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- Колин Маккалоу
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- Стр. 173/535
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The
parched
wilga
caught
and
the
gum
resin
at
its
tender
heart
exploded
outward
.
There
were
solid
walls
of
fire
in
every
direction
Paddy
looked
;
the
trees
were
burning
fiercely
and
the
grass
beneath
his
feet
was
roaring
into
flames
.
He
could
hear
his
horse
screaming
and
his
heart
went
out
to
it
;
he
could
not
leave
the
poor
beast
to
die
tied
up
and
helpless
.
A
dog
howled
,
its
howl
changing
to
a
shriek
of
agony
almost
human
.
For
a
moment
it
flared
and
danced
,
a
living
torch
,
then
subsided
into
the
blazing
grass
.
More
howls
as
the
other
dogs
,
fleeing
,
were
enveloped
by
the
racing
fire
,
faster
in
the
gale
than
anything
on
foot
or
wing
.
A
streaming
meteor
scorched
his
hair
as
he
stood
for
a
millisecond
debating
which
way
was
the
best
to
get
to
his
horse
;
he
looked
down
to
see
a
great
cockatoo
roasting
at
his
feet
.
Suddenly
Paddy
knew
this
was
the
end
.
There
was
no
way
out
of
the
inferno
for
himself
or
his
horse
.
Even
as
he
thought
it
,
a
desiccated
stringybark
behind
him
shot
flames
in
every
direction
,
the
gum
in
it
exploding
.
The
skin
on
Paddy
's
arm
shriveled
and
blackened
,
the
hair
of
his
head
dimmed
at
last
by
something
brighter
.
To
die
so
is
indescribable
;
for
fire
works
its
way
from
outside
to
in
.
The
last
things
that
go
,
finally
cooked
to
the
point
of
nonfunction
,
are
brain
and
heart
.
His
clothes
on
fire
,
Paddy
capered
screaming
and
screaming
through
the
holocaust
.
And
every
awful
cry
was
his
wife
's
name
.
*
*
*
All
the
other
men
made
it
back
to
Drogheda
homestead
ahead
of
the
storm
,
turned
their
mounts
into
the
stockyard
and
headed
for
either
the
big
house
or
the
jackaroo
barracks
.
In
Fee
's
brightly
lit
drawing
room
with
a
log
fire
roaring
in
the
cream-and-pink
marble
fireplace
the
Cleary
boys
sat
listening
to
the
storm
,
not
tempted
these
days
to
go
outside
and
watch
it
.
The
beautiful
pungent
smell
of
burning
eucalyptus
wood
in
the
grate
and
the
heaped
cakes
and
sandwiches
on
the
afternoon
tea
trolley
were
too
alluring
.
No
one
expected
Paddy
to
make
it
in
.
About
four
o'clock
the
clouds
rolled
away
to
the
east
,
and
everyone
unconsciously
breathed
easier
;
somehow
it
was
impossible
to
relax
during
a
dry
storm
,
even
though
every
building
on
Drogheda
was
equipped
with
a
lightning
conductor
.
Jack
and
Bob
got
up
and
went
outside
to
get
a
little
fresh
air
,
they
said
,
but
in
reality
to
release
pent
breath
.
"
Look
!
"
said
Bob
,
pointing
westward
.
Above
the
trees
that
ringed
the
Home
Paddock
round
,
a
great
bronze
pall
of
smoke
was
growing
,
its
margins
torn
to
tattered
streamers
in
the
high
wind
.
"
God
Jesus
!
"
Jack
cried
,
running
inside
to
the
telephone
.
"
Fire
,
fire
!
"
he
shouted
into
the
receiver
,
while
those
still
inside
the
room
turned
to
gape
at
him
,
then
ran
outside
to
see
.
"
Fire
on
Drogheda
,
and
a
big
one
!
"
Then
he
hung
up
;
it
was
all
he
needed
to
say
to
the
Gilly
switch
and
to
those
along
the
line
who
habitually
picked
up
when
the
first
tinkle
came
.
Though
there
had
not
been
a
big
fire
in
the
Gilly
district
since
the
Clearys
had
come
to
Drogheda
,
everyone
knew
the
routine
.
