Books: Mates at Billabong
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Mary Grant Bruce (1878 1958). >> Mates at Billabong
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One after another, they would light the stumps, some squat and solid,
others rising thirty or forty feet into the air. Once the fires were
lit, it was necessary to keep them going; moving backwards and forwards
among the trees, stoking, picking up fallen bits of burning timber and
adding them to the fires, coaxing sullen embers into a blaze, edging
the fire round a tree, so that the wind might do its utmost in helping
the work--there were no idle moments for the "burners-off." Sometimes it
would be necessary to enlarge a crack or hole in a tough stump, to gain
a hold for the fire. Norah always carried a light iron bar, specially
made for her at the station forge, which she called her poker, and
which answered half a dozen purposes equally well, and though not an
ideal weapon for killing a snake, being too stiff and straight, had
been known to act in that capacity also. Every scrap of loose timber on
the ground would be picked up and added to the flames. Some stumps were
very obstinate and resisted all blandishments to burn; but careful
handling generally ensured the fate of the majority.
There are few sights more weird, or more typically Australian, than a
paddock at night with burning-off in process. Low and high, the red
columns of fire stand in a darkness made blacker by their lurid glow.
Where the fire has taken hold fairly the flames are fierce, and showers
of sparks fall like streams of gold. Sometimes a dull crack gives
warning of the fall of a long-dead giant; and the burning mass leans
slowly over, and then comes down with a crash, while the curious
bullocks, which have poked as near as they dare to the strange scene,
fling round and lumber off in a heavy gallop, heads down and tails up.
From stump to stump flit the little black figures of the workers,
standing out clearly sometimes, by the light of a blaze so fierce that
to face it is scarcely possible; or half seen in the dull glow of a
smouldering tree poking vigorously--seeming as ants attacking living
monsters infinitely beyond their strength. Perhaps it is there that the
fascination of the work comes in--the triumph of conquering tons of
inanimate matter by efforts so small. At any rate it is always hard to
leave the scene of action, and certainly the first glance next morning
is to see "which are down."
Then there were days spent among the cattle--days that always meant the
high-water mark of bliss to Norah. She road astride, and her special
pony, Bobs, to whom years but added perfection, loved the work as much
as she did. They understood each other perfectly; if Norah carried a
hunting-crop, it was merely for assistance in opening gates, for Bobs
never felt its touch. A hint from her heel, or a quick word, conveyed
all the big bay pony ever needed to supplement his own common sense, of
which Mr. Linton used to say he possessed more than most men. The new
bullocks arrived, and had to be drafted and branded--during which latter
operation Norah retired dismally to the house and the socks that had to
be finished in time to be Jim's Christmas present. Then, after the
branding, came a most cheerful time, putting the cattle into their
various paddocks.
One day was spent in mustering sheep, an employment not at all to
Norah's taste. She was frankly glad that Billabong devoted most of its
energies to cattle, and only put up with the sheep work because, since
Daddy was there, it never occurred to her to do anything else but go.
But she hated the slow, dusty ride, and hailed with delight a gallop
that came in their way towards the end of the day, when a hare jumped
up under Bob's nose as they rode homewards from the yards. The dogs
promptly gave chase; and, almost without knowing it, Norah and Bobs
were in hot pursuit, with Monarch shaking the earth behind them. The
average sheep dog is no match for a hare, and the quarry easily escaped
into the next paddock, after a merry run. Norah pulled up, her eyes
dancing.
"Don't you know it's useless to try to get a hare with those fellows?"
asked Mr. Linton, checking the reeking Monarch, and indicating with a
nod the dogs, which were highly aggrieved at their defeat.
"But I never wanted to get it," said his daughter, in surprise. "It's
perfectly awful to get a hare; they cry just like a baby, and it makes
you feel horrid."
"Then why did you go after it?"
"Why?" asked Norah, opening her eyes. "Well, I knew the dogs couldn't
catch it--and I believe you wanted a gallop nearly as much as I did,
Daddy!" They laughed at each other, and let the impatient horses have
their heads across the cleared paddock to the homestead.
There a letter awaited them.
Norah, coming in to dinner in a white frock, with her curls unusually
tidy, found her father looking anything but pleased over a closely
covered sheet of thin notepaper.
"I wish to goodness women would write legibly," he said, with some
heat. "No one on earth has any right to write on both sides of paper as
thin as this--and then across it! No one but your Aunt Eva would do
it--she always had a passion for small economies, together with one for
large extravagances. Amazing woman! Well, I can't read half of it, but
what she wants is unhappily clear."
"She isn't coming here, Daddy?"
"Saints forbid!" ejaculated Mr. Linton, who had a lively dread of his
sister--a lady of much social eminence, who disapproved strongly of his
upbringing of Norah. "No, she doesn't mention such an extreme course,
but there's something almost as alarming. She wants to send Cecil here
for Christmas."
"Cecil! Oh, Daddy!" Norah's tone was eloquent.
"Says he's been ill," said her father, glancing at the letter in a vain
effort to decipher a message written along one edge. "He's better, but
needs change, and she seems to think Billabong will prove a
sanatorium." He looked at Norah with an expression of dismay that was
comical. "I shouldn't have thought we'd agree with that young man a
bit, Norah!"
"I've never seen him, of course," Norah said unhappily, "but Jim says
he's pretty awful. And you didn't like him yourself, did you, Daddy?"
"On the rare occasions that I've had the pleasure of meeting my nephew
I've always thought him an unlicked cub," Mr. Linton answered. "Of
course it's eighteen months since I saw him; possibly he may have
changed for the better, but at that time his bumptiousness certainly
appeared to be on the increase. He had just left school then--he must be
nearly twenty now."
"Oh--quite old," said Norah. "What is he like?"
"Pretty!" said Mr. Linton, wrinkling his nose. "As pretty as his
name--Cecil--great Scott! I wonder if he'd let me call him Bill for
short! Bit of a whipper-snapper, he seemed; but I didn't take very much
notice of him--saw he was plainly bored by his uncle from the Bush, so I
didn't worry him. Well, now he's ours for a time your aunt doesn't
limit--more that that, if I can make a guess at these hieroglyphics,
I've got to send a telegram to say we'll have him on Saturday."
"And this is Wednesday--oh, Dad!" expostulated Norah.
"Can't be helped," her father said. "We've got to go through with it;
if the boy has been ill he must certainly have all the change we can
give him. But I'm doubtful. Eva says he's had a 'nervous breakdown,'
and I rather think it's a complaint I don't believe in for boys of
twenty."
The dinner gong sounded. Amid its echoes Norah might have been heard
murmuring something about "nervous grandmother."
"H'm," said her father, laughing; "I don't think he'll find much
sympathy with his more fragile symptoms in Billabong--we must try to
brace him up, Norah. But whatever will Jim say, I wonder!"
"He'll be too disgusted for words," Norah answered. "Poor old Jimmy! I
wonder how they'll get on. D'you suppose Cecil ever played football?"
"From Cecil's appearance I should say he devoted his time to
wool-work," said Mr. Linton. "However, it may not turn out as badly as
we think, and it's no use meeting trouble halfway, is it? Also, we've
to remember that he'll be our guest."
"But that's the trouble," said Norah, laughing. "It wouldn't be half so
bad if you could laugh at him. I'll have to be so hugely polite!"
"You'll probably shock him considerably in any case," said her father.
"Cecil's accustomed to very prim young ladies, and it's not at all
unlikely that he'll try to reform you!"
"I wish him luck!" said Norah. But there was a glint in her eyes which
boded ill for Cecil's reformatory efforts
CHAPTER III
A BATH--AND AN INTRODUCTION
Quiet and shy, as the Bush girls are,
But ready-witted and plucky, too.
A. B. PATERSON.
The telegram assuring a welcome to Cecil Linton was duly dispatched,
and the fact of his impending arrival broken to Mrs. Brown, who sniffed
portentously, and gave without enthusiasm directions for the
preparation of his room. "Mrs. Geoffrey" was rather a bugbear to
Brownie, who had unpleasant recollections of a visit in the past from
that majestic lady. During her stay of a week, she had attempted to
alter every existing arrangement at Billabong--and when she finally
departed, in a state of profound disapproval, the relief of the
homestead was immense. Brownie was unable to feel any delight at the
idea of entertaining her son.
Norah and her father made the utmost of their remaining time together.
Thursday was devoted to a great muster of calves, which meant unlimited
galloping and any amount of excitement; for the sturdy youngsters were
running with their mothers in one of the bush paddocks, and it was no
easy matter to cut them out and work them away from the friendly
shelter and refuge of the trees. A bush-reared calf is an irresponsible
being, with a great fund of energy and spirits--and, while Norah loved
her day, she was thoroughly tired as they rode home in the late
evening, the last straggler yarded in readiness for the branding next
day. Mr. Linton sent her to bed early, and she did not wake in the
morning until the dressing gong boomed its cheerful summons through the
house.
Mr. Linton was already at breakfast when swift footsteps were heard in
the hall above; a momentary silence indicated that his daughter was
coming downstairs by way of the banisters, and the next moment she
arrived hastily.
"I'm so sorry, Dad," Norah said, greeting him. "But I DID sleep! Let
me pour out your coffee."
She brought the cup to him, investigated a dish of bacon, and slipped
into her place behind the tall silver coffee pot.
"What are we going to do to-day, Dad?"
"I really don't quite know," Mr. Linton said, smiling at her. "There
aren't any very pressing jobs on hand--we must cut out cattle to-morrow
for trucking, but to-day seems fairly free. Have you any ideas on the
subject of how you'd like to spend it? I've letters to write for a
couple of hours, but after that I'm at your disposal."
Norah wrinkled her brows.
"There are about fifty things I want to do," she said. "But most of
them ought to wait until Jim comes home." She thought for a moment. "I
don't want to miss any more time with Bobs than I have to--could we ride
over to the backwater, Dad, and muster up the cattle there? You know
you said you were going to do so, pretty soon."
"I'd nearly forgotten that I had to see them," Mr. Linton said,
hastily. "Glad you reminded me, Norah. We'll have lunch early, and go
across."
Norah's morning was spent in helping Mrs. Brown to compound Christmas
cakes--large quantities of which were always made and stored well before
Christmas, with due reference to the appetites of Jim and his friends.
Then a somewhat heated and floury damsel donned a neat divided riding
skirt of dark-blue drill, with a white-linen coat, and the collar and
tie which Norah regarded as the only reasonable neck gear, and joined
her father in the office.
"Ready? That's right," said he, casting an approving glance at the trim
figure. "I've just finished writing, and the horses are in."
"So's lunch," Norah responded. "It's a perfectly beautiful day for a
ride, Daddy--hurry up!"
The day merited Norah's epithet, as they rode over the paddocks in the
afternoon. As yet the grass had not dried up, thanks to the late rains,
and everywhere a green sea rippled to the fences. Soon it would be dull
and yellow; but this day there was nothing to mar the perfection of the
carpet that gave softly under the horses' hoofs. The dogs raced wildly
before them, chasing swallows and ground-larks in the cheerfully
idiotic manner of dogs, with always a wary ear for Mr. Linton's
whistle: but as yet they were not on duty, and were allowed to run
riot.
An old log fence stretched before them. It was the only one on
Billabong, where all station details were strictly up-to-date. This one
had been left, partly because it was picturesque, and partly at the
request of Jim and Norah, because it gave such splendid opportunities
for jumping. There were not many places on that old fence that Bobs did
not know, and he began to reef and pull as they came nearer to it.
"I don't believe I'll be able to hold him in, Daddy!" said Norah, with
mock anxiety.
"Not afraid, I hope?" asked her father, laughing.
"Very--that you won't want to jump! I'd hate to disappoint him,
Daddy--may I?"
"Oh, go on!" said Mr. Linton. "If I said 'no' the savage animal would
probably bolt!" He held Monarch back as Norah gave the bay pony his
head, and they raced for the fence; watching with a smile in his eyes
the straight little form in the white coat, the firm seat in the
saddle, the steady hand on the rein. Bobs flew the big log like a bird,
and Norah twisted in her saddle to watch the black horse follow. Her
eyes were glowing as her father came up.
"I do think he loves it as much as I do!" she said, patting the pony's
neck.
"He's certainly as keen a pony as I ever saw," Mr. Linton said. "How
are you going to manage without him, Norah?"
Norah looked up, her eyes wide with astonishment.
"Do without BOBS!" she exclaimed. "But I simply couldn't--he's one of
the family." Then her face fell suddenly, and the life died out of her
voice. "Oh--school," she said.
The change was rather pitiful, and Mr. Linton mentally abused himself
for his question.
"He'll always be waiting for you when you come home, dear," he said.
"Plenty of holidays--and think how fit he'll be! We'll have great rides,
Norah."
"I guess I'll want them," she said. Silence fell between them.
The scrub at the backwater was fairly thick, and the cattle had sought
its shade when the noonday sun struck hot. Well fed and sleek, they lay
about under the trees or on the little grassy flats formed by the bends
of the stream. Norah and her father separated, each taking a dog, and
beat through the bush, routing out stragglers as they went. The echoes
of the stock-whips rang along the water. Norah's was only a light whip,
half the length and weight of the one her father carried. It was
beautifully plaited--a special piece of work, out of a special hide;
while the handle was a triumph of the stockman's art. It had been a
gift to Norah from an old boundary rider whose whips were famous, and
she valued it more than most of her possessions, while long practice
and expert tuition had given her no little skill in its use,
She worked through the scrub, keeping her eyes in every direction, for
the cattle were lazy and did not stir readily, and it was easy to miss
a motionless beast hidden behind a clump of dogwood or Christmas
bush--the scrub tree that greets December with its exquisite white
blossoms. When at length she came to the end of her division and drove
her cattle out of the shelter she had quite a respectable little mob to
add to those with which her father was already waiting.
It was only to be a rough muster; rather, a general inspection to see
how the bullocks were doing, for the nearest stockyards were at the
homestead, and Mr. Linton did not desire to drive them far. He managed
to get a rough count along a fence--Norah in the rear, bringing the
bullocks along slowly, so that they strung out under their owner's eye.
Occasionally one would break out and try to race past him on the wrong
side. Bobs was as quick as his rider to watch for these vagrants, and
at the first hint of a breakaway he would be off in pursuit. It was
work the pair loved.
"Hundred and thirty," said Mr. Linton, as the last lumbering beast
trotted past him, and, finding the way clear, with no harrowing
creatures to annoy him and head him back to his mates, kicked up his
heels and made off across the paddock.
"Did any get behind me, Norah?"
"No, Daddy."
"That's a good girl. They look well, don't they?"
Norah assented. "Did you notice how that big poley bullock had come on,
Dad?"
"Yes, he's three parts fat," said Mr. Linton. "All very satisfactory,
and the count is only two short--not bad for a rough muster."
They turned homewards, cantering quickly over the paddocks; the going
was too good, Norah said, to waste on walking; and it was a delight to
feel the long, even stride under one, and the gentle wind blowing upon
one's cheeks. As he rode, Mr. Linton watched the eager, vivid little
face, alight with the joy of motion. If Bobs were keen, there was no
doubt that his mistress was even keener.
They crossed the log fence again by what Norah termed "the direct
route," traversed the home paddock, and drew up with a clatter of hoofs
at the stable yard. Billy, a black youth of some fame concerning
horses, came forward as they dismounted and took the bridles. But Norah
preferred to unsaddle Bobs herself and let him go; she held it only
civil after he had carried her well. She was leading him off when the
dusky retainer muttered something to her father.
"Oh, all right, Billy," said Mr. Linton. "Norah, those fellows from
Cunjee have come to see me about buying sheep. I expect I shall have to
take them out to the paddock I don't think you'd better come."
"All right, Dad." Sheep did not interest Norah very much. "I think I'll
go down to the lagoon."
"Very well, don't distinguish yourself by falling in," said her father,
with a laugh over his shoulder as he hurried away towards the house.
Left to herself, Norah paid a visit to Brownie in the kitchen, which
resulted in afternoon tea--there was never a bush home where tea did not
make its appearance on the smallest possible pretext. Then she slipped
off her linen jacket and brown leather leggings and, having beguiled
black Billy into digging her some worms, found some fishing tackle and
strolled down to the lagoon.
It was a broad sheet of water, at one end thickly fringed with trees,
while in the shallower parts a forest of green, feathery reeds bordered
it, swaying and rustling all day, no matter how soft the breeze. The
deeper end had been artificially hollowed out, and a bathing box had
been built, with a springboard jutting out over the water. Under the
raised floor of the bathing box a boat was moored. Norah pulled it out
and dropped down into it, stowing her tin of worms carefully in the
stern. Then she paddled slowly into the deepest part of the lagoon,
baited her line scientifically, and began to fish.
Only eels rewarded her efforts; and while eels are not bad fun to pull
out, Norah regarded them as great waste of time, since no one at
Billabong cared to eat them, and in any case she would not let them
come into the boat--for a good-sized eel can make a boat unpleasantly
slimy in a very short time. So each capture had to be carefully
released at the stern--not a very easy task. Before long Norah's white
blouse showed various marks of conflict; and being by nature a clean
person, she was rather disgusted with things in general. When at length
a large silver eel, on being pulled up, was found to have swallowed the
hook altogether, she fairly lost patience.
"Well, you'll have to keep it," she said, cutting her line; whereupon
the eel dropped back into the water thankfully, and made off as though
he had formed a habit of dining on hooks, and, in fact, preferred them
as an article of diet. "I'm sure you'll have shocking indigestion,"
Norah said, watching the swirl of bubbles.
The boat had drifted some way down the lagoon, and a rustle told Norah
that they were near one of the reedy islands dotted here and there in
the shallows. There was very little foothold on them, but they made
excellent nesting places for the ducks that came to the station each
year. The boat grounded its nose in the soft mud, and Norah jumped up
to push it off. Planting the blade of the oar among the reeds, she
leant her weight upon it and shoved steadily.
The next events happened swiftly. The mud gave way suddenly with a
suck, and the oar promptly slithered, burying itself for half its
length; and Norah, taken altogether by surprise, executed a graceful
header over the bow of the boat. The mud received her softly, and clung
to her with affection; and for a moment, face downward among the reeds,
Norah clawed for support, like a crab suddenly beached. Then, somehow,
she scrambled to a sitting position, up to her waist in mud and
water--and rocked with laughter. A little way off, the boat swayed
gently on the ruffled surface of the water.
"Well--of all the duffers!" Norah said. She tried to stand, and
forthwith went up to one knee in the mud. Then, seeing that there was
no help for it, she managed to slip into deeper water--not very easy,
for the mud showed a deep attachment to her--and swam to the boat. To
get into it proved beyond her, but, fortunately, the bank was not far
off, and, though her clothes hampered her badly--a riding skirt is the
most inconvenient of swimming suits--she was as much at home as a duck
in the water, and soon got ashore.
Then she inspected herself, standing on the grass, while a pool of
water rapidly widened round her. Alas, for the trim maiden of the
morning! soaked to the skin, her lank hair clinging round her face, her
collar a limp rag, the dye from her red silk tie spreading in artistic
patches on her white blouse! Over all was the rich black mud of the
lagoon, from brow to boot soles. Her hat, once white felt, was a sodden
black-streaked mass; even her hands and face were stiff with mud.
"Thank goodness, Daddy's out!" said the soaked one, returning knee-deep
in the water to try and cleanse herself as much as might be--which was
no great amount, for lagoon mud defies ordinary efforts. She waded out,
still laughing; cast an apprehensive glance at the quarter from which
her father might be expected to return, and set out on her journey to
the house, the water squelching dismally in her boots at every step.
In the garden at Billabong walked a slim youth in most correct attire.
His exquisitely tailored suit of palest grey flannel was set off by a
lavender-striped shirt, with a tie that matched the stripe. Patent
leather shoes with wide ribbon bows shod him; above them, and below the
turned-up trousers, lavender silk socks with purple circles made a very
glory of his ankles. On his sleek head he balanced a straw hat with an
infinitesimal brim, a crown tall enough to resemble a monument, and a
very wide hat band. His pale, well-featured face betrayed unuttered
depths of boredom.
The click of the gate made him turn. Coming up the path was a figure
that might have been plaintive but that Norah was so immensely amused
at herself; and the stranger opened his pale eyes widely, for such
apparitions had not come his way. She did not see him for a moment.
When she did, he was directly in her path, and Norah pulled up short.
"Oh !" she said weakly; and then--"I didn't know anyone was here."
The strange youth looked somewhat disgusted.
"I should think you'd--ah--better go round to the back," he said
condescendingly. "You'll find the housekeeper there."
This time it was Norah's turn to be open-eyed.
"Thanks," she said a little shortly. "Were you waiting to see anyone?"
The boy's eyebrows went up. "I am--ah--staying here."
"Oh, are you?" Norah said. "I didn't know. I'm Norah Linton."
"You!" said the stranger. There was such a world of expression in his
tone that Norah flushed scarlet, suddenly painfully conscious of her
extraordinary appearance. Then--it was unusual for her--she became angry.
"Did you never see anyone wet?" she asked, in trenchant tones. "And
didn't you ever learn to take your hat off?"
"By Jove!" said the boy, looking at the truculent and mud-streaked
figure. Then he did an unwise thing, for he burst out laughing.
"I don't know who you are," Norah said, looking at him steadily. "But I
think you're the rudest, worst-mannered boy that ever came here!"
She flashed past him with her head in the air. Cecil Linton, staring
after her with amazement, saw her cross the red-tiled verandah
hurriedly and disappear within a side door, a trail of wet marks behind
her.
"By Jove!" he said again. "The bush cousin!"
CHAPTER IV
CUTTING OUT
And the loony bullock snorted when you first came into view,
Well, you know, it's not so often that he sees a swell like you.
A. B. PATERSON.
Norah did not encounter the newcomer again until dinner-time.
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