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Chapter XXIV

The steaming horses dashed up to her.

She made a desperate effort to be calm, to quell her anger that Fate should have sent him, of all people, to spoil the excitement of that moment. And she was annoyed to think he had sent no word that he was returning that week-end.

"Miss Carey? Hullo! Is that you?" he cried, pulling up, desperate anxiety in his voice.

She found herself answering shortly that it was.

He sprang from the buggy, and seeing she was alone, held out his hands.

"Thank God, Sidney, are you all right?"

"Arthur, I can't talk. Please fasten the horses and follow me. Mrs. James is very ill. Bob ought to have sent someone long ago."

Her voice was sharp. She was fiercely irritated by his aggressive cheerfulness. In that instant he seemed so remote from her mood as to be like some stranger intruding his feelings upon her. And in the face of what she had just gone through the personal element seemed trivial beyond expression.

He looked quickly at her. The light of thepage 253 buggy lamps showed him enough of her haggard face to alarm him. He saw at once she had had a terrible experience. He turned quickly to the horses, and tied them to a stump, a most unnecessary proceeding, as not for worlds would they have moved for hours if they could have helped it. Sidney noticed the foam on their flanks, heard the panting of their nostrils, and knew he had driven as if he had had the devil behind him. But that did not stir her.

She turned into the flood, he following. There was just light enough for them to distinguish the stump as a shadow in the smoke.

"Did you meet Mary?" she shouted. It was the only thing she wanted to know.

"I did," he called back. "About half a mile from the mill. She scared me into fits about you. I don't think Bob realized the seriousness of the situation at all. But he had a good deal to think about down there."

When they reached the stump Mrs. James did not seem to understand that she was being saved. With great difficulty Arthur got her into his arms. Sidney took the water and the brandy and followed him in silence. Out by the road he put the sick woman down in the fern, and Sidney dropped beside her. She had no need to simulate weariness. She was herself almost beyond speech.

But Arthur had an uneasy feeling that exhaus-page 254tion alone did not explain something in her manner. She had shown absolutely no relief, no gladness at being rescued from that precarious position. That seemed to him almost inhuman.

But he said nothing as he ploughed into the flood again for the mattress.

As Sidney sat mopping Mrs. James's face she heard the sounds of a horse pounding along the road. It seemed to bound out of the smoke, and before she could get up it reared above her.

"Miss Carey," shouted Jack Ridgefield.

"Yes, yes, all right." She sprang to her feet, alive and grateful beyond words for his dramatic appearance.

"What's all this?" he cried, dismounting. "I came down the short cut a while ago, and caught up to Mary just this side of the mill. She told me your message, and said someone had come on for you. But I wanted to be sure."

"Yes, Mr. Devereux. I haven't had time to ask him why. Was Mary all right?"

Somehow little Mary seemed to be the most significant person in the world just then.

"She was. Great kid! Wouldn't give up the baby. She was going to carry it to Mrs. Mackenzie's because you had told her to. She was immovable. And as she was nearly there I let her go on. Now, where is Devereux?"

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They heard him splashing through the water with the last load of Mrs. James's possessions.

Sidney dropped down to the ground again, feeling light-headed. She said nothing while the two men lifted Mrs. James and the mattress and her things into the floor of the buggy. As in a dream she heard them talk.

"How is it in the bush?" asked Arthur.

"Pretty bad all round. The fire's up to the creek in many places. I'm afraid of the dams. But the men are sticking fine. I've just run down to tell my wife how things are going, and then I'm off back to the Big Dam."

"I'm with you if I can help."

"You bet you can; thanks. Did you happen to hear how things are at the mill?"

"Everybody was over at the drop, except Tom Mackenzie. There was a bit of a fire there, I believe. But they were getting it under. How the deuce do you do anything in this smoke?"

"It isn't all as bad as this. There's a lot of green stuff back here. This is pretty deadly. How has all this happened, do you know?"

Arthur told him what he had heard from Tom when he had arrived at the mill, and how he had raced down to Whakapara and commandeered the horses and the buggy. Jack looked at the flood and guessed something of what Sidney had been through.

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When they had settled Mrs. James, he turned to her.

"Miss Carey, I guess you'd better get in at the back here too. You look as if you needed to lie down. How long have you been here?"

"I don't know?" she mumbled, now dangerously near a breakdown.

They both knew from the way she moved that she was done, and that she was in no mood to talk.

They set off, Arthur driving slowly, for he knew that Mrs. James could stand little jolting. When they had gone half a mile Jack said he would go on and prepare somebody to take her in.

Arthur turned round in his seat. Both women were lying prone on the mattress. He felt very uncomfortable about Sidney. He could not imagine that danger and exhaustion could put the something into her manner that he had felt there. But he knew it was no time to talk, and he drove the whole way in silence.

The smoke grew less dense as they went on. When they reached the mill he made a detour to get on to the road leading to the store. At the entrance by the timber yard one of the men's wives who had been told to look out for him came out to tell him to go to Mrs. Mackenzie's.

When they got there Sidney did not give him a chance to speak to her again. She got quicklypage 257 out of the buggy and went into the house. Tom and Arthur followed with Mrs. James.

"Mrs. Ridgefield is waiting for you, Mr. Devereux," said Mrs. Mackenzie. Arthur went on at once without attempting a meeting with Sidney. After he had eaten a hurried supper he arranged at the stable with Bill Hardy to look after the borrowed team for the night, and return it to its owner in the morning. Then, taking his own horse, he rode off with Jack to the Big Dam.

He could not get out of his mind the something that had looked at him out of Sidney's eyes. Had the anxiety been such as to daze her, he wondered, for she had looked at him as if she did not recognise him. He hated to go off and leave her like that. And through the following hours of frantic energy he was haunted by the memory of her vacant stare.

All day Sunday the wind continued to blow and the smoke to blot out the world.

Sidney did not wake from her slumber of exhaustion till after ten o'clock. She was still stiff and strained, and felt a bit nauseated. As soon as she was dressed she went to see if Sophie had any more news. She heard that Mrs. James had been taken to the Whangarei hospital early that morning in a dangerous condition. Her temperature had gone up by leaps and bounds in thepage 258 night, and Bob Lindsay had taken the responsibility of sending her off.

Mrs. James was at death's door for weeks, but finally recovered. Mrs. Mackenzie kept Mary and the baby till relatives were able to come for them.

Sophie told Sidney that the fire over at the drop had been almost beaten out, and one shift of wornout men was sleeping. There was a sense of strain everywhere, and great anxiety as to how they were getting on back in the bush. Every hour eyes were turned to the sky where the high wind now threatened rain.

In the middle of the day a rider on a foaming horse dashed into the village with a message from Jack asking for any men who could be spared to get as quickly as possible to the Big Dam.

A message for Sophie told her not to be alarmed and not to expect her husband down that night.

Men who had had a few hours' sleep were wakened by their wives, and, cursing the whole history of fire, dressed nevertheless, and went, with Bob at their head.

By the middle of the afternoon there was not a man left at the mill but the two watchmen, Tom Mackenzie, who was lame and not equal to fire fighting, and Bill Hardy, who never left his horses in a crisis, never, that is, when he was sober.page 259 Sidney sat with Sophie the whole afternoon. They did not try to hide their common restlessness. Sidney loathed the uselessness of women in such a situation. She was annoyed to think that the strain of the day before had been sufficient to reduce her to inactivity.

She had tried to keep her thoughts off Arthur, but she was surprised to find that her anger against him was gone. In the common fear of the people round her she had lost her personal bitterness.

In the evening the women gathered in little groups, wondering if they would get any more news that night. They told each other that it was certainly going to rain, and that the wind was dropping. But the smoke seemed to be as thick as ever.

Sidney sat up late with Mrs. Jack. At eleven o'clock she went out to give a last despairing look at the sky. She heard somebody stumbling towards her. It was Bob Lindsay, so done up that he could hardly walk.

He propped himself up on the Ridgefield back gate, as Sidney asked who it was.

"Why, Bob, what's happened?" she gasped.

"Nothing, but I couldn't hold out any longer, curse it! So Jack sent me down."

"How are they getting on?"

"It's pretty bad up there, but it will rain bypage 260 morning, and if they can only hold out to-night they'll save the dams. God I but I've never seen anyone go like Jack and Devereux. Didn't know Devereux had it in him. And the men are great. They'll keep up as long as the boss does. Anything happened here? How is the drop?"

He spoke brokenly.

"Some of the men are still, there, that's all I know," she answered. "Then Jack will not be down to-night?"

"No. But tell his wife he's all right."

And Bob staggered off.

Sidney stood a moment. His words about Arthur troubled her. She did not want to hear anything good of him. It made it so much harder for her to face saying to him what she meant to say.

She stayed the night with Mrs. Jack. They lay together in the big bed, because Sophie did not like to be alone, and slept but little. Between four and five in the morning Mrs. Jack started out of an uneasy slumber, and Sidney woke with her.

"Listen," said Sophie.

"Rain."

"Oh, thank God!"

Sidney looked at the clock, and raised herself. "You lie still, Mrs. Ridgefield. I'm going topage 261 light the fire and get water ready. A hot bath's a good thing for a tired man."

She started the range in the kitchen, and the log fire in the dining-room, filled all the kettles, and went back to lie down. At intervals she got up to tend the fires.

By seven o'clock it was pouring, a healthy, solid rain equal to putting out any conflagration that ever burned.

The two women dressed, looking now for Jack to arrive at any minute. Sidney was in the back porch when she saw two men in oilskins ride up to the fence. Something about the way they sat their horses startled her. They almost fell off, throwing the reins over the fence, and staggered, holding each other up, through the gate.

Sidney gave one look at them and rushed in to Sophie.

"Mr. Ridgefield and Mr. Devereux are here," she said quietly. "They look dreadful, but don't be frightened. They are only worn out."

The two scarred and shattered men stumbled into the kitchen. Their eyes were sunk back in their heads, their faces were seamed like the faces of old men, their figures hunched as if they had spine disease. They were unshaved. It was Monday morning and neither of them had slept since Friday night.

They were incapable of any kind of greeting.

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Jack raised his hand feebly as if to ward off words.

"All right," he muttered, "bed, bed."

His eyes closed even as he said it.

Sophie had already begun to help him to throw off his oilskin.

And Sidney found herself doing the same thing for Arthur. She could not keep a gulp from her throat as she tore off his rain and riding coats. He had not looked at her with any sign of recognition. He was unaware of her. His body was so strained that his mind did not act.

Feeling his way as if he were blind, Jack stumbled for his bedroom. Taking Arthur by the arm, Sidney led him to the sitting-room couch. He dropped on to it and was instantly asleep.

As Jack fell onto his bed his lips moved.

Sophie caught the words, "Tell Bob, holiday, two days," and he was gone.

Thinking he had fainted, she called sharply for Sidney.

They decided that both men had simply swooned from exhaustion, and that the first thing they needed was to lie still. They looked helplessly at them with lumps in their throats. To them it was a thing marvellous to tears that men could endure as they had done.

"What are we to do with them?" asked Sophie in a whisper, looking at her husband's inert formpage 263 spread over her spotless bedclothes. "We can't leave them like this."

Both men were, indeed, distressingly dirty, their clothes soaked with perspiration, their wet boots still on.

"Of course not. We can wash them. That won't wake them. But you mustn't do any lifting. I'll get Bob."

Bob Lindsay was just up. He went at once for Tom Mackenzie, and they undressed Arthur and Jack and got them into bed. Bob was sure they were all right, but as Sophie was very anxious, Sidney thought he had better send Bill Hardy to Whakapara to telephone for a doctor. So, leading the two horses, Bob went off to the stables.

Sophie and Sidney began to wash the faces and feet of their two unconscious men.

As she washed Arthur, Sidney felt extraordinarily remote from all her past experience with him. She could not feel that she had ever loved him. She did not see that she was emotion stale, and that it would take her days to get back her elasticity. She thought with astonishment that it was easier to cease to love a person than she had supposed. She felt no bitterness against him now at all. She felt a great pity for his terrible weariness.

She wondered why he had come back there. Was it to find out how she was? Could he reallypage 264 love her? She was sorry for him if he did. But he would easily get over it. As for herself, she could not imagine why she had ever suffered about him.

When she had washed him she put a hot bottle at his feet, which were cold.

Then she went to get some breakfast ready for herself and Sophie. When Mrs. Jack had finished with her husband, she stole out as if she must not make a sound. Then it struck Sidney that all the men in the place must be in the same state, and that they had heard nothing of what had happened in the night.

"I'll find out if they saved the dams. I'll be back in a minute," and putting on Jack's oilskin she went out into the rain.

The Mackenzies had heard nothing, but Mrs. Graham opened her back door with her finger on her lips. Her husband had got back from the bush two hours before, unable to say more than that all the dams were safe. Was Sidney going to have school? What were the mothers to do to keep their children quiet on such a day?

And while she ate breakfast Sidney saw that the women had their job before them. Before she and Sophie had finished Bob returned from going the rounds of the village.

Throwing off his overcoat, he sat down and talked in whispers, though it was unnecessary.

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No noise known to earth would have waked either Arthur or Jack.

"Bill has gone for the doctor. And except for the cook, who came down last night, and Mackenzie and me there isn't a man awake or likely to be awake before to-morrow in the whole place. They're all like the boss and Devereux, done. You ought to see the kitchen. Most of them dropped into their bunks sopping wet. The cook's undressing them by degrees. There's a heap of soaking clothes in the middle of the floor, and a heap of boots. I'm going back to help him. But they've saved the dams. A good many logs charred, I believe, and one camp gone, but nothing else to speak of. But it's the worst fight we've ever had. Now, Miss Carey, here's a problem for you. The women are worried to death about noise. What are they to do with the kids a day like this? And the houses must be kept quiet."

She thought a moment.

"What about collecting them all in the bowling green pavilion, and giving them a picnic? The mothers can leave the men to sleep, and look in at them at intervals. I'll have school as usual for the bigger children, anyway."

"That's the idea," said Bob.

The bowling green was across the creek on the other side of the mill, where no noise could disturb the sleeping men.

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Sidney went round to see what the mothers thought of the scheme. They thought exceedingly well of it. And so there began a series of funny little processions under umbrellas in the rain. When Bob had finished helping the cook he and Tom Mackenzie took a hand in the migration of the children from the homes to the pavilion. By the middle of the day every young human being was segregated. Enough food was collected from the homes and the cook for two meals, and mothers prepared themselves patiently to have their nerves torn to shreds.

Mrs. Mackenzie and Mrs. Lindsay took in women with young babies who needed a fire. Sidney kept school with her older pupils and led them in procession to the pavilion for lunch and back after the lessons were over.

Several times during the day she ran in to see Sophie. But there was nothing to do for the two men who lay as they had fallen that morning.

In the afternoon the doctor arrived. He went the rounds deeply interested. He said he had never seen such an accumulation of exhaustion in all his life, and that there was nothing to be done but to let them all sleep it off. He told Sophie that Jack and Arthur were badly strained, that they might suffer from nausea, that they must eat carefully for a week or two, rest thoroughly before getting back to work, have hot packs andpage 267 massage, if possible, and be careful not to overdo for some time.

Altogether it was a queer day. A hush like that of death hung over every house but the bowling pavilion.

There indeed, as the day wore on, there was noise enough and to spare. At first the children had risen to the occasion, believing this to be a spree designed for their entertainment, but as the afternoon progressed they seemed to discover the fraud that was being perpetrated on them and were consumed with a howling desire to go home. Every kind of device was employed to distract their attention. After school Sidney organized them into games, and heroically tried to keep them interested till suppertime.

By then the mothers were worn out and every kind of infantile cussedness was at its height. The evening meal provided an interlude, but the following hour was a horror. Tired children screamed and kicked and scratched and fought till they were sleepy enough to be taken safely home.

Sidney hated all children and all mothers for bearing them long before the last lot was mustered for the return. When it was all over and she surveyed the wrecked pavilion with its hideous remains of two meals she felt as if she had been through a war.

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But she felt also a great satisfaction. Something had been accomplished. The broken men who had stood by Jack Ridgefield had had ten hours of peace with the night still before them. She felt strangely glad as she wended her way back through the soaking rain to Sophie.