The Fire Trumpet Part 37

"Why, it can't be that you've come across the river?" cried the landlord in amazement.

"The devil it can't! We have, though, unless we've gone down it and got into h.e.l.l," fiercely replied the other, with a contemptuous glance around; but the sulky rejoinder was received with a loud laugh by the boisterous but good-natured crew as a capital joke.

"Come through the river?" exclaimed a rough-looking fellow sitting close by. "Here, Mister, you and your friend must have a drink with me.

What's it to be?"

"No fear," called out the thrower of the bottle. "The gentlemen are going to have one with me, Robins; they can have one with you after.

Here, Sims, look alive, trundle up those drinks."

"Keep your temper, Hallett," replied the imperturbable landlord. "A man can't wait on a dozen fellows at once, you see; and there are a precious deal more than a dozen of you here."

"And devilish glad you are of that same, you old humbug," retorted the other, cheerily.

"Tell you what it is," an oracle of "the road" was saying in a loud voice, for the benefit of the a.s.semblage. "That bridge'll go, I say, before night; but, anyhow, it's bound to go before morning."

"Don't know about that, Bill," said another. "It's a good strong bit of iron, and my opinion is that it'll hold out."

"It won't, though. It'll never stand the crush of drift-wood that's against it now. And, mind you, the river's coming down harder nor ever it was--I know. It's raining like blazes up the country, far more'n it is here, and what with the Tarka and the Little Fish and half-a-dozen other streams besides, emptying into this, the bridge is bound to go.

Mark my words."

"Well, p'raps you're right, Bill. We haven't had such a flood as this in my time, and I've known this road, man and boy, for over fifty years.

Still I should have thought the bridge'd stand. It's a good bit of iron. But what do you say, Mister?" he added, appealing to Thorman.

"You've just come over it, I hear."

"What do I say? Why, that the d.a.m.ned thing won't hold out till night,"

was the gruff reply. "It jumped about like a twenty-foot swing while we were on it. And the fool that made it ought to be strapped upon it now, say I."

"I've known one flood bigger than this, but that was before your time,"

observed a wiry-looking little man, with white hair and a weasel-like face, self-complacent in the consciousness of having the pull over the two last speakers, and, indeed, over most of those present. "That was the time poor Owens was drowned. The river rose to within a foot of where we are sitting now before it went down again."

"Who was Owens, and how was he drowned?" inquired Hicks, spotting an episode.

"Who was Owens?" repeated the old man, placidly filling his pipe. "A fool; because he thought he was smarter than any of us, and thought he could cross the river when we couldn't. He went in on horseback. The river was running just as it was to-day, only not quite so deep. He went down, as a matter of course, before he was half-way through."

"Couldn't any of you help him?" asked Hicks.

The old fellow glanced up with a look of silent contempt for any one capable of putting such a question. Then he calmly struck a match and lighted his pipe, and having done so he continued:

"The river was full of drift-wood, and we saw one big tree bearing down upon Owens full swing. We hollered out to warn him, but the water was kicking up such a row that he couldn't hear, nor would it have helped him much if he had. Well, the tree came bang against him, entangling him and the horse in the branches. They rolled over and over; and tree, and horse, and Owens disappeared. We never saw him again, but the next I heard of him was that his body had been found a week afterwards, when the water had run off, sticking in the bed of the river, among the drift-wood down Peddie way."

"Poor devil," exclaimed several of his auditors.

"No one but a fool would have gone into the river at all," concluded the old man, sententiously, as he tossed off the remainder of his grog.

"I say, Thorman, we must be going," said Hicks.

"All right," replied that worthy, knocking the ashes out of his pipe and rising to his feet.

"Oh, but you needn't be off yet," objected he addressed as Hallett.

"Stay here with us and make a night of it; you can go on in the morning."

But Hicks was firm. It was not for this he had risked his life.

"Awfully sorry, old man, but I must get back to-night."

"Hang it! Well, then, have another drink--just an 'off-setter,'"

persisted the other. "No? Well, then, good-bye. If you're round my way any time, mind you give us a look up. We'll get up a buck hunt, and some fun of some sort. Ta, ta! Take care of yourself. But you're well able to do that now, I should think."

They settled for their horses' forage, and going round to the stable, saddled-up, and were soon on their way; the steeds, after a good feed and a rub down, looking none the worse for their gallant efforts in crossing the perilous flood. And a carious sight was that which the neighbourhood of the drift presented as they rode forth. In every direction waggons were outspanned, standing in rows of six or seven, or in twos and threes, according to the number owned by or in charge of any one man, but everywhere waggons. A few were empty, but most of them were loaded high up with wool-bales, sent from up-country stores to the seaboard--or with hides, and horns, or other produce--for it was before the days of railroads, and the carrying trade was abundant and thriving.

Their owners stood about in knots, watching the gathering flood; others pa.s.sed to and from the inn. Some again sat stolidly by their fires smoking their pipes as they waited for the pot to boil, while a cloud of native servants--drivers and leaders--hung about the canteen or lolled by the fires, the deep ba.s.s of the manly Kafir mingling with the shrill chatter of Hottentots and b.a.s.t.a.r.ds [Note 1]. A kind of twilight had come on prematurely, by reason of the lowering sky, and the red watch-fires glowed forth, and the crowd of waggons, considerably over a hundred, standing about, gave the place the appearance of a mining-camp, or a commissariat train halted while on the march. And every now and then, more waggons would come lumbering over the rise, the cracking of whips and the harsh yells of their drivers echoing through the heavy air.

"Hi! Here! Where the h.e.l.l are you coming to? Can't you keep the right side of the road, instead of the side of the bullocks, d.a.m.n you?"

The voice proceeded from an unkempt and perspiring individual, in flannel shirt and corduroy trousers, who, wielding his long whip, walked beside a full span of sixteen oxen, the motive power of a mighty load of wool-bales. So insolent and aggressive was it in its tone, that even good-natured Hicks, to whom the query was addressed, and than whom a less quarrelsome fellow never lived, was moved to anger, and answered the incensed transport-rider pretty much in the same strain.

"Oh, so you think I ought to get out of _your_ way, do you?" roared the other.

"I think you might be civil, confound it all!" fumed Hicks.

"Suppose I ought to say 'sir,' eh?" went on the other, in wrathful, sneering tones.

"Oh, go to the devil," cried Hicks, fairly boiling over; "I've no time to stay jawing here all night with you," he added, contemptuously, making as if he would ride on.

"Haven't you? Just get down; I'll soon show you who's the best hand at jawing, and at hitting, too. Come down here and try, if you're not a blanked coward!" yelled the fellow. He thought that the other was afraid of him; but he reckoned without his host.

"Oh, that's your game, is it?" cried Hicks, springing to the ground, and throwing off his mackintosh. "Come on, I'm your Moses." And he advanced towards the irate transport-rider, looking him fall in the eyes.

The fellow, who now saw that he had a tough customer to deal with, began to repent of his hastiness, and would fain have backed out of the sc.r.a.pe into which his insolent, overbearing temper had led him, but it was too late to decline the contest, for several of his contemporaries, attracted by the prospect of a row, had gathered round. So he rushed at his opponent, hitting out blindly, right and left. But Hicks, who knew something of "the art of self-defence," and was of st.u.r.dy, powerful build besides, found no difficulty in parrying this unscientific attack.

Then with a well-planted "one--two," straight from the shoulder, he landed his adversary in a heap on the slippery, trodden-down gra.s.s by the roadside.

"He's down--give him law," cried one of the bystanders. "Who is it?

What's it all about?"

"d.i.c.k Martin," answered another voice. "He cheeked t'other fellow, or t'other fellow cheeked him, it don't matter which; so they're having it out. Get up, d.i.c.k, and go in at him again."

But d.i.c.k manifested no such inclination. He raised himself half up and sat glowering stupidly around, as if dazed. His nose was bleeding, and a huge lump over his eye betokened pretty plainly that he would wake on the morrow with that useful organ somewhat obscured.

"Never mind. Get up and have another try, man," called out the last speaker.

"He can't; he's had enough. T'other's been one too many for him," said some one else. And he had.

Hicks, who was far too good-hearted a fellow to exult over a fallen foe, however great the provocation received, said nothing. He lingered a moment to see if his adversary would show any sign of renewing battle, and then began to mount his horse. Just then a loud shout went up from the water's edge about four hundred yards below them. All turned.

"The bridge! It's going!" cried some one.

The spot where they stood, being on an eminence, overlooked the river, and they could see the strong ironwork of the parapet bend to the ponderous ma.s.s of acc.u.mulated drift-wood heaped against it. It yielded--then snapped; and with a thunder-crash sounding loud above the continuous roar of the flood, the vast obstruction of _debris_ bore it down. A huge wave reared its head many feet in the air, and fell with a mighty hiss, covering the rushing surface with seething foam. Then, the obstruction removed, the mighty river hurled itself forward, its horrible, many-tongued voices bellowing as if in savage joy at having overthrown and defeated the works of human ingenuity. All that could now be seen of the once fine bridge was a few strands of twisted ironwork clinging about what remained of the piers at each of its ends.

"Let's give the old bridge three cheers," cried one of the spectators.