BEN ATHOL
There are stars of gold on the Wallaby Track,
And silver the moonbeams glisten,
The great Bush sings to us, out and back.
And we lie in her arms and listen.
—W. H. Ogilvie.
A WEEK went by—a week of blinding heat, ending in a cool change, accompanied by a gale of wind that almost blew the tents and their occupants into the lagoon. Then the weather settled to glorious conditions, neither hot nor cold—long days of sunshine, and nights chilly enough to make the campers enjoy a fire by the water’s edge while they fished for their breakfast.
But, on the whole, it was dull. The new saddles had not arrived from Melbourne, so that riding was out of the question. In any case it was deemed wiser not to ride Monarch and Garryowen and Bosun too soon. Norah and Jim had them yarded each day, and they caught and handled them, dressing Garryowen’s burns, and petting all three—talking to them and leading them about while they hunted for the milk-thistles horses love. Gradually the quivering nerves steadied down, and the memory of their terror faded. But Garryowen would never face fire again; a tiny blaze was too much for him, and even smoke sent him into a panic. Even kindness could not make him forget the moments when he had been a rat in a burning trap.
They fished and walked—moderately; walking was not a Billabong characteristic; and helped Mrs. Evans and Brownie, and worshipped the Evans baby—that is to say, Jean and Norah did, and Jim and Wally pretended not to; and they watched Hogg glowering as he worked in his ruined garden, and wished business did not detain Mr. Linton during nearly every hour of the day. It was hard to settle to anything. Possibly they were feeling a natural reaction after the strain of the night of the fire. But as none of the four would have known what reaction meant, no one suggested it.
They were all in the boat one exquisite evening, floating lazily among the water lilies on the lagoon, and pretending to fish—a transparent pretence, since frequent snagging on the lily stems had made every angler disgusted, and had brought all the lines out of the water. Then Mr. Linton appeared on the bank and they pulled in and took him on board, giving him the place of honour in the stern.
“This is the most peaceful thing I’ve done since we became a burnt-offering,” he said, as they drifted away from the shore. He lit his pipe and leaned back contentedly. “Well—business is done!”
“Thank goodness!” from Norah.
“I quite agree with you,” said her father. “To be burnt out is bad enough, but it’s an added penance to be forced to put in time as I’ve been doing. I’m sick of the sight of insurance people, and policemen, and architects, and contractors!”
“Have you made all arrangements, Dad?” Jim asked.
“So far as I can. But the men I want to employ can’t begin rebuilding for three weeks at least, possibly a month; and then the job will be a long one.”
“Then I won’t see it before I go back to school!” came from Norah, disgustedly. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“No; and I’m sorry, too,” said her father. “But it can’t be helped. The fire has done unpleasant things to your holidays, my girl.”
“Just you wait until I begin growling!” Norah said, laughing. “I’m having lovely holidays, truly, only I’m disappointed that I can’t see the house.”
“Well, I’ve a plan,” said David Linton, slowly.
Norah sat up so briskly that the boat rocked violently.
“Have a little sense, Nor.!” came from Jim. “Sit still, or you’ll be smacked and turned out!”
“Get out yourself!” said his sister, inelegantly. “When Dad has a plan in that voice it is time to sit up! Tell us, Dad.”
Mr. Linton laughed.
“How about Ben Athol?” he asked.
“Ben Athol!” Jim whistled. “By Jove, Dad, that’s an idea!”
“Oh!” said Norah. “Didn’t I tell you it was time to sit up!”
Ben Athol towered from the low ranges to the north of Billabong, beyond the stations and out to the wild country that was No Man’s Land because of its steepness and inaccessibility. “Old hands” told stories of well grassed valleys in the ranges, where stock might be pastured; of a mountain river, flowing clear as crystal all the year round, in a way very unlike the usual habit of Australian rivers. But comparatively few white men knew anything about the country between the hills. Blacks were reputed to camp there—some miserable, scattered families, who came into the townships as winter approached to beg for food and blankets, sometimes to hang about all through the cold months, a thievish, filthy pest.
Snow lay for the winter months upon the brow of Ben Athol. In spring, when the warm sun melted the great white cap, it slid away gradually, and the big peak stood out, dark blue among the lesser hills. Always it seemed to Norah like a friend.
For two years they had talked of climbing it. But the expedition required some organizing, for it was three days’ ride even to the last township that nestled at the foot of the hills. Then came a day’s stiff climbing for horses, after which it was only possible to proceed on foot, if one wanted to reach the peak. Few were adventurous enough to want to do so.
“Well, I think we may as well go,” said Mr. Linton, when his excited family calmed down. “I have been turning over various plans in my mind for the last few days, for we can’t stop here; it’s too dismal to look at the old place. We’re all in good form, fit for such a ride. I don’t quite know about Jean.”
“Oh, please,” said Jean, in a small shriek. “I can, quite easily. Truly, Mr. Linton.”
“I’m sure she’s all right, Dad,” Norah put in. “She wasn’t a bit stiff after that long day we had in the Far Plain.”
“Well, that was a pretty fair test,” Mr. Linton remarked. “Anyhow, we can’t start for a few days, so you had better ride a good deal, to get into form. The saddles will be out to-day. But we shan’t use them for the trip—new saddles aren’t advisable for a journey like that—we’d probably have the horses with sore backs.”
“Rather,” Jim said. “I’m never really friends with a saddle until it has been re-stuffed.”
“Oh, they are like new boots—they must get accustomed to a horse,” Mr. Linton answered. “We’ll have to exchange with the men. Murty will see that the new ones are looked after. We’ll use the old ones from to-day, so that you girls can find out which are the most comfortable for you.”
“All right,” nodded Norah. “When do you think we’ll start, Dad?”
“This is Thursday—we’ll get away on Monday morning,” her father replied. “We’ll take Billy, to lead a packhorse and make himself generally useful. It will not be necessary to carry a great amount of provisions, because we can lay in a stock of food at the various townships as we go. Atholton is the last one, at the foot of the ranges, and I’ve sent a note to the storekeeper there, telling him to have various things ready for us. Until then we need only have a day’s rations. We’ll take a tent for you girls——”
“Oh, need you, Dad? Can’t we put up a wurley?” Norah begged.
“No,” said Mr. Linton, firmly. “We don’t know if we’ll always be in timber to make wurleys, and it’s as well to be prepared for bad weather. That little tent is no trouble to take, and, as it’s waterproof, it will make an excellent covering for the pack. We’ll take some fishing tackle. They say the fishing in that mountain stream is very good. For the rest, Norah, you and I will have a heart-to-heart talk with Brownie. I believe it will make the old soul quite happy to have to cook for an expedition again.”
The time until Monday seemed all a cheerful bustle of preparation. Jean and Norah rode each day, generally with Wally in attendance, since Jim and his father had much to do together. There were jobs of moving cattle from one paddock to another; of riding round the Queensland bullocks, now settling down contentedly in the Bush Paddock, and only becoming excited when the three riders tried to count them; of inspecting the fences, with sharp eyes alert for a broken panel or a sagging wire. No one at Billabong need ever ride aimlessly; there was always work of this kind—work that the three regarded as the best possible fun. And always they talked of next week’s expedition, and made quite a hundred thousand plans in connection with it. Jean had never been camping out in her life, and, considering how calm a person she was ordinarily, it became almost alarming to behold her state of simmering excitement.
Mr. Linton sternly hunted his flock to bed early on Sunday evening, and dawn, had scarcely broken next morning when they were astir, Norah and Jean running hurriedly to the Cottage to dress, while Murty dismantled their little tent, and had it, with the bags that formed their bunks, neatly packed and made ready for transport. Breakfast was despatched hastily by all but Mr. Linton, who declined altogether to bestir himself unduly, and demanded of his excited charges if they had visions of catching a train? Finally, they were all in the saddle, the horses fidgeting and dancing with excitement—save the packhorse, who looked upon the world with an embittered gaze, and Black Billy’s scrawny piebald, old Bung Eye, who was supposed to be proof against any kind of excitement whatever.
“Now do come back safe an’ sound, all of you!” Brownie begged. “Me nerves have had enough to bear lately; I don’t want any broken heads or cracked legs. An’ if you find a gold mine out there, then I’ll give notice, if you please, sir, an’ take out a miner’s right, an’ go off makin’ me fortune!”
“Anybody in this party finding a gold mine is hereby ejected summarily!” said Mr. Linton, promptly. “The penalty would be too heavy to make the find worth while.”
“We’ll live and die poor, but we’ll keep you, Brownie!” Jim told her.
“Me own prospects don’t seem to matter much to you, do they?” retorted Brownie, enjoying herself hugely. Occasionally it gave her immense delight to toy with the fiction of leaving Billabong—knowing very well indeed, as did they all, that a team of bullocks would scarcely have been strong enough to tear her away. “Often I says to meself that I might end me days as a prospector—there’s no knowin’ how much gold is lyin’ about in them ranges for the pickin’ up.”
“If it’s there, Brownie, I will bring you a necklace of nuggets with my own fair hands,” said Wally. “Steady, you brute!”
Brownie beamed over the portion of the speech addressed to her.
“Thank you—an’ take care of that horse, dearie, for I know he ain’t safe,” she said anxiously—to the great delight of Jim, and Wally’s no small embarrassment. The men grinned widely.
“The halters is in the pack, sir, an’ likewise the hobbles,” said Murty. “If y’ don’t be watchin’ that black image of a haythen on Bung Eye, he’ll put the wrong hobbles on Bosun—there’s a small, little pair I made special for the pony. He’ll get his feet out of nearly anny other hobbles on the place.”
“Thank you, Murty!” from Norah. Murty beamed.
“A good ride to ye all,” he said, “an’ don’t be afther breakin’ your neck on thim ridges, Miss Norah. ’Tis the only neck like it on Billabong, an’ we can’t spare it, at all.”
“We’ll take care of her, Murty,” said her father.
“Bedad,” said Murty, “I have not forgotten that wan time ’twas y’rsilf did not take care of y’rsilf in that very same place! How am I to be thinkin’ anny of ye safe afther that misfortunate time?”
David Linton laughed.
“Ah, Monarch and I have learned sense now,” he said. “He won’t get rid of me in the same way again.”
“Divil a wan of me knows!” said Murty, darkly. “Well—that ye may come home wid whole bones, annyhow! Is it gettin’ up a search party we’ll be if ye’re not back this day week, sir?”
“Certainly not!” said the squatter. “If we find Brownie’s gold mine, there’s no prophesying when I shall get my party away from it!”
“Then ye’ll find hersilf an’ me joggin’ out in the old dray to meet ye,” Murty averred. He took his hand from Bosun’s bridle, and stepped back. Good-byes floated to the little group by the cottage as the riders cantered down the track.