Daring Masquerade

by Margaret Tanner

  "Gidd'up," she yelled at the horse, giving it a couple of quick slaps on the backside to increase its pace. "Can't keep the boss man waiting for his mug of tea."

  She gnawed her lip. She hadn't seen Gil since they left the mountains, and every time they were separated it worried her. He always appeared pale and drawn now. Little wonder after nights of fitful sleep, because his nightmares were becoming more frequent and terrifying for him. He would cry out pitifully for the stretcher-bearers, or beg his friends not to let him die. Finally, he would wake up shaking and drenched with perspiration.

  Will he ever get better?

  Sometimes he seemed to have lost the will to live. Other times he acted as he had been before Gallipoli shattered him, but these occasions were becoming rare. She didn't know what to do about it. She could not let on to Ross the true extent of Gil's condition or he would fire them. He treated Gil well, was very understanding, in fact, but it wasn't fair to expect him to continue employing a man who could not do a full day's work.

  I'll speak to Jack. He's a kindly sensible man. She wanted to weep for her once dashing, laughing brother, but could not allow herself the luxury. Boys never cried.

  The other men treated her with indifference, obviously not bothered by what they must think was standoffish behavior. The swearing and lurid language they used without a qualm in front of her confirmed that they considered her one of them.

  They acted kindly towards to Gil, making sure he did the easiest jobs, not complaining if he rested from his labors sometimes, or if he wandered off to brood on his own. She knew they had covered his absences from Ross on several occasions.

  When he was in one of his good moods, they chafed him good-naturedly, but when he became silent and withdrawn they left him in peace. She tried to show her gratitude by making an extra special effort to feed them well.

  A creek came into view. Almost hidden by trees, she could easily have passed it without noticing. The wild ducks alerted her to its whereabouts first, then came the calls of other water birds. She pulled the horse up in a clearing. Picking up a kerosene tin by its wire handle she filled it up with cool, clear water and lugged it back to the wagon. The men could replenish their water bottles from here in case the cattle muddied the water when they came down to drink.

  "Tea ready yet?" Jack came up to her. "Ross wants to keep the cattle moving. The men will have to come in relays. Once we've eaten we go back to the cattle and relieve the others. All right, boy?"

  "Yes. Where's Gil?"

  "He's all right. Be here in a minute. He can help you." He winked. "Get him to have a rest in the wagon for a bit. Let him come back with the second bunch of men."

  "How you doin', Harry?"

  "Good, thanks, Archie." She grinned at the stockman who sauntered over to light a cigarette with a twig from the fire.

  "What about the cattle?" She poured tea and filled plates up with bacon, eggs and beans for Jack and Archie. "Are you going to water them now?"

  "No." Jack took a spoonful of beans. "Plenty of water along here. That's why Ross chose this route. It's longer but an easier drive. Doesn't want the cattle to lose any condition. The army pays top money, but only for prime beasts."

  Gil rode in and slowly dismounted. Though pale and sweating, he flashed her a grin.

  "How do you feel?" She handed him a mug.

  "Oh. Not bad."

  The cold hand of fear clawed at her throat with cruel fingers as she noticed the glazed vacancy in his eyes. She shivered in the heat. Gil might be here with them physically in the Australian bush, but mentally he was back on Gallipoli with his fallen comrades.

  He gazed at, but obviously did not see the creek or the bush. She sensed that the water he stared at was the Aegean Sea. The landscape belonged to the scrubby cliffs of Gallipoli. He did not hear the squabbling of the water birds, only heard the sounds of gunfire and the cries of wounded or dying men.

  She gave him a plate of food, worriedly watching as he picked at it before putting it down.

  "You haven't eaten much."

  "I'm not hungry."

  He had lost weight over the last week or so, his face sharpened by thinness, his movements nervous and agitated.

  "Eat a little more," she pleaded.

  He picked up the plate and listlessly shoveled in a few more mouthfuls.

  Jack shook his head behind Gil's back, telling her not to force him to do anything he didn't want to.

  "You stay here, Gilbert. Give Harry a hand for when the others come in. Catch up with you later."

  "Thanks." Harry smiled at the old man, who touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgement.

  "Yeah, thanks, mate, see you in a while," Gil said.

  "Why don't you have a lie down until the others come," Harry suggested.

  "No, I'll sit here in the shade for a while."

  He sat under a tree with his knees drawn up under his chin, nibbling absently on a blade of grass, as she prepared food for the other men.

  The sun's rays burned fiercely from the deep blue sky. How she would have loved to take the waistcoat off. She dared not. Perspiration ran between her breasts, the damp shirt clinging to her skin would have clearly outlined her female form.

  Ross strode up followed by a couple of men "Food ready yet?"

  "Yes."

  His gaze drifted over to Gil.

  "Jack told him to wait here and give me a hand to pack up when you've finished."

  "All right." He took the plate and mug of tea.

  "I collected some water in a kerosene tin if the men want to fill their canteens. I thought if the cattle come down to drink they would muddy the water."

  "I'm not going to water them now. I want to keep them moving. Why don't you take off that bloody waistcoat?"

  "I like it." She shrugged. "It's comfortable."

  "You're a dirty little bugger. I've got a good mind to strip your clothes off and throw you in the creek."

  "Try it," she said, flaring up and forgetting her vow to control her temper in front of him.

  "I've never met anyone as grubby or smelly as you. Didn't your mother teach you cleanliness is next to Godliness?" he asked harshly.

  "No," she lied.

  Smelly? Harry inwardly cringed. It had been hard enough trying to strip off and wash at the outstation, but here in the open it would be virtually impossible. The smelly taunt really hurt, but she did not show it.

  "I wash my hands before touching the food. I'm very particular about it."

  "I know," he surprised her by saying. "I've watched you."

  She swallowed down on a sudden lump of fear. What else did he notice?

  I have to be really careful now.

  Ross was as sharp as a tack, and would be furious if he ever found out how he had been duped. Probably put the law on to them.

  "Harry." He snapped his fingers near her face. "I'd like some more tea."

  "Oh, sorry. You other men want anything else?"

  They shook their heads and wandered over to sit with Gil.

  "Your brother isn't pulling his weight, you know."

  "He's doing his best."

  She reached out to touch his hand and he jerked it away. "Don't fire him, he'll get better, I know he will."

  "Face facts," he said, sounding deliberately brutal, as if he didn't think she knew how ill Gilbert was. "Your brother will only get worse without treatment."

  "No."

  "Yes. He's withdrawing into his own dark, little world, a place where you can't follow him."

  Tears sprang to her eyes. "He just needs time."

  "I'm sorry, boy."

  "He will get better."

  "All right, after Gilbert's helped you load up here send him back to me, will you?"

  "Yes." She swallowed quickly. "Thank you."

  * * *

  Ross strode over to Gilbert. He stared into his empty eyes and shivered, even though heat poured down from the sky. The boy's face was deathly white, his upper lip beaded with perspiration
as he absently rubbed the end of his stump against his trouser leg. Up and down, slowly, aimlessly.

  "Gilbert. Gilbert," he raised his voice a little. "Help your brother."

  "I don't have a brother. I'll be seeing my mates soon."

  "What? For God's sake, get a grip on yourself, boy. They're dead."

  "I know, but I'll be seeing them soon. I can hear their voices in my head, calling me back. Tell me you can hear them, too," he pleaded

  "No. Forget Gallipoli, for God's sake. You're here in Australia now."

  "They want me to join them. I can't let my mates down."

  The blankness in his eyes momentarily changed into a burning light, so intense Ross turned his head away. When he faced the boy again, his eyes were fathomless, like deep, unchartered waters where no mere mortal could go.

  There was a transiency about Gilbert Martin now, an aura that somehow filled him with dread. He had seen death before, lived with it, touched and smelt it for weeks on end, but this seemed somehow worse. This boy, though he still breathed, was dead, but the angel of death, by some twist of fate, had not yet come to claim him.

  "Help your brother." He leaned down and touched the boy's shoulder. "Join me with the cattle when you're ready."

  He walked away, shaking his head. When they got to the railhead something would have to be done about him.

  * * *

  After the men left to tend the cattle, Harry washed and packed everything away. Gil still sat under the tree. She waited until the very last minute before bringing his horse over to him.

  "We're ready to go now."

  "All right." He climbed unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.

  "I'll catch up with you later." She kissed his cheek.

  He caught her in a bear hug. "Goodbye, Harry." With unusual energy that gave her hope, he leapt on his horse and rode away.

  Chapter Five

  They camped that night near a river. While Harry prepared their food, Ross and a couple of men went to wash. Gil and Jack were still out with the cattle and would eat later on.

  The meal was ready, so where were the men? She fumed. Ross castigated her all the time over the slightest little infringement to his exacting standards, though he didn't care how he upset the order of things when he wanted to do something.

  She stormed towards the river. Oh, God, if only she hadn't! The angry tirade she was about to unleash jammed in her throat. Ross and the men were naked! Stark naked! Like carefree children, they frolicked in knee deep water. Her legs nearly buckled. She wanted to turn tail and run, but somehow her feet wouldn't move.

  "Come on, Harry," Ross invited. "It's shallow, but it's cool."

  "No thanks. Food's nearly ready."

  "It can wait. Why don't you have a wash, you dirty little bugger?" He strode towards her, completely unconcerned about his nakedness.

  She tried to focus on a point near his shoulder, not below his waist, but of their own volition her eyes honed in on that forbidden place. What a fine specimen of manhood. The other men looked fit, but not a patch on him. Her insides clenched as if some giant hand opened and closed deep within her stomach. As he drew nearer, her legs froze. To save her life she could not move.

  He stood in front of her with his hands on his hips, rocking back on his heels. Life tingled back into her limbs.

  "Go to hell," she yelled, ducking away from him.

  "No you don't." He pounced on her, scooping her up in his arms with ease.

  She fought like a wild thing, desperation giving her the strength of a man. Kicking out at him proved fruitless and he effortlessly strode towards the water and dumped her in fully clothed.

  "Count yourself lucky I didn't strip you off first. Next time I will," he threatened.

  "I hate you," she spluttered at his departing back, wanting to do something to humiliate him.

  She didn't know where she found the strength to stop from stripping off her shirt and waistcoat in front of him. How would he feel then? She stayed in the water, not daring to move, because if she stood up, no power on earth would stop her from ripping the shirt off and flaunting her bare breasts in his face.

  Think of Gil, she reminded herself desperately; he liked working with the Calverts. They needed the money to build up a stake to buy their own place.

  Gritting her teeth, she remained in the water, watching as the men started dressing.

  You pig, Ross Calvert. She blinked back angry tears. Boys don't cry. Boys never cry.

  She waited until the men filed off before standing up and checking that the waistcoat covered her wet, clinging shirt which would reveal her nipples. It wasn't cold. The sun, slipping behind the mountains like a giant red ball, still had plenty of heat in it. At night it wouldn't get cold out here either.

  Climbing out of the water she squelched towards their camp. Bloody pig. She fought to keep the vision of his virile male body from flashing across her brain. His shoulders and chest were tanned, so he obviously worked stripped to the waist sometimes. The jagged scar running down his cheek and neck widened before splaying out slightly just before it became buried in the dark whorls of hair on his chest. The shoulder wound looked as if a deep hole had been roughly gouged into his flesh. Dear God, what was she thinking of? She couldn't even remember what the other men looked like, yet she could have painted Ross’ body in its entirety on a piece of canvas.

  The men stood around the campfire eating when she finally returned.

  "Enjoy your swim?" Ross tormented.

  She ignored him and went to her saddle bags to pull out a clean shirt. Why did he find it necessary to pick on her all the time?

  He was obviously suspicious, always trying to work out what made her tick. He couldn't suspect her gender. His contemptible actions proved this. Like any decent man he would be shocked and mortified if he knew.

  She squelched into the undergrowth and removed her upper clothing and slipped on the dry shirt. Her wet pants clung to her legs but she had to put up with the discomfort. Thank goodness it wasn't cold or she would freeze to death. She draped her wet waistcoat and shirt over a bush near the fire to dry out before helping herself to some food and a mug of tea. Positioning herself well away from the men, she forced some food down her throat, almost gagging on every mouthful. Without the added protection of the waistcoat she felt somehow exposed, vulnerable.

  When Ross and one of the men went to relieve Gil and Jack, she breathed a sigh of relief. Even if the waistcoat was still damp by tomorrow she would have to wear it. No way could she endure Ross' probing scrutiny in broad daylight if she wasn't well covered up.

  "Have a nice swim, Harry?" Jack asked with a grin, while Gil's face turned white.

  "Yeah, Ross threw me in the water fully clothed," she said for Gil's benefit. "He's a pig."

  "I can't understand what gives between you two." Jack helped himself to a mug of tea.

  I know, Harry thought bitterly, he hates me.

  "Who cares what he thinks." She gave what she hoped was a careless shrug.

  "Watch what you say to him," Jack warned. "He won't take much more cheek from you."

  Gil leapt to her defense. "Don't blame Harry, Ross keeps picking on him all the time."

  "I've noticed, can't understand him," the old man agreed. "For some reason you raise his hackles."

  Jack chatted away to Harry as they ate until a couple of men drifted over to join them. She soon recovered her good humor, joining in and encouraging the cheerful banter. Gil sat silently staring into the fire.

  What pictures did the flickering flames conjure up in his tormented mind? She would have given twenty years of her life if it would help exorcise the demons tormenting him. Did he feel guilty because he survived while his mates all perished? She couldn't understand, none of them could, except Ross. He would know what it felt like, having also been confronted by the horrors of war.

  "Best if you turn in, lad," Jack finally said to Gil. "Get a few hours sleep before we go on watch. Ro
ss wants us to go into town for supplies tomorrow."

  "He didn't say anything to me," Harry said. "I've been looking forward to going."

  "Didn't mention you, just your brother."

  "It's not fair."

  "Now young Harry, Ross is in charge. We can't tell him how to run this drive."

  "Don't argue," Gil remonstrated, sounding tired and defeated. "We're only getting some fresh bread and a couple of other things."

  She said no more, but inwardly fumed. Ross had promised she could go into town to buy more supplies. Well nearly promised. Wasn't she the cook? Wasn't getting food part of her duties?

  Are you mad, she castigated herself as she stood up with Gil. You wanted to go into town because you thought Ross was going. I didn't. Had the dip in the river caused water to lodge in her brain? Maybe she suffered heat stroke. Ross thought of her as only a kid, a cheeky, male kid.

  She regretted this mad scheme of hers now, but they did need the money, and it was the only way she and Gil could work together.

  Forget Ross Calvert. Think only of Gilbert Martin your sick, troubled brother.

  "Goodnight," she whispered as they settled down for the night.

  "Sleep well, Harry. I'm sorry for snapping at you before. I know Ross is driving you hard, you seem to fire each other up."

  "I nearly died when he threw me in the water. Lucky I had the waistcoat buttoned up."

  "Yeah, you've got to be careful from now on. You're getting under his skin. He's watching you all the time."

  "I know."

  She shivered. If he ever saw through her disguise there would be hell to pay. He won't. Not if I'm careful.

  * * *

  Next morning as the sun crept over the mountains, unfurling ribbons of pink against the skyline, Harry wriggled out of her bedroll. Thankfully, the warmth of her body overnight had dried out her wet pants. She had still been awake when Gil and Jack set off for their watch and Ross and the other men returned.