by Nan Chauncy
Quickly she dragged her thoughts away and tried to listen earnestly to the cry of a distant owl. Sitting alone in the quiet cave, with only the vast bush for company, she could feel the danger of imagining evil things. She tried to think of Mother and Dad, and Christmas in England, but those thoughts brought her too near to tears. It was worse, she thought, than the night when they had decided to run away. ‘For then,’ she moaned, ‘it was all of us. Now it’s only me—and I know I ought to do something—and I daren’t even tell Brick what I suspect.’
At last she lifted her head and looked up. ‘Gosh!’ she exclaimed, so surprised that she spoke aloud. ‘The moon’s up and I never noticed.’ The first clear light was flowing in from the rim of the world, reminding her of something Tas had once said; and just as the moonlight was finding out the dark depressions, so his words were coming to her like a flood of light. ‘If ever I was in a fix it’d be Mad Dad I’d want to help me out,’ Tas had said once, and another time, ‘Old Mad Dad, he knows every inch of the bush.’ And hadn’t Tas told her clearly on the day she discovered the pool over the Spur, ‘You bet he goes there every night of the full moon; he’s always there, then.’
So he’d be there now, for tonight the moon was full.
It was clear now what she had to do; go there and find Mad Dad and ask his help to rescue Nig and Tas. That was all…that was all! Oh, quite straightforward and simple to whisper to oneself what to do—but actually to do it? To get up and go—alone—out there? Ah, no! No! Easy that was not!
First to leave the security of the dear, familiar cave on stealthy feet, to leave behind the comfortable snores of Brick, and the sight of Fluffles curled warmly on the hearth stones; then to tread gently past the goats, asleep with heads resting on the warm sand of the outer cave, and reach the tarn, where the endless rasping of the frogs checked instantly in such a frightening way at her approach. And then, beyond the tarn, where the cold moonlight showed up queer unfamiliar shapes, the journey became a nightmare. Each forward step she made was like a big happening in her life. Each black shape safely passed, or found to be nothing more alarming than some old stump, was a great victory—until the next ‘something’ came into view, motionless, sinister, horrible.
There were sounds, too, always sounds in the quiet of the night. A tiny cracking or creaking, a rustle of dry bark, leaves moving slightly with no wind to stir them…ha! What was that? Stealthy footsteps behind?…or…
Over all the moonlight played with black and silver, played games with the bush, played that a tree-trunk along the ground was really a glimpse of water and the tarn a dry, black hole, played that each stick in the undergrowth was a writhing silver snake.
Worst of all was climbing the Spur and trying to make no noise. The Spur was unfamiliar ground even in daytime, and it seemed to Cherry on no account must she disturb ‘it’ up here, whatever ‘it’ was. She must make no sound to attract ‘its’ notice. Sometimes she held her breath to listen, and then it seemed the whole bush stopped to listen with her. With her? Or against her? She could never make up her mind which. She only knew the gum-trees leaned forward to watch her…to watch her…
She almost sobbed with relief when she came out on the same flat rock where she had first seen the track to the pool. She could see across to the far ranges, which looked like scraps of black paper stuck on the polished sky, and below, the vague beginnings of a creek in the rocks, and the sheen of water on the pool she sought. The moon was now too high to play tricks with that blob of quicksilver.
She paused, staring unhappily at the dim track descending among piles and cubes of stone, and the black space beyond yet to be explored. She felt sick at the thought of going on alone. Once she tried to call to Mad Dad, but no sound came from her dry throat. At last, noiseless and quaking, she crawled down the cleft, and began to move down the track which led to the water. She heard the blood drumming in her ears and kept her eyes fixed on the business of choosing the next spot to place her foot.
What caused her to look up suddenly she never afterwards knew, but ahead she saw a gleam of water, and in front a black stump she had not noticed from above. So wrought up was she that it scarcely surprised her when the stump moved towards her—yes, walked towards her—but its branches were two arms outflung.
Around her the bush held its breath again. Was it for this it had waited? Defiant anger seized her. She just wouldn’t show it she was afraid! She threw back her head and shouted a challenge to it—and discovered that her voice obeyed her, though with an odd cry quite different from what she had intended.
Strangest of all there came an answer, a wild glad shout that tore to shreds the frozen silence of the bush.
Then, stumbling towards her with arms outstretched came the stump—which was no stump, of course, but Mad Dad—Mad Dad plunging towards her and falling forward, crying in a strange voice and thanking her again and again, because ‘You’ve come! You’ve come at last!’
And then he fell full length on the path and lay quietly.
Cherry knew another kind of fear as she knelt beside him, wondering what to do. Then he stirred and started muttering. His eyes were still closed and again he seemed to be thanking someone for coming—where? ‘It’s all right now; everything’s all right now,’ he cried. Then he sighed, and was quiet again except for a hard breathing.
He remained like that for so long that she had almost decided to go down to the pool and fetch him a scoop of water in her hands—though quite what she would do with it when she fetched it she didn’t know, as he seemed to be asleep. Remembering what Tas had said once happened at the pool she shivered, thinking it would be easier to return to the cave for help than go forward those few yards.
‘Extraordinary!’ She turned with a start and found the old man’s mild eyes fixed on her. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
Before she could answer he sat up, smoothing his white hair carefully with his hand and placing on top the felt hat full of holes that he loved. ‘I didn’t see you come,’ he said. Then he asked in a casual sort of way, ‘Did you happen to meet anyone on the way down? Oh, no…of course not! There was someone with me just now…but he’s gone away. He won’t come back because it’s all right…Everything’s all right now, eh?…All happy again. But aren’t you afraid, child?’
Cherry laughed in great gulps, ‘Why, no! I’m not. It’s funny, but I’m not afraid any more.’
She looked proudly round about her. The bush, still steeped in moonlight, appeared only beautiful and friendly. She glowed with the pride of achievement. Had she not done what she had set out to do, reached this place and found Mad Dad? He had mistaken her for someone else, but that didn’t matter, for it somehow made him happy, and he seemed to have forgotten the rubbish he had talked when upset by his fall.
‘Do you know,’ she said softly, ‘I don’t believe I shall ever be afraid again in all my life. But perhaps I shall.’
He had been watching her face. ‘No, you won’t!’ he stated, ‘not like that. You see it’s only imaginary things which make us so afraid. What else could? Think for yourself. There! Now you’re grown-up, see?’
‘Yes. I know what you mean. But “they” won’t ever believe it, you know. There’ll be times when I don’t myself, I suppose,’ she sighed. ‘And school and all that…’
‘Of course. But at least you are free of…’ his arm swept round in a great gesture.
‘Yes!’ she exulted. ‘Yes, I am!’ Then she laughed happily. ‘All this time and I haven’t told you what I came to ask.’
‘Nor what made you think I should be here. Or did you happen to see me when looking for your goats, perhaps?’
‘Oh, no!’
His face changed and looked almost stern. ‘Did Tas—’ he began, but she interrupted quickly.
‘Tas is away. Both he and Nig. That’s why I—why I am so glad to find you, and I want you to help us, please. Everything has gone wrong…’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘Sit down and tell m
e,’ he ordered, unstrapping his bluey and spreading it on the ground. Then he fumbled in the pack for chocolate. ‘Eat something while you talk, child!’
‘Oh, that reminds me. Do you want a drink? Are you all right after your fall?’
‘My fall? What fall? I’m quite all right!’
The moon had shrunk to a silver sixpence while they sat talking and making plans. Mad Dad was confident no harm had come to the boys and that he would soon find out where they were. Occasionally as they talked a frogmouth would boom, or a small something rustle through the scrub, and Cherry listened intent but unafraid.
With everything settled they moved towards the cave, though Mad Dad left her at the entrance, saying he needed no more sleep that night, but would begin his search at once for Nigel and Tas.
Cherry climbed through, making a face at the staring goats as she passed, and crept tip-toe to her bed. She nearly giggled aloud when she found Brick, oblivious of all that had happened, still snoring gently, and Fluffles asleep on the hearth. Just as though nothing of any importance had happened since she ventured out.
14
Smoke Signals
The fire was lit, porridge made, and the sun already licking at the mouth of Capra Cave when Cherry awoke.
‘Here,’ said Brick, handing her a full bowl, ‘I suppose you expect breakfast in bed. A girl would!’
Just to show him a girl wouldn’t, she sprang out and ate the porridge, sitting on Nigel’s wall, with her legs dangling pleasantly, so that the sun warmed them through her pyjamas.
‘Thanks, Brick. You beat me to it this morning all right. I didn’t mean to sleep late, but somehow…’
‘I know—bit worried and all that.’ Brick actually sent one of his rare smiles her way, and it was full of sympathy. ‘Did you sit up late?’
‘Er…yes,’ she answered, and then to change the subject, ‘Do you realize how close we are to Christmas Day?’
‘Oh lor’!’ grunted Brick. ‘What do you want us to do? Hang festoons of holly round Nippy’s pictures on the wall, or what?’
‘Yes, and provide a lucky threepenny-bit to stir in the Christmas pudding, which I shall be making with at least a dozen eggs. Oh, Nippy, do take Fluffles somewhere else for his breakfast, will you? I can hear Joe Whitty coming.’ All the time she chatted Cherry was pondering whether to tell Brick about last night or not. Somehow it didn’t seem quite the time until Nippy was out of the cave.
‘D’you know what, Cherry? I put Fluffles’ tin of milk over there, and what do you think happened? A big goanna came and lapped up all the milk. There was Fluffles swearing like mad while its great purple tongue darted in and out. Pig!’
‘It won’t hurt you!’
‘I know that. Mad Dad told me all about iguanas. He does look like a dragon though, doesn’t he? I mean, suppose he spat fire from his forked tongue instead of milk?’
‘Aren’t you going out to watch for them?’ she suggested. ‘You could feed Fluffles again as you go in the other cave.’
Joe Whitty alighted on the wall, screamed at the cat, and proceeded to enjoy himself. ‘Joe Whitty! Here’s Joe Whitty!’ he announced, his impertinent head cocked on one side as he watched Nippy lead his cat away.
Cherry turned to Brick, but before she could speak he asked her if she was ready to milk. ‘I’ve fed Lily and Angela,’ he said. ‘If you milk now I’ll clear up here. But first I want to get Nippy to climb the High Crag. He ought to see right down the valley from there. He’s got eyes like a hawk.’
The sound of milk thrumming in the bucket and the gentle champing of Lily eating was abruptly silenced by a yell from Nippy. Cherry could see him beyond the tarn. He had climbed High Crag and was waving so frantically that it seemed he must overbalance any minute. Swinging the bucket to a handy ledge she dashed out of the goats’ cave, calling to Brick.
‘But look!’ Brick panted as he came running. ‘He’s not the right side for seeing down the valley. He’s looking in the wrong direction.’
Nippy had his back to them and was staring into what they knew was thick bush, going on endlessly to regions unexplored.
‘Can you see him?’ Cherry cried as soon as she stood below him.
‘No!’
‘Can’t you see anybody?’
‘No, I can’t!’
‘You idiot! Then what did you yell for?’ they demanded, furious in their disappointment.
‘’Cos I can’t see Nig, but I can see his signals.’
‘What do you mean—Nig’s signals?’
‘Yes. You remember how we used to signal about Ma with the tea towels on the line? Well, that’s what Nig is doing over there. Only I can’t remember—which was it meant Ma was in a temper? You know, the “Danger” one? Was it four?’
‘Yes, and three was “everything lovely—come down for tea”. Quick, Nippy! Which is it? Three or four? Quick—tell us!’
‘Not sure. It’s three now, but in a minute it may change, see?’
‘Oh, you’re hopeless,’ fumed Brick, dancing round impatiently. ‘Why don’t you tell us? Look, there can’t be tea towels waving out in the bush, Cherry.’
‘No-o, but—do you mean handkerchiefs, Nippy? Only Nig wouldn’t have one, I expect, or anyway, not more than one.’
‘I can’t answer silly questions and look, too. I must watch my signals. Come up both of you and see for yourselves,’ yelled Nippy, turning his back on them again.
It was not long before they had scrambled up beside him and he was pointing out what could not be a bush fire, for it was three steady points of smoke rising from the flank of a great hill, from which they were separated by a steep cleft ending in a gully.
‘Still three,’ Nippy exulted. ‘He must be all right. But why doesn’t he come home? I think he must want us to go to him.’
‘Then he’s hurt. Of course—that’s it! You know, in stories it’s always a broken ankle—’
‘Oh, shut up! Why should he? All these months we’ve none of us done anything as silly as that, have we? Why should Nig go and sprain his dashed ankle, then?’ demanded Brick indignantly. ‘Let’s all shout together to tell him we’ve seen his signal.’
They shouted ‘coo—ee!’ several times, and listened intently for an answer. There seemed to be a reply from the direction of the smoke, but they could not be certain.
‘I can’t understand it,’ said Brick. ‘If it is Old Nig over there he couldn’t get to the cave by a worse way.’
‘Tas reckoned he’d get bushed, didn’t he?’
‘Looks as though Tas was right.’
‘What are we to do? He doesn’t seem to be coming, so perhaps Nippy’s right and we’d better go across.’
‘Yes, Cherry, I think we’ll have to. Could you fix up some dinner in a bag? And bring some matches, too. While you’re gone Nippy and I will get three fires ready to answer his signals. If we make them on bare rock it will be safe, and we’ll get smoke if we use green leaves.’
Before their fires had died down there was a small answering puff of smoke from the hill opposite, so they set out well content. Down the steep slope they threw themselves joyfully, down, down, till the sunlight penetrated no more, and the scrub grew rank and dense. Great trunks of fallen trees blocked their path, too enormous and slippery to clamber over, and as they pushed their way round, a dank smell rose from the ferns and mosses which now covered the wet ground.
In Indian file they pushed on, with Nippy’s shorter legs in the middle. With the tangle of growth and huge trees overhead it was impossible to keep to a direction. Their only guide was to get to the lowest point, cross over, and climb up the far side.
‘Look out for snakes,’ whispered Cherry. She felt she had to whisper down there. They none of them spoke loudly, feeling vaguely that it would be rude to disturb the ageless quiet of the gully. Even their footfalls were muffled by moss, and the only sound, except the rustle of a bird, was a low gurgle that water sometimes made under the ferns.
A rotting tree-trun
k, spanned between two rocks, helped them to cross, and soon after another broad tree-trunk made a convenient path upwards above the undergrowth. In a few places they had to go on hands and knees, but after this it was easier, and soon they could see blue sky in patches overhead. At last they emerged into open bush, where the trees were sparse and the undergrowth thin.
‘What about a rest?’ panted Nippy, sinking on to a rock.
Almost at once they heard a laugh overhead, and directly above them—some way up, hanging out with the aid of a tree branch—was Tas.
‘Tas!’ they shrieked.
‘Hullo! Here you are at last,’ he grinned.
‘Tas! But we thought those signals were from Nig.’
‘So they were. He’s up here, too. Didn’t you hear us shout?’
‘We weren’t sure if it was just some hawks shrieking.’
‘Oh, thanks! I’ll tell Nig you reckon the screaming of hawks is like his voice calling.’
‘Don’t be a chump. Is he all right? Are either of you hurt?’ Cherry demanded.
‘’Course not. We’re right as two crows.’
‘Then if you’re neither of you hurt,’ Brick bellowed indignantly, ‘why didn’t you come home?’
‘Yes,’ Cherry cried in support, ‘’stead of…’ Her voice failed in a gulp of fury as she pictured them both exploring round, while in Capra Cave they had worried themselves into a ferment.
Even Nippy added an indignant squeak, ‘’Stead of making us come all this hot way.’
‘Don’t explode, you three,’ advised Tas kindly. ‘It’s all right, but I can’t yell everything to you from here. Come up and you shall hear all about it.’
‘Why do we have to climb any more? Why can’t you two come to us?’ cried Nippy.
‘Listen, Nipper! There’s a surprise for all of you up here. Nig’s messing about with it now, as a matter of fact. That’s why we wanted you to come over to us, see?’