First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales by George Manville Fenn
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
A STRANGE ENCOUNTER.
"Don't go too far, Nic," said Dr Braydon, a few mornings after theboy's arrival at the Bluff.
"Oh no, father; only I must see what the place is like all round."
"Of course; I have no time to-day, or I'd take you for a ride round."
"But ought he to go alone?" said Mrs Braydon.
"He must learn to run alone, my dear," said the doctor. "We can't chainhim up like a dog."
"No," said Mrs Braydon, rather piteously; "but there are theprecipices."
"Nic has eyes in his head, and will not go and jump down there. Hecan't very well fall by accident."
"The snakes, my dear."
"He must learn at once to keep a sharp look-out for them. I supposethere were plenty of adders on the common at school?"
"Plenty, father."
"But the blacks, my dear. I have not got over that scare."
"They're gone, my dear. That man came back last night and said that hesaw them, and hid because he was afraid. The party hung about after thewaggon for about an hour, and then went right off across the river."
"But they may come back."
"Oh yes," said the doctor tenderly; "but don't be afraid. Nic will notgo very far--eh, boy?"
"Oh no, father; I'll really take care."
"And you will be very careful, my dear?"
"Of course he will," said the doctor.
"I will really, mother," said Nic. "I'll only go to-day and have a lookround."
"Shall we go with him and take care of him?" said Janet mischievously.
"Yes, I'll come," cried Hilda, exchanging glances with her sister, whilethe doctor looked on quite amused, and waited for his son's reply.
"No, that you won't," cried Nic indignantly. "Just as if I were alittle boy! I know: you want to take me for a walk and each hold ahand. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I begin to feel at homein the place."
"Of course," said his father. "There, Nic, I'm going to trust to yourdiscretion. Of course the snakes are dangerous, and you must keep asharp look-out. You can take your gun with you."
Mrs Braydon started.
"Don't be alarmed, mamma. Nic can be trusted to carry a gun. It's ofno use to wince, my dear. Nic has come out here to grow into a man, andhe must begin to act like one. You'll be careful with the piece, ofcourse?"
"Yes, father: very."
"That's right. Now then, I'll tell you the great danger--one, however,that you are not likely to fall into now, because you will not go farenough--the danger is, being bushed."
"Being bushed, father? what's that?"
"Wandering into the bush and losing your way."
"But I'm not likely to do that, father."
"Old experienced colonists have been lost, Nic. I have myself."
"You have, my dear!" cried Mrs Braydon. "I never knew."
"No, I did not wish to alarm you," said the doctor quietly. "It was onthat occasion when I was a week away searching for stray cattle. Youremember now?"
"Yes, I remember now," said Mrs Braydon, turning pale. "There, don'tbe alarmed now. Nic is not going anything like so far as the bush--notmuch out of sight of the house. The danger is this, Nic: once a manwanders into the scrub the trees and shrubs are all so much alike, thehills and mountains so much the same, that the mind gets deceived and atlast confused. Then the country is so vast that, once he goes wrong, hemay wander on and on till he frightens his mother out of her wits andmakes his sisters cry," said the doctor merrily. "Now do youunderstand?"
"Yes, quite, father. But I've got a pocket compass."
"Good! Learn to use it well."
"And I promise you, mother dear, that I will not go into the bush, oranywhere to-day far from home."
"That's right, my boy," said the doctor. "Be off, then, and we shallhave a big meal at sundown. You are free till then."
"Thank you, father," cried Nic, whose veins throbbed with eageranticipation of the pleasures to be enjoyed in what seemed to be thefirst real holiday he had ever had. "You'll trust me too, mother, won'tyou?"
"Yes, yes, my boy," cried Mrs Braydon.
"Of course she will," said the doctor. "Mamma has grown quite nervoussince she has had a fresh chicken to take care of: she makes more fussover you than she does over the girls."
"But they know the place better, my dear," pleaded Mrs Braydon.
"Nic will know it ten times better in a fortnight," said the doctor."Eh, Nic?"
"I'll try, father," cried the boy, laughing. "I'm not going to bebeaten by a couple of girls."
"Off with you, then!"
"Shall I take the dogs, father?"
"Yes. No: not to-day. I shall keep them chained up for another week,to get them more used to the place. They may do what you will not do--go astray."
Five minutes later Nic was waving his hand to his mother at the windowas he strode off, proud and elate, with his gun over his shoulder andhis shot belt across his breast, the powder flask peeping out of hisbreast pocket--for in those days men had not dreamed of even percussionguns, let alone breech-loaders and cart ridges ready to slip into thepiece.
"Nic!"
The boy turned to see his father mounted on his chestnut, and with astock whip in his hand.
"Which way are you going?"
"I want to try and find my way to the edge of the precipice, father, andlook down from the Bluff into the great gully."
"Very well. Straight away for a mile--north-west. Shoot any snakes yousee. They alarm your mother and sisters, and they are dangerous to thedogs."
The doctor pressed his horse's sides, turned his head, and went off at acanter, looking as if he had grown to its back, and Nic watched him inadmiration for a few minutes.
"I wish I could ride like that," he said to himself as he strode offtaking great breaths of the elastic air. "Well, father was a boy once,and could not ride any better than I can. I shall try hard."
"Hah! how beautiful it all is!" he said softly, as he paused at the endof a few minutes, to gaze right away; for he had reached an eminence inthe park-like land from which he could see, fold upon fold, wave uponwave, the far stretching range of the Blue Mountains.
"And they are blue," he cried aloud, "and blue and lavender andamethyst; but I suppose when one got up to them they would look greenand grey and gravelly red. It's the distance, I suppose."
He was quite right: the lovely hues came from seeing the mountains inthe distance through the layers of pure air; and after satiating himselffor the moment, he strode on, keeping a sharp look-out for snakes andfor the animals he was most anxious to see--kangaroos.
But he could only see sheep dotted about in plenty, and farther afieldruddy-looking oxen grazing on the rich grass, and after a time he beganto feel a little disappointed, for, let alone wild animals, he did notsee so much as a bird.
He kept on, though, with his eyes wandering in all directions, callingto mind all the different creatures which inhabited the land, and makingup his mind that his next walk should be along the riverside.
"There'll be birds in plenty there, and fish; and I may see the curiousotter rat sort of thing, with its duck-like bill. If I could only findits nest of eggs!"
He laughed at the absurdity, as it seemed to him, of an animal having sostrange a nature, and then began noting how different the trees werefrom those at home, so many being covered with a greyish-green and pinkyfoliage, while others seemed to have their leaves stuck on edgewiseinstead of lying flat, the consequence being that the shade they gavewas rather thin.
"A mile north-west," he thought: "I must have come as far as that, but Ican see no precipices--only a hill or two yonder. There are some sheepgrazing, though, over there. Father's, of course. What a lot he musthave!"
He went on in the supposed direction for another five minutes, noticingthat the trees were closer together, and that there was moreundergrowth, amongst which the creamy-fleeced sheep were wand
"That can't be the bush," he said, with a laugh, as he threaded his wayamong the trees, and directly after caught sight of a man walking slowlyalong, evidently inspecting the sheep.
"Hi! Ahoy!" cried Nic; and the man turned. "Why, it's Leather!"
He started off at a trot to join the man, who stood stock still awaitinghis approach.
"'Morning, Mr Leather," he cried, as he joined the man, who faced himwith his brows knit, and a bitter, sour look in his countenance, as hesaid morosely:
"'Morning, sir. My name's not Leather."
"Oh! I beg your pardon."
The man laughed unpleasantly, and Nic felt an involuntary dislike tohim.
"But I heard them call you Leather."
"Leatherhead generally," said the man roughly: "because I'm such afool."
"Then it's a nickname," cried the boy, thinking instantly of his ownannoyance at school. "I say, I'm very sorry: I didn't know. What isyour name?"
"Call me the same as the others do," said the man roughly. "Leatherwill do."
"Oh, but I should be sorry to say anything to hurt you."
"I'm used to it, young gentleman. Well, what is it? Does your fatherwant me?"
"Oh no: I'm having a walk to see the country. I want to find theBluff."
"You are on the Bluff," said the man, in his surly tones.
"Oh yes, I know. The whole place is called the Bluff. But I mean whereyou can stand on the edge and look down into a great gap thousands offeet deep."
"Look round."
Nic looked about him, and then back at the bitter-countenanced man.
"What am I to look at?"
"Can't you see the edge of the Bluff?"
The man took a few paces, winding among the low growth, and Nic followedhim, to start back directly in alarm.
"Nothing to mind," said the man; but Nic did not see the freedom fromdanger, and he involuntarily caught hold of a handful of twigs at thetop of the nearest bush to steady himself, as he gazed away down into amighty valley whose sides looked to be sheer and whose bottom wasthousands of feet below. It was like looking down into an open countryshut in by a perpendicular wall of mountains where a glittering riverran, and the trees were dwarfed into tiny shrubs, while patches offorest looked like tufts of grass. The colours were glorious; but forthe moment the boy felt nothing but that breathless, shrinking sensationwhich attacks some people upon a height; and he said huskily:
"How horrible!"
"Yes," said the man gloomily. "Right: how horrible!" and he scowleddown at the vast depression.
"No, no," cried Nic excitedly. "How lovely--glorious--grand!"
"No," said the man, without turning his head; "how horrible!"
"Oh no," cried Nic again. "I did not mean it. I was startled. Itlooks so deep. How do you get down?"
"Step over the edge and fall," said the man bitterly.
"What?"
"One good step and down you would go, and be out of your misery."
"Oh, nonsense," cried Nic. "It's wonderful. Show me the way to godown."
"What, go first?"
"Yes."
The man uttered a strange laugh which made Nic shudder; but he masteredhis shrinking and said: "Tell me: which is the proper way down?"
"They say there is no way down."
"What! is it so dangerous?"
"Yes."
"Do you mean to tell me that we could not get down to that beautifulplace below?"
"The regular way is to go as the sheep and cattle do sometimes. Theyget grazing too close, and slip and fall. Most of them are killed, butsome fall from shelf to shelf and get over it. Look!"
He caught Nic by the shoulder, roughly pressed him nearer the edge, andpointed with one hand.
Nic's heart began to beat heavily, but he drew a deep breath and wouldnot shrink.
"Well?" he said, after a pause. "I'm looking. What at?"
"Can't you see sheep down below, and quite a drove of bullocks?"
"No," said Nic: "my eyes are not used to it--yours are."
"Yes, mine are," said the man. "Those were your father's cattle andsheep, and some of Dillon's from the next station, and other people'sfrom farther still; and now they belong to nature. Don't you think yourfather is a fool to come and live where he loses his stock down a traplike that?"
"No, I don't," said Nic haughtily, for the man repelled him. "I thinkhe was very wise to come and live in the most beautiful place I eversaw."
"I don't," said the man, laughing curiously, as if it hurt him and gavehim pain. "I think the place hideous. Well, you want to go down," hecontinued, tightening his grip and showing his teeth as he thrust Nicforward. "There, I have only to give you one push and down you go; butyou wouldn't see anything when you got down."
"Because it would kill me," said Nic quietly.
"Yes; and your old man would set us all to hunt for you, and one of theblacks would make you out at last, lying right at the bottom."
"And fetch me up," said Nic, without flinching, but with the coldperspiration standing out on his forehead and in the palms of his hands.
"No, even they couldn't get down to you; and your father would comeevery day with his glass to watch you till the birds and the ants hadleft nothing but your bones to whiten there, as the bones of bullockshave before now. Well, shall I throw you down? You asked me to showyou the way."
"No, thank you," said Nic quietly.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because you, a strong man, wouldn't be so murderous. And because Inever did you any harm."
"No," said the man, drawing him back from the brink, and looking himfull in the eyes, with the half-savage glare passing out of his own togive place to an air of profound melancholy. "No, I wouldn't do you anyharm, sir. You're a brave lad."
"No, I'm not," said Nic, letting himself sink back on the sunny herbage,for he felt sick and giddy. "It was horrible: it made me turn faint.Why did you do that?"
He spoke now in indignant anger.
"Because I was a brute," said the man hoarsely. "They've made me abrute. I thought I would try you and see what was in you. There, goback home and tell them," he cried, with his voice growing intenselybitter; "and you can have the pleasure of seeing me flogged."
"What!" cried Nic, forgetting his own feelings in seeing the way the manwas moved. "You--flogged--for playing that foolish trick!"
"Yes; foolish trick, my lad. But there, now you've come home, keep awayfrom me. You've a deal to learn yet."
"Well, you own it was foolish," said Nic, for want of something betterto say.
"Yes, a piece of madness, my lad. You said you begged my pardon a bitago. I beg yours now."
"Of course. There, it's all right," cried Nic. "But don't you think Ishould go and tell tales. My father would, of course, be put out,--butflog you! He doesn't look the sort of man to flog his people, does he?"
The man looked at him curiously. Then, drawing back sharply, his mannerchanged, and he began to look sullen, as he said in a morose voice:
"Didn't your father say anything to you about me?"
"No."
"Didn't he tell you what I was, sir?"
"No," said Nic, with's suspicion now dawning on his mind. "You are hisstock man, are you not?"
"Stock man? No: Brookes is his stock man. There--keep away from me, mylad."
"Why?" said Nic.
"Because I'm only a sort of two-legged animal, a machine to do yourfather's work. I thought you knew."
"That you are--"
Nic stopped short.
"Yes, my lad--a convict, sent out of my country for my country's good."
"I know now," cried Nic eagerly. "I've heard--I was told on board. Youare sent up the country for good behaviour. Then you are my father'sassigned servant?"
The man stood looking down at him for a moment or two with
Then the boy shuddered.
"How horrible!" he thought. "He might have thrown me down. No, it wasonly a mad trick. But what a man to have about the place! I ought tohave bullied him well; but I can't go near him again. I wish I had notshown the white feather so."
Ten minutes later Nic had forgotten his adventure, as he lay there uponhis chest close to the edge, gazing down from the Bluff into thetremendous gully, rapt in amazement by its wonders, fascinated by itsbeauties. He stayed for hours tracing the river, and as his eyes grewmore accustomed to the depth he made out the animals grazing below andlooking like ants.
"Yes, it is glorious!" he said at last; and he turned his head to lookaround and rest his eyes upon the green on the other side, when he feltas if turned to stone. He had escaped one danger, and another seemed tohave sprung up, for peering out at him from a dense patch of grass was ablack face with glittering eyes and a surrounding of shaggy hair, whilethe gun was lying between them, and just beyond his reach.