Mates at Billabong

by Mary Grant Bruce

After that for a long time they did not speak. Grim fear was knocking at both their hearts, for with the return of the black horse without his rider, their worst dread was practically confirmed. It was fairly certain that Mr. Linton was helpless, somewhere in the bush, and that meant that he had been so for nearly two days, since it was almost that time since he had ridden away from Killybeg.

Two days! They had been days of steady, relentless heat, untempered by any breeze—when the cattle had sought the shade of the gum trees, and the dogs about the homestead had crept close in under the tree lucernes, with open mouths and tongues lolling. The men working on the run had left their tasks often to go down to the creek or the river for a drink; in the house, closely shuttered windows and lowered blinds on the verandahs had only served to make the heat bearable. And he had been out in it, somewhere, helpless, and perhaps in pain; with nothing to ease for him the hot hours or to save him from the chill of a Victorian night, which, even in midsummer, may be sharply cold before the dawn. The thought gnawed at his children's hearts.

They passed through the Billabong boundary and out into the rough country beyond, sharply undulating until it rose into the ranges David Linton had crossed on his way to and from Killybeg. They had been fairly certain that he had come through them safely on his way home, and the thought had been a comfort—for to seek a man in those hills was a hopeless task. But suddenly a sick fear came over Norah.

"Jim," she said, "we don't know where Monarch got rid of Dad, of course?"

"No; but I expect it was near where they picked up his tracks."

"You don't think it might have been in the ranges?"

Jim looked suddenly aghast; but his face cleared.

"No," he said, decidedly; "I don't. That place where Monarch had been playing up shows Dad must have been on him—a horse alone doesn't go to market as he seems to have done there. I guess you can put that notion out of your head, mate." He smiled at Norah, who answered him with a grateful look.

Five miles from the boundary they came upon the tracks—to see them gave Norah a queer sense of comfort, since in a way they brought her in touch with Dad. Then they separated, beating into the scrub that hemmed them round everywhere, except when low, stony hills rose naked out of the green undergrowth.

"We must shout to each other every few minutes to make sure we're not getting too far apart," Jim said. "Of course, it's not so risky when you're riding—if you gave old Sirdar his head anywhere I know he'd take you home. Still, you don't gain anything by going far apart. A systematic search is what's necessary in a place like this, where you might ride half a dozen yards from him and not see him. Keep Tait with you, Norah."