Course - another day passed
boundary-riding, inspecting water-holes, and doubling back to the Dandy's
camp to see his plans; then, picking up the Quiet Stockman, we struck out
across country, riding four abreast through the open forest-lands, and
were camped at sundown, in the thick of the cattle, miles from the
Dandy's camp, and thirty miles due north from the homestead. "Whatever
do you do with your time?" asked the South folk.
Dan was in high spirits: cattle were coming in everywhere, and another
beautiful permanent "water" had been discovered in unsuspected ambush.
To know all the waters of a run is important; for they take the part of
fences, keeping the cattle in certain localities; and as cattle must stay
within a day's journey or so of water, an unknown water is apt to upset a
man's calculations.
As the honour of finding the hole was all Dan's, it was named DS. in his
honour, and we had waited beside it while he cut his initials deep into
the trunk of a tree, deploring the rustiness of his education as he
carved. The upright stroke of the D was simplicity itself, but after
that complications arose.
"It's always got me dodged which way to turn the darned thing," Dan said,
scratching faint lines both ways, and standing off to decide the
question. We advised turning to the right, and the D was satisfactorily
completed, but S proved the "dead finish," and had to be wrestled with
separately.
"Can't see why they don't name a chap with something that's easily
wrote," Dan said, as we rode forward, with our united team of horses and
boys swinging along behind us, and M and T and O were quoted as examples.
"Reading's always had me dodged," he explained. "Left school before I
had time to get it down and wrestle with it."
"There's nothing like reading and writing," the Quiet Stockman broke in,
with an earnestness that was almost startling; and as he sat that evening
in the firelight poring over the "Cardinal's Snuff-box," I watched him
with a new interest.
Jack's reading was very puzzling. He always had the same book - that
"Cardinal's Snuff-box" - and pored over it with a strange persistence,
that could not have been inspired by the book. There was no expression on
his face of lively interest or pleasure, just an intent, dogged
persistence; the strong, firm chin set as though he were colt-breaking.
Gradually, as I watched him that night, the truth dawned on me: the man
was trying to teach himself to read. The "Cardinal's Snuff-box"! and the
only clue to the mystery, a fair knowledge of the alphabet learned away
in a childish past. In truth, it takes a deal to "beat the Scots," or,
what is even better, to make them feel that they are beaten.
As I watched, full of admiration, for the proud, strong character of the
man, he looked up suddenly, and, in a flash, knew that I knew. Flushing
hotly, he rose, and "thought he would turn in "; and Dan, who had been
discussing education most of the evening, decided to "bottle off a bit of
sleep too for next day's use," and opened up his swag.
"There's one thing about not being too good at the reading trick," he
said, surveying his permanent property: "a chap doesn't need to carry
books round with him to put in the spare time."
"Exactly," the Maluka laughed. He was Iying on his back, with an open
book face downwards on his chest, looking up at the stars. He always had
a book with him, but, book-lover as he was, it rarely got farther than
his chest when we were in camp. Life out-bush is more absorbing than
books.
"Of course reading's handy enough for them as don't lay much stock on
education," Dan owned, stringing his net between his mosquito-pegs, then,
struck with a new idea, he "wondered why the missus never carries books
round. Any one 'ud think she wasn't much at the reading trick herself,"
he said. "Never see you at it, missus, when I'm round."
"Lay too much stock on education," I answered, and, chuckling, Dan
retired into his net, little guessing that when he was "round," his own
self, his quaint outlook on life, and the underlying truth of his
inexhaustible, whimsical philosophy, were infinitely more interesting
than the best book ever written.
But the Quiet Stockman seemed perplexed at the answer. "I thought
reading 'ud learn you most things," he said, hesitating beside his own
net; and before we could speak, the corner of Dan's net was lifted and
his head reappeared. "I've learned a deal of things in my time," he
chuckled, "but READING never taught me none of 'em." Then his head once
more disappeared, and we tried to explain matters to the Quiet Stockman.
The time was not yet ready for the offer of a helping hand.
At four in the morning we were roused by a new camp reveille of
Star-light. "Nothing like getting off early when mustering's the game,"
Dan announced. By sun-up the musterers were away, and by sundown we were
coming in to Bitter Springs, driving a splendid mob of cattle before us.
The Maluka and I had had nothing to do with the actual gathering in of
the mob, for the missus had not "shaped" too well at her first muster and
preferred travelling with the pack teams when active mustering was in
hand. Ignominious perhaps, but safe, and safety counts for something in
this world; anyway, for the poor craven souls.
