The Bush hath moods and changes, as the seasons rise and fall,
And the men who love the Bushland—they are loyal thro' it all.
A. B. PATERSON.
"The day after to-morrow is the date of the men's dance," Mr. Linton said. "Norah mustn't go in for any wild exertion on that day, as she'll probably want to dance several hundred miles at night. So if you boys want to plan anything, you had better make your arrangements for to-morrow."
"I don't know that I've energy enough to plan anything," said Jim, lazily. He was lying full length on the lawn, his head on Norah. Wally was close by, and Cecil and Mr. Linton occupied basket chairs. Peace would have reigned supreme had not the mosquitoes kept every one busy.
"Any wishes, Cecil?"
"None whatever," said Cecil. "There are no people to go and see, I think you said, Uncle David?"
"No one that would interest you," Mr. Linton said; and Wally and Jim, who had groaned internally with fear of being taken "calling," felt their spirits return.
"My brain's not equal to planning, as I remarked," Jim said. "But if I go anywhere, I'd like to do so on a horse. I want to feel a horse under me again."
"Hear, hear," from Wally, softly.
"Well, I can't go out to-morrow," said the squatter. "I've letters to see to, and Anderson may be out; so you must look after yourselves—which I believe you to be entirely capable of doing. Norah, haven't you any ideas?"
"Loads," said Norah, promptly, "but they're all connected with mosquitoes!" She aimed a vicious blow into space as she spoke, and sighed, before rubbing the bite. "Well, suppose we ride out and boil the billy somewhere along the river? Cecil, would you care for that?"
"Very much," said Cecil, in the tones that always gave the impression that he despised the particular subject under discussion. Norah had quite withdrawn the opinion formed in the first five minutes of their acquaintance, that he was ill mannered—now she bewailed the fact that he was so uniformly and painfully polite.
"Well, if you would—" she said, hesitatingly. "What do you boys think?"
"Grand idea," responded Wally. Norah loved Wally's way; he was always so pleased and interested over any plan that might be formed. Jim was wont to remark that if you arranged to clean out a pigsty, Wally would probably regard it as a gigantic picnic, and enjoy his day hugely. She smiled at him gratefully in the darkness.
"You too, Jim?"
"Rather—anything you like," said her brother. "What horse can I have, Dad?"
Jim had no special horse of his own. His two ponies, Sirdar and Mick, he had outgrown, although they were still up to anything of a lighter weight—the former only inferior to Norah's beloved Bobs. His absences from home were so long that it had not seemed worth while to procure him a special horse, and for several holidays he had been accustomed to ride any of the station mounts. Privately, Jim was not altogether satisfied with the arrangement, although quite admitting its common sense. Now that he had left school he intended to ask his father if he could buy a horse.
"You can try my new purchase, Monarch, if you like," Mr. Linton answered. "He's quite a decent mover—I think you'll like him."
Cecil bit his lip, under cover of the darkness. He coveted a ride on both Bobs and Monarch, and had given hints on the subject, but neither had been taken. Now Jim, nearly three years his junior, was lent Monarch without even having asked for him; while he was still, he presumed, to ride the steady-going Brown Betty, whom he thoroughly despised, in spite of the fact that she had once got rid of him. He registered another notch in his general grudge against Billabong.
Mr. Linton was absolutely ignorant of what passed in his nephew's mind. To give the city boy, with his uncertain seat and heavy hands, anything but a steady horse, never occurred to him; he would have regarded it as little short of inviting disaster to put him on Monarch, thoroughbred and newly broken in as he was; and, of course, no one but Norah ever rode Bobs.
"That's all right," he said, as Jim expressed his pleasure. "And what about you, Wally? You're too long now for Mick, I think."
"Oh, anything you like, sir," said Wally, easily. "I haven't met any bad 'uns on Billabong. Warder, or Brown Betty, or Nan—have you got them all still?"
"They're all here," the squatter said. "Cecil generally rides Betty, and I believe Burton's using old Warder just now. But you can have Nan, if you like."
"Thanks very much," said Wally. "I'll take the shine out of you, young Norah!"
"I'd like to see you," returned Norah. Monarch might beat Bobs or yes, perhaps one other horse she knew of, in a small tree-grown paddock; at the thought of which she smiled happily to herself. But no other horse on Billabong could see the way Bobs went when he was in earnest.
"Well, that's all settled," Mr. Linton said. "I hope you'll have a good day—you're bound to have it hot, so I should advise you to get an early start. If you go as far as the Swamp Paddock, Norah, you might ride round the cattle there, and see if they're settling down—I put the new bullocks there, you know."
"All right, Dad, we'll do it. I like having an object for a ride."
"Same here," said Jim sleepily. "Picnics are asinine things!"
"I don't believe you know much about anything—you're three parts asleep!" said Wally, flinging a cushion at his chum, which Jim caught thankfully, and, remarking that Norah was uncommonly scraggy, adjusted under his head. The result was a vigorous upheaval by the indignant Norah, who declined to be a head-rest for such ingratitude any longer. At this point Mr. Linton discovered that it was time for supper; and the boys, tired after their long journey, were not long in saying goodnight.
Jim came up with Norah, and switched on her light. His eye travelled round the pretty room.
"I don't know what part of home's HOMIEST," he said—"but I always reckon your room runs pretty near it! Blest if I know what it will be like when you're not here, little chap."
Norah rubbed her face against his coat sleeve.
"We don't talk of it," she said. "If we did, I'd—I'd be a horrid coward, Jimmy—boy, and you wouldn't like me a bit!"
"Wouldn't I?" Jim said. "Well, I can't imagine you a coward, anyhow." He bent and kissed her. "Good-night, old kiddie."
They set out in good time next morning, for the sun gave promise of a scorching day.
Billy had the horses ready under the shade of a huge pepper-tree; even there the flies were bad enough to set Monarch and Bobs fretting with irritation, while the two stock horses lashed unceasingly with their tails and stamped in the dust. Nan was a long, handsome brown mare, with two white feet—an old friend of Wally's, who came and patted her and let her rub her worried head against his coat. Cecil mounted Betty and looked on sourly, while Jim walked round Monarch and admired the big black.
"He ought to carry you like a bird, Dad."
"He does; a bit green yet, but he'll mend of that," his father answered. "Now, get away, all of you." He put Norah up and watched, with a silent look of approval, the way Jim handled his impatient steed, taking him quietly, as one treats a fractious baby, and mounting gently. Then he stood under the tree to see them ride down the paddock, valises containing necessaries for the "asinine picnic" strapped on Nan and Betty's saddles. Norah, as the lady of the party, was exempt from carrying burdens, and Monarch brooked no load but his rider.
They made good time across the shadeless paddocks, anxious for the pleasanter conditions along the river bank, where a cattle track wound in and out under the gum trees. It was one of Norah and Jim's favourite rides; they never failed to take it when holidays brought the boy back to Billabong. They pushed along it for some time, eventually finding the slip rails, through which they got into the Swamp Paddock—so called because of a wide marsh in one corner, where black duck and snipe used to come freely. The new cattle had taken to the paddock like old hands. Satisfied with their inspection, Norah and Jim led the way back to the river, where presently they came to an ideal place to camp; a bend thickly shaded, with the river bank shelving down to a sandy beach, where it was easy to get good water.
Wally volunteered to boil the billy, which he accomplished after much vigorous fanning with his hat at the fire. The job took some little time, and if the tea was eventually brewed with water that had not quite reached boiling point, that was a matter between Wally and his conscience—certainly the other members of the party were far too thirsty to be critical! Lunch was lazily discussed close to the water, after which they lay about on the bank and talked of many things. Nobody was inclined to move, for the heat, even at the river, was very great; a still, thunderous day, on which no shade could keep out the moist heat, that seemed, as Wally put it, "to get into your very bones and make them lazy."
At length Jim rolled over.
"Well, I'm off for a bathe," he said. "Coming, Cecil?"
"Oh, yes," Cecil answered, a little doubtfully; while Wally jumped up as a matter of course.
"Ugh!" groaned Norah. "Pigs! Why was I born a girl?"
"So's we could lay ourselves at your feet!" said Wally solemnly, suiting the action to the word, and placing his forehead forcefully in the dust before her.
"M'f!" Norah wrinkled her nose. "It's very nice of you, but I don't quite see what use it would be. Anyhow, I'd far rather go bathing." She huddled on the ground, and looked tragic. "Go—leave me!"
"Sorry, old girl," grinned Jim. "We won't be long."
"Be as long as you like," said the victim of circumstances, cheerfully. "I'm going to sleep."
The three boys disappeared along the bank, finding, apparently, some difficulty in discovering a suitable bathing place, for it was some time before shouts and laughter from a good way off told Norah that they were in the water. She sighed, looking ruefully at the river flowing beneath her, and half decided to go in herself; but her father did not care for her bathing in the open alone, and she gave up the idea and shut her eyes so that she would not see temptation rippling down below. Presently she fell asleep.
She did not know how long it was before she woke. Then she jumped up with a start, thinking, for a moment, that it was dark. The sun had disappeared behind a huge bank of deep-purple cloud that had crept up, blotting out everything. It was breathlessly hot and quite still—not a leaf stirred on a tree, and the birds were quiet.
"Whew!" said Norah. "We're going to have a storm—and a big one!"
She listened. From far up faint calls and laughter still met her ears. It was evident that the boys were finding the water very much to their taste.
"Duffers!" Norah ejaculated. "We'll have the loveliest soaking—and Dad'll be anxious."
She coo-ee'd several times, but no response came. Finally she rose, with a little wrinkle in her brow.
"I guess I'd better saddle up," she said.
The horses were tied up in a clump of trees not far off, the saddles out of reach of their restless feet. Norah saddled Bobs first, and then the two stock horses—which was easy. To get Monarch ready, however, was not such a simple matter: the youngster was uneasy and sweating, and would not keep still for a moment; to get the saddle on and adjust breastplate and rings was a fairly stiff task with a sixteen-hands horse and a groom of fourteen years, hampered by a divided riding skirt. At length the last buckle went home, and Norah gave a relieved sigh.
"Bother you, Monarch!" she said. "You've taken me an awful time. Come on, Bobs."
Leaving the other horses tied up, she mounted and cantered down the bank, calling again and again. An answer came sooner than she had expected, and the three boys, somewhat hastily arrayed, came running through the trees.
"Jimmy, have you seen the weather?" asked his sister, indicating the blackened sky.
"Only a few minutes ago," Jim said, visibly annoyed with himself. "We were diving in a hole with the trees meeting overhead, and the scrub thick all around us—hadn't an idea it was working up for this. Why didn't you call us, you old duffer?"
"I did—but I couldn't make you hear," said Norah, somewhat injured. "Hurry—I've saddled up."
"You have? You didn't saddle Monarch?" asked Jim quickly.
"Yes, he's all ready, and the valises are on. We're in for a ducking, anyway, don't you think, Jim?"
"I think you hadn't any business to saddle Monarch," Jim said, soberly. "I wish you wouldn't do those things, Norah."
"Oh, it was all right." She smiled down at him. "He was only a bit fidgety; I believe he's frightened of the weather, Jim." She looked across at Cecil, seeing that young gentleman, wonderful to relate, with his stock folded awry, and his hair in wild confusion. "Do you mind thunderstorms, Cecil?"
"I—don't care for them much," Cecil panted. Running evidently did not agree with him, and he was finding his tweed riding suit very unfitted for the heat of the day. Jim, jogging easily, clad in white silk shirt, cord breeches and leggings, looked at him pityingly.
"Carry your coat, Cecil?" he sang out.
"No, thank you. I'd rather wear it," said Cecil, who disapproved of being coatless at any time, and had looked with marked disfavour at Jim and Wally as they set off in the morning.
"Stupid donkey!" Jim muttered, under his breath. "Ah, there are the horses!"
He made for Betty at once, and tossed the breathless Cecil into her saddle, advising him to ride on quickly.
Wally was up in a twinkling; but to mount Monarch was no such easy matter, for the black horse was dancing with restlessness, and a low growl of thunder far to the west evidently terrified him. Finally, with a quick movement, Jim was in the saddle, whereat Monarch promptly reared. He came down, and tried to get his head between his legs, but the boy was too quick for him, and presently steadied him sufficiently to move away in the wake of the others.
"Go on!" Jim shouted. "Don't lose a minute!"
They went down the river bank at a hand gallop, chafing now and then at the necessity of striking away from the track to find gates or slip-rails, as one paddock followed another. At first Monarch gave Jim all he knew to hold him, and at the gates Wally and Norah had to do all the work, for the black thoroughbred was too impatient to stand an instant, and threatened to buck a score of times. Jim watched the sky anxiously, very disgusted with himself. He knew they had no chance of getting home dry, but at least they must be out of the timber before the storm broke. It was coming very near now—the thunder was more frequent, and jagged lightning tore rents in the inky curtain that covered the sky. He took Monarch by the head, and sent him tearing along the track, passing the boys—Wally riding hard on Nan, and Cecil sitting back on Betty with a pale face. Before him Bobs was galloping freely, Norah riding with her hands well down, and on her face a smile that was like a child's laugh of sheer happiness. Norah loved thunderstorms; they seemed to call to something in her nature that never failed to respond. She glanced up at Jim merrily as he passed her.
"Grand, isn't it?" she said. Then her face changed. "He isn't getting away with you, Jim?"
"Not he!" said her brother, grinning. "But we've got to get out of this jolly soon—hurry your old crock, Norah!" Norah's indignant heel smote Bobs, and they raced neck and neck for a moment.
They swung out of the trees just in time, the plain clear for home before them. Almost simultaneously, the storm broke. There was a mad flash of lightning across the gloom, and then a rattling peal of thunder that rang round the sky and finished with a tremendous crack overhead. The black horse stopped suddenly, wild with terror. Then his head went down, and he bucked.
Norah and Wally pulled up, regardless of the rain beginning to fall in torrents. Monarch was swaying to and fro in mad paroxysms, trying to get his head between his knees, his back humped in an arch, all his being centred in the effort to get rid of the weight on his back, and the iron in his mouth, and the control that kept him near that terrible convulsion of nature going on overhead. Jim was motionless, each hand like iron on the rein—yet with gentleness, for he knew the great black brute was only a baby after all, and a badly frightened baby at that. Cecil, coming by on Betty, his face white, looked aghast at the struggle between horse and rider, and fled on homewards. The thunder pealed, and the lightning lit the sky in forked darts.
Possibly the rain steadied Monarch, or sense came back to him through Jim's voice. He stopped suddenly, planting all four feet wide apart on the ground. Jim patted his neck, and spoke to him, and the tension went out of the big horse. He stood trembling a little.
"Slip along," nodded Jim to Norah.
Bobs and Nan went off together. Behind them, Monarch broke into a canter, obedient once more.
Five minutes later they were at the stables, Billy out in the wet to take the horses. The storm was raging still, but there were coolness and refreshment in the air. Billy grinned at the three soaked riders as they slipped to the ground, and then at Brown Betty, trotting down the hill in the rain. There was no sign of Cecil, who had fled indoors.
"Him plenty 'fraid," said the black retainer, his grin widening. "Him run like emu!" His eagle gaze dwelt on Monarch, who was still trembling and excited.
"Been buck?" he asked, his eyes round.
"Plenty!" Jim laughed. "All right, Billy, I'll let him go myself."
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