steers across?” Jack asked.
“That cloudburst up towards Ngatea,” said Andy, “it’s put the Piako over her banks, and the flood’s bringing down rafts of raupo and flax, whole floating patches of swamp.
“A cream can bobs past, a couple of kerosene tins, and a strainer post with a few sprags of wire still stapled on; a cowshed with a miserable-looking cocky sitting on its roof and reading the
Weekly News
goes by on the flood, turning slowly and heading for the Hauraki Gulf; somebody’s clothes-line sweeps down with its tea-tree prop and all the sheets and pillowslips still pegged on, and comes aground just below our feet.
“There’s no show of swimming them steers across till the flood goes down, and by then we’ll have missed the sales up in Auckland.
“ ‘If you hadn’t made a pig of yourself on hot pumpkin and tobacco,’ I tells Old Drumble, ‘you could have stopped the river with another thundering bark,’ but he’s not listening to a word I says.
“Instead, he climbs sort of gingerly down the bank and unpegs the sheets and pillowslips off the clothes-line. ‘Give us a hand,’ he croaks.’”
Andy nodded at Jack and said, “He rubs his sore throat and mouths at me, ‘Tear them sheets and pillowslips intostrips,’ and he trots over to the steers and orders them to pay attention.
“His voice is that hoarse, he can’t speak much above a whisper, but the steers can’t look away. Well, you know what it’s like when he puts his eye on you, eh?”
Jack nodded. “What did he say to the steers?”
“I can’t hear what he’s saying for the noise of the river,” said Andy, “and those half-wild steers, they’re pawing the ground and muttering; but, one by one, they drop their eyes before Old Drumble’s terrible stare, turn their ears forward and listen.”
Chapter Twenty-One
How Old Drumble Got His Balance
Out in Mid-Stream, How Andy Crossed the
Flooded Piako River Himself, and Why Jack
Felt Left Behind and All On His Own.
“O LD DRUMBLE TELLS THE STEERS what they’ve got to do,” said Andy. “He shoves them into a long line, gives me the nod, and I go down it, blindfolding them with the torn-up strips of sheets and pillowslips. And, you know, they’re so scared of his eye, they just stand and let me do it!”
“Mum says steers can be pretty dangerous,” said Jack.
“They don’t dare try nothing on,” said Andy, “not with Old Drumble eyeing them.”
“But how’s he going to get them across the river blindfolded?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” said Andy.
“I’ll believe it!”
“I told you about the hawser they’ve taken across the river to winch the scow off the ferry?” Jack nodded.
“The first steer picks up the tip of Old Drumble’s tail between his teeth, the next one picks up that one’s tailbetween his teeth, and so on down the line. Old Drumble takes the long tea-tree prop off the clothes-line between his choppers, gets it balanced, and steps out on the hawser like Blondin walking the tightrope over Niagara Falls. And, one by one, them blindfolded steers feel for the hawser with their feet and follow him out into mid-air.”
“Heck!”
“I said you wouldn’t believe me,” Andy told Jack.
“I believe you!” In his mind, Jack was looking at the extraordinary sight of Old Drumble leading the blindfolded steers across the tightrope.
“Yeah, well I notice Old Drumble’s taking good care not to look down: it’s a fair sort of drop into the river and, if he goes, the steers go, too.
“It’s not so bad for a man, of course, he’s only got two feet to worry about, but a dog’s got four: he’s got to concentrate hard to keep them all on the tightrope.”
“I never thought of—” Jack started to say.
“Think about it,” Andy told him.
“Out in the middle, under the weight of them heavy steers, the hawser curves down towards the water. One end of Old Drumble’s clothes-prop gets hooked in the branches of a gorse bush
“That cloudburst up towards Ngatea,” said Andy, “it’s put the Piako over her banks, and the flood’s bringing down rafts of raupo and flax, whole floating patches of swamp.
“A cream can bobs past, a couple of kerosene tins, and a strainer post with a few sprags of wire still stapled on; a cowshed with a miserable-looking cocky sitting on its roof and reading the
Weekly News
goes by on the flood, turning slowly and heading for the Hauraki Gulf; somebody’s clothes-line sweeps down with its tea-tree prop and all the sheets and pillowslips still pegged on, and comes aground just below our feet.
“There’s no show of swimming them steers across till the flood goes down, and by then we’ll have missed the sales up in Auckland.
“ ‘If you hadn’t made a pig of yourself on hot pumpkin and tobacco,’ I tells Old Drumble, ‘you could have stopped the river with another thundering bark,’ but he’s not listening to a word I says.
“Instead, he climbs sort of gingerly down the bank and unpegs the sheets and pillowslips off the clothes-line. ‘Give us a hand,’ he croaks.’”
Andy nodded at Jack and said, “He rubs his sore throat and mouths at me, ‘Tear them sheets and pillowslips intostrips,’ and he trots over to the steers and orders them to pay attention.
“His voice is that hoarse, he can’t speak much above a whisper, but the steers can’t look away. Well, you know what it’s like when he puts his eye on you, eh?”
Jack nodded. “What did he say to the steers?”
“I can’t hear what he’s saying for the noise of the river,” said Andy, “and those half-wild steers, they’re pawing the ground and muttering; but, one by one, they drop their eyes before Old Drumble’s terrible stare, turn their ears forward and listen.”
Chapter Twenty-One
How Old Drumble Got His Balance
Out in Mid-Stream, How Andy Crossed the
Flooded Piako River Himself, and Why Jack
Felt Left Behind and All On His Own.
“O LD DRUMBLE TELLS THE STEERS what they’ve got to do,” said Andy. “He shoves them into a long line, gives me the nod, and I go down it, blindfolding them with the torn-up strips of sheets and pillowslips. And, you know, they’re so scared of his eye, they just stand and let me do it!”
“Mum says steers can be pretty dangerous,” said Jack.
“They don’t dare try nothing on,” said Andy, “not with Old Drumble eyeing them.”
“But how’s he going to get them across the river blindfolded?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” said Andy.
“I’ll believe it!”
“I told you about the hawser they’ve taken across the river to winch the scow off the ferry?” Jack nodded.
“The first steer picks up the tip of Old Drumble’s tail between his teeth, the next one picks up that one’s tailbetween his teeth, and so on down the line. Old Drumble takes the long tea-tree prop off the clothes-line between his choppers, gets it balanced, and steps out on the hawser like Blondin walking the tightrope over Niagara Falls. And, one by one, them blindfolded steers feel for the hawser with their feet and follow him out into mid-air.”
“Heck!”
“I said you wouldn’t believe me,” Andy told Jack.
“I believe you!” In his mind, Jack was looking at the extraordinary sight of Old Drumble leading the blindfolded steers across the tightrope.
“Yeah, well I notice Old Drumble’s taking good care not to look down: it’s a fair sort of drop into the river and, if he goes, the steers go, too.
“It’s not so bad for a man, of course, he’s only got two feet to worry about, but a dog’s got four: he’s got to concentrate hard to keep them all on the tightrope.”
“I never thought of—” Jack started to say.
“Think about it,” Andy told him.
“Out in the middle, under the weight of them heavy steers, the hawser curves down towards the water. One end of Old Drumble’s clothes-prop gets hooked in the branches of a gorse bush
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