First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

  BLACK SYMPATHY.

  Nic found the next day that in their tiny world of the Bluff there wereothers sufficiently interested in the convict's fate to have been makinginquiries about the proceedings instituted by Mr Dillon; for on goinground the place in the fresh early morning to see how the live stock wasgetting on, the first person he met was old Sam, who saluted him withone of his ugly smiles, and a chuckle like that of a laughing jackass--of course the bird.

  "They didn't ketch him, Master Nic," he cried.

  "Why, you ought to be vexed, Sam," replied the boy.

  "Yes, I know that, sir; but I ain't. I don't like Leather 'cause he's aconvict, and it ain't nice for honest men to have them sort forfellow-servants. But I don't want him ketched and flogged. Not me."

  "But will they catch him, do you think, Sam?"

  "Ah, that's what nobody can say. Most likely yes, because if the dogsget on his scent they'll run him down."

  "But the rain?"

  "Ay, that's in his favour, sir. But, then, there's another thing: theblacks will be set to work again."

  "But they can't scent him out."

  "Nay; but they can smell him out with their eyes and run him down.Bound to say, if I set our three to work, they'd find the poor lad."

  "They are very keen and observant."

  "Keen, Master Nic? Ay! It's a many years now since I shaved; but if Itook to it again I shouldn't use rayshors, sir, but blackfellows' sight.Steel's nowhere to it."

  "But how do you know they didn't catch him?"

  "I sent Damper and Rigar to see the fun, and they came back to megrinning, and told me."

  "But did Mr Dillon set his blacks to work tracking?"

  "Ay, that he did; but it strikes me they didn't want to find the poorchap. It's like this, you see, Master Nic. Yes'day morning, as soon asour three found out, from Brooky's face looking like a bit o' unbakeddamper, and his tied-up head, that he'd been having it, they asked mehow it was, and I told 'em. Next minute I goes into the cow-shed to seewhat the noise was, and them three chaps--for they're just like littlechildren--there they were, with jyned hands, having a crobbery sort o'dance."

  "Why?"

  "Why, sir? Just because they were precious glad that Brooky had foundhis master. They didn't say so, but I knew. You don't suppose, becausea chap's face is black, he likes to be hit with sticks, and kicked, andsneered at. They're little children in big black bodies, master; butthey like the man who shares his damper and mutton with 'em and nevergives 'em a dirty word a deal better than him as treats 'em as if theywas kangaroos."

  "Of course, Sam."

  "They get their likes same as little children do. The lazy blackrascals!" continued the old man, grinning; "they always want to be atplay, and I give it 'em well sometimes, but they know they deserve it;and, after all, they'd do anything for me, Master Nic, and so they wouldfor you."

  "Oh, I've done nothing to please them, Sam."

  "Oh yes you have, Master Nic, often; and just you look here--they didn'tshow their white teeth for nothing."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'll tell you, sir. They was along with Dillon's blackfellows yes'daymost o' the arternoon, and Dillon's blackfellows didn't find oldLeather."

  "No; you said so before."

  "Ay, I did, sir; but don't you see why they didn't hit out Leather'strack?"

  "Because the rain had washed it away."

  "Nay!" cried Sam, with a long-drawn, peculiar utterance; "because ourfellows wouldn't let 'em. They belongs to the same tribe."

  "Ah!" cried Nic.

  "That's it, sir. Our boys give 'em a hint, or else they'd ha' found himfast enough."

  "Then he'll escape!" cried Nic eagerly.

  "Nay! There's no saying. Government's very purticlar about running apris'ner down. 'Bliged to be. Soon as it's reported as Leather'sjumped for the bush, some o' they mounted police'll be over, and they'llbring blackfellows with 'em as don't know him and don't belong to ourboys' tribe, and they'll find him. 'Sides, there's black tribes in thebush as'd take a delight in throwing spears at him. And then again,how's a white man going to live? He ain't a black, as'll get fat ongrubs, and worms, and snakes, and lizzars, and beadles, when he can'tget wallabies and birds. But there, we shall see. I'm sorry he jumpedfor the bush; but don't you go and think I want to see him caught andflogged."

  "I don't, Sam."

  "Then you're right, Master Nic; on'y raally you mustn't keep mea-talking here. I say, though," he whispered confidentially, andchuckling with delight all the time, "Brooky won't enjy his wittles tillLeather is ketched."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's going about, sir, in the most dreadfullest stoo. He walked overin the night to the Wattles, and come back all of a tremble, and he'sgot a loaded gun behind the wool-shed door, and another behind thestable."

  "Yes; I saw that, and wondered how it came there."

  "He put it there, sir," chuckled the old man. "Just you watch him nexttime you see him. He's just like a cocksparrer feeding, what keeps onturning his head to right and then to left and all round, to see ifLeather's coming to pounce on him and leather him. The pore chap don'tknow it, but he's sarving out Mister Brooky fine. There, now I must go,sir, raally. One word, though: Brooky's doing nothing but grumble, andlook out for squalls, and the master away--not as that matters so much,for the way in which you're a-steppin' into his shoes, sir, is raallyfine. But I want things to look to-rights when he comes back."