“Captain reported that yesterday two strange Abos from the coast had visited the camp and left again before sundown. Captain had evidence on his face of a fight but refused to talk about it other than saying, I quote, ‘No foreign scum is upsetting our people.’
“I visited the camp and found everything quiet. Useless to cross-question Captain when obstinate: and it’s their business anyway.”
Bony read over another year, and learned only about station and cattle and waterings, and associated subjects. He was pondering upon the entry concerning the visit by the two strange Aborigines when Scolloti played the lunch tune on his triangle. After lunch he watched Tessa departing in the direction of the camp and he sought Young Col. It was then two o’clock.
“I want co-operation, Col. It will take me a little time to get the transceiver operating, as I see the model is very modern. I want to get on the air to Howard.”
“All right. I’ll show you.”
The set having warmed up, Young Col moved a switch and a man’s voice came in telling someone what to do with a child badly scalded.
“The Quack,” Col said. “Better let him have his say.”
“I want to contact Howard before Tessa returns from the camp. Tune the volume down a little, so that Scolloti and Captain won’t hear.” Young Col frowned with perplexity. “Where is that doctor?”
“At Base. I can cut in when he’s finished and before someone else takes over.” When the doctor eventually said that would be all, Young Col went on the air. “Deep Creek calling Constable Howard. Come in Constable Howard. Deep Creek calling Hall’s Police Station. Over.”
A woman spoke. “Constable Howard out on duty. Can I take a message? That you, Young Col?”
“Too right it’s me, Loveliest. Hold it.” Then Col was reading his own version of the message Bony wrote on a pad. “Ask your Old Man if anything of an unusual nature occurred at coast ports round about present date one year ago, and report to Deep Creek at five tonight. That’s all, and bless you, my child. Over.”
“The last dance is tomorrow night. You’re not my father. You’re only a child yourself. I’ve got the message.” The doctor spoke, “You children quit. Are you on the air, Kemsley Downs? Over.”
Young Col shut down and turned to Bony and was invited to sit on the veranda.
“I have a small commission for you to undertake as near as possible to five this evening,” Bony said. “I want you to get that reply from Howard, talking as quietly as you can. I shall need to watch for possible snoopers. When you have heard from Howard, contact Mrs Leroy. She will be waiting. Now I’ve asked her to answer several questions with either yes or no. She will say she has your wordagram and then say: One stroke ten, or one stroke five. Two stroke ten or two stroke five, as applicable to each question. Get it?” Col nodded. “I’ve asked several questions, so be prepared to record accurately Mrs Leroy’s replies. Clear!”
“As a bell.” Young Col grinned. “Am I your Dr Watson?”
“You are, my child. Meanwhile not a word, for the walls have ears. I shall see you at afternoon tea. For me, meanwhile, back to my sleuthing.”
Bony found the cook enjoying his afternoon rest-spell, paying Mister Lamb his toll of a cigarette on the way. Scolloti was reading a ten-days-old sporting paper, and welcomed Bony with bright black eyes and a grin at the pet sheep who thrust his head in over the door-step.
“Jim, I think I can diagnose Mister Lamb’s recent bad form at snooker, Bony said, sitting on the form flanking the kitchen table. “I believe he has a grass seed in his offside eye.”
“Cripes! You could be right, Inspector: you could at that. Would account for him mis-cueing, sort of slewing the ball left or right of the pocket. Let’s do him over before smoke. You any good with sheep? I’m not. I’m a cattleman.”
“Good enough for the job.”
“Yes, that what’s wrong with him. I never thought of a crook eye. I’ll get us the barber’s scissors.”
Waving the scissors like a sword, the happy cook strode to the doorway and yelled for Captain. The Aborigine came, his face a shade anxious, but the smile flashed instantly into his dark eyes on hearing why he was wanted. Scolloti gave him a shred of tobacco and with Captain snared Mister Lamb, laid him on one side and knelt over him. Scolloti held the sheep’s head, and Bony went to work, scissoring the wool from about the inflamed eye.
“Right! You fellers hold him steady. He has a seed, or rather the seed pod, fairly deep in under the bottom lid. I’ll want tweezers, and a rag and water to bathe it.”
“Tweezers in the saddler’s room, Jim,” Captain said. “Hold his head, Inspector. The patient’s pretty powerful, and he’s got a wicked temper.”
Bony took over the head of the prostrate victim, and the cook went for the instruments. The Aborigine chuckled, and Bony encountered the laughter-lit eyes.
“Young Rosie was telling me you were pocketed, Inspector. You’ll know how powerful he is without me saying it. Trouble is you forget he’s around, and when you hear him there’s no chance of stepping sideways.”
“I’ll not forget he is around. Once pocketed is enough.”
The cook returned with the tweezers and water in a bucket. Again he held Mister Lamb’s head firmly to the ground and Bony removed the seed pod and bathed the eye. He was advised to take the bucket and himself to the kitchen, and then Scolloti hastened after him, leaving Captain to jump away and run for his horse-yard. Mister Lamb, however, staggered to his feet and hung his head as though horribly ashamed of being manhandled, looking so dejected that Bony went to him with a cigarette and held it under his nose. Mister Lamb instantly forgot the indignity, and made no attempt to charge as Bony backed into the kitchen.
“You know, Jim, Captain’s a strange man for a full-blood,” he said, rolling a cigarette. “Speaks like a professor. Reads a lot. I understand he’s even writing the history of his tribe.”
“Got a mission, so he says, Inspector. Says he aims to be a buffer, his word, between the blacks and the whites. When I asked him how he nutted up the idea he said Mrs Leroy put him on to it.”
“Splendid!” exclaimed Bony and meant it. “Fine idea when one thinks about it. Pity such a mission isn’t duplicated elsewhere. He wouldn’t stand for interference with the blacks by any stranger, I suppose.”
Scolloti pulled his ragged beard and, when speaking, his dark eyes were sombre.
“That black is a smart lad. Bit too smart, in my opinion. Has to be put into his box sometimes. You know how they come. He made a chopping block of Old Ted not so long ago. What about I don’t rightly know.”
“Looks for fights?”
“Can’t say he does exactly,” replied the cook. “Got into holts with a couple of Abos some time back. Seems he took ’em on both at once, and he was the chopping block that time. I heard the laundry lubras talking about it when they was having their smoke.”
“How long ago was that?”
“How long?” Scolloti pondered while filling his pipe. “Let me think it out. Wasn’t this dry. Musta been last year. You interested?”
“Not particularly,” Bony replied, aware that here there are but two seasons: winter dry, and summer wet. “I’ve been under the impression that Captain would sooner laugh than scowl.”
“They’re all like that, but you cross ’em up and find out.”
Scolloti glanced at his clock, and said that the afternoon smoke was on deck. Bony left him to wash his hands and eventually drink tea and munch buttered scones with Tessa and Young Col in the day-house. He was relating details of the operation on Mister Lamb when Captain appeared in the entrance.
“Hullo, Captain! What’s worrying you?” inquired Young Col.
“Well, after fixing Mister Lamb’s sick eye, I was thinking that the Inspector might take on his shearing,” replied the man with a mission. “I’ve always done it but I’m not that good at it. Time he was sheared, now winter’s almost over. Got a lot of wool to carry abo
ut all day.”
“The wool doesn’t hinder his speech,” Bony pointed out, and Captain laughed. “After being shorn he’ll orbit the homestead under a minute. All right, I’ll shear him. Get things ready. I hope the shears are in good shape.”
“I’ll hone ’em right away, Inspector. Thanks.”
Captain could be seen through the grass wall, hurrying to the saddler’s shop, and then appearing to squat in the sun and spit on the stone. Tessa said, “I’m glad you consented to do it, Bony. Captain’s very rough. Nicks Mister Lamb and leaves ridges of wool all over him.”
“I might not be much better,” Bony doubted.
“Couldn’t be worse,” Young Col assured him. They saw a young Aborigine come to talk to Captain, and then race away past the yards. “He’s gone to tell the tribe. You’ll be having an audience.”
Soon thereafter the audience arrived to hover behind the out-buildings, take cover behind the date palms and native bean trees even though there was the compound fence between them and Mister Lamb, lying down and chewing his cud inside the compound. On Captain coming to the kitchen with the shears and an arm loaded with bags, Bony, with Tessa and Young Col, went out to meet him. Mister Lamb lurched to his feet and bleated from growing suspicion.
“Looks like he’ll have to be done over where he can be snaffled,” said the excited Captain. “He’s remembering the eye deal, and he knows what the bags are for. I won’t have a chance. You grab him, Col.”
“Me! No fear. You have a go at him, Bony.”
“It’s a young man’s job of work,” objected Bony laughingly, and Tessa said:
“I’ll grab him. Make me a cigarette.”
As she advanced upon the enormous pet sheep, her slight figure by comparison made her look like a small child courting a Shetland pony. Mister Lamb permitted her to approach just within half a dozen yards of him, when he jumped to land on stiffened legs and then proceeded towards her in short thudding props. Tessa called to him and courageously kept walking, holding the cigarette for him to see with the one healthy eye. It must have been the girl rather than the bribe who conquered him. She gave him half the cigarette, and teased him with the remainder until he was more docile, when she passed an arm under his neck, gripped a foreleg and threw him.
The audience shouted its approval, and Captain with Scolloti hastened forward with the bags, to fashion a ‘floor’ on which to shear, and the shears to shear with. Bony was presented with the shears. Mister Lamb was inelegantly lifted on to the bags, and Bony took him over, placing him on his rump with his back pressed to the shearer’s legs.
Now the audience came to the compound fence and Scolloti leaned back against the door frame of his kitchen and lit his pipe. Captain hovered about Bony, ready to leap for a safe place if the shearer lost his hold. The entire homestead was hushed to funereal silence.
Mister Lamb had become a lamb indeed, offering no opposition, resigned to this second indignity of the day. Bony removed the belly wool, trimmed the legs, opened up the fleece down the right side, and then, kneeling on a hind leg, and with the left hand gripping Mister Lamb by the jaw, proceeded to remove the fleece without breaking it. Ultimately, his right hand cramped by the unusual work it was called on to perform, he heaved Mister Lamb off the fleece and again sat him on his rump. Mister Lamb was as white as snow and one-third his original size. Again the audience shouted.
Tessa and Captain came with more bags, and it was Tessa who gleefully rolled the fleece and carefully pushed it into the bag Captain held open to take it.
“Why, you haven’t cut him once,” she cried and Bony expostulated.
“Cut him! Of course not.” He glanced about at the spectators beyond the fence. He saw the cook still leaning against his kitchen door-frame. The spectators now fell into silence, appearing tense, expectant, eager for the next act, the next act being what Mister Lamb would do when released.
“Righto, Tessa, take the wool and the bags and toss the lot on the far side of the fence. And get over it, too,” commanded Captain. He waited until the girl did as bidden, and said to Bony, “Better let me take him, Inspector. Once loose he’ll perform like a champion.”
Gladly Bony accepted this offer and joined Scolloti. Captain meanwhile had Mister Lamb pressed back hard to his legs. He gazed at the audience, which was literally holding its breath. He looked round at the day-house, then at the kitchen, then at the veranda steps, and he was like a batsman taking note of the field. Then, with a violent push he sent Mister Lamb forward to his four feet, and himself raced for the protection of the day-house, this being the closest haven.
Bony thought it would have been more sensible to have carried Mister Lamb and neck-roped him to a tree until his blood pressure had subsided. This, obviously, was not according to protocol. Mister Lamb glimpsed the fleeing Captain. He spun about and was amazed by his lightness. He felt able to fly. He felt wonderful as he sped after Captain, a pure white arrow tipped with blazing yellow eyes, for even the sick one was now again in use.
It was Captain’s intention to round the day-house and so on to the sanctuary of the kitchen, but Mister Lamb, by short runs and short leaps on stiffened legs, gained so fast that the Aborigine darted into what he thought was the safety of the interior, knowing that Mister Lamb, after repeated expulsion, dare not enter. Mister Lamb, however, was smelling victory, and was blind to edict. He went in after Captain.
The entranced spectators listened to the whoops and laughter issuing from the day-house. Their shouted responses were cut off when Captain appeared at top speed, to make for the kitchen door through which the cook vanished. A swift backward glance appeared to convince the Aborigine he would not make it, for he darted to the right and stewed Mister Lamb for the three seconds necessary to haul himself up and into a bean tree.
Chapter Twenty
The Trembling Finger Points
THE HERO of the local sheep-ring, wearing only trousers and appearing in the branches of the tree like a crow with a wounded wing, listened to the shouting of the men and excited screaming of the women, and was proud of his limited victory. Mister Lamb, however, was a continuing problem. He backed away and shadow-sparred, made short runs on iron-stiff legs, thudded his cloven hooves upon the arena, bleated defiance. He was now the boss cocky, and knew it.
If the Australian Aborigine lacks an attribute it isn’t courage, but, like other men, he dislikes being made to look ridiculous. Captain could have dropped to the ground, but Mister Lamb would explode upon him before he could begin the sprint to the fence. He slid down the trunk for several feet, and Mister Lamb’s golden eyes became sadistic orbs. He climbed again and, this time, went higher to a comfortable perch; there he bit a chew from his plug and gave back a little of what he was receiving from the on-lookers.
Half an hour wore away, and the situation remained static. Captain chose a branch from which he could drop clear. He tossed his tobacco plug to land at Mister Lamb’s feet, but Mister Lamb refused to be side-tracked.
Captain could visualize being hurled through the air and hearing the yells of the audience. He could see himself listening to the laughter. He could hear in advance the mocking shrieks of Tessa and of all the other young lubras. He decided to maintain mortified patience and wear out Mister Lamb’s anger.
Thirty minutes later he was shouting for someone to lasso the beast. No one volunteered, and he called on individuals, beginning with Young Col who urged him to wait in the tree until he could bring his camera. Bony claimed he was still too old. Tessa giggled and mocked, saying that Rosie’s Little Lamb wouldn’t hurt a great big lion-tamer like Captain. The onlookers squatted on the ground and, making Captain’s situation appear a permanent one, Mister Lamb also laid himself down and with saturnine mien vigorously chewed his cud.
An hour later Bony told Young Col to wait for the dénouement and not bother with the transceiver, and he was ready when Howard came on.
“Reference your inquiry, there was
a spot of trouble at Wyndham twelve months ago last June. Three Asian crewmen deserted from a lugger and went bush. One was subsequently apprehended at Darwin several months later, and the other two were found in Derby. Over.”
“Thanks, Howard. Both Derby and Darwin are a long way from Wyndham. Were they reported on this radio network?”
“The men at Derby were not. The one picked up in Darwin was reported from Adelaide River.”
“Thanks again. Have the Brentners arrived yet?”
“Yes. They’re at the hotel. The official Party have arrived, too; in camp near the hospital. Big get-together tomorrow: everyone in the Kimberleys will be turning up, I’m told. By the way, tell Col Mason my wife likes being called Loveliest but I’m not warmly in favour. Over.”
Howard heard Bony softly laughing. Then: “I thought he was addressing your daughter, Howard. I’ll give him your message. Now I am calling Mrs Leroy for a message to Mr Colin Mason.”
Mrs Leroy’s voice came clearly.
“Inspector Bonaparte! Oh, yes, I promised Col a few clues for his wordagram. How are you liking Deep Creek?”
“Wonderful. Peace and rest, Mrs Leroy. Young Col is busy and I consented with pleasure to contact you. If you will give me the clues for the wordagram, I’ll jot them down and then ask you to tell me something.”
Mrs. Leroy gave the clues, concluding with hoping they would be of use.
“I thought I’d take this opportunity of asking if there was unrest among your Aborigines last winter,” Bony said, and Mrs Leroy replied to the effect that their only trouble had been late in August, when the local tribe had gone on walkabout just when their young men were needed for stock work. Otherwise no serious trouble. Bony thanked her and shut down.
On returning to the arena he found Captain still tree’d, Mister Lamb still inviting him to descend, Tessa still sitting on her box, and the cook automatically appearing in the doorway and disappearing to make progress with his dinner. Bony sat in the day-room and reviewed the conversations he had had with Howard and Mrs Leroy.
Bony - 27 - The Will of the Tribe Page 14