SOME VISITORS.
After breakfast next morning Mary decided to spend the day in the
company of the children, who were having holidays.
“Just as well for you to learn the house first,” said Hugh, “before you
tackle the property. The youngsters know where everything is—within
four miles, anyhow.”
Two little girls were impressed, and were told to take Miss Grant round
and show her the way about the place; and they set off together in the
bright morning sunlight, on a trip of exploration.
Now, no true Australian, young or old, ever takes any trouble or
undergoes any exertion or goes anywhere without an object in view. So
the children considered it the height of stupidity to walk simply for
the sake of walking, and kept asking where they were to walk to.
“What shall we see if we go along this road?” asked Miss Grant,
pointing with her dainty parasol along the wheel-track that meandered
across the open flat and lost itself in the timber.
“Nothing,” said both children together.
“Then, what is there up that way?” she asked, waving her hand up
towards the foothills and the blue mountains. “There must be some
pretty flowers to look at up there?”
“No, there isn’t,” said the children.
“Well, let us go into the woods and see if we can’t find something,”
she said determinedly; and with her reluctant guides she set off,
trudging across the open forest through an interminable vista of gum
trees.
After a while one of the girls said, “Hello, there’s Poss!”
Miss Grant looked up, and saw through the trees a large and very
frightened bay horse, with a white face. On further inspection, a youth
of about eighteen or twenty was noticed on the horse’s back, but he
seemed so much a part of the animal that one might easily overlook him
at a first glance. The horse had stopped at the sight of them, and was
visibly affected with terror.
They advanced slowly, and the animal began snorting and sidling away
among the timber, its rider meanwhile urging it forward. Then Emily
cried,
“Hello, Poss!” and the horse gave a snort, wheeled round, jumped a huge
fallen tree, and fled through the timber like a wild thing, with its
rider still apparently glued to its back. In half a second they were
out of sight.
“Who is it? and why does he go away?” asked Miss Grant.
“That’s Poss,” said Emily carelessly. “He and Binjie live over at
Dunderalligo. He often comes here. They and their father live over
there That’s a colt he’s breaking in. He’s very nice. So is Binjie.”
“Well, here he comes again,” said Miss Grant, as the horseman
reappeared, riding slowly round them in ever-lessening circles; the
colt meanwhile eyeing them with every aspect of intense dislike and
hatred, and snorting between whiles like a locomotive.
Emily waited till the rider came fairly close, and said, “Poss, this is
Miss Grant.”
The rider blushed, and lifted his hand to his hat. Fatal error! For the
hundredth-part of a second the horse seemed to cower under him as if
about to sink to the ground, then tucked his head in between his front
legs, and his tail in between the hind ones, forming himself into a
kind of circle, and began a series of gigantic bounds at the rate of
about a hundred to the minute; while in the air above him his rider
described a catherine wheel before he came to earth, landing on his
head at Miss Grant’s feet. The horse was soon out of sight, making
bounds that would have cleared a house if one had been in the way. The
rider got up, pulled his hat from over his eyes, brushed some mud off
his clothes, and came up to shake hands as if nothing had happened; his
motto apparently being _toujours la politesse_.
“My word, can’t he buck, Poss!” said the child. “He chucked you all
right, didn’t he?”
“He got a mean advantage,” said the young fellow, in a slow drawl.
“Makes me look a fair chump, doesn’t it, getting chucked before a lady?
I’ll take it out of him when I get on him again. How d’ you do?”
“I’m very well, thank you,” said Miss Grant. “I hope you are not hurt.
What a nasty beast! I wonder you aren’t afraid to ride him.”
“I ain’t afraid of him, the cow! He can’t sling me fair work, not the
best day ever he saw. He can’t buck,” he added, in tones of the deepest
contempt, “and he won’t try when I’ve got a fair hold of him; only goes
at it underhanded. It’s up to me to give him a hidin’ next time I ride
him, I promise you.”
“Where will he go to?” said Miss Grant, looking for the vanished steed.
“Won’t he run away?”
“He can’t get out of the paddick,” drawled the youth. “Let’s go up to
the house, and get one of the boys to run him in. He had a go-in this
morning with me—the bit came out of his mouth somehow, and he did get
to work proper. He went round and round the paddick at home, with me on
him, buckin’ like a brumby. Binjie had to come out with another horse
and run me back into the yard. He’s a pretty clever colt, too. The
timber is tremendous thick in that paddick, and he never hit me against
anything. Binjie reckons any other colt’d have killed me. Come on up to
the house, or he’ll have my saddle smashed before I get him.”
As they hurried home, Miss Grant had a good look at the stranger—a
pleasant, brown-skinned brown-handed youth, with the down of a black
moustache growing on his upper lip. His frank and open face was easy to
read. He looked with boyish admiration at Miss Grant, who immediately
stooped to conquer, and began an animated conversation about nothing in
particular—a conversation which was broken in upon by one of the girls.
“Where is Binjie?” she asked. “Isn’t he coming over?”
“Not he,” said the youth, with an air of great certainty. We’re busy
over at our place, I tell you. The water is all gone in the nine-mile
paddick. Binj an me and Andy Kelly had to muster all the sheep and
shift ’em across to the home paddick. Binj is musterin’ away there now.
I just rode over to see Hugh about some of your sheep that’s in the
river paddick.”
“Won’t Binjie be over, then?” persisted Emily.
“No, of course he won’t. Don’t I tell you he’s got three days’ work
musterin’ there? I must be off at daylight to-morrow, home again, or
the old man’ll know the reason why.”
By this time they had reached the homestead, and Poss went off with the
children to the stables. Here he secured the “knockabout” horse, always
kept saddled and bridled about the station for generally-useful work,
and set off at a swinging canter up the paddock after his own steed.
Miss Grant went in and found Mrs. Gordon at her jam-making.
“Well, and have you found anything to amuse you?” asked the old lady in
her soft, even voice.
“Oh, I’ve had quite a lot of experiences; and I went for a walk and met
Poss. Who is Poss?”
The old lady laughed as she gave the jam a stir. “He’s a young Hunter,”
she said. “Was Binjie there?”
“No; and he isn’t coming either; he has work to do. I learnt that much.
But who is Poss? and who is Binjie? I’m greatly taken with Poss.”
“He’s a nice-looking young fellow, isn’t he? His father has a small
station away among the hills, and Poss and Binjie help him on it. Those
are only nick-names, of course. Poss’s name is Arthur, and Binjie’s is
George, I think. They’re nice young fellows, but very bushified; they
have lived here all their lives. Their father—well, he isn’t very
steady; and they like to get over here when they can, and each tries to
come without the other knowing it. Binjie will be here before long, I
expect. They’re great admirers of Miss Harriott, both of them, and they
come over on all sorts of ridiculous pretexts. Poor fellows, it must be
very dull for them over there. Fancy, week after week without seeing
anyone but their father, the station-hands, and the sheep! Now that
you’re here, I expect they’ll come more than ever.”
As she spoke, the tramp of a horse’s hoofs was heard in the yard and,
looking out, Miss Grant saw a duplicate of Poss dismounting from a
duplicate of Poss’s horse. And Mrs. Gordon, looking over her shoulder,
said, “Here’s Binjie. I thought he’d be here before long.”
“Why do they call him Binjie?” asked Miss Grant, watching the new
arrival tying up his horse. “What does it mean?”
“It’s a blackfellow’s word, meaning stomach,” said the old lady. “He
used to be very fat, and the name stuck to him. Good day, Binjie!”
“Good day, Mrs. Gordon. Hugh at home?”
“No, he won’t be back till dark,” said the old lady. “Won’t you let
your horse go?”
“Well, I don’t know if I can,” replied the new arrival thoughtfully.
“I’ve left Poss at home clearing the sheep out of that big paddock at
the Crossing. There’s five thousand sheep, and no water there; I’ll
have to go back and help him. I only came over to tell Hugh there were
some of his weaners in the river paddock. I must go straight back, or
Poss’ll make a row. We’ve a lot of work to do.”
“I think Poss is here,” said Mrs. Gordon.
“Poss is here, is he? Well, if that don’t beat everything! And when we
started to muster that paddock I went to the top, and he went the other
way, and he reckoned to be at it all day. He’s a nice fellow, he is! I
wonder what the old man’ll say?”
“Oh, I expect he won’t mind very much. This is Mr. George Hunter, Miss
Grant.”
Binjie extended much the same greeting as Poss had done; and by
dinner-time that evening—or, as it is always called in the bush,
tea-time—they had all made each other’s acquaintance, and both the
youths were worshipping at the new shrine.
At tea the talk flowed freely, and the two bush boys, shy at first,
began to expand as Mary Grant talked to them. Put a pretty girl and a
young and impressionable bushman together, and in the twinkling of an
eye you have a Sir Galahad ready to do anything for the service of his
lady.
Lightheartedly they consented to stay the night, in the hope of seeing
Hugh, to deliver their message about the weaners—they seemed to have
satisfactorily arranged the question of mustering. And when Miss Grant
said, “Won’t your sheep be dying of thirst in that paddock, where there
is no water?” both brothers replied, “Oh, we’ll be off at crack of dawn
in the morning and fix ’em up all right.”
“They always say that,” said the old lady, “and generally stay three
days. I expect they’ll make it four, now that you’re here.”