Free The Tartan Touch by Isobel Chace

be stiff tonight,” he told me. “Oh, my word you are!”
    “I can bear it,” I said.
    “Pluck to the backbone?” he said in exactly the same tone of voice.
    “No, it isn’t that,” I confided, “but I don’t think I can get down.”
    His laugh ran out across the paddock, joined by Mary’s softer note.
    And Mary wants to turn you into a jockey!” he smiled.
    My hands trembled and I allowed them to drop on to the pommel on the front of my saddle. “If you don’t want me to—” I began.
    “But, Andy, it’s a bonza idea!” Mary interrupted me. “Birrahlee has never gone like that for me!”
    “Do women ride in such races?” I asked thoughtfully.
    “Everyone rides in them ! ” Andrew, answered.
    I hesitated . “I shouldn’t like to make a spectacle of myself,” I said slow ly.
    “But you wouldn’t!” Mary cut in crossly.
    I looked shyly at Andrew. “If you say I may—” I coaxed him.
    "We’ll see,” he said. “Birrahlee may not feel like submit ting another time. Kirsty is very light to hold him if he runs away with her.”
    “Oh, don’t be so mean, Andy!” Mary said flatly. “Can’t you see that she’s longing to ride him, but is afraid of offending you for some reason?”
    “Do you?” he asked me, his eyes enigmatic.
    I nodded briefly, excited by the thought.
    “Then I’ll enter you myself!” He touched me briefly on the shoulder. “It’s time we had a Fraser in the races,” he added kindly.
    Only it would be a MacTaggart, I thought to myself, and I would wear my own plaid whether he liked it or not.
    Mary clapped her hands together in sheer delight. “Ridden by Mrs. Andrew Fraser!” she exclaimed. “I can hardly wait !”
    I cast her an anxious look, “I can’t promise to win,” I pointed out nervously.
    “You won’t be able to help it,” she retorted. She grinned at the two of us. “It will be one up for the Frasers!” she added with deep satisfaction.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    They w ere bringing the sheep in for the shearing. From all over the Mirrabooka the great wool rivers were converging on the home paddocks where they would wait to be deprived of their valuable fleeces, each one of which was worth quite a few dollars in hard cash.
    This was the sight that Mary had wanted me to see. There was a slight smile on her face as she watched me see this grand spectacle for the first time in my life.
    “The Fraser fortunes were literally built on their backs,” she told me. “The mining, even today, is only a side line.”
    I was speechless. When the great flocks a malgamated on the slopes, flowing over the hard red earth into the valley below, where they would be penned up until they were wanted, it was just one great moving mass of sheep. I thought the noise would ring in my ears until I died. The exciting sound of thousands of sheep bleating in their different keys, some high, some low, a grand movement of sound to match the sheer size of the combined flocks.
    Mary grinned at me. “This is where the hard work begins! I hope Andy warned you that we’ll all be going flat out while the shearers are here? It’s a bit different from your flocks on the Highlands, isn’t it?”
    “In size,” I acknowledged carefully,
    “Bet you’ve never seen a mob of sheep to equal this ! ’ she insisted .
    “I don’t bet,” I said.
    “My word,” she said, “we’ll have to change that! Andy will never live it down!”
    “It has nothing to do with Andrew,” I answered firmly. “I prefer to do things for the joy they have in themselves. It is sinful to wager money on events!” There spoke the daughter of the manse, I thought wryly, and wished I had kept my prejudices to myself.
    “You’ll never convince an Australian of that!” Mary said flatly. “It’s half the fun of the races. The Cockies are so sentimental about their bets. They all of them back their own entries—they can afford to!—and they seldom even come in for a place. Do you honestly believe that Andy