Linton pointed out the black mare of which he had spoken: a slenderly built thing with the head of a racer, full of fire and nerves.

“She’s a beauty!” Norah breathed. “And I like that bay fellow, standing apart, Dad. May I have him?”

“If he’s good enough for you: I’m just a little doubtful on the point. He’ll make a useful horse, at all events, even if he isn’t showy. We must get them in next year for Dave to tackle: I’ll bet that mare will take some handling. She’d be utterly spoilt by rough treatment, but Dave will understand her. Ah, they’re off!—I thought they were nearly at the end of their courage.”

The big chestnut had suddenly decided that the intruders were there for no good purpose. Uttering a loud snort, he wheeled and galloped away up the valley, his followers at his heels. Kicking and bucking, they vanished, the thudding of their hooves mingling with the clatter of stones long after they were out of sight.

“I hope they won’t break any of their precious legs!” said Norah.

“No fear—they’re as sure-footed as goats. Nothing like living in the hills to teach them that. Well, I’m glad we had a look at them, for they are often very hard to find, and harder still to get near.” They made their way back to Monarch and Garryowen.

It was nearly four o’clock when they cantered up to the garden-gate of Creek Cottage, where Cecilia Rainham and her brother Bob lived and daily bore testimony to what may be accomplished by emigrants with a little capital and a plentiful capacity for hard work. Bob Rainham, working in his shirt-sleeves in the garden, greeted them with a cheery hail, and took a short cut across rows of beans to the gate.

“Tommy has been looking out for you for an hour,” he said, shaking hands. “We began to fear that preparations for the wedding had engulfed you.”

“Not it—we ran away from the preparations,” Norah said, dismounting. “We’ve had a lovely day, and I’ve inspected the run so thoroughly that I feel I can safely leave it to Dad and Jim for a time! Is Tommy inside, Bob?”

“Yes—go in, Norah, while I put the horses in the stable. You too, sir.”

“I’ll come with you,” David Linton said. “When Tommy and Norah first meet, their confidences are not for any mere man—and I want to have a look at your crop.”

“Only a little look, Dad, because we really must go home soon,” Norah warned. “Think of the assorted aunts and uncles at Billabong—and Mrs. Edward!” She ran up the garden-path, between masses of flowering stocks that made the air heavy with their fragrance, and met Tommy hurrying out of the doorway.

“I saw you coming, so I ran to make sure that Sarah had the teapot heated,” said she. “Norah darling, you look just as happy as you ought to look, and the worry-line has gone away.” She put a dainty finger on Norah’s brow. Everything about Tommy was dainty, from her trim head to her little feet, and she wore her simple pink frock as a Frenchwoman wears her clothes—with an air: which was not to be wondered at, seeing that she had been brought up in France. No one, looking at her casually, would have thought her the extremely capable young person she undoubtedly was. Norah towered over her by a head, and looked up to her in every other way.

“It has gone for good. I’ve had a talk with Dad—not a long talk, but he just made everything seem all right. Dad is a very comfortable person.”

“I’m so glad, because I knew you were worrying. Now you will be nothing but happy. You have been riding all day?”

“Yes, and we drank river-water, and I’m dying for a cup of tea—and nearly dying for a wash. Lead me to the bathroom, Thomas darling, like a staunch friend. I must look at least tolerably clean when I get home, because all the relations will be there, feeling that I should certainly have been on the doorstep to receive them. But this was my day for Dad—and Billabong.”

“I should think so,” said Tommy, fussing about her with hot water and clean towels. “Come and comb your hair in my room, and leave your hat there. Now you look fresh and cool, and fit to inspect the table-mats I have just finished for you.”

“Tommy, you angel!” Norah exclaimed over the exquisite bits of linen and embroidery. “I never saw anything so lovely. I’ll be scared to use them.”

“If you dare!” threatened Tommy. “Why, they will wash like rags. I’m so glad you like them, Norah. I made them blue, because you always have blue things; but when you are away I am going to make you an orange-and-brown set, and you will use them with bronze wall-flowers and forget that you ever liked blue!”

“I shan’t do that, but I’ll love them both,” and Norah hugged her friend. “Tommy, couldn’t you and Bob come over to-night? There will be people to entertain and presents to open, and I’ll feel so supported if you are there. You were coming in any case to-morrow—why not to-night?”

“I don’t see why not,” responded Tommy. “Even if Bob has to come back, he can drive me over to dinner and leave me.”

“Oh, make him stay. I want every minute of you that I can have. Jean is a dear, but she’s so worried because I haven’t a proper trousseau. I believe she’d like Wally to be married in a top-hat, and I’m perfectly certain Mrs. Edward Meadows would. Can you, by any stretch of your imagination, picture Wally in a top-hat?”

“My imagination quails at the sight,” laughed Tommy. “I like Wally in shirt and breeches and his very oldest felt hat.”

“Whisper—he’s going to take it with us!” Norah confided. “He promises that he will take it off and sit on it if we meet a policeman, because no strange policeman would ever believe that anyone could wear such a hat and be respectable! But Wally does love it so.”

“It is a very admirable hat,” Tommy said solemnly. “Now, here is Mr. Linton, and also tea, and I have made his special cake, so I hope he is hungry.”

“He certainly will be, when he sees it,” Norah assured her.

“Tommy, if Jim ever turns me out of Billabong, I’m coming to live here,” said David Linton, sinking into a deep chair. “This little room is the most restful place I know. Tea? Yes, rather, if you please. And, Thomas, what a cake! Is this your own doing?”

“Yes, and I shall be terribly nervous if you do not eat a great deal, because I dread that it is soggy in the middle,” Tommy told him, dimpling. “Once before, when you were coming, I made this cake, and a cow got into the garden just at the wrong moment, when I should have been brooding over it like an old hen. But there were young peas, and I had to chase the cow. So the end was very sad, because the pigs dined off burned cake, and you had only scones!”

“What a tragedy!—and I never knew anything about it,” laughed the squatter. “But I’ll wager that the scones were good, because I’ve never had a bad tea in Creek Cottage. When are you coming over to support the bride?”

“It was to have been to-morrow, but the bride wants us to-night. Can you manage that, Bob?”

“I should like to, thanks, Norah,” said Bob. “Yes: can do, if I come back for an hour or so to-morrow, to finish a fence. I’ll bring Wally with me, if he shows signs of stage-fright; fencing has a very steadying effect on the nerves! I suppose you won’t mind having him out of your way, Norah?”

“Why, I never notice him about!” said Norah, with an innocent air that brought a laugh from every one.

“It would never surprise me if they forgot all about the wedding on Wednesday,” said Bob. “We’ll have to detail a search-party, when they will probably be found placidly mustering the Far Plain bullocks. Have some cake, sir; it’s really better than it looks.”

“I was going to say that couldn’t be, but I believe you’re right for once,” Mr. Linton answered. “This will support me to-night, Tommy, when I’m carving for about twenty people, with the carver’s usual reward of a few congealed fragments, bolted hurriedly so that the next course won’t be kept waiting.”

The sun’s rays were slanting across the paddocks when the riders came up to the stables again, after a quick burst from the homestead gate. Murty was waiting as Norah dismounted.

“Had a good day, Miss Norah?”

“Beautiful,” she said. “Will you get me an apple, Murty? I’ll take his saddle off myself to-night.”

She slipped off saddle and bridle, and returned to give the big bay his apple, patting his neck as he munched it. Garryowen arched his neck under the feel of the hand he loved.

“Good-bye, old man,” she said. “I’ll ride you the very first day after I come back.” But she did not know how long that day would be.

“Here were young store-bullocks, wild and restless, that broke into an uneasy trot as the riders approached.”

Billabong Adventurers]

[Chapter III