"Saddle that horse!" he shouted. Scandalous bobbed inside.
Power began to call out for O'Neill. The man came out of the doorway of his hut. With common consent they ran towards each other. "Gregory is here. The child is drowned!" The two men began to run faster and towards the stable. "We might be in time. I am going now."
Scandalous was coming out of the stable door with the black horse. It threw its head this way and that, snorting loudly. Scandalous, very full of respect, nursed his corns. Power took the reins. O'Neill was running for a saddle.
"Scandalous, listen to me. The river has come down at Pelican Pool. There's been an accident. Gregory's girl may be drowned. I'm going there now. Send Jackie after the buggy horses. You must bring the buggy as fast as you can. Bring anything useful. Bring some rope. Bring blankets. Bring whisky. Find Jackie now. Jackie!"
He gathered the reins in one hand and put the other on the saddle. The wind arrived and blew his oilskin into the air. The black horse sent a blast from its nostrils and reared high; but as it came to ground he was gaining the saddle. He picked up the stirrups and drew the reins together. The wind was in his face. Far away, but loud, sounded the roar of the river. The beast beneath him reefed at the reins. The small paddock was covered in a score of bounds. He found he must use both hands to check the animal. Pools of water splashed under them and the mud sucked at its hoofs. Clods of earth leapt upon his back. The gate demanded a halt. He pushed open the gate with his foot.
The Pool was distant only a few miles; but travelling was so bad he dared not force the pace. He left the gate wide open, and turned towards the river. He took the reins in both hands. He bent his head a little. A stream of lightning flooded the sky. A rush of wind hit him a buffet in the face. The day began to darken. He felt the animal's mouth with firm hands. It answered the signal.
It plunged away, leaning hard on his hands. It was the most powerful beast he rode, yet he hesitated to give it head. He knew the spur must be used before the end of the journey. The country was a bog. Sheets of shallow water covered the plain. It was a struggle to win a foot of the rough ground. They rode for a spill. Every yard of travelling splashed him to the top of his head. On the higher ground, uncovered by the water, clouts of mud struck him behind.
The day had turned black. Lightning poured out of the clouds. Thunder stamped upon the sky until it trembled. Here and here a starved sapling stood up in the water. There and there a broken tuft of spinifex lifted up its sodden spikes. He looked once over his shoulder to see O'Neill labouring half-a-mile behind. A second rush of wind, fiercer than the first, beat him in the face. The new storm was about to break.