Читать книгу Billabong Gold - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 10
BILLABONG
ОглавлениеDICK found that there was more to see than he had imagined. Big stables, the stalls empty of horses now; garage space for half a dozen cars; the great woolshed, dim and empty, but still smelling of sheep and wool and oil after the busy time of shearing. There was the shearers’ sleeping-hut and cooking-shed; the engine-room, housing a silent engine that woke only once a year to drive the blades. He saw the heavily fenced stock-yards; listened while Bill described how the bullocks were brought in for drafting and branding; felt himself thrill at stories of wild scrub cattle that had to be subdued by the combined efforts of men and horses and dogs before they could be yarded. They climbed the high fence of the breaking-ring, perching on its rounded cap; he heard of buck-jumpers, and of the men who sat them, with half the population of Billabong sitting on the cap to watch the fun. “That’s the time I like best of all,” Bill said. “It’s simply great when the young horses come in.”
“Do the men get bucked off?”
“Mighty seldom. Sometimes a girth breaks, and then, of course, they go with the saddle. But they know how to fall—they’re up again almost as soon as they touch the ground. I saw a man slung once; the horse he was on was simply mad, and he did go to market!”
“What’s that?” asked Dick, puzzled.
“Oh, just bucked for all he was worth, and a bit more. He bucked himself clean out of the saddle—got it over his head somehow—I don’t know yet how he did it. He just made a ball of himself in the air: got his head down between his forelegs, right under him. Didn’t you ever see a horse buck?”
“No. I’ve only seen riding-school horses. They’re a bit lively sometimes, but that’s all.”
“You can ride, though?”
“Well, I’ve learned.” Dick felt that he must be prudent. In his riding-school he had been confident enough, but if Billabong expected him to ride buck-jumpers there might be shocks ahead for all concerned.
“Oh, we’ve got a quiet old pony for you,” said Bill carelessly; and Dick did not know whether to feel relieved or annoyed. Perhaps Bill realized that his tone had not been all that could be desired, for he added, “At least, Norah reckoned you ought to try a pretty steady one first, just to see how you got on with him. She feels sort of responsible, you see.”
“It’s all one to me,” said Dick, rather loftily; and conversation languished. They climbed down from the fence, and Bill headed for a long low building overgrown with rambler roses.
“What’s that place?”
“Oh, that’s the men’s quarters. Murty O’Toole lives there—he’s the head stockman. Only he sleeps over the stables when Jim’s away. There’s a lot of men—Mick Shanahan an’ Dave Boone an’ Hogg—he’s the gardener—an’ Lee Wing——”
“What—a Chow?”
“Better not talk about him like that,” warned Bill sharply. “Old Lee Wing’s an awful good sort—been here ages, and everyone thinks no end of him. Anyhow, there’s only Murty here just now, and Hogg: all the others are out at the camp. We’ll see if Murty’s in his room.”
A tall old man was sitting by his door, polishing a pair of stirrup-irons. He got up quickly as they appeared.
“Is it Masther Dick you’re after bringin’, then?” he said; and Dick, looking at him, knew that here was a friend. “ ’Tis the heighth of luck for Masther Bill that you’ve been able to come; sure he wants somewan his own size to knock about with. It’ll be like ould times to see two boys rampagin’ over the place—we haven’t had that since Mr. Jim and Mr. Wally were small. An’ that’s not yesterday.”
“They’re not small now, Murty,” grinned Bill.
“Sure they are not. An’ I put Mr. Jim on his first pony when he was littler than wee Davie. An’ picked him up lots of times when he fell off—not that he ever liked bein’ picked up. That was the boy with a temper! An’ is it your first time on a station, Masther Dick?”
Dick nodded. “It’s pretty jolly, I think.”
“You’ll think that all right, when you get into the ways of it. Everywan has to settle down a bit at first—but you’ve a good mate to show you the ropes. Masther Bill’s well broken in now, but he was as wild as a hare itself at first.”
Bill would hardly have described his first weeks at Billabong in that way, and he reddened slightly. Then he grinned—nobody could take offence at old Murty.
“He’s been showing me lots of things,” said Dick. “I’d love to see some buck-jumpers.”
“Would ye now? Well, it might be; leastways I know Mr. Wally wants a young horse handled. Only he’s pretty busy just now. Anyhow, I’ll remember—there’s more than wan youngster that ’ud be a thrifle onaisy if he found a saddle on his back for the first time. Remember that grey colt, Masther Bill—that wan ’ud do some buckin’ if we cot him.”
“He would so,” said Bill eagerly. “I say, Murty, do you think Mick would ride him when he comes in?”
“When they come in—yerra, Billabong’ll be itself again then,” said old Murty. His face had clouded. “It’s glad I’ll be when that time comes.”
“So’ll I,” said Bill. “Oh, it won’t be very long now, Murty.”
Dick wondered what they meant, as they walked on, leaving the old Irishman to his burnishing, but he did not like to ask. And there were other things to see: model pigsties, which didn’t interest him at all, cowsheds where everything was so clean, so sparkling with white paint that he almost expected to see the cows in silk frocks. Silken they certainly were: sleek Jerseys, standing meekly while being milked by a black-boy. Bill greeted him with a friendly, “Hullo, Billy!” The black glanced up, showing two rows of gleaming teeth, startlingly white in his dusky face. Dick felt that the glance took him in from head to heels. He had never before seen a black-fellow, and he wasn’t quite sure if he should greet this one. But, having made one mistake in speaking of a Chinese as a Chow, he decided to be careful; and Billy’s smile was infectious. He grinned in response and said “Hullo!”
“Plenty glad l’il Mas’r come,” said Billy in a great hurry, looking pleased. He dug his head into the cow’s side and went on milking.
“Is he a good sort?” asked Dick as they went outside.
“Billy? I should just about say he is! Jolly good rider an’ everything; an’ I reckon he’d kill anyone who tried to do any harm to one of the Lintons. He and I are pals—he made me those native weapons I’ve got in my room. Did you see ’em?”
“Yes—rather! Can you throw them?”
“Not extra well,” admitted Bill. “It’s awfully hard for anyone except a native. But he’s teaching me.”
Dick wondered if he might be allowed to share the lessons. It seemed suddenly to him to be a most desirable thing to learn: something out of the ordinary to be able to boast of at school. Bill, however, said nothing. He was already thinking of other matters.
“Now I’ll show you something really exciting!” he said.
He led the way through an orchard. They climbed the fence and came out upon a long clear space of closely cropped grass—part of a paddock surrounded by very low wire fencing. At one end a tall pole held an object that fluttered in the light breeze, at the sight of which Dick pulled up with an exclamation of surprise.
“A wind-sock! You don’t mean to say they’ve got a plane!”
“Two!” said Bill, rather dashed at having his surprise anticipated by the wind-indicator. “You just come an’ look.”
He raced towards sheds that stood against the fence, Dick at his heels. They tugged open the heavy doors. “There you are!”
“My hat!” breathed Dick, peering at the dim shape within. “Pretty big, isn’t she. I say, who flies her? Jim Linton?”
“No—he hasn’t learned yet. Though he does know a bit about it,” added Bill, to whom it was pain to admit that Jim was lacking in any knowledge. “She isn’t his, you know: she belongs to a friend of his called Freddy Paxton. An’ the other’s Jack Young’s: she’s the Planet, an’ this one’s the Kestrel.”
“Let’s look at the other.” They dashed to the next shed and gazed rapturously at the second plane.
“I s’pose we couldn’t get into her,” sighed Dick.
“Well, I’m let, ’cause I promised I wouldn’t touch anything. But——”
“I wouldn’t touch a thing,” begged Dick. “True as death I wouldn’t.”
“Well, I expect they’d let you. But you’ll have to be jolly careful. They’d just about skin me if they found anything wrong.”
They climbed in. Dick sat in the pilot’s seat, quivering with suppressed joy. Bill did not stay long.
“Oh, it’s pretty slow to be just sitting in one when you’re used to it. I’ve been up in them both—dozens of times.” He climbed out, Dick following him with reluctance. “I s’pose you’ve never been up?”
“Yes, I have—but only a little bit of a flip. I loved it, though.”
“They let Billy and me clean them—engines and all!” stated Bill proudly. The effect on Dick was all that he had hoped.
“They never! Golly, you’re lucky! Is it hard?”
“Oh, not when you know how. Takes a bit of learning, of course,” Bill said carelessly. “Freddy and Jack are awfully particular.”
Deep longing to share in so glorious a work racked Dick. He tried not to show his envy.
“Is there anyone else who can fly them?”
“There’s Bob Rainham, of course. He’s Tommy’s brother. They’ve got a place a bit away from Billabong. Bob’s really the swaggerest pilot of the lot, ’cause he was in the English Air Force in the War. He was awfully young then, but he knocked out heaps of enemy planes. Freddy was in the War too, but he didn’t get the medals an’ things Bob did. Bob wants a plane of his own more’n anything else in the world. I expect he’ll be able to buy one—now. Freddy an’ Jack use theirs for looking over their stations.”
“They don’t live here, then?”
“Oh, no. They just hopped down from Queensland to help. They’re out at the camp.” Bill stopped suddenly, as if he were saying too much. Dick looked at him curiously.
“We’d better shut up the sheds,” Bill said.
He rammed the heavy bolts home carefully.
“You’ve got a jolly nice aerodrome,” Dick commented.
“Pretty good. We fenced it, an’ then we turned in a whole mob of sheep an’ they ate the grass right down to the ground. Then we put them out, and we mowed the runway. Billy keeps it mown. He just loves the planes.”
He paused, knitting his brows.
“I was just wondering if I’d shown you everything. Oh, there’s the lagoon; it’s rather jolly. We can cut across here.”
He dived through the fence and headed towards the red-flowering gums that grew near the water. A cloud of birds rose as the boys approached it, but not in fear; they did not fly far.
“My word, what a lot!” exclaimed Dick.
“Yes, it’s a bird sanctuary. Mr. Linton won’t have a gun fired within coo-ee of the lagoon. They’re awfully tame. Can you swim?”
“ ’Course I can.” Dick was nettled: it was not a question to put to a boy of his age, and of his School. “I could swim nearly before I could walk.”
“Oh!” said Bill—who could not have said as much. “I only asked you ’cause no one who can’t is allowed to go in the boat without a grown-up.”
“It’s a big enough old tub,” Dick said, looking at the boat lying beside a little jetty that ran out from a wooden shed.
“It’s a jolly good boat,” returned Bill. “Has to be big, because we dive off her. We swim here every morning. Sometimes we bring tea down in the evening an’ have a bathing picnic. That’s fun.”
“It would be,” Dick agreed. He strolled on to the shed, looking at the spring-boards that ran out over the water. Within were dressing-rooms: a verandah was cluttered with folding chairs and a table. Evidently Billabong used the lagoon thoroughly.
“Over beyond those trees is where Norah and Wally and Davie live,” Bill said, pointing to where a glimpse of a house could be seen. “That’s Little Billabong. Only they don’t live there much now, ’cause of everyone being away: Norah says it’s easier if everyone’s at Big Billabong, when there’s so much work about sending food out to the camp.”
“What’s the camp?” asked Dick, devoured by curiosity.
“Oh, just where they’re camping,” replied Bill; and seemed to think he had explained matters sufficiently. “We can’t see the horses to-night—they’re all turned out in the big paddock. Billy’ll bring ’em in to-morrow morning.”
“Don’t they ever mix you up, with him being Billy and you Bill?” asked Dick incautiously. He met a blank stare.
“No, they don’t. Why should they?”
Silence fell. Bill swept the landscape with his eyes, as if trying to remember any further points about Billabong; and found none.
“Well, I think that’s about all,” he said with an air of relief. “I vote we go back to the house.”
They went home without speaking. Three pairs of eyes raked them from the verandah as they came, and each of the girls knew that so far there might be companionship, but certainly not comradeship. The explorers sank heavily into chairs, their faces showing that while they were not very glad to be anywhere, it was better to be in a crowd.
Matters were eased by the arrival of little Davie. Dick had not yet reached the age of considering it beneath his dignity to play with the very young: he frankly liked this small friendly person who adopted him at sight. He and Kim, the old sheep-dog which rarely left Davie, also made friends; the three were presently rolling on the lawn together. Bill made no attempt to join them. He sat looking glum for a time, and then slipped away.
“I must unpack,” said Betty regretfully. “Not that I have the slightest wish to leave this verandah.” She raised her voice, calling to her brother.
“Dick! What about your unpacking?”
“Can’t come now,” he called back from the lawn. “This chap won’t get off my chest!”
“Well, come to my room when he gets tired of you.” She went off, contented at seeing him happy: his expression as he came home had not been reassuring.
“It’s going to be really awkward if those two youngsters don’t get on well together,” she thought, as she attacked her luggage.
“Such a pity, too—we could have a lovely time here, I know. I’m so glad Jean didn’t want to come!”
She had almost finished when a tap came at the door.
“Can I come in, Betty?” Dick entered, somewhat dishevelled. “Want me to help?”
“We’ll see to your things presently. Sit down, if you can find anywhere to sit—yes, you can move those things. What do you think of Billabong?”
“Topping place,” he said.
“And Bill?”
There was a pause.
“Oh—I dunno. Rum chap.”
Betty glanced at his downcast face.
“It’s a bit early to judge, Dick. Very likely he isn’t the kind of fellow who makes friends easily.”
“I’ve got a feeling he just doesn’t want to,” said Dick. “I bet you he never wanted me to come here. Gosh, it was beastly some of the time going round with him to-day. He showed me everything, of course, but ...”
“Yes, Dicky?”
“Well, just as if he knew he had to. Made me feel jolly small. ’S if he owned everything himself and I was a regular outsider.”
“Little beast!” said Betty hastily.
“Too right he was,” agreed Dick. “Do we have to stay here weeks an’ weeks, Bet?”
Betty realized that her tongue had run away with her.
“We certainly shan’t stay if you’re not having a good time——” she began.
“I’ll never have that!”
“But we can’t run away in a hurry, you know. Go slow for a few days. Bill may wake up feeling quite different to-morrow. He can’t really be a beast, or Norah and Tommy wouldn’t like him. And they do.”
“They haven’t got much sense then.”
“Well, they seem to have a good deal. And they’re awfully keen for you to have a jolly time here. Just do your best to get on with Bill, and we’ll see how things work out.”
“Oh, I’ll stick it as long as I can,” said the boy. “It’s not so bad if I know we really needn’t stay a dickens of a time. And everyone’s nice, barring Bill. Betty, what’s the secret about the camp?”
“Why do you think it’s a secret?” she countered.
“Well, every time Bill said anything about it he suddenly shut up like an oyster. I asked him straight out once, an’ he made me feel I’d put my foot in it. Didn’t tell me anything, either.”
“I suppose he has been told he is not to talk too much,” Betty said. “But there’s no harm in telling you as much as I know. It seems that they have found gold in some country where they run scrub cattle in the ranges. They don’t know yet what it’s worth, so all the men are busy opening it up. And they are keeping it quiet, because if they let it be known, the whole place will be overrun with the sort of people they don’t want.”
“Golly!” Dick’s eyes shone. “There’d be a gold-rush?”
“Yes. And that would be no fun for Billabong. You see, a gold-rush attracts some good people, but a far greater number of really bad ones.”
“I know—two-gun men, and gamblers and horse-thieves, and all that lot,” he said eagerly, with the expert knowledge that comes from the cinema.
“Well, we’re not exactly in the Wild West, old man,” Betty laughed. “Still, there would be plenty of unpleasant people. The Lintons nearly had bad trouble with some of the shearers who were here last month; but they managed to avoid it. And now Norah and Tommy are a bit worried because Jim has sent them word that they can’t come home this week-end, as they usually do; and he doesn’t want the girls to go out to the camp. Evidently there is something unusual going on. So it’s just as well you and I are here, Dicky, to help them to take their minds off things.”
“I say, will there be any fighting?” he asked, wide-eyed. “Here?”
“Heavens, no! There isn’t any chance of people coming through Billabong. Even if they did hear of the gold, it’s easier to reach that country from the north. Nobody has any idea of fighting—just you get the Wild West out of your mind, Dick. The Billabong men will have to be on the watch to see that nobody tries to jump their claims, that’s all. That worries the girls, because so far they have looked on the whole business as rather fun; and now it is beginning to look like something more serious. And the Lintons do hate being serious!”
“Well, I think it all sounds jolly exciting,” Dick stated. “I do hope, if fights do come, that I’ll see some. Does Bill know all about it?”
“Pretty well all. Bill seems to have been mixed up in it from the very first.”
“I wish he’d talk about it to me,” mourned Dick. “Can I tell him I know?”
“Better not, until he speaks of it. He may have had his orders. You might remember, Dicky, if things are difficult, that perhaps Bill is a bit worried, too. He just worships Jim, Norah says, and he doesn’t like being cut off from him.”
Dick considered this.
“Well, I reckon it would be nicer for him if he let me into it a bit,” he said. “It would be fun if we were both in it. All right, Bet, I’ll do my best not to hit him when I’m dying to!”