Wilderness Trek (1988) (34 page)

"Hazelton, where will you sleep?" asked Benson.

"What do you say, Red?" returned Sterl.

"Somewhere pretty close to these trees, on the side away from the open. We'll heah you when you call."

When a gentle hand fell on his shoulder and Friday's voice followed, Sterl felt that he had not had his eyes closed longer than a moment.

"All well, Friday?" he asked.

"Eberytink good. But bimeby bad," replied the black.

Red had sat up putting on the coat he has used for a pillow. Everything was wet with dew. The moon had soared beyond the zenith and blazed down with supernatural whiteness. The downs resembled a snowy range. A ghastly stillness reigned over the wilderness. Even the mosquitoes had gone.

At the campfire the three drovers whom they were to relieve sat drinking tea.

"How was tricks, Ben?" asked Red.

"Mob bedded down. Horses quiet. Not a move. Not a sound."

The mob was like a checkerboard on the silvery downs. They passed the two herds of horses, the larger of which, Dann's, were grouped between the cattle and the camp.

Red chose a position near a single tree on that side from which they could see both the mob and the remuda. They remained on foot. Friday made off into the ghostly brightness, returned to squat under the tree. His silence seemed encouraging.

"Let's take turns dozin'," suggested Red, and proceeded to put that idea into execution.

Sterl marked a gradual slanting of the moon and a diminishing of the radiance. He fell into half slumber. When he awakened the moon was far down and weird. The hour before dawn was close at hand.

"Pard, there's no change in the herd, but Dann's horses have worked off a bit, an' Slyter's air almost in camp," said Red.

"Ssh!" hissed the black. If he had heard anything he did not indicate what or whence. Rifles in hands, the cowboys stood motionlessly in the shadows of the tree. Several times Friday laid his ear to the ground, an action remarkably similar to that of Indian scouts they had worked with. The gray gloom made the campfire fade into a ghostly flicker.

"Smellum black fella!" whispered Friday suddenly. Like a hound, his keenest sense was in his nose. An aboriginal himself, he smelled the approach of his species on the downs.

"What do?" whispered Sterl, hoarsely, leaning to Friday's ear.

"Tinkit more better alonga here."

"Pard, I cain't smell a damn thing," whispered Red.

"I'm glad I cain't. If we could--these abo's would be close... Red, it's far worse to stand than a Comanche stalk."

"Sssh!" The black added a hand to his caution. Again the cowboys became statues.

"Obber dere," whispered Friday. And to Sterl's great relief he pointed away from camp. But though Sterl strained his ears to the extent of pain he could not hear a sound.

Suddenly the speaking and sinister silence broke to a thud of hoofs. Sterl jerked up as if galvanized.

"Skeered hoss. But not bad. Reckon he got a scent, like Friday," whispered Red.

Another little run of hoofs on soft ground!

"I heahed a hoss wicker," whispered Red, intensely. Friday held up his hand. Events were about to break, and Sterl greeted the fact with a release of tension.

Whang! On the still air sped a strange sound, familiar, though Sterl could not identify it. Instantly there followed the peculiar thud of missile entering flesh! It could not have been a bullet, for no report followed. Hard on that sound came the shrill, horrid unearthly scream of a horse in mortal agony. A pounding of hoofs--and a heavy body thudding the ground. The herd took fright, snorting and whistling.

"You savvy wommera?" asked Friday, in a whisper.

"I shore did. An' you bet I shivered in my boots," replied Red.

Then the strange sound, almost a twang, became clear to Sterl's mind.

"Black fella spearum hoss," added Friday.

Red broke into curses. "They're cuttin' up one of our hosses... I can heah the rip of hide! Let's sneak over an' shoot the gizzards out of them!"

Chapter
28

Sterl gave grim acquiescence to Red's bold suggestion. But Friday whispered: "More better black fella go alonga bush corroboree."

"Pard, he talks sense," said Red. "It's better we let the abo's gorge themselves on horse meat, than for us to run the littlest risk."

"Righto, Red. But it galls me," rejoined Sterl, and lapsed into silence again. New, faint sounds reached their ears--what must have been a rending of bones. Splashing sounds succeeded; then the keenest listening was in vain. At daylight Red said he would ride out and see what signs the marauding abo's might have left. Sterl returned to camp.

All the men were up and Slyter was helping his wife get breakfast. His eyes questioned Sterl in mute anxiety. But upon hearing Sterl's report he was far from mute. Dann, too, ground his teeth.

"We could spare a bullock, but a good horse--"

"Boss," said Red, as he rode into camp, "I found where them abo's had killed an' butchered yore boss. Narry hide nor hair nor hoof left! Must have been a hundred abo's in the outfit!"

For ten nights that band of aboriginals, reinforced at every camp, hung on the tracks of the trekkers. Nothing was ever seen of them but their haunting smoke magic. The silence, the mystery, the inevitable attack on the horses in the gray dawn, wore increasingly upon the drovers. The savages never killed a beef. The horrible fear they impressed upon the pursued was that when they tired of horseflesh they would try to obtain human flesh. For Slyter averred that they were cannibals. Friday, when anyone mentioned this dire possibility, looked blank.

Now the trekkers approached the end of the downs. The river had diminished to a creek. Day by day the patches and fringes of bush had encroached more upon the green, shining monotony. Vague blue tracery of higher ground hung over the horizon. The waterfowl, except for cranes and egrets, had given way to a variable and colorful parrot life.

"Makes no difference if we do pass the happy huntin' ground of this breed of abo's," said Red, one night. "We'll only run into more. This heah bunch has got me buffaloed. You cain't see them. A coupla more hosses butchered will put me on the warpath, boss or no boss! I figger that killin' some of them would stop their doggin' us. Thet used to be the case with the plains redskins."

As the bush encroached more upon the downs, corroborees were held nightly by the aborigines. The wild revels and the weird chantings murdered sleep for the trekkers. Always over them hovered the evil portent of what the cannibals had been known to do in the remote Australian wilderness.

One gray morning dawned with bad news for the Slyters. Leslie's thoroughbred, a gray roan stallion of great promise, which the girl called Lord Chester, was missing from the band. Red ran across the spot where he had been killed and butchered. Upon their return to camp, Leslie was waiting in distress.

"Les, we cain't find him," confessed Red. "An' I jest reckon he's gone the way of so many of Dann's hosses." She broke down and wept bitterly.

"Say, cain't you take yore medicine?" queried Red, always prone to hide his softer side under a cloak of bitterness or scorn. "This heah trek ain't no circus parade. What's another boss, even if he is one of yore thoroughbreds?"

"Red Krehl!" she cried in passionate amaze at his apparent callousness. "I've lost horses--But Chester!--It's too much--I loved him--almost as I do--Jane."

"Shore you did. I felt thet way once over a hoss. It's tough. But don't be a baby."

"Baby? I'm no baby, Red Krehl! It's Dann and Dad--and you--all of you who've lost your nerve! If you and Sterl--and Larry and Rol--if you had any man in you--you'd kill these abo's!"

The girl's passion, her rich voice stinging with scorn, appeared to lash the cowboy.

"By gosh, Leslie," he replied. "I shore deserved thet. No excuse for me, or any of us, onless we're jest plain worn to a frazzle."

"Red Krehl, what do you mean by that speech?" demanded Beryl.

"Never mind what I meant. Leslie hit me one below the belt."

"That is no reason for you to concoct some blood reprisal of revenge. Leslie is a grand girl. She has proved that to me. But she's like you--a savage. She forgets."

"Yeah? Forgets what?" drawled the cowboy.

"That her loss was only a horse. If you and Sterl and Larry and Rollie should be killed or badly wounded--our trek is doomed."

"Beryl," returned Red, "you're smarter than any of us. But Leslie's ravin' is more sense that yore intelligence. It's a hard nut to crack..."

A hundred times that day Sterl saw Red turn in his saddle to look for the smoke signals of the aboriginals rising above the bush horizon to the north. Toward noon of that day they vanished. But that night in camp, when Larry, Rollie and Benson were about to go on guard, Friday held up his hand. "Corroboree!" They listened. From the darkness wailed a chant as of lost souls.

"How far away, Friday?" asked Red, tersely.

"Close up."

"How many?"

"Plenty black fella. No gin. No lubra."

Red swept a blue-fire glance all around to see that he would not be overheard by the women. "Fellers, it's a hunch. Grab yore rifles an' extra cartridges. We'll give these abo's a mess of lead."

Friday led the way beyond camp. As they neared the bush the chant swelled to a pitch indicating many voices. Soon, dark, dancing forms grotesquely crossed the firelight. Friday led a zigzag way through the bush and brush.

They were halted by a stream or pond.

"About as far as we can get," whispered Red. "Let's take a peep. Careful now!"

Silently the five rose from behind the fringe of brush, to peer over the top. Sterl was surprised to see a wide stretch of water, mirroring three fires and fantastic figures of abo's dancing in strange gyrations. The distance was about a hundred yards.

"Plenty black fella," whispered Friday, in tense excitement. "Big corroboree! Full debbil along hoss meat! Bimeby bad!"

"I should snicker to snort," whispered Red. "Mebbe he means thet horseflesh has gone stale. They want long-pig! Let's frame it thet way."

"It's a cinch they'll roast us next!" said Sterl.

"All right," whispered Red, tensely. "Make shore of yore first shot. Then empty yore rifles pronto, reload, an' slope. Pard Sterl, forget yore Injun-lovin' weakness, an' shoot like you could if one of us was in there roastin' on the coals."

They cocked and raised their rifles. Sterl drew down upon a dense group of dark figures, huddled together, swaying in unison.

"One--two--three--shoot!" hissed Red.

The rifles cracked. Pandemonium broke loose. The abo's knocked against each other in their mad rush. And a merciless fire poured into them. When Sterl paused to reload he peered through the smoke. Red was still shooting. From the circle of light, gliding black forms vanished. But around the fires lay prone abo's and many writhing, and shrieking.

"Slope--fellers," ordered Red, huskily, and then turned away on the run. At length the cowboys halted from exhaustion.

"Reckon we're out of--reach of--them spears," he gasped. "I ain't used --to runnin'--Wal, did it work?"

"Work? It was a--massacre," declared Benson, in hoarse, broken accents.

"Let's rustle--for camp," added Red. "They'll all be--scared stiff."

His premonition had ample vindication. When Red called out, they all appeared from under the wagon.

"What the hell?" boomed Dann, as he stalked out, rifle in hand.

"Were you attacked?" queried Slyter, sharply.

Beryl ran straight into Red, to throw her arms around him, then sink limply upon his breast. She was beyond thinking of what her actions betrayed.

"Boss," he said, "we went after them. It jest had to be done."

"Well--what happened?" demanded the leader, his breath whistling.

"We blasted hell out of them," declared Benson. "And it was a good thing."

"Hazelton, are you dumb?" queried Slyter, testily.

"Wholesale murder, boss," replied Sterl. "But justifiable. Friday intimated that we might be roasting next on their spits."

"Oh, Red!" cried Beryl. "I thought you had--broken your promise--that you might be--"

"Umpumm, Beryl," returned Red, visibly moved, as he released himself and steadied her on her feet. "We was shore crazy, but took no chances. Beryl, you an' Leslie can feel shore thet bunch of abo's won't hound us again."

Red's 'prediction turned out to be true. There were no more raids on the horses--no more smoke signals on the horizon. But days had to pass before the drovers believed in their deliverance.

They trekked off the down into mulga and spinifex country, covered with good grass, fairly well watered and dotted with dwarf gums and fig and pandanus trees. The ground was gradually rising. They came next into a region of anthills. Many a field of these queer earthen habitations had they passed through. But this one gave unparalleled and remarkable evidence of the fecundity and energy of the wood--and leaf-eating ants. Gray and yellow in the sunlight, they were of every size, up to the height of three tall men. At night they shone ghostly in the starlight. Sterl found that every dead log he cut into was only a shell--that the interior had been eaten away. And from every dead branch or tree poured forth an army of ants, furious at the invasion of their homes.