A Little Bush Maid Part 30

Norah's heart thumped heavily. For a moment she fought with the longing to run back--back from this strange, silent place--back to Daddy. Then she gulped down something in her throat, and giving herself an impatient shake, she went resolutely across the clearing to the tent and peeped in.

The interior of the tent was as neat and homelike as when Norah had seen it first. The quaint bits of furniture stood in their places, and the skins lay on the floor. But Norah saw nothing but her friend's face.

The Hermit was lying on his bunk--a splendid old figure in his dress of soft furry skins, but with a certain helplessness about him that brought Norah's heart into her mouth. As the flap of the tent lifted he turned his head with difficulty, and looked at the little girl with weary, burning eyes that held no light of recognition. His face was ghastly white beneath the sunburnt skin, which was drawn like parchment over the cheekbones. A low moan came from his dry lips.

"Water!"

Norah cast a despairing glance around. An empty billy by the old man told its own tale, and a hurried search in the camp only revealed empty vessels.

"I'll be back in a minute," said Norah, sobbing.

Afterwards she could not remember how she had got down to the creek. Her blouse was torn, and there were long scratches on her wrists, and she was panting, as she came back to the sick man, and, struggling to raise his heavy head, held a cup to his lips. He drank fiercely, desperately, as Norah had seen starving cattle drink when released after a long journey in the trucks. Again and again he drank--until Norah grew afraid and begged him to lie down. He obeyed her meekly and smiled a little, but there was no comprehension in the fevered eyes. She put her hand on his forehead and started at its burning heat.

"Oh, what'll I do with you!" she said in her perplexity.

"Do?" said the Hermit with startling suddenness. "But I'm dead!" He closed his eyes and lay very still. "Dead--ages ago!" He muttered. A second he lay so, and then he turned and looked at her. "Where's the child?" he asked. "I must go to him; let me go, I tell you!" He tried to rise, but fell back weakly. "Water!" he begged.

She gave him water again, and then bathed his face and hands, using her handkerchief for a sponge. He grew quieter, and once or twice Norah thought he seemed to know her; but at the end he closed his eyes and lay motionless.

"I'll be back very soon," she said. "Do please be still, dear Mr.

Hermit!" She bent over him and kissed his forehead, and he stirred and murmured a name she could not catch. Then he relapsed into unconsciousness, and Norah turned and ran wildly into the scrub.

To bring Daddy--Daddy, who knew everything, who always understood! There was no other thought in her mind now. Whatever the Hermit might have done, he needed help now most sorely--and Daddy was the only one who could give it. Only the way seemed long as she raced through the trees, seeing always that haggard, pain-wrung face on the rude bunk. If only they were in time!

Mr. Linton, sitting on the log and lazily watching his idle float, started at the voice that called to him from the bank; and at sight of the little girl be leaped to his feet and ran towards her.

"Norah! What is it?"

She told him, clinging to him and sobbing; tugging at him all the time to make him come quickly. A strange enough tale it seemed to Mr.

Linton--of hermits and hidden camps, and the Winfield murderer, and someone who needed help,--but there was that in Norah's face and in her unfamiliar emotion that made him hurry through the scrub beside her, although he did not understand what he was to find, and was only conscious of immense relief to know that she herself was safe, after the moment of terror that her first cry had given him. Norah steadied herself with a great effort, as they came to the silent camp.

"He's there," she said, pointing.

Mr. Linton understood something then, and he went forward quickly. The Hermit was still unconscious. His hollow eyes met them blankly as they entered the tent.

"Oh, he's ill, Daddy! Will he die?"

But David Linton did not answer. He was staring at the unconscious face before him, and his own was strangely white. As Norah looked at him, struck with a sudden wonder, her father fell on his knees and caught the sick man's hand.

"Jim!" he said, and a sob choked his voice. "Old chum--Jim!"

CHAPTER XV. FOR FRIENDs.h.i.+P

"Daddy!"

At the quivering voice her father lifted his head and Norah saw that his eyes were wet.

"It's my dear old friend Stephenson," he said brokenly. "I told you about him. We thought he was dead--there was the body; I don't understand, but this is he, and he's alive, thank G.o.d!"

The Hermit stirred and begged again for water, and Mr. Linton held him while he drank. His face grew anxious as he felt the scorching heat of the old man's body.

"He's so thirsty," Norah said tremulously, "goodness knows when he'd had a drink. His poor lips were all black and cracked when I found him."

"Had he no water near him?" asked her father, quickly. "You got this?"

"Yes, from the creek," Norah nodded. "I'll get some more, Daddy; the billy's nearly empty."

When Norah returned, laden with two cans, her father met her with a very grave face.

"That's my girl," he said, taking the water from her. "Norah, I'm afraid he's very ill. It looks uncommonly like typhoid."

"Will he--will he die, Daddy?"

"I can't tell, dear. What's bothering me is how to get help for him. He wants a doctor immediately--wants a dozen things I haven't got here. I wish that blessed black boy hadn't gone! I don't quite know what to do--I can't leave you here while I get help--he's half delirious now."

"You must let me go," said Norah quietly. "I can--easily."

"You!" said her father, looking down at the steady face. "That won't do, dear--not across fifteen miles of lonely country. I--" The Hermit cried out suddenly, and tried to rise, and Mr. Linton had to hold him down gently, but the struggle was a painful one, and when it was over the strong man's brow was wet. "Poor old chap!" he muttered brokenly.

Norah caught his arm.

"You see, I must go, Daddy," she said. "There's no one else--and he'll die! Truly I can, Daddy--quite well. Bobs'll look after me."

"Can you?" he said, looking down at her. "You're sure you know the track?"

"Course I can," said his daughter scornfully.

"I don't see anything for it," Mr. Linton said, an anxious frown knitting his brow. "His life hangs on getting help, and there's no other way, I'll have to risk you, my little girl."

"There's no risk," said Norah. "Don't you worry, Daddy, dear. Just tell me what you want."

Mr. Linton was writing hurriedly in his pocket-book.

"Send into Cunjee for Dr. Anderson as hard as a man can travel," he said shortly. "Don't wait for him, however; get Mrs. Brown to pack these things from my medicine-chest, and let Billy get a fresh horse and bring them back to me, and he needn't be afraid of knocking his horse up. I'm afraid we're too late as it is. Can he find his way here?"

"He's been here."

"That's all right, then. Tell Anderson I think it's typhoid, and if he thinks we can move him, let Wright follow the doctor out with the express-wagon--Mrs. Brown will know what to send to make it comfortable.

Can you manage Bobs?"

"Yes--of course."

Mr. Linton put his hand on her shoulder.