out of sight of the man, glad that any mistakes she made would only be known to herself and the horse.
Fortunately Bunter was an amiable mount, and though she was completely inexperienced, not even a week-end pony club girl, Frances was no fool. She mounted on the right side, grateful to Bunter for being patient about it, then started off.
It didn’t take her long to get used to riding the horse. Except that she was on an urgent errand she could have found a pride in her new achievement.
She rounded the narrow channels between the rice until she came to the road that led up to the homestead. As it was a private road she was a little surprised to see a car on it. Close on her surprise came an immense relief. The car could get her quicker to the Mitchisons than Bunter could.
She urged Bunter forward, calling out to the car as she did so. Then a curious thing happened. The car suddenly sprang to life and left Frances and Bunter standing. Frances had a quick impression of a young woman, fair, she thought, but it was only an impression. Probably she didn’t hear me calling, didn’t see me, she regretted, urging Bunter on again, but it still seemed odd that the driver had started the engine just as she had emerged from the ricefield.
She was accustomed to Bunter’s gait now; probably she was riding the wrong way, but at least she was getting there. When she saw the homestead she even found the nerve to slap Bunter’s broad rump. He rewarded her by cantering and though the increased speed took her by surprise she managed to hang on. She also felt she dismounted not too badly, though it was really more of a slither down. Towing Bunter behind her, she shouted out to Ben Mitchison, and soon he had rounded up several of his men, put a mattress on top of his utility and started off to the paddy.
Frances realised she would be no help down there, so she tethered Bunter and made for the house to have tea ready by the time the men got back. But before she did so she went curiously across to where the private road opened out to the public thoroughfare. Everything had happened so quickly when she had emerged from the rice she felt almost as though she had dreamed that car.
No, she had not dreamed it. The gate had not been closed again. Whoever had passed through had been in a hurry, too much of a hurry to pause to do what every countryman instinctively does, and what Mr. Mitchison would certainly have done — close the gate again.
She had the kettle boiling by the time the utility returned. To her query about Burn’s jeep Burn said, ‘It doesn’t matter, one of the men will return it later on. We’ll take Jason straight into Mirramunna just as he’s lying now.’
‘Mirramunna?’ she queried.
‘For Muir’s attention. He’ll probably want to X-ray the leg, see if any harm has been done.’
They did not wait for the tea Frances had brewed, but set off at once. Frances sat at the back of the utility ready to steady Jason, though so carefully did Burn drive that she did not have to extend one protective finger. She did not call out to Burn about the car she had seen on Mitchison’s private road. Burn had other things, urgent things, on his mind, and ... shrugging ... the car had been of no importance.
Ben must have rung the hospital that they were coming, for Scott was out of his surgery almost as soon as they pulled up. The X-rays were taken at once.
‘Absolutely no harm done.’ Scott came out soon afterwards with a wide smile. ‘You were wise, though, to keep the boy spread-eagled in the manner he fell.’
‘No jar? Nothing to set him back?’
‘Nothing at all. In fact — ’
‘Yes, Doctor?’
‘I feel very optimistic that Jason will be walking sooner than we thought. That’s only my opinion, of course. Perhaps you could take him to Wagga Wagga.
‘To Sydney ,’ said Burn West. ‘How long more would you like Jason to wait?’
‘Ten days ... a fortnight...’
‘Good. You’ll come, too, when we go,
Fortunately Bunter was an amiable mount, and though she was completely inexperienced, not even a week-end pony club girl, Frances was no fool. She mounted on the right side, grateful to Bunter for being patient about it, then started off.
It didn’t take her long to get used to riding the horse. Except that she was on an urgent errand she could have found a pride in her new achievement.
She rounded the narrow channels between the rice until she came to the road that led up to the homestead. As it was a private road she was a little surprised to see a car on it. Close on her surprise came an immense relief. The car could get her quicker to the Mitchisons than Bunter could.
She urged Bunter forward, calling out to the car as she did so. Then a curious thing happened. The car suddenly sprang to life and left Frances and Bunter standing. Frances had a quick impression of a young woman, fair, she thought, but it was only an impression. Probably she didn’t hear me calling, didn’t see me, she regretted, urging Bunter on again, but it still seemed odd that the driver had started the engine just as she had emerged from the ricefield.
She was accustomed to Bunter’s gait now; probably she was riding the wrong way, but at least she was getting there. When she saw the homestead she even found the nerve to slap Bunter’s broad rump. He rewarded her by cantering and though the increased speed took her by surprise she managed to hang on. She also felt she dismounted not too badly, though it was really more of a slither down. Towing Bunter behind her, she shouted out to Ben Mitchison, and soon he had rounded up several of his men, put a mattress on top of his utility and started off to the paddy.
Frances realised she would be no help down there, so she tethered Bunter and made for the house to have tea ready by the time the men got back. But before she did so she went curiously across to where the private road opened out to the public thoroughfare. Everything had happened so quickly when she had emerged from the rice she felt almost as though she had dreamed that car.
No, she had not dreamed it. The gate had not been closed again. Whoever had passed through had been in a hurry, too much of a hurry to pause to do what every countryman instinctively does, and what Mr. Mitchison would certainly have done — close the gate again.
She had the kettle boiling by the time the utility returned. To her query about Burn’s jeep Burn said, ‘It doesn’t matter, one of the men will return it later on. We’ll take Jason straight into Mirramunna just as he’s lying now.’
‘Mirramunna?’ she queried.
‘For Muir’s attention. He’ll probably want to X-ray the leg, see if any harm has been done.’
They did not wait for the tea Frances had brewed, but set off at once. Frances sat at the back of the utility ready to steady Jason, though so carefully did Burn drive that she did not have to extend one protective finger. She did not call out to Burn about the car she had seen on Mitchison’s private road. Burn had other things, urgent things, on his mind, and ... shrugging ... the car had been of no importance.
Ben must have rung the hospital that they were coming, for Scott was out of his surgery almost as soon as they pulled up. The X-rays were taken at once.
‘Absolutely no harm done.’ Scott came out soon afterwards with a wide smile. ‘You were wise, though, to keep the boy spread-eagled in the manner he fell.’
‘No jar? Nothing to set him back?’
‘Nothing at all. In fact — ’
‘Yes, Doctor?’
‘I feel very optimistic that Jason will be walking sooner than we thought. That’s only my opinion, of course. Perhaps you could take him to Wagga Wagga.
‘To Sydney ,’ said Burn West. ‘How long more would you like Jason to wait?’
‘Ten days ... a fortnight...’
‘Good. You’ll come, too, when we go,
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