"Cooey--cooey!" shouted Nic, as he came cantering up over the soft, fine
grass a couple of hours later toward the house; but no one was in sight,
and he turned off toward the stables just as Brookes came out of the
wool-shed.
"Why, hullo! What's the matter? Had a fall?"
"Had a fall!" cried the man savagely. "Look here." But old Sam had
been watching for his young master's return, and he hurried up.
"Won't you listen to me, Master Nic?" he cried. "Let me tell the tale."
"Nic! Nic! come here quick!" cried Hilda, running from the house.
The boy looked wildly from one to the other, threw the rein to old Sam,
and ran to his sister.
"Hil dear, what is the matter?--mother?" For answer she threw her arms
about her brother's neck, and sobbing out told him all.
"And Janet--fits of hysterics?"
"Yes; I don't understand her, Nic. Mother can't leave her. What shall
you do?"
"Go in to them!" said Nic firmly; and giving his sister a push toward
the house, he ran back to where the two men stood growling at each other
and the horse impatiently stamping as it stood between them and tugged
to get away.
"Here you, Brookes," cried Nic imperiously, "tell me how it happened."
"He was as nasty as nasty, because the blacks--" began old Sam.
"Silence!" roared Nic. "I did not speak to you." Old Sam started in
amazement, for it seemed to be a strong man speaking, not a boy.
"Now you, Brookes."
Brookes told the same tale he had told Mr Dillon when he rode over to
Wattles Station, embellishing it with cuts--that is to say, showing his
wounds.
"No chopper would make a place like that!" cried Nic fiercely. "I don't
believe a word of it, you brute. It's a lie."
"So it is, Master Nic," cried Sam, showing his teeth. "He give it to
the poor fellow brutal."
"Tell me, then--all you know. Quick, man, quick!"
"Oh, if father had been at home!" as soon as he had heard the old man's
tale. Then snatching the rein, he threw it over Sorrel's head, touched
the beautiful little creature's sides and went off at a gallop.
"Who's that?" cried Janet, starting up wildly as the hoofs were heard
beating on the turf.
"Nic!" cried her sister, running to the window to look out. "He has
gone off at a gallop."
"Gone!" cried Mrs Braydon--"and at a time like this!"
"He has galloped off. I know: he has gone over to save that poor
fellow."
Janet uttered a low sigh, and as Mrs Braydon turned to her wonderingly
the poor girl fainted away.
Meanwhile, urged now as he had never been urged before, by voice and
heel, Sorrel forgot his long morning's ride, and stretching out like a
greyhound skimmed over the soft turf like a swallow in its flight.
Nic rode on with his heart a prey to varying emotions. He knew
perfectly well that the convict's fate would be that of all unruly
assigned servants. He had heard it from old Sam again and again,--how
that if Jack did not behave well, he was sent by his master to another
station, where he would have so many dozen lashes of the
cat-o'-nine-tails and be sent back; while another time Joe, who had
behaved ill at that next station, was sent across to the first. So the
masters avoided the administration of punishment to their own men, but
punished those of their neighbours. It was the rough-and-ready custom
in the early days of the colony, and common enough for small offences.
Where a convict servant's offence became a crime, he was returned to the
prisons--marked.
To Nic, then, it was horrible that the man for whom he had gradually
grown to feel a warm sense of friendship should suffer this horrible
indignity. It would be, he felt, an outrage; for he was as fully
convinced as if he had been present that Leather had been maddened by
Brookes's ill usage until he struck him down.
The boy felt old as he galloped on in the direction of the Wattles
Station. He had never been there, but he knew it lay some ten or a
dozen miles away to the north, and he hoped to find it by riding on and
on till he came upon flocks of sheep, and then going up some one or
other of the eminences, and looking about till he caught sight of white
buildings, which would be the place. This would come the easier from
the fact that stations were built close to water, but high enough up to
be beyond the reach of floods.
When he had gone three or four miles he began to repent not bringing
Nibbler, who would, in all probability, have been there in his time, and
consequently might take it for granted, when going in that direction,
that his young master was aiming at this place. But in his excitement
he had thought of nothing but getting over there; and faint, hungry and
hot, he began now to find that he had done a foolish thing.
A chill ran through him at the idea of missing the place, and he was
about to change his direction and ride up a hill to his left; when it
suddenly struck him that after once starting he had done nothing in the
way of guiding his horse, which kept right on in one direction, merely
deviating to avoid great trees or patches of scrub.
Then he uttered a joyful cry, for gazing down he could see hoof marks
faintly on the thick grass, and it dawned upon him that these were quite
fresh, and the horse was following them as steadily as if going along a
main road.
Elated by this he slackened the rein just sufficiently to feel the
horse's mouth, and left it to itself. And then it galloped in its easy,
swinging pace, with its rider leaning forward, heart-sick where the
footprints were invisible, and exultant as he caught sight of them again
and again, after feeling that all was over and the trail entirely lost.
"If I only were clever as one of the blacks," he thought. "Bungarolo,
Rigar, or Damper would follow the faintest trail."
But their services were needless here. The sorrel nag had been to the
Wattles more than once before its young master's time, and, besides, its
natural instinct led it to gallop along where its fellows had been
before.
Two great ostrich-like birds started up from right and left, and though
he had not come across them before Nic knew that they must be emus; but
he only glanced at them as they raced away, with the rapid motion of
their legs making them almost as invisible as the spokes of a running
wheel. Twice over, too, he saw a drove of kangaroos, which went flying
over the bushes in their tremendous leaps; but they excited no interest
now. He must get to the Wattles soon, or he would be too late.
It was a long ten miles--more probably twelve--and Nic's heart was low,
for he seemed to have been riding three hours, and he began to fear that
the horse would go on following tracks until rein was drawn, so he
stopped; when all at once, as they turned a clump of magnificent gum
trees standing alone upon a beautiful down, there below him, and not a
mile away, was the place he sought--a group of buildings, with the sheep
and cattle dotting the country as far as his eye could range.
And now he checked his horse's speed to a gentle canter, and thought of
what he should do.
He knew that he would be most welcome as a stranger, much more so as Dr
Braydon's son; so he rode straight up to the fence, leaped down, and
hitched his rein over a post close to where several saddles rode upon a
rail, and was going up to the door of the house, when Mr Dillon himself
appeared, and came to meet him with a friendly nod.
"Dr Braydon's son, for a wager!" he cried.
"Yes," said Nic; and before he could say another word the big,
bluff-looking squatter shouted:
"Hi, Belton! Come and rub down and feed Mr Braydon's nag. Now, my
lad, come in. We're just going to have a meal, and you must be hungry
after your ride."
Nic was hungry after his ride, which was a far longer one than Mr
Dillon guessed, for the boy had had nothing since the morning, and the
mention of food struck a responsive chord in his breast. But he had not
come to visit, and, flushing slightly, he spoke out at once, plunging
boldly into the object of his coming, though he felt that the magistrate
knew.
"Thank you, no, Mr Dillon," he said. "I have come over about our man."
"So I supposed," said Mr Dillon, smiling; "but we can talk as we eat."
"I can't at a time like this, sir," said Nic. "I've come for him,
please, to take him back with me."
"Indeed!" said Mr Dillon, smiling. "Do you know all that happened?--
while you were out, I presume?"
"Yes, everything, sir, and how you were misinformed."
"Misinformed, was I?" said Mr Dillon pleasantly. "I think not."
"But you were, sir, indeed. I know both the men so well."
"I suppose so, my lad. Let me see, you have been in the colony quite a
short time?"
"Yes; but I've seen a great deal of them," cried Nic, whose face burned
with annoyance at the magistrate's look of amusement.
"And you are, of course, a good judge of convict servants?"
"I know nothing about any but our own men, sir. But I have heard
everything, sir, and I am sure that our man Leather does not deserve to
be punished. It would be unjust."
"You think so?"
"Yes, sir: I'm sure of it."
"And you want to take him back with you?"
"If you please, sir--now. I know the man so well, and I am certain that
I can answer for there being no more trouble."
"That's speaking broadly, my boy," said Mr Dillon, slapping Nic on the
shoulder; "but comes tea--dinner's ready, and we can continue our
argument as we have it."
Nic shook his head.
"I couldn't eat, sir, with that poor fellow in such trouble," he said.
"Well, that's very kind and nice of you, my boy," said Mr Dillon, "and
I like you for it; but come now, let's be reasonable. You see, I am the
magistrate of this district, but I want to talk to you, not like a man
of law, only as your father's friend and neighbour."
"Yes, I felt that you would, sir," said Nic, who was encouraged.
"Your father has, I suppose, left you in charge of his station?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, boys out here have to act like men, and I like your manly way
about this business. You came back, found out the trouble, and rode
over directly to set it right?"
"Yes, sir--exactly."
"That's all very right and just; only as a man of long experience, young
Braydon, you see, I know better how to manage these troubles than you
possibly can--a lad fresh over from school."
"Yes, sir, I suppose so," said Nic, "in most cases; but I do know our
man better than you."
"You think so, my lad; but you are wrong. He was my servant first."
"Still, you will let our man come back with me, sir?"
"In your father's absence, my boy, I have too much respect for him, too
much interest in the safety of your mother and sisters, to send back
unpunished a desperate man."
"Don't say that, sir. You don't know Leather indeed."
"`Nothing like Leather,'" said Mr Dillon, smiling. "Yes, I should
think he was a great favourite of yours. But, come now, my boy; you
have done your part well. Here, come in and have a good meal. Your man
has done what many more of these fellows do--broken out in a bit of
savagery. He is shut up safely in yonder, too much done up for me to
say anything to him to-night; but tomorrow morning he will be tamed down
a bit, and kept for three or four days to return to his senses, and then
he will come back and go on with his work like a lamb."
"Mr Dillon, you don't know him, sir!" cried Nic earnestly. "Such a
cruel act would drive the poor fellow mad."
"I know him, and I know you, my boy. There, you are young and
enthusiastic; but I see, plainly enough, you have been too much with
this fellow. There, frankly, you have been with him a good deal?"
"Yes, sir," said Nic.
"Precisely. And he has not corrupted you, but he has made you believe
that he is an injured, innocent man. Frankly, now, is it not so?"
"Yes, and I do believe," said Nic quietly.
"Exactly. Well, my dear boy, you see I do not; and if you will take my
advice you will have nothing to do with him in the future."
"Mr Dillon, you are mistaken," cried Nic. "Pray--pray do not punish
him!"
"My dear young friend, pray--pray don't you interfere with a
magistrate's duties."
"Then you will not let him come, sir?"
"Certainly not, for at least a week."
"But, Mr Dillon, promise me that--that you--you will not flog him,"
said Nic, in a husky whisper.
"I promise you, my good lad, that tomorrow morning I shall have him out
in front of my men and my four assigned servants--convicts, and have him
given a good sound application of the cat. Now that business is settled
in a way that ten years hence you will agree is quite just; so come in
like a sensible young neighbour, have a good feed, and I'll ride part of
the way back with you after."
"Do you mean this, sir?" said Nic hoarsely.
"I always say what I mean, boy, and act up to it. Once more, come in."
Nic walked straight to where the man was rubbing down his horse, stopped
him, picked up and girthed his saddle, saw to the bridle, and then
mounted, while Mr Dillon stood watching him, half amused, half angry.
Then a thought struck Nic, and he bent down as if to reach the
cheek-piece of the bit, and slipped a shilling into the man's hand.
"Where's our man shut up?" he whispered.
"In the big shed behind the house," said the man, staring.
Then at a touch Sour Sorrel started off.
"Going now?" shouted Mr Dillon.
Nic raised his hand to his hat as he galloped off, but he did not turn
his head.
"The conceited young puppy!" cried Mr Dillon angrily, as he watched the
boy's receding form; "and he wouldn't eat bread and salt. He deserves
to be flogged himself for his obstinacy. I don't know, though: I wish
I'd had a boy like that."
He re-entered the house, and Nic rode on homeward, the slowest, saddest
ride he had had since he entered the colony, for as soon as he was out
of sight of the house he drew rein and let Sorrel walk.