SCOTTIE, as he rode in the rear of the herd next morning, called Steve
over to him.
“If ye’re sure it was a whip started your horse last nicht, Steve,” he
said, “an’ can tell me who it was, he’ll get his walkin’ ticket this
nicht.”
“I’d rather say nothing, Scottie,” said Steve; “it might have been an
accident.”
“There’s nae room for accidents when a stampede’s startin’,” said
Scottie, grimly; “an’ accident o’ that sort is o’ set design or it’s
rank carelessness—I’ve nae room in the Thunder Ridge men for ane o’
either sort.”
“I’d rather let it go, all the same, Scottie,” said Steve, and the
subject was dropped.
The mob was kept moving slowly back over the ground they had stampeded,
and it took them all the morning to cover what they had done in their
flight in little more than an hour.
They were still wild and hard to hold, and several times the men had
all they could do to ride round them and steady them from breaking into
another rush. They refused to open out and feed, and truly there was
little feed for them to find on the ground they were covering. They
packed together compactly, and walked or broke into little trotting
runs with heads up and eyes alert, and twice during the morning they
were only stopped from breaking into a gallop by the hardest of riding.
“What in thunder has got into ’em?” growled Never-Never, as a score of
the cattle swerved from the main body and galloped down a gully. Jack
and Steve had shot out in pursuit, and were riding with their shoulders
rounded and crouched forward, as men ride the finish of a hard race.
They caught the cattle and drove past them, and sat erect and began to
pour the whips into the leaders. When they had swung and were galloping
back, the men had to ride hard again to steady them and slow them down
before they reached the mob.
“Hold ’em back, Jack,” shouted Steve. “If they go busting in on the
others at this belt, we’ll have ’em starting another rush.”
“Burn ’em,” grunted Jack Ever; “they’re crazy. Take that, you brute,”
and he pressed close alongside the leaders and cut across their faces
with his whip. The bullock nearest him lunged viciously with its horns,
and the horse evaded the thrust by a swift side leap that would have
unseated many men. For all they could do, the brutes went back into the
main mass with a rush. A shivering heave ran through the mob, spreading
from the point of contact as ripples spread in a pond from a flung
stone. The leading ranks broke into a trot and quickened to a canter,
and the men tore up in front again and fell on them with the whips, and
strove to beat them back. They went on so for the best part of a mile,
and then Scottie galloped to the front. “Swing out, swing out,” he
yelled, “an’ just lat them go.”
The men opened and left the way clear, and clung silently along the
flanks. “They’ve a clear road an’ good enough goin’ for a twa-three
mile,” Scottie said to Steve as he rode alongside. “It’ll no hurt tae
lat them gallop the win’ oot o’ themselves.”
They were passing along a valley with steep-sided hills on either hand
and fairly level going along the floor of the valley, but instead of
getting winded and slowing down as Scottie had expected, their pace
increased.
“Deil tak them,” growled Scottie. “If only we had them past
Split-the-Win’ they could just gang their ain gait. Tak a man wi’ you,
Steve, an’ cut up ower the Chow Hill and get intae the Gutter aheid o’
them. Get tae Split-the-Win’ an’ turn them frae takin’ the hill road.
Ye’ll need tae ride hard.”
He was shouting as he rode, and two or three of the men near heard him.
Steve looked round and saw Ned Gunliffe riding near. “Come on, Ned
Gunliffe,” he shouted loud and clear. “Come, if you think you can ride
it with me,” and he turned his horse and scrambled up the hill to where
a spur ran slantingly up. He did not look back to see if Ned had
followed, but he heard the rattle of stones behind him and grinned to
himself.
Ned was at his elbow as they pressed over the top of the hill, and
Steve shouted, “We’ve got to move in something of a hurry to get there
ahead of them. Keep as close as you can,” and he touched his horse with
the spur and shot ahead. They dipped down over the other side of the
hill, and went down with a rush into the bush at the foot. They plunged
and tore a way through it, and down another swift drop. Steve took it
without drawing rein, the iron shoes of the horses striking fire from
the stones that turned under their feet, and picking their way in
springing leaps like mountain goats. They reached the foot in a torrent
of flying stones and swirling dust, and Steve heard the hoof-beats of
Ned’s horse close behind. He clapped the spurs in again and raced over
a strip of level ground, littered with fallen logs and seamed with dry
water courses. He leaped a log as high as a five-wire fence, and saw
Ned’s shadow rising as he landed. He took a five-foot drop in his
stride, and heard the clash of the other horse landing the next
instant. He raced at the wide gully of a dry water course, and took his
horse by the head and sent him straight at it and lifted him over, and
Ned’s horse baulked and swerved, almost unseating his rider. Ned turned
him and cursed savagely, and beat him about the flanks with the butt of
his stockwhip, headed him back to the leap, and jambed his spurs in
hard as he could drive. With a snort of pain the brute rushed and
leaped and landed safe, and Ned beat at him again and kept his spurs
working. Steve led the way up a spur that sloped to the rise of Chow
Hill, and scrambled labouring up it, his horse climbing and clambering
like a cat. The ridge narrowed as it rose into a sharp hogback, with a
steep drop to either side, and the dislodged rocks rolled over the
sides, and went bounding and splintering a hundred feet down. And now,
as they rode along the hill that bordered the valley that led to
Split-the-Wind, they could see the cattle already turning into the head
of the valley, and Steve flung an oath to the wind and spurred his
horse again. The two men swept slanting down the hillside, swerved into
a sloping gully, and thundered down it over tangled sticks and the dry
boulders of the stream-bed, up and over the bank with a rush, swooped
into another dip and over it, and flung themselves recklessly down the
last steep pitch to the foot of the hill. At a less desperate pinch
they would have hesitated to take that slope, perhaps, but they could
see that the cattle were coming at a gallop again, and it would be a
close race for the dividing roads at Split-the-Wind. One of the roads
kept on down the descending valley, and if the cattle took this they
could run themselves to a standstill without injury. If they took the
other, they would be up and away into the broken tangle of the hills,
criss-crossed with cliffs, and scored with gullies, and pitted with a
hundred traps. Both of them knew this, so without hesitation took the
slope and the risk of landing right side up at the foot.
Steve went down with the whirling rush of a toboggan on an ice-run, and
spun clattering out into the valley. He was a good hundred and fifty
yards ahead of Ned, and turned in his saddle and watched him slide to
the foot, and pick up his stride and come after him at a gallop. Steve
turned and sat down and rode again.
He had covered a half of the mile to go to Split-the-Wind when he heard
a startled yell, a rattle and crash, and silence. He knew well what
that meant, and sat back and hauled at his rein, and swung and galloped
back for the spot where he could see Ned’s horse scrambling to its feet
and Ned himself lying on the ground. The horse went off at a trot, and
Steve swerved to ride and catch it. Then, with a glance at the cattle
coming down the valley, he turned again and left it, and galloped for
Ned.
Ned had sat up, and was rising slowly to his feet as Steve pulled up
beside him.
“Are you hurt, Ned?” he shouted. “Here—your foot on mine, and up behind
me—quick.”
Ned stood swaying and looking at him stupidly. “Wake up, man,” yelled
Steve. “The cattle are near on us. Hurry.” But Ned still stood slack
and inert as a drunken man, and even as he spoke Steve saw his knees
give beneath him, and he almost sank to the ground. The cattle were
perilously close, and Steve could see the man was half stunned. “Ned,”
he yelled again, but Ned’s chin dropped on his chest. With an oath
Steve jerked his whip round, the thong swung up, and with a hissing
snap slashed down across Ned’s back in a vicious drawing cut. The shirt
split from waist to shoulder, and the blood sprang under the lash as if
under the stroke of a knife. Ned’s knees straightened with a snap, and
he reached a hand up and back over his shoulder, and he swore thickly.
But the sting had brought some of his senses back to him, and Steve saw
his quickened glance round. “Up, Ned,” he shouted. “Give me your hand,
and up behind me.” The cattle were almost on them—Ned reached out and
took the outstretched hand. With his eye on the charging line Steve
waited to feel the foot on his that would tell him Ned was mounting.
Ned’s foot fumbled and slipped, and Steve clenched his teeth and
waited. The cattle had only fifty yards to come—thirty—twenty—Ned
heaved himself heavily up, and Steve sank his fingers in his grip on
the other’s, and helped the heave with every tense muscle of his body.
He waited till he felt the other drop into place, and then with a yell
gave his horse the spurs.
It was a close thing—deadly close. The front ranks of the cattle had
split a little at the sight of them, and crowded aside to try to pass
clear, and for the first few bounds of his horse Steve was riding in
the front rank of the mob with a galloping brute so close on either
side that he could have reached out and touched it. He yelled and cut
at them with his whip once or twice, and then gave all his attention to
racing to get first to the fork of the roads at Split-the-Wind.
Despite the double burden the horse carried, he was gaining in the
race. “Feel all right, Ned?” he asked. “Can you hang on?”
“I’m right,” said Ned, thickly. “I can hang on.” He was still a little
dazed, but his mind was clearing, and he settled himself in his seat
and took a closer grip round Steve’s waist. Steve was in waistcoat and
shirt-sleeves, and as he held on, Ned found his thumb in the pocket of
the waistcoat. He felt a screw of paper there. He hardly knew why he
did it, but his finger slipped in with his thumb, and next instant he
had the twisted paper in his hand.
The horse stopped with a sliding jerk, and Steve shouted at him; he
slid down, and Steve flung himself to the ground and ran forward
shouting and cracking his whip, and leaving Ned standing with the paper
in his hand.
Steve looked over his shoulder and shouted to him.
“Get some of those dry gum-branches and leaves, Ned, and make a
blaze—quick—here they come.”
Ned slipped the paper in his pocket.
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