Nic did not say anything about his adventure with Leather, and was
perfectly silent about his fright with Bungarolo, who showed his teeth
next time they met, pointed to the lad's gun, and shook his head, the
fact being that he was as much startled as Nic.
During the days which followed the boy had long rides with his father to
see cattle on distant ranges, to visit flocks grazing nearer home, and
gradually grew acquainted with the pleasant, patriarchal life the doctor
lived.
The weather was glorious, for there had been rain in abundance a month
earlier, and the consequence was shown in the rich pasture and abundance
of flowers flourishing in the bright sunshine. The air, too, was
deliciously invigorating, and Nic never knew that he was tired, even
when he had been a whole day in the saddle, until suddenly about bedtime
he discovered that he could not keep his eyes open. Then he would sleep
soundly till the piping crows and the poultry awoke him at daybreak for
another busy, happy day.
Nic determined that he would have no mare to do with Leather, who went
stolidly about his work. He was a convict, and the boy felt that the
man was a sullen, ill-tempered fellow, who, instead of trying to make up
for the past, now that the opportunity had been given him to amend and
begin a new life, evidently looked upon himself as ill-used, and avoided
everybody.
There were a certain number of slips printed from copperplate and pasted
upon cardboard at Dr Dunham's, all consisting of good, sterling advice
to the young, which the boys had had to copy over and over again, so as
to get in the habit of writing a good, clear, round hand, with fine
upstrokes and good, firm downstrokes; and one of them which Nic had well
in mind was, "Judge not rashly." But Nic did judge rashly all the same.
One day he took his gun with the intention of shooting a specimen of the
lovely Blue Mountain parrot or lory, and this he meant to skin and
preserve. He had seen the birds in flocks when out without his gun, and
stood entranced at the beauty of the little creatures, with their
breasts gleaming with scarlet, crimson, orange, and purple mingled in
the most wonderful way, while their heads were of a peachy blue, and
wings and backs, right to the end of their long tails, of a lovely
green.
He had taken some of the smallest shot, so as not to damage the plumage;
and after a warning from Mrs Braydon to be careful, he was crossing the
enclosure beyond the garden toward a field where he could hear Brookes's
voice raised in a loud, bullying tone.
Directly after he came upon old Samson, who was wheeling manure in a
barrow made of half a barrel cut lengthwise, and furnished with a couple
of good sound poles, nailed on so that two ends formed the widely apart
handles the other two being fitted with iron, which drew them together
and secured the wheel, which was a round cut with a saw from a tree
trunk, bound with iron hooping, and looking like a single Gloucester
cheese.
"Heavy," said the old man, stopping to rest.
"What's that for?" asked Nic, who liked the old, keen, but thoroughly
amiable factotum.
"Garden, sir. Good, strong, fat stuff as'll grow anything. I'm making
a cowcumber bed."
"Not much of a barrow, Sam," said Nic.
"Well, it ain't, Master Nic, and I'd ha' made another afore now, on'y I
can't get a wheel. The master's going to get me one first chance, for
the wheel bothers me. I could make the box, but wheels want practice.
I did try to make one, and I forged a pretty good tire down yonder but
the wood part! My word, it was a rickety, wobbly one, and broke down
second day. Didn't teach you to make barrow wheels at school, I
suppose?"
"No," said Nic, laughing. "Wheel-making's an accomplishment."
"Then they ought to ha' taught you. Been strange and useful to you as a
squatter, sir. Didn't teach you to shoe horses nayther, I'll be bound."
"No, nor blacksmithing either."
"Then it's a shame, sir, for I know the master paid a lot o' money for
you to be well taught. I wish they'd teached you to make wheels, for
you see these here soon warps in the hot sun and cracks. But there,"
cried the old man, grinning, "there's hard, sound trees enough to cut
down and saw into thousands and thousands of barrow wheels; and as to
horseshoeing, I can teach you that, my lad. I shoe all ours, and the
master likes my shoes better than those he makes."
"Does father make horseshoes?"
"Does he make horseshoes?" cried Sam. "Why, I should think he does, and
trims a hoof, and nails splendid. He beats me hollow. There he goes--
at it again," muttered the old man, as Brookes's voice rose. "I wish
he'd leave the poor chap alone."
"Is he bullying Leather again?"
"Ay, my lad; and he'd like to tan Leather too, on'y he daren't do that.
I 'most wish the poor chap'd give him one for his not, and then p'r'aps
he'd be quiet with his tongue. Brooky's never satisfied. He's like
lots of 'em: he thinks, because a chap's a 'signed servant, he's to be
bullied and kicked. They forgets as a convict is a man arter all."
"Of course," said Nic, frowning.
"The free men settlers is jealous of the government chaps, and hates
'em. I don't doubt Leather's a reg'lar crab, but set him to do a job
and he does it. I never know'd him skulk or flinch anything. The
master'll ketch old Brooky at it some day, and then there'll be a row.
I do wonder, though, as Leatherhead don't give him one between the
eyes."
"Perhaps he will some day, if Brookes goes too far."
"Nay, nay, my lad, he won't do that. That wouldn't do. 'Signed
servant's got to take what he gets, and be thankful. Why, do you know
what'd happen if Leather turned on Brooky?"
"Brooky would complain to the master, and Leather would be fetched over
to Mr Dillon's--magistrate, you know. He'd have the cat, and a warning
that if he didn't behave he'd go back to the chain gang, and it would be
a bad mark agin him."
"Then it would be very unfair," said Nic sharply.
"Yes, sir, it would; but the world don't allus play quite fair, and, you
see, government has to be very strict with 'signed servants, for some on
'em's been shocking bad uns, and if they weren't kep' down with what
they calls a hiron han', honest people wouldn't come to live out here.
'Bliged to be very strict; if they weren't, the convicts might get the
better of us all. Well, this ain't making cowcumber beds, is it? Going
shooting?"
"Yes; I want to get some specimens to stuff."
"That's right, sir. You do? There's some very pretty birds about these
parts; but if I was you, my lad, I'd get one o' the blackfellows to go
with you. He'd carry what you shot--when you happened to hit anything."
"All right. You needn't grin, Sam. I can hold the gun straight
sometimes."
"'Course you can, my lad. Why not? You'll shoot and ride and do
everything soon, and I'll teach you all I know 'bout shoeing and forging
and gardening. But as I was a-saying, you get Bungarolo or Rigar or
Damper. No, I can't spare Damper 'cause of the cows, and Rigar's handy
with the bullocks. You have Bung; he'll take you to places where the
birds are. These blacks know all that sort o' thing; and as to getting
bushed, you'll never get bushed so long as he's with you."
"What's bushed?"
"What's bushed, sir? My word, they did take your poor father in over
your education. Don't know what being bushed is? Why, being lost, my
lad. There, you're a-romancing me, Master Nic. You're a-making me a
reg'lar old ruck-a-tongue. I've got to do my work, and my work to-day's
cowcumbers."
Samson lifted the handles of his rough barrow, and went off without
looking back, while Nic made off with his gun on his shoulder, bearing a
little to his left, so as to pass round a shed, beyond which Brookes's
voice could be heard.
As Nic reached the fence he saw that about fifty sheep were shut behind
hurdles, and Leather was catching them by the wool, turning them on
their sides, and then carrying them to where Brookes knelt, with a brush
and a tub and a sheep before him, dividing the wool and applying some
tarry mixture to sore places caused by the attacks of virulent flies--a
cruel-looking process, but one which saved the poor animals' lives.
Brookes's back was towards Nic, and Leather's eyes on his work, over
which he bent frowning, and using his great strength to master the
struggling animals, and carry them to his companion, who went on loudly,
as Leather slaved away, dripping with perspiration, in the hot sun.
"Government's mad, that's what government is, to let loose such a set o'
scum to mix with honest men. I dunno what things is coming to. If I
had my way, I'd soon have yer again in the chain gang, and scratch yer
back every day with the warder's cat--that's what I'd do with you.
There,"--to the sheep--"off you go. Now, then, how much longer am I to
wait for that next sheep? Of all the lazy, idle, skulking hands that
ever came about a place you're the worst. Now, then, don't kill the
poor beast, and don't keep me waiting all day for the next."
The sheep had made a sudden bound and nearly escaped; but Leather,
bending low the while, flung his arm round it, hugged it to his breast,
and bore it to Brookes.
"Yah! you clumsy, lazy brute; you're not fit to handle a sheep. Don't
kill it, thick-head. Hang yer, you're not worth your salt."
This was too much for Nic.
"Then why don't you go and fetch the sheep, and let him have a turn with
the tar?" roared the boy, with his face scarlet.
"What?" cried Brookes, swinging himself round, and dropping the brush.
"Say `sir' when you speak to me," cried Nic. "You heard what I said.
You're always bullying and insulting people. It's abominable. The
man's working like a slave, and you're kneeling there and doing hardly
anything."
"I'm blest!" panted out Brookes, with rings of white round the irises of
his eyes.
Leather was panting too. His face looked corrugated, and he stood there
bent down, frowning hard at the ground.
"It's shameful!" cried Nic. "I'm sure my father does not know you speak
to your fellow-servants like that."
"My what?" roared Brookes furiously. "Do you know he's only a convict?"
"Yes, I do. But what's that got to do with it, sir? As long as he
works and does his duty to my father, he's to be properly treated.
You're always bullying him. I've heard you ever since I've been home."
"Here! Where's your father?" cried Brookes, rising to his feet, and
advancing toward the fence with a threatening look, while Leather bent
lower.
"Gone on one of his rounds," said Nic, springing over the fence, and
facing him. "I wish he were here."
"And so do I," roared Brookes. "Look here, young gentleman; don't you
think because you've come home that you're to lord it over me. I'll
have you to know that you've got to beg my pardon, insulting me before
that lazy, lying, idle convict, you miserable young whippersnapper!"
"What!" said Nic, beside himself now with passion. "How dare you! How
dare you speak to me like that! Insult you--you common, foul-mouthed
bully. Go on with your work, sir. I'm your master's son, and if I'd a
horsewhip here instead of this gun, I'd lay it across your back."
Brookes stooped, picked up the brush viciously, and rolled up his
sleeves.
"Oh," he cried; "that's it, is it? Horsewhip me, eh? We'll soon see
about that. Here, you convict."
"Do you want me to strike you?" cried Nic.
"Yes; you'd better," growled the man, dropping on his knees. "We'll
soon see about that. Here, you, bring me another sheep."
"No. Stop!" cried Nic, turning to Leather, who was bringing on the
sheep; "let him fetch them for himself. While my father's away I'm
master here. Go away. You shall not be bullied like that, whatever you
have done. Go and find some other work amongst the sheep."
Leather looked at him strangely.
"You heard what I said," cried Nic.
"Yes, sir," said the man, in a husky voice.
"Then go at once. Nic was treating you worse than he would dare to
treat a dog."
Brookes banged down the brush and rose to go.
"You stop," cried Nic. "My father said those sheep must be dressed
to-day, and you know it. Finish them, every one."
Brookes dropped upon his knees again.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Leather quietly. "It is very hard work
for one man. I'm used to this sort of thing. Hadn't I better stay?"
"No," said Nic firmly. "You heard my orders. Go." He pointed across
the enclosure, and Leather went without a word.
"Now," said Nic, "finish those sheep."
Brookes muttered low threat after threat of what he would do, but he
went on dressing the sheep; and Nic turned, walked back to the house,
altered his mind, and went right away toward the bush, but his nerves
were all of a quiver, as he thought over the meeting to come with his
father, and he did not fire his gun that day.