East of Outback (35 page)

He dared not suggest Hannah ought to be praying for their own survival. He didn’t want to worry or alarm her. There was nothing she could do about the situation. The less she knew, the better.

They rested in a crooked little wattle-tree grove through the worst heat of the day. A flock of pink and gray galahs fluttered in, railed at the interlopers, and passed on. Two crested pigeons settled in the branches overhead. Colin drew his hat down over his face to think.

One of the reasons he left home in the first place was to find peace from the constant friction with Papa. Here in the dry and endless outback all the accouterments of peace surrounded him—tranquility, silence, no people to interrupt his reveries. But peace eluded him. His very soul hungered for peace, even in this quiet remoteness.

Late in the afternoon they put the birds and the shade behind them. On the track again.

Except now there was no track. Wherever the locals had traveled on this unofficial roadway, no signs remained. The dust storm had erased everything. It was certain the locals didn’t drive their trucks and autos through these rolling slopes. Rock outcrops and soft, sandy dips would hinder any overland driving. Where was the path? Colin hadn’t a clue.

Fear, that for so long had nested like an unwelcome little gadfly in a corner of his mind, began to grow until it consumed a large part of his thoughts. They were out of water. They had taken nothing since they drained their only waterbag at sundown the night before. Tomorrow’s dawn would see them no closer to survival. Unless they found water soon. . . .

The mare was charmed. But the mare was gone. Until this hour Colin had never really doubted that his own life was charmed. Now he had doubts. For the first time in his life he tried to envision death. He could see only emptiness. You go to sleep, and then what?

If only he had put Hannah on a train; he’d had so many opportunities—Adelaide, Bendigo, Wagga—but his own stubborn pride let those chances slide by. Now she hovered on the very brink of death, and he was responsible. His bitter independence had caused this horror.

The sun would set in half an hour or less; it paused on the flat line behind them, ready for the plunge. The peril of their situation grew within him. He felt suffocated, and outrageously thirsty.

“Colin! Listen. That’s not a bellbird, not out here in the dry. It’s a bell of some sort.”

“I don’t hear any—oh, yair.”

“Come on!” She was off at a brisk pace, Colin’s swag flung across her shoulder. A hundred feet away she turned back impatiently. “Come on, Colin. You’ll not improve our position or get any more comfortable by hanging about.”

He detested being addressed as if he were a five-year-old, and by a thirteen-year-old, at that! He lurched forward, staggered, and picked up the stride.

She was three hundred feet ahead, the irregular bell sound quite clearly audible, by the time she topped a rise. “There’s a fire over among those trees,” she called. “Let’s see if they have some spare water.” She didn’t wait for him. She hastened over the hill and out of sight.

Colin heard voices. Voices! Smoke curled in a thin veil up through the trees. He quickened his pace. “Hannah?”

As he reached the top of the rise he heard her say something about her brother. There in a low dip among straight-trunked trees, a campfire burned. A slab of meat—probably a side of wallaby—roasted beside it, and a quart pot nestled in its coals. A worn swag lay open and waiting nearby. Someone had quite comfortably ensconced himself here beneath the frothy green trees. Kookaburras announced the departing day. Where was Hannah? He approached the fire.

Hannah came bounding out from among the trees as if she had not been traveling at all. She grinned brightly; her enthusiasm of yesterday had returned. Colin yearned for it.

“Colin! This gentleman has camels! Three of them. He’s freighting with camels. I never dreamed they were so big!”

“Does he have water? That is the question!”

Casually she passed a drovers’ glass-lined waterbag to Colin and flopped down by the fire. “Mr. Indjuwa says to drink all you want, there’s enough. He’s out checking on something.”

Colin collapsed beside the fire, delirious with relief. He very nearly drained the waterbag before he realized what he was doing. Sheepishly, he passed it back to Hannah.

From the gathering darkness and the trees emerged the camel driver. Aboriginal, he stood not much taller than Colin, but his solid frame looked twice Colin’s width. A charming, dense little gray beard clung close to his face and moved around as he spoke. Between his battered hat and equally battered drover’s boots he wore a neat cotton shirt and drill pants.

“Dick Indjuwa. You’re Colin, hah?” He plopped down next to him. “You two look bushed.”

Hannah grimaced. “Actually, what we are mostly is lost.”

“That’s what ‘bushed’ means out here, Hannah.” Colin addressed the camel driver, “We’re headed for Young to take the railway into Sydney.”

The man nodded. “You’re going right. Could use some water and tucker, that true?”

“Yes, sir.” Colin tried to hide the desperation in his voice.

“Trade you some water and tucker, hah?”

“Sure. But we don’t want to short you of what you need for yourself.”

The man looked straight up. “This here’s a coolibah tree. Know what that means?”

“It means you know a lot more about trees than I do.”

Dick Indjuwa threw his head back and laughed long and heartily. “Good, good, good!” He sobered enough to speak. “It means you’re sitting on water. Coolibah trees like to keep their feet in water. Either a spring, or dig down short way. Lots of water round here. You won’t short me.”

“What do you wish to trade?”

“News. Got no news for weeks. You been in town lately?”

“Yes, sir. What do you want to know?”

“Who won the Cup?”

“Windbag under Munro, in three minutes, twenty-two and three-fourths seconds. A track record.”

“Good, good. And who won the ‘lection?”

“Bruce was returned by a comfortable margin. Nationalist-Country coalition is in now.”

“Pah! ‘Fraid of that. Rugby League?”

“South Sydney.”

“VFL?” The gray beard rearranged itself somewhat.

“Geelong, I think.”

“Good as any. Windbag.” The man nodded.

Colin was warming to the task now. “A Neville Wester-wood and a Mr. Davies are trying to drive all the way around Australia. Last I heard they were still at it. Started in August sometime, I think.”

“Fool thing to do. But then, dragging camels across the outback ain’t much wiser, hah? Here. Meat’s about ready and I have a loaf of bread. Let me fetch it. Ready to eat?”

“Yes, sir!” Hannah beat Colin to an answer.

It was all Colin could do to keep himself sitting upright. He felt absolutely drained, like a tire with the air gone. He lifted his head when he heard hoofbeats.

Hannah squealed. She launched herself across the clearing and wrapped her arms around her friend—

Max’s Lady.

Colin couldn’t get to his feet.
Of course. The mare wandered off, and this man found her
. He broke into a grin and his dry, chapped lips split. The sudden pain brought tears to his eyes. “Where’d you find her, sir?”

“Walking ‘round. She ‘preciated a drink. Figured her owner would turn up sooner or later. Here’s the bread, Hannah. Want to slice it?”

“Surely, sir.”

Mr. Indjuwa dropped the lead line. The mare stood placidly. Colin managed to climb stiffly to his feet and lean against his old friend, to rub the velvet nose, scratch the hard forehead, dig his fingers in behind her ears.

Hannah babbled on about leaving the saddle and bag behind. She explained Colin’s bout with Spanish influenza and described the aftermath of the flood on the Murrumbidgee. She related, too, the kindness of the people in Griffith. Mr. Indjuwa blotted up the news and the conversation as a felt hat soaks up the rain. He nodded and commented with his “Good, good, good!” or “Pah!” as the occasion warranted.

Colin left the mare reluctantly and settled down by the fire to dine. Yes, dine was the proper term. Nothing tasted better than to be snatched from a parched death into plenty. Roasted wallaby brought back memories of Madman’s Track. He turned around to look at the mare again. Charmed she was.

Mr. Indjuwa and Hannah had a long and pleasant conversation while Colin dozed.

He awoke with a start. The kookaburras with heckling joy were announcing the sun prematurely. He opened his eyes and sat up. The birds weren’t actually jumping the gun; the eastern horizon glowed a rosy pink.

What really brought him fully awake were the big condamine bells. The camels were being led into camp, two by Mr. Indjuwa and the third by Hannah.

The tough old gentleman grinned. “Shoulda took the bullfrog bells off them, hah? Let you sleep. Porridge in the quart pot.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Indjuwa explained to Hannah how blacksmiths made the big bells out of old crosscut saw blades, and that on a quiet evening you could hear them fifteen miles away.

By the time Colin returned from a visit to the bushes, the boss camel driver was adjusting the load on one of the camel’s backs. As he scooped porridge into a tin plate, the driver was saddling another. In theory, Colin knew that camels served as saddle animals, but never had he seen a camel saddle up this close, not to mention the camel. The saddle consisted of a bare, open steel frame in the shape of two boxes. A broad leather strap formed the rider’s seat on the rear box. Stirrups hung from that half. Straps and a net bag provided stowage in the front half.

He shuddered to note that the camels were led about not by a halter or bridle but by a wooden peg and a cord looped through a hole in one nostril. Hannah helped Mr. Indjuwa tie the leadline of a pack camel to his saddle. The third camel’s line was tied to the second camel’s tail.

Everything was set to go. Mr. Indjuwa took up his quart pot, and Colin handed him the tin plate. “Must get on. Good to meet you, Colin.” He extended his massive hand to Colin’s. He tipped his head toward Hannah. “Miss Sloan, it was a pleasure.” Then he climbed aboard his camel and barked, “Hooshta.” With a certain stately grace, the animals lurched into long, swaying strides. Dick Indjuwa was on his way again. How timely that he had camped here right when Hannah and Colin needed someone.

“Wait!” Colin called, spying the brown bag by the firepit. “Your waterbag!”

With a cheery grin Mr. Indjuwa waved and continued on.

“He said we could have it. It’s full.” Hannah walked over to the coolibah tree and rapped her knuckles on it. “Looks like an ordinary tree, as far as I’m concerned.”

Colin pulled out his pocket knife and cut off a foot-long branch. “Let’s keep this in my swag. We can compare it to other trees.”

“Mr. Indjuwa said last night that we were going in the right direction. So, I guess we just keep heading east.”

Colin nodded. “Like they said in the pub, cross the first set of tracks, and when we come upon the second, take them either south to Young or north to Cowra. I think unless we see Young in the distance, we go north. We can’t miss it.”

“Cowra’s close to Bathhurst and Bathhurst is close to home,” Hannah calculated. “It won’t take long.”

And being so close
, Colin thought to himself,
the railway fare won’t take such a big bite out of ourfew pounds remaining
. Perhaps he could walk in the door at home with money in his pocket, after all.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-EIGHT

N
ESTS

Sloan glanced to his left. On the seat beside him, Sam sat staring straight ahead, her face grim. She did not ride well in automobiles. Pity, because Sloan loved them. Mary Aileen had curled herself into a corner of the back seat, reading. Once in awhile she peeked into the box in the middle of the seat, the box that housed Smoke and her new kittens. Smoke traveled better than Sam did. Sprawled on the other side of the box, Edan watched the passing scenes with the strange, distant stoicism with which he seemed to view all of life.

Sloan kicked the gearshift down into second. Their open touring car ground its way up the steep track beneath feathery gum trees a hundred years old. A mixed flock of honeyeaters, a ragtag cloud of yellow and brown, swarmed from tree to tree across the track ahead of them.

“It’s dry up here,” Cole ventured.

Sam nodded. “I was noticing that. And warm. We’ll not need the extra tent fly.”

“Perhaps we won’t put up the tent at all, if you don’t mind sleeping out.”

“I’ve not done that in ages.” She almost smiled. Then it faded.

“What were you just thinking, Sam?”

She shook her head. “What I find myself thinking of a thousand times a day—Hannah and Colin. I wondered just now if they’ve a roof over their heads.”

He reached out impulsively and patted her leg. “This two-week holiday will do you a world of good.”

“I don’t know. The thoughts come; it doesn’t seem to matter where I am.”

“Undisciplined thinking. You have to put the past behind you.”

“Undisciplined love. I can’t put the past behind.”

“Too right.” He settled back in the driver’s seat.

Laboriously the auto climbed out of the vale, past eroded cutbacks onto the near-level mountaintop. They jarred over a worn track that would require major repair within the next few years. Sloan pulled into the familiar opening and killed the engine.

After the cough and rumble of the motor, thundering silence rang in the trees. Sam hopped out with a grateful sigh. Mary Aileen bestirred herself and gathered up her precious box of cats.

“Help with the kitchen, Edan.” Sloan opened the trunk and pulled out the larger box. Edan brought over the smaller one. Together they set up Mum’s Roost—the portable cooker, the washtub, the condiment box, and pans. Sam unpacked the food, and they were home.

“If we’re not setting up the tent,” Mary Aileen wondered, “where do I put the sleeping gear?”

Sam went off to ponder the weighty question with her. Sloan would leave sleeping arrangements to the ladies. He dug into the back for lanterns, paused, and stopped.