First in the Field Part 27

"Oh, nonsense, mother!" said Hilda, giving her dark brown curls a toss; "father would laugh at the idea. He'll fire a few shots over their heads and send them scrambling away."

"Yes, of course," said Janet calmly enough. "Mamma is a little nervous sometimes, Nic. We don't mind a few blackfellows about here. They are only like big children."

"But what ought I to do?" cried Nic anxiously. "Shall I ride somewhere and get help?"

"Perhaps it is not necessary," said Mrs Braydon, smiling rather piteously. "The girls are right. But, my dear boy, how did you find your way?"

"Father pointed out that gap in the mountain over there, and told me to ride straight for it."

"What place was it where you left your father?"

Nic described it as well as he was able.

"I know: it must be the third water-hole from here; five-and-thirty miles away."

"And he has ridden all that way since morning!" cried Mrs Braydon. "My poor boy! It is dreadful!"

"There," cried Hilda saucily; "it's all over, Jan. I knew mamma would spoil him as soon as he came. Go and have your face washed, Nic; you're not fit to touch ladies. _Cooey--cooey_!"

Nic stared to see his pretty young sister, a year older than he, suddenly put her hands to her mouth and utter a peculiar cry.

"She's calling one of the men."

"_Cooey_!" came in response, and a shock-headed black in s.h.i.+rt and trousers came running down from one of the sheds.

"White Mary want er?"

"No, no: where's Samson?"

"White Mary want er--Sam," said the black aloud, as if telling himself; and he trotted off with a queer gait, his legs very far apart, as if he found trousers awkward to walk in; and he then burst into a sharp run, for the dogs, which had been smelling his heels, began to bark and rush after him.

"Here, here, here!" shouted Nic, for the black uttered a yell; and the dogs turned back obediently, and came to his side wagging their tails, and, apparently satisfied in their minds, were ready to respond to the friendly advances of the two girls.

"Hi! Sam!" cried Hilda, as a diminutive grey old man came hurrying down, smiling and touching his hat. "Take Sorrel, and give him a feed of corn and a good rub down. Hardly any water."

"All right, miss. So this is young master? How do, sir? Glad to see you. Master close home?"

"No, no, Samson," said Mrs Braydon anxiously. "What do you think? My son was sent on to see if we were safe here. The blacks are out, and a party surprised them by the waggon."

To Nic's annoyance the man showed a few very old yellow teeth in an ugly laugh.

"Master'll surprise some o' them if they don't take to their legs mighty sharp, missus."

"Then you don't think there's any danger?"

"Yes, I do--for them," said the man. "Some on 'em'll be howling while t'others picks shot-corns out o' their black hides with a pynted stone."

"Yes, of course," said Hilda coolly.

"Then you don't think I ought to send over to Mr Dillon to get help for him?"

"Help? Tchah! Don't you be so narvous, missus. They blackfellows don't know no better. They comes out with some streaks of white chalk on their black carcadges, and they goes up to a waggon flouris.h.i.+ng their hop-poles and making faces, and frightens some people, and then they steal flour and stores; but if they've gone to our waggon, I 'magine they've gone to the wrong un. Take a precious ugly face to scare the doctor. Tell you what he'll do, ladies all. He'll shoot over their heads _first_."

"Yes, of course," said Hilda.

"That's right, Miss Hil. Then if that don't do no good, he'll give 'em a dose o' number six. And then, missus, if that don't do, he'll try swan shot; but don't you be frecken. Master knows how to manage strange blackfellows. Come along, my lad. Say, young master, you have give him a sweating, and no mistake."

The horse went and placed its muzzle over the little old man's shoulder, and gave a puff like a deep sigh of satisfaction.

"Knows me, young master," said the man, grinning. "Ay, nussed you, Sorrel, when you was on'y a babby, didn't I?" he continued, patting the arched neck and carefully turning a few strands of the mane back in their place.

"There, mother dear," said Janet affectionately; "you see it is not necessary."

"But I feel as if, now I know you are all safe, I ought to go back,"

said Nic.

"You couldn't do it, sir," said the old man. "Why, you don't s'pose I should be talking like this if I thought the doctor was in trouble!

There's allus blacks about; and it's on'y missus as is so scared about 'em. It's all right, sir. Where did you say you left the master?"

"By the third water-hole."

"By Bangoony," said the old man. "Day's trot, and the bullocks'll want a three-hour rest half-way. They'll be here twelve o'clock to-night, for master'll make it one day for the last. Don't you fret, missus; the doctor knows what he's about. Blacks ain't lifers. He'll be here all right. Come along, my bairn!"

This last was to the horse, which followed him toward one of the sheds; and the dogs went after, one of them uttering a low growl as the man gave the nag a sounding slap.

Samson stood still, and then turned to the dog. "Now then: none o'

that. It ain't your horse." The dog growled, and its companion joined in. "Oh, that's it, is it? I say, Mr Dominic, sir, hadn't you better interrajuice us? They say they don't know me, and I'm too useful to your father to feed dogs."

"They won't bite," said Nic, going up, but walking very stiff and lame.

"That's what folks allus says," grumbled the old man; "but 'dogs do bark and bite, for 'tis their nature to.' Just you tell 'em to make friends."

"Yes. Look here: friends! friends!" cried Nic. "Shake hands, Samson."

"Sure I will, sir," said the old man, grinning, as he rubbed a hard blackened hand down one leg of his trousers. "That ain't dirt, sir.

I've been tarring some o' the sheep. On'y a bit sticky."

"I don't mind," cried the boy, holding out his hand, which was taken in a firm grip, and proved to be more than a bit sticky, for it was held tightly as the man stared hard at him.

"And the master to'd me, he did, as you was on'y a bit of a sickly slip of a lad as he left in London or elsewhere when he come out here--a poor, thin, weak, w.a.n.kle sort o' gentleman, not what he is now."

Nic wanted to loose his hand and get back, but it was held fast, and the old man went on:

"Why, you'll grow into a _big_, strong man, sir, bigger than the doctor.

Ay, I 'gaged with him arter he'd nussed me for my broken leg, as the s.h.i.+p doctor down at Botany Bay said must come off. 'Nay,' says your father, and him all the time suff'rin' from a norful corf,--'nay,' he says, 'don't you have it took off, my man,' he says; and I says I wouldn't, for o' course I didn't want to go about like a pegtop; and he sets to and makes it right. This here's the leg, stronger than t'other.

I call it the doctor's leg, and I said I'd come up country with him if he'd have me, and he said he would, and I helped him make this place.

We cut the wood and knocked in the nails, and I've bred horses and sheep and cows for him, and I'm going to stick to him to the end, and then he's promised to dig a hole hisself under yan big gum tree with my name placed over me, and that's where I'm goin' to sleep. Now you wants to go back to your mar. She's been a-frettin' arter you for years while you was being taught to read and write, so be a good boy to her. But, I say, you couldn't ha' rid another five-and-thirty mile to-day."

"No," said Nic. "Take care of the horse."