The Great Trek Page 23

  “Farther up,” returned Sterl. “I see the low banks and bars. It’ll take time, but be easy. Dann will hardly order us to cross today.”

  “Well, you fellows will find out. And we’ll be over there,” concluded Drake.

  Gazing across the river, Sterl espied Leslie sitting her horse on the opposite bank, somewhat aside from a group of horse men. Stanley Dann, his brother Eric, and Slyter had ridden out to join Ormiston and Hathaway.

  “Come on, Red, and fellows. Let’s mosey across,” Sterl said.

  “Dog-gone, pard, if one of them damn’ alligators didn’t scare the daylights out of me,” complained Red. “I kinda have a notion to stay heah.”

  “Me, too. But we must go. I shot one over there. Gave me the creeps. And Leslie, for once, yelled murder.”

  “Wal, pard, these hosses air grand, an’ the drovers ain’t so pore. I jest had a picnic, outside of thet scare.”

  They crossed the river without incident, to be met by Leslie. Stanley Dann called them over to his group. Ormiston, despite his tan, showed an unusual pallor, and his big eyes, with their lurid light, would have warned any man of his truculent nature. Sterl made a mental reservation that this queer composite of fool and villain would have blamed the stampede upon his partners and their drovers, if there had been any possible excuse.

  “Men it is our first major disaster,” boomed Stanley Dann. “That stampede could not have been avoided. I commend you all for right heroic work. Hazelton, I commend you particularly, with Krehl and Larry and Cedric. You saved the main mob twice, first when you turned the head of the mob up this way, and secondly when you got them out of that whirl pool. I never saw the like.”

  “Thanks, boss. Thet last was jest a little mill. All in the day’s ride,” Red said.

  “Dann, we lost one man,” added Sterl, wanting at once to give his version of that tragedy.

  “Yes. Ormiston’s drover, Henry Ward. He was warned. But he was over-bold or befuddled. Poor fellow!”

  “Who warned him?” Beryl queried bluntly.

  “Why, Ormiston said he sent a drover,” returned the leader.

  “Ormiston did nothing of the kind,” Sterl denied. “When we rode around to the rear of the herd to give your orders, Ormiston grew furious. He said he wouldn’t let his mob mix with yours. I told him he couldn’t help it. Then he replied for me to mind my own business. But Drake sent Roland Jones to ride between your mob and Ormiston’s, to warn the drovers to come out. Roland, back me up here.”

  “Yes, sir. Hazelton is right,” Jones replied frankly. “I rode in, called off your two drovers, and yelled to Ormiston’s. But the other drover, Ward, did not start out in time.”

  “Ormiston, this report hardly agrees with what you said,” declared Dann. “If it is true, you are responsible for Ward’s death.”

  “What do I care for these lying mongers?” Ormiston stormed, his bold eyes popping. “I gave you my version. Believe it or not!”

  Roland Jones thrust forward a reddening visage. “See here, Mister Ormiston, don’t you call me a liar.”

  “Bah, you big lout! I called you a liar. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Men, the situation is bad enough without making it worse,” said Stanley Dann calmly. “I’ll not permit fighting. We’ve had a trying day, and we’re upset.”

  They all heeded the leader’s wisdom and patience, except Ormiston. Not improbably he saw opportunity to flay without risk to himself, or else at times his temper was ungovernable.

  “Dann, this is insufferable. These riff-raff drovers of yours haven’t a pound to their names. They can’t pay for the loss of my cattle. I demand that of you!”

  “Very well. I’ll be glad to make up for your loss. It was my gain. Your cattle saved mine,” boomed the leader, with a magnanimity and generosity that equaled the other’s selfish greed.

  Red Krehl let out a sibilant hiss. The drovers were simply stupified. If Hathaway did not look ashamed, he was endeavoring to hide it. The malignant Ormiston had not expected such a big-hearted restitution for his loss. His rolling eyes lighted avariciously. Sterl interrupted his reply to Dann. He spurred King into a jump to confront the drover.

  “Ormiston, you go to hell!” Sterl said with a stinging, cold contempt that a whole volley of epithets and statements could never have equaled. It was not a challenge, because its very effrontery precluded any belief in the drover’s manliness. Ormiston was not the kind of man to quail, but for once his ready retort failed. But his visage expressed all that revolved in his mind. With a gesture to his lieutenants, Bedford and Jack, he wheeled his horse and rode toward camp.

  “Pard, Dann’s gonna ask you to make a count of the daid cattle,” whispered Red. “An’ you lie like a trooper.”

  Sterl made no reply, although he received that suggestion most sympathetically. As they were about to turn off and ride down to the scene of the massacre, Sterl turned to Leslie.

  “Les, it’ll be a dirty bloody mess. Don’t go.”

  “Why not, Sterl?”

  “Why! Heavens, you’re a girl! Not a hard, callous, blood-spilling man used to death!”

  Leslie’s look, the darkening flash of her hazel eyes, prepared Sterl for a jolt. “Yeah?” she said, flippant as cracking ice. “Well, I’ve a hunch there’ll be another bloody death around here pronto …and I’ll be tickled pink.”

  Sterl gaped at her in silence, then turned to ride down the trampled slope. Leslie’s retort had not been a rebuff, but a woman’s passionate scorn, couched in Red Krehl’s picturesque vernacular. It was a repudiation of Sterl’s softer side. It verified his judgment of what this savage wild country, and the contact with men who hated, would do to women. And despite the shock of his intelligence and sensitiveness, he positively tingled with the girl’s taunt, hinting at, inciting Ormiston’s death by his hand.

  Stanley Dann rode along the hoof-torn slant of recently plowed earth, gazing down at the mashed bloody bodies of cattle, at the grotesque horned heads pointing to the sky, mouths open, tongues sticking out, staring dead eyes. In the center of that bridge of massed flesh, dead cattle were so thick that there was really no water around them.

  “Sterl, what is your count?” the leader asked tersely.

  “Boss, I’d rather not say,” replied Sterl with a deprecatory spread of his hands. “I’m only fair on the count, no better than Larry or Cedric. Red has always been the most accurate and reliable counter of stock we ever had on our ranges. In fact, while we were all trail driving, different trail bosses used to send for him after a flood or a stampede. And when they got to Dodge or Abilene, his tally was always close.”

  Thus, Sterl shifted the responsibility on his cowboy comrade. This time, wonderful to see, Red reveled in the prestige and trust.

  “Very well, Red. I’m sure you could have no higher recommendation. I’ll rely upon you. How many?”

  “Wal, boss, I’m shore surprised,” returned Red, strong-voiced and sincere. “I was afeared we’d lost a damn’ sight more’n we really have…. Thet water was shallow all along heah. I seen the steers pitchin’ up the mud. But they’re layin only about three deep heah. Yeah, sir! We’re darned lucky. I been countin’ all along, an’ allowin’ the same for thet little distance below us…thet is, the same count I made before we got to his heah mess, my tally is just three hundred an’ thirteen. Preecislee. An’ I’ll gamble on thet.”

  Sterl had not the slightest doubt in the world that a count of the dead cattle in sight would bear that estimate, and he knew there were layers and layers of cattle underneath.

  “Is it possible?” the drover boomed, elated. “I am poor in calculation. I thought we had a thousand head.”

  “No, indeed-ee, boss,” Red returned emphatically. “You take my tally. I’m kinda proud of my gift.”

  “Right-o. It’s settled. How fortunate we are, after all. I have been blessed with my faith in divine guidance. We shall go through. Back to camp. We will forget this tragedy.”

&nbs
p; Sterl had despaired of picking out one camp that excelled the last. But this first one on the Diamantina halted him to a long, silent survey. Leslie came bounding over to where Sterl and Red were unsaddling behind their big wagon.

  “Red, you terrible liar…you adorable cowboy…you friend in need,” she began eloquently, her eyes steadfast and her breast swelling. “May I kiss you?”

  Red regarded her dubiously, but he was alive to her youth and charm, as indeed Sterl was, too. “What for?” he asked.

  “Because you convinced Stanley Dann our misfortune was not so bad.”

  “Wal, if thet’s it, an’ pard Sterl won’t be sore, I reckon I can stand to have you kiss me,” he drawled with that rare smile which so seldom shone to beautify his lean red face.

  “Sterl! What has he got to do with my kisses?” she demanded, and then, with pink vying with the brown of her face, she put her hands on his shoulders and lifted her face to kiss Red warmly, if not right on his lips, then very closely.

  He regarded her with tremendous interest, as Leslie drew away, and a feeling of emotion, the depth of which amazed him. He was falling in love with her more all the time, a fact that troubled yet elated him all at once.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Guard duty was split that night, half the drovers on from dark till midnight, and the other half from then till sunrise. It was a needless precaution, as Sterl told Slyter, for the cattle spent the quietest night since leaving Downsville. They were almost too tired to graze.

  That morning Friday greeted Sterl with an enigmatic—“Black fella close up.”

  “Bad black fella, Friday?”

  “Might be some. Plenty black fella.”

  “How do you know?” Sterl queried curiously.

  “Lubra tellum.”

  From that Sterl knew the black had been in contact with aborigines. He told Slyter, who burst out vociferously that it was about time. “Except for once,” he went on, “we’ve had no trouble with aborigines. And we expected that to be the worst of our troubles.”

  “All same a-plenty bimeby,” put Friday with his air of mystery.

  “Aw, what the hell do we care?” Red drawled, behind a puff of smoke. “We got wagonloads of shells. Mebbe we can use some.”

  “What’s the orders, Slyter?” asked Sterl.

  “Transport wagons over the river.”

  “Transport! Reckon you mean by thet cross the river, huh?”

  “That’s what I meant, Red.”

  “Wal, it’ll be one sweet job. Whereabouts?” Red asked.

  “Somewhat above where we droved the mob yesterday.”

  “Look aheah, boss. Thet’s an orful place. No ford a-tall. We oughta go up the river a ways. This is just a big pond. Shore as shootin’, this river ain’t runnin’. I’ll bet we could find shallow ford. Lemme ride up an’ see.”

  “Dann’s orders, Red. And he’s mad this morning.”

  “Mad? Good heavens! Thet’s somethin’ to celebrate. Fust time, or I’ll eat my sombrero. Gosh, I’m glad he’s human, ain’t you, Sterl?”

  “It is sort of gratifying. What’s the big boss mad about?”

  “I’m not certain, but I think it’s Ormiston. Anyway, he ordered his drovers to burn Ormiston’s brand on three hundred odd cattle, as soon as we get the wagons across today.”

  “Today? Haw! Haw! Gosh, you Australian trekkers air a cock-shore lot of gazabos. But I kinda like it, at thet. How to be cowboys.”

  “Slyter, does Dann really expect to get across today with this outfit?”

  “By noon, he says. Eric tried to argue with him, but to no avail.”

  “It’ll be the damnedest job you ever tackled.”

  “Boss,” chimed in Red, “it’ll take two whole days of orful work.”

  “With all our men and horses?” Slyter ejaculated, astonished. “Ridiculous!”

  “Wal, I reckon it is, at thet,” returned Red, and went his way.

  Nevertheless, Sterl had to admit that Stanley Dann’s enterprise and energy matched his optimism. He simply did not know. Perhaps, even if he had known, that could not have hindered him. By a half hour after sunrise he had all the wagons packed, ready to drive up to the place he had elected to ford. They soon started, with Slyter’s remuda following in charge of Larry and the cowboys. Dann, who drove the leading wagon, halted on the bank of the river some distance above where the stampede had crossed the day before. He sent for Sterl, who reached him, presently, patiently listening to Eric’s argument. Ormiston stood by, taciturn and brooding.

  “Hazelton,” boomed the leader. “This is the place we’re going to cross. Eric is against my judgment. Ormiston swears he’ll drove his mob back to this side. We have no time for argument. We cross here. Will you take charge?”

  “Yes, sir. But it is a hard job and can’t all be done today,” Sterl answered earnestly.

  “Very well. How do you propose to do it?”

  “It’s a pack job. Give me twenty riders. Five changes of horses. We’ll empty the wagons and drays. Each rider will pack over what he can carry safely and keep dry. Flour and food to go first. All goods to be crossed today, because there will be aborigines here by night. Wagons and drays to be lifted off and dragged across by ropes. Same with wheels. Two of Slyter’s wagons can be floated over, about half empty. I think that covers it, sir.”

  “That covers more than you think, Hazelton,” boomed the leader, his amber eyes glinting with warm light upon the cowboy. “Men, you all heard Hazelton. Take orders from him. Let’s unhitch and get at it!”

  “Dann, I want a word in edgewise,” demanded Ormiston.

  “Ashley, I heard you. No more. I forgot to tell you that I ordered your brand burned in three hundred odd of my cattle, as soon as we cross.”

  Ormiston had no reply for that. But his surprise knew no bounds. It was Sterl’s opinion that Stanley Dann had about reached the end of his rope with this drover. No doubt the last straw was his daughter’s attachment. But even that would break eventually. Sterl’s regard for the big Australian added another cubit to its stature.

  Red had already made for Roland’s wagon and dismounted there to begin unloading. Sterl joined him. Leslie was putting her pets in cages, much to their vociferous disgust.

  “Sterl, I’ve a hunch Stanley Dann will ride rough-shod over our friend Ormiston one of these days,” said the cowboy.

  “You haven’t a corner on all the hunches,” retorted Sterl. “I had that figured long ago. Beryl now is the last connecting link.”

  “Bet yore life, pard. An’ I’ll bust that.”

  “What ever are you two idiots talking about?” Leslie inquired, bobbing up from her tasks.

  “Idiots? That’s OK for Red, but not for me, lady…. I’m the big boss today.”

  “Really? Oh, that’s dinkum. But not my boss.”

  “Yes, yours. For today, anyhow. And I’ll bet that’ll be enough. Red, go over to Beryl and tell her I sent you to pack her and her treasures across the river. Savvy?”

  “Dog-gone yore pictoors!” Red exclaimed rapturously. “I never thought of thet. Watch me!” And he strode away to find the girl.

  “Les, are your things all packed?” asked Sterl.

  “Yes. Can I help, Sterl?”

  “Help? Say, I’ll work you to a frazzle. Rollie, let you and Larry and me pack all Slyter’s load. We’ll leave the bottom layer in, and float the wagon bed over. Unload now, while I go get the drovers started on the flour.”

  Sterl encountered Red. Never had he seen that cowboy in such a transport. “A-huh. I see. Must have worked dinkum, as Les says.”

  “Pard, bless yore heart, Beryl’s jest about eatin’ out of my hand,” Red whispered huskily. “She’d been cryin’. I reckon her dad must have hopped her. What do you think she said? Wal, she said…‘Sterl is a big help to Dad. He’d be a good sort, if he wasn’t hipped over thet chestnut-haired kid!’ Can you beat it, pard? Hipped on Leslie! Beryl wanted to know how I’d get her across, an’ I said I’d pa
ck her in my arms, if she was afraid to ride. She said thet would be nice, but it would make her look a little coward, which she swore she was. An’ she said she’d ride, if I came along close to her. I reckon I’ll take her and Missus Dann together.”

  “Right-o. I’ll send Friday across to watch the stuff.”

  In short order Sterl had twenty riders, not including Leslie and himself, swimming their horses across the river with packs in front, and on their shoulders. Leslie carried a precious bundle that she would not let Sterl touch. Mrs. Slyter elected to attend to a number of tasks while waiting for her husband to remember she also had to cross. Friday waited for Sterl, and, wading in, he grasped King’s long tail and held on, to be dragged over. From bank to bank it took fresh horses ten minutes to make the crossing. On the return Sterl met Ormiston and Hathaway in midstream, and farther on, the Danns. All had become infected with Stanley’s zeal and the novelty of the crossing.

  It required twenty trips for each rider to unload Slyter’s wagon to where it would be safe to ferry it across. Then ten men lifted the wagon bed off the wheels and carried it down to the river and set it in the water. It floated. It was a boat. It did not leak. With the use of long ropes and a team of horses on the far bank the start was made. Sterl swam King on one side, and Larry his horse on the other. There was no mishap. The heavy wheels, which went under, gave a good deal more trouble. But they were soon across, carried up the bank to where the wagonload had been left under some spread trees. In a few more moments the wagon was set up and reloaded. Leslie was as happy as her birds, and they squawked their glee.

  “You were fine, kid,” complimented Sterl. “That’ll do for you. This hot sun will dry you pronto.”

  “But the water felt so nice and cool. I’m good for twenty more trips. But I’ll rest Lady Jane.”

  “We’ll see, later. Reckon King has done enough. One more trip. I’ll fetch Duke over, or Sorrel.”

  “Plenty smokes, boss,” Friday said, who sat in the shade, whittling on a new boomerang. Sterl saw them far off on the horizon.