By Blow and Kiss

“It’s like some beast crawling on its prey,” said the boss, “or a snake writhing across the ground.”

“It’s not,” she cried indignantly. “It’s an army – an army advancing bravely with banners flung and spears glancing in the sun. The army of the relief, marching to battle the drought, and the dry spell, and the heat, and bring succour to the parched land. Can’t you see it? Look, there is one of the enemy’s citadels,” she pointed to a clod of dry earth that the waters were slowly creeping round. “It is falling – it gives – it is down – ” as the clod crumbled away “ – and the army rolls on.” And indeed if one watched the edge closely, and the little drops of water gathering and running in the tiny scratches of channels, and filling them, and gathering again and surrounding another morsel of earth or pebble, it was easy to picture in it the rushes of armed men into the trenches, and their gathering and sweeping round the squares of the enemy, and attacking them fiercely and riding over them. One might be inclined to cheer the victorious advance – until one lifted eyes and looked across the vast plain, and things fell back into their true proportion – a thread of inch-deep water draining slowly across a Sahara desert.

But Ess asked the boss to drive through it, and laughed like a child at the splash of the horses’ feet and the water running dripping off the wheels.

About noon the clouds banked up rapidly, and the rain commenced to fall – really to fall – straight and heavy and drenching, till the gutters spouted and little rivulets ran foaming down the garden walks. It drummed fiercely on the roof and swept roaring down on the foliage of the trees. It rained so for half an hour, and then slackened to a thin drizzle and stopped.

A couple of hours after a buggy splashed up to the gate, and Dolly Grey came squelching up the path. He was dripping but immensely cheerful, and he stood out in the verandah and waited for the boss, and gave him Scottie’s message that they had had a shower in the hills, and there was word from the township of the river being up further up country, and would he say if Scottie was to go on bringing the sheep down, or would he wait and hold them in the back pastures or the hills yet a little.

And the boss called Ess, who had walked to the end of the verandah when he came out to Dolly Grey, and asked her. “Tell me, Miss Lincoln – will we have more rain or not? Will I bring the sheep down or hold them? It’s all a toss-up whether it comes more rain or not, and you seem to be a good prophet.”

He was half laughing, but Ess was very grave, and answered him straight and unhesitatingly. “It’s going to rain, and rain, and rain. There, I’ve told you.”

The boss chuckled deep in his throat and turned to Dolly. “You hear,” he said. “Tell Mackellar that I have it on good authority that it is going to rain, and rain, and rain, so – hold the sheep meantime.” He turned to Ess. “Will you get him some tea, Miss Lincoln, and bring a little table out and have a cup with him? He won’t like to come in soaking like that, I suppose.”

“Mr. Sinclair,” she said suddenly, “I want to go back to the Ridge with him if you’ll let me. I was with them there all through the dry and the cruel heat and the rest, and I want to be with them in this – this glorious rain.”

“You’re so sure of more rain,” he said quizzically. “But, yes, of course you can go. I’ll be missing you, but if you’re a true prophet, I’ll be having my own women folk up to cheer me in my solitude again,” and he turned to the house with something more than the wet of the rain in his eyes.

She ran and packed her things while Dolly drank his tea, and was down again before he had finished. The boss had waited to see her off. “You’re getting a real out-backer,” he said. “Pack and ready for a twenty-mile drive as easy as a town girl goes down town to shop. Take my big waterproof with you. Happen you might get another shower. Is it easy crossing the billabong yet, Grey?”

“Quite easy, sir,” said Dolly. “Not up to the horses’ knees.”

“If the river keeps rising it’ll be deepening every hour,” said the boss. “Don’t waste time when you start, or it’ll be over the buggy floor.”

“I’ll push ’em at it,” said Dolly, cheerfully.

“Horses all right?” said the boss. “Fairly fit and strong?”

“Strong as steam engines,” said Dolly, confidently. “They’ve had a feed now, and they’ll rattle us back in no time.”

“Be off with you, then,” said the boss. “Tell Mackellar I’ll be over in a day or two. Good-bye, Miss Lincoln, and thank you for staying – and for the luck-bringer.”

“Good-bye,” she cried; “and the luck isn’t finished yet, you see,” and she waved her hand as Dolly pulled the pair round.

“Isn’t this rippin’, Miss Ess?” he said, as they pelted on at a sharp trot. “Listen to the wheels churnin’ through the mud, and the horses’ feet slop-sloppin’ in it. Great, isn’t it?”

“Fine,” she agreed enthusiastically, and then laughed. “It’s so funny to think this way about rain, Dolly. I’ve always been with people and in places where the rain was voted rather a bore. Spoilt the picnics, and boating, and so on, and made the streets messy, and greasy, and dirty. And now I’d just love to get down and splash through mud and water up to the ankles.”

“It surprised me at first when I came out here,” said Dolly. “I was down in the cities a spell at first, y’ know, and I wondered a good deal at the cheerful way men used to go about and smack each other on the back and say ‘Fifty points of rain at Bourke, old chap,’ or ‘The Paroo’s in flood – good business, eh,’ and that sort of thing. But I found, when I got here, that rain here means money, and money here means money in the cities by an’ by. And money makes the cheerfuls go round, y’ know.”

“I haven’t had time to think of the moneys,” she said. “It’s just the country, and the sheep, and – oh, everything.”

“That’s it,” said Dolly, smacking his whip. “It’s just everything. This shower will bring a bit of grass along, and if we get more, or the river floods over, as it’s like enough to do if these tales from the township are true, you’ll see the grass springin’ like one o’clock. And in a few weeks’ time we’ll be able to take a gallop over green turf and hear the horses’ feet swish through jolly long grass.”

“I wish it would hurry up and rain while we’re out here. They won’t let me outside I know if it comes a downpour later, and I do so want to feel it pouring on me and over me.”

“Here’s the billabong,” said Dolly, “and runnin’ strong too. Come up there, come up. So long since the brutes have seen water they’ve forgotten what it looks like,” he chuckled.

He drove in cautiously, and the horses advanced step by step, till the water rose almost to their girths, and a splash swilled across the buggy floor.

“Here I say, y’ know,” said Dolly, anxiously. “I’m afraid this is hardly good enough. We’ll have to try higher up.”

“Go on, go on,” cried Ess. “I’ll tuck my feet up. Let’s go through it.”

Dolly drove in deeper, till the water was swirling across the bottom of the buggy.

“No good,” he said, pulling the horses round. “I can’t take you swimmin’, you know. We’ll try higher up.”

They waded out and trotted along the edge of the water for a mile, and tried again, but this time very few steps took them still deeper. “’Igher up, ’igher up,” cried Dolly, pulling out again. “Bank, Bank, penny all th’ wye.” He plied the whip briskly. “It’ll be dark long before we’re in, as it is,” he said.

They tried again and again at several points, and at last Dolly said despairingly, “I’m afraid there’s nothing for it, Miss Ess, but chance a wetting and swim it if necessary. There’s nothing to be scared of, y’ know, but you may get beastly wet. D’you mind?”

“Not a scrap,” she assured him gaily. “I’ll stand on the seat and hang on to the back. On, Stanley, on!”

Dolly piled the cushions on edge, and turned and drove into the brown water. He scrambled up and stood crouching on the seat himself, and whipped the horses on; and the water rose and rose till it lapped to the edge of the seat, and the horses were almost swimming. Then the water began to drop, and shoaled and lowered till at last they crept out on to dry land again.

“Through,” said Dolly, triumphantly. “I say, though, isn’t it a stretch across? Well, it means good grass all over where it’s running, so let’s be cheerful. And we didn’t get wet.”

“It’s coming on to rain,” said Ess, suddenly. “Here it comes.”

“Get that waterproof round you, quick,” said Dolly. “It’s coming a soaker, too. Look at it behind us there.”

A cloud swept over the sun, and a few heavy drops splashed down on them, then faster and larger they came, and then, with a sudden burst, the cloud opened and the water fell in sheets. After the first minute Dolly pulled the horses to a standstill. “Can’t see where I’m going,” he shouted. “Might as well stand and let the best of it over.”

They stood there for ten minutes, while the rain deluged on them. Ess could feel it beating like something solid on her shoulders and the cape over her head, she could hear it roaring on the ground like a waterfall, she could see solid sheet after sheet fall sweeping on the ground. Then it slackened, although it still poured heavily.

Dolly chirruped to the horses, and they plodded off slowly through the streaming rain and over the wet ground.

“We’ve got a long stretch back to strike the track, so as to get through the gates,” he remarked. “Hope you won’t mind it being after dark before we get in?”

“Who minds anything, Dolly,” she cried gaily, “in all this lovely rain?”

“Not gettin’ wet, are you?” said Dolly.

“Not a scrap,” she answered. “This cloak keeps every drop out. Dolly, isn’t it first-rate to feel it pelting like this?”

“That last burst was a caution,” said Dolly, peering ahead. “Must have fallen solid points in the few minutes.”

“Yes,” said Ess, hesitatingly. “How many points do you think it would have made?”

Dolly looked at her, and then he threw his head back and yelled with laughter. “You’ve clean bowled me,” he declared. “I say, Miss Ess, you’ll think me an awful new-chum, but I’ve a confession to make. I don’t know what a point of rain means. There, now, it’s out. D’you know, ever since I came out here I’ve heard people talk casually of so many inches of rain and so many points in a year – everyone here will tell you there were twelve points fell here last year, and how many points a year for generations back – and seeing that everyone knew so much about it, and took it for granted I did, I never liked to own up I’d never heard of a point of rain till I came here. Now please tell me just how much it is.”

Ess smiled and looked at him, and smiled again, and then burst into a peal of laughter. Dolly pretended to be highly offended, and grumbling, said something about never making confessions to her again. But when this only sent Ess off into fresh peals, he looked hard at her again and began to chuckle. “Don’t – don’t say you don’t know,” he gurgled. She shook her head, still laughing, and Dolly yelled with laughter and stamped on the floor of the buggy, and held his sides and yelled again.

“I never did know,” gasped Ess at last. “All my life I’ve heard people discussing the ’points,’ and I’ve read the papers every rainy season about ‘Magnificent rains at Oodnadatta. Nine points registered,’ and that sort of thing. And I never knew and never dared to ask.” They drove on gaily, chuckling, and laughing, and joking, and poking fun at each other about the points of rain. They were like two children out on a holiday, and even when they found the gate standing in an inch of water, and trotted splashing for half a mile before they cleared it, never thought of danger. It was only when they reached another stretch of water, running wide and strong back towards the river, that they fell suddenly grave, and Ess said in some alarm, “Dolly, is it all right? We – we can get through, can’t we?”

“Why, of course,” said Dolly, cheerfully, although his heart had jumped at the look of that water and the width of it. “If we can’t make it here, we can higher up. Gerrup there,” and he drove the horses into the flood.

They splashed along for nearly a mile with the water little more than over the horses’ fetlocks, and Dolly made jesting remarks about a five-mile drive through a duck pond, and tried to make light of the thing. But when the water deepened rapidly and the horses sank to the knees, and then the girths, he began to feel really alarmed, especially as the sheet of water stretched for miles ahead, and the current was beginning to run stronger every few yards they advanced.

“This isn’t good enough,” he declared at last. “I don’t know how far this deep water runs, and it’s too far to chance swimming the horses if it’s all the way to the other side. We’ll have a shot at it higher up again.”

They wheeled and splashed back, and Dolly urged the horses to a hard trot. But the heavy going was telling on them, and they were beginning to flag. They had done a long drive from the Ridge that morning, and would have been easily fit for an ordinary drive back, but the wading through mud and water, and dragging the buggy, with its wheels sinking deep in the mud, was too much for them, and Dolly’s heart sank as he noticed their hanging heads and labouring sides. He pulled them up and dropped the reins. “We’ll give ’em a five-minute spell,” he said; “they’ll be gettin’ tucked up if we don’t. Then we’ll have another whack at Crossin’ the Rubicon.” He jumped down and went to the horses’ heads, and patted and talked to them, and pulled their ears; and the brutes rubbed their heads on his chest, and one of them playfully bit at his hand.

“They’re good-oh,” he said, climbing back into the buggy, “chock full o’ ginger yet. Now then, my beauties, come up,” and he headed them into the water again.

They went deeper and deeper, until Ess had to scramble up on the seat again. Dolly sat still – couldn’t get wetter, he said laughing, if he got out and swam. When the water was up almost over the horses’ backs and the buggy was nearly afloat, he turned to Ess. “We’ll have to whale ’em through this time,” he said. “Maybe they’ll have to swim for it. If they do, I’m goin’ to slip off behind and hang to the cart. You take the reins, but leave ’em hanging slack. They’ll steer themselves all right. Sit in the middle, and don’t get scared.”

Suddenly the horses plunged and sank, struggled for their footing, plunged again, and struck out swimming. In a flash Dolly had slid over the back of the buggy, and was hanging on and swimming. “This is ripping,” he called to Ess. “First bath I’ve had for months, and the water’s warm as toast. Sit still, Miss Ess. They’re doing fine.”

Ess clung to the buggy seat in silence. The rain had been so good and meant so much to them all. She had looked on it as a friend coming to their help, but it began to frighten her now. The carcase of a drowned sheep came swirling down on them and struck the buggy with a bump, making it rock and sway. She half screamed, and caught it back at the sound of Dolly’s voice. “Steady, Miss Ess, steady. Nothing to be scared of. Sit tight – eyes in the boat.”

They scrambled out at last, and the horses dragged heavily to firm ground, and halted, and stood with the water streaming off them, and their legs trembling under them. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still banked thick and heavy with black clouds. It was beginning to darken, too, and Dolly was afraid to wait there and be caught by the night, although he was almost as afraid to push the horses at once, in case they foundered. As he mounted again he noticed with a shock of fear that the water was lapping about the buggy wheels again, although they had been yards from the edge when they halted.

“River up and still rising,” he quoted. “We’re off again.” He could hardly urge the horses to a feeble trot, however, and presently pulled them to a walk, and jumped down and walked by their heads, talking to them and patting them. “Poor old Spot an’ Pot,” he called back; “they’re not used to this aquatic sport racket. Never trained for any mile championship swims. They’ll buck up presently, though, Miss Ess. Don’t get scared.”

“Dolly,” she said quaveringly. “I’m an awful coward, but I’m – I’m getting frightened. I remember Mr. Sinclair told me there was another channel further on that filled before that one we’ve come through. How will we get over that? And it’s almost dark too.”

“We’ll get over right enough,” Dolly said encouragingly. “And look here, y’ know, Miss Ess. I know it looks awful dreary an’ dangerous an’ that sort of thing, but there’s nothing to be scared of really. Why, I could take you on my back and swim from here to our hills.”

“But what will we do when it comes dark, Dolly?” she persisted. “There are no stars and no track.”

“If we’re stuck, we’ll just have to halt and camp down till morning,” he said. “Bit rotten for you, I know, but there’s no danger. And it isn’t as if it was cold, is it?”

“No,” she said doubtfully. “But I’m afraid you’ll be chilled through. I’m not very warm, and I’m dry enough, where you’re saturated through.”

“I’m certainly carryin’ as many points of rain about with me as a Weather Bureau Report,” he agreed; “but I don’t mind – rather enjoy it. And this is a heap better sport than riding round a fence all day and every day.”

“I think I’ll get down and walk a bit,” she said. “I’m getting cramped sitting, and the walk will warm me up.”

“So it will,” he said, “and it’ll ease the horses. Poor brutes, it’s heavy goin’ in this soft stuff.”

He halted the buggy and helped her down, and then they plodded on again, their feet sliding and slipping on the wet ground. It had begun to rain again, softly but persistently, and the light was fading rapidly. The ground was alive with swarms of rabbits and paddy-melons, and once they saw a fox sneaking away from them.

“D’you notice those things are all making off to the right?” said Dolly. “It must be higher ground up that way. I’ve half a mind to follow them. Can you make up your mind to a night of it, Miss Ess? I’d be afraid to chance you swimming it in the dark.”

“Just whatever you think, Dolly,” she said bravely. “I’ll leave everything to you, and do just whatever you say.”

“You’re a brick, and a real good plucked ’un, Miss Ess,” he said warmly. “We’ll stick it out for the night, then. I’m sure it’s the wisest.”

He edged off to the right, and presently, when they came to the water again, turned further to the right, and kept along the edge of it. It was almost dark now, and they were plodding along in silence when Ess said suddenly, “Listen – what is that?”

They halted and stood listening. At first they could hear nothing but the seep seep of the rain, the panting of the horses, and the rattle and clink of their bits and harness, and the sucking splash of their feet as they moved uneasily. Then, faint and dull at first, but growing louder even as they listened, there came a low and long-sustained roar like the far-off thunder of surf on a beach. A full five minutes they stood there, and then suddenly a swirl of water splashed foaming about their feet, and a wave washed past them and ran hissing round the buggy wheels.

“It’s the river,” said Dolly, springing back to the buggy. “Up with you, Miss Ess, quick. She’s up and over the banks in earnest now, and we’ll have her running like a mill race presently. We’ve got to hit for the high ground in a hurry.”

Ess scrambled into the buggy, and Dolly Grey gathered the reins and lashed at the horses with his whip.

“Where are you going? How do you know the direction?” asked Ess, anxiously. “You can’t see any high ground, can you? I thought it was all level plain about here.”

“It looks level,” said Dolly, “but it rises in long gentle swells. We ought to be somewhere in One Tree Paddock, and I know that’s high ground because there’s a mark on the tree – a big gum it is – of an old flood that had all the country round here under water.”

“But do you know where it is?” persisted Ess.

“Not a notion,” he said, “nor whether I’m going north, south, east, or west. But I’m leaving the reins slack, and letting the horses have their own way. Their instinct should take them the farthest from the water they can get. And, besides, you’ll notice all the rabbits and things are making back the same way as we’re going.”

He flogged at the horses again, while the roar of the river beat in their ears, and the rain drizzled steadily down. The animals were thick and close about them now, and more than once Ess felt a soft bump and heard the sharp squeal of a rabbit under the wheels.

“Whoa,” shouted Dolly, suddenly. “We’ve hit it, Miss Ess. Hoo-ray – now we’re all right. There’s One Tree, and we’re about as high as we can get without climbing the tree. We may have to do that presently, but we’ll wait and see.”

He got out and unharnessed the horses, and stripped them, and fastened them to the buggy wheel with the reins.

“Better crawl in under the buggy,” he said. “I’ll put the cushions for you to sit on. They’re wet outside, but they’re leather, and the water won’t go through them.”

He put the cushions down, and they crawled under and squatted there, Ess insisting on him squeezing up on to a corner of the cushion. The rabbits and paddy-melons crawled in beside them, and scuffled out in alarm at Dolly’s “Shoo” or kick. He felt Ess shudder as the wet things brushed against her or scampered over her feet, and he crawled out and got the whip, and swiped at any that came in near them again.

“It’s stopped raining again,” he announced.

“Now if I only had some dry matches I’d make an attempt at a fire. There’s any amount of dead wood lying round, where branches have fallen.”

Ess laughed faintly at him, thinking he was joking, but Dolly suddenly jumped, and crawled out, and leaped on the buggy, and she heard him yell joyfully. Ess heard a rummaging over her head and Dolly’s flopping jump down.

“Saved, saved,” he cried dramatically. “Come forth, bewchius maiden, and behold thy deliverer-r-r.”

“What is it – what have you found?” demanded Ess, eagerly, scrambling out.

“Look,” he said, capering before her. “Thank your cautious and long-thoughted uncle, Scottie. I remembered he always had something stowed away in the buggy for emergencies. See – a bag of flour – it’s pudding now, but never mind it; a tin of tea, sopping wet as pudding, but still good enough; a billy, and a little bottle of matches. Cheers, wild cheers! We’ll have a fire. Now isn’t that like Scottie to go carting round matches so they won’t get wet even when there hasn’t been a spot or sign of rain for a year? But, look here, this is the cream of the joke – a huge bottle full of water,” and he went off into shouts of laughter.

“But what’s the good of all these things, and even of the dry matches,” said Ess, in bewilderment, “when there isn’t a dry stick or splinter within miles?”

“Wait and see,” said Dolly. “See the skill of Dolly Grey, the bushwhacker. They’ll tell you on the station that I’m a no-good ignorant Englishman, but after this you can tell ’em how my bush-craft charmed a fire and hot tea out of the desert and the soppin’ wet wilderness. Go’n gather sticks now. Every bit you can find, and the bigger the better. Come on, I’ll help you.”

They hunted round and collected a pile of broken branches, and as Ess felt their clammy wetness and shook the water off them, she was more mystified than ever how the fire was going to be produced.

“I’m going to sacrifice a cushion if need be,” said Dolly. “They’re full of kapok, I expect, and that’s good tinder. But I want to show you how this thing is done without any luxurious aids of civilisation like kapok. See here now.”

He took a stick as thick and as long as his thumb, and split it in halves, and split the halves again, and shaved a splinter off each of the inside corners. He did this with several more pieces till he had a good handful of dry splinters carefully placed in his hat on the ground. Then he went on to split thicker pieces with his jack knife, and to break them into short lengths. When he had his hat filled, he dug at the ground with his knife and scooped with his hands till he came down to dry earth, built his fire of dry chips in the bottom of the hole, and touched a match from the bottle to it. It caught and flickered and flamed, and in a moment was blazing and crackling. He built thin bits of branches across the blaze, and, although these hissed and steamed at first, they also caught and burst into flame. Ess had been watching with breathless interest and excitement, and as a substantial crackling blaze shot up, she clapped her hands and called out to him, “Well done, oh, well done, Dolly. I wouldn’t have believed it could be done. You are a bushman.”