Read Online The Quicksand Pony by Alison Lester - Free Book Online
Authors: Alison Lester
Tags: Juvenile Fiction
Ads: Link
behind the Red Bluff. The fish and oysters were easy to get there and the nights were warm enough to sleep without shelter. Every evening a straggle of pelicans flew in from the ocean. They looked like ships floating down through the coloured sky. It made Joe laugh to see them land, their webbed feet splayed out, splashing, then settling gently onto the water.
When the weather got colder, and the days shorter, Joe and Devil travelled through the paperbark forests looking for a new home. No one ever came into this part of the headland. The scrub was as thick and tangled as an old piece of fishing net. The tunnelled tracks that twisted through it were made by wombats and wallabies, and Joe had to bend double to pass along them. No bullock, horse or drover had ever been there.
He found a perfect spot, a gully deep in the marshes. Slightly higher than the surrounding wetland, like Joycieâs valley, it caught all the northern sun. It was encircled by a sea of swordgrass so ancient that it had matted together, then grown up through itself. Joe had to clamber over the bottom layer, almost as tall as himself, and push through the thick secondary growth that towered above him. He hated going through it. The leaves cut his clothes and hands, and he knew it was full of snakesâtiger snakes probablyâand they were the one thing on the headland that he was truly afraid of.
He built a wonderful thatched house there. Sheer granite boulders made two sides of it, and one of the rocks even had a trickle of water feeding into a natural basin at its base. Joycie would have thought that was pretty flash, having running water in the house. He jammed paperbark branches between the rocks, and wove swordgrass and smaller sticks through the branches. Then he dragged up mud from the swamp on a sheet of bark and pushed handfuls of it between the sticks and branches. When it dried, not a whisper of wind could get in. For the roof he laid more branches on top of the walls, then tied swordgrass and bark over the branches. The roof tilted slightly so the rain ran off and not many drops came through. He hung a bag in the doorway, weighing the bottom down with stones so that it wouldnât flap in the wind, and that was it. He had made his home.
There was just enough room inside for his bed, a table, and a small fireplace for the coming winter. He found a kerosene tin washed up on the beach and cut the front of it open to take small pieces of wood. It made the hut very warm, but the smoke nearly smothered him. The next time he walked to the store for supplies, he took an old bit of spouting from behind the rangerâs hut and made a crooked chimney to carry the smoke away.
His bed was made of thick paperbark poles sitting on rocks with branches and grass on top of the poles. The big patchwork rabbit-skin rug Joycie sewed when he was little went doubled on top, and it was heaven to climb into at night. It still smelt of Joycie. When the house was finished he spent days slashing and burning a path so he didnât have to climb through the swordgrass all the time.
Devil was always beside Joe. Some nights they heard dingoes howling in the distance, and Devil would pace about the camp, but he never responded. He had become an excellent hunter, so they had meat to roast nearly every day. He didnât stalk his prey, but he was always on the lookout, and when he spotted something he was after it like a flash. Joe loved the sudden burst of speed he could put on, and if the rabbit or wallaby got away, Devil bounced on all fours to try and spot it. He looked so funny, flying up into the air, looking around everywhere. He carried his catch back to camp in his powerful jaws, presenting it to Joe like a gift.
But with every day Joe grew more and more curious about the other world. He read and re-read his battered books and comics. Without Joycie telling him all the time about the wickedness of men, the fear began to fade and curiosity took over.
When the weather got colder, and the days shorter, Joe and Devil travelled through the paperbark forests looking for a new home. No one ever came into this part of the headland. The scrub was as thick and tangled as an old piece of fishing net. The tunnelled tracks that twisted through it were made by wombats and wallabies, and Joe had to bend double to pass along them. No bullock, horse or drover had ever been there.
He found a perfect spot, a gully deep in the marshes. Slightly higher than the surrounding wetland, like Joycieâs valley, it caught all the northern sun. It was encircled by a sea of swordgrass so ancient that it had matted together, then grown up through itself. Joe had to clamber over the bottom layer, almost as tall as himself, and push through the thick secondary growth that towered above him. He hated going through it. The leaves cut his clothes and hands, and he knew it was full of snakesâtiger snakes probablyâand they were the one thing on the headland that he was truly afraid of.
He built a wonderful thatched house there. Sheer granite boulders made two sides of it, and one of the rocks even had a trickle of water feeding into a natural basin at its base. Joycie would have thought that was pretty flash, having running water in the house. He jammed paperbark branches between the rocks, and wove swordgrass and smaller sticks through the branches. Then he dragged up mud from the swamp on a sheet of bark and pushed handfuls of it between the sticks and branches. When it dried, not a whisper of wind could get in. For the roof he laid more branches on top of the walls, then tied swordgrass and bark over the branches. The roof tilted slightly so the rain ran off and not many drops came through. He hung a bag in the doorway, weighing the bottom down with stones so that it wouldnât flap in the wind, and that was it. He had made his home.
There was just enough room inside for his bed, a table, and a small fireplace for the coming winter. He found a kerosene tin washed up on the beach and cut the front of it open to take small pieces of wood. It made the hut very warm, but the smoke nearly smothered him. The next time he walked to the store for supplies, he took an old bit of spouting from behind the rangerâs hut and made a crooked chimney to carry the smoke away.
His bed was made of thick paperbark poles sitting on rocks with branches and grass on top of the poles. The big patchwork rabbit-skin rug Joycie sewed when he was little went doubled on top, and it was heaven to climb into at night. It still smelt of Joycie. When the house was finished he spent days slashing and burning a path so he didnât have to climb through the swordgrass all the time.
Devil was always beside Joe. Some nights they heard dingoes howling in the distance, and Devil would pace about the camp, but he never responded. He had become an excellent hunter, so they had meat to roast nearly every day. He didnât stalk his prey, but he was always on the lookout, and when he spotted something he was after it like a flash. Joe loved the sudden burst of speed he could put on, and if the rabbit or wallaby got away, Devil bounced on all fours to try and spot it. He looked so funny, flying up into the air, looking around everywhere. He carried his catch back to camp in his powerful jaws, presenting it to Joe like a gift.
But with every day Joe grew more and more curious about the other world. He read and re-read his battered books and comics. Without Joycie telling him all the time about the wickedness of men, the fear began to fade and curiosity took over.
Similar Books
