Never again, when the soft winds blow,
We shall ride by the river.
G. ESSEX EVANS.
Wally came into breakfast with a rush and a scramble, bearing traces of a hasty toilet. At the table Norah and Jim were eating solemnly, with expressions of deep disapproval. They did not raise their eyes as Wally entered.
"Awfully sorry!" said he. "You've no idea of the difficulties I've had to overcome, Norah, and all along of him!" indicating Jim with a jerk of his head. "Oh, Norah, do be sympathetic, and forget that he's your brother. I assure you I'd be a far better brother to you than ever he could, and you can have me cheap! Look up at me, Norah, and smile—one perfect grin is all I ask! He took my towel and dressed Tait in it, and for all he cared I would be swimming in that beastly lagoon yet, and dying of cramp, and nervous prostration, and housemaid's knee. And she goes on gnawing a chop!"
He sat down, and buried his face in his hands tragically, and began to sob, whereat Norah and Jim laughed, and the victim of circumstances recovered with promptitude.
"Cream, please," he said, attacking his porridge. "Oh, he's a beast, Norah. I'm blessed if I know why you keep him in the family—it can't be for either his manners or his looks! I have a hectic cough coming on rapidly. My uncle by marriage three times removed died of consumption, and it's a thing I've always been nervous about. When I occupy the family urn with my ashes you'll be sorry!"
"I should be more than sorry if it were this urn," Jim put in, grinning. "It might be an honour, of course; but we've other homely uses for the urn. How long did you swim, Wal.?"
"Never you mind," returned Wally wrathfully. "I don't see why I should satisfy any part of your fiendish curiosity—only when Brownie finds Tait wearing one of the best bath towels as a toga, and makes remarks about it, I shall certainly refer her to you!"
"I never saw a dog look so miserable as he did," Norah said, laughing. "He came straight up to me, with a truly hang-dog air, and folds of towel ever so far behind him in the grass, and didn't get back his self-respect until I took it off. Poor old Tait! You really ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jimmy."
"I am," said Jim cheerfully. "Toast, please."
"When I saw Tait last he was disappearing into the landscape with all his blushing honours thick upon him!" Wally said. "I don't see why you waste all your sympathy on the brute, and give me none. It's the greatest wonder I'm here at all!"
"Where's Cecil, anyhow?" asked Jim, suddenly.
"Haven't an idea—how should I? He wasn't in the lagoon, which is the only place I could give an expert opinion on this morning."
"Oh, he's late as usual," Norah said. "I suppose he's still cross about last night. Really, Jim, I'm sorry we've managed to rub him up the wrong way."
"Why, the difficulty would be to find the right way," Jim retorted. "He's such a cross-grained beggar—you never know when you're going to offend him; and of course he's perfectly idiotic about the horses. Wonder if he thinks we LIKE horses with sore backs and mouths! He'll have to give poor old Betty a spell, anyhow, for she's a patch on her back the size of half a crown, thanks to him."
"Oh, dear!" said Norah, with a little shiver. "That's awfully bad news—'cause I'd about made up my mind to offer him Bobs!"
"Offer—him—Bobs!" said Jim slowly. Wally gasped.
"Just for a ride, Jimmy. He's a guest, you know, and I don't like him to feel ill-used. And you let him on Garryowen."
"Only for a moment—and then with my heart in my boots!" said Jim. "Norah, I think you're utterly mad if you lend him Bobs—after last night, too! Why, you know jolly well I'VE never asked you for your pony!"
"Well, you could have had him," Norah answered, "you know that, Jimmy. I don't want to lend him to Cecil—I simply hate it; but I don't like the idea of his thinking we treated him at all badly."
"He's the sort of chap that would find a grievance if you gave everything you had in the world," Jim said. "It's all rot—and I tell you straight, Nor., I don't think it's safe, either. Bobs is all right with you, of course, but he's a fiery little beggar, and there's no knowing what he'd do with a sack of flour like that on his back. I wish you wouldn't."
"What do you think, Wally?"
"Me? Oh, I'm with Jim," Wally answered. "Personally, I think a velocipede is about Cecil's form, and it's absolute insult to a pony like Bobs to ask him to carry him! And you'd hate it so, Nor.'!"
"Oh, I know I would," Norah said. "He's such a dear—"
"What! Cecil?"
"No, you donkey—Bobs," Norah continued, laughing. "I'd feel like begging his pardon all the time. But—"
"Murty wants to see you, Master Jim," said Mary, entering. "Says he'd be glad if you could spare him a minute."
"All right, Mary—thank you," said Jim, getting up lazily and strolling out. "Back in a minute, you two."
"What happens to-day, Norah? Marmalade, please," said Wally, in a breath.
"The marmalade happens on the spot," laughed Norah, handing it to him. "Otherwise—oh, I don't know, unless we ride out somewhere and fish. We haven't been out to Angler's Bend this time, have we?"
"No, but that's fifteen miles. You'd never let Cecil ride Bobs that distance?"
"Oh, I couldn't!" said Norah, hastily. "I don't think I possibly could ride anything except Bobs out there. Cecil might have him another day, if Jim doesn't think me quite mad. Perhaps I won't be sorry if he does, 'cause I'd hate to go against Jim! And Bobs is—"
"Bobs," said Wally gravely; and Norah smiled at him. "Hallo, Jamesy—what passion hangs these weights upon thy brow?"
Jim had entered quickly.
"It's that beauty Cecil," he said, angrily. "My word, Norah, I'll let that young man know what I think about him! He's taken Bobs!"
"What!"
"Gone out on Bobs before breakfast. Must have got him in the yard, and saddled him himself. Murty saw him just as he was riding off, and tried to stop him. Here's Murty—he'll tell you."
"Sure, I towld him to stop, Miss Norah," said the stock-man. "Axed him, I did, if he'd y'r lave, and he gev me back-answers as free as y' please. I was perfickly calm, an never losht me timper, an' towld him I'd pull him off av the little harse if he'd not the lave to take him; an' he put the comether on me by cantherin' off. So I waited, thinkin' not to worry y', an' that he'd be comin' back; or more be token Bobs widout him, an' small loss. But he's elsewhere yit, so I kem in f'r Masther Jim."
"Well, I'm blessed!" said Norah, weakly.
"The mean little toad!" Wally's voice was full of scorn. "I'd like five quiet minutes with him with coats off when he comes back!"
"I guess he'll get that—or its equivalent," said Jim, grimly. "Which way did he go, Murty?"
"To the bush paddock, Masther Jim. He's that stupid, tin to one he's bushed in one av thim gullies."
"Or else Bobs has slung him; but in that case Bobs would be back at the gate," Jim said. "Perhaps he is."
"No, he ain't, Masther Jim, I wint over a bit an' had a look. There's no sign av either av thim."
"Well, I suppose we'd better go after them," Jim said. "What'll you ride, Nor? Would you care for Garryowen?"
Norah smiled at him.
"No, thanks, old man. I'll have Cirdar," she said. "Can you get him, Murty?"
"In two twos, Miss Norah," said the stockman, departing hastily.
"You're not worried, Norah, old girl?" Jim said.
"Why, not exactly; he can't hurt Bobs, of course, beyond a sore back," Norah answered. "I'm more cross than worried—it is such cheek, Jim, isn't it? All the same, I hope Cecil's all right."
"Him!" said Jim, with fine scorn. "That sort never comes to any harm. Well, hurry up, and get your habit on, old chap."
There was no need to tell Norah to hurry. She flew upstairs, Brownie plodding after; the news had flown round the house in a few moments, and there was a storm of indignation against the absent Cecil.
"If I'd knowed!" said Brownie, darkly, bringing Norah's linen coat out from the wardrobe, and seeking with vigour for a felt hat that already was on her head. "Me, givin' him tea and scones, an' talkin' about the pony, too, no less; little I guessed at the depths of him. Never mind, my dearie, Master Jim'll deal with him!"
"Oh, it'll be all right, if Bobs hasn't hurt him. Only there'll be an awful row when Jim gets him. I never saw Jim so angry," Norah said.
"A good thing, too!" said the warlike Mrs. Brown. "There you are, dearie, an' there's your 'unting-crop. Off you go!" and Norah ran downstairs, finding Jim and Wally waiting, boots and leggings on. They set off, Murty muttering dark threats against Cecil as he shut the gate of the stable yard after them.
Wally had recovered his cheerfulness, never long absent from him, and was, besides, not unpleasantly excited at the thought of war ahead. He chattered gaily as they rode through the first two paddocks. But Jim remained quiet. As Norah said, she had never seen him so angry. Anxiety in his mind warred with hot anger against the insult to Norah and to them all. He swept the bush paddock with his eye as they came up to it, seeing nothing but the scattered bullocks here and there.
"Wonder which way he'd go," he said. "Suppose you and Wally cut over to the right, Norah, and see if you can find any trace. I'll go over this way. We'll coo-ee to each other if we come across him." They separated, and Jim put Garryowen at a canter across the plain. Here and there he could see a track—and something made him wish to go on alone.
He was nearly at the foot of the hills when a figure came out from their shadow. Jim gave a sudden little sound in his throat as he saw that it was Cecil—and alone. He was limping a little, and had evidently been down. Relief that he was safe was the first thought; then, anxiety being done with, there was no room for anything but anger. Jim rode towards him. At the sight of his approach Cecil started a little, and cast a glance round as if looking for a hiding place; then he came on doggedly, his head down.
"I've been looking for you," Jim said, controlling his voice with difficulty. "Where's Bobs?"
"Over there." Cecil jerked his hand backwards.
"Where?"
"Back there."
"What do you mean? did he get away from you?"
"He bolted," Cecil said.
"And threw you?"
Cecil nodded. "Yes—can't you see I'm limping?"
"Well, did he clear out again?"
"No—he's over there."
Jim's face went grim. "Do you mean—you don't mean the pony's HURT?"
"He won't get up," said Cecil, sullenly. "I've tried my best."
For a moment they faced each other, and then Cecil quailed under the younger boy's look. His eyes fell.
Jim jumped off. "Go on."
"Where?"
"Back to Bobs, of course. Hurry up!"
"I can't go back there," Cecil said, angrily. "I'm limping, and—"
"Do you think your limp matters an atom just now?" Jim said, through his teeth. "Hurry up."
He followed Cecil, not trusting himself to speak. A dull despair lay on his heart, and above everything a great wave of pity for the little sister across the paddock. If he could spare Norah—!
Then they were in the gully, and he saw Bobs above him, and knew in that instant that he could spare her nothing. The bay pony lay where he had fallen, his head flung outwards; helplessness in every line of the frame that had been a model of strength and beauty an hour ago. As Jim looked Bobs beat his head three times against the ground, and then lay still. The boy flung round, sick with horror.
"Why, you vile little wretch—you've killed him!"
He had Cecil in a grip of iron, shaking him as a dog shakes a rat—not knowing what he did in the sick fury that possessed him. Then suddenly he stopped and hurled him from him into the bracken. He ran down the gully.
"Go back, Norah dear—don't come."
Norah and Wally had come cantering quickly round the shoulder of the hill. She was laughing at something Wally had said as they rode into the gully, and the laugh was still on her lips as she looked at Jim. Then she saw his face, and it died away.
"What is it, Jim?"
"Don't come, kiddie," the boy said, wretchedly. "Wally, you take her home."
"Why?" said Norah. "We saw Cecil—where's Bobs?" Her eyes were wandering round the gully. They passed Cecil, lying on his face in the bracken, and travelled further up the hill. Then she turned suddenly white, and flung herself off Sirdar.
Jim caught her as she came blindly past him.
"Kiddie—it's no good—you mustn't!"
"I must," she said, and broke from him, running up the hillside. Jim followed her with a long stride, his arm round her as she stumbled through the ferns and boulders. When they came to Bobs he held her back for a moment.
The pony was nearly done. As they looked his head beat the ground again unavailingly, and at the piteous sight a dry sob broke from Norah, and she went on her knees by him.
"Norah—dear little chap—you mustn't." Jim's voice was choking. "He doesn't know what he's doing, poor old boy—it isn't safe."
"He wants me," she said. "Bobs—dear Bobs!"
At the voice he knew the pony quivered and struggled to rise. It was no use—he fell back, though the beautiful head lifted itself, and the brown eyes tried to find her. She sat down and took his head on her knee, stroking his neck and speaking to him... broken, pitiful words. Presently she put her cheek down to him, and crouched there above him. Something of his agony died out of Bobs' eyes. He did not struggle any more. After a little he gave a long shiver, straightening out; and so died, gently.
"Come on home, old kiddie."
It seemed a long time after, Norah could not think of a time when she had done anything but sit with that quiet head on her knee. She shuddered all over.
"I can't leave him."
"You must come, dear." Jim's hands were lifting Bobs' head as tenderly as she herself could have done it. He picked her up and held her as though she had been a baby, and she clung to him, shaking.
"If I could help you!" he said, and there were tears in his eyes. "Oh, Nor.—you know, don't you?"
He felt her hand tighten on his arm. Then he carried her down the hill, where Garryowen stood waiting.
"The others have gone," he said. "I sent them home—Wally and—that brute! I've told him to go—I'll kill him if I see him again!" He lifted her into his saddle, and keeping his arms round her, walked beside the bay horse down the gully and out upon the plain.
"Jim," she whispered—somewhere her voice had gone away—"you can't go home like that. Let me walk." His arm tightened.
"I'm all right," he said—"poor little mate!"
They did not speak again until they were nearly home—where, ahead, Brownie waited, her kind eyes red; while every man about the homestead was near the gate, a stern-faced, angry group that talked in savage undertones. Murty came forward as Jim lifted Norah down.
"Miss Norah," he said. "Miss Norah, dear—sure I'd sooner—"
The tall fellow's voice broke as he looked at the white, childish face.
"Thanks, Murty," Norah said steadily.
"And—all of you." She turned from the pitying faces, and ran indoors.
"Oh, Brownie, don't let any one see me!"
Then came a dazed time, when she did not know anything clearly. Once, lying on her bed, with her face pressed into the pillow, trying not to see a lean head that beat on the ground, she heard a dull sound that rose to an angry shout from the men; and immediately the buggy drove away quickly, as Wally took Cecil away from Billabong. She only shivered, pressing her face harder. Jim was always near at first; the touch of his hand made her calm when dreadful, shuddering fits came over her. All through the night he sat by her bed, watching ceaselessly.
Then there was a longer time when she was alone, and there seemed much going to and fro. But no sounds touched her nearly. She could only think of Bobs, lying in the bracken, and calling silently to her with his pain-filled eyes.
Then, late on, the second evening, Jim came back with a troubled face and sat on the bed.
"Norah," he said, "I want you."
"Yes, Jim?"
"I want you to be brave, old chap," he said slowly. Something in his tone made her start and scan his tired face.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It may be all right," Jim said, "but—but I thought I'd better tell you, Norah, they—we can't find Dad!"
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg