Chapter XIII.
The Summer Old Bob Died.
It was a real scorcher. A soft, sweltering summer's day. The airquivered; the heat drove the fowls under the dray and sent the old dogto sleep upon the floor inside the house. The iron on the skillioncracked and sweated--so did Dad and Dave down the paddock,grubbing--grubbing, in 130 degrees of sunshine. They were clearing apiece of new land--a heavily-timbered box-tree flat. They had been atit a fortnight, and if any music was in the ring of the axe or therattle of the pick when commencing, there was none now.
Dad wished to be cheerful and complacent. He said (putting the pickdown and dragging his flannel off to wring it): "It's a good thing tosweat well." Dave did n't say anything. I don't know what he thought,but he looked up at Dad--just looked up at him--while the perspirationfilled his eyes and ran down over his nose like rain off a shingle;then he hitched up his pants and "wired in" again.
Dave was a philosopher. He worked away until the axe flew off thehandle with a ring and a bound, and might have been lost in the longgrass for ever only Dad stopped it with his shin. I fancy he did n'tmean to stop it when I think how he jumped--it was the only piece ofexcitement there had been the whole of that relentlessly solemnfortnight. Dad got vexed--he was in a hurry with the grubbing--andsaid he never could get anything done without something going wrong.Dave was n't sorry the axe came off--he knew it meant half-an-hour inthe shade fixing it on again. "Anyway," Dad went on, "we'll go todinner now."
On the way to the house he several times looked at the sky--thatcloudless, burning sky--and said--to no one in particular, "I wish toGod it would rain!" It sounded like an aggravated prayer. Dave didn't speak, and I don't think Dad expected he would.
Joe was the last to sit down to dinner, and he came in steaming hot.He had chased out of sight a cow that had poked into the cultivation.Joe mostly went about with green bushes in his hat, to keep his headcool, and a few gum-leaves were now sticking in his moist and mattedhair.
"I put her out, Dad!" he said, casting an eager glare at everything onthe table. "She tried to jump and got stuck on the fence, and broke itall down. On'y I could n't get anything, I'd er broke 'er head--therewas n't a thing, on'y dead cornstalks and cow-dung about." Then helunged his fork desperately at a blowfly that persistently hoveredabout his plate, and commenced.
Joe had a healthy appetite. He had charged his mouth with a load ofcold meat, when his jaws ceased work, and, opening his mouth as thoughhe were sleepy, he leaned forward and calmly returned it all to theplate. Dad got suspicious and asked Joe what was up; but Joe onlywiped his mouth, looked sideways at his plate, and pushed it away.
All of us stopped eating then, and stared at each other. Mother said,"Well, I--I wrapped a cloth round it so nothing could get in, and putit in the safe--I don't know where on earth to put the meat, I'm sure;if I put it in a bag and hang it up that thief of a dog gets it."
"Yes," Dad observed, "I believe he'd stick his nose into hell itself,Ellen, if he thought there was a bone there--and there ought to be lotsby this time." Then he turned over the remains of that cold meat, and,considering we had all witnessed the last kick of the slaughteredbeast, it was surprising what animation this part of him yet retained.In vain did Dad explore for a really dead piece--there was life in allof it.
Joe was n't satisfied. He said he knew where there was a lot of eggs,and disappeared down the yard. Eggs were not plentiful on ourselection, because we too often had to eat the hens when there was nomeat--three or four were as many as we ever saw at one time. So onthis day, when Joe appeared with a hatful, there was excitement. Hefelt himself a hero. We thought him a little saviour.
"My!" said Mother, "where did you get all those?"
"Get 'em! I've had these planted for three munce--they're a nest Ifound long ago; I thought I would n't say anythink till we reallywanted 'em."
Just then one of the eggs fell out of the hat and went off "pop" on thefloor.
Dave nearly upset the table, he rose so suddenly; and covering his nosewith one hand he made for the door; then he scowled back over hisshoulder at Joe. He utterly scorned his brother Joe. All of usdeserted the table except Dad--he stuck to his place manfully; it tooka lot to shift HIM.
Joe must have had a fine nerve. "That's on'y one bad 'n'," he said,taking the rest to the fireplace where the kettle stood. Then Dad, whohad remained calm and majestic, broke out. "Damn y', boy!" he yelled,"take th' awful things outside--YOU tinker!" Joe took them out andtried them all, but I forget if he found a good one.
Dad peered into the almost-empty water-cask and again muttered a shortprayer for rain. He decided to do no more grubbing that day, but torun wire around the new land instead. The posts had been in the groundsome time, and were bored. Dave and Sarah bored them. Sarah was asgood as any man--so Dad reckoned. She could turn her hand to anything,from sewing a shirt to sinking a post-hole. She could give Dave inchesin arm measurements, and talk about a leg! She HAD a leg--a beauty!It was as thick at the ankle as Dad's was at the thigh, nearly.
Anyone who would know what real amusement is should try wiring posts.What was to have been the top wire (the No. 8 stuff) Dad commenced toput in the bottom holes, and we ran it through some twelve or fifteenposts before he saw the mistake--then we dragged it out slowly andsavagely; Dad swearing adequately all the time.
At last everything went splendidly. We dragged the wire through panelafter panel, and at intervals Dad would examine the blistering sky forsigns of rain. Once when he looked up a red bullock was reaching forhis waistcoat, which hung on a branch of a low tree. Dad sang out.The bullock poked out his tongue and reached higher. Then Dad told Joeto run. Joe ran--so did the bullock, but faster, and with thewaistcoat that once was a part of Mother's shawl half-way down histhroat. Had the shreds and ribbons that dangled to it been a littlelonger, he might have trodden on them and pulled it back, but he didn't. Joe deemed it his duty to follow that red bullock till it droppedthe waistcoat, so he hammered along full split behind. Dad and Davestood watching until pursued and pursuer vanished down the gully; thenDad said something about Joe being a fool, and they pulled at the wireagain. They were nearing a corner post, and Dad was hauling the wirethrough the last panel, when there came the devil's own noise ofgalloping hoofs. Fifty or more cattle came careering along straightfor the fence, bellowing and kicking up their heels in the air, ascattle do sometimes after a shower of rain. Joe was behindthem--considerably--still at full speed and yelping like a dog. Joeloved excitement.
For weeks those cattle had been accustomed to go in and out between theposts; and they did n't seem to have any thoughts of wire as theybounded along. Dave stood with gaping mouth. Dad groaned, and thewire's-end he was holding in his hand flew up with a whiz and took ascrap of his ear away. The cattle got mixed up in the wires. Sometoppled over; some were caught by the legs; some by the horns. Theydragged the wire twenty and thirty yards away, twisted it round logs,and left a lot of the posts pointing to sunset.
Oh, Dad's language then! He swung his arms about and foamed at themouth. Dave edged away from him.
Joe came up waving triumphantly a chewed piece of the waistcoat."D-d-did it g-give them a buster, Dad?" he said, the sweat running overhis face as though a spring had broken out on top of his head. Dadjumped a log and tried to unbuckle his strap and reach for Joe at thesame time, but Joe fled.
That threw a painful pall over everything. Dad declared he was sickand tired of the whole thing, and would n't do another hand's-turn.Dave meditated and walked along the fence, plucking off scraps of skinand hair that here and there clung to the bent and battered wire.
We had just finished supper when old Bob Wren, a bachelor who farmedabout two miles from us, arrived. He used to come over everymail-night and bring his newspaper with him. Bob could n't read aword, so he always got Dad to spell over the paper to him. WE did n'ttake a newspaper.
Bob said there were clouds gathering behind Flat Top when h
e came in,and Dad went out and looked, and for the fiftieth time that day prayedin his own way for rain. Then he took the paper, and we gathered atthe table to listen. "Hello," he commenced, "this is M'Doolan's paperyou've got, Bob."
Bob rather thought it was n't.
"Yes, yes, man, it IS," Dad put in; "see, it's addressed to him."
Bob leaned over and LOOKED at the address, and said: "No, no, that'smine; it always comes like that." Dad laughed. We all laughed. Heopened it, anyway. He had n't read for five minutes when the lightflickered nearly out. Sarah reckoned the oil was about done, andpoured water in the lamp to raise the kerosene to the wick, but thatdid n't last long, and, as there was no fat in the house, Dad squattedon the floor and read by the firelight.
He plodded through the paper tediously from end to end, reading themurders and robberies a second time. The clouds that old Bob said weregathering when he came in were now developing to a storm, for the windbegan to rise, and the giant iron-bark tree that grew close behind thehouse swayed and creaked weirdly, and threw out those strange sobs andmoans that on wild nights bring terror to the hearts of bush children.A glimmer of lightning appeared through the cracks in the slabs. OldBob said he would go before it came on, and started into the inkydarkness.
"It's coming!" Dad said, as he shut the door and put the peg in afterseeing old Bob out. And it came--in no time. A fierce wind struck thehouse. Then a vivid flash of lightning lit up every crack and hole,and a clap of thunder followed that nearly shook the place down.
Dad ran to the back door and put his shoulder against it; Dave stood tothe front one; and Sarah sat on the sofa with her arms around Mother,telling her not to be afraid. The wind blew furiously--its one aimseemed the shifting of the house. Gust after gust struck the walls andleft them quivering. The children screamed. Dad called and shouted,but no one could catch a word he said. Then there was one tremendouscrack--we understood it--the iron-bark tree had gone over. At last,the shingled roof commenced to give. Several times the ends rose (andour hair too) and fell back into place again with a clap. Then it wentclean away in one piece, with a rip like splitting a ribbon, and therewe stood, affrighted and shelterless, inside the walls. Then the windwent down and it rained--rained on us all night.
Next morning Joe had been to the new fence for the axe for Dad, and wasoff again as fast as he could run, when he remembered something andcalled out, "Dad, old B-B-Bob's just over there, lyin' down in thegully."
Dad started up. "It's 'im all right--I w-w-would n'ter noticed, onlyPrince s-s-smelt him."
"Quick and show me where!" Dad said.
Joe showed him.
"My God!" and Dad stood and stared. Old Bob it was--dead. Dead asMoses.
"Poor old Bob!" Dad said. "Poor-old-fellow!" Joe asked what couldhave killed him? "Poor-old-Bob!"
Dave brought the dray, and we took him to the house--or what remainedof it.
Dad could n't make out the cause of death--perhaps it was lightning.He held a POST-MORTEM, and, after thinking hard for a long while, toldMother he was certain, anyway, that old Bob would never get up again.It was a change to have a dead man about the place, and we were verypleased to be first to tell anyone who did n't know the news about oldBob.
We planted him on his own selection beneath a gum-tree, where for yearsand years a family of jackasses nightly roosted, Dad remarking: "Asthere MIGHT be a chance of his hearin', it'll be company for the poorold cove."