CHAPTER XIII
The summer of Davey's first year's work with his father was the driestthe early settlers had known in the South.
A breathless, insistent heat brooded over the hills, their narrowvalleys and the long, bare Wirree plains. The grass stood stiff andstraw-like by the roads and in the cleared paddocks, rustling whenanything moved in it. Hordes of straw-coloured grasshoppers lay in it,whistling and whispering huskily, or rose with whirring wings whenanything disturbed them. The skies, faded to grey, gave no promise ofrain, and when the sun set it left a dull, angry flush--the colour of ablack snake's belly--behind the hills.
The lesser mountain streams dried up. The creek that ran throughCameron's paddocks became a mere trickle. There was only one deep poolleft of it. In that only enough water remained to keep the householdgoing for a month, when Donald Cameron mustered, and he, Davey, and thestockmen drove the cattle to the Clearwater River, ten miles away to thesouth-west. It was still in good condition and Cameron held threehundred acres of the river frontage there. He was better off than mostof the hill folk who, after driving their cattle a dozen miles or so forwater, had to pay high prices for paddocks to run them in.
Every man of Cameron's was away at the Clearwater, and Mrs. Cameron andJenny alone at the homestead, the afternoon that Deirdre came riding upout of the misty depths of the trees.
For days a heavy, yellowish-grey haze had covered the hills. Mrs.Cameron could not from her doorway see the slopes of the ranges behindthe house. The mist hung like a pall over the trees, seeming to stiflethe wild life of them. Not a twitter of birds was heard. Parroquets,breaking the dun-coloured mist with the scarlet and blue and green oftheir wings and breasts, dashed over the clearing, chattering hoarsely.Now and then they rose from the orchard with shrill screams, as Jennydrove them away from the few shrivelled plums left on the trees byflapping a dish-cloth at them. The air was full of the smell of burning.
"The fires have been bad on the other side of the ranges," Deirdre toldMrs. Cameron, as she came into the yard and slipped her bridle fromSocks' neck. "Father is taking our poddies and cows, and Steve's, to theClearwater."
"Yes," Mrs. Cameron said, "some men on the roads told us a few days agothat we'd better get our beasts out of the back paddocks in case thefires come this way."
Deirdre caught Socks by his forelock; but instead of turning him intothe paddock behind the stables as she ordinarily did, she led him intoone of the fern-spread, earthern-floored stalls and slammed the door onhim.
"A man at Steve's this morning said some of the people on the other side've been burnt out," she said, "The fires swept over the bush as if itwere a grass paddock. Martin's, at Dale, is burnt down, and he said thatsome of the children going home from the Dale school were burnt todeath."
Mrs. Cameron exclaimed distressfully.
"The fires came up so quickly they couldn't get home before them,"Deirdre continued. "And when they turned to go back the flames were allround. Father sent me up. Davey and Mr. Cameron being away, he thoughtyou mightn't know."
"If the fires are at Dale--"
There was a flicker of anxiety in Mrs. Cameron's eyes.
"They've travelled over forty miles already," Deirdre said. "And fathersays if the wind changes we'll get them up here for sure. They may sweepright on, as it is, and miss us. But he said it would be madness to tryto fight them--with only the three of us, and if they do come this wayto get down to the pool at once. He said he'd try to get here if thewind changes."
Once or twice there had been scrub fires in the summer, and Mrs.Cameron, with everybody else on the place, had helped to beat out thequickly-running, forked flames which tried to make their way across thepaddocks of the clearing to the house and sheds. She had carried waterfor the men beating, when there was water to spare, and they had dippedtheir bags and branches of green gum leaves into the water and slashedat the flames in the grass.
"There are beaters and bags by the barn," she said, "I cut the beatersafter Davey and his father had gone, thinking we might want them."
She meant to make a fight for her home if the fires came that way,Deirdre realised.
The afternoon wore away slowly. Mrs. Cameron had few treasures; but shemade a bundle of them--a Bible, some of Davey's baby clothes, anold-fashioned gold-rimmed brooch with a mosaic on black stone thatDonald Cameron had given her and desired her to wear with the black silkdress he had insisted on her having and appearing in, occasionally, whenpeople began to call him the Laird of Ayrmuir. The dress was more anobject of veneration than anything else; but she wrapped it, and theribband and the piece of lace that she wore with it, into the bundle,and put them, with her spinning wheel and a pair of blue vases that hadbeen her first parlour ornaments, on the back verandah where they wouldbe easy to get if the fires threatened the house.
Deirdre moved restlessly about out of doors, watching the haze on everyside of the clearing for any sign of a break in it.
"Are there any animals on the place, Mrs. Cameron?" she asked, late inthe afternoon.
"Only a couple of cows and Lass," Mrs. Cameron replied. "They're in thetop paddock."
"I'll run them down," Deirdre said.
Straddling Socks, and calling to the toothless old cattle dog who laydozing on his paws before the kitchen door, she went to the hill-top andbrought down the cows and Lass a few minutes later.
"Keep 'em there, Jock!" she said and left the old dog shepherding themin the yard behind the barns.
While she was away, Mrs. Cameron and Jenny had bundled half a dozen hensand a game rooster into a big wicker crate.
Just before sunset they went to the hill-top together, Mrs. Cameron andDeirdre, and Jenny buzzing before them.
Not a puff of air stirred the tawny curtain that obscured the hills. Ata little distance the trees stood motionless. The light leaves of theyoung gum saplings hung, down-pointed, with a stillness that had tragedyin it. Faint and far away in the silence though was a rushing murmur.The smell of burning that had been in the air for days came with aharsher tang. Darkness was making way against the smoke-haze.
Neither Deirdre nor Mrs. Cameron spoke, staring into it.
A flock of parroquets flew out of the haze and scattered across theclearing with shrill, startled screams. A little brown feathered birddropped into the grass. Deirdre picked it up.
"Its wings are singed," she said quickly, "and they're quite hot still!It can't have flown far."
Tense and alert, she threw back her head. A puff of wind, feather light,almost imperceptible, touched her face.
"It's coming from the west," she breathed.
"Will you take the animals to the pool, Deirdre," Mrs. Cameron saidsharply. "Jock'll keep them there. Jenny, you bring the beaters up here.I'll stay and watch to see if the fire breaks. If the wind's from thewest, it'll strike us first here."
The Pioneers Page 13