power was abroad again before sunrise. daylight moved over the country, and he bathed, dressed, and pulled on his boots while butcher birds called, and small finches bobbed and twittered in the bushes. as he made an end of his task, the sun rose with menacing countenance. he went outside, looked which way the breeze was, and next walked down the track to the stable. he stopped at the door, threw it open, and cried out loud, "scandalous jack! hullo there!"
at the back of the stable sounded a shuffling, and a small man, with bristling beard and chipped yellow teeth set in a weather-worn face, came out of the shadow, broom in hand. he stood in front of power, and put his hands together on top of the broom handle, spat carefully, wiped his hairy mouth and shouted—"marnin', guv'nor. you're late."
power nodded. "i was late back from surprise last night. i'll be away after breakfast though. did they get in the black horse?"
[pg 55]
"aye, they brought him in yesterday. he broke from the mob and showed mick his heels for two mile. he's first rate—a bit soft maybe—and as cranky as ever. ye must watch him or he'll pelt you this side o' the flat. aye, aye, ye may ride above a bit, but i'm telling yer." scandalous jerked his head.
"i'll look at him."
"come on then."
the two men disappeared into the stable. they came to a stall at the end of a row, and there, tied to a ring in the manger, stood a grand upstanding horse, black-coated from poll to coronet, which met their coming with ears laid down and a white flash of teeth. it was an animal to fill the eye of any man. it stood at sixteen hands to an inch or so either way, ribbed up as a barrel, with great quarters and shoulders sloped for speed. its head was delicate for all its other proportions, but there was that in the eye to tell a man to go about his business warily. it showed a fair condition for a first day's stabling.
"yes, he's pretty right," power said. he called out to the animal to stand over, and went to its head, and he had looked it all about before coming away.
"mick got off with his lot?" he said.
scandalous jack went on speaking at a shout.[pg 56] "aye, they were away be four in the marnin'. mick says he'll be mustered and have the mob at ten mile midday. you're meeting him there, guv'nor, for the cutting out, i reckon?" power nodded his head. "mick says to-night's camp's going up lower end of pelican pool." scandalous looked very wise.
"what do you mean?"
"mick's doin' good work there."
"you're a fool, scandalous."
"i may be that. some fools see more than wise men with spectacles. have ye heard about the gouger's girl there?"
"what about her?"
"mick's silly as a snake on her. they say she's a daddy for looks."
"i'm for breakfast," power said. "give this horse a look over. i'll want him in an hour."
power went to breakfast. it was ready for him in a low bare room, with fly netting on doors and windows. one door opened on a verandah, where creepers waged war with the climate. mrs. elliott, the cook, and maggie, the maid of all other work, had found excuse to wait for him. he knew the sign of old, and prepared to be discreet. he nodded his good morning. "breakfast in?" he asked.
maggie answered with great good will. "it's been getting cold this ten minutes."
[pg 57]
she was a handsome girl in the early morning, before the heat fagged her. mrs. elliott, in middle life, ample and beaming, busied herself briskly doing nothing, waiting to take the talk her way. the two women attacked him together.
"you must eat a good breakfast, mr. power. you've a long day before you. you were very late abed, mr. power. you can't burn the candle at both ends."
"he's always late, mrs. elliott, when he comes back from surprise." the women shook their heads at each other. "and how was miss neville, mr. power?"
"she was very well, thanks. i must get a turkey or a wallaby. i've lost my appetite for curry and steak half the week, and steak and curry the other half."
"and me so put about with the breakfast," exclaimed mrs. elliott, twisting her apron. "all men are the same, ungrateful, every man jack o' them. as soon look for gratitude from calves in a branding yard. now i suppose as miss neville she'll be turning over a date for the wedding?"
"you're learning too many secrets, mrs. elliott."
"i know more than other folk already."
"and that means?"
[pg 58]
mrs. elliott twirled her apron once more and looked wise. "i'm hinting nothing. i know where mick o'neill goes of a night."
power tipped himself back in the chair. "what are you cackling over this morning? i hope your news is fresher than last?"
"what's he running after that gel for?"
"i've not heard of any girl."
"he's a good fer nothing fellow, and the little hussy's no better."
maggie took up the tale. "they're all stupid on her 'cos she has a few looks. that's all a man wants."
"they're not all like that, meg. mr. power here, he has more sense. he took up with miss neville, and though she's as nice as may be, her looks are nothing out of the bag."
power said something under his breath. he went on with his breakfast, and the women despaired of him. in the end, out of a full mouth, he said:—
"you had better see scandalous jack. i'm too hungry for talking. he wanted to tell me a lot this morning."
"that nasty little man! i wouldn't demean myself with him. i told him half an hour since i'd put a kettle o' water over him if he showed his ugly face in at the door agen."
the women withdrew routed.
[pg 59]
in a little while power followed them from the room. standing in the verandah, he lit a pipe. his swag had gone on in the cook's waggon, and there remained only a few minutes' office work and he might get away. the old willingness to be in the saddle took hold of him. his heart was in the cattle work. the longest day made him more ready for the next. a good horse, a whip to his hand, the bellow of a mob in his ears—these things kept his heart evergreen.
morning had come, the birds had whistled him from bed, the sun had climbed up; but the glamour of last night had not passed quite away. he found himself—and little pleased he was at it—he found himself more than once waking to the day's affairs from dreams of a girl holding up a lantern at the doorway of a tent by a river.
mrs. elliott had forgiven the churlishness of breakfast, and waited with an ample lunch, secure from sun and flies. he promised to be back some day or other, took up a dripping water-bag and his whip, and passed to the stable. the black horse, saddled and waiting, fidgeted by the door, and scandalous jack was taking aggressive charge.
scandalous thrust up his hard face to shout a warning.
"he'll be shaking yer up, boss, i reckon. he fooled me half an hour 'fore i had the saddle on him."
[pg 60]
"wants a day's work," power said. he looked over the girths and secured the water-bag. all he did was gentle and cautious. at the touch of the wet canvas the black horse snorted, reared up and swung about. scandalous, very fond of his corns, retired in a hurry. with voice and a firm handling power kept the beast in check. he had completed matters in a few minutes. whereupon he coiled the whip on his arm, and drew together the reins. he went about the mounting with cunning, and when the moment of moments came, was in the saddle in one movement.
the black horse squealed, and its head went down between its legs as a stone from a catapult. it came high off the ground, all four feet together, in a great bucking plunge which tried all power's skill to ride. the ground fell away from him and spun about, there came to his ears a great straining of leather, and he knew a fierce shock as the brute went to earth. instinct set him leaning back, with legs fierce gripping and toes down pointing. horse and rider went up again, with a heave tremendous beyond belief, and there was an instant when power stared down at emptiness. they were down and up in one breathing, and away with great bounds that threw them across the yard. a heave, a thud, a grunt and a swing brought them about, and[pg 61] on the heels of it they were going up into the air again. down then and up into space again, all four feet together, groaning with the effort, while the hot dust streamed into power's face. the rally was over in a dozen seconds, and the horse stood heaving, and power settled himself in the saddle.
"rough horse that!" scandalous shouted from the fence.
"he makes it too hot to last."
"don't take him cheap on that lay. he'll be rid of yer yet. he'll give yer all you know one of these days, and i'm taking no odds on who's the better."
it had just turned eight o'clock when power began the ride, but already the sun was powerful, and the birds flagged at their songs. he journeyed at walking pace, watching the horse carefully the first few miles. last traces of early cool were departing. a few threads of gossamer shimmered among the spikes of the grasses, and blundering hoofs tore them apart. a few feeding kangaroos sat at late breakfast. the homestead moved behind the trees, and he and the beast he rode were all that passed across the plain.
he grew contented at once now he had made a beginning of the day's work. as another man forgets his ill-humours in the counting-house,[pg 62] or the library, or his mistress's bower, so power turned for distraction to his saddle and his whip. a bushman's heart was his birthright; a bushman's cunning was the legacy of fiery summer afternoons on horseback, and frosty winter dawns spent abroad. in the dreariest page of nature he found reading. his eye was quick to read the riddle of the ways. the fall of a hill, the sweep of a dry creek bed, a few patterings of passage in the dust—these answered most questions he asked. in that country was no better judge of where to come up with a mob of cattle, nor one, be it night or day, who rode straighter to a point. he passed over the plain sitting easy in the saddle, pipe in mouth, whip on arm, his head fallen forward, as a man sits asleep. but his eyes peered abroad, and his brain was active. he rode to muster as the knight of old rode to the tourney.
his way led by a short cut through the ranges. the trysting place lay just beyond. at a few miles end, he was entering a pass of magnificence. the ranges lifted up on either hand, with mighty boulders resting about their sides, and difficult caves—home of bat and wallaby—opening dark mouths. the way took him below stunted trees, and over brittle fallen boughs, and across stones which slipped beneath the horse's feet. a second gully crossed the[pg 63] head of the pass, and escapes led into the hills. here was an old watch-ground of the blacks. the difficult part of the journey had come. power left the saddle for the ground. the path turned left-handed, to clamber over a multitude of rocks to easier country. in the rains a waterfall swirled this way. here and again here a pool of clear water was lodged in a basin of rock, and above one such pool nature had scooped a shelter in the hill. past tribes of men had left rude paintings on the wall. with snorts and steadying cries the journey was done, and man and beast came out into a wide timbered prospect.
it was a fair spot to hap on in that desolate country, with a good gathering of trees about a dry creek bed, and one or two late birds twittering in them, and a muster of insects going about their day's work over the hot ground. there were grateful patches of shade. this was ten mile. at noon o'neill had vowed to be at hand with the mob. power looked at the sun and guessed at ten o'clock. he turned over whether to go farther; but a wait in the shade was better argument than a ride in the open. he took the saddle from the black horse, and tethered the beast in a cool place, and he himself lay down at hand for a pipe and his thoughts. presently a thread of smoke curled into the hot[pg 64] air, driving away disappointed the flies which came in their hosts a-visiting.
it was pleasant work lying here in the shade with nothing to disturb a fellow for an hour or two until the cattle came along, and the sunshine heat finding a way into the shadow to make a man drowsy. it was good to lie flat on one's back, blinking at the sunbeams through the leaves. it was good, too, to suck at a pipe and watch the blue smoke go up. and again it was good listening to the twitter of a few birds, and—opening eyes—to see insects examining the ins and outs of the tree trunks. it brought memories of other such lazy hours, snatched between a hard morning and a hard afternoon. give a man good health and work, and there was little else he wanted to bring content.
how the smell of the scrub lingered this morning. ordinarily the sun drove it early away. if he lived too long and became an old blind man, he would get someone to lead him to a patch of scrub at early morning that he might sharpen memory there.
it must be hot in the open. the sunlight was burning him wherever a break in the boughs let it through. he was a lucky chap to own this great stretch of country, and every head of cattle on it, to have good horses to ride, and to be his own master. no doubt there were [pg 65]unlucky devils who never had these good things. a man knew little enough of other men when all was said and done, and cared little enough for their troubles either, if truth be told.
yet things were a shade out of tune to-day, pretend as he might; put the feeling by as he would. presently he sat up. with an oath, he knocked out his empty pipe on a stone. he whipped himself for a fool. he was a man with a mind of his own, he was in love with another woman; and a girl twenty years old, who had not spoken a dozen words to him, was taking up his thoughts all day. ah! but she was the most perfect thing he had known.
the heat of the day came into the spot of his choosing, the sun climbed into the sky, and he judged the hour towards noon. he rose to his feet, pushed a handkerchief about his face, and grew busy gathering sticks on a square of barren ground.
there came through the timber, after many minutes, a far-off murmur, such as might travel from a distant surge of the sea, or from a heavy wind moving in a hollow. it was vague, and many would have been at pains to pick it up; but the horse lifted ears to it, and power came out of his brown study. it arrived as a murmur; but the passing minutes gave it volume. it was strangely exciting. power knew it from the[pg 66] beginning. it was the roar of a mob of cattle driven against their will.
presently the sound turned to broken bellowing, and into the tumult entered the snapping of boughs, the bang of whips, and the fierce voices of men. power stood up. the mob must round the foot of a hill before coming into view. he laid a hand on the horse's bridle and waited for them.
they came in a little while—one or two as a beginning, afterwards the body of them. they dawdled forward, picking at the grass tufts, horning one another, and lifting heads to bellow. they showed to the eye a hardy, good-coloured mob of store cattle, the big part of them six-year bullocks, more ready for a doze by a waterhole than for this journey in the sun with men hanging at their houghs. they counted two hundred maybe, and three white stockmen and a couple of blackfellows handled them, turning them on the flanks, and hunting them forward in the rear. they were a suspicion nervous, and gave power a wide berth; but the noon heat made them easy handling. by the time they were round the foot of the hill, a stockman, pulling about his horse, rid himself of their company and cantered across. the man pulled up a big chestnut animal a few yards from power, and showed a happy, handsome face[pg 67] under a big brimmed hat. he was a good figure of a man, riding his horse with a swagger. he had wide kneepads to his saddle, and long rusty spurs at his heels, a shirt wide open at the neck, and in his hand a whip. his skin was brown. sitting there, he looked a hardy fellow, one to put a good day's work behind him.
he had pulled his horse up from the canter. "day, mr. power."
"good day, mick. they came along all right?"
"yes, boss. a strong lot. good travellers. an' quiet enough too. we'll make morning springs wednesday certain."
power nodded his head. "did you cut those few out?"
"all bar a half-dozen. we can fix 'em at the camp to-night. there's a roan bull to be dropped. i don't know how he came with this lot. i didn't see him when we picked 'em up. he wants watching. he's cranky in the head." so speaking, the man leaned over and pointed his whip at a beast on the outside of the mob. "i suppose we're making camp here for an hour or two."
"my oath, yes. i'll get a fire going."
mick o'neill turned his horse about and put it to the canter. again he made a figure becoming his name as the daddy stockman for a[pg 68] hundred miles about. power filled a quart pot at the water-bag, and built and lit a fire. the flames rushed to embrace the hot wood. others of the company arrived with filled quart pots and pushed them into the flames. the blackfellows held the cattle until they had drawn out and dropped to their knees. the horses were unsaddled and unbitted. the quart pots came from the fire. the tea was made. the sticks were trodden into the sand, and the company took themselves into the shade, to sprawl there, one eye waiting for the cattle, one hand waiting for the flies.
they kept to camp through the heat of the day, and little was spoken the while. they smoked and stared up through a lattice of leaves at the lofty sky. the fierceness of the sun was spent when power gave the signal by sitting up. the horses were saddled, the men found their seats—there was galloping of hoofs, a banging of whips, and the mob flowed on the journey over the plain.
it was half-past six in the evening and the sun was down on the western sky, when the mob splashed into the shallows at the lower end of pelican pool. cleanskin joe, the lean rusty cook, who had spent a busy life darkening the doorways of most hotels in queensland and new south wales, had arrived there early in the[pg 69] morning, steering a two-horse buckboard loaded up with swags, camp furniture and tucker bags. cleanskin joe had built his fireplace, had put his johnnie-cake in the ashes, had talked half the day with jackie the black horse-tailer, coming after him with spare horses. now, with his stew simmering, he cast a hundred glances into the distance for the tardy cattle. his eyes, once quick to meet an emergency, were bleared a trifle from that constant darkening of doors. but finally they and his ears could not be deceived, and he peered into the camp oven and turned the contents with a long-handled ladle.
now all the world knows that cooks from sheep stations give you grilled chops and curry and stew the round of the year, and cooks on cattle stations serve grilled steak and curry and stew until you turn aside in sorrow; but cleanskin joe was a man of resource, and every breakfast he chopped up rissoles, rolling them on the back of the buckboard where had gathered the grime of ten years' honest service. because of this, and because too many whiskies had cured him of a love of water, either for inside or outer use, he had won his name of cleanskin joe.
he was a man of history.
once upon a time cleanskin joe and the honourable so-and-so, both out at elbows with the world just then, had found a copper show a[pg 70] round forty miles from the nearest hotel. they woke up one morning on bowing terms with wealth. they had broken a new lode going any percentage you like of ore. they stared at it without a word to say.
the honourable so-and-so had a vision. he saw dogs and women and wine.
and cleanskin joe saw the price of a whisky.
and mr. so-and-so saw horses and cards and more wine.
and cleanskin joe saw the price of another whisky.
and mr. so-and-so saw freedom from the jews, and green tables and yet more wine.
and cleanskin joe saw prices of endless whiskies.
then said mr. so-and-so, "our one chance, old man, is to miss the hotel." cleanskin joe wagged his head. said mr. so-and-so, "we must cut the waggon road to miss it by a dozen miles."
they drove their road over rise and down dip, plying the tools with right good will because of that vision. one night mr. so-and-so would say—"how about direction, dear fellow? are we enough to the right?" and next night it was cleanskin joe. "i reckon we're safe to miss that blankey place now, holdin' left as we're doing."
but who shall win when fate plays [pg 71]hide-and-seek? on the hottest day of the hottest summer in man's memory, they drove the road into a clearing of the bush where the doors of the drink-me-dry hotel leaned open to meet them.
. . . . . . .
cleanskin joe blinked his eyes through the smoke when power cantered up. "evening, boss. i was lookin' for yer an hour since. what time do yer want tucker ready?"
"half an hour will finish us. there's a bit of cutting out to do. what about a drop of tea?"
"right on the spot. take care. it's durned hot."
power drank the tea, and urged his horse about. the bullocks straggled from the pool where they had been drinking. power had given orders to keep the horses from water, and the cattle were rounded up on the way from the shallows.
presently the mob was bunched. first there came a time of talking and shaking of heads. at the end of it, power and o'neill worked a way into the jumble of animals, looking this way and that for the half dozen cows, and keeping a wide eye for accidents. the beasts gave them fair roadway, backing over here and there with snorting and a sweep of the head. "here we are," power said.
[pg 72]
he leaned a little forward and with a nice movement dropped his whip on to the quarters of a red cow. on the instant the black horse answered the signal. power gave the reins to its neck and sat back with waiting whip. not far away o'neill followed ready for what might come. the black horse moved to the red cow's shoulder, and steered her with a pretty cunning to the outside of the mob, nor lost place a single time, though she twisted, turned and propped with skill. it was a game of trick and shift to liven the eye of any man. she came presently to the outermost circle, bellowing with nervousness and hurry. the black horse was at her shoulder goading her farther into the open. she lost her head and trotted a few paces from the mob, and that moment turned the scales against her. as the black horse got into his stride, power let out his whip, and o'neill came up behind with a hurry of hoofs. they fell upon her with a scramble of blows. she bellowed, threw up her head, tried to swing back to the mob, slipped, heard the bang of whips about her ears, and took to her heels across the plain, with both men at her tail. she showed them her heels for a quarter of a mile. "she's right!" power cried out.
the last of the cows was cut out as dusk began to settle. there remained only a few minutes to[pg 73] dark. "there's that bull yet," power said. he sat on a heaving horse, and lifted his hat from his head. the men pushed a passage into the mob again. the herd was showing rather nervous, and took handling to hold together. the roan bull met their coming with a bellow and a shake of the head. but the black horse stood to his shoulder, and the journey to the outside began. all the way the bull showed little liking for the hustling, but his efforts to trick the enemy availed him nothing, and he found himself of a sudden on the outside of the mob, and a black horse urging him farther into the open. in a flash he turned very ugly. it was the turn of a hair whether he rushed or not. there was no waiting to add up chances, a wasted moment meant his loss into the mob. power brought his whip down, and a long broad mark curled up in the smoking hair. the bull roared and dropped his head. he was coming this time with no two meanings. power swept up the reins to pull the horse aside. ill luck was at his back. he found himself jammed in a press of cattle. he shook his feet clear of the stirrups. he made ready with the whip again. he cut into the bull again, and he felt the horse go beneath him, and himself falling back into a huddle of bellowing beasts. with all his might he pulled the horse[pg 74] clear of the horns. horse and bull and he came down in a scurry on the ground. he rolled clear of the saddle. he scrambled on to a knee. he spat the dust from his mouth. and then the mob at his back split, and o'neill rode up in a fury, a whip waiting in his hand. the bull was on its knees, jerking to its feet. a hurry of blows fell about its face. it stumbled, slipped, and sprawled on its back. the whip stopped falling, and a man jumped from his horse to the ground. with great quickness he caught up the bull's tail, and thrust a foot into a hollow of its hip. thus he held it on the ground without any great effort. there was shouting as the men called to each other.
"are yer orl right?"
"think so."
"can you get clear?"
"aye!"
on the words followed a scramble of hoofs and a heave as the black horse gained his haunches. power was on his feet, and had thrown a leg across the saddle. another scramble, another heave gave the horse its legs and power a seat a-top of it. power swung it to one hand with rein and spurs, and leant far from the saddle towards the horse standing by. "let go when you can!" he cried out. "i have your horse!"
[pg 75]
the man on the ground sprang clear of the bull. he clapped both hands on the arch of the saddle, and vaulted into the seat. shaken, and with lost breath, the bull found its feet, but it had not thrown the sweat from its eyes before the whips fell on it with a cruel fury. its courage was no more. it took to its heels across the plain.
"close go that," o'neill said. "are you hurt any?"
"no, i fell clear. you got me out of a hole. i'll do as much for you some day."
"all in a day's work," o'neill said. "'struth! i reckon it's time for a pipe."
quite suddenly the night stepped into the shoes of day. darkness arrived in a hurry, and the stars pushed themselves out of the sky. the camp was chosen, the first watch was set. the horses, hobbled and with bells about their necks, moved musically into the shadows, the little company found the way to the cook's fire. there was stew in the camp oven, and a ladle at hand. a pile of tin dishes was on the ground. the johnnie-cake waited on a box, and the earth lay spread for a table. there is many a worse roof than the sky offers, and many a more restless bed than a mattress of grasses.
supper ended, and there came the hour when pipes are pulled out. power went out of the[pg 76] firelight presently, and listened to the mob getting to camp for the night. there was a little bellowing from over there, and now and then sounds of scurry, but nothing to cause unquiet. he came back to o'neill. "i'm going across to gregory's for a while," he said. "he was talking about a copper show of his. i'll be back for my watch. i don't think you will have any trouble. good night." he thought o'neill looked up over-quickly. "i don't think you will have any trouble," he repeated. "would you sooner i stayed? i will if you like."
"there's no need, boss," said the other indifferently. "i didn't know you knew them over there." the man began whistling.
"so long, then."
"so long, boss."
