Distant Mountains, page 10
Cursing silently, he decided to wait it out. Surely, at some stage there would be a chance to escape.
* * *
A week later, Rem reached the conclusion he was destined to remain with this unsavory bunch forever. Scab took to gang life like a fish to water, and eagerly helped with the chores. The gang planned a hold-up for the Sunday after Big Ox’s escape and rescue. The night before the proposed hold-up, Rem lay awake planning how he would sneak away while they were off.
“Give him the cobby gelding,” Craddock ordered as the sun came up, pointing Rem’s way, and his hopes faded. Apparently, he was going along with them. Still, perhaps he would get a chance to take off during the hold-up. There was more chance of that away from here where someone watched him constantly. He didn’t hold a lot of hope, but if the opportunity arose he would take it.
Eight of them rode out and left Big Ox and Scab behind. “You’re too hot at the moment,” Craddock told the big man. “You lay low for a while until the chase cools down.”
“Why did I have to come?” Rem asked as they took a treacherous track skirting a mountainside. “I’ll be more hindrance than help. I know nothing about holding up wagons.” With his heart in his mouth, he watched a small rock kicked up by his horse tumble over the precipice. It fell endlessly into a seemingly bottomless canyon.
Craddock, riding behind Rem, was silent for so long Rem thought he wouldn’t reply. But then he said, “The Big Ox has the brain of a flea. For some reason he’s taken a liking to you. I’m not taking chances that he might feel sorry for you. This way I can keep an eye on you.”
Rem doubted that was the real reason, for Big Ox knew quite well Craddock would show no mercy for anyone who defied him.
Rem breathed a huge sigh when they reached the bottom of the trail, and Craddock motioned for them to dismount. They tethered and concealed the horses in a gully, and then climbed a small hill and settled down to wait amid a stand of trees. Rem was pushed onto his haunches, and the others crouched low. Craddock filled his pipe, poked it in his mouth, but didn’t light it.
The creak of wagon wheels and the shouts of the drivers urging their horses on signaled the arrival of wagons. Rem’s insides dropped as the sounds grew louder. Was he really about to take part in a bushrangers hold-up? This was like some odd dream. His limbs felt heavy, as if his mind had left his body and watched the bizarre scene from above the trail. The dream-like feeling intensified.
Craddock pulled his filthy kerchief over the bottom half of his face and gestured for the others to do the same. “Get up.”
“No.” Rem wasn’t about to go out there and get himself filled with gunshot. He wondered at his calmness in the face of the ugly man’s ferocious glare.
“I said get up and move out, or I’ll shoot you where you sit,” Craddock barked.
The driver of the first of three wagons coming over a ridge let out a shout and reined in his team. Craddock shot him in the chest. The poor sod threw up his arms and toppled sideways, falling heavily onto the track. His mate, a look of terror on his face, jumped sideways, missing the second shot.
Shouts echoed as the other drivers tried to stop their horses careening into the wagon in front of them.
Craddock’s menacing yell echoed through the trees as Rem ran into the brush, and the other gang members crouched low, firing at random.
“Get back here,” Craddock hollered, but Rem wasn’t about to slow down. A bullet whistled by his ear; then he fell. His last thought was that he had dropped off the face of the earth.
Chapter Ten
Rem blinked his eyes open. It was dark and wet. The eerie shapes of overhanging branches told him he lay beneath a tree, and a small creature scuttled around in the undergrowth nearby. Raindrops spattered onto his face, and he wiped at them with his sleeve. Had he been unconscious hours or minutes?
There was a movement nearby. He struggled to rise, expecting to see a kangaroo or larger animal, but a female said, “You are awake?”
She had a strange accent to her speech, and Rem racked his brain to recall where he had heard that singsong way of speaking before. At that moment, it hit him that his left leg was bound. Jesus! She had tied him up. He tried to move and a shaft of pain shot up from his ankle. Rem guessed then he had broken his leg and there was a splint on it.
“Where are you? And who are you?” he called. “Did you do this?” Rem pointed to his lower leg. She hadn’t done a bad job of her doctoring. It was bound securely but not so tight it cut off his circulation.
His rescuer moved stealthily toward him. Rem couldn’t make out her features, but she was tiny and had hair as black as coal, for she blended into the shadows like a creature of the night.
“I am called Oyyou,” she said low, moving with extreme caution. Like a fawn prepared for flight, she hovered just out of reach.
“Don’t be afraid.” He rolled onto his elbows, wincing in agony. “I can’t harm you even if I felt inclined to, for I can’t stand. Did you bind my leg? If so, thank you. It hurts like crazy. Have I broken something?”
“I think you have broken your ankle bone, but cannot be sure,” she said. Her voice was melodious, like water trickling over rocks, and it reminded him of a cool stream on a hot day. He grunted at his fanciful thoughts. Perhaps he was hallucinating.
Glancing about into the dense shadows, he could make out the dark shapes of trees and shrubs, but he lay in a small hollow, a carpet of leaves beneath him. “Where are we?”
“You fell when the men began to shout and shoot their guns,” she said softly, looking behind her furtively. “I hid, then when they had gone I came to see what had happened to you.”
“Thank you for that. How long ago was this?”
She shrugged. “You have been asleep for a long time.”
“Long enough for you to bind my leg. That was very kind of you.” Rem tried to raise himself again, but sweat broke out on his back, despite the cool rain that had soaked his clothes. With a groan of impatience, he flopped back onto his soggy bed of leaves. “Where do you live? Surely you can’t live out here in the middle of nowhere. Or were you on one of the wagons they were going to rob?”
“I live not far from here.” She seemed reluctant to tell him more as she glanced about, looking as if she expected a dangerous animal to jump out on her.
“But not alone?”
She shook her head.
“What happened to the others? Did you see where they went?” He couldn’t believe he’d escaped from Craddock and his mob so easily. They would have chased him. Unless they thought the fall killed him.
“The man with the ugly face was shot. I heard them talking, wondering what to do with his body. Then two of them lifted him onto a horse. They rode away and the other robbers followed, after waving their weapons. The wagon drivers picked up the man who fell then also went. I hid for a long time.”
“Craddock was killed? Well, I’ll be blowed! Look, do you think we can get out of this rain?” He was shivering as if he had an ague. She’d probably rescued him only to have him die of a fever.
She looked about again, still wary. “I cannot take you with me. You must go alone.”
“Go alone? Blimey, I can’t walk.” After a few useless struggles to rise, Rem fell back with a groan of frustration. “Do you live with your parents? Have you brothers and sisters? What on earth were you doing out here alone anyway?”
“I live with my...my husband. He is looking for gold. I heard the shooting while I was outside the house and feared men were coming to rob him, so I hid.” She locked her hands together nervously. “I cannot take you home.”
“Surely your husband wouldn’t turn away a traveler in need.” This was ridiculous. She had taken the trouble to help him, now intended to desert him. His shudders grew stronger, and he felt dizzy, sure he was about to vomit.
“You are not a traveler. You were with the gang about to rob the wagons,” she said bluntly.
“I’m not a robber, believe me. I was with them under duress.” Rem swallowed, closing his eyes when his head whirled. His ankle throbbed as if a ten-ton hammer was banging on it. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it some time when I feel more up to it. For now would you please get me somewhere dry before I pass out again?” She came closer by degrees and through the haze of pain he saw that her eyes were filled with sympathy. “You can trust me.”
A small grunt showed her doubt. “I trust no man!”
“Maybe so, but I’ll do you no harm. Just help me up. You bound my leg. How can you think of deserting me now? You might as well stab me and leave me here for the wild animals. Go on, hit me over the head with a rock, then go.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Do not speak so. You know I cannot kill you. I saved you.”
“Exactly, so how can you think to leave me here to perish?”
“Can you get up?” She knelt at his side. “I cannot lift you, I am too small.”
She certainly was. Rem couldn’t remember seeing such a tiny, fragile woman. She would probably double over when she tried to lift him. Sweat beaded his body as he struggled onto his side then pushed himself into a sitting position. It seemed to take an hour to get onto his good knee.
She rummaged about in the undergrowth, coming back with a branch. After stripping its leaves, she handed it to him, and he agonizingly pushed himself upright. When he put weight on his injured leg Rem thought he would pass out. Like a hot poker, pain shot up his calf to his thigh. He groaned, and she muttered what sounded like a prayer as she took some of his weight on her slender shoulders.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbled as they began a slow shuddering progress.
She ignored that and said, “I will put you in the mule’s stable.”
“Sounds like heaven,” he mumbled, not caring now if she let him drop and left him to die. The pain was horrendous.
Through a haze of agony, Rem saw a couple of buildings loom out of the shadows. She halted, a small hand on his chest as she stopped him from stumbling forward. “We must be quiet,” she whispered urgently. “My husband is not...he is not a good man.”
“Is he Chinese like you?” Rem asked. During their short acquaintance he worked out where he’d heard that accent before. He still couldn’t make out her features, but with hair as dark as night and such slight build it was obvious what part of the world she hailed from.
“No, he is from here.”
“Is he really your husband? Or are you his…?”
“My parents sold me to him,” she blurted. “We never went through a marriage ceremony.”
“What!”
“Now, you must be silent, please?” Rem shut his mouth at her pleading tone. “Stay here.” Propping him against a tree, she slid into the darkness.
Rem pressed his back against the trunk and dragged some much needed air into his lungs. Her slight frame was silhouetted against the light as she opened the door of the largest hut and went inside.
Within moments she returned, a bundle under one arm and a lamp swinging from a hand.
“He is asleep.” With her free hand, she assisted him across the few paces it took to get them to the small shed a few yards from the other hut. “He will sleep until morning. He has finished a flagon of ale.”
“Ah, he’s drunk. Is he often this way?” Rem asked, feeling immeasurably sorry for this tiny woman.
“Mostly every night.” She shrugged gracefully. “It is best.”
Rem understood that reasoning. While drunk he left her alone; something she obviously preferred.
“Come,” she insisted as she closed the door. In the light thrown by the single lamp Rem saw one small stall where a mule stood, eyeing them indignantly. He wondered how she was going to keep his presence secret from her drunken husband in this confined space.
“You can rest here until morning, and then you must leave,” she whispered. “Please go before dawn.” She passed him a piece of tattered blanket that smelt like the mule had been lying on it, and then turned to go.
Rem hoped that by first light he felt more able to get away. Right now he wouldn’t be able to walk a few paces unaided, but wasn’t about to tell her that. Best wait to see what the new day brought. Perhaps he would make a miraculous recovery. Huh, and ducks couldn’t swim!
“Oyyou,” Rem said quietly. She stopped, facing him, her fingers playing with the belt of rope securing her coarse, ragged garment. “Is that your real name? It sounds very strange, like no name I’ve heard before. Is it Chinese?”
“It is what he calls me. He shouts Oy You, and I must do his bidding or be beaten,” she muttered.
“The bastard! I’ll call you Lulu. What he shouts is no name, but a rude insult. Lulu’s much better, don’t you think?”
“Lulu.” She nodded. “It is strange, but yes, I like it.” A ghost of a smile flitted over her mouth.
“I must rest.” Rem knew that if he didn’t lie down he’d fall down. His knees gave way beneath him, and sagging sideways, he fell awkwardly. As consciousness faded, he was dimly aware of being covered by the scrap of blanket. Then he knew no more.
* * *
A loud noise, like a saw cutting through rough wood, brought Rem half-awake. Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, he peered up at the weak shaft of light drifting in through a crack in the bark slats of the wall.
His mouth felt as if a family of mice nested there. Putting a hand to his head, he cursed. Even after a heavy night of boozing with the laborers, it never ached so much. A searing pain in his leg brought the truth back with a jolt. He peered down at the makeshift splint the Chinese woman had fixed there. Lulu! Where was she, he wondered, trying to move and falling back with a groan of pain. Then he remembered she’d asked him to be on his way before daybreak. There was more chance of the stupid mule flying than him walking. Perhaps aware he had called it stupid the mule began to make his awful braying noise again and Rem realized that’s what had awakened him.
“Shush!” he hissed. As if it understood, the animal went quiet, staring at him balefully over the rope separating them, while a hoof batted at the ground.
“Get yer bloody yeller arse moving!” The guttural shout echoed across the clearing, and Rem winced at the brutal tones.
The poor wench. How could parents give a daughter to such a man? Still, it was a fact some people would do anything for cash, especially if they were starving. More shouts were followed by a lull. Likely he was eating. Rem’s stomach grumbled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten for many hours.
A thought hit him. What if her husband came to fetch his mule? Glancing about for something to cover himself, all he could spot was the tattered blanket and some loose hay. Shuffling about as best he could, wincing and cursing with the pain movement brought on, he finally managed to conceal himself. It was a patchy job and wouldn’t pass muster if the brute decided to shift some hay. By the looks of the humble dwelling, not much tidying had been done in a long time. Bullies were renowned for laziness. They usually forced someone else to do their dirty work.
The door opened, and light streamed in. Rem held his breath, but the soft whisper, “Man, where are you?” signaled the arrival of Lulu.
Rem pushed hay out of his face and whispered, “Over here. I thought it best to try and hide when I heard your husband. Is he likely to come in?”
“No, he is too lazy.” She confirmed his suspicions. “I must fetch the mule. Why are you still here?” Desperation darkened her voice.
“I’ve only just woken. And, truth is, I’ve little chance of walking, or even dragging myself.”
“I see.” Her eyes skimmed over him, and her bottom lip took punishment as she chewed on it. “Very well. He will go soon, then I will fetch you food. But you must go before he returns from his mine.” While talking, she took down the harness from nails, expertly put a bridle and saddle on the mule, and led it out.
A lot more shouting ensued. Then Rem heard the man heading off, his insults echoing through the trees as he urged the mule along.
A small hand shaking his shoulder brought Rem awake with a jolt, and he realized he must have dozed.
“Eat.” She offered him a tin plate. It held a slice of grainy bread and a lump of dark roasted meat he guessed was kangaroo. Ravenously he ate and took a swig from the mug she passed to him. It was weak, sweet tea, and tasted like ambrosia to his parched throat.
“Where does he go for supplies?” he asked as she set his empty plate aside.
She’d been watching him silently, and shrugged. “He has things sent up with the passing travelers. Once we went into town, but he doesn’t like going there.”
“Only once? In how long? How long have you been up here with him?” he asked when she looked at him mutely.
“Two summers have passed.”
“Over two years. Good God, and you’ve only been back to town once. How do you stand it up here, so isolated?”
Her dainty shoulders lifted again. Rem had taken a good look at her for the first time. She was lovely. She didn’t have Sara’s radiance or beauty, but with her slanted eyes and exquisitely formed nose she reminded him of a fragile doll. The sleek dark hair framed her face and fell to her shoulders, straight as a waterfall.
“How old are you, Lulu?” She looked about fifteen, until you looked into her eyes. They held the look of an old woman. One who had seen and experienced too much anguish.
“Twenty. I think. My parents never told me of my birthday.”
Rem spat out a curse. “They are no better than your husband. To sell a girl of eighteen or maybe less to such a man is not Christian.”
“They are not Christians,” she assured him as she took his mug and placed it on the plate by their side. She had tiny delicate hands, but the nails were broken and dirty. His heart swelled with pity for her. Such a delicate beauty should he pampered like a hothouse plant, not forced into slavery with a brutish man.
