Читать книгу Wilderness Trek - Zane Grey - Страница 5

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The girl leaped erect, showing herself to be above medium height, lithe and strong, yet with a rounded form no boy’s garb could hide.

“You’re Dad’s Yankee cowboy—not the redheaded one?”

“I’m Sterl Hazelton,” returned Sterl, “Glad to meet you, Miss Leslie.”

“Thanks. I’m glad, too. Dad has been home four days, and I could hardly wait.” She looked up at him with wonderful clear eyes that took him in from head to foot.

“I came up here to find a place for our tent. All right to put it there, under this tree?”

“Of course. But we have a spare room in the house.”

“No, thank you. Red and I couldn’t sleep indoors.”

“Let us go down. I want to meet Red. Did you have a good trek outback?”

“It was simply great. I never looked so hard and long before.”

“Oh, how nice! You’re going to like Australia?”

“I do already. And Red can’t hide from me how he likes it, too.”

It chanced that they came upon Red when his back was turned, as he was lifting bags out of the wagon.

“Red, a lady to meet you.” Sterl saw him start, grow rigid, then slowly turn, to disclose a flushing, amazed face. “Miss Slyter, this is my pard, Red Krehl.... Red, our boss’s daughter, Miss Leslie.”

At this juncture Slyter, stalwart and vital in his range garb, stamped down upon them. “Roland, you made a fine drive. So, cowboys, here you are. Welcome to Australia’s outback! We saw you coming, and I sent Leslie to meet you. How are you, and did you like the short ride out?”

“Mr. Slyter, I never had a finer ride in my life,” averred Sterl.

“Boss, it shore was grand,” added Red. “But short? Umpumm. It was orful long. I see right heah we gotta get so we can savvy each other’s lingo.”

“That will come in time, Krehl. I’m just back from Downsville. Allan Hathaway leaves tomorrow with six drovers and a mob of fifteen hundred cattle. Woolcott has mustered twelve hundred and will follow. Stanley and Eric Dann go next day with ten drovers and thirty-five hundred head. We are to catch up with them. Ormiston has three drovers and eight hundred head. He wants to drove with us. I don’t know Ormiston and I’m not keen about joining him. But what can I do? Stanley Dann is our leader. Our own mob is about mustered. Now all that’s left to do is pack and start.”

“Oh, Dad! I’m on pins and needles!” cried Leslie, jumping up and down, and clapping her hands.

“Slyter, how many riders—drovers have you?” queried Sterl.

“Four, not counting you cowboys. Here’s Leslie, who’s as good as any drover. I’ll drive our covered wagon and Bill Williams, our cook, will drive one dray. Roland, you’ll have the other.”

“Seven riders, counting Miss Leslie,” pondered Sterl.

“I see you think that’s not enough,” spoke up Slyter. “Hazelton, it’ll have to do. I can’t hire any more in this country.”

“Boss, how about yore remuda?” interposed Red, anxiously.

“Remuda?”

“Excoose me, boss. Thet’s Texas lingo for hosses. How many hosses will you take?”

“We’ve mustered the best of my stock. About a hundred. The rest I’ve sold in Downsville.”

“Dad has the finest horses in Queensland,” interrupted Leslie.

“Well, men, I’m glad to get that off my mind,” concluded Slyter, with a laugh. “Roland, send Bill up to get supper. Hazelton, you boys come up when you’ve unpacked. Leslie, let’s go back to Mum.”

Sterl labored up the grassy bench, conscious of a queer little sensation of pleasure, the origin of which he thought he had better not analyze. He dropped the heavy canvas roll in the likeliest spot, and sat down in the golden glow from the wattle. The adventure he had fallen upon seemed unbelievable. But here was this golden-green valley, with purple sunset-gilded ranges in the distance; there was bowlegged Red staggering up the gentle slope with his burdens. He reached Sterl, wiped the sweat from his red face, and said:

“Queer deal, eh pard?”

“I should snicker to snort, as you say sometimes.”

“Pard, I’ve a hunch these fine Australian men have no idee what they’re up agin’. They’re takin’ their familees. Leastways Slyter is, an’ this Stanley Dann. One fine hombre, accordin’ to Jones. Takin’ his only daughter, too. Beryl Dann. Wal, it’d be hard enough an’ tough enough for us without a couple of girls.... This Leslie kid. About sixteen, I’d say. But a woman, an’ full of all a woman has to make men trouble.”

Just before dusk, they were called to supper. They entered a big plain living room, where a fire burned in a rude stone fireplace, and a long table with steaming, savory foods invited keen relish. Mrs. Slyter was a buxom, pleasant woman. Leslie inherited her fine physique. However, when the girl came in, Sterl hardly recognized her in a dress. Her frank, winning gaiety offset the mother’s silence. Red brought a smile to Mrs. Slyter’s face, however, by saying that such a supper would be something to remember when he was hungry way out on the Never-never.

“Boys, in the morning first thing I want you to look over the horses,” said Slyter. “After that we’ll ride over to town. Dann is keen to talk with you.”

“Miss Leslie, what was thet you said about yore Dad’s hosses?” asked Red.

“Dad breeds the finest stock in Australia,” she replied. “That’s where his heart is. And mine, too. The chief reason Dad wants to cross the Never-never is because he has learned that in the far northwest, in the country of the Kimberleys, there is a perfect climate, grass and water beyond a drover’s dreams.”

“Sounds sweet. What air the Kimberleys?”

“Mountain ranges. Stanley Dann’s brother Eric has seen them. He says they are paradise. He trekked to the Kimberleys several years ago. But that trek did not cross the Never-never.”

“I savvy. Then thet three thousand mile drive we’re undertakin’ is jest a short cut?”

“It is, really. The whole idea thrills me through and through.”

“Shore. I can see why for a boy. But for a girl—”

“I’m tired of that Downsville school. Then I couldn’t let Mum and Dad go without me.”

“Yeah? But can you ride, Miss Leslie?” went on Red, drawling, quizzically.

“Please don’t call me miss.... Ride? I’ll give you a go any day, Mister Cowboy.”

“Please don’t call me mister.... ’Course I wouldn’t race you. No girl in the world could beat a Texas cowboy.”

“I wouldn’t risk any guesses or wagers,” said Sterl.

“You’d better not. My horses are the finest in Queensland. We’ll miss the races this fall. I’m sorry about that. All the fun we ever have here is racing.”

“Yore hosses. You mean yore Dad’s?” inquired Red.

“No, my own. I have ten. I’m just waiting to show you!”

When the cowboys said good night and walked toward their camp, Red inquired: “Pard, did you look Leslie over tonight?”

“I saw her, but I didn’t look twice.”

“Shore a fine looker in thet blue dress. She was born on a hoss all right. Did you notice she was a little less free with you than with me?”

“No, pard, I didn’t.”

“Wal, she was. But thet isn’t goin’ to keep me from takin’ my chance. Aw, I don’t entertain no big hope of cuttin’ you out. I never could win any girl when you was around.”

“Red, you can have them all,” declared Sterl.

At daybreak they were off for the paddock, laden with saddles, bridles and blankets. Another barn marked the opening to the level valley. Cattle were bawling, horses whistling, thrushes singing. A heavy dew glistened upon grass and brush. Down the lane, riders mounted bareback were driving a string of horses into a corral.

Presently Sterl and Red were perched upon the top bar of the corral fence, as they had been perhaps thousands of times on western ranches, directing keen and experienced eyes at the drove of dusty, shaggy horses. They proved to be fat, full of fire and dash, superb in every requirement. They came of a rangier, heavier, more powerful stock than the ordinary western horses, and in these particulars were markedly superior to the plains cayuse.

“Gosh-durn-it! I never seen their beat. Did we have to come way out heah to see English stock beat the socks off ours?” said Red.

“But, Red, good horses have to have speed and stamina,” returned Sterl, weakly.

“Hell, you can see thet in every line. Hosses gotta be the same all over. We never knowed any but ornery-eyed, kickin’, bitin’ cayuses.”

“Red, I remember a few that you couldn’t call that. Baldy, Whiteface, Spot—and you couldn’t forget Dusty—that broke his heart and died on his feet for you.”

“Shet up! I wasn’t meanin’ a hoss in a thousand. Lord, could I forget the day Dusty outrun them Comanches?”

Jones sauntered over, accompanied by a brawny young man whom he introduced as Larry. “Boss’s orders are for you each to pick out five horses. Hurry now!”

“Wal, Rol, they look so darn good I don’t see any sense in pickin’ atall. But it’s fun ... Sterl, toss you for first pick.”

Red won, and his choice was the very black that Sterl had set his heart on. Still in a moment, he burst out with enthusiasm, “There’s a chestnut. Gosh, what a hoss! I pick him....”

“Here’s a sorrel for me. I’ll name him after you, Red. But I don’t see a black like that one you beat me to.”

Leslie’s rich contralto rang out from behind. “What’s that about a black?”

“Hello. I wondered about you,” replied Sterl.

“Mawnin’, Leslie,” drawled Red. “I kinda like you better in them ridin’ togs. Not so dangerous lookin’ to a pore cowboy. ... Looks like you been ridin’ some, at thet.”

Indeed she did, thought Sterl, and could not recall any ranch girl who equaled her. Leather worn thin, shiny metal, spurs that showed bits of horsehair, ragged trousers stuffed in high boots, gray blouse and colorful scarf, her chestnut hair in a braid down her back—these charmed Sterl, entirely aside from her gold-tan cheeks with their spots of red, her curved lips, like cherries, and her flashing eyes.

“Red got first pick on me,” explained Sterl. “Snitched that black.”

“Not too bad, you cowboys,” returned Leslie, her glance taking in their choice.

“You Yankees are the queerest talking people!” said Leslie when the cowboys had finished their horse-choosing contest. “But I believe you’ll be good cobbers. Come now, I’ll show you some real Australian horses.”

Sterl had prepared himself for a treat to a horse lover’s eyes, but when he looked through the fence of a corral adjoining the shed he could hardly credit his sight. He beheld the finest horses he had ever seen in one bunch in his whole range experience. These were not shaggy, dusty, range-free animals, but well-groomed, sleek and shiny thoroughbreds in the pink of condition.

“Leslie—who takes such grand care of these horses?” gasped Sterl.

“I do—a little. But Friday does most of it. He’s my black man. Dad sent him up town.... You might say something.”

“I can’t, child,” returned Sterl, feelingly. “Horses have been the most important things in my life. And these of yours! But are they really yours, Leslie?”

“Indeed they are. Mine! I haven’t anything else. Hardly a new dress to my name. A few books.”

“Leslie, haven’t you any beaus?” asked Sterl lightly.

“I had. But Dad shut down on them lately,” replied the girl, seriously. “Not that I cared much. Only I’ve been lonesome.”

“Wal, young lady,” drawled Red, “you ain’t gonna be so lonesome from now on, if my hunch is correct.”

“That black horse—” spoke up Sterl, pointing to a noble, rangy beast.

“That’s King. He’s five years old. Bred from Dad’s great dam. King has won all his races the last two years. Oh, he’s swift! He threw me last race. But we won.”

“So you were up on him? Well!” rejoined Sterl, in wonder and admiration.

“Yes, I can ride him. But Dad says no more. At least not in races. He’s too strong. Has a mouth like iron. And once running against other horses, he’s terrific.”

“I’ll have to put my hands on him,” said Sterl.

“You’re going to ride him, cowboy,” replied the girl. “Let’s go inside the paddock.”

Red had straddled the top bar of the fence, and his silence was eloquent. Leslie led the way inside. She called and whistled. All the horses threw up their heads, and some of them started for her. Then they trooped forward, fine heads up, manes flying. Still they halted some yards from the fence, eager, whinnying, but not trustful of the strangers.

“Come up heah, pard,” called Red. “They’re skeered of you. Instinct! They know you’re a hard-ridin’ hombre from Arizonie.”

Leslie walked away from the fence somewhat, and coaxed. A spotted iron-gray animal, clean-cut in build, was the first to come to the girl.

“Jester,” she called to him, and got hold of his mane to lead him back to the fence. “One of my best. He’s tricky—full of the devil, but fast, tireless.... Red, would you like to have him on the trek? It would please me. I think you’d be clever enough to match him.”

“Would I?—Aw, Leslie, that’s too good of you. Why, he took my eye fust thing. But I oughtn’t take him!”

“Done! He’s yours. Get down and make friends with him.”

Red complied with alacrity. Sterl watched as he saw the cowboy’s lean brown hand, slow and sure, creep out to touch the arching, glossy neck. “Jester, you dog-gone lucky hoss! Why, I’m the kindest rider that ever threw his laig over a saddle.”

“King, come here,” called Leslie to the magnificent black. But it was a beautiful bay that approached at the girl’s bidding. “Lady Jane, you know I’m going to ride you this morning, now don’t you?” She petted the sniffing muzzle, and laid her cheek against the trim black mane. Then most of the others except King came begging for her favor. She introduced them to the cowboys as if they were persons of rank—Duke, a great rangy sorrel, almost red, pride and power in every line; Duchess, a long-tailed white mare, an aristocrat whose name was felicitous; Lord Chester, a trim gray stallion, hard to overlook even in that band.

The black still hung behind; Leslie had to go for him. Closer at hand, his magnificent physical qualities appeared more striking.

“King,” said Leslie, impressively, “this is an American cowboy, Sterl Hazelton, who is going to ride you—ride you, I said, you big devil—on our great trek.”

Sterl had feared this very thing. “Leslie, don’t ask me to take him—your favorite!” he protested.

“But he’s not my favorite! I don’t love him—well, not so much—since he threw me. Please, Sterl!”

“I only wanted to be coaxed,” rejoined Sterl, lamely. “Thanks, Leslie. It’s just too good to be true.... I had a horse once....”

“Lead him out,” said Leslie, then with surprising ease she leaped upon the bare back of Lady Jane. Red followed with Jester, and Sterl gently urged the black to join them.

“King, let’s look each other over,” said Sterl, as he let go of the mane and squared away in front of the horse. King threw up his noble head, and his black eyes had a piercing curiosity. But he was not in the least afraid. Sterl put out a confident hand to rub his nose.

“Saddle up, boys,” said Leslie, slipping off. “Let’s get this trip to town over. I don’t mind showing you to the girls, because they’ll be left behind, except Beryl Dann. And I just hate to present you to her.”

Sterl did not voice his surprise, but Red blurted out. “An’ ’cause why, Leslie?”

“I’ll be jealous,” laughed the girl, frankly. “I’d like you both for my cavaliers. Oh, Beryl is lovely, even if she is spoiled and proud. Her father is lord of the manor, so to speak.”

In short order they were mounted in the unfamiliar English saddles, and ready to ride away. King pranced a little. Sterl sensed his tremendous, latent power.

One branch of the road turned back past the house; the other, which Leslie took, crossed the creek and wound up the slope into the bush. Wattle trees sent a golden shade down upon them, singing cur-ra-wongs followed them.

“Bell magpies,” said Leslie. “I love them almost as well as the kookaburras. That reminds me. Dad won’t let me take all my pets.”

They rode on. Thick bush began to thin out; another mile brought open country, green rolling hills and vales that looked overgrazed. Presently Sterl saw horses and cattle, and columns of smoke, and at length a big white house with great tin water tanks under the eaves. He had not observed this around Slyter’s house, but he had grasped that most of these Australian station owners had to catch their water in the dry season. This was the Dann station, just outside of town.

“There she is—Beryl,” said Leslie, and waving a gauntleted hand she called. Sterl saw a fair-faced, fair-haired girl, distinguished by grace even in what was evidently the workaday dress of the moment.

“Pard, don’t you reckon I oughta pull leather oot of heah?” said Red, in perturbation.

“I should smile you should,” returned Sterl. “And me too!”

“Stand to your colors, men,” retorted Leslie. Presently Sterl was doffing his sombrero, and gallantly bowing to a handsome girl, some years Leslie’s senior, whose poise permitted graciousness, yet hid curiosity.

Sterl made a pleasant little speech and Red cut in with his southern drawl, “Wal, Miss Dann, I shore am glad to meet another Australian girl. My pard heah, Sterl an’ me, have been sorta worried over this long trek an’ thought of backin’ out. But not no more.”

Beryl Dann was neither too dignified nor too grown up not to be pleased and flattered by what Sterl divined was an extraordinary speech to her.

As Sterl rode on with Leslie, he observed without looking back that Red did not accompany them.

“Did you like her?” queried Leslie, a dark flash of her hazel eyes on Sterl. She was a woman; still Sterl could not react to the situation with playful duplicity, as one impulse prompted him to.

“Yes, of course,” he said, frankly. “Pretty and gracious, if a little haughty. I wonder—has she lived out here long?”

“Yes. The Danns have been here all of five years. But Beryl went to school in Sydney. She visits there often. She’s lovely! All the young men court her.... Didn’t you fall in love with her at first sight?”

“My child, I did not.”

“Don’t call me child,” she flashed, quickly. “I’m grown up. Old enough to get married!”

“You don’t say. I wouldn’t have thought it,” replied Sterl, teasingly.

“Yes. Dad thought so. He wanted to give me to a station man over here. But I wouldn’t.... Red has not escaped Beryl—that’s obvious. Look back.”

Sterl did so, to see the cowboy still leaning over his saddle gazing down upon the fair-haired girl.

“Sterl, I like Red,” went on Leslie, confidentially. “But I’d never let him see it. I don’t know cowboys, of course. But I know young men who are devils after women. And he’s one. I could feel it.... But I guess you’re different. Sterl, I’m crazy to take this trek. But I’m frightened. There will be twenty young men with us. I know how they can be, even trekking in to Brisbane. Eight days! My mother, Stanley Dann’s sister, Beryl and I the only women! ...”

“Leslie, your fathers never should take you.”

“But I want to go. Beryl does, too. It means new homes, new friends, new lives.... Sterl, I hope you’ll be a big brother to me. Will you?”

“Thank you. I’ll try,” responded Sterl, sincerely. The girl’s frank wistfulness touched him deeply. “But I’m a stranger. I might be what Red calls no good atall.”

“You might be, but I don’t believe it.... I like you, Sterl. I’m not afraid of you. Mum says I’m a hoyden. But I’m sensitive. These outback men court you on sight—hug and kiss you—or try to. Outback it’s a fight for love, women, cattle—for life itself.”

“Leslie, it’s much like that on the western ranges where I come from. I understand a little how a young girl feels.”

“You are going to be a comfort, Sterl,” she said, happily. “Here we are, right in town. And there comes Red, putting Jester to a canter.... There’s where I went to school.... Oh, I forgot something I wanted to tell you. Do you remember Dad mentioning a drover, Ashley Ormiston?”

“Yes. He is the man Mr. Dann wants your Dad to throw in with.”

“Sterl, I don’t like the idea at all. Mr. Ormiston is new to Downsville. You’ll meet him today, so I don’t need to describe him. But he has been very much in evidence since the races. I met him that day, and to be honest I was fascinated. Sterl, he—he insulted me that very first night. I’ve tried to avoid him ever since.”

“Have you told your father?” queried Sterl.

“I dare not,” she replied, simply.

At that moment Red caught up with them.

“Let’s tie up here,” Leslie said, halting. “Now boys, you hunt up Dad. He’ll be somewhere, waiting for you. Stanley Dann wants to meet you. Be good. Don’t drink—or forget you’re my cowboys.”

They turned a corner to reach a point opposite a large store, in front of which had collected a crowd, mostly men, all trying to get out of the way of a conflict of some kind. Then Sterl saw a white man kick an aborigine into the street. He heard a woman cry out that it was Slyter’s black man, Friday.

Sterl stepped out of the crowd and off from the pavement. Then a white man, agile and powerful, leaped into the street to kick the black viciously, knocking him flat.

Striding over, Sterl placed a hard hand against the aggressor and shoved him back, far from gently.

The man straightened up. He was a dark-browed, handsome fellow of about thirty, garbed as a drover.

“What business—of yours?” he panted, hoarsely.

“I just thought you’d kicked that black enough,” declared Sterl, deliberately.

“Who are—you?” demanded the other, his dark eyes burning. Sterl caught a strong odor of whisky.

“No matter. I’m a newcomer.”

“Damned, meddling, Yankee blighter,” shouted the Australian, and with a back-handed sweep he struck Sterl a blow across the mouth that staggered him.

Recovering his balance, Sterl leaped forward, and gave his antagonist a sudden blow low down, then swung his right fist hard and fierce at those malignant eyes, and felled him like a bullock under the ax.

Red lined up alongside his comrade. The buzzing circle crowded into the street. Sterl, to his dismay, espied Leslie’s pale face. Then her father dragged her back and strode out, accompanied by a tawny-haired giant, leonine in build and mien.

Slyter gazed at the prostrate man, who was stirring, and from him to the black.

“Friday! Who hit you?”

“Boss, that one fella,” replied the black, and pointed to his brutal attacker.

“Dann, it’s Ash Ormiston!” ejaculated Slyter.

“I see. Looks as if a horse kicked him.... Here you, what does this mean?” boomed the giant, wheeling upon Sterl.

Red intervened, cool and wary. “Watch thet hombre, pard. He might have a gun.”

“Krehl!” exclaimed Slyter. “Did you slug Ormiston?”

“No. Sterl did thet. But I’d have liked to.”

“Stanley, these are my two American cowboys, Krehl and Hazelton.”

“Drunk and rowing, eh?” queried Dann.

Sterl confronted Dann, and he was not in a humor to be conciliatory.

“No, I’m not drunk,” he rang out. “It’s your countryman who is that. I came upon him kicking this black man, Friday. Kicking him in the face and chest! I interfered. He called me a damned, meddling Yankee blighter and hit me. Then I soaked him.”

“Friday, what you do alonga Ormiston?” asked Slyter, gruffly.

“Black fella tellum bimeby,” replied Friday, and stalked into the crowd, where Sterl saw Leslie try to stop him and fail.

Meanwhile Ormiston staggered to his unsteady feet, one of his eyes beginning to puff.

“Where’s that —— —— Yankee who hit me?” he bit out.

Dann laid a restraining hand on him. “Man, you’re drunk.”

Sterl confronted him. “Go for your gun if you’ve got one.”

Ormiston violently threw Dann off.

Dann waved the crowd back. “Get off the street!” he roared.