Joe Wilson and His Mates [14]
at a cunning old hawk that they called `'Tarnal Death', and that used to be
always after the chickens.
When Mary lifted her face it was as white as note-paper,
and her eyes seemed to grow wilder when she caught sight of me.
`Oh, you did frighten me, Mr Barnes,' she gasped. Then she gave
a little ghost of a laugh and stood up, and some colour came back.
`Oh, I'm a little fool!' she said quickly. `I thought I heard
old 'Tarnal Death at the chickens, and I thought it would be a great thing
if I got the gun and brought him down; so I got up and dressed quietly so as
not to wake Sarah. And then you came round the corner and frightened me.
I don't know what you must think of me, Mr Barnes.'
`Never mind,' said Jack. `You go and have a sleep, or you won't be able
to dance to-night. Never mind the gun -- I'll put that away.'
And he steered her round to the door of her room off the brick verandah
where she slept with one of the other girls.
`Well, that's a rum start!' I said.
`Yes, it is,' said Jack; `it's very funny. Well, how's your face
this morning, Joe?'
He seemed a lot more serious than usual.
We were hard at work all the morning cleaning out the big wool-shed
and getting it ready for the dance, hanging hoops for the candles,
making seats, &c. I kept out of sight of the girls as much as I could.
One side of my face was a sight and the other wasn't too classical.
I felt as if I had been stung by a swarm of bees.
`You're a fresh, sweet-scented beauty now, and no mistake, Joe,'
said Jimmy Nowlett -- he was going to play the accordion that night.
`You ought to fetch the girls now, Joe. But never mind,
your face'll go down in about three weeks. My lower jaw is crooked yet;
but that fight straightened my nose, that had been knocked crooked
when I was a boy -- so I didn't lose much beauty by it.'
When we'd done in the shed, Jack took me aside and said --
`Look here, Joe! if you won't come to the dance to-night -- and I can't say
you'd ornament it -- I tell you what you'll do. You get little Mary away
on the quiet and take her out for a stroll -- and act like a man.
The job's finished now, and you won't get another chance like this.'
`But how am I to get her out?' I said.
`Never you mind. You be mooching round down by the big peppermint-tree
near the river-gate, say about half-past ten.'
`What good'll that do?'
`Never you mind. You just do as you're told, that's all you've got to do,'
said Jack, and he went home to get dressed and bring his wife.
After the dancing started that night I had a peep in once or twice.
The first time I saw Mary dancing with Jack, and looking serious;
and the second time she was dancing with the blarsted Jackaroo dude,
and looking excited and happy. I noticed that some of the girls,
that I could see sitting on a stool along the opposite wall,
whispered, and gave Mary black looks as the Jackaroo swung her past.
It struck me pretty forcibly that I should have taken fighting lessons
from him instead of from poor Romany. I went away and walked about four miles
down the river road, getting out of the way into the Bush whenever I saw
any chap riding along. I thought of poor Romany and wondered where he was,
and thought that there wasn't much to choose between us as far as
happiness was concerned. Perhaps he was walking by himself in the Bush,
and feeling like I did. I wished I could shake hands with him.
But somehow, about half-past ten, I drifted back to the river slip-rails
and leant over them, in the shadow of the peppermint-tree,
looking at the rows of river-willows in the moonlight.
I didn't expect anything, in spite of what Jack said.
I didn't like the idea of hanging myself: I'd been with a party who found
a man hanging in the Bush, and it was no place for a woman round where he was.
And I'd helped drag two bodies out of the Cudgeegong river in a flood,
and they weren't sleeping beauties. I thought it was a pity that a chap
couldn't lie down on a grassy bank in a graceful position in the moonlight