ALL that morning low clouds drifted across the sky, and Ess was in and
out to examine them, and look long across the plain in the hope of
seeing the rain clouds looming up.
And when a thin light shower drifted down, Ess sang for very joy, and
ran to the old housekeeper, and begged her to come out in it and feel
it falling. The housekeeper laughed at her and shook her head. “Wait,”
she said, “wait, my dear. It’s soon yet to be rejoicin’. ’Tisn’t a
shower like that we’re needin’, and I fancy the boss is countin’ more
on the water from the river than from the clouds.”
“It’s going to rain; it’s going to rain,” sang Ess, and danced out to
the verandah again to watch the moisture dripping slowly from the trees.
But within half an hour the shower passed and the sun came out again.
Ess went down to the gate and looked across the plain. It was steaming
like a cauldron, and when the boss drove up he pointed to the vapour
and laughed. “There goes your rain,” he cried, “off back to the clouds
again. But, never mind, that sort of watering-can sprinkle isn’t much
good to us. Come and I’ll show you something, though—something that’s
coming in over your luck-bringer.”
She jumped up, and he drove to where a silver streak was showing on the
horizon, and when they came to it he pulled up, and Ess watched the
trickle of water creeping slowly, so slowly, across the plain. She
gazed at it in fascination—this fraction-of-an-inch-deep flood—that
seemed so stealthy and deliberate in its movement. The dry earth yawned
hungrily for it, and the hot sand drank it in, but still it crept on
and on, widening and spreading towards their feet even as they watched.
“It’s like some beast crawling on its prey,” said the boss, “or a snake
writhing across the ground.”
“It’s not,” she cried indignantly. “It’s an army—an army advancing
bravely with banners flung and spears glancing in the sun. The army of
the relief, marching to battle the drought, and the dry spell, and the
heat, and bring succour to the parched land. Can’t you see it? Look,
there is one of the enemy’s citadels,” she pointed to a clod of dry
earth that the waters were slowly creeping round. “It is falling—it
gives—it is down—” as the clod crumbled away “—and the army rolls on.”
And indeed if one watched the edge closely, and the little drops of
water gathering and running in the tiny scratches of channels, and
filling them, and gathering again and surrounding another morsel of
earth or pebble, it was easy to picture in it the rushes of armed men
into the trenches, and their gathering and sweeping round the squares
of the enemy, and attacking them fiercely and riding over them. One
might be inclined to cheer the victorious advance—until one lifted eyes
and looked across the vast plain, and things fell back into their true
proportion—a thread of inch-deep water draining slowly across a Sahara
desert.
But Ess asked the boss to drive through it, and laughed like a child at
the splash of the horses’ feet and the water running dripping off the
wheels.
About noon the clouds banked up rapidly, and the rain commenced to
fall—really to fall—straight and heavy and drenching, till the gutters
spouted and little rivulets ran foaming down the garden walks. It
drummed fiercely on the roof and swept roaring down on the foliage of
the trees. It rained so for half an hour, and then slackened to a thin
drizzle and stopped.
A couple of hours after a buggy splashed up to the gate, and Dolly Grey
came squelching up the path. He was dripping but immensely cheerful,
and he stood out in the verandah and waited for the boss, and gave him
Scottie’s message that they had had a shower in the hills, and there
was word from the township of the river being up further up country,
and would he say if Scottie was to go on bringing the sheep down, or
would he wait and hold them in the back pastures or the hills yet a
little.
And the boss called Ess, who had walked to the end of the verandah when
he came out to Dolly Grey, and asked her. “Tell me, Miss Lincoln—will
we have more rain or not? Will I bring the sheep down or hold them?
It’s all a toss-up whether it comes more rain or not, and you seem to
be a good prophet.”
He was half laughing, but Ess was very grave, and answered him straight
and unhesitatingly. “It’s going to rain, and rain, and rain. There,
I’ve told you.”
The boss chuckled deep in his throat and turned to Dolly. “You hear,”
he said. “Tell Mackellar that I have it on good authority that it is
going to rain, and rain, and rain, so—hold the sheep meantime.” He
turned to Ess. “Will you get him some tea, Miss Lincoln, and bring a
little table out and have a cup with him? He won’t like to come in
soaking like that, I suppose.”
“Mr. Sinclair,” she said suddenly, “I want to go back to the Ridge with
him if you’ll let me. I was with them there all through the dry and the
cruel heat and the rest, and I want to be with them in this—this
glorious rain.”
“You’re so sure of more rain,” he said quizzically. “But, yes, of
course you can go. I’ll be missing you, but if you’re a true prophet,
I’ll be having my own women folk up to cheer me in my solitude again,”
and he turned to the house with something more than the wet of the rain
in his eyes.
She ran and packed her things while Dolly drank his tea, and was down
again before he had finished. The boss had waited to see her off.
“You’re getting a real out-backer,” he said. “Pack and ready for a
twenty-mile drive as easy as a town girl goes down town to shop. Take
my big waterproof with you. Happen you might get another shower. Is it
easy crossing the billabong yet, Grey?”
“Quite easy, sir,” said Dolly. “Not up to the horses’ knees.”
“If the river keeps rising it’ll be deepening every hour,” said the
boss. “Don’t waste time when you start, or it’ll be over the buggy
floor.”
“I’ll push ’em at it,” said Dolly, cheerfully.
“Horses all right?” said the boss. “Fairly fit and strong?”
“Strong as steam engines,” said Dolly, confidently. “They’ve had a feed
now, and they’ll rattle us back in no time.”
“Be off with you, then,” said the boss. “Tell Mackellar I’ll be over in
a day or two. Good-bye, Miss Lincoln, and thank you for staying—and for
the luck-bringer.”
“Good-bye,” she cried; “and the luck isn’t finished yet, you see,” and
she waved her hand as Dolly pulled the pair round.
“Isn’t this rippin’, Miss Ess?” he said, as they pelted on at a sharp
trot. “Listen to the wheels churnin’ through the mud, and the horses’
feet slop-sloppin’ in it. Great, isn’t it?”
“Fine,” she agreed enthusiastically, and then laughed. “It’s so funny
to think this way about rain, Dolly. I’ve always been with people and
in places where the rain was voted rather a bore. Spoilt the picnics,
and boating, and so on, and made the streets messy, and greasy, and
dirty. And now I’d just love to get down and splash through mud and
water up to the ankles.”
“It surprised me at first when I came out here,” said Dolly. “I was
down in the cities a spell at first, y’ know, and I wondered a good
deal at the cheerful way men used to go about and smack each other on
the back and say ‘Fifty points of rain at Bourke, old chap,’ or ‘The
Paroo’s in flood—good business, eh,’ and that sort of thing. But I
found, when I got here, that rain here means money, and money here
means money in the cities by an’ by. And money makes the cheerfuls go
round, y’ know.”
“I haven’t had time to think of the moneys,” she said. “It’s just the
country, and the sheep, and—oh, everything.”
“That’s it,” said Dolly, smacking his whip. “It’s just everything. This
shower will bring a bit of grass along, and if we get more, or the
river floods over, as it’s like enough to do if these tales from the
township are true, you’ll see the grass springin’ like one o’clock. And
in a few weeks’ time we’ll be able to take a gallop over green turf and
hear the horses’ feet swish through jolly long grass.”
“I wish it would hurry up and rain while we’re out here. They won’t let
me outside I know if it comes a downpour later, and I do so want to
feel it pouring on me and over me.”
“Here’s the billabong,” said Dolly, “and runnin’ strong too. Come up
there, come up. So long since the brutes have seen water they’ve
forgotten what it looks like,” he chuckled.
He drove in cautiously, and the horses advanced step by step, till the
water rose almost to their girths, and a splash swilled across the
buggy floor.
“Here I say, y’ know,” said Dolly, anxiously. “I’m afraid this is
hardly good enough. We’ll have to try higher up.”
“Go on, go on,” cried Ess. “I’ll tuck my feet up. Let’s go through it.”
Dolly drove in deeper, till the water was swirling across the bottom of
the buggy.
“No good,” he said, pulling the horses round. “I can’t take you
swimmin’, you know. We’ll try higher up.”
They waded out and trotted along the edge of the water for a mile, and
tried again, but this time very few steps took them still deeper.
“’Igher up, ’igher up,” cried Dolly, pulling out again. “Bank, Bank,
penny all th’ wye.” He plied the whip briskly. “It’ll be dark long
before we’re in, as it is,” he said.
They tried again and again at several points, and at last Dolly said
despairingly, “I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, Miss Ess, but chance
a wetting and swim it if necessary. There’s nothing to be scared of, y’
know, but you may get beastly wet. D’you mind?”
“Not a scrap,” she assured him gaily. “I’ll stand on the seat and hang
on to the back. On, Stanley, on!”
Dolly piled the cushions on edge, and turned and drove into the brown
water. He scrambled up and stood crouching on the seat himself, and
whipped the horses on; and the water rose and rose till it lapped to
the edge of the seat, and the horses were almost swimming. Then the
water began to drop, and shoaled and lowered till at last they crept
out on to dry land again.
“Through,” said Dolly, triumphantly. “I say, though, isn’t it a stretch
across? Well, it means good grass all over where it’s running, so let’s
be cheerful. And we didn’t get wet.”
“It’s coming on to rain,” said Ess, suddenly. “Here it comes.”
“Get that waterproof round you, quick,” said Dolly. “It’s coming a
soaker, too. Look at it behind us there.”
A cloud swept over the sun, and a few heavy drops splashed down on
them, then faster and larger they came, and then, with a sudden burst,
the cloud opened and the water fell in sheets. After the first minute
Dolly pulled the horses to a standstill. “Can’t see where I’m going,”
he shouted. “Might as well stand and let the best of it over.”
They stood there for ten minutes, while the rain deluged on them. Ess
could feel it beating like something solid on her shoulders and the
cape over her head, she could hear it roaring on the ground like a
waterfall, she could see solid sheet after sheet fall sweeping on the
ground. Then it slackened, although it still poured heavily.
Dolly chirruped to the horses, and they plodded off slowly through the
streaming rain and over the wet ground.
“We’ve got a long stretch back to strike the track, so as to get
through the gates,” he remarked. “Hope you won’t mind it being after
dark before we get in?”
“Who minds anything, Dolly,” she cried gaily, “in all this lovely rain?”
“Not gettin’ wet, are you?” said Dolly.
“Not a scrap,” she answered. “This cloak keeps every drop out. Dolly,
isn’t it first-rate to feel it pelting like this?”
“That last burst was a caution,” said Dolly, peering ahead. “Must have
fallen solid points in the few minutes.”
“Yes,” said Ess, hesitatingly. “How many points do you think it would
have made?”
Dolly looked at her, and then he threw his head back and yelled with
laughter. “You’ve clean bowled me,” he declared. “I say, Miss Ess,
you’ll think me an awful new-chum, but I’ve a confession to make. I
don’t know what a point of rain means. There, now, it’s out. D’you
know, ever since I came out here I’ve heard people talk casually of so
many inches of rain and so many points in a year—everyone here will
tell you there were twelve points fell here last year, and how many
points a year for generations back—and seeing that everyone knew so
much about it, and took it for granted I did, I never liked to own up
I’d never heard of a point of rain till I came here. Now please tell me
just how much it is.”
Ess smiled and looked at him, and smiled again, and then burst into a
peal of laughter. Dolly pretended to be highly offended, and grumbling,
said something about never making confessions to her again. But when
this only sent Ess off into fresh peals, he looked hard at her again
and began to chuckle. “Don’t—don’t say you don’t know,” he gurgled. She
shook her head, still laughing, and Dolly yelled with laughter and
stamped on the floor of the buggy, and held his sides and yelled again.
“I never did know,” gasped Ess at last. “All my life I’ve heard people
discussing the ’points,’ and I’ve read the papers every rainy season
about ‘Magnificent rains at Oodnadatta. Nine points registered,’ and
that sort of thing. And I never knew and never dared to ask.” They
drove on gaily, chuckling, and laughing, and joking, and poking fun at
each other about the points of rain. They were like two children out on
a holiday, and even when they found the gate standing in an inch of
water, and trotted splashing for half a mile before they cleared it,
never thought of danger. It was only when they reached another stretch
of water, running wide and strong back towards the river, that they
fell suddenly grave, and Ess said in some alarm, “Dolly, is it all
right? We—we can get through, can’t we?”
“Why, of course,” said Dolly, cheerfully, although his heart had jumped
at the look of that water and the width of it. “If we can’t make it
here, we can higher up. Gerrup there,” and he drove the horses into the
flood.
They splashed along for nearly a mile with the water little more than
over the horses’ fetlocks, and Dolly made jesting remarks about a
five-mile drive through a duck pond, and tried to make light of the
thing. But when the water deepened rapidly and the horses sank to the
knees, and then the girths, he began to feel really alarmed, especially
as the sheet of water stretched for miles ahead, and the current was
beginning to run stronger every few yards they advanced.
“This isn’t good enough,” he declared at last. “I don’t know how far
this deep water runs, and it’s too far to chance swimming the horses if
it’s all the way to the other side. We’ll have a shot at it higher up
again.”
They wheeled and splashed back, and Dolly urged the horses to a hard
trot. But the heavy going was telling on them, and they were beginning
to flag. They had done a long drive from the Ridge that morning, and
would have been easily fit for an ordinary drive back, but the wading
through mud and water, and dragging the buggy, with its wheels sinking
deep in the mud, was too much for them, and Dolly’s heart sank as he
noticed their hanging heads and labouring sides. He pulled them up and
dropped the reins. “We’ll give ’em a five-minute spell,” he said;
“they’ll be gettin’ tucked up if we don’t. Then we’ll have another
whack at Crossin’ the Rubicon.” He jumped down and went to the horses’
heads, and patted and talked to them, and pulled their ears; and the
brutes rubbed their heads on his chest, and one of them playfully bit
at his hand.
“They’re good-oh,” he said, climbing back into the buggy, “chock full
o’ ginger yet. Now then, my beauties, come up,” and he headed them into
the water again.
They went deeper and deeper, until Ess had to scramble up on the seat
again. Dolly sat still—couldn’t get wetter, he said laughing, if he got
out and swam. When the water was up almost over the horses’ backs and
the buggy was nearly afloat, he turned to Ess. “We’ll have to whale ’em
through this time,” he said. “Maybe they’ll have to swim for it. If
they do, I’m goin’ to slip off behind and hang to the cart. You take
the reins, but leave ’em hanging slack. They’ll steer themselves all
right. Sit in the middle, and don’t get scared.”
Suddenly the horses plunged and sank, struggled for their footing,
plunged again, and struck out swimming. In a flash Dolly had slid over
the back of the buggy, and was hanging on and swimming. “This is
ripping,” he called to Ess. “First bath I’ve had for months, and the
water’s warm as toast. Sit still, Miss Ess. They’re doing fine.”
Ess clung to the buggy seat in silence. The rain had been so good and
meant so much to them all. She had looked on it as a friend coming to
their help, but it began to frighten her now. The carcase of a drowned
sheep came swirling down on them and struck the buggy with a bump,
making it rock and sway. She half screamed, and caught it back at the
sound of Dolly’s voice. “Steady, Miss Ess, steady. Nothing to be scared
of. Sit tight—eyes in the boat.”
They scrambled out at last, and the horses dragged heavily to firm
ground, and halted, and stood with the water streaming off them, and
their legs trembling under them. The rain had stopped, but the sky was
still banked thick and heavy with black clouds. It was beginning to
darken, too, and Dolly was afraid to wait there and be caught by the
night, although he was almost as afraid to push the horses at once, in
case they foundered. As he mounted again he noticed with a shock of
fear that the water was lapping about the buggy wheels again, although
they had been yards from the edge when they halted.
“River up and still rising,” he quoted. “We’re off again.” He could
hardly urge the horses to a feeble trot, however, and presently pulled
them to a walk, and jumped down and walked by their heads, talking to
them and patting them. “Poor old Spot an’ Pot,” he called back;
“they’re not used to this aquatic sport racket. Never trained for any
mile championship swims. They’ll buck up presently, though, Miss Ess.
Don’t get scared.”
“Dolly,” she said quaveringly. “I’m an awful coward, but I’m—I’m
getting frightened. I remember Mr. Sinclair told me there was another
channel further on that filled before that one we’ve come through. How
will we get over that? And it’s almost dark too.”
“We’ll get over right enough,” Dolly said encouragingly. “And look
here, y’ know, Miss Ess. I know it looks awful dreary an’ dangerous an’
that sort of thing, but there’s nothing to be scared of really. Why, I
could take you on my back and swim from here to our hills.”
“But what will we do when it comes dark, Dolly?” she persisted. “There
are no stars and no track.”
“If we’re stuck, we’ll just have to halt and camp down till morning,”
he said. “Bit rotten for you, I know, but there’s no danger. And it
isn’t as if it was cold, is it?”
“No,” she said doubtfully. “But I’m afraid you’ll be chilled through.
I’m not very warm, and I’m dry enough, where you’re saturated through.”
“I’m certainly carryin’ as many points of rain about with me as a
Weather Bureau Report,” he agreed; “but I don’t mind—rather enjoy it.
And this is a heap better sport than riding round a fence all day and
every day.”
“I think I’ll get down and walk a bit,” she said. “I’m getting cramped
sitting, and the walk will warm me up.”
“So it will,” he said, “and it’ll ease the horses. Poor brutes, it’s
heavy goin’ in this soft stuff.”
He halted the buggy and helped her down, and then they plodded on
again, their feet sliding and slipping on the wet ground. It had begun
to rain again, softly but persistently, and the light was fading
rapidly. The ground was alive with swarms of rabbits and paddy-melons,
and once they saw a fox sneaking away from them.
“D’you notice those things are all making off to the right?” said
Dolly. “It must be higher ground up that way. I’ve half a mind to
follow them. Can you make up your mind to a night of it, Miss Ess? I’d
be afraid to chance you swimming it in the dark.”
“Just whatever you think, Dolly,” she said bravely. “I’ll leave
everything to you, and do just whatever you say.”
“You’re a brick, and a real good plucked ’un, Miss Ess,” he said
warmly. “We’ll stick it out for the night, then. I’m sure it’s the
wisest.”
He edged off to the right, and presently, when they came to the water
again, turned further to the right, and kept along the edge of it. It
was almost dark now, and they were plodding along in silence when Ess
said suddenly, “Listen—what is that?”
They halted and stood listening. At first they could hear nothing but
the seep seep of the rain, the panting of the horses, and the rattle
and clink of their bits and harness, and the sucking splash of their
feet as they moved uneasily. Then, faint and dull at first, but growing
louder even as they listened, there came a low and long-sustained roar
like the far-off thunder of surf on a beach. A full five minutes they
stood there, and then suddenly a swirl of water splashed foaming about
their feet, and a wave washed past them and ran hissing round the buggy
wheels.
“It’s the river,” said Dolly, springing back to the buggy. “Up with
you, Miss Ess, quick. She’s up and over the banks in earnest now, and
we’ll have her running like a mill race presently. We’ve got to hit for
the high ground in a hurry.”
Ess scrambled into the buggy, and Dolly Grey gathered the reins and
lashed at the horses with his whip.
“Where are you going? How do you know the direction?” asked Ess,
anxiously. “You can’t see any high ground, can you? I thought it was
all level plain about here.”
“It looks level,” said Dolly, “but it rises in long gentle swells. We
ought to be somewhere in One Tree Paddock, and I know that’s high
ground because there’s a mark on the tree—a big gum it is—of an old
flood that had all the country round here under water.”
“But do you know where it is?” persisted Ess.
“Not a notion,” he said, “nor whether I’m going north, south, east, or
west. But I’m leaving the reins slack, and letting the horses have
their own way. Their instinct should take them the farthest from the
water they can get. And, besides, you’ll notice all the rabbits and
things are making back the same way as we’re going.”
He flogged at the horses again, while the roar of the river beat in
their ears, and the rain drizzled steadily down. The animals were thick
and close about them now, and more than once Ess felt a soft bump and
heard the sharp squeal of a rabbit under the wheels.
“Whoa,” shouted Dolly, suddenly. “We’ve hit it, Miss Ess. Hoo-ray—now
we’re all right. There’s One Tree, and we’re about as high as we can
get without climbing the tree. We may have to do that presently, but
we’ll wait and see.”
He got out and unharnessed the horses, and stripped them, and fastened
them to the buggy wheel with the reins.
“Better crawl in under the buggy,” he said. “I’ll put the cushions for
you to sit on. They’re wet outside, but they’re leather, and the water
won’t go through them.”
He put the cushions down, and they crawled under and squatted there,
Ess insisting on him squeezing up on to a corner of the cushion. The
rabbits and paddy-melons crawled in beside them, and scuffled out in
alarm at Dolly’s “Shoo” or kick. He felt Ess shudder as the wet things
brushed against her or scampered over her feet, and he crawled out and
got the whip, and swiped at any that came in near them again.
“It’s stopped raining again,” he announced.
“Now if I only had some dry matches I’d make an attempt at a fire.
There’s any amount of dead wood lying round, where branches have
fallen.”
Ess laughed faintly at him, thinking he was joking, but Dolly suddenly
jumped, and crawled out, and leaped on the buggy, and she heard him
yell joyfully. Ess heard a rummaging over her head and Dolly’s flopping
jump down.
“Saved, saved,” he cried dramatically. “Come forth, bewchius maiden,
and behold thy deliverer-r-r.”
“What is it—what have you found?” demanded Ess, eagerly, scrambling out.
“Look,” he said, capering before her. “Thank your cautious and
long-thoughted uncle, Scottie. I remembered he always had something
stowed away in the buggy for emergencies. See—a bag of flour—it’s
pudding now, but never mind it; a tin of tea, sopping wet as pudding,
but still good enough; a billy, and a little bottle of matches. Cheers,
wild cheers! We’ll have a fire. Now isn’t that like Scottie to go
carting round matches so they won’t get wet even when there hasn’t been
a spot or sign of rain for a year? But, look here, this is the cream of
the joke—a huge bottle full of water,” and he went off into shouts of
laughter.
“But what’s the good of all these things, and even of the dry matches,”
said Ess, in bewilderment, “when there isn’t a dry stick or splinter
within miles?”
“Wait and see,” said Dolly. “See the skill of Dolly Grey, the
bushwhacker. They’ll tell you on the station that I’m a no-good
ignorant Englishman, but after this you can tell ’em how my bush-craft
charmed a fire and hot tea out of the desert and the soppin’ wet
wilderness. Go’n gather sticks now. Every bit you can find, and the
bigger the better. Come on, I’ll help you.”
They hunted round and collected a pile of broken branches, and as Ess
felt their clammy wetness and shook the water off them, she was more
mystified than ever how the fire was going to be produced.
“I’m going to sacrifice a cushion if need be,” said Dolly. “They’re
full of kapok, I expect, and that’s good tinder. But I want to show you
how this thing is done without any luxurious aids of civilisation like
kapok. See here now.”
He took a stick as thick and as long as his thumb, and split it in
halves, and split the halves again, and shaved a splinter off each of
the inside corners. He did this with several more pieces till he had a
good handful of dry splinters carefully placed in his hat on the
ground. Then he went on to split thicker pieces with his jack knife,
and to break them into short lengths. When he had his hat filled, he
dug at the ground with his knife and scooped with his hands till he
came down to dry earth, built his fire of dry chips in the bottom of
the hole, and touched a match from the bottle to it. It caught and
flickered and flamed, and in a moment was blazing and crackling. He
built thin bits of branches across the blaze, and, although these
hissed and steamed at first, they also caught and burst into flame. Ess
had been watching with breathless interest and excitement, and as a
substantial crackling blaze shot up, she clapped her hands and called
out to him, “Well done, oh, well done, Dolly. I wouldn’t have believed
it could be done. You _are_ a bushman.”
Dolly bowed melodramatically, with his hand on his heart. “I thank
you,” he said humbly, and then sprang erect. “Now for the tea—interval
for light refreshments, please.” He tipped Scottie’s bottle of water
into the billy, hooked the handle over a stick, and held it in the
blaze till it boiled, lifted it off and dropped in a handful of the wet
tea, and put the lid on again for a minute.
“No sugar,” he said. “Dear, dear, I must speak severely to your uncle
about this. Most careless. And please excuse the shortage of cups.
Here, you can use this,” and he turned the lid of the billy upside down
and gave it to her to hold, and poured some tea in it. “It cools
quicker so,” he said, “and we’ll have turn about.”
They drank their tea, and Ess felt grateful for the warm glow it sent
through her chilled body.
“I call this jolly,” said Dolly Grey; “really, it’s not half bad sport,
y’know.”
“Well I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say jolly,” said Ess, “but,
really, it’s a lot better than it was. What a difference a fire makes,
Dolly. It was all so dark and dismal before, and now the blaze seems to
make a nice cosy room, with the dark walls outside us.”
“Take your boots and stockings off,” ordered Dolly, “and dry them.
You’ll feel so much more comfy. I’m going to dry my jacket.”
He piled the branches on the fire, and heaped the others beside it to
dry, and to support his jacket and Ess’s boots and stockings.
Everything else about her was quite dry, she assured him. When Dolly’s
jacket was dry, he pulled off his shirt and spread it to the blaze, and
put his jacket on, and stood in front of the fire and gravely turned
himself round in a cloud of smoke and steam. “I’m drying beautifully,”
he said.
“I do hope,” said Ess, “I suppose it’s an awful thing to say, Dolly,
but I do hope it doesn’t commence to rain again.”
“Hush,” whispered Dolly, “don’t tell anyone—so do I.”
“But I hope it will rain _lots_ more when we’re back to the Ridge,” she
said loudly.
A moment later a sprinkle of rain fell. “Good Lord,” groaned Dolly,
“you’ve done it now. It heard you, and it’s starting again so’s to be
in good time.” He grabbed his shirt and put it on, and Ess hastily
resumed her boots and stockings.
Dolly piled the wood heaping on the fire, in the hopes that the rain
would not be heavy enough to drown it out, and they crept back under
the buggy. But the rain came heavier and heavier, till soon it was
pouring a deluge again, and beating on the buggy and hissing on the wet
ground. The fire was drowned out in a minute, but Ess hugged an armful
of dry sticks under her cloak, and Dolly assured her he would have it
going again in no time when this shower went off. But the shower gave
no signs of abating, and Ess sat watching the water spouting off the
buggy and splashing down, and shivered at the thought of sitting there
all through the long night. She had hardly a thought beyond the coming
of daylight, and never considered the plight they would find themselves
in, nor how they were to ever reach the Ridge. But Dolly gave plenty of
thought to it, and was in no ways cheered at the outlook, although he
laughed, and chattered rubbish, and joked, to keep the girl from
guessing at his thoughts.
The animals were scuffling in under the buggy again, and Dolly could
not beat them out faster than they came in.
Dolly knew that they were now on an island, and he knew too that the
closer pressing of these beasts meant that the island was growing
smaller. He got up at last to look, and before he had taken ten steps
from the buggy he found the water lapping round his feet. Behind him
and beyond the tree he could still see dark ground, and he made his way
round the edge, kicking the rabbits from under his feet as he walked.
He trudged back to the buggy. “The water’s almost upon us,” he said.
“We’ll have to go and roost in the trees like the crows.”
Ess scrambled out with expressions of alarm, but he laughed, and joked,
and made light of her fears, and together they went to inspect the
tree. Ess clung to his arm and shrieked as they trod their way through
and over the squirming masses of rabbits. The ground was packed and
carpeted with them, and they found that the things had climbed on to
the buggy and were clustered thick all over it.
“This will save some work for the poison carts and trappers,” said
Dolly. “The boss spent £400 last year keeping the brutes down, but the
water will save him that expense this year. Here’s the tree—now for a
climb.” But the tree trunk stood up bare and smooth without projection
or foothold, till it forked full twenty feet up. They ran back to the
buggy, and found it already lapped about by the rising water. They
hauled it to the foot of the tree, and Dolly tried to climb from it,
but had to slip back in despair.
He sat down heavily on the seat, and Ess climbed beside him.
“It may not come higher,” he said, “but the old flood mark is above our
heads. And the trunk is too big round for me to swarm up and too smooth
to climb. I’m afraid we’ll just have to sit here and see it out, and
then swim for it if need be.”
“All right, Dolly,” she said calmly; “you’ve done your best, and we
can’t do more. But I’m not afraid.”
“You’re a sport,” he said huskily, “a real sport. I wouldn’t care for
myself—but I hate to think of you.”
“Don’t give in, Dolly,” she whispered. “I can be brave as long as you
are, but—I’m frightened if you’re not.”
“All right, Miss Ess,” he said cheerily, “never say die. We’ll live to
look back and laugh at this yet.”
And the water crept to the buggy wheels and commenced to rise slowly
higher and higher on them; and still the rain poured down as if it
would never cease.
They sat crouching in silence through the long dragging hours, till the
waters of the flood rose lapping to their feet and the waters of
despair rose in their hearts, and they turned their haggard faces to
the grey light of the wet dawn.
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