Bony - 03 - Wings above the Diamantina

by Arthur W. Upfield

  It was Illawalli.

  “Is he dead?” inquired Bony with icy calm.

  Shuteye laughed. “Ole Illawalli, him drunk.”

  “He was down there in the booze cellar all free to drink what he liked,” supplemented Bill Sikes. “And he liked, too right!”

  “I know nothing about him!” shouted Gurner, springing off his chair to peer over the counter at the figure now lying on the bar-room floor.

  “Jack Johnson, he says Gurner and Mr Kane took old Illawalli down into the cellar,” Sikes explained. “Jack Johnson say Mr Kane brought Illawalli in his car. They took Illawalli down the cellar, and Mr Kane himself say to drink up and stay there before Bony come for him.”

  “Lies! All lies!” cried Gurner violently. “If it ain’t lies—if Mr Kane did put him down my cellar—then he’ll pay for all the grog that nig has swamped! I didn’t know he was down there. I ain’t been there for a week.”

  “Jack Johnson says you and Mr Kane took tucker down to ole Illawalli, and las’ night when ole Illawalli wanted to come up you took him a few Pink-eye gins to keep him drunk,” Bill Sikes continued. “Ain’t that all correct, Jack Johnson?”

  The yardman admitted it with surprising cheerfulness.

  Again the telephone bell rang shrilly.

  “Cox here, Bony. Mr Watts wants to speak.”

  “Very well.”

  “Ah, Mr Bonaparte! W-what’s all this regarding Miss Saunders?” stuttered the postmaster. “Sergeant Cox asks me to suspend from duty the telephone exchange operator, Miss Saunders, but he gives me no grounds for such action. I don’t understand it. Without grounds for action I could not do that. Miss Saunders has always given me satis­faction.”

  “Mr Watts,” Bony said calmly, “I thought it better to ask you to suspend Miss Saunders from duty than to in­struct Sergeant Cox to arrest her. You see, the local lock-up has only two cells. One of them is already occupied, and I want to fill the other with another person. However, if you decline to suspend her from duty——”

  “Good God!” Watts exclaimed in a lowered voice. “All right. I’ll do it. I can send for my wife to take over pro tem. All the same, I fear there will be departmental trouble.”

  “In which case you will receive promotion and a trans­fer to a more pleasant locality,” Bony reminded him, chuck­ling. “Please ask Sergeant Cox to speak.”

  When Cox spoke Bony asked him if Miss Saunders had left the exchange.

  “Yes, she is just passing out through the post office door,” Cox stated grimly, “What’s she done?”

  Bony looked at Gurner, and Gurner was staring blankly at him.

  “As Miss Saunders has been suspended from duty, Ser­geant, get a warrant and arrest Owen Oliver on a charge of having destroyed an aeroplane, the property of Captain Loveacre.”

  Cox wanted to bark a dozen questions, but all he said was. “Very well.”

  “And, Sergeant, use care in this matter,” Bony urged. “Better go prepared for violence. Now, please put me through to Coolibah.”

  In two minutes he was in touch with John Nettlefold.

  “Tell me, Mr Nettlefold, which is the better track to Coolibah from Gurner’s Hotel—that via Tintanoo, or that via Faraway Bore?”

  “Via Tintanoo, Bony. The track from Faraway Bore is impassable between the river and the Rockies. Have you had any success?”

  “I am leaving at once for Coolibah. Au revoir.”

  Sikes was ordered to go out to the utility and arrange the gear so that Illawalli might be placed on it for the journey to Coolibah. Insensible though he was, the pat­riarch’s face was a noble one. The incongruous airman’s helmet was removed, and Shuteye was sent with it to the car, Bony knowing how that helmet would be prized in the days to come. When his assistants returned the detective was taking a statement from Gurner, who now had decided to tell all he knew. Which, outside the kidnapping of Illa­walli, was not much.

  Illawalli was removed to the utility. Gurner was re­quested to sign the statement and to initial every page of it, Then Bony asked for a screw-driver. He took the telephone instrument bodily from the wall and carried it out to the car.

  “Just so that you can’t ring up Mr Kane and talk about the weather,” he told Gurner.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Coolibahs In Water

  THE DAY TURNED out to be brilliantly fine. Small and fluffy clouds hung suspended against the turquoise sky while a light southerly wind tempered the sun’s heat. Bony, with Bill Sikes beside him and Shuteye looking after Illa­walli in the truck body of the car, drove towards Tintanoo at a steady thirty miles an hour. Eventually they saw the red-roofed buildings marching to meet them from out the sparse scrub.

  The main road passed five hundred yards south of the homestead. For traffic destined to call at Tintanoo there was a branch turn-off from the main road on both sides before coming opposite the homestead, and when Bony and his companions reached the western turn-off, a blue-coloured single-seater shot out of the eastern turn-off and on the main road, and in a moment had disappeared over the lip of the incline leading down to the river channels. For just one instant they had been able to see the driver. It was John Kane, driving his Bentley in his usual reckless manner. Bony felt sure that he was heading for either Golden Dawn or Coolibah.

  He was sure, too, that John Kane had recognized the Coo­libah utility if not its driver. At the moment Bony had seen him, the man was smiling. The detective wrenched at the steering wheel and shot off the main road and up the east turn-off. A few seconds, later they stopped before the office. Ordering Sikes to follow him, Bony jumped for the veranda, found the office door locked, and then shouted to his companion to join him in the assault on it.

  The door crashed inward at the impact of their combined weight, and the detective sprang to the government tele­phone. He rang, waited. He rang again, and waited another quarter-minute. Then he opened the box of the machine and found that the batteries had been removed.

  “Bring in Gurner’s telephone,” he ordered sharply. “Hurry, and take care not to upset the batteries in it. Understand?”

  “Too right!” shouted Sikes, and leaped for the door.

  It was quicker to transfer the wires from one instrument to another than to change the batteries, and within three minutes, with Sikes holding the hotel instrument in his arms, Bony heard the cool voice of the postmaster’s wife, who had taken over the duties of Miss Saunders.

  “Police-station, please,” he requested quickly.

  A further thirty seconds of anxious waiting followed, and then came the voice of Constable Lovitt.

  “Ah, Lovitt! This is Inspector Bonaparte. Where is Sergeant Cox?”

  “He’s gone out to Windy Creek, Inspector.”

  “Listen carefully then. I want you to act immediately. Get astride that motor-cycle of yours and take the track to Tintanoo. Ride like the devil. You will meet John Kane on the road, for he has just left Tintanoo. If you do not meet him before you reach the Coolibah junction track make sure that he has not turned and gone to Coolibah. If he has, get after him! If he has not, then you must block the road with fallen timber in order to stop him. You are to arrest him. Have you got all that clearly?”

  “Yes, sir. On what charge is he to be arrested?”

  “On the charge of having stolen Captain Loveacre’s aero­plane.”

  Lovitt whistled. Then he said:

  “Special precautions, Inspector?”

  “Yes, certainly! Hold him until I reach you. Don’t waste a moment! It is vital that you reach the road junction be­fore he does.”

  Bony rang off. His blue eyes were gleaming. The time for action had come, and he was thrilling like a racehorse going to the starting-post. The removal of the telephone batteries had been the grounds for his present action, and before he looked inside the second telephone instrument, that communicating with the river homesteads, he knew that the batteries in it would be missing, too. Above this second machine was a card bearing the name
s of homesteads, and opposite that of Coolibah was printed: “Three short rings.”

  Within half a minute Gurner’s instrument was attached to the wires of the second telephone, and within thirty more seconds the detective sighed with relief on hearing Eliza­beth’s voice.

  “Ask Dr Knowles to speak to me, please, Miss Nettle­fold. Hurry. The matter is urgent. Yes, yes! No ques­tions now. Dr Knowles, please.”

  Then Knowles was asking the reason for the summons.

  “Where is Nettlefold?” demanded Bony, and, on being told that the cattleman was out on the run, he groaned. “Listen, Doctor! I have reason to believe that John Kane is making for Coolibah to do that patient of yours a mis­chief. I have just got in touch with Lovitt. I have ordered him to ride his motor-cycle to meet Kane, who has just left Tintanoo, and to arrest him. I hope that Lovitt will reach the road junction before Kane does, but there is the possibility of Kane’s getting there first. Nettlefold being away with the car complicates matters. What’s that? Ted Sharp is there with his runabout! Now let me think. Wait a moment. Yes! I’ll take a chance with Ted Sharp. Drive with him towards the road junction, say about two miles, and there block the road with trees to stop Kane’s car. If he gets ahead of Lovitt, bail him up and hold him until Lovitt arrives. On no account let him pass! I am uneasy about Ted Sharp. I hope unjustifiably; but you must use your discretion. Take a gun. Kane might attempt to use one. Will you go at once?”

  “You can depend on us, Bony. And you can depend on Sharp, too, I think,” Knowles said quietly and without bothering to ask time-wasting questions. “We will go at once. We’ll take care of Kane.”

  “Good man! Kane is in his Bentley, and I have not a ghost of a chance of overhauling him. Now get away. And thank you!”

  Without troubling to remove Gurner’s telephone instru­ment, Bony shouted to Bill Sikes, and together they ran out to the utility. Crying to Shuteye to get aboard, Bony started the engine, and they were away, roaring down the steep incline to the river channels.

  “Shuteye!” he shouted, and then when Shuteye replied: “Open my suitcase and give me my pistol.”

  The utility roared up the first of the channel banks, and Shuteye handed the pistol round the hood to Bill Sikes, who passed it to Bony. Bony put the weapon on the seat beside him, and shouted to Shuteye to stand up and keep a look­out forward above the hood for Kane’s Bentley. There was the possibility that beyond one of the river channel banks, lying concealed, John Kane awaited them to fire a fusillade, of bullets. He could do that easily enough; he could de­stroy them and yet remain safe himself behind an earth­work.

  Suddenly Bony jammed brakes, bringing the utility to a screaming halt on the narrow summit of a bank. Down in the channel beyond them was slipping southward a body of brown water. It was the beginning of a great flood of water that had fallen over the Diamantina water-shed from the re­cent storm.

  “Go back! Turn round, Bony! It’s a flood!” cried Bill Sikes.

  Actuated by the same impulse, they left the car and were joined by the excited Shuteye. They saw the water stretch­ing north and south in that channel that was, perhaps, fifty feet in width, water cutting them off from the eastern side of the Diamantina. It came sweeping round a northern bend, carrying sticks and rubbish, rippleless, in aspect solid, probably as yet only a foot deep.

  Beyond them the coolibah trees shut from sight the distant sand-dunes bordering the east side of the river. Bony turned to the runabout, jumped up into the truck body and then climbed to the hood top. From this position he could see the eastern sand-dunes, and he estimated them to be one and a half miles distant at the nearest.

  One and a half miles of channels rapidly flooding to bar them from the eastern sand-dunes, and some eight miles of them lying westward to the high ground at Tintanoo! Why had not the doctor reported the coming of this flood? Had he known? Had Kane, for some reason, deliberately kept the Coolibah people ignorant of its coming? But now was no time to cogitate. Soon they would be like mice float­ing on a wood chip in a bucket of water. Already in the deeper channel they had crossed, the flood water must be increasing.

  It was too late to turn back—even were he so minded. Were they west of the river the flood would cut them off from Coolibah for weeks. Even minus the urgency of getting Illawalli to Coolibah, their only chance of life was to push forward to the nearest side of the river—east—push on on foot, because the utility would certainly be stop­ped in that deepening channel.

  “Come on, Bony!” the blacks shouted in unison. “Quick! Water coming down behind!”

  The detective glanced to his rear. A line of debris was being rolled over and over down the channel last crossed, and beyond it the sunlight gleamed on runnelled water. The debris line passed them, travelling faster than a man could run.

  Bony shook his head, and jumped to the ground.

  “We would never get back to the west side,” he advised his companions. “We have to get Illawalli and ourselves to the east side, which roughly is a mile and a half distant. Bill, unstrap the water-bag.”

  Shuteye laughed, faintly hysterical.

  “Wot for we want water?” he asked. “Plenty water in the ole Diamantina now.”

  “We must try to revive Illawalli. We cannot carry him far,” Bony said sharply.

  Shuteye and he dragged the inert form from the utility, and Bony, snatching the water-bag from Bill Sikes, poured a stream of cold water on the face of the heavily-breathing aboriginal chief. A bony black hand feebly attempted to ward off the stream. Black eyes opened—to be blinded with water. The sunken mouth opened—to be filled with water. The gaunt figure then struggled to rise, and was assisted by the detective and Sikes.

  “Who you?” Illawalli asked the latter.

  On turning to see who held him on his other side, his narrowed, lethargic eyes opened to their fullest extent.

  “Bony!” he gasped. “Goo’ ole Bony! Ough! I bin feel, crook. Plenty too much booze.”

  “Listen, Illawalli,” Bony urged earnestly. “We are caught by a big flood. We have to wade and swim to reach high land, do you understand? Wake up! Do you hear me! Wake up!”

  “Too right! Ough! I’m crook.”

  Illawalli was violently sick, while they dragged him down the channel bank to the edge of the shallow water. The water was flowing swiftly, but did not reach their knees when they splashed across to the farther dry bank. The old man’s legs were so useless to him that it was necessary almost to carry him up the bank, with Shuteye pushing him behind.

  The next channel was dry as yet, but it was their last dry crossing.

  Strength slowly returned to Illawalli’s skinny legs. The flying helmet was jammed hard down on his white head, the chin-straps flapping on his thin shoulders. The head sagged pitifully. He cried constantly to be allowed to lie down. When crossing a channel in which the water reached their waists, Bony splashed it up into the chief’s face, and this assisted to revive him.

  “Goo’ ole Bony! My father and my mother! My friend! My son!” Between gulps for air he ejaculated these ex­pressions of affection. “That there little white feller, he give me booze, plenty booze. He say you come soon, Bony. He say me drink up, and I ole fool. I drink up plenty. I ole fool to drink and drink, but little feller white feller; he don’ want no money, he don’ want nothing. He good feller white feller, and I was ole fool. Ough! This feller plenty crook.”

  “You will get better as we go along,” Bony said cheerfully. “Ah—here is where we swim.”

  Wading now was no longer possible. To cross a fifty-yards-wide channel meant being swept down several yards. To cross a channel two hundred yards wide in which the current was stronger meant a crossing at a sharp angle. Fortunately, Coolibah homestead lay many miles to the south, but the farther south the flood swept them so much wider was the crossing.

  The sun poured its heat on them, and to each man was attached a cloud of flies and mosquitoes. To touch a stick on the water was to be bitten or stung by a veno
mous in­sect. The banks were giving up their countless insect in­habitants, and these were swarming into the coolibah trees.

  Gradually the effects of alcohol were lifting from Illawalli. Forced exertion and contact with water were lightening the lethargy from the old aboriginal’s brain. That was just as well, for all were rapidly tiring. They could not linger on a dry bank before taking the water of each channel. Before and behind them ranged the coolibahs—strange, shapeless trees of which not one inch of wood was straight. Already the low-lying channel banks were submerged, bringing two channels together to form a wide, swiftly-moving, brown flood, the submerged channel banks marked only by the line of trees rooted in them. Dry banks became ever more widely separated, and those yet above water were rapidly sinking into the flood like bars of sugar in hot tea.

  “Look, Bony! There’s a car!” shouted Bill Sikes, as they stood in a group on a dry bank, Illawalli now needing but little assistance. On the far side, apparently floating on the water, was the black top of a car hood. Its passengers were not to be seen. They were not sheltering on the opposite bank or clinging to coolibah trees beyond it.

  Whose car? About a mile of water channels and bank islands lay between it and the distant sand-dunes now to be observed beyond the trees and supporting the turquoise rim of the sky. Bony knew, of course, that there they must be at least a mile south of the road crossing. The car would not have floated down to its present position, and the only in­ference to be drawn was that its driver had been following a little-used track, or no track at all, to reach the eastern side of the river near Coolibah. Was it John Kane’s Bent­ley? While his assistants were helping Illawalli, Bony ran along the bank and took to the water above the submerged vehicle. Reaching the hood, he gripped it and worked his way round it. He found that it was facing the east. Not without difficulty, he felt with his feet into the driving seat, discovering nothing to prove that the body of the driver was there. Farther round the hood he managed to stand on the engine bonnet, and again feeling with his feet he estab­lished that the radiator mascot was the figure of a swan. It was Kane’s Bentley.