by Nevil Shute
‘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 tree, 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, and 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 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-four 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 packhorses 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 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 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 bunkhouse; 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 airstrip. 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-southwest 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.’
Ha
lf 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 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 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. Over.’
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 airstrip 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 airstrip? 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.’
He turned his switch and said, ‘It’s not only God you’ve got to thank, Mrs Curtis.’ He was very well aware that most of the housewives in a hundred thousand square miles of the Gulf country would be listening in to this conversation, and one good turn deserves another. ‘Miss Paget rode forty miles down from the top end of Midhurst to bring this message about Don. You know Jean Paget, the English girl that’s started the shoe workshop and the ice-cream shop? She was out at Midhurst spending the day when we heard Don was missing, and she rode forty miles to tell me where this airstrip was to be. She’s only been astride a horse six times before, and the poor girl’s so sore she can’t stand. Sister Douglas has her in the hospital for a good rest. She’ll be all right in a day or two. Over.’
She said, ‘Oh my word. I don’t know what to say to thank her. Give her my very dearest love, and I do hope she’ll be better soon.’ There was a pause, and then she said, ‘I’ve been so troubled in my mind about that ice-cream parlour. It didn’t seem right to have a thing like that in Willstown, and opening it on Sundays and Christmas Day and all. I couldn’t find nothing in the Bible either for or against it, and I’ve been that perplexed. But now it seems God had that under His hand like everything else. I do think it’s wonderful. Over.’
‘That’s right,’ said Sergeant Haines non-committally. He had been uncertain about the shop closing hours himself and had written to his head office for guidance; it was a good long time since he had been in a district where there was a shop to close. ‘Now I must sign off, Mrs Curtis. Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Love Mike. It’s okay here if you want to close down your listening watch for tonight, Jackie. I’d like to have a listening watch in daylight hours tomorrow, from seven o’clock on. Is this Roger? Over.’
Miss Bacon said, That is Roger, sergeant. I’ll tell Mr Barnes. If you have nothing more for me, I shall close down. ‘Over.’
‘Nothing more, Jackie. Goodnight. Out.’
‘Goodnight, Sergeant. Out.’
Miss Bacon switched off her sets thankfully. There was no proper organization for a twenty-four hour listening watch at the Cairns Ambulance; in an emergency such as this everybody had to muscle in and lend a hand. She had been on duty the previous day from eight in the morning till midnight, and from eight o’clock that morning till then; Mr Barnes had taken the night watch and was preparing to do so again. She thought, ruefully, that she had missed Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall; the show would be half over. But there was still one more night, and with any luck this flap would be over and she could see it tomorrow. She went to telephone to Mr Barnes.
Mr Barnes telephoned to Mr Smythe of Australian National Airways, and Mr Smythe telephoned to his reserve pilot, Captain Jimmie Cope. Mr Cope said, ‘Hell, I hope it’s better in the morning than it was today. We’d never have got over the Tableland today. Better say take off at six, I suppose. I’ll be along at the hangar then.’
When he got to the aerodrome at dawn the old Dragon, surely the best aircraft ever built for ambulance work in the outback, was running up both engines. The clouds hung low at about five hundred feet, shrouding the hill immediately behind the aerodrome; it was raining a little. Willstown lay about four hundred miles to the west-north-west; the first seventy miles of this course lay over the Atherton Tableland with mountains up to three thousand five hundred feet in height. With no radio navigational aids he would have to fly visually all the way, scraping along between the clouds and the treetops as best he could.
He said a sour word or two to the control officer and took off down the runway with an ambulance orderly on board. Once in the air it was worse than ever. He flew at three hundred feet up the Barron River towards the mountains, hoping to find a break in the low cloud that would enable him to get up on to the Tableland through the Kuranda Gap. The grey vapour closed around him and the sides of the jungle-covered gorge drew very near his wings. There was no sign of a break ahead. He edged over to the starboard side and made a tight, dicey turn round in the gorge with about a hundred feet to spare, and headed back for the coast. He lifted his microphone and said, ‘Cairns Tower, this is Victor How Able Mike Baker. I can’t make it by Kuranda. I’m going up to Cooktown by the coast, and try it from there. Tell Cooktown I’ll be landing there in about an hour, and I’ll want twenty gallons of seventy-three octane.’
He flew on up the tropical Queensland coast at about three hundred feet, and came to Cooktown an hour later. Cooktown is a pretty little town of about three hundred people, but it was grey and rainswept when he got there. He landed on the aerodrome and refuelled. ‘I’m going to try and make Willstown from here,’ he said. ‘There’s not much high stuff on the way. If
it gets too bad I shall come back. I’ll be on a direct course from here to Willstown.’ He said that in case a search party should be necessary.
He took off again immediately the refuelling was finished and flew inland on a compass course. In the whole of that flight he was never more than two hundred feet above the treetops. He scraped over the Great Dividing Range, petering out up in this northern latitude, with about fifty feet to spare, always on the point of turning back, always seeing a faint break ahead that made it necessary to go on. Behind him the orderly sat gripping his seat, only too well aware of danger in the flight and impotent to do anything about it. For three hours they flew like that, and then as they neared the Gulf of Carpentaria the pilot started picking up the landmarks that he knew, a river bend, a burnt patch of the bush, a curving sandy waste like a banana. He came to Willstown and flew round the few houses at a hundred feet to tell them he was there, and landed on the airstrip. He taxied in to where the truck was standing waiting for him; he was strained and tired. It was still raining.
He held a little conference with Sergeant Haines and Sister Douglas and Al Burns beside the truck. ‘I’ll have a crack at flying him back here,’ he said. ‘If it’s no better this afternoon he’ll have to spend the night in hospital here. I can’t fly him to Cairns in this weather. It’ll probably be better by tomorrow.’ They gave him a freehand pencil map which the sergeant had prepared for him, showing him the creeks and Midhurst homestead, and the new bore, and the probable position of the airstrip, and he took off again. That was at about eleven o’clock.
Following this map he found the place without much difficulty. It was clear where they meant him to land, because trees had been felled upon a line he was to come in on, and bushes had been cleared for a short distance on what seemed to be a grassy meadow. He could see about ten men working or standing looking up at him; he could see a utility parked with a tent over it. He circled round under the low cloud, considering the risks. The runway that they had prepared was pitifully short, even for a Dragon. Time was also short, however; the man had had his compound fracture three days now. Sepsis and gangrene and all sorts of things would be setting in; he must not delay. He bit his lip and lined the Dragon up with the runway for a trial approach.
