Three gunshots were enough to panic the cattle. Lowing anxiously, they milled forward in a crush, their combined weight toppling the lightly built corral as they began their escape. It was every man for himself for a moment, to avoid the cattle’s stampeding hooves. In the moonlight, out of the corner of his eye Randall saw Danny and Jim drag one of the duffers away from three steers, all of whom were wide-eyed with fear. The man Randall had wounded had enough sense to roll into bushes on the other side of the corral. Randall took refuge behind a gum tree, trying to make himself as thin as possible—and holding his breath—as a dozen steers, their horns clearlyvisible, raced by on either side of him.
Very quickly the drama was over, and the dust thrown up by the animals began to settle. Coughing as dust was inhaled into his throat, Randall shoved his revolver back into his belt and moved towards the now-empty area. He took stock of the results of the confrontation. The fire used for branding was still alight, and Danny and Jim had one of the duffers in custody. Randall caught a movement in the bush and saw the wounded man trying to crawl away. In three strides he caught up to him and grabbed his boot. He hauled him back unceremoniously, heedless of his moans and groans, into the middle of the clearing. The third duffer’s body lay unmoving near the broken-down corral fence. From where Randall stood he could tell the man had been trampled to death.
Randall took control. ‘Jim, get their horses. We’ll tie them up and take them into town to Constable Wallace. Find the branding iron too. That’s evidence that they were changing our brand.’
Dropping to one knee, he inspected the wounded man’s thigh. It was only a flesh wound but riding would be painful for him. He tore the end off the man’s shirt—ignoring the fact that he was being studied closely—folded it into a pad and placed it over the wound. Then he unbuckled the man’s belt and wrapped that around the thigh to keep the wadded material in place.
‘Don’t expect any thanks for doing that.’ The man’s tone was gruff.
Only then did Randall study the man’s face carefully. Something about him, his features, his voice, was…familiar. ‘I know you!’
The cattle duffer shrugged; he had no intention of being cooperative. ‘Do you?’
Danny brought the other culprit over and made him sit beside the wounded man. As Danny stared at the injured man his eyes widened in disbelief. ‘God almighty, I don’t believe it! Randall, that’s Tom Williams.’
‘What!’ Tom Williams was a name Randall would never forget. How could he? Williams had almost sent Drovers Way into bankruptcy after the Great War ended. Randall frowned at Danny. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Too right. He’s put on weight, but if you shaved his beard off I’d swear on the Bible that it’s Williams,’ Danny said fervently.
The wounded man began to laugh, as if it was all a huge joke. ‘You’ve a good memory for faces, Danny McLean.’ Suddenly, and surprisingly because he was wounded, Tom reached into his jacket and brought out a pistol so small it had to be a derringer. ‘Back up, both of you. Unfortunately for you I’m not hanging around to see you put me in gaol.’
The man beside him whined, ‘Tom, Freddie’s dead. What about me?’
‘Sorry, Bobby. You’ll have to fend for yourself.’
With the small gun trained on the McLean brothers, Williams struggled to his feet. At the same time, Jim came into the clearing leading the cattle duffers’ horses.
‘How far do you think you’ll get with that wound?’ Randall asked.
Tom stared at Randall belligerently. ‘Far enough.’
Confident that he had the drop on the brothers and the other man, Williams half-turned away to locate the horses. Danny saw the opportunity and took it. He lunged forward, intending to make a tackle. Amazingly, Tom sidestepped Danny and aimed the derringer at him. ‘I warned you.’
Randall knew he had just one chance to save Danny and recapture Williams. As he shoulder-charged, Williams saw the movement and pointed the derringer’s barrel at Randall. He fired off one shot before Danny and Jim wrestled him to the ground and held him until his hands were tied.
Pain, lots of pain, and heat radiated through Randall’s upper chest as he fell to the ground. Half-stunned, he lay there, his jaws tight, his mind trying to deal with the fact that he’d been shot. His hand came up to feel the wound and came away covered with warm, sticky blood. He began to feel dizzy; the overshadowing trees above seemed to press down on him…
‘He got Randall!’ Danny yelled. Angry, he punched Williams in the face and sent him sprawling before he raced to kneel beside his brother. ‘God almighty, there’s so much blood…’ He appealed to Jim: ‘What are we going to do?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Heard anything yet?’ Jim Allen asked Danny, who was sitting on the front steps of Gindaroo Hospital waiting for news of his brother.
‘Dr Carmichael’s still operating,’ Danny replied, his expression dismal. ‘Randall lost so much blood on the way in I reckon it could be touch and go.’ During the automobile trip into town they’d had to stop twice to check Randall’s wound because he kept losing consciousness.
‘He’s got the constitution of Drovers’ bull. He’ll make it,’ Jim attempted to cheer Danny up. ‘Constable Wallace has locked Williams and Bobby Sellwood up. Sellwood has been talking a blue streak, confessing to lots of duffing, the constable told me. Bobby’s angry with Williams because Tom had been prepared to run off without him.’ Then he added as an afterthought, ‘The doctor will have to attend to Williams’s leg wound when he’s finished with Randall.’
‘Let the bastard wait,’ Danny said hard-heartedly. Restless, he got up and pushed his balled fists into his trouser pockets. He was so angry. Bloody Tom Williams! If Randall didn’t pull through the man could hang for murder, but that would be of little consolation. And then, as Danny sat there, the irony of Randall’s condition struck him. His brother had survived God knows how many horrors and close shaves during the war, only to be struck down by a bloody cattle duffer on Drovers land while trying to protect their property. How strange was that!
He should let Beth know what had happened, Danny thought. He would, after the doctor told him that Randall was going to be all right.
Danny’s thoughts turned to Amy, assisting her father during the operation: picturing her in the small hospital’s operating room, handing her father surgical tools as he required them. Thinking about her brought a smile to Danny’s lips. With Amy and Dr Carmichael looking after Randall, Danny was confident that his brother was in good hands.
‘Come to the pub and have a drink and something to eat,’ Jim suggested. ‘You can’t do much here, other than twiddle your thumbs.’
Danny’s expression turned stubborn. ‘I want to be here when the doctor tells me about the operation. That it went well. At the moment I couldn’t stomach food or drink. You go,’ he bent his elbow and raised his hand to mime drinking, ‘and have one for me.’
Watching Jim stride towards the Royal Hotel, Danny leaned back against the brick wall of the hospital. The sun’s rays were hitting it and warmth from the bricks radiated through his shirt to his skin, easing the chilling sense of foreboding deep inside him. What if Randall didn’t…Danny shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He couldn’t, he refused to finish the sentence in his head. His brother had to survive, he just had to. Danny couldn’t run Drovers on his own, not with the best will in the world. Randall, Danny had no problem admitting to himself, was the brains, the one with the ideas and the drive to bring those ideas to fruition.
He squinted up at the sky in an attempt to gauge the time: it was getting on towards midday. Half a dozen residents of Gindaroo were walking up and down Queen Street, going about their various chores. Two men lounged outside the barber’s shop, waiting for a shave and a haircut. Unconsciously, Danny stroked his moustache, trying to keep his mind off his brother. He’d grown the moustache during the war to cut down on shaving time, but most men were clean-shaven nowadays so perhaps it was time to sh
ave the whiskers off. His head gave a decisive nod. He would, after the drama with Randall had subsided.
Why was it taking so long? Randall had been in the hospital’s small, lightly equipped operating room for hours. Frustrated by inactivity and anxiety, Danny pushed himself off the wall and walked into the hospital’s foyer. Through two swinging doors was the ten-bed ward, and at the end of the ward another two doors led to the operating room. He shuddered internally as he gazed about the hospital. Too many reminders: the bright lights, the walls painted an almost colourless beige, the faint smell of sterilisation, methylated spirits and bleach.
A young girl, probably around fourteen years old—Danny knew her to be Fred Smith’s, the blacksmith’s, daughter Christine—sat at a desk, checking paperwork. She glanced up as Danny entered.
Eyebrows raised, he asked straight out, ‘Any word yet?’
Christine shook her head. ‘Not yet. You’ve been waiting a long time, Mr McLean. Would you like a cup of tea and a biscuit?’
‘No thanks, I’m fine.’ He forced himself to make polite conversation to break the silence. ‘How’s your dad’s business going?’
‘Very well. My brother Frank’s finished his blacksmith’s apprenticeship and wants to turn part of the smithy into a proper garage for automobiles. He’s good at tinkering and fixing vehicles when they break down. Dad thinks it’s a good idea too.’
‘Sounds great,’ Danny replied. He wasn’t overly fond of Frank Smith because of the man’s yearning for Amy, but Frank was an enterprising fellow.
Several hard-backed chairs stood against the wall that faced the hospital’s entrance and he went and sat in the one at the end. He had just become settled when the ward doors swung open and Amy came towards him. Danny shot out of the chair as if he’d been bitten by something. Stiff with tension, he waited for Amy to speak.
‘Danny, Dr Carmichael wants you to come through so he can tell you what he’s done,’ she said in her formal nursing sister’s voice.
‘What’s he done? Is Randall all right?’
‘Randall’s resting comfortably, thanks to the anaesthetic. He won’t regain consciousness for another hour or so.’ Amy looked up at Danny and smiled. ‘Stop worrying, he’s going to be fine, but he won’t be a happy man for a few weeks while he’s convalescing.’ Then, in a quieter tone, she added, ‘Father wants to tell you what he did. The situation was somewhat serious for a while because Randall had lost so much blood.’
Amy’s father was waiting for Danny at the end of the ward, in front of a curtained-off area. ‘Take that grim look off your face, young man. Your brother is going to pull through.’ The doctor patted Danny’s shoulder. ‘Luck was on our side and it helped that Randall is very fit. I excised the bullet—thankfully it was a small calibre and had lodged in his upper chest. It missed the pulmonary artery by about half an inch.’
‘It was your skill with the scalpel that made the difference, Doctor.’ The other nurse, a middle-aged woman who’d also assisted in the operation, voiced her opinion in a no-nonsense fashion.
David Carmichael brushed off the compliment with a shrug. ‘You’re very kind, Sister. The important thing is that the patient has come through the operation.’ He glanced at Danny. ‘The next twenty-four hours will be critical for Randall.’
Danny reached forward and shook David Carmichael’s hand. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Doctor. You saved his life.’ Then, in the same breath, ‘Can I see him?’
Amy put her hand on Danny’s arm. ‘Just for a minute or so. Follow me.’
She pushed the curtain aside and stood back for Danny to enter the screened-off cubicle. Randall lay in the hospital bed, his tall frame taking up its full length. His chest, with its sprinkling of dark hair, was bare apart from a padded swathe of bandages around his chest and shoulder. Against the white pillowslip and sheet, his features were pale and drawn; the tan he had from working out of doors seemed to have disappeared.
‘See, Danny. He’s resting comfortably,’ Amy reassured him. ‘Sister Osborne and I will take very good care of him. What he needs for a couple of weeks, as the wound heals, is complete rest.’
Danny made a snorting noise prior to speaking. ‘He won’t like that. Randall likes to keep busy, you know.’
Amy smiled. Having been in Randall’s company many times now, she thought that too. He was a restless soul—driven, she believed, by forces of his own creation, mainly his need to restore Drovers Way to its former glory. He wouldn’t be an easy man to live with, but then…She checked the progression of her thoughts. Beth Walpole would find that out soon enough, when they married. It was going to be an interesting time, the four of them eventually living at Drovers Way. Just as well the house was large so they wouldn’t have to live on top of each other.
It was a little unsettling for Amy, knowing how much her life would change once she and Danny were married. There was so much she had to learn about being a grazier’s wife, and about Danny.
‘It’s odd seeing him so still and pale,’ Danny’s voice came out as a whisper.
Amy glanced at Randall then away again. ‘I know, but it won’t be for long. I think he’ll rally quickly. Have you—’ she paused as she settled a blanket up over her patient ‘—told Beth?’
‘No, but now he’s come through the operation I’ll phone Ingleside. She’ll probably want to come in straight away.’
‘He’s not up to visitors and won’t be for several days,’ Amy advised. ‘Be sure you tell her that. Now, we’d better let Randall rest. Come outside.’ She shepherded Danny away from his brother’s bed. Once outside the curtained-off cubicle, her hand lightly caressed his arm and she suggested, ‘Go home and get some rest. You look exhausted.’
‘I will, love.’ His features relaxed with relief and he kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll be able to now.’
Randall’s convalescence was slow and fraught with considerable pain and no small amount of frustration. When he was well enough to leave hospital, Danny and David Carmichael insisted that because he wasn’t strong enough to look after himself—and they suspected that if he returned to Drovers he’d start to work—that he stay at Primrose Cottage, where Meg could spoil him with culinary treats, and when she wasn’t working at the hospital, Amy could see to his medical requirements. Beth was more than a little put out by this, as she had offered to care for him at Ingleside until he was well again.
Constable Wallace had called at the hospital to see Randall several times, to keep him posted on what was happening to the cattle duffers, and, in particular, Tom Williams. The man had been charged with theft and attempted murder, and the constable was confident that a long gaol term could be expected.
Still, sitting around drinking innumerable cups of tea and sampling Meg’s range of homemade biscuits and cakes gave Randall too much time to think, and being in close proximity to Amy exacerbated his feelings for her. When she changed his dressings she’d come so close that he could smell her eau de toilette, or feel one or two rebellious strands of brown hair brush his cheek; she was so near that if he had a mind to—and he did—he could reach for her and have her in his arms. It was a sweet, tormenting kind of agony, as was seeing her holding hands with Danny, and catching them having the occasional discreet kiss. Hearing them talking and laughing together made his gut tighten up until the wound in his chest hurt.
As well, because he was as weak as a newborn lamb—a walk to the front gate of the cottage and back had him wheezing from exhaustion—he had no physical release from the emotional demon inside him. Distracted and frustrated with the situation, his jaws tightened and the muscles in his cheek flexed. He had to get better, fast!
Beth found him one morning, sitting on the back porch, pretending to read one of Dr Carmichael’s books. Her visits were a welcome diversion, especially if Amy wasn’t around.
‘Good morning, Randall. You’re looking better and better every day.’ Beth greeted him with a kiss on the cheek as she sat in one of the wooden chairs opposite him. �
��Daddy and Mother send you their best wishes. They want to call in to see you themselves, but I said it was an imposition while you’re at Dr Carmichael’s.’
‘Give them my thanks and tell them I’m starting to feel human again.’ The cattle-duffing raid had occurred more than three weeks ago and it had taken him this long to begin to feel better. In another week he would be well enough to return to Drovers, and the thought gave him some comfort.
‘First thing this morning, Cook made a blackberry pie. I’m sure Meg won’t mind me going into the kitchen and making you a cup of tea to go with it.’
‘I think you and Meg have concocted a plot to fatten me up, as one would a prize bull for a country show.’
Beth’s expression was one of puzzlement. ‘Oh, Randall, no. You can’t see yourself but, believe me, you’ve lost a lot of weight. Good food, rest and a little exercise is what you need to get on your feet again.’ She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘When I come back with the pie we’ll talk about wedding plans. It’s time we set a date, and as you know, there’s a lot to organise.’
Wedding plans. Not exactly the topic he wanted to discuss, but…Randall gave an internal moan and did his best to look enthusiastic. ‘A good idea,’ he returned with a smile of his own. As she walked into the kitchen he slowly got to his feet. He could do that with minimum pain, and while Beth waited for the kettle to boil he took a turn around the doctor’s large garden and Meg’s veggie patch, all the way to the back shed that housed the laundry and the doctor’s now-defunct sulky. Their horse, Jim Boy, had finally succumbed to old age and passed on, but the tack remained on hooks on the old timber wall. Randall breathed in deeply, savouring the faint smell of hay bales, the still-open bag of oats near the horse-stall door. God, what would he give to be back at Drovers right now, away from Amy and temptation.
He glanced up at the cloudless sky: the blue was a tone or two darker than Amy’s eyes. Damn it, will you stop this eternal thinking about the woman? He squinted in the summer sunshine and turned his thoughts to Drovers. Summer was almost over, feed would be scarce in Drovers’ lower valleys and the cattle and their flock of sheep had to be moved to better pastures for winter. Jim had told him their three acres of wheat were growing well and that he could expect to get several tons of good-quality wheat plus a supply of chaff for winter feeding, after which the stalks had to be ploughed under and the soil made ready for crop rotation. And with the money he’d saved he had to buy some furniture and do certain repairs to the homestead to make it acceptable for the two women who would, within the year, be living there. He made a low growling sound in his throat. So much to do…A man got tired just thinking about it!
Amy's Touch Page 15