Читать книгу Billabong Riders - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 5

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GOSH, I was glad to get your wire, Mr. Linton!” said Parker.

He wriggled a little in the bed to ease his aching leg; a gaunt, dark-bearded man, his face puckered with worry. A nurse, passing by, paused to arrange his pillows more comfortably.

“I’m glad you’ve come to stop this patient fretting himself into a fever,” she said. “We’ve been afraid he’d try to go after his bullocks, broken leg and all. He needs someone large to deal with him.” She glanced with approval at Jim’s huge form and his serene face.

“Well, he’s got nothing to bother about now,” said Jim. “I’ve inherited all his worries, and he can just lie still and let you fatten him.”

“I’ll bet you won’t get fat on the job,” Parker told him. “Drovers aren’t what they were once—not by a long chalk. There usen’t to be any difficulty in getting a good crew when I was younger, but it’s darned hard now to find men you can trust.” The nurse moved away: he dropped his voice. “I’d like you to keep a pretty sharp eye on Sam Gribble, Mr. Linton.”

“Got anything against him?”

“Not exactly. He came to me with a fairly good recommendation. But there’s something about him I don’t like. He’s work-shy—never does more than he can help. And he’s made pals of the wrong sort of men. Not that they’re a bad lot of chaps ... but you know how it is with a gang; always one or two you’d just as soon get rid of.”

“And Gribble’s pals weren’t among the men who cleared out?” asked Jim.

“No, worse luck. One of ’em came to see me, and he said they left because they weren’t going to work under Gribble. He’d got the wrong side of them somehow. But I got him back,” added Parker with a grin. “I’d just had your wire, so I was able to tell him that Gribble wasn’t going to be his boss. That quite altered his outlook. Couldn’t get the others, though; they’d gone off after another job. But you’ll find Danny Tucker’s a good fellow. Decent of him to come and see me, wasn’t it?”

“He sounds the right sort. And you say Gribble’s engaged two others?”

“Yes. I wish I’d had the choosing of ’em. He says one can cook: I hope to goodness his cooking’s good enough to keep the men in a good temper. I say, Mr. Linton, it was dashed good of your wife and your sister to send me those parcels. It knocked me all of a heap to get them. I’ll write and thank them as soon as I can.”

“You won’t have to,” said Jim. “Fact is, Parker, we’ve brought my wife and sister with us. They’ll be here to see you, presently.”

“Gosh, that was a long trip for them to take! Are they going on to the station when you move the cattle?”

“Not they.” Jim grinned a little uncomfortably. “They’re going with us. Mad keen on taking a hand with the droving.”

“Well-I-never!” said Parker feebly. “But I say ... Mr. Linton!”

“No holding them back. They’re masterful people. Certainly they’re pretty useful with cattle, especially my sister. She’s been at the game all her life. Anyhow if they knock up or get sick of it, they can drop out.”

“Heaven send that Gribble’s found a cook that washes a saucepan occasionally!” said Parker with fervour.

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll run our own little camp: we’ve brought an old Chinese of ours who’s cooked for us before this in camp. And Murty O’Toole, too—you met him at Billabong last time you brought cattle down.”

“By George, I haven’t forgotten old Murty!” said Parker, greatly relieved. “Why, there’s a regular army of you! I reckon I can make my mind easy now. You an’ Mr. Meadows an’ Murty can handle things, even if Gribble an’ some of the others aren’t up to much. But I expect they’ll toe the mark once they take a good look at you three. About the ladies ... I dunno; it’s not much of a game for ladies, drovin’ isn’t. You take my tip, Mr. Linton, an’ persuade ’em to give it best after a few days.”

“You never saw two people less easy to persuade,” Jim said grimly. “What about transport, Parker? Will there be room for our kit? We have cut it down as much as possible.”

“Oh, we’re well fixed; got a spring-cart with a canvas tilt for a chuck-waggon, as well as the old waggonette. Your stuff will go in all right. I’d advise you to take over the waggonette if your cook can drive it, and let the rest of the outfit use the cart.”

“Good scheme—Lee Wing can manage it all right. How far away are the cattle, Parker?”

“About five miles. I had luck, getting grazing for ’em, Mr. Linton—only bit of luck I did have. Pretty good grass, too. They won’t like leavin’ it for the roads. I’d have felt properly stuck but for that Mr. McLaren offerin’ me a paddock; with the bullocks all upset after the stampede I just couldn’t have trusted Gribble to take ’em on. He’s the man that picked me up an’ brought me in to the hospital: he saw I was worried stiff, an’ he said he could clear out a big paddock an’ take ’em in. A mighty big load off my mind, that was.”

“Well, I’m thankful you found someone to look after you,” Jim said. “It couldn’t have been a very easy journey in, Parker.”

“Not too good. But they’ve looked after me real well here—you can’t beat a Bush Hospital. The doc. says my leg’ll be as good as ever it was, thank goodness.”

“Yes, he told me that. Nice clean break, he says, and you’re so healthy that you’ll mend quickly.”

“What, have you been to see him?”

“Oh, he was our first port of call. I’d have got you down to Sydney if I hadn’t been satisfied about you. But the doctor was quite certain on that point—though he suggested that you’d improve more rapidly if you thought about something else than bullocks.”

“Well, that was darned good of you, Mr. Linton,” said the drover. “I never was looked after like this in all me born days. I’ll be able to quit worryin’ now. Though I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a post-card from you now and then just to let me know how the mob’s travellin’.”

“You’ll hear all right. How are you fixed for money? Shall I let you have some now?”

“I’ve plenty to go on with, thanks. Later on, you might let me have a cheque for what’s due to me since I started.”

“Better let me give you that before we leave. And, of course, you understand you’re in our pay right through the trip—we’re just carrying on as your substitutes.”

“Oh, but that’s all rot, Mr. Linton! I’m not goin’ to take money I haven’t earned——.”

“You’re the one who’s talking rot. You got smashed up trying to save our cattle—do you think we’re going to let you suffer for it more than we can help? Have sense, man!”

“We-ell,” began Parker unhappily, “I don’t see it that way at all——.”

He stopped. The door had opened to admit other visitors; Norah and Tommy, with Wally’s tall figure behind them.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” said Jim, getting up. “The patient’s beginning to rave.”

“That means you’re disagreeing with him about something, Mr. Parker,” said Norah. “Never mind—I’m sure he’s talked to you long enough. Everyone tells us you’re getting on splendidly—but we’re terribly sorry for your bad luck, all the same.”

“Well, it makes a man feel better to see you all,” said Parker, looking from one to another as they greeted him. “You all look that cheerful—no one ’ud guess you’d had to race up from Victoria to take on a job of work. An’ Mr. Linton tells me you two ladies are actually goin’ to turn drovers!”

The ladies in question said modestly that they meant to try.

“Well, I like the game—but then, I was broke in to it young” he said. “Can’t see meself doin’ anything else. Do they sing well, Mr. Meadows?”

“Oh, well ... they sing,” said Wally, guardedly. “Why, Parker?”

“ ’Cause a good drover ought to be able to sing to the bullocks sometimes. When they get restless at night, hearin’ things we don’t hear, or maybe a storm comin’ up makes ’em fidgetty ... it sort of calms ’em down if the night guard rides round ’em slowly singin’. I got no voice at all, an’ I’ve often wondered that my old croak doesn’t make ’em feel worse instead of better. But it seems to soothe ’em. I dunno how they’d act if they heard a nice high sopranner voice like I’m sure you’ve got, Mrs. Meadows!”

“No, you’re wrong there, Mr. Parker. Mine’s a deep croak, too: they’d probably take it for yours. But Mrs. Jim’s is a soprano, and she sings French songs. How would those act on bullocks?”

“I’d hate to think,” said Parker. “Those bullocks haven’t much education: I don’t think I’d risk it if I were you, Mr. Linton.”

“She can try it in daylight,” said Jim. “No night work for raw hands like these two.”

“Might be safer,” agreed the drover. “By the way, there’s another raw hand in our outfit. He’s Syd Flynn’s nephew—Syd’s the chap that drives the cart, an’ a pretty poor fish he is, too. But I had to take him, ’cause I couldn’t get anyone else; an’ that meant takin’ young Rob as well. He’s an orphan—got no one belongin’ to him but Syd. I believe he’s thirteen or fourteen, but he doesn’t look as much. Quiet little chap; he drives along with Syd an’ he’s quite handy in camp. Sam Gribble’s a bit inclined to order him round, and I used to keep an eye on him on that account. Easy enough to have a youngster like that put upon, you know.”

Jim nodded. “We’ll look out for him.”

“I’d say that kid’s had a tough time,” said Parker. “Before he came with us, I mean. You hardly ever hear him speak, an’ he’s got a sort of hunted look ... lonesome. An’ Syd Flynn’s not much comfort to any lonesome youngster. I reckon he’d be glad of a kind word now an’ then from you ladies. Someone told me it was only lately his mother died.”

“We’ll remember, Mr. Parker,” Tommy said.

“He’s as shy as a bush-rat, but I reckon you’ll know how to make friends with him.” Parker looked at her gratefully. “There’s another thing: the spare horses aren’t a bad lot, but I don’t know much about their paces, and it means a good deal to have an easy horse when you’re ridin’ day after day. I’ve got two, an’ there’s not much fault to be found with either of ’em: both steady, with plenty of pace if it’s wanted. I was terrible afraid old Lancer was hurt—he’s the one that came down with me. But he wasn’t—only a bit shaken up. An’ it wasn’t his fault we came down: I’d never known Lancer put a foot wrong. But what can you do when a bullock turns a somersault right into you in the dark?”

“You go too,” said Wally feelingly. “That happened to me once in Queensland—and it wasn’t in the dark, either. I just didn’t know a thing about it till I hit the ground; and neither did my horse.”

“Nor me,” said Parker. “But nobody could blame old Lancer. Well, what I mean to say is, there’s my pair, Lancer an’ Trigger; an’ I’d take it as a real favour, Mrs. Jim, if you an’ Mrs. Wally ’ud ride’ em.”

“That takes a weight off my mind,” said Jim. “Well, I’ll guarantee they won’t give them sore backs, Parker.”

“I reckon no one from Billabong ever yet gave a horse a sore back,” grinned the drover. “Well, there’s not much to choose between my pair: one’s as good as the other. I’d advise you ladies to ride ’em turn about, like I do: it’s a relief to be able to change horses when you’re in the saddle every day for a long time. An’ if you want to drive for a spell, you don’t need to think of either of ’em: they’ll follow along like a dog. Pretty well all our horses’ll do that, but my two are as sensible as human beings. More sensible than some human beings I know.”

“We’ll take great care of them, Mr. Parker,” said Tommy. “Also, I shall be very thankful to feel they’re taking care of me—I’m not a bush-woman like Mrs. Wally, you know. I was greatly wondering what sort of a horse I should have to tackle.”

“She’s quite equal to tackling most of ours,” Norah told him. “But this means we’re going to enjoy ourselves very much more. We brought our own saddles, so it doesn’t seem now that we’ve anything left to wish for!”

“Except fine weather, good water, nothin’ to scare the bullocks, an’ the wind always blowin’ away from you!” said Parker with a dry smile. “A head wind’s no fun: you eat the dust of the mob all day. But I reckon you’ll worry through all right.”

“And when you’re better,” said Norah, “will you come to Billabong to pick up your horses? That’s only an excuse, you know: we should like to have you there as soon as you’re fit to travel, and to stay until you’re perfectly well. You’ll want a little looking after when you leave the hospital.”

“Aw, I say, Mrs. Meadows,” the drover protested. “I couldn’t go givin’ you trouble like that. I’ll be a bit of a crock when they let me out.”

“You wouldn’t give any trouble at all—Murty and the men would look after you like nurses. Not that you’d really need nurses by then,” she added. “No, we all want you: Dad said I was to tell you he wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer, and that he’d meet you with the car in Melbourne. That would make the journey much easier. Will you promise to come?”

“Well ... when you put it that way, Mrs. Meadows,” he said—“what can a man say?”

“Then that’s all arranged,” stated Jim, “and now we’ll have to be getting along. I’ve sent word to Gribble that we shall be out very early in the morning. So we’ll be on the roads to-morrow, bullocks, new hands and all.”

“Well, it’s been great to see the whole lot of you,” Parker said. “I feel tons better. But don’t I wish I was goin’ along with you!”