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First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 31. Black Sympathy |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. BLACK SYMPATHY Nic found the next day that in their tiny world of the Bluff there were others sufficiently interested in the convict's fate to have been making inquiries about the proceedings instituted by Mr Dillon; for on going round the place in the fresh early morning to see how the live stock was getting on, the first person he met was old Sam, who saluted him with one of his ugly smiles, and a chuckle like that of a laughing jackass-- of course the bird. "They didn't ketch him, Master Nic," he cried. "Why, you ought to be vexed, Sam," replied the boy. "Yes, I know that, sir; but I ain't. I don't like Leather 'cause he's a convict, and it ain't nice for honest men to have them sort for fellow-servants. But I don't want him ketched and flogged. Not me." "But will they catch him, do you think, Sam?" "Ah, that's what nobody can say. Most likely yes, because if the dogs get on his scent they'll run him down." "But the rain?" "Ay, that's in his favour, sir. But, then, there's another thing: the blacks will be set to work again." "But they can't scent him out." "Nay; but they can smell him out with their eyes and run him down. Bound to say, if I set our three to work, they'd find the poor lad." "They are very keen and observant." "Keen, Master Nic? Ay! It's a many years now since I shaved; but if I took to it again I shouldn't use rayshors, sir, but blackfellows' sight. Steel's nowhere to it." "But how do you know they didn't catch him?" "I sent Damper and Rigar to see the fun, and they came back to me grinning, and told me." "But did Mr Dillon set his blacks to work tracking?" "Ay, that he did; but it strikes me they didn't want to find the poor chap. It's like this, you see, Master Nic. Yes'day morning, as soon as our three found out, from Brooky's face looking like a bit o' unbaked damper, and his tied-up head, that he'd been having it, they asked me how it was, and I told 'em. Next minute I goes into the cow-shed to see what the noise was, and them three chaps--for they're just like little children--there they were, with jyned hands, having a crobbery sort o' dance." "Why?" "Why, sir? Just because they were precious glad that Brooky had found his master. They didn't say so, but I knew. You don't suppose, because a chap's face is black, he likes to be hit with sticks, and kicked, and sneered at. They're little children in big black bodies, master; but they like the man who shares his damper and mutton with 'em and never gives 'em a dirty word a deal better than him as treats 'em as if they was kangaroos." "Of course, Sam." "They get their likes same as little children do. The lazy black rascals!" continued the old man, grinning; "they always want to be at play, and I give it 'em well sometimes, but they know they deserve it; and, after all, they'd do anything for me, Master Nic, and so they would for you." "Oh, I've done nothing to please them, Sam." "Oh yes you have, Master Nic, often; and just you look here--they didn't show their white teeth for nothing." "What do you mean?" "I'll tell you, sir. They was along with Dillon's blackfellows yes'day most o' the arternoon, and Dillon's blackfellows didn't find old Leather." "No; you said so before." "Ay, I did, sir; but don't you see why they didn't hit out Leather's track?" "Because the rain had washed it away." "Nay!" cried Sam, with a long-drawn, peculiar utterance; "because our fellows wouldn't let 'em. They belongs to the same tribe." "Ah!" cried Nic. "That's it, sir. Our boys give 'em a hint, or else they'd ha' found him fast enough." "Then he'll escape!" cried Nic eagerly. "Nay! There's no saying. Government's very purticlar about running a pris'ner down. 'Bliged to be. Soon as it's reported as Leather's jumped for the bush, some o' they mounted police'll be over, and they'll bring blackfellows with 'em as don't know him and don't belong to our boys' tribe, and they'll find him. 'Sides, there's black tribes in the bush as'd take a delight in throwing spears at him. And then again, how's a white man going to live? He ain't a black, as'll get fat on grubs, and worms, and snakes, and lizzars, and beadles, when he can't get wallabies and birds. But there, we shall see. I'm sorry he jumped for the bush; but don't you go and think I want to see him caught and flogged." "I don't, Sam." "Then you're right, Master Nic; on'y raally you mustn't keep me a-talking here. I say, though," he whispered confidentially, and chuckling with delight all the time, "Brooky won't enjy his wittles till Leather is ketched." "What do you mean?" "He's going about, sir, in the most dreadfullest stoo. He walked over in the night to the Wattles, and come back all of a tremble, and he's got a loaded gun behind the wool-shed door, and another behind the stable." "Yes; I saw that, and wondered how it came there." "He put it there, sir," chuckled the old man. "Just you watch him next time you see him. He's just like a cocksparrer feeding, what keeps on turning his head to right and then to left and all round, to see if Leather's coming to pounce on him and leather him. The pore chap don't know it, but he's sarving out Mister Brooky fine. There, now I must go, sir, raally. One word, though: Brooky's doing nothing but grumble, and look out for squalls, and the master away--not as that matters so much, for the way in which you're a-steppin' into his shoes, sir, is raally fine. But I want things to look to-rights when he comes back." _ |
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