Chivalry in the Desert
Mick had expected to be attacked. He had worked with natives for
thirty years and had had many narrow escapes for his life, and had come
to anticipate danger and thus avoid it. When Eagle's head had poked up
over the opposite sandhill, Mick had been lying in that half-sleep
which cattle-men get used to and from which they are instantly awakened
by the slightest unusual sight or sound. He had seen the native and
had known from experience exactly what the man would do. With nearly
closed eyes he had followed the stealthy movements of the man down to
the packs, had seen him take the axe, and had waited till the very last
moment with pistol-barrel pointing through a fold in the camp-sheet.
Then he had fired at the hand which was grasping the axe.
At the sound of the shot the two white boys had been startled awake,
but they had been so heavily asleep before, that it took them a moment
or two to realize what was happening. By that time it was all over,
and when they arrived on the scene, Mick was giving the last hitch to
the bull-hide rope. In answer to their eager questions, the stockman
told the lads of his adventure. It seemed terrible to them that Mick
had been so near death, and they wondered at his letting the native get
so near. But the white man treated the matter lightly, and all three
of them stood round the bound native and watched him slowly recover
consciousness.
The five black-boys were standing in a group on the other side of the
smouldering fire, not knowing whether the white man's anger would vent
itself on them, but they were reassured when he called out to them,
pointing to the bound man: "This one, Eagle. Him try to kill white
man. No good at all. Silly fella quite. You all good fella. You go
back longa swag. You lie down. You all good fella."
Eagle's eyelids fluttered and then opened, and he looked up into the
face of Sax. The light of the moon was strong enough to show the boy
what intense appeal there was in the captive's eyes. The man evidently
thought that he was going to be killed. He looked beseechingly at Sax
and then rolled his eyes to the north, towards the Musgraves, and
muttered the syllables: "Stoo-bar."
The sound drew Mick's attention to him. "So yer've recovered, have
yer?" he asked, stooping down to pick up a quart-pot of water. "P'raps
that'll help yer." He dashed the cold water into the man's face. It
certainly brought him round to complete consciousness, and the dark
eyes no longer looked appealingly at Sax, but gazed with hatred at his
tormentor.
"Yer don't like having a decent brand on yer hide, don't yer?" sneered
Mick. "Like me to take it off, would yer? Well, I'll have a try."
The white boys had no idea what the drover intended to do, and stood
back when he asked them to do so, He rolled the helpless man over till
his flank was uppermost and showed the recent brand-mark T.D.3. The
brand was outlined with thick burns which stood up from the black
flesh. Mick went over to his swag for his whip. It was long and
supple, made of plaited kangaroo-hide, and ended in a well-rounded
lash. He drew it once or twice through his fingers and then cracked it
in the air. The sound was like the sudden banging together of two flat
wooden boards. Mick stood back from the prostrate native and measured
the distance with his eye.
"Don't like to be branded, don't yer?" he asked. "Well, I'll take it
off for yer."
He drew back the whip and swung it forward. There was a yell of pain
from Eagle. The lash had bitten right in the middle of the brand. The
whip fell again and again, each time unerringly.
Sax sprang forward. He acted on the spur of the moment. With clenched
fists and blazing eyes he stood between the drover and the bound man.
For a moment there was silence except for the moaning of the tortured
man. Mick looked at Sax and said, with a cruel smile: "Well, and who
told you to interfere?"
"But, Mick," gasped the lad, surprised at his own audacity, but
determined to see the matter through--"but, Mick, you can't do it.
He's tied up."
"Can't do it, indeed!" shouted Mick. "Can't do it! That nigger wanted
to kill me, he did. Look out. I'm going to chop that brand out of his
side with this whip."
The thong whistled through the air over the drover's head and came
forward. But Sax stood his ground. The falling whip coiled round his
legs and jerked him off his feet, sending him backwards over the body
of the bound native. Mick laughed and raised the whip again; but
before it came down, the lad was on his feet and had cleared Eagle's
body at a bound. The lash caught Sax's right leg. It slashed through
the thin cloth of the trousers and left a bleeding cut from ankle to
knee. The boy did not cry out. He grabbed at the whip and missed it,
but before it could be raised again, Vaughan rushed forward and caught
it. He twisted the plaited hide round his wrist and hung on. Sax
joined him immediately, but they tried in vain to wrench the handle out
of the infuriated man's hand. The unequal tussle was soon over. Mick
was a big heavy man, and the lads were light and were not used to
matching their strength against the endurance of a man. First one and
then the other was thrown back. They came on again, however, till,
with a sudden jerk, Mick flung the whip away from him, and faced them
with his bare hands.
Sax and his friend were breathless. They stood panting beside the
native on the ground, and looked at the drover.
"You young whipper-snappers!" he shouted, advancing with threatening
gestures. "You young whipper-snappers! I'll teach you to mind your
own business. Get out of my way."
But the exhausted boys stood firm. At all costs they meant to protect
the bound man from the drover's anger. Mick hesitated for a moment.
He looked at the lads who were so new to the back country and who had
played the game so well. They seemed so young and small to him just
then. Because of his man's strength he could easily have killed them
both, but their very weakness made their obstinate resistance and pluck
seem all the greater. His anger began to die slowly, and his clenched
fists fell to his sides and opened. "I can thrash that nigger in the
morning," he said to himself. And then his real manhood, which anger
had hidden for a time, asserted itself, and he felt ashamed. "After
all," he thought again, "a chap shouldn't hit a man when he's down,
nigger or no nigger."
Finally he spoke aloud. "All right, you boys. I won't touch him
to-night. Leave him where he is till morning. I'm going back to bed."