The Pioneers

by Katharine Susannah Prichard

  CHAPTER XXX

  Deirdre's spirits rose as White Socks climbed the steep track of thefoothills. She drew the strong, sweet leafy smells of the trees witheager breaths. Tying her hat to the saddle, she threw back her head tothe sunshine, exclaiming with delight to see the red and brownprickly-shrub blossom out among the ferns, sunlight making the youngleaves hang upon the saplings in flakes of translucent green, ruddy-goldand amber.

  She talked to Socks and called to the birds that flitted across thetrack. It was so good to be in the hills again, climbing the long,winding path through the trees. She wanted to catch the sunshine in herhands; it hung in such yarns of palpable gold stuff across the track.She sang softly to herself, gazing into the blue haze that stood amongthe near trees.

  The valleys were steeped in sun mists. Her little horse ambled easilythrough them, and when he climbed the steep hill sides, she slipped fromhis back and walked beside him, asking him again and again, if it werenot good to be going to Steve's, to the paddocks where Socks himself hadflung up his heels an unbroken colt, and all the gay, careless days ofher childhood had been spent. She felt as if they were leaving the reekand squalor of the Wirree River for ever.

  And yet the vague uneasiness McNab's words had evoked hovered in hermind. His eyes, gestures, ugly writhing smile, kept recurring to her.She was anxious to get to the Schoolmaster and give him McNab's message,to know what he would make of it. What harm was it McNab could do herfather? She knew that Dan feared him, in a curious, watchful way. Andthe trouble that was coming to him. What had McNab meant by that? Thisbusiness Conal was on, what was it? Why had she been told nothing aboutit? The way McNab had talked to her, too, disquieted her.

  All day a premonition of trouble haunted her. She urged the chestnut on.When they splashed through a creek at midday, she let him stand for afew minutes in the middle of it, dip his patchy white nose into theclear, cold water, and sough it up noisily. A little further on, near agully in which the mists were unfathomable, the trees, grey as sealichen in its depths, she sat down by the roadside and ate her sandwichof bread and cheese and had a drink from her bottle of milk.

  Davey and she had often made excursions to Long Gully when they werechildren to hear the bell-birds. They dropped mellow notes through thestillness of the trees that climbed the gully's steep sides. Davey andshe had crept warily through the undergrowth, on the look-out forsnakes, and had sat still for hours behind a fallen tree, listening forthe plomp, plomp, plomp of the shy birds' notes of purest melody throwninto the pool of the silence.

  A dead tree stood near the edge of the track. Deirdre remembered thatthere had been a magpie's nest in it, and that the "maggies" would swoopdown on her and on Davey in the springtime, if there were young birds inthe nest, screaming and flapping their wings, and sometimes getting in apeck which brought the blood to her freckled face or to Davey's. Sheglanced up to see if the magpies were about that day; but they were not.

  So gaunt and tall the dead tree stood. Its branches seemed to strikeagainst the sky. They rattled with the sound of bones in the wind. Thesun and thrashing winter storms had bleached it, and there were blackwales and scars where a fire had eaten into the wood above the hackedzone that the axe of a settler had made when he ring-barked it yearsago. As long as she could remember the dead tree had stood there, gauntand ghostly, with the tangle of living trees behind it. They were cladwith their shifting, whispering garment of leaves all the year round,and decked with flowers in the springtime. But the dead tree was naked.It might have been an avenging spirit of the wilderness, it stood withan air of such tragic desolation by the wayside.

  There were dead trees all along the hill roads; scores of them in thepaddocks. The ripping crack and thunder of their crashing to the earthcould be heard in the dead of night sometimes. When they thought of it,country folk moved from under a dead tree. Deirdre looked up at thisone. It seemed to waver in the wind. She shook the crumbs from herskirt, and caught the chestnut's bridle.

  Scarlet-runners were overhanging the bank on that turn of the road, nearwhere the school had been, when she passed. The chimney of the hut wasstill standing, though the wild creepers had thrown long vines about it.Supple-jack had clambered over the half-dozen twisted fruit trees; itthrew its shower of feathery, seeding thistle-down over the dark-leafedapple branches.

  Deirdre had meant to take Socks into the clearing, and let him feed onthe wild oats and clover matting it, while she investigated the forlornchimney and the fruit trees and flowers growing near where her gardenhad been, seeking in the tangled undergrowth for the flowers she hadplanted long ago. She had thought she would sit on the edge of the well,listen for the great green frogs to go dropping into the water, andweave her dreams of the old times for awhile, watching the sunlight makea patchwork of dancing light with the shadows the leaves of the fruittrees cast on the beaten yard about the doorway of the hut. But she wentstraight by with scarcely a glance at the grey chimney and the tangledgarden greenery, across which a tall, sweet English rose nodded gaily.She only stopped a moment to pull a trail of scarlet-runners from thebank near the house.

  She wondered if Davey had remembered the place and the flowers when hepassed the day before. She looked down at the scarlet flowers with alittle smile, as she pinned them into her dress.

  But thought of the flowers and of Davey lasted only a moment. She waseager to ask the Schoolmaster for an explanation, and to hear from himwhat they had to fear from McNab.

  When she saw Dan, with the sun behind him, coming towards her on his biggrey nag, whose nose was so like a kangaroo's that they called him "the'Roo," she quickened her pace, her heart swelling with love at the sightof him, and at the thought of the concern which had sent him back alongthe road to meet her.

  She lifted her face to his with a breathless little glad sob when shecame up to him.

  "What is it?" he asked, his anxiety leaping instinctively at the sightof her face.

  "Perhaps I'm foolish," she said quickly. "It's something McNab saidbefore I left this morning. It wasn't so much what he said, but the wayhe said it. And I've been thinking of it all the way--wondering what hemeant. Is there any harm he could do us?"

  "What did he say?" Farrel asked.

  "He came just as I was going," Deirdre told him, "and he seemed annoyedthat you didn't tell him you were going to-day--said there was somethingparticular he wanted to talk to you about. Then just as I was going, hesaid: 'It was a mean trick clearin' out without lettin' me know--suchold friends as we are too, and me wanting to stand by him in any littlebit of trouble that's coming to him. But I'll be coming up to see himone of these days soon--sooner than he thinks p'raps.' It wasn't so muchwhat he said as the way he said it, made me think--"

  Deirdre hesitated, looking at her father's face. She knew that he wastroubled, that there was enough in this to disturb him without tellinghim what else McNab had said to her.

  They rode on in silence, the horses brushing.

  The Schoolmaster's head was bent in thought. He rode in easy, slouching,negligent fashion, and seemed to have forgotten he was not alone.Deirdre spoke first. Her voice had a quick, low-toned intensity.

  "I made up my mind on the way, to-day, to ask you what this business isConal's on, and if you are with him, or not?" she said. "I ought toknow. I'm not a child, and I'm with you whatever it is. I have an idea;but you ought to tell me, more than ever now that McNab----"

  "Has his suspicions."

  The Schoolmaster looked into her steady eyes.

  "Are you in this with Conal?" she asked.

  "I wasn't until last night," he said. "I changed my mind suddenly andjoined him."

  "What made you?" she inquired breathlessly.

  He did not reply.

  "I know--it was that necklace!" The reason had come to her instantly.

  "I'm a good-for-nothing now, Deirdre," he said low and bitterly."There's mighty little I can do ... and there'll be less presently. Iwant enough money to get us away from here--and keep us by and b
ywhen--"

  He did not say it, but she knew that he meant when the night ofblindness had fallen on him.

  "It was because you were afraid for me," she murmured. "Afraid becauseof that necklace, who it might have come from, afraid--"

  He nodded.

  "And if you get the money we can go away from here and never come backto the Wirree River any more?"

  The Schoolmaster smiled. He was surprised at the eagerness of her voice.

  "Yes," he said, "but that was what was bothering me. I thought you wouldnot like to be leaving the place. You were always wanting to come backwhen we were away before."

  "Oh," a little fluttering sigh went out of her, "but I'll be glad to gonow! Tell me what you're going to do?"

  "There's moonlight to-night, and we want to get a mob of wild cattle,"he said quietly. "A couple of hundred are eating their heads off in thescrub above Narrow Valley. Do you remember when we were living here,riding up the range, sometimes we'd start a cow, or steer, and it wouldplunge away through the brushwood, scared as a rabbit! After the firesmore breakaways joined the mob. We lost a couple of cows--- so didSteve--others did too. Well, I told Conal about these beasts a whileago. He made up his mind to get them. He and Steve's black boy 've runup a stockyard near McMillan's hut in Narrow Valley, and Conal and hemean to take the mob with that lot of Maitland's cattle he brought downfor fattening, not this, but last trip, up by the Snowy River into NewSouth Wales."

  "It isn't as you may say, permitted by law," he continued. "But most ofthe cattle men who can do it, do--even the squatters when they get achance. Down here they don't think scrub cattle worth the getting.Rosses staked a couple of horses a month or two ago, and lost a good dogafter this mob. Cameron doesn't think them worth his while, so whyshouldn't we have them if we can get them. If we get a couple of beastswith brands on them, among the wild ones, it may be worth drafting themout and driving them back to the hills. But the hair grows thick onscrub cattle; there's no need to be brand hunting. If Conal weren't sucha fine stockman, we couldn't do it. There's nobody like him.

  "When we pull off this deal, we'll go away, you and Conal and I. If theprice of cattle keeps up there'll be enough to divide among the three ofus--Davey's got to have his share if he's in. Conal's offered him athird to work with him to-night, and run the mob through to the border.He's a man short. I've been trying to persuade Davey to keep out ofit--but there's a lot of Donald Cameron in him--he's as obstinate as amule. Says he wants a job, and has got one, and that's enough for himfor the present."

  They had come within sight of Steve's shanty on the brow of the hill.

  When they drew rein before Steve's, Conal lounged out of the house. Thedogs that had started up snarling at the approach of horses stretchedthemselves again in the dust by the verandahs, and lay with their headslow on their forelegs. Deirdre stood a moment looking about her. Herface, under the flat little yellow straw hat crossed by a red ribbandthat tied under her chin, was very winsome, her eyes bright with tearsand laughter. When she saw Steve in the doorway, she ran to him andthrew her arms around him.

  "Oh, it's good to be here again, Uncle Stevie," she-cried.

  He chuckled delightedly.

  "There's a woman you are, Deirdre. A woman y've grown!"

  "What else would I grow?" she asked gaily.

  "It's good to be anywhere you are, Deirdre!" Conal said, coming up andstanding beside them, all his love in his eyes.

  She laughed, glancing up at him, and Steve laughed to see the way thewind blew. Davey by the open door, watched them; but Deirdre did not seehim.

  When she moved to go in, he stood away from the door for her to pass. Hesaw the scarlet-runners that she had tucked into her gown under herchin. She heard the catch in his breath, and hesitated.

  Conal saw her hand go out to him. He saw Davey take it, but he did notsee the eyes she turned on him, nor hear her say with a tremulous quiverof the lips:

  "They're saying they're glad to see me! Will you not say so too, Davey?"

  The Schoolmaster, coming back from the stables, called Conal.

  "McNab's been to see Deirdre," he said. "He's got an idea something's inthe wind, she seems to think. It's just as well we fixed for to-night,Conal. It won't give him any time to get busy. But hadn't you better begetting down to cover before it's much later?"

  "It's only a couple of miles, by the track Teddy goes. There's timeenough yet," Conal replied, his eyes on the open door, gaping darkagainst the brightness of the sunshine.

  Davey followed Deirdre indoors.

  "Teddy's bringing in the horses now. You'd better get in and havesomething to eat. Send Davey to me," Farrel said impatiently.

  Conal crossed the verandah.

  It was in the wide, low-roofed kitchen that he found Davey. Deirdre wasstanding near him. Only the glow of the firelight lighted the greatroom; but that was sufficient to show him the sombre, steadfast gazewith which Davey regarded the girl, and something subdued in the droopof her figure, a something of emotion, humiliation in her averted head.

  "Dan wants you," he said to Davey.

  Davey had stared at Deirdre as though he were trying to read in her facewhat his heart ached to know, and she had been waiting for him to readand know, waiting for the first sound of his voice with a tremulousexpectancy. A moment more might have ended the year-long griefs andheartache between them. But Conal spoke, and Davey wheeled out of thekitchen.

  Conal strode over to the table near which Davey bad been. He swung hisleg over it, and watched Deirdre as she put cups and saucers, plates andknives on one end of it. She cut some bread and buttered it.

  There was a light in her eyes, a colour in her cheeks. She had watchedDavey go with a little gesture of impatience, a fluttering sigh. Conalsaw that. She turned to him gaily, poured out tea for him, chattering,but avoided his eyes. He watched her with a smouldering suspicion.

  Suddenly he leant forward and caught her hand. His swart, leathern faceswung towards her; the brilliant, hawk eyes of Conal, the Fighter, leaptinto hers.

  "You're to marry me, Deirdre," he said, his voice hoarse and throbbingin his throat.

  She shrank from him with a little breathless exclamation.

  "Don't do that," he cried passionately. "Don't look at me like that,Deirdre."

  "Conal!" she gasped.

  In his eyes rose the appeal of dumb, unfathomable, devouring tenderness.

  "Say you'll love me ... say you will, Deirdre," he begged.

  His face was turned towards her, humble and mysteriously moved, a stronglight in his eyes.

  So absorbed were they that they did not hear, or if they heard, paid noattention to the grind of wheels on the gravel before the shanty, theyelping and snarling of dogs that announced the arrival of a vehicle atSteve's, and such late arrivals were not usual.

  "I've had my way with women. They've told you tales of me, I know,"Conal pleaded. "But there's never a woman I've cared for but you,Deirdre. And you--" he broke off impatiently, "there's no telling youhow I care for you. I haven't got words. Besides, it chokes me to speakof it; raises a storm in me that there's no holding. By and by when thisis all over, we'll go away--you and the Schoolmaster and me. Oh, I'll bea good husband. You'll give me y'r word, won't you, Deirdre?"

  There were voices in the bar beyond, but they did not heed them. Conalwas thinking only of her and his pleading.

  "Conal dear," Deirdre said. "If you wouldn't talk like this any more!"

  Her eyes fell from his. He snatched her hand from the flower under herchin where it had fallen.

  "Is it him you love?" he asked fiercely, jerking his head in thedirection of the back door by which Davey had gone out. "Is it? Tell me.I'll let no man come between you and me, Deirdre. I'll kill him if hetries to."

  The door from the tap-room, with the sunlight splashing on the benchesand bottles behind it, opened, and Steve and the new arrival came intothe kitchen.

  "And who is it y'll be killing now, Conal?" asked McNab genially.
<
br />   He glanced from Conal to Deirdre.

  "You, if you don't get out of my way," yelled Conal, quivering withrage.

  Brushing past McNab, he flung out of the room, his spurs jingling. Theyheard the irons on his boots click on the stones of the yard.

  "There now," cried Steve tremulously. "He's been making love to you, hashe, Deirdre? All the boys'll be making love to you, Deirdre! And nowhere's Mr. McNab come up to see the Schoolmaster ... most partic'lar."

  He was altogether flustered at this unexpected visit of McNab's, and athis wits' end what to say next. Dan was in the paddock with the blackboy, bringing in the horses for the night's work, and here was McNab onthe top of it all.

  Deirdre's wits were quicker to work than his.

  She realised what McNab's being in the shanty that night might mean tothe Schoolmaster, Conal, Davey and herself.

  She smiled at him. McNab had not seen her smile like that except atConal, and that was on the night of the Schoolmaster's return, at thedance at Hegarty's.

  "Why there's a surprise to play on me, Mr. McNab?" she cried merrily."You to be coming up the hills to-day and never say a word about it thismorning. There I was, riding along by myself, and might have had a seatin the cart beside you."

  McNab hardly knew what to make of her greeting. He imagined that she hadbeen thinking over his attentions of the morning, and was feelingflattered by them--for after all was he not Thadeus McNab and, thegossips said, the richest man in the country side, not excepting DonaldCameron himself, if the truth were known. He thought that she waswilling to coquet with him, and that, too, the hint about the gold chainmight not have been in vain.

  He warmed to her smile, preened himself and gave himself half a dozengallant airs on the spot. Every male instinct in him responded to hereffort to be charming.

  "And now everybody's had tea but me," she continued. "So we can just sitdown and have some together."

  McNab sat down beside her at the big table on which she had spread awhite cloth.

  A generous and genial glow suffused him. For the moment he forgot thereason of his visit. Deirdre had put it all out of his head with thatsmile of hers. The sound of her merry voice set every fibre of himtingling and thrilling as his fibres had never tingled and thrilledbefore.