Part 7

It was at the tail-end of the fray that Sandy and his mates came racing along with the cry of, "Swim O! Swim O!"

Boys and men, black and white, were all ready and willing, nay, eager, for a jolly bogey.[#] There was a rush by the whites for towels; then, in quick procession, the motley band made for the water.

[#] "Bogey," native name for bathe.

After a plunge and a short swim to get rid of the dust and muck, an impromptu carnival was arranged. First of all came the long dive. This meant a run along the spring-board and a dive straight out. The diver in each case, when reaching the surface, had to tread water, keeping as nearly as possible to the spot of emergence.

Tom Hawkins led off, the others followed in order at twenty seconds' interval. The blacks, by reason of their native abilities in this direction, were made to do the dive with arms interlocked, Siamese twin fashion. The darkies were the whippers-in of this diving procession. Tom, who led off, faltered in his stride when leaving the spring-board. He rose to the surface at about thirty feet from the bank. Joe, who followed, dived a good ten feet farther out than Tom. Sandy, however, when he shot up through the water, was fully fifty feet from the shore. Both of the stockmen beat Joe, but were behind Sandy.

Then came the blacks, side by side. With an even, measured, and springy stride they raced down the board, which was wide enough to admit of this manoeuvre. They took the water without a splash, like a pair of frogs, leaving scarce a ripple. It was naturally thought that by being coupled in this way matters would be evened. It was the general opinion that they would fail to reach Sandy's limit, and probably not get beyond Joe's. The boys eagerly awaited their reappearance, watching the water closely for some sign. After what appeared to be an interminable period they were startled by a double cooee, and, lo! the twins, so to speak, had risen at least twenty feet beyond Sandy, or seventy feet from the shore.

Somersault diving followed the long distance trial. In thia Harry the stockman, who had been a circus rider and acrobat in his youthful days, outshone all the others.

Then came the exciting game of "catch the devil." Willy was chosen devil. It was his business to dive off the spring-board and run the gauntlet, the others being scattered in the water. To catch the aboriginal seemed a comparatively easy matter, all things considered. He was, however, a superb swimmer and trickster, diving and dodging like a cormorant. A dozen times surrounded, he marvellously eluded his pursuers. The game was at its height, and there was no knowing how long the "devil" would remain at large, when the station bell rang out a lusty summons to supper.

This brought the carnival to an instant conclusion. And now each swimmer scrambled for the shore, and soon the whole company, with clean bodies and healthy appetites, were hieing along the track. When the boys reached home they found a new arrival in the person of a young Englishman. This gentleman was out on a business tour, and, being anxious to see something of station life, was recommended to Mr. M'Intyre by a mutual friend. Mrs. M'Intyre's hospitality was proverbial, and Neville, for such was the "new chum's" name, was heartily made welcome.

The day had been a long one, and, supper ended, the boys were quite resigned to go to bed, or at least to the bedroom. The noises therefrom, after their retirement, were very suggestive of prime larks, and continued long after lights were out. The pals were domiciled, to their great delight, in a big spare room, which contained a double bed and a single one. Joe and Tom shared the former, while Sandy camped on the latter, which was, indeed, his stretcher brought in for the occasion.

Silence reigned supreme at length within, and without was broken only by the hoarse croaking of the frogs, an occasional call from a night owl, and the weird wail of the curlew.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*CHRISTMAS FUN AND FROLIC*

"It was the time when geese despond And turkeys make their wills; The time when Christians to a man Forgive each other's bills. It was the time when Christmas glee The heart of childhood fills." BRUNTON STEPHENS.

Daylight had barely broken. The only stir in the household is that produced by Joe, whose slumber had been disturbed by the persistent crawling of flies across his face.

There are three things in animated nature which run each other very closely for the supremacy in downright tenacity to purposeful cussedness. Pig, Hen, Fly--these three! And of the three, the cussedest and most exasperatingly tenacious to its rooted purpose of squeezing in between one's eyelids, sinking a well in the corner of one's eye, or climbing the inside walls of one's nose, is the Australian species of the common house-fly.

It is possible at times to circumvent the "gintilman wot pays the rint," and persuade him to return through the same hole in the fence which gave him escape, by appearing to be anxious to drive him out on to the plain. That is pig strategy; or rather, strategy with a pig. He is beaten, so to speak, by the law of contrairy. When all resources fail in persuading the hen that the flour-bin, or the linen basket, is not specially constructed to suit her convenience in the daily duty of egg producing, one can at the last resort requisition the services of Madame la Guillotine.

But neither strategy nor tactics, neither force nor fraud, avail anything when the early fly, with recruited energies and fiendish intent, starts on her mission of seeking whom and what she may annoy. She--it is quite safe to put the insect in the feminine gender--can be neither coaxed, persuaded, shoo'd, deceived, frightened, nor driven from her prey. The fly always wins--in the end.

Driven from Blanket Bay on this eventful Christinas morning by the incorrigible fly, Joe proceeded at once to reverse the Golden Rule, and promptly made war upon his mates on that morning which, of all the days in the year, makes for peace and goodwill among men.

Tom had sought refuge from the fly in the bed-clothes, and muffled nasal monotones made a sonorous chorale. On the other hand, Sandy, impervious to all impious fly assaults, lay on his back, mouth wide open, breathing heavily and steadily. Sandy was of the pachydermatous order. Neither mosquito nor fly troubled him. The flies evidently found his eyes to be a dry patch, while they were unable to obtain a permanent foothold at his nostrils owing to the intermittent, horse-like snorts which blew them as from the mouth of a blunderbuss. But they heavily fringed his mouth, eating with manifest relish their bacilli breakfast.

In a jiffy the bed-clothes are whipped off the slumbering lads, and in less than no time the latter, pillows in hand, make common cause against the aggressor. Joe puts up a gallant fight, but the odds are too much for him; he is driven into a corner at last and unmercifully pelted.

This prelude to the day's enjoyment concluded, the pals jump into their clothes and proceed to execute the second item on the day's programme, namely, a horseback scamper through the bush before breakfast.

Oh, the glory of it! Out from the confines of four walls into the open spaces of the world when night is merging into day; to move in the dawn of a new day; to stand enwrapped in its pearl-grey mantle ere the mounting sun has turned its soft shades to rosy brilliance; to inhale the spicy breeze which, during the night watches, having extracted the perfumes of the forest flowers, comes heavily freighted o'er gully and range, and diffuses the sweet odours as the reward of the early riser. And then--to watch the daily miracle of sunrise!

"See! the dapple-grey coursers of the morn Beat up the light with their bright silver hoofs And chase it through the sky."

Sandy, on old Rufus, kept for that work, soon rounds-up and yards several steeds from the horse-paddock. From these three are picked and saddled; and ere the rising sun has walked "o'er the dew of yon high eastern hills," the lads are scampering through bush and brake, o'er dale and hill. They chivy the silent kangaroo through the lush grass; have a glorious burst after a belated dingo; rouse screaming parrots and paroquets from their matutinal meal off the honey blossoms of box and apple trees; pulling up at last on the summit of a dome-shaped, treeless hill, from whence, with the bloom of the morning still upon it, the landscape extends in a vast stretch of undulation, broken at irregular intervals by silver ribbons of creek and river.

Belts of scrub and forest, rich pasturages and arable lands, are dotted here and there, with minute spots from which rise slender threads of smoke indicating settlers' houses; while away in the background are the purple hills and the blue mountains.

Boys are not usually considered to be impressionable creatures on the aesthetic side of things. Herein we wrong them. They may not attitudinise, nor spout poetry when under the supreme touches of nature, for the boy is too natural to be theatrical. But, without doubt, the morning and evening glories of dear old mother earth do touch their sense of beauty; and though these impressions may seem to be effaced by other and more sordid things, nevertheless they linger through the long years, called up from time to time in sweet association with days that are no more.

The lads, while they rested their steeds, stood in silent and wondering gaze, broken at last by Tom, who, pointing across the intervening spaces to the broadest of the many silver threads, exclaimed, "Tender's Tareela!" Many miles away, as the crow flies, lay the river village, a small cluster of dots, a few of which glistened in the sunlight. These shining spots indicated the "superior" houses that sported corrugated iron roofs, new in those days. For the most part the "roof-trees" were shingle or bark.

And now, homeward bound, the horsemen slither down the hillside, plunge into a pine scrub, to emerge therefrom on the border of a small plain, and chase a mob of brumbies grazing thereon. They, with snorting nostrils and waving manes, headed by a notorious grey stallion--of whom more anon--dash up a ravine into the fastnesses of the scrub, and, though followed some distance by the reckless riders, vanish from sight with a celerity possible only to wild bush-horses.

Skirting now the banks of the Crocodile, they disturb flocks of teal, widgeon, water-hen, and other aquatic birds. At length they give a view halloo, for the old homestead is in sight. This scares a flock of cockatoos that are camping in the river gums, after an early morning's poaching expedition to the adjacent maize-fields, and brings out the station dogs with a babble of barking, as they pound up the track with a final spurt.

"Breakfast ready, Ah Fat?" sings out Sandy, as the boys come rushing into the kitchen from the stables.

"Leddy? Tes, allee globble upee! Missee say no kleep anyling for bad boy. Lockee allee glub." Ah Fat's twinkling, humorous eyes redeemed his hatchet face and stolid countenance.

"It's all right, fellows. He's only pokin' borak at us," said Sandy, giving the Celestial a familiar slap. "Come along, I'm as hungry as a hunter. They've only started, I know."

The family were seated, heads were bent, and Mr. M'Intyre was saying the long Scotch grace, when the boys burst into the room with a fine clatter. The rude intrusion brought a severe remonstrance from that gentleman when the exercise was concluded. Mrs. M'Intyre--always ready to defend the boys and to champion them, to condone their faults and to extol their virtues, in which she was wise or otherwise, as the reader may decide--broke in with a Christmas greeting. For a minute there was a fusillade of "Merry Christmas to you and many of them!"

"Now, boys, take your seats before breakfast's cold."

On proceeding to their places the boys stood stock still, for there, resting against their respective chairs, stood three brand-new, double-barrel shot-guns.

"Weel, bairns!" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre, with quiet amusement, surveying the amazed boys as they gazed at the weapons. "What are ye frichtened at? Is it snakes y're lukin' upon? Why dinna ye sit doon to yure food?"

"Oh, father! mother!" cried Sandy at last, picking up his gun, pleasure beaming from his face. "This is what Harry meant when he said last night he'd brought out a parcel from the town that'd come by steamer." Then with a rush, Joe and Tom at his heels, he danced round the abashed Scotchman, and gave him a hug, repeating the dose with interest on Mrs. M'Intyre. It was hard for the boys to settle down to breakfast and dislodge their eyes from the weapons. What their souls coveted most was a gun. The clamant claims of hunger, however, are not to be disregarded; so, stacking their guns in a corner, the boys did ample justice to a generous meal.

"Did you have a pleasant ride this morning, boys?" inquired Mrs. M'Intyre. "You've not been out on the run before, Tom, have you?"

"No, ma'am. We'd a good time, though!"

"How far did you go, Sandy?"

"To the top of Bald Hummock, mother."

"Splendid view from the top, is it not, Joe?"

"Not bad, Mrs. M'Intyre."

"That's a negative descreeption o' ane o' the graundest sichts the hale deestric' can boast," said Mr. M'Intyre, with emphasis.

Joe became conscious of the banality.

"An' why did ye no' tak' Mr. Neville wi' you, boys? Ye did wrang no' to invite him to ride wi' you. I think ye owe him an apologee, Saundy."

"I'm very sorry," said the lad, turning in some confusion to Mr. Neville. "If I'd thought----"

"Oh, I shouldn't have dreamed of going out at such an early hour, my lad," replied Neville loftily. He had a somewhat affected accent and a superior air. "I nevvah exert myself before breakfast. Besides, I am not sure that I should find a safe escort in a parcel of--er--schoolboys. With the young ladies, now," he continued, fixing his monocle and bestowing a patronising stare upon Sandy's sisters, Maggie and Jessie, "I--I--should be delighted to go for a bush ride, as I think these equestrian expeditions are called in Awestralia, in the cool of the afternoon."

"We don't call them even bush rides out here, Mr. Neville," answered Jessie saucily. She resented patronage. "We call 'em spins. Boys, I vote we all go for a spin this afternoon. Let's ride as far as Ben Bolt's cave. It'll be something interesting to show Mr. Neville. Ben Bolt's a famous bushranger hereabouts, you know, and the cave is a favourite rendezvous for his gang, as well as a safe hiding-place. At least, it was so until a few months ago, when the police and black trackers discovered it, and nearly nabbed him. Fancy having a bushranger's camp on the Bullaroi boundary! But Ben never uses it now. So let's ride out to it. Are you game, boys?"

"Game!" snorted Sandy. "What's to be game about? The main thing is, will Mr. Neville care for an eighteen-mile spin? If not, we could go for a short ride down the Crocodile."

"Please don't question my ability, boy!" retorted the new chum, who resented the implication contained in Sandy's remark. "I find," continued he, addressing his host, "you good people out heah seem to think that Awestralia is the only place where horseback riding is indulged in----"

"We ride steers also, an' billies too," slyly interjected Joe, with a wink at the girls.

"And we read that they ride donkeys and--er--hobby-horses in England," chipped in Jessie, whose eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Good for you, ole Jess! Let 'em bring out their English fox-hunters an' steeple-chasers that they brag so much about, and we'll give 'em a dingo run, or a go at cutting out scrubbers,[#] an' see how they'd be with their pretty coats an' breeches, at the tail of the hunt!"

[#] Wild, unbranded cattle, frequenting scrub country,

"Are ye addressing the English nation or oor guest, Saundy?"

M'Intyre could be caustic when he willed. He had no liking for Australian blow, and hit at it as he would hit at a snake, whenever occasion arose. He now turned the laugh against his son, Jess laughing loudest of all.

"It's settled, then, that we ride out to the cave this afternoon?" said Maggie, with an inquiring eye on Neville.

"I'm shore 'twill be a pleasant jaunt, Miss M'Intyre," replied the Englishman. "I shall have pleasure in acting as your escort. But this--er--famous--er--notorious--er--highwayman, is it--er--safe? I mean--er--I'm thinking of the--er--ladies, you know."

"What's to be afraid of?" quoth Jessie. To her, risk meant spice, an added zest. Her whole heart went out to the life of the open air and the pleasures of the chase. Her greatest delight was in a mad scamper through the bush behind the dogs, in the kangaroo hunt.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Neville; Mag and I'll protect you should the--er--famous--notorious--bushranger--highwayman turn up," went on the audacious minx. "I'd dearly love to see Ben Bolt. I think he's a lot better than many who run him down. Oh my! wouldn't it be fun if we surprised him in the cave? I'd----"

"Stop, Jess; cease your blether!" said Mr. M'Intyre sternly. "The mon may no' be as black as he's pented, but he's no' an honest mon. Misguided he may be to an extent, and no' a'thegither answerable for some of the steps in his doonward career, but a creeminal for a' that, whom the country were weel rid o'. But as for the reesk, there's na reesk in ridin' to the cave. The Sub-Inspector telt me a few days ago that Ben Bolt's gone o'er the border. News is to hand to the effect that he stuck up a Chinaman on the Brisbane road. So the cave's safe enough."

"That's settled, then," broke in Maggie. "If we leave here about four o'clock 'twill be early enough, and will give us plenty of time to get back by dark."

"Maidie, my pet," said Mrs. M'Intyre to her little three-year-old, a dainty, precocious miss, "what are you staring at? It's rude to stare at any one like that."

"Oh, muzzer!" exclaimed the child, turning her bright eyes mother-wards for a moment and then fixing them with a fascinated gaze upon the Englishman.

"What is it that interests you, little girl?" remarked Neville in a patronising tone. "Is it the colour of my tie?"

Maidie shook her curly head, and, without removing her eyes from Mr. Neville's face, leaned towards Jessie, who sat next to her, and whispered, "The genkilmun's got somesin' on his fevvers."

Suspended from the tip of one of Neville's incipient moustaches was a yellow string of egg-yolk. Jess had observed this for some time, with a tendency to hilarity whenever it caught her eye. Maidie's comical description added fuel to the fire of the girl's merriment, sending her into convulsive laughter. She answered looks of interrogation by pointing to the dangling egg thread, and saying as well as circumstances permitted, "Maidie says--ha--ha--ha!--that Mr. Fevv--he--he--he!--Mr. Neville's got egg on his--fev--feathers." This explanatory and ludicrous mixture created a general explosion among the young folk. The situation, however, was promptly ended by Mrs. M'Intyre, who discreetly rose on seeing that the guest did not join in the general laugh.

There was nothing much for the men-folk to do; but the boys were burning to try their new fowling-pieces, The squatter, seeing their intent, directed them to use their skill on the cockatoos and king parrots that were devastating the maize crop.

These birds, especially the former, proved wily customers, so that not many opportunities offered for testing the guns. Enough was done, though, to prove that the guns were no "slouches," and great things were predicted when the lads should "know" their respective weapons.

"Whatyer think of the new chum, Joe?" said Sandy to Blain, as they sat on a log under a low-spreading wattle tree, on the look out for a flying shot.

"Goes thirteen to the dozen, ole man, don't he? Knows a lot more'n us, he reckons, and can't help showin' it."

"Yes, he can't stand us chaps at no price. By George! Jess's got his measure, and Mag too, for that matter. They'll take his nibs down a peg or two before he goes, I bet tuppence."

"Little Maidie fitted him all right," chipped in Tom. "Fevvers--ha--ha!--yes, goose feathers."

It was evident that the visitor was not in favour with the young people. He had struck a false note. No one can be quicker than boys to detect superciliousness and to resent it. The patronising air is to them the unforgivable sin. Henceforth Neville went by the name of "Fevvers" among the boys, to the great amusement of the girls, who, unfortunately for the Englishman, had assigned him a place in prig-dom.

Neville, it must be confessed, was a bit of a prig; but at heart he was not at all a bad fellow, and there came a time not far ahead when respect supplanted contempt in the pals, and the ridiculous nickname was dropped; while he on his part discontinued the use of the irritating comparison, "the way we do things in England," which at the beginning he was for ever introducing.

The household was enjoying a siesta after the typical Christmas dinner which was partaken of at midday. Stillness reigned within the house, save the cracking of house timbers under the influence of the heat. This seductive calm and the sweet sleep of the girls was at length rudely broken by Sandy, who in the exercise of a brother's privilege shook the door violently as he shouted, "Now then, lazies, get up and dress! It's half-past three."

"Bother you, Sandy, you _are_ a nuisance!" sleepily complained Jessie. "I--I--was having _such_ a lovely dream. Neptune was just on the heels of a blue flyer,[#] and I was galloping alongside him. The chase led us to Blind-fall Gully, and we three took the jump together, and were almost landed on the other side when you thumped the door. I thought at first it was the thud of Kangie's tail, but no! there she was flying through----"

[#] Maiden kangaroo, a very fast runner.

"That comes of eating too much plum-duff an' mince-pie, my girl. But I say, you two, look slippy, or you'll be too late. I told Jacky to saddle Nigger for you, Jess. What'll you take, Mag? Rainbow or Sultan? They're both up."

"Don't care, Sandy. I'll take Sultan, I think. No, I'll take Rainbow. Wait a moment, p'r'aps----"

"Oh! stop your silly nonsense. I'll put the saddle on Sultan," shouted the impatient boy, as he made off through the house to the stockyard.

"Say, Sandy!" cried out Jess, who was now wide awake. "Have you roused Mr.--er--Fevvers yet?"

"'Ssh! mother'll hear you," exclaimed the boy warningly, as he returned to the door. "He didn't have a snooze. Says it's unbusinesslike to sleep in the daytime. Says they never do that in England. England be blowed, say I. An' whatyer think? Harry offered him the loan of his leggin's, but he wouldn't have 'em. Says they smell of the stockyard, ha--ha! Says they don't wear 'em in England. Listen! He's got on a pair of white duck britches, an' my crikey! they won't be white any longer. He asked Harry for his fourteen-foot stockwhip. Says he was told an 'Awestralian' horse would never budge without one. Only dad was there I'd 'a' put his saddle on Dick Swiveller, an' by jing! we'd 'a' had some sport. We'll knock fun out of him as it is, I reckon. But look alive, girls, or y'll be left behind."

*CHAPTER XV*

*A BUSH RIDE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES*

"Then hey for boot and horse, lad! And round the world away; Young blood will have its course, lad! And every dog his day." KINGSLEY.

The weather in Australia at Christmas is not ideal for riding parties. Midsummer heat and dust, together with hordes of flies, largely countervail the delights of the saddle.