Lalante and her small brother, watching from the bank the earlier
struggle with the awful forces, were at first frantic with grief and
horror; then the sense of having someone dependent on her was as a
nerve-bracing tonic to the girl, and she recovered a modicum of
coolness.
"Come, Frank," she said. "We must run along the bank, and see if we can
be of any help at all."
The weeping youngster brightened up a little, as seizing him by the hand
she dragged him along with her, both running for all they knew. But the
ground was rough and uneven; if it had not been they could never have
kept pace with the swiftness of the flood. Then it dipped abruptly, yet
still they managed to stumble along. Up the next rise, panting, their
hearts beating as though they would burst, and then--they saw Warren and
his burden suddenly sink from sight. At the same time Lalante's foot
caught in some twisted grass, and down she came, full length, dragging
the boy with her.
She tried to get up, but could not do more than struggle to her knees,
then fall again. She was too utterly breathless and exhausted to be
capable of making further effort. The last she had seen of them, too,
was as a numbing physical blow. She could only lie there panting in
great sob-like gasps. The little fellow threw his arms round her neck
and sobbed too.
"Oh, Lala, will they get out? Do say. Will they get out?"
Even then Warren's words were hammering in her brain "...against which
the strongest swimmer would have that much chance"; words uttered calmly
and authoritatively, scarce a minute before he himself had taken that
fatal leap. What chance then had he--had they? And they had already
gone under.
"Darling, I'm afraid there's--there's--no hope," she said, unsteadily.
"But come. We will walk along the bank--I am quite powerless to run any
more--in case we should sight them again. Tell me. How did it happen?"
"We were standing on the bank, shying sticks into the river and watching
them float down. Then a great piece of the bank gave way, and Charlie
was in."
Lalante could hardly restrain a storm of tears. One of her little
brothers--her darling little brothers--of whom she was so fond, and who
looked up to her for everything, to be carried away like this by the
great cruel river, and drowned before her very eyes--oh, it was too
awful! What a tale, too, to carry back to their father! And the
prompt, cool, brave man--he who at that very moment had been expressing
the hope that he might never be called upon to stand such a test,
because if so he was sure he would be found wanting--he too had gone,
had given his life for that of another. Lalante was not a Catholic, but
human instinct is ever the same, and if ever prayers went up that a soul
should have its eternal reward, one went up--none more fervent--from her
during those awful moments on behalf of Warren.
The rain had begun again, and was now a steady downpour, while lower and
lower the murk descended, blotting out the opposite _rand_. Great shiny
_songo-lolos_, or "thousand legs," squirmed among the mimosa sprays in
repulsive festoons, and in the splashy softness of the thoroughly soaked
ground--ordinarily so hard and arid--the foot sank or slipped. The
river, too, in whose ordinarily nearly dry bed the small boys had so
often disported themselves, or catapulted birds along the banks--now a
great bellowing monster--had taken its toll of one of them. All was in
keeping, as the darkness brooded down; the splash of the rain, the
hopelessness, the death, the despair; a scene, a setting of
indescribable gloom and horror, as these two dragged themselves wearily
step by step, staring at the long rush of foam-flecked flood in a very
whirlwind of grief. Then, upon the blackness of this misery, came a
sound.
"Lala--did you hear that?" panted the boy, eagerly.
"Yes. Wait!" gasped Lalante, holding up a hand.
The sound was repeated. It came from some distance lower down, and took
shape as a hail. The girl even thought to descry in it her own name,
and to both it came as a very voice from Heaven.
"Man--Lalante," panted Frank, in uncontrollable excitement, "but that's
Mr Warren."
"Yes, it is. Why, then in that case, Charlie's there too, for I know
he'd never leave him," answered the girl tremulously and half-laughing,
in the nervous reaction of her gratitude. Then she lifted her own voice
in a loud, clear call that might have been heard for miles in the
stillness. They listened a moment, and an answering hail was returned.
"Come. They may still need our help," she said. "Go steady though. We
mustn't exhaust ourselves this time."
First sending forth another long, clear call, to which Frank added the
shrillness of his small but carrying voice, they started off along the
river bank. It seemed miles, hours, as they stumbled along, now over a
stone, now crashing into a bush--but every now and then sending forth
another call, which was answered, thank God, now much nearer. At last,
through the gloom, for by this it was almost dark, they made out two
figures coming slowly towards them.
"Charlie--my darling, whatever made you do it?" began Lalante as she
hugged the smallest of these; womanlike mingling a touch of scold with
the joy of the restoration.
"Oh, Lala, you're not cross, are you? I couldn't help it," was the
answer, in a tired voice.
"Cross--cross! Oh, you darling, how should I be cross!" raining kisses
all over the wet little face. Then, unclasping one arm, she held out a
hand.
"Oh, Mr Warren!" was all that she could say, but it seemed to express
everything.
Warren took it, in a firm sympathetic grasp. He himself was looking
rather fagged--in fact, decidedly not himself--which was little to be
wondered at. What he himself wondered was that he was there at all.
"All's well that ends well, Miss Lalante," he said, cheerily, "which, if
not original, about sums up the situation. We're all about equally wet
for that matter, but as long as we keep moving we shan't take any harm,
and the way back to the house, if not long, is rough enough to keep up
our circulation."
"What can I say to you, Mr Warren?" went on Lalante. "You were just
telling me the strongest swimmer would stand no chance in that flood,
and then you deliberately went in yourself."
"Not deliberately, Miss Lalante," smiled Warren. "I assure you it was
all on the spur of the moment. Charlie, it's lucky you had the
foresight to tumble in above us. If it had been down stream I could
never have got near you."
As a matter of fact the feat had been one of great daring and skill, and
having accomplished it Warren felt secretly elated as they took their
way home. He realised the warm admiration and gratitude which it had
aroused in the girl, and, now that it had ended well, he looked upon the
whole affair as a gigantic stroke of luck, and, in fact, as the very
best thing that could have happened to him. Bye and bye, when Wyvern's
memory should begin to dim, then this appreciation would turn to
something stronger. Curses on Wyvern! Why should he have this
priceless possession, and how confoundedly calmly he seemed to accept
it, as if it were only his due? He, Warren, would have moved heaven and
earth to obtain it, yet why should that other gain it with no effort at
all? He himself had all the advantages that Wyvern had. He was a
clean-run, strong, healthy man, whom more than one girl of his
acquaintance would think herself surpassing lucky to capture. Moreover
he had made money, and knew how to go on making it, which was a thing
Wyvern never had done and never would. Why the deuce then should Wyvern
be where he ought to be? he thought bitterly as he walked dripping
beside Lalante, in the gloom of the now fast-darkening night. Well, at
any rate, in all probability Wyvern by that time was nowhere at all,
thought this man who had just risked his life when the chances were a
hundred to one against him, to save that of a helpless child. Yes.
Nowhere at all. There was a wholeheartedness about Bully Rawson and his
doings which left no room for doubt. He could be trusted to "take care"
of anybody.
And yet, through it all there was a certain modicum of compunction;
compunction, but no relenting. Had circumstances compelled Wyvern to
give up Lalante, he would have had no more sincere well-wisher than
Warren. As it was he stood in Warren's way; therefore--out he must go.
Then Warren became alive to the fact that Lalante's bright eyes were
fixed upon him in some concern.
"You didn't hurt yourself--in the river, did you?" she said anxiously.
"Oh no, no. I'm a dull dog, I'm afraid," he answered, with a laugh.
"Perhaps I am a bit tired."
"Are you sure you're not hurt?" she persisted, anxiously.
"Very sure indeed. I got a rap on the shin from that confounded tree
that did its best to hold me under water, but that was nothing to what I
used to get in a football match when I was a nipper."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The drizzle had merged into a steady downpour as they reached the house.
In the framing of the lighted doorway Le Sage came out to meet them,
smoking a pipe.
"Hullo. You've prolonged a pretty wet walk," he said. "_Magtig_! but
you look like four jolly drowned rats."
"And that's what two of us jolly near were, father," said Lalante, in
clear ringing tones. And then she explained what had happened. Le Sage
stared at her as if he were listening to something altogether
incredible.
"Good God! Lalante. And you can hear the river from here, a mile and a
half away, bellowing as if it was at the very door. Why, it hasn't been
down like this since the big flood of '74. And you went in it, Warren,
and--got out of it! Well, well. They give Victoria Crosses and so on,
but--oh damn it! you deserve a couple of dozen of 'em."
His voice had a tremble in it as he gripped the other's hand. The whole
thing was more eloquent than a mere speech would have been. He was
deeply moved--moved to the core, but Le Sage was not a man of words.
"Oh, that's all right, Le Sage," said Warren. "Only as I was telling
Charlie, it's lucky he had the discretion to go in above stream instead
of down, or the devil himself would hardly have managed to get him out.
Come now, let's have something warming and then I'll go and change,
though I'll have to borrow some of your togs for that same purpose."
"Right. Here you are, and mix it stiff," said Le Sage, diving into a
sideboard and extracting a decanter. "Good Lord! And you got into the
Kunaga in a flood like this, and got out again! Why, it's a record."
This was Le Sage's recognition of the fact that this man had saved his
child's life at enormous risk to his own. But Warren thoroughly
understood and appreciated it; and was more elate than ever, inwardly.
"Go along, you children, and change at once," pronounced Lalante with
decision. "And be quick about it, and give yourselves a glowing rub
down with a rough towel I don't know that we two who haven't been in the
river are much drier than the other two who have," she added with a
laugh, as she disappeared.
Half an hour afterwards they all foregathered at table, and it seemed,
in the snug, warm, lighted room, as though the ghastly peril of the
afternoon were but a passing adventure, calculated to give an additional
feeling of snugness and security to the wind-up of the day. But the
dull roaring of the flood was borne in to them through it all upon the
dripping stillness of the rainy night.
And Warren, listening to it, and knowing that others heard it, felt more
elate than ever. He began to see the goal of his hopes more than near.