CHAPTER VIII.
LOST IN THE BUSH.
Gray lost no time in starting forwards. The choice of direction madeby him was determined by remembering the cypresses of which they hadseen the mirage. He believed that they had been a landmark to Clay,and that his turning in another direction was but a feint.
It was difficult for Gray to decide the exact direction. The sky washeavy with clouds, and no sun could be seen behind them. But hecarefully calculated as well as he could whereabouts on the horizon thetrees had appeared, and turned towards that point.
He knew enough of Bush stories to know the tendency of wanderers thereto travel in a circle; and in this sterile waste, where every mile waslike every other mile, Gray felt he might travel round and round andnever know it. To prevent this he dug shallow holes with his knifehere and there, and stuck boughs of the bramble in them, so that hemight recognize the spot if he came to it again.
Towards noon the clouds gradually dispersed and the sun blazed downupon him. This bettered his position in one way, as he could now besure of walking forward, but it increased the torment of thirst untilit became almost unendurable agony. He struggled on till past noonday,but no dark cypresses lifted themselves on the sky-line. The desertstretched round him in its blank, dreadful loneliness. The blazing sunbeat down upon him, making sight a torture. He could go no further.He flung himself down on the unsheltered burning sand and hid his eyesfrom the light.
Towards evening the clouds gathered again, and he rose and struggledon. He walked many miles that night, and towards dawn lay down andslept. The second day passed much as the first had done. The skycleared again, and the fury of the sun beat down upon him. Hestruggled on for a time, and again gave up the struggle and lay downand waited for evening.
On the third day his agony of thirst had become unbearable. He knewthat in a few more hours death must end his sufferings if he could notreach water. With grim determination he battled on that day throughthe flaming sunshine and gave himself no rest. Every moment heexpected to see the cypresses rise on the horizon; and he was sweepingit with his glance when his eye fell on a white object fluttering onthe wind from shrub to shrub. At first he could not discern what itwas--his bloodshot weary eyes refused their office---but on approachingnearer he saw it was a piece of paper. It fluttered across his path.He picked it up with a horrible foreboding. It was Lumley's letter,written on the back of the map he had drawn in the hut.
It was just possible the wind had carried it onwards to cross his path.Gray made an effort to think that this was so. But a few staggeringsteps further on brought him to the shallow holes in which the bramblesstood upright. He had come back to the place from which he hadstarted! All hope died within him as he saw those hollows. He sankdown on the sand to wait for death.
He was lying face downwards on the sand, with his arms flung out beforehim, when a low distant sound suddenly broke the stillness. He startedup and looked wildly round. The twilight had fallen, and he could notdistinguish objects clearly; but as he strained his gaze from side toside the sound came again to his ears--the sound of a horse gallopingat full speed across the desert.
Gray could now distinguish from what direction the sound came, and hehurried forward, hope once more rising up in him. Was it Lumley comeback to help him, repentant for his desertion? Or was it some losttraveller like himself, seeking a way out of these dreadful wilds? Orhad Lumley sent a party to search for him from the nearest station,while going onwards himself to safety? Gray asked himself thesequestions as he hurried on through the gathering darkness. He stillcould hear the galloping hoofs, and for a time they seemed to comenearer and nearer. But suddenly he became aware that they werereceding from him--the sound was becoming fainter and fainter, it wasdying away in the distance.
Gray stopped. A cry of despair broke from him, and then, summoning allhis strength, he raised a loud "Coo-ee!"
The shrill shout died away upon the air and left profound stillnessbehind it. Gray could no longer hear the faintest sound of the horse'shoofs. Either the rider had stopped to listen to his call or had goneon beyond hearing. Gray moistened his baked and blistered lips, andthen again shouted. The shout again died away, leaving intensestillness behind it. But this time the stillness only lasted for amoment. There came a faint answering cry, far-off and indistinct, butunmistakably the cry of a human voice.
Gray once more hurried forward. The ground was growing rougher; it wasbroken up into hillocks, and his progress was less rapid. After a timehe stopped and called again, and again heard the answering call. Hewas no longer alone in the wilderness; friendly help was near.
The moon rose as Gray hurried on, rose in full splendour, making theplain almost as light as day. Gray looked in vain for what he hadhoped to see--the outline of horse and rider against the pale silveryglow of the sky. There was no horse anywhere to be seen; there wasnothing to be seen but the low bushes and the bunches of dry grass, andthe great circle of the desert against the horizon. But as Gray staredround him, refusing to believe the evidence of his own eyes, the shoutcame again--came with a mocking ring in it that made Gray's blood runsuddenly cold. He knew the voice now: it was Lumley's voice. But itwas as cruel and mocking as ever. Gray's dream of help from himvanished like a breath as he heard it.
He stumbled on across the sand hillocks, and presently could discern ahuddled figure on the ground, with its back propped up against ahillock. The moonlight was full on the haggard blistered face thatlooked up at Gray with twitching lips.
"Welcome, partner," were Lumley's first words. "You didn't expect tosee me again, did you now?"
Gray made no answer. He was too far gone in despair to have even aflicker of curiosity as to how Lumley came to be lying there. ButLumley proceeded to enlighten him. He thrust forward his foot, fromwhich he had cut away the boot, and Gray could see that it wasdiscoloured and badly swollen.
"I owe that to your cursed horse," he said, in a sulky, vindictivetone. "Just as I'd hit upon the track again, too."
Gray cast a wide glance over the moonlit plains before he spoke. Butno horse was visible.
"He flung you, I suppose?" he said, in a quiet, expressionless tone."I could have warned you not to play any tricks with him. Where isyour own horse?"
The absence of vindictiveness from Gray's manner puzzled Lumley. Hestared up at him, wondering what it meant.
"Dead," he said sulkily after a moment. "I'd better have stuck to youafter all, you see, mate. But I'd have sent after you the first chanceI had. I meant to do that all along."
He had paused before adding the last sentence, and his manner hadsuddenly altered, had become smooth and conciliating.
Gray did not attempt to answer him. He moved away a few paces andflung himself down on the ground, and sat with his head propped on hishands, staring straight in front of him. Lumley watched him insilence. His face showed none of the dull despair that had settled onGray's, but was alight with fierce excitement. And the glance he benton Gray was a strange one. There was hate in it, and longing, and atorturing doubt.
"You're pretty bad, ain't you, partner?" he said at last. "Had a badtime since we parted, I daresay."
"Did you expect me to have a good time?" Gray answered without lookingat him.
"Missed the track? Been wanderin' round and round? Just what happenedto me, you see, though I thought I was dead sure of my way. But I gotmy right bearings again--if it hadn't been for that horse of yours--"
He was tearing up fiercely the scanty grass beside him as he spoke, andthere broke out a sudden fury in his face. But he thrust back the oaththat came to his lips, and spoke, after a pause, in the sameconciliating tone.
"We've had bad luck, both on us, haven't we, partner? And my badluck's been yours; for I'd have sent back for you. I only meant tofrighten you a bit."
"What's the good of talking about it?" Gray said wearily. "It'll soonbe over for both of us now. Another day must see the last of
it."
He just turned his head to speak, and then went back to his oldposition, his eyes staring hopelessly across the silent waste. Hisapathy seemed to rouse Lumley to a sort of frenzy again. With aneffort that forced a groan from him he dragged himself a pace forwardsand plucked Gray by the sleeve.
"You'd not sit there long if you knew what I know, you fool," he burstout. "Didn't I tell you I found my bearings again? Didn't you hear mesay it?"
His excitement communicated itself to Gray. He turned round with awild questioning glance.
"Do you mean--For God's sake tell me the truth! Do you know where weare? Is that it?"
He had not sprung up, but life and energy had come back to him. Hishands clenched, his shoulders straightened themselves. He had it inhim, he felt, to make a good fight for life yet.
Lumley grew cool as he saw the hope leap into Gray's face. He let gohis sleeve and sank back against the hillock.
"Suppose I do know," he said in the old mocking tone; "what then,partner?"
Gray stared at him without speaking, and Lumley repeated the question:
"What then, partner?"
Gray was silent. He had fixed his eyes on Lumley's face, as if hisglance could drag out the truth from him. Lumley gave him back glancefor glance. Then he suddenly bent down and drew a rough circle on thesand. Gray drew close, bending towards the circle with intent eyes.
"That's where we are, partner, d'ye see?" said Lumley, making a holewith his finger in the middle of the circle; "and here's the moon,"making another mark. "You're follerin' me so far, eh?"
"Yes, go on," said Gray breathlessly.
Lumley gave him a quick look from under his bushy eyebrows, and thenbent over the plan again.
"Do you remember them trees we saw just afore we parted?" he said,looking on the ground as he spoke. "'Twas the sight of them made mesure we was in the right road. I made tracks for them when we partedcompany."
He looked up furtively at Gray again.
"You got that bit of a note I wrote you, partner?"
Gray hardly heard the words.
"Never mind that. Go on, go on!" he hurried out with passionateeagerness.
He was sure now that Lumley knew in which direction the trees lay, knewwhere water was to be obtained.
Lumley looked into his face with a sardonic grin. He had grown coolerand cooler as Gray's excitement rose.
"What's the hurry, partner?" he said; "there's nobody as I knows onwho's likely to interrupt us. Well, as I was sayin', I made straightfor them trees, but somehow I missed the track. That cloudy weatherput me out, you see; and 'twasn't till near sundown last night I gotsight of them."
He stopped, gave a rapid glance round the horizon, and then bent overthe sand again.
"They can't be far off then?" asked Gray, who had followed his glancewith breathless impatience.
"Too far off for me anyways," Lumley answered, with a quick upward lookat him. "I'd tried that afore I answered your call, partner. Did youthink 'twas me, now, when you got an answer? I knew 'twas you in aminute."
"I don't know; I forget. What's the good of wasting time like this?"cried Gray, getting suddenly on his feet. "Tell me which way to go. Ican do it now, but in another hour or two it will be too late. Whichway? Be quick!"
"It can't be more than half a dozen miles or so," returned Lumley in aslow reflective tone that almost drove Gray out of his senses withimpatience. "You make a bee-line for the trees, and then strike off tothe left where the ridge is, and it's just over the ridge that there'swater. Yards of it, partner, all shining and sparkling in themoonlight. Why, you could be close to it in an hour almost. Andthere's no mistake about it; it isn't no salt-pan, but fresh water fitfor a king to drink. I've seen it afore me all the time I've beenlyin' here. Can't you see it, partner?"
It was a maddening vision which Lumley's words had called up beforeGray. A cool stretch of limpid, shining water--there it lay beforehim, close to him. He was kneeling down by it, plunging his feveredface into it, slaking the thirst that was burning his life away. Andit meant life, that cool, delicious draught; it meant more thanlife--it meant opportunity for atonement, for undoing, as far as in himlay, the wrong he had done, for proving his repentance a real andlasting one.
Lumley was stooping over the sand, but his eyes were on Gray's face,and he saw all the eagerness in it. He saw it, and interpreted itaccording to his own nature. He broke into a harsh laugh, and with asweep of one hand on the sand, he destroyed the rough chart he had made.
"You'd like to start this minute, wouldn't you, partner? and the crowsmight make their meal off me. I saw a flock of them nigh hereyesterday; they're waiting for their feast. You wouldn't like todisappoint them, would you?"
Gray did not comprehend him in the least.
"Don't waste time like this," he said imploringly; "let me be off atonce. I could be back to you by sunrise if I have good luck. And youhave a bottle about you, haven't you? Let me have it. And whoknows?--I may fall in with the horse."
Lumley laughed again.
"So you may, partner, so you may. 'Twas the smell of the water thatdrove him frantic, I believe. He made straight for it. And there'sthe swag upon him, and the pistols, and the grub. You'll be well setup if you come across the horse."
A sudden terror had come upon Gray as he listened to this speech ofLumley's, and looked down upon his sneering, evil face.
"You are playing with me!" he burst out, and the cold sweat stood outupon his brow as he said it. "You know nothing of the water!"
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