CHAPTER XVIII
BROTHER AND SISTER
We were mates together, And I shall not forget. W. H. OGILVIE.
Jim had not wanted to tell Norah. It had been Brownie who hadcounselled differently.
"I think she's got enough to bear," the boy had said, sitting on theedge of the kitchen table, and flicking his boots mechanically with hiswhip. He had been riding hard almost all day, but anxiety, not fatigue,had put the lines into his face. "What's the good of giving her anymore?"
"I do believe it'd be best for her, the poor lamb!" Brownie had said."She's there all day, not speaking--it'll wear her out. An' you know,Master Jim, dear, she'd never forgive us for keepin' anything back fromher about the master."
"No--but we've nothing definite. And it may make her really ill, comingon top of the other."
"I don't think Miss Norah's the sort to let herself get ill when therewas need of her. It may take her poor mind off the other--she can't helpthat now, an' he was only a pony--"
"Only a pony! By George, Brownie--!"
"Any horse is only a pony when compared to your Pa," said Brownie,unconscious of anything peculiar in her remark. "I don't know that realanxiety mayn't help her, Master Jim. And any'ow, it don't seem to mewe've the right to keep it from her, them bein', as it were, thatpartickler much to each other. Take my tip, an' you tell her."
"What do you think, Wally?"
"I'm with Brownie," said Wally, unexpectedly. "It's awful to see Norahlying there all day, never saying a word, and this'll rouse her up whennothing else would." So Jim had yielded to the weight of advice, andhad gone slowly up to tell Norah they could not find David Linton.
"Can't find him?" she echoed, "but isn't he at Killybeg?"
"He left there yesterday morning," Jim answered. "A telegram came fromhim last night, and it was important--something about cattle--so I sentBurton into Cunjee with it--Killybeg's on the telephone now, you know,and Burton could ring him up from the post office. But the Darrellswere astonished, and said he'd left there quite early, and meant tocome straight home."
"Well?" Norah was white enough now.
"Well, I got worried, and so did Murty; because you know there isn'tany stopping place between here and Killybeg when you come across theranges. And Monarch's pretty uncertain--in rough country, especially. SoI got Murty and Wally to go out at daylight this morning, taking thestraight line to the Darrells, and they picked up his tracks pointinghomewards about five miles from the Billabong boundary. Murty madeMonarch's shoes himself, and he could swear to them anywhere. Theyfollowed them awhile, and they came to a place where the ground wasbeaten down a lot, as if he'd had trouble with Monarch; I expectsomething scared him, and he played the fool. But after that the tracksled on to some stony rises, and they lost them; the ground was toohard. They could only tell he'd gone right off the line to Billabong."
"Jim! Do you think--? Oh, he couldn't be hurt! Monarch would never getrid of him."
"He'd stick to Monarch as long as the girth held and Monarch stood up,"Jim said, "but it's rough country, and a young horse isn't handy onthose sidings. Of course it may be all right; but if so, why wasn't hehome twenty-four hours ago?"
"Have you done anything?"
"Been out all day," Jim said. "Murty sent Wal. straight home while hewent on looking, and we went back with three of the men. But you knowwhat that country is, all hills and gullies, and the scrub's so thickyou can scarcely get through it in places. We found one or two hoofmarks, but that was all. If he's not home to-night we're going out atdaybreak with every hand on the place."
"I'm coming."
"I knew you'd want to," Jim said, anxiety in his tone. "But I don'tthink you're fit to, old girl."
"Jimmy, I'd go mad if I stayed behind."
"Oh, I know that, too. But you'll have to stay near me, Norah, and ifyou're coming you've got to eat now; Brownie says you've touchednothing all day."
Norah shivered a little. "I'm not hungry."
"No, but you've sense, old chap. You'd be the first to say one of uscouldn't go out without proper food. Try, won't you?"
"I'll try," Norah said, obediently.
"Brownie's got dinner for Wally and me in the breakfast-room," Jimsaid. "Wouldn't you come down, old girl? It's only old Wal., you know,and--and he's so awfully sorry for you, Nor. He's been such a brick. Ithink it would cheer him up a bit if you came down."
"All right," Norah said, hesitating a moment. "But I'm bad company,Jim."
"We're none of us lively," said the boy. "But we've got to help eachother." And Norah looked at him gently, and came.
Dinner was quiet, for the shadow hung upon them all. Wally tried totalk cheerfully, checked by a lump that would rise in his throatwhenever he looked at Norah, who was "playing the game" manfully,trying hard to eat and to be, as she would have said, "ordinary." Theytalked of the plans for the next day, when a systematic search was tobe made through the scrub near where the tracks had been found.
"Each of us is to take a revolver," Jim said; "there are fivealtogether, and the men who haven't got them will have to use theirstockwhips as signals if they find anything. Three shots to be fired inthe air if help is wanted. And Brownie has flasks ready for every one,and little packets of food with some chocolate; if he's come to griefit'll be nearly forty-eight hours since he had anything to eat. Two ofthe men are to take the express wagon out as far as it can go, witheverything to make him comfortable, if--if he's hurt. Then they can ridethe horses on to help us search." Jim forced a sorry smile. "Won't hegrin at us if he turns up all right? We'll never hear the end of it!"Then he got up abruptly and walked to the window, looking out acrossthe moonlit flats; and they were all silent.
"I keep thinking all the time I hear him coming," Jim said, turningback into the room. "If you keep still, you can almost swear you canhear old Monarch's hoofs coming up the track--and half a dozen timesI've been certain I caught the crack of his stockwhip. Of course,it's--it's all imagination. My word! it's hard to loaf about here and goto bed comfortably when you want to be hunting out there."
"You couldn't do any good, though?" asked Wally.
"No--it would be madness to go straying round those gullies in themoonlight; it's not even full moon, and there the timber's so thickthat very little light can get through. There's nothing for it but towait until daylight."
"It's hard waiting," Norah said.
"Yes, it is. But you ought to go to bed, old woman; you had preciouslittle sleep last night, and the big bell is to ring at daylight."
"Then won't you boys go, too?"
"Yes, I guess we'd better," Jim said. "I'll come in and say good-nightto you, Norah." A look passed between them; the boy knew his fathernever failed to pay a good-night visit to Norah's room. She smiled athim gratefully.
It was very lonely and quiet up there, undressing, with her heart likelead within her. She hurried over her preparations, so that she mightnot keep Jim waiting when he came; she knew he needed sleep--"a big boyoutgrowing his strength like that," thought Norah, with the quaintlittle touch of motherliness that she always felt towards Jim. Once shecaught sight of something on the end of the couch; the white rug thathad been Jim's Christmas present, with the scarlet B standing outsharply in the corner--the rug Bobs would never use. Shivering a little,she put it away in her wardrobe. Just now she could only think of thatmost dear one--perhaps lying out there in the cold shadows of the bushnight. She crept into bed.
Jim came in in his shirt sleeves.
"Comfy, little chap?"
"Yes, thanks, old man. Jim--shall I ride Sirdar tomorrow?"
"You needn't have asked," the boy said--"he's yours. And, Norah--I knowDad wouldn't mind. I'd like you to have Garryowen. He's a bit big, buthe'll suit you quite well. I know he won't make up, but you'd get fondof him in time, dear."
"Jim!" she said--knowing all that the carelessly spoken wordsmeant--"Jimmy, boy." And then Jim was frightened, for Norah, who had notcried at all, broke into a passion of c
rying. He held her tightly,stroking her, not knowing what to say; murmuring broken, awkward wordsof affection, while she sobbed against him. After a while she grewquiet, and was desperately ashamed.
"I didn't mean to make an ass of myself," she said, contritely. "I'mawfully sorry, and you were such a brick to me, Jimmy. I won't everforget it; only I couldn't take your horse. I love you for it. ButSirdar will do for me quite well." And no arguments could shake herfrom that decision.
Jim put the light out after some time. Then he came back and sat downon the bed.
"I wanted to tell you, dear little chap," he said, gently. "I sent Mickout with Boone to-day, and--and they buried him under that big treewhere he fell, and heaped up stones so that nothing could get at him."He stopped, his voice uncertain as Norah's hand tightened in his.
"Mick said there couldn't have been any hope for him, kiddie," he wenton, presently. "His back was broken; no one could have done anything."He would not tell her of other things Mick had seen--the spur woundsfrom hip to shoulder and the marks of the stick that Cecil had throwndown beside the pony he had ridden to his death. "They carved his nameon the tree in great big letters. Some time--whenever you feel youcan--I'll take you out there. At least"--his hand gripped hers almostpainfully--"Dad and I will take you."
Norah put her face against him, not speaking. They stayed so, herbreath coming and going unevenly, while Jim stroked her shoulder.Presently he slipped to his knees by the bed, one arm across her, notmoving until her head nestled closer, and he knew she was asleep. Thenthe big, tired fellow put his own head down and went to sleep as heknelt, waking, stiff and sore, in the grey half light that justprecedes the dawn. He crept away noiselessly, going out on the balconyfor a breath of the chill air.
Below him, against the stockyard fence, a black shadow stood andwhinnied faintly. Jim's heart came into his throat, and he swunghimself over the edge of the balcony, using his old "fire escape" toslide to the gravel below. He ran wildly across to the yard.
A moment later the big bell of the station clanged out furiously.
Norah, fastening her habit with swift fingers, ran to open the door inanswer to Jim's voice.
"Hurry all you know, little chap," he said. "I'm off in a fewminutes--breakfast's ready. Wally's going into Cunjee with a telegram toMelbourne for the black trackers, as hard as he can ride."
"Jim--there's something you know!"
He hesitated.
"I'd better tell you," he said. "Monarch's come home alone, Norah!"