East of Outback (32 page)

Colin listened vaguely to her words, but was more engrossed with the speaker. When she first joined him out on the trail, one might have thought Hannah to be impetuous, foolish, quite possibly mad. Now an observer would likely say she was quick to act, self-assured, and quite possibly lacking in deference for one so young. But she was no longer the child who had jumped off the westbound train. Colin tried to decide which Hannah he preferred, the child or the woman. He almost preferred the former. Almost.

She stopped for a breath of air.

“I gave all my money to Dr. Newsome, Hannah. Do you have any left?”

“No. And I gave all our food to the Colfaxes. I didn’t bring any up with me,” she announced matter-of-factly.

“Are you going back down?”

She shook her head. “Mrs. Colfax wanted me too, but Sister Jane said it was not necessary. They don’t really need me anymore. So I brought your swag and my traveling bag with me.”

“What about their truck?”

“Dr. Newsome and Sister Jane put some petrol in it and drove it down to them. I told him about the hole in the tank.”

Colin nodded, thinking. “I’ve got a job for you, Hannah. Maybe you can join me for lunch, and then look around town to see if you can find out if the mare’s still alive.”

Her face fell. “Not Max’s Lady, too!”

“The last I saw her she was lying in the road. She looked dead to me, but I was in no condition to be a judge of anything. I just hope the townspeople haven’t kept the bad news from me because of my illness. Maybe they really don’t know anything.”

“I’ll find out.” There was that simple, gentle, self-assured determination again. The little girl was gone.

______

Hundreds of nearly identical boxed-top automobiles lined the parking field, all sporting their shiny spares at the back. Milling throngs dressed in the season’s finest jammed into the stands. They pressed near the outside fence of the racecourse, as the most-favored paraded about the infield.

Of all the events in Australia in any season of the year, this was the place to see and be seen, to strut and admire (or envy), to show off the latest acquisition, be it a bride or a new serge suit. The Melbourne Cup.

Sloan stood apart in the corner of the owners’ box and scanned the surging crowd. How many thousands were here because it was the best place to be seen socially, and not for love of the sport itself? As a Christian, Sloan felt constrained to regard all people equally, without respect to station. But he found it difficult to stomach the social climbers, those who did things strictly for the sake of appearance. The Melbourne Cup was certainly a place for that. It was literally jammed with strutters and preeners who had not the least interest in these magnificent horses, the best of the breed, or racing for that matter.

Sam sat relaxing gracefully. Pointing to events on the daily form, she was obviously explaining something to the lady next to her. The other woman nodded. Sloan smiled. Sam was here today for all the right reasons. She loved horses. How many sleepless nights had she spent over the years, helping Sloan tend a sick horse or awaiting the arrival of a foal? She handled horses well, and they responded in kind. The Irish touch with horses was no myth.

Sloan walked past and tapped her knee. “I’m taking a turn through the barns.”

“You’ll miss the third race.”

“Probably.” He smiled and she smiled. She knew that the race was the least of it all. He jogged down the steps and out behind the stands, fighting the milling crowd.

Things were less hectic back in the barns, despite the activity of horses being prepared for their moment in the sun. Sloan loved the milieu.

“Cole Sloan! Why, it is you!”

Sloan turned. Unabashedly hefty, Mrs. Horvath draped herself in a black silk dinner frock, the extremely narrow skirt requiring that she walk with painfully shortened steps. Her hat, a silver lame cloche, pressed over her head like a giant bell, and she wore a sheer, misty gray shawl over her shoulders.

She came bustling over to him, her feet churning beneath her. “I’ve wanted for the longest time to chat with you, Cole. Why have you no entry in the Cup this year?”

He took her black-gloved hand in his and kissed the kidskin. “Because, milady, I’m no fool. I’ve nothing this year close to matching Windbag.”

“Windbag! Much overrated! Splendid day, isn’t it?”

“Perfect. Should set a record here, or close to it.” He disliked small talk, and happened to know Mrs. Horvath never engaged in it for long. On what track was she, really?

She dropped her voice to a hoarse idle, “We heard the sad news that your lovely son decided to go off. Most premature. Delightful lad, but a mind of his own. So like today’s youth!” She sighed heavily, as if to let off steam. “Just look at the young women mincing about in next to nothing, their hems practically to the knee! They dare think they can fling the advice of their elders right out the window.”

“True, true.”

She moved in closer and murmured privately, “And there’s a pernicious rumor that your twelve-year-old daughter ran off as well. Surely not true!”

Sloan shook his head gravely and quelled the anger inside. He even smiled. “Pernicious is hardly the word for it. Amazing, sometimes, what rumor mills churn out, isn’t it? Tell me, just out of curiosity: where does this rumor claim she went?”

“Why, to Victoria. The shearing sheds north of Bendigo.”

He chuckled. “Most rumors have at least a shadow of fact behind them, but that one must have been purely fabricated.”

“I’m certainly relieved, of course, that it’s groundless, but I must admit I gave it a bit of credence. You see, the granddaughter of one of the ladies in our lawn bowling group attends All Saints Girls’ Academy—same school in Sydney your daughter attends. When your child abruptly ceased attending classes, the rumors began to spread.”

“Of course.”

“And then Mabel—she’s another of our lawn bowlers—was visiting her sister in Kangaroo Flat and happened upon an article in the local paper about a fight in an inn in Eaglehawk; a beaut of a blue with the whole pub turned upside down. Two in the hospital, Mabel says, and seventeen fined. And all because of a small, dark-haired girl working on the boards. Well, one rather puts two and two together. And your daughter, known for her quick mind and, well, her prankish ways—”

“No one stopping to think that she’s a city girl through and through, as no doubt your friend’s granddaughter is, I would assume. Wouldn’t know which end of the sheep to apply the shears to, even if she were strong enough.”

“Oh, my, yes,” she huffed. “Just isn’t done, you know, a girl in a shearing shed.”

“And with good reason.” Sloan nodded sagely. “Certainly not a girl’s place. I agree with you heartily on that, but I’m afraid I differ with you on the preferred length of women’s dresses. I quite like the new lengths. Not immodest, and certainly more attractive. Aesthetically speaking, of course, Mrs. Horvath.”

“I respect your views, Mr. Sloan. Remember, though, that your lovely wife, so tall and slender, is simply made for the new styles. She is one of the few I know who can wear them with dignity. Now Mabel, for example—” On she went, off the subject of Hannah altogether.

Sloan led her along for another five minutes, then mentioned a horse he had entered in the fifth, and needed to check on. He bade her good day, excused himself, and hurried off.

He ducked away from the barns as soon as he left her sight; it was easy to disappear in the crowd. He jogged lightly to the private lounge where the owners and race-course officials congregated. He pushed inside and threaded between idling, drinking horsemen to the^orner table and an easy chair.

He flopped down heavily and snatched up the phone on the table beside it. “Good afternoon, operator. Can you connect me through to the Victorian Police, please? Eagle-hawk. If not there, Bendigo. Certainly I’ll wait.” He slouched back into the chair, the receiver pressed to his ear, as the operator attempted to work her modern magic. The fires of hope raged unquenched in his tortured breast.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE

T
HE
W
AY
H
OME

Everything was gone crook. Hannah stood on the bottom paddock rail, her arms draped over the toprail. The smooth wood pressed warm against her skin. Here in the back paddock of the town’s only stable stood Max’s Lady, switching her tail. Alive after all, she acted sluggish, lack-adaisical. Her ordeal had snuffed her spark.

Colin smiled broadly, but she couldn’t tell whether it was her presence or the mare’s that generated his happiness right now. His neatly laundered clothes hung slack on him. His face looked thin. Gaunt. The illness had exacted a terrible toll. Hannah shuddered.

Finances. For the first time in her life, Hannah had debts. Dr. Newsome advanced her the price of a room when she returned from the Colfax station. She must repay him, although he hinted broadly that it would not be necessary. To Hannah it was necessary.

“Colin? You still owe money on your hospital bill, right?”

“A little beyond the six pounds I already paid, yair. Part of hospital care is covered by subscription, paid by the locals here. But since we aren’t locals, we aren’t covered by it.”

“I don’t like being in debt, Colin.”

“Me either.” He rubbed the mare’s nose.

Mr. Joyce, the hostler, stepped up smiling. He smiled often, but it never seemed quite genuine. His gloomy undercurrent further irritated Hannah. “Where you youngsters going next? More rabbiting?”

Colin shrugged. “We’re headed east. See what turns up; rabbiting, perhaps. Yes.”

“You’d better take it very easy with the horse. No double dink, no long hauls. She’s not up to measure yet.” There was that creepy smile again. “I’ll go write your bill for her stabling.” He walked off toward his small quarters.

Hannah’s heart sank still further into the doldrums. Another bill to add to the others, and no receipts.

A large White truck pulled up by the barn just then, and two men climbed down to talk to the hostler as he came from his house. He nodded vigorously and pointed to the side paddock. The men started to walk in that direction.

One of them caught a glimpse of Colin and stopped suddenly. “Sloan!” he called. He turned and walked toward the two as briskly as his limp would allow.

A handsome grin split Colin’s countenance. “Steve Haynes! G’day, mate! Meet my sister, Hannah. This is the cobber whose horse fell on him. Spent time in the hospital with me.” He shook hands warmly with the stocky young man.

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Hannah was suddenly shy, and didn’t know whether to curtsy or shake hands. She did neither, and simply smiled. The ringer smiled back, and Hannah decided the smile was a sufficient greeting.

“Delighted, mum. Heard all manner of good report about you from your brother here.” He looked past Colin at the mare. “So this is the beast that made a running jump into a moving truck. Crikey, I’d like to’ve seen that! She’s a meaty horse to be so nimble.”

“Nimble.” Colin snorted. “I’m afraid she’s up to mud at the moment. Still stiff from what I put her through coming into this fair town.”

“Eh, I can sure vouch for that! Same problem myself. Not so nimble as I was.”

Hannah crowed, “Oh, she’s a lovely animal when she’s up to grade, and much happier than you see her now.”

“She’ll be back, I’m sure.” Steve scratched Max’s Lady behind the ears. The horse leaned into his hand, her eyes half closed. “Bonzer horse.”

“What brings you to town?” Colin asked.

“They had to put my horse down—broke a leg when it fell with me. We thought to see what Joyce has here, looking around to buy. This lady doesn’t happen to be for sale, I suppose.”

“She might be.”

Hannah gaped at Colin. He couldn’t really be saying that!

He dug into his wallet. “Here’s the original bill of sale on her. Purchased in Broome at a reduced price. She wasn’t half a hatrack, but she fattened quickly on the track. She’s sound and dependable, holds weight well, good disposition, no vices. Tends to barn-sour a little. Good feet; run her barefoot or shod, no problems. Understand, I’ll want the saddle to go with her. No use toting that about without a horse under it.”

“Here you go.” Mr. Joyce appeared from nowhere, handed Colin a bill and hurried off to his side paddock to sell horses.

Colin led the mare out. Hannah stared at him, speechless. He couldn’t sell a good friend like this. Her misery was deepening by degrees. He seemed to be serious. The men talked about horses in general, about the Melbourne Cup, the season at the Sydney racecourse and Colin’s experience in the barns there. Then they returned to talk of the mare. Steve began a systematic inspection of her, starting at her head, picking up each foot, running his hands down each leg.

Colin jabbed Hannah. “How much did you lug Dr. Newsome’s ear for?”

“He gave me three quid. I have some left. But I owe him, Colin.”

“Three quid.” Colin was oblivious to her protests. He studied the bill in his hand. Hannah knew he was totaling their debts and weighing the options. He nodded to himself. It was all over now. He would sell the mare.

Hannah sighed and wandered off by herself. She liked the big old mare. They’d been through so much together.

Steve left Colin momentarily to talk to his companion.

Hannah felt near tears. She approached Colin again and leaned against the paddock fence next to him. “I don’t want you to sell Max’s Lady.”

“I don’t want to either, Hannah, but we need a way home. Besides, you said yourself it’s hard to get a ride when she’s along. We’ll do fine without her, and it’s the only way to pay our debts. Steve’s a good hand with horses, and he likes her.”

“He killed the last one he got upon.”

“And I nearly killed her.”

It was over so quickly. Steve and his companion loaded the mare into their truck and remarked at how readily she hopped in. Colin settled his bill with Mr. Joyce on the spot. The man was not smiling now, unable to hide his genuine disgust at the turn of events. Colin’s sale of Max’s Lady terminated any further negotiations for his own horses.