An Outback Marriage Banjo Paterson (philippa perry book .txt) 📖

of hoofs and the bellowing of the cattle. Soon they steadied a little, and gradually sobered down till they stopped and began to “ring” again.

“That was pretty pure, eh, Mister?” roared Considine to Carew. “Ain’t it a caution the way the coachers race with ’em? That old bald-face coacher is worth two men and a boy in a dash like this.”

Suddenly an old bull, the patriarch of the wild herd, made towards one of the gins, whose shrill yells and whip-cracking failed to turn him. Considine dashed to her assistance, swinging his whip round his head.

“Whoa back, there! Whoa back, will you!” he shouted. The bull paused irresolute for a second, and half-turned back to the mob, but the sight or scent of his native scrub decided him. Dropping his head, he charged straight at Considine. So sudden was the attack that the stock-horse had barely time to spring aside; but, quick as it was, Considine’s revolver was quicker. The bull passed⁠—bang! went the revolver, and bang! bang! bang! again, as the horse raced alongside, Considine leaning over and firing into the bull’s ribs at very short range.

The other cattle, dazed by the firing, did not attempt to follow, and at the fourth shot the bull wheeled to charge. He stood a moment in the moonlight, bold and defiant, then staggered a little and looked round as though to say, “What have you done to me?” Bang went the revolver again; the animal lurched, plunged forward, sank on his knees, and fell over on his side, dead.

“There, you swab,” said the old man, “that’ll larn you to break another time.” Then he took once more his place in the patrol round the mob. They circled and eddied and pushed, always staring angrily at the riders. Suddenly a big, red bullock gave a snort of defiance, and came out straight towards Carew. He stopped once, shook his head ominously, and came on again. One of the gins dashed up with the whip; but the bullock had evidently decided to take all chances, and advanced on his foes at a trot.

“Choot him, that feller!” screamed the gin to Carew. “You choot him! He bin yan away! No more stop! Choot him!”

Carew lugged out his revolver, and tried to pull his horse to a standstill, but the wary old veteran knew better than to be caught standing by a charging bullock; just as Carew fired, he plunged forward, with the result that the bullet went over the mob altogether, and very nearly winged Charlie, who was riding on the far side. Then the bullock charged in earnest; and Carew’s horse, seeing that if he wished to save human life he must take matters into his own hands, made a bolt for it. Carew half-turned in the saddle, and fired twice, only making the black boys on the far side cower down on their horses’ necks. Then the horse took complete charge, and made off for the scrub with the bullock after him, and every animal in the mob after the bullock.

Nothing in the world could have stopped them. Considine and Charlie raced in front, alongside Carew, cracking their whips and shouting; the blacks flogged the coachers up with the wild cattle; but they held on their way, plunged with a mighty crash into the thick timber, and were lost. No horseman could ride a hundred yards in that timber at night. Coachers and all were gone together, and the dispirited hunters gathered at the edge of the scrub and looked at each other.

“Well, Mister, you couldn’t stop him,” said the old man.

“I’m afraid I made⁠—rather a mess of things, don’t you know,” said the Englishman. “I thought I hit him the second time, too. Seemed to be straight at him.”

“I think you done very well to miss us! I heard one bullet whiz past me like a scorpyun. Well, it can’t be helped. Those old coachers will all battle their way home again before long. Gordon, I vote we go home. They’re your cattle now, and you’ll have to come out again after ’em some day, and do a little more shootin’. Get a suit of armour on you first, though.”

As they jogged home through the bright moonlight, they heard loud laughter from the blacks, and Carew, looking back, found the fat gin giving a dramatic rehearsal of his exploits. She dashed her horse along at a great pace, fell on his neck, clutched wildly at the reins, then suddenly turned in her saddle, and pretended to fire point-blank at the other blacks, who all dodged the bullet. Then she fell on the horse’s neck again, and so on ad lib.

This made the Englishman very morose. He was quite glad when Charlie said he had seen enough of the cattle, and they would all start next day for civilisation⁠—Charlie to resume the management of Mr. Grant’s stations, Carew to go with him as “colonial experiencer,” and Considine to start for England to look after his inheritance.

XIX A Chance Encounter

The black boys went in with them to Pike’s store to take back supplies on the packhorse. They travelled over the same country that they had seen coming up; the men at the stations greeted them with the same hospitality. Nothing was said about Considine’s good fortune. It was thought wise to be silent, as he didn’t know how soon his wife might hear of it.

They left the gins at the blacks’ camp, which they chanced on by a riverside. The camp was a primitive affair, a few rude shelters made by bending bamboo sticks together and covering them with strips of paper bark. Here the sable wariors sat and smoked all day long, tobacco being their only civilised possession. Carew was very anxious to look at them, a development of curiosity that Considine could not understand.

“Most uninteresting devils, I call ’em,” he said. “They’re stark naked, and they have nothing. What is there to look at?”

Having parted with Maggie