Читать книгу The Squatter's Ward - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 9

Table of Contents

A fire can be seen a long way off in the night-time, when there is no counter-light from the sun; but it is deceiving, almost incalculable, in respect to its distance. It was at first impossible from the position whence they viewed this fire to tell on which side of Pine Mountain it was raging. It may have been in contiguity with the home-paddocks of Tipparoo, or it may have been miles beyond, in some thickly grassed valley to the north of Wyrallah. It is difficult to tell the location; it looks alarmingly near when in reality it may be so far removed as to leave no grounds for fear.

"It's hard to say where that is," said Merton. "It looks a good way off."

"If I'm not mistaken, it's about where Goolgolgon is," said Wren."

"Do you think so?" Merton asked, with the quickness of alarm.

"I do. When you look at it awhile yer can see it spreadin' this side o' the mountain. See! the smoke hides it."

"I don't know who could've started a fire there. Jed Roff is away."

"P'raps it's come from Badginbilly . . . . seems too much to th' left though."

"I must send someone over," said Merton. "You'll stop for tea, Susman?"

"Thanks, no; I must get home. I'll come round later if there's any danger." He scanned the sky with a sweeping glance.

"There's every danger if that's on this side of the mountain," Merton rejoined. "I fear it is, too."

"If so, you might send the blackboy over, and I'll come out with my men." So saying, Magnus Susman mounted his fractious chestnut after hopping round on one leg for some minutes—and trotted away into the darkness, while Richard Merton hurried up to the hut to despatch four of the stockmen to Goolgolgon. They had already supped, and, horses being handy, were soon in the saddle. They brushed over the ground at a swinging pace, discoursing in stentorian tones, and laughing with the levity of schoolboys; now breaking off into a wild descant, now venting a reverberating yell as an epilogue, and dashing off on a sudden into full gallop through the thick wood. They were but examples of their fellows, in no whit exaggerating the buoyancy and frolicsomeness of the stock-rider's disposition. They are a jovial band, men who never look at the seamy side of life, who never seek to meet trouble half-way. The thrilling nature of their avocation, replete with adventure and scenes of excitement, may, in some measure, be answerable for this flamboyant spirit; the danger ever-present, the never knowing at what moment they may be thrown into eternity, does not incline them to take life too seriously. It imbues them with a love for daring, and all that partakes of excitement, and together they make life merry for themselves.

Like the Wild Horseman of Tartary, they fly past the trees for awhile, then rein in and laugh loudly at their own wild pranks. A tardy 'possum, scrambling in terror up a tree, receives an unexpected whack from a stirrup iron or the handle of a stock-whip; the curlew's threnody is changed to a semi-human shriek as it flies off, and the prowling dingo accelerates its sober trot to get out of the way, looking askant over its shoulder and sniffing the scented air.

On the crest of the last hill every rein was drawn taut as with one hand, and all looked down the escarpment, uttering various ejaculations, followed directly by a loud shout and wild gallop.

Goolgolgon was a black patch, encompassed by a great circle of leaping flames; a thousand lights from burning logs and stumps lit up the black space till it looked like a large city nestling in a low valley; a steady, continual roar, like the booming of Wentworth Falls in flood, rose from the speeding billows of flame; cracks like rifle-shots came from bursting wood, emitting myriads of fiery sparks that shot skyward with the brilliance of a contiguous constellation; whilst clouds of smoke rolled over the tall gums with the veering of the night wind. The old hut that had so long been a landmark there was a smouldering heap of ruins, and the yards and fences were reduced to cinders and ashes. Nor were the ravages of the fire-king restricted to the neighborhood of Goolgolgon, for the long grass that clothed the hills and flats on the way to Badginbilly was being rapidly consumed.

"We'd better go down to old Gegg an' see how things are goin' there," said Ralf. "Looks deuced smoky down that way."

"We can't do any good 'ere—the damage is all done; an' there's no hope o' checkin' it at the top. It's a blue duck with Tipparoo."

"I think the boss ought to know about it, though," said Bill Mayne. "He said something about Susman comin' out with his lot—such as they are—if there was any need, an' there's need enough by th' look o' things."

"You'd better gallop in an' tell him, Bill," said Ralf. "Might bring Big Harry and Long Jim an' them other two jokers back with yer. Be as slippery as yer can . . . . We'll be down at Gegg's."

"There's work enough here for a 'undred," he added, when Bill Mayne had gone. "Look how it's goin'! Half Tipparoo an' a lot o' Wangooma run'll be swept afore mornin'. The grass is long from not bein' burnt at the beginnin' o' spring, an' it's as dry as tinder. There's a nice treat for us to-morrow, mates, an' p'raps for days after, bashin' at that under a broilin' sun. But let's get along."

"No sliprails to put down now," one of his companions remarked, laughing lightly enough, as the trio rode over the demolished boundary fence, and cantered across the ridge towards Badginbilly hut.

Jabez Gegg, armed with a huge bush, was hard at work, bashing at the flames. Ralf and his mates, tying their horses up on the burnt ground, armed themselves with bushes and hurried to his assistance.

"What the deuce set this going, Jabez?" cried Ralf, as he ran up.

"I'm darned if I know," said Jabez, stepping back for a moment, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a smearing sweep of his forefinger. "It was inter my paddick afore I knowed anything about it, an' I 'ad all me work cut out ter save the old shanty, jigger me if I 'adn't. It was close up a go with it. The bloomin' fire come down off them hills with such a rush there was no stoppin' it. Come from that way, see! . . . . No un else could a-started it but Jed Roff."

"Jed Roff's at Coraki. Left early this mornin'."

"He must 'ave left a fire burnin' somewheres. How's the hut?"

"Ashes!" said Ralf, swinging his bush.

"That's it!" Gegg rejoined. "He's went away without dousin' his fire, an' it's caught the hut, an' then the grass. That's how it was. I'll go bail he done it a-purpose, too. You see! He won't come back ag'in."

"Why should he burn it or clear out?" asked Ralf.

"Oh, he's got his reasons. You don't know him." said Gegg. "You'll see! He's cleared out."

And he thought it impossible that Jed Roff could return, that he could ever again be seen alive; for he firmly believed it was Jed Roff who lay at the bottom of the pool, where Mumby the tracker was weighted down so securely that his fate and his grave might never be known—unless the threatened drought should dry up the pool and reveal the skeleton-in-chains embedded in mud. Conjectures had been rife as to his fate. But thoughts of Mumby were far from the minds of Ralf and his mates just now.

They went to work with a will while the exultant demon leaped and roared in its fearful gambolling, and gathered strength and speed, as it raced away on all sides. How insignificant their opposition seemed, how futile their efforts, how wasted their time and energies, fighting in one little corner of that broad circle that turned day into night and illumined the bush in all the colors of the rainbow. They were reinforced by all the available hands on Tipparoo—even the stalwart Sam, for the first time during his sojourn there, mounted a horse and did his best to keep pace with the more experienced riders; by such of the settlers and their boys who dwelt near; and Magnus Susman, too, went out, followed by all his men, who were two blacks and one old fossil, who, like Hannah Grubbins, had cut his teeth and shed them on Wangooma; and also the aborigines on Back Coorawynbah, who, fearful for their own safety, went out in a body to meet this periodical foe, and managed to stem it along by the waters of the Bargo.

As for the others, though they fought it all night, they had succeeded only in saving Badginbilly when the sun rose over Pine Mountain. All Sunday the battle was continued; but so unequal was the conflict that, when night again settled on them, the flames still raged with unabated fury. Indeed, for many days and nights after it burned; its leaping columns rolled away to the hills of Gundurimbar, and round the swamps and flats of Wyrallah; and towards the north it sped like howling demons to feed with insatiable lust on the foxtail plains of Tomki. In parts alone was it got under, whilst elsewhere it ran on till it burnt itself out in lagoons and creeks. Great was the damage wrought, and vast the expanse of pasturage destroyed. Half of Tipparoo was laid bare and black—the half that was best watered, and upon which Richard Merton was relying for winter feed.

Fires lingered long in the dry timber, and here and there huge forked tongues of flame shot up from the lofty top of a hollow tree, looking beautiful in the night, but terribly suggestive. The charred carcases of ill-fated beasts—of many a wild animal that had been hemmed in a corner, or had sought refuge in hollow logs; of snakes and goannas, shrivelled and twisted; of turtles caught travelling from dried-up holes—were everywhere to be met with; whilst cattle mixed and wandered about, cows bellowing for their calves, and calves for their mothers; and among it all went cinder blackened men, chopping lighted sap-wood and splinters from the fences yet standing, and rolling burning logs out of danger.

These are some of the features of a bush fire, scenes that live in memory and make the element a thing to be dreaded. And all this happened in Christmas week, in that season of festivity and gladness when the actions of all are regulated by the same impulse all the world over, when the very birds seem to echo the old refrain, "Peace on earth and good will to men."

There was little peace for the men of Tipparoo and Wangooma, or for the settlers around by the out-stations of Minara and Tillawong, for these worn-out men spent the days in the midst of fires, parched with thirst, and writhing from the intense heat; and yet they could canter home in the night with merry laughter ringing across the gum-ridges. New Year brought a well-earned rest—a holiday in town; then the fires were all burnt again across the bars, raging now in Gippsland, and now along the Mumumbidgee; and snakes and goannas scurried in legions till the stock-riders and bullockies began to comb them from their hair.

The fire had been disastrous to Richard Merton, and the ominous face of ruin began to hover about his threshold. Year after year he had been going steadily downhill, and the last shock was a crusher.

"It never rains but it pours!" he said; and he wondered what would happen next. A horse man rode up to the stockyards, singing:—

"Tell me, Molly Riley, does your heart beat true?"

and Merton laughed as he turned away.