CHAPTER XIII.

HOW CONQUEROR BOLTED.

The day had gone slowly for Merle Warner.

From her room she had watched the boys ride off in the early morning, sore and resentful that she was not one of the party. It was her favourite ride: of all the station jobs there was none Merle loved like going out to the Ten-Mile. Bill Summers and she were great friends; he always expected to see her when the ration cart went out. And just because her father was not going, she also must remain at home, since long rides were only permitted her under his wing.

She had begged that the rule might, for this once, be relaxed, but her father had been adamant.

"Don't be stupid, Merle," he had said sharply, at last. "Apart from the fact that I wouldn't let you go without me, you might have the sense to realise that the boys really wouldn't want you. Boys don't want a little girl always hanging round." Then--a little sorry for her quick flush, "You can come with us to Mernda in the car, if you like."

"I wouldn't go a yard to Mernda!" Merle had flashed.

"Very well, then, stay at home," Mr. Warner had responded cheerfully. "After all, it's the best place for you. Run off to bed, I'm busy." He had turned to his writing-table and forgotten all about her.

The memory did not tend to make Merle amiable at the breakfast-table, which seemed curiously empty without the cheery presence of the four boys. She hurried through her breakfast, and then retreated with a book to her nest in the big pine tree in the garden, turning a deaf ear to occasional calling of her name. From her hiding-place she watched the car drive off after a while, her father at the wheel. She did not descend until the luncheon gong boomed out its summons; and then strolled in, rather hoping that her absence had caused anxiety. It was rather crushing to learn from Mrs. Macleay that Yet On, the Chinese gardener, had seen her climb the tree and had mentioned the fact to the first person he had heard calling her.

Lunch, with Bobby and the twinses, had been both dull and irritating; Bobby, who was mourning Dick's absence, was in a provoking mood, and the twinses insisted on emptying their soup into a vase, and howled dismally when nanna, returning after a short absence, checked this interesting diversion. The pudding, too, was one Merle did not happen to like; she refused to eat any, and, pushing her chair impatiently away, left the table. Bobby pursued her, presently demanding that she should play with him; she locked herself in her room to avoid him, declining to come out until the sound of little voices, dying away in the distance, told her that nanna had taken the children for their afternoon walk.

She opened her door and strolled out upon the verandah. It was a glorious afternoon; the sun, shining through the trailing masses of tecoma on the posts, was enough to charm away even bad temper. A sudden thought came to her, and she turned back into her room, to emerge presently dressed for riding. Olaf was in the stable, she knew. Why should she not take him out? Mrs. Macleay was the only person likely to interfere with her, and she was safely in the kitchen. Merle ran across to the stable yard, almost cheerfully.

She called O'Mara, but received no answer; and then remembered that she had seen him go out, driving Mr. Macleay. Well, it did not matter. It was easy enough to saddle Olaf without help. She mounted and rode down towards the lake, looking out for the children. They were playing with nanna near the bank, and she trotted along to them.

"Where's you goin', Merle?" demanded Bobby.

"I'm going to meet the boys," Merle said. "You can tell Mrs. Macleay, nanna, if she asks for me."

The black nurse looked uneasy.

"Boss, him be cross this pfeller if you go far," she protested. "Mine thinkit baal you go all by you'se'f, Missy Merle."

"Oh, rubbish, nanna," Merle said.

"Dad'll be jolly wild wiv you--an' so'll mummy," said Bobby warningly.

"I don't care. I'm not going far, anyhow. The boys'll be home soon. I'm sure to meet them in the Middle Plain."

"Boss him say baal you go out on yarraman (horse) 'less he go longa you," said nanna. "Mine thinkit better you get off."

She put out a hand to the bridle. But Merle was too quick for her; a touch of her heel, and Olaf sprang aside. She cantered off along the track, turning to laugh at them. Bobby's woeful little face touched her a little.

"Never mind, old chap," she called to him. "I'll bring Dick home, and we'll have a game."

She cantered across the first two paddocks. The boys should be home soon now, she thought; better fun not to meet them too near the home stead, in the smaller paddocks, where they could not have a good gallop. Out on the plain they might put up a hare, and a racing spin over the grass would be some compensation for the disappointment of her day. Olaf was very fresh; she gave him his head when she had shut the last gate, and soon was far out in the open. Once she thought she caught sight of the boys in a clump of trees, and rode away from the track to see; but, though she beat through the trees, thinking they were hiding from her, she found only a big shorthorn bullock, which lumbered off at her approach. There was still no sign of the boys as she emerged again upon the plain; she stared ahead fruitlessly. Had she glanced back she might have seen two racing figures making for the homestead: Dick and Macleod, getting the last ounce they could out of their horses. But it did not occur to Merle to look back. She touched Olaf impatiently, and again cantered forward.

The green line of the timber ahead beckoned her. She knew well that she would never have been allowed to enter it alone; but she was in the reckless, defiant mood that considers it as well to be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. After all, she thought, she must certainly meet the boys very soon; every moment she paused, thinking she heard their voices. It would be cooler to wait in the shade, even if she only went just within the edge of the belt of trees. But once there, she strayed further and further in, tempted by the leafy green alleys that she loved. Olaf loved them as much as she; he paced along, daintily arching his beautiful neck. The sunlight, filtering through the gum leaves, made dappled patterns on the black satin of his skin. Once or twice he pricked his ears questioningly, as though listening to some sound Merle could not hear--surely, she thought, the boys' horses coming through the trees from the Ten-Mile. So she went slowly on.

* * * * *

Dick came across to the homestead from the stables, feeling suddenly very tired. He had not eaten since breakfast; and morning, with its early start and the fun and laughter of the ride out, seemed to belong to another age altogether. Then, cruelty and murder had been things that people talked about, without realising their existence; now they had suddenly come close enough to be touched, and the whole world was altered. His heart was heavy for the old man who had been kind to him; dead now, and without the chance of striking a blow in his own defence. Dick's fists clenched in helpless anger.

The great bell of the station crashed out suddenly, in such thunderous clamour that he jumped and then stood still. What Mr. Warner called its "tinkle"--the daily summons to dinner--had seemed to Dick violent enough; but this was a new sound altogether, a resonant, brazen din that clanged furiously, sending its strident clashing far out across the paddocks. The squatter's words came back to him--"It can make a very tolerable din in the hands of an active person." Well, that was no exaggeration--surely its wild clamour must reach every man working out on the run.

He went across to the high stand from which the bell hung. It was swaying back and forth in a kind of mad dance, and below stood Mrs. Macleay, her muscles swelling under her thin blouse as she tugged at the rope.

"I'd nearly forgot the bell," she panted. "'Tis two years since we had to ring it--and then 'twas for a bush fire. Go in, laddie--there's food waiting for ye in the dining-room, and Mr. Macleod said ye were to eat."

Dick turned away heavily. The black girls were gathered round, staring and chattering. At the moment even their friendly ebony faces were horrible to him, and he brushed past them as quickly as he could. The food in the dining-room seemed to choke him at first; he gulped down a cup of strong tea, and then found it easier to swallow. The clanging of the bell never ceased; he felt as though it were beating inside his head, paralysing him. And he was suddenly terribly lonely. A great longing for companionship came over him, and he went out again.

Mrs. Macleay had given the bell rope to a black girl, and was speaking hurriedly to nanna, who had run to the house with the children when the bell began to ring. Her kind face was white.

"Think what you're saying, nanna! Miss Merle gone out on her pony! Where?"

Bobby piped up.

"Merle's gone to meet Dick and the boys," he said. "Out over the Miggle Plain towards the Ten-Mile. We tole her dad would be jolly angwy, but she would go."

"That Missy Merle bad pfeller, mine thinkit," said the black gin, stolidly. "Ball she let me stop her--she kicking yarraman, all same jump away quick."

"Bobby!" Mrs. Macleay's voice was a wail. "Are you sure she went towards the Ten-Mile?"

Bobby nodded decidedly.

"Dead certain. She was awful cwoss 'cause dad wouldn't let her go wiv 'em this morning. She said she'd meet 'em comin' home." His eye fell on Dick, and he sprang to meet him with a gay little shout. "Oh, Dick! Didn't you meet Merle?"

Over the fair head Dick's eyes met the Scotchwoman's, and there was dread in both.

"How long ago, Bobby?"

"Since Merle went? Oh, ages!" said Bobby airily. "Didn't you see her?"

Dick shook his head.

Mrs. Macleay gripped his shoulder suddenly, pulling him aside.

"Can you go after her?" Her voice was thick. "I can't ride, and there's not a man on the place. Is there a horse in? Mr. Macleod said yours was lame."

"Conqueror's in the stable," Dick said. "Of course I'll go; most likely I'll catch her up before she gets to the timber. Anyhow, she'll never go into the timber by herself, and no black fellow would go near her in the open on Olaf."

"Are you fit to go, child?" The woman wrung her hands. "You look dead beat now. But what am I to do?"

Dick forced a laugh.

"Don't you worry; I'm all right," he said. "Ten to one she'll have turned back and I'll meet her coming home. I'd better scoot, hadn't I?" Turning, he ran, pursued by an indignant wail from Bobby.

Conqueror was fresh and impatient, and to saddle a horse of seventeen hands is not an easy task for a boy of thirteen, even if that horse be inclined to stand still. Dick was struggling with him when Mrs. Macleay appeared.

"I'll hold him," she said, briefly. She helped to saddle the great horse, and then gave Dick an awkward leg-up. Still holding the bridle she took something from her pocket.

"Is this any good to you?"

It was a small automatic pistol, and Dick's heart leaped at the sight of it.

"I can't hit a haystack," he admitted. "But I know how to use it--we've been practising every evening--and at least I can fire it off. Is it loaded?"

She nodded.

"Yes--but I can't find any more cartridges."

"Well, I mightn't need even these, but I'd better take it," Dick said. He slipped it into his pocket. "Can you open the gate, Mrs. Macleay?"

"Ay," she said. "And there's black girls ahead at the next two gates for ye. Ride fast, laddie, and God keep ye!"

Dick needed no telling. Conqueror was already reefing and dancing with impatience. He went through the gate in a flash and settled into his stride across the next two paddocks, in a way that would have been impossible but for Mrs. Macleay's forethought in sending the gins ahead to open the gates. The wide Middle Plain spread before him, and he gave his head a little shake, taking the bit in his teeth. This featherweight on his back was as nothing; and the stretching plain, with its soft grass, was a galloping ground that he loved.

Dick had never ridden such a horse. On his father's station, while at odd times he might ride anything, as occasion demanded, his favourite mount was his pony, Tinker; here, he had ridden Agility, a horse full of fire and speed, but not big. Conqueror's huge bulk beneath him made him feel like an insect on an elephant. There seemed miles of great neck before him--iron-grey in colour, and hard as iron; and to pull at the huge head was like pulling at the side of a mountain. The massive hoofs seemed to fling themselves out, pounding the grass with earth-shaking thuds. Dick tried to get the horse in hand once, but realised that he had no chance whatever, Conqueror merely shook his head and galloped on.

Well, after all, to gallop was all Dick wanted. Luckily, the great horse kept to the faint wheel track, and that, presumably, was the line that Merle had taken. He ceased to try to steady Conqueror or to guide him, realising that all his energies would be needed for sitting still on the mighty, plunging bulk beneath him. Leaning forward, he scanned the plain eagerly for a glimpse of a little figure on a black pony; but there was nothing save open grass and blue sky, except for the scattered clumps of trees to right and left. She would not be in one of those, he thought, or if she were, the noise of thundering hoofs would make her show herself. He could do nothing but gallop ahead towards the long-blurred line of timber.

But he was cruelly tired. Each great bound under him seemed to shake him from head to foot. The spring had gone out of him; between hard riding and shock, his nerves had tightened almost to breaking point. Yesterday, riding out to revolver practice with the jackeroos, he had fancied himself almost a man; to-day he knew himself for a little boy, and a tired one at that. The thought of his mother came to him, and a sob rose in his throat.

Yet, when the line of timber grew near, and he knew that he must enter it, with all its stealthy peril, something of the clean pluck that was his inheritance came back to him. He sat erect, and tried to steady Conqueror; and to his surprise the mighty horse gave to the light fingers on his bit, and the stretching gallop steadied to the slow canter that his master declared was the easiest pace in the world. With the slackening of the pounding gallop relief came to Dick's overtaxed senses. Had it gone on, he had known that he must fall; now, that fear left him, and with it some of his weariness. He reined Conqueror to a walk as they reached the trees, peering into their dark recesses.

Nothing seemed stirring there. The wheel tracks lay before him, faint, yet clear enough; he was not bushman enough to say if other hoof-prints had stirred the soft grass. With a sudden impulse he coo'ee'd loudly, wondering immediately if he had done the wrong thing. There was no answer. He took his courage in both hands and rode into the forest.

Everything there was very quiet. Not even a bird seemed awake among the trees. So still was it that when a long trail of bark came fluttering down Conqueror jumped, and Dick felt himself turn cold. He realised that he was very badly afraid, and the knowledge brought with it an angry disgust of himself that did more to steady him than anything else could have done. He tried to keep himself from thinking of the hut ... of what had lain in it that the men had not let him see; but the thought came over him like a wave. The utter stillness of the bush was like a cold hand upon his heart. He rode on, deeper and deeper into the green silence.

Then, ahead, something crashed over some dry sticks; and Conqueror flung up his head and whinnied loudly. He thought he heard a cry. Then came galloping hoofs, and suddenly, down a long aisle of the trees, Olaf came into view, riderless and mad with fear. Conqueror plunged aside shivering with some sense more keen than Dick's; and the black pony flashed past them, his head low, his eyes glazed with terror, and right through his neck a long spear that hit the trees as he galloped. A moment and he was gone, and the silence of the bush was more profound than ever.

"Merle! Merle!"

Dick's cry shrilled through the forest. He took Conqueror by the head, and sent him at a sharp trot down the open space whence Olaf had come, glancing keenly from side to side, peering into the scrub. Again and again he shouted, as much in the hope that the blacks, hearing, might imagine that he was not the only new-comer as to warn Merle herself. But indeed, though he rode on desperately, he had but little hope. Surely, when the black pony lost his rider it was because the spears had found her first.

The glade ended in a dense thicket so overgrown with creepers that to force a way through would have been difficult. Dick pulled up, thinking hard. Someone was near, he felt--and there came a queer, pricking sensation in his skin as he wondered what it felt like to be speared. Then he saw an opening on his right hand, and pushing through, found himself on the edge of a long gully, fringed with ferns and thick with sarsaparilla and clematis. Here was where Olaf had come; the pony's hoof marks were clearly visible among crushed flowers and leaves in the rich soil. And then his heart gave a great bound, and stood still.

Merle was running desperately towards him, dodging in and out of the trees that grew on the bank of the gully. She was hatless, and there was a long smear of mud on her face that looked like blood. And behind her, running swiftly and silently, were half a dozen men--slender black figures with horrible patterns on their bodies in black and red, and in their hands bundles of spears. Dick saw one flash in the air past Merle, burying its point in a tree.

He shouted, sending Conqueror forward. Something hard knocked against his side with the sudden movement, and he gasped with relief as he remembered Mrs. Macleay's pistol. There was no aiming, with Merle between him and the racing black figures; he fired twice in the air, shouting with mingled joy and excitement when he saw them pause and dodge behind cover. Then he was beside Merle, and she was clinging to his stirrup. He found himself praying desperately.

"Oh, God! keep Conqueror steady!"

The great horse stood like a rock. Dick kicked his feet out of the stirrup and slid to his back behind the saddle.

"Jump up!" he said sharply. "You've got to be in front."

Somehow, with his help, she managed it. Her boot caught him in the face as she gained the saddle and almost knocked him off. She gathered up the reins, and Dick caught her belt with one hand. The blacks showed again on both sides of the gully. He fired wildly among them, and thought he saw one man drop. But there was no time to see anything. Conqueror was off, and they were tearing up the long glade. A spear whistled by them, and Dick flung his arms around Merle, sheltering her as best he could.

"Lie down on his neck," he gasped. "He'll take us home if they don't hit him."

Right ahead a knot of blacks showed, fiercely barring the way, and a flight of spears came whirring through the air. Dick fired his last shot, with a feeling of numb despair. Conqueror would never face them, and once he turned, wheeling back among the trees, what chance had they? For the bush was alive with blacks. He could see their fierce forms slipping in and out among the timber; could hear their guttural shouts. He forced Merle down yet further, vainly trying to shield her with his body.

A spear caught the tip of Conqueror's ear, and another grazed his flank. He plunged so violently that his riders were almost unseated; and then, mad with pain and terror, the great horse charged forward, pounding the glade with outstretched neck and nostrils flecked with foam. The blacks stood for an instant, and then wavered and fled, and Conqueror swept by them, shaking the earth in the might of his stride. A few spears flew harmlessly past, and then Dick felt a sudden red-hot pain in his shoulder; but it did not seem to matter--nothing mattered save the wild exultation of that race with Death. He shouted triumphantly, "Good old Conqueror!" and heard a sound from Merle that was half laugh, half sob.

The plain danced before their tired eyes. They were out of the timber, and galloping towards home, with no hideous lurking dangers ahead--only the long stretch of thick grass over which the wheel-tracks made a pathway. Conqueror was settling down to a steady gallop--the reins were loose on his neck, for Merle had no strength left to guide him; she could only cling to the pommel, her breath coming in short gasps. The pain in Dick's shoulder suddenly flashed into burning life; he put up one hand, and could feel the haft of a spear. There was blood on his hand when he took it away; he looked at it curiously, as if wondering if it could be really his own. Then a sick faintness came over him, and he could only cling to Merle's belt and struggle for self-command.

Ahead, a blur showed on the grass--the ration cart, which had come out of the trees at a different angle, and was now jogging slowly homeward, with Downes riding beside it. He turned at the sound of the galloping hoofs; and then shouted in horror, as Conqueror came up, drew level, and then thudded past. It was as though neither horse nor riders saw them.

"Harry--it's the kids! And did you see Dick's shoulder? There's a spear in it!"

"Keep as close as you can without racing them," the old man cried. "The boy may fall off any minute."

Downes set off in pursuit. Conqueror was still galloping hard, but without his first terror--only with his smarting ear and flank, and the memory of the yelling black figures to spur him on. The reins flapped on his neck; he missed the light touch of a hand on his bit, the sensitive pressure of the knees--all that makes horse and rider seem as one. This dead weight on his back, that neither spoke, nor moved, nor guided him--what was it? Something was all wrong; there was nothing to do but gallop forward, since ahead lay home and his stable, and behind was the yelling, hideous terror of the scrub.

A clump of trees was before him. He rounded them in his gallop, and then shied violently at a new horror--the black pony, lying dead across the track, with the cruel spear still sticking in his neck. The sudden movement was too much for Dick. The sick faintness had been creeping steadily over him, and the quick wrench, twisting the spear in his wound, brought an agony beyond endurance. Consciousness slipped from him as his fingers loosed their hold. He had a sudden vision of the earth rushing up to meet him. Then he was falling--falling--through an eternity of space, and the world was blotted out in blackness.