Jean, Our Little Australian Cousin

CHAPTER VI

"LOST!"

Life at the run proved pleasant to Jean and full of interesting happenings. She missed her father and Fergus, but she and Sandy soon grew to be great friends, and many were the thrilling bits of mischief into which he dragged her, sure that he would escape punishment if Jean were only to say, "Don't punish Sandy, Uncle Angus, I did it too."

The little girl loved her Aunt Mildred, but more than any one at the station her uncle had won her heart. She grew to be his little shadow, driving and riding with him, sun-tanned and rosy, growing strong and healthy in the free Australian life.

"You are getting as fat as a Chinaman's horse, lassie," said her uncle as they rode to the river one day.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"The Chinese are always very kind to their horses and keep them fat and slick, so that has grown to be a proverb, though some people say as 'fat as a larrikin's dog,' instead."

"What is a larrikin?" Jean was growing as full of questions as Fergus.

"Larrikin is a slang term applied to the idlers who lounge about the cities, a dog at their heels, like the 'Enery 'Awkins of London or Glasgow. There are many of them in Australia and they have formed a kind of secret society among themselves, which is not a very good thing. Here is a fine bit for a canter, Jeanie. I'll beat you to the big eucalyptus."

"No, you won't." Jean chirruped to her pony and was off like a shot through the open paddock, jumping a fence as if on wings. She loved to gallop when the air was filled with the fragrance of the wattle and the gum, and she had grown to ride like a little centaur.

"Well done," cried her uncle as she drew up at the gate, laughing and breathless, her horse half a head in advance of his. "We are so near to 'Mason's run,' I think we'll have time to stop there. I want to see him about several things, so we'll ride on."

"Very well, Uncle. Is it a sheep run?"

"No, cattle. You have not seen one yet, so keep your eyes open and learn all you can. Mason breeds the long horns, sullen beasts, but good stock."

"I shall be glad to see them," she said, and they cantered up to the homestead, which was very unlike her uncle's station.

Built of wood, with a galvanized-iron roof, the house stood on piles, but between each pile and the house was a tin plate to keep the white ants from climbing into the rooms. Several gins7 came out to see who the strangers were, the first that Jean had seen, and she looked at them curiously. Not more so, however, than they looked at her, for they stared at her and whispered together.

"They don't know what to make of you, 'Lassie with the lint white locks,'" her uncle laughed. "The young gin wants to know if you are Great Baiame's golden child. It's your fair hair, I suppose."

Jean's hair was light golden and floated all about her face like a halo.

"Great Baiame is their god, good spirit, and they think you are a goddess. That gin wants to touch your hair. Better let her, she won't hurt you."

Jean smilingly bent her head and let the black woman run her fingers over her shining tresses. The gin smiled and, seized by a sudden impulse, Jean said,

"She may have a curl if she wants it, Uncle. I have plenty and mother won't care." He handed her his knife and she snipped off a silken strand, which the gin took with many expressions of delight.

"You have certainly made a hit among the Blacks," said her uncle teasingly. "She will wear that as a charm and be the envy of all the tribe. Your hair is pretty.

he quoted as he stroked the shining mane.

"Uncle, I don't think cattle runs are as nice as sheep runs. There aren't any wool sheds, but just open yards."

"These are the stock and branding yards. You see the cattle roam the hills, some of the runs being as large as five thousand square miles, on which the cattle find their own food and water."

"If they wander over all that distance, how do the owners ever tell their own cattle?" asked Jean.

"Every beast is branded, that is, he has his owner's mark burnt into his hide," said her uncle. "So it is easy to draft out of the mobs the cattle which belong to other ranchmen. The young oxen are sent to the coast to be fattened for market, while the old cattle are sent to the rendering works, where they are made into tallow and beef extract. The stockman's life is harder than that of the shepherd, and dangerous because of the bullocks' stampedes, when they break loose and often run down horses and men in their frantic rush for freedom."

"I like the sheep run much better," said Jean. "See that flying squirrel, Uncle! I think they are the cunningest little things. Who do you suppose is hiding behind that tree? I heard some one laughing."

"Look and see," her uncle smiled. Jean jumped down from her horse and peered behind the tree. There she saw a little bird perched on one leg which sang a pretty little song, always breaking off with "H-ah-ha! Hoo-hoo-hoo!"

"That's a laughing jackass, Jeanie," said her uncle. "He's a funny little fellow, isn't he?"

"He isn't a bit pretty," said Jean.

"No, but he's very useful, for he eats snakes and lizards and all kinds of things, and there is a law forbidding any one to kill him."

"You have so many queer things in Australia," said Jean. "Down by the river Sandy and I found the queerest thing. It looked part animal and part bird. It had a big flat bill like a duck and fur on its body like a rat, and it had webbed feet and a long bushy tail. Sandy said it was a beastie and was called a water mole, but we found its nest in a kind of tunnel running from the water's edge under ground, and in the nest were eggs."

"That was a platypus, or water mole," said Mr. McDonald. "He is an animal but lays eggs like the birds. There is another animal in Australia which does too, the spiny ant-eater. He looks like a hedgehog but has a queer, long bill with a long tongue covered with sticky stuff with which he licks up the ants off the ground. He hasn't a nest, but carries his eggs around in a kind of a pocket until they are hatched."

"It certainly is a queer place, with trees that shed their bark every year, pears that have hard wooden rinds, cherries with the stones outside, trees with flowers and seeds growing in the leaves and animals that lay eggs," said Jean.

"And little girls that chatter and ride like monkeys," cried Sandy's teasing voice, as he rode up behind them. "I can pass you!"

"No, you can't!" cried Jean, and she galloped off, her cousin after her, though he did not catch up with her till she rode up to the veranda and jumped off her pony, laughing heartily.

Some weeks later all was hurry and bustle at the station. Shearing was to begin the next day and there was a great deal to be done to make ready for the great event. Shearers were coming in, some riding, some trudging along on foot, carrying their swags. There were huts for them to sleep in, and tents were being spread in the open. Mr. McDonald left all the details of this work to his manager, a young Australian who had been born and raised on a sheep run.

At first Jean was much interested in seeing the shearing and stood in the shed watching, as the engine whistled to begin. The pens were full of sheep who did not at all know what they were there for, but who did know that they did not like it. They baa-ed and bawled, and with the noise of the machinery it was deafening in the sheds. As the machine starts every shearer grabs a sheep from the pen, choosing the one that looks the easiest to shear, he throws it with his knee and rapidly guides the little knife-like cutters of the machine over the fleece, which falls from the animal in one huge piece. The sheep is then released to run, pink and shivering, to the yard again. The "picker up" catches up the fleece and takes it to the wool bin, while the shearer turns to the pen to catch another victim. He has to be quick because the sharp eye of the overseer is upon him. He walks up and down, watching every one. The "penners-up" must not let a single pen be empty, "the pickers-up" must keep the floor clean, the shearers must shear evenly as well as closely. If they cut a ragged fleece the wool will grow badly the next year and some of it will be wasted.

The shearers are paid by the number of sheep they shear, and they work very fast, every man trying to see if he cannot be the "ringer," as they call the man who has sheared the greatest number of sheep at the close of the shearing.

The shearers earn five dollars for every hundred sheep sheared, and an ordinarily good workman will shear a hundred sheep in a day, while extra good ones have sheared three hundred in a day. As the shearers have no expenses, their food and lodging being given them, they can make a good deal of money during the season.

The picker-up takes the fleece to the wool roller, who trims it and rolls it up to be inspected by the classer. He decides as to its quality and puts it in the proper bin. It is then baled, marked with the quality and the owner's brand, and taken by wagon to the nearest shipping station.

The sheep are counted, branded and dipped to prevent their being covered with wood ticks, which bite so fiercely, and then are returned to their paddocks. There is no more attractive sight in the world than an immense flock of the long-wooled Australian sheep, and none more forlorn than the shivering droves of freshly-sheared animals.

Jean watched until she was tired. The smell of the wool, the noise, the heat, the cries of the tormented sheep, all turned her sick, and she fled to the house. There things were little better. Everybody was busy. Aunt Mildred had no time to notice a little girl. Sandy was away, no one knew where, and, worst of all, her mother was laid low with one of her terrible headaches. Jean knew these of old, and that it was no use to expect to even speak to her mother before night. She felt forlorn and lonely and decided to take a ride.

No one was at the stable to saddle Dandy, but she had learned to ride as well without a saddle as with, so she got on the pony's back and rode toward the river.

Away from the noise of the shearing shed, how quiet and lovely it all seemed. The wind swayed gently the branches of the great she-oaks as a mopoke's mournful note came from the gum trees. Flying foxes flapped their wings and she came upon the playground of a satin-bower8 bird, the first she had ever seen, although her uncle had told her about them. She rode farther into the wood than she intended and, feeling tired, she got off Dandy and, throwing the reins over a bush, sat down under a tree to rest.

"I'm so tired," she said to herself, "I think I will take a little nap. This looks just the place for a fairy ring and perhaps the elves will come to dance while I am asleep."

She lay down under the huge tree about which ferns grew so thickly as to form a green curtain. Dandy browsed in the grass near by, every now and then pricking up his dainty ears and working his velvety nose as if something he did not like was near. Then his reins pulled loose from the bush and he wandered away to nibble at a tempting bit of turf a little distance away. Another tempted him and he was soon out of sight, hidden by the great ferns which grew up above his pretty head.

As he disappeared there was a little rustle in the bushes and two eyes peered at the sleeping child. Then a hand reached out and warily touched a fold of her little blue gingham frock. Jean stirred in her sleep and smiled. She was dreaming that her father had come back and that he took her in his strong arms and carried her away, away, and she never wanted him to put her down. The scent of the wild blooms was in her nostrils, and she did not wake when two arms cautiously raised her from the ground and holding her lightly yet carefully, so that no branch might brush against her, carried her far into the deep and lonely wood. It was perhaps an hour that the man carried her and she did not wake. Then she opened her eyes to find herself in the arms of a big Black. She screamed in fright, but he spoke gently to her.

"Missa not 'fraid. Me not bad Black. Take Missa home."

"Where is my pony. I would rather ride him," she cried, struggling, and the Black put her down.

"Pony all gone," he said. "Missa very tired, me show Missa my gin. She very sick, want to see white baby, with gold for hair. Hear all about her from other gin. Then carry home. Black very much like Missa." He smiled again and his face looked kind. "Let me carry Missa or we not get there soon," he said coaxingly, and not knowing what else to do Jean allowed him to pick her up and carry her again. He walked fast, but she did not see the river or the house and she began to grow frightened. It grew dark and the air was full of flying things, so large as to seem like birds and so small as to seem like baby mice with wings. The bird songs were stilled; only the soft chirping of the tree insects were heard. Then those ceased and all was still and dark, and the silent forest so terrified the child that she began to cry.

"No good for Missa to cry, Missa must go see gin," said the Black, and as he spoke they came in sight of a little group of native huts, bark-thatched and dimly seen through the darkness. Into the smallest of these the Black stumbled and set his burden before a couch on which lay a black woman wasted with fever.

"Brought you white child," he said. The hut was full of Blacks, but Jean was too frightened and tired to think of any of them, and she covered her face with her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break.

CHAPTER VII

JEAN FINDS A FRIEND

Jean stopped crying, for she found that it did no good. She curled up in the corner of the dark hut and waited to see what would happen. The Blacks talked and jabbered around her, but she could not at all understand what they said, and she was too little to understand that she was in any danger. She only wished with all her heart that she might see her mother. The Blacks talked together, and Jean at last was so tired that she curled up on the floor and went to sleep. When she awoke and opened her eyes she was surprised to find that the sun was shining.

She was lying on the ground under a huge gum tree. A fire of the dry twigs of the gum tree burned brightly, as a young black boy whom she had seen the night before fanned it with a huge fern leaf.

"Little Missa hungry," he said, smiling kindly down at her. "Kadok make eat. Be good little girl and lie still."

He took a hatchet which hung on the belt around his waist and quickly cut off a piece of bark from the gum tree, then took some flour from a bag and piled it on the bark. Water from the water-hole he dipped up with a leaf cup and mixed with the flour, baking it on the bark over the fire. Kadok then dipped fresh water from the water-hole, around which ferns grew as high as Jean's head, and turned over the ashes of the fire to roast in them a turkey's egg which he had found in the bracken.

"Now Missa eat," he said, giving Jean a piece of damper9 and the egg, with a cup of water. "Little Missa not be afraid. Kadok take her to see Mother."

The boy's face was kind and Jean tried to smile at him in return, finding courage to say,

"Are you Kadok? How did I get here?"

"I am Kadok, yoia.10 Black man found little Missa asleep by the corral. Want to show her to his woman who had no girl, all die. He take little Missa and mean to bring her back. Then white police ride and hunt. Black man scared, hide Missa, hide selves. Some black men say kill little Missa. Kadok say 'No.' His father chief, and chief say, 'Take back white Missa to mother.' So Kadok will take."

"Thank you, Kadok," said Jean simply, accepting all that he said. "How soon will I see my mother?"

"Don't know. Missa come long way on man's back. Must go back on two feet. Take days and nights. Not cry," he said as her face clouded. "Kadok take one good care of little Missa. Eat plenty meal, then we start walk."

Jean was a quiet child. Fergus had always been the talker and she had been content to listen to the big brother whom she thought the most wonderful boy in the world. So she did not say much in reply to Kadok, but obediently ate her queer breakfast, which tasted very good to the hungry little girl. When she had finished she said timidly to Kadok,

"May I wash my hands and face at the water-hole?"

"Come with me. I go see," said Kadok. She followed him to the water, always a precious thing in Australia, where the dry season makes it scarce. "Step right behind Kadok, maybe snakes," said the black boy, and she followed him close.

Trees had been cut down and many lay about in the scrub, which grew thick and higher than Jean's head, so that Kadok had to hold it aside in many places for her to pass. The water-hole was clogged with weeds and leaves, but Kadok dug about under the ferns until he found a clean pool, then filled his flask with water, saying,

"Little Missa wash quick." Jean dipped up the cool water in her hands, splashing it on her face. As she dried herself as best she could with her handkerchief, Kadok cried,

"Jump back, Missa, quick! into the scrub!" She obeyed without stopping to ask why and stood trembling, as Kadok came hurriedly after her.

"Missa one good little girl," he said. "Mind what Kadok say always so quick, then Missa get safe home. See there!" pointing as he spoke to something on the other side of the water-hole where Jean had just been washing. "What Missa see?"

"I see a big black log," answered Jean.

"What Missa see now," said Kadok, throwing a stick at the log. To the child's astonishment and horror the log rolled on its side, turned over and opened a huge pair of jaws, closing them again with a cruel snap.

"Yamin,"11 said Kadok briefly. He seldom wasted words. "Eat little Missa if she not jumped. Now we start take you home. Little Missa mind Kadok and she go long home all right. You not afraid?"

"I will mind," said Jean, "and I am not very much afraid."

"We go," said the boy, and he flung over his shoulder a bag in which he had put his water bottle and provisions and started through the scrub. "Come after me and tell Kadok when you too tired to walk," he said to the child, and she followed him obediently.

She did not know why, but she was not at all afraid of Kadok. She felt he was telling her the truth when he said he would take her home if she was a good girl, and she put her whole mind upon following the difficult trail. The way at first led through a tangle of tropical vegetation, then the two struck into a forest of huge gum trees. Overhead the limbs made a lattice-work of interlacing boughs which gave no shade, as the leaves were vertical instead of horizontal.

The sun grew hot and beat down upon Jean's bare head, for she had lost her hat. Her fair hair caught on the long festoons of gray moss which hung from the trees, the flying golden fleece stuck to the rough bark, which was red with gum and very sticky. Her tangled matted curls, which had been her mother's joy, hung about her face and into her eyes so that she could scarcely see where she was going. The spinifex prickles stuck her ankles and legs, and at last she stumbled over a hidden tree root and fell in a heap upon the ground. At her cry Kadok turned quickly,

"Missa hurt," he said, coming back and helping her to her feet. "Not cry."

"I won't," she said, choking back her sobs. "Please let me rest awhile."

"Must go fast to get to water-hole for dinner," said Kadok. "Missa rest a little and then try go again."

She lay down on the grass and shut her eyes. Some parrots chattered and screamed in the trees above her, but the sun was hot and most of the forest birds were still, except for little twitterings among the branches. Kadok sat silent beside her. Much was passing in the black boy's mind. He knew too well the need for haste. The trip was dangerous for him as well as for his little white friend; he understood the danger and she did not. She felt only the danger of the forest, reptiles, hunger, cold and thirst. But Kadok had to fear both Blacks and Whites. Should the two fugitives run into unfriendly Blacks they would be captured, and if the little girl was not killed by them she would be taken far inland, where as yet white people did not rule, and all hope of restoring her to her people would be at an end. On the other hand, were they to fall in with any of the mounted police or squatters, Kadok knew that his story would never be believed, and that he would be punished for stealing a white child. All this he knew, that Jean could not understand, but he felt that he must make her see the need for hurrying if possible.

"Kadok," she spoke first. "How many miles is it to my mother?"

"It is many hours," answered Kadok. "We must go fast."

"I will go now," she said, getting up. "I can walk."

"Why you hurry?" asked Kadok, surprised.

"I want my mother," she answered. "She will be afraid for me. My father has gone away to find gold and she will be frightened for me." She spoke like a little old woman and the black boy's eyes shone. He saw that he had the way to manage her without frightening her with the dangers he dreaded.

"We must go fast so little Missa's mother not get sick without her," he said, and the two started on again.

By noon, slow as the little steps were, they had covered considerable ground, and they sat down near a tiny water-hole to eat and rest.

"Missa wash feet and rest while I make eat," said Kadok, and Jean bathed her bruised feet, wrapping them in wet leaves, which Kadok told her would take out the pain. "Little Missa sit very still while I find eat," he said. "I not go away." She was terribly frightened when he disappeared between the trees, but in a few minutes she heard the sound of chopping near by, and in a few moments more, Kadok returned carrying a dead bandicoot.

"Me chop him out of hole in foot of tree," he said, grinning broadly. "Him make fine eat."

He quickly made a fire, and cutting up the meat in pieces, put some of them on sharpened twigs, and held them over the fire to roast.

"Eat plenty much," he said to Jean as he handed her several pieces. "We not know when we find another."

She ate and found the meat very good. Some of it Kadok had rubbed with a little salt which he took from his provision bag, and a few bits he held over the smoke to dry. All this he wrapped in green leaves and put carefully with his provisions, getting Jean water in a leaf cup and making ready to start again.

"You good little wirawi,"12 he said approvingly. "We soon bring to Mother her good luck."

The afternoon's walk was not quite so bad as the morning's had been. Kadok struck into a track which led through the Bush to the main road. Walking here was not so troublesome and Jean managed fairly well, though her feet hurt her cruelly and toward the last Kadok had to help her along.

"Little more walk, Missa," he said encouragingly. "We find good camp for night. To-morrow we get long way to home."

But Jean was almost past thinking of the morrow, almost past thinking of home. Her poor little body ached in every muscle, her face and hands were scratched and bleeding, and she was faint with hunger and fatigue. She stumbled on, Kadok holding her arm, until at last she could go no longer and would have fallen, had not the black boy picked her up and carried her. Laden as he was with his heavy swag, it was no easy task to carry a heavy child of eight, but he was a strong, muscular fellow, used to Bush life, and not tired as was his white charge. He carried her along the track some twenty rods, then paused and looked closely into the forest. It seemed a great wall to shut them off, but the keen eye of the Black caught an almost imperceptible opening amongst the leaves and he left the path once more to tread the mazes of the wood. Only a little distance and he came to a ruined hut overgrown with moss and creeping plants. It had once been a shepherd's hut and was a poor place, but at any rate it would serve as a shelter from the night and Kadok carried Jean within and laid her down on the floor.