by Nevil Shute
They started off at about nine o’clock, Joe driving the utility, Jean riding in the back with the injured man, and Bourneville following behind, riding and leading the two horses. They passed the bore and went on for about five miles till they came to the creeks. The water was considerably higher than when Jean had crossed a couple of hours earlier.
They crossed the first without difficulty, though the water was in the cab of the utility and only just below the floor of the truck body on which the sick man lay. They came through that one and went on. At the second creek the water was higher. Joe stopped on the edge and consulted with Jean and Bourneville about the crossing they had made before. It seemed shallower fifty yards above the point where Jean had crossed; Joe sent Bourneville into the water on his horse to sound the crossing. It looked good enough, so he drove the utility into the water.
It grew deep quickly, and he accelerated to keep her going. The bottom, under the swirling yellow flood, was very rough; the big car went forward leaping from boulder to boulder under the water. Then she came down heavily on something with a crunch of metal, and stopped dead.
Joe said, “Jesus,” and pressed the starter, but the engine was immovable. Oil began to appear on the eddying yellow surface of the water, and slide away downstream in black and yellow tails. He stared at it in consternation.
Jean said, “What’s happened, Joe?”
“I’ve cracked the bloody sump,” he said shortly.
He got down into the water from the cab, feeling his way gingerly; it was well above his knees, close on waist deep. He called Bourneville and made Jean pass him a coil of rope from the back of the truck. The utility was only about ten yards from the bank. They made a sort of tandem harness for the three horses with lariats that they carried at the pommel of the riding saddles, and harnessed this team to the back axle of the utility, groping and spluttering under the water to do so. In ten minutes the vehicle was on dry land; a performance that left Jean awed by its efficiency.
She got down from the back and went to Joe, who was lying on his back under the front axle. She stooped down with him to look; the cast iron sump was crushed and splintered. “Say it, Joe,” she said quietly.
He grinned at her, and said, “It’s a fair mugger.” He picked the broken pieces of cast iron from the hole, and got out from underneath. He went and got the starting-handle from the cab and turned the engine carefully. He sighed with relief. “Crankshaft’s all right,” he said. “It’s only just the sump.”
He stood in deep thought for a minute, starting-handle in his hand; the rain poured down upon them steadily. She asked, “Where do we go from here, Joe?”
“I could patch that,” he said, “good enough to get her home. But then we haven’t got any oil. It’s no good going down to fetch the truck the way these creeks are rising.” He stood watching the water for a minute or two. “Never get the truck through by the time it got here,” he said finally. “There’s only one thing for it now. He’ll have to be flown out.”
The country round about was covered with rocks and trees. “Is there anywhere an aeroplane can land here?” she asked.
“I know one place it might,” he said. “Five hundred yards, they want, and then a good approach.”
He took his horse and went off to the south; by the river they unpacked the tent and arranged it over Don Curtis to keep the rain off him. The wounded man said faintly once, “Joe Harman’s a clumsy mugger with a car. He’s a good poddy dodger, though.” Jean laughed. “Pair of criminals, the two of you,” she said. “I’m going to have a word with Mrs. Curtis.”
“Don’t do it,” he said. “She don’t know nothing about this.”
She said, “Lie still, and don’t talk. Joe’s gone off to find a place where the aeroplane can land to fly you out.”
“Hope he makes a better job of it than he did driving this bloody truck,” said Mr. Curtis.
Joe came back in a quarter of an hour. “Think we can make something of it,” he said. “It’s only about a mile away.” With Bourneville he harnessed up the tandem team of three horses to the front axle of the truck, and with Jean at the wheel they set off through the bush, steering and manœuvring between the trees.
They came presently to an open space, a long grassy sward with low bushes dotted about on it. It was more than five hundred yards long, but there were trees at each end. It would be possible to make an air-strip there. “Clear off some of these bushes,” Joe said, “and fell some of those trees. I’ve seen them use a lot worse places than this.”
An axe and a spade were part of the equipment of the utility; they had tools enough. Their labour was quite inadequate for the work. “We’ll have to get the boys up from Midhurst,” he said. “Everyone that’s there. And get a message down to Willstown about the aeroplane.”
She said, “I’ll ride down with Bourneville to the homestead, Joe. Then he can bring the boys back, and I’ll go on to Willstown.”
He stared at her. “You can’t ride that far.”
“How far is it?”
“Forty miles, to Willstown.”
“I can get to Midhurst, anyway,” she said. “If I can’t go on I’ll send Moonshine in with a note to Sergeant Haines. He’s the best man to tell, isn’t he?”
“That’s right. If you do this, there’s to be no riding alone. If you go on from Midhurst to town, you’ve got to take Moonshine or one of the other boys with you. I won’t have you trying to cross them creeks alone, on a horse.”
She touched his arm. “All right, Joe. I’ll take someone with me.” She paused. “We could get on the radio from Willstown,” she said. “We could get some people over from Windermere to help you then, couldn’t we?”
“That’s right,” he said. “It would be better if we had a radio at Midhurst.” He paused. “There’s one thing that they’ll all want to know,” he said, “and that’s where this place is. We’re about six miles west-south-west of the new bore. Can you remember that?”
“I’ve got that, Joe,” she said. “Six miles west-south-west of the new bore.” She paused. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’ll make camp here.” He looked around. “I’ll pitch the tent over the back of the utility,” he said. “We don’t want to shift him again if we can help it, not until we get a stretcher. After that I’ll start and fell some of those trees for the approach.”
“What about your back?” she asked.
“That’ll be all right.”
She thought of swinging a two-handed axe to fell a tree. “Have you done that, Joe?”
“No, but it’ll be all right.”
She said, “If you’re going to cut down trees I’ll take back what I said about not riding alone. I’ll send Moonshine up with the other boongs to help you here.”
“You’re not to do that,” he said. “It’s not safe for you crossing them creeks.”
“It’s not safe for you to swing an axe,” she said. “It won’t help if you go and ruin your back up here, Joe.” She touched his arm again. “Let’s both be sensible,” she said. “The work you’ll do in cutting down those trees alone is only what the boongs will do in an hour when they get here. Don’t take risks, Joe.”
He smiled at her. “All right. But you’re not to ride alone.”
“I’ll promise that,” she said.
It was about half-past ten when they put her up on Joe’s horse, Robin. Robin was a much bigger horse than she had ridden before, and she was rather afraid of him. He was little, if any, wider for her to straddle than the horses she was used to, and Joe’s saddle was much better than the casual saddles she had been using up till then; it was soft and worn and supple with much use and yet efficient and in very good repair. When they got the stirrups adjusted for her legs she found herself fairly comfortable.
She started off with Bourneville at a slow trot through the trees, and so began a feat of endurance which she was to look back upon with awe for years to come. She found the horse docile, responsive, a
nd energetic; moreover, he had a very easy gait when trotting. At the same time, the bald fact remained that she had only been on a horse six times before, and never for more than an hour and a half at a time.
The rain had stopped for the moment, and they came to the creek and waded through the tumbling yellow water, Bourneville close beside her. They came through that one and went on, walking and trotting alternately. After an hour they came to the second creek and found it very deep; Bourneville made her take her feet out of the stirrups and be prepared to swim, holding to the horse’s mane. That was not necessary and they came through to the other side in good order, and then the creeks were over.
“Too deep for the utility,” she said.
“Yes, Missy. Him too deep now.”
No creeks now lay between them and Midhurst; it remained only for them to ride. The rain began again and soaked her to the skin, mingling with the sweat streaming off her. Very soon the wet strides began to chafe her legs and thighs; she could feel the soreness growing, but there was nothing to be done about that. She had said that she would ride, and ride she would.
She found, on the good going that was before them now, that she could get along faster than Bourneville. She was on a much better horse, and a horse that was fresh whereas he had ridden his from Midhurst with the utility. Frequently she had to slow to a walk for him when Robin would have trotted on, and these walks helped her, easing her fatigue.
They came to Midhurst homestead at about half-past two. By that time she had a raging thirst, and she was getting very tired. Moonshine and one or two of the other boys ran out and took her bridle and helped her down from Robin; she could not manage the stretch from the stirrup to the ground. She said, “Bourneville, tell Moonshine to saddle up and come with me to Willstown. I’m going to have a cup of tea and some tucker, and then we’ll start. You take all the boys back to Mr. Harman. That okay?”
He said, “Yes, Missy.” It struck her that if she was tired he must be exhausted; he had been in the saddle continuously for twenty-three hours. She looked at the seamed black face and said, “Can you make it, Bourneville? Are you very tired?”
He grinned. “Me not tired, Missy. Go back to Missa Harman with the boys after tucker.” He went away shouting, “Palmolive, Palmolive. You go longa kitchen, make tea and tucker for Missy. You go longa kitchen quick.”
She sat down wearily upon the chair in the veranda, and in a very short time Palmolive appeared with a pot of tea and two fried eggs upon a steak that was almost uneatable. She ate the eggs and a corner of the steak and drank six huge cups of tea. She did not dare to change her clothes or examine her sores; once started on that sort of thing, she knew, she would never get going again. She finished eating and called out for Moonshine and went down into the yard. The black stockmen, saddling their own horses and making up the bundles for the pack-horses in the rain, put her up into the saddle and she was off again for Willstown with Moonshine by her side.
The short rest had stiffened her, and it needed all her courage to face the twenty miles that lay ahead. Every muscle in her body was stretched and aching. Her legs ceased to function much to hold her in the saddle, but the big horns above and below her thighs came into play and held her in place.
They crossed the creeks, now too deep for a car, and rode on. They were following the car track, and the going was good. She was the laggard now, because Moonshine’s horse was fresh and Robin was tiring. She rode the last ten miles in a daze, walking and trotting wearily, for the last five miles the black stockman rode close by her side to try and catch her if she fell. But she didn’t fall. She rode into Willstown in the darkness at about seven o’clock, a very tired girl on a very tired horse with a black ringer riding beside her. She rode past the hotel and past the ice-cream parlour with its lights streaming out into the street, and came to a stand outside Sergeant Haines’ police station and house. She had been about eight hours in the saddle.
Moonshine dismounted and held Robin’s head. She summoned a last effort and got her right leg back over the saddle, and slithered down on to the ground. She could not stand at first without holding on to something, and she held on to Robin’s saddle. Then Sergeant Haines was there.
“Why, Miss Paget,” he said in the slow Queensland way, “where have you come from?”
“From Joe Harman,” she said. “He’s got Don Curtis up at the top end of Midhurst with a broken leg. Look, tell Moonshine what he can do with these horses, and then help me inside, and I’ll tell you.”
He told Moonshine to take the horses round to the police corral and to bed down for the night with the police trackers in the bunk-house; then he turned to Jean. “Come on in the house,” he said. “Here, take my arm. How far have you ridden?”
“Forty miles,” she said, and even in her fatigue there was a touch of pride in the achievement. “Joe Harman’s up there now with Mr. Curtis. All the Midhurst stockmen have gone up there to make an air-strip. It’s the only way to get him out, Joe says. You can’t get through the creeks with a utility.”
He took her in and sat her down in his mosquito-wired veranda, and Mrs. Haines brought out a cup of tea. He glanced at the clock and settled down to listen to her in slow time; he had missed the listening watch of seven o’clock on the Cairns Ambulance radio, and now there was three quarters of an hour to wait before he could take any action. “Six miles west-south-west of the new bore,” he said thoughtfully. “I know, there’s open country round about that part. I’ll get on to the radio presently, and get the plane out in the morning.”
“Joe thought if you got on the radio some ringers might go out from Windermere and help him make the strip,” she said. “He’s talking about cutting down some trees. I don’t want him to do that, because of his back.”
He nodded. “I’ll be getting Windermere at the same time.” And then he said, “I never knew you were a rider, Miss Paget.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I’ve been on a horse six times before.”
He smiled, and then said, “Oh my word. Are you sore?”
She got up wearily. “I’m going home to bed,” she said, and caught hold of the back of the chair. “If I stay here any longer I won’t be able to walk at all.”
“Stay where you are,” he said. “I’ll get out the utility and run you to the hospital.”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
“I don’t care if you want to go or not,” he said, “but that’s where you’re going. You’ll be better off there for tonight, and Sister Douglas, she’s got everything you’ll want.”
Half an hour later she was bathed and in a hospital bed with penicillin ointment on various parts of her anatomy, feeling like a very small child. Back in his office Sergeant Haines sat down before his transmitter.
“Eight Queen Charlie, Eight Queen Charlie,” he said, “this is Eight Love Mike calling Eight Queen Charlie. Eight Queen Charlie, if you are receiving Eight Love Mike will you please come in. Over to you. Over.”
He turned his switch, and the speaker on top of the set said in a girl’s voice, “Eight Love Mike this is Eight Queen Charlie answering, receiving you strength three. Pass your message. Over.”
He said, “Eight Queen Charlie, we’ve got Don Curtis. Joe Harman found him up at the top end of Midhurst. His injuries are compound fracture of the left leg two and a half days old, probably left ankle broken in addition. Position of the camp is six miles west-south-west of Harman’s new bore. Tell me now if this is Roger. Over.”
The girl’s voice from the speaker said, “Oh, I am glad — we’ve all been so worried at this end. That is Roger, but I will repeat.” She repeated. “Over to you. Over.”
He said, “Okay, Jackie. Now take a message for Mr. Barnes. Message reads, Request ambulance aircraft at Willstown soon as possible prepared for bush landing. Just read that back to me. Over.”
She read it back to him.
“Okay, Jackie,” he said. “Now call Windermere for me and let me speak to them. Ov
er.”
She said, “Eight Able George, Eight Able George, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Able George. If you are receiving me, Eight Able George, please come in. Over to you. Over.”
A tremulous woman’s voice said in thirty speakers in thirty homesteads, “Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Able George. I’ve heard all that, Jackie. Isn’t it marvellous the way prayer gets answered? Oh my dear, I’m that relieved I don’t know what to say. I’m sure we all ought to go down on our bended knees tonight and thank God for His mercy. I’m sure we all ought to do that. Oh — over.”
Miss Bacon turned her switch. “I’m sure we’ll all thank God tonight, Helen. Now Sergeant Haines is waiting to speak to you. You stay listening with your switch on to Receive, Helen. Eight Love Mike, will you come in now? Over.”
In Willstown Sergeant Haines said, “Eight Love Mike calling Eight Able George. Mrs. Curtis, you’ve heard Joe Harman’s with your husband up at the top end of Midhurst. He’s got to make an air-strip for the ambulance to land on, and he’s taken all his stockmen up there. Will you send everyone you have upon your station to help make this air-strip? I’ll give you the position. If you have a pencil and a bit of paper write this down.” He paused. “The place where Joe Harman is making the strip is six miles west-south-west of his new bore. Six miles west-south-west of his new bore. I want you to send every man you’ve got there to help him, and pass that message to Constable Duncan if he’s with you. Is that Roger, Mrs. Curtis? Over.”
The tremulous voice said, “That’s Roger, Sergeant. Six miles west-south-west of Joe’s new bore. I’ve got that written down. Eddie Page is here, and I’m expecting Phil Duncan to come back tonight. I’ll send everybody up there. Isn’t it marvellous what God can do for us? When I think of all His mercies to us suffering sinners I could go down on my bended knees and cry.” There was a pause, and then she said, “Oh, I keep on forgetting. Over.”
