An Outback Marriage by Banjo Paterson (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📕

they’ve gone home yet. I want a witness with me when I catch Red Mick with these sheep, or else fifty of his clan will swear that he has been in bed for six weeks, or something like that.”

“Then,” she said firmly, gathering up the reins in her daintily gloved hands as she spoke, “I’m going with you. I’m just as good a witness as Poss or Binjie.”

“No, no, no,” said Hugh, “that won’t do. There may be a row. It’s a rough sort of place, and a rough lot of people. Now look here, Miss Grant, oblige me and go home. The horse will take you straight back.”

Her eyes glowed with excitement. “Please let me come,” she said. “You don’t know how much I want to come. I’ll do whatever you tell me!”

He argued and expostulated and entreated. He knew well enough there was a good deal of risk in the matter, and he tried hard to make her go back. But she was determined to go with him, and the argument ended in the only possible manner⁠—she went. She promised to do exactly what she was told, to keep out of the way if so ordered, and, above all, not to speak except when spoken to.

So off they went through the scrub on the track of the sheep, plain as print to the young bushman, though invisible to his companion. They rode at a walk for the most part, for fear of being heard. Now and again, when they could see for a good distance ahead, they let the horses canter; Hugh riding in front, she, like a damosel of old, in assumed submission a few lengths behind, and thoroughly enjoying the adventure.

Of course she could not keep silence long, and after a while she drew alongside, and whispered, “Do you think we shall catch them?”

“I hope so. But it’s a very curious thing; there has been a dog after these sheep⁠—see, there’s his track,” pointing to footprints plainly marked in wet sand⁠—“but no track of man or horse to be seen. By Jove, look there!”

They had come to the crest of a small hill, and were looking down a long valley. To right and left of them towered the blue, rugged peaks; straight in front the valley opened out, and they got a fairly clear view for a mile or more. About half a mile ahead, travelling in a compact mass down the valley, was a mob of some two or three hundred sheep. At their heels trotted two sheepdogs of the small wiry breed common in the mountains. Hugh looked about to see who was in charge of them; but no one was visible. The dogs were taking the sheep along without word or sign from anyone, hurrying them at a good sharp pace, each keeping on his own flank of the mob, or occasionally dropping behind to hurry up the laggards.

It was a marvellous exhibition of sagacity. They came to a place where it was necessary to turn sharply to the right to cross a small creek; one of the dogs shot forward, and sent the leading sheep scurrying down the bank, while the other fell back a few yards and prevented the mob turning back. After a moment’s hesitation the sheep plunged into the shallow water, splashed across the creek, and set off again in their compact march down the valley, urged and directed by their silent custodians⁠—who paused to lap a few mouthfuls of water, and then hurried on with an air of importance.

“Look at that,” said Hugh, in open admiration. “Isn’t that wonderful? Those are Red Mick’s dogs. I knew they were good dogs, but this is simply marvellous, isn’t it? What are we to do now? If I take the sheep from them they’ll run home, and I can’t prosecute Red Mick because they picked up a mob of sheep.”

“Oh, but he must be near them somewhere,” said Mary, to whom the whole affair appeared uncanny. “They wouldn’t drive sheep by themselves, surely?”

“Oh, of course, he started them. Once he got the sheep out of the paddock, he started the dogs for home, and rode off. You see his plan. If anyone finds the dogs with them, of course he had nothing to do with it. Sheepdogs will often go into a paddock, and bring a mob of sheep up to the yard on their own account. It’s an instinct with them. Look at those two now, forcing the sheep over that bad crossing. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Well,” she said, triumphantly, “what about the fence? They couldn’t dig up that.”

“Oh, Red Mick did; but who’s to prove it? He’ll swear he never was near the fence, and that his dogs picked up these sheep and brought them home on their own account. The jury would find that I dug up my own fence, and they’d acquit Red Mick, and give him a testimonial. No, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll cut across the range, and sneak up as near Red Mick’s as we can. Then we’ll hide and watch his house; and when the dogs come up, if he takes the sheep from them, or starts to drive them anywhere, we’ve got him. Once he takes charge of those sheep he’s done. Of course there may be a bit of trouble when we spring up and accuse him. Are you afraid?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m not afraid⁠—with you. I like it. Come on.”

No sooner said than done. They set their horses in motion, and went at a steady trot for a mile or so, crossing the valley at right angles, over a sharp rise and down a small hill, till Hugh again pulled up.

“There’s Red Mick’s homestead,” he said, pointing to a speck far away down a gully. “The sheep will come up the creek, because it is the smoothest track. Now, we must tie our horses up here, sneak down the creek bed, and get as near the house as we