A Night Alarm
It can well be imagined that both lads fell asleep quickly and soundly
that night after their first day in the yards. Sidcotinga Government
House had a veranda on one side of it, and they spread their swags
under it just outside Mick's room, as there was no place for them
inside, especially in summer.
In the middle of the night a man crept round the corner of the veranda
as silently as a black shadow. He paused near the boys, and stooped
down and looked into their faces. The lads were sound asleep and did
not stir. After a moment's scrutiny the native put his hand on Sax's
shoulder and shook it. The tired boy only gave a restless murmur, so
the man shook him harder. He opened his eyes at last and realized that
somebody was bending over him, but he was so sleepy that he did not
call out.
As soon as he saw that Sax was awake, the native held up his left hand,
so that the white boy could see it outlined against the pale night sky.
The two middle fingers were missing. It was the man who had already
done him more than one good turn.
Stobart sat up, prepared for anything which this black-fellow--who knew
the father, and seemed so devoted to the son--might suggest. The man
pointed down across the trampled sand towards the cattle-troughs. He
did it again and again, making little runs in that direction and coming
back at once, like a dog who wants its master to go in a certain
direction.
"All right, I'll come," whispered Sax at last, forgetting that the man
probably could not understand him. Sax had intended to go alone, but
when he stood up, Vaughan opened his eyes and asked sleepily: "What's
all the row about?"
"No row at all," whispered his companion. "That is, unless you make
it. There's something wrong somewhere and I'm going to have a look."
"So am I," responded Vaughan quickly, for the chance of an adventure
drove all sleep away from him. "So am I. You bet your life."
The silent native led the way, armed with a boomerang and a shield,
creeping from the shelter of one building to that of another, till they
were close to the troughs. The man held up his finger and listened.
There was a sound of running water. Sax recognized it as the
ball-valves of the troughs. There were four of them. Suddenly the
thought struck him: Why were they running? From where the three men
were standing the dark lines of the troughs could be seen even at
night, against the light-coloured sand, and it was clear that no stock
were drinking there. But if the valves were running it showed that the
troughs were empty, and the water must be flowing away somewhere. It
must be wasting.
The importance of water in the desert had already impressed itself upon
the white boys, and as soon as they realized that precious water was
running away in the sand, they rushed out from behind the shelter
towards the troughs. The armed native went with them.
There should have been a plug at the end of each trough. Somebody had
pulled these plugs out, and the water was gushing a full stream through
the four ball-valves and was running to waste over the sand. This had
apparently not been going on for more than five or ten minutes, but it
was absolutely necessary to stop the waste; for if once the overhead
tank was drained dry, and if there was no wind to work the mill for a
day or two, Sidcotinga Station would be entirely without water.
The boys did not stop to wonder who had done this dastardly deed, but
went to jam the plugs back again into their holes. But the plugs could
not be found. Something must be done immediately. It would waste
precious time to run back to the station and hunt round for something
to make plugs out of, so they started to fill the ends of the troughs
with sand and clay, scooping it up with their hands and ramming it
tight till one after another of the leakages was stopped.
When they were occupied with the fourth, and had nearly made a tight
job of it, Sax looked around for the native who had told them that
something was wrong. The man was standing a couple of yards away with
his shield raised. He looked for all the world as if he was defending
them from some attack. And so he was. Scarcely had Sax begun to work
again, scooping more sand and clay and plastering it smooth and firm,
when he heard the click of wood against wood, and a spear stuck into
the ground just behind him. Another followed and another with hardly
any pause between. The native still maintained his attitude of tense
watchfulness. He had already turned three messengers of death off with
his shield, and was waiting for more. None came.
He backed slowly towards the boys, still facing in the direction from
which the spears had come. Presently he turned quickly and pointed to
Government House, and then took up the same position of attention. His
meaning was quite clear. He wanted one of the boys to go up to
Government House and give the alarm.
Vaughan instantly jumped to his feet and ran, leaving Sax to finish the
work at the troughs, guarded by the faithful nigger. In an incredibly
short time Dan Collins and Mick Darby came running down, armed with
rifles and revolvers. When the stranger black-fellow saw them he
disappeared. No one saw him go, and indeed it would have been
dangerous for him if they had; for when two white men with loaded
weapons are looking for a chance to shoot a nigger, they are as likely
to shoot a friend as a foe. The night seemed to swallow him up, and
the white men and Vaughan, who followed hard after them, found Sax
alone. Even the three spears had been taken away.
Tracks of naked feet all around the troughs showed that a couple of
Musgrave blacks had wilfully pulled the plugs out of the water troughs,
knowing that this was one of the ways in which they could do most harm
to the hated white man. If the native with the mutilated hand had not
given the alarm, Sidcotinga Station would have been right out of water
by the morning. No one knew who this friendly black-fellow was. Sax
told the others that it was the same man who had put the sprig of
needle-bush in the quart-pot, and who had also saved him from the bull
a few hours before, but he did not explain how he knew this.
"Seems to have taken a fancy to you, whoever he is," remarked Dan
Collins. "I wonder why."
Sax knew why, but he seemed to feel the influence of his father coming
from the Musgraves, not far away, telling him to keep the matter secret.
The lads went back to bed, and the two white men kept watch at the
troughs till daylight. But the blacks gave no sign of their presence.
They had evidently been scared away.