by Zane Grey
“Shore is. An’ so’m I. But once I get mad I’ll be good-o, as Leslie says. All same for you?”
“Right-o, as Leslie says. It won’t be long now. But Red, let’s be wise. We’re not on the Texas trails. And we can’t judge these Australians as we would our kind. We may be testy, sore, suspicious hombres.”
“Shore. An’ we’ll find human life jest the same heah, mebbe not so generally ornery, but individuals like Ormiston will make up for thet. He’s got four riders, so Jones tells me, an’ he didn’t know ’em from Adam an’ didn’t like ’em one damn’ bit.”
“We’ll look them over before we judge.”
“OK. But tip me off. S’pose Ormiston tries to make a sucker out of you?”
“Red, old pard, you’re not paying me any compliment.”
“I know, Sterl. But you’ve been different out heah. Harder it ’pears to me. An’ more than ever prone to keep to yoreself.”
“Don’t let it worry you, friend. All I need is a jolt.”
Williams was a cook who not only spread appetizing and rationed meals in accordance with Slyter’s orders, but he was expeditious. Before sundown that important day, supper had been disposed of, and Slyter had strode off to visit Dann accompanied by Drake and calling upon Sterl and Red to follow.
“Boss, take Red and let me stay in camp,” suggested Sterl.
“No. I may need you. Stanley will ask for you. As for Ormiston…the sooner you meet him the better. I ask you to meet him on the grounds you would adopt in your own country.”
“Thanks, Slyter. I’ll come.”
“Dad, please let me come with the boys? I want to see Beryl,” entreated Leslie.
“Of course, my dear. I’d forgotten you.”
“Red, you run along with Leslie,” Sterl added. “I want to shave. Be with you in a jiffy.”
While Sterl attended to his own semi-weekly task, Friday stood a little way off, an attentive observer. Sterl had curbed his natural tendency to be over-friendly and generous with the black, as he had often been with Indian scouts.
“Friday, many smokes today,” said Sterl.
“Plenty black fella alonga here.”
“Cheeky bad fellas, Friday?”
“Might be.”
Presently Sterl sauntered along the streambank, under the giant gums, toward Dann’s camp. How cowboys he remembered would have reveled in this strange spot with its colored songsters filling the air with bright plumage and mellow notes, its incredible towering trees with koala bears up in the branches, its crystal, murmuring stream that surely wound down the valley from a high waterfall in the distance, lastly the great mob of tame cattle that would have brought keenest delight, the score on score of wonderful horses!
Under perhaps the grandest monarch of all these eucalyptus trees, Sterl came upon the wagon and camp of Dann’s sister and his daughter, Beryl. Leslie was talking excitedly with the girl, while Red stood, sombrero in hand, listening to the sturdy, comely Australian women. Sterl was introduced and greeted cordially. Beryl wore boy’s garb, more attractive and not so worn as Leslie’s. Her fair face had known the daily touch of sun and to her decided advantage. She was more than pretty.
“Doesn’t it seem long since we all met,’ way back there in Downsville?” she asked. “I nearly died of homesickness for days. But now it’s not too bad. I intend to be a drover, like Leslie.”
“Wal, see heah, miss,” Red interposed, “we shore need another trail driver.”
“Oh, Beryl, it’d be lovely to have you ride with us sometimes,” murmured Leslie.
Sterl added his persuasion, augmented by his gaze.
“How queer the way you cowboys carry your pistols!” Beryl exclaimed, pointing to the low-hanging sheaths well down the right thighs. “Dad’s drovers stick them in their hip pockets, or under a belt.”
“Wal, Miss Dann,” drawled Red, “you see us cowboys gotta throw a gun quick sometimes, an’ it needs to be handy.”
“Where do you throw it?” she asked curiously.
“Aw, at jack rabbits or any ole varmint thet happens along.”
“Miss Beryl, Red is teasing you,” chimed in Sterl. “To throw a gun means to jerk it out, quickly…like this.”
“How strange! Oh, so you can shoot quickly at your antagonists?”
“Exactly. And the cowboy who throws his quickest has a better chance to survive.”
“Mister Red, then, was taking advantage of my ignorance?” she queried a little constrainedly.
“It’s a way Red has to joke.”
“Yeah?” drawled that worthy, his coolness matching Beryl’s constraint. “Wal, there shore ain’t any joke about the six notches on the handle of Hazelton’s gun.”
“Come now, Red, don’t mystify the girls further,” Sterl insisted. “Please excuse us, Miss Beryl. Our boss wants us in on the conference over here.”
Sterl led his silent comrade over to a little group of men, standing in a half-circle back of Stanley Dann, who sat before a box doing duty as a table. Here the cowboys met the leader’s partners, not including Ormiston. One glance and a handshake sufficed for Sterl’s favorable impression. Eric Dann was the younger of the two brothers, short and strongly built, with rather stern, dark features. Hathaway was tall and florid, apparently under fifty years. Woolcott appeared fully sixty, a bearded man, with deep set eyes and gloomy mien.
“All of you have a look at this map,” spoke up Dann, indicating a paper on the box. “Eric drew it from memory. And, of course, it isn’t accurate as to distance or points. Still, it will give you a general idea of the country as far as the headwaters of the rivers that run into the Gulf of Carpenteria. This line traced here marks the road we’re on and which we can trek fairly well. There will be breaks where sandstorms or floods have obliterated it. But we can always locate it again. This dark line, way up in Queensland, is the Diamantina River, an important obstacle in our way. This vast open space, without dot or line, represents the Never Never…some two thousand miles across, perhaps. Beyond, to the northwest, this long area of black lines represents the Kimberleys, our destination…please God! You observe that they are northwest. Our direction is the same. Hello, Ormiston, you’re just in time to give your opinion. You’re already familiar with what I am outlining. Well, my brother wants to follow this old wagon trek beyond the headwaters of the Diamantina River and the Warburton, on north across the Gulf rivers, and then west to Syndham and the Kimberleys. There’s no telling how much farther this route will be, probably a thousand or two miles. Too far! And just as hard. It’s only good feature is that it has been traveled. Striking west beyond Diamantina to the Warburton, following that to its headwaters, and then striking straight west, will be a short cut, and save us, Lord only knows how much!. I call for a vote from each man present, except Drake. And I include these American cowboys, with your permission, because they have had extensive experience droving cattle across the plains.”
The vote ended in a deadlock, Slyter, Sterl, and Red arraying themselves upon Stanley Dann’s side, and the others standing by Eric. The leader showed no feeling whatsoever, but his brother Eric and Ormiston argued vigorously for the longer and once traveled route.
Sterl’s perspicuity and intensity had had no greater test. He listened and bent piercing eyes upon this quartet, and at length his deductions were clear-cut, and he would have sworn by them. Eric Dann feared to take the great trek into the unknown. Ormiston had some personal reason for standing by Eric Dann, and he had influenced Hathaway and Woolcott.
“Very well. It hangs fire for the present,” concluded Stanley Dann. “Perhaps the months to come will bring at least one of you gentlemen to reason.”
If Ormiston tried to conceal his satisfaction, he failed to hide it from Sterl. His handsome, sun-browned face, clean-shaven, told nothing one way or another. But it was a man’s eyes in which Sterl had learned to read secrets and greed and hate, and the thought to kill. That was a gunman’s instinct.
“Hazelton, I don
’t impose upon you any colossal task,” Stanley Dann said. “But I’m just curious to know what you think, if you’ll commit yourself.”
“Are there black men all over this Never Never Land?” countered Sterl.
“Yes, according to our few explorers.”
“If they can be propitiated, perhaps we could learn from them, as the pathfinders in my country have learned from the Indians.”
“Good-o,” boomed the leader. “That’s an idea…a new one, as far as we’re concerned.”
“These niggers are a mean, lying, unscrupulous race,” Ormiston put in contemptuously.
“Perhaps because of the treatment white men have accorded them,” spoke up Slyter.
Ormiston chafed under any opposition to his wishes, but for the moment he let well enough alone. He impressed Sterl further as a secretive, deep, and calculating character. After this conference Sterl felt recurrent and instinctive distrust in this man; and his deduction was that Ormiston would approach him. As it happened, when Ormiston confronted him, Sterl espied Leslie and Beryl accompanied by a frank-featured blond young giant, nearing the group. Ormiston might have chosen this moment because he saw them coming. Garbed in drover’s rough clothes, with trousers stuck in heavy boots, a gun at his hip, his bold face darker from exposure, he was a virile figure. Ormiston accosted Red first.
“Krehl, good day. Glad to see you again,” he said agreeably, as he extended a hand.
“Howdy, yoreself,” Red drawled with guile meeting guile. And he shook hands with the man.
“Sorry you are on the wrong side of the fence. But you’re a stranger in Australia. I venture to predict you’re too experienced an outdoor man to be long deceived by mirages, as you call them in your country.”
“Hell, no. I cain’t be deceived forever. This heah country is so grand I jest don’t believe in your Never Never.”
“It’s a fact, however, and I hope you don’t learn from bitter experience.”
“Yeah? Wal, you’re orful kind.”
At this juncture, when Leslie with her companions came up to Slyter and Dann, Sterl knew absolutely that Ormiston had timed his greeting for their benefit what ever he meant to do, and the thing made Sterl burn under his cool exterior.
“Hello, Hazelton,” called the drover in pleasant and resounding tones. “I’m glad to see you, too. I’ve wanted to meet you again, to tell you I regret the unpleasantness of our meeting at Downsville.”
“I’m sure you regret it, Ormiston,” replied Sterl, ignoring the proffered hand, and his piercing gaze met the drover’s dark, veiled eyes. He was a capital actor, but he was too passionate to hide his real nature from Sterl.
“I didn’t regret it because I booted that nigger,” rejoined Ormiston, slowly withdrawing his hand.
“That is perfectly obvious,” Sterl retorted, not without contempt. He saw the slight vibration of the man’s powerful frame, an indication of the release of blood.
“Why do you think I regret it?” flashed the drover.
“Because you ran into the wrong man and got showed up,” Sterl flashed just as quickly.
“No. I did regret it, because I was drunk.”
“Drunk or sober, you’d be about the same, Ormiston.”
This reply, stinging and cold, evidently drove home to Ormiston the fact that his overtures were repelled. He betrayed an intense irritation hardly controllable. Slyter had approached to within a few steps, and Dann, with the girls hanging to him, startled and dismayed, halted beside Slyter, while the others stood back.
“Nonsense,” burst out Ormiston. “No man is responsible when he’s drunk.”
“Right-o. That’s why you gave yourself away,” retorted Sterl.
Ormiston threw up his hands with a gesture indicating the hopelessness of placating this hard-headed American. But there was a hint of genuine surprise in his well-simulated front of sincerity and, deep underneath the surface, a mastered fury. Sterl warned himself not to underrate this man.
“Cowboy, I approached you to express my regret…to apologize for the sake of this trek. To prevent discord!”
“If you’re so keen on preventing discord, why did you incite it and foment it between our leader and his other partners?” Sterling’s tone was contemplative. As he ended, he completed his few slow steps to one side. To any Westerner it would have been plain that Sterl wanted to get Ormiston out of line with the others. But the drover did not show he realized that.
“I’m not exciting discord,” Ormiston returned hotly. “I come from North Queensland. I know something of the Gulf country. Eric Dann is right, and Stanley Dann is wrong.”
“That might be true. But Stanley Dann is our leader. If you didn’t want to abide by his leadership, why didn’t you come out with that at Downsville?”
“I opposed it, and I was sure he could be prevailed upon to take the longer and safer trek.”
“Ormiston, how do you know it’s safer?” queried Sterl sharply.
“Eric Dann knows. And I believe him. Hathaway and Woolcott are convinced of it. That’s enough.”
“Not by a damn’ sight! Not enough for you to split this outfit,” Sterl declared deliberately.
“You insolent, cock-sure Yankee….”
“Careful!” interrupted Sterl. “I stood your insults in Downsville. But we’re out in the open now. Don’t talk to me any more. Ormiston, you’re not on the level. You’ve got something up your sleeve. You have a selfish reason for opposing Stanley Dann. Now put this in your pipe. You’ll never get away with it.”
Ormiston had turned livid to his very lips. His eyes glared. He appeared to struggle for speech.
“Umpumm, Mister Ormiston!” Sterl went on tauntingly. “You’ll never get away from me! I’ve known some men who wanted to shoot me in the back. I called you in Downsville, and you showed yellow. I’m calling you here, not to throw your gun, for you won’t do that. But calling you before Dann and Slyter. You’ve got some scheme inimical to the success of this trek. Go back or dismiss it…otherwise, you’ll get my game. That’s all.”
Ormiston wheeled to the other men. “Dann, you heard him. This intolerable riff-raff…this Yankee….”
“Ormiston, you started this,” boomed the leader, as the drover choked. “It’s between you and him.”
“Miss Dann…I appeal to you,” went on Ormiston, his voice shaking. “Your father has been…taken in by this…this interloper. Won’t you speak up for me? We’ve begun this trek. Too late to turn back! But not too late to overcome disruption and failure.”
“Dad! It’s an outrage,” Beryl cried, white of face and angry of eye, as she appealed to her father. “Will you permit this crude, low-bred American to insult Ashley so vilely…to threaten him?”
“Girl, go to your tent,” ordered Dann sternly. “If you must take sides, you should take mine. Go, it’s no place for you.”
“But Dad!” cried the spirited girl. “It is. We’re all in it. We’re out here on this terrible trek.”
“Yes, and it appears I shouldn’t have brought you. At least try not to make it harder.”
Beryl bent a withering glance upon Sterl. “Mister Cowboy, do not speak to me again.”
“Suits me fine, Miss Dann,” Sterl replied curtly. “I’m bound to help and defend your father. Certainly not to concern myself with a girl who’s been made a fool of by a coward and a cheat!”
Miss Dann gave Sterl a stinging slap on his cheek. Then she drew back, gasping, as if realizing to what limit her temper had led her. With red burning out the white of her face she ran toward her wagon. Ormiston wheeled to three waiting men, evidently his drovers, and he stormed away with them, violently gesticulating.
Sterl watched them intently for a moment, then he turned away towards Slyter’s camp. Stanley Dann called for him to wait, but Sterl hurried on. He wanted to be alone, first to hide his wrath over Beryl Dann’s conduct, and, secondly, to piece into a whole the details of his certainty that Ormiston now loomed as a sinister figure.
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“Hey, pard, why the hell do you run away from me?” complained Red, to the rear. “You know I cain’t walk fast.”
In spite of this Red did not catch up with Sterl until he reached the tent. Then both were to discover that Stanley Dann, Slyter, and Leslie had followed them.
“Heah they come, pard,” Red whispered. “Come out of it. Rotten deal, but we got the cairds.”
With a hard grip on Red’s arm Sterl assured him of recovery and his gratitude for the comradeship and shrewd intimation. When Stanley Dann arrived with Slyter and Leslie, Sterl met them.
“Hazelton, don’t run away from me, when I call you,” Dann complained as he caught up.
“I’m sorry, boss. I lost my temper.”
“Then you fooled me, because I thought you deliberately invited a split with Ormiston.”
“Oh, he couldn’t rouse my temper. It was Miss Beryl. She hurt my feelings. I shouldn’t have spoken as I did to her. But it’s hard not to tell the truth.”
“One thing at a time. Let’s sit down on the log here. I’m tired. And it wasn’t the long trek.”
They found seats, except Leslie, who significantly stood close to Sterl, her youthful face grave, her hazel eyes, darkly dilated, fastened upon him.
“Les, you better run over to Mum,” Slyter said.
“Not much, Dad. You brought me on this trek. And if Beryl is going to share the fights and everything else, I am, too.”
“Good-o, Leslie,” Dann declared heartily. “You stay here. I’m going to need all the championship possible. Hazelton, you spoke right from the shoulder. Man to man! I can’t understand why Ormiston stood it, unless he is a coward, which I suspect. What concerns me is this. Have you any justification for the serious insinuations and open accusations you visited upon Ormiston?”
“Yes, I have,” replied Sterl.
“Very well. Tell me them, or explain them.”
“Boss, they’re all a matter of instinct. I’ve been years on the frontier. I’ve been in outfits where there were outlaws, desperadoes, rustlers, men who lived by crookedness. I have met hundreds of badmen. I have had to suspect some of them, outguess them, be too quick for them…or get shot myself. I learned to see through evil men. Not of late years have I made any mistakes. Ormiston might have fooled me for a while, if it had not been for the accident of my happening upon him kicking Friday. But not for long! Dann, there’s no need for me to repeat what you heard me say to Ormiston. If I had had any doubt before I called him, I’d have been absolutely sure afterward. Now I know. He’s playing a deep game, for what I can’t figure out…yet. But I will find out.”
