cattle drives, trek you call them. After a stampede or a flood or a terrible storm, things that are bound to happen to us, cattle can never be driven separately again."
"That I do not believe."
"Yeah? All right," snapped Sterl, "what you believe doesn't count so damn much on this trek!"
Ormiston gazed away across the purple distance, his square jaw set, his eyes smoldering, his mien one of relentless opposition.
"Our differences are not the important issue now," he said finally. "That is this danger of blacks." And without looking at his partners he stalked away.
"Slyter, we'll put double guards on watch tonight. Merge your cattle with my mob," ordered Dann.
Before dusk fell this order had been carried out. Ormiston's mob, including Woolcott's and Hathaway's grazed across the stream bed a mile distant.
Supper at Slyter's camp was late that night, and Red Krehl the last rider to come in. He sat cross-legged between Leslie and Sterl. His dry, droll humor was lacking. It gave Sterl concern, but Leslie betrayed no sign that she noticed it. However, after supper, she teased him about Beryl.
"Les, you're a cold, fishy, soulless girl, no good atall," finally retaliated Red.
"Fishy? I don't know about that. Sterl, should I box his ears?"
"Well, fishy is okay if he means angelfish."
"Red, do you mean I'm an angelfish?"
"I should snicker I don't. Back in Texas there's a little catfish. And can he sting?"
"Red, I'd rather have you in a fighting mood. Three times before this you've been the way you are tonight--and something has happened.
"Wal... Ormiston ordered me out of his camp just before I rode in heah."
"What for?" asked Sterl, sharply.
"I ain't shore, Beryl has been kinda sweet to me lately, in front of Ormiston. It ain't foolin' me none. But it's got him. Another thing. Her Dad makes no bones about likin'. me. Ormiston hates thet. I reckon he sees I'm someone to worry about."
"You are, Red. But I've a hunch your attention to Beryl has kept you from getting a line on Ormiston."
"Mebbe it has. All the same, shore as you're knee-high to a grasshopper, Beryl will give him away yet, or let out somethin' thet I can savvy."
"Is Beryl in love with him?" asked Sterl.
"Hell, yes," replied Red, gloomily.
"Les, what do you think?"
"Hell, yes," repeated Leslie, imitating Red's laconic disgust. "Beryl has had a lot of love affairs. But this one is worse."
"You're both wrong," rejoined Sterl. "Beryl is fascinated by a no-good, snaky man. She's a natural-born flirt. But I think she has depth. Wait till she's had real hell!"
Friday loomed out of the shadow. He carried his wommera and bundle of long spears. "Plenty black fella close up. Corroboree!"
"Listen!" cried Leslie.
On the instant a wild dog howled. It seemed a mournful and monstrous sound, accentuating the white-starred, melancholy night. Then a low, weird chanting of many savage voices, almost drowned by the native dogs baying the dingoes, rose high on the still air into a piercing wail, to die away.
"Bimeby plenty black fella. Spear cattle--steal ebrytink," volunteered Friday.
"Will these black men try to kill us?" queried Sterl.
"Might be, bimeby. Watchum close."
Slyter came to the fire, holding up a hand for silence. The howling, the barking, the chanting, transcended any wild sound Sterl had ever heard. The staccato concatenated barks of coyotes, the lonely mourn of bloodthirsty wolves, the roo-roo-rooooo of mating buffalo, the stamping, yelling war dance of the Indians--were hardly to be compared to this Australian bushland chant. Sterl entertained a queer thought that the incalculable difference might be cannibalism.
"Cowboys, how does that strike you?" asked Slyter, grimly. "Daughter, would you like to be home again? Mum has her hands clapped over her ears."
The girl gave him a wan, brave smile. "No. We're on the trek. We'll fight."
"Righto!" ejaculated Slyter. "Les, you have a rifle. If you see a black man spear a horse--kill him!"
It struck Sterl
"That I do not believe."
"Yeah? All right," snapped Sterl, "what you believe doesn't count so damn much on this trek!"
Ormiston gazed away across the purple distance, his square jaw set, his eyes smoldering, his mien one of relentless opposition.
"Our differences are not the important issue now," he said finally. "That is this danger of blacks." And without looking at his partners he stalked away.
"Slyter, we'll put double guards on watch tonight. Merge your cattle with my mob," ordered Dann.
Before dusk fell this order had been carried out. Ormiston's mob, including Woolcott's and Hathaway's grazed across the stream bed a mile distant.
Supper at Slyter's camp was late that night, and Red Krehl the last rider to come in. He sat cross-legged between Leslie and Sterl. His dry, droll humor was lacking. It gave Sterl concern, but Leslie betrayed no sign that she noticed it. However, after supper, she teased him about Beryl.
"Les, you're a cold, fishy, soulless girl, no good atall," finally retaliated Red.
"Fishy? I don't know about that. Sterl, should I box his ears?"
"Well, fishy is okay if he means angelfish."
"Red, do you mean I'm an angelfish?"
"I should snicker I don't. Back in Texas there's a little catfish. And can he sting?"
"Red, I'd rather have you in a fighting mood. Three times before this you've been the way you are tonight--and something has happened.
"Wal... Ormiston ordered me out of his camp just before I rode in heah."
"What for?" asked Sterl, sharply.
"I ain't shore, Beryl has been kinda sweet to me lately, in front of Ormiston. It ain't foolin' me none. But it's got him. Another thing. Her Dad makes no bones about likin'. me. Ormiston hates thet. I reckon he sees I'm someone to worry about."
"You are, Red. But I've a hunch your attention to Beryl has kept you from getting a line on Ormiston."
"Mebbe it has. All the same, shore as you're knee-high to a grasshopper, Beryl will give him away yet, or let out somethin' thet I can savvy."
"Is Beryl in love with him?" asked Sterl.
"Hell, yes," replied Red, gloomily.
"Les, what do you think?"
"Hell, yes," repeated Leslie, imitating Red's laconic disgust. "Beryl has had a lot of love affairs. But this one is worse."
"You're both wrong," rejoined Sterl. "Beryl is fascinated by a no-good, snaky man. She's a natural-born flirt. But I think she has depth. Wait till she's had real hell!"
Friday loomed out of the shadow. He carried his wommera and bundle of long spears. "Plenty black fella close up. Corroboree!"
"Listen!" cried Leslie.
On the instant a wild dog howled. It seemed a mournful and monstrous sound, accentuating the white-starred, melancholy night. Then a low, weird chanting of many savage voices, almost drowned by the native dogs baying the dingoes, rose high on the still air into a piercing wail, to die away.
"Bimeby plenty black fella. Spear cattle--steal ebrytink," volunteered Friday.
"Will these black men try to kill us?" queried Sterl.
"Might be, bimeby. Watchum close."
Slyter came to the fire, holding up a hand for silence. The howling, the barking, the chanting, transcended any wild sound Sterl had ever heard. The staccato concatenated barks of coyotes, the lonely mourn of bloodthirsty wolves, the roo-roo-rooooo of mating buffalo, the stamping, yelling war dance of the Indians--were hardly to be compared to this Australian bushland chant. Sterl entertained a queer thought that the incalculable difference might be cannibalism.
"Cowboys, how does that strike you?" asked Slyter, grimly. "Daughter, would you like to be home again? Mum has her hands clapped over her ears."
The girl gave him a wan, brave smile. "No. We're on the trek. We'll fight."
"Righto!" ejaculated Slyter. "Les, you have a rifle. If you see a black man spear a horse--kill him!"
It struck Sterl
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