We of the Never-Never Part 20

"A cow's tail," he said, "is wanting in expression and takes no interest in its owner's hopes and fears," and suggested a dog's tail as a more happy comparison. "Has she not wagged along behind her owner all afternoon?" he asked, "drooping in sympathy whenever his hopes came to nothing; stiffening expectantly at other times, and is even now vibrating with pleasure in this his hour of triumph."

Bush-folk being old fas.h.i.+oned, no one raised any objection to the term "owner," as Dan chuckled over the amendment.

After thinking the matter well out, Dan decided he was "what you might call a tail-less tyke." "We've had to manage without any wagging, haven't we, Brown, old chap?" he said, unconscious of the note in his voice that told of lonely years and vague longings.

As Brown acknowledged this reference to himself, by stirring the circle of hairs that expressed his sentiments to the world, Dan further proved the expansiveness of the Maluka's simile.

"You might have noticed," he went on, "that when a dog does own a tail he generally manages to keep it out of the fight somehow." (In marriage as Dan had known it, strong men had stood between their women and the sharp cuffs and blows of life; "keeping her out of the fight somehow.") Then the procession preparing to re-form, as the Maluka, catching Roper, mounted me again, Dan completely rounded off the simile. "Dogs seem able to wrestle through somehow without a tail," he said, "but I reckon a tail 'ud have a bit of a job getting along without a dog." As usual, Dan's whimsical fancy had burrowed deep into the heart of a great truth; for, in spite of what "tails" may say, how few there are of us who have any desire to "get along without the dog."

We left the water-hole about five o'clock, and riding into the Stirling camp at sundown, found the Dandy there, busy at the fire, with a dozen or so of large silver fish spread out on green leaves beside him.

"Good enough!" Dan cried at the first sight of them, and the Dandy explained that the boys had caught "shoals of 'em" at his dinner-camp at the Fish Hole, a.s.suring us that the water there was "stiff with 'em."

But the Dandy had been busy elsewhere. "Good enough!" Dan had said at the sight of the fish, and pointing to a billy full of clear, sweet water that was just thinking of boiling, the Maluka echoed the sentiment if not the words.

"Dug a soakage along the creek a bit and got it," the Dandy explained; and as we blessed him for his thoughtfulness, he lifted up a clean cloth and displayed a pile of crisp Johnny cakes. "Real slap up ones," he a.s.sured us, breaking open one of the crisp, spongy rolls. It was always a treat to be in camp with the Dandy: everything about the man was so crisp and clean and wholesome.

As we settled down to supper, the Fizzer came shouting through the ant-hills, and, soon after, the Quiet Stockman rode into camp. Our Fizzer was always the Fizzer. "Managed to escape without help?" he shouted in welcome as he came to the camp fire, alluding to his promise "to do a rescue"; and then he surveyed our supper. "Struck it lucky, as usual," he declared, helping himself to a couple of fish from the fire and breaking open one of the crisp Johnny cakes. "Can't beat grilled fish and hot rolls by much, to say nothin' of tea." The Fizzer was one of those happy, natural people who always find the supply exactly suited to the demand.

But if our Fizzer was just our Fizzer, the Quiet Stockman was changing every day. He was still the Quiet Stockman, and always would be, speaking only when he had something to say, but he was learning that he had much to say that was worth saying, or, rather, much that others found worth listening to; and that knowledge was squaring his shoulders and bringing a new ring into his voice.

Around the camp fires we touched on any subject that suggested itself, but at the Stirling that night, four of us being Scotch, we found Scotland and Scotchmen an inexhaustible topic, and before we turned in were all of Jack's opinion, that "you can't beat the Scots." Even the Dandy and the Fizzer were converted; and Jack having realised that there are such things as Scotchwomen--Scotch-hearted women--a new bond was established between us.

No one had much sleep that night, and before dawn there was no doubt left in our mind about the outside cattle coming in. It seemed as though every beast on the run must have come in to the Stirling that night for a drink. Every water-hole out-bush is as the axis of a great circle, cattle pads narrowing into it like the spokes of a wheel, from every point of the compa.s.s, and along these pads around the Stirling mob after mob of cattle came in in single file, treading carelessly, until each old bull leader, scenting the camp, gave its low, deep, drawn-out warning call that told of danger at hand. After that rang out, only an occasional snapping twig betrayed the presence of the cattle as they crept cautiously in for the drink that must be procured at all hazards.

But after the drink the only point to be considered was safety, and in a cras.h.i.+ng stampede they rushed out into the timber. Till long after midnight they were at it, and as Brown and I were convinced that every mob was coming straight over our net, we spent an uneasy night. To make matters worse, just as the camp was settling down to a deep sleep after the cattle had finally subsided, Dan's camp reveille rang out.

It was barely three o'clock, and the Fizzer raised an indignant protest of: "Moonrise, you bally a.s.s."

"Not it," Dan persisted, unfortunately bent on argument; "not at this quarter of the moon, and besides it was moonlight all evening," and, that being a strong peg to hang his argument on, investigating heads appeared from various nets. "Seem to think I don't know dawn when I see it," Dan added, full of scorn for the camp's want of observation; but before we had time to wither before his scorn, Jack turned the tables for us with his usual quiet finality. "That's the west you're looking at," he said.

"The moon's just set"; and the curtain of Dan's net dropped instantly.

"Told you he was a bally a.s.s," the Fizzer shouted in his delight, and promising Dan something later on, he lay down to rest.

Dan, however, was hopelessly roused. "Never did that before," gurgled out of his net, just as we were dropping off once more; but a withering request from the Dandy to "gather experience somewhere else," silenced him till dawn, when he had the wisdom to rise without further reveille.

After breakfast we all separated again: the Dandy to his yard-building at the Yellow Hole, and the rest of us, with the cattle boys, in various directions, to see where the cattle were, each party with its team of horses, and carrying in its packs a bluey, an oilskin, a mosquito net, a plate, knife, and fork apiece, as well as a "change of duds" and a bite of tucker for all: the bite of tucker to be replenished with a killer when necessary, the change of duds to be washed by the boys also when necessary, and the plate to serve for all courses, the fastidious turning it over for the damper and jam course.

The Maluka spent one day with Dan beyond the "frontgate"--his tail wagging along behind as a matter of course--another day pa.s.sed boundary-riding, inspecting water-holes, and doubling back to the Dandy's camp to see his plans; then, picking up the Quiet Stockman, we struck out across country, riding four abreast through the open forest-lands, and were camped at sundown, in the thick of the cattle, miles from the Dandy's camp, and thirty miles due north from the homestead. "Whatever do you do with your time?" asked the South folk.

Dan was in high spirits: cattle were coming in everywhere, and another beautiful permanent "water" had been discovered in unsuspected ambush.

To know all the waters of a run is important; for they take the part of fences, keeping the cattle in certain localities; and as cattle must stay within a day's journey or so of water, an unknown water is apt to upset a man's calculations.

As the honour of finding the hole was all Dan's, it was named DS. in his honour, and we had waited beside it while he cut his initials deep into the trunk of a tree, deploring the rustiness of his education as he carved. The upright stroke of the D was simplicity itself, but after that complications arose.

"It's always got me dodged which way to turn the darned thing," Dan said, scratching faint lines both ways, and standing off to decide the question. We advised turning to the right, and the D was satisfactorily completed, but S proved the "dead finish," and had to be wrestled with separately.

"Can't see why they don't name a chap with something that's easily wrote," Dan said, as we rode forward, with our united team of horses and boys swinging along behind us, and M and T and O were quoted as examples.

"Reading's always had me dodged," he explained. "Left school before I had time to get it down and wrestle with it."

"There's nothing like reading and writing," the Quiet Stockman broke in, with an earnestness that was almost startling; and as he sat that evening in the firelight poring over the "Cardinal's Snuff-box," I watched him with a new interest.

Jack's reading was very puzzling. He always had the same book--that "Cardinal's Snuff-box"--and pored over it with a strange persistence, that could not have been inspired by the book. There was no expression on his face of lively interest or pleasure, just an intent, dogged persistence; the strong, firm chin set as though he were colt-breaking.

Gradually, as I watched him that night, the truth dawned on me: the man was trying to teach himself to read. The "Cardinal's Snuff-box"! and the only clue to the mystery, a fair knowledge of the alphabet learned away in a childish past. In truth, it takes a deal to "beat the Scots," or, what is even better, to make them feel that they are beaten.

As I watched, full of admiration, for the proud, strong character of the man, he looked up suddenly, and, in a flash, knew that I knew. Flus.h.i.+ng hotly, he rose, and "thought he would turn in "; and Dan, who had been discussing education most of the evening, decided to "bottle off a bit of sleep too for next day's use," and opened up his swag.

"There's one thing about not being too good at the reading trick," he said, surveying his permanent property: "a chap doesn't need to carry books round with him to put in the spare time."

"Exactly," the Maluka laughed. He was Iying on his back, with an open book face downwards on his chest, looking up at the stars. He always had a book with him, but, book-lover as he was, it rarely got farther than his chest when we were in camp. Life out-bush is more absorbing than books.

"Of course reading's handy enough for them as don't lay much stock on education," Dan owned, stringing his net between his mosquito-pegs, then, struck with a new idea, he "wondered why the missus never carries books round. Any one 'ud think she wasn't much at the reading trick herself,"

he said. "Never see you at it, missus, when I'm round."

"Lay too much stock on education," I answered, and, chuckling, Dan retired into his net, little guessing that when he was "round," his own self, his quaint outlook on life, and the underlying truth of his inexhaustible, whimsical philosophy, were infinitely more interesting than the best book ever written.

But the Quiet Stockman seemed perplexed at the answer. "I thought reading 'ud learn you most things," he said, hesitating beside his own net; and before we could speak, the corner of Dan's net was lifted and his head reappeared. "I've learned a deal of things in my time," he chuckled, "but READING never taught me none of 'em." Then his head once more disappeared, and we tried to explain matters to the Quiet Stockman.

The time was not yet ready for the offer of a helping hand.

At four in the morning we were roused by a new camp reveille of Star-light. "Nothing like getting off early when mustering's the game,"

Dan announced. By sun-up the musterers were away, and by sundown we were coming in to Bitter Springs, driving a splendid mob of cattle before us.

The Maluka and I had had nothing to do with the actual gathering in of the mob, for the missus had not "shaped" too well at her first muster and preferred travelling with the pack teams when active mustering was in hand. Ignominious perhaps, but safe, and safety counts for something in this world; anyway, for the poor craven souls. Riding is one thing; but cras.h.i.+ng through timber and undergrowth, dodging overhanging branches, leaping fallen logs, and stumbling and plunging over crab-holed and rat-burrowed areas, to say nothing of charging bulls turning up at unexpected corners, is quite another story.

"Not cut out for the job," was Dan's verdict, and the Maluka covered my retreat by saying that he had more than enough to do without taking part in the rounding up of cattle. Had mustering been one of a manager's duties, I'm afraid the house would have "come in handy" to pack the dog away in with its chain.

As the yard of the Springs came into view, we were making plans for the morrow, and admiring the fine mattress swinging before us on the tails of the cattle; but there were cattle buyers at the Springs who upset all our plans, and left no time for the bang-tailing of the mob in hand.

The buyers were Chinese drovers, authorised by their Chinese masters to buy a mob of bullocks. "Want big mob," they said. "Cas.h.!.+ Got money here," producing a signed cheque ready for filling in.

A Chinese buyer always pays "cash" for a mob--by cheque--generally taking care to withdraw all cash from the bank before the cheque can be presented, and, as a result, a dishonoured cheque is returned to the station, reaching the seller some six or eight weeks after the sale. Six or eight weeks more then pa.s.s in demanding explanations, and six or eight more obtaining them, and after that just as many more as Chinese slimness can arrange for before a settlement is finally made. "Cash," the drover repeated insinuatingly at the Maluka's unfathomable "Yes ?" Then, certain that he was inspired, added, "Spot Cas.h.!.+"

But already the Maluka had decided on a plan of campaign and, echoing the drover's "Spot Cash," began negotiations for a sale; and within ten minutes the drovers retired to their camp, bound to take the mob when delivered, and inwardly marvelling at the Maluka's simple trust.

Dan was appalled at it; but, always deferential where the Maluka's business insight was concerned, only "hoped he knew that them chaps needed a bit of watching."

"Their cash does," the Maluka corrected, to Dan's huge delight; and, leaving the musterers to go on with their branding work, culling each mob of its prime bullocks as they mustered, he set about finding some one to "watch the cash," and four days later rode into the Katherine Settlement, with Brown and the missus, as usual, at his heels.

We had spent one week out-bush, visiting the four points of the compa.s.s, half a day at the homestead packing a fresh swag; three days riding into the Katherine, having found incidental entertainment on the road, and on the fourth day were entering into an argument by wire with Chinese slimness. "The monotony would kill me," declared the townsfolk.

On the road in we had met the Village Settlement homeward bound--the bonnie baby still riding on its mother's knee, and smiling out of the depths of its sunbonnet; but every one else was longing for the bush.

Darwin had proved all unsatisfying bustle and fl.u.s.ter, and the trackless sea, a wonder that inspired strange sickness when travelled over.

For four days the Maluka argued with Chinese slimness before he felt satisfied that his cash was in safe keeping while the Wag and others did as they wished with our spare time. Then, four days later, again Cheon and Tiddle'ums were hailing us in welcome at the homestead.

But their joy was short-lived, for as soon as the homestead affairs had been seen to, and a fresh swag packed, we started out-bush again to look for Dan and his bullocks, and, coming on their tracks at our first night camp, by following them up next morning we rode into the Dandy's camp at the Yellow Hole well after midday, to find ourselves surrounded by the stir and bustle of a cattle camp.

"Whatever do you do with your time?" ask the townsfolk, sure that life out-bush is stagnation, but forgetting that life is life wherever it may be lived.