Billabong Riders by Mary Grant Bruce

Author:Mary Grant Bruce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, Australia
Publisher: Distributed Proofreaders Canada
Published: 1942-09-15T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

THE HOLLOW HILLS

THEY struck camp early next morning. The journey over the hills meant heavy going for the vehicles: Jim gave them a good start before rounding up the bullocks. Mustering them took longer than usual, for they had spread out round the big lagoon, and had no wish to leave the water and the good grass; but at last the most obstinate stragglers were brought in, and the mob moved reluctantly towards the hills, stopping to feed whenever the dogs were out of the way.

“We’ve got to keep them closer together to-day,” Jim told the girls. “If they get far apart in the timber half of them will get down into gullies, and we’ll have no end of a job to get them out. Just the sort of thing the looney bullocks love doing. They’re fools in most ways, but they’re quite smart enough to make off down a gully and double back to the lagoon. So keep your eyes skinned, for its easy enough to miss them among the trees.”

Rob felt excited. This promised to be the most interesting day’s droving he had yet known. Up to now he had felt himself of little use with the cattle; but as he looked at the tree-covered rises ahead he realised that every pair of sharp eyes would count to-day.

Some of the drovers had ridden ahead. The bullocks followed them slowly. There was not much feed to tempt them; under the trees the long, dead grass that had outlasted the winter was still matted above the sparse new growth. The first rises were easy ones, dipping into low gullies, with higher slopes beyond. There was no track; they might have been climbing into country where no one had ever gone before them.

It was the hottest day since the beginning of the journey. They were glad of the shade of the trees, though even there the air was still and close. No breeze fluttered even the topmost leaves. The bullocks tried to stray along each gully, vaguely hoping for water, unwilling to face the next rise; the riders on the wings were kept busy, heading them upwards. Cranky slipped away once into a thicker patch of timber and turned down hill. Rob, well out on the wing, tried to turn him back; but he had no dog, and the Hereford was quick to realise it. He wheeled away from the brown mare and plunged down the slope they had just climbed—only to find that Spotty, coming at an angle, was waiting to meet him. They faced each other for a moment before Cranky gave in and turned back on his tracks.

He went angrily. He had never been bitten by a dog, and in his puzzled bullock-mind he did not understand why these interfering creatures, smaller than young calves, should have the power to make anyone of his size and weight feel suddenly afraid. Men had whips that stung; Cranky had felt them several times during musters on the station where he was born.

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