He put his arm around her as if in apology. “Be that as it may, Van, there’s no getting away from it. Beauty exists to hurt.”
HE SPENT the afternoon tracking down a notorious brumby stallion that had stolen two of the station’s mares. He took Charlie, his best tracker, and two other hands. A short distance out from the Five Mile they found unmistakable signs of the mob—a waterhole with the sand all chopped up by shod and unshod hooves.
“They’re here all right, Boss. Too right!” Charlie wheeled his horse around. “We oughtta make a trap.”
It didn’t take them all that long to assemble what was really a small holding yard with stout branches lashed together. The country around them was defined by a low semicircle of rocks strung out like giant marbles. In the afternoon light the desert landscape was glowing with the brilliance of ocher, against which the white trunks of the desert gums stood out in a curiously three-dimensional effect. As they rode on, a group of red kangaroos bolted before them before bounding back into the tangled wall of tea-tree scrub that worked effectively as an extension of the trap. Properly broken in, brumbies made good work horses, and the stallion was widely reported as a big, sleek, high-mettled beast.
Less than fifteen minutes later, they came upon the mob. The stallion led the way on what appeared to be a pleasure stroll. The mares and yearlings followed, with a few foals bunched up at the rear. About ten in all. It was time to close in on them. A stab of pity always hit Mountford at this moment. These were wild ones. They had never known bridle, saddle or hobbles. They would fight for their freedom, especially the stallion, who in no time at all seemed to sense their presence and galvanized himself for action. Mountford saw him throw his head high, snorting furiously, openly defiant of all comers and protective of his mares, two of which he’d taken from right under their noses.
Mountford and Charlie veered off to left and right, forming a rough semicircle with the other two men. He fully expected the stallion to sense the danger that lay ahead, but for once the wily animal was caught unawares. He raced straight for the entrance to the trap, mane and tail flying like pennants, his brood following him, including the foals who were running as fast as their legs could carry them. At one point the stallion broke free, and Mountford roared at Charlie to cut him t a
After that, they stayed right on the horses until the entire mob thundered into the holding yard. The mares stood shivering, giving shrill whistlelike whinnies of terror as they protected their foals.
Virtually all creatures of the wild protected their young, he thought bleakly, his mind inevitably turning to his mother’s abandonment. He shrugged off the moment’s introspection, and loving horses as he did, immediately began to set about calming them. After a while they seemed to listen. All but the roan stallion, who kept dashing himself against the fence.
Freedom. Precious freedom. We all want it, he thought.
Sometime later, he left the men to it, working his way back to the homestead. He was thinking about his mother more than he had thought about her in years. Roishin Grant had stirred it all up. She cut, yet lured him to his very heart. Women were beautiful creatures. More powerful than they knew. He wanted her to leave. Badly. Afterward, he could go back to his well-disciplined life. Or at least try to.
He reflected on Sasha’s remark that he’d never allowed his mother to give her side of the story. He wasn’t comfortable with the thought. But what could she possibly say that would exonerate her? She’d left her husband and child for another man. Not even a man she’d bothered to marry. It was only right that his father had been granted custody. His father had never failed him. Nor had he made the mistake of marrying an unsuitable woman again. Station life wasn’t for everybody. Especially social butterflies.
Not that he could honestly put Roishin Grant into that category. He had watched her like a hawk, waiting for a revealing word, an action, but she appeared to be everything Vanessa said. She was charming, warm and friendly. She was efficient and methodical, with considerable organizational skills. She coped well with everyone. She was a clever independent young woman.
He was the one who felt threatened. He was the one who was losing his usual iron control—something to be avoided at all costs.
About a mile out from the compound, he spotted someone riding toward him on a motorbike. Probably young Matthew. He loved riding the bikes. Closer in, he saw it was one of the twins. At that distance he couldn’t tell which. He started down the slope with the peculiar intuition it was some sort of alarm. Neither Annabel nor Vanessa would normally chase out here.
They met up in a red cloud of dust. He dismounted and went to help her. It was Vanessa. “What’s wrong?”
She spluttered through a dry throat, “Probably nothing. But I thought I’d ride out and tell you. It’ll be dark soon, and Roishin and Matthew aren’t back.”
“Back from where?” he exploded, feeling a pang of agitation.
“Listen, don’t get angry,” Vanessa appealed to him, putting a hand on his arm. “I don’t think anything’s wrong. They went for a drive, that’s all. Carey was going to go with them, only Belle wanted her to do something.”
“So where did they go?” he asked, his
Vanessa took off her bandanna and touched it to her perspiring face. “He told Aunt Emma the caves.”
“They’re pretty damned extensive.” The network of caves on Southern Cross was a well-kept secret, as much to preserve them as anything else. “What time did they leave?”
Vanessa brushed a wisp of curl from her eyes. “Hours ago. They took a Jeep—”
“Damn Matt!” he interrupted roughly. “I hope to God he’s not set on showing off.”
“He is a bit excitable,” Vanessa agreed.
“He nearly wrecked a bike the last time he was here.”
“You’ll locate them, Mont. Of course you will. Tell him off when you find them.”
“You have my word on that. If he’s managed to get them lost… This isn’t a cozy little spread like Sapphire. It’s vast dangerous country. Matt knows that.”
“So does Roishin,” Vanessa said loyally. “She’s very sensible, Mont. She won’t let Matt do anything stupid.”
“Who was driving?” he countered, rubbing his frowning brow.
“Matt, I believe.”
“Give me the bike,” he said decisively. “I’ll drive across country. You ride back to the homestead.”
“Good idea!” Vanessa looked enormously relieved. “You’ll probably see them coming in. Take it easy, Mont. You’re Matt’s hero. He…he probably lost track of the time.”
He shrugged and walked to the motorbike. “You realize if they’ve got themselves lost or the Jeep’s broken down, we might be stuck for the night?” He made a visible effort to curb his anger.
“You’ll find them, Mont, like you find people all the time. You know every inch of Southern Cross, even in the dark. Anyway, Roishin will be fine—she’s strangely at home in the wild. But Matt’ll be a bundle of nerves!”
He sent the bike careering cross-country with the wind streaming alongside. No sign of them, and sunset was closing in fast. Finally he reached the hill country, riding the length of the ancient stone formations. The tracks from the Jeep’s tires were easy to spot, but there was no sign of the vehicle. Where would Matt go? Never a man to panic, Mountford discovered in himself an escalating fear, a lot of it to do with Roishin’s safety and frame of mind. Being lost in the never-never with its endless confusions of sand dunes and prehistoric rock formations could fill even the stoutest heart with dread. Something would have to be done about Matthew before his thirst for violent action got him into serious trouble.
At the caves an eerie howling wind was blowing through the ravines like the voices of ancient gods. Some people claimed to find it acutely disturbing, even frightening. Sasha wouldn’t come near the place. The howling winds were blowing today, though there was no such wind on the open plain. Used to the phenomenon and generally unperturbed by it, he foun
d himself taking it as some sort of omen.
Matt, outback-born, would know as well as anyone how quickly and completely night fell here—going from hot cobalt skies to inky blackness in a matter of minutes, without any comforting man-made interventions like lighting. All the bushman had to rely on was the moon and stars. The Crux, the Southern Cross after which the station had been named, Sirius, the brightest star in the heavens, Orion, the mighty hunter, Aldebaran, the follower, chasing the Pleiades across the sky. A bushman used the stars just as sea captains had used them to know their ship’s position. A vast sea of stars. A vast empty earth. It could be overwhelming. Humans had a powerful atavistic fear of the dark.
Despite the thrumming heat, he broke into a cold sweat of trepidation. Where the hell were they? He raced the motorbike up dunes and down them, roared it across the plain with its good-season bounty of yellow and white bachelor’s buttons. Did anyone really need this kind of scare with a wedding going on? In less than an hour, this brilliantly glowing landscape, where everything was thrown into amazingly sharp focus, would be black and desolate, infinitely vast. Matt had to be some kind of a fool to lead her into an area where, over the long years, travelers had been lost forever.
On impulse he rode toward Mountford’s Pillar, an ancient butte that rose like a tombstone from the spinifex plain. At this time of day, it was glowing like a furnace, standing some hundred feet above the rippling desert floor. Matt might have continued on there. Named after the Hon. George Clifford Mountford, their ancestor, it was an important landmark on Southern Cross but too far out for a late-afternoon jaunt. He thought he would go mad if he didn’t find them soon—evidence, he realized bleakly, of the depth of his emotions.
Halfway between the caves and the pillar, a call rang across the desert like a high-tempered bell.
“Coo-ee!”
Even with the wind screaming in his ears, he heard it. The sound vibrated deep inside him, filling him with tremendous relief. He knew that voice. He’d know it anywhere. It continued to call, floating across the wavelike sands with exceptional clarity and carrying power. It continued to carol for some minutes, and he headed toward it the way he would a beacon that would lead him out of the labyrinth.
“Coo-ee…coo-ee…coo-eee!” The legendary call of distress in the outback.
He thanked God she’d had the sense to use it or Matthew had told her. Why wasn’t Matthew calling himself? Mountford was more than ever grateful that he knew the desert as intimately as another man might know his home city. But no city could be so fierce or so challenging. Scorching by day, the desert could be icy by night, even in summer. In the depths of winter, under certain conditions, it could kill. The same sand dunes that burned like furnaces during the day could not retain heat. They reared like frozen pyramids, pointing to a billion timeless stars.
Toward the west, deeper into the desert, he spotted four wild camels. They were probably after the fruit of the quandongs. When the bulls came into season they could be extremely dangerous. He had good reason to know. He’d been forced to shoot o a few years back. At least there was plenty of desert plant food about. Almost a bounty after the rains. He’d learned all about “bush tucker” from his early boyhood. The aborigines knew more about desert plant food than the most eminent botanist; they’d survived for sixty thousand years with bush tucker as a staple diet. It was a long education, learning to recognize which families of foods could be enjoyed and which, though apparently identical, were deadly poisonous.
Birds exploded everywhere. The ever-present flocks of budgerigar, the black cockatoos, the white sulfur-crested, the bronze-wings, the finches. A great wedge-tailed eagle was suspended over him, seemingly motionless in the infinite blue and gold air.
The calls had stopped, but now he recognized the Jeep in the distance. It appeared to be rammed against a solitary desert oak. His heart gave one tremendous painful leap. He swore violently even as he tried to formulate a prayer. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted movement, and he swung the bike toward it, skidding in a cloud of dust. There it was again. A scarred, eroded pile of rubble that had once been a hillock crouched on the stony ground like some fearsome prehistoric monster. Around its base, incongruously, was a thick ruffle of luminous green grasses.
A female figure stood up and started to race in his direction. The search was over. Matthew would never get another chance to take her on a jaunt. His anxiety for the boy contrasted sharply with his anger. He felt so exhausted, his breath coming short in gasps as he waited for her to run toward him. Seen against the savage grandeur of the landscape, she looked incredibly fragile.
Yet she could run! Like a gazelle, she was all grace and smooth coordination, her long dark hair streaming behind her.
On compulsion he left the bike and swiftly covered the ground between them, gathering her body to him.
“David!” she exclaimed. “Thank God!”
Now that he had her safe, he scarcely knew what to do. Kiss her. Question her. Berate her with harsh words. Instead, he continued to press her to his body, where she rested as though she had discovered the source of all strength.
“I knew you’d come.”
“Did you? My God! From now on I won’t let you out of my sight.” He took her shoulders and searched her face. Every exquisite inch of it. Yet he was surprised by her toughness. She had flown over the stoniest ground. The Jeep had crashed into a tree, at the very least an unnerving experience, yet her eyes even as they clung to his were clear and calm.
“You’re not hurt in any way?”
She shook her head vigorously. “I was lucky.”
“And Matt?” His tone was both curt and concerned.
She indicated the eroded rocks. “I have him lying down in the shade. He’s concussed. Not badly, I think. He hit his head on the steering wheel. He’s broken his arm, as well. I’ve managed to get it in a splint. I’ve given him a couple of painkillers.”
“You could suff some delayed shock yourself. How did it happen?” He began to walk away, with Roishin half running to keep up with him.
She caught up remarkably quickly, grabbing his arm and trying to make him stop. “David, listen to me. Matt feels very bad. He was very concerned at your reaction. More so than his father’s. He’s overcome with guilt and shame. The fact is, we were going along quite nicely before he hit a hidden tree stump. He lost control of the wheel…and the rest you know.”
“You mean you smashed into the only other tree in the immediate vicinity?”
She nodded wryly. “As luck would have it, yes. The radiator’s been pierced. I took a look after I managed to get Matt away from the Jeep. He was pretty groggy and obviously in pain.”
“It seems you’re asking me to go easy on him.”
She smiled and a little color came into her cheeks. “I’m confident that you will.”
Matt tried to stand up as soon as he saw them, but Roishin ran to him and gently pushed him back onto the rug she’d thrown on the rough ground.
Mountford dropped to his knees, quickly making his own examination. “Hell, Matt! When are you going to learn?”
“I’m sorry, Mont. I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world. I suddenly realized the time and put on a bit of speed. We hit a stump and the wheel was nearly wrenched from my hand. Roishin’s been so good. I almost killed her, but she stayed as cool as a cucumber.”
“Not quite!” Roishin smiled and put the back of her hand against Matthew’s cheek. “I’m sure I let out a yell.”
“And who could blame you?” Mountford took a closer look at a couple of tiny butterfly clips she’d used on a gash near Matthew’s right temple. All station vehicles carried first-aid kits, and she’d made good use of the contents. A gauze bandage secured the neat splint she’d arranged on Matthew’s left arm.
“Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!” Matt was muttering softly. “You must think I’m an awful fool, Mont.”
“I guess so.” But he smiled and Matthew’s expression became more comfort
able. “How’s the pain?”
“Not so bad,” Matthew said stoically. “Roishin gave me painkillers. I really think she should have something herself, even if it’s only a cup of tea. It all happened so damned quickly. We’d been having a marvelous time.”
“Really?” He shook his head, both relieved and exasperated. “I’m glad Vanessa thought to fill me in on your plans. I’ll go take a look at the Jeep.”
It was out of commission, just as Roishin had said. No rescue mission could be mounted now. What he had to do was get them to Angel Springs before the light died. They could camp there overnight. There was water, shelter, food. After the rains, Angel Springs, formed by an underflow from a major water channel, became more than a watering hole. It was an oasis with a good supply of desert fruit from the surrounding vegetation.
Everything that was useful he hunted up quickly, loading it onto the bike. He glanced at Roishin who had moved smartly to help him. “I should take Matt first, but I don’t like leaving you.”
She gave him a competent smile. “I’ll be perfectly all right, David. Go now. I’ll stay put until you return.”
Matthew, when he heard, shook his head gallantly, preparing to give place to Roishin. “Women and children first, Mont.”
“Listen, I’m in charge here,” Mountford declared.
“Let’s put that to a show of hands,” Roishin said wryly.
At her surprising tongue-in-cheek remark Matthew grinned. “Mutiny, by God! You should know, Roishin, that one of Mont’s most marked characteristics is having people do exactly as he says.”
The two of them laughed, obviously in sympathy, and Mountford said with extreme patience, “Stop kidding around, you two. We’re wasting time. There may be objections to this operation, but I don’t see too many options.”
“I’ll be okay, Mont,” Matthew assured him, pale beneath his healthy tan.
“Well, you’re tough, as I’ve discovered.” He put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “In all probability you’ll have everyone laughing about this at the wedding. Nonetheless, I’m taking you first. Roishin, if you’ll get hold of that rope, we’ll strap Matt to me. It’ll give him extra support.”
The Man From Southern Cross Page 4