HOW CONQUEROR BOLTED.
The day had gone slowly for Merle Warner.
From her room she had watched the boys ride off in the early morning,
sore and resentful that she was not one of the party. It was her
favourite ride: of all the station jobs there was none Merle loved like
going out to the Ten-Mile. Bill Summers and she were great friends; he
always expected to see her when the ration cart went out. And just
because her father was not going, she also must remain at home, since
long rides were only permitted her under his wing.
She had begged that the rule might, for this once, be relaxed, but her
father had been adamant.
"Don't be stupid, Merle," he had said sharply, at last. "Apart from
the fact that I wouldn't let you go without me, you might have the
sense to realise that the boys really wouldn't want you. Boys don't
want a little girl always hanging round." Then--a little sorry for her
quick flush, "You can come with us to Mernda in the car, if you like."
"I wouldn't go a yard to Mernda!" Merle had flashed.
"Very well, then, stay at home," Mr. Warner had responded cheerfully.
"After all, it's the best place for you. Run off to bed, I'm busy."
He had turned to his writing-table and forgotten all about her.
The memory did not tend to make Merle amiable at the breakfast-table,
which seemed curiously empty without the cheery presence of the four
boys. She hurried through her breakfast, and then retreated with a
book to her nest in the big pine tree in the garden, turning a deaf ear
to occasional calling of her name. From her hiding-place she watched
the car drive off after a while, her father at the wheel. She did not
descend until the luncheon gong boomed out its summons; and then
strolled in, rather hoping that her absence had caused anxiety. It was
rather crushing to learn from Mrs. Macleay that Yet On, the Chinese
gardener, had seen her climb the tree and had mentioned the fact to the
first person he had heard calling her.
Lunch, with Bobby and the twinses, had been both dull and irritating;
Bobby, who was mourning Dick's absence, was in a provoking mood, and
the twinses insisted on emptying their soup into a vase, and howled
dismally when nanna, returning after a short absence, checked this
interesting diversion. The pudding, too, was one Merle did not happen
to like; she refused to eat any, and, pushing her chair impatiently
away, left the table. Bobby pursued her, presently demanding that she
should play with him; she locked herself in her room to avoid him,
declining to come out until the sound of little voices, dying away in
the distance, told her that nanna had taken the children for their
afternoon walk.
She opened her door and strolled out upon the verandah. It was a
glorious afternoon; the sun, shining through the trailing masses of
tecoma on the posts, was enough to charm away even bad temper. A
sudden thought came to her, and she turned back into her room, to
emerge presently dressed for riding. Olaf was in the stable, she knew.
Why should she not take him out? Mrs. Macleay was the only person
likely to interfere with her, and she was safely in the kitchen. Merle
ran across to the stable yard, almost cheerfully.
She called O'Mara, but received no answer; and then remembered that she
had seen him go out, driving Mr. Macleay. Well, it did not matter. It
was easy enough to saddle Olaf without help. She mounted and rode down
towards the lake, looking out for the children. They were playing with
nanna near the bank, and she trotted along to them.
"Where's you goin', Merle?" demanded Bobby.
"I'm going to meet the boys," Merle said. "You can tell Mrs. Macleay,
nanna, if she asks for me."
The black nurse looked uneasy.
"Boss, him be cross this pfeller if you go far," she protested. "Mine
thinkit baal you go all by you'se'f, Missy Merle."
"Oh, rubbish, nanna," Merle said.
"Dad'll be jolly wild wiv you--an' so'll mummy," said Bobby warningly.
"I don't care. I'm not going far, anyhow. The boys'll be home soon.
I'm sure to meet them in the Middle Plain."
"Boss him say baal you go out on yarraman (horse) 'less he go longa
you," said nanna. "Mine thinkit better you get off."
She put out a hand to the bridle. But Merle was too quick for her; a
touch of her heel, and Olaf sprang aside. She cantered off along the
track, turning to laugh at them. Bobby's woeful little face touched
her a little.
"Never mind, old chap," she called to him. "I'll bring Dick home, and
we'll have a game."
She cantered across the first two paddocks. The boys should be home
soon now, she thought; better fun not to meet them too near the home
stead, in the smaller paddocks, where they could not have a good
gallop. Out on the plain they might put up a hare, and a racing spin
over the grass would be some compensation for the disappointment of her
day. Olaf was very fresh; she gave him his head when she had shut the
last gate, and soon was far out in the open. Once she thought she
caught sight of the boys in a clump of trees, and rode away from the
track to see; but, though she beat through the trees, thinking they
were hiding from her, she found only a big shorthorn bullock, which
lumbered off at her approach. There was still no sign of the boys as
she emerged again upon the plain; she stared ahead fruitlessly. Had
she glanced back she might have seen two racing figures making for the
homestead: Dick and Macleod, getting the last ounce they could out of
their horses. But it did not occur to Merle to look back. She touched
Olaf impatiently, and again cantered forward.
The green line of the timber ahead beckoned her. She knew well that
she would never have been allowed to enter it alone; but she was in the
reckless, defiant mood that considers it as well to be hanged for a
sheep as for a lamb. After all, she thought, she must certainly meet
the boys very soon; every moment she paused, thinking she heard their
voices. It would be cooler to wait in the shade, even if she only went
just within the edge of the belt of trees. But once there, she strayed
further and further in, tempted by the leafy green alleys that she
loved. Olaf loved them as much as she; he paced along, daintily
arching his beautiful neck. The sunlight, filtering through the gum
leaves, made dappled patterns on the black satin of his skin. Once or
twice he pricked his ears questioningly, as though listening to some
sound Merle could not hear--surely, she thought, the boys' horses
coming through the trees from the Ten-Mile. So she went slowly on.
* * * * *
Dick came across to the homestead from the stables, feeling suddenly
very tired. He had not eaten since breakfast; and morning, with its
early start and the fun and laughter of the ride out, seemed to belong
to another age altogether. Then, cruelty and murder had been things
that people talked about, without realising their existence; now they
had suddenly come close enough to be touched, and the whole world was
altered. His heart was heavy for the old man who had been kind to him;
dead now, and without the chance of striking a blow in his own defence.
Dick's fists clenched in helpless anger.
The great bell of the station crashed out suddenly, in such thunderous
clamour that he jumped and then stood still. What Mr. Warner called
its "tinkle"--the daily summons to dinner--had seemed to Dick violent
enough; but this was a new sound altogether, a resonant, brazen din
that clanged furiously, sending its strident clashing far out across
the paddocks. The squatter's words came back to him--"It can make a
very tolerable din in the hands of an active person." Well, that was
no exaggeration--surely its wild clamour must reach every man working
out on the run.
He went across to the high stand from which the bell hung. It was
swaying back and forth in a kind of mad dance, and below stood Mrs.
Macleay, her muscles swelling under her thin blouse as she tugged at
the rope.
"I'd nearly forgot the bell," she panted. "'Tis two years since we had
to ring it--and then 'twas for a bush fire. Go in, laddie--there's
food waiting for ye in the dining-room, and Mr. Macleod said ye were to
eat."
Dick turned away heavily. The black girls were gathered round, staring
and chattering. At the moment even their friendly ebony faces were
horrible to him, and he brushed past them as quickly as he could. The
food in the dining-room seemed to choke him at first; he gulped down a
cup of strong tea, and then found it easier to swallow. The clanging
of the bell never ceased; he felt as though it were beating inside his
head, paralysing him. And he was suddenly terribly lonely. A great
longing for companionship came over him, and he went out again.
Mrs. Macleay had given the bell rope to a black girl, and was speaking
hurriedly to nanna, who had run to the house with the children when the
bell began to ring. Her kind face was white.
"Think what you're saying, nanna! Miss Merle gone out on her pony!
Where?"
Bobby piped up.
"Merle's gone to meet Dick and the boys," he said. "Out over the
Miggle Plain towards the Ten-Mile. We tole her dad would be jolly
angwy, but she would go."
"That Missy Merle bad pfeller, mine thinkit," said the black gin,
stolidly. "Ball she let me stop her--she kicking yarraman, all same
jump away quick."
"Bobby!" Mrs. Macleay's voice was a wail. "Are you sure she went
towards the Ten-Mile?"
Bobby nodded decidedly.
"Dead certain. She was awful cwoss 'cause dad wouldn't let her go wiv
'em this morning. She said she'd meet 'em comin' home." His eye fell
on Dick, and he sprang to meet him with a gay little shout. "Oh, Dick!
Didn't you meet Merle?"
Over the fair head Dick's eyes met the Scotchwoman's, and there was
dread in both.
"How long ago, Bobby?"
"Since Merle went? Oh, ages!" said Bobby airily. "Didn't you see her?"
Dick shook his head.
Mrs. Macleay gripped his shoulder suddenly, pulling him aside.
"Can you go after her?" Her voice was thick. "I can't ride, and
there's not a man on the place. Is there a horse in? Mr. Macleod said
yours was lame."
"Conqueror's in the stable," Dick said. "Of course I'll go; most
likely I'll catch her up before she gets to the timber. Anyhow, she'll
never go into the timber by herself, and no black fellow would go near
her in the open on Olaf."
"Are you fit to go, child?" The woman wrung her hands. "You look dead
beat now. But what am I to do?"
Dick forced a laugh.
"Don't you worry; I'm all right," he said. "Ten to one she'll have
turned back and I'll meet her coming home. I'd better scoot, hadn't
I?" Turning, he ran, pursued by an indignant wail from Bobby.
Conqueror was fresh and impatient, and to saddle a horse of seventeen
hands is not an easy task for a boy of thirteen, even if that horse be
inclined to stand still. Dick was struggling with him when Mrs.
Macleay appeared.
"I'll hold him," she said, briefly. She helped to saddle the great
horse, and then gave Dick an awkward leg-up. Still holding the bridle
she took something from her pocket.
"Is this any good to you?"
It was a small automatic pistol, and Dick's heart leaped at the sight
of it.
"I can't hit a haystack," he admitted. "But I know how to use
it--we've been practising every evening--and at least I can fire it
off. Is it loaded?"
She nodded.
"Yes--but I can't find any more cartridges."
"Well, I mightn't need even these, but I'd better take it," Dick said.
He slipped it into his pocket. "Can you open the gate, Mrs. Macleay?"
"Ay," she said. "And there's black girls ahead at the next two gates
for ye. Ride fast, laddie, and God keep ye!"
Dick needed no telling. Conqueror was already reefing and dancing with
impatience. He went through the gate in a flash and settled into his
stride across the next two paddocks, in a way that would have been
impossible but for Mrs. Macleay's forethought in sending the gins ahead
to open the gates. The wide Middle Plain spread before him, and he
gave his head a little shake, taking the bit in his teeth. This
featherweight on his back was as nothing; and the stretching plain,
with its soft grass, was a galloping ground that he loved.
Dick had never ridden such a horse. On his father's station, while at
odd times he might ride anything, as occasion demanded, his favourite
mount was his pony, Tinker; here, he had ridden Agility, a horse full
of fire and speed, but not big. Conqueror's huge bulk beneath him made
him feel like an insect on an elephant. There seemed miles of great
neck before him--iron-grey in colour, and hard as iron; and to pull at
the huge head was like pulling at the side of a mountain. The massive
hoofs seemed to fling themselves out, pounding the grass with
earth-shaking thuds. Dick tried to get the horse in hand once, but
realised that he had no chance whatever, Conqueror merely shook his
head and galloped on.
Well, after all, to gallop was all Dick wanted. Luckily, the great
horse kept to the faint wheel track, and that, presumably, was the line
that Merle had taken. He ceased to try to steady Conqueror or to guide
him, realising that all his energies would be needed for sitting still
on the mighty, plunging bulk beneath him. Leaning forward, he scanned
the plain eagerly for a glimpse of a little figure on a black pony; but
there was nothing save open grass and blue sky, except for the
scattered clumps of trees to right and left. She would not be in one
of those, he thought, or if she were, the noise of thundering hoofs
would make her show herself. He could do nothing but gallop ahead
towards the long-blurred line of timber.
But he was cruelly tired. Each great bound under him seemed to shake
him from head to foot. The spring had gone out of him; between hard
riding and shock, his nerves had tightened almost to breaking point.
Yesterday, riding out to revolver practice with the jackeroos, he had
fancied himself almost a man; to-day he knew himself for a little boy,
and a tired one at that. The thought of his mother came to him, and a
sob rose in his throat.
Yet, when the line of timber grew near, and he knew that he must enter
it, with all its stealthy peril, something of the clean pluck that was
his inheritance came back to him. He sat erect, and tried to steady
Conqueror; and to his surprise the mighty horse gave to the light
fingers on his bit, and the stretching gallop steadied to the slow
canter that his master declared was the easiest pace in the world.
With the slackening of the pounding gallop relief came to Dick's
overtaxed senses. Had it gone on, he had known that he must fall; now,
that fear left him, and with it some of his weariness. He reined
Conqueror to a walk as they reached the trees, peering into their dark
recesses.
Nothing seemed stirring there. The wheel tracks lay before him, faint,
yet clear enough; he was not bushman enough to say if other hoof-prints
had stirred the soft grass. With a sudden impulse he coo'ee'd loudly,
wondering immediately if he had done the wrong thing. There was no
answer. He took his courage in both hands and rode into the forest.
Everything there was very quiet. Not even a bird seemed awake among
the trees. So still was it that when a long trail of bark came
fluttering down Conqueror jumped, and Dick felt himself turn cold. He
realised that he was very badly afraid, and the knowledge brought with
it an angry disgust of himself that did more to steady him than
anything else could have done. He tried to keep himself from thinking
of the hut ... of what had lain in it that the men had not let him see;
but the thought came over him like a wave. The utter stillness of the
bush was like a cold hand upon his heart. He rode on, deeper and
deeper into the green silence.
Then, ahead, something crashed over some dry sticks; and Conqueror
flung up his head and whinnied loudly. He thought he heard a cry.
Then came galloping hoofs, and suddenly, down a long aisle of the
trees, Olaf came into view, riderless and mad with fear. Conqueror
plunged aside shivering with some sense more keen than Dick's; and the
black pony flashed past them, his head low, his eyes glazed with
terror, and right through his neck a long spear that hit the trees as
he galloped. A moment and he was gone, and the silence of the bush was
more profound than ever.
"Merle! Merle!"
Dick's cry shrilled through the forest. He took Conqueror by the head,
and sent him at a sharp trot down the open space whence Olaf had come,
glancing keenly from side to side, peering into the scrub. Again and
again he shouted, as much in the hope that the blacks, hearing, might
imagine that he was not the only new-comer as to warn Merle herself.
But indeed, though he rode on desperately, he had but little hope.
Surely, when the black pony lost his rider it was because the spears
had found her first.
The glade ended in a dense thicket so overgrown with creepers that to
force a way through would have been difficult. Dick pulled up,
thinking hard. Someone was near, he felt--and there came a queer,
pricking sensation in his skin as he wondered what it felt like to be
speared. Then he saw an opening on his right hand, and pushing
through, found himself on the edge of a long gully, fringed with ferns
and thick with sarsaparilla and clematis. Here was where Olaf had
come; the pony's hoof marks were clearly visible among crushed flowers
and leaves in the rich soil. And then his heart gave a great bound,
and stood still.
Merle was running desperately towards him, dodging in and out of the
trees that grew on the bank of the gully. She was hatless, and there
was a long smear of mud on her face that looked like blood. And behind
her, running swiftly and silently, were half a dozen men--slender black
figures with horrible patterns on their bodies in black and red, and in
their hands bundles of spears. Dick saw one flash in the air past
Merle, burying its point in a tree.
He shouted, sending Conqueror forward. Something hard knocked against
his side with the sudden movement, and he gasped with relief as he
remembered Mrs. Macleay's pistol. There was no aiming, with Merle
between him and the racing black figures; he fired twice in the air,
shouting with mingled joy and excitement when he saw them pause and
dodge behind cover. Then he was beside Merle, and she was clinging to
his stirrup. He found himself praying desperately.
"Oh, God! keep Conqueror steady!"
The great horse stood like a rock. Dick kicked his feet out of the
stirrup and slid to his back behind the saddle.
"Jump up!" he said sharply. "You've got to be in front."
Somehow, with his help, she managed it. Her boot caught him in the
face as she gained the saddle and almost knocked him off. She gathered
up the reins, and Dick caught her belt with one hand. The blacks
showed again on both sides of the gully. He fired wildly among them,
and thought he saw one man drop. But there was no time to see
anything. Conqueror was off, and they were tearing up the long glade.
A spear whistled by them, and Dick flung his arms around Merle,
sheltering her as best he could.
"Lie down on his neck," he gasped. "He'll take us home if they don't
hit him."
Right ahead a knot of blacks showed, fiercely barring the way, and a
flight of spears came whirring through the air. Dick fired his last
shot, with a feeling of numb despair. Conqueror would never face them,
and once he turned, wheeling back among the trees, what chance had
they? For the bush was alive with blacks. He could see their fierce
forms slipping in and out among the timber; could hear their guttural
shouts. He forced Merle down yet further, vainly trying to shield her
with his body.
A spear caught the tip of Conqueror's ear, and another grazed his
flank. He plunged so violently that his riders were almost unseated;
and then, mad with pain and terror, the great horse charged forward,
pounding the glade with outstretched neck and nostrils flecked with
foam. The blacks stood for an instant, and then wavered and fled, and
Conqueror swept by them, shaking the earth in the might of his stride.
A few spears flew harmlessly past, and then Dick felt a sudden red-hot
pain in his shoulder; but it did not seem to matter--nothing mattered
save the wild exultation of that race with Death. He shouted
triumphantly, "Good old Conqueror!" and heard a sound from Merle that
was half laugh, half sob.
[Illustration: "Then, mad with pain and terror, the great horse charged
forward."]
The plain danced before their tired eyes. They were out of the timber,
and galloping towards home, with no hideous lurking dangers ahead--only
the long stretch of thick grass over which the wheel-tracks made a
pathway. Conqueror was settling down to a steady gallop--the reins
were loose on his neck, for Merle had no strength left to guide him;
she could only cling to the pommel, her breath coming in short gasps.
The pain in Dick's shoulder suddenly flashed into burning life; he put
up one hand, and could feel the haft of a spear. There was blood on
his hand when he took it away; he looked at it curiously, as if
wondering if it could be really his own. Then a sick faintness came
over him, and he could only cling to Merle's belt and struggle for
self-command.
Ahead, a blur showed on the grass--the ration cart, which had come out
of the trees at a different angle, and was now jogging slowly homeward,
with Downes riding beside it. He turned at the sound of the galloping
hoofs; and then shouted in horror, as Conqueror came up, drew level,
and then thudded past. It was as though neither horse nor riders saw
them.
"Harry--it's the kids! And did you see Dick's shoulder? There's a
spear in it!"
"Keep as close as you can without racing them," the old man cried.
"The boy may fall off any minute."
Downes set off in pursuit. Conqueror was still galloping hard, but
without his first terror--only with his smarting ear and flank, and the
memory of the yelling black figures to spur him on. The reins flapped
on his neck; he missed the light touch of a hand on his bit, the
sensitive pressure of the knees--all that makes horse and rider seem as
one. This dead weight on his back, that neither spoke, nor moved, nor
guided him--what was it? Something was all wrong; there was nothing to
do but gallop forward, since ahead lay home and his stable, and behind
was the yelling, hideous terror of the scrub.
A clump of trees was before him. He rounded them in his gallop, and
then shied violently at a new horror--the black pony, lying dead across
the track, with the cruel spear still sticking in his neck. The sudden
movement was too much for Dick. The sick faintness had been creeping
steadily over him, and the quick wrench, twisting the spear in his
wound, brought an agony beyond endurance. Consciousness slipped from
him as his fingers loosed their hold. He had a sudden vision of the
earth rushing up to meet him. Then he was falling--falling--through an
eternity of space, and the world was blotted out in blackness.