Chapter XIX.
Nell and Ned.
That harvest of two hundred bags of wheat was the turning-point in thehistory of our selection. Things somehow seemed to go better; andDad's faith was gradually justified--to some extent. We accumulatedout-buildings and added two new rooms to the hut, and Dad was able tolend old Anderson five pounds in return for a promise to pay sevenpounds ten shillings in six months' time. We increased the stock, too,by degrees; and--crowning joy!--we got a horse or two you could ride tothe township.
With Nell and Ned we reckoned we had two saddle-horses--those weretheir names, Nell and Ned, a mare and a colt. Fine hacks they were,too! Anybody could ride them, they were so quiet. Dad reckoned Ned wasthe better of the two. He was well-bred, and had a pedigree and agentle disposition, and a bald-face, and a bumble-foot, and a rawwither, and a sore back that gave him a habit of "flinching"--a habitthat discounted his uselessness a great deal, because, when we were n'tat home, the women could n't saddle him to run the cows in. Wheneverhe saw the saddle or heard the girth-buckles rattle he would start toflinch. Put the cloth on his back--folded or otherwise--and, no matterhow smart you might be, it would be off before you could cover it withthe saddle, and he would n't have flicked it with his tail, or pulledit off with his teeth, or done anything to it. He just flinched--madethe skin on his back--where there was any--QUIVER. Throw on the saddlewithout a cloth, and he would "give" in the middle like a brokenrail--bend till his belly almost touched the ground, and remain benttill mounted; then he'd crawl off and gradually straighten up as hebecame used to you. Were you tender-hearted enough to feel compunctionin sitting down hard on a six-year-old sore, or if you had an aversionto kicking the suffering brute with both heels and belting his hidewith a yard or two of fencing-wire to get him to show signs ofanimation, you would dismount and walk--perhaps, weep. WE always rodehim right out, though.
As a two-year-old Ned was Dad's hope. Pointing proudly to thelong-legged, big-headed, ugly moke mooching by the door, smelling thedust, he would say: "Be a fine horse in another year! Littlesleepy-looking yet; that's nothing!"
"Stir him up a bit, till we see how he canters," he said to Joe oneday. And when Joe stirred him up--rattled a piece of rock on his jawthat nearly knocked his head off--Dad took after Joe and chased himthrough the potatoes, and out into the grass-paddock, and acrosstowards Anderson's; then returned and yarded the colt, and knocked apatch of skin off him with a rail because he would n't stand in acorner till he looked at his eye. "Would n't have anything happen tothat colt for a fortune!" he said to himself. Then went away,forgetting to throw the rails down. Dave threw them down a couple ofdays after.
WE preferred Nell to Ned, but Dad always voted for the colt. "You cantrust him; he'll stand anywhere," he used to say. Ned WOULD! Once,when the grass-paddock was burning, he stood until he took fire. Thenhe stood while we hammered him with boughs to put the blaze out. Ittook a lot to frighten Ned. His presence of mind rarely deserted him.Once, though, he got a start. He was standing in the shade of a treein the paddock when Dad went to catch him. He seemed to be watchingDad, but was n't. He was ASLEEP. "Well, old chap," said Dad, "how AREy'?" and proceeded to bridle him. Ned opened his mouth and receivedthe bit as usual, only some of his tongue came out and stayed out."Wot's up w' y'?" and Dad tried to poke it in with his finger, but itcame out further, and some chewed grass dropped into his hand. Dadstarted to lead him then, or rather to PULL him, and at the first tughe have the reins Ned woke with a snort and broke away. And when theother horses saw him looking at Dad with his tail cocked, and his headup, and the bridle-reins hanging, they went for their lives through thetrees, and Blossom's foal got staked.
Another day Dad was out on Ned, looking for the red heifer, and cameacross two men fencing--a tall, powerful-looking man with a beard, anda slim young fellow with a smooth face. Also a kangaroo-pup. As Dadslowly approached, Ned swaying from side to side with his nose to theground, the elder man drove the crowbar into the earth and stared as ifhe had never seen a man on horseback before. The young fellow sat on alog and stared too. The pup ran behind a tree and growled.
"Seen any cattle round here?" Dad asked.
"No," the man said, and grinned.
"Did n't notice a red heifer?"
"No," grinning more.
The kangaroo-pup left the tree and sniffed at Ned's heels.
"Won't kick, will he?" said the man.
The young fellow broke into a loud laugh and fell off the log.
"No," Dad replied--"he's PERFECTLY quiet."
"He LOOKS quiet."
The young fellow took a fit of coughing.
After a pause. "Well, you did n't see any about, then?" and Dadwheeled Ned round to go away.
"No, I DID N'T, old man," the other answered, and snatched hold ofNed's tail and hung back with all his might. Ned grunted and strainedand tore the ground up with his toes; Dad spurred and leathered himwith a strap, looking straight ahead. The man hung on. "Come 'long,"Dad said. The pup barked. "COME 'long with YER!" Dad said. The youngfellow fell off the log again. Ned's tail cracked. Dad hit himbetween the ears. The tail cracked again. A piece of it came off;then Ned stumbled and went on his head. "What the DEVIL----!" Dadsaid, looking round. But only the young fellow was laughing.
Nell was different from Ned. She was a bay, with yellow flanks and alump under her belly; a bright eye, lop ears, and heavy, hairy legs.She was a very wise mare. It was wonderful how much she know. Sheknew when she was wanted; and she would go away the night before andget lost. And she knew when she was n't wanted; then she'd hang aboutthe back-door licking a hole in the ground where the dish-water wasthrown, or fossicking at the barn for the corn Dad had hidden, orscratching her neck or her rump against the cultivation paddockslip-rails. She always scratched herself against thoseslip-rails--sometimes for hours--always until they fell down. Thenshe'd walk in and eat. And how she COULD eat!
As a hack, Nell was unreliable. You could n't reckon with certainty ongetting her to start. All depended on the humour she was in and thedirection you wished to take--mostly the direction. If towards thegrass-paddock or the dam, she was off helter-skelter. If it was n't,she'd go on strike--put her head down and chew the bit. Then, whenyou'd get to work on her with a waddy--which we always did--she'd walkbackwards into the house and frighten Mother, or into the waterhole anddirty the water. Dad said it was the fault of the cove who broke herin. Dad was a just man. The "cove" was a union shearer--did it forfour shillings and six pence. Wanted five bob, but Dad beat him down.Anybody else would have asked a pound.
When Nell DID make up her mind to go, it was with a rush, and, if theslip-rails were on the ground, she'd refuse to take them. She'd standand look out into the lane. You'd have to get off and drag the railsaside (about twenty, counting broken ones). Then she'd fancy they wereup, and would shake her head and mark time until you dug your heelsinto her; then she'd gather herself together and jump high enough for ashow--over nothing!
Dave was to ride Nell to town one Christmas to see the sports. He hadn't seen any sports before, and went to bed excited and rose in themiddle of the night to start. He dressed in the dark, and we heard himgoing out, because he fell over Sandy and Kate. They had come on avisit, and were sleeping on the floor in the front room. We also heardhim throw the slip-rails down.
There was a heavy fog that morning. At breakfast we talked about Dave,and Dad "s'posed" he would just about be getting in; but an hour or twoafter breakfast the fog cleared, and we saw Dave in the lane hammeringNell with a stick. Nell had her rump to the fence and was trying hardto kick it down. Dad went to him. "Take her gently; take her GENTLY,boy," he shouted. "PSHAW! take her GENTLY!" Dave shouted back."Here"--he jumped off her and handed Dad the reins--"take her away andcut her throat." Then he cried, and then he picked up a big stone andrushed at Nell's head. But Dad interfered.
But the day Dad mounted Nell to bring a doctor to Anderson! S
hestarted away smartly--the wrong road. Dad jerked her mouth and pulledher round roughly. He was in a hurry--Nell was n't. She stood andshook her head and switched her tail. Dad rattled a waddy on her andjammed his heels hard against her ribs. She dropped her head andcow-kicked. Then he coaxed her. "Come on, old girl," he said; "comeon,"--and patted her on the neck. She liked being patted. Thatexasperated Dad. He hit her on the head with his fist. Joe ran outwith a long stick. He poked her in the flank. Nell kicked the stickout of his hands and bolted towards the dam. Dad pulled and swore asshe bore him along. And when he did haul her in, he was two hundredyards further from the doctor. Dad turned her round and once more usedthe waddy. Nell was obdurate, Dad exhausted. Joe joined them, out ofbreath. He poked Nell with the stick again. She "kicked up." Dadlost his balance. Joe laughed. Dad said, "St-o-op!" Joe wasenergetic. So was Nell. She kicked up again--strong--and Dad fell off.
"Wot, could'n' y' s-s-s-stick to 'er, Dad?" Joe asked.
"STICK BE DAMNED--run--CATCH her!--D----N y'!"
Joe obeyed.
Dad made another start, and this time Nell went willingly. Dad wasleading her!
Those two old horses are dead now. They died in the summer when therewas lots of grass and water--just when Dad had broken them intoharness--just when he was getting a good team together to draw logs forthe new railway line!