Читать книгу Collected Short Stories Volume 4 - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 3

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"They are such a slow, ordinary lot about here," said Brenda Newn, looking up from her novelette, whence she got her inspiration and her ideals. "There is not a man I know who is not commonplace."

"You shouldn't judge men by appearances, nor take your models from stuff like that," Toby Carson protested, with a disdainful glance at the volume she held in her hand.

Toby, the son of a neighboring squatter, was young and good-looking, but awfully simple, as Brenda put it. He was very much in love with Brenda, the stationmaster's daughter, but that young lady treated him with good-humored contempt, as a man of no consequence. He was not smart at anything; he aspired to nothing beyond horses and cattle, and he hadn't the grit and energy to become a king even in that line. He had no ambitious spirit that would carry him out of the ruck of the commonplace. She would court the friendship of a crack jockey, or a brilliant cricketer; people applauded them; their names appeared frequently in the papers, and were known all over the country. But Toby was hopeless, and she had long given up the idea of making anything of him.

"My models," she returned, "are fine gentlemen. They are gallant, clever courageous; men who would 'do or die' for a woman's sake. Heroes—oh, how I would like a hero!" She gazed out upon the silent bushland, and sighed. It was all so monotonous.

"Hero worship is folly," returned Toby. "A fool can be a hero when the opportunity comes to him—that is, the mushroom kind. That sort of fame can be purchased for a song."

"You should buy some of it, Toby," suggested Brenda, with a scornful little laugh.

"It isn't impossible," answered Toby; and he, too, smiled scornfully at the thought of Brenda's fictitious heroes being pitted against him in pioneering work in the wild bush. Brenda was only 20, and these foolish fancies would in time leave her; but Toby feared if he delayed too long that her dream-love might one day appear in the flesh, and, though he might be in reality a worthless scamp, she would be ready to fall at his feet, and idolise him. That would never do. Toby would show that he was at least smart enough to get over the barrier that her ridiculous whims had raised between them.

Brenda toyed with the novelette, whilst her eyes wandered towards Crow Mountain. That blue height, rising majestically towards the fleeting clouds, was the only notable spot in the neighborhood she had not yet explored. To see the rising sun from its top was exquisite, she had heard, and she longed to see it for herself. There was nothing else worth seeing at Dulla Siding. And the camping out would be a delightful experience. She had already made arrangements for the trip, and Toby—tame insignificant Toby—was to be their guide and protector.

"We'll see how you shape on Saturday, Toby," she laughed. "We've decided to spend Saturday night on the mountain, and return on Sunday morning. Of course, you will be ready?"

"Of course!" Toby assented. "Who are the others?"

"Mrs. Hickett and her little brother, Tommy Kane. You'll bring a packhorse to carry our luggage and tents—"

"But that won't be camping out," protested Toby, to whom the mere thought of women's luggage was a horror.

"Oh, yes, it will," said Brenda. "We must have tents and rugs, and billycans, and pint-pots, and the rest. One horse will carry them easy enough. It's only 10 miles, and we'll have plenty of time."

"You won't be afraid of the banshee—the wild man that's up there?"

"Oh, that's nonsense! I don't believe a word of it. Every mountain in the country, according to local traditions, has its hairy man, or some such weird creature. It's only, a bushman's yarn to scare people—but it won't scare me. I hope you're not afraid, Toby?"

Brenda hadn't a very exalted opinion of Toby's courage. This he knew, and it piqued him; for no one, as a matter of fact, had ever known him to show the white feather.

"I've camped there before," he said, in rebuttal. "But, let me assure you that it isn't all skite about Crow Mountain. Old Marcus Croutt, the boundary-rider, who camps just, across the range, has seen the wild man, and he vouches for some strange doings there."

"Could he rope him in for our inspection, do you think? I should like to see him," laughed Brenda. "The old German has never come to any harm, at all events. And he lives there."

"Have you ever seen him?' asked Toby, quickly.

"Old Marcus? No. Could we pay him a visit?"

"N—no! I—he will be away, I think," said Toby, awkwardly.

"You have some objection to him. What is it?" asked Brenda.

"Oh, I don't know anything against the man," said Toby, hurriedly. "He's a bit eccentric at times, that's all. He wouldn't appreciate a surprise party, I'm sure."

"How far is his hut from Crow Mountain?"

"About a mile from the foot. But it's a stiff climb down to the flat."

Toby rode to the mountain next day, ostensibly to look for water and a camping-place. At all events, he was able to take them direct to a cosy spot by a small spring on Saturday afternoon. When the bells and hobbles were put on the horses, Brenda helped enthusiastically to unpack on the grass, and to pitch the tents. The hum of crickets and locusts, and the notes of a thousand bell-birds, rang in their ears as they worked.

At sunset a fire blazed before the tents, and when the billy boiled they sat down on the grass to tea. The mopokes called to them from the scrubs, and curlews screamed along the mountain spurs, while the jingling of hobble chains and the tinkling of horse-bells made music by the spring. It was all a novel, delicious experience to Brenda Newn. Her cheeks glowed in the firelight, and her eyes flashed luminously to the afterglow of a golden sunset. To Toby she had never looked so bewitching.

For awhile after they had packed away the provisions they chased 'possums about among the trees; then Toby surprised the company with a song. He was out to-night to win the heart of Brenda Newn, and he was a good enough bushman to know that a well-sung homely song there would make a lasting impression. He was, really a splendid singer, and standing under the light of a million stars he sent his voice in a flood of melody along the mountain. Brenda had never heard him sing, nor had she the least suspicion that he was gifted that way, and she stared at him with surprise and admiration. He was not so insignificant as she had thought; he was a fine, manly fellow—but still he was not heroic.

He had sat down, and was proceeding to fill his pipe, when there was a sudden stampede among the horses. They galloped with a furious jangling of bells to the top of the spring, where they stood snorting. Then footsteps were heard approaching over the dead twigs and withered leaves, and presently a grotesque looking man stepped out of the gloom, and stood blinking in the firelight.

He was built like an ourang-outang—squat and stooping—and he was clothed in a garb of 'possum skins, with a towering headgear of the same material. He held a revolver in each hand—old, rusty weapons, bound up with wire and greenhide.

"Oh, Lucy, it's the hairy man!" gasped Tommy, clutching his sister's arm and crouching behind her. The others did not speak.

"You make merry, my friendts," said the intruder. "I am glad you was happy. Can you spare me von hundred poundts?"

"What for?" asked Toby; while Brenda could only stare in speechless astonishment.

"I would be happy, too." said the stranger; "but I am so poor alretty. You are rich man—so happy!"

"I haven't a hundred pence!" protested Toby.

"Ah! vos that so? Then I must take der pretty lady away for der ransom. You lofe her, maybe; some peoples lofe her, I hafe no doubt. She is so pretty. They find the money quick, you bet my hat. They pudt it on der stump here, an' go away an' ask no question. Den I send her back."

He moved towards Brenda Newn, but Toby stepped between. "You put a hand on her, and you'll rue it," he said; and he struck a determined attitude that so accorded with Brenda's ideal champion that she forgot her own fears, and became a breathlessly interested spectator.

"You sit down, my little fellow, or you might, get hurt," said the man quietly, presenting the ancient firearms. Toby looked painfully embarrassed and indignant. He wasn't a little man, and to be treated with such contempt made him wild. But he was unarmed, and to place the other on an equal footing he must use strategy.

"It is you who will be hurt if you attempt to use those shooters," he replied, looking beyond the man. "My mate has you covered, my big fellow!"

The "big fellow" turned quickly to look behind him, and in an instant Toby sprang forward and clutched his arms. Brenda jumped up excitedly, and followed a few steps as the two men disappeared into the darkness, struggling and fighting for supremacy. A few yards from the fire was a deep chasm, and into this they deemed to have plunged. Brenda stood for awhile peering into the darkness, and listening with bated breath. She could still hear the clatter of stones, the rustle of bushes; and the breaking of branches; then there was a loud report, and with a shriek she ran back to her companions, who were now crouching in the tent.

"Oh, Lucy, Lucy, he's shot!" she cried! "Poor Toby's killed!"

"God help us!" said Mrs. Hickett, hoarsely. "What are we to do? He will come back and take us!"

Tears stood in Brenda's eyes, her face white as ashes. "It was my fault—it was all my fault!" she moaned. . . . "And he was so brave—so courageous!"

"Let's run away an' hide!" suggested Tommy through chattering teeth.

"Yes, Brenda! There's a scrub here where he won't find us," his sister added. "Let's go?"

They crawled under the back of the tent and stole quietly into the scrub. Through the bushes they could see the fire, and crouching together they watched for the return of the enemy. Five—10—20 minutes passed—minutes—minutes that seemed like hours. Then sounds reached them as of someone climbing over loose stones, and presently they heard the crushing of dry leaves and twigs on the level. Breathlessly they waited, holding the boughs apart with their hands; and when he appeared in the firelight they darted from their cover and ran delightedly to meet him. It was Toby—Toby tattered and torn, blood-stained, dust-covered, and exhausted. Brenda grasped his hands impulsively, her eyes aswim with tears and her lips trembling.

"Oh, Toby, you're a hero—a real hero!" she affirmed chokingly, and as Mrs. Hickett came up she sank on the grass and cried. Toby smiled faintly.

"You're not shot are you?" asked Mrs. Hickett anxiously.

"No," said Toby, taking off his hat and examining a bullet-hole through the brim. Brenda shuddered.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"He got away," said Toby; "but you needn't be afraid he'll come back. He had a couple of heavy falls, and was pretty badly hurt."

Of course, Toby had to tell them all about it, but he was tactful enough to be modest in the telling. His condition was eloquent testimony of the part he had played. And Brenda knew that it was for her!

There was little sleep for any of them that night, and in the morning they were more interested in looking for the horses than in watching the sun rise. Brenda was unusually animated on the way home, riding beside Toby all the way, but Toby appeared indifferent. He once asked her to say nothing about what had happened but that didn't suit Brenda's book at all. He had proved himself a worthy knight, and the world should know it.

Inside a week the story of his encounter had spread through the district, people called to congratulate him, and to hear the particulars, the police interviewed him and searched the mountain, and, finally, a full account appeared in the local paper. Brenda was delighted; but Toby was quite distressed at all this notice.

One day Marcus Croutt, the boundary-rider, called on him.

"I hear you was to be married, Toby. Was that so?" he asked.

"That's so," assented Toby.

"Ah!" said Marcus, rubbing his hands. "You marry th' pretty Miss Brenda, hein? I thought she would lofe you somehow. She admire a hero. Und you go away, Toby?"

"I'm going to Maoriland for three months," Toby answered grumpily.

"Ah! You go on der honeymoon, ain't it? Yes? Well, I am in some little difficulty, Toby," he added. "Can you settle that little account of mine?"

"You haven't said anything, have you?"

"Nodt me."

While Toby stood meditating and twisting his moustache, Marcus drew a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "I hafe set him down here," he explained.

Toby's cheeks turned pink as he read the items:—

"To bein' a hairy man, £1 0s 0d.

"Injuries received fallin' down a mountain, £1 0s 0d.

"To shock to my Sister, £1 0s 0d.

"And a 'possum suit which I destroy so nobody find out mit him, £l 0s 0d.

"To totals, £5; 0s 0d."

"You shouldn't have put this stuff on paper," Toby, complained. "You might have dropped it."

"I look oudt for that," said Marcus.

"If I recollect," continued Toby dubiously, "the amount agreed upon was £2. You've more than doubled it."

"You might also recollect, Toby" said Marcus, "that I didn't agree to be chucked myselluf off der mountain, und I didn't further agree some more to sustin der system shock. What you expect? Hav'n you win der girl? Coot gracious! She wort' payin' £5 for, ain't it? She is so beautiful. Und th' honor of bein' a hero! All for fife quid. Und you grumble! Goot gracious!"

Marcus looked as though his system had received another shock. Toby tore the bill into fragments, and paid the fiver.

He saw nothing more of Marcus for several weeks. Then the boundary-rider paid him a second visit—and it was Toby's wedding day.

"What is it now?' he asked, with ill-concealed annoyance.

"I am so sorry to trouble you, Toby—specially yoost now," said Marcus. "But I am in such a difficulty." He came nearer, and whispered. "Can you len' me fife pounds?"

It occurred to Toby at once that the old man intended to make capital out of their secret. Still he couldn't afford to haggle with him there. He was anxious that Brenda should not see him, so he paid the money to be rid of him, but he knew that the little difficulty would be recurrent. That thought became a burden, and he who should have been the happiest was the least happy of the wedding party. Everybody seemed to think it complimentary to make some allusion to the hairy man, and Toby hated the very mention of that person, and hoped he would never be hero any more. He saw plainly that he must confess all to Brenda to save his pocket, or submit to being continually bled by the boundary-rider to save his prestige. And he chose the former course.

It was in Maoriland, as they sat watching a geyser playing in the sunlight, that he told her the truth. Brenda heard him in silence, and when he saw the expression of her face for a moment he repented.

"Oh, Toby, how could you!" she exclaimed, regarding him fixedly with extended eyes.

"You told me to," Toby pleaded shamefacedly.

"If s the meanest thing I ever heard of," she went on, resentfully.

"I wanted to show you the folly of hero worship," he contended. "And, also, that such honor could be purchased—which you said it couldn't."

"But it was so deceitful, so—Really, Toby, I'd never have thought it of you."

"All's fair in love and war," Toby protested feebly.

There was a long silence, Brenda staring at the spouting water with unseeing eyes, with chin resting on her clenched hand. Toby felt miserable. He stole his arm round her waist—expecting her to throw it off. But she took no notice.

"Brenda," he said softly, "will you forgive me?"

"It's no use crying over spilt milk," she answered philosophically, and with a harsh little laugh. Then she turned to him with a commingling of amusement and pique in her expression. "And you're not too slow after all," she added.

As Toby expected, old Marcus called again soon after they had returned home. Another little difficulty had beset him. As it happened Toby was away, and Brenda had the interview.

"I believe you are the famous hairy man, Mr. Croutt?" she said.

Mr. Croutt started back in surprise. "So he hafe told you?" he exclaimed.

"Yes, he hafe told me," said Brenda quietly. "And let me tell you, Mr. Croutt, that it will go hard with you if it leaks out what you did that night. Do you know that your little joke is one of the worst offences in the criminal code? Robbery under arms—attempted abduction!"

Marcus turned pale. "My dear madame, I hafe no wish efer to mention it!" he said hastily. "Und I promise, you faithfully there will nefer be no more hairy mans. Nodt if I know it!"

That was the last they saw of old Marcus, and no one but the two principals and Brenda ever knew the truth about the mysterious inhabitant of Crow Mountain.