CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
AND ALL IN VAIN.
"Cooey--cooey!" shouted Nic, as he came cantering up over the soft, finegrass a couple of hours later toward the house; but no one was in sight,and he turned off toward the stables just as Brookes came out of thewool-shed.
"Why, hullo! What's the matter? Had a fall?"
"Had a fall!" cried the man savagely. "Look here." But old Sam hadbeen watching for his young master's return, and he hurried up.
"Won't you listen to me, Master Nic?" he cried. "Let me tell the tale."
"Nic! Nic! come here quick!" cried Hilda, running from the house.
The boy looked wildly from one to the other, threw the rein to old Sam,and ran to his sister.
"Hil dear, what is the matter?--mother?" For answer she threw her armsabout her brother's neck, and sobbing out told him all.
"And Janet--fits of hysterics?"
"Yes; I don't understand her, Nic. Mother can't leave her. What shallyou do?"
"Go in to them!" said Nic firmly; and giving his sister a push towardthe house, he ran back to where the two men stood growling at each otherand the horse impatiently stamping as it stood between them and tuggedto get away.
"Here you, Brookes," cried Nic imperiously, "tell me how it happened."
"He was as nasty as nasty, because the blacks--" began old Sam.
"Silence!" roared Nic. "I did not speak to you." Old Sam started inamazement, for it seemed to be a strong man speaking, not a boy.
"Now you, Brookes."
Brookes told the same tale he had told Mr Dillon when he rode over toWattles Station, embellishing it with cuts--that is to say, showing hiswounds.
"No chopper would make a place like that!" cried Nic fiercely. "I don'tbelieve a word of it, you brute. It's a lie."
"So it is, Master Nic," cried Sam, showing his teeth. "He give it tothe poor fellow brutal."
"Tell me, then--all you know. Quick, man, quick!"
"Oh, if father had been at home!" as soon as he had heard the old man'stale. Then snatching the rein, he threw it over Sorrel's head, touchedthe beautiful little creature's sides and went off at a gallop.
"Who's that?" cried Janet, starting up wildly as the hoofs were heardbeating on the turf.
"Nic!" cried her sister, running to the window to look out. "He hasgone off at a gallop."
"Gone!" cried Mrs Braydon--"and at a time like this!"
"He has galloped off. I know: he has gone over to save that poorfellow."
Janet uttered a low sigh, and as Mrs Braydon turned to her wonderinglythe poor girl fainted away.
Meanwhile, urged now as he had never been urged before, by voice andheel, Sorrel forgot his long morning's ride, and stretching out like agreyhound skimmed over the soft turf like a swallow in its flight.
Nic rode on with his heart a prey to varying emotions. He knewperfectly well that the convict's fate would be that of all unrulyassigned servants. He had heard it from old Sam again and again,--howthat if Jack did not behave well, he was sent by his master to anotherstation, where he would have so many dozen lashes of thecat-o'-nine-tails and be sent back; while another time Joe, who hadbehaved ill at that next station, was sent across to the first. So themasters avoided the administration of punishment to their own men, butpunished those of their neighbours. It was the rough-and-ready customin the early days of the colony, and common enough for small offences.Where a convict servant's offence became a crime, he was returned to theprisons--marked.
To Nic, then, it was horrible that the man for whom he had graduallygrown to feel a warm sense of friendship should suffer this horribleindignity. It would be, he felt, an outrage; for he was as fullyconvinced as if he had been present that Leather had been maddened byBrookes's ill usage until he struck him down.
The boy felt old as he galloped on in the direction of the WattlesStation. He had never been there, but he knew it lay some ten or adozen miles away to the north, and he hoped to find it by riding on andon till he came upon flocks of sheep, and then going up some one orother of the eminences, and looking about till he caught sight of whitebuildings, which would be the place. This would come the easier fromthe fact that stations were built close to water, but high enough up tobe beyond the reach of floods.
When he had gone three or four miles he began to repent not bringingNibbler, who would, in all probability, have been there in his time, andconsequently might take it for granted, when going in that direction,that his young master was aiming at this place. But in his excitementhe had thought of nothing but getting over there; and faint, hungry andhot, he began now to find that he had done a foolish thing.
A chill ran through him at the idea of missing the place, and he wasabout to change his direction and ride up a hill to his left; when itsuddenly struck him that after once starting he had done nothing in theway of guiding his horse, which kept right on in one direction, merelydeviating to avoid great trees or patches of scrub.
Then he uttered a joyful cry, for gazing down he could see hoof marksfaintly on the thick grass, and it dawned upon him that these were quitefresh, and the horse was following them as steadily as if going along amain road.
Elated by this he slackened the rein just sufficiently to feel thehorse's mouth, and left it to itself. And then it galloped in its easy,swinging pace, with its rider leaning forward, heart-sick where thefootprints were invisible, and exultant as he caught sight of them againand again, after feeling that all was over and the trail entirely lost.
"If I only were clever as one of the blacks," he thought. "Bungarolo,Rigar, or Damper would follow the faintest trail."
But their services were needless here. The sorrel nag had been to theWattles more than once before its young master's time, and, besides, itsnatural instinct led it to gallop along where its fellows had beenbefore.
Two great ostrich-like birds started up from right and left, and thoughhe had not come across them before Nic knew that they must be emus; buthe only glanced at them as they raced away, with the rapid motion oftheir legs making them almost as invisible as the spokes of a runningwheel. Twice over, too, he saw a drove of kangaroos, which went flyingover the bushes in their tremendous leaps; but they excited no interestnow. He must get to the Wattles soon, or he would be too late.
It was a long ten miles--more probably twelve--and Nic's heart was low,for he seemed to have been riding three hours, and he began to fear thatthe horse would go on following tracks until rein was drawn, so hestopped; when all at once, as they turned a clump of magnificent gumtrees standing alone upon a beautiful down, there below him, and not amile away, was the place he sought--a group of buildings, with the sheepand cattle dotting the country as far as his eye could range.
And now he checked his horse's speed to a gentle canter, and thought ofwhat he should do.
He knew that he would be most welcome as a stranger, much more so as DrBraydon's son; so he rode straight up to the fence, leaped down, andhitched his rein over a post close to where several saddles rode upon arail, and was going up to the door of the house, when Mr Dillon himselfappeared, and came to meet him with a friendly nod.
"Dr Braydon's son, for a wager!" he cried.
"Yes," said Nic; and before he could say another word the big,bluff-looking squatter shouted:
"Hi, Belton! Come and rub down and feed Mr Braydon's nag. Now, mylad, come in. We're just going to have a meal, and you must be hungryafter your ride."
Nic was hungry after his ride, which was a far longer one than MrDillon guessed, for the boy had had nothing since the morning, and themention of food struck a responsive chord in his breast. But he had notcome to visit, and, flushing slightly, he spoke out at once, plungingboldly into the object of his coming, though he felt that the magistrateknew.
"Thank you, no, Mr Dillon," he said. "I have come over about our man."
"So I supposed," said Mr Dillon, smiling; "but we can talk as we eat."
"I can't at a time like this, s
ir," said Nic. "I've come for him,please, to take him back with me."
"Indeed!" said Mr Dillon, smiling. "Do you know all that happened?--while you were out, I presume?"
"Yes, everything, sir, and how you were misinformed."
"Misinformed, was I?" said Mr Dillon pleasantly. "I think not."
"But you were, sir, indeed. I know both the men so well."
"I suppose so, my lad. Let me see, you have been in the colony quite ashort time?"
"Yes; but I've seen a great deal of them," cried Nic, whose face burnedwith annoyance at the magistrate's look of amusement.
"And you are, of course, a good judge of convict servants?"
"I know nothing about any but our own men, sir. But I have heardeverything, sir, and I am sure that our man Leather does not deserve tobe punished. It would be unjust."
"You think so?"
"Yes, sir: I'm sure of it."
"And you want to take him back with you?"
"If you please, sir--now. I know the man so well, and I am certain thatI can answer for there being no more trouble."
"That's speaking broadly, my boy," said Mr Dillon, slapping Nic on theshoulder; "but comes tea--dinner's ready, and we can continue ourargument as we have it."
Nic shook his head.
"I couldn't eat, sir, with that poor fellow in such trouble," he said.
"Well, that's very kind and nice of you, my boy," said Mr Dillon, "andI like you for it; but come now, let's be reasonable. You see, I am themagistrate of this district, but I want to talk to you, not like a manof law, only as your father's friend and neighbour."
"Yes, I felt that you would, sir," said Nic, who was encouraged.
"Your father has, I suppose, left you in charge of his station?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, boys out here have to act like men, and I like your manly wayabout this business. You came back, found out the trouble, and rodeover directly to set it right?"
"Yes, sir--exactly."
"That's all very right and just; only as a man of long experience, youngBraydon, you see, I know better how to manage these troubles than youpossibly can--a lad fresh over from school."
"Yes, sir, I suppose so," said Nic, "in most cases; but I do know ourman better than you."
"You think so, my lad; but you are wrong. He was my servant first."
"Still, you will let our man come back with me, sir?"
"In your father's absence, my boy, I have too much respect for him, toomuch interest in the safety of your mother and sisters, to send backunpunished a desperate man."
"Don't say that, sir. You don't know Leather indeed."
"`Nothing like Leather,'" said Mr Dillon, smiling. "Yes, I shouldthink he was a great favourite of yours. But, come now, my boy; youhave done your part well. Here, come in and have a good meal. Your manhas done what many more of these fellows do--broken out in a bit ofsavagery. He is shut up safely in yonder, too much done up for me tosay anything to him to-night; but tomorrow morning he will be tamed downa bit, and kept for three or four days to return to his senses, and thenhe will come back and go on with his work like a lamb."
"Mr Dillon, you don't know him, sir!" cried Nic earnestly. "Such acruel act would drive the poor fellow mad."
"I know him, and I know you, my boy. There, you are young andenthusiastic; but I see, plainly enough, you have been too much withthis fellow. There, frankly, you have been with him a good deal?"
"Yes, sir," said Nic.
"Precisely. And he has not corrupted you, but he has made you believethat he is an injured, innocent man. Frankly, now, is it not so?"
"Yes, and I do believe," said Nic quietly.
"Exactly. Well, my dear boy, you see I do not; and if you will take myadvice you will have nothing to do with him in the future."
"Mr Dillon, you are mistaken," cried Nic. "Pray--pray do not punishhim!"
"My dear young friend, pray--pray don't you interfere with amagistrate's duties."
"Then you will not let him come, sir?"
"Certainly not, for at least a week."
"But, Mr Dillon, promise me that--that you--you will not flog him,"said Nic, in a husky whisper.
"I promise you, my good lad, that tomorrow morning I shall have him outin front of my men and my four assigned servants--convicts, and have himgiven a good sound application of the cat. Now that business is settledin a way that ten years hence you will agree is quite just; so come inlike a sensible young neighbour, have a good feed, and I'll ride part ofthe way back with you after."
"Do you mean this, sir?" said Nic hoarsely.
"I always say what I mean, boy, and act up to it. Once more, come in."
Nic walked straight to where the man was rubbing down his horse, stoppedhim, picked up and girthed his saddle, saw to the bridle, and thenmounted, while Mr Dillon stood watching him, half amused, half angry.
Then a thought struck Nic, and he bent down as if to reach thecheek-piece of the bit, and slipped a shilling into the man's hand.
"Where's our man shut up?" he whispered.
"In the big shed behind the house," said the man, staring.
Then at a touch Sour Sorrel started off.
"Going now?" shouted Mr Dillon.
Nic raised his hand to his hat as he galloped off, but he did not turnhis head.
"The conceited young puppy!" cried Mr Dillon angrily, as he watched theboy's receding form; "and he wouldn't eat bread and salt. He deservesto be flogged himself for his obstinacy. I don't know, though: I wishI'd had a boy like that."
He re-entered the house, and Nic rode on homeward, the slowest, saddestride he had had since he entered the colony, for as soon as he was outof sight of the house he drew rein and let Sorrel walk.
First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales Page 28