Rolf Boldrewood - Babes in the Bush

‘Then I may ride him without risk of being tried for horse-stealing, or lynched, if they affect that here,’ said Wilfred gaily. ‘I shouldn’t care to do it in England, I know.’

‘Things is quite different on the Sydney Side,’ said Mr. Evans with mild dogmatism.

Wilfred did not consider this assertion to be conclusive, but time pressing, and the ready-saddled horse inviting his approval, he compounded with his conscience by taking it for granted that people were not particular as to strayed horses. The fresh and spirited animal, which had not been ridden for months, but was (luckily for his rider) free from vice, snorted and sidled, but proceeded steadily in the main. He soon settled down to the hand of a fair average horseman.

Noticing fresh objects of interest in each flowering shrub, in the birds that flew overhead, or the strange animals that ever and again crossed their path, about each and all of which his retainer had information to offer, the time did not hang heavily on hand. They halted towards evening before a spacious enclosure, having passed through which, they came upon a roomy cottage, surrounded by a trim orchard, and backed up by farm buildings.

‘Here’s Badajos, Mr. Wilfred,’ said his guide. ‘And a better kept place there ain’t in the whole country side.’

‘Welcome to Badajos, Mr. Effingham,’ said the proprietor. ‘William, take this gentleman’s horse; you know your way, Dick. We’ll defer business till the morning. I have had the cattle yarded, ready for drafting; to-morrow you can choose the nucleus of a good herd. I shall be proud to put you in the way of cattle-farming in the only true way to succeed – by commencing with females of the right kind.’

As Wilfred followed his entertainer into the house, he felt unaffectedly surprised at the appearance of elegance mingled with comfort which characterised the establishment. The rooms were not large, but arranged with an attention of detail which he had not expected to find in a bush dwelling. The furniture was artistically disposed. Books and periodicals lay around. High-class engravings, with a few oil-paintings, which recalled Wilfred Effingham’s past life, hung on the walls. Couches and lounges, of modern fashion, looked inviting, while a Broadwood piano stood in the corner of the drawing-room, into which he followed his host.

‘I am a bachelor, more’s the pity,’ said Mr. O’Desmond; ‘but there’s no law against a little comfort in the wilderness. Will you take some refreshment now? Or would you like to be shown to your room?’

Wilfred accepted the latter proposal. In a very comfortable chamber he proceeded to divest himself of the traces of the road, after a leisurely and satisfactory fashion. He had barely regained the drawing-room, when a gong sounded with a melodiously reminiscent clang.

The dinner was after the fashion of civilised man. Soup and fish, fresh from a neighbouring stream, with meritorious entrées and entremets, showed skill beyond that of an ordinary domestic. While the host, who had sufficiently altered his attire for comfort, without committing the bêtise of out-dressing a guest, as he recommended a dry sherry, or passed the undeniable claret, seemed an embodied souvenir of London, Paris, Vienna, of that world of fortune and fashion which Wilfred was vowed to forsake for ever. Next morning the sun and Mr. W. Effingham arose simultaneously. Dick Evans had anticipated both, and was standing at ease near the stable.

‘This place is worth looking at, sir. You don’t see nothing to speak of out of order – tidy as a barrack-yard.’

Wonderfully trim and orderly was the appearance of all things. The enclosure referred to was neatly gravelled, and showed not a vagrant straw. The garden was dug, raked, and pruned into orderly perfection. The servants’ quarters, masked by a climber-covered trellis, were ornamental and unostentatious. The dog-kennels, tenanted by pointers, greyhounds, collies, and terriers, were snug and spacious. The stables were as neat as those of a London dealer. It was a show establishment.

‘Mr. O’Desmond’s servants must be attached to him, to work so well,’ said Wilfred.

‘Humph!’ replied the veteran, ‘he makes ’em toe the line pretty smart, and quite right too,’ he added, with a grim setting of his under jaw. ‘He was in the colony afore there was many free men in it. Shall we walk down to the milking-yard, sir?’

The full-uddered shorthorn cows, with their fragrant breath and mild countenances, having been admired in their clean, paved milking-yard, a return was made towards the cottage. As they neared the garden, O’Desmond rode briskly up to the stable door, and dismounting, threw the reins to a groom, who stood ready as a sentinel.

‘The top of the morning to you, Mr. Effingham; I trust you slept well? I have had a canter of a few miles, which will give me an appetite for breakfast. I rode over to the drafting-yards, to make sure that the cattle were there, according to orders. Everything will be in readiness, so that you can drive easily to Warbrok to-night. You can manage that, Dick, can you not?’

‘Easy enough, if you’ll send a boy with us half-way, Mr. O’Desmond,’ replied Dick. ‘You see, sir, Mr. Effingham’s rather new to cattle-driving, and if the young heifers was to break back, we might lose some of them.’

‘Quite right, Dick; you are always right where stock are concerned – that is, the driving of them,’ he added. ‘I look to you to stay with Mr. Effingham till his dairy herd is established. I shall then have the pleasure of adding his name to that of the many gentlemen in this district whose fortunes I have helped to make.’

‘Quite true, sir,’ assented Dick heartily. ‘The Camden sheep and the Badajos cattle and horses are known all over the country by them as are judges. But you don’t want me to be praising on ’em up – they speak for themselves.’

Breakfast over, as faultless a repast as had been the dinner, it became apparent that Mr. O’Desmond held punctuality nearly in as high esteem as comfort. His groom stood ready in the yard with his own and Wilfred’s horses saddled, the shining thorough-bred, which he called his hackney, offering a strong contrast to the unkempt though well-conditioned animal which his guest bestrode.

As they rode briskly along the winding forest track, Wilfred, observing the quality of his host’s hackney, the silver brightness of his bit and stirrup-irons, the correctness of his general turn-out, remembering also the completeness of the establishment and the character of the hospitality he had enjoyed, doubted within himself whether, in course of time, the owner of Warbrok Chase might ever attain to such a pinnacle of colonial prosperity.

‘How incredible this would all appear to some of my English friends!’ he thought. ‘I can hardly describe it without the fear of being supposed to exaggerate.’

‘Here we are,’ said O’Desmond, reining up, and dismounting at a substantial stock-yard, while a lad instantly approached and took his horse. ‘I have ordered the heifers and young cows to be placed in this yard. We can run them through before you. You can make your choice, and reject any animals below the average.’

‘They look rather confused at present,’ answered Wilfred; ‘but I suppose Dick here understands how to separate them.’

‘I’ll manage that, never you fear, sir – that is, if you and Mr. O’Desmond have settled about the price.’

‘I may state now,’ remarked that gentleman, ‘that the price, four pounds per head, mentioned to me on your account by your agent is a liberal one, as markets go. I shall endeavour to give you value in kind.’

‘It’s a good price,’ asserted Dick; ‘but Mr. O’Desmond’s cattle are cheaper at four pounds all round than many another man’s about here at fifty shillings. If he lets me turn back any beast I don’t fancy, we’ll take away the primest lot of cattle to begin a dairy with as has travelled the line for years.’