Revoke, the station champion, came in first in his race, and was
promptly disqualified for short weight, but Mary didn't care.
"What is the use of worrying over it?" she said. "It doesn't really
matter."
"I have been done," said the bushman. "Red Mick lent me the lead-cloth,
and helped me saddle up, and I believe he took some lead out while
we were saddling. It never dropped out. That I'm sure of."
"Oh, never mind, Mr. Gordon! Forget it! There's your brother, Hugh,
thinks we ought not to have come, and now you are turning sulky.
Why do all you Australian people amuse yourselves so sadly?"
"I don't know what you mean by sadly," said Charlie, huffed. "I
think you ladies had better go home soon. Things are likely to be
a bit lively later on. They have got a door off its hinges and laid
on the ground, and a fiddler playing jigs, and the men and women
are dancing each other down; it won't be long till there'll be a
fight, and somebody will get stretched out."
Sure enough, they could see an excited crowd of people gathered
round a fiddler, who was playing away for dear life, and the yells
and whoops told them that partisanship was running high. All
the young "bloods" of the ranges were there in their very best
finery--cabbage-tree hat (well-tilted back, and secured by a string
under the nose), gaudy cotton shirt, and tweed trousers of loud
pattern, secured round the waist by flaring red or green sashes. In
this garb such as fancied themselves as dancers were taking their
turns on the door. They began by ambling with a sort of strutting
walk once or twice round the circumscribed platform; then, with
head well back and eyes closed, dashed into the steps of the dance,
each introducing varied steps and innovations of his own, which,
if intricate and neatly executed, were greeted with great applause.
So it happened that after Jerry the Swell, the recognised champion
of the Doyles, had gone off with an extremely self-satisfied air,
some adherents of young Red Mick, the opposition champion, took
occasion to criticise Jerry's performance. "Darnce!" they said.
"Jerry the Swell, darnce! Why, we've got an old poley cow would
darnce him blind! Haven't we, Mick?"
"Yairs," said young Mick, with withering emphasis. "Darnce! He can't
darnce. I'll run, darnce, jump, or fight any man in the district
for two quid."
Before the challenge could be accepted there was an unexpected
interruption. Hugh had put the big trotting mare in the light trap
for Miss Harriott and Mary to drive home. "Gentle Annie" was used
to racing, and Hugh warned the girls to be careful in starting
her, as she would probably be excited by the crowd, and then turned
back to pack up the racing gear and start the four-in-hand with
the children. As they were putting the racing saddle, bridles,
and other gear into the vehicle, Charlie, who had been fuming ever
since his defeat, caught sight of the missing lead-bag. He picked
it up without a word, and with a fierce gleam in his eye, started
over to the group of dancers, followed hurriedly by Carew. Just
as young Mick was repeating his challenge to run, jump, dance, or
fight anybody in the district, Gordon threw the lead-bag, weighing
about six pounds, full in Red Mick's face.