Loneliness! Alone in a world of bush and scrub and eucalyptus trees; somewhere before one, a mighty ocean; somewhere behind one, the vast impenetrable Blue Mountains. She could not really be lost. She was full of fancies today. She began to canter across the scrub. She had not noticed how rough it had been coming; perhaps it had not been so rough; perhaps she was not going back the way that she had come.
After an hour or so there was no sign of the settlement, and her horse was lagging. There were the mountains, seeming nearer than when she had been going towards them. She seemed to see queer shapes behind that blue curtain; evil spirits who beckoned and laughed to contemplate what they would do to her if she dared set foot in their mountains.
She turned her back on them and rode on. She was hot and tired, and very dirty, and the changelessness of the scene was dispiriting. On and on she went without getting anywhere she recognized. She would be very late home, and Mamma would be cross.
She slipped off her mare, tied her to a tree and lay down under it. She must try to think which way she had come, to work out the way home. She thought now of the people Papa talked of -Bass and Flinders, Torres, Magellan, Dampier. Captain Cook -that glorious band, said Papa, through whose courage our land was founded. She had heard of them, she had read of their exploits; she had imagined herself sailing with them, and she had longed to; but this was different. This was loneliness; this was being lost. If only Papa were here, being lost might be quite an adventure. But that could not be, foe the moment Papa appeared you would cease to be lost.
Lying on the ground, her ear close to the earth, she thought she heard the thump, thump of horses' hooves far, fat away. She listened again.
No doubt at all, but miles away, for they were so faint, and in the bush, so Papa said, you can hear for miles. She stood up and looked around her. There was no sign of a rider, only the interminable scrub and blinding sun. and the quivering curtain of blue on the mountains.
She put her hands to her mouth and called: "Coo-eeeI Coo-ccc!”
She laid her ear to the ground; she could still heat the thud-thud of hoofs. Did they sound louder, of was that just hope?
"Coo-ccc!" she called again, and it seemed to her that, over the scrub, came an answering shout.
"Coo-ccc! Coo-ccc!" she called again, and the voice called back. It was like a duet; she called, and the voice answered, and it went on like that for the best part of an hour. Once there was a frightening gap between her call and the answer, and she began to sob and laugh with relief when she heard the call again.
She watched the speck on the horizon until her eyes ached. It disappeared, and she thought she had imagined it. It came again. It did not grow any larger. It could not be a horse and rider. Then what was it?”
"Coo... eel' she called, and the voice called back; the speck grew a little bigger, and hope swelled up again.
It was a horse and rider, and she was astonished, as they came nearer and nearer, to see that the rider was a boy not much older than herself. He looked startled to see her, but he said casually enough, as though he spent his life answering Coo-ees in the bush: "Hello! You lost?”
"Well," she said, "I'm found now!”
He was attending to his horse, loosening the girths, removing the bit for the horse to graze. She felt irritated because he was more concerned for his mount than he was for her. Country manners, she thought haughtily, for she knew at once that he did not come from Sydney. She told him she did, hoping to command his respect.
He whistled.
"That's a goodish way to come!" His cool blue eyes took in each detail of her well-cut clothes.
"What made them let you out alone?”
"I often come out alone.”
He raised his eyebrows.
"Ever heard of bushrangers?" he asked.
"Yes, I have then!”
"Well' he said mocking.
"Well, what would you say if I told you I was one?”
"I shouldn't believe you.”
"Oh, and why not?”
"Because you're only a boy.”
"There are boy bushrangers...”
"Well, if you were one, you'd have cut my throat by now or put a bullet through my heart.”
"Look here," he said, crestfallen, 'who's lost?”
"Nobody now. I was, but I'm found.”
"You're city smart, ain't you!" His skin was bronzed with the sun; through slits, brilliant blue eyes peeped out at her.
"Your mother shouldn't let you out," he said.
"She didn't.”
"Suppose I was to kidnap you, and not let you go home?”
"What would you do with me?”
"Take you back to the station and make you work.”
"You live on a station then? I tell you what if you kidnapped me, you would be clapped in jail. My Papa would see to that!”
"Don't you be too sure. Who is your Papa?”
"Mr. Masterman.”
The boy laughed at her dignity.
"He's very important," she persisted.
"And a very clever man!”
"I bet he's not half as important as his daughter!”
"I don't know what you mean.”
"I mean I don't care ... that' he snapped his fingers with a fine display of indifference 'for your father. And I'll tell you something else I'm no bushranger. If you like, I'll take you back to the station and give you something to eat. We don't get many visitors.”
"Ate you a convict?" she asked.
"No. But Father was, and my mother was.”
"Are they desperate?”
"Very desperate!" he said mockingly. He was a very fascinating, but very arrogant young person. He didn't mean half he said though, and that made it exciting because you had to separate the things he did mean from the things he didn't.
"Please take me there," she said, "I am hungry and thirsty." Which meant of course that she didn't care how desperate his family was.
"It's a long ride," he said.
"Feel fit for it? But I can promise something good to eat at the end of it. They're killing a fat calf today, and there's plenty of meat.”
"What is your name?" she asked him. He told her it was Henry Jedborough, but he wouldn't tell her how old he was. That was his own grim secret. She had told him she was ten, and he seemed to think that was very little to be. He was only about her height, but broader, more sturdy; he looked strong, and his skin was almost as brown as a native's.
He told her that yesterday they had had a very successful muster. He loved a muster. As he talked she could almost see him, cracking his stock-whip, riding magnificently, darting here and there amongst the straying herds bullocks and calves and heifers going where he insisted they should.
She told him that she had longed to cross the mountains.
"But no one ever has," she said.
"They will.." he said.
"There are evil spirits in the mountains," she told him.
"And they have decreed that no one shall pass.”
He laughed shrilly, mockingly, and his laughter both angered and humiliated her.
"You are a silly girl! You've been listening to natives.”
"I did talk to Wando.”
"And you believe that?”
"Not' she lied, blushing to the red roots of her hair.
"I am glad to hear it," he said.
"There are no evil spirits in the mountains; it is the dangerous ravines that make it so hard to get across. But one day men will get across ... My father will be one of them.”
"Your father... the convict?”
"Ex-convict!" he reminded her.
"He went on an expedition; it failed, but he says one day someone will find the way across, and then ... and then...”