Just at the same moment Bungarolo, who had been busy weeding, raised his keen eyes, noted the direction Nic had taken, gave his trousers a hitch, grinned, dropped upon his chest, and began to creep rapidly like a slug toward the gate in the fence, through which he pa.s.sed, and continued his way to where the other two blacks were busy cleaning out the cow-shed.

What followed did not take long. There was a whispered jabbering, a happy grin upon each face, and then, as if by one consent, the three blacks stripped off their shirts, unb.u.t.toned and kicked off their trousers, and stood up in their native costume of a waistcloth.

The clothes were bundled together into a corner, three spears and as many nulla-nullas and boomerangs drawn from where they were tucked in the rafters, and the trio astonished a cow tied up in a corner with her tender calf by going through a kind of war dance, and all in silence.

Then the cow felt better in all probability, for there was no sign of the calf being stunned with a club to be cooked for a holiday, the performers of the dance stepping lightly to the door, out of which Bungarolo peered cautiously before dropping down upon his breast and crawling rapidly off to the garden fence, without disturbing the two collies, though Nibbler, who lay as if asleep, opened one eye, lifted his tail, and brought it down with a rap and closed the eye again.

He opened it, though, twice more as the other two blacks pa.s.sed him in the same way, gave two more sharp raps with his tail, and then sniffed at the last black as if wondering how he would taste. But as he had had a pretty good piece of a drowned sheep, he subsided and closed the eye, not even turning his head to gaze after the three blacks as they glided on right under the fence on the side farthest from the house, and close by where old Sam was contentedly digging, in perfect unconsciousness that the three great children were off to the bush for a jovial day, hunting for fat grubs, honey, snakes, and other picnic delicacies in the glorious open wilds.

Half an hour had pa.s.sed, during which Brookes went to the door of the wood-shed three times to scowl at Leather; but the convict was hard at work at the end of the wood-yard, chopping away at rails which he was splitting, tapering at the ends and piling on a heap, ready for some fencing that was to be done as soon as there was a little time.

Brookes felt ill-used. He would have liked to find the a.s.signed servant yawning and doing nothing, or taking advantage of the master's absence to have a nap, and give him cause, as he was in his own estimation head man now, to let loose his tongue at the man he hated intensely.

But there was no excuse, and Brookes went back into the shed.

"I shall catch him yet," he muttered. "Only let him give me a chance."

But Brookes could not rest. He pitched the soft bundled-up fleeces about irritably, for they annoyed him. He wanted something hard, and growing more restless from a desire to show his authority, he went to where the two blacks should have been cleaning out the cow-shed.

Brookes had come out of the blinding sunshine, and the shed was dark and cool. He did not see the blacks, but he was not surprised, for their faces would naturally a.s.similate with the gloom.

"Here, you two," he growled, "nearly done?" an unnecessary question, for he knew that their task to be done thoroughly would take them some hours at their rate of working.

"Do you hear, you charcoal-faced beggars?" he shouted; but of course all was still, and satisfying himself, by picking up a manure fork, that they were not asleep in a heap of straw by jobbing the handle in savagely, after making an offer with the tines, he uttered a low growl, and, fork in hand, went out to look sharply round about the yards; but not a soul was in sight.

"Ah!" muttered Brookes, "that's it, is it? Cuss 'em, I might have known." Then, urged by a sudden thought, he went back into the long cow-shed, and looked round till he caught sight of the old trousers and shirts lying in a heap.

"Hah!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, shaking the fork handle, "just wait till they come back. I'll make them see stars."

Then, striding out, he made for the garden, where, with his sleeves rolled up and the neck and breast of his shirt open, old Samson was digging away, turning over the moist earth, and stooping every now and then to pick out some weed that was sure not to rot.

"Hi, Sam!" cried Brookes.

"Hullo!" said the little old fellow, going on with his digging, whistling softly the while.

"Where's Bungarolo?"

"Down yonder weeding."

"Nay," he cried.

"Yes, he is. I saw him ten minutes ago."

"He's started off with the other two."

"Nay!"

"He has, I tell you!" cried Brookes. "They've left their rags in the cow-shed, and all gone."

Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.

"Just like 'em," he said; "just like 'em."

"I don't see anything to grin at," growled Brookes.

"Nay, you wouldn't, my lad; but I do. 'When the cat's away the mice will play.' I wonder they've stopped steady at work so long."

"What?"

"They're on'y big savage children, lad," said the old man, "and you can't alter 'em. ''Tis their natur' to.'"

"Natur' or no natur', they shan't play those games while I'm master here."

"Eh? Didn't know you was, Brooky."

"Then you know it now. P'r'aps you're going to give yourself a holiday."

"Having one," said the old man, breaking a refractory clod.

"And going to take yourself off to the bush to have a corroborree with the blackfellows."

"And if I was I shouldn't ask your leave, Snaggy," said the old man, showing more of his teeth. "There, let 'em go. They'll come back and work all the better after."

"Heugh!" cried Brookes, giving vent to a final grunt; and he turned away and stalked out of the garden, striking the fork-handle down at every step.

"Lookye here," said old Samson, taking up a spadeful of earth, and addressing it as if part of the dust of the earth of which he was made, and therefore worthy of his confidence: "sooner than I'd have old Brooky's nasty temper I'd be a kangaroo or a cat. I'm sorry they sloped off, though. Hang the black rascals! Master Nic'll be so wild, an'

nat'rally, when he comes back."

Brookes turned and glared once at old Samson, who occupied the position about the place that he felt ought to be his; and, going straight back past the various sheds, he looked round toward the wood-yard, and then his eyes glistened with satisfaction. Short as the time had been, Leather had left his work.

He paused for a moment or two, to make sure that there was no regular _chop-chop_ at the end of the rails, and with a grin of satisfaction he walked quickly to the spot where he had seen the convict at work.

He looked about the stacks of wood, stepping softly and peering round into shady corners, expecting and hoping to see his fellow-servant asleep; but he was disappointed, and five minutes elapsed before the convict came back, axe in hand.

"Seen either of the blacks about, Mr Brookes?" he said.

"Why?" snarled Brookes.

The convict looked surprised, but he said gently: "I want one of them to come and turn the grindstone handle. This axe is getting very dull."

"You lie, you lazy hound!" roared Brookes. "I've had my eye upon you.

Your master's out, and so you think you're going to skulk, do you? If there's any more of it, over you go to Dillon's for a taste of the cat."

The blood flushed through the convict's bronzed skin and his eyes glistened, but only for a moment, and he said quite gently, for he saw Nic in his mind's eye: "It was the simple truth. I was wasting time."

"Yes, I know you were wasting time!" roared Brookes. "You're always wasting time, and I won't have it. Your master's out, and I won't have it. Get on. I'll have that pile o' rails done before you leave off to-night; so no more shirking, do you hear?"

A feeling of fierce resentment made the convict's nerves quiver; but he thought of Nic, and, controlling his anger, he took a step or two to the block on which he cut the rails, picked up one, and gave it a couple of chops.