Billabong Adventurers by Mary Grant Bruce

Author:Mary Grant Bruce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: juvenile, fiction, Australia
Publisher: Distributed Proofreaders Canada
Published: 1927-11-15T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER X

WHAT THEY FOUND

“Coo-ee! Coo-ee-ee!”

The long cry wailed out into the dark. Wally had climbed to the top of the Split Rock, and there stood while he sent out shout after shout, listening with throbbing heart after each, hoping to hear an answering call. But none came.

The old pony whinnied distressfully below: she knew that she had come to her journey’s end, and it puzzled and annoyed her that she was not unsaddled and turned out. Wally slid down to the ground and went over to her, speaking gently as he let her go. He carried the flour and fish into the cave, and, coming out again, began swiftly to kindle a fire. There was plenty of wood ready: he gave inward thanks that he had cut a good supply. As he worked, with quick, deft movements, he reasoned with himself.

“There’s no need to be afraid—no need at all. . . . She’s got the gun, and she can use it better than most people. . . . If you were asked what girl could look after herself if she got bushed you’d say Norah, every time. . . . There’s no one but ourselves on the plateau—there couldn’t be: we’d have seen some signs of life if there had been any chance of other people. . . . I’m not going to be such a fool as to worry: she’d be the first to laugh at me if she found that I’d been nervous, when she turns up. . . . She’s safe to be back any minute: even if she has lost the direction of the camp in the darkness, she’ll see the fire and come straight in. I’ll hear her coo-ee presently.”

He piled wood on the fire, so that a blaze shot up six feet high; and leaving more fuel in readiness, climbed the Split Rock again and shouted until his throat was dry. Not a sound came. Then he fell silent, struck with the sudden idea that his shouts might prevent him hearing her voice, or even a gun-shot: and he sat down on the rock, lit his pipe, and smoked in silence, listening—listening. The stars came out, and the darkness thickened over the lonely land. He tried to picture where Norah might be; gripping the stem of his pipe savagely, as grim pictures floated before his eyes. Hurt, perhaps; lying at the bottom of one of those beastly rocks with a sprained ankle, or even a broken leg: the gun out of her reach, the distance from camp too great to bridge with her calling for him. He could not bear the thought that she would be calling, longing for an answer, and finding none. At the thought he sprang to his feet and sent long shouts ringing again into the night. But there was no reply. He abused himself again for being a fool to be afraid: dragged up a score of arguments to prove that he need not fear. Yet always at the

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