Sidcotinga Station
The morning after Mick Darby had returned to them with water and food,
both Sax and Vaughan felt so much better that they wanted to set out
for Sidcotinga Station right away. But the drover would not hear of
such a thing. He knew, better than the boys did, that it would be some
time before even their strong young bodies recovered from the "perish",
and they all stayed where they were for three full days, and made
themselves comfortable by building a more substantial shelter from sun
and wind. They could have stayed longer if they had wanted to do so,
for Dan Collins, the Sidcotinga manager, had told Mick of a well not
more than six miles away to the north, and the black boys drove the
horses there every day and also renewed the supply of water in the
canteens. It was evidently from this well that the fierce Musgrave
niggers who had attacked them had obtained water.
On the fourth morning the horses were brought in early, and the party
set out west after breakfast, on its interrupted journey, travelling by
easy stages, and taking three days over a distance which Mick had
accomplished in one.
The cook was the only white man on the station when they reached
Sidcotinga, and he made them welcome with the genuine rough hospitality
for which the back country is famous. The resources of a desert
cattle-station are very limited, but everything which was possible was
done for the two white boys, and they spent a very restful and
enjoyable week and a half, loafing round the homestead. It was not
much of a place to look at, but Sax and his friend thought it was
wonderful. They had travelled across the desert for a month in order
to reach that little collection of buildings, and during that time they
had not seen a fence or a roof of any kind, and the only sign of
civilization had been an artesian bore two days out from Oodnadatta.
Though the iron sheds and strong bough-shelters which comprised the
homestead were very rough, there was a workmanlike air about the place
which seemed to say that white men had taken possession of the
wilderness and meant to stay there.
There was an iron hut divided into two rooms where the manager and the
white stockman lived. Such a building as this is known throughout the
length and breadth of Australia's cattle-country as "Government House".
A few yards away was the "cook-house", also made of iron, where meals
for the white men were served. Then there was a store, in which enough
personal and station requirements were stocked to last at least a year,
for the string of camels, which came out from the head of the railway
with loading for Sidcotinga Station, only came once in every twelve
months and was sometimes late. The horse-gear room was a fascinating
place to these two lovers of horses, and though it was rather empty
when they reached the station, because every available man was out
mustering on the run, they found enough in it to interest them for many
hours. The blacksmith's shop also came in for its share of attention,
the more so perhaps because neither of the lads knew anything about
blacksmith's work. Dan Collins, the manager, prided himself on his
blacksmith's shop, and rightly so, for there was no metal work--other
than actual castings--which he could not manage to make or repair for
station use.
Dominating the homestead, by reason of its height, was a large iron
wind-mill mounted on a tall stand, with a huge water-tank raised on a
staging near it. The mill pumped water from a hundred-foot well into
this tank, which supplied, not only the cattle-troughs, but also the
dwellings, for there were taps outside Government House, the
cook-house, and the blacksmith's shop--a very unusual convenience on
such an outlying station.
It was not the buildings, however, which interested the boys most; it
was the stock-yards. The whole station seemed to centre in these
yards, and indeed they were of chief importance, and were the real
reason for everything else being there. At first the mass of yards,
races, pounds, wings, and gates seemed just like a maze to the
new-chums, but they were soon to learn how perfectly everything about
that rough strong stock-yard was arranged for the quick handling of
cattle.
One morning, a couple of days after their arrival at Sidcotinga
Station, the white boys were sitting in the sand with their backs
against the wall of the horse-gear room, which threw a narrow patch of
shade over them, when Yarloo came up. They had been so interested in
all the novel sights and sounds around them since coming to the
station, that they had almost forgotten the faithful black-fellow; but
they looked up now with pleasure, and greeted him with a friendly
"Hullo, Yarloo!"
"Goo-day," he said, with a grin of delight at being noticed; but he at
once became serious, and continued, speaking especially to Sax: "Me go
'way.... Me come back by'm by."
"Going away?" asked Sax. "Whatever for?"
"Me walk longa Musgraves.... Me come back by'm by," he repeated.
"But what'll Mick say?" asked Vaughan.
"Mick good fella," said the native simply. "Him real good fella,
quite.... Him only little time boss longa me. Boss alday longa me (my
real boss) sit down over dere," he pointed to the Musgrave Range. "Me
yabber Boss Stobart." He said the name with pride.
"I'll go with you," said Sax, starting up as if he meant to set out
immediately. "I'll go with you to find my father."
"By'm by," replied Yarloo. "White boy come by'm by. No come now.
S'pose white boy come now, Boss Stobart, rouse like blazes (would be
very angry). White boy sit down little time. Me come back by'm by."
"Well, at any rate, I'll send Father a note," said Sax, and he ran to
Government House to get a pencil and some paper. He found an old
diary, and tore a sheet out of it and wrote: "We're at Sidcotinga
Station. I wanted to come out to you, but Yarloo would not let me.
Tell him that we may come out. Love from Sax."
He ran back to the horse-gear room, but Yarloo had gone. The boy had
evidently not understood what Sax meant and had already started out for
the Musgrave Ranges. It was a great disappointment to the boys not to
be allowed to go straight away and find the white drover, yet they had
already experienced enough, both of the hatred of the Musgrave tribes
and of the power of the desert, to convince them that they had better
take the advice of those who knew the conditions so much better than
they did. They talked a lot about the ranges which appeared to be so
near, seen through the clear dry air, and they went over and over again
the message which they had received in Oodnadatta from Boss Stobart,
trying to find an explanation for the mystery.
"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."
Sax and Vaughan had been at Sidcotinga for eleven days, and were not
only feeling recovered from their "perish", but were also beginning to
wish that they had something to do, when the musterers returned one
afternoon with well over a thousand head of cattle. It was a still
day, and Sax had climbed up the mill tower, and was sitting on the
platform near the big wind-wheel, looking over the barren landscape,
when he saw what looked like a brown stain on the southern sky near the
horizon. He remembered having seen something similar to that at
Oodnadatta, and he knew at once that it was caused by a big moving mob
of stock. Vaughan was near the troughs, vainly trying to entice a
galah (a cockatoo with rose-coloured breast and grey wings and back) to
eat bread out of his hand, when Sax startled both him and the bird by
shouting: "They're coming, Boof! They're coming!"
Vaughan looked up and saw that his venturesome friend had climbed even
higher than the platform, and was standing right on top of the main
casting, and was waving his arms towards the south.
"They're coming, Boof!" he shouted again. "It's cattle." To Vaughan's
relief--for Sax had got used to doing things on the mill which Vaughan
was too scared even to attempt--his friend began climbing down, but he
went so fast that his neck and limbs were in danger every moment. When
he reached the ground, he ran off to Government House to find Mick, who
was lying on his back reading a three-months old copy of _Pals_.
The boys expected their drover friend to be as excited as they were,
but he had seen cattle yarded so many hundreds of times that he took
things very coolly. He first made sure that the troughs were full of
water, and that the valves were working properly, and then fixed the
stock-yard gates ready for receiving the cattle.
The cloud of dust came nearer, and the lowing of cattle and the
cracking of whips could soon be heard, and the voices of men rose above
the din. From out of the dust a few leading cattle appeared, then
others and others still, till the astonished white boys saw a bigger
mob of cattle than they had ever seen before. Sax was on the platform
of the mill again, and Vaughan was about half-way up, so they both got
a good view of what was going on below them.
The thirsty animals smelt the water and tried to rush, but well-mounted
black boys wheeled here, there, and everywhere, checking the restless
cattle, and allowing them to come on slowly without any chance of a
break. The big voice of a white man on a black horse in the rear was
heard from time to time giving orders which were at once obeyed.
Presently the four long lines of troughing were hidden from sight by
drinking cattle, and the sucking of their lips, the gushing of water
through the valves, and the grumbling of the tired animals all blended
together, and seemed to be part of the dust which rose from the
trampling feet and settled on everything till men and stock were alike
brown.
Mick Darby was keeping the trough-valves at full pressure, and the
manager rode over to him. The white boys followed the mounted man with
their eyes. This was to be their boss; that is, if he would take them.
They were evidently the subject of conversation, for Mick pointed up at
the mill, and Dan Collins looked up also. They could not see his face,
and he made no sign, but went off again to keep the waiting cattle
rounded up.
It takes a long time to water a thousand head of cattle, and by the
time the Sidcotinga troughs were full, with no cattle drinking at them,
the sun had just set. Gradually the animals were worked away from the
water towards the wing of the yard. Probably both Sax and his friend
were hoping that there would be a break, for there is nothing more
exciting to watch--or to be in--than a cattle-rush; but these men were
on their own country, and at their own stock-yards. They eased the big
mob of animals slowly up to the yards, then sat back and let them have
a spell, just holding them within the compass of the wings. The
leading bullocks nosed the stock-yard rails, went up to the gates and
smelt the air, gave one or two inquiring bellows, and then walked
through. Finding space on the other side of the gates, they went right
into the yards. Others followed, till soon the whole mob was filing
through the gates. Then came the shouting of men, the racket of
stock-whips, the prancing of horses, and the protesting roar of cattle,
as they were jammed up tight. At last the gates were swung to and
fastened with a chain.