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The Dingo Boys: The Squatters of Wallaby Range, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15. "We Shall Run Against Them" |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. "WE SHALL RUN AGAINST THEM" What did it mean? Lost in the great uninhabited plains, where by aid of their compass they might go on day after day travelling in the direction they believed to be homeward, but it would only be as the result of a guess. Certainly, they knew that the sea lay somewhere due east, but even if they could reach the sea, where would they be--north or south of a settlement? Norman felt that their case was hopeless; and in obedience to the mute prayer he read in brother and cousin's eyes, he went and sat by the black. "Can't mine find the track, Shanter?" "Baal find um," he replied coolly. "Plenty all gone way." "But come and try again." The black shook his head. "Baal go no more," he said; "mine sore. Plenty hurt all over. Go sleep, piggi jump up." The black turned away, and Norman returned disconsolately to the others. "What does he say?" whispered Tim, as if afraid that his voice would be heard out there in the great wild. "Says we are to go to sleep till the sun rises to-morrow." There was a dead silence. "Shall we go and try ourselves?" said Rifle, at last. "If he can't find it, we can't," said Norman, despondently. "Never mind, boys," cried Tim. "Never say die. When the provision's done, we'll eat one of the horses, if we can't shoot anything. Surely we shall come across settlers some time during the next ten years; and if we don't, I say that if black fellows can live, we who know so much better can, till we reach a settlement once more." "But we don't know so much better," said Norman, sadly. "Shanter can beat us hollow at tracking. I wouldn't care, boys, only I seem to have poor mother's face always before me; and it will kill her if we don't get back." Another deep silence followed, for neither could trust himself to speak, till all at once from where he lay, sounding incongruous at so solemn a time, there came from the black a succession of heavy snores; and so near is laughter to tears, mirth to sadness, that the boys burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and Rifle exclaimed: "There, what's the good of our being in the dumps. It can't be so very bad when old Tam o' Shanter can go to sleep like that." "No," said Tim, taking his pitch from his cousin. "Let's have a good long rest, and then see what to-morrow brings; eh! Man?" Norman smiled and nodded, joining in the preparations for their evening meal, and that night they all lay down as if to sleep, nothing being heard but Shanter's deep breathing in the great solitude beneath the glittering stars, till a deep sigh escaped from Norman's breast; and rising from his blanket couch, he stole softly out to go and kneel down beneath the great, violet, gold-spangled arch of heaven to pray for help, and that there might not come that terrible sorrow in his home-- the tale to be told to future generations of how three happy, contented lads went forth into the great wilderness and left their bones there beneath some tree, or by some water-hole, bleaching in the sun. He was picturing it all in that solemn silence; the very scene rose before him, but it was swept away directly, and he was gazing in the agony-drawn face of his mother, when he heard a faint sob, and turned as Rifle dropped upon his knees by his side, laid his clasped hands upon his brother's shoulder, and bent down his head. But poor orphan Tim, who looked upon his cousins more as brothers than aught else, had been as wakeful as they. It had been a mutual deception; each had pretended that he was asleep, so as not to let the others know how he suffered, and many seconds had not elapsed before he too was kneeling by Norman's side. And there they knelt for a long space, before Norman began repeating aloud the old, old prayer, followed by the others, till he came to the words, "And deliver us from--" There he broke down, and the prayer was finished in a husky voice by Tim alone. A few minutes after they were lying once more in the shelter of the sheet of canvas, and the next thing that happened was their starting up into wakefulness with the sky one glow of gold and orange, and the black face of Tam o' Shanter peering in at them with a grin upon his countenance, as he cried: "Now, Marmi boys, piggi go jump up. Mine baal sore now. Go along fine way back." For a marvellous change seemed to have come over the black. He had been sleeping heavily for sixteen hours, and the breakfast he ate was something like that to which they had been accustomed, in spite of the fact that the flour was getting excessively low. But it was as if a black cloud had rolled away from them during the night, and the bright sun of hope was shining warmly into their hearts. All at once, to their great astonishment, Tam leaped up, flourished his nulla-nulla, and shouted: "Mine want big boomer here. Makum sore along plenty like Tam o' Shanter." "But he has gone bong," cried Rifle. "Yohi. Gone bong. Marmi Tim mumkull big boomer. Now, come along, mine fine back big white Mary." "Yes: let's start," cried Norman; but with a pang at his heart as he wondered whether they would ever reach home again, home which seemed now the most lovely place on earth. Tam refused to mount when they started. "Mine want see close along," he said; and after a few casts here and there, to the astonishment of all, they saw him suddenly point down, and they all ran to his side. "Why, there's nothing there," cried Tim. "Yohi. Horse fellow tick um toe along." "Yes; there is a faint mark of a hoof," said Norman in delight; and with rising spirits they went on again, to sight the Wallaby Range and strike Dingo Station just at dusk on the following night, after missing the track again and again on the previous day; while on this, the last of their return journey, Shanter marked down hills and mountains which were familiar, so that they made extra speed, and it was necessary, for they reached home nearly starved. It is needless to tell of the joy at the wanderers' return, save that Mrs Bedford's face showed the agony she must have suffered, while Aunt Georgie had a severe scolding in store. But all that was soon over. Shanter had gone off to a favourite nook of his to digest damper, and the boys had about wearied themselves out telling of their adventures, and of how wonderfully Shanter had recovered during the last few days. "Yes, it is wonderful," said the captain. "I suppose the way in which they get over dangerous wounds is more wonderful still. Poor fellow! he must have had a horrible squeeze, and the drowning, no doubt, acted like a shock. I wish, though, you had thought to bring home the old man's skin." "Yes, we ought to have done that," said Norman, "for Tim's sake." "But we had enough to do to bring home Shanter." "Ay, that they had," cried Uncle Jack. "I don't know what Sam German would have done without him." "Why, he always grumbles at him for a lazy nigger," said the captain. "Yes, but he likes him all the same." "So we all do," chorused the boys. "He can't help being black," said Tim. "No," said the captain; "but you have said nothing about the camps of black fellows you struck." "Because we did not find any, father," cried Rifle. "Humph!" said the captain. "Strange! There must be very few in these parts, but I always feel that we shall run against them some day." _ |
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