CHAPTER XXXIII
It was nearly two months before Conal and Davey were back in the Wirreeagain.
They rode into the township one evening when the sun was sinking behindthe purple range of the hills and making a rosy mist of the dust a mobof northern cattle raised.
Dust-grimed and silent, their whips curled on their arms, their dogslean and limping at heel, they passed McNab's. They might have been anyof a dozen cattle-men who were about the sale-yards that day; but McNabrecognised them.
It was those cattle of Maitland's that stood between him and hissuspicions of the game Conal and the Schoolmaster were on. He thought heknew the part they played in it, but itched for a straw of proof. Hehurried to the doorway and stood in it, chewing his underlip, as hewatched the road-weary, weedy beasts and their drovers trail out of thetown.
Conal saw him.
"Pullin' 'em up and comin' back for a drink in a minute, McNab," heyelled.
He lost no chances of letting Thad think there was nothing to hide inhis movements. He returned to the Black Bull a few moments later, andDavey went on to Hegarty's.
Teddy, Steve's black boy, and the dogs, watched the cattle on the edgeof the road.
Conal and Davey spent few words on each other. They went their separateways by mutual consent, avoiding the occasions that mean association ortalking.
On the road during the first days, when the cattle were fresh, they hadswung their stock-whips, keeping the mob going, like one man. There hadbeen headlong gallops after breakaways, the thrashing-in of stragglers,the crowding of beasts up steep, slippery hillsides with curses andyelping dogs, the watchfulness that driving a mob of wild cattleshort-handed meant; nerves and muscles were stretched to the job inhand.
When a halt was made the first night, the mob was ringed with brushwoodfires. The wildest of the scrub-bred warrigals, broken by the long day'ssteady trotting, hustled up quietly against Maitland's well-fattenedstore beasts. Conal and the black boy took the first watch, Davey andConal the second, and Davey and the black the third.
Ordinarily the fires flaring against the darkness were enough to keepthe cattle in a bunch during the night. Sometimes when a fire died downand there was a longer gap in the links between the fires, a restlessheifer or steer made a dash for it, and the watcher had to be quick witha burning bough, brandish and whack it about the head of the runawaybefore the beast with a moaning bellow and roar turned back to the mobagain.
It was on the second night out when Conal was sleeping and Davey andTeddy watching, that the black, stupid with sleep, let his fires godown, and a red bull and half a dozen cows broke through the ring. Itlooked like a stampede. Davey dashed after the bull. Conal's dog, Sally,alert at the first rush of the cattle's movement, leapt after them. Herlong, yellow shape flashed like a streak of lightning in the wan lightover the plains. She raced level with the leader's sleek shoulder andlaid her teeth in his hide, wheeled him, snapping at his nose anddragging him by it, until he turned in toward the mob again. Daveylashed the cows after the leader. Sally flew round them, a yellow fury,yelping and snapping. Conal, half-asleep, flung on to his horse, andlaid about him with his whip, cursing. He and the black boy had alltheir work cut out to keep the mob steady.
It was a near thing, and Conal used his tongue pretty freely when hetalked of it. He had had very little to say to Davey, ordinarily. Thememory of that evening in the kitchen at Steve's rankled. It bred asense of resentment and secret antagonism which he took less pains tohide, from that night. He used his lungs to curse Teddy and the redsteer, but did not talk to Davey unless he had something to say aboutthe cattle or the road. From dawn till sunset they rode silently withina dozen yards of each other.
When they came within easy distance of Rane and the lake settlementsthey kept the mob moving all night. The Snowy was swollen with recentrains when they came to it; but Conal had set his mind on crossingwithout delay.
He rushed the mob down the incline to the river, and drove it into theswirling stream. Whip thongs swung together ripped and racked in theclear air. The struggling, terrified beasts were crowded, with no morethan their heads above water, against the strong currents of the streamuntil, with rattling and clashing horns, they clambered up the bank onthe further side.
The last days on the road were taken more easily. The mob went slowlyeastward, grazing as it moved, and was in prime condition when Conalhanded it over to Maitland in Cooburra, on the New South Wales side.Maitland was a big man in the district, head of the well-known firm ofstock dealers; no difficulties were made about the turn-over. When Conalhad had some talk with him, and Davey and he had loafed about the townfor a day or two, they went out again with half a hundred poor beastsfrom a drought-stricken Western run.
On the road behind the mob, despite their secret resentment, Long Conaland Davey Cameron had come to the dumb understanding of road mates. Itdid nothing to break the silence between them. Davey yielded Conal anunconscious homage. He did it with grudging humility; but there was nobreaking the barrier of Conal's reserve. Notwithstanding his blitherecklessness, his daring and bragging enthusiasm, there was a sternquality, an unplumbed depth in Conal. He endured Davey's company, butthere was that in his mind against him which one man does not easilyforgive another. As they drew nearer Wirreeford, and the thoughts ofeach took the same track, the latent animosity vibrated between themagain.
Conal lost no time in getting out of the township and taking the road tothe hills, Davey, conscious that it was Conal, and not he, who wouldstand well in the eyes of Deirdre and the Schoolmaster when the story ofthe road was told, lingered at Hegarty's.
A brooding bitterness possessed him. He knew that Conal had wanted himuntil this deal was fixed up, not only because he was short of a manwhen Pat and Tim Kearney cleared out, but because he was afraid how he,Davey, might use the knowledge he had told the Schoolmaster he possessedabout some other of Conal's cattle dealings. As for himself, Davey knewthat not only had his independence demanded a job, but something of thespirit of adventure, a recklessness of consequences, had appealed to himin the moonlighting of a couple of hundred scrub cattle.
He wondered what he would do when the Schoolmaster and Conal and Deirdreleft the hills. He knew that a share of the money the cattle had broughtwould be his. He thought that he would go away from the South when hegot it, and strike out in some new line of life for himself.
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