The Buckjumper of Arcos

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 922, 15 March 1930, Page 10

The Buckjumper of Arcos

A. Short Story

by

W. H. Ogilvie

UEORGE GREEN and Billy Alurdocli. two of the fastest and best shearers in Australia, were riding out tc the early Queensland sheds. They were close friends, these two, with a friendship cemented by long days in the saddle and busy* hours on the shearing-board. They never lacked work, for besides being leaders in their chosen profession they* were decent, well-behaved fellows —a reputation not always to be claimed by those who made up the vast nomadic horde which every* year pours into the bush to earn money at the. western sheds. George Green, who had for mainyears been head stockman on a wellknown cattle station, now owned a small farm of his own, and added to his income by* shearing for three or four months of tlie year. Murdoch

worked at fencing and tank-sinking as a rule, but joined his companion when shearing began, and being a noted “ringer” h.e was able to make his money at the work.

Each had a first-class hack to ride | and a useful packhorse to carry his ; blankets and such light luggage as was required for the western trip. The sun was going down over the \ Mulga Ridges when they rode up to | the homestead at Arcos Downs. Ail J large Australian stations have a hut ! set apart for travellers, and it was ! to this refuge that the two men made I their way, sure of the usual kindly [ welcome. Having obtained leave to I put their horses in the horse paddock, ! they unrolled their blankets, chose | their bunks in the otherwise unoccupied hut, and went over to interview the storekeeper and buy tobacco and replenish their tucker supply. “Either of you fellows fancy himself on a rough horse?’’ asked the storekeeper, as he weighed out a pound or two of flour. * Murdoch jerked his thumb over his shoulder at his tall companion, who was demurely contemplating a box of raisins. “There’s your man,’’ he “ride anything lapped in hide.” AA-hat s that? said George Green, coming over to the counter. “He wants to know if you can ride George,” said Billy. “Well, I guess you can’t do much, old mate, but you can do that.” This he said with a humorous and affectionate glance at his chum. “What’s the game?” asked Green. Are you looking for a mug to plant a aucker on?” “Well,” said the storekeeper, “we’ve got a horse here for sale, but he’s no mug horse, I assure you. If you can ride and want something that can gallop as well as buck, and is as handsome as paint, there’s a horse over there in the yard you can go and look George Green, as it happened, was one of the finest horsemen in this country of superb riders. Absolutely fearless, he had been accustomed all his life to handle and ride every sort of horse, and he was still in his prime supremely confident, courageous and undefeated. In the large stockyard were a dozen young horses which had escaped from their iiaddock, had been found that atternoon, and were being held in the yards for the night. They raced wildly round the confined space as the three men approached. olle? ” asked George Green. The little bay with the streak face and the white hind feet. There! That chap, said the storekeeper, as the horse in question, dashed past under the rail, snorting and squealing. Cant you fellows here ride him 9” asked Murdoch. “Well,” said the storekeeper grimly “did you notice that little graveyard at the foot of the horse paddock? Tire last poor fellow that tried to ride him is lying there. That bay devil threw him and then pounded the life out of him by kneeling- on him—damaged his spine, and he died next morning.” “Then I guess he’s better left alone, that horse -” said Murdoch; but Green, a man of few words, made no comment. “How much do they want for him?” he asked, after a long pause. “Oh, I think the boss would just about give him to anyone who would take him off the place. He hates the sight of him. Nobody here can ride him, and nobody wants to; but, mind you, lie’s a good horse. .Tim Timlin, who broke.liim last year, and the only man I ever saw who could sit two bucks on him, swears he’s the fastest galloper he ever put a leg over, and the most beautiful hack between the Gulf and the Border.” “When can I see the boss?” asked Green. “See him now. He’s sitting on the verandah over at the house.” Without a further word George Green went and interviewed tlic manager. “Yes. I’ll sell him, or swop him for a quiet horse. All the fellows here are frightened of him, and I don’t blame ’em. He killed one of my best men here a month ago.” George Green pointed down the paddock to where his old brown pack mare, having had a good roll in the soft sand, was now contentedly filling herself with the rich blue grass. “I’ll give you that brown mare for him.” The manager cast a quick comprehensive glance in the direction indicated. “Is she quiet?” he asked. “Quiet as an old ewe, and honest as the day.” “It’s a deal, then,” said the manager of Arcos -Downs, “you can take the hay horse away tomorrow morning; better pack him up for a day or two, for I assure you lie can buck like nothing on earth, and i£ you can’t ride, God help you! As long as you take him out of my sight I don't care. Is your life insured ?” “No,” said George Green, with a slow smile, “but I’ll chance that.” Receipts were exchanged, and George went to bed well satisfied with his bargain. He had got a strong, young horse for an honest but aged slave, which was getting rather slow for the long journeys. “Yo’u’ll have to wet 3 r our pants tomorrow morning,” said Murdoch, when he heard of the deal; thus conveying that a little moisture applied to George’s riding breeches would assist him in clinging to the saddle. “Mebbe,” said George Green complacently. '“Night-night, Billy!” and he turned over and went to sleep. At dawn the shearers were down at the yard. The bay horse looked j sulky after his long, hungry night. | With some difficulty they cut him off | from the others, and drove him into j a small catching yard. “You’d better pack him,” said Mur- | docli. j “No. I’ll ride him. Then we’ll i know the worst.” ! The station hands gathered round.

bridles on arm, to see the fun. They t hoped the bay horse would put up a i good performance and justify their respect for the buckjumper. 1 He did not fail them. George Green 1 was a magnificent rider, but the bay ? cole was worthy of his steel. For a , full 10 minutes lie bucked hard and , high, trying every possible wile to j 1 shift the long-legged Hawkesburyj ' native, but George had tackled horses j c as bad. if few worse, and in a quarter of an hour he was bucketing his mount 1 , round the sandhill with the spurs in his flank and the horse had no further j answer to his challenge. He had met j 1 his match and he knew it. With the pack on his grey racehorse, t and riding his new purchase, George 1 Green led the way westward. Mur- \ i uoch followed contentedly, his faith 1 in his chum fully vindicated. “A rough ’uu, George." he said, as i he kicked his hack alongside. “A bit lively,” said George Green. ' * and lapsed into silence. 1 The shearers were riding long j i stages, and a good 40 miles before night quietened the new colt, and he cantered sweetly along without pro- < test." The next morning he accepted , J the saddle without even a plunge, and j settled to another hard day’s work. j < George Green was delighted. The J horse was a- beautiful free-going hack. 1 and his superb appearance drew ex- j j pressions of admiration from every t passer-by. as he arched his neck to ! the snaffle and danced along as light ( on his feet as a cat. t “You’ve made a good deal this time, 1 mate?” said Murdoch, as he watched i the perfect picture of man and horse 1 —fine-lined beauty and consummate ] skill. s “Mebbe,” said George of the few « words. [ On the third evening after leaving Arcos Downs they reached their ob- - c jective—the shed at Burlingham. Here j a large company had already assent- t bled, for shearing was to begin the ! j following day.. Green and Murdoch, | \ who were well-known and popular, ( were received with acclamation, and , many were the praises lavished on ( the little bay horse-, as George, after s first carefully.examining his hack for j any sign of a saddle-gall, let him go , with the mob of shearers’ horses. Murdoch soon recited the tale of his purchase, or rather barter, and subsequent riding, and it lost nothing • in his telling. “Well,” said Arthur Lee, who knew 1 Green’s prowess, having once partnered him in a horse-breaking venture * in the Riverina, “he has dropped into , the right hands, anyway, and lie’s a right good-looking horse.” The shearers’ horses were put into J a large paddock about a mile from J the shed, and a favourite occupation ] for the men on Sunday was to walk ‘ over to the big lignum swamp where ] the mob fed to look at their favour- J ites and discuss their improved con- 3 dition, as each week they grew fresher on the rich swamp grasses. On the second Sunday Green and Murdoch ’ were over looking for their horses. 1 “There’s my mare,” said Murdoch, 3 as they came on a small mob resting ! under some wilga trees, “and there’s ' your grey horse. They’re all here. 1 There’s my big horse by the water. 1 and yonder’s your new horse just beyond him. By jove, they’ve done j well, George. That bay of yours is, fatter than ever, and my mare has 1 picked up a lot. There’ll be some ! bucking when we go to catch ’em in a fortnight’s time.” They tried to get near the horses, but with a wild snort the bay colt galloped off into the timber, followed by the others, with heads up and tails streaming behind them. “Let ’em be,” said Green, “they’ll be fit enough by the time we want them. In due course the shed was “cut out,” the shearers and shed hands received their cheques from the manager, and the horses were mustered to the yards. It is extraordinary how quickly the little community breaks up at the end of shearing. Quite early in the day most of the men were packed and mounted and already on the road, some headed for other sheds, a .few destined for the nearest shanty to knock down their hard-earned money in the poison bars. As they stepped out of the hut a short bow-legged man rode up on a leg-weary chestnut, dismounted, and accosted them. - “Cut out, are ye? I’m just in time then. Is there a chap called Green shearing here?” George stepped forward. “I’m your man,” he said. “You’re George Green? Bought a horse off Arcos Downs about a month ago?” “The very man,” said George with his slow smile; “what about, it?” “Well, look here, I rode all the wav from Sydney to the Downs to buy that horse. I’m Jim Tinlin. I broke him in. I told the boss I’d buy him as soon as 1 could raise the cash, and he was to keep him for me, and now you’ve stepped in and bought him over my head. What d’ye want for him?” He s not for sale,” said George Green. “He’s no use to you,” said Tinlin; “I don’t suppose you can ride him. He’s a bad horse that. There wasn’t a man on Arcos could sit him for two bucks. Have ye been up on him yet?” Green pointed to the bay standing alert at the railing. “There he is. I rode him here all right and I’m going to ride him away. We’re just leaving now.” “Mind he don’t put you down, young fellow,” said Tinlin. j “Mebbe he will,” said George, -with j a grin, as he cast his eye over the | handsome colt that pawed and fretted -in the sunlight; “but go in and get a! drink of tea —the cook’s still there.” | The three men entered the hut. : Then Tinlin said, “Wait a minute; I’ll go and let my horse loose for a bit of grass—back in a minute.” “Hard-looking chap,” said Murdock, “and not very pleased about you buying the colt. Give us another whack of that ‘brownie/ cookie, we’ve a long ride ahead of us.” They chatted for a moment or two. “Well.” said Green, “we can’t wait for the fellow; give him a drink of : tea when he comes in, cookie!” “So long to you!” “So long, boys!” They shook hands with the cheery grip of the overland, and out into the ; glaring sunlight. Both started in i astonishment at the line of tethered horses. The stranger’s chestnut was j there, but there was no sign of the i bay buckjumper. "Broken his bridle and gone in," j said Murdock, but George Green pointed to a far swirl of dust dis- , appearing up the main road, j “That devil’s taken him—quick, get ! your horse!” Like a flash of lighij ning George Green whipped the saddle off the horse-breaker’s chestnut, flung the pack saddle off his grey racer, put the other in its place, and j was into it and away almost before the astonished Murdock had grasped j

the situation and climbed on to his mare. As they raced up the road together lying low on their horses’ necks and urging them to speed. Bill Murdock shouted to his friend —“He’s a game beggar anyway; that colt would buck like blazes when he got across him, an’ he must have known he would. An’ faith, he can gallop too, that white-footed bay; I can’t see a sign of him now.” Green did not answer; he was whispering into the ear of the gallant grey and calling on him for his utmost effort. So they galloped for nearly three miles and still there was no sign of the fugitive. A cloud of dust on the road turned out to be a bullock-team snaking slowly through the box flat. Green drew* rein and hailed the driver. "Seen a horseman go by—travelling fast?'* “Never seen him,” said the teamster. spitting dust as he leaned on he handle of his low whip. * I’ve seen nebody since I passed the Ten-Mile Tank.” “Then lie’s gone off the road.” said Green to Murdoch, “and he may have gone right across country from here. No use following on and knocking our horses to pieces. Sure nobody passed you?” he asked the man again. “Not a sanguinary soul —I’d have seen him. wouldn’t I?” answered the teamster, rather nettled. “Well, we’ll go back.” said George Green. “We’ll hear of him from further up the road. Hello! That looks like him yonder on the plain!” Away on the open country that flanked the road on their right appeared a solitary horseman, a mere speck in the distance; beyond him showed the dark line of distant timber. The shearers shook up their horses and set off in pursuit, but soon the figure of tliQ horseman disappeared in the heat-haze that shimmered against the far-off trees. After a mile and ahalf of fast galloping they entered a clump of timber and saw that the man whom they were following had dismounted and was resting under a shady tree with his horse’s rein in his hand. He sprang up as he heard the approaching hoofs. The colt wheeled and snorted; though covered with foam it seen»?d still fresh in spits of its long and tiring gallop. The breaker passed the rein over its head, put his foot in the stirrup, and swung into -the saddle. Jamming home the spurs viciously he tried to force the horse into a gallop, blit the buckjunipev had had enough of it. Gathering himself together he snatched down his head and gave a series of savage bucks forward, sideways, and backward; going harder and harder as the spurs raked him he plunged through the pine saplings in a wide circle. Jim Tinlin was a master horseman and nothing but the very worst could throw him, but for once he had met his match; gradually his grip loosened, he lurched forward in the saddle and then a terrific buck flung him heavily against the trunk of a large -tree. He lay still, while the colt flung away through the timber, bucking higher than ever as the swinging stirrups lashed his sides. Green was off his horse in a moment and bent over the huddled form of the breaker. “And that’s his last ride,” he said, solemnly, as he turned away from the prostrate form. —From “The Australasian.*’