"Now then, Norah,"--Jim flung a laughing look over his shoulder--"no cribbing there!"

"I'm not!" came an indignant voice.

"All right--don't! Ready every one? Then--go!" As the word "Go" left Jim's lips the four ponies sprang forward sharply, and a moment later were in full gallop over the soft springy turf. It was an ideal place for a race--clear ground, covered with short soft gra.s.s, well eaten off by the sheep--no trees to bar the way, and over all a sky of the brightest blue, flecked by tiny, fleecy cloudlets.

They tore over the paddock, shouting at the ponies laughing, hurling defiance at each other. At first Harry kept his lead; but weight will tell, and presently Wally was almost level with him, with Jim not far behind. Bobs had not gone too well at first--he was too excited to get thoroughly into his stride, and had spent his time in dancing when he should have been making up his handicap.

When, however, he did condescend to gallop, the distance that separated him from the other ponies was rapidly overhauled. Norah, leaning forward in her stirrups, her face alight with eagerness, urged him on with voice and hand--she rarely, if ever touched him with a whip at any time.

Quickly she gained on the others; now Harry was caught and pa.s.sed, even as Jim caught Wally and deprived him of the lead he had gaily held for some time. Wally shouted laughing abuse at him, flogging his pony on the while.

Now Norah was neck and neck with Wally, and slowly she drew past him and set sail after Jim. That she could beat him she knew very well, but the question was, was there time to catch him? The big tree which formed the winning post was very near now. "Scoot, Bobsie, dear!" whispered Norah unconscious of the fact that she was saying anything unmaidenly. At any rate, Bobs understood, for he went forward with a bound. They were nearly level with Jim now--Wally, desperately flogging, close in the rear.

At that moment Jim's pony put his foot into a hole, and went down like a shot rabbit, bowling over and over, Jim flung like a stone out of a catapult, landed some distance ahead of the pony. He, too, rolled for a moment, and then lay still.

It seemed to Norah that she pulled Bobs up almost in his stride.

Certainly she was off before he had fairly slackened to a walk, throwing herself wildly from the saddle. She tore up to Jim--Jim, who lay horribly still.

"Jim--dear Jim!" she cried. She took his head on her knee. "Jim--oh, Jim, do speak to me!"

There was no sound. The boy lay motionless, his tanned face strangely white. Harry, coming up, jumped off, and ran to his side.

"Is he hurt much?"

"I don't know--no, don't you say he's hurt much--he couldn't be, in such a second! Jim--dear--speak, old chap!" A big sob rose in her throat, and choked her at the heavy silence. Harry took Jim's wrist in his hand, and felt with fumbling fingers for the pulse. Wally, having pulled his pony up with difficulty, came tearing back to the little group.

"Is he killed?" he whispered, awestruck.

A little shiver ran through Jim's body. Slowly he opened his eyes, and stretched himself.

"What's up?" he said weakly. "Oh, I know.... Mick?"

"He's all right, darling," Norah said, with a quivering voice. "Are you hurt much?"

"Bit of a b.u.mp on my head," Jim said, struggling to a sitting position.

He rubbed his forehead. "What's up, Norah?" For the brown head had gone down on his knee and the shoulders were shaking.

Jim patted her head very gently.

"You dear old duffer," he said tenderly.

CHAPTER V. ANGLERS' BEND

Jim's "b.u.mp on the head" luckily proved not very serious. A handkerchief, soaked in the creek by Wally, who rode there and back at a wild gallop, proved an effective bandage applied energetically by Harry, who had studied "first-aid" in an ambulance cla.s.s. Ten minutes of this treatment, however, proved as much as Jim's patience would stand, and at the end of that time he firmly removed the handkerchief, and professed himself cured.

"Nothing to make a fuss about, anyhow," he declared, in answer to sympathetic inquiries. "Head's a bit 'off,' but nothing to grumble at.

It'll be all right, if we ride along steadily for a while. I don't think I'll do any more racing just now though, thank you!"

"Who won that race?" queried Harry, laughing. The spirits of the little party, from being suddenly at zero, had gone up with a bound.

"Blessed if I know," said Jim. "I only know I was leading until Mick ended matters for me."

"I led after that, anyhow," said Wally. "Couldn't pull my beauty up, he was so excited by Mick's somersault."

"I'd have won, in the long run!" Norah said. There were still traces of tears in her eyes, but her face was merry enough. She was riding very close to Jim.

"Yes, I think you would," Jim answered; "you and Bobs were coming up like a hurricane last time I looked round. Never mind, we'll call it anybody's race and have it over again sometime."

They rode along for a few miles, keeping close to the river, which wound in and out, fringed with a thick belt of scrub, amongst which rose tall red-gum trees. Flights of c.o.c.katoos screamed over their heads, and magpies gurgled in the thick shades by the water. Occasionally came the clear whistle of a lyre bird or the peal of a laughing jacka.s.s. Jim knew all the bird-notes, as well as the signs of bush game, and pointed them out as they rode. Once a big wallaby showed for an instant, and there was a general outcry and a plunge in pursuit, but the wallaby was too quick for them, and found a safe hiding-place in the thickest of the scrub, where the ponies could not follow.

"We cross the creek up here," Jim said, "and make 'cross country a bit.

It saves several miles."

"How do you cross? Bridge?" queried Wally.

"Bridge!--don't grow such things in this part of the world," laughed Jim. "No, there's a place where it's easy enough to ford, a little way up. There are plenty of places fordable, if you only know them, on this creek; but a number of them are dangerous, because of deep holes and boggy places. Father lost a good horse in one of those bogs, and to look at the place you'd only have thought it a nice level bit of gra.s.sy ground."

"My word!" Wally whistled. "What a bit of hard luck!"

"Yes, it was, rather," Jim said. "It made us careful about crossing, I can tell you. Even the men look out since Harry Wilson got bogged another time, trying to get over after a bullock. Of course he wouldn't wait to go round, and he had an awful job to get his horse out of the mud--it's something like a quicksand. After that father had two or three good crossings made very plain and clear, and whenever a new man is put on they're explained to him. See, there's one now."

They came suddenly on a gap in the scrub, leading directly to the creek, which was, indeed, more of a river than a creek, and in winter ran in a broad, rapid stream. Even in summer it ran always, though the full current dwindled to a trickling, sluggish streamlet, with here and there a deep, quiet pool, where the fish lay hidden through the long hot days.

All the brushwood and trees had been cleared away, leaving a broad pathway to the creek. At the edge of the gap a big board, nailed to a tall tree, bore the word FORD in large letters. Farther on, between the trees, a glimpse of shining water caught the eye.

"That's the way father's had all the fords marked," Norah said. "He says it's no good running risks for the sake of a little trouble."

"Dad's always preaching that," Jim observed. "He says people are too fond of putting up with makeshifts, that cost ever so much more time and trouble than it does to do a thing thoroughly at the start. So he always makes us do a thing just as well as we know how, and there's no end of rows if he finds any one 'half doing' a job. 'Begin well and finish better,' he says. My word, it gives you a lesson to see how he fixes a thing himself."

"Dear old Dad," said Norah softly, half to herself.

"I think your father's just splendid," Harry said enthusiastically. "He does give you a good time, too."

"Yes, I know he does," Jim said. "I reckon he's the best man that ever lived! All the same, he doesn't mean to give me a good time always. When I leave school I've got to work and make my own living, with just a start from him. He says he's not going to bring any boy up to be a loafer." Jim's eyes grew soft. "I mean to show him I can work, too," he said.

They were at the water's edge, and the ponies gratefully put their heads down for a drink of the cool stream that clattered and danced over its stony bed. After they had finished, Jim led the way through the water, which was only deep enough to wash the ponies' knees. When they had climbed the opposite bank, a wide, gra.s.sy plain stretched before them.

"We cut across here," Norah explained, "and pick up the creek over there--that saves a good deal."

"Does Billy know this cut?" Harry queried.

"What doesn't Billy know?" Norah laughed. "Come along."

They cantered slowly over the gra.s.s, remembering that Jim was scarcely fit yet for violent exercise, though he stoutly averred that his accident had left no traces whatever. The sun was getting high and it was hot, away from the cool shade near the creek. Twice a hare bounded off in the gra.s.s, and once Harry jumped off hurriedly and killed a big brown snake that was lazily sunning itself upon a broad log.