Part 10 (1/2)
With barely perceptible movement, the man's hands stole along the rope at a snail's pace. Never hurrying never stopping, they did on, the colt watching them as though mesmerised. When within reach of the dilated nostrils, they paused and waited, and slowly the sensitive head came forward snuffing, more in bewilderment than fear at this new wonder, and as the dark twitching muzzle brushed the hands, the head drew sharply back, only to return again in a moment with greater confidence.
Three or four times the quivering nostrils came back to the hands before they stirred, then one lifted slowly and lay on the muzzle, warm and strong and comforting, while the other, creeping up the rope, slipped on to the glossy neck, and the catching was over.
For a little while there was some gentle patting and fondling, to a murmuring accompaniment of words the horse standing still with twitching ears the while. Then came the test of the victory--the test of the man's power and the creature's intelligence. The horse was to go to the man, at the man's bidding alone, without force or coercion. ”The better they are the sooner you learn 'em that,” was one of Jack's pet theories, while his proudest boast--his only boast--perhaps was that he'd ”never been beaten on that yet.”
”They have to come sooner or later if you stick at 'em,” he had said, when I marvelled at first to see the great creatures come obediently to the click of his tongue or fingers. So far in all his wide experience the latest had been the third day. That, however, was rare; more frequently it was a matter of hours, sometimes barely an hour, while now and then--incredulous as it may seem to the layman--only minutes.
Ten minutes before Jack put the brown colt to the test it had been a wild, terrified, plunging creature, and yet, as he stepped back to try its intelligence and submission, his face was confident and expectant.
Moving slowly backwards, he held out one hand the hand that had proved all kindness and comfort and, snapping a finger and thumb, clicked his tongue in a murmur of invitation.
The brown ears shot forward to attention at the sound, and as the head reached out to investigate, the snapping fingers repeated the invitation, and without hesitation the magnificent creature went forward obediently until the hand was once more resting on the dark muzzle.
The trusting beauty of the surrender seemed to break some spell that had held us silent since the beginning of the catching. ”Oh, Jack! Isn't he a beauty?” I cried unconsciously putting my admiration into a question.
But Jack no longer objected to questions. He turned towards us with soft, s.h.i.+ning eyes. ”There's not many like him,” he said, pulling at one of the flexible ears. ”You could learn him anything.” It seemed so, for after trying to solve the problem of the roller and bit with his tongue when it was put into his mouth, he accepted the mystery with quiet, intelligent trust; and as soon as he was freed from it, almost courted further fondling. He would let no one but Jack near him, though. When we entered the yard the ears went back and the whites of the eyes showed.
”No one but me for a while,” Jack said, with a strange ring of owners.h.i.+p in his voice, telling that it is a good thing to have a horse that is yours, and yours only.
Within a week ”Brownie” was mounted, and ridden down to the House for final inspection, before ”going bush” to learn the art of rounding up cattle. ”He'll let you touch him now,” Jack said; and after a snuffing inquiry at my hands the beautiful creature submitted to their caresses.
Dan looked at him with approving eyes. ”To think she had the luck to choose him too, out of all that crowd,” he said.
”We always call it instinct, I think,” the Maluka said teasingly, twitting me on one of my pet theories, and the Dandy politely suggested ”It might be knowledge.'”
Then the Quiet Stockman gave his opinion, making it very clear that he no longer felt that women had nothing in common with men. ”It never is anything but instinct,” he said, with quiet decision in his voice. ”No one ever learns horses.”
While the Quiet Stockman had been busy rearranging his ideas of womankind, a good many things had been going wrong at the homestead. Sam began by breaking both china cups, and letting the backbone slip out of everything in his charge.
Fowls laid-out and eggs became luxuries. Cream refused to rise on the milk. It seemed impossible to keep meat sweet. Jimmy lost interest in the gathering of firewood and the carrying of water; and as a result, the waterb.u.t.ts first shrank, then leaked, and finally lay down, a medley of planks and iron hoops. A swarm of gra.s.shoppers pa.s.sed through the homestead, and to use Sam's explicit English: ”Vegetable bin finissem all about”; and by the time fresh seeds were springing the Wet returned with renewed vigour, and flooded out the garden. Then stores began to fail, including soap and kerosene, and writing-paper and ink threatened to ”peter out.” After that the lubras, in a private quarrel during the was.h.i.+ng of clothes, tore one of the ”couple of changes” of blouses sadly; and the mistress of a cattle-station was obliged to entertain guests at times in a pink cambric blouse patched with a washed calico flour-bag; no provision having been made for patching. Then just as we were wondering what else could happen, one night, without the slightest warning, the very birds migrated from the lagoon, carrying away with them the promise of future pillows, to say nothing of a mattress, and the Maluka was obliged to go far afield in search of non-migrating birds.
Dan wagged his head and talked wise philosophy, with these disasters for the thread of his discourse; but even he was obliged to own that there was a limit to education when Sam announced that ”Tea bin finissem all about.” He had found that the last eighty-pound tea-chest contained tinware when he opened it to replenish his teacaddy. Tea had been ordered, and the chest was labelled tea clearly enough, to show that the fault lay in Darwin; but that was poor consolation to us, the sufferers.
The necessities of the bush are few; but they are necessities; and Billy Muck was sent in to the Katherine post-haste, to beg, borrow, or buy tea from Mine Host. At the least a horseman would take six days for the trip, irrespective of time lost in packing up; but knowing Billy's untiring, swinging stride, we hoped to see him within four days.
Billy left at midday, and we drank our last cup of tea at supper; the next day learned what slaves we can be to our bodies. Because we lacked tea, the interest went out of everything. Listless and unsatisfied, we sat about and developed headaches, not thirsty--for there was water in plenty but craving for the uplifting influence of tea. Never drunkards craved more intensely for strong drink! Sam made coffee; but coffee only increased the headaches and cravings, and so we sat peering into the forest, hoping for travellers; and all we learnt by the experience was that tea is a necessary of life out-bush.
On the second evening a traveller came in from the south track. ”He wouldn't refuse a woman, surely,” every one said, and we welcomed him warmly.
He had about three ounces of tea. ”Meant to fill up here meself,” he said in apology, as, with the generosity of a bushman, he offered it all unconditionally. Let us hope the man has been rewarded, and has never since known what it is to be tealess out-bus.h.!.+ We never heard his name, and I doubt if any one of us would know the man again if we saw him. All we saw was a dingy tuckerbag, with its one corner bulging heart-shaped with tea!
We accepted one half, for the man had a three-days, journey before him, and Sam doled it out so frugally that we spent two comparatively happy days before fixing our attention on the north track, along which Billy would return.
In four and a half days he appeared, carrying a five-pound tea-tin on his head, and was hailed with a yell of delight. We were all in the stockyard, and Billy, in answer to the hail, came there.
Dan wanted a ”sniff of it right off,” so it was then and there opened; but as the lid flew back the yell of delight changed to a howl of disappointment. By some hideous mistake, Billy had brought RAISINS.
Like many philosophers, Dan could not apply his philosophy to himself.
”It's the dead finish,” he said dejectedly; ”never struck anything like it before. Twice over too,” he added. ”First tinware and now this foolery ”; and he kicked savagely at the offending tin, sending a shower of raisins dancing out into the dust.
Every one but Dan was speechless, while Billy, not being a slave to tea-drinking, gathered the raisins up, failing to see any cause for disappointment, particularly as most of the raisins fell to his share for his prompt return.