Читать книгу Wings above Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 5

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A BOY of twelve sat on the cap of the stockyard fence at Billabong, his red hair a spot of flame against the dusty soil and the grey fences. He had come there because it was a vantage-point from which no trees blocked the view in one particular direction; a direction that had held the eyes of most of the people of Billabong since early morning. Finally Norah Meadows, the daughter of the house, together with her friend Tommy Rainham, had refused to look any more, declaring that their eyes had grown tired.

“We’ll leave it to Bill,” said Norah. “He would be sure to see them first, in any case.”

Bill Blake was quite determined that he would see them first. Hadn’t he tumbled out of bed an hour before anyone in the house was up, because he knew that Freddy Paxton had once before dropped from the skies upon the Billabong home-paddock just at sunrise? True, this amazing occurrence had been explained by the apologetic Freddy—his first explanation being made to Mrs. Brown, cook, housekeeper and presiding genius of the station. Brownie was always the first person astir, and the airman had sought her kitchen like a homing swallow, demanding tea.

“I’ll never do it again, I promise you, Brownie,” he had said. “It was the moon. Quite full, like a rippin’ old silver tea-tray in the sky. I meant to go down somewhere for the night, but it was too gorgeous, so I stayed up in the ceiling. An’ then the clouds came up an’ blotted out my moon, an’ I couldn’t find anywhere to land. So I had to fly in rings round the ceiling until it was light enough to find Billabong. Never again! Brownie, where’s a bed?”

Bill knew that the story was a standing joke against Freddy, who was indeed unlikely to risk a repetition of it, especially when accompanied by a second plane. Still, although he had never met the flying man, he had heard enough of him to feel that the unexpected might possibly happen. The arrival of two planes was not a thing to be missed—no such excitement had ever come his way during the holidays he had spent at Billabong. He took no chances of being caught napping.

Moreover, Bill felt a certain responsibility in the matter, for was he not, at the moment, the only representative of the men of the Billabong family? Not that he belonged to it, except by an informal kind of adoption; which meant that all his holidays were spent on the station, where nobody had any doubt that he “belonged.” Jim Linton called him his offsider. The world might contain titles more honourable, but Bill could imagine none better.

Jim and his father and Wally Meadows were all away, living out in the hills at Bob Rainham’s gold mine. That was a place of many thrills, and Bill had been intimately connected with the finding of it. It had even been conveyed to him that a bit of the mine belonged to him. But that was a thing hardly to be grasped; and it did not seem to matter nearly so much as the fun of the actual finding.

Bill had camped at the mine himself, where there was the extra thrill of sleeping in a cave. He had picked up bits of gold, which made you feel terribly excited at first, but the excitement didn’t last. You would have to pick up so many bits before you had enough to buy a station—which Bill considered the only use for gold. So, although he liked to ride out to the mine occasionally, he was not sorry that he had been sent back to the homestead with Norah and Tommy. There was always riding there, and no lack of things to do. Jim had said, “You look after the girls, Bill.” He had a pleasant feeling of being in charge.

That being so, it was clearly his job to be on hand to welcome the airmen. Norah and Tommy, though extremely sensible, were but girls: it never seemed to Bill that they were really grown-up, in spite of the fact that Norah was married and had Davie, and that Tommy was some day to be married to Jim. Grown-up people had always meant to Bill people who were severe and difficult to understand. But that was before he knew Billabong, where nobody was like that.

However, it was his job to look after the girls, and to take from them the burden of looking after men visitors. He was to show the visitors their rooms, to offer them baths; in a word, to be host. Further responsibility was laid upon him, for to-morrow he was to be their guide to the mine. And then everything would be as it should be, and Billabong become itself again; for the new-comers would take charge of the mine, and all the men of Billabong would leap joyfully upon horses and come back as swiftly as hill-tracks would permit, to run the shearing. And that meant more work of the best kind for Jim’s offsider.

So engrossed was he with these thoughts, coupled with watching the sky, that he started violently and nearly lost his balance at the sound of a voice. Old Murty O’Toole, the head stockman, had come across the yards behind him.

“No sign yet, Masther Bill?”

“Not a sign,” Bill answered despondently. “I’ve thought I saw them about a dozen times, but it was always cockatoos.”

Murty climbed up to the cap beside him.

“It’s hearin’ them you’ll be before you see them,” he said. “Them ingines do sound a terrible long way off. Did ye ever fly in wan o’ them conthraptions, now?”

“No; but I want to awfully. Norah says Mr. Paxton might take me up. I do hope he will.”

“Yerra, he will, wance he knows ye want it. There’s nothin’ he likes better. He offered me the chance of goin’, lasht time he was here.”

“Did you go, Murty?”

“I did not. Mothor-cars I’ve got used to, more or less, though I’d never look at the best of ’em beside a good high buggy an’ a pair of horses like the Masther used to dhrive in the ould days. But at laste, mothers stay on the ground. I’ve no fancy to go roarin’ round the sky in a thing like a tin beetle. I’d like to feel there was something undher me, if I had to get out suddint.”

“I believe you’d love it if you tried it once, Murty,” Bill said earnestly. “You’d like to see all Billabong spread out below you.”

“I would not, then. I’d far rather be ridin’ over it, the way I cud look at the cattle quiet an’ aisy. ’Tis set in the ould ways I am, Masther Bill. An’ the new ways is all noisy an’ smelly. A mother’s bad enough; but I’m tould that in an airyplane ye’d have to yell like a fog-horn to make a man hear ye, an’ him sittin’ beside ye. What way is that to thravel, for a quiet man?”

“I think it would be so gorgeous to be up in one that I’d never think of the noise,” affirmed Bill. “I wouldn’t want to talk, anyhow.”

“Nor me, neither—I’d be too much occupied wid houldin’ on. There’s wan thing that surprises me, Masther Bill, an’ that’s to think of Mr. Bob flyin’. He’s that quiet an’ innocent-lookin’, but Mr. Wally’s afther tellin’ me that he was a holy terror in an airyplane in the war.”

“I know he was,” exclaimed Bill. “I’ve seen his medals and things. He doesn’t know I have, but Tommy showed them to me. She’s awfully proud of them.”

“An’ niver a wurrd does anywan hear out of Mr. Bob about it. He’ll talk about sheep like as if he was wound up, but I’ve niver heard him mention fightin’.”

“Had too much of it, I specs,” said Bill wisely. “Jim and Wally don’t talk much about it, either. I never knew Jim was a Major until Norah told me.”

“Ye’d niver know it from him. I only spoke to him the wanst about it, an’ all he said was that ’twas mighty little to be wan, when it only meant that so many betther men had been killed. But the Masther tould me different,” finished Murty softly.

He put his hand on the boy’s arm suddenly.

“Whisht, now, Masther Bill—d’ye hear annything?”

Bill stiffened. From far away came a faint sound. As they sat motionless it deepened slowly.

“That’s a plane—I know it is!” Bill shouted. “Oh, Murty, do you see them?”

Murty had no intention of being the first to see them.

“Me eyes aren’t what they used to be. Watch, now, Masther Bill. Two of ’em oughtn’t to be harrd to pick up.”

Bill strained his eyes over the tree-tops. Suddenly he shouted.

“There they are—flying together! I’m off to tell the girls.” He climbed down the high fence like a monkey and raced towards the house, calling as he went:

“Norah! Norah! They’re coming!”

The garden gate banged behind him. He fled through the shrubbery, taking short cuts; leaped garden-beds, dodged round bushes, still shouting; and came out on the gravel sweep near the house just as a tall dark girl and a short fair one ran round the corner of the verandah.

Bill jerked his hand skyward.

“There they are! Come on, girls!”

Beyond the homestead, where the trees thinned, was a level sketch, roughly fenced in so that bullocks should not stray upon it. The grass had been cropped short by sheep, but it held no animals now, and along the middle and to one side a wide strip had been mown and rolled. A tall pole carried a white wind-indicator which blew out stiffly in the breeze. Two sheds were built against a fence.

“Look at them! My word, they’re coming fast!” gasped Bill, panting.

The droning was filling the air. From every point appeared the station folk, eager to see. Housemaids were at the yard gate, dwarfed by the mighty bulk of Mrs. Brown, a commanding figure in stiffly-starched white apron. Murty was already in the landing paddock; at his heels a slender blackfellow, moving with the noiselessness of his race.

“Keep well back, Bill,” Norah warned the boy.

The planes were dropping slowly, coming round in great circles, flashing silver when the sunlight caught them.

“Golly, they’re lovely!” breathed Bill. “Which is which, Norah?”

“The big one is Freddy’s. Look, Bill, he’s going to land first.”

The big plane roared over them, very low now. It turned, and sank gently. The wheels took the ground with scarcely a tremor: in a moment it was running smoothly up the fairway towards the sheds. As it stopped Freddy twisted in his seat to watch Jack’s landing.

Jack was in no hurry to leave the air. Freddy, he reflected, knew every inch of this ground, but he was a new-comer—he had no intention of making an awkward landing before a crowd of strangers. He circled slowly, studying the ground and the fences. Then he came down in a perfect three-point landing and taxied up to his leader. The two planes stood together, wing to wing. Freddy chuckled softly.

“Very nice!” he murmured.

They climbed out of the cockpits, pushing up their goggles. Billabong surged to meet them.

“Hullo, Norah—Tommy—jolly good to see you again! You know Jack, Norah—Jack, this is Miss Rainham, until she tells you to call her Tommy!” Freddy pumped everyone’s hand. “I say, is this Bill? I’ve heard a lot about you, Bill—you’re the explorer, aren’t you?”—at which Bill’s cheeks became as red as his hair, though it was undoubtedly gratifying to find this big airman gripping his hand and smiling at him in so friendly a fashion.

Freddy needed more than one hand for his greetings. He charged down upon Mrs. Brown, who was waddling across the grass.

“Brownie, you’re not a day older! But I thought I’d find you gold-digging!”

“Me—with my figger! All the gold-mine I want is in me kitchen, Mr. Freddy, an’ it keeps me busy enough. Ain’t it nice, though, to see you again!”

“Nice to be here. Hullo, Murty! How’s the place?”

“Sure it’s not all it might be, sir. Billabong’s shplit up into camps, an’ it’s only Mrs. Brown that houlds it together at all, at all. ’Tis high time that you came to straighten out things.”

“Tall order for me!” laughed Freddy. “I’ll do my best, anyhow. Good day, Billy!” He waved a friendly hand towards the black boy, and a flash of white teeth made a streak across the dusky face. “You all right?”

“Plenty!” murmured Billy. He grinned widely again, and sidled over to the planes. Bill was there before him, eyes glued to the instrument board of the Kestrel.

“I say, you people have made a topping landing ground for us, Norah! Or is it that Wally and Jim have decided to take up flying, after all?”

“There’s no sign of it yet,” Norah said, smiling. “They have no time nowadays to think of anything so light-hearted as flying. It’s the other way round—they spend their days deep underground instead of in the air, like you.”

“Will it last, do you think? I can’t imagine Jim and Wally at that sort of game.”

“It’s hard to realize, even when you see them. They really are a shocking spectacle—whenever we go out there we find them clay from head to heels. Freddy, at one especially tense time they grew beards!”

“Beards!—oh, my sainted Aunt!” gasped Freddy faintly.

“But you will do it too, Freddy—you and Mr. Young,” put in Tommy Rainham, gleefully. “It happens, when you become a miner. When we visit you at the claim we shall only recognize you by your general outlines. All the rest will be clay and whiskers!”

“Freddy, have we got enough petrol to escape?” demanded Jack, casting a longing glance at the planes.

“There’s no escaping from these people, old man. Once they rope you in, you’re done, even if it means whiskers. Oh, well, if the boys can stand it, we can, I expect. Do they never leave this excavatin’ sort of life, Norah?”

“Oh, yes—they turn up every Saturday night. They say they come to see us, but we think that the real attraction is hot baths. They become extraordinarily clean, spend Sunday respectably—which means that they sleep a great deal—and if they happen to notice a spade anywhere they shudder. We try to remember to put all digging implements out of sight.”

“Then towards evening they grow restless,” Tommy said. “We know the symptoms quite well now. Shortly after the restlessness comes on the temperature rises, and very soon after that the patients may be observed on horses, going hard for the hills.”

“It sounds as if they’d got the disease horribly badly,” Freddy said dolefully. “Do you think we ... ?” He hesitated.

“Oh yes, you’ll be just the same,” laughed Norah. “It’s terribly catching: even Tommy and I are not free from it. Get your things out and come in to the house, and we’ll tell you all about it. Jim said he hadn’t given you many details.”

“Did you ever know Jim write more than he had to? Not to me, anyhow.” Freddy turned, to find that Murty and Billy had already retrieved the luggage from the planes, and having done so, had relapsed into absorbed examination of the machines.

“Oh—thanks, Murty. Coming up with me this time?”

“Not for me, thanks, sir. But here’s a lad that’s very wishful for a trip.” The old Irishman smiled down at Bill—who reddened, looking at his boots.

“No reason why he shouldn’t, is there, Norah?” And Bill’s heart leaped.

“Not if you will take him. I wrote to his father for permission, and Mr. Blake seems resigned to anything Billabong suggests for Bill. I hope you’ll live up to the character I gave you for careful flying, Freddy!”

“Do I ever do anything else?” demanded the airman indignantly. Jack Young grinned, but said nothing. Freddy turned a severe eye upon him.

“Now, if it were Jack——” he began. “Oh, well, you’ll find out all about him in time. Coming in, Bill?”

Bill hesitated.

“Could I—could I sit in her for just a moment, do you think?” he begged.

“Rather—in you hop.”

Bill hopped with energy. He sat in the pilot’s seat, leaned back, and scanned the sky as though he proposed taking off immediately. A slow smile of joy lit his face.

“Do I have to come in to lunch, Norah?”

“You do. But not just yet. May he stay there, Freddy?”

For a moment Freddy looked doubtful. The curious ways of small boys with planes were not unknown to him.

Norah smiled.

“You can trust Bill. He won’t finger things.”

“If you say so, then it’s all right.” Freddy bestowed a friendly smile on the plane’s occupant and turned away.

The little procession moved towards the house, leaving Bill in his glory. He leaned forward, pretending to grip the joy-stick: looked hard at the propeller, seeing it, in imagination, beginning to turn slowly and then to become a flashing blur: in his mind heard the engine wake to quick throbs that deepened to a steady roar. And then—the sky!

A slight sound woke him from his dream of glory. He looked down. Billy was standing with one black hand on the wing, his face wistful.

“Hullo, Billy! I was nearly thinking I was flying.”

“Plenty!” agreed the blackfellow. They were allies of long standing: Billy was a person of very few words, but the native tongue, however halting, loosens with a child. He came a little nearer.

“Mas’ Bill——”

“What’s up, Billy?”

“Plenty that pfeller fly well,” stammered Billy. “Mas’ Bill—thinkit him takit this pfeller some day?—jus’ little?” He waved his hand in a gesture that took in all the sky. “Mine likit plenty.”

Bill looked at him, seeing all his own longing reflected in the dark eyes.

“Don’t see why he wouldn’t,” he said. “Tell you what, Billy; I don’t know him very well myself yet, but when I get to know him a bit better, I’ll ask him.”

“Plenty you good boy!” said Billy joyfully.