Wilderness Trek (1988) (14 page)

A bird, so beautiful in appearance and astounding in action that it halted him in his tracks. The spot was open to a little sunlight, carpeted with fine brown needles like those from a pine tree. The bird espied Sterl, but that did not change its strange and playful antics. It was bright with many colors, not quite so large as an American robin or meadow-lark. This fairy creature of the bush skipped and hopped around so friskily that Sterl had to look sharp and long to perceive all its lovely hue; but the most pronounced was a golden yellow. There was brown, too, marked with white, and a lovely sheen of greenish-olive, like that on a hummingbird, and the under part appeared to be gray. Its exquisite daintiness and sprightliness gave the bird some elfin quality, some spirit of the lonely bush. It seemed to Sterl that the lovely creature's dancing movements were a sort of playing with leaves and twigs. It saw him, assuredly, out of bright dark eyes, and was not afraid. It might have been the incarnation of joy and life in that bushland. Then again he remembered Leslie's lecture on Australian wild life. It was the golden bowerbird.

At noon of the third day, Sterl felt his powers waning. He needed a long rest. Gathering a store of wood for several fires, he lay down in an open space near water and almost at once went to sleep.

He was roused by a voice and a hand shaking his shoulder. A black visage, beaded with sweat, bent over him.

"Friday!" cried Sterl, in a husky voice, and he struggled to sit up. "You found--me?"

"Yes, boss. Black fella tinkit boss sit down quick."

"No. Boss fool!"

Friday had his wommera and spears in one hand, a small bag in the other. "Meat," he said, and opened it for Sterl. Inside were thick strips of beef, cooked and salted, some hard damper, and a quantity of dried fruit. When had meat ever tasted so good!

"How far camp, Friday?" Sterl asked, between periods of mastication.

"Close up." And the black made circles with his finger in the mat of brown needles, to indicate how Sterl had traveled round and round.

"Horses close up alonga water," volunteered Friday, "Black fella findum." This was such a relief to Sterl that it assuaged his mortification.

So at ten o'clock that night Sterl limped behind Friday into sight of a welcome campfire, where Slyter and his wife, Leslie and Red and Larry, kept a vigil that had only to be seen to realize their anxiety. The moment was more poignant that Sterl would have anticipated. Red, the sharp-eared fox, heard them coming, and as he saw them emerge from the gloom he let out his stentorian, "Whoopee!" Slyter burst out in agitation that surprised Sterl: "It's Sterl! Bless our black man!" Leslie flew at Sterl, met him before he reached the fire, enveloped him with eager arms, crying out indistinguishable, broken words.

Chapter
12

The late October halt, after Sterl had come safely out of the jungle, seemed more than ordinarily marked by pleasant relations among the trekkers. But there was one exception. Sterl, going to the stream for a bucket of water, encountered Ormiston and Beryl some rods away from the camp. The girl had a hand on Ormiston's shoulder, who stood leaning against the log and facing Sterl. She had not seen the cowboy.

"Hazelton," spoke up Ormiston, "I'd never be afraid of being tracked by you!"

Sterl passed on without a word, though he flashed a searching glance at the drover. He heard Beryl ask: "Ash, whatever made you say that?" If Ormiston replied to that query Sterl did not hear.

Back in camp Sterl related the incident to Red. The cowboy swore long and loud. "Thet's what's on the ----'s mind. He's gonna slope sooner or later."

"Righto. But since he's secretive and close-mouthed, as we know, why did he make that crack?"

"Pard, it was a slip."

"Yeah? There's going to be a reason for us to track him!"

"Beryl had a hand on Ormiston's shoulder," added Sterl, casually.

"Hell, thet ain't nothin'." returned the cowboy, gloomily.

"No? Well, spring it pard!" shot back Sterl.

Red appeared bitter ashamed, but he did not avoid Sterl's gaze. "I've seen Beryl in his arms--an' kissin' him back to beat hell."

"Where?"

"By thet big tree where you jest met him. You see since the Danns throwed together with Ormiston an' Hathaway in one camp, Beryl and Ormiston have been thick as hops. I got sore an' jealous, an' I sneaked up on them at night. An' I'm gonna keep on doin' it."

"Red, has Beryl ever kissed you?" asked Sterl, seriously.

"Want me to kiss an' tell?"

"Nonsense! This is different. Red, has she?"

"Wal, yes, a coupla times," admitted Red. "Not the devourin' kind she gave Ormiston. All the same it was enough to make me leave home. Sterl, don't blame the girl. Hell, you know girls, an' what this wild livin' does to them. Ormiston is a handsome cuss."

"Yes. But I can't forgive Beryl," returned Sterl, with passion. "Listen, pard, I can pick a quarrel with Ormiston. Any day. It'd be a fight. And he'd be out of the way, Lord knows, that might save the Danns."

"Righto, Sterl," rejoined Red, cool of voice and dark of brow. "But shore as Gawd made little apples, if either of us bored Ormiston it'd queer us with these drovers. Let him hang himself. I'll go on spyin'. If Beryl doesn't give him away, he will himself."

Stanley Dann had decided to break camp at dawn next day and continue the trek; and he called a conference at his campfire. All the invited were present except Larry, Cedric and Henley, the latter one of Ormiston's drovers, who were on guard with the mob. Stanley Dann got up from his table with a paper in his hand, his eagle eyes alight, his goldness, his magnificence and virility, impressively outstanding..

"Well, here we are, family and partners and drovers," he began, in his rich resounding voice, "at this pleasant camp, and it is an occasion to thank God, to take stock of the present, and renew hope for the future. We are one hundred and fifty-seven days and nearly six hundred miles on our great trek. Barring the tragic loss of our partner, Woolcott, we have been wonderfully blessed and guided by Providence. We have lost only fourteen horses--a remarkable showing--and two hundred head of cattle, including, of course, those we used for beef. Let me say this company upholds the prestige of Australians as meat eaters!"

Dann consulted the paper in his hand, and went on: "We have consumed one fourth of our flour. Too much, but it cannot be put down to extravagance or wastefulness. Tea--an abundance left. Also salt and sugar. One fifth of our stock of dried fruits is gone, and this is our worst showing. There is a ton or more of tinned goods left. In view of our good luck so far, I think it well to have everyone present say how he feels about the trek. Now, Sister Emily, will you be the first to speak out?"

One by one all the women--Miss Dann, a spinster of forty, Mrs. Slyter of the weather-beaten face, Leslie with her wonderful eyes flashing, Beryl whose beauty graced the occasion--expressed their hope for the future, their determination not to turn back. The tall Hathaway had a tribute for their leader. Slyter spoke brief, eloquent words about their progress and the surety of success. Eric Dann said: "It has been far better than I believed possible. I have been wavering on my plan to stick to the old Gulf trek."

Stanley Dann let out a roar of approval and called lustily upon Ormiston.

"Friends, I have not yet recovered from the loss of our partner Woolcott," he said, in a deep voice. "But still I see our marvelous success--so far. I may be hard put to make a decision when we come to the headwaters of the Diamantina. Yet there should be one voice of warning. It is absolutely certain that this incredible good luck will not last."

Red Krehl nudged Sterl as if to confirm the thought that formed in Sterl's mind.

"Hazelton, you, being an American trail driver, long versed in this business of cattle and horses and men against the cruel and rugged ranges, you should have something unforgettable and inspiring to say to us novices at the game."

"I hope I have," rang out Sterl. "Stanley Dann, you are the great leader to make this great trek. On to the Kimberleys! No heat, no drought, no flood, no desert--no man can stop us!"

Of all those who had spoken thus far only Sterl appeared to strike fire from their leader. Then he called to Red:

"You--cowboy!"

"Dog-gone-it, boss," drawled Red, "I had a helluva nifty speech, but I've clean forgot it. I've the same hunch as my pard heah. We cain't be licked. The thing's too big. It means too much to Australia. Fork yore hosses, and ride!"

Four weeks later Sterl and Red discussing the situation as they rode herd, were divided between a suspicion that Ormiston plotted to go on with Eric and Hathaway, if he could engineer the split with Stanley, in order to get possession of all their stock, or cut off from all his partners and drove on alone to some unknown destination. The former was Red's opinion, and latter Sterl's.

All this time, they had been traversing an increasingly dry country with a blazing brassy sky by day and a pitiless, starlit sky by night. Several series of two--and three-day treks without water marked the approach to the Diamantina River. The cattle did not suffer dangerously from thirst until the last arid spell. Then with two hot dry days and no prospect of relief, the adventurers faced their most serious predicament.

That second night all the drovers rode herd. Sterl had observed the absence of game and bird life, always an indication of the lack of water. Friday encouraged Sterl with a hopeful, "Might be water close up." But close up for the black could have a wide range. A full moon was rising. The cattle were restless, bawling, milling; Sterl approached Red.

"Pard, what do you say to my riding ahead on a scout? If I find anything wet around twenty miles, I'll advise Dann to trek clear through tomorrow and tomorrow night."

"Wal, it's a hell of a good idee," declared the cowboy. "Go ahaid. Thet is, if you reckon you can find yore way back!"

Red had never ceased to plague Sterl about getting lost. "Say, you could joke on your grandmother's grave!" retorted Sterl. "I've a notion to bat you one!"

"I reckon we're workin' out on a plateau," said Red, changing the subject. "Not one stream bed today. Rustle, pard!"

Sterl turned away toward the remuda to change horses. He wanted to save King. The horses had been in need of water, but always after dark, when the dew was wet on the grass, they had slaked acute thirst. Sterl transferred saddle and bridle to the big rangy sorrel, an animal he had not yet been able to tire. Then he set out, taking his direction from the Southern Cross.

Heat still radiated from the ground. But the night was pleasant. For two weeks and more the trek had been through open country. The heave of the land suggested a last mighty roll toward the interminable level of the interior. Sterl rode through bleached grass, silver in the moonlight. Stunted gum trees reared spectral heads; there were dark clumps of mulga scrub and bare moon-blanched spaces, across which rabbits scurried. When at length the glimmer of campfires failed to pierce the darkness, Sterl halted his horse for a moment.

Two hours of steady riding brought Sterl to the edge of an escarpment which fortunately presented no steep drop from the level. Declivities always meant difficulties for the trail driver, especially when they were not discovered until too late.

The void beneath him appeared majestic in its immensity. Apparently land and sky never met. Far below, a shining ribbon of a river catching the moonlight, made his heart leap. This could not be sand or a strip of glass or rock. It was water, and surely the long-hoped-for Diamantina River. But how far? In that rarefied atmosphere, under a soaring full moon, it might be a few miles away, and it could be a score. But surely it was within, reach of a twenty-four hour trek.

At daybreak, the drovers came riding in by threes to get breakfast. Sterl lost no time in telling Slyter the good news. He and Red accompanied him to Dann's camp.

"Boss, I rode ahead last night. Found water," announced Sterl, bluntly.

"You did? Good-o, Hazelton," boomed Stanley Dann.

"It's a big river. Surely the Daimantina. I couldn't tell how far. Twenty miles, maybe less."

"Twenty miles? Two days' trek!" ejaculated Eric Dann, disheartened. "We'll have a big loss."

Ormiston cursed roundly apparently venting his rage on Sterl, as if he could be blamed for a dire calamity. Sterl did not deign to notice him, and addressed their leader: "We can make it in one trek."

Ormiston headed a furious opposition, in which, however, Stanley Dann did not concur. Sterl endeavoured to convince the disgruntled and almost hopeless drovers, silencing all except Ormiston.

"You're a disorganizer," flashed Sterl, steely and cold. "You're glad of anything that hinders us! You shut up, or I'll shut you up."

Ormiston took the threat sullenly.

"How should we make this long trek to water?" inquired Stanley Dann.

"Take it slow all day, ease the mob along careful during the hottest hours. Then, after sunset push them. When the dew falls they can travel without breaking down."

"You heard Hazelton," thundered Dann. "His plan is sound. Wagons go ahead and make camp! Trek through to water!"

On Sterl's return to Styler's camp Red appeared supremely elated. "Pard, did you see Beryl?"