As Nic had supposed would be the case, hoof-marks were either
obliterated or looked faint and old from the heavy soaking they had
received in the storm, while those made by a man were invisible, unless
to the ultra-keen eyes of some natives.
He noted this when he went out that same morning in pretty good time,
for he felt convinced that Mr Dillon would give him the credit of
helping Leather to escape.
It was a glorious morning, the dust being washed away by the storm, and
everything looking beautifully fresh and green in the sunshine.
When he went out he was soon aware of something else being wrong, for
Brookes was rating the three blacks, who had thoroughly enjoyed their
truant holiday, and would have stayed away for days in the myall scrub,
but the bush in wet weather is to a blackfellow not pleasant, from the
showers of drops falling upon his unclothed skin. Consequently the
storm had sent them back, and they were all found clothed and curled up
fast asleep in the wool-shed by old Sam, who had roused them up.
His words had brought Brookes on the scene, armed with a stout stick,
with which he was thrashing them, while the rascals were hopping about
in a peculiar shuffling dance, whose steps consisted in every one
wanting to be at the back and pushing his fellow to the front.
Bungarolo was the least adept player, and Damper and Rigar managed to
keep him before them as a kind of breastwork or shield, behind which
they could escape the threatening stick.
"Baal mumkull! baal mumkull! (don't kill)," he kept crying piteously.
"But that's all you're fit for, you lazy rascals. Where did you go?"
"Plenty go find yarraman. Budgery yarraman (good horses). Plenty go
find. Run away."
"I don't believe it. What horses ran away?"
"Kimmeroi, bulla, metancoly (one, two, ever so many)," cried Rigar, from
the back.
"It's all a lie. Come: out with you!"
"No, leave him alone, Brookes," said Nic sternly. "I'll have no more
quarrelling to-day."
The man faced round sharply.
"Look here, young master, are you going to manage this here station, or
am I?" he cried.
"I am, as far as I know; and I won't have the black-fellows knocked
about."
The three culprits understood enough English to grasp his meaning, and
burst out together in tones of reproach:
"Baal plenty stick. No Nic coolla (angry). Black-fellow nangery
(stay), do lot work."
"Work! Yes," cried Nic. "Go away with you, and begin."
The three blacks set up a shout like school-children who had escaped
punishment, and danced and capered off to the work that they had left
the day before.
"Look here, sir--" began Brookes again.
"Why don't you hold your tongue, Brooky?" cried old Sam. "You ain't
looked in the glass this morning, or you'd see enough mischief was done
yesterday."
"Who spoke to you?" cried Brookes fiercely.
"Not you, or you'd get on better. Young master's quite right. You
can't deal with the blacks that way."
"Breakfast!" cried a clear voice; and Nic turned to find his sister
Janet coming to meet him, looking very pale, but quite contented.
"I shall keep it a secret, Nic," she whispered. "I'm so glad, for all
that seemed so dreadful to me."
At that moment Mrs Braydon appeared at the door, she too looking pale,
but eager to welcome her son; and no allusion was made during breakfast
to the previous day's trouble.
But hardly had they finished when Nibbler burst into a deep-toned volley
of barking, which immediately started the two collies, and they rushed
round to the front.
"Some one coming," cried Hilda. "Oh,--they're bringing back poor
Leather!"
Nic sprang to the window, to see Mr Dillon, followed by five of his
men, three blacks, and seven or eight dogs, among which were three
gaunt, grey, rough-haired, Scottish deer-hounds.
The boy had expected that Mr Dillon would come, but his sister's words
staggered him and gave him a sharp pang.
The next moment, though, he saw that she was wrong; and turning from the
window, he exchanged glances with Janet, as he said quite coolly, "What
does he want so soon?" and made for the door, thinking that he knew well
enough that they were on a man-hunting expedition, but congratulated
himself on the convict's long start.
"Good morning, Mr Dominic," said the magistrate, riding up, while the
two collies ran on to investigate the strange dogs, and Nibbler tore
furiously at his chain.
"Good morning, sir," said Nic. "Here, Rumble--rumble! Come here, both
of you! Hi, Samson! Shut these two dogs up in one of the sheds."
"Yes," said the visitor, "or there'll be a fight." Then, as Sam came
running up and relieved Nic of his task of holding the pair by their
black frills, "Will you be good enough to walk a little way from the
house, young man? I want a word or two with you."
"He can't know I was there," thought Nic; and he walked beside the
visitor's horse till it was checked, and the rider looked down sharply
at the boy.
"Now, young gentleman," he said, "I don't want to quarrel with your
father's son, but I am a man who never allows himself to be played with.
You played me a pretty trick last night."
"I, sir? How?"
"Do you want telling?"
"Of course, sir."
Nic felt the magistrate's eyes piercing almost into his very thoughts;
but, at the same time, he saw those armed men and that pack of dogs
ready to hunt down the convict, and if he could avoid it he was
determined not to say all he knew.
"You came over to my place last night and broke a way out for that
fellow to escape."
"I did not," said Nic firmly.
"Do you mean to tell me that you did not bring over a handcuff key which
your father has, and climb in at the roof and unlock the bracelets?"
"I do tell you so!" said Nic. "I did not know we had such a thing."
"On your word as a gentleman?"
"On my word as a gentleman," said Nic. Then to himself: "If he asks me
if I came over, I must say Yes."
"Then I beg your pardon," said Mr Dillon. "But you have him here?"
"No," said Nic, "he is not here."
"I must ask your men. Will you summon them?"
"The blacks too?" said Nic.
"Yes, all of them, please."
"Hi, Sam!" cried Nic, as the old man banged to and fastened the door
where he had shut up the dogs. "Call Brookes and the blacks; then come
here."
"Right, sir," said the old man; and Mr Dillon went on:
"He got away somehow, and the dogs were after him till the storm spoiled
the scent."
"Then you can't flog him," said Nic in triumph.
"Not this morning, of course," said Mr Dillon good humouredly. "All
right, my young friend, you'll come round to my way of thinking."
"Never," said Nic firmly.
"That's a long time, squire. But don't you look so satisfied. You
really do not imagine that our friend can get away?"
"There's plenty of room," said Nic.
"To starve, my led. But, mark my words, if we don't run him down this
morning, he'll come back before long to ask for his punishment, if the
myall blacks have not speared him and knocked him on the head."
Just then the men came forward, and the magistrate's attention was taken
up, so that he did not see Nic's shudder.
"Oh, Brookes," said Mr Dillon, "that fellow broke out and ran for the
bush last night?"
"What?" cried the man, changing colour.
"Has he made you deaf?" said Mr Dillon. "Your Leather got away last
night. Have you seen him?"
"No, no," said Brookes, who looked unnerved. "But you'll run him down,
sir?"
"Of course. And you, Samson?"
"No, sir, he hasn't been back here. Here, you--Bung, Rig, Damper: have
you seen Leather 'smorning?"
"Plenty mine see Leather chop rail."
"Yes, yes, that was yesterday. 'Smorning?"
The three blacks made a peculiar sound, and threw up their chins.
"No good, Belton," said Mr Dillon. "Back to the bunya clump. I have
an idea that he struck off there, so as to keep up by the river. Don't
care to mount and come and see a convict hunt, squire, I suppose?" said
the magistrate inquiringly.
Nic gave him a furious look, and Mr Dillon nodded good humouredly and
rode after his men, the dogs beginning to bark as they started back, to
be answered by Nibbler and the collies, who thrust their noses under the
bottom of the door.
"Won't take them big stag-hounds long to hunt him down," said Brookes,
trying to hide his nervousness with a grin.
"Think they'll catch him, Sam?" said Nic.
"Well, sir, it's just about like a pair o' well-balanced wool scales,"
said the old man rather sadly. "Dogs has wonderful noses of their own.
But there, I 'spose we shall hear."
Nic went off to the stables, for he had not the heart to go indoors.
And as he stood by his horse the desire came upon him strongly to mount
and ride after Mr Dillon's party, so as to know everything that
happened, but he felt that it might appear to the poor fellow that he
was with the party trying to hunt him down, and he stayed and hung about
the station all day.
"Bung," he said toward evening, "you like Leather?"
"Plenty mine like damper."
"No, no; I mean did Leather ever knock you about?"
"Baal, no. Budgery (good)."
"Go over to the Wattles, Mr Dillon's, and find--did catch Leather. You
pidney? (understand)."
The man gave him a sly look, laughed, and ran into the cow-shed, to come
out directly after in his dress clothes, and armed. Then with a shout
he ran off at a long, quick trot toward the track.
It was getting toward midnight when he returned, to cooey under the
boy's window.
"Well, did you find out?"
"No catch. White fellow plenty run along myall bush."
"Here, catch," cried Nic, and he pitched the man a big piece of damper
and the blade-bone of a shoulder of mutton; and then, as he closed the
window, he fancied he heard whispering outside his door, and another
door closed.