Mates at Billabong

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER XVI

  A CHILD'S PONY

  With the spirit of fire and of dew To show the road home to them all. KENDALL.

  It was quite early next morning when Cecil awoke. One of his grievancesagainst the country was the way in which the birds acted as alarumclocks every day, rousing him from his well-earned slumbers fully anhour before even the earliest milk cart rattling along the suburbanstreet fulfilled a similar purpose at home. Generally, he managed toturn over and go to sleep again. This morning, however, he wasunusually wakeful.

  He lay turning in his mind his anger against his cousins. Little causesfor annoyance, simple enough in themselves, had been brooded over untilthey made up a very substantial total; and now, last night's happeningscapped everything. In his own heart of hearts he knew that he had smalljustification for his childish outbursts of anger; only it was notCecil's nature to admit any such thing, and if justification were notevident, his mind was quite equal to manufacturing it. At the end ofhalf an hour's gloomy pondering he had worked himself up into a finestate of ill usage, and into the firm belief that Norah and the boyshad no intention but to insult and humiliate him.

  To some natures there is a certain comfort in nursing a grievance, andreasoning themselves into a plaintive state of martyrdom. When Cecilfinally rolled angrily out of bed, he was almost cheerful in thecontemplation of his own unhappiness. They were determined to sneer athim and lessen his pride, were they? Well, they should see.

  Just what they were likely to see, Cecil did not know himself, but thereflection was soothing. Meanwhile, the birds were maddeningly active,and an unusual restlessness was upon him. He dressed slowly, putting onflannels, for the day promised heat, and went downstairs.

  Sarah and Mary were busy in the hall, and lifted astonished eyebrows atseeing the boy down before the others; as a rule Cecil strolled intothe dining-room barely in time for breakfast, or was late altogether.He took no notice of them, but wandered out to the back, where Browniewas found instructing a new kitchen assistant in the gentle art ofcleaning a stove. She, too, showed amazement at the apparition, butrecovered sufficiently to offer him tea and scones, to which Cecil didjustice.

  "Be you all going out early?" Brownie asked.

  "Not that I know of." Cecil's tone did not encourage conversation.

  "Seein' you so unusual early, I thought there was some plan on," saidBrownie. "Master Jim's great on makin' plans, ain't he? (Meriar, elbowgrease is one of the necessariest things in gettin' a shine on astove--don't let me catch you merely strokin' it again!) An' MissNorah's always ready to back him up--wunnerfull mates them two has alwuzbeen, an' Master Jim has ever and alwuz looked after her, from thed'rekly-minute he could walk!"

  "Ah?" said Cecil.

  "Well may you say so," said Brownie, inspired by her subject. "Asloving-kind a pair as could be, have them two been; and as proud ofeach other--! Well, any one who reads may run! An', Master Jim nevermindin' her being on'y a girl; not that that has 'ampered Miss Norahmuch, I will say, seein' how she rides an' all. I'm sure it's a pictureto see her on that there Bobs, an' the dumb beast knows every singleword she says to him. They'll fret for each other cruel, Bobs an' her,when she goes to school."

  Brownie's enthusiasm was ill-timed, as far as Cecil was concerned;indeed, she could scarcely have hit upon a subject less palatable tohim. Still, it was useless to interfere with the old woman; so hegulped down his tea hastily, listening with ill-concealed impatience toher talk of Norah and Bobs, and then escaped abruptly.

  "H'm!" said Brownie, looking after him. "Not a word out of me noble--noteven a thank you! Too much of a fine gentleman for Billabong, like hisma before him!"

  "Young gent don't seem to cotton to Miss Norah," remarked the astute,if new, Maria, who had been listening with all her ears.

  "When you're asked for your opinion about your betters, Meriar, it maybe time to shove in your oar; but until then let me advise you to keepit in your own head," said Brownie severely. "At present your work isrubbin' that stove, and if it ain't done in remarkable quick time it'llhave to be blackleaded all over again, bein' as how it'll have got toodry!" Appalled by which awful possibility, Maria fell to work withwonderful vigour, dismissing all lesser matters from her mind.

  Meanwhile, Cecil strolled across the yard, and thence towards thestockyards, where a trampling of feet and a light cloud of dust showedthat the men had got in the horses for the day. He selected a cleanplace on the top rail carefully, and cast his eye over the little mobstanding in groups about the enclosure--a dozen stock horses; the bigpair of greys that were used in the covered buggy or the express wagon;the brown ponies that Norah drove; his own mount Betty, and Wally'smare Nan; and then the aristocrats, Garryowen and, last of all, Bobs.Norah's pony was standing near an old black horse for which he had agreat affection. They were nearly always to be found together in theyards or paddocks. Even unbrushed as he was, the sunlight rippled onhis bay coat when he moved, showing the hard masses of muscle in hisarched neck.

  "Beauty, ain't he?" It was Mick Shanahan, on his way to another paddockto bring in some colts. He pulled up beside Cecil, the youngster he wasriding sidling impatiently.

  "Yes, he's a nice pony," said Cecil, without enthusiasm.

  "Well, I've seen a few, but he beats 'em all," said the horsebreaker."A ringer from the time he was a foal--and he's only improved since Ifirst handled him, four year ago. Worth a pot of money that pony is!"He laughed. "Not as his particular owner'd sell him, I reckon. MissNorah acts more by that chap than by anything else she's got!"

  "I suppose so," Cecil said, seeing that he waited for a reply.

  "Yes, my word! Take 'em all round, they'd be hard to beat as a pair,"said Mick, lighting his pipe in apparent ignorance that his horse wasindulging in caracoles that appeared likely to end in a buckingdemonstration. He threw the match away after carefully extinguishingit, and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Quiet, y' image, can't y'? Who'shurtin' y'? Well, I must be goin'--so long." Cecil nodded casually, andthe impatient pupil went off in a series of bounds that struck the cityboy as alarming, although Mick did not appear to notice that his mountwas not walking demurely.

  Several other men came to the stockyard, selected each a horse, andsaddled it, and disappeared in various directions. The old black horse,Bob's mate, was taken by Joe Burton, who harnessed him into a dray thatstood near, loaded up a number of fence rails, and drove off over thepaddock, evidently to a job of repairing some boundary. Cecil watchedthem crawl across the plain, until they were only a speck on the grass.Then he turned his sullen eyes on Bobs, who, left alone, had comenearer to the fence where he sat, and was sleepily flicking with histail at an intrusive fly, which insisted on walking round his hip.Cecil stared at him for some minutes before his idea came to him.

  Then he flushed a little, his hand clenching on the post beside him. Atfirst the idea was fascinating, but preposterous; he tried to put itfrom him, but it came back persistently, and his mind held it with akind of half-fearful excitement. They had said he could not ride him--achild's pony! Would he show them?

  Once he entertained the idea at all he could not let it go. It would besuch an easy way of "coming out on top"--of showing them that in onething at least their opinion was worthless. That Jim's words were true,and that he could not master Bobs, he ridiculed loftily. It wasimpossible for him to believe that what a child of fourteen did soeasily he might not be able to do. He had never seen Bobs other thanquiet; and though big and well bred and spirited, he was still only apony--a child's pony. Visions floated before him of increased respectpaid him by the men, and even by his uncle, when he should havedemonstrated his ability to manage something better than old BrownBetty, flicking at the flies in her corner of the yard, withdown-drooped head, and then--he wanted to ride Bobs; and all his lifeCecil Linton had done what he wanted.

  He slipped down from the fence and went across to the stables for asaddle and bridle, entering the harness room a little nervously, butrelieved on finding
no men about. Returning, he caught Bobs--who stoodlike the gentleman he was--and brought him outside, where hisunaccustomed fingers bungled a little with the saddle. The one he hadchosen in his haste had a breastplate, but this he could not manage atall; and at last he managed to get the bewildering array of straps off,and hang it over the fence. He buckled on a pair of spurs he had foundin the harness room. Then he gathered up the reins and clambered intothe saddle. Possibly, had he let Bobs feel the spur, his ride wouldhave ended there and then, and there would have been no furtherdevelopments in Cecil's excursion; and it is certain that he would havespurred him cheerfully, had not the pony moved off at once. As it washe sat back and felt exceedingly independent and pleased with himself.He turned him down the home paddock.

  "Phwat are y' doin' on that pony?"

  Murty O'Toole had come out of the men's quarters, and was gazingopen-mouthed at the unfamiliar figure on Bobs--"the city feller," foronce not apparelled in exaggerated riding clothes, but in looseflannels; already the legs of the trousers had worked up from his lowshoes, disclosing a vision of brilliant sock. Cecil took no notice.

  "Hallo, there! Shtop a minnit! Who put y' on Bobs?"

  "Mind your own business," said Cecil, between his teeth, looking round.

  "My business, is it? Sure, 'tis my business, if 'tis anny man's onBillabong! Did Miss Norah say y' could ride her pony?"

  "What's that to you?"

  "Be gob!" said Murty, "'tis more to me than it is to you, seein' 'tismeself knows Miss Norah's feelin's an' disposition about Bobs! Did shegive y' leave? Tell me, or I'll pull y' off, if y' was the Boss' nevvyten times over!"

  "WILL you?" Cecil spat the words at him bitterly. He shook the reins,and Bobs, impatient enough already, broke into a canter that carriedhim away from the good friend who had intervened on his behalf. Theyshot across the paddock.

  Murty, left helpless, said a few strong things as he looked after theretreating pair.

  "It's a guinea to a gooseberry he's taken Frinch lave wid him," hesaid, "bitther tongued little whipper-snapper that he is! Sure if Bobsgets rid av him it'll serve him sorry, so 'twill. But phwat'll I doabout it, at all?" He scratched his head reflectively. "If I go over'twill only worry Miss Norah to hear--an' it's most likely he'll haveenough av it pretty soon, an' the pony'll come home--an I do not care ifhe comes home widout him! I'll lave it be f'r awhile." He went slowlyover to the stockyards.

  Cecil, cantering over the grass with Bobs' perfect stride beneath him,was, for the moment, completely satisfied with himself. He had routedthe enemy in the first engagement, and, if he had not left himspeechless, at least he had had the last word. Murty and he had been atdaggers drawn from the very first day, when the grinning Irishman hadpulled him out of the wild raspberry clump in the cutting-out paddock;and the cheerful friendliness with which Jim and Norah treated thestockman had always irritated him. He was exceedingly pleased that onthis occasion he had scored at his expense.

  Where should he go? There were three gates leading out of the homepaddock--one to the Cunjee road; another to a similar well-cleared plainto that on which the house stood; and a third into a smaller paddock,which in its turn led into part of the rougher and steeper part of therun. Cecil wanted to get out of sight quickly. In his mind there was ahalf-formed idea that Murty might saddle a horse and come out inpursuit; and a hand-to-hand encounter with the justly indignantIrishman was just at that moment the last thing that the boy wanted. Sohe decided upon the bush paddock, and headed in that direction.

  Now, a horse that is always ridden by one person is apt to developideas of his own--possibly through acquiring habits insensibly from hisusual rider. Also, he becomes accustomed to that one rider, and isquite likely to be annoyed by a change--not alone in weight and in styleof riding, but in the absence of the sympathy that always existsbetween a horse so managed and the one who cares for him andunderstands him. The alien hand on his mouth had irritated Bobs fromthe first; it was heavy, and jerky, where Norah's touch was as afeather; and the light, firm seat in the saddle was changed for aweight that bumped and shifted continuously. Further, it was not veryusual for Norah to ride in this direction--he had headed naturally forthe second gate before his tender mouth was suddenly wrenched asidetowards the third. Bobs arrived at the gate in something considerablyremoved from his usual contented state of mind.

  The gate was awkward, and Cecil clumsy at shutting it; he hauled thepony's mouth roughly in his efforts to bring him into position where hecould send home the catch. The same performance was repeated at thenext gate--the one leading into the bush paddock; and when at lengththey turned from it Bobs' mouth was feeling the bit in a manner thatwas quite new to him, and as unpleasant as new. He sidled off in arough, jerky walk, betraying irritation in every movement, had Cecilbeen wise enough to know it.

  Cecil, however, was still perfectly content. He was out of sight of thehouse, which was comforting in itself; while as for the idea that hewas not completely master of his mount, he would have been highlyamused at it. It was pleasant to be out, in the morning freshness; andthere was no need to hurry home, since the scones and tea in thekitchen had made him independent of breakfast. The paddock he was inlooked interesting, too; the plain ended in a line of rough,scrub-grown hills which it occurred to him would be a good place toexplore. He headed towards them.

  Bobs walked on, inwardly seething; jerking his head impatiently at theunceasing pressure on his bit, and now and then giving a little halfkick that at length attracted Cecil's attention, making him wondervaguely what was wrong. Possibly something in the saddle; it hadoccurred to him when cantering that his girth was loose. So hedismounted and tightened it, bringing it up with a jerk that pinchedthe pony suddenly, and made him back away. This time Cecil did not findit so easy to mount. He was a little nervous as he rode on--and there isnothing that more quickly communicates itself to a horse thannervousness in the rider. Bobs began to dance as he went, and Cecil,hauling at his mouth, broke out into a mild perspiration. He decidedthat he was not altogether an easy pony to ride.

  A hare jumped up abruptly in the grass just ahead. Bobs shied andplunged--and missing the hand that always understood and steadied suchmistaken energy, gave a couple of rough "pig-jumps." It was more thanenough for Cecil; mild as they were, he shot on to the pony's neck,only regaining the saddle by a great effort. The reins flopped, and theindignant Bobs plunged forward, while his rider clawed for support, hisfeet and hands alike flying. As he dropped back into the saddle, thespurs went home; and Bobs bolted.

  He had never in his life felt the spur; light and free in every pace,Norah's boot heel was the utmost correction that ever came to him. Thissudden cruel stab on either side was more than painful--it was a suddenshock of amazement that was sharper than pain. Coming on top of all hisgrievances, it was too much for Bobs. Possibly, a mad race would ridhim of this creature on his back, who was so unlike his mistress. Hisheels went up with a little squeal as he bounded forward beforesettling into his stride.

  Cecil gave himself up for lost from the first. He tugged frantically atthe rein, realizing soon that the pony was in full command, and thathis soft muscles might as well pull at the side of a house as try tostop him. He lost one stirrup, and clung desperately to the pommelwhile he felt for it, and by great good luck managed to get his foot inagain--a piece of good fortune which his own efforts would never havesecured. The pommel was too comforting to be released; he still clungto it while he tried to steady himself and to see where he was going.

  The plain ended abruptly just before him, and the rough hills slopedaway to the south. Perhaps, if he put Bobs at the steepest it mightcalm him a little, and he might be able to pull him up. So he wrenchedthe pony's mouth round, and presently they were racing up the face ofthe hill, which apparently made no difference whatever to Bobs. Cecilhad not the slightest idea that his heels were spurring the pony atevery stride. He wondered angrily in his fear why he seemed to becomemomentarily more maddened, and sawed at the bleeding mouth in vain.They
were at the top of the hill now. The crest was sharp andimmediately over it a sharp drop went down to a gully at the bottom. Itwas steep, rough-going, boulder-strewn and undermined with wombatholes. Perhaps in his calmer moments Bobs might have hesitated, butjust now he knew nothing but a frantic desire to escape from that cruelagony in his sides. He flung down the side of the hill blindly, makinggreat bounds over the sparse bracken fern that hid the ground. Cecilwas nearly on his shoulder now--a moment more would set him free.

  Then he put his foot on a loose boulder that gave with him and wentdown the slope in a flurry of shifting stones. He made a gallant effortto recover himself, stumbling to his knees as Cecil left the saddle andlanded in the ferns--but just as he struck out for firmer footing hisforefoot sank into a wombat hole, and he turned a complete somersault,rolling over and over. He brought up against a big boulder, struggledto rise and then lay still.

  * * * * *

  Presently Cecil came limping to him, white and angry.

  "Get up, you brute!" he said, kicking him. When there was no response,he took the bridle, jerking it. Bobs' head gave a little at every jerk,but that was all.

  Between rage and fear, Cecil lost his head. He kicked the ponysavagely; and finding that useless, sought a stick and thrashed him ashe lay. Once Bobs struggled, but only his head and shoulders came up,and presently they fell back again. Cecil gave it up at last, and lefthim alone, limping down to the gully and out of sight. He sat down on alog for a long while, until the sun grew hot. Then he pulled his hatover his eyes and set off towards home.

  Bobs did not know he had gone. He lay quite still.