A Little Bush Maid

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER XV. FOR FRIENDSHIP

  "Daddy!"

  At the quivering voice her father lifted his head and Norah saw that hiseyes were wet.

  "It's my dear old friend Stephenson," he said brokenly. "I told youabout him. We thought he was dead--there was the body; I don'tunderstand, but this is he, and he's alive, thank God!"

  The Hermit stirred and begged again for water, and Mr. Linton held himwhile he drank. His face grew anxious as he felt the scorching heat ofthe old man's body.

  "He's so thirsty," Norah said tremulously, "goodness knows when he'd hada drink. His poor lips were all black and cracked when I found him."

  "Had he no water near him?" asked her father, quickly. "You got this?"

  "Yes, from the creek," Norah nodded. "I'll get some more, Daddy; thebilly's nearly empty."

  When Norah returned, laden with two cans, her father met her with a verygrave face.

  "That's my girl," he said, taking the water from her. "Norah, I'm afraidhe's very ill. It looks uncommonly like typhoid."

  "Will he--will he die, Daddy?"

  "I can't tell, dear. What's bothering me is how to get help for him. Hewants a doctor immediately--wants a dozen things I haven't got here. Iwish that blessed black boy hadn't gone! I don't quite know what todo--I can't leave you here while I get help--he's half delirious now."

  "You must let me go," said Norah quietly. "I can--easily."

  "You!" said her father, looking down at the steady face. "That won't do,dear--not across fifteen miles of lonely country. I--" The Hermit criedout suddenly, and tried to rise, and Mr. Linton had to hold him downgently, but the struggle was a painful one, and when it was over thestrong man's brow was wet. "Poor old chap!" he muttered brokenly.

  Norah caught his arm.

  "You see, I must go, Daddy," she said. "There's no one else--and he'lldie! Truly I can, Daddy--quite well. Bobs'll look after me."

  "Can you?" he said, looking down at her. "You're sure you know thetrack?"

  "Course I can," said his daughter scornfully.

  "I don't see anything for it," Mr. Linton said, an anxious frownknitting his brow. "His life hangs on getting help, and there's no otherway, I'll have to risk you, my little girl."

  "There's no risk," said Norah. "Don't you worry, Daddy, dear. Just tellme what you want."

  Mr. Linton was writing hurriedly in his pocket-book.

  "Send into Cunjee for Dr. Anderson as hard as a man can travel," he saidshortly. "Don't wait for him, however; get Mrs. Brown to pack thesethings from my medicine-chest, and let Billy get a fresh horse and bringthem back to me, and he needn't be afraid of knocking his horse up. I'mafraid we're too late as it is. Can he find his way here?"

  "He's been here."

  "That's all right, then. Tell Anderson I think it's typhoid, and if hethinks we can move him, let Wright follow the doctor out with theexpress-wagon--Mrs. Brown will know what to send to make it comfortable.Can you manage Bobs?"

  "Yes--of course."

  Mr. Linton put his hand on her shoulder.

  "I've got to let you go," he said. "It's the only way. Remember, I won'thave a minute's peace until I know you've got safely home."

  "I'll be all right, Daddy--true. And I'll hurry. Don't bother about me."

  "Bother!" he said. "My little wee mate." He kissed her twice."Now--hurry!"

  * * * * *

  Bobs, grazing peacefully under a big gum tree, was startled by a littlefigure, staggering beneath saddle and bridle. In a minute Norah was onhis back, and they were galloping across the plain towards home.

  * * * * *

  A young man sat on the cap of the stockyard fence at Billabonghomestead, swinging his legs listlessly and wishing for something to do.He blessed the impulse that had brought him to the station before histime, and wondered if things were likely to be always as dull.

  "Unless my small pupil stirs things up, I don't fancy this life much,"he said moodily, in which he showed considerable impatience of judgment,being but a young man.

  Across the long, grey plain a tiny cloud gathered, and the man watchedit lazily. Gradually it grew larger, until it resolved itself intodust--and the dust into a horse and rider.

  "Someone coming," he said, with faint interest. "By Jove, it's a girl!She's racing, too. Wonder if anything's wrong?"

  He slipped from the fence and went forward to open the gate, looking atthe advancing pair. A big bay pony panting and dripping with sweat, butwith "go" in him yet for a final sprint; and on his back a little girl,flushed and excited, with tired, set lips. He expected her to stop atthe gate, but she flashed by him with a glance and a brief "Thank you,"galloping up to the gate of the yard. Almost before the pony stopped shewas out of the saddle and running up the path to the kitchen. The mansaw Mrs. Brown come out, and heard her cry of surprise as she caught thechild to her.

  "Something's up," said the stranger. He followed at a run.

  In the kitchen Norah was clinging to Mrs. Brown, quivering with theeffort not to cry.

  "Someone ill in the bush?" said the astonished Brownie, patting hernurseling. "Yes, Billy's here, dearie--and all the horses are in.Where's the note? I'll see to it. Poor pet! Don't take on, lovey, there.See, here's your new governess, Mr. Stephenson!"

  Norah straightened with a gasp of astonishment.

  "You!" she said.

  "Me!" said Dick Stephenson ungrammatically, holding out his hand."You're my pupil, aren't you? Is anything wrong?"

  "There's a poor gentleman near to dyin' in the scrub," volunteered Mrs.Brown, "an' Miss Norah's come all the way in for help. Fifteen mile, ifit's a inch! I don't know ow' you did it, my blessed pet!"

  "You don't mean to say you did!" said the new "governess" amazed. Smallgirls like this had not come his way. "By Jove, you're plucky! I say,what's up?"

  Norah was very pale.

  "Are you really Mr. Stephenson?" she asked. "I... You'll besurprised.... He's..." Her voice failed her.

  "Don't worry to talk," he said gently. "You're done up."

  "No--" She steadied her voice. "I must tell you. It's--it's--yourfather!"

  Dick Stephenson's face suddenly darkened.

  "I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "You're making a mistake; myfather is dead."

  "He's not," said Norah, "He's my dear Hermit, and he's out there withtyphoid, or some beastly thing. We found him--and Dad knows him quitewell. It's really him. He never got drowned."

  "Do you know what you're saying?" The man's face was white.

  But Norah's self-command was at an end. She buried her face in Brownie'skind bosom, and burst into a passion of crying.

  The old woman rocked her to and fro gently until the sobs grew fainter,and Norah, shame-faced, began to feel for her handkerchief. Then Mrs.Brown put her into the big cushioned rocking-chair.

  "Now, you must be brave and tell us, dearie," she said gently. "This ispretty wonderful for Mr. Stephenson."

  So Norah, with many catchings of the breath, told them all about theHermit, and of her father's recognition of him, saying only nothing ofher long and lonely ride. Before she had finished Billy was on the roadto Cunjee, flying for the doctor. Dick Stephenson, white-faced, broke inon the story.

  "How can I get out there?" he asked shortly.

  "I'll take you," Norah said.

  "You!--that's out of the question."

  "No, it isn't. I'm not tired," said Norah, quite unconscious of sayinganything but the truth. "I knew I'd have to, anyhow, because only Billyand I know the way to the Hermit's camp, and he has to fetch the doctor.You tell Wright to get Banker for you, and put my saddle on Jim'spony--and to look well after Bobs. Hurry, while Brownie gets the otherthings!"

  Dick Stephenson made no further protests, his brain awhirl as he racedto the stables. Brownie protested certainly, but did her small maid'sbidding the while. But it was a very troubled old face that looked longafter the man and the little girl, as they started on the long ride backto the camp.

  Mile after mile the
y swung across the grey plain.

  Norah did not try to talk. She disdained the idea that she was tired,but a vague feeling told her that she must save all her energies toguide the way back to the camp hidden in the scrub, where the Hermit layraving, and her father sat beside the lonely bed.

  Neither was her companion talkative. He stared ahead, as if trying topierce with his eyes the line of timber that blurred across thelandscape. Norah was glad he did not bother her with questions. She hadtold him all she knew, and now he was content to wait.

  "It must be hard on him, all the same," thought Norah, looking at theset young face, and sparing an instant to approve of the easy seat inthe saddle displayed by her new "governess." To believe that your fatherwas dead all these years, and then suddenly to find him alive--but howfar apart in every way! "Why, you hardly know," mused Norah, "whetheryou'll like him--whether he'll be glad to see you! Not that anyone couldfail to like the Hermit--anyone with sense, that is!"

  Mile after mile! The plain slipped away beneath the even beat of thesteadily cantering hoofs. The creek, forded slowly, sank into thedistance behind them; before, the line of timber grew darker and moredefinite. Jim's pony was not far inferior to Bobs in pace and easiness,and his swinging canter required no effort to sit, but a great wearinessbegan to steal over his rider. Dick Stephenson, glancing at herfrequently, saw the pallor creeping upon the brave little face.

  He pulled up.

  "We'll go steady for a while," he said. "No good knocking you upaltogether."

  Norah checked her pony unwillingly.

  "Oh, don't you think we ought to hurry?" she said. "Dad's waiting forthose medicines you've got, you know."

  "Yes, I know. But I don't think we'll gain much by overdoing it."

  "If you're thinking about me," Norah said impatiently, "you needn't. I'mas right as rain. You must think I'm pretty soft! Do come on!"

  He looked at her steadily. Dark shadows of weariness lay under the braveeyes that met his.

  "Why, no," he said. "Fact is, I'm a bit of a new chum myself whereriding's concerned--you mustn't be too ashamed of me. I think we'dbetter walk for a while. And you take this."

  He poured something from his flask into its little silver cup and handedit to Norah. Their eyes met, and she read his meaning through thekindness of the words that cloaked what he felt. Above her weariness asense of comfort stole over Norah. She knew in that look that henceforththey were friends.

  She gulped down the drink, which was hateful, but presently sent afeeling of renewed strength through her tired limbs. They rode on insilence for some time, the horses brushing through the long soft grass.Dick Stephenson pulled hard at his pipe.

  "Did--did my father know you this morning?" he asked suddenly.

  Norah shook her head mournfully.

  "He didn't know anyone," she answered, "only asked for water and saidthings I couldn't understand. Then when Dad came he knew him at once,but the Hermit didn't seem even to know that Dad was there."

  "Did he look very bad?"

  "Yes--pretty bad," said Norah, hating to hurt him. "He was terriblyflushed, and oh! his poor eyes were awful, so burning and sunken.And--oh!--let's canter, Mr. Stephenson, please!"

  This time there was no objection. Banker jumped at the quick touch ofthe spur as Stephenson's heel went home. Side by side they canteredsteadily until Norah pulled her pony in at length at the entrance to thetimber, where the creek swung into Anglers' Bend.

  "We're nearly there," she said.

  But to the man watching in the Hermit's camp the hours were long indeed.

  The Hermit was too weak to struggle much. There had been a few sharpparoxysms of delirium, such as Norah had seen, during which David Lintonhad been forced to hold the old man down with unwilling force. But thestruggles soon brought their own result of helpless weakness, and theHermit subsided into restless unconsciousness, broken by feeblemutterings, of which few coherent words could be caught. "Dick" wasfrequently on the fevered lips. Once he smiled suddenly, and Mr. Linton,bending down, heard a faint whisper of "Norah."

  Sitting beside his old friend in the lonely silence of the bush, hestudied the ravages time and sorrow had wrought in the features be knew.Greatly changed as Jim Stephenson was, his face lined and sunken, andhis beard long and white as snow, it was still, to David Linton, thefriend of his boyhood come back from the grave and from his burden ofunmerited disgrace. The frank blue eyes were as brave as ever; they methis with no light of recognition, but with their clear gaze undimmed. Asob rose in the strong man's throat--if he could but see again thatwelcoming light!--hear once more his name on his friend's lips! If hewere not too late!

  The Hermit muttered and tossed on his narrow bed. The watcher's thoughtsfled to the little messenger galloping over the long miles of lonelycountry--his motherless girl, whom he had sent on a mission that mightso easily spell disaster. Horrible thoughts came into the father's mind.He pictured Bobs putting his hoof into a hidden crab-hole--falling--Norahlying white and motionless, perhaps far from the track. That was not theonly danger. Bad characters were to be met with in the bush and the ponywas valuable enough to tempt a desperate man--such as the Winfieldmurderer, who was roaming the district, nobody knew where. There was ascore of possible risks; to battle with them, a little maid of twelve,strong only in the self-reliance bred of the bush. The father looked atthe ghastly face before him, and asked himself questions thattortured--Was it right to have let the young life go to save the oldone that seemed just flickering out? He put his face in his hands andgroaned.

  How long the hours were! He calculated feverishly the time it would takethe little messenger to reach home if all went well; then how long itmust be before a man could come out to him. At that thought he realisedfor the first time the difficulty Norah had seen in silence--who shouldcome out to him? Black Billy must fetch the doctor and guide him to thesick man; but no one else save Norah herself knew the track to thelittle camp, hidden so cunningly in the scrub, at that rate it might bemany hours before he knew if his child were safe. Anxiety for theremedies for his friend was swallowed up in the anguish of uncertaintyfor Norah. It seemed to him that he must go to seek her--that he couldnot wait! He started up, but, as if alarmed by his sudden movement, theHermit cried out and tried to rise, struggling feebly with the stronghands that were quick to hold him back. When the struggle was over DavidLinton sat down again. How could he leave him?

  Then across his agony of uncertainty came a clear childish voice. Thetent flaps were parted and Norah stood in the entrance white andtrembling, but with a glad smile of welcome on her lips--behind her atall man, who trembled, too. David Linton did not see him. All the worldseemed whirling round him as he caught his child in his arms.