Nearly half an hour passed before Nic resumed his place in the saddle; the horse broke into a canter at once, the dogs ran barking by his side, and, refreshed and clear of vision, it seemed now that the notch in the blue mountains was not quite so far away, while, in spite of the heat, the country on all sides was growing as beautiful as it had seemed at his early start.
On still, but no sign of the station. The ground had ceased to be so level, there was hardly any track, and their course was among clumps of trees, rocks, and rugged hillocks, and there were times when the view was cut off by their descent into some deep gully.
But his father had said that if he kept straight for the notch he would be sure to see the house—the only one; and no house was in view. He must be near it now: was it still in existence? or had some horrible catastrophe befallen it?
The heat was growing insufferable again and the giddiness returning: he could not go much farther. He had been trusting the horse too much: it had evidently brought him astray far down in that suffocating gully,—the growth was different. He was riding amongst ferns—ferns like those he saw at home, and ferns that spread green lacework fronds right overhead. He must be dreaming again and going to fall from his horse, which was ascending the rapid slope the farther side of the gully. They were soon at the top, and the breeze came pure and sweet again; and a wild cry of exultation burst from the boy’s parched throat, for, not a mile away, standing high upon the slope beyond another gully, there was a long, low, white house, with a cluster of wooden buildings near. Beyond it a rising ground was dotted with sheep; there were cattle, too, farther away, and, as in response to his cry, the dogs burst out into a loud barking, Nic pressed his horse’s sides, the spirited animal breaking into a swift gallop and racing on.
For there was no sign of fire or smoke: a glorious picture of a bright oasis in the great wilderness was before him, and his former fears were vain; for, yes—no—yes, out there in the clear air stood a group of watching figures, and the next moment the boy’s eyes grew dim—not so dim, though, that he was unable to see white handkerchiefs waving him a welcome—a welcome to his long-wished-for home.
Chapter Fourteen.
“Sweet, Sweet Home.”
Sour Sorrel wanted no reining in, but stopped short at the foot of the great hillock, down which two bonny-looking, sun-browned maidens had run, followed by a tall, grey, graceful-looking lady.