CUTTING OUT
And the loony bullock snorted when you first came into view,
Well, you know, it's not so often that he sees a swell like you.
A. B. PATERSON.
Norah did not encounter the newcomer again until dinner-time.
She was in the drawing-room, waiting for the gong to sound, when Cecil
came in with her father. For a moment he did not recognize the soaked
waif of the garden whom he had recommended "to go round to the back."
A hot bath and a change of raiment had restored Norah to her usual
self; had helped her also to laugh at her meeting with her cousin,
although she was still ruffled at the memory of the sneer in his laugh.
Perhaps because of that she had dressed more carefully than usual.
Cecil might have been excused for failing to recognize the grave-faced
maiden, very dainty in her simple frock of soft white silk, with her
still-moist curls tied back with a broad white ribbon.
"As you two have already met, there's no need to introduce you," said
Mr. Linton, a twinkle in his eye. "Sorry your reception was so
informal, Cecil--you took us by surprise."
"I suppose the mater mixed things up, as usual," Cecil said, in a bored
way. "I certainly intended all along to get here to-day, but she's
fearfully vague, don't you know. I was lucky in getting a lift out."
"You certainly were," his uncle said, dryly. "However, I'm glad you
didn't have to wait in the township. You'd have found it slow."
"I'd probably have gone back," said Cecil.
"Ah--would you?" Mr. Linton looked for a moment very much as though he
wished he had done so. There was an uncomfortable pause, to which the
summons to dinner formed a welcome break.
Dinner was very different from the usual cheery meal. Cecil was not
shy, and supplied most of the conversation as a matter of course; and
his conversation was of a kind new to Norah. She remained unusually
silent, being, indeed, fully occupied in taking stock of this novel
variety of boy. She wondered were all city boys different from those
she knew. Jim was not like this; neither were the friends he was
accustomed to bring home with him. They were not a bit grown up, and
they talked of ordinary, wholesome things like cricket and football,
and horses, and dormitory "larks," and were altogether sensible and
companionable. But Cecil's talk was of theatres and bridge parties,
and--actually--clothes! Horses he only mentioned in connexion with
racing, and when Mr. Linton inquired mildly if he were fond of dances,
he was met by raised eyebrows and a bored disclaimer of caring to do
anything so energetic. Altogether this product of city culture was an
eye-opener to the simple folks of Billabong.
Of Norah, Cecil took very little notice. She was evidently a being
quite beneath his attention--he was secretly amused at the way in which
she presided at her end of the table, and decided in his own mind that
his mother's views had been correct, and that this small girl would be
all the better for a little judicious snubbing. So he ignored her in
his conversation, and if she made a remark contrived to infuse a faint
shade of patronage into his reply. It is possible that his amazement
would have been great had he known how profoundly his uncle longed to
kick him.
Dinner over, Norah fled to Brownie, and to that sympathetic soul
unburdened her woes. Mr. Linton and his nephew retired to the verandah,
where the former preferred to smoke in summer. He smiled a little at
the elaborate cigarette case Cecil drew out, but lit his pipe without
comment, reflecting inwardly that although cigarettes were scarcely the
treatment, though they might be the cause, of a pasty face and a
"nervous breakdown," it was none of his business to interfere with a
young gentleman who evidently considered himself a man of the world. So
they smoked and talked, and when, after a little while, Cecil confessed
himself tired, and went off to bed, he left behind him a completely
bored and rather annoyed squatter.
"Well, Norah, what do you think of him?"
Norah, sitting meekly knitting in the drawing-room, looked up and
laughed as her father came in.
"Think? Why, I don't think much, Daddy."
"No more do I," said Mr. Linton, casting his long form into an
armchair. "Of all the spoilt young cubs!--and that's all it is, I should
say: clearly a case of spoiling. The boy isn't bad at heart, but he's
never been checked in his life. Well, I'm told it's risky for a father
to bring up his daughter unaided, but I'm positive the result is worse
when an adoring mother rears a fatherless boy! Possibly I've made
rather a boy of you--but Cecil's neither one thing nor the other. Why
didn't you come out, my lass?"
"Felt too bad tempered!" said Norah; "he makes me mad when he speaks to
you in that condescending way of his, Daddy. I'll be calmer to-morrow."
She smiled up at her father. "Have a game of chess?"
"It would be soothing, I think," Mr. Linton answered. He laughed. "It's
really pathetic--our Darby and Joan existence to be ruffled like this!
Thank goodness, he's in bed, for to-night, at any rate!" They got out
the chessmen, and played very happily until Norah's bedtime.
"Do you ride, Cecil?" Mr. Linton asked next morning at breakfast.
"Ride? Oh, certainly," Cecil answered. "I suppose you're all very keen
on that sort of thing up here?"
"Well, that's how we earn our living," his uncle remarked. "Norah is my
right-hand man on the run."
"Ah, how nice! Do you find it hard to get labour here?"
"Oh, we get them," said Mr. Linton, his eyes twinkling. "But I prefer
to catch 'em young. We're cutting out cattle for trucking to-day. Would
you care to come out?"
"Delighted," said the nephew, glancing without enthusiasm at his
flannels. "But I didn't dress for riding."
"Oh, we're not absolute sticklers for costume here," Mr. Linton said,
laughing outright. "Wear what you like--in any case, we shan't start for
an hour."
It was more than that before they finally got away. The delay was due
to waiting for the visitor, whose toilet was a lengthy proceeding. When
at length he sauntered out, in blissful ignorance of the fact that he
had been keeping them waiting, no one could have found fault with his
clothes--a riding suit of very English cut, with immensely baggy
breeches, topped by an immaculately folded stock, and a smart tweed
cap.
"That feller plenty new," said black Billy, gazing at him with
astonishment.
Mr. Linton chuckled as he swung Norah to her saddle.
"Let's hope his horsemanship is equal to his attire!"
Norah smiled in answer. Bobs was dancing with impatience, and she
walked him round and round, keeping an eye on her cousin.
A steady brown mare had been saddled for Cecil--one of the "general
utility" horses to be found on every station. He cast a critical eye
over her as he approached, glancing from her to the horses of his uncle
and cousin. Brown Betty was a thoroughly good stamp of a stock horse,
with plenty of quality; while not, perhaps, of the class of Monarch and
Bobs, she was by no means a mount to be despised. That Cecil
disapproved of her, however, was evident. There was a distinct curl on
his lip as he gathered up the reins. However, he mounted without a
word, and they set off in pursuit of Murty O'Toole, the head stockman,
who was already halfway to the cutting-out paddock.
The Clover Paddock of Billabong was famous--a splendid stretch of
perfect green, where the cattle moved knee-deep in fragrant blossoming
clovers, with pink and white flowers starring the wide expanse. At one
end it was gently undulating plain, towards the other it came down in a
gradual slope to the river, where tall gums gave an evergreen shelter
from winter gales or summer heat. The cattle were under them as the
riders came up--great, splendid Shorthorns, the aristocracy of their
kind, their roan sides sleek, their coats in perfect condition, and a
sprinkling of smaller bullocks whose inferiority in size was
compensated by their amazing fatness. It was evident that this week
there would be no difficulty in making up the draft for the Melbourne
market.
The cattle were mustered into one herd; no racing or hastening now, but
with the gentle consideration one should extend to the dignified and
portly. They moved lazily, as if conscious of their own value. Cecil,
hurrying a red-and-white bullock across a little flat, was met by a
glare from Murty O'Toole, and a muttered injunction to "go aisy wid
'em," followed by a remark that "clo'es like thim was only fit to go
mustherin' turkeykins in!" Luckily the latter part of the outbreak was
unheard by Cecil, who was quite sufficiently injured at the first, and
favoured Murty with a lofty stare that had the effect of throwing the
Irishman and black Billy into secret convulsions of mirth.
Norah rode not far from her father as they brought the cattle out into
the open and to the cutting-out camp--a spot where the beaten ground
showed that very often before such scenes had been enacted. The
bullocks knew it, and huddled there contentedly enough in a compact
body, while slowly Mr. Linton and Murty rode about them, singling out
the primest. Once marked down, O'Toole would slip between the bullock
and his mates and edge him away, where Billy took charge of him,
preventing his returning to the mob. With the first two or three this
was not quite easy: but once a few were together they gave little
trouble, feeding about calmly: and generally a bullock cut out from the
main body would trot quite readily across to the others.
Privately, Cecil Linton thought it remarkably dull work. All that he
had read of station life was unlike this. He had had visions of far
more exciting doings--mad gallops and wild cattle, thoroughbred horses,
kangaroo hunts and a score of other delights. Instead, all he had to do
was to tail after a lot of sleepy bullocks and then watch them sorted
out by some men whose easy-going ways were unlike anything he had
imagined. He had no small opinion of his riding, and he yearned for
distinction. The very sight of Norah, leaning a little forward,
keenness on every line of her face, was an offence to him. He could see
nothing whatever to be keen about. Yawning, he lit a cigarette.
Just then a bullock was cut out and pointed in the way he should go. He
lumbered easily past black Billy, apparently quite contented with his
fate; and Billy, seeing another following, gave a crack of his whip to
speed him on his way, and turned to deal with the newcomer. The first
bullock became immediately seized with a spirit of mischief. He
flourished his heels in the air, turned at right angles and made off
towards the river at a gallop.
Cecil, busy with his cigarette, saw Norah sit up suddenly and tighten
her hand on the bridle. Simultaneously Bobs was off like a shot--tearing
over the paddock a little wide of the fugitive. The race was a short
one. Passing the bullock, the bay pony and his rider swung in sharply
and the lash of Norah's whip shot out. The bullock stopped short,
shaking his head; then, as the whip spoke again, he wheeled and trotted
back meekly to the smaller mob. Behind him Norah cantered slowly. The
work of cutting out had not paused and no one seemed to notice the
incident. But Cecil saw his uncle smile across at the little girl, and
caught the look in Norah's eyes as she smiled back. She and Bobs took
up their station again, silently watchful.
Cecil was fired with ambition. Norah's small service had seemed to him
ridiculously easy; still, insignificant though everyone appeared to
regard it, it was better than doing nothing. He had not the faintest
doubt of his own ability, and the idea that riding in a decorous suburb
might not fit him for all equine emergencies he would have scouted. He
gathered up his reins, and waited anxiously for another beast to break
away.
One obliged him presently; a big shorthorn that decided he had stayed
long enough in the mob, and suddenly made up his mind to seek another
scene. Norah had already started in pursuit when she saw her cousin
send his spurs home in Betty, and charge forward. So she pulled up the
indignant Bobs, who danced, and left the field to Cecil.
Betty took charge of affairs from the outset. There was no move in all
the cattle-game that she did not understand. Moreover, she was justly
indignant at the spur-thrust, which attention only came her way in
great emergencies; and the heavy hand on her mouth was gall and
wormwood to her. But ahead was a flying bullock, and she was a stock
horse, which was sufficient for Betty.
"That feller brown mare got it all her own way!" said Billy, in
delight.
She had. Cecil, bumping a little in the saddle, had no very clear idea
of how things were going. He had a moment of amazement that the quiet
mare he had despised could make such a pace. Once he tried to steady
her, but at that instant Betty was not to be steadied. She galloped on,
and Cecil, recovering some of his self-possession, began to think that
this was the thing whereof he had dreamed.
The bullock was fat and scant of breath. It did not take him very long
to conclude that he had had enough, especially when he heard the hoofs
behind him. It was sad, for close before him was the shade of the trees
and the murmur of the river; but discretion is ever the better part of
valour, particularly if one be not only valorous but fat. He pulled up
short. Betty propped without a second's hesitation, and swung round.
To Cecil it seemed that the world had dropped from under him--and then
risen to meet him. The brown mare turned, in the bush idiom, "on a
sixpence," but Cecil did not turn. He went on. The onlookers had a
vision of the mare chopping round, as duty bade her, to head off the
bullock, while at right-angles a graceful form in correct English
garments hurtled through the air in an elegant curve. When he came
down, which seemed to be not for some time, it was into a shady clump
of wild raspberries--and only those who know the Victorian wild
raspberry know how clinging and intrusive are its hooked thorns. Two
legs kicked wildly. There was no sound.
When the rescuing party extricated Cecil from his involuntary botanical
researches he was a sorry sight. His clothes were torn in many places,
and his face and hands badly scratched, while the red stains of the
raspberries had turned his light tweeds into something resembling an
impressionist sketch. It was perhaps excusable that he had altogether
lost his temper. He burst out in angry abuse of the mare, the bullock,
the raspberry clump, and the expedition in general--anger which the
scarcely concealed grins of the stockmen only served to intensify.
Norah, who had choked with laughter at first, but had become
sympathetic as soon as she saw the boy's face, extracted numerous
thorns from his person and clothing, and murmured words of regret,
which fell on unheeding ears. Finally his uncle lost patience.
"That'll do Cecil," he said. "Everyone comes to grief occasionally--take
your gruel like a man. Come on, Norah. Murty's waiting." Saying which,
he put Norah up, and they rode off, while Billy held the brown mare's
rein for Cecil, who mounted sulkily. Something in his uncle's face
forbade his replying. But in his heart came the beginning of a grudge
against the Bush, Billabong in general, and Norah in particular. Later
on, he promised himself, there might come a chance to work it off.
For the present, however, there was nothing to be done but nurse his
scratches and his grievance; so he sat sulkily on Betty, and took no
further active part in the morning's work, the consciousness of acting
like a spoilt child not tending to improve his temper. Nobody took any
notice of him. One by one the bullocks were cut out, until between
twenty and thirty were ready, and then the main mob was left to wander
slowly back to the river, while O'Toole and Billy started with the
others to the paddock at the end of the run, which was their first
stage in the seventeen-mile journey to the trucking yards at Cunjee.
They moved off peacefully through the blossoming clover.
"Luckily they don't be afther knowin' what's ahead av thim!" said
Murty. He lifted his battered felt hat to Norah, as he rode away.
"We'll go down and see how high the river is before we go home," said
Mr. Linton.
So they rode down to the river, commented on the unusual amount of
water for so late in the year, inspected the drinking places, paid a
visit to a beast in another paddock, which had been sick, but was now
apparently in rude health, and finally cantered home to lunch. Brownie
prudently refrained from comment on Cecil's scratched countenance,
further than to supply him with large quantities of hot water in his
room, together with a small pair of pliers, which she remarked were
'andy things for prickles. Under this varied treatment Cecil became
more like himself, and recovered his spirits, though a soreness yet
remained at the thought of the little girl who had done so easily what
he had failed so ignominiously in trying to do. He decided definitely
in his own mind that he did not like Norah.