Wild Cattle
The boys woke late on their first morning in the Far North. Sax's
thoughts immediately turned to his father's letter. He groped under
his pillow and pulled it out and read it again:
"In difficulties. Musgrave Ranges. Tell Oodnadatta
trooper, but _no one else_. He'll understand.
Boy quite reliable. Don't worry. Get a job somewhere.
"STOBART."
It was a characteristic note, for the drover never wrote long letters,
but the shakiness of the writing, and the mysterious way in which it
had been delivered, gave Sax a feeling of great uneasiness. If, as Joe
Archer the storekeeper had suggested, Stobart had been forced to take a
westerly track from Horseshoe Bend in order to find water and feed for
the cattle, he could easily have sent word to Oodnadatta by the
ordinary camel mail which passed the Bend once a month.
Sax looked up and saw that his friend was awake. "What d'you reckon we
ought to do, Boofy?" he asked, getting out of bed.
Vaughan took the letter and read it before replying. "It says 'Tell
Oodnadatta trooper'," he remarked. "I reckon we ought to do that
first, Sax, don't you?"
When breakfast was over, the boys asked the way to the trooper's house,
and were told that Sergeant Scott had gone away after some blacks who
had been spearing cattle. No one had any idea when he was likely to
return. "You see--" said the man who was telling them about it, "you
see, he may get the niggers easy and bring them in at once. Or they
may clear out and make him chase them for days and days. He'll get
them in the end, though, you bet. Old Scotty's not the one to be
beaten by niggers."
The boys sat down outside the trooper's house on a little hill and
looked over the desolate landscape. They seemed to be baulked at every
turn.
Presently, away above the northern rim of the land appeared a little
brown stain. It caught the eye because the horizon had no cloud on it
or anything to break the clear line except that patch of brown.
Sax was idly watching it, wondering what in the world he could do to
help his father, when the cloud seemed to get bigger and clearer.
"Look, Boof," he said. "D'you see that thing over there? It looks
like a cloud, but it's brown."
He pointed it out to his friend and they watched it together. It was
certainly getting bigger. "Looks like dust," said Vaughan.
"But whatever could be kicking up all that dust?" asked Sax. "It's
coming this way. Look, it's covering those trees over there now."
The cloud of dust got bigger and of a more distinct brown. Objects
such as trees, which at one time stood out in front of it, were hidden
one after another, till it spread out like heavy brown smoke from a
damp fire. The air was very clear and still. All at once Sax gripped
his friend's arm. He had heard a sound--a sound which was like his own
native tongue to the drover's son--the crack of a stock-whip.
"I'm sure I heard a whip," he exclaimed excitedly. "I'm dead sure I
did. Hark!"
Both boys sprang to their feet and listened intently. From out that
advancing mass of brown dust sounds could be heard. At first they were
just a confused murmur, a sort of deep grumbling very far away; but now
and again came a sharper sound, half like the crack of a pistol and
half like two flat boards being banged together.
"Yes. I'm sure of it. I'm sure of it. It's whips. I bet you it's
whips. And that dust is kicked up by cattle. I _know_ it is. Oh,
Boofy, Boofy! P'raps it's my father."
"Let's go and meet him," suggested Vaughan, and the boy would have
started out right away to meet the cattle if his friend had not
prevented him. Sax had never seen a mob of bush cattle, at least not
that he could remember, though his father had often carried him on the
pommel of his saddle when he was a tiny baby. But he knew
instinctively that it would be dangerous to face wild cattle on foot.
"Let's wait and see what happens," he said. "They won't be long."
The noise had now increased to the continuous rumbling bellow of a
great mob of restless cattle. Already the shouts of men could be
heard, and the cracks of whips came very sharp and clear. Dim forms
could be seen for a moment now and again on the outskirts of the cloud
of dust, as mounted men wheeled here and there and everywhere in their
efforts to keep the cattle together. The animals had never seen a town
before, and were frightened at the glitter of iron roofs in the sun.
Suddenly a figure on a horse shot out in front and cantered ahead. The
boys became tense with excitement. Was it Mr. Stobart? At first they
could not distinguish him except that he rode a grey horse and sat it
with the perfect ease of a Central Australian. The animal did not want
to leave its companions and started to "play up". But nothing it could
do made any difference to the superb rider; he just sat as if he were
part of the horse, as if he were indeed its brain, forcing it to obey
his will. When he came past the little hill where the lads were
standing he was about a hundred yards away from them, and they could
see him clearly.
"Is it, Sax?" asked Vaughan excitedly. "Is it your pater?"
The drover's son shook his head. "No chance," he said sadly. "My
father's taller than that man. But can't he just ride, Boof?"
The rider had by this time reached a set of troughs which spread out on
the ground and were filled by a bore about half a mile behind the town.
He dismounted, had a good look round to see that everything was right,
and then started to ride back again. But instead of going straight
back to the cattle, he rode up to the boys.
"Good-day," he said, reining in his horse. "Come out to see the
cattle?"
"Yes," replied Sax. "And we were wondering whether Boss Stobart"--he
said the name proudly--"whether Boss Stobart was with them."
The man shook his head. "No. Didn't he come in a week ago? He
started ahead of me. These are T.D.3 cattle."
The lads showed their disappointment on their faces, but of course the
drover did not understand the reason for it. "If it's fun you're after
seeing, you'll get as much with my mob as you would with the Boss's,"
he said with a very slight Irish brogue. "They're sure as wild as
bally mosquitoes. But look, you're a bit too close here. Get back a
bit, and when they've had a drink, go over to the troughs. You'll
likely see a bit of fun at the yards."
The lads did as he told them. They climbed on the roof of an old shed
where they were well out of the way, and could get a good view of the
cattle as they came in to water. They expected the whole mob to file
past at once, but that was not what happened. As soon as the drover
returned, the cattle were rounded up in a hollow between two
sand-hills. For a time the dust increased to such an extent that
nothing could be seen; but by the shouting and whip-cracking it was
evident that the men were having trouble.
Then a little mob of about a hundred were cut out from the others and
driven towards the water. A white man rode in front and two black boys
rode behind. To Stobart and Vaughan it looked as if the men were
taking far more care than was necessary, for they shepherded the cattle
every inch of the way. The cattle smelt the water from the distance,
and wanted to rush straight to it, but they were turned again and
again, and allowed to advance only at a slow pace. They had been ten
weeks on the road, and were so nervous at approaching the buildings of
the little town, that the least thing would make them rush away in all
directions. Once they started, nothing could stop them, and the result
of all those weeks of constant care might go for nothing. So the
stockmen took no chances.
The cattle watered quietly, and when they had had enough, they were
taken a little distance away and left in charge of the two black boys.
Then the white man returned and cut off another hundred, and watered
them in the same way, till every one in the huge mob of wild cattle had
had a drink without being disturbed.
Then came what the drover had called "a bit of fun". The cattle were
slowly moved towards the great trucking-yards.
"Let's go over to the troughs as he said," suggested Vaughan. "It's
lots nearer than this." So the two friends took up their position
behind the big tank into which the water from the bore poured before it
flowed into the troughs.
The Oodnadatta trucking-yards are made of iron rails set in concrete
and are capable of holding more than a thousand head of stock. Once
the cattle are in, nothing matters, for the yards are strong enough to
hold elephants. But the job is to get them in.
Inch by inch the grumbling mass of irritable beasts was urged forward
by the white drover and his boys. It was a ticklish job, and the whips
were kept quiet at first, except to flick up one or another which tried
to poke out of the mob. All went well till the leading cattle came to
the wing of the yard. Those iron rails frightened them. They had only
seen a yard once before in their lives, and the rails of that one were
made of wood.
"Steady, boys! Steady!" called the drover. "Keep 'em quiet a bit."
For a minute or two the stockmen sat back on their horses and did not
urge the cattle forward, but let them get used to their new
surroundings. The animals went up to the rails and smelt them,
bellowing with surprise.
"Now, slowly, boys! Slowly!"
Very gradually the horsemen moved forward. To a new chum this care
seemed very unnecessary. The gate was straight ahead. Why not force
the animals through, and get the job over? But a thousand cattle
cannot be forced by five men, as the boys were soon to see.
The leading cattle were now right up to the gate, and the others were
slowly crowding on behind, till they were jammed in the wings. If only
one or two would go through the rest would follow easily. But the
leading bullock struck a tin buried in the sand. Instantly the great
beast's head was raised and he sent out a roaring bellow. Those behind
him crowded on, but he would not pass that tin. It was lying on top of
the sand now. He tried to back away from it, and in doing so struck
his foot against it again.
Bellow followed bellow. He set his feet firmly in the sand and would
not budge. Down went his head, and he tossed clouds of sand into the
air.
"Let 'em have it. Let 'em have it," shouted the drover. "Force 'em up
there. Force 'em up." He stood in his stirrups and plied his whip,
cracking it back and front, and shouting at the top of his voice. The
blacks did the same, till it seemed as if they would force the cattle
into the yard by sheer energy.
But no. The leading bullock stood firm. Something had to give way.
No single animal could withstand the pressure of all the others from
behind. The bullock lifted his head high and shook his mighty horns,
and, with a roar which drowned all sounds of shouting, he turned along
the side of the wing and charged. Nothing could stop him. Others
followed till the cattle were going round and round like water in a
whirlpool. What cattlemen most fear had happened: a ring. Not a
single beast went through the gate. They passed it, at first slowly,
then faster and faster, till they were galloping round and round like
clumsy circus horses.
The drover tried to break the ring. He cut off a few cattle at the
back of the mob and forced them against the tide. He succeeded for a
moment, and the black stockmen cut off others and brought them in. For
a few seconds it was like two huge waves meeting. The cattle jammed in
the centre, and some were actually lifted from their feet. Then the
wave broke.
A charging mass of maddened cattle rushed away from the yards,
screaming with terror, heads down and stiffened tails high in the air.
Nothing could stand against them. It was death to attempt to check the
terrible charge. The mounted men galloped for safety to the sides.
One, however, was too slow. He had just gained the edge of the mob
when a young steer dashed into his horse. Both were going so fast that
they came down together. Fortunately the boy was thrown clear and was
not hurt. The steer rolled over and over and then picked itself up and
joined the rush. The riderless horse galloped towards the troughs.