Such Is Life Part 12

"The cattle are out of sight, Steve," said I, as I rounded up the scattering bullocks. "Not worth while to go after them now."

"Let them go, by all means," replied Thompson, with a ghastly simulation of cheerfulness. "We'll gladly stand the loss of them, and make the station a present of b.u.m's mare besides, if we once get out of sight of this infernal camp--Stand up, Magpie--Just let us yoke up as quickly as if our lives depended on it--which, to tell the truth, is not much of an exag---- h.e.l.lo! where's Damper?"

"Stuck in a gluepot, jist in front o' the (adj.) hut," replied Mosey, without pausing in his work. "I seen him there--Back, Snailey, or I'll knock the (adj.) horn off o' you--but I thought it was one o' them station cattle till you minded me. Why the (sheol) didn't you count yer lot properly?"

A deep oath broke from the lips of the man who never swore.

But he controlled himself by a strong effort.

"How much of him's above ground?" he asked.

"(Adv.) little on'y his horns; or else I'd 'a' knowed him--Wub--back, Major,"

replied Mosey reluctantly, as he chained his last pair.

Then, I grieve to say, Thompson let himself out. No puerile repet.i.tion; no slovenly, slipshod work there. It was the performance of a born orator and poet, and one who, like Timothy, had known the Scriptures from a child--a long, involved litany of seething malediction, delivered, moreover, with a measured and effortless eloquence and a grammatical exact.i.tude which left St. Ernulphus a bad second. The other fellows pursued their work in awe-stricken silence, till at length Cooper, glancing toward the ram-paddock, said deprecatingly:

"--it, man, don't swear; not now, anyway. I'll fetch these ten across, an' they'll (adv.) soon snake him out. Git that spare rope off o' my wagon, an' foller me quick."

He brought his yoked bullocks through the gap, and drove them rapidly to the spot indicated by Mosey. Thompson mounted his horse and cantered after, with the heavy coil of rope across the front of his saddle.

I accompanied him. At the very extremity of the clump, and not fifty yards from the house, was one of those bottomless quagmires too common in Riverina.

It was about twenty yards across; and, in the very centre, Damper's head and the line of his back appeared above the surface; the straight furrow behind him showing that he had been bogged at the edge, but being unable to turn, and being exceedingly strong and sound, had worked himself along to the middle, where he was slowly settling down.

In a couple of minutes, one end of the wool-rope--sixty feet long and an inch and a-half in diameter--was looped round the roots of the bullock's horns, and the team was attached to the fall.

Then a slow, steady strain drove Damper's nose into the ground, and gently s.h.i.+fted him, first forward, then upward, then on to the surface, where he slid smoothly to the solid ground. We released him there, and he staggered to his feet, shook himself thoroughly, and followed the team to the camp, ravenously s.n.a.t.c.hing mouthfuls of gra.s.s as he went along.

Price and Mosey had just got under way. Willoughby was trying to yoke Dixon's leaders, while Dixon, owing to his screwmatics, could do nothing but sit on his horse, cursing with wearisome tautology, and casting glances of frantic apprehension toward the ram-paddock.

His anxiety was not unreasonable, for there had just come into sight an upright speck, too small to be a horseman; and it was easy to guess who was the likeliest person to be coming on foot from that direction.

There is a limit to the dignified sufficiency even of a bullock driver; and the unhappy conjecture of circ.u.mstances had driven Dixon past this point.

"Stiddy, now; go stiddy, an' keep yer (adj.) mouth shut.

Now lay right (adv.) bang up to him; jam him agen the off-sider, so's he can't s.h.i.+ft. There! block him! (Sheol)! Let him rip now.

O may the" &c., &c

"Dixon! Dixon! I must protest"----

"Purtest be (verbed). Fetch 'em up agen. Don't be frightened; they 'on't bite. Yoke on yer other (adj.) shoulder. Right.

Git well up agen him this time. Lay yer whole (adj.) weight on-to him, an' jam him, so's he can't budge if it was to save his (adj.) life."

Willoughby, with the yoke on his shoulder, and the off-side bow in his hand, gingerly approached the excited bullocks, essaying a light touch on the near-sider's shrinking shoulder. The next moment, he was reeling backward, and both bullocks were gone. Eve's curse on Cain, in Byron's fine drama, is mere balderdash to what followed on Dixon's part.

"Dem your soul, you uncultivated savage! you force me to inform you that your helpless condition was my incentive to these well-meant efforts on your behalf--as, begad! it is now the only consideration which restrains"--

"O, go to (sheol). You're no (adj.) good. You ain't fit to (purvey offal to Bruin). An' here's them (adj.) sneaks gone; an' Martin he'll be on top o' me in about two (adj.) twos; an' me left by my own (adj.) self, like a (adj.) natey cat in a (adj.) trap.

May the holy" &c., &c. "If I'd that horse," he continued, glancing furiously at Cleopatra, "I'd make him smell (adj. sheol)."

"Nonsense, Dixon," said I pleasantly; "the horse is not annoying you.

Ah! Willoughby; Ne ultra-no, let's see--Ne sutor ultra crepidam.

Let me try my hand there. I took my degree of B.D.--which doesn't always signify Bachelor of Divinity--before you took your B.A.

Will you just bring up the unspeakables as Dixon points them out."

"Palmam qui meruit ferat," responded Willoughby, instantly recovering his temper. "Smoker--Nelson--dem your skins, come up once more!"

Dixon's bullocks were exceptionally docile, for that uncultivated animal was one of the most humane and skilful drivers in Riverina; therefore, about twenty-five minutes sufficed to place his team in readiness for a start.

"You might as well come along o' me for a change," said he to Willoughby.

"We'll git on grand together. I'm a quiet, agreeable sort o' (person), though I say it myself; an' I would n't wish for better (adj.) company nor you.

Come on; you won't be sorry after."

"Quocunque trahunt fata sequamur," rejoined Willoughby, bowing gaily to me.

Then taking up the whip--Dixon was a virtuoso in whips, and always carried one with six feet of handle and twelve feet of lash--he aimed at the team, collectively, a clip which, in the most literal sense, recoiled on himself.

And so the officer's son and the sojer's son took their way together; to become, as I afterward learned, the most attached and mutually considerate friends on the track. Such is life.

Thompson and Cooper, now ready for the road, were repairing the fence as well as they could. This being done, and the relics of the fire kicked about, they put their teams in motion, leaving little trace of the camp, except b.u.m's mare, standing asleep outside the fence. The ominous speck on the plain had approached much nearer, but had taken definite form as an emu; and now the negative blessing of escape seemed like a positive benefaction. "If," says Carlyle, "thou wert condemned to be hanged--which is probably less than thou deservest--thou wouldest esteem it happiness to be shot."

Serene grat.i.tude therefore shone in the frank faces of the outlaws; tempered, however, in Thompson's case, by salutary remorse, for his companion had reproachfully asked him what the (adj. sheol) good his swearing had done.

We could see Price's teams stopped, half a mile away; one of the loads appearing low, and canted over to the off side; bogged, evidently.

Dixon's wagon was close in front of us; Willoughby was zealously flogging himself, and occasionally we could hear Dixon's voice in encouragement and counsel.

The place where Price's wagon was stuck was not a creek, but merely a narrow belt of treacherous ground. Mosey had n't gone down six inches, but Price had happened on a bad place, and his wagon had found the bottom.

All Mosey's team, except the polers, had been hooked on, but with no result beyond the breaking of a well-worn chain.

"Ain't got puddin' enough, Thompson," said Mosey, as my companions stopped their teams and went on to survey the place. "The (adv.) thunderin'

ole morepoke he goes crawlin' into the rottenest place he could fine.

You shove your team in nex' the polers, an' I'll hook our lot on in front.

Your chains'll stan' to fetch (sheol) out by the (adj.) roots.

Please the pigs, we'll git out o' sight afore that ole (overseer) comes."

Thompson did as desired; and the first pull brought the wagon on to solid ground. Meanwhile Dixon and Willoughby had taken their team through, and were hurrying along. Cooper, growling maledictions on everything connected with Port Phillip--roads in particular-- had selected his route, and started his team. Thompson hooked on to his own wagon, and crossed safely, but with very little to spare.

"Touch-and-go," he remarked to me; "another bale would have anch.o.r.ed her.

Ah! Cooper's in it, with all his cleverness."

Cooper was in it. The two-ton Hawkesbury, with seven-and-a-half tons of load, was down to the axle-beds; and the Cornstalk was endeavouring, by means of extracts from the sermons of Knox's soundest followers, to do something like justice to the contingency. Thompson sighed, glanced toward the ram-paddock, and hooked his team in front of Cooper's. Mosey, who had been mending his broken chain with wire, now came over with Price.

"We'll give you a lend of our whips," said he with cheap complaisance.

"Take the leaders yerself, Thompson. Stiddy now, till I give the word, or we'll be fetching the (adj.) handle out of her. Now--pop it on--to 'em!"

Then thirty-six picked bullocks planted their feet and prised, and a hundred and seventy feet of bar chain stretched tense and rigid from the leaders' yoke to the pole-cap. The wagon crept forward.

A low grumble, more a growl than a bellow, pa.s.sed from beast to beast along the team--sure indication that the wagon would n't stop again if it could be taken through. The off front wheel rose slowly on harder ground; the off hind wheel rose in its turn; both near wheels ploughed deeper beneath the top-heavy weight of thirty-eight bales----

"She's over!" thundered Cooper. "Keep her goin'--it's her on'y chance!"

Then the heavy pine whipsticks bent like bulrushes in the drivers'

skilful hands, while a spray of dissevered hair, and sometimes a line of springing blood, followed each detonation--the libretto being in keeping.

A few yards forward still, while both off wheels rose to the surface, and both near wheels sank till the naves burrowed in the ground; then the wagon swung heavily over on its near side.

"Good-bye, John," said Cooper, with fine immobility. "Three-man job, by rights. Will you give us a hand, Collins?" For Price and Mosey were silently returning to their teams.