Low’s Creek runs through one of Nature’s perfect amphitheatres and finds its outlet at the Poort. If that were blocked, there would be a lake many hundred feet deep; but as it is not blocked, there is only a very clear, sparkling stream rippling over stony bottoms, or swirling under the overhanging thorns and fig-trees—the one constant babbler on such nights as this. The road through this valley is not over-good at the best of times, and it is something worse than bad on a really dark night—which was exactly what the driver of the spider-and-four thought as he pulled up with his near fore-wheel foul of a dead tree-stump. There was no damage done, for the horses were pleased to take the sudden check as an excuse, if not indeed a hint, to stop; and when by the light of matches the size of the obstacle was determined, and means were found to free the wheel, the driver said, “Come!” and the horses toiled on again up the hill towards the Neck. Every now and then, as they climbed slowly up, the ladies—there were two ladies in the spider—would point out the camp-fires of the prospectors at various heights and distances on the tops or slopes of the surrounding hills, and their companion would tell them which was French Bob’s, and which the Cascade, and point out, high and far, the famous Kimberley Imperial; and the Hottentot driver would peer out in front, silently intent upon the road.
Toiling, swaying, and straining, they at last reached the Neck, and gave the horses a blow. Behind them, or rather below them, black as the bottomless pit, lay the valley out of which they had risen. In front lay the broader, shallower, furrowed basin, through which the road winds, cross-cut by Honeybird and Fig-tree Creeks; and beyond Avoca, where the waters meet, they could see, through the gap of the Queen’s River Poort, the lightning playing in the distance—silent, clear, and not too vivid.
Down the easy slope the horses trotted out freely, swinging their heads and snorting as the faint, cool breeze, the sure precursor of the storm, fanned and freshened them. On they went gaily for a couple of miles till the deep, dry donga was reached, where the road dips down suddenly into a black, murky, impenetrable darkness. Above, the trees on either side of the high banks intertwine their branches; beneath, the soft dead leaves lie upon a sandy bottom, and the road is flanked by jungle, pure and simple. It is like a tunnel. It is not possible to leave it except at the ends.
The driver gave the leaders their heads, and trusted to their knowing that he couldn’t see, whilst they might. The heavy grating of the brake, hard pressed, sounded loud on the night air as the leaders disappeared into the dark trough. Down went the trap and horses with a diver’s plunge at first, and then more steadily and slowly they neared the bottom; but before it was reached, the leaders shied violently to the off, the spider swung down the slope, slid a little, poised for a moment on two wheels, and turned slowly over on its side on the bed of leaves and sand. The horses, with their heads jammed in the bush, were effectually stopped.
The ladies did not scream!
It seems wrong—unnatural; but they did not. Urgent need and sudden danger, as they overwhelm and stupefy some, so do they brace and brighten others; and when one of the horses whinnied in a friendly way, it seemed odd that it should be a girl’s voice that exclaimed quickly:
“Listen! they’re not frightened. It must be another horse!”
“Are you hurt?” “Where are you?” and, “Are you all right?” were exchanged in the darkness; and then someone struck a match, and, making a dark lantern of his hat, threw the light on the late occupants of the spider.
The girls were dusty, pale, and frightened, and the men looked anxious. The Hottentot driver was swearing to himself in a discontented undertone, and endeavouring concurrently to loosen the wheelers’ harness.
“I am the culprit,” said the man with the light. “I can only say I am very delighted that no one is hurt, and awfully sorry that I gave you such a fright. I’m sure I never meant it. I did not know there was a soul within miles until the sound of your brake frightened my horse into backing into the bush here. The brute wouldn’t budge, so I sat still, hoping that you would pass without seeing me.”