Читать книгу Wilderness Trek - Zane Grey - Страница 8

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First camp! A huge dead gum tree, bleached and gnarled, marking a sunset-flushed stream; outcropping rock and jungle beyond; to the right lanes of open country opening into the bush. Cattle and horses made for the creek and spread along its low bank for a mile. When they had drunk their fill some of the cattle fell again to grazing, while many of them lay down to rest. The horses, which had fed all day behind the cattle, trooped back to their grazing. In Sterl’s judgment both would require little night guarding on such pasture as that.

He watered King, then rode down the creek into camp. Pungent wood smoke brought back other camp scenes. But no other camp site he could remember had possessed such an imposing landmark as the great dead blue gum tree. On its spreading branches Sterl identified herons, parrots, a hawk perched on a topmost tip, kookaburras low down. The wagons were spaced conveniently, though not close together. Locating his own, Sterl dismounted to strip King and let him go. He was unrolling his tent when Leslie approached.

“Well, so here you are? I wondered if you’d ever catch up,” said Sterl.

“I hadn’t the heart to leave Mum today. I ... I would have been all right, but for her.”

“Why you’re all right anyhow, Leslie. Don’t look back—don’t think back! ... Our first camp’s a dandy.... Where’re Friday and your Dad?”

“Friday walked all the way. I rode a little. Mum came out of it all at once. Dad is all fit. He and Drake just had a drop from a bottle.... And here come Red and Larry.”

Sterl with Leslie crossed over to the center of camp, where Friday was carrying water. Slyter, after rummaging under the seat of his wagon, brought a book to Leslie.

“Les, one of your jobs is keeping our journal. Record date, distance trekked, weather, incident, everything.”

“Whew! what a job!” exclaimed Leslie. “But I’ll love it.... How far today?”

“A long trek. Sixteen miles?” said Slyter, dubiously.

“And then some,” interposed Sterl. “Ask Red. He’s a wonderful judge of distance.... Now, boss, how about night guard?”

“Three changes. Two men on for three hours each. Eight to eleven, eleven to two, two till five. Which watch would you and Krehl like?”

“The late one, boss. We’re used to the wee small hours.”

“You’ll have our black man, Friday. Hazelton, you’ll find him a tower of help.”

The thud of horses’ hoofs awoke Sterl before Larry called into the tent: “Two o’clock, boys. Roll out.”

Ready to go, the cowboys repaired to the fire for the tea Larry had poured for them. It was scalding hot and strong as acid. The band of horses was huddled between camp and the mob of cattle. They were quiet, only a few grazing. The cattle had bedded down.

“What’ll we do, Sterl? Circle or stand guard?”

“Circle, Red, till we get the lay of the herd.”

Red rode on into the bright starlight, and the cold wind brought back the smoke of his cigarette. Sterl turned to walk his horse in the other direction. Old sensorial habits reasserted themselves—the keen ear, the keen eye, the keen nose and the feel of air, wind, cold. The cattle and the horses were quiet. Strange, discordant barks of dingoes lent unreality to the wild. Wide-winged birds or flying foxes passed over his head with silky swish.

In half an hour Sterl heard Red’s horse before he sighted it, a moving, ghostly white in the brilliant gloom.

“Fine setup, pard,” said Red. “A lazy cowboy job!”

“All well on my side. Go halfway round and stand watch.”

“Air kinda penetratin’, pard. I reckon I’ll mosey to an’ fro,” returned Red, and rode on.

When Sterl reached the end of a half circle, came the voice of Friday, “Cheeky black fella close up,” he said, and vanished.

Sterl swept his gaze in wary half circles. Further outback, this night watch might be a perilous duty. But nothing happened. Friday did not return, although Sterl had a feeling that the black was close. Slowly, mysteriously, the dreaming darkest hour passed.

At the first faint lighting in the east the cattle began to stir. Sterl circled around to meet Red. “Mawnin’,” said that worthy. “J’ever see such a tame bunch of cattle? How’d you make out?”

“Just killed time. This sort of work will spoil us. It’s after five. Let’s ride in.”

Breakfast was awaiting them. Two of the wagons were already hitched up. Leslie stood by the fire, drinking tea. Larry came riding up, leading three saddled horses, one of which was Duchess, Leslie’s favorite.

Red saw the girl swing up into her saddle with one hand, and said, “Pard, I gotta hand it to thet kid. If Beryl is like her, wal, it’s all day with me.”

When they rode out on fresh horses the sun had just burst over the eastern bush, and the downs were as if aflame. Drake had the mob ready. Leslie and Larry were driving the straggling horses. Red loped across the wide flank to take up his position on the far right. Friday came along with giant strides, carrying his spears and wommera in his left hand and a boomerang in the other. Leslie rode loping back to turn on the line even with Sterl. Then the four rear riders, pressing forward, drove the horses upon the heels of the cattle, and the day’s drive was on. The bustle and hurry before the start seemed to come to an abrupt end in the slow, natural walk of grazing cattle and horses.

Three times before afternoon, Leslie rode over to Sterl on some pretext or other, the last of which was an offer to share the bit of lunch she had brought.

“No thanks, Leslie. A cowboy learns to go without. And on this trek in particular, I’m going to emulate your black men.”

“I suppose you cowboys live without fun, food or—love?” she queried, flippantly.

“We do indeed.”

“Like hob you do,” she flashed. “Oh, well, maybe you do. This is the third time you’ve snubbed me so far today. You’re an old crosspatch.”

Sterl laughed, though he felt a little nettled. The girl interrupted the even, almost unconscious ebb and flow of his sensorial perceptions.

“I’ve been called worse than that, by sentimental young ladies,” replied Sterl, satirically. “Would you expect me to babble poetry to you or listen to your silly chatter?”

“Oh-h!” cried Leslie, outraged, reddening from neck to brow. And she wheeled her horse to lope far along the line toward Red.

“That should hold her awhile,” murmured Sterl, regretfully. “Too bad I’ve got to be mean to her! But....”

Slyter halted for camp at the foot of a ridge running out like a spur from the rougher bushland. Manifestly a stream came from around that ridge. It was no later than midafternoon with the sun still warm. A short trek, Sterl thought. Cattle and horses made for the stream, which turned out to be a river that could not be forded with wagons at this point.

Sterl was pitching his tent when Red and Leslie rode in. The girl rode by him as if he had not been there.

Red slid out of his saddle in his old inimitable way, and with slap on flank, sent his horse scampering.

“Aboat ten miles, I’d say,” he drawled. “Slick camp an’ a hefty river.... Say, pard, what’n’ll did you do to the kid? Leslie was all broke up.”

“She bothers me, Red.”

“Ahuh. I savvy. I’m feared she likes you an’ hasn’t no idee atall about it.”

Sterl remained silent, revolving in mind a realization prompted by Red’s talk—that he had felt a distinct throb of pleasure. This would never do!

The cowboys finished their chores, then strolled over to Slyter. Leslie sat near, writing in her journal.

On impulse, Sterl turned to the girl. “Leslie, where is Friday?” As she did not appear to hear, he asked her again. Then she looked up. “Please do not annoy me, Mr. Hazelton. I’m composing poetry,” she said coldly.