Miles Off Course

by Sulari Gentill

  Apparently they were not, and so Lofty Cassidy got to work heating iron to shackle them to the tree alongside Simpson. Lofty was an efficient smith and the process did not take long. Edna did not struggle. It did not seem wise in the presence of red hot metal.

  Rowland simmered silently, furious—the way Andy Cassidy looked at Edna made him uneasy. And so he did not resist as he was chained to a tree like a dog.

  Once they had all been shackled, Rowland was searched and divested of his wallet and his pocket knife. Blue Cassidy also found the artist’s notebook in his jacket’s inside pocket. He flicked through the pages slowly.

  “Hey, you’re not a bad drawer, Sinclair. Bloody hell!” He whistled and glanced at Edna as he found some old sketches Rowland had made for the painting of a nude. Rowland tried to snatch the notebook back but Blue jerked it away gleefully and continued turning the pages. “Oi, Boss, look at this… it’s you.”

  Moran strode over impatiently and studied the sketches Rowland had made of him after their first meeting. He tore them out. “I’m flattered Sinclair, but I had better hold onto these.”

  Blue Cassidy tore out the sketches of Edna and stuffed them under his shirt. “It’ll keep me warm,” he said, laughing as he threw the dishevelled notebook back at Rowland.

  “Rowly…” Edna watched him smoulder. “Just let him have them,” she whispered.

  Lofty cut the ropes which bound Edna and Rowland’s hands. “The chains are long enough to let you into the cave, and to the stream if you need to drink,” he said.

  Glover flung a hessian sack onto the ground. “There’s enough tucker in there for a couple of days. One of us will be back when it runs out.” He grinned. “Couldn’t let the boss starve, could we?”

  Rowland glowered at him in return.

  Andy Cassidy sniggered and walked over to nudge Rowland. “Cheer up, Sinclair.” He nodded at Edna and winked. “It’d be right cosy if there wasn’t three of you… still she might…”

  That was too much for Rowland. He punched Andy in the mouth.

  Moran and Blue Cassidy stepped in. Lofty dragged his brother to his feet.

  Seizing Rowland by the throat, Blue raised his other fist. “Why I ought to…”

  Harry Simpson grabbed the stockman’s arm. “Leave him be,” he growled.

  Blue Cassidy responded by swinging at Simpson. Rowland started after Cassidy and Glover jumped into the fray.

  For a moment it seemed that shackled or not, there would be an all-in fight, and then Moran pulled Blue and Glover away. “We haven’t got time for this. Just get on your bloody horses and let’s get outta here.”

  Blue swore at Rowland, but he mounted. Moran’s men rode out of the ravine just ahead of the last light.

  Rowland watched them go, still fuming.

  Harry Simpson sighed as he spat blood and gingerly touched his split lip. “So, what are you doing here, Rowly?”

  “Can’t you tell? I’m rescuing you.”

  Simpson laughed and clipped Rowland playfully on the side of the head. He left his large hand on Rowland’s shoulder.

  Edna looked on quietly, intrigued, unaware that she was shivering. Rowland took off his own jacket and placed it around her shoulders as he introduced Harry Simpson to the sculptress.

  “Delighted to meet you, Miss Higgins,” Simpson said, taking the hand she offered him. “Though I’m real sorry you’ve been dragged into this… this unfortunate mess.”

  “I’m very pleased to know you, Mr. Simpson.” Edna gazed thoughtfully into the familiar blue of his eyes. “Rowly’s been rather worried about you.”

  “Has he just?” Simpson pulled at the long chain which secured them all to the tree. “What say we get into the cave? It’s not posh, and it’s crawling with swallows among other things, but it’s warmer than out here.”

  “Capital,” Rowland said, somewhat unenthusiastically. He squatted to test the chain. “How strong’s this chain, Harry?”

  Simpson shook his head. “I’m still here.”

  They walked the few yards to the valley wall. Edna and Rowland had been shackled along the same length of chain that secured Simpson. There were several yards of chain between them and enough length overall to allow them all to enter the cave without losing slack. The entrance to the cave was narrow and steep, and they had to slip into it in single file. It opened into a large cavern. Edna found Rowland’s arm as they stumbled. The darkness was close, oppressive. The only light came from the glowing embers of a fire which Simpson stoked and coaxed into a brighter flame. There was sufficient draught to prevent the cave being filled with smoke so there must have been openings further up. In a while their eyes adjusted a little and they could make out the cave’s interior.

  The cavern was not empty. Its walls were lined with baskets and boxes, a few hessian sacks, some waggas and swags. Edna gasped as her eyes fell upon a stack of what looked like coffins.

  Simpson looked up from the fire. “Oh yes, sorry, I should have warned you. Moran’s gang’s been using this place to store things.”

  “Coffins?”

  “They’re not for us,” Simpson assured her. “The Cassidys have been digging up Chinese graves near the old goldfields.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Some people say the Chinamen bury their gold with their dead.”

  “So they’ve been digging people up?” Rowland was horrified.

  “Afraid so. They got all these from the ravine… apparently there were a whole bunch of Chinamen prospecting out here at one time.”

  Edna gulped. “Are the bones…?”

  “Try not to think about it,” Simpson advised.

  Rowland rubbed his brow. “What the hell aren’t these chaps up to?”

  “You know about the cattle stealing then?”

  Rowland nodded. “Are they on O’Shea’s payroll?”

  “Can’t prove it, but why else would they brand our cattle as O’Shea’s?”

  “So this is all about stealing cattle?” Edna sat on a stump which had been placed close to the fire and rummaged through the sack that Glover had left them. She extracted a tin of Arnott’s biscuits.

  Simpson shook his head. “They’re just filling in time with the rebranding. They’re treasure hunting.”

  “They’re what?” Rowland asked, from where he was poking around among the boxes cluttering the wall.

  “I’ve checked those, Rowly,” Simpson said. “There’s nothing in there that’ll help us break these chains.”

  “What treasure, Mr. Simpson?” Edna asked.

  Simpson grinned. “You met Clancy Glover?”

  Edna nodded.

  “Well it seems Clancy had a great uncle or something who rode with Ben Hall.”

  “Ben Hall, the bushranger?” Edna asked through a mouthful of milk arrowroot biscuit. She passed the tin to Simpson.

  “Apparently.” Simpson helped himself to a handful of biscuits. “Rowly, there really isn’t anything there… Anyway the story goes that Glover’s uncle hid the proceeds of the Eugowra stagecoach robbery in one of the caves near Blue Waterholes.”

  “But Blue Waterholes is miles from here.” Rowland was still rummaging through boxes.

  “That’s the interesting bit. Glover’s stash has never been found… Clancy reckons he’s got some family secret, that the gold was never at Blue Waterholes but out here. They’ve been hunting through every cave in the area the whole time they’ve supposedly been looking after the Sinclair herd.”

  “So they don’t plan to kill us?” Edna said, taking another biscuit.

  “No, they just want us out of the way till they find this gold. They’re thugs, but probably not murderers.”

  “Comforting,” Rowland murmured, as he began to check the baskets.

  “Rowly, no!” Simpson dropped the tin of biscuits and leaped up. The chain snapped taut and he was stopped short. Edna was pulled off her stump. She heard Rowland curse and looked up to see him slamming down the lid of a large cylindrical bas
ket.

  Simpson unsnagged the chain and launched himself at Rowland and the basket, forgetting entirely that they were both connected to Edna who found herself on the cave floor. Simpson refastened the strap that secured the lid. “Damn it Rowly, I told you to leave this stuff alone!”

  Rowland leaned back against the cave wall. His right hand was clasped over his upper left arm.

  “Did it get you? Did it get you, Rowly?”

  “Yes.”

  24

  SNAKEBITES

  HOW THEY SHOULD BE TREATED

  To prevent circulation of the poison the blood circulation at the bite should be stopped at once if such a course is possible. This is done by applying a ligature at some point between the bite and the heart. It is a good plan to carry a length of about two feet of strong and fairly thick cord for use as a ligature. The bite should be thoroughly scarified by making a series of incisions an eighth of an inch or so deep across the punctures made by the fangs. The ligature on the limb will prevent extensive bleeding and what bleeding occurs will be useful in that it will carry some of the poison out of the wound. When the bite has been thoroughly scarified, permanganate of potash should be poured into the hand and rubbed well into the scarified wound. If permanganate of potash is not available the bite should be cut right out. This is done by pinching up the site of the punctures with the forefinger and thumb and severing the fold of tissue drawn up with sharp knife or razor. The wound should be then thoroughly scarified to induce bleeding and an attempt should be made to draw out the poison by sucking it with the mouth. The poison can usually be swallowed in small quantities without ill effects but it should be borne in mind that it may enter the bloodstream and cause injury if the person treating the bite has cracks or pores on the mouth or bleeding or unhealthy gums.

  The Argus, 1931

  Simpson acted quickly. He brought Rowland back to the fire and sat him down.

  “Do you know which one it was?” he asked.

  “You mean to say there’s more than one?”

  “Eichorn pays the Cassidys to collect snakes for his show… there’s at least half a dozen in there.”

  “Well how the hell am I supposed to know which one bit me?”

  “Give me your tie, gagamin.”

  Rowland removed his tie and handed it over without question.

  Simpson ripped the sleeve from Rowland’s left arm. The puncture marks were clearly visible on the bicep. Securing a large knot in the tie, he wrapped it around above the puncture wound, and reefed it tight. Then he slipped a thick twig under the tie and twisted it even tighter. Rowland winced, but didn’t protest. He knew what snakebites meant.

  Edna, having righted herself, knelt before him watching Simpson anxiously. Her eyes were large, distinctly panicked.

  “I need something sharp,” Simpson said, casting his eyes around the cave.

  “They took my pocketknife,” Rowland muttered.

  “What about a pen? Or reading glasses?”

  Edna reached into her pocket and removed a small Bakelite compact. Flipping it open, she slid out the mirror and handed it to Harry Simpson.

  He nodded approvingly, and pressed it firmly against one of the fireside stones until it snapped into two jagged pieces. “Righto, Rowly, this might hurt.”

  “Might?”

  “Just try not to move.” Simpson clamped one of his large hands just above Rowland’s elbow to hold the arm still and tried to incise the wound as quickly as he could. The fragment of mirror was not the ideal instrument for the purpose and the cuts were neither as clean nor as quick as they might have been. He had to try several times to ensure he had sliced deep enough.

  “Bloody hell!” Rowland gasped.

  “Sorry, Rowly.” Simpson put down the mirror. “I’m afraid it’s not over yet, mate. I’ve got to suck out the poison.”

  “You can’t,” Rowland said through gritted teeth.

  “Got to be done, mate… I’ll try to…”

  “No, Harry. You can’t suck out poison with a split lip.” Rowland pulled his arm away. “You might as well stick your head into that jolly basket.”

  Simpson realised he was right. “Can you reach it yourself?”

  “No, it’s too far round.” Rowland looked at Edna. Already he was having trouble focusing, but she seemed very pale. Her teeth were chattering. Whether or not it was from the cold was hard to tell. “Ed…?”

  She nodded uncertainly. “I don’t know how to…”

  Simpson patted her shoulder. “Just place your mouth over the wound and suck out as much blood as you can—try not to swallow any.”

  Edna shivered, feeling nauseous after having watched Simpson incise the bite. But she didn’t waste any time. She put her mouth over the wound and tried to draw the blood.

  Rowland recoiled sharply and struggled to pull his arm away. He contained a profanity and groaned.

  Edna shrunk back, her lips and chin dripping with his blood.

  “Come on Rowly, give her a chance.”

  “She bit me!” he managed to get out.

  “Oh God, Rowly, I’m so sorry.” The sculptress was close to tears.

  Simpson examined Rowland’s arm. It was bleeding profusely. In her panic the sculptress had indeed bitten him… rather hard by the looks of it. Her teeth had cut deeper than Simpson had been able to with the mirror.

  “Unconventional,” he said, smiling kindly at the distraught Edna, “but I think it might have helped.”

  “Helped?” Rowland choked, as blood ran freely from the wound and down his arm.

  “The blood will take the poison with it,” Simpson said firmly.

  Edna wiped the back of her hand across her tears, smearing blood over her face in the process. “I’m sorry, Rowly, I didn’t…”

  Rowland took her hand, regretting now that he hadn’t been more stoic when she’d bitten him. His head throbbed.

  Simpson stood, moving carefully so the chain didn’t snag again. He took a bottle from a crate against the wall and pulled the cork out with his teeth.

  “Believe it or not, I know people who swear by this,” he said, returning to Rowland with the bottle of Eichorn’s Snakebite and Blood Poisoning Cure.

  Rowland sniffed the open bottle. It smelled of whisky, capsicum and eucalyptus.

  “I’m tempted to let you take a swig of this first,” Simpson murmured.

  Rowland looked at the bottle dubiously. “Smells like something I’d clean my brushes with.”

  “Ready?” Simpson asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Guess not. If you’re going to hold onto her hand,” he warned, nodding at Edna, “be careful not to break it.”

  “You’re hilarious.” But Rowland released the sculptress’ hand, just in case. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around him instead.

  Simpson gripped Rowland’s arm at the elbow again and gradually emptied the bottle over the wound.

  To Rowland, Simpson could well have been pouring sulphuric acid. He was aware of nothing but the searing pain, the faint smell of Edna’s rose perfume and the way she trembled as she held him.

  When the bottle was empty, Simpson tried to stem the blood, using the shirtsleeve he’d removed earlier and a strip which he tore from a blanket.

  Edna pressed a canteen of water to Rowland’s lips while Simpson rolled out a swag.

  “I’d put you closer to the fire, Rowly,” Simpson said apologetically, “but I’m afraid you’ll go up.”

  Rowland nodded, remembering vaguely the part Eichorn’s snakebite cure had played in the incineration of Rope’s End. His headache was getting worse and the fire seemed very bright. He fell back onto the swag and closed his eyes for a moment. Edna’s hand pushed the hair back from his forehead. Her voice sounded far away.

  “Good Lord, he’s burning up.”

  Simpson’s voice was calm. “We only need to worry if it was warralang… the brown snake.”

  “And if it was?”

  Simpson hesi
tated and then answered honestly. “If it was, then his odds are still even.”

  “Even?” Edna choked. “You mean he could die?”

  “Browns are nasty, but Rowly’s a grown man.” Simpson soaked another piece of blanket with water from the canteen. He handed the compress to Edna. “I’ve known men to survive… a couple of dogs too.”

  “Oh God.” Edna’s eyes welled and she looked away as she tried to control her tears.

  “Hey,” Simpson said gently. “It may not have been the brown. The others will make him sick for a while but…”

  Edna wiped Rowland’s brow with the wet cloth. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Rowland seemed to be deteriorating so quickly. “So what do we do?” she asked finally.

  “We’ll just try to keep him comfortable—I’m afraid there’s not much else we can do.”

  Rowland opened his eyes. “I can hear you, you know,” he said weakly. “I’m not dying—Harry’s overreacting.”

  “This might teach you to stop poking around where I’ve told you not to,” Simpson said, moving to check the tourniquet. “I suppose some things never change…”

  Rowland winced as the tie was adjusted. “You’ll remove that before my arm drops off, won’t you?”

  “Stop complaining, you’ve got two.”

  Edna wiped the perspiration from his forehead once again. “You should try to sleep, Rowly.”

  Rowland looked up at the sculptress, the perfect contours of her face streaked with blood and tears. He reached up and wiped some of the drying red from her chin. “You’re going to give me nightmares.”

  Simpson laughed. He handed another wet cloth to Edna. “Here, use this. There’s the stream but none of us will be able to get out of this cave until Rowly can walk.” He glanced at the leg irons.

  Edna cleaned her face, while Simpson hung a billy over the fire. Her compact now gone, she had no idea if she’d successfully removed the gore.

  Simpson grinned. “If you don’t mind me saying, Miss Higgins, you’re a very pretty girl without all the blood.”

  Edna smiled, stroking Rowland’s hair absently. “Thank you, I don’t usually wear red.”