Chapter 5. The Women Who Ran; and The Missing Shovel
The next morning Johns was late to rise. This was unusual; he was always the first one up, lighting the stove and getting things ready for breakfast.
McCullock was neither surprised nor concerned. He’d sacrificed a fair quantity of rum getting his partner drunk and assumed he was sleeping it off.
Johns’ bedroom was behind an iron partition and eventually Sayd was sent in to wake him. Sayd found his swag empty. Used, but empty.
This puzzled McCullock. He went to investigate.
Johns’ clothes and boots were missing. So were his tobacco and papers.
After a quick search of the yard and garden the two went around to the mine. Johns was not there, nor was anything seen that might explain his absence.
McCullock could find no logic to it. This was not in keeping with his partner’s methodical nature. And apart from a couple of brief rows nothing had occurred that might have induced him to leave, especially with their futures looking so bright. Besides, their last argument had been a week or so back. Johns had no notion of the security arrangements he’d made for the gold, of course, so it couldn’t have been anything to do with that.
A hasty breakfast followed, after which McCullock left Sayd to his various duties and headed off in his truck to Unka Rockhole. If the Marshall Bar people had arrived he would ask Twofoot for assistance.
Everyone was present except for Twofoot, Walkabout informed him. McCullock then explained to the men what had happened. Hopefully they could find Johns’ tracks, he said, and offered payment in tobacco and provisions.
Much discussion in language then followed as McCullock waited by the truck. Eventually Walkabout and another man went over and volunteered for the job. After further discussion with their wives the two made themselves comfortable in the cabin. The wives and a widowed sister then lifted a couple of babies and a toddler onto the tray and climbed aboard as well.
Suddenly children large and small were clambering onto the back. The chance to ride on a motor truck was a rare treat and they had no intention of missing it, as did the half dozen wiry long-legged kangaroo dogs that leapt gracefully into the fray.
When all had settled McCullock counted heads. There were seventeen souls aboard the old one tonner plus the six dogs.
He inspected the tyres. They looked a bit doughy. He was happy to see the women on board, though. The men were good at tracking men-things like kangaroo and emu, certainly, but the women were better. He’d seen them at work, following small game across the hard dry ground as if the creatures had marked their passing with white paint. And it had turned out well. Protocol dictated he only speak to the men, yet three of the women were coming without him having to ask.
At the Attutra house the dogs leapt from the truck before it stopped moving. They busied themselves with a peeing contest as they checked the place over. Next came the children who headed off to play in the creek –the two oldest girls among them.
When the women began shrieking after the pair in language they turned back, all sulky and rebellious. They were supposed to be minding the babies but had hoped to escape with the others.
The mothers handed over their infants then climbed down from the truck and held a lengthy discussion with the men.
McCullock waited by the water drums in case of questions. To him it sounded as if they were having an argument. The dogs, meanwhile, formalities dealt with, had settled in the shade of the gum tree.
Suddenly the talking ceased. The women began scrutinising the ground and the men made themselves comfortable in the shade – after evicting the dogs. A smoke each was rolled from McCullock’s opening payment and the pair leant back to watch events unfold. McCullock returned to the house for more tobacco.
The women began by comparing and identifying the different tracks they could see. References established, they spoke briefly with the men and set about their tracking in earnest.
Bent over and side by side the three slowly circled the house, hands behind backs, eyes down. That done, they signalled the men with their fingers then made their way across the creek.
On the far side bank the trio resumed their slow procession, but after following the tracks about eighty metres northward they turned around and crossed back over to the house. Another conversation with the men ensued, after which Walkabout knocked on McCullock’s door.
The only fresh tracks of Johns’ that were out of the ordinary were made last night, he informed the miner. They went across the Unka Creek and turned north toward Reward Hill. Two times Johns had walked that way, he said, but only one track came back. The women had seen McCullock’s tracks as well, but these were not mentioned as they were not part of their brief.
McCullock found this perplexing and asked if they could follow Johns farther. Walkabout said they could, providing his tracks didn’t go near the green copper-stained caves. These were Attut’thurra Dreaming and out of bounds, he explained; the rest was open country.
More discussion followed, after which the women recrossed the creek and picked up where they’d left off. As soon as they’d gone the husbands settled back for a nap.
Step by patient step the three followed the faint traces northward. Across the red soil flat and through the gully they went, then up onto Reward Hill’s stony eastern footing, backs bent and heads down, their concentration intense.
Suddenly one of them jumped back screaming. Ashen-faced with terror the three turned and bolted, yamsticks thrown to the wind, eyes wide with fear.
Down from the hill they raced, across the gully and back along the creek bank – breaths ragged in their throats, lungs aching. At the crossing a frantic babble of language was yelled at the men and orders screamed at the children.
On the ground where they’d turned lay a fragment of emu feather, all crushed and broken.
McCullock was puzzled by the sudden commotion. He drained his mug of tea and went to the door. Walkabout was coming across from the truck, shouting demands for an urgent return to Unka. The kids, dogs, women and babies were already on the back, everyone silent, wide eyes in anxious black faces watching every point of the compass.
As the men crammed into the front McCullock asked what was wrong. Walkabout was in no mood to talk, however. He just wanted to get away from there as quickly as possible. The rations payment could be sorted out later, he said bluntly.
Before returning home McCullock tried to make sense of what had happened. The women were sitting in a huddle looking frightened and the children were hiding in the wurlies. Twice he asked about the affair, and twice the men had just stared at him. Apparently the matter was not for discussion.
On the drive home he gave the issue much thought. Something significant had obviously taken place to frighten the women so badly, but all he’d managed to pick up from the frantic shouting were the words “Appoota Attut’thurra”. He knew the place as Reward Hill.
Back at the house McCullock gave Sayd some jobs to go on with. He wanted to check on the gold but instead told Sayd he wanted to see where the women had gone.
On Reward’s eastern footing he happened on the discarded yamsticks. He took time to have a good look around but could see nothing else, so he picked them up and continued on to his trench.
Everything there appeared as expected. A couple of stones had been overturned but his eyesight wasn’t good enough to make out what may have disturbed them – and he didn’t accord it much importance anyway. Most likely a kangaroo had hopped by there, he decided.
Mystified by the whole business he headed back to the house.
Much of the next day was spent looking over the field’s pits and shallow shafts – both old workings and new – to try and determine if Johns had met with an accident. A couple of miners raised objections but McCullock was persuasive enough to get what he wanted.
Nothing was found that might have explained Wilbur Johns’ disappearance.
Two days later the Harts Range policeman arrived at
the Attutra house with his Aboriginal Tracker, McCullock having advised the Alice Springs Police via another miner’s Flying Doctor Radio. The young Constable questioned him at length then took details and a statement.
Nothing was said about the gold or the ironstone gourd. Nor was anything mentioned of Johns’ movements that night, the attempt to follow his tracks and the strange business of the frightened women.
Then, with McCullock present, the Officer gently interviewed the boy.
Sayd had little to say. He’d withdrawn into himself since the event and now was frightened. Nothing more emerged.
While this was happening the Aboriginal Police Aid had checked around the house and garden and gone along the path to the mine – all to no avail. Wind and a light shower had obliterated any faint marks the women might have seen.
After that McCullock spent the rest of the day showing the two around the field’s workings, including a brief stop at the trench where he’d hidden the ironstone gourd. Again no trace of Johns was found, nor anything that may have shed some light on the miner’s fate.
And from that time hence Wilbur Sebastian Johns was neither seen nor heard of again.
McCullock's Gold Page 6