‘No, Rupe, we’ll leave them till we get back. For now, we’ll take the little one. I just want to get Uncle Josh and the stretcher over without soaking them, that’s all, and everyone else will have to swim the horses.’
‘Right on, Boss,’ Rupert said, immediately transferring himself to the smaller boat. ‘Ready?’
Together, they swam ashore, heaving the boat behind them, cursing as they came into the shallows and the mud sucked at them.
‘Bring the stretcher out here, Soljer,’ Mal shouted. ‘Johnny, you take the other end. Gently now, don’t tip it – the mud’s quite deep.’
They grinned but carried the stretcher and its occupant with gentle care across the flooded mud-flats, depositing their burden gently in the boat.
‘Soljer, you’re the smallest and lightest. Get in with Uncle Josh in case something goes wrong.’ He raised his voice, addressing the men still on the river bank. ‘Bring the horses over when we’re ashore, not before – all right? No heroics, just get ashore in one piece. Toulu – most of the fellers will swim beside their horses, but you’re light and you’ve got the spare nags, so you ride: understand? Put the tucker in the boat first though – we don’t want that gettin’ wet if a horse stumbles.’
‘Yessir,’ Toulu said. The cook’s boy was eleven or twelve, a cheerful, wide-eyed youngster whose mother had handed him over to work in the house three years previously and had then gone off and hadn’t been seen since. But Toulu didn’t seem bothered.
‘Her’ll come back,’ he had said cheerfully when Mal had first asked how long Mollie would be away. ‘Her knows I’m doin’ well here with you, Boss.’
Having settled everything to his satisfaction, Mal splashed back to the boat and he and Rupert pushed it with great care across the width of the river and hauled it out on the further shore. All that time Uncle Josh had lain deathly still, not moving, though Mal fancied that the awful blue at lips and ear-lobes was beginning to fade.
The horses and the men came ashore, the tucker was unloaded and put back on the spare horses, and when the men had wrung out the clothing which had got soaked they remounted and set off once again.
‘We’ll take it gently, but I’d like to get to the Saundersfoot place before the storm starts,’ Mal said, looking apprehensively up at the lowering sky. ‘If it rains, that hammock will hold the water, which isn’t good.’
‘We could cut drain holes,’ Rupert suggested, riding up alongside. ‘Or wrap him in canvas, Boss. But best t’ing is to hurry, I reckon.’
‘I dare not joggle him about too much,’ Mal said. A long time ago he had heard a doctor giving a lecture on poison bites and he had said to keep the patient as still as possible so the venom did not travel any faster than it needed. You can’t put a tourniquet round a feller’s neck to stop the bad blood, the doc had explained, but you can keep him still.
‘Right, Boss,’ Rupert said when Mal had explained about the lecture. ‘How’s about if someone rides ahead, tells the folk at Saundersfoot we’re comin’?’
‘Good idea; then perhaps someone could ride out to us,’ Mal said, very relieved. ‘Will you go, Rupert?’
But Rupert, it transpired, had never visited the homestead before and though he was sure of finding it, could not be sure of his welcome.
‘Tom go,’ he suggested. ‘Everyone know Tom.’
The men laughed. Old Tom had worked for Uncle Josh since he was ten and had lived at the Wandina all his life.
‘Yeah, right. Tom, can you ride ahead?’
The man needed no second bidding. He disappeared into the bush, head down, elbows out, the horse seeming as glad to be moving fast as Tom was.
‘He’ll be there in a few hours,’ Mal said, much relieved. ‘Careful with the stretcher, Soljer. We don’t want Uncle Josh worse hurt.’
The storm caught them no more than a mile further on, and it was a bad one. It turned day to night, for a start, and brought thunder and lightning as well as torrential rain.
‘I know it ain’t safe under the trees, but sure as hell we’ll be struck if we stay in the open,’ Mal shouted. ‘Rupert, what’s best?’
He had been out in plenty of storms in the wet before, but not with a sick man. Rupert, he guessed, would have more of an idea what to do for the best than he.
‘Build platform and make shelter,’ Rupert bawled back above the crash of the thunder, the howling of the wind. ‘One foot off ground be high enough . . . come on, fellers.’
Everyone worked fast. They got the horses well under the trees, hobbled them, then began to build a number of platforms. They selected groups of young trees, cut them off a foot from the ground with their small axes, stripped them of bark, then used the trunks for the platforms and the stripped-off bark, bent into a half-circle, as roofs and walls all in one.
‘There you are, Boss,’ Rupert said proudly as the storm roared overhead and lightning lit up the scene like day one minute, plunging it back to night the next. ‘Best get some sleep. This storm’s stayin’ around for a while. The ladies won’t come out in it.’
‘They wouldn’t find us, not while the rain continues and it’s so dark,’ Mal said. ‘Right. Make the best of it. Oh, what about the mozzies?’
‘We’ll light smoke fires,’ Rupert said. He grinned. ‘Plenty wet leaves for that.’
There were. Mal did his best to see that Uncle Josh was comfortable but it was impossible to know how the old man felt. One of the men used the fire to heat up some soup which they’d brought with them, then Mal dribbled a bit of it into Uncle Josh’s mouth. After that, because the storm still raged, they lay down and, against all the odds, slept.
Morning came and the sun rose on the dripping tropical forest. Great, leathery leaves and gnarled trunks steamed until a white mist hung about them, in which every sound came crystal clear on the still air. Mal and Rupert lit a fire and made food, roused their companions, and ate soup and some bread. Uncle Josh neither ate nor drank; he moved, muttered, but did not seem to know who he was or where.
‘Good job,’ Mal said grimly as he and Soljer mounted their horses and picked up the stretcher once more. ‘We’ve a ways to go yet.’
He was right. Presently the rain began again as they forded two more creeks, swollen into torrents by the downpour, and then met the river itself. It was an awesome sight. It charged down from the upper reaches with a sound like a hundred express trains and one glance at the flurry of white water being thrown feet into the air at every obstruction was enough to confirm they could never cross it safely.
‘What happened to Tom, though?’ Mal wondered aloud, looking at the terrifying water raging past. ‘Did he try to cross here? If so, he’s a goner for sure.’
‘He won’t have tried, Boss,’ Soljer assured him. ‘Tom wise, not stupid. He’ll walk upstream, lookin’ for good way across.’
‘Then we’ll follow suit,’ Mal decided. He had given Uncle Josh more soup that morning and though the old man could not be said to have woken his throat had worked when it felt the liquid and he had swallowed. Rupert said it was a good sign, which had cheered Mal considerably. ‘Come on!’
They went on upstream, but though they continued doggedly for four hours, they found nowhere suitable for crossing.
‘Maybe last night the river weren’t so high an’ Tom got across,’ Toulu suggested. ‘We see him soon, eh?’
But they didn’t. They made camp because the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started and a watery sun began to shine, making the jungle steam once more, but though they ate again – bread and cheese this time, since Mal decided they ought to save the soup for Uncle Josh – they did not linger. Rupert said he remembered another homestead up this way, though he did not know the people well and did not think they numbered a nurse amongst them, but nevertheless they would surely be willing to help.
‘A boat, Boss,’ he said. ‘If they’ve got a boat we could mebbe get across.’
‘Right,’ Mal said. ‘You lead, Rupe.’
Before nightfall they began to see signs of jungle clearance, and quite soon after that a domestic hen wandered out on to the path in front of them, squawked, and scuttled back into cover. Rupert turned on his horse and grinned triumphantly at Mal.
‘Not far now, Boss,’ he said. ‘Ten minutes, no more.’
And sure enough, in less than ten minutes they found themselves walking up a short driveway between post and rail fencing and into a familiar yard. The homestead was built of corrugated iron and timber, like the Wandina, but it looked pleasanter all round. It was surrounded by trees for a start, cultivated trees, and there was a pretty flower-garden, though because of the recent heavy rain everything looked a bit battered. There were gingham curtains at the windows, and white nets, and someone had painted the corrugated iron roof red and the doors and window frames green.
‘Where is it? Who are they?’ Mal hissed at Rupert, but the other man just shrugged his shoulders.
‘Dunno, Boss. But they’ve seen us – they’re a-comin’.’
And sure enough seconds later the door was flung open and a pretty girl with skin which was the colour of milky coffee and odd, pinky-fawn hair came out on to the verandah, smiling at them.
‘Welcome!’ she said. ‘You brung the sick feller? Your black feller come yesterday, late, and we lent him the boat. He ain’t back yet . . . river’s still powerful high.’ She held out a slim hand. ‘I’m Coffee Allinson. You’ll be Uncle Josh’s head stockman, I don’t reckon I can remember your name. Come in an’ bring Uncle Josh an’ my mother will take a look at him whiles I mek you a cup o’ coffee.’
‘I’m Mal Chandler,’ Mal said awkwardly as the men carrying the stretcher filed past them and into the house. The flood of words and the prettiness of the girl had completely floored him, and that weird hair! He hadn’t seen any women except the aboriginals since he’d last visited his mother, and she, he thought, was not a woman as such – not to her son, anyway. This girl, on the other hand, was all woman! But he held out his hand and took her slim fingers in his, trying to act cool and collected. ‘How d’you do, Miss Allinson. Tom got through, then? Is he bringin’ a doctor? I don’t fancy the river crossin’ with a sick man aboard and that’s the truth.’ The rest of the men had followed the stretcher into the house, leaving Mal and Miss Allinson alone on the verandah. He half turned to follow them, then turned back. ‘Tom got here all right then?’ he repeated.
‘He come in, explained the situation, we lent him the boat, and he’s not yet come back,’ the girl said cheerfully. ‘He’s mebbe findin’ it difficult to persuade Mrs Saundersfoot to get into the boat – she’s pretty old an’ wou’n’t be too keen wi’ the river that fierce. If so, reckon he’ll go on to the railhead. There’s a doctor there, sometimes. He does a weekly surgery . . . nice feller, name of Crompton.’
‘Yeah, but would he come out to us?’ Mal said doubtfully, following her on to the verandah and then through the door into a pleasant living area. Uncle Josh was already laid out on the floor on his stretcher. He looked sick unto death, Mal thought apprehensively. ‘Umm . . . could you fetch your mother, Ma’am? Only Uncle Josh ain’t too bright.’
Miss Allinson went to the door and shouted, then told her guests to get out of their wet clothes.
‘No sense in sittin’ around soaked,’ she said. ‘I’ll have them things over the stove in the kitchen an’ dry before you can say knife. As for Doc Crompton, sure he’ll come back – if he’s at Manguna, that is. Hey, Maybelle!’
A muffled shout from outside answered her.
‘Coffee an’ cakes for our guests,’ the girl shouted, then turned to Mal. ‘I dare say you’d rather have beer, but coffee’s better for you. Ah, Mother, this here’s the sick feller we was told to expect. Can you take a look at him now?’
A tall, raw-boned woman stood in the doorway. She had very blonde, very straight hair which she wore tied in a sort of horse-tail at the back and she was wearing a yellow shirt, tan breeches and long black riding boots. Mal thought approvingly that she was a handsome, sensible kind of woman and watched as she strode into the room, glanced briefly at the men, and then went over to the stretcher. She knelt on the floor, took Uncle Josh’s pulse, felt for his heart, examined the site of the injury and then rolled back his eyelid and peered at his eyeball.
‘Hmm,’ she said at length, in a strong German accent. ‘I’ll get him a dose. But he’s a strong old man, sure he is. He’ll come through.’
Mal could have kissed her. Relief flooded him and he smiled stupidly at her.
‘He will? Oh, thank God, Ma’am!’
She smiled then, a brief, understanding smile. ‘Yes, someone acted promptly, there’s not much venom left in his system by the look of him. No more purple round his eyes, his lips, a bit of colour coming when you press on his cheek . . .’ She demonstrated. ‘If the crittur had bit you, young man, you’d have been riding a muster the next day, but an old man has to take things easier.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Allinson,’ Mal said fervently. ‘Old Tom’s gone for the doc, but I don’t know if they’ll get back, not until the river falls a bit.’
‘No matter. Coffee, go fetch the dose, then later he will wake and eat. A few days under my care and you’ll be able to take him back to his homestead.’ She glanced towards the door which immediately opened. A smiling woman entered with a tray upon which were several mugs, a tall jug and a big platter of home-made biscuits. ‘Here’s the coffee my daughter promised you.’
Mal, taking the cup she presently proffered, looked around the room but the girl had disappeared. She must have obeyed her mother pretty promptly, whilst they were giving all their attention to Uncle Josh, he supposed. But no sooner had he begun to sip his coffee than the door opened again and the pink-haired girl reappeared with a bottle full of dark-red, evil-looking physic in one hand and a spoon in the other.
‘Here it is, Mother,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You meant this?’
‘That’s the stuff; good girl, Coffee,’ Mrs Allinson said. ‘You give him a couple of spoonfuls while I hold his head.’
Between them, mother and daughter dosed the old man so effectively that only a tiny drop ran down his chin, then the daughter put a sofa cushion under his head, the mother turned the frail old body on to its side, and they sat down on the sofa.