Mates at Billabong Part 12

He made for Betty at once, and tossed the breathless Cecil into her saddle, advising him to ride on quickly.

Wally was up in a twinkling; but to mount Monarch was no such easy matter, for the black horse was dancing with restlessness, and a low growl of thunder far to the west evidently terrified him. Finally, with a quick movement, Jim was in the saddle, whereat Monarch promptly reared. He came down, and tried to get his head between his legs, but the boy was too quick for him, and presently steadied him sufficiently to move away in the wake of the others.

"Go on!" Jim shouted. "Don't lose a minute!"

They went down the river bank at a hand gallop, chafing now and then at the necessity of striking away from the track to find gates or slip-rails, as one paddock followed another. At first Monarch gave Jim all he knew to hold him, and at the gates Wally and Norah had to do all the work, for the black thoroughbred was too impatient to stand an instant, and threatened to buck a score of times. Jim watched the sky anxiously, very disgusted with himself. He knew they had no chance of getting home dry, but at least they must be out of the timber before the storm broke. It was coming very near now--the thunder was more frequent, and jagged lightning tore rents in the inky curtain that covered the sky. He took Monarch by the head, and sent him tearing along the track, pa.s.sing the boys--Wally riding hard on Nan, and Cecil sitting back on Betty with a pale face. Before him Bobs was galloping freely, Norah riding with her hands well down, and on her face a smile that was like a child's laugh of sheer happiness. Norah loved thunderstorms; they seemed to call to something in her nature that never failed to respond. She glanced up at Jim merrily as he pa.s.sed her.

"Grand, isn't it?" she said. Then her face changed. "He isn't getting away with you, Jim?"

"Not he!" said her brother, grinning. "But we've got to get out of this jolly soon--hurry your old crock, Norah!" Norah's indignant heel smote Bobs, and they raced neck and neck for a moment.

They swung out of the trees just in time, the plain clear for home before them. Almost simultaneously, the storm broke. There was a mad flash of lightning across the gloom, and then a rattling peal of thunder that rang round the sky and finished with a tremendous crack overhead. The black horse stopped suddenly, wild with terror. Then his head went down, and he bucked.

Norah and Wally pulled up, regardless of the rain beginning to fall in torrents. Monarch was swaying to and fro in mad paroxysms, trying to get his head between his knees, his back humped in an arch, all his being centred in the effort to get rid of the weight on his back, and the iron in his mouth, and the control that kept him near that terrible convulsion of nature going on overhead. Jim was motionless, each hand like iron on the rein--yet with gentleness, for he knew the great black brute was only a baby after all, and a badly frightened baby at that.

Cecil, coming by on Betty, his face white, looked aghast at the struggle between horse and rider, and fled on homewards. The thunder pealed, and the lightning lit the sky in forked darts.

Possibly the rain steadied Monarch, or sense came back to him through Jim's voice. He stopped suddenly, planting all four feet wide apart on the ground. Jim patted his neck, and spoke to him, and the tension went out of the big horse. He stood trembling a little.

"Slip along," nodded Jim to Norah.

Bobs and Nan went off together. Behind them, Monarch broke into a canter, obedient once more.

Five minutes later they were at the stables, Billy out in the wet to take the horses. The storm was raging still, but there were coolness and refreshment in the air. Billy grinned at the three soaked riders as they slipped to the ground, and then at Brown Betty, trotting down the hill in the rain. There was no sign of Cecil, who had fled indoors.

"Him plenty 'fraid," said the black retainer, his grin widening. "Him run like emu!" His eagle gaze dwelt on Monarch, who was still trembling and excited.

"Been buck?" he asked, his eyes round.

"Plenty!" Jim laughed. "All right, Billy, I'll let him go myself."

CHAPTER IX

THE BILLABONG DANCE

The slope beyond is green and still, And in my dreams I dream, The hill is like an Irish hill Beside an Irish stream.

KENDALL.

"Don't dress to-night, if you don't mind, Cecil," said Jim, putting his head into his cousin's room.

"Not dress?" Evening clothes were part of Cecil's training, and he kept to them rigidly, putting on each night for dinner what Murty O'Toole, having seen in wonder, referred to as "a quare little cobbed-shwaller-tail jacket." He regarded with fine scorn the cheerful carelessness of the boys where clothes were concerned. To Jim and Wally who were generally immensely occupied until dinner-time, and more often than not had further plans for the time following, putting on regulation evening dress seemed a proceeding little short of lunatic; but since Cecil "liked that sort of thing," they let him alone.

To-night, however, was different, and when Cecil repeated his query half impatiently, Jim nodded.

"No. Didn't we tell you? It's the dance in the loft."

"Oh--don't you people ever dress for dances then?"

"Not for these dances," Jim answered. "It's the men's spree--all the hands and their friends; and you can be jolly well certain they won't run to dress clothes. So we make a point of not putting 'em on. Father did one year, and felt very sorry he had."

"I don't know that I'm keen on going, anyway," said Cecil.

"Oh, I think you'd better. Dad likes us to go, and it's really rather fun," Jim responded, patiently. "Norah's quite excited about it."

"Norah's young and enthusiastic," said Cecil.

"Oh, well, you're hardly h.o.a.ry-headed yourself yet!" Jim grinned.

"Might as well be cheerful while you're alive, Cecil, 'cause you'll be a long time dead!" He withdrew his head, shut the door with an unconcerned bang, and his whistle died away up the corridor.

"Hang it!" said Cecil, disgustedly, looking at his forbidden garments.

"Who wants to go to a beastly servants' ball, anyhow?" He donned a dark suit reluctantly, a little consoled in that its very recent cut would certainly be an eye-opener to Billabong, and went down to dinner, meeting on the way Norah, in a muslin frock, with her hair flying and her eyes sparkling.

"Oh! I'm so glad you haven't dressed up!" said she. "It's such fun, Cecil!--we've been helping to decorate the loft, and really you'd hardly know it was a loft, it looks so decent. And it's so funny to see the men; they pretend they don't care a bit, but I do believe they're quite excited. Murty came in with a trememdous lot of ferns, and he's been nailing them all on the wall in streaks, and he and Mick Shanahan nearly had a fight 'cause Mick leaned against one of them and the erection came down, and the nail tore Mick's coat. Still, it was Murty who seemed most aggrieved! And the musicians have come out from Cunjee, and they've been practising--they can play, too!" She paused for lack of breath.

"What sort of music does Cunjee supply?"

"Violin and flute and a funny little piano," said Norah. "They had quite an exciting time getting the piano up into the loft with the block and pulley. But the music sounds very well up there. The only trouble is old Andy Ferguson, the fencer--he's always been accustomed to fiddle for them, and he's very crushed because we've got out these men.

Dad says he'd never have got them if he'd dreamed how disappointed old Andy would be."

Cecil had seen Andy, who struck him as a peculiarly uninteresting old man. That such consideration should be shown to his wishes and feelings was a thing beyond him, and he merely stared.

"However, he's going to play the supper dances and some others," said Norah, not noticing his silence, "so he's a bit consoled." They entered the drawing-room at the moment, finding Jim and Wally in armchairs, tweed clad and unusually tidy, and chafing miserably against the tyranny of white s.h.i.+rts after days of soft variety. "And a big buggy load of girls has come out from Cunjee already; and Brownie says there's a tremendous demand for hot water for shaving from the men's quarters, and Dave Boone came in for some mutton fat for his hair, but she wouldn't give it to him. Now she's half sorry she didn't, 'cause she believes he'll use the black fat they keep in the harness room; he's so dark no one would be able to tell--from the look! Who are you going to dance with, Cecil?"

"You, if I may," drawled Cecil.

"Why, of course, if you want to," Norah said, laughing. "But we always dance with every one on these occasions. It's one of the sights of one's life to see Wally leading Brownie out!"

Cecil gasped.

"And am I expected to dance with Mrs. Brown?"

"Very possibly she won't have a dance to spare you," said Wally serenely. "Brownie's no end popular, you see. Thank goodness. I've booked mine with her already!"

Cecil's stare spoke volumes.

"And who are your partners, Norah?"

"Any one who asks me," said that maiden promptly.

"And your father allows it?"

"Certainly he does," said Jim. "Don't get tragic, Cecil. The men on the place are an awfully decent lot, and most of them have been here ever so long--besides, it's their one night in the year, and they never overstep their limits. Dad always plans this spree himself specially.

Of course, if you don't like--"

Jim stopped short, and bit his tongue. It had suddenly occurred to him that he was host--and he had nearly said something rude. So he whistled vaguely, and asked Wally if he were going to dance with Lee Wing, who was the Chinese gardener.

"Wish I could get the chance," said Wally, his eyes twinkling. "Think of piloting fat old Lee Wing through a polka--he'd get so beautifully puffed, and his pigtail would wave in the breeze, and he'd be such an armful!"