Chapter Seventeen.
A Strange Encounter.
“Don’t go too far, Nic,” said Dr Braydon, a few mornings after the boy’s arrival at the Bluff.
“Oh no, father; only I must see what the place is like all round.”
“Of course; I have no time to-day, or I’d take you for a ride round.”
“But ought he to go alone?” said Mrs Braydon.
“He must learn to run alone, my dear,” said the doctor. “We can’t chain him up like a dog.”
“No,” said Mrs Braydon, rather piteously; “but there are the precipices.”
“Nic has eyes in his head, and will not go and jump down there. He can’t very well fall by accident.”
“The snakes, my dear.”
“He must learn at once to keep a sharp look-out for them. I suppose there were plenty of adders on the common at school?”
“Plenty, father.”
“But the blacks, my dear. I have not got over that scare.”
“They’re gone, my dear. That man came back last night and said that he saw them, and hid because he was afraid. The party hung about after the waggon for about an hour, and then went right off across the river.”
“But they may come back.”
“Oh yes,” said the doctor tenderly; “but don’t be afraid. Nic will not go very far—eh, boy?”
“Oh no, father; I’ll really take care.”
“And you will be very careful, my dear?”
“Of course he will,” said the doctor.
“I will really, mother,” said Nic. “I’ll only go to-day and have a look round.”
“Shall we go with him and take care of him?” said Janet mischievously.
“Yes, I’ll come,” cried Hilda, exchanging glances with her sister, while the doctor looked on quite amused, and waited for his son’s reply.
“No, that you won’t,” cried Nic indignantly. “Just as if I were a little boy! I know: you want to take me for a walk and each hold a hand. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I begin to feel at home in the place.”
“Of course,” said his father. “There, Nic, I’m going to trust to your discretion. Of course the snakes are dangerous, and you must keep a sharp look-out. You can take your gun with you.”
Mrs Braydon started.
“Don’t be alarmed, mamma. Nic can be trusted to carry a gun. It’s of no use to wince, my dear. Nic has come out here to grow into a man, and he must begin to act like one. You’ll be careful with the piece, of course?”
“Yes, father: very.”
“That’s right. Now then, I’ll tell you the great danger—one, however, that you are not likely to fall into now, because you will not go far enough—the danger is, being bushed.”
“Being bushed, father? what’s that?”
“Wandering into the bush and losing your way.”
“But I’m not likely to do that, father.”
“Old experienced colonists have been lost, Nic. I have myself.”
“You have, my dear!” cried Mrs Braydon. “I never knew.”
“No, I did not wish to alarm you,” said the doctor quietly. “It was on that occasion when I was a week away searching for stray cattle. You remember now?”
“Yes, I remember now,” said Mrs Braydon, turning pale. “There, don’t be alarmed now. Nic is not going anything like so far as the bush—not much out of sight of the house. The danger is this, Nic: once a man wanders into the scrub the trees and shrubs are all so much alike, the hills and mountains so much the same, that the mind gets deceived and at last confused. Then the country is so vast that, once he goes wrong, he may wander on and on till he frightens his mother out of her wits and makes his sisters cry,” said the doctor merrily. “Now do you understand?”
“Yes, quite, father. But I’ve got a pocket compass.”
“Good! Learn to use it well.”
“And I promise you, mother dear, that I will not go into the bush, or anywhere to-day far from home.”
“That’s right, my boy,” said the doctor. “Be off, then, and we shall have a big meal at sundown. You are free till then.”
“Thank you, father,” cried Nic, whose veins throbbed with eager anticipation of the pleasures to be enjoyed in what seemed to be the first real holiday he had ever had. “You’ll trust me too, mother, won’t you?”
“Yes, yes, my boy,” cried Mrs Braydon.
“Of course she will,” said the doctor. “Mamma has grown quite nervous since she has had a fresh chicken to take care of: she makes more fuss over you than she does over the girls.”
“But they know the place better, my dear,” pleaded Mrs Braydon.
“Nic will know it ten times better in a fortnight,” said the doctor. “Eh, Nic?”
“I’ll try, father,” cried the boy, laughing. “I’m not going to be beaten by a couple of girls.”
“Off with you, then!”
“Shall I take the dogs, father?”
“Yes. No: not to-day. I shall keep them chained up for another week, to get them more used to the place. They may do what you will not do—go astray.”
Five minutes later Nic was waving his hand to his mother at the window as he strode off, proud and elate, with his gun over his shoulder and his shot belt across his breast, the powder flask peeping out of his breast pocket—for in those days men had not dreamed of even percussion guns, let alone breech-loaders and cart ridges ready to slip into the piece.
“Nic!”
The boy turned to see his father mounted on his chestnut, and with a stock whip in his hand.
“Which way are you going?”
“I want to try and find my way to the edge of the precipice, father, and look down from the Bluff into the great gully.”
“Very well. Straight away for a mile—north-west. Shoot any snakes you see. They alarm your mother and sisters, and they are dangerous to the dogs.”
The doctor pressed his horse’s sides, turned his head, and went off at a canter, looking as if he had grown to its back, and Nic watched him in admiration for a few minutes.
“I wish I could ride like that,” he said to himself as he strode off taking great breaths of the elastic air. “Well, father was a boy once, and could not ride any better than I can. I shall try hard.”
“Hah! how beautiful it all is!” he said softly, as he paused at the end of a few minutes, to gaze right away; for he had reached an eminence in the park-like land from which he could see, fold upon fold, wave upon wave, the far stretching range of the Blue Mountains.
“And they are blue,” he cried aloud, “and blue and lavender and amethyst; but I suppose when one got up to them they would look green and grey and gravelly red. It’s the distance, I suppose.”
He was quite right: the lovely hues came from seeing the mountains in the distance through the layers of pure air; and after satiating himself for the moment, he strode on, keeping a sharp look-out for snakes and for the animals he was most anxious to see—kangaroos.
But he could only see sheep dotted about in plenty, and farther afield ruddy-looking oxen grazing on the rich grass, and after a time he began to feel a little disappointed, for, let alone wild animals, he did not see so much as a bird.
He kept on, though, with his eyes wandering in all directions, calling to mind all the different creatures which inhabited the land, and making up his mind that his next walk should be along the riverside.
“There’ll be birds in plenty there, and fish; and I may see the curious otter rat sort of thing, with its duck-like bill. If I could only find its nest of eggs!”
He laughed at the absurdity, as it seemed to him, of an animal having so strange a nature, and then began noting how different the trees were from those at home, so many being covered with a greyish-green and pinky foliage, while others seemed to have their leaves stuck on edgewise instead of lying flat, the consequence being that the shade they gave was rather thin.
“A mile north-west,” he thought: “I must have come as far as that, but I can see no precipices—only a hill or two yonder. There are some sheep grazing, though, over there. Father’s, of course. What a lot he must have!”
He went on in the supposed direction for another five minutes, noticing that the trees were closer together, and that there was more undergrowth, amongst which the creamy-fleeced sheep were wandering; and before entering this undergrowth he took a look round and behind to see that his way home was unmistakable.
“That can’t be the bush,” he said, with a laugh, as he threaded his way among the trees, and directly after caught sight of a man walking slowly along, evidently inspecting the sheep.
“Hi! Ahoy!” cried Nic; and the man turned. “Why, it’s Leather!”
He started off at a trot to join the man, who stood stock still awaiting his approach.
“’Morning, Mr Leather,” he cried, as he joined the man, who faced him with his brows knit, and a bitter, sour look in his countenance, as he said morosely:
“’Morning, sir. My name’s not Leather.”
“Oh! I beg your pardon.”
The man laughed unpleasantly, and Nic felt an involuntary dislike to him.
“But I heard them call you Leather.”
“Leatherhead generally,” said the man roughly: “because I’m such a fool.”
“Then it’s a nickname,” cried the boy, thinking instantly of his own annoyance at school. “I say, I’m very sorry: I didn’t know. What is your name?”
“Call me the same as the others do,” said the man roughly. “Leather will do.”
“Oh, but I should be sorry to say anything to hurt you.”
“I’m used to it, young gentleman. Well, what is it? Does your father want me?”
“Oh no: I’m having a walk to see the country. I want to find the Bluff.”
“You are on the Bluff,” said the man, in his surly tones.
“Oh yes, I know. The whole place is called the Bluff. But I mean where you can stand on the edge and look down into a great gap thousands of feet deep.”
“Look round.”
Nic looked about him, and then back at the bitter-countenanced man.
“What am I to look at?”
“Can’t you see the edge of the Bluff?”
The man took a few paces, winding among the low growth, and Nic followed him, to start back directly in alarm.
“Nothing to mind,” said the man; but Nic did not see the freedom from danger, and he involuntarily caught hold of a handful of twigs at the top of the nearest bush to steady himself, as he gazed away down into a mighty valley whose sides looked to be sheer and whose bottom was thousands of feet below. It was like looking down into an open country shut in by a perpendicular wall of mountains where a glittering river ran, and the trees were dwarfed into tiny shrubs, while patches of forest looked like tufts of grass. The colours were glorious; but for the moment the boy felt nothing but that breathless, shrinking sensation which attacks some people upon a height; and he said huskily:
“How horrible!”
“Yes,” said the man gloomily. “Right: how horrible!” and he scowled down at the vast depression.
“No, no,” cried Nic excitedly. “How lovely—glorious—grand!”
“No,” said the man, without turning his head; “how horrible!”
“Oh no,” cried Nic again. “I did not mean it. I was startled. It looks so deep. How do you get down?”
“Step over the edge and fall,” said the man bitterly.
“What?”
“One good step and down you would go, and be out of your misery.”
“Oh, nonsense,” cried Nic. “It’s wonderful. Show me the way to go down.”
“What, go first?”
“Yes.”
The man uttered a strange laugh which made Nic shudder; but he mastered his shrinking and said: “Tell me: which is the proper way down?”
“They say there is no way down.”
“What! is it so dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mean to tell me that we could not get down to that beautiful place below?”
“The regular way is to go as the sheep and cattle do sometimes. They get grazing too close, and slip and fall. Most of them are killed, but some fall from shelf to shelf and get over it. Look!”
He caught Nic by the shoulder, roughly pressed him nearer the edge, and pointed with one hand.
Nic’s heart began to beat heavily, but he drew a deep breath and would not shrink.
“Well?” he said, after a pause. “I’m looking. What at?”
“Can’t you see sheep down below, and quite a drove of bullocks?”
“No,” said Nic: “my eyes are not used to it—yours are.”
“Yes, mine are,” said the man. “Those were your father’s cattle and sheep, and some of Dillon’s from the next station, and other people’s from farther still; and now they belong to nature. Don’t you think your father is a fool to come and live where he loses his stock down a trap like that?”
“No, I don’t,” said Nic haughtily, for the man repelled him. “I think he was very wise to come and live in the most beautiful place I ever saw.”
“I don’t,” said the man, laughing curiously, as if it hurt him and gave him pain. “I think the place hideous. Well, you want to go down,” he continued, tightening his grip and showing his teeth as he thrust Nic forward. “There, I have only to give you one push and down you go; but you wouldn’t see anything when you got down.”
“Because it would kill me,” said Nic quietly.
“Yes; and your old man would set us all to hunt for you, and one of the blacks would make you out at last, lying right at the bottom.”
“And fetch me up,” said Nic, without flinching, but with the cold perspiration standing out on his forehead and in the palms of his hands.
“No, even they couldn’t get down to you; and your father would come every day with his glass to watch you till the birds and the ants had left nothing but your bones to whiten there, as the bones of bullocks have before now. Well, shall I throw you down? You asked me to show you the way.”
“No, thank you,” said Nic quietly.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you, a strong man, wouldn’t be so murderous. And because I never did you any harm.”
“No,” said the man, drawing him back from the brink, and looking him full in the eyes, with the half-savage glare passing out of his own to give place to an air of profound melancholy. “No, I wouldn’t do you any harm, sir. You’re a brave lad.”
“No, I’m not,” said Nic, letting himself sink back on the sunny herbage, for he felt sick and giddy. “It was horrible: it made me turn faint. Why did you do that?”
He spoke now in indignant anger.
“Because I was a brute,” said the man hoarsely. “They’ve made me a brute. I thought I would try you and see what was in you. There, go back home and tell them,” he cried, with his voice growing intensely bitter; “and you can have the pleasure of seeing me flogged.”
“What!” cried Nic, forgetting his own feelings in seeing the way the man was moved. “You—flogged—for playing that foolish trick!”
“Yes; foolish trick, my lad. But there, now you’ve come home, keep away from me. You’ve a deal to learn yet.”
“Well, you own it was foolish,” said Nic, for want of something better to say.
“Yes, a piece of madness, my lad. You said you begged my pardon a bit ago. I beg yours now.”
“Of course. There, it’s all right,” cried Nic. “But don’t you think I should go and tell tales. My father would, of course, be put out,—but flog you! He doesn’t look the sort of man to flog his people, does he?”
The man looked at him curiously. Then, drawing back sharply, his manner changed, and he began to look sullen, as he said in a morose voice:
“Didn’t your father say anything to you about me?”
“No.”
“Didn’t he tell you what I was, sir?”
“No,” said Nic, with’s suspicion now dawning on his mind. “You are his stock man, are you not?”
“Stock man? No: Brookes is his stock man. There—keep away from me, my lad.”
“Why?” said Nic.
“Because I’m only a sort of two-legged animal, a machine to do your father’s work. I thought you knew.”
“That you are—”
Nic stopped short.
“Yes, my lad—a convict, sent out of my country for my country’s good.”
“I know now,” cried Nic eagerly. “I’ve heard—I was told on board. You are sent up the country for good behaviour. Then you are my father’s assigned servant?”
The man stood looking down at him for a moment or two with his face full of wrinkles. Then he turned quickly and walked hurriedly away, never once looking back as Nic watched him till he was out of sight.
Then the boy shuddered.
“How horrible!” he thought. “He might have thrown me down. No, it was only a mad trick. But what a man to have about the place! I ought to have bullied him well; but I can’t go near him again. I wish I had not shown the white feather so.”
Ten minutes later Nic had forgotten his adventure, as he lay there upon his chest close to the edge, gazing down from the Bluff into the tremendous gully, rapt in amazement by its wonders, fascinated by its beauties. He stayed for hours tracing the river, and as his eyes grew more accustomed to the depth he made out the animals grazing below and looking like ants.
“Yes, it is glorious!” he said at last; and he turned his head to look around and rest his eyes upon the green on the other side, when he felt as if turned to stone. He had escaped one danger, and another seemed to have sprung up, for peering out at him from a dense patch of grass was a black face with glittering eyes and a surrounding of shaggy hair, while the gun was lying between them, and just beyond his reach.
Chapter Eighteen.
A Fright.
The position was startling in the extreme, and all the tales he had heard on shipboard and at home, as well as in the letters he had received from his sisters, respecting the blacks, flashed into his mind. He knew how dangerous they were, and the enmity some of them bore toward the white invaders of their shores; and though he could see nothing but the man’s face, he felt certain that, hidden by the grass, the black would have his spear with its hardened point—a weapon these men could throw as unerringly as the peculiar boomerang which would be stuck in his waistband to balance the deadly nulla-nulla—the melon-shaped club carved from a hard-wood root, whose stem formed the handle.
And as these thoughts ran through Nic’s mind he kept his eyes fixed upon the bright dark eyes of the black, every nerve upon the strain, every muscle strung, and ready for action. For in those painful moments Nic had determined to “die game,” as he called it in schoolboy parlance, living as he did in days when a brutal sport was popular. At the first movement made by the black Nic meant to spring upon his gun, and have one shot for his life; but he remained motionless, trying to stare the man down, and in the faint hope that Leather might come back, and the black shrink from attacking one who faced him.
“Wild beasts shrink away, so why should not wild men?” thought Nic.
And so they lay there each upon his chest, watching one another, Nic having a fine opportunity for studying the native’s rugged features and shaggy hair and beard. Every now and then there was a rapid winking of the eyes; but their fierce stare seemed to be uninterrupted, and caused a peculiar kind of aching and twitching at the back of Nic’s eyeballs, as moment by moment he expected the man would attack.
At last the strain began to be greater than the boy could bear. He had developed an intense friendship all at once for Leather, and looked vainly again for his presence there; he would have shouted for him, but he felt that in the immense space around his feeble cry would not be heard, and that out there in that savage land he was, early as it seemed, to have his first lesson in the settler’s duty—namely, to fend for himself.
For Nic could bear the horrible state of suspense no longer. He felt that he must fight for his life, and that after all the odds were fair. His enemy was a full-grown, sturdy savage, doubtless well armed, while he was only a boy, but he had the help of one of civilised man’s most deadly weapons to balance matters.
Then he felt that there was no balance in the matters for the black had his weapons ready, while he had left his gun out of his reach.
“Only let me escape this time,” thought Nic, in a despairing way, “and I’ll never do such a foolish thing again.”
The sun beat down upon him, the air around quivered in the heat, and the locusts kept up a loud chirruping, jarring note which grew maddening. Then from far away there came faintly the melancholy baa of a sheep calling plaintively to its missing companions, and directly after what Nic took to be the call of some wild bird in the distance—coo-way—coo-way—and this was answered faintly from farther off.
The next moment Nic had grasped the fact that it was no bird-call; for the black’s face was puckered up, his eyes nearly closed as his mouth opened, and he repeated the cry in a wild, shrill, ringing tone twice more, and then his mouth shut with an audible snap, and he remained perfectly still again, watching the boy.
But Nic could bear no more. This brought matters to a crisis. It was the savage’s cooey, and it meant that others were coming to join this man. So the boy felt that he must either attack or retreat.
To retreat meant to invite attack, and in his desperation Nic determined that the braver plan and the one more likely to prove successful was to take the initiative, and to do this he began slowly and cautiously to stretch out one hand towards his gun.
In an instant the black’s eyes twinkled, and there was a movement in the grass as of some animal gliding through it.
“Getting his spear,” thought Nic, with his heart beating frantically, as he drew himself sidewise toward the piece.
As he expected, the black moved too, but only as shown by the motion of the herbage. In fact, there were moments before the boy began to exert himself when it seemed to him that there was that fierce black head before him and nothing more, and that the whole scene was nightmare-like and unreal.
But with the action all became terribly substantial. He was reaching for his deadly weapon, so was the black, or to get himself into a better position for assault. And as Nic with throbbing breast drew slowly nearer, never once taking his eyes from those of his foe, the knitted brows and shining black face seemed to approach.
But he knew it was only an optical illusion caused by the intense strain upon his eyes; and feeling that quick action was necessary, he made a sudden spring to his right and grasped the gun, with which he leaped to his feet, just as the black also bounded up with a long, quivering spear in his hand, while there, plainly seen in the narrow band about his waist, were the boomerang and club.
Click went Nic’s gun trigger, as a thrill of confidence ran through him, and, holding the piece at the ready, he presented it at the black’s breast.
At this the man made a bound backward, and throwing himself into an attitude, he levelled his spear, as if about to hurl it and pierce Nic through.
“I wish I knew nigger,” thought Nic, getting more confident; “I’d tell him if he’d go away I would not fire.”
But no word was spoken on either side, white and black standing motionless in their attitudes of menace, eye fixed on eye, as if each were ready to shoot or hurl spear at the slightest movement made by the other.
The situation at last became so irksome that Nic could bear it no longer, and in a hoarse voice he cried:
“Now then, be off, and I won’t shoot.”
To his surprise the black shouldered his spear, and then obeyed a sign Nic made with the barrel of his gun, turning round and beginning to march away, slowly followed by the boy, who felt that if driven to extremities he could easily hit the broad, shiny back before him, with the muscles playing elastically at every step the man took.
“He understood the sign I made,” thought Nic, who determined to keep near the black for fear of treachery, as the man strode on in and out among the trees, while a fresh idea now struck Nic. Suppose the man was going on to join his companions who had cooeyed to him. It was like walking into additional danger. Still the boy did not flinch, for fear of receiving a spear in the back if he turned away.
But he was master for the moment; and growing more and more confident, he strode on behind the black, heedless of the direction in which they went, and leaving the end of the case to fate. All he hoped was that, sooner or later, the savage would suddenly make a dash for his liberty, when the boy fully determined to scare him by firing over his head, to make him run the harder.
Nic had some idea that they were bearing toward his home, but he could see nothing but park-like trees and low wattle bushes; and after this strange procession had continued for some time he began to grow uneasy, and to think of taking out his pocket compass to try and make out his bearings, before stopping short in the first open place to let the black go on out of sight, covered meanwhile by the gun, when, just as the sufficiently open place was reached, there came a hoarse cooey from somewhere close at hand.
Nic stopped short, feeling that he had walked right into the lion’s mouth; and standing ready, with his eyes wandering round, waiting for the enemy, he listened to the black’s reply.
The next minute the black faced round, and the rustling of bushes was followed by the appearance of a second figure thirty yards away.
Nic threw up his gun, not to his shoulder, but over it; for the figure was that of the stock man, Brookes, who shouted:
“Oh, there you are, young gentleman. Your mar’s getting in a orful way. She sent Bungarolo to look after you, and then, as he didn’t come back, she sent me.”
“Oh!” groaned Nic, in a tone of disgust; for all his bravery, as he thought it, had been thrown away, and a peculiar sensation of self-humiliation and shame came ever him.
“Yes, here I am, Brookes,” he said. “Then this is a tame black?”
“Tame un?” said the man, with a chuckle. “Oh no, he’s wild enough; I never see one on ’em yet as you could tame. No tame man would go about without trousers when he’s had two pair give him to my sartain knowledge. He’s one as hangs about sometimes.”
“But I mean he is not one of the more dangerous blacks?”
“Oh no, I think not, sir—so long as you treat him well, and he gets treated right enough with soft tack and mutton. He comes to see our other two as you know.”
“But does his tribe live about here?”
“I dunno, sir. Nobody does know. These chaps is like the cockatoos: they swarm about the place one day, and next day there isn’t one, and you might go for a hundred miles and never see one of their blessed heads. He’s wild enough. Hangs about the place, and does a bit of work if he likes it. If he don’t, he goes. These blacks is, to my mind, the only real gents as there is. Look at him now. He don’t want no clothes nor no house, only a hut, as he makes out of a few bits o’ bark and calls a gunyah, perhaps only a mia-mia.”
“What’s a mia-mia?” said Nic.
“Sort of a hurdle thing as he puts up for shelter, and to keep the wind from blowing his fire away. Then as to clothes—look at him now.”
Nic turned to look, but the black had disappeared, and ten minutes later he passed out of the thick growth to come in sight of the house, outside which Mrs Braydon was standing, watching anxiously for the return of her son.
“I wish he had been a real savage though, after all,” thought Nic. “It would have been far better fun.”
Perhaps!
Chapter Nineteen.
Nic Shows His Teeth.
Nic did not say anything about his adventure with Leather, and was perfectly silent about his fright with Bungarolo, who showed his teeth next time they met, pointed to the lad’s gun, and shook his head, the fact being that he was as much startled as Nic.
During the days which followed the boy had long rides with his father to see cattle on distant ranges, to visit flocks grazing nearer home, and gradually grew acquainted with the pleasant, patriarchal life the doctor lived.
The weather was glorious, for there had been rain in abundance a month earlier, and the consequence was shown in the rich pasture and abundance of flowers flourishing in the bright sunshine. The air, too, was deliciously invigorating, and Nic never knew that he was tired, even when he had been a whole day in the saddle, until suddenly about bedtime he discovered that he could not keep his eyes open. Then he would sleep soundly till the piping crows and the poultry awoke him at daybreak for another busy, happy day.
Nic determined that he would have no mare to do with Leather, who went stolidly about his work. He was a convict, and the boy felt that the man was a sullen, ill-tempered fellow, who, instead of trying to make up for the past, now that the opportunity had been given him to amend and begin a new life, evidently looked upon himself as ill-used, and avoided everybody.
There were a certain number of slips printed from copperplate and pasted upon cardboard at Dr Dunham’s, all consisting of good, sterling advice to the young, which the boys had had to copy over and over again, so as to get in the habit of writing a good, clear, round hand, with fine upstrokes and good, firm downstrokes; and one of them which Nic had well in mind was, “Judge not rashly.” But Nic did judge rashly all the same.
One day he took his gun with the intention of shooting a specimen of the lovely Blue Mountain parrot or lory, and this he meant to skin and preserve. He had seen the birds in flocks when out without his gun, and stood entranced at the beauty of the little creatures, with their breasts gleaming with scarlet, crimson, orange, and purple mingled in the most wonderful way, while their heads were of a peachy blue, and wings and backs, right to the end of their long tails, of a lovely green.
He had taken some of the smallest shot, so as not to damage the plumage; and after a warning from Mrs Braydon to be careful, he was crossing the enclosure beyond the garden toward a field where he could hear Brookes’s voice raised in a loud, bullying tone.
Directly after he came upon old Samson, who was wheeling manure in a barrow made of half a barrel cut lengthwise, and furnished with a couple of good sound poles, nailed on so that two ends formed the widely apart handles the other two being fitted with iron, which drew them together and secured the wheel, which was a round cut with a saw from a tree trunk, bound with iron hooping, and looking like a single Gloucester cheese.
“Heavy,” said the old man, stopping to rest.
“What’s that for?” asked Nic, who liked the old, keen, but thoroughly amiable factotum.
“Garden, sir. Good, strong, fat stuff as’ll grow anything. I’m making a cowcumber bed.”
“Not much of a barrow, Sam,” said Nic.
“Well, it ain’t, Master Nic, and I’d ha’ made another afore now, on’y I can’t get a wheel. The master’s going to get me one first chance, for the wheel bothers me. I could make the box, but wheels want practice. I did try to make one, and I forged a pretty good tire down yonder but the wood part! My word, it was a rickety, wobbly one, and broke down second day. Didn’t teach you to make barrow wheels at school, I suppose?”
“No,” said Nic, laughing. “Wheel-making’s an accomplishment.”
“Then they ought to ha’ taught you. Been strange and useful to you as a squatter, sir. Didn’t teach you to shoe horses nayther, I’ll be bound.”
“No, nor blacksmithing either.”
“Then it’s a shame, sir, for I know the master paid a lot o’ money for you to be well taught. I wish they’d teached you to make wheels, for you see these here soon warps in the hot sun and cracks. But there,” cried the old man, grinning, “there’s hard, sound trees enough to cut down and saw into thousands and thousands of barrow wheels; and as to horseshoeing, I can teach you that, my lad. I shoe all ours, and the master likes my shoes better than those he makes.”
“Does father make horseshoes?”
“Does he make horseshoes?” cried Sam. “Why, I should think he does, and trims a hoof, and nails splendid. He beats me hollow. There he goes—at it again,” muttered the old man, as Brookes’s voice rose. “I wish he’d leave the poor chap alone.”
“Is he bullying Leather again?”
“Ay, my lad; and he’d like to tan Leather too, on’y he daren’t do that. I ’most wish the poor chap’d give him one for his not, and then p’r’aps he’d be quiet with his tongue. Brooky’s never satisfied. He’s like lots of ’em: he thinks, because a chap’s a ’signed servant, he’s to be bullied and kicked. They forgets as a convict is a man arter all.”
“Of course,” said Nic, frowning.
“The free men settlers is jealous of the government chaps, and hates ’em. I don’t doubt Leather’s a reg’lar crab, but set him to do a job and he does it. I never know’d him skulk or flinch anything. The master’ll ketch old Brooky at it some day, and then there’ll be a row. I do wonder, though, as Leatherhead don’t give him one between the eyes.”
“Perhaps he will some day, if Brookes goes too far.”
“Nay, nay, my lad, he won’t do that. That wouldn’t do. ’Signed servant’s got to take what he gets, and be thankful. Why, do you know what’d happen if Leather turned on Brooky?”
“Brooky would complain to the master, and Leather would be fetched over to Mr Dillon’s—magistrate, you know. He’d have the cat, and a warning that if he didn’t behave he’d go back to the chain gang, and it would be a bad mark agin him.”
“Then it would be very unfair,” said Nic sharply.
“Yes, sir, it would; but the world don’t allus play quite fair, and, you see, government has to be very strict with ’signed servants, for some on ’em’s been shocking bad uns, and if they weren’t kep’ down with what they calls a hiron han’, honest people wouldn’t come to live out here. ’Bliged to be very strict; if they weren’t, the convicts might get the better of us all. Well, this ain’t making cowcumber beds, is it? Going shooting?”
“Yes; I want to get some specimens to stuff.”
“That’s right, sir. You do? There’s some very pretty birds about these parts; but if I was you, my lad, I’d get one o’ the blackfellows to go with you. He’d carry what you shot—when you happened to hit anything.”
“All right. You needn’t grin, Sam. I can hold the gun straight sometimes.”
“’Course you can, my lad. Why not? You’ll shoot and ride and do everything soon, and I’ll teach you all I know ’bout shoeing and forging and gardening. But as I was a-saying, you get Bungarolo or Rigar or Damper. No, I can’t spare Damper ’cause of the cows, and Rigar’s handy with the bullocks. You have Bung; he’ll take you to places where the birds are. These blacks know all that sort o’ thing; and as to getting bushed, you’ll never get bushed so long as he’s with you.”
“What’s bushed?”
“What’s bushed, sir? My word, they did take your poor father in over your education. Don’t know what being bushed is? Why, being lost, my lad. There, you’re a-romancing me, Master Nic. You’re a-making me a reg’lar old ruck-a-tongue. I’ve got to do my work, and my work to-day’s cowcumbers.”
Samson lifted the handles of his rough barrow, and went off without looking back, while Nic made off with his gun on his shoulder, bearing a little to his left, so as to pass round a shed, beyond which Brookes’s voice could be heard.
As Nic reached the fence he saw that about fifty sheep were shut behind hurdles, and Leather was catching them by the wool, turning them on their sides, and then carrying them to where Brookes knelt, with a brush and a tub and a sheep before him, dividing the wool and applying some tarry mixture to sore places caused by the attacks of virulent flies—a cruel-looking process, but one which saved the poor animals’ lives.
Brookes’s back was towards Nic, and Leather’s eyes on his work, over which he bent frowning, and using his great strength to master the struggling animals, and carry them to his companion, who went on loudly, as Leather slaved away, dripping with perspiration, in the hot sun.
“Government’s mad, that’s what government is, to let loose such a set o’ scum to mix with honest men. I dunno what things is coming to. If I had my way, I’d soon have yer again in the chain gang, and scratch yer back every day with the warder’s cat—that’s what I’d do with you. There,”—to the sheep—“off you go. Now, then, how much longer am I to wait for that next sheep? Of all the lazy, idle, skulking hands that ever came about a place you’re the worst. Now, then, don’t kill the poor beast, and don’t keep me waiting all day for the next.”
The sheep had made a sudden bound and nearly escaped; but Leather, bending low the while, flung his arm round it, hugged it to his breast, and bore it to Brookes.
“Yah! you clumsy, lazy brute; you’re not fit to handle a sheep. Don’t kill it, thick-head. Hang yer, you’re not worth your salt.”
This was too much for Nic.
“Then why don’t you go and fetch the sheep, and let him have a turn with the tar?” roared the boy, with his face scarlet.
“What?” cried Brookes, swinging himself round, and dropping the brush.
“Say ‘sir’ when you speak to me,” cried Nic. “You heard what I said. You’re always bullying and insulting people. It’s abominable. The man’s working like a slave, and you’re kneeling there and doing hardly anything.”
“I’m blest!” panted out Brookes, with rings of white round the irises of his eyes.
Leather was panting too. His face looked corrugated, and he stood there bent down, frowning hard at the ground.
“It’s shameful!” cried Nic. “I’m sure my father does not know you speak to your fellow-servants like that.”
“My what?” roared Brookes furiously. “Do you know he’s only a convict?”
“Yes, I do. But what’s that got to do with it, sir? As long as he works and does his duty to my father, he’s to be properly treated. You’re always bullying him. I’ve heard you ever since I’ve been home.”
“Here! Where’s your father?” cried Brookes, rising to his feet, and advancing toward the fence with a threatening look, while Leather bent lower.
“Gone on one of his rounds,” said Nic, springing over the fence, and facing him. “I wish he were here.”
“And so do I,” roared Brookes. “Look here, young gentleman; don’t you think because you’ve come home that you’re to lord it over me. I’ll have you to know that you’ve got to beg my pardon, insulting me before that lazy, lying, idle convict, you miserable young whippersnapper!”
“What!” said Nic, beside himself now with passion. “How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that! Insult you—you common, foul-mouthed bully. Go on with your work, sir. I’m your master’s son, and if I’d a horsewhip here instead of this gun, I’d lay it across your back.”
Brookes stooped, picked up the brush viciously, and rolled up his sleeves.
“Oh,” he cried; “that’s it, is it? Horsewhip me, eh? We’ll soon see about that. Here, you convict.”
“Do you want me to strike you?” cried Nic.
“Yes; you’d better,” growled the man, dropping on his knees. “We’ll soon see about that. Here, you, bring me another sheep.”
“No. Stop!” cried Nic, turning to Leather, who was bringing on the sheep; “let him fetch them for himself. While my father’s away I’m master here. Go away. You shall not be bullied like that, whatever you have done. Go and find some other work amongst the sheep.”
Leather looked at him strangely.
“You heard what I said,” cried Nic.
“Yes, sir,” said the man, in a husky voice.
“Then go at once. Nic was treating you worse than he would dare to treat a dog.”
Brookes banged down the brush and rose to go.
“You stop,” cried Nic. “My father said those sheep must be dressed to-day, and you know it. Finish them, every one.”
Brookes dropped upon his knees again.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Leather quietly. “It is very hard work for one man. I’m used to this sort of thing. Hadn’t I better stay?”
“No,” said Nic firmly. “You heard my orders. Go.” He pointed across the enclosure, and Leather went without a word.
“Now,” said Nic, “finish those sheep.”
Brookes muttered low threat after threat of what he would do, but he went on dressing the sheep; and Nic turned, walked back to the house, altered his mind, and went right away toward the bush, but his nerves were all of a quiver, as he thought over the meeting to come with his father, and he did not fire his gun that day.
Chapter Twenty.
Leather’s Other Side.
“Well, Nic, what does all this mean?” said the doctor on the following day. “Brookes has been complaining to me that he was busy yesterday dressing those sheep, when he found Leather, as they call him, my assigned servant, lazy, careless, and insolent. He was speaking to him rather sharply, when you suddenly appeared from behind the fence, flew in a passion, abused him, defended the other man, talked in a way that would make Leather disobedient in the future, and finally ordered the man to go away and leave Brookes to do all the work himself. Now then, my boy, is this true?”
“Well, about half of it, father.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Nic, though I’m glad you are so frank,” said the doctor, rather sternly. “You own to half. Now how much of the other half would be true if judged by an impartial observer?”
“I don’t think any of it, father.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor. “This is a great pity, my boy. I cannot have dissension here at the station. Brookes is a valuable servant to me, where men with a character are very scarce. He is, I know, firm and severe to the blacks and to the convict labourers I have had from time to time, and I must warn you these assigned servants are not men of good character. Has this Leather been making advances toward you, and telling you some pitiful tale of his innocency to excite your compassion?”
“Oh no, father,” cried Nic. “He has been as distant and surly to me as could be.”
“Ah! There you see! The man is not well behaved.”
“He works well, father, and was doing his best; but Brookes does nothing but bully and find fault, and he went on so yesterday at the poor fellow that at last I felt as if I couldn’t bear it, and—and I’m afraid I got in a terrible passion and talked as if I were the master.”
“I repeat what I said, Nic. I am very sorry, and I must ask you to be more careful. You say you played the master?”
“Yes, father.”
“Very badly, my lad. He is a poor master who cannot govern his temper. Men under you always respect quiet firmness, and it will do more in ruling or governing than any amount of noisy bullying. There, I am not going to say any more.”
“But you don’t know, father, how cruelly he uses Leather.”
“Neither do you, Nic, I’m afraid. You are young and chivalrous, and naturally, from your age, ready to magnify and resist what you look upon as oppression. There, be careful, my lad. I shall keep an eye on Leather and take notice for myself. As to Brookes, I shall leave matters to you. I do not ask you to apologise to him, but I should like you to run over yesterday’s business in your own mind, and where you feel conscientiously that you were in the wrong I should like you to show Brookes that you regret that portion of what you said. One moment, and I’ve done. I want you to recollect that he is a man of fifty, while you are only about sixteen. Do we understand each other?”
“Oh yes, father,” cried the boy, earnestly.
“Then that unpleasant business is at an end. Did you get your specimens yesterday?”
“No,” cried Nic; “the quarrel yesterday upset me, and I could only go and wander about in the bush thinking about it. I did not shoot a bird.”
“Then go and make up for it to-day,” said the doctors smiling.
“But,” said Nic, hesitating, “don’t you want me, father—to begin work?”
“Yes, by-and-by; not yet. I should like you to have your run about the place for a week or two more—or a month, say. It will not be waste time. You cannot see what is going on about a station like this without learning a great deal that will be invaluable by-and-by. Of course I shall take you with me for a few runs or rides. By the way, did they finish emptying the waggon?”
“Oh yes, father; I saw that done, and kept account of the packages that came over in the Northumbrian. I didn’t know the rest.”
“That was businesslike, and the more so for its being done unasked.”
“But Brookes didn’t like my being there, father.”
“Indeed!” said the doctor slowly. “And the other man—Samson?”
“He liked it, father. We’re capital friends. I like him: he’s such a rum old fellow.”
“Well, you must get to like Brookes too. Now have your run.”
Nic felt better, for the previous day’s trouble had sat upon him like a nightmare. Hurrying to his room he took his gun, and leaving it at the door was guided by the voices to the big store-room, where Mrs Braydon and the girls were busy unpacking and arranging some of the stores brought by the waggon.
Here he was soon dismissed by his sisters, and after promising to be back in good time, he went off across the home part of the station, catching sight of Samson, Brookes, and a couple of the blacks busy over some task in an open shed, which task looked like the stacking up of bundles of wool rolled neatly together.
“I can’t go and tell Brookes I’m sorry before them,” thought Nic; “and I’m afraid I don’t feel sorry. I suppose, though, I was a bit in the wrong. Father knows best; but he wouldn’t have let Brookes speak like that. Brookes wouldn’t have dared to do it.”
The boy had got about a mile away from the station and into a part of the doctor’s land which looked as if it had been carefully planted with trees, but his common sense told him that it must be in precisely the same condition as when he took up that part of the country; and after stopping to look round and admire the beauty of the place in every direction, he began to wish that he had brought the two dogs for a run.
“Father says that they are better at home, though, for a bit,” he muttered, as he trudged on again, looking for birds or other game, but seeing nothing whatever, not so much as a snake.
His direction this time was parallel with the tremendous gorge whose edge he had stood upon to gaze down; and as in comparison the present part of the huge estate was, though beautiful, somewhat monotonous in its constant succession of large ornamental trees and grassy glades, he was beginning to wish that he had gone in the other direction, to explore the gully down into which Samson had guided him on the way to meet the waggon.
“I want to see that tree bridge, too, that we crossed. Never mind: that will do for another time.”
Nic kept on in and out among the trees, glancing at his pocket compass from time to time, but satisfied of his ability to retrace his steps, for he was convinced that the huge gorge must be away to his left, so that if he kept it upon his right in returning he would be certain to come out correctly.
Every now and then he obtained a grand view of the mountains, with their prevailing tint of blue in the distance gradually becoming grey, yellowish brown, red, and of many delicious greens, as the great spurs, bluffs, and chasms came nearer and nearer till they plunged down into the gorge.
It looked to be a very fairyland of tempting mystery, waiting to be explored; and till the trees hid the towering eminences from his sight, he went on planning endless excursions for the future.
“But it does seem so strange,” he said to himself at last, as he wiped his streaming forehead and stood in the shade of a great green tree, gazing up in its forest of boughs. “One would think that such an out-of-the-way place would swarm with birds and wild creatures; while except flies and beetles nothing seems to live here. Ah!” he cried at last.
For he had caught sight of something moving among the low scrubby bushes beyond the next tree, and softly cocking his gun he began to stalk it. But the next minute he had made up his mind not to fire at what would in all probability be a kangaroo.
“And I don’t want kangaroos,” he said; “I want birds.” But he wanted to get as close as he could to the animal, and he stole on and on slowly for about fifty yards, till, as nearly as he could judge, whatever it was must be just beyond the next bushes.
Toward these he was creeping, when he started round with a quick jump, for some one had spoken.
“Are you looking for me, sir?”
There stood Leather bending over a sheep, whose fleece he was relieving of a strange growth of burrs and prickly, brambly strands with which the creature was tangled.
“No,” said Nic, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise. “I did not know you were this way. What are you doing?”
“Shepherding, sir,” said the man, with a sad, weary-looking smile, which half fascinated Nic, and he stared at one who seemed to be quite a different man. “The poor brutes get terribly tangled by these wild growths, and sheep are not very wise, sir. They’re poor, helpless sort of creatures. As soon as they are helped out of one difficulty they get into another.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Nic, speaking as if he thoroughly understood sheep; though his knowledge of the popular old useful animal consisted in the facts that when they were young they were lambs, that they grew wool, and that when they were killed they became mutton.
They have so many diseases, too, sir, and so many enemies.
“What, the dingoes?” said Nic.
“Yes, they play the part of the wolf in Europe. It’s astonishing how they have overrun the country.”
Nic stared again, but averted his eyes for fear the man should notice it. This did not seem the Leather he had seen so much of on his way home and since.
“Are there no wolves, then, here?” he asked.
“No, sir, fortunately for the squatters; and it’s a pity they introduced these dogs.”
“They? Who did?”
“Impossible to say, sir. The captain of some ship, I suppose—perhaps of more than one ship; and they increased and multiplied till they run wild all over the land.”
“Oh no; surely they must always have been here?” said Nic.
Leather shook his head.
“This is a land of surprises, sir,” he said quietly. “There were hardly any, if any, animals here but the kangaroos and the like, when the place was first settled. Haven’t you read all this?”
“No,” said Nic; “I have only just left school. But there doesn’t seem to be many even of them.”
“Millions,” said Leather, smiling, “if you know where to look for them.”
“But I haven’t seen one since I left home this morning.”
“And perhaps passed dozens, sir, from large ones, bigger than I am, down to the kangaroo rats and mice, not much bigger than those at—in England.”
Nic noticed the man’s hesitation, but appeared not to heed it.
“But could you show me any of them?”
“Oh yes, sir, if you wish. They want looking for, but I spend so much time alone here in the bush that I get to know their habits. Some of the small ones are pretty little long-legged creatures. Wonderful jumpers too.”
“And you call them all kangaroos?”
“Some people do, sir.”
“Kangaroo! Why, that must be a native name.”
“Haven’t you heard about that, sir?”
“Heard what?”
“About their name, sir?”
“No—nothing.”
“They say that when the first people met the blackfellows they asked them what they called the leaping creatures they saw hopping along so far on two legs, like animal grasshoppers; and the blacks said ‘Kangaroo.’”
“Yes, I thought it would be a native name.”
Leather smiled.
“No, sir; ‘kangaroo’ is the blackfellows’ way of saying ‘I don’t know what you mean.’”
“Could you show me where I could shoot one of those Blue Mountain parrots, Leather?” said Nic, after a pause, during which the boy stood thoughtful and wondering at his companion’s change of manner.
“Oh yes, I think so, sir. There are plenty about.”
“I haven’t seen one for days; when I did I had no gun; and besides, I was not ready to stuff it.”
“This is not a good time of day to look after them, sir; but I dare say you have passed plenty.”
“No—not one.”
Leather smiled faintly.
“They are very quiet, like most birds in the heat of the day, and are sitting up among the leaves, huddled up and with their feathers all loose, so that you don’t see the bright underpart, and their backs and sides are all green like the leaves. It wants practice to see them.”
“When is the best time, then?”
“Early in the morning, when it is cool and fresh, and they are just off to feed. You hear them whistling and shrieking to each other then.”
“But do you think you could show me one now?”
“I’ll try if you like, sir,” said Leather quietly. “One of the blacks would soon show you, but my eyes are not so well trained as theirs.”
The man led on, and Nic followed on tiptoe, thinking of how different he was, and wondering why so strong a feeling of dislike to him had sprung up: why, too, a man of bad character and a convict should be able to speak so well and take so much interest in the things about him.
“You need not walk so carefully, sir,” he said; “and you can talk. The birds will not fly off. They trust to their colours keeping them hidden. These sheep look well, sir.”
“Yes,” replied Nic, without glancing at the white-fleeced creatures feeding about, for he was thinking of the scene of the day before and felt afraid that Leather would allude to it.
But he did not, for he seemed disposed to talk quietly and respectfully of the different things about them as they went on through the openly wooded region for about a mile.
“Like honey, sir?” he said.
“Oh yes. Do people keep bees out here?”
“Well, sir,” said Leather, smiling pleasantly, “Dame Nature does. There are plenty of wild bees. There’s a nest up just above that fork.”
He pointed to a spot about forty feet from the ground, where what appeared to be some flies were darting about a hole.
“Those are not bees,” said Nic, gazing up at the place where the bark appeared to be split and a portion of the tree decayed.
“Yes, sir—Australian wild bees. They make plenty of delicious honey.”
“Where you can’t get at it!”
“Oh yes; a man who can climb would get it. The bark of these trees is soft and easily cut through.”
“But the bees would sting him to death while he was doing it.”
“If they could, sir; but these bees out here are harmless. I’ve seen the naked blacks climb up, with a piece of smouldering, smoking wood to drive the insects away, and then rob a nest. They would not have much protection from the insects if they were attacked.”
“Well, no, not much,” said Nic, laughing. “But the nests must be hard to find. You won’t know that place again.”
“Oh yes, sir,” said Leather quietly, as he stood glancing up in the tree. “You see I brought you straight here. Besides, after seeing one of the blacks track the bees home it is very easy, for the country is so open. It is not like being in the dense scrub.”
“How do they track them?” asked Nic.
“Catch a bee when it is busy in a flower, touch its back with a tiny speck of gum from one of the trees, and touch the gum with a tuft of that white silky wool—”; and he picked a scrap from the seed-vessel of one of the trees.
“And what good does that do?” asked Nic.
“Good, sir? The white cotton is easily seen when the bee flies homeward, the black chasing it till perhaps he loses it. But he has got nearer to the nest, and he will do this again with other bees, till he comes at last to the place where the nest is.”
“And did you find that nest so?”
“Yes,” said Leather quietly. “I lost sight of the first bee about forty yards away; the next bee I missed too, but the last showed me the way at once. Now, then: look straight up there.”
“Oh, I can see them flying in and out plainly enough,” replied Nic.
“I was not talking about the bees then, sir. I mean away to the right a little, and a good fifty feet higher.”
“Don’t see anything, only the sun coming through like silver rain.”
“To the right of that, sir, where the leaves are thickest. Now can you see?”
“I can see where the leaves are thickest, that’s all. What am I to look at?”
“The paroquets.”
“What?” cried Nic excitedly, as he gave himself an aching sensation in the back of the neck from the awkward position he assumed: “I can’t see anything.”
“Look again, sir. They are hard to see. I can count six together, and one which seems to be a handsome cock bird, quite by itself.”
“That’s the one I want,” said Nic in a whisper, as he cocked his gun and stood peering up in the part indicated, but only to have his eyes dazzled by the rays which shot down from above.
“You see it now, sir?” said Leather quietly.
“Nor; nothing but leaves and twigs—nothing else. Are you sure you can see the birds?”
“Yes, sir, quite. My eyes are more used to this sort of thing than yours. I have been so much alone in the bush, often with no companions but the sheep or the blacks.”
“And are they friendly to you?”
“Oh yes; in their way, sir.”
“But look here: are you really sure that you can see some of those parrots now?”
“Certain, sir,” said Leather, smiling. “Try and follow my finger. There: now you can see them.”
Nic had a long look, and then shook his head in despair.
“I’m sorry you cannot see them, sir. Would you like me to shoot that bird for you?”
“Yes,” cried Nic, holding out his gun. “No!” he said, drawing it sharply back.
“Because you think, sir, it is a ruse on my part to get possession of your gun and then go off as a bushranger,” said Leather bitterly.
Nic coloured deeply as a girl, but he tossed up his head.
“Well,” he said sharply, “that’s true; I could not help thinking it.”
“I suppose not,” said the man sadly. And he turned away.
“You know you got hold of me out there by the precipice and talked about dropping me over.”
“Yes,” said Leather, starting. “It was the act of a fool; but I felt very bitter that day, sir.”
“And how do I know that you don’t feel bitter to-day?”
“Hah! How indeed!” cried the man.
Nic hesitated a moment, and then, ashamed of his suspicions, he held out the gun.
“Shoot the bird for me,” he said.
Leather looked at him keenly.
“I don’t think so now,” said Nic, as the man drew back frowning. “I want the bird. I can’t see it. I know you wouldn’t trick me.”
The man snatched the gun almost fiercely, examining the priming; and it was hard work for Nic to stand fast and force himself not to believe that he had done a foolish thing. But he did stand firm and met Leather’s flashing eyes.
He was not long kept in suspense, for, without a moment’s hesitation, Leather took aim. There was a flash, a puff of smoke and loud report, and a bird came rustling down through the twigs and boughs.
“A fact—not a ruse, sir,” said Leather bitterly, as he handed back the gun.
“I beg your pardon,” said the boy excitedly; and the man looked at him in wonder.
“People do not beg pardon of convicts,” he said very shortly; and, bending down over the spot where the bird had fallen, he carefully parted the low growth into which the specimen had dived head first, and then, taking the beautifully coloured little creature by the hooked beak, he tenderly drew it out with the feathers falling back into their places, and hardly showing a mark.
“That is about as perfect as one can be, I think, sir,” said Leather quietly.
“Lovely!” cried Nic enthusiastically. “How am I to get it home safely?”
“Take hold of it by the beak, sir, a moment,” replied Leather; and, being relieved of the bird, he looked round till his eyes lit upon a peculiar-looking grass, one of the waving strands of which he picked, drew through his hand, and then passed it through the bird’s nostrils, twisted the ends together lightly, and handed the loop to Nic.
“That grass is nearly as tough as wire, sir,” he said. “Carry it by that, letting it swing. Are you going to collect bird-skins, sir?”
“I’m going to try, Leather. I shall want to get a good white cockatoo,” said Nic, eagerly plunging into the subject, so as to try and make up for the suspicion he had displayed.
“Oh yes, sir,” said the man, who now showed not the slightest resentment. “There will be plenty of work for you in that way. You can get the sulphur crests, and those with orange crests, and the rose-coloured, and the pretty grey creamy-yellowish-cheeked birds which have the cockatoo’s crest and the long tail of the paroquet.”
“I don’t know of these,” said Nic eagerly.
“The country swarms with beautiful birds, sir, especially with those of the parrot tribe. There is the black cockatoo, for instance—not that you’ll care for it.”
“Why?” said Nic.
“Because it is ugly,” said Leather, smiling, as if he enjoyed the boy’s enthusiasm. “It is wanting in bright feathers, but it is a curious bird, with a tremendously strong beak.”
“I must have a specimen, though,” said Nic. “What others are there?”
“I can hardly tell you, sir. The parrots are in great variety. Stop: there are two grass parrots that I know of. One is a green bird striped all over across with a darker green, like the breast of a cuckoo or a hawk, and it has fairly long legs, which enable it to go about actively on the ground. Other parrots have, as you know, very short legs, only suitable for clinging and climbing in the trees.”
“And the other—grass parrot you called it?”
“A lovely little creature, cross-barred like the ground parrot; but its colours are brilliant, and it is one of the most graceful-looking little birds of the kind.”
“Why, Leather,” cried Nic, “you are quite a naturalist! How do you know all this?”
“How could I help knowing, sir—spending days and weeks and months alone, out here in this great wild country, watching sheep or helping to hunt our stray cattle? What should I have done in a solitary bit of a hut without speaking to a fellow-creature perhaps for a month?”
“But you have not been like this?”
“Not since I have been at the Bluff, sir. When I came up the country to be Mr Dillon’s servant I was almost constantly alone. They used to send me my rations now and then. It was a very solitary life.”
“How lonely!”
“Yes, sir—lonely,” said the man, with a tinge of bitterness in his tones; “but it had its advantages. There was no Brookes.”
Nic started and looked keenly in the man’s face; but he frowned and turned hastily away, as if angry at what he had said.
“I must be getting back to the sheep, sir,” he said hurriedly. “They are terribly weak, foolish things, always catching some disease. I hope you will get your bird home safely, sir. I should skin it directly. Things so soon go bad out in this hot place.”
He turned away in among the trees; and Nic walked off with his gun over his shoulder, very thoughtful as he picked his way in and out among the bushes, till, feeling hot, he rested his gun against a bough, and sat down in the shade of one of the thick-foliaged, huge-trunked trees which seemed an exception to the rest—so many being thin-leaved and casting very little shade.
He had laid his specimen carefully down upon the grass, and was gazing at it without seeing any of its beauties, when a sudden thought struck him, and he sprang up to carefully reload his gun and place it before him.
“Mustn’t forget that,” he muttered. “Never know what may happen.”
He sat down again in the pleasant shade to inspect his trophy; but once more he did not see it, for the convict’s face filled his mind’s eye, that lowering, sun-browned, fierce countenance which lit up at times with a smile that was sad and full of pain, and at others was so bright that the deep lines in the man’s face faded, and he became attractive.
“It’s queer,” said Nic to himself. “One minute you regularly hate the fellow, and feel half afraid of him; the next you quite like and feel as if it would be nice to know more about him. No, it wouldn’t: he’s a convict, and they warned me about him.”
Nic became very thoughtful, and though his lovely Blue Mountain parrot, the object of his morning’s walk, was close to his side, he did not glance at it, and the beautiful birds the convict had mentioned were for the time forgotten. For he found himself wondering what Leather had done, and why he had done it; whether he was a very bad man; and gradually found his head getting into quite a muddle of conflicting surmises.
“I wish I hadn’t let him think I was suspicious,” he said to himself. “He jumped at it directly. I suppose I showed it pretty plainly. But no wonder! Any one would have felt as I did. To hand over one’s gun to a convict, and give him a chance to point it at you and say, ‘Now then, hand over that powder flask and that belt and all your wads.’ Of course, so that he could go off—bush-ranging, don’t they call it? Why, it seemed a mad thing to do.
“And yet I did it,” said Nic to himself, after a thoughtful pause; “and he didn’t run off. Why, he acted just as a gentleman would under the circumstances. I did feel sorry for him. There, I don’t care: he can’t be such a bad fellow as old Brookes wants to make out. Brookes is an old beast! I’d tell him so for two pins.”
Nic’s thoughts were flowing very freely, and feeling quite excited he went on:
“He must have done something very bad, and he has been severely punished; then they let him come out from the gang to be an assigned servant, and he’s trying hard to make up for the past, and when he gets bullied and ill-used it makes him look savage and fierce, of course.
“Well,” said Nic, after a thoughtful pause, “I can keep him in his place and yet be civil to him. I’m not going to jump on a man because he has done wrong; and I don’t see why he shouldn’t be forgiven—if he deserves it, of course, and—somehow, though I don’t like him, I seem to like him a good deal, and that’s about as big a puzzle as some of the things in mathematics, and—” This next was aloud:
“Oh, murder! Needles and pins! Wasps and hornets! Oh!”
Nic had jumped up, to begin dancing about, slapping his legs, shaking his trousers, pulling off his shoes, and trying hard to get rid of something that was giving him intense pain.
“It’s those bees!” he cried. “They’ve got up the legs of my trousers; and he said they had no stings. No! ants!—You nasty, miserable, abominable little wretches—no, big wretches,” he muttered, as he picked off and crushed one by one the virulent creatures, which had made a lodgment upon his legs and evidently come to the conclusion that they were good to eat.
He soon freed himself; but the tingling, poisonous nature of their bites was still very evident, and excited an intense desire to rub and scratch.
“Why, there’s quite a regiment of the little vicious wretches!” cried the boy as he was going back to where his gun stood by the tree. “I suppose they smelt me.”
It seemed so for the moment, for a long line of the ants could be traced through the grass on and on; and then Nic uttered an exclamation, sprang forward and caught up his specimen, to hold it at arm’s length and begin shaking it.
“Why, it’s covered with them,” he cried, as he swept them off, got them on his hands, saw them racing up his arms, and found them so quick and so tight-clinging that the task grew painful in the extreme before he could get rid of them, and when he did he tossed the rumpled, disfigured bird back amongst his enemies.
“There!” he cried: “eat it then. It’s completely spoiled. What a pity I did not let it live!”
“Never mind, Nic,” said his father that evening, as he sat at home, giving himself from time to time a vicious rub. “Take it as a lesson. We all have to go through that sort of thing, and you’ll know better next time. But it was a fine specimen, you say?”
“Lovely,” replied Nic eagerly; but he did not say a word about who shot the bird, for he felt that if he did his father would be annoyed.