CHAPTER X.
A VOICE FROM THE SCRUB.
There could be no doubt about it, and every one stared blanklyafter the beautiful big creature as it passed on, round the housetowards its own stable.
"What can have happened?" Mrs. Orban exclaimed. "Bob is such asplendid rider."
"Oh, he can't have been thrown, of course," Eustace said, with anemphasis meant to impress Aunt Dorothy.
"Perhaps it's black-fellows," said Nesta shakily.
"Stupid," said Eustace sharply, "Bob can shoot straighter than anyone I know."
"Instead of wrangling over possibilities, we ought to be doingsomething," said Mrs. Orban. "Eustace, you had better fetch thathorse and ride down to father at once. Perhaps he will guess whatit means."
Eustace was off like an arrow from a bow, and presently appearedbelow the veranda, sitting erect and fearless, riding the returnedhorse.
He looked such a scrap perched up there that Miss Chase had asudden qualm as to his safety.
"Will he be all right going down alone?" she asked.
"All right?" questioned Mrs. Orban, looking puzzled.
"Yes; I mean, isn't it rather a risk for him?"
"Oh goody, no!" Nesta answered with a laugh. "Why, Eustace can rideanything; he has ridden ever since he was six."
"Father will want to see the horse," Mrs. Orban said. "Perhaps ithas only run away from the Highlands before it was stabled. But Ican't think what it has been doing in the interval, or why Bob hasnot sent over to inquire. He ought to have got home by nine atlatest."
Mr. Orban was as puzzled as every one else when he saw the horse.He examined it carefully.
"Well, so far as I can see, Bolter has not been running away," hesaid thoughtfully. "He has not been overheated, and he is as freshas paint. I should say he has had some quiet hours of grazing. Butwhere Bob is remains a mystery. I must ride over to the Highlandsat once and find out if he is there."
"O father, can I come too?" Eustace cried eagerly. "I could rideBolter, and I shall never be happy till I know Bob is all right."
Mr. Orban eyed the boy kindly.
"Yes, you can come," he said. "It will scare Mrs. Cochrane lessperhaps, and look more casual if I have you with me."
Away they went at a quick trot along the rough road leading to thewood known as Palm Tree Scrub. Eustace knew every inch of the way,and generally loved to get into the cool and shade under thefeathery palms. But to-day he glanced left and right, looking forhe knew not what with sickening anxiety.
The road, nothing but a cart-track, skirted a mangrove swampawhile.
"He can't have got in there," said Eustace, with a nod towards thethickly growing stems of ti-trees rearing up from long coarsegrass.
There was a mysterious darkness in the depths of the woods thatsomehow chilled the boy to-day.
"What should he get into a rank place like that for?" said Mr.Orban bracingly.
At the same time he whipped up his horse and hurried forward. Hewas regretting having brought Eustace. A mangrove swamp is anunhealthy spot at the best of times, productive of a great deal ofmalarial fever; it would be nightfall, he reflected, before theygot back, and the mist would be rising.
Away and away out into the open the pair galloped, and came to theside of the creek--the bend in the river through which the horseshad to wade. The water was low just now. There were times when suchfloods roared over this spot that the man carrying the mails hadbeen known to be swept away, horse and all, and was never heard ofagain.
At the other side the horses plunged into grass as high as theirflanks--a flat, uninteresting tract of land, bare of trees exceptwhere here and there a single palm tree arose. But beyond that theground rose suddenly from the banks of this bend of the river. Onthe summit of a high bank, luxuriantly surrounded by tropicalfoliage of all sorts, was Bob Cochrane's home.
It was a relief to Mr. Orban to find only Mr. Cochrane on the lowerveranda. He was a short, broad, sandy-haired man with a roughappearance, and as kind a heart as could be found in the colony,which is saying a great deal.
"Good-evening, Cochrane," said Mr. Orban casually, as he reined inhis horse. "Is Bob at home?"
Eustace listened for the answer with a thumping heart, and he saw aslight look of surprise flit across Mr. Cochrane's face as hereplied slowly,--
"Bob? No. I thought he was over at your place. He hasn't turned uphere to-day."
"Well, he was with us," Mr. Orban said, trying hard to keep up thecareless tone, "but he started off this morning--I thought forhome."
"Not he," said Mr. Cochrane; "at least he hasn't arrived. Perhapshe had to come round by somewhere else--Gairloch or one of thoseplaces. Come in, won't you, and wait for him, if you want to seehim."
"Afraid I can't do that," Mr. Orban said, speaking low so that onlyMr. Cochrane, now by his horse's head, should hear. "Fact is, I'mrather worried. Bob's horse went lame, and he borrowed one of mine.He should have been here at about nine, but the horse--this oneEustace is on--appeared back at my place an hour ago."
Mr. Cochrane stared blankly.
"Without Bob?" he questioned in a dazed way.
"Yes. Don't say anything about it to your wife--it might frightenher unnecessarily," Mr. Orban said. "He may have gone round byGairloch, and the beast ran away from there. We can just say I cameover on business, and then you had better come right off with me tosee if Bob is all right."
"I'll do that," said the Scotsman, and hurried off to get hishorse.
"Now look here, Eustace," Mr. Orban said, "I'm going to leave youhere for to-night, whatever happens. Mother would not thank me forbringing you through that mangrove swamp and risking fever. Butyou'll have to keep a quiet tongue in your head and say nothingabout Bob's leaving our house to-day. If you say nothing, Mrs.Cochrane and Trix will only fancy he is staying with us."
"O father," Eustace said pleadingly, "need I stay really?"
The prospect frightened him, for he was terrified lest he shouldlet the cat out of the bag. Keeping a secret was not one of hisaccomplishments.
"Yes, my lad," was the answer, however; "there is to be no questionabout it, and you are to behave like a man. Anxiety is much worseto bear than any bodily hurt, and a man should protect a woman fromit as he would save her from being tortured. Do you understand?"
"Yes, father," Eustace said, with a sinking heart.
"It isn't a little thing to do," Mr. Orban went on; "it is one ofthe big things, for it means self-sacrifice. It is alwayscomforting to oneself to talk things out. You'll have plenty ofthings to say without mentioning Bob. Tell them about Aunt Dorothyand her queer mistakes--the boxes you have unpacked--Ah, Mrs.Cochrane," he broke off suddenly, looking up to a figure thatappeared on the upper veranda, "how do you do? I've just come overto steal your husband for a bit. I hope you won't mind."
Eustace was amazed at the change in his father's tone; it wasbrisk, cheery, and impossible to suspect.
"But won't you come in?" asked Mrs. Cochrane, who in appearance wassomething like a little brown robin. "You must be hot and tired."
"Not a bit," Mr. Orban said; "and I'm in such a hurry I must askyou to forgive the rudeness. I want you to do me a favour too, ifyou will. Keep Eustace the night. I never thought how late I mightbe going home when I brought him; I want to go back by Gairloch."
"Certainly, I'll keep the dear laddie with pleasure," was thecordial answer, and the kindly look that beamed on Eustacepositively hurt him. She looked so happy, and oh, what awful newswas there in store for her!
"I may even keep your husband all night," Mr. Orban added. "Youwon't be scared if he doesn't turn up in good time for bed?"
"Not I," said Mrs. Cochrane. "I know my dear belongings are alwayssafe with you."
Eustace could have cried at the words. "Safe!" and where was Bobwhom she pictured so safely at this very minute in the Orbans'house? Mr. Orban did not look up as he said,--
"Don't expect Bob either. Eustace will tell you all about what amerry household we ha
ve suddenly become. We've got a witch into it,as Bob calls her. Here comes Cochrane. I hope he won't want an hourto say farewell."
"Not I," said Mr. Cochrane bravely. "Orban has made his apologies,I suppose?"
He ran up the steps, said good-bye, and in a few minutes the twomen were gone, leaving Eustace to face a terrible ordeal.
He took his father's suggestion and talked much of Miss Chase. Itwas made easy for him by the kindly curiosity of both Mrs. Cochraneand Trixy.
Beatrix was a jolly girl, rather like Bob both in looks and ways.She was older for her age than Nesta, perhaps because she had nocompanions of her own standing to keep her back. Eustace and shealways got on well together, and to-night he was grateful to herfor being such a chatterbox. The story of Aunt Dorothy's lunaticsmade Mrs. Cochrane and Trix both laugh till the tears ran downtheir cheeks. It was harder to tell them about the evening before,for that was all so full of Bob.
It struck Mrs. Cochrane after a time that Eustace looked singularlypale, and that the boy was talking rather fast and excitedly,unlike his usual self.
"Do you know," she said, "I believe you are very tired, Eustace.What do you say to going to bed?"
"Oh, I should love it," he said, with such eagerness that Mrs.Cochrane was startled, and eyeing him critically she discovered hewas now crimson.
"I just hope he has not got a touch of the sun," was her thought.
But she said nothing of her fear.
Eustace was put into Bob's room, and everything he looked at in itmade him more miserable. But he was thankful to get away by himselfat last and give up the wretched pretence of good spirits. He felthe was getting to the end of his powers, that in another minute thetruth would tumble out in spite of him. All the time he was talkinghe was also listening--listening--listening for the sound of hoofsthat never came.
He went on listening long after he got into bed, for he could notsleep, he was so certain there must be bad news, as neither Mr.Cochrane nor his father returned.
He must have dozed fitfully through the night, but it seemed aterribly long one. Every time he opened his eyes he was wide awakein a minute to the remembrance of what had happened. When he awokeat last to find the sun rising, he could lie still no longer, hewas haunted by such restless thoughts. He dressed and wentdownstairs into the open air.
"Supposing Bob had gone off the track for some reason, and lost hisway," ran his thoughts. "Supposing he was wandering about seekingit all night up to this very minute! Supposing he had been waylaidand surrounded by black-fellows!--Sinkum Fung had declared theywere camping in the neighbourhood. No, Eustace would not think ofthat--one white man against a tribe of blacks: it was too terrible!And yet supposing he had been, and no one found out!" Thoughts aresometimes dreadfully uncontrollable things.
"I believe I will go for a ride," he said to himself. "I might justgo down to the creek--I won't cross it--but just as far as there,to see if they are in sight. I can do that easily, and be in tobreakfast."
He found a man near the stables whom he got to saddle Bolter, thenoff he started down the slope across the river, and away over theuninteresting stretch of flatness till he again reached the riverbank. There he paused, staring towards the mangrove swamp with thesame chilled feeling he had experienced the day before. It was theterrible dread that the depths of the woods might hold somethingghastly--Bob living, but in awful distress of mind or body; Bobdead!
There were no signs of his father or Mr. Cochrane; no sounds butthose of nature. They certainly could not have found Bob atGairloch. The only alternative seemed the scrub.
Suddenly Eustace threw back his head, and in a shrill treble gavevent to a prolonged Australian "coo-ee."
"If he is there," argued the boy, "of course he will answer. Howsilly of me not to think of that before."
He could hardly believe his ears for joy, but there was instantlyan answer--so faint that he only caught a bit of it; still he heardit.
In wild excitement he coo-eed again, his very loudest this time;and again came the reply, scarcely more distinct, and more like acry than a coo-ee.
"It comes from the scrub," thought Eustace. "He must be there, butawfully far off or ill, for that isn't like his voice. What shall Ido? I can't go back and fetch any one, because father said I wasnot to tell. I daren't wait till father comes, for fear I lose it.It might get fainter and fainter. Oh, I must do something when Bobis calling out for help! If I could find him, if--if I could savehim, it would be splendid!"
Just once again he sent out his piercing coo-ee, and this time theanswer was distinct enough for him to decide its exact position.Without another moment for reflection, he urged Bolter on, wadedthrough the river, and dashed helter-skelter towards the wood. Hethought nothing of the possibility of himself being lost, nothingof the danger of meeting black-fellows. He was going to Bob--thatwas the central idea. Bob was in danger and called for help. It wasthe fulfilment of the greatest wish of Eustace's life to serveBob.