Bony - 08 - Bushranger of the Skies

by Arthur W. Upfield

  Nevin had stopped shooting. Burning Water held his horse’s nose level with the aeroplane’s rudder tip. The wind stream from the propeller raised dust which was blinding him, but he kicked his feet out of the stirrups, and hurled himself forward and side­ways to the tail which was beginning to leave him behind. His hands struck the surface of the starboard rudderplane just as it lifted from the ground. The engine’s roar increased to mighty volume. For three or four seconds he clung with his finger nails, and then was swept back to lie on the ground in the enveloping dust.

  The race was over. Bony hauled back his horse, rage and disappointment a fire eating him alive. The plane was speed­ing away across the claypans. He saw its wheels leave the ground for a split second, saw them leave it again, seem to threaten to touch ground again, give up the attempt, rise and rise higher and higher. The machine climbed, came back to the east to fly by them at five hundred feet. Rex McPherson waved a gloved hand at them. They could see the white face of Flora McPherson on a level with the cockpit edge.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Base Operations

  THE four men sat in the office: Bony, Dr Whyte, Nevin and Chief Burning Water. They had returned silently, and now they sat silently waiting for Bony to speak. Dr Whyte’s hands were clench­ing and unclenching on the table desk.

  Itcheroo was dead, killed by the flashing hooves of the horse ridden by Blue Shirt. A mind had perished possessing secrets many scientists would give their all to know, secrets many doubt­ing Thomases in the scientific world refuse to credit because they have been unable to get under the skin of the Australian aborigine. No other suffered injury in that mad race, and now the body of the Wantella man of magic was being taken, tied with a covering of tobacco bush leaves, to the tribal death tree where it would remain for three months. The final rites would be performed that day, an arm bone was removed from the bundle and solemnly buried, rendering the spirit of Itcheroo no longer dangerous to the living.

  “There is an old saying about worldly success to the effect that, ‘if a man rises like a rocket he probably falls like a stick.’ ” Bony said, and paused to light the cigarette he had made. “Another saying is that, ‘the higher one goes the harder one falls.’

  “We are now confronted by a problem and we will fail in its solution if we are hasty, too ambitious, run when we should walk. That problem is not the capture of Rex McPherson. The problem is the ultimate safety of Miss McPherson. All other objectives must be set aside until our problem of the girl’s safety is finalized.

  “It is not a problem that can be solved by an air force and a military or police ground force. It is one which can be solved only by the employment of subtlety, and the word I use is the correct one because it implies intelligent cunning. To locate and attack Rex McPherson with superior force would inevitably result in the death of his victim.

  “Let us first settle the question why he abducted Miss McPher­son. I believe I can settle it. He has been and still is determined to force his father to retire and hand the station over to him. To achieve this unlawful ambition he has stolen his father’s cattle, forged his father’s signature to cheques, killed his father’s stock-men, tortured his father with cane-grass splinters. So far he has failed. Therefore, he abducted Miss McPherson to ransom her for his father’s station property.

  “Do not think that this ambition is the final goal. It is but a lever with which to remove opposition.

  “Having obtained the lever Rex will want to put it into use. He knows that his father has started off with a party of the Wantella aborigines in search of his headquarters and of him, for the dead Itcheroo will have told him. Rex will lose no time in communicating his recent success to The McPherson, who will doubtless be given a period of time to make up his mind to capitulate.

  “Rex knows we know of the abduction. He will be uneasy concerning how we will react, and we may therefore believe he will do everything he can to persuade his father to communicate with us with the object of preventing any resolute action against him. In addition to the station property, he will demand our neutrality in exchange for the person of Miss McPherson.”

  “In that case he will have to have it,” Whyte snapped.

  “But——” Nevin was about to object.

  “I agree that nothing must be done to prevent Miss McPherson’s safe return,” Bony cut in. “Which is why I stressed the urgent need for subtlety. If Rex McPherson found himself cornered he would destroy his captive. But, Harry, we cannot sanction neutrality, nor could we sanction The McPherson’s surrender to the demand for his property. If the son’s crimes had been com­mitted only against the father, then we might have consented to act as the father wished, but, following the murder of three aborigines and Sergeant Errey, we have no choice. If the son’s crimes had been confined to attacks on the father’s property, and if meeting his demands would end the aggression, then we could agree to terms. But there will be no end to the aggression until the aggressor is prevented for ever from being aggressive.”

  “Giving in to the swine would get no one anywhere,” asserted Nevin. “I know the swine. And I know, too, that he would kill Miss McPherson if he thought he was cornered.”

  “Well, what are we going to do?” demanded the flying doctor.

  “This,” Bony began in explanation. “Good team work is essential for success. In effect if and when The McPherson is given the demands I have mentioned, he must enter into prolonged negotiations to gain time for us.

  “Now this is my plan evolved from much thought and accep­tance of all risks and chances. After dark you, Nevin, with the men’s cook, will take the two trucks to Shaw’s Lagoon for as much first grade petrol and oil as you can load. You must do the trip during the night hours, and you must be prepared to extinguish lights and stop at the first sign of attack by Rex McPherson in his aeroplane. Itcheroo being dead, I think you will have no trouble, but be advised to take half a dozen of Burning Water’s reliable bucks.

  “On your return the oil supplies must be stored in a secret place to avoid destruction. And then tomorrow you and every available man must construct a well camouflaged hangar for Captain Loveacre’s aeroplane.

  “You will know what has to be done about that, Harry. Mean­while you must make all necessary preparations to receive Love­acre. You should get in touch with him as early as possible. He should reach St Albans sometime late tomorrow afternoon and be dissuaded from attempting to come on and arrive here in the dark.

  “Tonight Burning Water and I will leave on foot for the Ill­prinka country to try and locate the headquarters of Rex McPherson. Our first objective will be the return to safety of Miss McPherson. We shall bother with nothing else until that is achieved. Once her safety is assured we can deal with Rex, but to do anything to reverse this procedure would I am afraid be fatal.

  “Now let us clearly understand this vital point. The ground party, consisting of Burning Water and myself, will suffer cer­tain handicaps. Our first objective is to be an area of cane-grass at the western extremity of the plain which is a hundred odd miles away. We will have to proceed with extreme caution in order to reach Rex McPherson’s headquarters unheralded and, by the employment of subtlety, rescue the girl from him.

  “Having done that we will be confronted by a hundred odd miles of open country to safety, with a hundred Illprinka men and Rex in his plane behind us.

  “It will be Captain Loveacre’s task to keep in touch with the ground party, but to avoid betraying it or its position through communicating with it, save if absolutely necessary. It will be his task to know where the ground party is from day to day with­out the ground party having to indicate itself. And it will be his task to be ready to pick up Miss McPherson as soon as possible after she is rescued. I trust you appreciate these several points, Harry?”

  “I do,” Whyte replied. “I think the plan is sound.”

  “It couldn’t be sounder,” added Nevin. “Intelligent cunning, as you said, Bony, is going to do the trick. After
that trick is turned we then can get on with the clean-up.”

  “I’m glad you all agree,” Bony said, and, glancing at Burning Water, he noted the faint smile in the eyes of the Chief of the Wantella. “Your particular job after you have brought the oil supplies, Tom, will be to keep ever at hand a supply of horses and armed aborigines in case a rescue of the ground party is essential.

  “Well, there is the broad outlines of our reactions to Rex McPherson’s latest crime. I am going to leave you two to control The McPherson who might return and express other ideas. You will have to keep to the plan as closely as possible, because Burning Water and I will be expecting your co-operation accord­ing to its details and we will be acting accordingly. The dinner gong was sounded two minutes ago. We had better have it, and then prepare for the night’s work.”

  At half past eight Whyte and Bony saw the trucks depart for Shaw’s Lagoon. At nine o’clock the flying doctor warmly bade au revoir to Bony and Chief Burning Water, Bony dissolved into the darkness beyond the garden fence as quickly as did Burn­ing Water, for he was wearing black trousers and one of Tom Nevin’s black shirts.

  Again in the office, Dr Henry Whyte charged and lit a spare pipe and began the study of Bony’s sketch plan and his fully detailed plan of operations, together with a list of signs to be made from Loveacre’s plane and the ground party. Whyte’s mind now was calm and cold, and he was feeling vexed that he had been conquered by fierce emotion.

  The plan called every man to his trade. It called an aborigine and a half-caste to the trade of bushcraft. It called Nevin to the close command of men he thoroughly understood, and it called him, Henry Whyte, not to the profession of healing but to that of organizing base operations upon the smooth success of which depended everything. The lives of two men, and that of the woman he loved, were in his hands. Well, he had organized a medical service for a country as large as Great Britain.

  This Bonaparte fellow was, indeed, an extraordinary man. Come to think of it, it was remarkable that he, one-time major in the Royal Flying Corps, and now a flying doctor who was regarded as a leader by people whose independence is a byword, should so quickly and easily have accepted a kind of second-in-command job and recognize as commanding officer an Australian half-caste. Wherein lay the power of the man? Whyte knew it did not lie in Bony’s appearance, for Bony would not have been marked in a crowd of fellows. His voice was pleasing and perhaps a little pedantic, but the power did not originate in the voice. He was a puzzle defying the doctor.

  Nevin was much more dynamic than Bonaparte but yet was commonplace when Bonaparte certainly was not. McPherson, as Whyte remembered him, was efficient but not outstanding.

  Mrs Nevin sent across coffee and sandwiches, and the doctor ate and drank and smoked and waited. Shortly after one o’clock Nevin called from the township to say he had loaded the petrol and oil and was starting back to the homestead. The trucks arrived as day was breaking, and their loads were dumped beyond the stockyards among the scrub. At seven o’clock Whyte and the overseer emerged from the house after having breakfasted, and stood on the south veranda smoking and reading the weather signs.

  The sunlight falling on the plain beyond the garden appeared this morning almost colourless, and already streamers of dust were passing across the claypan verge. The wind was teasing the water spray from the sprinklers on the lawn.

  “Blast!” growled Nevin. “The wind’s going to come at last. When it shifts round to the west it’ll blow hard. Captain Love­acre will meet it all the way. How far d’you reckon we are from Brisbane in a straight line?”

  “Slightly more than thirteen hundred miles,” replied the doctor.

  “Comfortable day’s flying for a modern machine—in normal weather.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be normal today.”

  “That’s so, Nevin. I’ve been thinking that it might be a mistake to communicate with Shaw’s Lagoon. Remember what Bony said about Rex having a portable telephone instrument? Supposing he’s listening in waiting to hear what we’re doing?”

  “Hum! You sent Captain Loveacre his flying instructions yesterday didn’t you?”

  “Yesterday afternoon—to St Albans.”

  “I’m betting he won’t get to St Albans today. The wind will be a howling gale by noon.”

  “Then we’ll leave the telephone alone. If Loveacre sends a tele­gram no listener with a portable machine will get it. What about the hangar for the aeroplane? Know a good place?”

  “The best. Let’s go and take a look at it.”

  They crossed the garden, climbed over the fence and walked down the slope to the claypan verge, which they followed to the landing ground, where the flying doctor was met by naked men, women and children waving torches. Here and there along the slopes, rising to the high ground, were tree-lined gullies, and one of these was bordered by level ground, where it debouched to the plain.

  “We could stretch wires from tree to tree and hang green branches on the wires to give a roof,” Nevin pointed out. “All that would have to be done then would be to shift that sandbar, when the plane could be pushed in under the trees and the joining roof of branches. What d’you think?”

  “Quite good.”

  “All right! I’ll get the mob down here at once and fix things ready for the captain. We needn’t worry about him getting here tonight. He won’t reach St Albans. It won’t matter much, as far as I can see, because Bony and Burning Water will only cover about thirty miles up till daylight this morning, and I don’t think they’ll risk travelling in daylight.”

  Captain Loveacre left Brisbane in a fast twin-engined mono-plane on the morning of 16 October. He had had the glass struc­ture enclosing the cabin removed and wind shields placed, and on a specially rigged foundation he had had the machine-gun mounted for use by his promised observer.

  The loan of the machine-gun had been facilitated by Colonel Spendor, the Chief Commissioner, to whom Loveacre had gone to explain as much as he could the telegram received from Bony. Alterations to the machine and the loan of the gun and requisite ammunition from the Defence Department had been completed in six hours, but after all the haste had been unnecessary because Loveacre got only as far as Roma that first day on account of the head wind and dust.

  The same flying conditions were experienced the next day, and it was late when Loveacre reached St Albans where he read and mastered the instructions given by Dr Whyte.

  The following morning he landed at McPherson’s Station at seven-thirty, to be welcomed by a crowd of aborigines and two white men.

  “Glad to see you, Captain Loveacre. I’m Dr Whyte,” the flying doctor greeted him as they shook hands.

  Together, there was a certain similarity about these two men. They were of the same build although Loveacre was shorter. The actions of both were swift and yet not nervously so. Their eyes were keen and steady and bright, like the eyes of birds. Had it not been for the facial scars Dr Whyte would have been as strongly good looking as the man he welcomed.

  “Glad to be here,” Loveacre returned. “Head winds kept me back. Why, what the devil’s the hurry?”

  His plane was being rushed towards the trees by every aborigine directed by red-headed Nevin. Whyte indicated the skeleton remains of his own aeroplane. “That was my machine. We are opposed by a gentleman who bombs.”

  “Ha! ha!” exclaimed Loveacre. “That sounds interesting. Where’s Bony?”

  “He’s away on the job. Come along to the house to wash up and breakfast. I’ve a pretty long story to tell you.”

  Captain Loveacre stepped out of his flying suit and flung it over a shoulder.

  “Great feller, Bony,” he said when they were walking towards the house. “The Police Heads think the sun shines out of his boots. He wants me to fetch a machine-gun, and he wants it fetched like you or I would ask for a match. How the devil am I to get a machine-gun? They don’t sell ’em in pawnshops. I charges off to interview the Chief Commissioner who’s one of the hardy damn and
blast you, sir, warriors. ‘A machine-gun!’ he says, looking at me as though I were nutty. ‘Bony wants you and it, eh?’ he goes on. ‘All right, Captain. I’ll get one delivered to you tonight by the military, but for heaven’s sake don’t let Bony start a war or a revolution.’ ”

  “He’s trying to prevent a revolution and a war combined, I think,” Whyte said, thoughtfully. “I don’t get him. He’s the first man who has ever made clay of me.”

  “He puts me in the same boat,” Loveacre confessed. “I’m reminded of a bar of iron wrapped in velvet.”

  “I can’t understand the source of his strength.”

  “Can’t you? I can. It lies in the victories he has won over himself. Get him sometime to tell you about the war going on inside of him, the war of influences exerted to control him by the hereditary instincts of the races from which he has sprung. Think of the fearful handicap of his birth, and then remember the position he has gained by sheer intelligence and a diplomatic mind. He didn’t get to where he is by fair competition with equals.”

  Dr Whyte told the story whilst acting host at the breakfast table, and now and then Captain Loveacre nodded his head but said nothing to interrupt the narrator. When they rose from the table, Whyte suggested they pass to the office and study Bony’s sketch plan, his table of signs, and the general plan of action.

  “The proposition is attractive but hellish for you, Whyte,” Loveacre said whilst leaning over the rough sketch plan. “We’ve got to go slow, I can appreciate that. If you and I meet this bird in the air, and he’s alone, we’ve got to send him down for keeps. But until your girl is rescued we’ve got to go so slow that we’ll have to keep our feet wide to avoid tripping. Any idea where Bony and his aborigine chief will be right now?”