Читать книгу Billabong Gold - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 6

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A MAN on a tired horse was riding down a steep hill. Dense scrub stretched away on every side; the horse picked its way carefully along a faint cattle-pad that wound in and out between the trees, always watchful for loose stones that might cause a stumble. The rider sat him lightly, his hand firm on the bridle, whistling happily, while his glance took in every detail that could be seen near him. They reached the foot of the hill with a scramble down a deep drop. Below rippled a shallow creek. The horse stopped of his own accord when he reached it and put his nose thankfully into the clear water.

“Yes, you can do with a drink, old chap,” said his rider.

He was young and very tall, his clean-shaven face marked by various encounters with tough scrub, but altogether cheerful. Jim Linton was doing one of the things he liked best—riding a good horse through wild country after cattle; all the more pleasant because for what seemed to him an age he had been given up to the utterly uncongenial task of digging. It had been a keen relief that morning to turn his back on pick and shovel, to saddle his great black horse and disappear into the ranges. Even though pick and shovel must have their turn to-morrow, he would have had to-day.

“Come up, Monarch, old boy!”

He gathered up his reins. They splashed through the creek and took their way up the wide gully through which it ran. Soon another gully showed at right angles. They turned into it.

Almost immediately the country changed sharply. The ground became less rugged, sloping gently upwards. Not a tree was to be seen over a wide area that lay before them; a bare and desolate expanse, scarred by man so cruelly that the kindly Bush seemed to have retreated from it in horror.

Man, indeed, had been very busy. The ground was trampled until scarcely any grass was left. Thickly dotted everywhere were tiny stumps of felled scrub, spikes that compelled a rider to go carefully for his horse’s sake. Great black patches showed where the felled timber had been burned. In orderly lines were stout wooden pegs, driven well home into the ground; there was no part of the cleared land that had not been pegged out thoroughly. Here and there, on the outskirts, were small tents, smoke-grey with age and grime; beside them the faint light of cooking-fires showed, and figures could be seen moving about them. The day’s work was over for the miners.

“By Jove, what a grim place we’ve made it look!” Jim uttered.

Always the stark ugliness of the diggings smote him afresh on returning from a Bush expedition—the degradation of what had once been lovely. To-night he did not look at it for long. He rode aside until he reached a place where two long hill spurs enclosed a well-grassed space, where the faint trickle of a spring could be heard. A bush fence had been run across the opening from spur to spur; within the enclosure horses were grazing. A big chestnut lifted his head and whinnied as he saw them, and Monarch neighed in answer.

Jim dismounted, turning his horse into the enclosure with a farewell pat. Carrying his saddle and bridle, he came back to the clearing and made his way up a wide and shallow depression that marked its centre. Here was as yet no digging: but soon he reached the gaping mouth of a deep shaft, near which a derrick towered. Broken rock littered the ground or was roughly piled: tall heaps of mullock had to be skirted, yellow and ghostly in the evening light.

Ahead of him were hills, blocking in all the northern end of the clearing. The rock-face rose sheer and unclimbable, stretching away on either side as far as the eye could follow it, clothed here and there with clumps of fern or tough shrubs that had found rooting-place in a cranny. A black opening showed the mouth of a cave; in front of it was a level plateau, fenced in by piled rocks. Bush huts and tents stood on the plateau; iron pots swung from a bar over a stone fireplace where a fire glowed redly. A squat figure in blue overalls turned at Jim’s step, and a broad Chinese face grinned widely in welcome.

“Boss look out for you long time, Mas’ Jim.”

“I’m later than I meant to be, Lee Wing. Something smells good there. Everyone home?”

“Not Mas’ Wally an’ Missa Paxton. Come soon, all li’, you bet. Hot water, Mas’ Jim?”

“You’re a genius, Lee Wing.” Jim stowed away his riding-gear, turning thankfully to the comfort of soap and water. He raised his dripping face as a grey-haired man, scarcely shorter than himself, came out of the cave.

“Had a good day, Jim?”

“Oh, topping!” said Jim, from his towel. “Nothing exciting, cattle all right everywhere, and no sign of wandering prospectors. That’s all a man could want, isn’t it, Dad?”

“I should say so. Jack and I had a good day, too. Found everything well at home, and all the family in great form.”

“That sounds good. Any letters for me?”

“Quite a lot, but I expect this is the one you’d rather have first.” He smiled, diving into an inner pocket for a blue envelope. “I told Tommy that the amount she and you save on postage isn’t fair to the Government!”

“Queer to think there will be a post office out here some day, if ever the mine turns out a big thing,” Jim remarked, pocketing his letter.

“May I be out of it before that day comes!” said David Linton fervently. “I’ve lit the cave lamp; better go there and read your letter in peace. I’ll keep a look-out for the boys.”

“As if they couldn’t get in without you!” chaffed Jim: knowing well that his father would watch as long as anyone was away from camp. He dived into the cave; David Linton sat on a log smoking, looking into the silent Bush. Lee Wing pattered round the fire, lifting pot-lids to glance anxiously at the contents.

“No sign of them?” said Jim, reappearing after an interval. “Wonder what they’re up to.”

“I wish they’d come. This is no country for riding after dark.”

“Boss, better you an’ Mas’ Jim an’ Missa Young have supper one-time,” pleaded Lee Wing earnestly. “Evelything him get welly too-much cook.”

“Did I hear someone couple my name with supper?” demanded a voice from a tent, sleepily.

“What are you doing in there, Jack?” called Jim. “You haven’t gone to bed, have you?”

“Well, I lay down for a minute to think,” said the voice. “I think better that way. And I don’t quite know what happened next!” The owner of the voice appeared, looking sheepish. “You did say supper, didn’t you, Lee Wing?”

“Welly near spoil,” said Lee Wing sadly.

“Oh, let it stew a bit longer,” said Jim largely. “They’ll turn up any minute.” He checked himself, holding up his hand. “There they are!—I heard Wally’s voice.”

Jim was credited with being able to hear half a mile farther than anyone else, so they settled down to smoke peacefully, knowing that the horses would have to be turned out. It was ten minutes before they heard heavy boots crunching among the rocks, and two tall figures, saddle-laden, strode into sight.

“Sorry we’ve kept you waiting,” Wally Meadows said. “We put on all the pace we could, but that’s not saying much in the hills in darkness.” He tossed his hat aside, running his hand through his crisp black hair, a look of strain on his dark face. “Norah and Davie all right, sir?”

“Fit as possible: so is everyone else at the homestead. I’ve messages and letters for you, but they’ll keep until you’ve eaten. Hurry up, Lee Wing!”

Lee Wing was already hurrying: a mighty dish of stew was steaming on the bush-made table in a moment, flanked by baked potatoes and an enormous pot of tea. The five men ate quickly: all were saddle-weary, and there was little comfort in the roughly made stools and chunks of rock that formed the seats. The night was warm and still; when the meal was over they relaxed on the ground, propped their backs against logs, lit their pipes, and were ready to exchange notes on the day’s events.

It was not often that David Linton and his boys all left the clearing in the wild hills where the goddess Luck had tempted them from quiet station life by the lure of gold. Two or three might go together to the homestead, Billabong, where all their hearts lay, leaving the others on guard at the diggings. To-day, however, had seen a general clearing-out. Gold that had been won had to be taken to the homestead; cattle in the hills demanded an inspection—or the boys had comfortably persuaded themselves that they did. There were faithful station-hands working at the shaft, together with a sprinkling of prospectors, glad to earn wages for a time before chancing their luck on the claims they had been permitted to peg out. The Linton party had downed tools enthusiastically and scattered in several directions.

Jack Young and Freddy Paxton, who did not belong to Billabong, but were merely borrowed, listened to the quick fire of questions poured in by Jim and Wally concerning everything and everybody at the homestead. The gold had been taken to the bank by Bob Rainham, another of their party; that was a minor matter. Jim considered it far more important to hear that Bob’s sister Tommy had attained distinction by being lightly cast into a pool of muddy water by a pony which had at the last moment decided that it had no desire to jump the log-fence for which Tommy had headed. It had propped: Tommy had continued over the fence alone. The story, as retailed by Mr. Linton, brought forth hoots of unfeeling laughter.

“My wife hasn’t been doing wild things like that, I hope?” asked Wally.

“No; Norah got all she wanted out of looking on. She says she wouldn’t have missed it for all the gold in the claim. She told me to tell you that Davie went out proudly wearing your best hat, and threw it into the pigsty——”

“Not my new one!” gasped the startled father.

“I think so. But they got it back. They seem to have been doing a good deal of riding and steeplechasing, partly to keep young Bill occupied. It’s rather dull for him nowadays: Norah says he misses us a lot.”

“Oh, Bill’s all right,” said Jim.

“Well, Norah thinks the boy is dull. She has written to Jean Yorke to ask her to bring her young brother for a visit. He’d be a mate for Bill.”

“Good notion,” said Wally, “only I’ll bet Jean won’t come. She has no love for Billabong since she grew up. Do you remember her last visit? She turned up her nose at everything. Even at me. And on my wedding-day, too.” He sighed—and gave a low chuckle.

“Well, you shouldn’t have taken a mud-bath in the lagoon,” remarked Freddy.

“Why not? it was my last hour of freedom,” returned Wally, looking absurdly young to be considered as a husband. “No, Jean simply scorned me that day—even when we went off in the car, all in new clothes. I had a lovely new hat that day, too,” he ended.

“I’ll bet you didn’t wear it long,” grinned Freddy.

“No farther than the first gate. Then I fished my beautiful old one out from the tool-box or somewhere, and I don’t seem to remember what happened to the new one. I have no luck with new hats.”

“We haven’t heard much of what you and Freddy did to-day, Wal,” said Jim. “You were awfully late getting home. Any trouble with the cattle?”

“No, they’re all right. I don’t suppose we saw nearly all of them, but all we did come across look well. Half-fat, a lot of them; and there’s a sprinkling of decent calves running with those cows Bob bought. There’s good feed in the gullies, and they’re all fairly quiet.”

It was a satisfactory report, but Jim, watching his face as the firelight fell upon it, saw that it had an unfamiliar gravity.

“Is there anything else, Wal?” he asked.

“Yes, worse luck. It didn’t seem worth telling you before we had had the home news—no need to spoil that. But I’m afraid we’re in for the first of the rush.”

“Oh, hang!” exclaimed Jim. “Prospectors?”

“Not single fossickers; I wouldn’t have bothered much if that was all. But there are at least two lots of men making their way into the hills from the north. We caught sight of one crowd early in the afternoon; they were down in a gully, making heavy weather of getting across it. Not much wonder, as it was pretty well choked with scrub mixed with brambles. Freddy and I were on a hill some distance off.”

“Did they see you?”

“Not much! We kept the horses under cover and watched them. Ten or twelve of them, I should say. They got through the worst of the scrub and then they decided to call it a day; there was water not far off, so they camped. I expect they’ll be along in a day or so.”

“That depends on how much they know of the country,” Mr. Linton said. “They could wander for a good while without getting near here, unless they’re working on information.”

“I’d like to know who supplied it,” Freddy said.

“The wonder is that it hasn’t got out before. Even though it’s to the interest of the fellows working here to keep quiet there must be a fair sprinkling of people who know something about it. One can’t tell how much the shearing crowd picked up. Oh, well,” continued Mr. Linton, “it’s no use worrying about that now; all we can hope is that they are a decent lot. You said you saw others, Wally?”

“Yes. That was what made us so late. We struck off to the east after they settled down; then we came round in a half-circle. We were watching pretty carefully, after what we’d seen. If we hadn’t been, we should never have spotted the second lot. I don’t suppose they were trying to hide themselves, but they’d got a fairly well-concealed camp down in a hollow among rocks. About half a dozen men. I left Freddy with the horses on a ridge and worked down as near them as I could. Rather an unpleasant crowd; very rough type.”

“On foot, were they?”

“They were camped, but they have horses. The first lot had only a couple of pack-horses, but all my particular friends must have been mounted. They looked distinctly tough. A huge chap about the size of Jim seemed to be their leader: I wasn’t near enough to hear what he said, but he appeared to be laying down the law pretty freely. I wouldn’t think, either,” said Wally reflectively, “that they were a crowd that would be much concerned with the law.”

“I expect they’ll know enough about it to have miners’ rights, anyhow,” Jim said.

“Sure thing. Otherwise—well, I’m glad our claims are properly pegged and under lease. Nobody could interfere with boundaries marked as clearly as ours. But we’ll have to watch out from now on; no more peaceful mining for us, taking a holiday whenever we feel like one.”

“No,” said Jim, with a sigh. “And the girls and Bill won’t be able to come out freely without some sort of escort. That’s a bore, if you like—won’t they hate it!”

“They will have to knuckle under, though,” Wally said. “I wouldn’t have them riding through the lonely country between here and the Billabong boundary if these fellows are prospecting it.”

“Then we shall have to think of the cattle, too,” remarked Mr. Linton. “A few men won’t trouble them much, but if those you saw are only a first instalment there will be mighty little quiet grazing for Bob’s bullocks.”

“Yes—and worse than that, bush-fires. It’s too early for fires yet, but before long the scrub would burn. Fellows of this type would chuck down matches and cigarette-ends everywhere, or knock out a pipe on a rotten log and leave it to set the country alight. As for expecting them to be careful with their cooking-fires—well, I ask you!” Wally looked wrathful, and then laughed. “Don’t we get fun when we go mining!”

“We must try to scare them properly about fires,” said Mr. Linton. “After all, it’s not to their advantage to risk a blaze that might easily sweep down on their own camps, or block their way out by fallen timber. I don’t think we need worry much on that score; even the really rough customers have a wholesome dread of a bush-fire. Thank goodness there’s nothing left to burn near our claims. I thought old Murty was a bit drastic over having the scrub cut all round us, but I’m glad of it now.”

“Yes, we’re safe enough,” Jim observed. “Well, I’ll warn all our men the first thing in the morning, Dad, and tell them that if any strangers show up they’re to be sent to you. And I’ll warn them against being drawn into yarning with visitors. The less they know about our claims, the better.”

“Yes—and the first job to-morrow is to put up a strong fence of bush round the shaft and the sluice-boxes. We don’t want them inspected by any casual who happens along. We’ll put all hands on to that, Jim.”

“Right you are.” Jim got to his feet slowly, stretching himself. “I’m off to bed. This may be the last really peaceful night we’re likely to spend at the old claim.”

“Well, minin’ is apt to get a bit borin’ at times,” remarked Freddy, joining him. “I’m not sure that it won’t be rather fun to have a little spot of war!”