Boyd Cable - By Blow and Kiss

“It’s getting near the finish for the sheep down there,” he remarked, “and there isn’t mulga enough to keep them going long.”

“D’you think we’ll have to camp up in the mulga paddocks?” said Aleck Gault.

“Good Lord, I ’opes not,” said Jack Ever, in dismay. “We won’t see ’er till next Sunday if we does.”

“The boss said he’d be coming over here in a day or two,” said Steve; “I expect we’ll be shoving the sheep back here on the hills when the mulga gives out.”

“Does the boss know she’s ’ere?” asked Whip Thompson.

“The boss was too busy thinking about his sheep to bother, I expect,” said Steve.

“I’m goin’ to break in a ’orse for ’er,” said Whip Thompson. “None of ’em would stand a skirt on ’is back, I s’pose.”

“I’d try the Roman if I was you, Whip,” said Aleck Gault.

“He’s quiet, but he’s an ugly brute,” claimed Ned Gunliffe. “You want a nicer-looking crock for her.”

“She can ride all right – she tole me,” said Darby the Bull.

“I might len’ ’er my ’orse,” said Blazes, reflectively. Now Blazes’ horse was the standing joke of the Ridge. The men swore he’d been crossed with a sheep and was born too tired to feed himself. But Blazes thought a lot of his horse, and was most jealous of anyone using it, although he had little riding to do himself. His offer to lend it made the men laugh, but it made Steve open his eyes.

“You too, Blazes,” he said. “The whole camp seems to have gone crazy over this girl.”

“Reckon you’ll go crazy too when you see ’er,” said Jack Ever.

“What’s she like then?” said Steve. “Let’s hear all about her, and then we may get talking of other things. Now then, Jack – fire ahead.”

“She’s pretty as a pictur in a gilt frame,” said Jack. “She ’as ’ands like a duchess, and a figure like a green goddess.”

Steve spluttered over his tea. “Didn’t know there was an assortment of colours in the goddess line, Jack,” he said. “But we’ll let it go at Greek goddess.”

“I read it in a book somewheres,” said Jack. “One o’ Nat Gould’s, an’ the chap was ravin’ about the gal’s figure.”

“She has a figure that makes you think how well she’d look on a horse,” said Whip Thompson. “And she carries her head as high, and steps as dainty, as a thoroughbred.”

“Come on, Darby,” laughed Steve. “You next.”

Darby the Bull pondered. “When I’m drunk – or half drunk – I always see every woman’s face sort o’ soft an’ sweet an’ – an’ – happy. I see this gal like that – an’ I was sober … I didn’t think,” he finished reflectively, “a man could ever see one like that – when he’s sober.”

Steve chuckled. “You’re a poet, Darby,” he said, “though you’ll not believe it. But all this doesn’t tell a man much. Is she short or tall, dark or fair, young or old? Eh, Aleck, you’ve observing eyes.”

“Tall, or tallish,” said Aleck Gault. “Slender, dark, brown eyes, age about 20, very pretty.”

“That’s better,” said Steve. “Can you add to it, Ned?”

“A lady,” said Ned, quietly, “speech, manners, and dress of a lady.”

Blazes pounded the table. “You ’ark to me, Steve, an’ I’ll tell ye. Them an’ their river or Creek godses, an’ walk like a ’orse, an’ a face like when you’ve got the rats, an’ speech o’ a lady. She didn’t make no speech. Jus’ said ’how d’ye do,’ an’ chatted pleasant like. She don’t walk – she floats, just as gentle as a chip in a puddle. She ’as eyes as big as a bullock’s, an’ a pleadin’ look in ’em like you see in a sheep’s when its throat’s cut. ’Er ’air’s black as the bottom o’ an old billy-can, an’ shiny as a sweatin’ nigger. She ’as a voice like the low notes o’ a tin whistle, an’ a skin as clear as the white o’ a hard-boiled egg an’ as soft as well-dressed kangaroo hide. She’s a beauty from the tip o’ ’er shoe-string to the button on ’er ’at. When she’s speakin’ to you, you feels you wants to go to church, an’ give your money to the poor. Th’ only thing as beats me,” he finished reflectively, “is ’ow she come to ’ave Scottie Mackellar for a uncle.”

“Thanks, Blazey,” said Steve, his voice bubbling with laughter. “Now I know exactly what she does look like. And for the peace of all our minds, I hope she won’t stay long on Thunder Ridge. I must tell her so when I see her.”

“You go gentle, Steve,” said Jack Ever. “Don’t you go hintin’ that to ’er. We all ’opes she stays years an’ is ’appy as long as she’s ’ere.”

“You all seem to have fallen up to the neck in love with her already,” said Steve, commencing to pull off his boots. “I suppose I’ll have to do ditto to be in company with you.”

Jack Ever was sitting up in bed smoking. He took the pipe from his mouth and fixed his eyes on an empty corner of the room.

“Mebbe we’re in love wi’ her, meanin’ nothin’ disrespec’ful by the word. Mebbe there’s some o’ us ’ere will get to love ’er real, an’ hope for ’er to love ’im. I reckon the rest will wish ’im luck if that ’appens – long as he plays a straight game. But God ’elp the man as tries to fool ’er.”

The other men were carefully avoiding his eyes, but Steve Knight knew as well as if he had been addressed by name that the warning was spoken to him.

There were grunts of acquiescence from some of them.

“That’s right – no foolin’,” said Whip Thompson. “Straight game,” murmured Blazes, and Darby the Bull growled a “That’s right.”

“Shut it, you fools,” said Aleck Gault from his bunk. “There’s nobody here that doesn’t know how to treat a decent girl decent when he meets her.”

“I should think Scottie Mackellar knows enough to look out for his niece, if she doesn’t herself,” said Steve Knight, smoothly. “But if she wants to play the fool d’you think she won’t do it in spite of all you self-appointed wet-nurses?” He dropped his sarcastic smoothness, and his voice took a more savage ring. “And if these elaborate warnings are aimed my way, you can go to the devil with them. I’ve grown out of Sunday Schools, and I’ve pleased myself for a long time back how I behave myself.”

He blew out the light and flung himself angrily on his bunk.

Next morning, when the men were saddling up in the paddock after breakfast, Ess Lincoln came out to wish them good morning.

“It’s too bad we haven’t got that horse ready for you, Miss Lincoln,” said Aleck Gault. “You might have ridden part way with us. This is the best time of the day for a canter. It’s hot later.”

“I’m takin’ Diamond down wi’ me, Miss,” Whip said. “And I’m going to put a blanket round my waist and mount ’im when we get down on the flat. I’ll have ’im broken to it in a day or two so you can ride ’im. ’E’s a good ’orse.”

“Thanks so much, Whip,” said Ess. “It doesn’t matter about this morning, really, because I have such a lot to do to get the house to my liking. My boxes came up yesterday, and I have to unpack and put the place tidy.”

“Sure you won’t be lonesome, Ess?” said Scottie. “I might drive you down in the buggy if you like.”

“No, uncle, thanks. I’ll be all right. I’ll have cook here to look after me, and perhaps if I’ve time and he’s not too busy, he’ll show me how he makes that cake – the brownie, you know, cook.”

“Course I will, Miss,” said Blazes, eagerly. “I’ll be makin’ it this afternoon, an’ you can come over any time.”

“All right,” said Scottie; “I’ll leave you to look after her, Blazes.”