A BUSH FIRE
Wally disentangled his hook gravely, while the others would have
laughed more heartily but for fear of frightening the fish.
“Well, I’m blessed!” said the captor at length, surveying the prize
with his nose in the air. “A blooming old boot! Been there since the
year one, I should think, by the look of it.”
“I thought you had a whale at the very least,” grinned Harry.
“Well, I’ve broken my duck, anyhow, and that’s more than any of you
others can say!” Wally laughed. “Time enough for you to grin when
you’ve caught something yourselves—even if it’s only an old boot! It’s
a real old stager and no mistake. I wonder how it came in here.”
“Some poor old beggar of a swaggie, I expect,” Jim said. “He didn’t
chuck it away until it was pretty well done, did he? Look at the holes
in the uppers—and there’s no sole left to speak of.”
“Do you see many tramps here?” Harry asked.
“Not many—we’re too far from a road,” Jim replied. “Of course there are
a certain number who know of the station, and are sure of getting
tucker there—and a job if they want one—not that many of them do, the
lazy beggars. Most of them would be injured if you asked them to chop a
bit of wood in return for a meal, and some of them threaten to set the
place on fire if they don’t get all they want.”
“My word!” said Wally. “Did they ever do it?”
“Once—two years ago,” Jim answered. “A fellow came one hot evening in
January. We’d had a long spell of heat, and all our meat had gone bad
that day; there was hardly a bit in the place, and of course they
couldn’t kill a beast till evening. About the middle of the day this
chap turned up and asked for tucker.
“Mrs. Brown gave him bread and flour and tea and some cake—a real good
haul for any swaggie. It was too good for this fellow, for he
immediately turned up his proud nose and said he wanted meat. Mrs.
Brown explained that she hadn’t any to give him; but he evidently
didn’t believe her, said it was our darned meanness and, seeing no men
about, got pretty insulting. At last he tried to force his way past
Mrs. Brown into the kitchen.”
“Did he get in?” asked Wally.
“Nearly—not quite, though. Dad and Norah and I had been out riding, and
we came home, past the back yard, in the nick of time. We couldn’t hear
what the fellow was saying to Mrs. Brown, but his attitude was enough
to make us pull up, and as we did so we saw him try to shove her aside.
She was plucky enough and banged the door in his face, but he got his
foot in the crack, so that it couldn’t shut, and began to push it open.
“Dad slipped off his horse gently. He made a sign to us to keep quiet
and went across the yard, and we saw him shake the lash of his
stockwhip loose. You can just fancy how Norah and I were dancing with
joy!
“Dad was just near the verandah when we saw the door give. Poor old
Brownie was getting the worst of it. We heard the fellow call out
something—a threat—and Dad’s arm went up, and the stockwhip came down
like a flash across the man’s shoulder He gave one yell! You never
heard such an amazed and terrified roar in your life!” and Jim chuckled
with joy at the recollection.
“He turned on Dad and jumped at him, but he got another one with the
whip that made him pause, and then Dad caught him and shook him like a
rat. Mr. Swaggie was limp enough when it was over.
“‘I’ve a very good mind to give you in charge!’ Dad said—he was simply
furious. It made a fellow feel pretty bad to see poor old Brownie’s
white face in the doorway, and to think what a fright she had had.
“The swaggie turned a very ugly look on Dad.
“‘You give me in charge, and I’ll precious quick have you up for
assault!’ he said.
“Dad laughed.
“‘As for that, you can do exactly as you choose,’ he said. ‘I’ll be
quite ready to answer for thrashing a cur like you. However, you’re not
worth carting seventeen miles to Cunjee, so you can go—the quicker the
better.”
“And he cleared, I suppose?” Wally asked.
“He just did—went like a redshank. But when he got outside the gate and
a bit away he stopped and turned round and let fly at Dad—such a volley
of threats and abuse you never heard. It finished up with something
about the grass; we didn’t quite understand what; but we remembered it
later, and then it was clearer to us. However, he didn’t stop to
explain, as Dad turned the dogs loose. They lost no time, and neither
did the swaggie. He left the place at about the rate of a mile a
minute!”
Jim paused.
“Thought I had a bite,” he said, pulling up his line. “Bother it! The
bait’s gone! Chuck me a worm, young Wally.” He impaled the worm and
flung his line out again.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. Norah and I were a bit scared about the swaggie,
and wondered what he’d try to do; but Dad only laughed at us. It never
entered his head that the brute would really try to have his revenge.
Of course it would have been easy enough to have had him watched off
the place, but Dad didn’t even think of it. He knows better now.
“I waked up early next morning hearing someone yelling outside. It was
only just light. I slipped out of my window and ran into the yard, and
the first thing I saw was smoke. It was coming from the west, a great
cloud of it, with plenty of wind to help it along. It was one of those
hot autumn mornings—you know the kind. Make you feel anyhow.”
“Who was yelling?” asked Harry.
“One of Morrison’s men—he owns the land adjoining ours. This fellow was
coo-eeing for all he was worth.
“‘You’d better rouse your men out quick ’n lively,’ he sang out.
‘There’s a big grass fire between us and you. All our chaps are workin’
at it; but I don’t fancy they can keep it back in this wind.’
“I just turned and ran.
“The big bell we use for summoning the men to their meals hangs under
the kitchen verandah and I made a bee-line for it. There seemed plenty
of rocks and bits of glass about, and my bare feet got ’em all—at least
I thought so—but there wasn’t time to think much. Morrison’s chap had
galloped off as soon as he gave his news. I caught hold of the
bell-pull and worked it all I knew!
“You should have seen them tumble out! In about half a minute the place
was like a jumpers’ nest that you’ve stirred up with a stick. Dad came
out of the back door in his pyjamas, Norah came scudding along the
verandah, putting on her kimono as she ran, Brownie and the other
servants appeared at their windows, and the men came tumbling out of
the barracks and the hut like so many rabbits.
“Dad was annoyed.
“‘What are you doing, you young donkey?’ he sang out.
“‘Look over there!’ I says, tugging the bell.
“Dad looked. It didn’t take him long to see what was up when he spied
that big cloud of smoke.
“‘Great Scott!’ he shouted. ‘Jim, get Billy to run the horses up. Where
are you all? Burrows, Field, Henry! Get out the water-cart—quick. All
of you get ready fire-beaters. Dress yourselves—quickly!’ (You could
see that was quite an afterthought on Dad’s part.) Then he turned and
fled inside to dress.”
“How ripping!” Wally said, wriggling on the log with joy.
“Ripping, do you call it?” said Jim indignantly. “You try it for
yourself, young Wally, and see. Fire’s not much of a joke when you’re
fighting it yourself, I can tell you. Well, Dad was out again in about
two shakes, ready for the fray, and you can bet the rest of us didn’t
linger long. Billy had the horses up almost as soon, and every one got
his own. Things were a bit merry in the stockyard, I can tell you, and
heels did fly.
“After all, Norah here was the first mounted. Bobs was in the stable,
you see, and Norah had him saddled before any of us had put our bridles
on. Goodness knows how she dressed. I guess it wasn’t much of a
toilet!”
Jim ducked suddenly, and a chip hurled by Norah flew over his head and
splashed into the water.
“Get out—you’ll frighten the fish!” he said, grinning. “My yarn, old
girl.”
“Might have had the sense to keep me out of it,” said Norah impolitely.
“You be jiggered,” said Jim affectionately. “Anyhow, boys, you should
have seen Dad’s face when Norah trotted over from the stable. He was
just girthing up old Bosun, and I was wrestling with Sirdar, who didn’t
want his crupper on.
“‘My dear child,’ Dad said, ‘get off that pony and go back to bed. You
can’t think I could allow you to come out?’
“Poor old Norah’s face fell about a foot. She begged and argued, but
she might as well have spared herself the trouble. At last Dad said she
could ride out in the first two paddocks, but no nearer the fire, she
had to be content with that. I think she was pretty near mopping her
eyes.”
“Wasn’t,” said Norah indistinctly.
“Well, we went off. All of us had fire-beaters. You know we always have
them ready; and Field was driving the water-cart—it always stands ready
filled for use. We just galloped like mad. Dad didn’t wait for any
gates—Bosun can jump anything—and he just went straight across country.
Luckily, there was no stock in the paddocks near the house, except that
in one small paddock were about twenty valuable prize sheep. However,
the fire was so far off that we reckoned they were safe, and so we
turned our attention to the fire.
“We left old Norah in the second paddock, looking as miserable as a
bandicoot. Dad made her promise not to meddle with the fire. ‘Promise
me you won’t try any putting out on your own account,’ he said; and
Norah promised very reluctantly. I was jolly sorry you were out of it,
you know, old kid,” said Jim reflectively; and Norah gave him a little
smile.
“We made great time across the paddocks,” Jim continued. “Dad was ever
so far ahead, of course, but our contingent, that had to go round by
the gates, didn’t do so badly. Billy was on Mick, and he and I had a go
for the lead across the last paddock.”
“Who won?” asked Harry.
“Me,” said Jim ungrammatically. “When we got into the smoke we had to
go round a bit, or we’d have gone straight into the fire. We hung up
the horses in a corner that had been burnt round, and was safe from
more fire, and off we went. There were ever so many men fighting it;
all Morrison’s fellows, and a lot from other places as well. The fire
had started right at our boundary, and had come across a two-hundred
acre paddock like a shot. Then a little creek checked it a bit, and let
the fighters have a show.
“There were big trees blazing everywhere, and stumps and logs, and
every few minutes the fire would get going again in some ferns or long
grass, and go like mischief, and half a dozen men after it, to stop it.
It had got across the creek, and there was a line of men on the bank
keeping it back. Some others were chopping down the big, blazing, dead
trees, that were simply showering sparks all round. The wind was pretty
strong, and took burning leaves and sticks ever so far and started the
fire in different places. Three fellows on ponies were doing nothing
but watch for these flying firebrands, galloping after them and putting
them out as they fell.”
Jim paused.
“Say you put your hook in the water, Wally, old chap,” he suggested.
Wally looked and blushed. In the excitement of the moment he had
unconsciously pulled up his line until the bait dangled helplessly in
the air, a foot above the water. The party on the log laughed at the
expense of Wally, and Jim proceeded.
“Father and four other men came across the creek and sang out to us—
“‘We’re going back a bit to burn a break!’ they said. ‘Come along.’
“We all went back about a hundred yards from the creek and lit the
grass, spreading out in a long line across the paddock. Then every one
kept his own little fire from going in the wrong direction, and kept it
burning back towards the creek, of course preventing any logs or trees
from getting alight. It was pretty tough work, the smoke was so bad,
but at last it was done, and a big, burnt streak put across the
paddock. Except for flying bits of lighted stuff there wasn’t much risk
of the fire getting away from us when once we had got that break to
help us. You see, a grass fire isn’t like a real bush fire. It’s a far
more manageable beast. It’s when you get fire in thick scrub that you
can just make up your mind to stand aside and let her rip!”
Jim pulled up his book and examined his bait carefully.
“Fish seem off us,” he said.
“That all the yarn?” Harry asked.
“No, there’s more, if you’re not sick of it.”
“Well, fire away,” Wally said impatiently.
Jim let his sinker go down gently until it settled in comfort in the
soft mud at the bottom.
“This is where I come to Norah,” he said.
That young lady turned a lively red.
“If you’re going to tell all that bosh about me, I’m off,” she said,
disgustedly. “Good-bye. You can call me when you’ve finished.”
“Where are you off to, Norah?” inquired Harry.
“Somewhere to fish—I’m tired of you old gossips—” Norah elevated a
naturally tilted nose as she wound up her tackle and rose to her feet.
She made her way along the log past the three boys until she reached
the land, and, scrambling up the bank, vanished in the scrub. Presently
they saw her reappear at a point a little lower down, where she
ensconced herself in the roots of a tree that was sticking out of the
bank, and looked extremely unsafe. She flung her line in below her
perch.
“Hope she’s all right,” Harry said uneasily.
“You bet. Norah knows what she’s about,” Jim said calmly. “She can swim
like a fish anyhow!”
“Well, go on with your yarn,” urged Wally.
“Well—I told you how we stopped the fire at the little creek, didn’t I?
We thought it was pretty safe after we had burnt such a good break, and
the men with axes had chopped down nearly all the big trees that were
alight, so that they couldn’t spread the fire. We reckoned we could sit
down and mop our grimy brows and think what fine, brave, bold heroes we
were! Which we did.
“There was one big tree the men couldn’t get down. It was right on a
bit of a hill, near the bank of the creek—a big brute of a tree, hollow
for about twelve feet, and I don’t know how high, but I’ll bet it was
over a hundred and fifty feet. It got alight from top to bottom, and,
my word, didn’t it blaze!
“The men tried to chop it down, but it was too hot a job even for a
salamander. We could only watch it, and it took a lot of watching,
because it was showering sparks and bits of wood, and blazing limbs and
twigs in every direction. Lots of times they blew into the dead grass
beyond our break, and it meant galloping to put them out.
“The wind had been pretty high all the time, and it got up suddenly to
a regular gale. It caught this old tree and fairly whisked its burning
limbs off. They flew ever so far. We thought we had them all out, when
suddenly Dad gave a yell.
“There was a little, deep gully running at right angles to the creek,
and right through the paddocks up to the house. In winter it was a
creek, but now it was dry as a bone, and rank with dead grass at the
bottom. As we looked we saw smoke rise from this gully, far away, in
the home paddock.
“‘My Shropshires!’ said Dad, and he made a run for Bosun.
“How we did tear! I never thought old Dad could run so hard! It seemed
miles to the corner where the horses were, and ages before we got on
them and were racing for the home paddock. And all the time the smoke
was creeping along that beastly gully, and we knew well enough that,
tear as we might, we couldn’t be in time.
“You see, the valuable sheep were in a paddock, where this gully ended.
It wasn’t very near the house, and no one might see the fire before
every sheep was roasted. We had only just got them. Dad had imported
some from England and some from Tasmania, and I don’t know how much
they hadn’t cost.”
“Weren’t you afraid for the house as well?” asked Harry.
“No. There was a big ploughed paddock near the house; it would have
taken a tremendous fire to get over that and the orchard and garden. We
only worried about the Shropshires.
“I got the lead away, but Dad caught me up pretty soon. Between us and
the sheep paddock there were only wire fences, which he wouldn’t take
Bosun over, so he couldn’t race away from the rest of us this time.
“We might as well take it easy,’ he said, ‘for all the good we can do.
The sheep nearly live in that gully.’
“All the same, we raced. The wind had gone down by now, so the fire
couldn’t travel as fast as it had done in the open ground. There was a
long slope leading down to the gully, and as we got to this we could
see the whole of the little paddock, and there wasn’t a sheep in sight.
Every blessed one was in the gully, and the fire was three-parts of the
way along it!
“Roast mutton!’ I heard Dad say under his breath.
“Then we saw Norah. She came racing on Bobs to the fence of the paddock
near the head of the gully—much nearer the fire than we were. We saw
her look at the fire and into the gully, and I reckon we all knew she
was fighting with her promise to Dad about not tackling the fire. But
she saw the sheep before we could. They had run from the smoke along
the gully till they came to the head of it, where it ended with pretty
steep banks all round. By that time they were thoroughly dazed, and
there they would have stayed until they were roasted. Sheep are stupid
brutes at any time, but in smoke they’re just idiots!
“Norah gave only one look. Then she slipped off Bobs and left him to
look after himself, and she tore down into the gully.”
“Oh, Jim, go on!” said Wally.
“I’m going,” said Jim affably.
“Dad gave one shout as Norah disappeared into the gully. ‘Go back, my
darling!’ he yelled, forgetting that he was so far off that he might as
well have shouted to the moon. Then he gave a groan, and dug his spurs
into Bosun. I had mine as far as they’d go in Sirdar already!
“The smoke rolled on up the gully and in a minute it had covered it all
up. I thought it was all up with Norah, too, and old Burrows behind me
was sobbing for all he was worth. We raced and tore and yelled!
“Then we saw a sheep coming up out of the smoke at the end of the
gully. Another followed, and another, and then more, until every
blessed one of the twenty was there (though we didn’t stop to count ’em
then, I can tell you!) Last of all—it just seemed years—came Norah!
“We could hear her shouting at the sheep before we saw her. They were
terribly hard to move. She banged them with sticks, and the last old
ram she fairly kicked up the hill. They were just out of the gully when
the fire roared up it, and a minute or so after that we got to her.
“Poor little kid; she was just black, and nearly blind with the smoke.
It was making her cry like fun,” said Jim, quite unconscious of his
inappropriate simile. “I don’t know if it was smoke in his case, but so
was Dad. We put the fire out quick enough; it was easy work to keep it
in the gully. Indeed, Dad never looked at the fire, or the sheep
either. He just jumped off Bosun, and picked Norah up and held her as
if she was a baby, and she hugged and hugged him. They’re awfully fond
of each other, Dad and Norah.”
“And were the sheep all right?” Harry asked.
“Right as rain; not one of the black-faced beauties singed. It was a
pretty close thing, you know,” Jim said reminiscently. “The fire was
just up to Norah as she got the last sheep up the hill; there was a
hole burnt in the leg of her riding skirt. She told me afterwards she
made up her mind she was going to die down in that beastly hole.”
“My word, you must have been jolly proud of her!” Wally exclaimed.
“Such a kid, too!”
“I guess we were pretty proud,” Jim said quietly. “All the people about
made no end of a fuss about her, but Norah never seemed to think a
pennyworth about it. Fact is, her only thought at first was that Dad
would think she had broken her promise to him. She looked up at him in
the first few minutes, with her poor, swollen old eyes. ‘I didn’t
forget my promise, Dad, dear,’ she said. ‘I never touched the fire—only
chased your silly old sheep!’”
“Was that the end of the fire?” Harry asked.
“Well, nearly. Of course we had to watch the burning logs and stumps
for a few days, until all danger of more fires was over, and if there’d
been a high wind in that time we might have had trouble. Luckily there
wasn’t any wind at all, and three days after there came a heavy fall of
rain, which made everything safe. We lost about two hundred and fifty
acres of grass, but in no time the paddock was green again, and the
fire only did it good in the long run. We reckoned ourselves uncommonly
lucky over the whole thing, though if Norah hadn’t saved the
Shropshires we’d have had to sing a different tune. Dad said he’d never
shut up so much money in one small paddock again!”
Jim bobbed his float up and down despairingly.
“This is the most fishless creek!” he said. “Well, the only thing left
to tell you is where the swagman came in.”
“Oh, by Jove,” Harry said, “I forgot the swaggie.”
“Was it his fault the fire started?” inquired Wally.
“Rather! He camped under a bridge on the road that forms our boundary
the night Dad cleared him off the place, and the next morning, very
early, he deliberately lit our grass in three places, and then made
off. He’d have got away, too, and nobody would have known anything
about it, if it hadn’t been for Len Morrison. You chaps haven’t met
Len, have you? He’s a jolly nice fellow, older than me, I guess he’s
about sixteen now—perhaps seventeen.
“Len had a favourite cow, a great pet of his. He’d petted her as a calf
and she’d follow him about like a dog. This cow was sick—they found her
down in the paddock and couldn’t move her, so they doctored her where
she was. Len was awfully worried about her, and used to go to her late
at night and first thing in the morning.
“He went out to the cow on this particular morning about daylight. She
was dead and so he didn’t stay; and he was riding back when he saw the
swag-man lighting our grass. It was most deliberately done. Len didn’t
go after him then. He galloped up to his own place and gave the alarm,
and then he and one of their men cleared out after the brute.”
“Did they catch him?” Wally’s eyes were dancing, and his sinker waved
unconsciously in the air.
“They couldn’t see a sign of him,” Jim said. “The road was a plain,
straight one—you chaps know it—the one we drove home on from the train.
No cover anywhere that would hide so much as a goat—not even you, Wal!
They followed it up for a couple of miles, and then saw that he must
have gone across country somewhere. There was mighty little cover
there, either. The only possible hiding-place was along the creek.
“He was pretty cunning—my word, he was! He’d started up the road—Len
had seen him—and then he cut over the paddock at an angle, back to the
creek. That was why they couldn’t find any tracks when they started up
the creek from the road, and they made sure he had given them the slip
altogether.
“Len and the other fellow, a chap called Sam Baker, pegged away up the
creek as hard as they could go, but feeling pretty blue about catching
the swaggie. Len was particularly wild, because he’d made so certain he
could lay his hands on the fellow, and if he hadn’t been sure, of
course he’d have stayed to help at the fire, and he didn’t like being
done out of everything! They could understand not finding any tracks.
“‘Of course it’s possible he’s walked in the water,’ Baker said.
“‘We’d have caught him by now if he had,’ Len said—‘he couldn’t get
along quickly in the water. Anyhow, if I don’t see anything of him
before we get to the next bend, I’m going back to the fire.’
“They were nearly up to the bend, and Len was feeling desperate, when
he saw a boot-mark half-way down the bank on the other side. He was
over like a shot—the creek was very shallow—and there were tracks as
plain as possible, leading down to the water!
“You can bet they went on then!
“They caught him a bit farther up. He heard them coming, and left his
swag, so’s he could get on quicker. They caught that first, and then
they caught him. He had ‘planted’ in a clump of scrub, and they nearly
passed him, but Len caught sight of him, and they had him in a minute.”
“Did he come easily?” asked Wally.
“Rather not! He sent old Len flying—gave him an awful black eye. Len
was, up again and at him like a shot, and I reckon it was jolly plucky
of a chap of Len’s age, and I dare say he’d have had an awful hiding if
Sam hadn’t arrived on the scene. Sam is a big, silent chap, and he can
fight anybody in this district. He landed the swaggie first with one
fist and then with the other, and the swaggie reckoned he’d been struck
by a thunderbolt when they fished him out of the creek, where he had
rolled! You see, Sam’s very fond of Len, and it annoyed him to see his
eye.
“The swaggie did not do any more resisting. He was like a half-dead,
drowned rat. Len and Sam brought him up to the men at the fire just
after we’d left to try to save Dad’s Shropshires, and they and Mr.
Morrison could hardly keep the men off him. He hid behind Sam, and
cried and begged them to protect him. They said it was beastly.”
“Rather!” said Harry. “Where’s he now?”
“Melbourne Gaol. He got three years,” said Jim. “I guess he’s
reflecting on the foolishness of using matches too freely!”
“By George!” said Wally, drawing a deep breath. “That was exciting,
Jimmy!”
“Well, fishing isn’t,” responded Jim pulling up his hook in disgust, an
example followed by the other boys. “What’ll we do?”
“I move,” said Wally, standing on one leg on the log, “that this
meeting do adjourn from this dead tree. And I move a hearty vote of
thanks to Mr. Jim Linton for spinning a good yarn. Thanks to be paid
immediately. There’s mine, Jimmy!”
A resounding pat on the back startled Jim considerably, followed as it
was by a second from Harry. The assaulted one fled along the log, and
hurled mud furiously from the bank. The enemy followed closely, and
shortly the painful spectacle might have been seen of a host lying flat
on his face on the grass, while his guests, sitting on his back, bumped
up and down to his extreme discomfort and the tune of “For He’s a Jolly
Good Fellow!”