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I'm hanged if I can see a glimmer of light anywhere. Is there anything you can suggest?" Cumshaw did not reply. He was staring straight ahead of him, staring intently, and little furrows of anxiety marred the serenity of his forehead. He was peering into the shadows of the trees as if his eyes were twin searchlights that could cut substance from the gloom.
"I don't like shooting a horse," Cumshaw remarked. "It's like murder." Bradby's only answer was a muttered oath. The trials of the Journey were bringing out the worst side of the man, a side that Cumshaw had never seen before. He eyed his companion thoughtfully.
I had yet to test Cumshaw on active service, so I claimed the four o'clock stretch for my own. It doesn't hurt to be careful; I've never yet met anyone who was sorry he had taken precautions. We camped within a hundred yards of the creek, and after supper Cumshaw and I sprawled on the grass and talked.
"How are we to get the horses down here?" queried the practical Mr. Cumshaw. Mr. Bradby eyed the slope down which he had come so precipitately, and then pursed up his lips. "It don't look so easy from here," he said at length. "And from what I can see this place is walled in all round." "Whether it is or not," said Cumshaw, "we've got to get those horses down, and get them down at once."
"There's nothing to stop us." "Only that we've got to find the valley yet," said Cumshaw gloomily. "My father made several attempts but couldn't locate it." "You've got to bear in mind," I told them, "that we've got some information your father hadn't, strange though it seems." "And that?" Cumshaw queried quickly. "We're looking for a valley that's got a lone tree overlooking it.
It might, but I'm not so sure about it. I guess there'd be a lot of difference in the declination of the sun. But now the tree's gone we're left without that seemingly necessary leading mark." "What are we going to do about it?" Cumshaw demanded. "We can't give up after having gone so far," said Moira. "We're not," I told her. "There's a way out of it, and the simplest way on earth.
Well, I'll tell you this, Mr. Cumshaw. It's my frank opinion that your clever murderous friend had some way of finding it again, or he wouldn't have been in such haste to make away with you. He knew what he was doing, you can depend on it. Now I wonder if he left any clue?"
True, it lent him an air of general disrepute, but then none of us were quite fit for the drawing-room. Even Moira, sheltered as she had been, showed very much the worse for wear. She greeted Cumshaw with a cheery smile, the bravest thing about her I thought, and a ready question as to his adventures.
The moon was now well up in the heavens, and its fitful light creeping through the leafy roof above, made gibbering ghosts of the swaying gums. Mr. Abel Cumshaw and his companion, Jack Bradby, had been brought up in the Australian bush, their nerves were as steady as a rock, and where others saw grim visions of fancy they saw only waving bushes and stripped gums.
"Game to the end," the trooper said to his comrades with an admiration he made no effort to hide. The blow had not killed Abel Cumshaw. He lay unconscious for the better part of the night, and even when the day dawned he was too weak at first to do more than crawl a few paces at the most.
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