The Barrakee Mystery

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Pool

WHEN THE squatter remarked to Kate Flinders that he thought Ralph was thinking out some problem he was nearer to the truth than he suspected. Exactly what the problem was the young man did not know, nor did he realize even that he was working out a problem. When he told his foster-parents that he would prefer to become an ordinary station hand to reaching the summit of Church or State service, he was voicing what was really the mysterious lure of the bush for those born in it, as well as for many born out of it.

What seafarer, compelled by old age to live always ashore, does not long for the sea, the smell of the sea, the moods of the sea? The scents, the moods, the changing yet eternal aspect of the bush of Central and outer Central Australia had become necessary, impelling, to Ralph Thornton during his last college term. Unconsciously throughout the long years of his childhood the bush had got into his blood, calling with increasing insistence in these latter years that were shaping his manhood.

Having drunk afternoon tea in company with the Little Lady and discussed Clair’s impending arrest, the young man procured bathers and towels and walked up the river to a deep hole where the water was crystal clear. On that late afternoon the air, too, was crystal clear, and warm despite the lateness of the autumn. He felt an unaccountable gladness that he was there walking beneath the grand old gums bordering the dear old Darling, which now had ceased to run. The bed of the river was quite dry along the stretches between the holes at the bends, and in the hole at the station Ralph saw Frank Dugdale fishing. He was glad Dugdale did not wish to accompany him.

Ralph’s bathing-pool lay half a mile up from the blacks’ camp, a twelve-foot hole in the bed of the river, with a diameter of twenty feet or so; and at last the young man stood in his bathers on the brink, looking down in a fascinated manner at the white sand bottom showing in large patches between the gnarled snake-like limbs of sunken tree-snags.

One particularly large patch of clear ground lay right below him, and whilst watching he saw the graceful form of a superb codfish glide slowly across it. It was a large fish, and the magnifying thickness of the water made it appear larger than it was. Ralph seated himself at the edge of the pool to watch it.

The young man had seen the fish at every visit. He knew precisely where that fish retreated when the water was disturbed either by his body or with stick or stone. It took refuge among some heavy snags lying to one rocky side of the pool. The entrance of the refuge was plainly visible, and it was an entrance which Ralph believed could be closed by removing a short length of snag lying across another and heaping up several other snags.

If the entrance to the fish’s lair could be closed against the fish, it was his intention to take with him a black fellow’s shortened throwing-spear and give battle to the cod. For the fish was as quick as lightning in action, as wild as the wildest dingo, and the most exciting moments so far in the young man’s life had been the taming of wild things.

When again he moved, the fish was immediately below him. Ralph rose with that stealthy slowness of movement which had characterized his actions when he had caught and saddled the outlaw horse-the stealthy slowness which appears to hypnotize the creatures of the wild-the kind of movement which very few civilized white men had retained, and which is to be seen in perfection among uncivilized North American Indians.

Drawing back from the edge of the pool, Ralph climbed the steep river-bank and reached the gum-tree that was leaning over the water. And there, taking his stand on one of the limbs thirty feet above the pool, the venturesome youth manoeuvred his position till he was right above the mass of snags which formed the fish’s lair or retreat.

There hewaited, judging the depth, ascertaining the correct springing kick the branch would give when he dived. Lithe, supple, and beautiful, his body showed darkly against the green foliage of the tree, like a statue of Adonis set high against a background of climbing vines.

The fish investigated a mussel-shell that closed abruptly and clung with amazing strength to a large slab of rock. A yabby or gilgie, a miniature crayfish, partly emerged from its hole, in which position it remained as if daring the fish to make a dash. A small school of fish swam languidly over the largest of the sand patches and braved the cod lying in the shadow by swimming closer at their peril. For the great fish was suddenly among them.

Ralph saw them but as silver sparks eddying and swirling about the green, flashing killer. It was then that his body swooped down to the pool and disappeared below its surface with hardly a splash. He and the cod arrived at the fish’s lair almost together, the cod about a second too late.

The boy beheld the fish back-water, as it were, with great swiftness. Looking up, he saw the agitated surface of the pool reflecting the trees and sky above in a shimmer of green and silver. He stood gripping one snag to keep himself down for a second or two, deciding which of the others to try to move to block the fish’s retreat. It was the short cross-length which must be taken out, and, giving it a tug, he found that its long submergence had covered it with fine slimy growths.

A swiftstoop, and he filled his hands with sand to make them grip. Then, bracing himself with one foot against the lower snag, he pulled with all his strength.

The cross snag gave way. The upper snags came to rest upon the lower. The entrance was sealed, the fish balked. Ralph bent his knees to give him the spring to the surface. He straightened them suddenly in the spring. But he did not rise. His right foot was caught between the lower and the next snag.

Atug, and his foot was still imprisoned. A greater effort brought no release. A surge of terror swept over his mind, such terror as not even nightmare had brought within his experience. Realization that he was caught, doomed to death, seemed to stun him as effectually as a blow to the head. Then quite suddenly his stunned sensation gave place to a great calmness, during which his mind raced as never had it raced before. Strangely, however, his mind was already becoming detached from his body, as a separate and independent entity.

“It is the finish,” cried the struggling entity.“God! it’s the end. Dug is miles away and will give no help. Oh, Mother, how grieved you will be! They’ll come searching presently, Father and Dug, and some of the men. They’ll look down and see my white body, still and limp, see my wide mouth and staring eyes. Oh! I can’t-I can’t hold out much longer. I must open my mouth-I must. If only I had a chance!”

Then came to him a greater terror than the last-the final terror of dissolution, instinctive in us all. It caused Ralph’s thoughts to become chaotic, his limbs to thrash in one supreme struggle. He heard the air bubbles rising from his mouth, heard the gurgling cry for help those bubbles contained. His sight failed and revived almost the next moment. The pain of his clenched jaws became an intolerable agony whilst the conflict between the mental and the physical worlds drew to a close.

And when the inevitable moment came-when at the very climax of horror, Ralph’s mouth opened wide-it was to draw into his red-hot lungs clean, beautiful air.

So this was death! The pain had gone, as had gone the roaring in his ears. Death was not so terrible after all. In fact, it was delightfully restful. A soft, yielding something supported his neck and shoulders. And how strange it was that in this dark, restful world a crow would mournfully caw-caw! And then the young man’s eyes were open, and he was looking up into other eyes-big black eyes filled with wistfulness, a mistiness of unshed tears. And when his gaze became properly focused he saw that he was looking into the lovely face of Nellie Wanting, the aboriginal girl.

“Stay still, Misther Ralph,” she implored softly. “Bime-by your strength come, and we get out.”

She was standing on a narrow ledge of rock, the water reaching her breasts. She held Ralph closely against her, his head supported by her shoulder, his neck encircled by her arm. Her free hand was clutched against the rim of the pool for support.

When the young man realized that he was alive-realized that the air was flooding his lungs-he began to laugh for very joy. Returning strength surged through his body, the confident strength of youth. His voice trembled, however.

“Let me go, Nellie. I’m all right now,” he said.

But, though she loosened her clasp of him, she did not entirely let him go; wherein she was wise, for it required effort on Ralph’s part to clamber out upon the dry rim of the pool, where reaction robbed him of strength once more, and he was violently sick.

The sickness passed quickly, however, and, raising his head, he forced a smile at the anxious girl sitting in her drenched clothes beside him. Then giddiness overcame him, and when he lay down and closed his eyes the girl reached over, and, taking up the towels, covered him with them.

“Lie still!” she whispered. Her voice was rich and sibilant, soft and caressing. Moving her body, she came to sit closer to him, supportingherself by one arm whilst leaning over him.

“How did you get me out?” he murmured.

“I saw you go down,” she explained. “Me been down there, too. Those tree-snags, they like dingo-traps. And when you didn’t come back I run much. I look down and see. See you caught in trap.” She shivered as with chill, but it was with the vivid memory of that moment. “You struggle,” she went on simply. “No good. So I went down to free you. Oh, Mister Ralph! Iwere such frightened. I-I thought you died-dead.”

The young man again looked up at her. He made no effort to rise, though he was feeling much better. He experienced a growing sense of wonder, akin to amazement, for he saw quite suddenly how beautiful she was, how beautiful the outlines of her body where the damp cheap blouse clung to it. With increasing wonder he noted the bigness of her eyes, widely opened by memory of his peril. Yes, he realized that her terror was on his account andnot on her own. He saw, at first with bewilderment, and then with rapidly-growing clearness, that her eyes were misty, brimming with tears, happy tears, and it seemed that this post-drowning life was beautifully different from what it had been. Slowly he raised his hand and touched her cheek, on which glinted a single tear.

And she, seeing the growing glory on his face, bent forward swiftly and kissed him on the mouth.

That kiss! Electric fire rushed through his body and surged about his brain. The recent experience was forgotten, the whole memory was dead, it was the very first moment of real life. When she quickly drew away from him, momentary fear and shyness pictured in her face, he raised himself and sat in such a way that their heads were close together, and almost face to face.

“Nellie, what-what has happened?” he whispered.

For a long moment she stared at him without answering. Then softly, so softly that her voice sounded like a zephyr among tree-leaves, she said:

“Oh, Misther Ralph, don’t you know?”

He knew! Instinct told him. It was quite unnecessary for anyone to tell him that she lovedhim, and that he loved her-had loved her always.

He took her face between his hands, and slowly, very slowly, drew her near, nearer, till his lips were pressed fiercely against hers, returning, with man’s awakened passion, her kiss.

Everything was forgotten but the amazing glory of that moment, a glory that whilst he lived would never cease to shine. He forgot himself, who and what he was-forgot the Little Lady, so proud and happy in him-forgot the beautiful Darling of the Darling whom he was to wed.

And on the bank of the river above them, his face white with anger, one hand savagely bitten on by his teeth, the other clenched about a fishing-line, there stood Frank Dugdale.