Читать книгу Wings above Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 3

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HIGH in the cloudless blue of the Queensland sky Freddy Paxton was flying southward.

It was a day of perfect flying weather. The wind was with him; air-pockets seemed to have no existence. He sat at his ease, the plane needing only the lightest touch on the control stick, the wind singing in the wind-struts. Freddy also sang, in sheer lightness of heart.

This was a joy-ride for him. Generally his flying was a matter of everyday work, roaming over the vast expanse of his father’s cattle-station, near enough to the ground to inspect fences, to note the water-courses and dams that might be drying up; or to visit outlying huts, carrying rations and stores. The rear cockpit of his plane, an old fighting machine brought from England after the war, had been reconditioned to take such burdens.

The cattle on the station knew the plane, scarcely lifting their heads as it droned over them while the skyrider craned over the edge of the cockpit with a keen eye for any beast that might have got into trouble—bogged in a muddy creek or trapped by a fallen tree. Then the plane would circle and come gently to earth so that the airman might deal with the situation. Sometimes it would be necessary to fly back to the homestead for help. But there were not many situations with which Freddy could not deal single-handed.

Such work was an everyday matter, and even Freddy’s father, who had been hard to convince, now admitted that the plane did the work of several boundary-riders and often did it better. It suited Freddy admirably, for, having seen much flying service in the war, he had acquired the airman’s scorn for what he termed “earth-crawling.” He accepted the fact that he must make a living by means of the beasts of the earth. Only he preferred to do it, as far as possible, from the air.

But it was not the kind of flying he loved. It meant cruising at his lowest speed, so near the ground that he had had many narrow escapes from especially tall gum trees, or from hill-tops that seemed to rush at him suddenly when his attention had been diverted to a bullock. Such little incidents certainly lent variety to the work; but Freddy had a profound regard for his plane, knowing that if it crashed it was extremely unlikely that he would ever be able to buy another. He schooled himself to care, but it fretted a soul naturally careless.

To-day there was no work, no need to look earthward. Hundreds of miles of free air lay ahead, in which he could fly as high as he pleased. Far below him, the surface of Queensland was like a map swiftly unrolled—Freddy felt the utmost indifference as to whether it was there at all. He was alone in the sky, and the roar of his sweetly-running engine was music in his ears.

He had thought of making a midday halt for lunch, boiling the billy by a little river that ran through a wide plain where he had often camped. But the joy of the heights was too much for him; he abandoned the idea, contenting himself with nibbling sandwiches as he flew. Food seemed a matter unworthy of serious consideration when one was on top of the world.

He gave a half-regretful sigh when at last it was time to leave the upper air. The plane dropped gently, lower and lower, until, flying slowly now, he saw a rocky hill, tapering to a cone. To the west of it a white-roofed house showed, built high on stilt-like piles, for the discouragement of white ants. He circled over it, coming down gently on a smooth stretch of grass, where he taxied easily towards a shed. As he came to a standstill, greeted by a wild chorus of barking dogs, a shirt-sleeved figure dashed from the house and ran to meet him. They pumped hands.

“I say, this is great!” said the shirt-sleeved one enthusiastically. “Out you get, old man, and tell me all about it.”

“You got my wire?” Freddy asked, climbing out and stamping on the ground to ease knees that had developed a certain stiffness.

“Rather; only I don’t know what it means. ‘Arrive to-morrow be prepared accompany me Victoria.’ You might have said a bit more about it while you were at it,” said Jack Young, laughing.

“Well, it’s clear enough, isn’t it? I don’t believe in wasting money or telling telegraph operators any more than is good for them,” returned Freddy placidly. “Anyhow, are you prepared?”

“How does one prepare for what one doesn’t know anything about? I’ve spent the day overhauling the old bus, and I believe I’ve plenty of shirts and socks. But if you’re going to get married, and want me to be best man, it’s no go: my kit won’t run to glad rags.”

“Me!” ejaculated Freddy, in horror. “Are you off your head? I don’t do things like that. This is strictly business, I’m off for a spot of gold-mining.”

“Well, that’s mad, of course, but it’s more like you,” said his friend, much relieved. “But where on earth are you going gold-mining in Victoria?”

Freddy lit a cigarette and propped his long form against the plane.

“Oh, it’s the Lintons’ show. You remember Jim Linton, and his brother-in-law, Wally Meadows?”

“Fellows I met with you at the races in Melbourne last year? Rather! And Mrs. Wally. Jolly nice girl. Have they struck gold?”

“They seem to have struck it pretty thoroughly. There’s rough country out beyond their home station, and it’s there they’ve found it. Nobody knows about it yet; they’ve asked me to come along and peg out a claim before the find leaks out and a rush starts.”

“Where do I come in?”

“Well—Jim said that I could bring along anyone I liked, so I thought of you.”

“By Jove! Do you mean that I can peg out ground too?”

“Well, rather. That’s the idea, of course. Apart from that, Jim wants me to be there to keep an eye on things, because he and Wally have to get busy at the Billabong shearing.”

“Shearing!” Jack’s voice held the profound contempt the cattle-man feels for sheep. “Do you mean to say that they’re on gold, and they mean to leave it for a thing like that?”

Freddy chuckled.

“You don’t know Jim and Wally. Forty gold-mines wouldn’t worry them if they had a station job on hand. As far as I can judge—Jim isn’t exactly a fluent letter-writer—they’re rather bored with the gold business. Not exactly resenting it, especially as it’s pulled a pal of theirs out of the mud; but the thrill of the first find is over, an’ now they’re yearning to be on horses again.”

“Well—if you call it being on horses to go after sheep——” began Jack.

“Well, not altogether. But don’t you worry, old son: if you come down to Billabong they’ll show you plenty of bullocks that will open your eyes, and give you all the riding you want. Billabong is mainly cattle. And their horses—oh, boy!”

“Sounds better,” said Jack, relieved. “But are they going to leave a gold-mine to look after itself, apart from you and me, while they hack wool off sheep?”

“Oh, I gather that there are men working it. All the Billabong men have been at it, and the claim they’ve opened up belongs to their friend—chap called Bob Rainham. He’ll be there. But he’s English, and rather young, and Jim reckons he’ll need support, especially if the news gets out and there’s a rush. What about it, Jack—are you on?”

“On? I should say so! Dad won’t mind; there’s nothing much to keep me here. If I can manage to dig up some nuggets I’ll become quite popular with my family. Dad was a little peevish when I crashed last month!”

“Crashed, did you? Any damage?”

“Had to get a new wing, that’s all. Made a rotten landing, and tried to dig a hole with my right wing. But she’s flying like a dream now. I say, Freddy, do you want me to be a passenger, or can I take her?”

“Just whatever you like,” said Freddy, largely. “There’s plenty of room on Billabong for two planes. Jim will just lean against the side of a shed an’ push it in, an’ that’ll be a hangar!”

“He’s big enough,” Jack laughed. “He’s not the fellow you rescued when he was hurt out in the bush, is he?”

“No; that was Wally. Good thing it wasn’t Jim. Wally’s long enough, in all conscience; I’m not likely to forget the job it was to get him into the plane with a broken leg. I’d have needed a derrick and hoisting tackle if it had been Jim—and there weren’t any such luxuries about that day.”

“Must have been rather a picnic,” commented Jack. “I say, it’s rather fun to be going to the Lintons’. They gave you a jolly good time when you flew there, didn’t they?”

“Oh, Billabong’s an awf’ly cheerful place. I’ve been there twice since my first trip—that was when Wally got married to Norah Linton. They’ve a youngster now—very jolly kid, just like Wally. Calls me Uncle, and makes me feel no end ancient. But he’s a great nipper, an’ mad keen on horses.”

“He can’t be very old yet, to be thinking of horses,” remarked Jack.

“Risin’ two, or a bit younger, I think Davie is. But he has sense. I rather fancy any kid in that family would naturally have sense.”

“Who else is there? Any girls?”

“No, unless you count Bob Rainham’s sister, Tommy: and their place is a few miles away. By the way, Jim has just got engaged to Tommy. And of course there’s his father. He’s a great old chap—very like Jim, an’ often he doesn’t seem much older. You’ll like ’em all. It’s the sort of place where you feel you belong as soon as you put your foot on the verandah.”

Freddy paused and turned a severe eye on his companion.

“An’ talking of putting feet on verandahs, do you mind if I mention I came down here in one hop, an’ if I don’t get a drink soon I won’t answer for the consequences?”

“Oh—sorry, old man! But you shouldn’t spring such surprises on me. My brain won’t stand it. Come on over to the house. We’ll fix up the bus afterwards.”

He led the way towards the garden gate, talking as he went.

“Dad and Mother are out, or they’d have been over to see why I was keeping you there starving. Hugh’s somewhere with the cattle. I invited him to help me overhaul the Planet, but he didn’t appreciate the honour I was offering him.”

“You haven’t managed to convert him to flying yet?”

“Not a hope. He’s been to Brisbane with me a few times, but he hates it. Says one fool in a family is enough. Well, I’m quite content to be the fool,” said Jack cheerfully. “Hugh is like your Billabong people—only happy when he’s on a horse.”

“Oh, I believe I could convert Wally and Jim, if I had time enough. They’ve been up with me quite a lot, and Jim nearly got keen. I gave him a few lessons, and he handled her jolly well. But I haven’t got him to the point of buying a plane yet.”

“Queer, isn’t it?” pondered Jack. “The one thing really worth doing, yet some chaps can’t see it! Why, in twenty years I bet even kids will be flying to school! Look at the motors on the roads round Sydney and Melbourne—I reckon the air is the only place where there’ll be elbow-room soon.”

“And you haven’t seen England,” said Freddy grimly. “If you had, you’d say Melbourne and Sydney roads were great open spaces. But we’ve got the best of it now. Jack. It won’t be half so much fun when planes get really thick; there’ll be air police, and regular air-lanes marked out with signals, and anyone who takes a line of his own will be called an air-hog. All sorts of new crimes then—‘nose-diving to the public danger,’ or ‘failing to stop when summoned by police-whistle.’ ”

“Then you and I will be spending most of our time in the dock,” was Jack’s prophecy. “All the more reason for flying while the flying’s good. Here we are—is it tea or something stronger?”

“Tea—gallons of it, please,” responded Freddy. He stretched himself in a long chair in the verandah while Jack disappeared into the house, shouting to unseen helpers.

The sound of a car heralded the return of Jack’s parents a little later. They expressed themselves resigned to any adventurous move on the part of their son.

“One thing seems certain,” observed Mr. Young—“you can’t keep a boy within his home fences when he owns an aeroplane. And I know something of David Linton; anything he is running is good enough for Jack. Though my mind fails to picture you digging, son, even for gold. Did you ever handle a spade, I wonder?”

“Only at the beach, when he was seven,” said his mother, smiling.

“I’ll have to learn how, that’s all,” responded Jack, stoutly. “Anyhow, I’m not worrying about the digging. The main thing is that I’m going to have my longest flight yet! After that, things will just sort themselves out. You can expect me back with the Planet staggering under a load of nuggets.”

“And what then?” asked his father.

“Then you won’t have to worry about land-taxes and other jolly little things of that sort. And you can have a trip to England, Mother—and perhaps I’ll come too and buy the latest type of monoplane. Oh, yes, and I’ll fly her back!”

“Not with me as a passenger,” said Mrs. Young firmly.

“Couldn’t have you—I’ll need all the space for petrol. I’ll fly over your ship in the Red Sea and drop you a note.”

“Well, there’s such a thing as counting your chickens while they are still in the shell,” laughed his father. “I’ll continue to hold off the Land-Tax Commissioners as best I can until I see those nuggets. Meanwhile I shall pin my faith, as usual, on bullocks. You are in command of the flying-squad, of course, Freddy.”

“Oh, rather, sir. I’m the senior officer, and I’ll see that the rest of the squad obeys orders.” He fixed a severe eye on the rest of the squad. “You’ll fly gently in front of me, so that I can keep an eye on you.”

Jack chuckled.

“I think I see you flying gently behind me, old man! By Jove, it’s too good to be true that I’m going! When do we start?”

“Early as possible to-morrow morning. Pack your kit to-night, and bring all the most disreputable things you’ve got. Gold-digging isn’t exactly a full-dress party.” He hesitated. “An’ don’t you make any mistake about this trip being only a joy-ride, Jack. It’s likely to be a job of hard work as well, with the Planet safely tucked in a shed several miles from you.”

Jack screwed up his face, and then laughed.

“Oh, I know. I won’t let you down.”

“Wouldn’t have asked you to go if I’d had any doubt about that,” was Freddy’s cheerful rejoinder. He rose. “It’s time I went out and saw to the old bus.”

“You’ve got to look at my Planet, too,” said Jack. “She’s very posh. I’ve been fitting her with head-phones.”

“Now I call that pure swank!” stated Freddy.

“It’s Mother’s fault: she comes up with me sometimes, and she likes to chat in the air. And she paid for them, so I didn’t see why she shouldn’t have them!” grinned Jack.

“I must tell my mother that, in case she feels inclined to follow your example, Mrs. Young,” said Freddy. “Though I don’t know what I’d do with phones, for nobody at home will fly with me!”

“Perhaps they know you too well!” suggested Mrs. Young mildly.

All the people of the homestead turned out to see the flyers start early next morning; maids clustering near the planes, station hands eager to swing the propellers. The Planet also was an old war machine, a little smaller than Freddy’s Kestrel, and, like her, reconditioned for station use; the pilot’s seat in front, with a roomy rear cockpit. Jack eyed her with the pride with which a young mother gazes at her first baby. He put on his flying helmet, adjusted the goggles, and took his seat in the pilot’s cockpit, whence he beamed on all the world.

“You first, Jack,” Freddy said. “Off you go!”

“Right oh! Good-bye, Mother—so long, everybody!”

The Planet’s engine roared suddenly. She taxied over the grass, rose, gained height, and soared towards the south.

Freddy leaned over the side of the cockpit.

“I’ll look after him, Mrs. Young. Don’t you worry.”

“No, I won’t worry,” she said. “Happy landings, Freddy!”

The engine blared. A moment later there were two glittering shapes in the sky, lessening rapidly as the drone of the engines died away.