Part 6 (2/2)

”I'm leaving!” Jack had said, and later met the Maluka unshaken in his resolve. There was that in the Maluka, however, that Jack had not calculated on a something that drew all men to him, and made Dan speak of him in after-years as the ”best boss ever I struck”; and although the interview only lasted a few minutes, and the Maluka spoke only of the work of the station, yet in those few minutes the Quiet Stockman changed his mind, and the notice was never given.

”I'm staying on,” was all he said on returning to the Quarters; and quick decisions being unusual with Jack, every one felt interested.

”Going to give her a chance?” Dan asked with a grin, and Jack looked uncomfortable.

”I've only seen the boss,” he said.

Dan nodded with approval. ”You've got some sense left, then,” he said, ”if you know a good boss when you see one.”

Jack agreed in monosyllables; but when Dan settled down to argue out the advantages of having a woman about the place, he looked doubtful; but having nothing to say on the subject, said nothing; and when Dan left for the Katherine next morning he was still unconvinced.

Dan set out for the north track soon after sun-up, a.s.suring us that he'd get hold of Johnny somehow; and before sun-down a traveller crossed the Creek below the billabong at the south track, and turned into the homestead enclosure.

We were vaguely chatting on all and sundry matters, as we sat under the verandah that faced the billabong, when the traveller came into sight.

”Horse traveller!” Mac said, lazily shading his eyes, and then sprang to his feet with a yell. ”Talk of luck!” he shouted. ”You'll do, missus!

Here's Johnny himself.”

It was Johnny, sure enough; but Johnny had a cheque in his pocket, and was yearning to see the ”chaps at the Katherine”; and, after a good look through the House and store, decided that he really would have to go in to the Settlement for--tools and ”things.”

”I'll be back in a week, missus,” he said next morning, as he gathered his reins together before mounting, ”and then we shan't be long. Three days in and three out, you know, bar accidents, and a day's spell at the Katherine,” he explained glibly. But the ”chaps at the Katherine” proved too entertaining for Johnny, and a fortnight pa.s.sed before we saw him again.

CHAPTER VII

The Quiet Stockman was a Scotchman, and, like many Scotchmen, a strange contradiction of shy reserve and quiet, dignified self-a.s.surance. Having made up his mind on women in general, he saw no reason for changing it; and as he went about his work, thoroughly and systematically avoided me.

There was no slinking round corners though; Jack couldn't slink. He had always looked the whole world in the face with his honest blue eyes, and could never do otherwise. He only took care that our paths did not cross more often than was absolutely necessary; but when they did, his Scotch dignity a.s.serted itself, and he said what had to be said with quiet self-possession, although he invariably moved away as soon as possible.

”It's just Jack's way,” the Sanguine Scot said, anxious that his fellow Scot should not be misunderstood. ”He'll be all there if ever you need him. He only draws the line at conversations.”

But when I mounted the stockyard fence one morning, to see the breaking-in of the colts, he looked as though he ”drew the line” at that too.

Fortunately for Jack's peace of mind, horse-breaking was not the only novelty at the homestead. Only a couple of changes of everything, in a tropical climate, meant an unbroken cycle of was.h.i.+ng-days, while, apart from that, Sam Lee was full of surprises, and the lubras' methods of house-cleaning were novel in the extreme.

Sam was bland, amiable, and inscrutable, and obedient to irritation; and the lubras were apt, and merry, and open-hearted, and wayward beyond comprehension. Sam did exactly as he was told, and the lubras did exactly as they thought fit, and the results were equally disconcerting.

Sam was asked for a gla.s.s of milk, and the lubras were told to scrub the floor. Sam brought the milk immediately, and the lubras, after scrubbing two or three isolated patches on the floor, went off on some frolic of their own.

At afternoon tea there was no milk served. ”There was none,” Sam explained blandly. ”The missus had drunk it all. Missus bin finissem milk all about,” he said When the lubras were brought back, THEY said THEY had ”knocked up longa scrub,” and finished the floor under protest.

The Maluka offered a.s.sistance; but I thought I ought to manage them myself, and set the lubras to clean and strip some feathers for a pillow--the Maluka had been busy with a shot-gun--and suggested to Sam that he might spend some of his spare time shooting birds.

Mac had been right when he said the place was stiff with birds. A deep fringe of birds was constantly moving in and about and around the billabong; and the perpetual clatter of the plovers and waders formed an undercurrent to the life at the homestead.

The lubras worked steadily for a quarter of an hour at the feathers; then a dog-fight demanding all their attention, the feathers were left to the mercy of the winds, and were never gathered together. At sundown Sam fired into a colony of martins that Mac considered the luck of the homestead. Right into their midst he fired, as they slept in long, graceful garlands one beside the other along the branches of a gum-tree, each with its head snugly tucked away out of sight.

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