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First in the Field: A Story of New South Wales, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15. After Nature's Remedy |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. AFTER NATURE'S REMEDY
He knew it was the moon shining through flowers--a soft, mellow moonlight which came through a small window. Then the full rush of thought came, and he started up. "Awake, dear?" "Mother!" cried Nic. "Why, have I been to sleep?" "Yes, my darling, a long time." "And the tea--dinner?" "It's quite ready, my dear." "But--but what time is it?" "The clock has just struck one, my boy." "Oh, what a shame!" "No, my dear; it was nature's great need." "But I slept like that! What news of father?" "None, my love," said Mrs Braydon, with a piteous tremor in her voice. "I ought to have gone," cried the boy angrily. _Bang_! _crash_! like blows on the wooden sides of the house. "What's that?" cried Nic, starting to his feet. "Hi! missus!" came in a harsh voice. "Here they are. What did I say?" "Come?" cried Mrs Braydon wildly. "Ay, missus. Our black's just run in to where I was watching beyond the gully. I heard the cracking of Brookes's whip, too, in the still. There! hear that?" he continued, as there was a faint distant report. "Master's yonder." Nic stepped to the corner of the room, where he had stood his gun when he entered, went to the window, cocked the piece, thrust it out with its barrel pointing upward, and fired, in answer to his father's signal. "He'll know what that means. All right," said the boy. "Oh, mother, I feel so guilty; but he did tell me to stay and take care of you, for if I did not return he said he should know that all was right." "My word, young squire, you made me jump," cried Samson, coming to the window. "Was that to siggernal the master?" "Yes, of course." "I'm a-goin' to meet him now. Too tired to come with me?" "Oh no," cried Nic; and the next minute he was trudging along beside the old man, leaving the house with its windows lit up and the fire shining through the open door as a welcome home to the master. "You ought to go first, young gentleman," said Samson, "but you won't know the way in the dark; and as I'm going along by the sheep track, there won't be room for you alongside me, so you'd better come behind. Keep close, for it's dark under the green stuff and a bit awkward, but it cuts off a quarter of a mile. Come on." Nic followed the old man across a fenced-in enclosure, over the fence, and then down a steep slope into a gully, where their path soon resembled silvery lacework on velvet, for they were going beneath arching ferns of the most delicate nature. Then they had to leap dark roaring water, that flashed and sparkled where the moonbeams touched a broad glassy curve before it plunged down into some dark mysterious depth. "Pretty place this by daylight, sir," said the old man. "Mind how you come across here. Give me your hand to steady you, for it's pretty tidy dark." "What is it--water?" asked Nic. "Yes; it's a deep bit of a pool as the master dammed up, and this here's a tree felled to lie acrost it like a bridge. You won't like it by daylight p'raps, but it's quite safe, and you can't see how deep it is in the dark." Nic hesitated for a moment, then lightly grasped the man's hand, but only for a moment. The next the bony hand had clutched his wrist like a vice. "That's better," said the old man. "Now you can slip if you like, and I can hold you if you do." There was nothing else for Nic to hold but his tongue and his breath, as he stepped on to the rugged wood in the black darkness, for the moonbeams were shut out now by the rocks, overhead, and then, as he took step for step behind his companion, so close to him that he kept kicking his heels, he felt the difference underfoot for a few paces and the tree trunk yield and give a little in an elastic way. Then all at once the character of the path was changed, and Nic felt the hard rock beneath his feet. "Is that deep?" he said, rather huskily. "Well, with what we've got not far away we don't call that deep. It's on'y a sort o' crack like. 'Bout hundred and fifty foot, say." "A hundred and fifty feet!" cried Nic, with an involuntary shiver. "Somewheres about that," said Samson coolly. "But you wouldn't hurt yourself if you went down, for there's a good depth o' water in the pool. But you'd get strange and wet." Nic drew in a deep breath. "There--it's all good going now, sir: a bit downwards and then up hill." The old man strode on, leading his companion up and down for a while and then beginning a steady ascent. "This is the bit as the sheep made going to and from the folds. 'Nother five minutes and we shall be atop o' the side o' the gully. You come along a bit higher up. There we are," he said, at last. "Now look straight ahead and tell me what you see." "A light swinging to and fro, and up and down." "That's it, sir; and that light's the master's waggon lantern. Know why it dances about like that?" "Somebody seems to be swinging it." "Yes," said the old man with a chuckle; "and some, body's that big bullock with the white spot on his for'd. Know how he carries the lantern?" "Tied round his neck." "Nay; it's been hooked on to his horn," said the old man with a chuckle. "I showed master how to do that, and you wouldn't think it was in a big stupid-looking hox; but it's my belief as old Cheery likes carrying that there light, and is quite proud of it." "Nonsense!" said Nic, as he watched the faint star down below them on the level. "No, I dunno as it's nonsense, sir. I think he do, because if he didn't he'd on'y have to give his head a cant on one side and send that there lantern a-flying; and he never do. Now steady: it's a bit steeper here. See your way better, can't you?" "Yes, it's so much more open; and how beautiful it looks in the moonlight!" "Ay, it do, sir; but it looks better by day a deal. Now hold hard." Nic stopped, and the old man gave the Australian cry, which was answered hoarsely from the darkness round the swaying lantern. Then there were several sharp cracks of a whip and the rattle of chains. "That's old Brookes. He can slash a whip. Good workman, Brookes, on'y he hayve got too much tongue. There now, we're down on the level, and you can make out the waggon. Leastwise I can." "Father!" shouted Nic excitedly. "All well?" "All well?" came back. "Yes!" and a minute later the boy was walking by his father's side, holding on by the horse's mane, answering questions and asking others. "Oh yes," said the doctor; "they came out at last and made a show of attacking us; but I sent a charge of shot spattering among the leaves over their heads, and they turned and ran." Half an hour after, while the oxen were still laboriously tugging the heavy waggon up the slope leading to the station, Nic and his father reached one illuminated door, where the doctor sprang down to embrace wife and daughters, after which he handed his horse's rein to old Samson and waited till the wain was drawn up into the enclosure and the bullocks were turned loose to graze. "Our task to-morrow, Nic,--to see to the unloading." "But will the things be safe there?" said the boy. "Safe? yes, unless the blacks come down upon us. But I have no fear. Now, Nic, I'm not like you: I haven't been fed and pampered by the women for hours. I'm starving for a good meal." "So am I, father." "What, again?" said the doctor, as he reached the door, just as Brookes and Leather carried the lantern into the kitchen, where a meal was spread for them. "Here, my dear, this boy says he's hungry again." "Again, father?" cried Hilda; "why, he has had nothing but a cup of tea!" "Why? Not well?" "Oh yes, father, quite," cried Nic. "I've only been asleep." _ |
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