"Poor old chaps!" cried Nic, as the dogs leaped and tore about when he
left them, each straining at its collar with starting eyes, and uttering
in unison a piteous howl which could only bear one interpretation:
"Oh, I say, it's too bad! Don't keep us tied up like this."
Nic was ready to pity them again a few minutes after, when, in obedience
to a shout and the crack of a whip, the sleek oxen, which stood yoked,
blinking and chewing their cuds, started for the day's march, tightening
the dogs' chains. Then the collies sulkily allowed themselves to be
dragged along by the neck for a few yards before, feeling that
resistance was in vain, they gave up and began to start barking in
protest, running forward as far as their chains would allow under the
waggon, as if longing to get at the oxen's heels, and finally, after a
loud yelp or two at one another, settling down to their prisoners'
tramp.
The horses were bridled and saddled after Nic had taken his gun from
where it had been stood against a tree. The two men were in front of
the team, with Brookes talking loudly and unpleasantly to his fellow;
and the black was following behind the dogs, with his spear over his
shoulder, at times lowering it to stir the dogs up behind whenever they
showed an inclination to hang back.
This happened a minute after the start had been made, and Nic burst out
laughing.
"I say, father, look at that," he cried.
"I was looking, my boy," said the doctor. "That fellow seems to
understand the dogs better than we do."
For, at the first touch of the spear, one of the collies turned round
sharply, and barked; then the other received a prod--from the blunt end
in both cases--and the bark uttered was exactly like a protesting
"_Don't_!"
But the black, who was safe from attack as long as he kept beyond the
reach of the chain, continued to administer pokes, with the result that
the dogs trotted on as far as they could, looking back the while and
uttering threatening barks and growls.
But the long spear followed them right under the waggon, and kept up the
annoyance, till, as if moved by the same impulse, the dogs charged back
together to the extent of their chains, and the black made a bound out
of the animals' reach.
The result was that when, after a final look round to see that nothing
had been left, the doctor gave the order to mount, the dogs were right
under the waggon, with their tongues out, tugging away at their chains
as sharply as if they had been born in Kamtschatka and belonged to
Eskimo.
"That's better," said the doctor, as Nic landed in his saddle without
making a show in imitation of vaulting ambition and seeming about to
fall over on the other side. "Down again, and mount."
Nic obeyed.
"That's worse," said the doctor. "Dismount. Now again!"
Nic dismounted, and mounted once more.
"Not so good as the first time, Nic. There, take your gun. Mind: never
do that! It's the worst of high treason to let your gun-muzzle point at
anybody."
"I beg pardon, father."
"Granted, on condition that you are more careful for the future," said
the doctor, springing into his seat in a way that excited his son's
envy.
"Shall I try again, father?"
"No; it will only fidget your horse. Come along. What a glorious
morning! We'll take a sweep round, and meet the waggon three or four
miles on."
The sun was now up, and sending its brilliant rays horizontally beneath
the great trees, making every branch and leaf glow; and, as Nic's nag
paced gently along, the boy felt as if he were riding upon the glorious
elastic air. He felt very little of the stiffness, only a bit sore
inside the knees, where they were pressed against the saddle.
As they passed in among the trees the waggon was soon lost to sight, and
Nic glanced again and again in its direction.
"Afraid we shan't find our way back to the waggon?" said his father.
"I was thinking something of the kind," avowed Nic.
"Ah, that is a great danger away in the bush, and you may as well know
it; but we could not go very far now without finding a track or some
station."
"A police station?"
"No, no," said the doctor, smiling. "We have police here--mounted
police--to look after the convicts and mind they don't escape; but we
call farmhouses-squatters' places--stations here. Our home--Blue
Mountain Bluff; as we named it--is called a station by my neighbours."
"Then you have neighbours, father?"
"Oh yes, a few miles away. Mr Dillon, the magistrate, Leather's late
employer, is the nearest--ten miles distant."
"Then home must be a very lonely place."
"We have never found it so, Nic," said his father drily. "Busy people
are never lonely. Now then, I think I've behaved very well to you and
spared your feelings. I promise that I will not laugh at you."
"What about, father?"
"Your first essay at trotting. It is of no use to keep a horse and ride
at a walk. You can progress as fast as that on your own legs."
Nic drew a deep breath, and wished that he was bestriding a donkey on
the common near the Friary, with his schoolmates looking on instead of
his father.
"I'm ready, father," he said.
"Wait a few minutes. I want to accustom you to holding your gun on
horseback. You will always have either a gun or a stock-whip, but I
don't want you to begin your career as a squatter--"
"I say, father, what a horrible name that is for a sheep farmer!"
"`A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' Nic. `Squatter' does
very well; and I say I don't want you to begin your career by shooting
your father or his horse. So you shall have a shot at something. You
will not be afraid to fire your gun?"
"Oh, I say, father!" said Nic reproachfully, "don't--please don't think
me such a miserable coward."
"I don't, my lad--nothing of the kind. I only treat you as a raw lad
who has to be trained to our ways."
"But you expect me to shoot you as soon as I begin to trot."
"I don't mean you to, Nic. But such a thing is quite possible when you
fall."
"Then you think I shall fall," said Nic ruefully.
"Certainly, if you lose your balance and do not hold tight."
"But you told me not to hold!" cried Nic.
"With your hands. They are to hold your reins and gun. A horseman
holds on with his knees; and I suppose yours are a bit sore?"
Nic nodded.
"Then make up your mind not to fall; but we'll have that gun empty
first. You shall have a shot at something."
Nic drew rein sharply, and his horse stopped and shook its head, and
champed the bit impatiently.
"Don't check your horse like that, boy!"
"I only pulled the reins, father."
"Yes, as if his mouth were made of wood. You would soon spoil him, and
make him hard-mouthed, if you jerked the bit about in that fashion. A
horse like this is extremely sensitive. You only need just feel his
mouth with the rein, and he will stop at the slightest additional
pressure, just sufficiently to make him understand what you want. Well,
why are you making a face like that?"
"I shall never learn all this," cried Nic; "I'm too stupid."
"And you have ground away at algebra and Euclid! What nonsense! Come,
be more ready to take a right view of things. Horses are extremely
intelligent animals, and love their masters if properly treated. They
are wilful at times, and then have to be punished; but I never strike or
spur my horse without good reason. Now look here, Nic: this is not to
show off, but to let you see what can be done with the animal, which is
one of man's most valuable friends out in these wilds. Now watch!"
The doctor threw the reins on the horse's neck.
"I want to go to the left."
To Nic's astonishment the horse bore away to the left, and his own
followed suit.
"Now I want to go to the right." The horse turned in that direction.
"Now I want to turn right round."
The horse turned right about.
"Now straight back."
The horses began to return upon their tracks, Nic's eyes following every
motion.
"Now round again, and forward."
Once more the horse, turning right about, went straight forward, Sour
Sorrel taking pace for pace.
"Why, it's wonderful, father!" cried Nic. "Australian horses must
understand plain English."
"Well, they are English bred," said the doctor, laughing. "Twenty years
ago there was not a horse in the country. But now, tell me, why did you
check your horse?"
"To get down so as to shoot."
"Nonsense! Fire from his back when I tell you."
"But it will frighten him, and he'll gallop off, and I shall be sure to
fall."
"It will not frighten him, for the horse will stand like a rock, knowing
when you are going to fire. You can rest your gun between his ears if
you like, only you could not get so steady an aim. It's quite true.
That nag is beautifully broken. I reared him from a foal and trained
him expressly for you."
"Thank you, father; but I think I would rather ride yours."
"Why?"
"He seems so much better trained."
"Not so well, boy."
"But tell me: how did you make him go any way you wished?"
"The simplest way in the world. Let your reins drop on his neck."
Nic obeyed.
"Now press the side with your right leg. That's right. Now with the
left. Good. Now keep on with the pressure, and the nag will turn right
round. Now press both legs together. Very well indeed. Now you see
there is no magic in the matter."
Nic was astounded, for the horse had acted just in the same way as his
father's.
"Let me tell you another thing. If you jump down--no, no, don't do it--
but if you jump down, pass the rein over the nag's head and throw it on
the ground: he will stand perfectly still."
"Without the rein being fastened to a peg or tree?"
"Yes. Try it when you get down. Now you see you are learning to ride.
But I want this trot, so be ready for your shot. Cock your gun."
Nic made the lock click, and felt a thrill of anticipation run through
his nerves.
"Whit shall I shoot at, father?"
"Well, you may as well practise at something running or flying."
"A bird?"
"Yes, if you see a good specimen. You may as well collect some of our
beautiful birds. Wait a bit: I dare say we shall see something before
long."
They paced on for about a quarter of a mile, and then a large animal was
startled from out of some bushes, made a flying leap, and then went off
in a series of tremendous bounds, and all the faster for the shot Nic
fired and which whistled through the air over its head.
"A good miss, Nic," said his father.
"Didn't I hit it, father?"
"No, my boy--not with a single shot, even. But you see your horse did
not move."
"I forgot all about that," said Nic. "I suppose that was a kangaroo,
father?"
"No doubt about that, Nic. They can go pretty well, eh?"
"Tremendously. But what an enormous tail!"
"Yes, it seems to act like a balance and a support when they land, for
they go almost entirely upon their hind legs. But I meant you to have
tried for a shot farther on, where there is a bit of river and some low
damp ground. You might perhaps have secured a goose for our supper, or
had a shot at one of the snakes, which like the moisture. But come:
here's a good open stretch of land. Let's have our trot. Keep your
heels down, sit fairly well up, and don't think about falling. If you
do come off, it is a very little way to go, and the horse's pace will
take him clear of you. Now then, turn those stirrups over his back."
"Oh, father! let me keep my stirrups."
"Certainly not; they would not help you a bit, only prove a danger to a
novice; and remember this: once you can ride without stirrups you can
ride with. Ready?"
Nic reluctantly turned the stirrup leathers across.
"Yes, father," he said, rather hesitatingly.
"Then off!"
The horses started at the pressure given by the doctor's heels, and the
next moment Nic was bumping about in the saddle, slipping first a little
to one side, then to the other, making attempts to get over on to the
horse's neck, and having hard work to keep his gun well across his
knees.
It was hot, breathless work; and moment by moment Nic told himself that
he must come off; but he did not, and went on bump, bump, bump, bump,
conscious that his father was watching him from the corners of his eyes.
"I do wish he'd stop," thought Nic, as the nag trotted steadily on; and
then the boy thought of the Kentish common and the games they had had
with the donkeys--when, almost as soon as a boy was mounted, another
came to tickle the donkey's tail with a piece of furze, with the result
that the animal's head went down, its heels up, and the rider off on to
his back, perhaps into a furze or bramble patch.
"But there's no one behind with a furze or bramble," thought Nic, who
began to find the trot not so very bad, when, to his horror, his father
cried out "Canter!" and, with the horses snorting and enjoying the
motion, away they went in and out among the trees, the docile animals
keeping pace together, and avoiding the dense parts by instinct.
"Now I am off," said Nic to himself; but to his surprise he kept on,
finding the canter a delightfully easy pace, and that it was far less
difficult to keep his seat in the saddle, the swing was so pleasant,
elastic, and rhythmical.
This went on for a good quarter of a mile, until the trees grew more
open and patches of scrubby bushes appeared in their way, when, before
he knew it, Nic's steed, instead of avoiding a clump about three feet
high, rose at it, bounded over as lightly as a kangaroo, and came to a
dead stop on the other side, for it had lost its rider.
"I didn't mean that," said the doctor, pulling up and turning back.
"Here, Nic, where are you?"
"Here, father," said the boy dolefully, as he rose from where he lay--
down among the thick brush.
"Hurt?"
"I--I don't know yet. No; I don't think so, father. Here, my gun's
gone."
"There it is, sticking up among the bushes. I'll get it," said the
doctor; and pulling his horse sidewise, he reached over and drew out the
gun.
"Now then, where are you hurt?"
"Nowhere," said Nic, forcing his way out to where the nag stood, taking
the reins, and after pulling down the near side stirrup, climbing into
the saddle.
At that moment there was a clapping of hands, and he turned to find his
father applauding him.
"Bravo! Good!" cried the doctor, with his eyes flashing. "I like that
pluck, Nic. Why, boy, you did wonderfully well. You are as rough as
can be in the saddle. But really, you only want confidence: you can
ride."
"Can I, father?" said Nic dubiously.
"Can you? yes. You must have had some practice."
"Only playing tricks on the donkeys, father, down in Kent."
"Of course. That's it! Why, Nic, I have only got to polish you.
Ready?"
"Yes, father."
"Then let's canter on."
Oddly enough--paradoxically as it may seem--that tumble on to the
elastic bush took away all Nic's nervousness, and now he began to enjoy
the delightful motion of the easy-paced nag, with the wind fanning his
cheeks, the sun seeming to flash by him, and the soreness about the
knees forgotten.
Everything about looked bright and glorious; and when, about eleven
o'clock, they cantered up to the midday halting-place in a clump of
gums, where the oxen had just been unyoked, Brookes and Leather stopped
from their tasks to stare, and the black was so surprised that he forgot
to stand on one leg, but watched the horsemen with wide-open eyes,
standing upon two.