Books: Mates at Billabong

M >> Mary Grant Bruce (1878 1958). >> Mates at Billabong

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Cecil, however, was still perfectly content. He was out of sight of the
house, which was comforting in itself; while as for the idea that he
was not completely master of his mount, he would have been highly
amused at it. It was pleasant to be out, in the morning freshness; and
there was no need to hurry home, since the scones and tea in the
kitchen had made him independent of breakfast. The paddock he was in
looked interesting, too; the plain ended in a line of rough,
scrub-grown hills which it occurred to him would be a good place to
explore. He headed towards them.

Bobs walked on, inwardly seething; jerking his head impatiently at the
unceasing pressure on his bit, and now and then giving a little half
kick that at length attracted Cecil's attention, making him wonder
vaguely what was wrong. Possibly something in the saddle; it had
occurred to him when cantering that his girth was loose. So he
dismounted and tightened it, bringing it up with a jerk that pinched
the pony suddenly, and made him back away. This time Cecil did not find
it so easy to mount. He was a little nervous as he rode on--and there is
nothing that more quickly communicates itself to a horse than
nervousness in the rider. Bobs began to dance as be went, and Cecil,
hauling at his mouth, broke out into a mild perspiration. He decided
that he was not altogether an easy pony to ride.

A hare jumped up abruptly in the grass just ahead. Bobs shied and
plunged--and missing the hand that always understood and steadied such
mistaken energy, gave a couple of rough "pig-jumps." It was more than
enough for Cecil; mild as they were, he shot on to the pony's neck,
only regaining the saddle by a great effort. The reins flopped, and the
indignant Bobs plunged forward, while his rider clawed for support, his
feet and hands alike flying. As he dropped back into the saddle, the
spurs went home; and Bobs bolted.

He had never in his life felt the spur; light and free in every pace,
Norah's boot heel was the utmost correction that ever came to him. This
sudden cruel stab on either side was more than painful--it was a sudden
shock of amazement that was sharper than pain. Coming on top of all his
grievances, it was too much for Bobs. Possibly, a mad race would rid
him of this creature on his back, who was so unlike his mistress. His
heels went up with a little squeal as he bounded forward before
settling into his stride.

Cecil gave himself up for lost from the first. He tugged frantically at
the rein, realizing soon that the pony was in full command, and that
his soft muscles might as well pull at the side of a house as try to
stop him. He lost one stirrup, and clung desperately to the pommel
while he felt for it, and by great good luck managed to get his foot in
again--a piece of good fortune which his own efforts would never have
secured. The pommel was too comforting to be released; he still clung
to it while he tried to steady himself and to see where he was going.

The plain ended abruptly just before him, and the rough hills sloped
away to the south. Perhaps, if he put Bobs at the steepest it might
calm him a little, and he might be able to pull him up. So he wrenched
the pony's mouth round, and presently they were racing up the face of
the hill, which apparently made no difference whatever to Bobs. Cecil
had not the slightest idea that his heels were spurring the pony at
every stride. He wondered angrily in his fear why he seemed to become
momentarily more maddened, and sawed at the bleeding mouth in vain.
They were at the top of the hill now. The crest was sharp and
immediately over it a sharp drop went down to a gully at the bottom. It
was steep, rough-going, boulder-strewn and undermined with wombat
holes. Perhaps in his calmer moments Bobs might have hesitated, but
just now he knew nothing but a frantic desire to escape from that cruel
agony in his sides. He flung down the side of the hill blindly, making
great bounds over the sparse bracken fern that hid the ground. Cecil
was nearly on his shoulder now--a moment more would set him free.

Then he put his foot on a loose boulder that gave with him and went
down the slope in a flurry of shifting stones. He made a gallant effort
to recover himself, stumbling to his knees as Cecil left the saddle and
landed in the ferns--but just as he struck out for firmer footing his
forefoot sank into a wombat hole, and he turned a complete somersault,
rolling over and over. He brought up against a big boulder, struggled
to rise and then lay still.

* * * * *

Presently Cecil came limping to him, white and angry.

"Get up, you brute!" he said, kicking him. When there was no response,
he took the bridle, jerking it. Bobs' head gave a little at every jerk,
but that was all.

Between rage and fear, Cecil lost his head. He kicked the pony
savagely; and finding that useless, sought a stick and thrashed him as
he lay. Once Bobs struggled, but only his head and shoulders came up,
and presently they fell back again. Cecil gave it up at last, and left
him alone, limping down to the gully and out of sight. He sat down on a
log for a long while, until the sun grew hot. Then he pulled his hat
over his eyes and set off towards home.

Bobs did not know he had gone. He lay quite still.

CHAPTER XVII

ON THE HILLSIDE

Never again, when the soft winds blow,
We shall ride by the river.
G. ESSEX EVANS.

Wally came into breakfast with a rush and a scramble, bearing traces of
a hasty toilet. At the table Norah and Jim were eating solemnly, with
expressions of deep disapproval. They did not raise their eyes as Wally
entered.

"Awfully sorry!" said he. "You've no idea of the difficulties I've had
to overcome, Norah, and all along of him!" indicating Jim with a jerk
of his head. "Oh, Norah, do be sympathetic, and forget that he's your
brother. I assure you I'd be a far better brother to you than ever he
could, and you can have me cheap! Look up at me, Norah, and smile--one
perfect grin is all I ask! He took my towel and dressed Tait in it, and
for all he cared I would be swimming in that beastly lagoon yet, and
dying of cramp, and nervous prostration, and housemaid's knee. And she
goes on gnawing a chop!"

He sat down, and buried his face in his hands tragically, and began to
sob, whereat Norah and Jim laughed, and the victim of circumstances
recovered with promptitude.

"Cream, please," he said, attacking his porridge. "Oh, he's a beast,
Norah. I'm blessed if I know why you keep him in the family--it can't be
for either his manners or his looks! I have a hectic cough coming on
rapidly. My uncle by marriage three times removed died of consumption,
and it's a thing I've always been nervous about. When I occupy the
family urn with my ashes you'll be sorry!"

"I should be more than sorry if it were this urn," Jim put in,
grinning. "It might be an honour, of course; but we've other homely
uses for the urn. How long did you swim, Wal.?"

"Never you mind," returned Wally wrathfully. "I don't see why I should
satisfy any part of your fiendish curiosity--only when Brownie finds
Tait wearing one of the best bath towels as a toga, and makes remarks
about it, I shall certainly refer her to you!"

"I never saw a dog look so miserable as he did," Norah said, laughing.
"He came straight up to me, with a truly hang-dog air, and folds of
towel ever so far behind him in the grass, and didn't get back his
self-respect until I took it off. Poor old Tait! You really ought to be
ashamed of yourself, Jimmy."

"I am," said Jim cheerfully. "Toast, please."

"When I saw Tait last he was disappearing into the landscape with all
his blushing honours thick upon him!" Wally said. "I don't see why you
waste all your sympathy on the brute, and give me none. It's the
greatest wonder I'm here at all!"

"Where's Cecil, anyhow?" asked Jim, suddenly.

"Haven't an idea--how should I? He wasn't in the lagoon, which is the
only place I could give an expert opinion on this morning."

"Oh, he's late as usual," Norah said. "I suppose he's still cross about
last night. Really, Jim, I'm sorry we've managed to rub him up the
wrong way."

"Why, the difficulty would be to find the right way," Jim retorted.
"He's such a cross-grained beggar--you never know when you're going to
offend him; and of course he's perfectly idiotic about the horses.
Wonder if he thinks we LIKE horses with sore backs and mouths! He'll
have to give poor old Betty a spell, anyhow, for she's a patch on her
back the size of half a crown, thanks to him."

"Oh, dear!" said Norah, with a little shiver. "That's awfully bad
news--'cause I'd about made up my mind to offer him Bobs!"

"Offer--him--Bobs!" said Jim slowly. Wally gasped.

"Just for a ride, Jimmy. He's a guest, you know, and I don't like him
to feel ill-used. And you let him on Garryowen."

"Only for a moment--and then with my heart in my boots!" said Jim.
"Norah, I think you're utterly mad if you lend him Bobs--after last
night, too! Why, you know jolly well I'VE never asked you for your
pony!"

"Well, you could have had him," Norah answered, "you know that, Jimmy.
I don't want to lend him to Cecil--I simply hate it; but I don't like
the idea of his thinking we treated him at all badly."

"He's the sort of chap that would find a grievance if you gave
everything you had in the world," Jim said. "It's all rot--and I tell
you straight, Nor., I don't think it's safe, either. Bobs is all right
with you, of course, but he's a fiery little beggar, and there's no
knowing what he'd do with a sack of flour like that on his back. I wish
you wouldn't."

"What do you think, Wally?"

"Me? Oh, I'm with Jim," Wally answered. "Personally, I think a
velocipede is about Cecil's form, and it's absolute insult to a pony
like Bobs to ask him to carry him! And you'd hate it so, Nor.'!"

"Oh, I know I would," Norah said. "He's such a dear--"

"What! Cecil?"

"No, you donkey--Bobs," Norah continued, laughing. "I'd feel like
begging his pardon all the time. But--"

"Murty wants to see you, Master Jim," said Mary, entering. "Says he'd
be glad if you could spare him a minute."

"All right, Mary--thank you," said Jim, getting up lazily and strolling
out. "Back in a minute, you two."

"What happens to-day, Norah? Marmalade, please," said Wally, in a
breath.

"The marmalade happens on the spot," laughed Norah, handing it to him.
"Otherwise--oh, I don't know, unless we ride out somewhere and fish. We
haven't been out to Angler's Bend this time, have we?"

"No, but that's fifteen miles. You'd never let Cecil ride Bobs that
distance?"

"Oh, I couldn't!" said Norah, hastily. "I don't think I possibly could
ride anything except Bobs out there. Cecil might have him another day,
if Jim doesn't think me quite mad. Perhaps I won't be sorry if he does,
'cause I'd hate to go against Jim! And Bobs is--"

"Bobs," said Wally gravely; and Norah smiled at him. "Hallo,
Jamesy--what passion hangs these weights upon thy brow?"

Jim had entered quickly.

"It's that beauty Cecil," he said, angrily. "My word, Norah, I'll let
that young man know what I think about him! He's taken Bobs!"

"What!"

"Gone out on Bobs before breakfast. Must have got him in the yard, and
saddled him himself. Murty saw him just as he was riding off, and tried
to stop him. Here's Murty--he'll tell you."

"Sure, I towld him to stop, Miss Norah," said the stock-man. "Axed him,
I did, if he'd y'r lave, and he gev me back-answers as free as y'
please. I was perfickly calm, an never losht me timper, an' towld him
I'd pull him off av the little harse if he'd not the lave to take him;
an' he put the comether on me by cantherin' off. So I waited, thinkin'
not to worry y', an' that he'd be comin' back; or more be token Bobs
widout him, an' small loss. But he's elsewhere yit, so I kem in f'r
Masther Jim."

"Well, I'm blessed!" said Norah, weakly.

"The mean little toad!" Wally's voice was full of scorn. "I'd like five
quiet minutes with him with coats off when he comes back!"

"I guess he'll get that--or its equivalent," said Jim, grimly. "Which
way did he go, Murty?"

"To the bush paddock, Masther Jim. He's that stupid, tin to one he's
bushed in one av thim gullies."

"Or else Bobs has slung him; but in that case Bobs would be back at the
gate," Jim said. "Perhaps he is."

"No, he ain't, Masther Jim, I wint over a bit an' had a look. There's
no sign av either av thim."

"Well, I suppose we'd better go after them," Jim said. "What'll you
ride, Nor? Would you care for Garryowen?"

Norah smiled at him.

"No, thanks, old man. I'll have Cirdar," she said. "Can you get him,
Murty?"

"In two twos, Miss Norah," said the stockman, departing hastily.

"You're not worried, Norah, old girl?" Jim said.

"Why, not exactly; he can't hurt Bobs, of course, beyond a sore back,"
Norah answered. "I'm more cross than worried--it is such cheek, Jim,
isn't it? All the same, I hope Cecil's all right."

"Him!" said Jim, with fine scorn. "That sort never comes to any harm.
Well, hurry up, and get your habit on, old chap."

There was no need to tell Norah to hurry. She flew upstairs, Brownie
plodding after; the news had flown round the house in a few moments,
and there was a storm of indignation against the absent Cecil.

"If I'd knowed!" said Brownie, darkly, bringing Norah's linen coat out
from the wardrobe, and seeking with vigour for a felt hat that already
was on her head. "Me, givin' him tea and scones, an' talkin' about the
pony, too, no less; little I guessed at the depths of him. Never mind,
my dearie, Master Jim'll deal with him!"

"Oh, it'll be all right, if Bobs hasn't hurt him. Only there'll be an
awful row when Jim gets him. I never saw Jim so angry," Norah said.

"A good thing, too!" said the warlike Mrs. Brown. "There you are,
dearie, an' there's your 'unting-crop. Off you go!" and Norah ran
downstairs, finding Jim and Wally waiting, boots and leggings on. They
set off, Murty muttering dark threats against Cecil as he shut the gate
of the stable yard after them.

Wally had recovered his cheerfulness, never long absent from him, and
was, besides, not unpleasantly excited at the thought of war ahead. He
chattered gaily as they rode through the first two paddocks. But Jim
remained quiet. As Norah said, she had never seen him so angry. Anxiety
in his mind warred with hot anger against the insult to Norah and to
them all. He swept the bush paddock with his eye as they came up to it,
seeing nothing but the scattered bullocks here and there.

"Wonder which way he'd go," he said. "Suppose you and Wally cut over to
the right, Norah, and see if you can find any trace. I'll go over this
way. We'll coo-ee to each other if we come across him." They separated,
and Jim put Garryowen at a canter across the plain. Here and there he
could see a track--and something made him wish to go on alone.

He was nearly at the foot of the hills when a figure came out from
their shadow. Jim gave a sudden little sound in his throat as he saw
that it was Cecil--and alone. He was limping a little, and had evidently
been down. Relief that he was safe was the first thought; then, anxiety
being done with, there was no room for anything but anger. Jim rode
towards him. At the sight of his approach Cecil started a little, and
cast a glance round as if looking for a hiding place; then he came on
doggedly, his head down.

"I've been looking for you," Jim said, controlling his voice with
difficulty. "Where's Bobs?"

"Over there." Cecil jerked his hand backwards.

"Where?"

"Back there."

"What do you mean? did he get away from you?"

"He bolted," Cecil said.

"And threw you?"

Cecil nodded. "Yes--can't you see I'm limping?"

"Well, did he clear out again?"

"No--he's over there."

Jim's face went grim. "Do you mean--you don't mean the pony's HURT?"

"He won't get up," said Cecil, sullenly. "I've tried my best."

For a moment they faced each other, and then Cecil quailed under the
younger boy's look. His eyes fell.

Jim jumped off. "Go on."

"Where?"

"Back to Bobs, of course. Hurry up!"

"I can't go back there," Cecil said, angrily. "I'm limping, and--"

"Do you think your limp matters an atom just now?" Jim said, through
his teeth. "Hurry up."

He followed Cecil, not trusting himself to speak. A dull despair lay on
his heart, and above everything a great wave of pity for the little
sister across the paddock. If he could spare Norah--!

Then they were in the gully, and he saw Bobs above him, and knew in
that instant that he could spare her nothing. The bay pony lay where he
had fallen, his head flung outwards; helplessness in every line of the
frame that had been a model of strength and beauty an hour ago. As Jim
looked Bobs beat his head three times against the ground, and then lay
still. The boy flung round, sick with horror.

"Why, you vile little wretch--you've killed him!"

He had Cecil in a grip of iron, shaking him as a dog shakes a rat--not
knowing what he did in the sick fury that possessed him. Then suddenly
he stopped and hurled him from him into the bracken. He ran down the
gully.

"Go back, Norah dear--don't come."

Norah and Wally had come cantering quickly round the shoulder of the
hill. She was laughing at something Wally had said as they rode into
the gully, and the laugh was still on her lips as she looked at Jim.
Then she saw his face, and it died away.

"What is it, Jim?"

"Don't come, kiddie," the boy said, wretchedly. "Wally, you take her
home."

"Why?" said Norah. "We saw Cecil--where's Bobs?" Her eyes were wandering
round the gully. They passed Cecil, lying on his face in the bracken,
and travelled further up the hill. Then she turned suddenly white, and
flung herself off Sirdar.

Jim caught her as she came blindly past him.

"Kiddie--it's no good--you mustn't!"

"I must," she said, and broke from him, running up the hillside. Jim
followed her with a long stride, his arm round her as she stumbled
through the ferns and boulders. When they came to Bobs he held her back
for a moment.

The pony was nearly done. As they looked his head beat the ground again
unavailingly, and at the piteous sight a dry sob broke from Norah, and
she went on her knees by him.

"Norah--dear little chap--you mustn't." Jim's voice was choking. "He
doesn't know what he's doing, poor old boy--it isn't safe."

"He wants me," she said. "Bobs--dear Bobs!"

At the voice he knew the pony quivered and struggled to rise. It was no
use--he fell back, though the beautiful head lifted itself, and the
brown eyes tried to find her. She sat down and took his head on her
knee, stroking his neck and speaking to him... broken, pitiful words.
Presently she put her cheek down to him, and crouched there above him.
Something of his agony died out of Bobs' eyes. He did not struggle any
more. After a little he gave a long shiver, straightening out; and so
died, gently.

* * * * *

"Come on home, old kiddie."

It seemed a long time after, Norah could not think of a time when she
had done anything but sit with that quiet head on her knee. She
shuddered all over.

"I can't leave him."

"You must come, dear." Jim's hands were lifting Bobs' head as tenderly
as she herself could have done it. He picked her up and held her as
though she had been a baby, and she clung to him, shaking.

"If I could help you!" he said, and there were tears in his eyes. "Oh,
Nor.--you know, don't you?"

He felt her hand tighten on his arm. Then he carried her down the hill,
where Garryowen stood waiting.

"The others have gone," he said. "I sent them home--Wally and--that
brute! I've told him to go--I'll kill him if I see him again!" He lifted
her into his saddle, and keeping his arms round her, walked beside the
bay horse down the gully and out upon the plain.

"Jim," she whispered--somewhere her voice had gone away--"you can't go
home like that. Let me walk." His arm tightened.

"I'm all right," he said--"poor little mate!"

They did not speak again until they were nearly home--where, ahead,
Brownie waited, her kind eyes red; while every man about the homestead
was near the gate, a stern-faced, angry group that talked in savage
undertones. Murty came forward as Jim lifted Norah down.

"Miss Norah," he said. "Miss Norah, dear--sure I'd sooner--"

The tall fellow's voice broke as he looked at the white, childish face.

"Thanks, Murty," Norah said steadily.

"And--all of you." She turned from the pitying faces, and ran indoors.

"Oh, Brownie, don't let any one see me!"

Then came a dazed time, when she did not know anything clearly. Once,
lying on her bed, with her face pressed into the pillow, trying not to
see a lean head that beat on the ground, she heard a dull sound that
rose to an angry shout from the men; and immediately the buggy drove
away quickly, as Wally took Cecil away from Billabong. She only
shivered, pressing her face harder. Jim was always near at first; the
touch of his hand made her calm when dreadful, shuddering fits came
over her. All through the night he sat by her bed, watching
ceaselessly.

Then there was a longer time when she was alone, and there seemed much
going to and fro. But no sounds touched her nearly. She could only
think of Bobs, lying in the bracken, and calling silently to her with
his pain-filled eyes.

Then, late on, the second evening, Jim came back with a troubled face
and sat on the bed.

"Norah," he said, "I want you."

"Yes, Jim?"

"I want you to be brave, old chap," he said slowly. Something in his
tone made her start and scan his tired face.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It may be all right," Jim said, "but--but I thought I'd better tell
you, Norah, they--we can't find Dad!"

CHAPTER XVIII

BROTHER AND SISTER

We were mates together,
And I shall not forget.
W. H. OGILVIE.

Jim had not wanted to tell Norah. It had been Brownie who had
counselled differently.

"I think she's got enough to bear," the boy had said, sitting on the
edge of the kitchen table, and flicking his boots mechanically with his
whip. He had been riding hard almost all day, but anxiety, not fatigue,
had put the lines into his face. "What's the good of giving her any
more?"

"I do believe it'd be best for her, the poor lamb!" Brownie had said.
"She's there all day, not speaking--it'll wear her out. An' you know,
Master Jim, dear, she'd never forgive us for keepin' anything back from
her about the master."

"No--but we've nothing definite. And it may make her really ill, coming
on top of the other."

"I don't think Miss Norah's the sort to let herself get ill when there
was need of her. It may take her poor mind off the other--she can't help
that now, an' he was only a pony--"

"Only a pony! By George, Brownie--!"

"Any horse is only a pony when compared to your Pa," said Brownie,
unconscious of anything peculiar in her remark. "I don't know that real
anxiety mayn't help her, Master Jim. And any'ow, it don't seem to me
we've the right to keep it from her, them bein', as it were, that
partickler much to each other. Take my tip, an' you tell her."

"What do you think, Wally?"

"I'm with Brownie," said Wally, unexpectedly. "It's awful to see Norah
lying there all day, never saying a word, and this'll rouse her up when
nothing else would." So Jim had yielded to the weight of advice, and
had gone slowly up to tell Norah they could not find David Linton.

"Can't find him?" she echoed. "but isn't he at Killybeg?"

"He left there yesterday morning," Jim answered. "A telegram came from
him last night, and it was important--something about cattle--so I sent
Burton into Cunjee with it--Killybeg's on the telephone now, you know,
and Burton could ring him up from the post office. But the Darrells
were astonished, and said he'd left there quite early, and meant to
come straight home."

"Well?" Norah was white enough now.

"Well, I got worried, and so did Murty; because you know there isn't
any stopping place between here and Killybeg when you come across the
ranges. And Monarch's pretty uncertain--in rough country, especially. So
I got Murty and Wally to go out at daylight this morning, taking the
straight line to the Darrells, and they picked up his tracks pointing
homewards about five miles from the Billabong boundary. Murty made
Monarch's shoes himself, and he could swear to them anywhere. They
followed them awhile, and they came to a place where the ground was
beaten down a lot, as if he'd had trouble with Monarch; I expect
something scared him, and he played the fool. But after that the tracks
led on to some stony rises, and they lost them; the ground was too
hard. They could only tell he'd gone right off the line to Billabong."

"Jim! Do you think--? Oh, he couldn't be hurt! Monarch would never get
rid of him."

"He'd stick to Monarch as long as the girth held and Monarch stood up,"
Jim said. "but it's rough country, and a young horse isn't handy on
those sidings. Of course it may be all right; but if so, why wasn't he
home twenty-four hours ago?"

"Have you done anything?"

"Been out all day," Jim said. "Murty sent Wal. straight home while he
went on looking, and we went back with three of the men. But you know
what that country is, all hills and gullies, and the scrub's so thick
you can scarcely get through it in places. We found one or two hoof
marks, but that was all. If he's not home to-night we're going out at
daybreak with every hand on the place."

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