Wally disentangled his hook gravely, while the others would have laughed more heartily but for fear of frightening the fish.
“Well, I’m blessed!” said the captor at length, surveying the prize with his nose in the air. “A blooming old boot! Been there since the year one, I should think, by the look of it.”
“I thought you had a whale at the very least,” grinned Harry.
“Well, I’ve broken my duck, anyhow, and that’s more than any of you others can say!” Wally laughed. “Time enough for you to grin when you’ve caught something yourselves—even if it’s only an old boot! It’s a real old stager and no mistake. I wonder how it came in here.”
“Some poor old beggar of a swaggie, I expect,” Jim said. “He didn’t chuck it away until it was pretty well done, did he? Look at the holes in the uppers—and there’s no sole left to speak of.”
“Do you see many tramps here?” Harry asked.
“Not many—we’re too far from a road,” Jim replied. “Of course there are a certain number who know of the station, and are sure of getting tucker there—and a job if they want one—not that many of them do, the lazy beggars. Most of them would be injured if you asked them to chop a bit of wood in return for a meal, and some of them threaten to set the place on fire if they don’t get all they want.”
“My word!” said Wally. “Did they ever do it?”
“Once—two years ago,” Jim answered. “A fellow came one hot evening in January. We’d had a long spell of heat, and all our meat had gone bad that day; there was hardly a bit in the place, and of course they couldn’t kill a beast till evening. About the middle of the day this chap turned up and asked for tucker.
“Mrs. Brown gave him bread and flour and tea and some cake—a real good haul for any swaggie. It was too good for this fellow, for he immediately turned up his proud nose and said he wanted meat. Mrs. Brown explained that she hadn’t any to give him; but he evidently didn’t believe her, said it was our darned meanness and, seeing no men about, got pretty insulting. At last he tried to force his way past Mrs. Brown into the kitchen.”
“Did he get in?” asked Wally.
“Nearly—not quite, though. Dad and Norah and I had been out riding, and we came home, past the back yard, in the nick of time. We couldn’t hear what the fellow was saying to Mrs. Brown, but his attitude was enough to make us pull up, and as we did so we saw him try to shove her aside. She was plucky enough and banged the door in his face, but he got his foot in the crack, so that it couldn’t shut, and began to push it open.
“Dad slipped off his horse gently. He made a sign to us to keep quiet and went across the yard, and we saw him shake the lash of his stockwhip loose. You can just fancy how Norah and I were dancing with joy!
“Dad was just near the verandah when we saw the door give. Poor old Brownie was getting the worst of it. We heard the fellow call out something—a threat—and Dad’s arm went up, and the stockwhip came down like a flash across the man’s shoulder He gave one yell! You never heard such an amazed and terrified roar in your life!” and Jim chuckled with joy at the recollection.
“He turned on Dad and jumped at him, but he got another one with the whip that made him pause, and then Dad caught him and shook him like a rat. Mr. Swaggie was limp enough when it was over.
“‘I’ve a very good mind to give you in charge!’ Dad said—he was simply furious. It made a fellow feel pretty bad to see poor old Brownie’s white face in the doorway, and to think what a fright she had had.
“The swaggie turned a very ugly look on Dad.
“‘You give me in charge, and I’ll precious quick have you up for assault!’ he said.
“Dad laughed.
“‘As for that, you can do exactly as you choose,’ he said. ‘I’ll be quite ready to answer for thrashing a cur like you. However, you’re not worth carting seventeen miles to Cunjee, so you can go—the quicker the better.”
“And he cleared, I suppose?” Wally asked.
“He just did—went like a redshank. But when he got outside the gate and a bit away he stopped and turned round and let fly at Dad—such a volley of threats and abuse you never heard. It finished up with something about the grass; we didn’t quite understand what; but we remembered it later, and then it was clearer to us. However, he didn’t stop to explain, as Dad turned the dogs loose. They lost no time, and neither did the swaggie. He left the place at about the rate of a mile a minute!”
Jim paused.
“Thought I had a bite,” he said, pulling up his line. “Bother it! The bait’s gone! Chuck me a worm, young Wally.” He impaled the worm and flung his line out again.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. Norah and I were a bit scared about the swaggie, and wondered what he’d try to do; but Dad only laughed at us. It never entered his head that the brute would really try to have his revenge. Of course it would have been easy enough to have had him watched off the place, but Dad didn’t even think of it. He knows better now.
“I waked up early next morning hearing someone yelling outside. It was only just light. I slipped out of my window and ran into the yard, and the first thing I saw was smoke. It was coming from the west, a great cloud of it, with plenty of wind to help it along. It was one of those hot autumn mornings—you know the kind. Make you feel anyhow.”
“Who was yelling?” asked Harry.
“One of Morrison’s men—he owns the land adjoining ours. This fellow was coo-eeing for all he was worth.
“‘You’d better rouse your men out quick ’n lively,’ he sang out. ‘There’s a big grass fire between us and you. All our chaps are workin’ at it; but I don’t fancy they can keep it back in this wind.’
“I just turned and ran.
“The big bell we use for summoning the men to their meals hangs under the kitchen verandah and I made a bee-line for it. There seemed plenty of rocks and bits of glass about, and my bare feet got ’em all—at least I thought so—but there wasn’t time to think much. Morrison’s chap had galloped off as soon as he gave his news. I caught hold of the bell-pull and worked it all I knew!
“You should have seen them tumble out! In about half a minute the place was like a jumpers’ nest that you’ve stirred up with a stick. Dad came out of the back door in his pyjamas, Norah came scudding along the verandah, putting on her kimono as she ran, Brownie and the other servants appeared at their windows, and the men came tumbling out of the barracks and the hut like so many rabbits.
“Dad was annoyed.
“‘What are you doing, you young donkey?’ he sang out.
“‘Look over there!’ I says, tugging the bell.
“Dad looked. It didn’t take him long to see what was up when he spied that big cloud of smoke.
“‘Great Scott!’ he shouted. ‘Jim, get Billy to run the horses up. Where are you all? Burrows, Field, Henry! Get out the water-cart—quick. All of you get ready fire-beaters. Dress yourselves—quickly!’ (You could see that was quite an afterthought on Dad’s part.) Then he turned and fled inside to dress.”
“How ripping!” Wally said, wriggling on the log with joy.
“Ripping, do you call it?” said Jim indignantly. “You try it for yourself, young Wally, and see. Fire’s not much of a joke when you’re fighting it yourself, I can tell you. Well, Dad was out again in about two shakes, ready for the fray, and you can bet the rest of us didn’t linger long. Billy had the horses up almost as soon, and every one got his own. Things were a bit merry in the stockyard, I can tell you, and heels did fly.
“After all, Norah here was the first mounted. Bobs was in the stable, you see, and Norah had him saddled before any of us had put our bridles on. Goodness knows how she dressed. I guess it wasn’t much of a toilet!”
Jim ducked suddenly, and a chip hurled by Norah flew over his head and splashed into the water.
“Get out—you’ll frighten the fish!” he said, grinning. “My yarn, old girl.”
“Might have had the sense to keep me out of it,” said Norah impolitely.
“You be jiggered,” said Jim affectionately. “Anyhow, boys, you should have seen Dad’s face when Norah trotted over from the stable. He was just girthing up old Bosun, and I was wrestling with Sirdar, who didn’t want his crupper on.
“‘My dear child,’ Dad said, ‘get off that pony and go back to bed. You can’t think I could allow you to come out?’
“Poor old Norah’s face fell about a foot. She begged and argued, but she might as well have spared herself the trouble. At last Dad said she could ride out in the first two paddocks, but no nearer the fire, she had to be content with that. I think she was pretty near mopping her eyes.”
“Wasn’t,” said Norah indistinctly.
“Well, we went off. All of us had fire-beaters. You know we always have them ready; and Field was driving the water-cart—it always stands ready filled for use. We just galloped like mad. Dad didn’t wait for any gates—Bosun can jump anything—and he just went straight across country. Luckily, there was no stock in the paddocks near the house, except that in one small paddock were about twenty valuable prize sheep. However, the fire was so far off that we reckoned they were safe, and so we turned our attention to the fire.
“We left old Norah in the second paddock, looking as miserable as a bandicoot. Dad made her promise not to meddle with the fire. ‘Promise me you won’t try any putting out on your own account,’ he said; and Norah promised very reluctantly. I was jolly sorry you were out of it, you know, old kid,” said Jim reflectively; and Norah gave him a little smile.
“We made great time across the paddocks,” Jim continued. “Dad was ever so far ahead, of course, but our contingent, that had to go round by the gates, didn’t do so badly. Billy was on Mick, and he and I had a go for the lead across the last paddock.”
“Who won?” asked Harry.
“Me,” said Jim ungrammatically. “When we got into the smoke we had to go round a bit, or we’d have gone straight into the fire. We hung up the horses in a corner that had been burnt round, and was safe from more fire, and off we went. There were ever so many men fighting it; all Morrison’s fellows, and a lot from other places as well. The fire had started right at our boundary, and had come across a two-hundred acre paddock like a shot. Then a little creek checked it a bit, and let the fighters have a show.
“There were big trees blazing everywhere, and stumps and logs, and every few minutes the fire would get going again in some ferns or long grass, and go like mischief, and half a dozen men after it, to stop it. It had got across the creek, and there was a line of men on the bank keeping it back. Some others were chopping down the big, blazing, dead trees, that were simply showering sparks all round. The wind was pretty strong, and took burning leaves and sticks ever so far and started the fire in different places. Three fellows on ponies were doing nothing but watch for these flying firebrands, galloping after them and putting them out as they fell.”
Jim paused.
“Say you put your hook in the water, Wally, old chap,” he suggested.
Wally looked and blushed. In the excitement of the moment he had unconsciously pulled up his line until the bait dangled helplessly in the air, a foot above the water. The party on the log laughed at the expense of Wally, and Jim proceeded.
“Father and four other men came across the creek and sang out to us—
“‘We’re going back a bit to burn a break!’ they said. ‘Come along.’
“We all went back about a hundred yards from the creek and lit the grass, spreading out in a long line across the paddock. Then every one kept his own little fire from going in the wrong direction, and kept it burning back towards the creek, of course preventing any logs or trees from getting alight. It was pretty tough work, the smoke was so bad, but at last it was done, and a big, burnt streak put across the paddock. Except for flying bits of lighted stuff there wasn’t much risk of the fire getting away from us when once we had got that break to help us. You see, a grass fire isn’t like a real bush fire. It’s a far more manageable beast. It’s when you get fire in thick scrub that you can just make up your mind to stand aside and let her rip!”
Jim pulled up his book and examined his bait carefully.
“Fish seem off us,” he said.
“That all the yarn?” Harry asked.
“No, there’s more, if you’re not sick of it.”
“Well, fire away,” Wally said impatiently.
Jim let his sinker go down gently until it settled in comfort in the soft mud at the bottom.
“This is where I come to Norah,” he said.
That young lady turned a lively red.
“If you’re going to tell all that bosh about me, I’m off,” she said, disgustedly. “Good-bye. You can call me when you’ve finished.”
“Where are you off to, Norah?” inquired Harry.
“Somewhere to fish—I’m tired of you old gossips—” Norah elevated a naturally tilted nose as she wound up her tackle and rose to her feet. She made her way along the log past the three boys until she reached the land, and, scrambling up the bank, vanished in the scrub. Presently they saw her reappear at a point a little lower down, where she ensconced herself in the roots of a tree that was sticking out of the bank, and looked extremely unsafe. She flung her line in below her perch.
“Hope she’s all right,” Harry said uneasily.
“You bet. Norah knows what she’s about,” Jim said calmly. “She can swim like a fish anyhow!”
“Well, go on with your yarn,” urged Wally.
“Well—I told you how we stopped the fire at the little creek, didn’t I? We thought it was pretty safe after we had burnt such a good break, and the men with axes had chopped down nearly all the big trees that were alight, so that they couldn’t spread the fire. We reckoned we could sit down and mop our grimy brows and think what fine, brave, bold heroes we were! Which we did.
“There was one big tree the men couldn’t get down. It was right on a bit of a hill, near the bank of the creek—a big brute of a tree, hollow for about twelve feet, and I don’t know how high, but I’ll bet it was over a hundred and fifty feet. It got alight from top to bottom, and, my word, didn’t it blaze!
“The men tried to chop it down, but it was too hot a job even for a salamander. We could only watch it, and it took a lot of watching, because it was showering sparks and bits of wood, and blazing limbs and twigs in every direction. Lots of times they blew into the dead grass beyond our break, and it meant galloping to put them out.
“The wind had been pretty high all the time, and it got up suddenly to a regular gale. It caught this old tree and fairly whisked its burning limbs off. They flew ever so far. We thought we had them all out, when suddenly Dad gave a yell.
“There was a little, deep gully running at right angles to the creek, and right through the paddocks up to the house. In winter it was a creek, but now it was dry as a bone, and rank with dead grass at the bottom. As we looked we saw smoke rise from this gully, far away, in the home paddock.
“‘My Shropshires!’ said Dad, and he made a run for Bosun.
“How we did tear! I never thought old Dad could run so hard! It seemed miles to the corner where the horses were, and ages before we got on them and were racing for the home paddock. And all the time the smoke was creeping along that beastly gully, and we knew well enough that, tear as we might, we couldn’t be in time.
“You see, the valuable sheep were in a paddock, where this gully ended. It wasn’t very near the house, and no one might see the fire before every sheep was roasted. We had only just got them. Dad had imported some from England and some from Tasmania, and I don’t know how much they hadn’t cost.”
“Weren’t you afraid for the house as well?” asked Harry.
“No. There was a big ploughed paddock near the house; it would have taken a tremendous fire to get over that and the orchard and garden. We only worried about the Shropshires.
“I got the lead away, but Dad caught me up pretty soon. Between us and the sheep paddock there were only wire fences, which he wouldn’t take Bosun over, so he couldn’t race away from the rest of us this time.
“We might as well take it easy,’ he said, ‘for all the good we can do. The sheep nearly live in that gully.’
“All the same, we raced. The wind had gone down by now, so the fire couldn’t travel as fast as it had done in the open ground. There was a long slope leading down to the gully, and as we got to this we could see the whole of the little paddock, and there wasn’t a sheep in sight. Every blessed one was in the gully, and the fire was three-parts of the way along it!
“Roast mutton!’ I heard Dad say under his breath.
“Then we saw Norah. She came racing on Bobs to the fence of the paddock near the head of the gully—much nearer the fire than we were. We saw her look at the fire and into the gully, and I reckon we all knew she was fighting with her promise to Dad about not tackling the fire. But she saw the sheep before we could. They had run from the smoke along the gully till they came to the head of it, where it ended with pretty steep banks all round. By that time they were thoroughly dazed, and there they would have stayed until they were roasted. Sheep are stupid brutes at any time, but in smoke they’re just idiots!
“Norah gave only one look. Then she slipped off Bobs and left him to look after himself, and she tore down into the gully.”
“Oh, Jim, go on!” said Wally.
“I’m going,” said Jim affably.
“Dad gave one shout as Norah disappeared into the gully. ‘Go back, my darling!’ he yelled, forgetting that he was so far off that he might as well have shouted to the moon. Then he gave a groan, and dug his spurs into Bosun. I had mine as far as they’d go in Sirdar already!
“The smoke rolled on up the gully and in a minute it had covered it all up. I thought it was all up with Norah, too, and old Burrows behind me was sobbing for all he was worth. We raced and tore and yelled!
“Then we saw a sheep coming up out of the smoke at the end of the gully. Another followed, and another, and then more, until every blessed one of the twenty was there (though we didn’t stop to count ’em then, I can tell you!) Last of all—it just seemed years—came Norah!
“We could hear her shouting at the sheep before we saw her. They were terribly hard to move. She banged them with sticks, and the last old ram she fairly kicked up the hill. They were just out of the gully when the fire roared up it, and a minute or so after that we got to her.
“Poor little kid; she was just black, and nearly blind with the smoke. It was making her cry like fun,” said Jim, quite unconscious of his inappropriate simile. “I don’t know if it was smoke in his case, but so was Dad. We put the fire out quick enough; it was easy work to keep it in the gully. Indeed, Dad never looked at the fire, or the sheep either. He just jumped off Bosun, and picked Norah up and held her as if she was a baby, and she hugged and hugged him. They’re awfully fond of each other, Dad and Norah.”
“And were the sheep all right?” Harry asked.
“Right as rain; not one of the black-faced beauties singed. It was a pretty close thing, you know,” Jim said reminiscently. “The fire was just up to Norah as she got the last sheep up the hill; there was a hole burnt in the leg of her riding skirt. She told me afterwards she made up her mind she was going to die down in that beastly hole.”
“My word, you must have been jolly proud of her!” Wally exclaimed. “Such a kid, too!”
“I guess we were pretty proud,” Jim said quietly. “All the people about made no end of a fuss about her, but Norah never seemed to think a pennyworth about it. Fact is, her only thought at first was that Dad would think she had broken her promise to him. She looked up at him in the first few minutes, with her poor, swollen old eyes. ‘I didn’t forget my promise, Dad, dear,’ she said. ‘I never touched the fire—only chased your silly old sheep!’”
“Was that the end of the fire?” Harry asked.
“Well, nearly. Of course we had to watch the burning logs and stumps for a few days, until all danger of more fires was over, and if there’d been a high wind in that time we might have had trouble. Luckily there wasn’t any wind at all, and three days after there came a heavy fall of rain, which made everything safe. We lost about two hundred and fifty acres of grass, but in no time the paddock was green again, and the fire only did it good in the long run. We reckoned ourselves uncommonly lucky over the whole thing, though if Norah hadn’t saved the Shropshires we’d have had to sing a different tune. Dad said he’d never shut up so much money in one small paddock again!”
Jim bobbed his float up and down despairingly.
“This is the most fishless creek!” he said. “Well, the only thing left to tell you is where the swagman came in.”
“Oh, by Jove,” Harry said, “I forgot the swaggie.”
“Was it his fault the fire started?” inquired Wally.
“Rather! He camped under a bridge on the road that forms our boundary the night Dad cleared him off the place, and the next morning, very early, he deliberately lit our grass in three places, and then made off. He’d have got away, too, and nobody would have known anything about it, if it hadn’t been for Len Morrison. You chaps haven’t met Len, have you? He’s a jolly nice fellow, older than me, I guess he’s about sixteen now—perhaps seventeen.
“Len had a favourite cow, a great pet of his. He’d petted her as a calf and she’d follow him about like a dog. This cow was sick—they found her down in the paddock and couldn’t move her, so they doctored her where she was. Len was awfully worried about her, and used to go to her late at night and first thing in the morning.
“He went out to the cow on this particular morning about daylight. She was dead and so he didn’t stay; and he was riding back when he saw the swag-man lighting our grass. It was most deliberately done. Len didn’t go after him then. He galloped up to his own place and gave the alarm, and then he and one of their men cleared out after the brute.”
“Did they catch him?” Wally’s eyes were dancing, and his sinker waved unconsciously in the air.
“They couldn’t see a sign of him,” Jim said. “The road was a plain, straight one—you chaps know it—the one we drove home on from the train. No cover anywhere that would hide so much as a goat—not even you, Wal! They followed it up for a couple of miles, and then saw that he must have gone across country somewhere. There was mighty little cover there, either. The only possible hiding-place was along the creek.
“He was pretty cunning—my word, he was! He’d started up the road—Len had seen him—and then he cut over the paddock at an angle, back to the creek. That was why they couldn’t find any tracks when they started up the creek from the road, and they made sure he had given them the slip altogether.
“Len and the other fellow, a chap called Sam Baker, pegged away up the creek as hard as they could go, but feeling pretty blue about catching the swaggie. Len was particularly wild, because he’d made so certain he could lay his hands on the fellow, and if he hadn’t been sure, of course he’d have stayed to help at the fire, and he didn’t like being done out of everything! They could understand not finding any tracks.
“‘Of course it’s possible he’s walked in the water,’ Baker said.
“‘We’d have caught him by now if he had,’ Len said—‘he couldn’t get along quickly in the water. Anyhow, if I don’t see anything of him before we get to the next bend, I’m going back to the fire.’
“They were nearly up to the bend, and Len was feeling desperate, when he saw a boot-mark half-way down the bank on the other side. He was over like a shot—the creek was very shallow—and there were tracks as plain as possible, leading down to the water!
“You can bet they went on then!
“They caught him a bit farther up. He heard them coming, and left his swag, so’s he could get on quicker. They caught that first, and then they caught him. He had ‘planted’ in a clump of scrub, and they nearly passed him, but Len caught sight of him, and they had him in a minute.”
“Did he come easily?” asked Wally.
“Rather not! He sent old Len flying—gave him an awful black eye. Len was, up again and at him like a shot, and I reckon it was jolly plucky of a chap of Len’s age, and I dare say he’d have had an awful hiding if Sam hadn’t arrived on the scene. Sam is a big, silent chap, and he can fight anybody in this district. He landed the swaggie first with one fist and then with the other, and the swaggie reckoned he’d been struck by a thunderbolt when they fished him out of the creek, where he had rolled! You see, Sam’s very fond of Len, and it annoyed him to see his eye.
“The swaggie did not do any more resisting. He was like a half-dead, drowned rat. Len and Sam brought him up to the men at the fire just after we’d left to try to save Dad’s Shropshires, and they and Mr. Morrison could hardly keep the men off him. He hid behind Sam, and cried and begged them to protect him. They said it was beastly.”
“Rather!” said Harry. “Where’s he now?”
“Melbourne Gaol. He got three years,” said Jim. “I guess he’s reflecting on the foolishness of using matches too freely!”
“By George!” said Wally, drawing a deep breath. “That was exciting, Jimmy!”
“Well, fishing isn’t,” responded Jim pulling up his hook in disgust, an example followed by the other boys. “What’ll we do?”
“I move,” said Wally, standing on one leg on the log, “that this meeting do adjourn from this dead tree. And I move a hearty vote of thanks to Mr. Jim Linton for spinning a good yarn. Thanks to be paid immediately. There’s mine, Jimmy!”
A resounding pat on the back startled Jim considerably, followed as it was by a second from Harry. The assaulted one fled along the log, and hurled mud furiously from the bank. The enemy followed closely, and shortly the painful spectacle might have been seen of a host lying flat on his face on the grass, while his guests, sitting on his back, bumped up and down to his extreme discomfort and the tune of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow!”
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