The Burning Land

by John Fletcher

  ‘We’ll steal the herd,’ he had said. ‘Get rid of the ones in charge and run the lot here. Who’s to stop us?’

  ‘They will,’ she said. ‘There must be a dozen blokes, at least.’

  ‘Waldo and me, we got a lot more than a dozen bullets between us. I don’t see a bunch of cow-hands stopping us. Steal them cows,’ he said. ‘We’ll be famous. A whole herd! That’ll be one for the history books.’

  Wilma tilted her head defiantly at him. ‘First you get that clown to tie me up, now you want me to help you. Takin’ a bit of a chance, ain’t you?’

  He’d grinned at her. ‘You’re a wild one, same as me. You’ll never take sides with tame blokes like them down there.’

  Schultz was right, yet now, watching the two men, hearing herself offering them tea or drinks, she thought they weren’t the sort to be hoodwinked so easily.

  ‘Do you have a family, ma’am?’ the younger one asked.

  ‘One baby. She’s asleep at the moment.’

  ‘Been up here long?’ the older man wondered.

  ‘Two years,’ Wilma said, making it up as she went along.

  ‘You can’t have been worried about proclamation,’ Charlton said.

  Wilma looked blank.

  ‘Proclamation,’ Charlton repeated. ‘Two years ago they weren’t even talking about it.’

  She smiled cautiously. ‘Some more tea?’ she asked.

  Riding back to the herd Charlton said, ‘She said nuthin about having visitors.’

  ‘You thinking of those tracks?’

  ‘Dead right I am.’ He pushed his hat back on his head. ‘Notice something else odd? When I mentioned proclamation she didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m saying,’ Charlton said irritably. ‘Something ain’t right, that’s all.’

  Sarah wailed. She was wet and probably hungry, too, but Catriona could do nothing about either condition for the moment. She could do nothing about anything. She was exhausted and lost. The reed beds seemed everlasting. The men must surely have noticed her absence by now. She was sure they would come after her. So far she had heard no sound of pursuit but that proved nothing. The reeds pressed close about her. She could see no more than a foot in any direction. They could be anywhere, ahead of her or behind, there was no way of knowing. Death might be only a yard away beyond the screen of reeds.

  She looked about her, fighting panic. She was frightened to move, no longer even knowing in which direction she faced, yet move she must—waiting was in some ways the worst thing of all. Once again, exhausted, close to tears, she summoned her courage. She parted the reeds. Sunlight flooded in. The waters of the creek gleamed a dozen yards away. Facing her stood a group of naked black men. They carried spears and their faces—the heavy foreheads, deep-set eyes, flattened noses—summed up for her all that was alien and frightening about this land. She had never felt more abandoned and alone.

  Despair overwhelmed her. If they wanted to kill her there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Tears were pouring down her face. She stood mute, wet face, scratched and lacerated body, despairing and exhausted eyes. In silent appeal she held the baby out to them.

  *

  Schultz’s rage was terrible. ‘You tellin’ me they saw you off? And you with a gun in your hand?’

  ‘There was a whole bunch of ’em.’ Waldo’s voice was aggrieved. He had done the best he could short of committing suicide. ‘You told me no shooting.’

  ‘If that woman gets to the cow camp …’ Schultz was beyond reason.

  ‘Why don’t we leave it?’ Wilma suggested. ‘Just ride out and let ’em get on with it?’

  But Schultz had set his heart on owning or at least controlling property for once in his life. ‘It don’t change mithin,’ he said. ‘Them niggers won’t move at night. They’ll wait for morning. By then we’ll have done it.’

  ‘We should set extra guards tonight,’ Charlton said. ‘Get the boys out. Keep everyone on their toes.’

  ‘I got a better idea.’ Matthew explained.

  Charlton was doubtful. ‘You reckon it’ll work?’

  ‘If there’s going to be trouble I’d sooner meet it face to face than wait for it to come to me.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Charlton offered.

  Mathew shook his head. ‘If anything happens I’ll need you here. Besides, I doubt it’ll be necessary. There are only two of them.’

  ‘Three,’ Charlton corrected him. ‘There was three sets of tracks, I’d bet my life on it. And I wouldn’t trust that woman no further than I could throw her.’

  Matthew told Aggie what he intended; he did not subscribe to the view that certain things are best kept from women, and certainly not from this woman.

  An expression of agony crossed her face. He had feared she might object but she did not. ‘You will be safe,’ she told him.

  He was unsure whether it was a prayer or an instruction. ‘I plan to be.’ Knowing, as she did, that a well-directed bullet could make mockery of anybody’s plans.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Matthew left the camp as soon as it was dark. A cloak of stars covered the sky and a silvering of the distant horizon showed where the moon would soon rise. Moving as quietly as he could, he worked his way across a landscape illuminated by a confusion of silver light and black shadow. The night was utterly still. Half way between the camp and the house he crouched in the shadow of a bush and waited. His rifle was cool in his hands, the smell of oil competing with the dry, dusty scent of the bush.

  Slowly the horizon brightened. Nothing stirred. A bird called softly. Time passed.

  He had begun to think he had made a fool of himself, coming out to stand sentry like this, when he saw a flicker of movement on the side of the hill. He waited and presently saw the shape of a man making his way down the hill from the house. One man? Charlton had insisted there were three of them. Matthew moved his head cautiously, eyes wide to catch what light there was, and saw a second shadow twenty yards behind the first.

  The two figures reached the bottom of the slope and headed towards the camp. Matthew waited until the first man was ten yards from him. He could see the glint of the weapon the man was carrying, hear the sound of his breathing. He cocked his gun.

  ‘Hands in the air, mate,’ Matthew said.

  The man reacted with a speed that astounded him. One second he was there, the next he had whirled and was gone, lost in the confusion of light and shadow. Matthew leaned forward, straining his eyes to see. There was a flash and a bang as someone, out there in the darkness, fired.

  Matthew felt the wind of the ball pass his cheek. He flung himself sideways before the man could fire again, hit the ground rolling, and fetched up behind a low rocky outcrop. It was barely a foot high but gave cover of a sort. Cautiously he slid his rifle around the edge of the rock. He expected another shot but nothing came. Hugging the earth, he wriggled sideways so that he could look where his rifle barrel was pointing. Cautiously he inched his head from behind the screen of rock.

  The muzzle flash, the scream of the ricochet, the burst of dust and chippings from the rock beside his head were simultaneous. Quicker than thought Matthew jerked his head back, heart pounding, face stinging where the fragments of rock had spattered him. The bullet must have struck no more than an inch from his head. He was pinned here, absolutely helpless, yet with two men out there hunting him he had to move. If he didn’t, one or other of them would work around behind him and it would be all over.

  The moon cast a confusion of light and shadow across the open plain. His chin brushing the ground, Matthew turned his head carefully, trying to see some movement, but of the two men there was no sign. He took a deep breath, clutched his rifle tight and gathered his feet beneath him. The watcher would expect him to break either to the left or right. Very well. He flung himself over the protective ridge of rock and charged full-tilt at the cluster of bushes in front of him where he
thought the man was lying.

  He counted feverishly, ‘One, two, three …’ and threw himself down again, rolling to his left in the instant before the night was riven by the flash and thunder of another rifle shot. As he had thought: the gunman was in the line of bushes. Without pausing Matthew leapt to his feet and hurled himself forward again, the butt of his rifle jarring his hip as he fired at the bush where he had seen the muzzle flash. He fired a second time, threw himself full length on the stony ground, buried his face in the dirt and waited for an answering shot that did not come.

  Again he aimed at the bushes, fired a third time and saw the leaves flutter as the heavy round ploughed into them. Once again he was on his feet, charging. Eyes, mind, every thread of concentration were focused on that dark line of bush. If the man were still there with his rifle ready to fire, Matthew was dead. At that range one shot was all it would take. Stomach churning, he raced across the open ground.

  Another rifle spoke out of the darkness to his right. His outstretched left arm took fire as the bullet struck it.

  More potent than the impact, shock and a rush of scalding pain went through him. He was down, nerves screaming, rifle clattering in the darkness. He heard steps racing towards him through the scrub. He scrabbled desperately for his fallen gun, could see no sign of it, snatched his knife from its sheath and crouched, ready to spring, every muscle taut, every nerve stretched to its limit. He saw a shadow rushing at him out of the darkness and made ready to fling himself into its path. Before he could do so the man threw himself down in a patch of undergrowth and disappeared from sight. At once Matthew moved, too, rolling sideways to get out of the line of a possible shot. He landed on his injured arm. The pain bit with a ferocity that made his head spin. He gulped down nausea before a merciful numbness returned.

  He lay in the shadows cast by a patch of scrub, trying to control his breath and jumping nerves, knife clutched in his sweating hand. Cautiously he flexed his wounded arm. He could move it but did not know how useful it would be if it came to a hand-to-hand fight.

  His eyes searched the shadows but could see nothing. Over at the camp the boys must have heard the firing but he could not wait for help to arrive. He had to act now.

  Cautiously he inched through the low screen of bushes. One foot, two … He paused, breath tight in his throat, and listened. Nothing. Another few inches. Still nothing. The men could be anywhere. No second chances.

  A foot. Another foot. He looked, listened. Nothing.

  He sensed something behind him and whipped round. A man was lying in the bushes not five yards from him. He saw the head turn towards him, the moonlight white on the questioning face. Matthew’s feet scrabbled on rock as he flung himself at him.

  Strong arms, too strong. The sweaty reek of a human body, hard with muscle beneath its clothes. A blow from nowhere hit the side of Matthew’s head. Half-stunned, he brought up his knife and rammed it home. The point snagged momentarily in cloth, sank deep. The man gave a choking cry and fell away from him, retching and gasping.

  No time to check on him. He had to find the other man first. The pain of his arm sickened him but there was no time to think of that, either. He looked around him but could see nothing. At his feet the injured man groaned, breath bubbling in his throat. Matthew had stabbed him in the stomach and his hands clutched the wound, blood running between his fingers. Moonlight shone on the man’s fallen rifle. Matthew snatched it up as hooves clattered behind him. He spun, the rifle coming into his shoulder, then relaxed. Charlton, with Tom and Brett behind him, reined their snorting horses to a halt at his side.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Charlton dismounted without waiting for an answer, bent over the fallen man. ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘I suspect it’s this Schultz we’ve been hearing about,’ Matthew said. ‘Either him or one of his men. Be careful. There’s another one out there somewhere.’

  The boys dismounted quickly and lay on the ground, their eyes searching the darkness, but all was still.

  ‘I shot at him a few times,’ Matthew said. ‘Whether I hit him I don’t know but I’ve heard nothing from him for a while so maybe I did.’

  Charlton turned his head to inspect him. ‘Your voice sounds funny. You all right?’

  ‘I’ve got a bullet hole in my arm,’ Matthew confessed.

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘It’s sore but I think I’ll live.’

  ‘Where did you reckon the other fellow was?’

  ‘I thought in that line of bushes.’

  ‘I don’t intend to lie out here all night,’ Charlton said. ‘You boys keep his head down.’ He got to his feet and ran forward, rifle pointing, while the boys fired a few shots.

  Matthew watched, mouth dry, heart pounding. Behind him the wounded man groaned again. Charlton reached the bushes and forced his way into them. He paused, then turned and shouted back at them. ‘This one ain’t going to give us no more trouble.’

  Swaying on his feet, Matthew went forward to join him. Blood was running down his arm. Now that the fighting had stopped he felt indescribably weary.

  The second man was stone dead. One of Matthew’s shots had hit him in the face. The dead eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

  ‘Looks like you took care of both of ’em,’ Charlton said. ‘Let’s have a look at that arm.’ He inspected it. ‘Just creased the top of the muscle. Needs washing but you’ll be all right.’

  They returned to the wounded man. The boys were clustered around staring at him, none of them wanting to get too close. Matthew knelt at his side.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  The man bared his teeth, hatred leaking from him as well as blood. Through bitten lips he said, ‘What the hell difference does it make who I am?’

  ‘You’re Schultz,’ Matthew said.

  ‘If you know the answer why ask the question?’

  ‘I’ve seen you before,’ Matthew told him, memory stirring. ‘Seen you twice.’

  Schultz panted. ‘Plenty of blokes seen me. None managed to do what you done, though. Reckon you was lucky.’

  ‘The first time I saw you was at Amherst, talking to that old shepherd about gold. You killed him, didn’t you?’

  Schultz did not reply.

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘How do you expect me to remember a thing like that?’ Schultz snarled. He coughed weakly. ‘Don’t make no odds now, anyway.’

  ‘The second time was at Mount Alexander. There was a gold robbery. A thousand ounces. I suppose you don’t remember that, either.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘On second thoughts I doubt it had anything to do with you,’ Matthew said contemptuously. ‘It was the biggest robbery in the goldfields at that time. I don’t see you being smart enough to pull anything like that.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Schultz bared bloody teeth in a savage grimace. ‘You don’ know nuthin, mate, you think that. A thousand ounces. It took some carrying.’ He coughed again, gasping. ‘You’ve cooked me, you bastard.’

  Matthew clenched his good fist. ‘There was a girl—’

  ‘You’re right. There was.’

  ‘You killed her, didn’t you?’ Rage was gathering, violent and uncontrollable. ‘Eighteen years old and you stabbed her to death.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have tried to stop me.’ Schultz’ breath was harsh, his face twisted with hatred. ‘What’s the matter?’ he jeered. ‘Fancy her, did you?’

  ‘Think it’s funny?’ Matthew kicked him hard in the stomach and Schultz screamed. Matthew leant so close their faces were almost touching. ‘I don’t hear you laughing.’ He took out his knife and held it before Schultz’s bulging eyes. ‘Maybe I should cut your throat and have done with you.’

  The kick seemed to have taken all the bushranger’s strength. Faintly he muttered something.

  Matthew leant closer. ‘What?’

  ‘You’d be doin’ me … doin’ me a favour.’

  ‘We’ll leave you,’ Matthew told him. ‘That’s w
hat we’ll do. Leave you for the sun.’

  ‘I think I’ve had about enough of this,’ Charlton said at Matthew’s back. He cocked his pistol.

  Matthew turned, stretching out his hand. ‘Leave him—’

  ‘No.’ He fired once into Schultz’s chest. The bushranger fell back, the contorted face suddenly still.

  ‘I hadn’t finished questioning him,’ Matthew said furiously.

  ‘You’d got all you were going to get. All you was doin’ was torturing him and that made you as bad as him.’

  Matthew was looking for a fight. ‘Maybe you think I am as bad as him.’

  Charlton shook his head. ‘Not you. Not any of us. That Schultz was in a class of his own, I reckon. The woman,’ he said. ‘What are we going to do about her?’

  ‘I’d forgotten all about her,’ Matthew confessed. ‘Perhaps we’d better get up to the house and see what she’s got to say for herself.’

  ‘If she’s still there,’ Charlton said.

  She wasn’t. They looked around the deserted house but there was no sign of her.

  ‘Reckon she slipped away during the shooting,’ Matthew said. ‘She’ll be well on the road to Fort Bourke by now.’

  ‘I wonder if she’ll make it,’ said Charlton.

  ‘If she rode with Schultz she’ll be tough. I dare say she’ll make it, all right.’

  They stood looking about them at the empty house but for the moment there was nothing to be done. They went outside, made their way down the hill and went back to camp.

  ‘Seems like we’re getting our fair share of mongrels out here along with everyone else,’ Charlton said.

  ‘Right,’ Matthew agreed. The danger, the shooting, had left him in a strange, unsettled mood. ‘It makes you wonder if Maggie hasn’t got the right answer.’

  Charlton was scornful. ‘That old bat’s as barmy as a wombat. How can she have the right answer to anything?’

  ‘Because she wants to leave the world a better place than she found it.’