Many a pleasant ride had Ernest now that all things ‘had suffered,’ not ‘a sea-change,’ but none the less an astounding metamorphosis, into ‘something rich and strange.’
Daily he made long-disused excursions into the mysterious, half-unknown land of ‘the Back,’ only to find, after each fresh day’s exploring, richer pasture, fuller watercourses, stronger, more frolicsome cattle. These last had grown and thriven on the over-abundant pasture, ‘out of knowledge,’ as Charley Banks averred. Again were the old triumphs and glories of a cattle-station re-enacted. Again he saw the heavy rolling droves of bullocks come panting and teeming into camp. Again he witnessed the reckless speed and practised wheel of the trained stock horses. All things, indeed, were changed.
Charley Banks was never tired of sounding the praises of the glorious season, and of the splendid fattening qualities of Rainbar, with its extraordinary variety of plant-wealth, herbs, grasses, saltbushes, clovers, every green thing, from wild carrots to crowsfoot, which the heart of man, devoted to the welfare of his herd, could desire.
‘I never saw anything like those “circle dot” cattle for laying it on,‘ he would say. ‘They’re as big again as they were. And those crawlers of Freemans’—they’ll pay out and out. We’ve branded as many calves from ’em as will come to half the purchase money, at present prices. It will soon be time to move the fat cattle; in another month or two Rainbar will be full of ’em.’
The only persons to whom the rain had not brought joy and gladness were Freeman Brothers. These worthy yeomen began to consider that after all this hard work, as they expressed it, they had been shamefully outwitted and deceived. The travel-worn cattle-dealer, who had driven so hard a bargain with them, had turned out to be the great Abstinens Levison, no less. Their stock had been handed over to Mr. Neuchamp, with whom, doubtless, he had been in league. Now they were growing and fattening fast, prices rising faster, and not a shilling for them, out of it all. Then they had to wait idle on their land till November, or less lose the cash agreed on.
‘Then to hand everything over—most likely for the benefit of a young fellow who knew nothing about the country—a —— blessed “new chum”—hang him. The country was getting too full of the likes of him. It was enough to make a man turn digger.‘
Abraham Freeman and his wife were the only contented individuals of the once peaceful co-operative community. They would have secured sufficient capital upon the payment of the coming instalments to purchase a well-improved farm in their old neighbourhood, to which they proposed immediately to return, and there spend the remainder of an unambitious existence.
‘They had seen quite enough of this far-out life,’ they said. ‘Free-selecting here might be very well for some people; it didn’t suit them. They liked a quiet place in a cool climate, where the crops grew, and the cows gave them milk all the year round—not a feast or a famine. If they had the chance, please God, they would know next time when they were well off.’
One afternoon Charley Banks came tearing in, displaying in triumph a provincial journal, the Parramatta Postboy, directed to him in unknown handwriting. Pointing to a column, headed ‘Elopement extraordinary,’ he commenced with great difficulty, owing to the frequency of his ejaculations and bursts of laughter, to read aloud to Mr. Neuchamp the following extract, from which it may be gathered that Mr. Windsor ‘was on time,’ in spite of all apparent obstacles:
It is seldom that we have to chronicle so dramatic an incident as that which has just occurred in our midst, and which was fraught with deep interest to one of our most respected residents of old standing in the neighbourhood. We refer to the sudden and wholly unexpected matrimonial arrangement made by Miss C—y W—n, the daughter of mine host of the old-established well-known family hotel, the ‘Cheshire Cheese.’ It would appear that Mr. Henry Homminey, the successful Hawkesbury agriculturist, was about to lead the blushing fair one, with the full consent of the family, to the hymeneal altar, on Friday last. ‘All went merry as a marriage bell,’ till on Thursday evening Mr. John Windsor, cattle manager at Rainbar for Ernest Neuchamp, Esq., appeared at the ‘Cheshire Cheese,’ and joined the family party. He had been formerly acquainted with the bride-elect, but stated that he had merely come to offer his congratulations, and pass a pleasant hour. He was warmly welcomed, and the evening passed off successfully. At the appointed hour next morning the happy bridegroom appeared with his friends, who had mustered strongly for the occasion, but, to their dismay and disappointment, they were informed by Mr. W—n that the bride’s chamber was empty, and that she had not attended the family matutinal repast. Mr. Homminey’s feelings may be imagined but cannot be described. He at once started in pursuit of the fugitives, but after riding a few miles at a furious pace, his horse showed signs of distress, and he was persuaded by his personal friends to wend his steps in the direction of Richmond. Much sympathy is felt for his loss and disappointment. But, since the days of earliest classic records, the man of solid worth has occasionally been eclipsed, in the eyes of the fair, by the possessor of the more ornamental qualities with which Mr. Windsor is credited.