On Our Selection Part 4

More than a dozen horses went out, and when the starter said "Off!" did n't they go! Our eyes at once followed Bess. Dave was at her right from the jump--the very opposite to what Dad had told him. In the first furlong she put fully twenty yards of daylight between herself and the field--she came after the field. At the back of the course you could see the whole of Kyle's selection and two of Jerry Keefe's hay-stacks between her and the others. We did n't follow her any further.

After the race was won and they had cheered the winner, Dad was n't to be found anywhere.

Dave sat on the gra.s.s quite exhausted. "Ain't y' goin' to pull the saddle off?" Joe asked.

"No," he said. "I AIN'T. You don't want everyone to see her back, do you?"

Joe wished he had sixpence.

About an hour afterwards Dad came staggering along arm-in-arm with another man--an old fencing-mate of his, so he made out.

"Thur yar," he said, taking off his hat and striking Bess on the rump with it; "besh bred mare in the worl'."

The fencing-mate looked at her, but did n't say anything; he could n't.

"Eh?" Dad went on; "say sh'ain't? L'ere-ever y' name is--betcher pound sh'is."

Then a jeering and laughing crowd gathered round, and Dave wished he had n't come to the races.

"She ain't well," said a tall man to Dad--"short in her gallops." Then a short, bulky individual without whiskers shoved his face up into Dad's and asked him if Bess was a mare or a cow. Dad became excited, and only that old Anderson came forward and took him away there must have been a row.

Anderson put him in the dray and drove it home to s.h.i.+ngle Hut.

Dad reckons now that there is nothing in horse-racing, and declares it a fraud. He says, further, that an honest man, by training and racing a horse, is only helping to feed and fatten the rogues and vagabonds that live on the sport.

Chapter VII.

Cranky Jack.

It was early in the day. Traveller after traveller was trudging by s.h.i.+ngle Hut. One who carried no swag halted at the rails and came in.

He asked Dad for a job. "I dunno," Dad answered--"What wages would you want?" The man said he would n't want any. Dad engaged him at once.

And SUCH a man! Tall, bony, heavy-jawed, shaven with a reaping-hook, apparently. He had a thick crop of black hair--s.h.a.ggy, unkempt, and full of grease, gra.s.s, and fragments of dry gum-leaves. On his head were two old felt hats--one sewn inside the other. On his back a s.h.i.+rt made from a piece of blue blanket, with white cotton st.i.tches striding up and down it like lines of fencing. His trousers were gloom itself; they were a problem, and bore reliable evidence of his industry. No ordinary person would consider himself out of work while in them. And the new-comer was no ordinary person. He seemed to have all the woe of the world upon him; he was as sad and weird-looking as a widow out in the wet.

In the yard was a large heap of firewood--remarkable truth!--which Dad told him to chop up. He began. And how he worked! The axe rang again--particularly when it left the handle--and pieces of wood scattered everywhere. Dad watched him chopping for a while, then went with Dave to pull corn.

For hours the man chopped away without once looking at the sun. Mother came out. Joy! She had never seen so much wood cut before. She was delighted. She made a cup of tea and took it to the man, and apologised for having no sugar to put in it. He paid no attention to her; he worked harder. Mother waited, holding the tea in her hand. A lump of wood nearly as big as a s.h.i.+ngle flew up and shaved her left ear. She put the tea on the ground and went in search of eggs for dinner. (We were out of meat--the kangaroo-dog was lame. He had got "ripped" the last time we killed.)

The tea remained on the ground. Chips fell into it. The dog saw it.

He limped towards it eagerly, and dipped the point of his nose in it.

It burnt him. An aged rooster strutted along and looked sideways at it. HE distrusted it and went away. It attracted the pig--a sow with nine young ones. She waddled up, and poked the cup over with her nose; then she sat down on it, while the family joyously gathered round the saucer. Still the man chopped on.

Mother returned--without any eggs. She rescued the crockery from the pigs and turned curiously to the man. She said, "Why, you've let them take the tea!" No answer. She wondered.

Suddenly, and for the fiftieth time, the axe flew off. The man held the handle and stared at the woodheap. Mother watched him. He removed his hats, and looked inside them. He remained looking inside them.

Mother watched him more closely. His lips moved. He said, "LISTEN TO THEM! THEY'RE COMING! I KNEW THEY'D FOLLOW!"

"Who?" asked Mother, trembling slightly.

"THEY'RE IN THE WOOD!" he went on. "Ha, ha! I've got them. They'll never get out; NEVER GET OUT!"

Mother fled, screaming. She ran inside and called the children. Sal a.s.sisted her. They trooped in like wallabies--all but Joe. He was away earning money. He was getting a s.h.i.+lling a week from Maloney, for chasing c.o.c.katoos from the corn.

They closed and barricaded the doors, and Sal took down the gun, which Mother made her hide beneath the bed. They sat listening, anxiously and intently. The wind began to rise. A lump of soot fell from the chimney into the fireplace--where there was no fire. Mother shuddered.

Some more fell. Mother jumped to her feet. So did Sal. They looked at each other in dismay. The children began to cry. The chain for hanging the kettle on started swinging to and fro. Mother's knees gave way. The chain continued swinging. A pair of bare legs came down into the fireplace--they were curled round the chain. Mother collapsed.

Sal screamed, and ran to the door, but could n't open it. The legs left the chain and dangled in the air. Sal called "Murder!"

Her cry was answered. It was Joe, who had been over at Maloney's making his fortune. He came to the rescue. He dropped out of the chimney and shook himself. Sal stared at him. He was calm and covered from head to foot with soot and dirt. He looked round and said, "Thought yuz could keep me out, did'n'y'?" Sal could only look at him.

"I saw yuz all run in," he was saying, when Sal thought of Mother, and sprang to her. Sal shook her, and slapped her, and threw water on her till she sat up and stared about. Then Joe stared.

Dad came in for dinner--which, of course, was n't ready. Mother began to cry, and asked him what he meant by keeping a madman on the place, and told him she KNEW he wanted to have them all murdered. Dad did n't understand. Sal explained. Then he went out and told the man to "Clear!" The man simply said, "No."

"Go on, now!" Dad said, pointing to the rails. The man smiled at the wood-heap as he worked. Dad waited. "Ain't y' going?" he repeated.

"Leave me alone when I'm chopping wood for the missus," the man answered; then smiled and muttered to himself. Dad left him alone and went inside wondering.

Next day Mother and Dad were talking at the barn. Mother, bare-headed, was holding some eggs in her ap.r.o.n. Dad was leaning on a hoe.

"I am AFRAID of him," Mother said; "it's not right you should keep him about the place. No one's safe with such a man. Some day he'll take it in his head to kill us all, and then--"

"Tut, tut, woman; poor old Jack! he's harmless as a baby."

"All right," (sullenly); "you'll see!"

Dad laughed and went away with the hoe on his shoulder to cut burr.

Middle of summer. Dad and Dave in the paddock mowing lucerne. Jack sinking post-holes for a milking-yard close to the house. Joe at intervals stealing behind him to p.r.i.c.k him with straws through a rent in the rear of his patched moleskins. Little Bill--in readiness to run--standing off, enjoying the sport.

Inside the house sat Mother and Sal, sewing and talking of Maloney's new baby.

"Dear me," said Mother; "it's the tiniest mite of a thing I ever saw; why, bless me, anyone of y' at its age would have made three of--"

"MIND, Mother!" Sal shrieked, jumping up on the sofa. Mother screamed and mounted the table. Both gasped for breath, and leaning cautiously over peeped down at a big black snake which had glided in at the front door. Then, pale and scared-looking, they stared across at each other.

The snake crawled over to the safe and drank up some milk which had been spilt on the floor. Mother saw its full length and groaned. The snake wriggled to the leg of the table.

"Look out!" cried Sal, gathering up her skirts and dancing about on the sofa.

Mother squealed hysterically.

Joe appeared. He laughed.

"You wretch!" Mother yelled. "Run!--RUN, and fetch your father!"