"Now, Nic," said the doctor, as they stood ready to make a fresh start,
"we shall go on, so as to reach another water-hole and camp for the
night."
As he spoke the doctor rammed down the last wad and examined the priming
of the new gun Nic had brought out. Then, finding the pan full of
powder, he tried whether the flint was well screwed up in the hammer.
"Put these on," he said, and he handed the boy his shot-belt and
powder-flask.
"Are we going to shoot anybody, father?" asked Nic eagerly.
"I hope not, boy; but it is a custom out here to go armed when you are
travelling, and we are getting some distance out now away from the town.
Up with your and try and mount a little better. Take hold of your
reins and the mane there tightly, up with your left foot into the
stirrup, and lay your hand on the cantle of the saddle; don't pull it,
only support yourself by it. Now draw your off rein a little, so that
the horse cannot sidle away, spring up lightly, and throw your leg over.
Mount."
Nic obeyed, as he thought, to the letter, and got into the saddle
somehow, making his horse fidget and wag its tail uneasily.
"Bad--very bad," cried the doctor, laughing. "I said throw your leg
over. You tried to throw yourself over. Never mind; you'll soon learn.
Look at me. One moment: take your gun."
Nic took the gun handed to him, and was shown how to carry it across his
rein arm, and then he enviously watched his father take hold of a wisp
of the horse's mane, place a foot in the stirrup, and lightly swing
himself into the saddle, while his horse hung toward him a little,
otherwise remained perfectly still.
"You'll soon do it, Nic. Legs feel stiff?"
"A bit cramped," replied the boy.
"Forward, then, at a walk. I shall not hold your rein now. Your nag
will not leave his companion."
"Hadn't you better, father, till I get more used to it?" asked Nic
uneasily.
"No," said the doctor decisively. "It was quite right this morning over
your first lesson. You have learned a little already, and I don't want
you, as it were, to learn to swim with corks. Come along. Steady, lad,
steady."
This was to Nic's steed, which began to amble, keeping up a nice gentle
motion, which would have been very pleasant if the boy had not felt a
bit nervous. But as it found its stable companion continued to pace,
Sour Sorrel followed its example and dropped into a walk.
The waggon was already a quarter of a mile onward, and the dogs were
hanging back watching them, barking furiously till they were overtaken,
and having a few encouraging words delivered to them as father and son
rode on.
"I should like to set them free," said the doctor, "but I dare not yet."
The afternoon ride was almost a repetition of that in the morning, and
from time to time they passed water-holes, showing that they were
keeping along the course of the river, though it was not until it was
pointed out to him that Nic knew he was for some distance travelling
along the dry bed and was crossing it, the depression seeming little
different from the surrounding country.
Weariness had something to do with it, for to Nic the country did not
seem so beautiful as in the morning. He had been many hours in the
saddle, and though the pace had only been a walk, the unaccustomed
position told upon his muscles, and, in spite of a hint or two from his
father, the boy's attitude was far from upright. He had ceased, too,
for some time to keep a keen look-out for birds and kangaroos. Earlier
in the afternoon he had seen some reddish, dun-coloured animals in the
distance; but these had, upon nearer approach, turned out to be cattle,
and a feeling of disappointment began to make itself evident as they
rode on and on, till toward sunset, when the waggon was quite half a
mile ahead, Nic noticed that the bright greyish white tilt was glowing
and turning ruddier against the dark lines of a clump of trees, and a
minute later it still seemed to be in the same position.
Nic felt disposed to draw his father's attention to the fact that the
waggon was not moving, but his feeling of disinclination even to speak
was growing upon him, and he was riding bent forward in silence,
noticing what appeared to be a bed of whitish mist spreading among the
trees, when his father startled him out of his thoughtful musings by
saying laconically:
"Camp."
Nic turned and looked at him inquiringly.
"Camp, Nic," he said. "Don't you see that they've lit a fire?"
"Oh!" cried the boy, raising himself up. "I thought it was mist."
"No, Nic, smoke. That's the first thing we do out here when we halt for
the night: light a fire and put on the billy."
Nic gave another inquiring look, and his father smiled.
"You'll soon learn all our colonial terms, boy," he said. "A billy is a
large cross-handled saucepan to boil water in and make our tea. I'll
show you how that is done--when we get there."
"I know how to make tea," said Nic.
"Yes, but not our way."
Nic looked wonderingly at his father.
"You are on the other side of the world now," said the doctor. "Now
then, what do you say to a trot for the rest of the way?"
The boy winced, but he mastered his shrinking sensation.
"Very well, father," he said.
"No," said the doctor. "I'll let you off till to-morrow. You've done
enough for one day."
Ten minutes after they were dismounting in just such a spot as that
chosen for their mid-day halt. The cattle were unyoked, and had gone of
their own accord to a water-hole about fifty yards away; the fire was
burning brightly, and the kettle giving forth a few preliminary snorts,
suggestive of rising steam; and the waggon was drawn close up under a
huge, wide-spreading tree, among whose branches the soft cooing of
pigeons could be heard. The horses were hobbled, unsaddled, and rubbed
down, and when they were led off to drink, the travellers went a few
yards away for a refreshing wash.
"Now, Nic," said the doctor after their return and when the provisions
had been taken from the waggon, "you shall see our colonial mode of
making tea."
As he spoke he poured a goodly portion into the lid of the canister,
waited till the water in the billy was well on the boil, when he tossed
in the whole of the tea, gave it a rapid stir round to send all the dry
leaf beneath the surface, and then lifted it off the fire, let it stand
for a very short time, filled the big tin mugs with which they were
provided, then those of the men, after which they sat down to their
evening meal.
The cattle and horses were grazing all around, and in the calm silence
the _crop, crop_ as they bit off the grass sounded peculiarly loud,
while from a distance came the loud wailing cry of the curlew, a strange
trumpet-like tone, and a note from close at hand which made Nic turn
inquiring eyes upon his father.
"Curlew, crane, and the mopoke," said the doctor. "More pork the
settlers call it."
"Mopoke?"
"Yes. There goes one;" and he pointed to where a dark, swift-winged
bird was hovering about a tree evidently in quest of moths.
"Why it flies like the goat-sucker does at home," said Nic, pausing to
watch the bird.
"To be sure it does. It is a relative, only bigger. You'll find plenty
of birds that bear a resemblance to our own."
"And animals?"
"No. Birds are most plentiful, and in great variety; quadrupeds are
scarce, and very peculiar. This, you know, is the land of the kangaroo,
and we have varieties of that curious beast, from tiny ones we call
rats, right up to the giants which stand up taller than the biggest
man."
The sun had set, the great stars were shining out through the clear air,
and night was coming on fast, with the cries of the birds sounding
strange and even awful in that loneliness.
"Tired out, Nic?" said his father; and the boy started and stared.
"Why, you were asleep, Nic. Don't you understand me?"
"Eh? Yes. What say, father? Was I asleep?"
"Soundly, my boy. Come along; you can creep in under the tilt and go to
sleep on the boxes. There are two blankets rolled up ready for you."
"But what are you going to do?" asked Nic.
"Look round for a bit, and take my turn at watching."
"But I must too," said Nic, shaking off his drowsiness.
"When I tell you, my boy. Now go to sleep, and get rested for
to-morrow's work. The dogs will give warning if any one comes near."
Nic obeyed, and as he went to say "good night" to the dogs--towards
which he felt no animosity for the ducking they had given him--he saw
that the two men were making their bed under the waggon, while the black
was sidling slowly up to the fire. There the Australian curled himself
up like a great dog, while the doctor stood about a dozen yards away,
searching the dimly seen landscape with a little pocket-glass.
Then Nic climbed in under the tilt, opened one blanket and doubled it,
made a pillow of the other, and then--
"Yes, father--directly."
For the dawn was beginning to break, and a bright light shone up among
the branches of the trees, out of which came a series of piercing bird
screams.
"Look sharp: kettle nearly boils."
Nic scrambled from under the tilt, feeling now that he must be called to
help keep watch, for he was convinced that he had only just lain down.