Read Online Hills End by Ivan Southall - Free Book Online
Authors: Ivan Southall
Tags: Children's Fiction
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she was filled with the chill of horror. She clenched her hands tightly and began to pray, saying nothing aloud, but pleading in silence. This wasnât a storm. It was a calamity. One hailstone alone could kill the unsheltered boy if his head were unprotected.
Someone was pulling on her arm. It was Gussie, screaming at the top of her voice, trying to make herself heard above the roar.
âButch! Butch! Butch! Butch!â
âYes, dear. Yes, dear.â
Miss Godwin did not know what to do.
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When the rain began Frank Tobias was caught at the far end of the township, at Rickardâs place, trying to drive the cows to the barn. The calves and the bull he had to forget. They had to care for themselves. But the cows in milk were the providers for everyone in the town, for the babies and the children. They were almost as precious to the town as human life itself. He couldnât drive them to the barn. They wouldnât go. In the evening at milking time they made their way of their own accord. In the middle of the day they dodged him and he couldnât catch them. He didnât know them by name. They didnât trust him.
The heavens split apart and rain and hail fell from the clouds. A mighty wind roared up the valley, and sheets of iron were blasted from rooftops. Chimneys collapsed. Outbuildings vanished. Trees split like sticks, and Frank Tobias couldnât reach shelter. He couldnât stand up. He was beaten into the ground. Again and again he tried to run. Again and again he was stunned and driven back to the earth. He couldnât see in any direction for more than twenty yards. He couldnât draw a breath without pain. Crashing ice and water were as near to solid as they could be. âItâs the end of the world,â he kept telling himself. âThe end of the world. The end of the worldâ¦â
Then he knew that he must have crawled to a ditch and was rolling into it, and that was the last that poor Frank ever knew. As he rolled a huge ball of ice struck his unshielded temple.
He slid into the ditch, face downwards, and already water was flowing through it, towards the river.
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* * *
Â
Butch had curled himself into a ball of fat, legs tucked up, face to the rock, elbows held in, chin on chest, and with his schoolbag placed as a shield across the nape of his neck and held in place by two pudgy, frozen hands.
Butch thought he was going to die and he was too frightened to think of anything else. He merely existed and waited and felt the bitter contact of ice piling up against his back. He didnât dare take a peep. He kept his eyes tightly closed and tried to lock himself up in safety behind a wall of darkness. Butch did not realize that he was a very lucky young man. The rock that had shaded him from the midday sun now formed for him the line of defence that saved his life. He was in the open on the rock pan, where no trees could fall, where no sheets of iron or debris could whistle murderously through the air, and where the killer ice could not strike him before first hitting the ground.
His only danger was the danger he could feel but could not see. The hailstones were piling up against him, higher and higher. He might be buried alive in ice before he realized it.
Â
In the cave Miss Elaine Godwin endeavoured to face the problem of the immediate future. She was very frightened and it was difficult for her to consider her peril reasonably. She tried to argue that there was nothing she could do for Christopher, that he would have to look after himself, but poor Christopher was so slow-witted. He was a dear boy, but so very, very dull. He wouldnât have sense enough to do the right thing. It was even possible that the poor child was scrambling up the bluff now, or he could be lying unconscious in the open in a deepening pool of water, or he could be bleeding to death from the savage wounds inflicted by ice. More than any other child at present in her
Someone was pulling on her arm. It was Gussie, screaming at the top of her voice, trying to make herself heard above the roar.
âButch! Butch! Butch! Butch!â
âYes, dear. Yes, dear.â
Miss Godwin did not know what to do.
Â
When the rain began Frank Tobias was caught at the far end of the township, at Rickardâs place, trying to drive the cows to the barn. The calves and the bull he had to forget. They had to care for themselves. But the cows in milk were the providers for everyone in the town, for the babies and the children. They were almost as precious to the town as human life itself. He couldnât drive them to the barn. They wouldnât go. In the evening at milking time they made their way of their own accord. In the middle of the day they dodged him and he couldnât catch them. He didnât know them by name. They didnât trust him.
The heavens split apart and rain and hail fell from the clouds. A mighty wind roared up the valley, and sheets of iron were blasted from rooftops. Chimneys collapsed. Outbuildings vanished. Trees split like sticks, and Frank Tobias couldnât reach shelter. He couldnât stand up. He was beaten into the ground. Again and again he tried to run. Again and again he was stunned and driven back to the earth. He couldnât see in any direction for more than twenty yards. He couldnât draw a breath without pain. Crashing ice and water were as near to solid as they could be. âItâs the end of the world,â he kept telling himself. âThe end of the world. The end of the worldâ¦â
Then he knew that he must have crawled to a ditch and was rolling into it, and that was the last that poor Frank ever knew. As he rolled a huge ball of ice struck his unshielded temple.
He slid into the ditch, face downwards, and already water was flowing through it, towards the river.
Â
* * *
Â
Butch had curled himself into a ball of fat, legs tucked up, face to the rock, elbows held in, chin on chest, and with his schoolbag placed as a shield across the nape of his neck and held in place by two pudgy, frozen hands.
Butch thought he was going to die and he was too frightened to think of anything else. He merely existed and waited and felt the bitter contact of ice piling up against his back. He didnât dare take a peep. He kept his eyes tightly closed and tried to lock himself up in safety behind a wall of darkness. Butch did not realize that he was a very lucky young man. The rock that had shaded him from the midday sun now formed for him the line of defence that saved his life. He was in the open on the rock pan, where no trees could fall, where no sheets of iron or debris could whistle murderously through the air, and where the killer ice could not strike him before first hitting the ground.
His only danger was the danger he could feel but could not see. The hailstones were piling up against him, higher and higher. He might be buried alive in ice before he realized it.
Â
In the cave Miss Elaine Godwin endeavoured to face the problem of the immediate future. She was very frightened and it was difficult for her to consider her peril reasonably. She tried to argue that there was nothing she could do for Christopher, that he would have to look after himself, but poor Christopher was so slow-witted. He was a dear boy, but so very, very dull. He wouldnât have sense enough to do the right thing. It was even possible that the poor child was scrambling up the bluff now, or he could be lying unconscious in the open in a deepening pool of water, or he could be bleeding to death from the savage wounds inflicted by ice. More than any other child at present in her
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