Mates at Billabong

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER XV

  THE RIDE HOME

  In the gathering of night-gloom o'erhead in The still, silent change. GORDON.

  "Well, old girl?"

  Norah laughed up at the big fellow delightedly.

  "Oh, wasn't it lovely, Jimmy?" she said. "I was so excited--and you weregrand! And wasn't Wally's catch a beauty? It's been a lovely match,hasn't it, Jim?"

  "H'm--in spots," said Jim, a little doubtfully, but laughing back ather. "Rather like the fellow who said his egg was 'excellent--in parts,'don't you think? Anyhow, we won, and that's the main thing--and I neverDID see a catch to beat that of Wal's."

  "We're all immensely proud of you, Jim," Mrs. Anderson said. "Anddidn't my old man do well?"

  "He did, indeed," Jim agreed heartily. "But I'm not a bit proud ofmyself--I think I was asleep most of the time, till old Wal., here, wokeme up with a few well-chosen words. However, it's over now--and Norah, Iwant you to get along home."

  "Aren't you coming?" Norah asked, a little blankly.

  "We'll have to catch you up. I don't quite like the look of theweather; we're in for a storm, that's certain, and you may possiblyescape it if you get away now. I can't start just yet; the Mulgoafellows are insisting on 'shouting' for all hands, and we can't verywell refuse; besides"--he dropped his voice--"you know what Boone is--Imust see that he and Murty leave Cunjee. Cecil will look after you,won't you, Cecil?"

  That gentleman assented without any pleasure. He did not feel impressedwith the prospect of acting as escort to a small girl when he mighthave remained in Cunjee. Norah was quick to notice his manner.

  "I needn't bother Cecil, Jim," she said, "I can quite easily ride on bymyself."

  "Indeed you won't," her brother responded. "Why, it'll be dark beforelong--let alone the state of the weather. You don't mind, Cecil, doyou?"

  Thus directly questioned, Cecil could do nothing but express his entirewillingness.

  "That's all right, then," Jim said. "Hurry on down to the hotel and getthe saddles on, there's a good chap. Goodness knows whether you'll findany one there, but I fancy that pretty well the whole township is up atthe match. You'll only escape that storm if you're lucky--don't lose aminute." He made his farewells to Mrs. Anderson, and turned to Norahagain. "Better look after your own girth," he told her--"run after Ceciland lend him a hand if he wants it."

  Cecil had already started; his slim, correctly attired figure washastening along the dusty lane. He hated rain, and the hint of thecoming storm had made him hurry when no other consideration would havedone so. There was no one visible about the hotel yard, as he entered,and he called in vain; then, seeing no help for it, he entered thestables, where the Billabong horses occupied the stalls at one end.Bobs whinnied sharply as the door opened, and Cecil looked at theinquiring head; and then, sourly, towards Brown Betty, standingpeacefully, half asleep, in her stall.

  "Wonder if she'd mind?" Cecil muttered, pondering. "Let her, anyhow!"With which cryptic remarks he moved towards the saddles.

  Norah arrived on the scene a few minutes later, coming straight to thestables. For a moment she could not see Cecil, then, peering intoBetty's stall, she made him out, busily girthing up. Bobs was alreadysaddled, and Norah went up to him.

  "Why, you have been quick, Cecil," she said, cheerfully. "I thought Iwas going to help you, but there doesn't seem anything for me to do.Thanks very much for saddling Bobs." She led the pony out, and thenstopped. "Oh, what a pity," she said. "You've got the wrong saddles on,Cecil."

  Cecil came out, leading the brown mare, and a little flushed.

  "I did it on--ah--purpose," he said. "You don't mind, I suppose if I rideBobs home?"

  Norah looked at him a moment, and then flushed in her turn. To let hercousin ride Bobs seventeen miles was unthinkable. She had theprofoundest regard for her pony's back; and she knew that even BrownBetty's seasoned hide was giving way under the unskilled horsemanshipof the city boy. It was very doubtful, moreover, that it would be safeto mount him on Bobs, who was already excited with the coming storm andthe prospect of home. She knew every turn, and thought of thehigh-spirited pony--he went quietly for her, but with a new-chum itmight be a different matter.

  Moreover, Norah was distinctly annoyed. She was a sweet-temperedmaiden, but she did not like being treated lightly; and in assumingthat he might coolly appropriate her special property, it seemed to herthat Cecil was treating her very lightly indeed. She had a moment'sswift wish that Jim were there to take her part. It was not quite easyto oppose any one nearly grown up like Cecil--who in addition was aguest, and had a special claim on courtesy. She flushed deeply as sheanswered him in a low voice.

  "I can't let you ride Bobs, I'm afraid, Cecil."

  "Oh, can't you?" said Cecil, staring. "Why not?"

  "Well, no one rides him but me," said Norah unhappily. "And he's aqueer pony, Cecil. I'm not a bit sure that he'd go nicely with you. Yousee, I understand him."

  "You evidently think no one can ride but yourself," Cecil saiddisagreeably. "I really think I can manage the famous Bobs."

  "If you knew him it might be all right," Norah answered. "But I'dreally rather not, Cecil. He's eager and impatient, and quiteunaccustomed to strangers. Dad would be awfully annoyed if you had anytrouble with him."

  "I don't fancy Uncle David would be given any need for annoyance,"Cecil replied. "I'm a bit sick of this old mare, and I don't think itwould hurt you to lend me Bobs. It's uncommonly selfish of you to wantto keep him always."

  Norah's flush deepened.

  "I'm awfully sorry you think that," she said. "And I'll speak to Dadabout your riding him, if you like--another time."

  "Another time? Then what's the matter with my riding him now? Isuppose," said Cecil with a sneer, "you want to show off in Cunjee."

  Norah stared at him blankly for a moment. Rudeness had been always sofar from her that she did not for a moment comprehend that this boy wasbeing deliberately rude. Then she walked round Bobs without replying,and unbuckled the girth.

  "Please let me have my saddle," she said. Her voice was quite final.

  Cecil was pale with anger. He flung round without a word, tugging atthe buckle until Betty, who was patient but girth-galled, pulled awayin protest. As it yielded Norah laid his saddle on the mare's withers,and slipped her own away. Their eyes met for a moment as she did so--thechild's steady and a little scornful, the young man's shifty. ThenNorah lifted her saddle across to Bobs, and girthed him up in silence.

  The pony was restless and excited, and objected to the second saddlingout in the space of the yard, when he was keen to get away. It seemedunreasonable to Bobs, and he ran round and generally behaved in afrivolous manner, while Norah struggled with the girth. When it wasdone, she took her head, somewhat dishevelled, from under the saddleflap. She laughed a little.

  Cecil, every line of his back showing offended dignity, was riding outof the yard. As he came to the gate he dug his heel into Betty, whobroke into a canter at once. Norah's escort disappeared round a turn inthe street without looking back.

  "Well, if he isn't a donkey!" was her comment. "He's awfullyunpleasant--I wish he wouldn't make things so uncomfortable." Shemounted Bobs, and subdued that excitable steed's impatience while shesettled her habit. "Jim will be so angry if he finds out. I must getaway before he comes."

  She rode into the street. Some distance away a crowd was moving slowlyin her direction. Cheers and snatches of triumphant choruses werewafted to her. In the midst she could see some figures in whiteflannels. Norah rounded the corner of the street, seeing ahead of her afast-receding speck--Brown Betty and her rider. It was evident that shewas not to have the benefit of Cecil's presence on the ride home; andNorah could not help laughing again, although she was annoyed at thewhole occurrence. For all his airs, he was such a baby, this cousin ofhers.

  "I'll tell Dad all about it," she reflected. "The he can say whether hethinks Cecil can ride Bobs. Only I won't tell him he cleared out andleft me, 'cause there woul
d be a row straight away." Thus pondering inthe Australian manner, she took the road home.

  Jim's storm was coming up slowly, and though the sun had not yet set,already it was growing dusk; and still it was very hot. She let Bobscanter slowly, not wishing to appear to be hurrying after Cecil. Norahnever bore malice, but she had her pride! Often she glanced back overher shoulder, hoping to see the boys. She knew they would not let thegrass grow under their horses' hoofs, once they were able to take theroad home. But the track lay bare behind her, and ahead Cecil had quitedisappeared. By the time she was five miles out of Cunjee she seemedthe only person in the whole landscape, and the only sound that met herear was the steady beat of the cantering hoofs, mingled with the creakof the saddle leather.

  The metalled road ended, and she struck into the bush track. It wasvery lonely now; trees overhung the path, and the eerie light of thecoming storm threw strange shadows, at which Bobs shied constantly.Once or twice there was a distant roll of thunder. There was just lightenough left to see the way. The road wound in and out among the trees.By day it was Norah's favourite part of the journey; but now she couldnot help wishing that it were possible to look further ahead, or towatch the road over which she had passed, to catch the first glimpse ofJim and Wally. There was a pleasant security in feeling that they werecoming. Norah was not a nervous girl; but she had rarely been allowedto ride any but short distances alone. If Dad and Jim were notavailable, it was an understood thing that Billy must act as herescort. Certainly she had never been in the dark alone, and so far fromhome. She was not afraid--she would have laughed at the very notion.Still, it was a little queer. She knew she would be glad when she wasout of the timber.

  There came a bend in the track, and Bobs swung round it sharply. Then adark figure loomed up suddenly in the gloom, and the pony shiedviolently, and propped. Norah struck her heel into him, her heartgiving a great bound. He struggled and plunged. A hand was on hisbridle, and a rough voice threatened him savagely. In the gloom Norahcould just make out a brutal-looking man, young, but with something inhis face that made her shudder. Her heart stood still for a moment,after that first wild leap. Then she realized that he was asking herfor money, and she commanded her voice to answer.

  "I haven't any."

  It was true. When she rode with her father or brother it never occurredto Norah to carry money, and she wore nothing of value at all to temptany thief. Her hunting-crop was silver mounted; she remembered itsuddenly, glad that it was dark and that the man would not be likely tonotice the gift that had been Jim's.

  "I don't believe y'," he said.

  "Well, you can, then," Norah answered. She was beginning to recoverherself, a little ashamed of that first moment of unreasoning terror.If she had no money he would surely let her go. She scarcely knew themeaning of fear--how should she, in the free, simple life that hadalways been guarded, yet had left her only a little child in mind? "Ihaven't so much as a penny," she went on. "Let go my bridle."

  "What are y' doin' here alone?" The slow voice was crafty; something init brought back that stupid first fear. She pulled herself together.

  "My people are coming--you'd better let go. If my brother gets hold ofyou--"

  "Oh, your brother's comin', is he?"

  "Yes; let go my bridle."

  "Shut up about your bridle!" said the man, and Norah shrank back as ifshe had been stung. He began to lead Bobs off the track.

  "What are you doing?" she asked angrily. She kicked Bobs again, and thepony tried to rear, caught between the sudden blow and that compellinghand on his rein. The man pulled him down savagely, jerking at his bitand flinging threats at him and at Norah.

  "Y' might as well stop playin' the fool," he told her. "I want thatpony, an' I'm goin' to have it."

  TO HAVE BOBS! She tried to speak, but the words died before she couldutter them. Bobs! In her bewildered terror she scarcely realized for amoment what he meant; then she raised her whip and cut with all herstrength at the hand that held the rein. He gave a sharp yell of painas the stinging whalebone caught him, but he did not relinquish hisgrasp, and Norah struck at him again and again, half blindly in thedarkness, but always with the strength of desperation. It could notlast long--the struggle was too pitifully unequal. It was only a minutebefore he had wrested the whip from her and held her wrists in onevice-like hand. His voice was thick with rage.

  "I'll teach y'," he said, "y' little spitfire! Get off that pony."

  He began to drag her off. She clung to the saddle wildly, knowing howhopeless it was, but somehow feeling that she must not leave that onepoor haven of safety. Then she felt herself going, and in thatsickening moment screamed for help--a child's piteous cry:

  "Jim! Jim! Jim!"

  There was no Jim to aid her--she knew it, even as she cried. The roughgrasp tightened; she could feel his breath as he dragged her from thesaddle.

  Then from the darkness came a tall, stealthy shadow, and suddenly herwrists were free, as her assailant staggered back in the grip of thenewcomer. She made a violent effort and found herself back in thesaddle; and Bobs was plunging wildly, his bridle free. The necessity ofsteadying him in the timber helped her to calm herself. Before her themen were swaying backwards and forwards, blocking the way to the track;her enemy's savage voice mingling with a lower one that was somehowfamiliar, though she could not tell what he said. Then she saw that thestruggle was ending--the tall man had the other pinned against a tree,and turned to her. His dark face was close, and she cried out to him,knowing him for a friend.

  "Oh, Lal Chunder, it's you!"

  "Him beat," said Lal Chunder, breathlessly. "L'il meesis orright?"

  "I'm all right," she said, struggling with--for Norah--an unaccountabledesire to cry. "Oh, don't let him go!"

  "No," said the Hindu, decidedly. "Him hurt you? Me kill him."

  The last remark was uttered conversationally, and the man against thetree cried out in fear. Lal Chunder flung at him a flood of rapidHindustani, and he collapsed into shivering silence. Probably it wasrather awe-inspiring--the great black-bearded Indian, with his keen,enraged face and the voice that seemed to cut. But to Norah he was avery haven of refuge.

  "Oh, you mustn't kill him," she said. "The boys will be here--mencoming--quick! Can you hold him?"

  "Hold him--yes--tight," said Lal Chunder, tightening his grip as hespoke, to the manifest discomfort of the man against the tree. Thencame distant voices, and a snatch of a School song, mingled with quickhoofs; and Norah caught her breath in the sharpness of the relief. Sherode out on the track, calling to Jim.

  The boys pulled up, the horses plunging.

  "Norah! What on earth--"

  Norah explained rapidly, and Jim flung himself off, tossing Garryowen'srein to Wally, and ran to her.

  "Kiddie--you're all right? He didn't hurt you?" The boy's voice wasshaking.

  "Only my wrists," said Norah, and then began to shudder as the memoryof the struggle in the trees came back to her. Jim put his arm abouther.

  "Thank heaven for that blessed Indian!" said he. "Steady, oldgirl--you're all right," and Norah recovered herself.

  "Yes, I'm all right, Jimmy," she said, a little shakily. "What aboutLal Chunder?"

  "Here's the buggy," said Wally, and in a moment Murty and Boone were onthe scene, when it was the work of a few minutes to tie the prisonerwith halters and hoist him into the buggy, where he lay veryuncomfortable, with his head close to the splashboard. There was muchexplanation, and it would probably have gone hard with the prisoner butfor Jim, as Murty and Boone wanted to deal out instant justice.

  "Not good enough," Jim said. He was rather white, in the glow of thebuggy lamps. "He'll be better safe in gaol." He turned to Lal Chunder,who had drawn close to Norah, and was contemplating his right hand,which had been nearly shaken off by the four from Billabong. TheHindu's English was not equal to his sense of friendship, andconversation with him lacked fluency. It was some time before Jim couldmake him understand that they wanted him to return to the sta
tion--andindeed, it was Norah who made it clear at last.

  "Me want you," she said, taking the dusky hand in hers. "Come back tomy home." She pointed towards the direction of Billabong. Lal Chundercapitulated immediately.

  "It is an order," he said, gravely; and forthwith climbed into thebuggy, a weird figure between the two stockmen, their faces stillflushed with anger as they looked at the man lying between their feet.

  "We'll put him away in the lock-up, an' be out agin in no time, MastherJim," said Murty. "Take care of her me boy." And the stockman, who hadknown Norah since her babyhood, choked suddenly as he looked at herpale face. Norah was herself again, however, and she smiled at himcheerily.

  "I'm right as rain, Murty!" she said, in the Bush idiom. "Don't youworry about me."

  "'Tis pluck y' have," said the Irishman. He turned the buggy with somedifficulty, for the track was narrow, and they spun off on the returnjourney to Cunjee, while Norah, between the two boys, was once more onthe way to Billabong.

  "You're sure you're all right, Nor.?" Jim said, looking at her keenly.

  "Yes--truly, Jim." Norah had made up her mind not to say too much. Therewas nothing to be gained by harrowing them with unnecessarydetails--and, child-like, the memory of her terror was already fading,now that care and safety had again wrapped her about. "I was a bitscared, but that's all over."

  "Then," said Jim, "can you tell me where is Cecil?" His voice wasdangerously calm.

  "Oh, he--he went on," Norah said. "We had a dispute, and he was a bitput out."

  "A dispute? What about?"

  "He wanted to ride Bobs."

  "DID he?" Jim said. "And because you wouldn't let him, he cleared outand left you?"

  "Well, he was offended," Norah replied slowly, "and I dare say hethought I would catch him up--instead of which I hung back, hoping youboys would catch ME up. So it wasn't really his fault."

  "He must have known you would be coming through that timber by yourselfin the dark."

  "Oh, most likely he reckoned I'd have you with me by that time. Hedoesn't understand very well, does he? He didn't mean any harm, Jim."

  "I don't know what he meant," Jim said, angrily. "But I know what hedid--and what he'd have been responsible for if Lal Chunder hadn'thappened along in the nick of time. Great overgrown calf! Upon my word,when I see him--"

  "Oh, don't have a row, Jim," Norah pleaded. "He's a guest."

  "Guest be hanged! Do you mean to say that's excuse for behaving like acad?"

  "Ah, he wouldn't mean to. Don't tell him about--about Lal Chunder--andthe man."

  "Not tell him?" Jim exclaimed.

  "Well, not to-night, anyhow. Promise me you won't have a rowto-night--and if you tackle him when you get home there will be a row.Wait until Dad comes home." finished Norah, a little wearily.

  Behind her, Wally leaned across to his chum. They pulled back a little.

  "I say--don't worry her, old man," Wally said. "I guess she's had a bitof a shock--let's try and keep her mind off it. Do what she asks." AndJim nodded.

  "All right, old woman," he said, coming alongside again. "I won't slayhim to-night--don't bother your little head. We'll let Dad fix him."

  Norah's grateful look rewarded him.

  "Thanks, Jimmy," she said. "I--I'm feeling like having a little peace.And he'd never understand, no matter what you said."

  "I suppose he wouldn't," Jim agreed. "But he's a worm! However--thestorm's coming, and if we don't want wet jackets we'd better travel."They tore homewards through the hot night. Presently Wally started achorus, and both boys were relieved when Norah joined in. They noddedat each other cheerfully behind her back. So, singing very lustily, ifnot in the most artistic fashion, they reached the Billagong stablesjust as the first heavy drops were falling.

  Within, Cecil met them, a little nervously.

  "I thought you were lost," he said.

  "H'm," said Jim, passing him, and struggling with his promise. "Sorryyou and Norah had any difference of opinion."

  Cecil flushed.

  "Possibly I was--ah--hasty," he said. "I did not consider I asked Norahmuch of a favour."

  "That's a matter of opinion. At any rate, Cecil, I may as well tell youstraight out that I don't consider it would be at all wise for you toride Bobs."

  "I'm not likely to hurt him."

  "He might very likely hurt you. He's not an easy pony to ride."

  Cecil's little laugh was irritating.

  "What?" he said. "I don't profess to be a jockey, but--a child's pony?"

  Jim very nearly lost his temper.

  "You won't be convinced," he said, "and I've no desire to convince youwith Bobs. But take my advice and let Norah alone about her pony.You've a very good mare to ride."

  "That old crock!" said Cecil, scornfully.

  Jim stared.

  "Crock!" he said. "Well, you won't find many hacks to beat old Betty,even if in your mighty judgment she is a crock. And, anyhow, Bobs isNorah's, and no one else has any say about him. There's the bell;ready, chaps?"

  The meal was scarcely lively. Cecil maintained an offended silence, andJim was too angry to talk, while Norah was silent and a little pale.However, Cecil retired to his room immediately he had finished; and theboys set themselves to the task of diverting Norah, fearful lest theevening's adventure should have any bad effect on her. They succeededso well that by bedtime Norah had forgotten all her troubles, and wasweak with laughter. When Wally set out "to blither," as he said, he didnot do things by halves.

  Jim came into Norah's room and switched on her light.

  "Sure you're all right, kiddie?"

  "Rather!" said Norah. "I've laughed too much to be anything else."

  "Then go to sleep laughing," said Jim, practically. "I'm quite close ifyou want anything."

  "Oh, I won't want anything, thanks," Norah answered. "Good-night,Jimmy."

  "Good-night, little chap."

  Norah tumbled hastily into bed and slept dreamlessly. She did not knowthat Jim dragged a sofa and some rugs along the corridor, and sleptclose to her door.

  "Kid might dream and wake up scared," he said to Wally, a littleapologetically, before mounting guard. It was Jim's way.