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“The brown Indian marks with murderous aim.”—Goldsmith. |
LATE next day they fell upon converging tracks and indications that the wild creatures of the region walked steadily in one direction, mostly discovered and collated by Doorival. Keeping the average direction, they came towards evening upon a noble, full-fed flowing stream, running north-easterly, and abounding in fish and wild-fowl.
“Hurrah!” shouted Guy Waldron, “this is something like a river. What a glorious reach that is! We ought to christen it, for I swear no white man ever saw it before; what shall we call it? I make you a present of the lake, by which to immortalize any of your fair friends; but I should like to name this river; or I’ll toss up, whichever you like.”
“I will accept the lake, which I hereby call Lake Maud—we will provide the champagne on a future occasion. What shall you call the river?”
“I shall call it the Marion, after my dear old mother. Heaven knows whether she will ever see her wild boy again. I should like to have my head in the old lady’s lap again, as I used to do when I was a schoolboy, and she used to talk to me in her gentle way, and charm all the perversity out of me. I wonder what sets me thinking of the blessed saint now.”
“It won’t do you any harm, Guy,” said Jack, kindly. “Mine died when I was a little chap, but I shall never forget her, it seems like yesterday. And now, what about making tracks for civilization—save the mark—the day after to-morrow? We may run the river down to-morrow to see if the country gets worse or better, and then we must head for the nearest place the mail passes and send in our tenders—the sooner the better.”
“All right. I should like a month here; but one can’t be too spry about the tenders; there are always such a lot of rascally landsharks on the look-out for anything like good new country. They might have got a scrap or two of information out of old Blockham, from which basis they are quite capable of tendering for all the available country within a thousand miles of him.”
“Quite true,” said Jack. “I’m glad you see it in that light. I’ve heard of many a pioneer who has had the hard work of years snatched away from him by tenders suspiciously close to, but little in advance of, his own. How the information was supplied Heaven only knows, but it has been done before now. Didn’t old Ruthven get Yap-yap and Marngah, all that country side? and didn’t Westrope, who discovered it, lose heart and migrate to California, disgusted with Australia, and wroth with the whole civil service from the messengers to the minister?”
Their exploration fully confirmed the previous high estimate of the quality of the country. Following the river downward, they came from time to time upon unusually broad, deep reaches, equal to a three years’ drought without serious diminution. The plains retained their character, and were rich in saline herbage, intermingled with the best kinds of fattening grasses. There was room for half-a-dozen stations of the largest size; and as far as they could see there was no appearance of the country “falling off”—that is, changing into the apparently verdant but utterly worthless spinifex, or the endless scrubs which multiply labour and decrease profits. No; the Raak country was as good as good could be, perfect in quality, and more than sufficient in quantity. They rested contented, and decided to make back to the settlements with morning light. With that end in view they shaped their course in such fashion as to strike the Great Scrub, which they had penetrated after leaving Mr. Blockham’s, at a point more in the direct line to the settled country, whence they might send in their tenders for their principality with the smallest possible loss of time.
By cutting off corners, and making use of their previous experience, they managed to reach the border of this jungle tract late on the following evening.
All that day and the previous night the boy Doorival had been uneasy and watchful. Had they not known his exceptional courage, they would have attributed his uneasiness to the causeless fear and general apprehension so often exhibited by aboriginals when in strange territory. More than once he pointed out a thin column of smoke rising at no great distance from them. Sometimes one was observable on one flank, sometimes on the other, or in their rear. And as they rode forward it seemed that these tiny vaporous phenomena were rather less distant than in the earlier part of the day.
“You see that one?” said the boy, in a low, broken voice, indicative of dread. “Black fellow talk along that one smoke. One black fellow ’long a hill see you, he make smoke. ’Nother one black fellow see that one smoke, he make ’um smoke, tell ’nother one black fellow ‘all right.’ By and by, I believe, we see ’um, and no mistake. I think keep watch, all hands, ’long a camp to-night.”
“Very well, Doorival,” said Jack, “we shall all sleep with one eye open. Help will tell us when they are pretty close up, and we have plenty of cartridges all ready for the first round.”
They had approached within a couple of miles of a long cape of scrub which stretched out into the open country, as a promontory into the sea, when it suddenly became apparent that they had entered upon a different description of travelling. They found a wide expanse of deep sand, level as the blown beaches of the sea, embellished in large patches here and there with the pink flowering mesembryanthum, which looked like a great bright flag cast down on the mimic shore, but deep and toilsome for the horses, so that an active footman could have run as fast as the struggling, floundering quadrupeds. Here, in this unexpected trap, suddenly appeared two large bodies of blacks, who converged, as if by preconcerted signal, and followed closely upon their tracks. They did not make any pretence of attack, but followed patiently in the wake of the party, as if more in the hope that the horses might sink exhausted in the sand, and so place the party at their mercy, than with the intention of forcing an engagement.
John Redgrave and his companions had ridden hard that day in order to reach the point now in front of them, and, ignoring the possibility of any change of country, had not perhaps exercised sufficient caution in so doing. Now they saw their error. The horses toiled, stumbled, and staggered in the deep, yielding sand, while nearer and still nearer came the savage horde, following up, with wolf-like obstinacy, their faltering footsteps. At length, when the timber was distant about a mile, the expedition held a council of war.
“I wonder, if we get into the cover, whether there is any chance of the fellows following us further,” said Waldron. “My horse is nearly done, thanks to my unfair weight; but I don’t like to leave him behind.”
“Plain black fellows never go ’long a scrub,” asserted Doorival; “we get ’long a timber they stop and turn round. Too much afraid of debil-debil; but I believe they catch us before that; they close up now.”
“How can we stop them?” demanded Guy. “I can’t go faster to save my life.”
“I’ll show you,” said Jack, dismounting; “you lead my horse on slowly, and be ready to wait for me as I come up. I’ll manage to stop them.”
“But you are going to certain death,” said Waldron. “I can’t stand that.”
“Not at all,” said Jack, coolly; “you take my orders: I’m first officer, you know. Walk on quietly, and leave me here.”
Jack remained where he was, and permitted Waldron and Doorival to go slowly forward. He looked carefully to his rifle, and as the array of natives came rather confusedly along he picked out a conspicuous-looking personage in the lead and fired. The unfortunate savage threw up his arms and dropped dead in his tracks. Another fell, desperately wounded, and yet another to the third shot. The mass of pursuers became confused at this sudden onslaught. They halted, appeared irresolute, and finally made a flank movement, and suffered our travellers to pursue their way in peace.
Jack quickly rejoined his men, who had stopped at the first shot; they then dismounted, and, leading their weary horses, made good their way to the cover, where they found firm ground and a sheltered nook, wherein they rested for the night, thankful to believe that they would remain unmolested by the dismayed contingent of the tribes of Raak.
“It was unfortunate that we should be compelled to draw first blood,” said Jack, as they kept midnight watch, “but it was unavoidable. If one horse had fallen we should have had the whole mob upon us at once, without the faintest chance of escape.”
“What made you think of that particular style of defence?”
“I happened to know two explorers,” answered Jack, “who saved themselves in a similar emergency long ago. Only that they were in very wet, marshy country. Shirley told me he had never known it fail; and he being an unquestioned authority I determined to try it.”
“Well, there’s nothing like experience,” said Guy, reflectively. “I should never have thought of it, though I was just preparing to sell my life dearly, as the writing fellows call it. To-morrow we shall be well across this belt of scrub, and I suppose we may consider the war-path business over.”
“I trust so,” answered his comrade; “we have plenty of obstacles and troubles before us yet without that. I must say I shall be glad to see the first bush inn again, unsatisfactory halting-places as they are, notwithstanding.”
“That tribe give us fits when we go back to Raak again,” observed Doorival, with decision. “How many men you take, Misser Redgrave?”
“Plenty of men, plenty of guns, Doorival,” said Guy Waldron; “don’t you be afraid. You must tell them all about that if they don’t touch the cattle we’ll be the best friends they ever had.”
“I not afraid,” said the boy, proudly. “You nebber see me frighten, Misser Waldron!”
“Well, I never did,” admitted Guy; “you are as plucky a little beggar as I ever saw of your age, white or black.”
For three days they pursued their course through the interminable scrub, occasionally suffering for want of water, and at other times rendered anxious by the idea that they had mistaken their course, and perhaps struck the barren, waterless thicket at a point where it was broader than they had imagined, in which case they might be a week or even a fortnight before they threaded its ofttimes fatal maze. On the fourth day they sent Doorival ahead to see if he could find any indication of a change of landscape, which would fortify them in the idea that they had not been mistaken in their calculations.
To their great joy their messenger returned before sunset with the welcome intelligence that he had seen open country ahead, and they would reach it early next morning.
A small supply of water being discovered, the little party camped, full of sanguine anticipation of the morrow, looking upon the worst of the journey as past, and already fancying themselves restored to civilization and free to enter upon the first stage of their successful discovery.
Their camp-fire was rather larger than usual that night. Some of the minor precautions were dispensed with. No sign of native trails had been seen lately, and after their repulse of the Raak army they felt themselves equal to any ordinary skirmishing party.
The partners talked long as they sat and smoked by the fire. Guy was unusually excited with the confirmation of their reckoning and the expectation of a trip to the metropolis for the presentation of their tenders, in the names of Redgrave and Waldron, for so many blocks upon either bank of the river Marion, with others, including, of course, Lake Maud and Mount Stangrove.
“It’s full of magnificent sensations, this rôle of successful explorer, Redgrave,” he said. “Nothing comes up to it that I ever felt before, especially when you see plainly before you the unmistakable profits and advantages. It comprehends so much beside discovery; it’s the creation, as it were, of a colony of one’s very own.”
“It’s a grand thing in its way,” agreed Jack, with less enthusiasm, recalling one great enterprise which had looked as fair and yet failed so fatally. “But, as I said before, many things have to be done yet; and I’m getting old enough, I fear, to dread the proverbial slip.”
“I know,” interrupted Guy, with eager scorn; “but there can’t be a break-down in our case—it’s morally impossible. They must accept our tenders. We can’t have any difficulty in selling some of our spare blocks for cash enough to put on store cattle. How glorious it will be to see them pitching into that lovely saltbush by the lake! I know my governor would send me out two or three thousand pounds if he knew I had a real partner and a real station—a country-side of my own.”
“It all looks very well, old fellow,” said Jack, “and I feel with you that nothing in the ordinary run of events can prevent our forming a fine property out of our discovery, which is entirely confined to our own knowledge. You had better go straight in with the tenders as soon as we reach the region of her Majesty’s mails, and I will stay at any convenient township till I hear from you.”
“But why not come down with me?” demanded Guy. “I have lots of tin to carry us on for a few months, and a spell in town would do you no harm.”
“I have made no vow,” said Jack, “but I have taken a solemn resolution”—and a strange light came into his eyes as he spoke, and into his heart a thrill as he thought of Juandah and his last words to Maud Stangrove— “a resolution not to resume my position in society until I do so as the man who has achieved a success; I must return a leader, a conqueror, or my old comrades shall see me no more. My barque must sail up the harbour with flags flying and prizes towed astern, or lie a battered hull for wind and wave to hold revel over.”
“Ha!” said Guy, “stands the case thus? So we are too proud to bend to the breeze until the wind changes? Well, I understand the feeling; only you must put me up to all the ways of your Lands Department, or else I shall get sold or nobbled, or ‘had,’ and then where will the prize-money come from?”
“It is all simple enough,” said Redgrave. “You will leave with everything cut and dry, and in writing. You will be able to manage advances and so on down below, and I shall be all the more handy to go and take delivery of the first lot of store cattle.”
“By Jove!” said Waldron, excitedly, “I feel as if I were behind them at this very moment.”
As he spoke the dog Help rose slowly and, looking out into the darkness, growled in a low, fierce tone, while Doorival, converted suddenly into a statue, expressive of the act of listening, with an intensity apparent in every nerve and muscle, raised his hand in silent warning. Each man felt for his arms, and placed himself in full and perfect readiness for the reception of whatever enemy might appear. The night was intensely dark. Within a few feet of the fire the thicket was altogether composed of Egyptian darkness. It might have been solitary as the great desert, it might have contained an army with banners, for all that could be seen: still evil was abroad, they doubted not. The dog, whose tongue never lied, growled yet more menacingly. From Doorival at length came the interpretation of the faint sounds of the desert.
“Hang that fire,” he said, at last, “I think we big fools for making it; black fellow coming to rush the camp; I hear ’em stick break just now.”
Not a sound had fallen upon the less delicate organs of the two men, and Redgrave, but for the corroboration of Help’s evidence, would have felt almost inclined to discredit Doorival’s information.
“Sticks break all night in the bush,” he said, “still there’s something up by the old dog’s bristles. If it were a dingo he would walk out to meet it; but you see he cowers close by us. Listen again.”
“Your hear ’em now?” said Doorival, in a hoarse whisper, as a very faint but continuous murmur of voices came in on the breeze. “Black fellow—no mistake.”
“Every man to his tree,” said Guy. “I vote we clear out to the rear of the fire, so that we may deliver a converging fire upon the scoundrels when they come near the light. I call it devilish unhandsome to try and pot us now we are so near civilized society. However, they’ll get it hot, that’s one comfort.”
“It was a strange experience,” Redgrave thought, as he coolly picked out the largest available tree where none were very big, and with Guy awaited the attack. In utter desolation of that nameless solitude, with the hour midnight, and the faint but distinct sounds as of the light tread and hushed voices of the advancing savages, Redgrave felt as if they were enacting a scene in some weird drama, and were awaiting the Demon with whose intercourse their fate was interwoven.
That they would come off victorious, with the advantage of preparation and the immense superiority of fire-arms, he never doubted. Still the blacks had the advantage of numbers, and of that instinctive cunning which renders the savage man no mean antagonist.
The noises ceased; for some minutes, an unpleasant period of suspense, they awaited the onset. Then the dog suddenly burst into a loud, fierce bark, as the still, warm midnight air was rent by a storm of yells; and a shower of spears, apparently from every point of the compass, covered the fire and every foot of ground within some distance with thirsty spear-points.
A double volley, fired low and carefully in the direction of the thickest spears apparently had some effect, as a sudden cry, promptly checked, implied. For some time this curious interchange of missiles took place. Whenever the blacks pressed forward, desirous of discovering the exact hiding-place of the daring white men, a steady discharge repulsed them. The whites were well supplied with ammunition, and the rapidity with which they loaded and fired deceived the attacking party. More than one man of note had fallen, and they became less eager in the attack upon a party so well prepared, so skilled in defence. Apparently a last attack was ordered. Some kind of flank movement was evidently arranged, and some of the boldest of the fighting men of the tribe ordered to the front. The spears commenced to fall very closely among the resolute defence corps. They appeared as if thrown from a shorter distance. Guy could have sworn that the spear which whizzed so closely by his head, as he leaned over to fire in the direction of a suspiciously opaque body, was thrown from behind yon small clump of mulga. With the decision of intelligence, or the recklessness of despair, the dog Help suddenly rushed out and assaulted what appeared to be a man at the base of the clump referred to. Guy dashed forward to the smouldering fire, and seizing a fire-stick threw it in the direction of the combat where the dog was baying savagely, and occasional blows and spear-thrusts showed that a fight à l’outrance was proceeding. The brand blazed up for a moment, just sufficient to display the burly form of a savage warrior engaged in the ignoble contest. With practical quickness Guy took a snap shot and sent a bullet through the broad chest, the arms of which at once collapsed.
In the excitement of the moment Guy moved forward, displaying the whole of his grand and lofty figure in the uncertain light. A score of spears from the concealed enemy hurtled around him with the suddenness of a flight of arrows. One of the puny-looking missiles—they were reed spears, tipped with bone—pierced his arm, another struck him in the side. Snapping the former short off, and carelessly drawing forth the other, the wounded man stalked back to his cover, from whence he, with Jack and Doorival, kept up a ceaseless fusillade. So deadly was the fire that their assailants dared not approach more nearly the desperate strangers, who fought so hard and shot so straight. From time to time a yell, a smothered cry, proclaimed that a shot had taken effect.
The explorers took advantage of a pause in the attack to draw together and hold converse.
“Redgrave, old fellow,” said Guy, in tones which were strangely altered, “I fancy that I’ve lost more blood than shows, or else I’m hard hit, for I feel deuced faint and queer.”
“You don’t mean it, Guy; surely you can’t be serious in thinking those two needle punctures could stop you.”
“The one in the arm is only a scratch, though it makes one wince; but this confounded one in the flank has bitten more deeply, and I don’t know what to say about it.”
“Then there is nothing for it,” said Jack, decisively, “but to beat a retreat. If these black devils think you are badly hurt nothing will stop their rush when they choose to make it. We must take stars for our guide, and move steadily back, keeping our course as well as we can.”
“And what about the horses?”
“They must be left to their fate; we should risk our lives, and perhaps lose them, if we attracted notice now by trying to catch them.”
“Pacha and all?” asked Guy, incredulously.
“I believe I could almost suffer my hand to be hacked off rather than lose him if it were optional,” confessed Jack; “but we must choose between life and death: the time is short.”
Having communicated the decision to Doorival, and pointed out the direction, that young person selected a star, and, marching with eyes steadfastly fixed upon it, the others followed him.
They were not pursued, probably because they were near the boundary of the tribe that had assailed them. No people while unmolested are more punctilious in preserving a proper attitude to friends and foes than the untaught aborigines. They respect the hunting-grounds of their neighbours in the most conscientious manner, and are always ready to hunt up an outlaw or criminal who has taken refuge in the territory of a foreign tribe. Such was one element of safety upon which the little party reckoned, and by great good fortune it did not fail them.
By the merest chance it happened that the spot where the unlucky camp-fire had been lighted was within a short distance of the ancient and scarcely-observed tribal boundary. So that when John Redgrave with his wounded comrade and their henchman abandoned their position they were unwittingly in perfect safety before they had left the scene of the conflict three miles behind them. It afterwards transpired that the second chief of the tribe had been mortally wounded in the last volley. The excitement and grief caused by his fall aided the retreating party in their silent flight.
All the night through they travelled slowly but steadily onward, having for their pilot the untiring Doorival, and for their guidance one friendly star.
As day broke, and the red dawn stole soft and blushing over the gray plain and duller foliage, they found themselves upon a pine-clothed sand-hill, from whence they could survey the landscape in all directions. By the clear dawn-light each man was enabled to scan the face of his comrade. The pale and changed countenance of the once gay and volatile Guy Waldron struck Redgrave with a feeling of wonder and dread.
“Well, it seems that we are clear of these highly patriotic ‘burghers of this desert city,’” said he, with an attempt at his old manner, though the pained and fixed expression of his features belied the jesting words. “Do you think there is a medical practitioner within hail, Redgrave? though I fear me he would come late.”
“Good God!” said Jack, “you don’t say—you can’t think, old man, you are really hurt. I thought it was a mere scratch. Let us look and see; surely something can be done.”
“’Tis not ‘as deep as a draw-well, or as wide as a church-door,’ as Mercutio says, but I am really afraid that I shall see the old hall no more, not even the modified home of a club smoking-room. It’s hard—deuced hard, isn’t it, to die by the hand of miserable savages, in a place only to be vaguely guessed at as within certain parallels; just when we had hit the white too.”
“Don’t think of that, my dear old boy,” said Jack, gently, “you lie down and have a sleep, and perhaps we shall find that you have over-rated the damage.”
They made a fire; Jack and the boy Doorival kept watch, while the sore-fatigued and wounded man slept. No sound of fear or conflict smote upon their ears, as toil-worn and saddened, they passed the mournful hours. Towards evening Guy Waldron stirred, but moaned with fresh and increasing pain.
“Where am I?” he asked, as he looked around, with eyes which incipient delirium had begun to brighten. “Oh, here, on this miserable sand-hill—and dying—dying. Yes, I know that I am going fast. Do you know, Redgrave, that I dreamed I was back in the old place in Oxfordshire, and I saw my mother and the girls. I wish—I wish you could have met my people, but that’s over—as plain as I see you and Doorival. Don’t cry, you young scamp. Mr. Redgrave will look after you, won’t you? Well, I thought the governor looked quite gracious, and said I was just in time for the hunting season. Every one was so jolly glad to see me, and then I woke and felt as if another spear was going slap through me. Oh, how hard it is to die when a fellow is young and has all the world before him! I don’t want to whine over it; but it seems such awful bad luck, doesn’t it now?”
“I wish I had been hit instead,” groaned Jack. “I’m used to bad luck, and it seems only the order of nature with me. Try and sleep again, there’s a good fellow.”
“I shall never sleep again—except the long sleep,” answered Guy, mournfully. “I feel my head going, and I shall begin to rave before long. So we may as well have our last talk. When I’m gone send my watch and these things—they are not of any great value—to my agents in Sidney, and ask them to send them to my people. They know my address—and, Doorival, come here.”
The boy came, with deepest sorrow in every feature, and knelt down by his master’s side.
“Will you go home to my father, my house across the big sea, and tell them how I was struck with a spear in a fight, and all about me.”
“I go, Misser Walron,” said the boy, cheerfully. “I tell your people.”
“You not afraid of big one water, and big canoe?”
“Me not afraid,” said the boy, proudly. “I go anywhere for you—you always say, Doorival afraid of nothing.”
“All right, Doorival; you were always a game chicken. I should have made a man of you if I had lived. Mr. Redgrave will give you new clothes when you go down the country, and put you on board ship. Mind you are a good boy, and remember what I told you, when you go to my country, and see father belonging to me. Now good-night.”
The boy threw himself on his face beside the dying man, and with many tears kissed his hand, and then, raising himself, walked to a tree at some distance and sat with his head upon his knees, in an attitude of the deepest dejection.
“Look here, old fellow,” continued Guy, “there’s a hundred or two to my credit at the agents’. I’ll scrawl an order in your favour. You take it and do what you can for the honour of the firm, and my share of the profits, if there be any, in time to come, can go to my sisters. It will remind them of poor Guy. I shall die happier if I think they will get something out of it when I’m gone. Let the boy take all my traps home in the ship with him. It will comfort the girls and the old people at home, who have seen the last of their troublesome Guy. I wish you all the luck going; and some day, when you are thinking of the first draft of fat cattle, remember poor Guy Waldron, who would have rejoiced to knock through all the rough work along with you; but it cannot be. Somebody gets knocked over in every battle, and it’s my luck, and that’s all about it. Good-bye, Redgrave, old fellow. I’m done out of my share of hut-building, stock-yard-making, and all the rest of it. I feel that as much as anything. Give me your hand—my eyes are growing dim.”
All the long night John Redgrave and the boy watched patiently and tenderly by the dying man. Shortly before daylight there was a period of unusual stillness. Jack lighted a torch and took one look at the still face which he had learned to love. The features still wore the calm air habitual to the man. The parted lips bore recent traces of a smile. The square jaw was set and slightly fallen—Guy Waldron was dead!—dead in this melancholy desert, thousands of miles from any one of his own name or kindred.
John Redgrave closed the fearless blue eyes, which still bore unchanged their steadfast look of truth or challenge. He covered the still face, placed by his side the arm, carelessly thrown, as in life’s repose, above the head, and, casting himself on the sand beside the dead, was not ashamed to weep aloud.
How well-nigh impossible to realize was it that, but one short night before, that clay-cold form had been full of glowing life, high hope, and generous speech. A fitting representative of the old land, which has sent forth so many heroes, conquering and to conquer. The darling of an old ancestral home—the deeply-loved son of a gallant father. The long-looked-for, dreamed-of wanderer, a demi-god in the eyes of his sisters. And now, there lay all that was left of Guy Waldron—lonely and unmarked in death amid that solitary waste, as a crag fallen from the brow of their scarce-named peak, as a tree that sways softly but heavily to its fall amid the crashing undergrowth of the desert woodlands.
. . . . .
That night John Redgrave and the wailing Doorival buried him at the foot of a mighty sighing pine, covering up their traces as completely as the boy’s woodcraft enabled them to do, and marking the spot in a sure but unobtrusive manner, so that in days to come the burying-place of Guy Waldron should not be suffered to remain undistinguished. This duty being performed, Jack gathered up the small personal treasures of the dead man, and long before dawn, steering by the southern stars, they pursued their mournful progress towards the settlements.