Stones from the Sky E-Book

T.C. Bridges

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The roar of the pampero rattling above the chimneys of the solidly built Estancia drowned the rumble, but the sound was loud enough for Jock and Ned Burnie to jump from their chairs by the fire and run out of the room. At the foot of the stairs on the floor of broken clay lay an old man in a magnificent frame. Jock first got to him and leaned over him.

Leseprobe

Contents

I. LOST HORSES

II. TAKING CHANCES

III. BEAST OF PREY

IV. BLOWS IN THE KITCHEN

V. THE SECOND PLANE

VI. STONES FROM THE SKY

VII. THE HOLE IN THE HILLS

VIII. NIGHT LIGHTS

IX. THE DUN BULL

X. BLACKMAIL

XI. INTRODUCING MAX RISTER

XII. WHEN FOG FELL

XIII. JOCK MAKES HIS CHOICE

XIV. BULLETS FLY

XV. FRANK'S DAY IN DISGUISE

XVI. DAN IS DOUBTFUL

XVII. STRANGERS IN THE BOWL

XVIII. THE STRANGE ATTACK

XIX. THE CAVE PRISON

XX. THE STRANGE JOURNEY

XXI. "WORD OF AN ENGLISHMAN"

XXII. NIGHT IN THE FOREST

XXIII. JOCK GETS A SHOCK

XXIV. STAMPEDE

XXV. SEVEN IN THE BOWL

XXVI. FIRE FROM THE AIR

XXVII. THE CRASHING BOULDER

XXVIII. IN SEARCH OF FRANK

XXIX. RISTER'S WHITE FLAG

XXX. BULLETS BITE

XXXI. CAUSHEL GIVES PROOF

XXXII. FORCED LANDING

XXXIII. BESIEGED

XXXIV. JULIO DIES

I. LOST HORSES

THE roar of the pampero thundering over the chimneys of the solidly built estancia muffled the crash, yet the sound was loud enough to make Jock and Ned Burney spring from their chairs by the fire and rush out of the room. At the foot of the stairs a great-framed old man lay flat on the floor of beaten clay. Jock reached him first and bent over him.

“He’s stunned,” he said. “Help me lift him, Ned.”

The old man opened his eyes. “You boys can’t lift me,” he said curtly. “Call Julio.”

“He’s not in yet, Uncle John,” Jock said. “He and Vincent are both out. Are you much hurt?”

John Garnett moved his big body cautiously. “I don’t think there’s anything broken,” he answered, “but my left ankle is damaged. Marvel is I wasn’t killed. I was only half-way down when I slipped.”

“We can get you on to the couch,” Jock said confidently.

Jock was sixteen but tall for his age. A bit slim still but already his muscles were hardening from the six months he had spent at the Tres Tortillas sheep farm in the heart of Patagonia. Ned, his brother, now just fifteen, was a different type, broad and stocky. He was nearly as strong as Jock and promised to develop into a very powerful man.

Between them they got their uncle on to the big leather couch in the sitting-room, then Jock peeled off the left shoe and sock and saw that the ankle was already swelling. He fetched hot water and began to foment it. John Garnett was usually a good-tempered man but now he grew irritable.

“I shall be laid up for a fortnight,” he grumbled. “And where are Vincent and Vaz? They ought to have been in long ago, especially in this weather.”

As he spoke there came the sound of the front door opening. A gust of wind shrieked into the house; then the door closed again with a bang and two people came into the room. One was a man of thirty, tall, swarthy, with blue-black hair and dark sullen eyes; the other a youth about eighteen years old with fair skin and hair, and pale blue eyes. His good looks were spoiled by a sharp nose, thin lips and a peevish expression. He was Vincent Slade, John Garnett’s stepson. Vincent stopped and stared at his stepfather.

“What’s up?” he demanded.

“Uncle John has had a fall,” Jock answered. “He tumbled downstairs and sprained his ankle.”

“Something is sure to happen whenever I leave the house,” Vincent snapped. “I suppose one of you slopped water on the stairs?”

Jock looked Vincent straight in the face. “That’s a rotten thing to say,” he remarked.

Vincent’s pale eyes glittered nastily. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” he snarled.

“Shut up, you two,” ordered Mr. Garnett. “You’re always bickering and I’m sick of it. Go and change and get your supper, Vincent.”

Vincent gave Jock another ugly look, but he did not dare disobey his stepfather. He went out and Mr. Garnett turned to the dark-faced man.

“What kept you out so late, Julio?”

“We look for the horses, Señor. Some are gone.”

Mr. Garnett made a remark that was not a blessing.

“Horses gone again!” he exclaimed. “Which?”

“The tropilla from the west pasture,” Julio answered. He spoke quite good English, though with a queer foreign accent.

Jock cut in. “Our ponies were there. Are they gone, too?”

“I sorrow to say they have gone with the rest,” Julio answered. “The wire has been cut. I have the belief that it is the work of the Wild Man.

“Stuff and nonsense!” retorted Mr. Garnett. “Everything that goes wrong is put down to the Wild Man. It is true there was such a man once, but he must be dead years ago. Now see here, Julio, those horses have got to be found.”

“But assuredly, Señor. We start again in the morning. With permission I will now retire.” His employer nodded. “Yes, get your supper and turn in.”

Julio left and Jock went on fomenting the injured ankle.

“That’s much better,” said his patient presently. “Now I think I can get to sleep. Bring me pillows and blankets and my pyjamas. I shall stay down here until I am better.”

Between them the boys made him comfortable, then Jock built up the fire for a pampero, coming out of the south across the plains of Patagonia, is as cold as a north-east gale in England. Before going up to bed Ned made a request.

“May Jock and I go after the horses with Julio, Uncle? If the old madrina is with them I can always catch her; then the rest will follow. Maria will look after you.”

The old man nodded. “Yes, you two can go with Julio. But Vincent will stay at home.”

Ned thanked him and said good-night, then he and Jock went up to their room.

“Vincent will be sick,” remarked Ned as he began to undress.

“We shall be quit of him for a day, that’s one mercy,” Jock answered. “Ned, one of these times I shall lose my wool and punch the blighter.”

“I believe you could lick him,” Ned said. “And a licking is what he wants, the very worst kind. Funny how he hates us!”

“Not funny at all. He’s jealous. He’s afraid that Uncle is going to leave us some of his money.”

“I don’t want his money,” said Ned, “but I would like a bit of land and some horses. It’s a rum thing, Jock, but I’m getting fond of this country.”

“I don’t think it’s rum. I like it, myself. It’s lonely but it’s a good life, and I’ve never been so fit as since we came here. I wouldn’t care to stay here always, for I want to go to a decent university later on, but I’m game to make a home here.”

“Good business!” said Ned. “Then we’ll go into partnership and make a show of it.”

Jock laughed. “It’s not so easy as that, Ned. We want quite a bit of money to get started.”

“We’ll make it somehow,” Ned declared as he got into bed. “Now we’d best sleep, for we’ll have a hard day to-morrow. Those horses may be twenty miles away by morning.”

“Wish I knew who cut that wire,” Jock growled.

“Vincent, of course,” Ned told him.

“Vincent! You’re crazy. What would he do that for?”

“To spite us. Don’t you remember, he told Uncle we couldn’t break those ponies. He was furious because we got them properly tamed. That’s why he’s turned ’em out. He probably hopes we shan’t find them again. If he and Julio had gone after them they never would have been found.”

Jock drew a long breath. “Then that’s why you asked if we might go.”

“That’s why,” Ned said quietly.

Jock thought a while, then spoke again. “But Julio’s coming,” he said. “Do you think he’ll try and put us off?”

“I’m jolly sure he will. He and Vincent are thick as thieves. But don’t worry. Between us we can handle Julio. Now I’m going to sleep. Bye-bye.”

The brothers were up before dawn next morning and were relieved to find that the gale had blown itself out in the night. As they had expected, Vincent was furious because he was not to go after the lost horses. But he did not dare to make a fuss. John Garnett’s word was law at Tres Tortillas. The boys, watching Vincent, saw him slip out of the room and exchanged glances. They were quite sure he had gone to have a quiet word with Julio.

The sun was only just up when they started. Since their own ponies were gone the boys had to ride what they could find. Jock was mounted on an ugly bay called Horqueta, which means Slit- eared, and Ned had Overo, a stocky piebald with a queer temper and a nasty habit of cow-bucking. They took two pack-ponies to carry their tent and food.

Most people have the idea that Patagonia is a vast plain covered with grass, where countless sheep graze. This is true of the east coast, but inland it is very different. Here are great stretches which resemble Highland deer forests only, instead of bracken, the ground is covered with thorn bush and poison bush. Here and there are lagoons not unlike Scottish lochs, and almost everywhere the ground is broken by ravines called “canadones,” some of them deep and dangerous. But there are no mountains until you reach the Andes far to the west, so that you can see to a tremendous distance. Almost always there is wind and overhead immense clouds sail in a pale blue sky.

Julio was friendly that morning–suspiciously friendly the boys thought. Both were watching him all the time. They suspected that he would try to lead them on a false trail but, if he meant to do so, he had no chance. The ground was moist and the tracks of the horses were plain.

The tropilla which had escaped numbered fourteen horses. In Patagonia each tropilla has a madrina or bell-mare who wears a bell around her neck and is followed by the others. She is so trained that she can be caught easily but is never ridden. The madrina of this troop was a particular friend of Ned who fed her with sugar. She would come at his whistle and he had no doubt that, if he could only sight her, he would soon have the whole lot in tow.

All the morning they followed the tracks. At eleven they stopped and Julio lit a small fire and brewed a pot of maté, South American tea made of the leaf of a sort of holly. The boys had come to like this drink and were glad of the short rest. Both were finding the paces of their half-broken beasts very trying.

The tracks led almost straight across the pampa, and presently Julio spoke.

“The horses are being driven. They have not stopped to graze. It is as I told the Señor. The Wild Man is behind them.”

“Who is this Wild Man?” Jock asked.

Julio shook his head. “None knows whence he comes, but it is said that he is a white man who quarrelled with his brother and killed him. He was arrested and condemned to death but escaped and, in revenge, steals horses. Sometimes he kills them, but more often leaves them in some lonely spot.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Ned whispered to Jock a little later. “If a mounted man had been driving the horses I’d have spotted his tracks. They’d have been deeper than those of an unsaddled horse. And the horses have stopped to graze. My notion is that we are not very far behind them.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jock answered in an equally low tone, and just then Julio looked round suspiciously so that the boys said no more.

The sun began to sink and still no sign of the missing horses. A rainstorm swept up and Julio suggested camping in the shelter of a canadone where a small spring gushed out. The boys agreed and the horses were unsaddled, hobbled and left to graze. Julio lighted the fire while the boys pitched the tent. Julio put on the pot and made a “puchero,” a stew of mutton and vegetables. This, with bread and maté, made their supper. Tired with a long day in the saddle, the boys got out their sleeping-bags and were hardly inside them before they were sound asleep.

Jock was the first to rouse. To his amazement it was broad daylight. He sat up and yawned. He felt curiously drowsy. Ned was still asleep and it took some shaking to wake him. When he did open his eyes he seemed half stupid.

“It’s my head,” he grumbled. “It aches.”

“So does mine,” said Jock. “Let’s go over to the spring and wash.”

They crawled out of the tent and the first thing Jock noticed was that there was no sign of Julio.

“He’s gone after the horses,” Ned said.

“He’s precious late,” growled Jock. “The sun’s an hour high.”

They went to the pool and the ice-cold water cleared their sleepy heads. Jock was the first to get back to the tent.

“Where are the pack-saddles?” he asked sharply.

Ned looked round. There was no sign of the packs or of the cooking-pots. He made a quick circle, examining the soft ground.

“The swine has cleared out,” he told Jock. “He has drugged us, taken the horses and everything and marooned us.”

II. TAKING CHANCES

“THE man’s crazy!” Jock exclaimed. “What’s his idea? What do you think Uncle John will say when Julio tells him he’s lost us?”

“He doesn’t mean to do anything of the sort,” Ned answered. “He has five horses and grub for a week. He’s going to clear out, and join some pal of his in the west.”

“Then the sooner we get back and tell Uncle, the better,” Jock said grimly.

Ned shrugged. “Easier said than done. We’re at least forty miles from home, and it will take two days to get back afoot. Meantime we haven’t a mouthful of grub.”

Jock paled a little as the truth of Ned’s words came home to him. Forty miles of rough, road-less country to cover and both were wearing high-heeled riding-boots. No food, no firearms, and the sleeping-bags too heavy to carry. He pulled himself together.

“It’s a bad fix, Ned. But there’s no choice. We’d better start.”

Ned did not move.

“What about trying for those horses, Jock? I don’t believe they’re far. If we can find them we can ride back.”

“But Julio will have collared them,” Jock answered.

“I don’t think so. Five horses are about all he can manage and I don’t believe he’ll delay to catch the rest. Seems to me it’s worth trying.”

“If we don’t get them we shall be in a worse hole than ever,” Jock warned him.

“It’s just as you like, Jock,” Ned said. “If you think best, we’ll go home.”

“If you think it’s good enough we’ll try it, Ned,” he agreed. “But I wish to goodness we had something to eat before we start.”

“We might get an armadillo,” Ned suggested. “Keep your eyes open as you go.” He paused. “If we don’t see the horses before night we turn back,” he added.

The morning was fine but there were clouds about. This was October, spring in the Southern hemisphere, and it was still cold. For the next two hours the brothers followed the trail of the wandering horses. Of one thing they were sure. Julio Vaz was not after the tropilla. There were no signs of his tracks. Then they came to rough stony ground where the trail was hard to follow. The stones were equally hard on their feet, and both boys wished devoutly that they were wearing walking-shoes. But the worst of it was lack of food. With every hour they grew more and more hungry and, although they saw several guanacos (wild llamas), there was no means of killing these swift and wary creatures.

By midday they began to feel desperate and Jock’s heart sank as he thought of all the weary miles between them and home.

Ned spoke. “We’ll go to the top of the next rise and, if we don’t see the horses, we’ll turn back. That suit you, Jock?”

“Anything you say,” replied Jock wearily. “But how we are going to get home afoot beats me.”

They toiled up the next ridge and as they reached the top Ned gave a yell.

“There they are!”

“Yes,” said Jock, “but how are we going to reach them?” He pointed to the deep river which ran at the bottom of the valley. The horses had swum across and were feeding on good grass on the far side.

Ned refused to be discouraged. “We can swim, can’t we? Come on, Jock.”

Jock didn’t like the look of that river a bit. True, it was not more than a hundred feet wide, but the current was strong and he well knew how bitterly cold the water was at this time of year. Yet there was no choice and he followed Ned’s example and stripped. With their belts they strapped their clothes and boots on their backs, hoping against hope to keep them dry. Ned waded in. As he followed Jock heard his brother gasp. No wonder! The river was liquid ice. In a couple of steps they were out of their depth. Jock swam well but Ned was not so good, and when they neared the middle the strong current began to carry them both down-stream.

“Don’t fight it,” Jock called out. “Let it take you down. We’ll find slacker water presently.”

They struggled on. Suddenly both were caught in an eddy, and Jock saw Ned’s head disappear. He made a grab and caught hold of something. It was the bundle of clothes strapped on Ned’s back. Up came Ned’s head, but at the same time the belt gave way. It was impossible for Jock to save it: it took all his strength to hold Ned, for the eddy was dragging them both down.

Jock was breathless, almost exhausted when he at last got out of the whirlpool. A minute later a swirl of the current flung them in towards the bank and he clambered up and dragged Ned to safety. He turned quickly to look for Ned’s bundle. There was no sign of it.

“This is my fault, Ned,” he said bitterly. Ned, stark naked, blue with cold, managed a laugh.

“You dear old ass. You save my life and then grouse about my togs.”

“But you’ll die with cold.” As he spoke Jock got his own soaked coat from his bundle, wrung it out and flung it over Ned’s shoulders. Ned refused to be discouraged. “Let’s get the horses first, then we’ll light a fire and warm ourselves. After that we’ll ride home.” He went towards the horses, whistling. Madrina raised her head, then turned and began to walk towards him. Ned held out his hand and the mare came up. She was within a few yards of him when two guanacos came tearing down out of a gorge in the cliff. Madrina snorted, whirled, galloped off and the whole tropilla went thundering away behind her. They went straight up-stream and within three minutes were out of sight.

“That’s torn it,” Ned said. Jock did not speak. At the moment he simply couldn’t. Ned was far the more self-possessed of the two. “They won’t go far,” he added. “If you’ll lend me your boots I’ll go after them.”

Jock looked at his brother. His skin was blue, his teeth were chattering. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Get under the cliff out of the wind. I’m going to light a fire.”

Luckily Jock’s matches were safe in a water-tight bottle; luckily, too, there was plenty of driftwood left by past floods. In a few minutes they had a fire going over which they dried Jock’s clothes and warmed their frozen bodies. When the clothes were dry Jock shared them out. He made Ned put on his vest and pants, which were of wool, and he kept his shirt and trousers and waistcoat. His coat he forced on Ned.

By this time it was almost dark, so both set to gathering dry grass, of which they made a bed under shelter of a projecting spur. Then they piled up the fire and buried themselves in the pile of hay. They soon grew warm, but then they felt hungrier than ever. It was now twenty-four hours since their last meal and the hard walk followed by the swim had taken it out of them badly. They were too hungry to sleep.

“Those confounded guanacos!” growled Ned. “What made them stampede like that?”

“A lion most likely,” Jock answered. He meant of course the puma, which they call the lion in the Argentine, though it is really only a sort of panther. “Try to sleep, Ned. We must save up our strength for chasing those horses in the morning.”

“I’ll try,” said Ned, “but I’m so infernally empty it hurts.”

Somehow the night wore through. The boys dozed uneasily, Jock getting up now and then to put fresh wood on the fire. Dawn came at last with a clear sky and a bitter cold air. Jock was scared to find how weak he was, and his heart sank at the thought of another day without food. Even if they found and caught the horses it would take all of ten hours to get back to the estancia.

Ned got up. “I’ll have to have your boots, Jock,” he said. “Will you wait here while I round up the horses?”

“There doesn’t seem to be much choice,” Jock replied.

“Buck up, old son,” Ned said. “I’ll get the horses and we’ll be home before dark.”

Ned was pulling on the boots when a droning sound made them both look up. A small dark object showed high in the southern sky and the boys stared, unable to believe their eyes.

“An aeroplane!” Jock gasped.

Ned wasted no time in talking. He grabbed up their hay bedding and flung it all on the fire, causing a great cloud of smoke to rise. Then he went scrambling up the bluff like a squirrel.

III. BEAST OF PREY

NED reached the top of the bluff and, standing there, frantically waved both arms.

The drone grew louder. The plane was approaching rapidly, but it was at least two thousand feet up and Jock’s heart sank at the thought that its occupants would be unlikely to see him or Ned and that, even if they did, they would not realise their plight.

Now the plane was almost overhead. It was passing on. Of course the pilot would not come down. Why should he? Frantically Jock piled more and more grass on the fire. He heard a yell from Ned and looked up again. The plane was turning, circling. It was coming down. Jock shouted as loudly as Ned, then stood waiting.

As the plane came lower, he sprang away from the fire and waved his arms, beckoning and pointing to the flat pasture by the river. He saw a head over the edge of the fuselage, a head crowned with bright red hair. The man waved, then the plane came gliding down to make a perfect landing not more than a hundred yards from where Jock stood.

Forgetting his bare feet, Jock ran. As he reached the plane the red-haired man jumped out. He was short, broad, with a turned-up nose and little twinkling, bright blue eyes. He stared at Jock.

“Doggone if he ain’t white!” he exclaimed.

“What did you think he was, Dan?” came a voice from the plane–”blue?” The speaker was a slim young man of about twenty-seven and, though he wore heavy flying kit, he had a spruce appearance.

“Red, Frank,” retorted the man with the flaming head. “Didn’t ye say as Injuns lived in these parts?” Just then Ned came up, panting. “And this one’s white, too,” added Dan, “though he ain’t got much more clothes than an Injun.”

“He lost his in the river last night,” Jock explained. “We have only one suit between us.”

Dan’s eyes widened. “Gee, ain’t you cold enough without going in swimming?”

“We had to swim,” Jock explained, “after our horses.”

“And you spent the night out in those togs.”

“It wasn’t the togs that mattered,” Ned said. “It was want of grub. My brother and I haven’t eaten since the day before yesterday.”

Dan gave a horrified exclamation and plunged into the plane. He came out with a bag of biscuits and about a pound of chocolate and thrust them into the boys’ hands.

“Ye must be clemmed,” he said. “Eat now. After a bit we’ll scare up a proper meal.”

The pilot, too, turned back into the plane and brought out a fleece-lined coat. “Wrap that round you,” he told Ned. “And presently I’d like to hear how you came to be in this fix.”

Seated round the fire, the boys munched biscuits and chocolate and between bites told their story. The men from the plane were intensely interested.

“This fellow, Vaz, must be all kinds of a swine,” said the pilot. “If I could spare petrol I’d go after him and machine-gun him. Now I’ll tell you about ourselves. I’m Frank Falcon and this red-head is Dan Doran. We are employed by the Great Southern Oil Company to look for country where oil may be found. We flew for a place called Santa Inez, where we were told we should find petrol but, when we reached it yesterday, all we could get was twenty gallons. So we started north for Coronel. We shan’t make it. We haven’t juice for more than another hundred miles. Is there any at this place of yours?”

Jock shook his head. “We don’t run to cars, sir. But if you will come to Tres Tortillas my uncle will be glad to have you stay until petrol can be brought.”

“That would be fine,” Falcon declared. “We’d best get on at once. We can pack you two in at the back.”

Ned shook his head. “We have to get those horses, sir.”

“For goodness’ sake don’t call me ‘sir.’ You make me feel about a hundred. Where are your blessed horses?”

“Not far,” Ned assured him. “I can probably get them in an hour.”

Falcon considered. “Dan, you ride. Suppose you go with Ned to fetch these beasts. Meantime Jock and I will scare up a hot meal.”

Dan got up readily. “Sure, I’ll go. Have ye had enough grub to keep your strength up, Ned?”

“I’m fine,” said Ned, swallowing the last biscuit.

“Wait a minute,” said Falcon. He went across to the plane and fetched a gun. “If you don’t see the horses you may see those guanacos. And a steak would be just right for breakfast.”

“It won’t do to fire if the horses are about,” Ned said.

“We will take the gun and chance it,” grinned Dan, and with the double-barrel over his shoulder, set out. The river curved to the south about a mile from the camp, and beyond the curve was a plain with a small lagoon surrounded by thick brush.

“Wait a jiff, Dan,” Ned said. “I’ll climb the bluff and see if the horses are within sight. They might be in that brush.” Without waiting for an answer he scrambled up. For a moment he stood at the top gazing at the brush, then came quickly down.

“The horses are more than a mile away, but I spotted something in the brush, two huemul.”

“And what will they be when they’re at home? Me, I don’t savvy the Patagonian language.”

“Deer, Dan,” Ned answered with a laugh.

“Deer. Why couldn’t ye say so instead o’ libelling the poor beasts with fancy names? Let’s be after them. The notion of a good, juicy steak of venison makes my mouth water.” He started, then stopped. “Is it a good shot ye are, Ned?”

“Pretty fair,” Ned agreed.

“Then take the gun, for I’m rotten.”

Ned took the gun and the two started for the lagoon. Ned knew just where the deer were and the thought of venison appealed to him as much as it did to Dan. As he got near the place where he had seen the animals he bent double and walked with the greatest caution. Dan did the same.

Ned saw an opening in the brush. He stopped.

“Dan,” he whispered, “go in and drive them out. Go as quietly as you can. They ought to come out this way and I’ll have to be pretty close in order to get them with a charge of shot.”

Dan nodded and began to steal forward on tiptoe. He was keen as mustard. Ned moved into cover behind a thick bush and opened the breech of the gun to be sure it was properly loaded.

From the depths of the scrub came a sound, a sound which made Ned’s skin pringle. It was a snarl like that of an angry cat only multiplied many times. Quick as a flash Ned sprang into the opening. There stood Dan petrified and beyond him, with its head just emerging from a screen of leaves, a puma. Its wide mouth was open, showing yellow fangs, and its savage eyes glowed green as emeralds.

The puma as a rule is a rather cowardly creature and avoids man, but it is a curious fact that those of Southern Patagonia are much bolder than the pumas found farther north. And this beast had evidently been stalking the huemuls and was furious at being disturbed.

Ned saw that it was on the point of springing upon Dan, but Dan was between him and the puma and it was impossible to fire without the certainty of hitting Dan.