by Zane Grey
Sterl turned to watch the swimming horses as they entered the current. Sorrel, and Leslie’s other horses, hesitated but finally followed. “Rollie, go below me...Everybody get back so I can swing this rope.”
Red and Larry were ten feet apart, heading evenly into the current. The lean noses came on abreast, and the shoulders of the riders rose into plain sight. The onlookers watched, tense and breathless, while the horses swept down with the current, at last to forge out of it, and come straight for the bank. A cheer of released emotions rent the air. Duke, as powerful as if he had not already performed miracles that day, waded out in King’s tracks. To make sure, Sterl roped him and hauled lustily to help him pound up the bank. Rollie helped Larry. No one thought of Leslie’s four horses, now making for shore.
Stanley Dann crowded close, his bearded jaw wobbling, his great arms outstretched. With one shaking hand, Red unfolded the dripping slicker over Beryl and let it fall away from her white face. If her eyes had not been wide open, she would have looked like a drowned girl.
Red lifted her and bent down to yield her to her father’s eager arms.
“Dann, heah’s yore girl — safe — an’ sound,” said Red, in a queer voice Sterl had never heard before. “An’ thet lets me out!”
What did the fool cowboy mean by that speech, wondered Sterl? Red had settled some debt to himself, not to anyone else.
“Ormiston?” boomed the drover.
“Wal, the last we seen of thet bushranger, he was dancin’. Yep, dancin’ on thin air!” And with that, passion appeared to have spent its forces as well as Red’s strength. “Where the hell air — you — pard?” he went on, in a strangely altered tone. “I — cain’t — see you...Aw, I — get it...Heah’s where — I cash!”
His staring blue eyes, as blank as dead furnaces, told their own story. He swayed and fell into Sterl’s arms.
CHAPTER 21
LARRY HELPED STERL carry Red across to Slyter’s camp, and into their tent. For Sterl all this slow walk was fraught with icy panic. It might well be that Red had been more severely wounded than a superficial examination had shown. How like Red Krehl to have such a finish! The fool cowboy would have died at Beryl’s feet, to give the vain beauty everlasting remorse and grief.
“Get hot water — Larry,” he ordered. They undressed Red, rubbed him dry, forced whisky between his teeth. Then Sterl unbound the wounds, washed them thoroughly, ruthlessly cut open the one on his back, and extracted the heavy bullet. It had gone under his collarbone, to stop just beneath the surface. Sterl dressed the shoulder injury, bandaged it, and went on with steadying hands to that bullet groove in Red’s scalp. Sterl could not be fearful over either wound. He had seen the cowboy laugh at scratches like this. But Sterl found evidence that Red had bled freely all during the ride back to the river. The water had washed him clean, but one of his boots was half full of diluted blood. There lay the danger!
Sterl took a long pull at the flask Larry offered. It burned the coldness out of his vitals. Then he rubbed himself thoroughly and got into dry clothes.
“I’d feel all right, if only Red...” he choked over the hope. He went on. It was almost dark and the rain still fell steadily. Under Bill’s shelter, a bright blaze gleamed with shining rays through the rain. Bill had steaming vessels upon the gridiron.
“Eat and drink, lad,” said Slyter. “We have to go on, you know...How is Red?”
“Bad. Bled almost to death...But I hope — I — I believe he’ll recover...How did the kid take the return of her horses?”
“Sterl, you wouldn’t believe it — the way that girl cried over them...But it was a breakdown, after all this day’s strain, and the tremendous relief of your return.”
“Of course! Leslie is not one to crack easily.”
“My son, I very much fear Leslie is in love with you.”
“Slyter, I fear that, too,” replied Sterl, ponderingly, a little bitterly. “I hope, though, that it isn’t quite so bad as what happened to Beryl.”
“My wife says it’s good. We have trusted you, Hazelton.”
“Thanks, my friend. That’ll help some.”
The return of Slyter’s womenfolk put an end to that intimate talk. Much to Sterl’s relief. They threw off wet coats and stood before the fire, Leslie with her back turned and her head down.
“Leslie, how is Beryl?” asked Sterl.
“I don’t know. She — she frightened me,” replied the girl, strangely.
“How is your friend Red? He looked terribly the worse for this day’s work,” interrupted Mrs. Slyter.
Sterl briefly told them his hopes for Red, omitting his fears. But that sharp-eyed psychic, Leslie, did not believe him. When Sterl looked at her she averted her piercing gaze.
“Who shot him?” rang out Leslie, suddenly.
“Yes, you’ll have to be told about it all, I suppose,” returned Sterl, in sober thoughtfulness. “Bedford shot Red first in the shoulder — and then Ormiston nicked his head. Not serious wounds for a cowboy. But Red lost so much blood!”
“I heard Red say to Mr. Dann — that about Ormiston dancing on thin air. I know...But Bedford?”
Slyter interposed: “Leslie, wait until tomorrow. Sterl is worn to a frazzle.”
Sterl wanted to get part of it over with and he bluntly told Leslie that Red had killed Bedford.
“What did you do?” queried this incorrigible young woman, unflinchingly.
“Well, I was there when it happened.” That seemed to be all the satisfaction Sterl could accord the girl at the time.
“Thanks, Sterl. Please forgive my curiosity. But I must tell you that I asked Friday.”
“Oh, no...Leslie!” exclaimed Sterl, taken aback.
“Yes. I asked him what happened to Ormiston. He said: ‘Friday spearum. Red shootum. Me alonga Red hangum neck...Ormiston kick like hellum...Then imm die!’”
It was not so much Friday’s graphic and raw words that shocked Sterl as the girl’s betrayal of the element.
“Retribution!” added Mrs. Slyter, in a moment. “He stole Beryl from her bed. I’ll never forgive myself for believing she ran off with him!”
“Neither will I, Mrs. Slyter,” said Sterl, in poignant regret.
“I was afraid of it,” put in the girl, frankly.
“Sterl, Dann will want to see you. Let us go now, before Les and Mum loosen up,” suggested Slyter.
Glad to escape, though with a feeling for Leslie that he did not wish to analyze, Sterl accompanied the drover through the dark and rain. They found Dann at his table under a lighted shelter. Before him lay papers, watches, guns, money and money belts.
“Hazelton, do I need to thank you?” asked Dann, his rich voice thick.
“No, boss. All I pray for is Red’s recovery.”
“Please God, that wonderful cowboy lives! Slyter, our erstwhile partner had thousands of pounds, some of which I recognize as belonging to Woolcott and Hathaway and put aside for their heirs. I appropriated from Ormiston’s money what I consider fair for my loss. Do you agree that the rest should go to the cowboys, and Larry, and Roland?”
“I do, most heartily,” rang out Slyter.
“Not any for me, friends,” interposed Sterl. “But I’ll take it for Red. He deserves it. He uncovered this bushranger. He made our plan today, saved Beryl — and hanged Ormiston.”
“Terrible, yet — yet...I’ll want your story presently. I’ve heard that of Larry and Roland. Poor Drake! Too brave, too rash! You may not know that Drake was friendly with both Anderson and Henley. That may account — what a pity he had to find them unworthy — to see them seduced by a notorious bushranger — and kill them! Yet how magnificent!”
“Boss, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have Ormiston’s gun,” said Sterl, restrainedly.
“You’re welcome to it. Now for your story, Sterl.”
Sterl told it as briefly as possible. Dann took the narrative as one who at last understood the villainy of evil men and the righteous and terrible w
rath of hard avengers.
“I’m not one to rail at the dispensation of Providence,” said the leader, at length. “How singularly fortunate we have been! I’ve a mind to let well enough alone, except to try to save the mob that rushed to its old grazing ground across the river.”
“That can be done, Dann, as soon as the river drops. But I think you’re wise not to attempt mustering the cattle that stampeded by us up there. Those two drovers will escape with one wagon and some of Ormiston’s horses. Let them go, Dann. We have more cattle now than we can handle. And fewer drovers!”
“Righto, Hazelton. But I’ll send Larry and four men up there tomorrow, to fetch back the other two wagons. Later, we’ll gather in that mob which obligingly rushed back to us. They won’t leave that fine grazing over there.”
Sterl and Slyter left the chief, to return to their camp. “He was hit below the belt, Hazelton,” said Slyter, “but never a word! I wonder what will happen next?”
“All our troubles are not over, boss. Red would say, ‘Wal, the wurst is yet to come!’ By the way, how is Eric Dann?”
“He’ll be around in a few days. Good night. It has been a day. Never mind guard duty while Krehl needs attention.”
Friday loomed up in the dark.
“Has he been quiet, Friday?”
“All same imm like dead. But imm strong, like black fella. No die.”
Sterl struck a match in the darkness of his tent, and lighted his candle. Indeed Red looked like a corpse, but he was breathing and his heart beat steadily. “If he only hangs on till tomorrow!” whispered Sterl, fervently, and that was indeed a prayer. Sterl undressed, which was a luxury that had been difficult of late; and when he was stretched out he felt as if he would never move again. His last act was to reach for the candle and blow it out.
Stress of emotion, no doubt, had more to do with his prostration than the sleepless night and strenuous day. He caught himself listening for Red’s breathing. But sleepy as he was, he could not arrive at the point of oblivion. That speech of the cowboy’s, when he delivered Beryl into her father’s arms, haunted Sterl. It meant, he deduced, that Red had withstood love and shame and insult and humiliation and torture for willful and vain Beryl Dann; in the face of opposition and antagonism he had killed Ormiston to save the girl. And that had let Red out! Yet Red was tenderhearted to a fault, and never had Sterl, in their twelve years of trail driving, seen him so terribly in love before...Outworn nature conquered at last.
When Sterl awakened day had broken and the rain had ceased temporarily. In the gloom he saw Red lying exactly as he had seen him hours ago. He crawled out of bed to bend over his friend, and his acute sensibilities registered a stronger heartbeat. But now pneumonia must be reckoned with — a disease likely to fasten upon a man so wounded and exposed.
Sterl got out in time to see five horsemen across the river riding at a brisk trot to the east — the drovers Dann had sent after the wagons and horses, of course.
While he ate breakfast with Slyter, Mrs. Slyter approached from Beryl’s wagon. Her usual brightness was lacking.
“Mum, you don’t look reassuring,” said Slyter, anxiously. “At midnight, Leslie said Beryl was sleeping.”
“Beryl has been shocked beyond her strength — any sensitive woman’s strength,” returned Mrs. Slyter, gravely. “She’s violently delirious. I fear she’ll go insane or die.”
Leslie, pale but composed, arrived in time to hear this.
“What do you think, Sterl?” she asked.
“Well, it’s a cold gray dawn after two terrible nights with an awful day between. We can at least think clearly. Of course I don’t know what Beryl had to endure before we appeared on the scene, but what happened afterward was enough to tax any girl’s strength.” Here Sterl described, sparing no detail, Beryl’s fight with the bushranger, to keep him from killing Red, and the gruesome aftermath.
“Beryl was game and she went the limit,” he added. “If she had fainted when Friday speared Ormiston, it would not have been so bad for her. But she saw Ormiston plunge around, like a crazy bull...She saw — all the rest. I ran to shut out that sight. And it was only then that she fainted.”
“Mercy!” gasped Mrs. Slyter.
“I’d like to have been there,” declared Leslie Slyter, with an unnatural calm that was belied by the piercing glint in her hazel eyes.
“Talk sense, you wild creature!” returned her mother.
Sterl had not at all intended such a disclosure, and felt at a loss to understand why he had yielded to the impulse. If it was to see Leslie’s reaction, however, he had been strangely justified.
Toward what would have been sunset if there had been any sun, Sterl admitted Dann to the tent. The leader bent over the cowboy, listened to his breathing and — heart, studied his stone-cold face. Then he said: “I’ve played many parts in my time, including both Wesleyan clergyman and amateur physician. Be at peace, Sterl. He will live.”
They went out, to be followed by Friday. Rain had set in again, and the air was muggy. Sterl sighted a large wagon, which he recognized as Ormiston’s, rolling into the timber toward the old camp across the river. Four riders were driving a bunch of horses down to the shore. Larry led off into the river, with the four drovers behind urging and whipping the loose horses ahead of them. The flood had dropped, and neither riders nor unsaddled horses required any help at the landing.
“Well done, Larry,” said Dann, as the young drover rode up to make his report.
“We got them all, I think,” was the reply. “The — the two who got away — took four teams, but only one wagon. They either buried Jack and Bedford or took them away. Ormiston’s wagon had been fired, but its load was so wet that it wouldn’t burn...We erected a cross over Drake’s grave.”
“That was well,” replied Dann, as Larry hesitated. “But what about Ormiston?”
“They left him hanging. So did we.”
There was flint in Larry’s eyes and words. Stanley Dann, seldom at a loss for words, found none to say here.
That night at supper there was a release of tension as to Red’s condition, but not as to Beryl’s. She had fallen into a lethargy that preceded the sinking spell Mrs. Slyter feared. Eric Dann, too, according to Slyter, was either a very sick man or pretended to be.
At daybreak, Red came out of his stupor and whispered almost inaudibly for whisky.
“You son-of-a-gun!” cried Sterl in delight, as he dove for a flask. “Easy, now, old-timer!”
Red did not heed Sterl’s advice. A tinge of color showed in his gray cheeks.
“How — long?” he asked, in a husky whisper.
“This is the third day.”
“Get anythin’ — back from?...”
“One wagon, Ormiston’s, twenty odd horses — and this.” Here Sterl picked up Ormiston’s bulky belt to shove it in front of Red. “He sure was heeled, pard. Dann took out what was due him, with Woolcott’s and Hathaway’s money and shares for the boys. The rest is yours. Wages justly earned, the boss said.”
“Hell — he did...How much?”
“I only took a peep. But plenty mazuma, pard.”
“I’m gonna — get drunk. Never be sober — again.”
“Is that so?”
“Gimme a cigarette.”
“No. But I’ll see what Mrs. Slyter advises in the way of grub.”
Still the sky stayed drab and gloomy, shedding copious rains at slowly widening intervals. On the fifth day there came a break in Red’s fever and a lessening of his pain. The river had fallen low enough for the drover to pack Ormiston’s supplies and wagon across, piece by piece. And in the next day or so the cattle on that side were to be swum across. Eric Dann was up and about, moody and strange. That day, however, showed no improvement in Beryl’s condition. Red continued to mend. He was a tough as wire, young and resilient, and as soon as his depleted blood began to renew itself, his complete recovery was only a matter of days. But not even of the persistent and sentimental Leslie did
he ever ask about Beryl.
During the last few days of this period, it still rained, but far less frequently. The flat, dull sky broke at intervals, showing the first rifts of blue sky for over weeks. Bird life with its color and melody predicted a return of good weather; kangaroos and wallabies, emus and aboriginals appeared in increasing numbers. The last, Friday asserted, were different black fellas from those who had crowded at the forks before the flood. The great triangle of grassland, which had its apex at the junction of the river forks, waved away incredibly rich with new grass. Larry and Sterl reported that the trek could be resumed, rain or shine. But the patient Dann stroked his golden beard and said: “We’ll wait for the sun. Eric is not sure about the road. He thinks it’d be more difficult to find in wet weather.”
“Then you’ll keep to this Gulf road, if we find it?” queried Sterl, quietly.
“Yes, I shall not change my mind because Ormiston is gone.”
“Mr. Dann,” ventured Larry, with hesitation, “the creeks, waterholes, springs will be full for months.”
“I am aware of that. But Eric has importuned me and I have decided.”
Dann might have been actuated to delay because that would be better for Beryl. She had come to herself, and only time and care were necessary to build up the flesh and strength she had lost.
When one night the stars came out, Dann said, “That rainbow today is God’s promise. The wet season is over. Tomorrow the sun will shine. We go on and on again with our trek!”
CHAPTER 22
SUNRISE NEXT MORNING was a glorious burst of golden light.
The joyous welcome accorded this onetime daily event seemed in proportion to that of the Laplanders after their six months of midnight. Even Beryl Dann, from under the uprolled cover of her wagon, gazed out with sad eyes gladdened. Breakfast was almost a festival. The drovers whistled while they hitched up the teams to the packed wagons; they sang as they mustered the mob for the trek.
Sterl, mounted on King, and as eager as the horse, waited with Friday for the wagons to get under way. But Slyter was detained by Leslie’s pets. At the last moment Cocky had betrayed that his freedom at this long camp was too much for him. Leslie had not even clipped his wings. And when he flew up to join flock of screeching white cockatoos he became one too many. Laughing Jack, the tame kookaburra, also turned traitor. He sat on the branch of a dead gum with three of his kind, bobbed up and down, ruffled his feathers, and laughed hoarsely at the mistress who had been so kind to him. Both had tasted the sweetness of freedom.