Читать книгу Collected Short Stories Volume 5 - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 5

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It was a rough little hut that first sheltered the pioneers of Borabeen. There were only three rooms, built of slabs and roofed with bark, and a lean-to at the back for cooking in. Mrs. Drayden had often voiced her objections to the latter, for it necessitated her going out at all times when the men were away, and the thought of the blacks, who were bad at that time, was ever uppermost in her mind. She could not forget how they had come to Borabeen; she and her sister, Nellie Harrod, perched under the awning on top of the bullock waggon, and menaced day and night by wandering aborigines, and how the site had been marked by a battle on the first morning.

There was a grave at the edge of the scrub, half a mile from the sapling yard, whence the broad, grey plains spread away to the western horizon. She had objected to this scrub, too, as it afforded cover to the enemy; but Phil Drayden had pointed out that the homestead must be built there for the sake of the water.

The greatest trouble was experienced when the sheep were brought on to the run. The blacks looked on the jumbucks as legitimate game, and many skirmishes took place between them and the whites. The sheep were kept on the open country, where they could be seen at a great distance from the hut. When any blacks were seen approaching, Nell would gallop out, taking care not to get too close, and crack her stockwhip for a while. This ruse answered the purpose, but the blacks at length discovered that there was no harm in it, except when it fell on their shoulders; and they came to greet her efforts in the end with derisive yells.

Then one day she took the gun and, approaching nearer than usual, fired a charge of coarse salt at their legs. That changed their opinion of the white lubra, and they ran for their lives, some of the wounded ones with yells of agony, others leaping and slapping frantically at their stinging legs; and now that they were turned in flight, Nell galloped close at their heels, and gave them the contents of half a dozen salt-loaded cartridges.

For months after that they kept away from Borabeen. Them one afternoon they appeared at the hut.

The men were fencing at the back of the run, and the women were, seated quietly at a table sewing. The doors were closed, which was always the case when the women were alone. The rattle of a chain at the lean-to attracted Mrs. Drayden and, stealing to a crack in the back wall, she peeped out and was horrified to see a score of naked savages around the fire. She had a pudding cooking in a round pot for the men when they came home in the evening, and two of the unwelcome visitors were in the act of lifting it out with their spears. She tiptoed quickly back to her sister.

"Nellie, Nellie," she whispered, "the blacks are here! They're at the pudding. Oh, what are we to do?"

The colour left Nell's face at the shock, and she took a hasty survey of the scene. The blacks were in their war panoply, and the absence of women was an ominous sign. The men had taken the firearms with them, for men in those days fenced with a loaded gun ready at hand, or a pouched revolver slung at the bolt.

Nell, without a word, stole back to the front and looked out. The bay pony was standing behind some bushes, a few yards away, and in a moment she had made up her mind.

"Phyllis," she whispered, "you peg the doors and windows and keep quiet." She took the bridle down from a peg behind the door.

"But what are you going to do?" asked Phyllis anxiously.

"Gallop out for Phil and Bob," Nell replied. "I can get Nutley without being seen and the blacks are all interested in sampling the duff."

"Oh, let me go, too," cried Phyllis. "I daren't stop here."

"We can't both go," said Nell. "One would only hinder the other. Keep very quiet, and you'll be safe."

"I suppose I must," said Phyllis, resignedly. "But be quick back, won't you? And for goodness sake be careful!"

She watched through the chinks in the wall while Nell crept to the bushes, and slipped the bridle on Nutley. Springing on to his back, she galloped away along the edge of the scrub. The first clatter of hoofs aroused the preoccupied blacks and, after a hurried consultation, they fled precipitately into the thicket. Phyllis breathed freely again, and now watched, minute after minute, for Nell to appear on the plain.

Below the rise on which the hut stood was a long waterhole, and to round this Nell had to pass through a projecting point of the scrub. She was half through, riding hurriedly, when, a broken limb caught her hard against the shoulder, and knocked her out of the saddle. She was not hurt and was soon running after the pony, which had turned and crossed the main creek. For half an hour she chased it about; but, though Nutley was easily caught at any time in the little house paddock, his behaviour was quite different in the open country. Fearing to lose any more time, she gave it up, and continued her way on foot.

In her hurry, and the confusion consequent upon running about after Nutley, she had lost her bearings and, without taking much notice, she now crossed a branch creek in mistake for the main channel, and struck across the wide plain that spread before her. The line of timber on her right, which really marked the main creek, she mistook for that which fringed the water hole, and the dry course that led into it. Thus, by a slight error, her footsteps were directed at right angles to the course she should have taken.

It was five miles across that plain, and when she had reached the far side she know she was bushed. This was not Borabeen boundary, for a chain of waterholes ran east and west. She gazed around her in dismay, with a growing fear in her heart, as she thought of her sister waiting alone in the hut. She quenched her thirst on her hands and knees; then hastened along the watercourse, seeing that it led towards the other line of timber, now a low bank in the distance.

Her eyes filled with tears as the sun went down, and the howl of the dingo came faintly through the trees. What was she to do? She could not find her way back in the dark, and she dared not leave the water. Neither could she light a fire to guide those who would come in search of her; she had nothing to light it with.

As she stumbled on, tired and breathless, the night shut down on the silent plains, and now horror came with it. She was being followed by dingoes, and the frequent howls of others in the distance indicated to the frightened girl that they were gathering around her. She picked up a stick to defend herself and, ever searching for a tree she could climb, or for other means of escape, she hurried desperately on through the night.

* * *

That afternoon had been a torture to Mrs. Drayden. The disappearance of Nell in the scrub, and her non-return, told plainly that something serious had happened, When she saw the men returning at sunset she ran down to meet them.

"Nellie...Nellie!" she cried faintly. "Oh, Phil, where is Nellie?"

"How do I know?" asked Phil, roughly. Nevertheless he stopped short, and stared at her. "What's happened?"

"The blacks were here," said Phyllis, "and she galloped away on Nutley to bring you home."

"We haven't seen her," Phil returned, looking blankly at his mate, Bob Wylie.

"I didn't see her leave the scrub," Phyllis continued, tremulously. "Oh, Phil, she's dead—she's killed!" She broke into sobs, and wrung her hands.

"She can't be far," he told her, though his own heart felt as though it had been plunged into an ice chest. "Go back to the house, Phyllis."

He handed her the billycan and, with the gun on his shoulder, made a beeline for the scrub. Here, standing against the fence, he found Nutley. Springing upon his back, he followed the horse's tracks till dark, then cantered across the eastern sandhills in search of the blacks' camp.

Meanwhile, Bob had cut off some broad and meat, and with this in a saddle-pouch slung over his shoulder, started on the girl's tracks, with a good dog scouting before him.

Bob had not been very long on Borabeen, but quite long enough to discover that Nellie Harrod was the dearest little woman on earth. His had been a rough and adventurous life, exploring for land-seeking squatters and overlanding; so a night out on the downs was nothing to him. He would do a hundred times more than that for Nell's sake. They had been firm friends from the first; beyond that Bob had not ventured, but this incident told him very much he was in love with her.

For a while the dog led him straight on, but after crossing the creek his course became so erratic that Bob had to search himself for the tracks with lighted matches to ascertain if the animal were not leading him false. When he saw the girl's and the horse's tracks he understood; but still he was filled with misgivings. She would not be all this time following the horse. Then what had become of her? Had the blacks come upon her and speared her?

Only when the dog crossed the branch creek, and headed straight across the plain did the expectancy of coming upon her dead body leave him. He knew then that she was bushed; but how would she come out of it? He thought of the many thirst-perished travellers he had heard of and found; of bushed women who had wandered in circles and died. And ever, as he followed in the wake of the faithful animal, four lines kept running through his mind:

Dead on the sandhill

The sundowner lies,

The crow on the quondong

Has pecked out his eyes.

Would he find Nell Harrod so? A hundred ways he anticipated the finding of her as he stumbled along in the dark; but all his dreamings never pictured what really happened.

He was glad when the dog led him to the water, and he could have shouted with joy when, striking matches along the edge, he saw the impression of her hand still fresh in the mud. Now satisfied that she was safe, he sat down and ate some of the bread and meat he had brought, keeping the bigger share for the girl. He bathed his feet in the water to ease them, for Bob had done a hard day's work before starting on this long night tramp. Then he pushed on again, the dog following the chain of ponds. In an hour they came to a standstill between two trees. The dog sniffed around them, then stood still, looking up.

High up across the branches of these trees was a bulky stage, built of logs and sticks. Bob recognised it at once as the repository for the bodies of dead aborigines, a custom peculiar to that part of the country. A faint stench reached him, and it was probably this that attracted the dog. He struck his last match—and it went out. The last match nearly always does go out, somehow. Then he tried to induce the animal to go on; but it would only dodge aside and look up. When he led the way it followed him slowly and dejectedly. He was puzzled; the dog had never betrayed his confidence, and it was not the first aboriginal burial place the twain had investigated. He persisted for half an hour, but the dog would not go on.

"There's no help for it but to camp till mornin'," muttered Bob, impatiently and, with much disappointment, he went to a bushy tree some 50 yards distant, and lay down on the grass. A smoke would have done him good just then; but he had no matches. So he lay with his boots and hat for a pillow, gazing at the stars, and thinking of Nellie Harrod.

* * *

Phil Drayden had returned to the hut long before this time, having found no trace of the blacks.

"We can do nothing more till morning, Phyllis—or till Bob comes back," he said, as he sat wearily down to supper.

Poor Phyllis was heartbroken. "You shouldn't have taken the gun away from the hut to-day," she reproached.

"I'll never do so again," he promised her.

* * *

Bob was wakened at sunrise by the persistent growling of his brute companion. He sat up, and almost immediately his eyes fell on a number of wild blacks, standing a hundred yards off. Yabbering, and pointing excitedly in his direction. He thought that he was the object of interest, and a sold chill wont through him as it struck him that here was the solution of the dog's strange behaviour last night, and of Nell's disappearance.

"You black fiends," he hissed, as he leaped to his feet, with his hand gripping his revolver.

Then he chanced to look towards the stage and there, sitting a few feet from the withered remains of a native monarch, was Nellie Harrod, her hair dropping about her shoulders, staring with terrified eyes at the equally terrified blacks. They swayed a moment, then, turning as one, fled precipitately into the bush, apparently convinced that their dead compatriot had "jumped up white-follow."

Bob was so pleased that he shouted lustily:

"Hulloa, there!"

Nell turned quickly.

"Oh, Bob, is it you?" she cried joyfully.

She slipped down and, limping towards him, threw herself into his arms. The relief from her pent-up feelings was so great that she let him cover her face with passionate kisses. But presently she drew back, with bowed head, and little crimson patches dyed her cheeks.

Bob hold her hands.

"You needn't be ashamed, Nell," he said. "I've wanted to kiss you ever so long, an' I'm goin' to kiss you always. Last night put the finisher on me. I couldn't go on lookin' at you any longer; I had to kiss you or bust. An' you'll be my very own, won't you, dearie?"

"Let me tell you when I get home, Bob," she answered, faintly.

"All right pet. I'm a brute to 've forgotten. You must be famished. An' what's the matter with your foot?"

"I hurt it climbing on to that horrid place there. I was so frightened of the dingoes that, in my hurry, I slipped and hurt my ankle. However, am I to get home?"

"I'll carry you, my girl. You mustn't walk one blessed inch. Let me lift you along to the water first of all—just to get into the way of it. I've got some tucker in the pouch for you, an' with that and a drink of water, you'll be as fit as a fiddler to ride home."

He carried her tenderly in his arms to the water's edge, and there she eagerly ate what rough provisions he had brought. His own breakfast was only a drink of water and a chew of tobacco; but he led her to believe he had already eaten.

"Wonder you didn't hear me moochin' around under your roost last night?" he remarked.

"I suppose I was dead asleep," she answered. "I was so awfully tired when I got up there."

"Good thing you struck that fakus, anyhow," said Bob. "My oath, you gave those niggers a Yankee start this morning!"

"I was really thinking of my prayers when they turned," Nellie confessed, with a coy little smile.

"They won't come any more," Bob asserted. "An' now we'll get you home, girlie, or Phil an' the missus will be going dotty."

He helped her up, then stooped for her to get on his back.

"Don't be the least afraid," he assured her; "you'll find me a thoroughly reliable mount—never bucked in my life."

That was a terrible journey for poor Bob; seven miles of gritty plain, under a blazing sun, that drenched him with perspiration; but he never murmured. At the bottom of the house paddock Phyllis and Drayden met them, frantic with delight; and Bob was relieved of his burden. But when Drayden put her down in the hut, she turned to him again.

"Bob," she said, with a little quiver in her voice, "I'll give you your answer now."

Then she put her arms round his neck, and kissed him.