Читать книгу The Squatter King - A Romance of Bush Life - Edward S Sorenson - Страница 11

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Kanillabar was mustering again in December, this time on the western boundary of the run, where the scarcity of water occasioned heavy work through the dry season. The boundary was merely a line of rugged ranges, where wild scrub cattle mingled at times with the squattage stock. Beyond was the unknown territory where Claude Warri was lost. How far away and in what direction the old squatter had disappeared, Sid could only guess. He had long looked forward to that trip, and he was lucky in that the musterers went farther out than was their custom, for their object was to capture some of the wild herds. These kept to the ranges and scrubs, coming out only at night, for the white men harassed them on one side, and the blacks inhabiting the other side speared them whenever a chance offered.

There were neither huts nor yards in this part. The men made their night camps where feed and water were availlable, disdaining tents except on stormy nights. Calves were caught and branded in the open; the drafted cattle were watched at night, and fed along through the day to the next camping place.

Lying under a tree, looking up at the star's, Sid thought of the lost explorer when the camp was hushed; and daylong he searched for traces through gorge and gully, in scrub and clearing. Ultimately he made a discovery that gave him hope.

A mob of scrubbers was being brought down from a small plateau, and he was riding along on the right wing, when he came upon a deep rockhole, near which a broad clearing and some decaying sticks suggested an aboriginal camping ground. On a gidgee tree, standing against the face of beetling rocks, were the letters "C. W." The cuts were very old, perhaps years old; but at sight of them he checked his horse, for they were his father's initials.

Many thoughts flashed through his mind in a few seconds. If Claude Warri had come thus far, to the border of his own run, what had prevented him reaching home? Perhaps it was summer time, when there was usually a wide stretch of dry country to cross, and he had perished for want of water; perhaps he had cut the letters there before he had started on his disastrous exploring expedition; perhaps some musterer, whose initials were the same, had carved them there—

A shout from the overseer broke suddenly on his reflections. The cattle had split into two mobs, and they were rushing down two parallel spurs towards a dense scrub. Sid set off in pursuit, leaping and sliding down rocky steeps, and galloping where the broken course permitted. As he reached the edge of the scrub he saw two of the blacks dash into it on the other spur.

The crashing of dead timber and the reefing of boughs guided him in the wake of the herd; but in a few minutes similar sounds reached him from the rear. Slewing in his seat, his left hand holding the horse's mane, he stood and listened. Then a yell rang sharply out of the gorge between the two spurs, and the nature of the disturbance was explained. The blackmen had turned the other mob, which was now rushing down on his tracks. In a moment the undergrowth just behind him became violently agitated, and through the interstices he caught stray glimpses of white and the gleam of horns.

He began a desperate ride through the brush; thinking if he could keep in front of the runaways he would be able to turn them in the clear. But an impish fate had arranged matters quite differently. In an innocent-looking cluster of soft foliage was hidden a small but tough vine, which, as he slid swiftly down a steep incline, caught him sharply round the neck. In a twinkling he was toppled out of the saddle and dropped with a crash among the bushes.

He was quickly on his feet; but his horse was gone, and the cattle were close upon him. A friendly tree was the only means of escape; but even as he clutched a low limb to swing himself up, a wild red bull leaped down the slope, and with a savage snort swept him from his hold. Luckily he rolled under a sheltering rock at the bottom, where he lay, bleeding from an ugly horn-wound in the thigh, until the mob had passed.

Binding his neckerchief tightly round the wound, he limped slowly down through the scrub, listening from time to time for the crack of a whip, or a shout that would indicate the whereabouts of his mates. The latter had ridden down the hollows where the way was clearer; and when the sounds of the stampede had died away, silence reigned around him, only broken now and again by the flutter of pinions, or the flight of a wallaby.

His wounded leg was a handicap, the pain of which increased as he plodded on, compelling frequent rests. The long day was drawing to a close. He thought the end of the thicket could not be far off, and with the deepening of the shades about him he became anxious to reach it before day was gone. But night fell, and in the inky darkness he halted, clutching a tree for support.

For minutes he stood there, as though waiting for a ray of light to break through the obscurity; and again he hearkened for a sound that might lead him out. Only the hum of mosquitoes and the rustling of some creeping thing on the leaf-strewn ground could be heard. It was no use blundering on through the dark; equally useless was it to coo-ee, since his mates would then be in camp. He sank down on a bed of dried leaves and pillowing his head on his arm, soon fell asleep.

With the morning light he continued his way down hill. He had now to improvise a crutch, for his wounded leg was stiff and sore. His progress was slow, and the impediment necessitated deviations that made the way longer. However, in a couple of hours he emerged from the scrub. A clear flat stretched out before him, widening out in the distance, at the narrow end of which was a small waterhole.

Parched with thirst and ravenous with hunger, he drank greedily of the muddy water, and ate avidly of some wild fruits he had gathered. Then he sat on the bank, looking at the imprint of his horse's hoofs in the soft mud.

Presently he heard a low yelp behind him, and was surprised to see a tall blackfellow a few paces off, regarding him critically with keen dark eyes. A pack of miserable looking dogs followed at his heels with the noiselessness of cats.

"Good day!" he said, grinning pleasantly. "You Sid?"

"Yes."

"Me Derry." The grin widened. "You know me?"

"Yes," Sid answered again. He had heard of Mr. Derry, chief of the Kanillabar tribe, though he had not seen him before. "Glad to meet you," he added truthfully.

"I come here look for you," Derry volunteered.

"How did you know I was about here?"

"White pfeller tell me. He come my camp las' night. He tell me look about scrub an' take you longa camp. He come back by 'n 'bye an gib it tchillin."

"How far is your camp from here?"

Derry turned and pointed with his chin across the eastern hill.

"Close up camp." Sid rose to his feet. "Lead on," he said; "but don't go too fast."

Derry mooched along, looking back now and again to see how the cripple was getting on. When the hill was climbed another hill appeared beyond it.

"How far now?" asked Sid.

"Close up camp," Derry assured him.

They climbed the second hill, and still another appeared beyond it.

"How much farther?" asked Sid.

"Close up camp," Derry repeated.

Thus he led him on, and four hills were climbed before the camp was reached. There were many gunyahs, spread over a couple of acres of ground. A smoky fire burned beyond each, and the dusky residents, with their numerous dogs, were distributed around them in lazy, unpretending attitudes.

Derry led him to a gunyah in the centre of the village.

"Sit down an' 'ave some dinner," he said graciously.

He took up the blackened carcase of a small wallaby, which Mrs. Derry, squatting alongside the coals with her heels doubled under her, had been carefully tending; and chopping off a leg with his tomahawk, he handed it to his guest on a piece of bark. Hunger is a fine sauce, and cutting off the meat with his pocket-knife, Sid made a hearty meal. He was still picking at the bone when Ben Bruce and the overseer rode up, followed by a blackboy leading a saddled horse.