Norah of Billabong

by Mary Grant Bruce

NOON

Ah, . . . I remember

The muster of cattle away outback,

The thunder of hoofs and the stock-whip’s crack,

The panting breaths on the warm sweet breeze,

The tossing horns by Rosella trees,

And the whirl of dust, and the hot hide’s reek!

—M. Forrest.

ALL aboard!”

“Are you girls ready? Hurry up.” From the direction of the garden came a faint hail, which might have been taken to mean anything.

“Curious things, girls,” said Jim sapiently. Wally and he were leaning over a fence, five horses ready behind them. “When young Norah’s alone, she gets dressed as quickly as you or me; but now she has Jean, they spend ages in getting togged up. And they don’t look any different, no matter how long they take.”

“No,” agreed the other masculine observer. “They always look jolly nice, anyhow. I never can make out what they do, to keep ’em so long.”

“Oh, tie each other’s hair ribbons, and swap neckties, and things like that,” said Jim, vaguely. “Nobody ever knows what girls are up to. Of course, Norah never seemed quite like a girl until she went to school. But you can see there’s a difference now.”

“Well—a little,” Wally answered. “But she’s up to all sorts of larks yet, thank goodness.”

“Well, I should say so,” said Jim, staring. “They’d have to boil Norah before they made her prim; and that’s a comfort. I rather fancy she must have had a pretty woeful time when she went to school first.”

“Pretty rough on her,” Wally agreed. “She’ll be growing up next, I suppose—worse luck.”

“Norah—oh, rot,” said Jim, firmly. “She’s only a kid yet—and will be for ages. Don’t you go and put ideas like that into her head, Wal.”

“Me?” rejoined his chum. “What do you take me for? But she’ll get ’em put in at school, you’ll see, quick enough.” And Jim glowered, muttering something unkindly about school and its by-paths of learning.

“Well, I wish they’d hurry up, anyhow,” he said. “Wonder what’s keeping them.”

From behind them came a faint snore, and he swung round. Jean and Norah were already mounted, their heads drooping on their horses’ necks, in attitudes of extreme boredom. They gave the impression of having sat there for many hours, and finally succumbed to fatigue and slumber. The boys burst into laughter.

“Well, of all the idiots,” said Jim, ungallantly. “How did you get there?”

“Came round the back of the stables,” laughed Norah, waking up. “You two old gossips were muttering away with your heads over the rail—I believe we could have stolen all the horses without your knowing anything about it. It’s just extraordinary how boys will gossip—Jean and I never get lost in our own eloquence, like you and Wally. What were you being eloquent about?”

“Never you mind,” said her brother, shooting an amused look at his chum. “Matters of State too high for your little minds. But you’re not going to ride Warder, are you, Norah?”

“No,” said Norah, slipping off Wally’s mount. “I knew it was no good trying to be quiet if I got on Bosun, bless him!” She patted the brown pony’s neck, and fished a lump of sugar out of her pocket for him.

Mr. Linton came hurriedly over from the house.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, taking Monarch’s bridle. “I had to give Brownie some directions; and Hogg is in tears because something’s wrong with the longest hose—I left him trying to mend it with bicycle solution and strips of rubber cut from one of Brownie’s old goloshes, which she nobly sacrificed on the altar of the garden.”

“There are always excitements in being out of reach of shops,” Jim said. “I hope it’s not the hose I used this morning?”

“Oh, no; your skin’s safe this time!” said his father, laughing. “That was a shorter one. I don’t like the big one being out of order, in case of fire; not that a fire at the house is likely—but it’s as well to be prepared. Stirrups all right, Jean?”

“Yes, thank you,” Jean answered. Nan, staid stock horse though she was supposed to be, was impatient to get away, and Jean was walking her round in a circle, pursued by Wally with anxious inquiries as to whether she were qualifying for the circus ring. Bosun’s eagerness to start had been manifested so strongly that Norah had at length given up trying to restrain him, and was some distance across the paddock, the pony fretting and sidling, and trying to break into a canter.

Mr. Linton and Jim mounted, and they all cantered after Norah. She gave Bosun his head as they came up to her—a liberty he acknowledged by executing two or three tremendous bounds in mid-air.

“Mind him, my girl,” her father cautioned. “Don’t let him get his head down; he’s quite happy enough to buck this morning.”

“I’ll watch him, Daddy,” Norah panted. The big pony was reefing and pulling double. She patted his arched neck. “Steady, you old image—steady!” and Bosun came back to a jerky canter, still longing for unchecked freedom to put his head down, kick up his heels and race across the paddock without any handicap of saddle and bridle and rider. For Jim’s weight he had some respect—but this new featherweight, to whom he was not yet accustomed, was a different matter; it was difficult to realize that she had wrists like steel and a curious comprehension of his moods and high spirits. Yet already Bosun understood that his new rider was not at all afraid of him; and that is the best foundation of friendship between rider and horse.

The gate into the bush paddock was on flat country—the end of the wide plain on which Billabong homestead was built; but within a few chains after entering the paddock the ground began to slope upwards until the flat had given place to a range of low hills, sparsely timbered, and interspersed with green and quiet gullies, where thick bracken grew. A week or so back cattle had been grazing all through the hills; big, scraggy Queensland bullocks, new arrivals from “up north,” and still wild and shy. Now, thanks to the vagaries of Harvey, there were none to be seen. They had scattered into the next paddock, where the grass was shorter and sweeter, and “boxed” thoroughly with the other cattle already running there.

“It’s maddening,” said David Linton, scanning the hills with keen eyes. “I came out here ten days ago, and the bullocks were settling down splendidly—not half as wild as they were when we drafted them into this paddock. Now they won’t want to come back, off the clover they are on now. I’d like Harvey to have the job of mustering them alone on foot!” Jim whistled.

“Jolly for the bullocks—to say nothing of Harvey,” he said, laughing.

“Jollity for Harvey isn’t part of my idea,” his father responded. “But the bullocks would be dying of senile decay before he completed the job, I’m afraid; and I’d rather fatten them while they’re young.”

“I expect you would,” Jim agreed. “Well, I don’t believe there’s a hoof left in this paddock, anyhow, Dad.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Mr. Linton answered. “We’ll scatter a bit and ride round. Jean had better keep fairly close to me; the rest of you know where the slip-rails are, and we can all meet there. Be as quick as you can, all of you.”

So they scattered into the timber, Jim taking a line to the extreme left, with Norah nearest to him, then Wally, and, on the right, Mr. Linton and Jean. Jean had not quite the appearance of having been “born in the saddle,” as had the others, who had certainly ridden almost as soon as they had walked; nevertheless, she could be depended upon to give a very good account of herself on Nan, who combined a cheerful spirit with great common sense, after the manner of stock horses, and was quite capable of correcting any mistakes made by a rider unversed in the ways of cattle. Jean’s experience had been chiefly gained after sheep in far-off New Zealand, and to muster cattle is very different work.

But, like many other silent people, Jean was observant, and even since coming to Billabong she had picked up a good few points about cattle and their ways—not a difficult matter where station matters, and the stock generally, entered largely into the life of every day. She was, moreover, greatly afraid of making mistakes, and not at all above asking questions where she needed guidance—two excellent characteristics in a “new chum.” The man of the Bush is nearly always tolerant to beginners, and kind in “showing ’em how.” The one individual for whom he has no time and no mercy is the ignoramus who is cocksure.

Jean was not exactly a beginner—she had ridden by her father’s side in New Zealand much too often for that. Her blue eyes were alight with keenness as they trotted through the timber—now swinging into a canter where the going was clearer, or pulling up when a stretch of crab-holey ground threatened risk to horses’ legs. It was very pleasant in the chequered shadows of the trees, and in the deep gullies where the night-dews still spangled fern and tussock, and the wild convolvuli nodded blue and white bells as if in greeting. Pleasant to give a good horse his head—to let him swing in and out amid the timber, dodging low-hanging limbs by instinct, and skirting the rough barked trunks closely. Pleasant to smell the sweet bush scents; to catch the strong beat of wings overhead where black swans sailed southwards towards the reed-fringed lagoon; or the shrill scream of parrakeets, swooping into a wild cherry tree in a green, flashing, chattering crowd. Pleasant, too, to think of school—very far away, with shuttered windows and great empty classrooms, with dust lying thick on the desks that were symbols of hated toil! Quite possibly the caretaker did not permit dust to linger at all. But it was undeniably cheering to picture it.

A white blur in a deep gully caught Jean’s eye as they rode, and she called to Mr. Linton.

“Is that a bullock lying down?”

“Good girl!” said her host, approvingly. “Yes, it’s a beast down, and I should say he can’t get up. Perhaps you’d better not come down, lassie; just keep straight along this ridge, and I’ll catch you up presently.” He turned his big black’s head down into the gully.

It was ten minutes before he rejoined her—by which time Jean had come to a standstill, partly because she was uncertain as to which way to go, and partly because of a queer sound that might have been a stock-whip crack, but sounded somehow different. She looked inquiringly at Mr. Linton as he rode up. His face was grave and angry.

“Poor brute! I had to put him out of his misery,” he said. “He’d been caught in a little landslip and fallen, and his leg was broken. Come on, Jean, we’re not far from the slip-rails, and the others will be waiting.”

Norah and Jim and Wally were sitting on a log near the rails, letting their horses have a mouthful of grass. They mounted as the late-comers rode up.

“We didn’t find a hoof,” Jim said. A glance at his father’s face had told him that something was wrong, and he brought Garryowen beside Monarch as they rode into the next paddock, over the rails that Harvey had flung down the day before. “Did I hear a shot?” he asked, dropping his voice.

Mr. Linton nodded.

“Yes,” he said, curtly. “A beast down in a gully—leg broken. I was very glad I’d brought my revolver; it’s always best to bring it in country like this, when you never know if it will be necessary to put an injured beast out of pain. The sickening part of it is, that the job should have been done a week ago.”

“A week!” Jim whistled.

“I should say so. The poor brute must have lain there in agony for a good many days—the ground about him was ploughed up with his struggles, and the leg was in a fearful state. He was nearly dead; the bullet only hastened things a very little.”

“And Harvey’s been out here every day,” uttered Jim.

“Yes—with nothing to do but ride round and see that those cattle were all right. Of course he couldn’t have helped the accident, but he could have saved that poor helpless brute days of agony. It’s quite near one of the tracks, too; there can be no excuse for missing it.”

“I don’t think Mr. Harvey ever did much riding round,” Jim said. “Going to sleep under a log is more his form.”

“Or if he did see it he wouldn’t bother his head about it,” his father answered. “Well, I’m not likely to see Harvey again, thank goodness, and that is fortunate for him!” In which, as it happened, David Linton was very far from the truth.

There were plenty of cattle to be seen in the paddock they had now entered. The ground was gently undulating, with clumps of trees here and there, and in two or three places a blue flash that spoke of water. Bullocks were feeding in every direction—some quiet and half fat, while others were raking, long-horned fellows, gaunt and shy, who threw up their heads and their heels and lumbered off at a gallop at sight of the intruders. This had generally the effect of making the quieter bullocks gallop too, and Mr. Linton groaned at the spectacle of so much good beef deteriorating by unseemly and violent exercise.

“I had cherished foolish hopes of cutting them out here and coaxing them back to their own home,” he said. “But there’s not a chance of that—it will have to be a general muster.”

“Where do we take them, Mr. Linton?” Jean asked. It was evident that she did not share any of her host’s troubles—her face was eager and merry, her eyes dancing as they met Norah’s, who, needless to say, was equally cheerful over the prospect before them. Mr. Linton laughed as he looked from one to the other.

“Pretty sympathizers you are for a worried man,” he said. “I believe you’re in league with Harvey—are you sure you didn’t bribe him to leave down the rails? Does it matter at all to you that I drafted out these bullocks very carefully not long ago—and that now I’ve the job all over again?”

“It would matter to me horribly if I were at school and heard about it in a letter,” said Norah, laughing. “I would be awfully worried and cross over it—to think of you having such a time! And I would tell Jean all about it, and she’d be cross and worried, too. But as it is—when we’re both here, and can relieve you of quite half your anxiety by helping——!” Whereat Jim and Wally became a prey to great laughter, in which Jean and Norah joined after a fruitless attempt to ignore them haughtily.

“Since it’s no use to expect decent sympathy from you, you can certainly do all the helping you like,” said Mr. Linton, smiling broadly. “We’ll muster all the cattle down towards the far end of the paddock, and take them out through the gate there—we might have a pretty hard job if we tried to take them through the Bush Paddock. Wally, my lad, just canter back and put up those slip-rails, will you? Jean, you can’t get bushed in this paddock, because there isn’t enough timber; we can’t get out of sight of each other for any length of time. Now we’ll each take a line and get hold of the bullocks in front of us, and hope as hard as we can that they’ll go quietly. I believe much is said to be done by hoping, though I don’t know what happens if the cattle are hoping to stay where they are!”

It was soon distressingly evident that such was indeed the high ambition of the bullocks. They were very contented on the short, sweet clover and rye grass; they saw no reason whatever to justify being driven towards some unknown region. For a good many weeks they had been on the roads, these long-horned Queenslanders, travelling through regions that were all unknown. Most of them had been very comfortless—bare roads where scarcely a picking could be obtained, or through runs where fierce stockmen and unpleasant dogs were jealously indignant if they took so much as a bite of grass or failed to cover each day the prescribed number of miles for travelling stock. Now they had come at last into a peaceful haven, where clover grew thickly, and a creek flowed for their special benefit. Was it to be expected that they should tamely leave it? On the whole, the bullocks thought that it was not, and that whoever was so weak as to expect it must be taught by painful experience the futility of so hoping.

The half-fat cattle went readily enough. The tracks were familiar to them—the crack of a stock-whip was sufficient to start them lazily along the way towards the gate. They had grown philosophic as they attained weight; it was known to them now that when mounted people, with dogs, express an inclination for bullocks to move in a particular direction, it is as well to be acquiescent and move. But the Queenslanders had learned no such lesson, or, if they had learned it, it had been forgotten since they had exchanged the roads for Billabong. Tracks meant nothing to them; they galloped madly hither and thither, made off for the farthest corners of the paddock, with tails wildly streaming in the air, and dodged back with a persistence calculated to reduce the most patient drover to wrath and evil words. Their spirits infected some of the staider cattle, and they also fled to the four winds, with a lumbering agility wonderful in such mountains of beef. It was quite too hot a day for such pranks, and their owner groaned as they fled.

“You can see the condition simply evaporating from them,” he declared.

The heat did not seem to affect the Oueenslanders at all. But the horses were soon sweating and the riders almost as hot, while the dogs became almost useless, and sneaked off to the creek to wallow luxuriously in the fern-fringed pools. Wally looked after them eagerly.

“Lucky brutes,” he uttered, “wish I could follow their example.”

He was tailing behind a dozen bullocks—eight of the quieter section and four of the “stores.” For once they seemed inclined to go quietly, and Wally began to breathe more freely, with visions of handing them over to augment the little mob he could see Jim bringing alone, away to the right. Then came a sudden descent before him, where a little hill ran down into a grassy hollow. The Oueenslanders began to trot down it; then the slope proved too much for them, and the trot broke into a canter and merged to a stretching gallop, striking across the plain. There was no chance of catching them—Wally could only bring up the rear, sending the spurs into old Warder in his fruitless hope of heading them before they should reach Jim’s mob, and upset their serenity.

The cattle had all the best of it. Here and there one dropped out of the chase, panting, or broke back to try to reach the open country they were leaving; but the leaders made for Jim’s little mob, even as the swallows homeward fly. They scattered it hither and thither; heels flew up, and hoofs pounded, as they tore in different directions, and not one the right one. Jim’s eloquence failed him. He could only give Garryowen his head in somewhat vague pursuit, since it could not be definitely said which beast to pursue.

“Hard to know which has most call on a fellow’s time,” Jim muttered grimly as he galloped.

Further across the paddock, Jean was having troubles of her own. The width from fence to fence was all too great for five to guard; although Mr. Linton had said she could not get lost—which she knew very well—it was lonely enough in the wide space, catching only an occasional glimpse of fellow-musterers to right and left across the undulating ground. The bullocks had no sense of chivalry; they treated her with scorn and derision, and her hopes of being of definite use in the muster faded swiftly.

It seemed easy enough to bring along the bullocks directly in front, but when Jean came to put the instruction into practice it was not nearly so simple. Some went quite calmly, insomuch that swift affection kindled for them in her breast; others merely looked at her, walked a few steps, and began feeding again. Pressed more closely and shouted at very energetically, they departed in divers ways, making it quite impossible to pursue them all. She could only hope that they came in the path of the other musterers and meet their due fate. Finally, a big spotted brute, with a great raking pair of horns, doubled when, in her ignorance, she failed to “keep wide” near him, and slipping past her, made for the open paddock behind her. Jean dug her heels into Nan with all her energy, wishing to her heart that they were spurred—a wish slightly unfair to the brown mare, who was only too ready to do her best. They fled in hot pursuit.

The bullock had made all possible use of his start, and he redoubled his speed as the hoofs pounded in the rear. A rise ahead prevented his seeing any fence. He pictured safety in the way he was going, could he but outstrip pursuit—safety and peace, and good grass, away from worrying humans and the rattle of stock-whip cracks. So he topped the rise and raced on; and behind him came the brown mare, entirely beyond Jean’s control now. Nan knew precisely what should be the duty of any self-respecting stock horse, and she was very certain that no featherweight upon her back should prevent her from doing it. She swung outward just at the right moment—a movement which very nearly disposed of Jean, who felt the saddle fleeting from under her, and only saved herself by grabbing at the pommel. It taught her caution. She realized that she could not at all tell what this determined steed was going to do. Therefore she sat very tightly and kept a hand close to the kindly pommel as they raced past the bullock. And it was as well she did.

Nan swung in sharply, and headed the bullock off. For a moment it seemed as if he would race away diagonally across the paddock. Then he propped uncertainly in his gallop for a moment, and immediately the brown mare propped too, turning “on a sixpence” in a way that would certainly have disposed of Jean but for her timely grip. As it was, she went forward upon Nan’s neck, losing both stirrups as she went—and had barely wriggled back into the saddle with a violent effort when the bullock was ready for further action. He uttered a low bellow, moving his head uncertainly.

“Shoo! Shoo!” cried Jean, wildly. “Get along! Oh, I wish I was a man, or a dog, or a stock-whip!”

Something in the shrill voice checked the bullock, or else the sight of the brown mare, eager to do battle again, made him realize the vanity of bovine wishes. He turned sharply, and raced back along the way he had come, with Jean in hot pursuit—atop of Nan, clinging for dear life, with both feet out of the stirrups—Jean, oblivious of all save the joy of conquest, and uttering spasmodic and breathless shouts of “Shoo!” The bullock raced as though the end of the world were approaching for him. Ahead was a group of other cattle; he shot into the midst of them and pulled up, uttering an indignant bellow.

Nan slackened, visibly uneasy at the dangling stirrups, which had, indeed, acted as flails, beating her with great ardour throughout the race. Jean managed to pull her up, and to get her feet in again. Pride rested on her crimson brow.

“Oh, I hope Norah saw!” she uttered.

Then, from some unseen part of the paddock she saw a riderless horse top a ridge and race towards her.

“Oh!” said Jean, “oh! it’s Bosun!” Her voice was a little wail of distress. She dug her heel into Nan, and cantered out to meet the runaway, her heart in her mouth.

It was not Bosun, however, but Warder, Wally’s mount. He came to a standstill as the brown mare and her rider appeared across his path, and looked considerably ashamed of himself, since it is no part of the duty of a stock horse to run from his rider, should misfortune overtake that luckless wight. Then from the same direction came Jim, galloping, with a broad grin on his face. He changed his course and came round when he saw the two horses close together.

“Good girl, Jean!” he sang out. “I’ll catch him.” And Jean swelled with joy at the carelessly given word of praise.

Warder stood quietly enough while Jim came gently on Garryowen, speaking soothing words until he was near enough to grasp his rein.

“Thought I’d have a lovely chase after him,” Jim said.

“Is Wally hurt? Warder didn’t buck with him, did he?” Jean asked anxiously.

“Not he—Warder’s no buckjumper,” returned Jim. “No—the silly old mule—it was all his fault!”

“Whose—Wally’s?” Jean asked, as he paused.

Jim laughed.

“No, Warder’s,” he said. “Put his foot into a crab-hole and turned a somersault—neatest thing you ever saw! Wal. shot about a hundred yards; luckily he landed on a soft spot, for he’s not hurt. There he is, lazy beggar; he ought to be coming to meet us.”

Wally held no such view. He was stretched at full length on the grass, his felt hat pulled over his face. As they rode up he came slowly into a sitting position.

“Bless you, Jimmy! Much trouble?”

“Don’t bless me,” Jim said. “Jean had him nearly caught.” At which Jean flushed with embarrassment and pride, and said something entirely incoherent.

“Come along, you lazy rubbish! I say!” said Jim, in sudden alarm, “you’re not hurt, really, are you, old man?”

“Not a bit,” grinned his chum, jumping up. “Merely lazy, as you truthfully remark, and besides, you were so busy that there didn’t seem any need for me to be more than ornamental.” He dodged a flick from Jim’s stock-whip, and swung himself into the saddle.

Far across the paddock they could see Norah in hot pursuit of a bullock. Bosun was hardly trained after stock yet; so far he lacked the amazing instinct that comes to horses, making them understand precisely what a bullock will do next—often some time before the bullock himself knows. The brown pony was only too willing to gallop; that was simple; but he was weak in the delicate science of checking and heading a beast, of propping and swinging so as to anticipate every froward impulse in his bovine brain. It made Norah’s task no easy one, for the bullock was a big, determined Queenslander, with a set desire for peace and freedom. There was no chance of using a stock-whip, since Bosun was far too excited to permit such a liberty. She could only gallop and try to head him, and shout—her clear voice came ringing across the grass. Finally determination in the pursuer proved stronger than the same quality in the pursued, and the bullock gave in. He turned and trotted sulkily back, with Bosun dancing behind him.

So they galloped and shouted and raced through the long hot morning until they were all hoarse and tired, with tempers just a little frayed at the edges. Even Jean and Norah were of opinion that there may be less fun in mustering than they had dreamed. Bosun was a distinctly tiring proposition in such work as this, his lack of training, coupled with his excitability, making him anything but easy to ride. Many times a bullock got away from Norah because she had been unable to turn her pony—since Bosun saw no reason why he should not sail on to the end of the paddock when once he got going. On one occasion he did actually get out of hand, and bolted a long way, scattering the cattle in his mad career. Altogether it was a strenuous morning, and they were all very thankful when persistent effort succeeded in getting all the bullocks together and through the gate, and so across the next paddock to a set of yards built for just such emergencies, to save driving stock the long distance back to the homestead.

“Eh, but I’m thirsty,” said Wally, slipping Warder’s bridle over a post and turning to take Bosun. “Norah, you look jolly tired.”

“I’m all right,” Norah answered. “I only want tea, and buckets of it. But this fellow makes your arms ache; he’s been trying to bolt all the time. I’d have been more use riding an old cow, I believe.”

“Don’t you talk rubbish,” said Jim, leading Nan and Garryowen up to the fence. “But I tell you what, old girl, you’re going to ride my neddy after lunch. He’s quite a stock horse now, and won’t be nearly so hard on your arms.”

“Well, I don’t like shirking,” Norah said, looking doubtfully at Bosun. “He’s such a beauty, too, Jimmy—only he doesn’t understand yet.”

“Of course he doesn’t—you can’t expect it,” said her brother. “You wouldn’t care for it if he went like an old sheep, naturally. He’ll be all right after a little regular work with the cattle. Anyhow, you want a rest.”

“And you’re sure you’re not too heavy for Bosun?” said Bosun’s owner, doubtfully, looking at Jim’s long figure.

“I thought that had something to do with it,” Jim grinned. “Don’t you worry, my child; I won’t squash your pretty pet!” To which Norah responded by turning up an already tilted nose, and proceeding to unpack the lunch valise, which had bumped somewhat cruelly on Warder’s saddle all the morning, considerably to the detriment of the hard-boiled eggs.

Lunch was simple; they boiled the billy at a little fire in a green hollow where there was no grass dry enough to risk burning, and drank great quantities of tea in the shade of a big she-oak tree. At first Norah and Jean declared that they were too hot to eat; but they revived considerably after the first fragrant cup, and found Brownie’s sandwiches very good. Then Jim emptied the inconsiderable remains of the tea over the fire and stamped it out carefully, separating the embers; and the two boys took the horses for the drink that could not be allowed them until they had cooled down. After which the girls professed themselves ready to start; but Mr. Linton ordered half an hour’s “smoke-oh,” with a keen eye on two faces that were quite too sun-kissed to look pale, but were certainly a little weary. So they all lay flat in the shade, and all but the squatter went to sleep almost immediately, while he sat propped against the she-oak trunk and smoked lazily. The half-hour had stretched almost to an hour before he woke them.

“Come on, you sleepy-heads!” he said, smiling at them. “Time to get busy.”

“Ugh-h—I’m stiff!” uttered Wally, wriggling, with an agonized countenance. “I think I’ve been tied in a tight knot, judging by my feelings.” A small twig caught him neatly on the back of the neck, and, forgetting his stiffness, he sprang up and gave chase to Jim, who was already at the horses.

“Oh, I’m so hideously hot!” Norah grumbled.

“Or hotly hideous?” called out Jim, who looked provokingly cool.

“Both, I think. All the same, that was a nice sleep. Don’t you feel better, Jean?”

“Heaps,” said Jean, who was busy in removing burrs and fragments of grass from her divided skirt. “At least, I will feel heaps better after I’ve got over feeling as horrible as I do just now.” She pushed the hair away from her eyes. “If only one could have a bathe!”

“We’ll have one to-night, in the lagoon,” Norah told her.

“You won’t have much chance of anything to-night except supper and bed, if we’re not quick,” said Mr. Linton. “Come along—you’ve rubbed that pony long enough, Jim. Get in behind those bullocks.”

He took his place at the drafting gate at the end of the race—the narrow lane, high fenced, connecting the big yard, where the cattle had been put, with two smaller yards. The boys whistled to the dogs and slipped in through the fence, urging the bullocks down the race. There Mr. Linton, with a quick turn of the gate, directed their further progress—the Queenslanders into one yard, the older bullocks into the other. Norah and Jean, debarred by the distinction of sex from active participation in these joys, took up a commanding position on the cap of the fence, occasionally emitting a warning yell when a bullock turned back at the very moment when he should have been entering the race.

Drafting cattle is far more pleasant work after a shower of rain. Even mud is better to work in than dust, which rises, and chokes and blinds you, and annoys the bullocks, and makes the entrance to the race puzzlingly obscure. Luckily these yards were not very often used, and had a thin carpet of grass, otherwise the job would have been a more difficult and lengthy one. As it was, when the cattle were finally divided into their respective mobs, and the boys came out of the yard, their features were somewhat indefinite, thanks to the coating of dust that covered each cheerful countenance.

Mr. Linton rammed home into its socket the peg that secured the drafting gate, and rejoined his assistants. They mounted—Norah this time on Garryowen—and Jim let out the Queensland cattle, which immediately made off in the direction of water. Withdrawn from the creek, not without difficulty, they were hustled into the Far Plain and driven along the way they had come that morning, with no chance of nibbling the sweet green clover that was provokingly soft under their feet.

Near the slip-rails Mr. Linton turned to Norah.

“We won’t have any more trouble,” he said, “they’re tired, and will go through into the Bush Paddock quietly. You and Jean can cut back if you like, and let out the others.”

“All right, Daddy,” said Norah, happily. “And bring them along into this paddock?”

“Yes, it will save time. You’ll find they’ll be only too ready to come.”

So Jean and Norah cantered back over the springy turf. The sun was setting, and the trees sent long shadows far across the paddock. A little breeze had sprung up from the west, swelling gradually to a cool wind, that fanned their hot faces—it was quite easy to forget the heat and burden of the day.

The big yard gate swung open—it was one of Mr. Linton’s “notions” that there should be no gate on Billabong that should not open easily, without forcing a rider to dismount. The cattle came out gladly, stringing across towards the clover of their own home, Jean and Norah behind them, happy in the certainty of really being able to render service. Just as the last slow beast had wandered through the open gateway, the three masculine workers came cantering back.

“Well done!” said Mr. Linton, with approval. “Did they give you any bother?”

“Not a bit, Dad.”

“That’s right. But I’m afraid it’s going to be too dark for that bathe, Jean.”

“Can’t be helped,” said that lady, philosophically. “There are tubs!”

“And there’s tea!” said Wally, thankfully. “I don’t know which I want more at this moment.”

“I do, then,” said Norah, surveying him with critical eyes. “There isn’t a doubt!”

“Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men

May read strange matters,”

quoted Mr. Linton, smiling. “Not fair to jibe at you, Wally, old man, when you earned your stripes in a good cause.”

Wally put his hand up to his face, where little runners of perspiration had made streaks in the grimy surface.

“I’m used to ingratitude,” he declared. “I’ve a good mind to make a non-washing vow, like those Indian Johnnies and keep off soap and water for seven years!”

“Then you’ll certainly have your meals out in the back yard!” Norah assured him. They shook their tired horses out of a walk and cantered home across the paddocks through the gathering dusk.