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This happened a minute after the start had been made, and Nic burst out laughing.
"I say, father, look at that," he cried.
"I was looking, my boy," said the doctor. "That fellow seems to understand the dogs better than we do."
For, at the first touch of the spear, one of the collies turned round sharply, and barked; then the other received a prod--from the blunt end in both cases--and the bark uttered was exactly like a protesting "_Don't_!"
But the black, who was safe from attack as long as he kept beyond the reach of the chain, continued to administer pokes, with the result that the dogs trotted on as far as they could, looking back the while and uttering threatening barks and growls.
But the long spear followed them right under the waggon, and kept up the annoyance, till, as if moved by the same impulse, the dogs charged back together to the extent of their chains, and the black made a bound out of the animals' reach.
The result was that when, after a final look round to see that nothing had been left, the doctor gave the order to mount, the dogs were right under the waggon, with their tongues out, tugging away at their chains as sharply as if they had been born in Kamtschatka and belonged to Eskimo.
"That's better," said the doctor, as Nic landed in his saddle without making a show in imitation of vaulting ambition and seeming about to fall over on the other side. "Down again, and mount."
Nic obeyed.
"That's worse," said the doctor. "Dismount. Now again!"
Nic dismounted, and mounted once more.
"Not so good as the first time, Nic. There, take your gun. Mind: never do that! It's the worst of high treason to let your gun-muzzle point at anybody."
"I beg pardon, father."
"Granted, on condition that you are more careful for the future," said the doctor, springing into his seat in a way that excited his son's envy.
"Shall I try again, father?"
"No; it will only fidget your horse. Come along. What a glorious morning! We'll take a sweep round, and meet the waggon three or four miles on."
The sun was now up, and sending its brilliant rays horizontally beneath the great trees, making every branch and leaf glow; and, as Nic's nag paced gently along, the boy felt as if he were riding upon the glorious elastic air. He felt very little of the stiffness, only a bit sore inside the knees, where they were pressed against the saddle.
As they pa.s.sed in among the trees the waggon was soon lost to sight, and Nic glanced again and again in its direction.
"Afraid we shan't find our way back to the waggon?" said his father.
"I was thinking something of the kind," avowed Nic.
"Ah, that is a great danger away in the bush, and you may as well know it; but we could not go very far now without finding a track or some station."
"A police station?"
"No, no," said the doctor, smiling. "We have police here--mounted police--to look after the convicts and mind they don't escape; but we call farmhouses-squatters' places--stations here. Our home--Blue Mountain Bluff; as we named it--is called a station by my neighbours."
"Then you have neighbours, father?"
"Oh yes, a few miles away. Mr Dillon, the magistrate, Leather's late employer, is the nearest--ten miles distant."
"Then home must be a very lonely place."
"We have never found it so, Nic," said his father drily. "Busy people are never lonely. Now then, I think I've behaved very well to you and spared your feelings. I promise that I will not laugh at you."
"What about, father?"
"Your first essay at trotting. It is of no use to keep a horse and ride at a walk. You can progress as fast as that on your own legs."
Nic drew a deep breath, and wished that he was bestriding a donkey on the common near the Friary, with his schoolmates looking on instead of his father.
"I'm ready, father," he said.
"Wait a few minutes. I want to accustom you to holding your gun on horseback. You will always have either a gun or a stock-whip, but I don't want you to begin your career as a squatter--"
"I say, father, what a horrible name that is for a sheep farmer!"
"'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' Nic. 'Squatter' does very well; and I say I don't want you to begin your career by shooting your father or his horse. So you shall have a shot at something. You will not be afraid to fire your gun?"
"Oh, I say, father!" said Nic reproachfully, "don't--please don't think me such a miserable coward."
"I don't, my lad--nothing of the kind. I only treat you as a raw lad who has to be trained to our ways."
"But you expect me to shoot you as soon as I begin to trot."
"I don't mean you to, Nic. But such a thing is quite possible when you fall."
"Then you think I shall fall," said Nic ruefully.
"Certainly, if you lose your balance and do not hold tight."
"But you told me not to hold!" cried Nic.
"With your hands. They are to hold your reins and gun. A horseman holds on with his knees; and I suppose yours are a bit sore?"
Nic nodded.
"Then make up your mind not to fall; but we'll have that gun empty first. You shall have a shot at something."
Nic drew rein sharply, and his horse stopped and shook its head, and champed the bit impatiently.
"Don't check your horse like that, boy!"
"I only pulled the reins, father."
"Yes, as if his mouth were made of wood. You would soon spoil him, and make him hard-mouthed, if you jerked the bit about in that fashion. A horse like this is extremely sensitive. You only need just feel his mouth with the rein, and he will stop at the slightest additional pressure, just sufficiently to make him understand what you want. Well, why are you making a face like that?"
"I shall never learn all this," cried Nic; "I'm too stupid."
"And you have ground away at algebra and Euclid! What nonsense! Come, be more ready to take a right view of things. Horses are extremely intelligent animals, and love their masters if properly treated. They are wilful at times, and then have to be punished; but I never strike or spur my horse without good reason. Now look here, Nic: this is not to show off, but to let you see what can be done with the animal, which is one of man's most valuable friends out in these wilds. Now watch!"