Читать книгу Road to Adventure - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 8

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HUGH opened his eyes in the early morning. The sun was just getting up: it looked at him through his open window, sending a ray of light across his bed, as if to tell him that last night’s trouble had all vanished. Starlings were chattering among the apple-trees; which would have been an unwelcome sound if the apples had been any good, but as it was, Hugh merely hoped they liked codlin-moth grubs.

It was too good a morning to remain in bed. He peeped into his father’s room, seeing him fast asleep: so he dressed quietly, cleared out the fireplace and laid a new fire, and tidied the room. Then there was nothing more to do, so he went outside.

On the verandah he halted in amazement. There was a sound of creaking wheels and slow hoofs; and through the trees he could catch glimpses of strange things on the road—flashes of red and blue and yellow, in a long procession, toiling up the road beyond the eastern fence of the orchard. He caught his breath. The Circus! Then he dashed to the gate.

It was still some distance away. He climbed the gate-post, hugging himself with joy. To think it was actually going to pass his very door! This made up for weeks of dullness. The lions would be hidden in their cages, he knew, but they couldn’t hide the horses and ponies. Then a vast bulk showed for an instant in a gap in the trees, and he gave a shout of ecstasy. An elephant!

Never had any small boy waited with such trembling eagerness for Peterson’s Circus. A man on a big black horse came into view first, riding in front of a red caravan: a man who looked as though he might tumble out of the saddle at any moment, so sleepy was he. As for the driver of the caravan, he had ceased to make any effort to remain awake: his head had fallen sideways, his mouth was open. He still held the reins, and the pair of dapple-greys that drew the caravan plodded along in the rear of the black horse, half asleep themselves, but always road-wise. They came on slowly. And then Adventure suddenly flashed into Hugh Russell’s life, for the man in the lead caught sight of him, became wide awake, and cantered forward.

“H’lo, son! You’re up early—wish I wasn’t. Any chance of a camp here?”

“Here!” Hugh gasped. “Not—not all of you?”

“It’s all or none, son. Got a paddock to spare?”

“There’s a paddock the other side of the orchard.”

“Anything in it?”

“No. Daisy’s sold.”

“Good luck to Daisy!” said the man. “Well, where’s your Dad?”

“He’s asleep. Oh—do wait—I’ll get him.”

He was down from the gate-post in a flash. The man’s hand went up, and the red caravan stopped. All along the procession ran the unspoken signal; every weary beast came to a halt. Hugh was shouting as he ran.

“Father! Father! Wake up—there’s a Circus!”

John Russell’s head appeared at his window.

“What on earth——?”

“Circus!” Hugh panted. “They want to camp—in our paddock! Oh, do let them, Father!”

“Well, it won’t hurt us,” Russell said. “Tell them they can, Hugh. I’ll come out as soon as I get some clothes on.”

“Father says you can!” Hugh was racing back to the gate, shouting as he ran.

“Then he’s a good sort,” said the man on the black horse, thankfully. “What about water, sonny?”

“Oh, there’s a creek. I’ll go and let down the slip-rails.”

“You wait till I get my Boss,” said the man. “He likes to see where he’s goin’ to camp.” He cantered back, along the motionless procession, while Hugh danced with impatience in the gateway.

He had only a few moments to wait. The black horse reappeared, this time with a new rider: a huge man, bare-headed, in shirt and trousers. His head was a tousled black mass: his dark face, with its long black moustache, was, to Hugh, exactly what the face of a Circus Boss or a pirate chief should be. Hugh thrilled to think that it was he who had to greet such a man.

“Father’s coming!” he piped. “But it’s all right. You can stay!”

“Father hasn’t seen the size of my show—nor I haven’t seen the size of his paddock!” returned Big Dan.

“I’ll take you!” Hugh offered. He ran down the road, looking over his shoulder anxiously to make sure that he was followed. But the big man came, smiling under his moustache at his eager guide. Hugh stopped at the slip-rails.

“Will it do? There’s a creek—and we’ve got a water-hole in the orchard.”

“First-rate,” approved Big Dan. “We don’t often get a camp with that much shade. Have you got any stock, nipper?”

“Only one horse. He’s in the orchard.”

“If he’s never seen an elephant you’d better put him in the stable. I’ll give you some feed for him if you’re short.”

“I think Nugget ’ud like to see an elephant,” said Hugh, protesting. “He doesn’t get much fun.”

“Might be too much fun for him. Some horses get heart-failure.”

“I had a canary once that died of heart-failure,” Hugh told him. “But I’m sure Nugget’s not that kind of horse. Oh—here’s father!”

The men exchanged greetings, and the matter was quickly arranged. Russell went off to guard Nugget against any shock to his nerves, but finding him peacefully inspecting the elephants from the orchard corner, decided that nerves were unknown to him. Hugh, secretly relieved at being left unhampered, perched on the fence in a simmer of excitement to watch the procession file in.

It was a long-drawn-out delight. Caravan after caravan turned from the road, lurching across the grass. Their gaudy colours, the twinkling brass harness-mounts, turned the drab little paddock into a place of enchantment. And the great horses paced by as gently as though they never galloped round a circus-ring to please a shouting crowd, with beautiful ladies pirouetting on their broad backs. Then came the elephants, drawing the huge wheeled cages that made Hugh thrill with shuddery excitement, even though no lions were visible, and only a few muffled growls could be heard from behind the shutters. Best of all, though, were the special performing horses and ponies, ridden and led: well-bred, most of them, of every size and colour; beautiful, despite being covered with the dust of their long night journey. There were eight blacks, so alike that Hugh did not see how anyone could ever tell them apart: to see them made him almost ache with happiness. The men and boys who rode them, gipsy-looking fellows most of them, brought the strange mysterious feeling of the Circus; but Hugh could only glance at them when the horses were there to be looked at.

It was all a marvel of drill and organisation. Each caravan, each lorry, knew exactly where to go: they fell into orderly lines in the little paddock, taking up their places like men on a chess-board. Where there was not sufficient space to manœuvre a van, the elephants came to the rescue, pushing with their great heads, six inches at a time, never making a mistake, always patient and gentle. The caravans were ranged along one fence, lorries and cages along another: the horses were picketed under shady trees; and when all their work was done the three elephants rolled away, in the wake of their keeper, to the creek.

Hugh trotted after them. The creek was too narrow to allow them all the wallowing space they would have loved, but they made the most of what water there was. They waded into it, scooping it up with huge enjoyment: squirting it over themselves and each other, while Hugh and the keeper came in for an occasional shower of drops. The keeper, a friendly man, told Hugh their names, adding that they were worth all the horses in the show. He had no opinion of horses; which Hugh considered a pity. Elephants, he said, had brains and sense: his “bulls” could do anything but talk, and he wasn’t sure that they wouldn’t break out in speech some day.

“What language would they talk?” asked Hugh, much impressed.

“Oh—Injun, of course. Unless it was oddments they’ve picked up from me. If African parrots can talk good English I don’t see why a bull couldn’t.”

Hugh liked the elephant-man. He was so sleepy that he yawned all the time, but he would not hurry his “bulls.” He waited until they had bathed as much as they wished, and let them stand in the water while the hot sun dried them. Then he gave a queer, low whistle, and immediately they obeyed it, splashing out to the bank.

“Would they like apples?” Hugh asked.

“Wouldn’t they!”

“Even with codlin-moth grubs?”

“They won’t notice no grubs,” said the elephant-man. “Got any handy?”

The orchard fence was near. Hugh was through it in a flash, returning with his shirt stuffed with apples. He became instantly popular with the elephants. They disposed of the apples as fast as he could hand them out—the smallest actually followed his hand into his shirt with his trunk, so swiftly and deftly that Hugh had no time to be afraid before it withdrew, an apple in its clutch. The keeper laughed.

“He won’t hurt you, sonny. Wouldn’t do that if he didn’t like you. Let him try agin.”

Hugh stood his ground manfully while the snaky trunk slipped within his shirt again: glad that he found the apple quickly. He buttoned up the shirt, as a hint that there were no more—a hint at once accepted by the elephant.

“Well, that’s a treat for ’em,” said the keeper. “Feed and bed now, I reckon, boys. Like a ride up, son?”

“On an elephant?” Hugh gasped.

“That’s all the mount I can offer you; but any of ’em are up to your weight, I guess. You ain’t scared, are you?”

“N-not if you say it’s all right,” Hugh stammered.

“Wouldn’t give you the chance if it weren’t. Bless you, they wouldn’t hurt a butterfly. Let little Ali pick you up.”

He whistled to the smallest elephant. Hugh had hardly time to feel afraid. A soft black rope suddenly curved round his waist, and he was off his feet, checking his first impulse to struggle. Then he found himself sitting just behind the great ears, higher than he had ever been mounted in his life. The keeper grinned up at him.

“I’ll take you down if you say so, son. But it’s all right. Like to stay?”

“Y-yes.” He didn’t want to stay at all, but something in him would not let him say so.

“Well, hold on to his ears if you feel like slipping. I’ll keep close to you—not as there’s any need. Ali ’ud look after a year-old baby an’ give it its bottle, he’s that motherly. Come on, boys.”

The clumsy bulk beneath Hugh swayed forward with a lurch that almost disposed of the rider. But the elephant-man’s hand was tight on his ankle in a flash, and he gripped an ear that felt like old dry leather. Then he found he did not need it. His natural sense of balance was good: he grew used to the swaying motion, letting his body become flexible, once the first stiffness of fear had left him. The hand on his ankle was withdrawn, and he was glad. A feeling of power, of delight, came to him. He gave a little, excited laugh.

“I—I like it!”

“ ’Course you do,” said the keeper. “Any sensible chap would. An’ you just bet Ali knows you like it. If you trust a bull he’ll always be your friend, but he knows in a flash if you’re scared of him, no matter how deep down you hide it. They got more sense than ’uman beings, they have.”

John Russell, talking to Big Dan Peterson near the blue caravan, heard a shrill voice from its open window. A head covered with long dark curls was framed in it, the rosy face muffled in a big towel. Nita had seen something that interrupted her in the midst of dressing.

“Daddy! Daddy! There’s a boy riding Ali!”

The men’s eyes followed the tiny pointing finger. Over the crest of the hill surged slowly three elephants: high on the leader John Russell saw his son, eager, laughing, his face scarlet with excitement. He took a quick step forward.

“By Jove! Is he all right?”

“Right as rain, with George there: or without him, either, if he’s made friends with the elephants. And I guess George wouldn’t have put him up if he hadn’t. Your nipper’s got pluck, right enough. Jolly kid—wasn’t he anxious for us to camp here!”

“It’s a great day for him,” Russell said. “Poor youngster, he doesn’t get much fun. I’m glad you struck us, if only for Hugh.”

“Well, I’m glad for my outfit,” Big Dan said. “It’s a real good camp for a tired crowd to spend Sunday in. We needn’t move on until ten o’clock to-morrow: Coinbar’s only good for a night performance, and we can get there in five hours. So your boy can get acquainted with us. He’s got sense enough not to try any tricks with the animals, hasn’t he?”

“Oh yes. Hugh isn’t a fool.”

“Doesn’t look like one. But it ’ud fair astonish you to see how we’ve got to watch round for the youngsters in most of the townships. They hang round the horses and worry ’em no end. It doesn’t seem to occur to ’em that a Circus horse wants rest an’ peace when he’s out of the ring, if he’s to do his turn without any nerves; they get queer and nervy enough, most of ’em. It’s an unnatural life for a horse—lights and excited crowds and the menagerie always handy. They don’t like the cats. And always being tied up. It’s a real holiday to a Circus horse not to be tied to anything.”

“Well, you can let any of them loose in the orchard.”

“What about your fruit trees?”

“They can’t hurt them. The apples are no good and most of the trees are only fit to be chopped down and burned. It’s a worthless hole; it has ruined me, so it might as well give your horses a good day if you care to turn them into it. I’ll put my old screw into the yard, in case they don’t agree; you can’t afford to risk one of yours getting a kick.”

“That’s so. Well, I take it real kind of you, Mr. Russell. Of course, I’ll pay you for the camp. Pound a night’s what I generally pay.”

John Russell flushed.

“Well, I can’t afford to refuse, though you’re welcome enough. I’m dead broke. We’ll have to clear out of here presently, though goodness knows what we’re going to do. Sorry I can’t offer you a meal, either. But Mrs. Peterson is welcome to use the house in any way she likes.”

“Thanks,” said Big Dan, avoiding looking at his host’s haggard eyes. “I reckon my wife’d think it a real luxury to sit on your verandah this afternoon an’ pretend she had a home that didn’t run about on wheels. Look at that nipper of yours now!”

John Russell repressed a start of alarm. Hugh, held in the circle of the largest elephant’s trunk, was swinging cheerfully to and fro, his boots waving, his yellow curls all on end. He shouted gleefully as the great trunk flung him upwards: then he was sitting enthroned behind a head that was like a table before him. The keeper grinned up at him from the ground.

“You’re sure he’s safe?” Russell asked, anxiously.

“Safe as houses. Fear is the only thing that ’ud make him unsafe, an’ it’s easy seen fear don’t trouble him. George knows every blink of that old bull’s eye. They’re funny: some people they hate like poison, no matter how they try to make friends, and others they take to from the jump. Now that boy of yours could lie down and let old Ram Singh there put his foot on his chest, and Ram wouldn’t let him feel a featherweight!”

“Thank you,” said Hugh’s parent, hastily: “I hope he won’t try!”

“We won’t suggest it,” said Big Dan, chuckling. “But he’d be all right. There he comes, now!”

Ram Singh offered his trunk, at a word from the keeper. Hugh found a more or less unsteady footing on what looked rather like a smoke-grey cable, and George swung him to the ground. The game was over. The elephants were foot-picketed and Hugh flung himself into the work of feeding them, staggering from the waggon near with bundles of hay that hid his small form. He divided his attentions equally between the trio, and the elephants looked at him benevolently.

“Tiger for a job, ain’t he?” commented Big Dan. “Mightn’t last, though, if he had it every day. Ah, here’s my girl!”

His heavy face lit up as his little daughter flung open the caravan door and raced down the steps.

“Daddy! Can that boy come to breakfast?”

“Mind your manners, Nita,” said Big Dan, ceremoniously. “Say how-do nicely to Mr. Russell.”

Nita flashed a smile and offered a hand with the ease of a public favourite. But it was clear that her interest did not lie with Hugh’s father.

”Can he, Daddy? Mummy says so.”

“Why, you’ve got to ask Mr. Russell about that. He may want Hugh himself. We’d like to have him, if he can spare him.” It was on the tip of Dan’s tongue to extend the invitation to the father, but something held him back. Instinctively he knew that this man would not eat with Circus-folk in a caravan. “Proud as a high-school horse,” he thought. “An’ hungry, too, I’ll bet, poor beggar.”

Nita had no scruples.

“You come too,” she said, turning great brown eyes on Russell. “There’s lots of liver-an’-bacon!”

“Sorry,” Russell said hastily. “I’m rather busy this morning, Nita. But Hugh may go, if it isn’t too much trouble for your mother.”

“She’d like him,” said Nita. “She’d come an’ tell you herself, only her hair isn’t done yet!”

A faint exclamation was heard from the caravan. Big Dan gave a great shout of laughter.

“Then that’s settled,” he said. “Come along, Nita, and get introduced to Hugh.”