Such Is Life Joseph Furphy (ebook reader screen .TXT) đ
- Author: Joseph Furphy
Book online «Such Is Life Joseph Furphy (ebook reader screen .TXT) đ». Author Joseph Furphy
âWe cleared out one of the wagonettes, and filled it with pine leaves, and laid a blanket over it. And Spanker gently took the child from Dan, and laid her there, spreading the other half of the blanket over her. Then he thanked all hands, and made them welcome at the station, if they liked to come. I went, for one; but Bob went back to Kulkaroo direct, so I saw no more of him till tonight.
âPoor Dan! He walked behind the wagonette all the way, crying softly, like a child, and never taking his eyes from the little shape under the soaking wet blanket. Hard lines for him! He had heard her voice calling him, not an hour before; and now, if he lived till he was a hundred, he would never hear it again.
âAs soon as we reached the station, I helped Andrews, the storekeeper, to make the little coffin. Dan wouldnât have her buried in the station cemetery; she must be buried in consecrated ground, at Hay. So we boiled a pot of gas-tar to the quality of pitch, and dipped long strips of wool-bale in it, and wrapped them tight round the coffin, after the lid was on, till it was two ply all over, and as hard and close as sheet-iron. Ay, and by this time more than a dozen blackfellows had rallied-up to the station.
âSpanker arranged to send a man with the wagonette, to look after the horses for Dan. The childâs mother wanted to go with them, but Dan refused to allow it, and did so with a harshness that surprised me. In the end, Spanker sent Ward, one of the narangies. I happened to camp with them four nights ago, when I was coming down from Kulkaroo, and they were getting back to Goolumbulla. However,â added Thompson, with sublime lowliness of manner, âthatâs what I meant by saying that, in some cases, a personâs all the better for being uncivilised. You see, we were nowhere beside Bob, and Bob was nowhere beside the old lubra.â
âHad you much of a yarn with the poor fellow when you met him?â I asked.
âEvening and morning only,â replied Thompson, maintaining the fine apathy due to himself under the circumstances. âI was away all night with the bullocks, in a certain paddock. Didnât recognise me; but I told him I had been there; and then he would talk about nothing but the little girl. Catholic priest in Hay sympathised very strongly with him, he told me, but couldnât read the service over the child, on account of her not being baptised. So Ward read the service. His people are English Catholics. Most likely Spanker thought of this when he sent Ward. Dan didnât seem to be as much cut-up as youâd expect. He was getting uneasy about his paddock; and he thought Spanker might be at some inconvenience. But that black beard of his is more than half white already. Andâ âsomething like meâ âI never thought of mentioning this to Bob when he was here. Absence of mind. Bad habit.â
âThis Dan has much to be thankful for,â remarked Stevenson, with strong feeling in his voice. âSuppose that thunderstorm had come on a few hours soonerâ âwhat then?â
There was a silence for some minutes.
âTell you what made me interrupt you, Thompson, when I founâ fault with singinâ-out after lost kids,â observed Saunders, at length. âInstigation oâ many a pore little (child) perishinâ unknownst. Seen one instance when I was puttinâ up a bit oâ fence on Grundleâ âhundred anâ thirty-four chain anâ some linksâ âforty-odd links, if I donât disremember. Top rail anâ six wires. Jist cuttinâ off a bend oâ the river, to make a handy cattle-paddick. Theyâd had it fenced-off with deadwood, twelve or fifteen years before; but when they got it purchased they naterally went-in for a proper fence. Anâ you canât lick a top rail anâ six wires, with nine-foot panelsâ ââ
âYouâre a bit of an authority on fencinâ,â remarked Baxter drily.
âWell, as I was sayinâ,â continued Saunders; âthis kid belonged to a married man, name oâ Tom Bracy, that was workinâ mates with me. One night when his missus drafted the lot she made one short; anâ she hunted rounâ, anâ called, anâ got excited; anâ you couldnât blame the woman. Well, we hunted all night-me, anâ Tom, anâ Cunningham, the cove that was engaged to cart the stuff onto the line. Decent, straight-forrid chap, Cunningham is, but a (sheol) of a liar when it shoots him. Course, some oâ you fellers knows him. Meejum-size man, but one oâ them hard, wiry, deepchested, deceivinâ fellers. See him slinginâ that heavy red-gum stuff about, as if it was broad palinâ. Course, he was onây three-anâ twenty; anâ fellers oâ that age donât know their own strenth. His bullocks was fearful low at the time, on account of a trip he had out to Wilcanniar with flour; anâ thatâs how he come to take this jobâ ââ
âNever mind Cunningham; heâs dead now,â observed Donovan indifferently.
âWell as I was tellinâ you,â pursued Saunders, âwe walked that bend the whole (adj.) night, singinâ out âHen-ree! Hen-ree!â anâ in the morninâ we was jist as fur as when we started. Tom, he clears-off to the station before daylight, to git help; anâ by this time Iâd come to the conclusion that the kid must be in the river, or out on the plains. I favoured the river a lot; but I bethought me oâ where this deadwood fence had bin burnt, to git it out oâ our road, before the grass got dry. So I starts at one end to examine the line oâ soft ashes that divided the bend off oâ the plainâ âanâ harâly a sign oâ traffic across it yet. Hadnât went, not fifteen chain, before I bumps up agen the kidâs tracks, plain as A.B.C., crossinâ out towards the plain. Coo-ees for Cunningham; shows him the tracks; anâ the two of us follers the
Comments (0)