Chapter IX.
Dave's Snakebite.
One hot day, as we were finishing dinner, a sheriff's bailiff rode upto the door. Norah saw him first. She was dressed up ready to go overto Mrs. Anderson's to tea. Sometimes young Harrison had tea atAnderson's--Thursdays, usually. This was Thursday; and Norah wasstarting early, because it was "a good step of a way".
She reported the visitor. Dad left the table, munching some bread, andwent out to him. Mother looked out of the door; Sal went to thewindow; Little Bill and Tom peeped through a crack; Dave remained athis dinner; and Joe knavishly seized the opportunity of exploring thetable for leavings, finally seating himself in Dad's place, andcommencing where Dad had left off.
"Jury summons," said the meek bailiff, extracting a paper from hisbreast-pocket, and reading, "Murtagh Joseph Rudd, selector, ShingleHut...Correct?"
Dad nodded assent.
"Got any water?"
There was n't a drop in the cask, so Dad came in and asked Mother ifthere was any tea left. She pulled a long, solemn, Sunday-school face,and looked at Joe, who was holding the teapot upside-down, shaking thetea-leaves into his cup.
"Tea, Dad?" he chuckled--"by golly!"
Dad did n't think it worth while going out to the bailiff again. Hesent Joe.
"Not any at all?"
"Nothink," said Joe.
"H'm! Nulla bona, eh?" And the Law smiled at its own joke and went offthirsty.
Thus it was that Dad came to be away one day when his great presence ofmind and ability as a bush doctor was most required at Shingle Hut.
Dave took Dad's place at the plough. One of the horses--a colt thatDad bought with the money he got for helping with Anderson's crop--hadonly just been broken. He was bad at starting. When touched with therein he would stand and wait until the old furrow-horse put in a fewsteps; then plunge to get ahead of him, and if a chain or aswingle-tree or something else did n't break, and Dave kept the ploughin, he ripped and tore along in style, bearing in and bearing out, andknocking the old horse about till that much-enduring animal became ascranky as himself, and the pace terrible. Down would go theplough-handles, and, with one tremendous pull on the reins, Dave wouldhaul them back on to their rumps. Then he would rush up and kick thecolt on the root of the tail, and if that did n't make him put his legover the chains and kick till he ran a hook into his heel and lamedhimself, or broke something, it caused him to rear up and fall back onthe plough and snort and strain and struggle till there was not astitch left on him but the winkers.
Now, if Dave was noted for one thing more than another it was for hissilence. He scarcely ever took the trouble to speak. He hated to beasked a question, and mostly answered by nodding his head. Yet, thoughhe never seemed to practise, he could, when his blood was fairly up,swear with distinction and effect. On this occasion he swore throughthe whole afternoon without repeating himself.
Towards evening Joe took the reins and began to drive. He had n't goneonce around when, just as the horses approached a big dead tree thathad been left standing in the cultivation, he planted his left footheavily upon a Bathurst-burr that had been cut and left lying. Itclung to him. He hopped along on one leg, trying to kick it off; stillit clung to him. He fell down. The horses and the tree got mixed up,and everything was confusion.
Dave abused Joe remorselessly. "Go on!" he howled, waving in the air afistful of grass and weeds which he had pulled from the nose of theplough; "clear out of this altogether!--you're only a damn nuisance."
Joe's eyes rested on the fistful of grass. They lit up suddenly.
"L-l-look out, Dave," he stuttered; "y'-y' got a s-s-snake."
Dave dropped the grass promptly. A deaf-adder crawled out of it. Joekilled it. Dave looked closely at his hand, which was all scratchesand scars. He looked at it again; then he sat on the beam of theplough, pale and miserable-looking.
"D-d-did it bite y', Dave?" No answer.
Joe saw a chance to distinguish himself, and took it. He ran home,glad to be the bearer of the news, and told Mother that "Dave's got bitby a adder--a sudden-death adder--right on top o' the finger."
How Mother screamed! "My God! whatever shall we do? Run quick," shesaid, "and bring Mr. Maloney. Dear! oh dear! oh dear!"
Joe had not calculated on this injunction. He dropped his head andsaid sullenly: "Wot, walk all the way over there?"
Before he could say another word a tin-dish left a dinge on the back ofhis skull that will accompany him to his grave if he lives to be athousand.
"You wretch, you! Why don't you run when I tell you?"
Joe sprang in the air like a shot wallaby.
"I'll not go AT ALL now--y' see!" he answered, starting to cry. ThenSal put on her hat and ran for Maloney.
Meanwhile Dave took the horses out, walked inside, and threw himself onthe sofa without uttering a word. He felt ill.
Mother was in a paroxysm of fright. She threw her arms aboutfrantically and cried for someone to come. At last she sat down andtried to think what she could do. She thought of the very thing, andran for the carving-knife, which she handed to Dave with shut eyes. Hemotioned her with a disdainful movement of the elbow to take it away.
Would Maloney never come! He was coming, hat in hand, and running fordear life across the potato-paddock. Behind him was his man. Behindhis man--Sal, out of breath. Behind her, Mrs. Maloney and the children.
"Phwat's the thrubble?" cried Maloney. "Bit be a dif--adher? O, bethe tares of war!" Then he asked Dave numerous questions as to how ithappened, which Joe answered with promptitude and pride. Dave simplyshrugged his shoulders and turned his face to the wall. Nothing was tobe got out of him.
Maloney held a short consultation with himself. Then--"Hould up yerhand!" he said, bending over Dave with a knife. Dave thrust out hisarm violently, knocked the instrument to the other side of the room,and kicked wickedly.
"The pison's wurrkin'," whispered Maloney quite loud.
"Oh, my gracious!" groaned Mother.
"The poor crathur," said Mrs. Maloney.
There was a pause.
"Phwhat finger's bit?" asked Maloney. Joe thought it was the littlestone of the lot.
He approached the sofa again, knife in hand.
"Show me yer finger," he said to Dave.
For the first time Dave spoke. He said:
"Damn y'--what the devil do y' want? Clear out and lea' me 'lone."
Maloney hesitated. There was a long silence. Dave commenced breathingheavily.
"It's maikin' 'm slape," whispered Maloney, glancing over his shoulderat the women.
"Don't let him! Don't let him!" Mother wailed.
"Salvation to 's all!" muttered Mrs. Maloney, piously crossing herself.
Maloney put away the knife and beckoned to his man, who was looking onfrom the door. They both took a firm hold of Dave and stood him uponhis feet. He looked hard and contemptuously at Maloney for someseconds. Then with gravity and deliberation Dave said: "Now wot 'n th'devil are y' up t'? Are y' mad?"
"Walk 'm along, Jaimes--walk 'm--along," was all Maloney had to say.And out into the yard they marched him. How Dave did struggle to getaway!--swearing and cursing Maloney for a cranky Irishman till hefoamed at the mouth, all of which the other put down to snake-poison.Round and round the yard and up and down it they trotted him till longafter dark, until there was n't a struggle left in him.
They placed him on the sofa again, Maloney keeping him awake with astrap. How Dave ground his teeth and kicked and swore whenever he feltthat strap! And they sat and watched him.
It was late in the night when Dad came from town. He staggered in withthe neck of a bottle showing out of his pocket. In his hand was apiece of paper wrapped round the end of some yards of sausage. The dogoutside carried the other end.
"An' 'e ishn't dead?" Dad said, after hearing what had befallen Dave."Don' b'leevsh id--wuzhn't bit. Die 'fore shun'own ifsh desh ad'erbish 'm."
"Bi
t!" Dave said bitterly, turning round to the surprise of everyone."I never said I was BIT. No one said I was--only those snivellingidiots and that pumpkin-headed Irish pig there."
Maloney lowered his jaw and opened his eyes.
"Zhackly. Did'n' I (HIC) shayzo, 'Loney? Did'n' I, eh, ol' wom'n!"Dad mumbled, and dropped his chin on his chest.
Maloney began to take another view of the matter. He put a leadingquestion to Joe.
"He MUSTER been bit," Joe answered, "'cuz he had the d-death adder inhis hand."
More silence.
"Mush die 'fore shun'own," Dad murmured.
Maloney was thinking hard. At last he spoke. "Bridgy!" he cried,"where's th' childer?" Mrs. Maloney gathered them up.
Just then Dad seemed to be dreaming. He swayed about. His head hunglower, and he muttered, "Shen'l'm'n, yoush disharged wish shankshy'cun'ry."
The Maloneys left.
Dave is still alive and well, and silent as ever; and if any onequestion is more intolerable and irritating to him than another, it isto be asked if he remembers the time he was bitten by deaf-adder.