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By Blow and Kiss. Boyd Cable
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Автор произведения Boyd Cable
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
“What a cruel business,” said Ess.
“It’s a cruel country whiles,” said Scottie. “Cruel tae man and beast. But if it came rain to-morrow ye’d see this plain as green as a cut emerald in three days, an’ wi’ plenty of rain the grass would soon be higher than the fence there.”
“I’ve heard of that.” said Ess. “But never thought the ground the grass came from could be so bare.”
She took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe the thick dust from her face. But the dust defied her efforts. It was crusted thick on everything – on the backs of the horses, on every inch of the buggy, on their knees, shoulders and heads. It rose swirling from the feet of the horses, floated past them and hung in a still cloud that trailed for a mile on the road behind them. Out on the plain, to one side of them little dust-devils rose and twirled in the air and moved in twisting spirals across the flats. The boulders on the hills that rose on the other side of the road glared in the light of the sun, and the heat waves along the surface of each spur quivered and danced exactly, the girl remembered, as she had noticed the air quiver over the surface of the locomotive boiler at the sleepy, sun-smitten terminus.
“There’s some o’ the sheep,” said Scottie, pointing with the whip to a string of tiny dots on the horizon. “And there’s all that’s left o’ some more,” as they drove past a dozen skins hung over the fence and the huddled red heaps that lay on the ground beyond. A score of crows were busy rending and tearing at the carcases, and they rose, cawing hoarsely, and flapping heavily away a few yards as the buggy passed.
“It’s horrible – horrible,” the girl said, averting her face as the birds flopped back to their feast with harsh croaks of satisfaction.
“They were lucky to be dead afore the crows got them,” said Scottie. “When they’re a bit weaker the crows’ll take the eyes out o’ them afore they’re dead – ay, an’ afore they drop at times.”
Ess shuddered. “Are there any of these sheep about where – where we’ll be living?” she asked.
“No, no,” said Scottie. “Thunder Ridge is back on the edge of the hills, an’ we keep the hills for cattle. An’ even if we shift the sheep tae the hills they’ll no come near the house.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Ess. “I couldn’t sleep if those poor things were about.”
Scottie looked at her in surprise. “I forgot,” he said. “Ye’re no used tae this sort o’ thing, an’ it’ll be – unpleasant tae ye. I wadna mentioned that about the craws if I’d thocht.”
“But I’d rather you told me,” protested Ess. “I’m going to live with you now, and amongst all this, and it’s better for me to know.”
“It’s a peety ye hadna been comin’ tae it at better times,” said Scottie. “But come a sup o’ rain ye’ll see it bonnie enough yet.”
They drove in silence for another hour along the edge of the hill, and then turned in round the shoulder of one of the spurs and trotted steadily into a narrowing valley. The road crept into the side of the valley, and presently the shuffling thuds of the horses’ hoof-beats in the dust gave way to sharp clicks and rattles as the road climbed gradually up the side of the hill. Beyond the head of the valley the hills rose blue and hazy, and Ess sighed with relief.
“I’m so glad the house is up in the hills,” she said. “They’re bare enough near at hand, but the distance at least looks better than that dreadful flat. But how still and dead everything seems.”
A high fence came creeping down the hill to join the road, and where it crossed their path Scottie pulled up his horses and jumped down to open the gate.
“That’s the last o’ the out paddocks,” he said, when he had led the horses through and closed the gate, and climbed to his seat again. A heap of whitened bones with a horned skull amongst them lay just inside the gate, and Ess pointed to it. “More dead things,” she said; “we seem to have seen nothing but dead things all the way. Why is this fence so much higher than the others we passed, uncle?”
“Tae keep the wild dogs – dingoes – off the flats. They’re murder amongst the sheep, but they’ll no tackle the cattle. They’ll hae a merry time if we hae t’ shift the sheep up here.”
“Murder and killing and dead things,” said the girl. “It’s worse than a battlefield.”
“Maist o’ the outside country is a battlefield, lass,” said Scottie. “We’re battlin’ wi’ the drought or the floods, or bush an’ grass fires, or starvation an’ disease, or rabbits an’ dingoes, or ae thing an’ anither near a’ the time. Up here a man pits his brain an’ his money, an’ whiles his life, against Natur’ an’ a’ her warks. There’s nae bullets nor bay’nits, bit it’s juist steady battle a’ the same.”
He had lapsed into the broader speech he always used when he was moved to deeper feelings or excitement, and the girl glanced at his set face curiously.
“I wonder you get men to face it,” she said, “when there are easier lives to be lived elsewhere.”
“Aye, aye, whiles I wunner mysel’,” agreed Scottie. “But the breed o’ men ye get here’s hardened tae’t. It’s a hard life, but they’re hard men. Ye’ll meet some o’ them up at the Ridge. Ye’ll find them rough an’ ready mebbe, you bein’ used wi’ city folk. But they’re good lads at heart maistly, though they hae their faults mebbe.”
“They won’t get drunk and – and swear – and that sort of thing before me, will they?” asked Ess, hesitatingly.
“Na, na,” said Scottie, hastily. “A man micht lat slip an oath mebbe withoot thinkin’ – I micht dae the same mysel’ – but ye’ll hae to lat that pass by an’ no hear like. They think a lot o’ a lassie oot here, an’ ane like yersel’ they’ll be like tae let ye use them for a doormat tae yer feet.”
Ess laughed. “I’m glad you think they’ll be kind to me,” she said. “I like people who are, so I’ll like them all.”
“Ye’ll get all the kindness ye need, an’ a wheen o’ compliments, I’m thinkin’,” said her uncle, smiling. “An’ if ye think at times they’re rough like, ye’ll just mind they’re well meanin’. An’ they wadna put a thocht or a word on a decent lassie that she could be shamed to hear. There’s just a single man that …” he hesitated, and mumbled a moment over his words. “I don’t rightly know if it’s fair tae a man to prejudice ye against him, but there is a man there that the less ye hae to do wi’ the better I’ll be pleased. He has light thochts an’ ways wi’ women, though he’s no likely to use them wi’ you. But we’ll say nae mair, an’ if I think it needs it I’ll just tell ye again – or tell him.”
“One word to me will be enough,” said the girl, proudly. “And if you tell me who it is I’ll take care to avoid him. I hate coarse men.”
“He’s no coarse. He’s smoother than silk an’ finer than lawn linen. He has the tongue o’ a politician an’ the manners o’ a dancing master, an’ if his acts was as good as his looks he’d be the best man I ever met.”
Ess’s lip curled a little. “He must be a fop,” she said; “I wonder he’s any use in this country.”
“I’ve painted ma picture wrong if it gie’s ye that notion. He’s as tough as fencin’ wire, an’ can out-fight, out-drink, an’ out-devil the wildest o’ the gang. He puts himself out to please nobody but himsel’, but I never knew the man or maid, horse or dog, that didn’t like him.”
“You’re making me wildly curious,” said the girl. “And I believe you like him yourself in spite of your warning me against him.”
“There can be no harm in me likin’ him,” said