He looked around at the dense foliage that surrounded them. “Burn this place. Why? It’s lovely here, and there’s no need to burn it,”
“My people haven’t been here for a long time, and it’s overgrown. If we burn it, the fire will get rid of the loose leaves and logs lying around and allow the new growth the animals need to survive. Also, with the wind coming from the northwest as it is, it’ll follow us against the wind and cover our tracks.” In her inner mind, she wondered at the lack of Nathaniel’s understanding of the land.
Since the birth of time, her people, and all the others in this land, had been looking after the land by burning it. If the land wasn’t burned, the leaves and rubbish would build up to such an extent that any spark would cause a fire that the animals, and even the people at times, were unable to outrun. Her people had tried to tell the Goobahs, the white devils, this. But they didn’t want to know. Her people had even tried to show them. But the Goobahs had fired their weapons at the people and driven them away. Beating out the flames after they’d left, that had been lit to clean the earth.
“Why do your people stop us from looking after the land?” she asked.
“Looking after the land! Hell’s breath woman. You people are destroying the land with fire. You never put a fire out that you’ve started. You leave your cooking fires burning and just walk away from them. How can you say you’re looking after the land?” Nathaniel asked.
“It’s what Baiame has told us to do,” she responded when she put the sack down next to their camp fire, and took up the large kettle of water they had, placing it over the flames. “By allowing the land to burn, the grass does not go sour. It grows back green and sweet, and the animals have new food to eat,” Tarrapaldi said. “It also keeps down the scrub and allows us to travel without having to struggle against the branches and thorns all the time.”
“Huh!” He opened the sack and carefully lifting the crabs out, one at a time, dropped them into the water being brought up to the boil. “If you’d just wear some clothes, instead of running around naked as the day you were born all the time, then you wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt by the scrub.”
“But that’s stupid, Nathaniel. Why should we wear clothes to protect us from hurt that can be removed for everyone’s good, simply by burning it?”
“Because when you burn things,” he said, “your homes and all your possessions are put at risk.”
“What possessions?” She asked. “We can carry what we want to keep. And anything that gets burned, we can replace quickly. So it’s not a problem.”
“But what about your homes?”
“Homes? Do you mean our gunyahs?” She laughed. “Nathaniel, gunyahs are made out of bark. If they burn, so what? We can build another one quickly enough.”
“But what about your things that have magic? Surely they get burned in the fires?”
“Argh.” Her features softened with a look of serenity. “The sacred things are different, Nathaniel. We keep them in special places. We keep them in caves, deep within the ground, and away from fire.”
After finishing the meal, Tarrapaldi stacked all of the belongings that Nathaniel decided not to take with him, into a corner of the cave. The things he had decided to take were all rolled in his blankets, with a small tarpaulin covering. The whole thing looked like a huge sausage. A strap secured either end of the roll, with a length of rope joining the two straps to act as a sling, to carry the whole thing over his shoulder. He had his food, in what he called his tucker-bag, over his other shoulder, with his powder flask and shot bag hanging by his waist. Rifle in hand, his entire load was slightly more than fifty pounds.
“You carry too much,” Tarrapaldi complained. “If we need to run, you’ll be slower than an echidna, but without the spikes.”
“If we need to run,” Nathaniel said, “I’ll drop the load. But until then, it’s a price I’ll pay for comfort.”
Once they left the cave, Tarrapaldi took a firestick up and began setting the surrounding scrub alight.
“Stop it, Tarrapaldi.” He held her arm up and began stomping out the flames she’d started. “If you start a fire here, the boat will be burned.”
“You stop it,” she scolded, pulling her arm free and starting even more fires, “This place needs to be cleaned. The boat doesn’t matter anymore. If it burns, then it’s gone. If the Goobahs find it, then they’ll take it and it’s gone. If it’s still here when we come back, then good,” Tarrapaldi said. “What does it matter if it’s not though? We can always build another one if you want. But the land needs to be cleaned. And if the Guringai help the Goobahs to find us and they find the boat, they won’t know which way we went. Now go,” she commanded, pointing to the northwest with her spears. “Travel to the right of where the sun will set. I will catch up with you shortly, when my work is done.”
“Lieutenant,” the convict called from the doorway of the shanty, “this black fellah says he knows where they’ve gone.”
“Where?” the officer asked after he ducked through the low doorway and stood in front of the stocky little blackman, who waited in the sunlight.
“I bin lookin’ at the spear that gin throwed, boss,” the blackman said in his version of the white fellah’s language. “That gin. She’s a Koradji woman from up country. It be much better you leave her alone, and don’ go followin’ her.”
“I’ll decide that, you black heathen,” the officer snarled, and dealt a glancing blow to the head of the black in front of him. “You just tell me where they’ve gone, or you’ll be held responsible for their escaping after trying to murder us yesterday.”
“She din try to murder you, Boss,” the blackman said as he straightened from the blow. “If that Koradji woman try to kill you. You be dead now.”
“Rubbish. The shot she fired took the hat clean of my head. If it hadn’t been for my quick reactions, and if I hadn’t ducked as quickly as I did,” Caruthers said, “her ball would have splattered my brains.”
“Boss,” the blackman said with a sigh of resignation, “if that woman is who I think she is, she’s from a family of Koradji people up country. She doesn’t need a gun to splatter anyone’s brains. She point the bone at you, and you dead. That be the truth.”
“The truth is you people need to be taught a lesson. Now show us where they went,” the officer said.
“No, Boss. I’ll tell you where she went, but I carn’ show you. ‘Cause if I do that. That Koradji’s woman, she tell her old man, and he point the bone at me and I be dead too.”
“Maybe you’ll be dead, Bucko,” the officer said while drawing his pistol, “but if you don’t go down to the boat and lead us to where they’ve gone, I’ll shoot you, and you’ll definitely be dead.”
“Why do you think they went down river?” the Lieutenant asked after the blackman pointed that way with his chin.
“Because she’s who she is, and the smoke down there,” the blackman said, pointing again with his chin. “It’s been lit by her to cover her tracks. That smoke’s coming from a place where her family comes sometimes. From there, there’s a track goes up to her country.”
“Pull for it, Corporal,” the Lieutenant ordered, and the two boats involved in the previous day’s chase, moved rapidly downstream toward the billowing smoke.
When they came abeam the smoke that was now thinning out, the blackman continued to direct with his chin. And as they nosed up to the mangroves, they found the opening into the little creek. With the side oars shipped, and the sweep oarsmen grunting with the effort, they came upon what was left of Nathaniel’ boat.
“Well I’ll be damned,” the lieutenant said to the black. “I was sure you were lying to me and I’d have to shoot you.”
“I’m no lyin’, Boss. You go that way, you find what you lookin’ for.”
“Fine,” the Lieutenant said. “You lead the way. We’ll follow you.�
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“That’s no good, Boss,” the Blackman said. “That Koradji woman, she kill me if I follow her.”
“And I’ll kill you if you don’t. Now move.” The Lieutenant prodded the reluctant blackman forward with the pistol.
The fire had burned all the underbrush, and the traveling was easy for the men with boots on their feet. Those who didn’t have boots, hopped around a bit, until they realized if they put their feet where their black guide put his, they wouldn’t get hurt.
There were only a few hours of daylight left when they finally came to the edge of the burnt area. When they stepped into the unburned bush, the group found themselves following a faint path through the underbrush.
“Do you know they came this way?” the Lieutenant asked.
“Too right,” the blackman said with a grin. “This white-fellah, he leave so much sign a blind man could follow him. He’s carrying a heavy load too. We catch him shortly, Boss.”
“Why do you think the tracker’s so happy now, Sir?” the Corporal asked.
“I don’t know. Hey, Tracker. Why’re you so happy now?”
“This white-fellah, he by himself now,” The blackman said. “That Koradji’s woman, she’s gone walkabout somewhere else. I don’ know where, but she’s not come along here.”
“Dammit,” the Lieutenant said, and followed the dogtrotting tracker.
Overhead, unnoticed by any of the men trotting after the stocky tracker, a crow launched itself from the branch it had been perched on, and flew ahead of the men, its silent wings eating up the miles
Nathaniel could hear the stream in front of him before he came to it. So it was not a surprise when he came around a large rock and found the water. Putting his gun down, he began to unload his belongings while looking around at where he intended to camp for the night.
“Not here, Nathaniel. Those men are coming up the valley and they’ll find you here.”
“Goddammit. Where are you?”
“Down here. In the water.” And when he looked, he saw her standing in the stream, the fast flowing, crystal clear water swirling around her knees. “Bring your things. If we hurry, we can go downstream for a while to a better place where they won’t find us.”
With his bedroll over his shoulder, and holding his gun over his head, he went into the water with her and headed off downstream until they came to a cluster of rocks. Leading him by the hand, she took him to a level area completely surrounded by shrubs.
“You’ll be safe here, if you don’t make any sound. Don’t start a fire, or move around. Just wait here quietly until I get back. And give me your foot coverings.” She emptied his supplies bag onto the ground. Dropping the boots into the bag she quickly, but without sound, reentered the water and surged back upstream and out of sight.
Once back at the spot where Nathaniel had entered the stream, she studied his footprints in the soft soil of the bank. Reaching down into the water, she selected rocks from the streambed, placing them inside the bag. Hefting the bag, and satisfied with its weight, she took out his boots and placed them on her feet, before walking a couple of steps on the opposite bank to where he’d entered. Stopping in full stride, with both feet on the ground, Tarrapaldi looked back at the prints she was leaving. With a frown and a frustrated shake of her head, she backed up, stepping carefully into the same prints she’d made coming out, until she was back in the stream. She carefully selected a couple more rocks for the sack, before splashing water on the tracks she’d made, obliterating them. Then she took up a small twig from the bank and made a pattern of scratches in the soil before she stepped out of the stream and strode away, this time in haste, with a lot of slipping and sliding while she clawed her way up the wet bank. At the top, she stopped again to check the tracks she’d made. Satisfied, she strode out along the track.
The Lieutenant almost ran into the tracker’s back at the top of the stream bank, and only saved himself by pushing the man sideways. But rather than the anger he expected from his action, the Lieutenant was surprised to see the tracker quietly chuckling while he studied the other bank.
“What are you laughing about, you black heathen?” Caruthers said.
“This white pellar,” the tracker said, deliberately using the idiot style language the Lieutenant seemed to prefer. “Him plenty scared here. Him see old man water lizard standing where him want to go. Him splashit plenty water at old man lizard. Then old man lizard go run into the water, and this white pellar, him run like debil debil gunna eat him. Lookit.” He pointed with his chin at the spot where Tarrapaldi had paused to look back. “Him lookin’ back, probilly carn see old man lizard no more, ‘cause him no runnin’ no more, but him still walkin’ plenty quick.”
After studying the Lieutenant’s face for a few seconds, the tracker shook his head and chuckled again before he led off into the water, amazed that the white man hadn’t seen the story on the ground. Trotting along the tracks being left by what he thought was the white man he’d been tracking all day, the stocky black still grinned and chuckled about various stupidities he could see until rounding a bend, he came across both of the white man’s boots lying one on top of the other in the middle of the track.
The tracker stopped, quivering in mid stride. His eyes searching the surrounding bush. Slowly and carefully, he moved forward to inspect the boots, and the ground around them. There were no tracks around the boots. When the tracker came closer, he saw a black crow’s feather lying inside the upper boot and he stopped. The tracker’s eyes grew large, his teeth began chattering. He drew himself up ramrod straight. He straightened his arms out beside him with his palms turned backwards so that his thumbs pointed behind him. Like a hound dog with his balls caught in a dingo trap, the tracker howled out his terror and pain, interrupted by long, deep, shuddering intakes of breath.
“Stop it.” The Lieutenant grabbed the tracker’s arm and shook him. “He’ll hear you and go to ground, you fool. Stop it.”
But the tracker continued, not seeming to be aware of the man shaking him. The Lieutenant stepped around in front of the tracker and slapped him with an open palm. The tracker’s head rocked from the blow, but his stance didn’t change, nor did the noise stop. Grunting, the Lieutenant swung his clenched fist from down by his knee, up onto the tracker’s open jaw with a sickening crack that lifted the tracker off his feet, and dumped him in a heap on the ground. But the noise didn’t stop. The tracker immediately sprang back to his feet, took up the same stance and continued to howl, even though his jaw had been broken.
Looking around in desperation, the Lieutenant drew his pistol, pointed the weapon at the tracker, and pulled the trigger. The heavy, lead ball entered the black-man’s stomach, knocking him to the ground. The man staggered to his feet again, took up his stance, and continued howling.
“Shoot him, Corporal,” the Lieutenant yelled, spittle flecking from his mouth, “I’m ordering you to shoot him, before he looses his mind even more.”
“Not me, Sir.” The Corporal stepped back, holding his gun up at the high port, as though to ward off the officer.
Snatching the gun from the Corporal’s hands and whirling to point the weapon at the black-man, the officer pulled the trigger. The lead ball entered the black-man’s head through one eye, and blew away the back of his skull when it exited. The howl continued, but in a different note while the body fell back, and only stopped once the black-man thumped to the ground in a heap.
“You shouldn’t oughta done that, Sir,” one of the convicts said. “Now we’s got no one to show us the way forward — or back.”
The Lieutenant glared at him, flung the gun to the Corporal, picked up his pistol, and with trembling hands, reloaded.
“He’s no loss, we can see the track the runaway’s following, and with no boots now, it won’t take us long to catch up.”
“If ‘twas me out front there, Sir,” a second convict said, “I’d
‘ave ‘eard those shots, and I’d go to ground quick smart.”
“Or you’d start running.” The Lieutenant holstered his loaded pistol. “But with no boots, he won’t run far before he’s crippled. So we’ll follow him until he stops.”
“He’s armed though, Sir,” the Corporal said. “You’re wanting us to hound an armed man. When he can’t run no more, he’ll turn. And he’s already proven he’ll fire.”
“That’s just what I’d expect from you. You haven’t even the sense to remember it was that black slut who fired at us. Not the runaway. Now lead out, Corporal. Follow that trail on the double.” The Lieutenant drew his pistol. “That’s an order you’d better obey.”
“Yes, Sir.” The Corporal turned, breaking into a jog past the boots still lying in the middle of the track.
When the Lieutenant followed the last man along the track, a crow, which had been sitting in a tree watching the entire scene, dropped from its perch toward the ground. Snatching the empty supplies bag in its claws, the crow labored hard for altitude, weaving between the trees while it headed east.
“You’ve done well, Nathaniel.” Tarrapaldi stepped through the shrubs and found herself looking down the barrel of his gun. “I was worried you might panic when the soldier’s guns went off.”
“Are you all right? Who was making that horrible howling sound? I thought it was you. I didn’t know where you’d gone, and it took you so long.”
“Stop it.” Her words were in a kindly manner. “The howling was the Guringai tracker the soldiers forced to follow us. He thought he was following you. But when he found out it was me who laid the trail, he asked Baiame to forgive him. Maybe Baiame did, but the soldier didn’t. That officer shot the tracker twice, Nathaniel. How can you people put up with such senseless cruelty?”
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