On Our Selection
Chapter XXII.
Callaghan's Colt.
It was the year we put the bottom paddock under potatoes. Dad wasstanding contemplating the tops, which were withering for want of rain.He shifted his gaze to the ten acres sown with corn. A dozen stalks orso were looking well; a few more, ten or twelve inches high, werecoming in cob; the rest had n't made an appearance.
Dad sighed and turned away from the awful prospect. He went and lookedinto the water-cask. Two butterflies, a frog or two, and some charcoalwere at the bottom. No water. He sighed again, took the yoke and twokerosene-tins, and went off to the springs.
About an hour and a half after he returned with two half-tins of muddy,milky-looking water--the balance had been splashed out as he gotthrough the fences--and said to Mother (wiping the sweat off his facewith his shirt-sleeve)--
"Don't know, I'm SURE, what things are going t' come t';...no use doinganything...there's no rain...no si----" he lifted his foot and withcool exactness took a place-kick at the dog, which was trying to fallinto one of the kerosene-tins, head first, and sent it and the waterflying. "Oh you ----!" The rest is omitted in the interests of Poetry.
Day after. Fearful heat; not a breath of air; fowl and beast soughtthe shade; everything silent; the great Bush slept. In the west astray cloud or two that had been hanging about gathered, thickened,darkened.
The air changed. Fowl and beast left the shade; tree-tops began tostir--to bend--to sway violently. Small branches flew down and rolledbefore the wind. Presently it thundered afar off. Mother and Sal ranout and gathered the clothes, and fixed the spout, and lookedcheerfully up at the sky.
Joe sat in the chimney-corner thumping the ribs of a cattle-pup, andpinching its ears to make it savage. He had been training the pup eversince its arrival that morning.
The plough-horses, yoked to the plough, stood in the middle of thepaddock, beating the flies off with their tails and leaning againsteach other.
Dad stood at the stock-yard--his brown arms and bearded chin resting ona middle-rail--passively watching Dave and Paddy Maloney breaking-in acolt for Callaghan--a weedy, wild, herring-gutted brute that might havebeen worth fifteen shillings. Dave was to have him to hack about forsix months in return for the breaking-in. Dave was acquiring a localreputation for his skill in handling colts.
They had been at "Callaghan"--as they christened the colt--sincedaylight, pretty well; and had crippled old Moll and lamed Maloney'sDandy, and knocked up two they borrowed from Anderson--yarding therubbish; and there was n't a fence within miles of the place that hehad n't tumbled over and smashed. But, when they did get him in, theylost no time commencing to quieten him. They cursed eloquently, andthrew the bridle at him, and used up all the missiles and bits of hardmud and sticks about the yard, pelting him because he would n't stand.
Dave essayed to rope him "the first shot," and nearly poked his eye outwith the pole; and Paddy Maloney, in attempting to persuade theaffrighted beast to come out of the cow-bail, knocked the cap of itship down with the milking-block. They caught him then and put thesaddle on. Callaghan trembled. When the girths were tightened theyput the reins under the leathers, and threw their hats at him, andshouted, and "hooshed" him round the yard, expecting he would buck withthe saddle. But Callaghan only trotted into a corner and snorted.Usually, a horse that won't buck with a saddle is a "snag." Dave knewit. The chestnut he tackled for Brown did nothing with the saddle. HEwas a snag. Dave remembered him and reflected. Callaghan walkedboldly up to Dave, with his head high in the air, and snorted at him.He was a sorry-looking animal--cuts and scars all over him; hip down;patches and streaks of skin and hair missing from his head. "No buckin him!" unctuously observed Dad, without lifting his chin off therail. "Ain't there?" said Paddy Maloney, grinning cynically. "Justyou wait!"
It seemed to take the heart out of Dave, but he said nothing. Hehitched his pants and made a brave effort to spit--several efforts.And he turned pale.
Paddy was now holding Callaghan's head at arms'-length by the bridleand one ear, for Dave to mount.
A sharp crack of thunder went off right overhead. Dave did n't hear it.
"Hello!" Dad said, "We're going to have it--hurry up!"
Dave did n't hear him. He approached the horse's side and nervouslytried the surcingle--a greenhide one of Dad's workmanship. "Thinkthat'll hold?" he mumbled meekly.
"Pshaw!" Dad blurted through the rails--"Hold! Of course it'llhold--hold a team o' bullocks, boy."
"'S all right, Dave; 's all right--git on!" From Paddy Maloney,impatiently.
Paddy, an out-and-out cur amongst horses himself, was anxious to berelieved of the colt's head. Young horses sometimes knock down the manwho is holding them. Paddy was aware of it.
Dave took the reins carefully, and was about to place his foot in thestirrup when his restless eye settled on a wire-splice in thecrupper--also Dad's handiwork. He hesitated and commenced a remark.But Dad was restless; Paddy Maloney anxious (as regarded himself);besides, the storm was coming.
Dad said: "Damn it, what are y' 'FRAID o', boy? THAT'll hold--jump on."
Paddy said: "NOW, Dave, while I've 'is 'ead round."
Joe (just arrived with the cattle-pup) chipped in.
He said: "Wot, is he fuf-fuf-fuf-f-rikent of him, Dad?"
Dave heard them. A tear like a hailstone dropped out of his eye.
"It's all damn well t' TALK," he fired off; "come in and RIDEth'----horse then, if y' s'----GAME!"
A dead silence.
The cattle-pup broke away from Joe and strolled into the yard. Itbarked feebly at Callaghan, then proceeded to worry his heels. Itseemed to take Callaghan for a calf. Callaghan kicked it up againstthe rails. It must have taken him for a cow then.
Dave's blood was up. He was desperate. He grabbed the reins roughly,put his foot in the stirrup, gripped the side of the pommel, and was onbefore you could say "Woolloongabba."
With equal alacrity, Paddy let the colt's head go and made tracks,chuckling. The turn things had taken delighted him. Excitement (andpumpkin) was all that kept Paddy alive. But Callaghan did n'tbudge--at least not until Dave dug both heels into him. Then he made ablind rush and knocked out a panel of the yard--and got away with Dave.Off he went, plunging, galloping, pig-jumping, breaking loose limbs andbark off trees with Dave's legs. A wire-fence was in his way. Itparted like the Red Sea when he came to it--he crashed into it androlled over. The saddle was dangling under his belly when he got up;Dave and the bridle were under the fence. But the storm had come, andsuch a storm! Hailstones as big as apples nearly--first one here andthere, and next moment in thousands.
Paddy Maloney and Joe ran for the house; Dave, with an injured ankleand a cut head, limped painfully in the same direction; but Dad saw theplough-horses turning and twisting about in their chains and set outfor them. He might as well have started off the cross the continent.A hailstone, large enough to kill a cow, fell with a thud a yard or twoin advance of him, and he slewed like a hare and made for the housealso. He was getting it hot. Now and again his hands would go up toprotect his head, but he could n't run that way--he could n't run muchany way.
The others reached the house and watched Dad make from the back-door.Mother called to him to "Run, run!" Poor Dad! He was running. PaddyMaloney was joyful. He danced about and laughed vociferously at thehail bouncing off Dad. Once Dad staggered--a hail-boulder had struckhim behind the ear--and he looked like dropping. Paddy hit himself onthe leg, and vehemently invited Dave to "Look, LOOK at him!" But Dadbattled along to the haystack, buried his head in it, and stayed theretill the storm was over--wriggling and moving his feet as though hewere tramping chaff.
Shingles were dislodged from the roof of the house, and huge hailstonespelted in and put the fire out, and split the table, and fell on thesofa and the beds.
Rain fell also, but we did n't catch any in the cask--the wind blew thespout away. It was a curled piece of bark. Nevertheless, the stormdi
d good. We did n't lose ALL the potatoes. We got SOME out of them.We had them for dinner one Sunday.