Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

  ‘Are you really going to take a job down the mine?’ asked Luke.

  ‘I don’t know, lad. Honest labour it might be, but it’s heavy and punishing work. Perilous too. They say you never can tell when them treacherous shafts will flood. No, I think that’s work more fit for a man of your vintage. Perhaps I’ll start up a store instead. Molly, Mrs Swift to you, says as how she’d like a store. Grand ideas she has, that one. Wants to sell everything from hams to hats and all manner of goods in between.’ Angus chuckled to himself, fondness written wide across his leathery features. Then he fetched two sacks from his pack and gestured for Luke to join him in the hut. ‘Here’s your supplies.’

  He tipped a veritable treasure trove of goodies onto the floor: a round of cheese, flour, jam, salt, candles, rope, a small bag of sugar and potatoes, even some boiled lollies. Another parcel contained two new blue serge shirts, a hat and a used pair of leather boots. Luke could hardly believe his eyes.

  ‘I can’t thank you en—’

  The two dogs chose this moment to tumble, mock-fighting, in through the door. Bear made for the cheese before Luke snatched it up. ‘Leave off.’ The big dog obediently lay in the corner, tail patting the floor, brown eyes beseeching Luke for forgiveness.

  ‘He sure don’t seem like no killer to me,’ admitted Angus. ‘But I’m afraid folks’ve already made up their minds. If he shows up in town they’ll shoot him on sight. Remember that, lad, won’t you?’

  Luke nodded, scrambling to save his lollies from Scruffy.

  ‘Take care then, Luke . . . and one last thing.’

  Angus pulled a long cloth-wrapped parcel from his pack saddle. Luke whistled through his teeth. A rifle.

  ‘How can I ever —’

  ‘Pay me back once you’re on your feet.’

  When Angus was out of sight, Luke set to work storing the provisions and washing breakfast dishes. How good it felt to be excited about the future again. He wasn’t going to mope around this time, waiting for Angus to return. With a rifle he could go hunting. Perhaps a good feed of meat would keep Bear from wandering.

  Luke and Bear spent the rest of the day exploring, following the creek upstream, where waratahs and leatherwoods bloomed in the gullies, and grass-tree spikes were bright with flowers. Spinebills and lorikeets foraged in yellow-gums, and the scented air droned with bees. A sparkling day. No wallabies though. Nothing larger than an echidna demolishing a bull-ant nest.

  The steep slope levelled out to an open stringybark woodland. Bear stopped and sniffed the ground. Boot prints lay in the damp earth, a day or so old. Luke took cover and unslung his rifle, scanning the forest for movement. All was still – wait. What was that? Something dangled from a tree up ahead.

  He crept forward to investigate. A dead possum swung from a noose. There was another, and another. A lucrative trade existed in possum skins, and fur trappers made good livings. Possums tended to take the easiest route to the ground. Whoever set these snares had taken cruel advantage of this, leaning poles against trees, and setting looped wire snares halfway along their length. Unsuspecting possums clambered headfirst down the poles, straight into the noose. Luke took the possum down and secured it to his belt. It made more sense to steal this trapper’s catch than to waste bullets of his own, and he never enjoyed killing.

  He noticed the strangled devil as he cut down another possum: a squat, powerfully built animal with short legs, large jaws and a white blaze across its black rump and chest. It must have had the same idea as Luke, becoming trapped as it descended with its stolen possum meal.

  Luke took a closer look and made an unexpected discovery – three shivering baby devils holding fast to their dead mother. Curious, Bear inspected the babies as Luke pried them loose. They wriggled wildly and Luke, reluctant to hold the tiny creatures too tightly, lost his grip. They fell as a tightly huddled mass, landing on the broad, warm back of the dog. Immediately they snuggled down into Bear’s thick black fur and clung tight.

  Luke grinned. ‘Looks like you’re Mother Bear now.’

  He gathered half-a-dozen more possums and started for home. They took a convoluted course and Luke was careful to disguise his trail. It bothered him that a trapper was working so close to the shack. It bothered him even more that Bear might run into this stranger one night. The dog followed carefully after Luke, mindful of his precious passengers, occasionally stopping to nose the babies. His tenderness was touching.

  Back at the hut, Luke examined the little devils. They had fat tails, heads that seemed too large for their bodies, and sweet whiskery black faces with drowsy eyes. Two bore their mother’s white blaze, but the smallest one was completely black. Bear lay down. The tired little devils snuggled into his coat and went to sleep.

  Luke skinned the possums and pegged out the hides, planning to slow-cook any surplus meat on a smoky fire to preserve it. He fashioned a snug pouch from hessian, and filled it with dry grass to form a cosy nest. Then one by one he peeled the babies from Bear’s back and placed them in their new home. ‘There.’ Luke stroked the dog’s soft muzzle. ‘At least if you disappear up the mountain tonight, you won’t have passengers.’

  Now what to feed them? He’d discovered to his cost that the little devils had sharp teeth. Perhaps they were old enough to wean. Luke painstakingly diced possum pieces into a fine mince. Bear gobbled up any bits of gristle or bone tossed his way, although he’d already eaten two skinned carcasses.

  Luke grew more and more hopeful that Bear might stay. But just when it looked like the dog had settled for the night, he padded to the door and disappeared. Damn. These overnight adventures were far too dangerous.

  Caring for the three little orphans soon took his mind off Bear. Luke made a thin slurry of possum mince and cold tea, practising funnelling it through a large hollow reed. With a bit of prodding, the concoction flowed without too much trouble. As the last rays of light fled the sky, Luke grew impatient for the babies to wake. He could use the company.

  After dinner he lit one of his few candles. He swept the floor and made his makeshift bed, preparing for his visitors. And, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the bush retreated into gloom, the devils woke up. He prepared a pot of warm meat slurry and filled the thick reed, pinching the bottom to prevent leaks. Plucking a baby from the hessian pouch, he sat the shy little creature in the broad palm of his hand and manoeuvred the reed into its mouth.

  To Luke’s delight it sat up, clasped the reed with tiny hands and lapped up the mixture. The others followed suit. Afterwards, Luke washed their dirty faces and watched them wrestle and play. They were endlessly entertaining and Luke couldn’t wait to show them to Daniel – and to Belle.

  After native tigers, devils were Belle’s favourite animals. Most people thought them stupid and vicious. Bush myths abounded. Lone drovers dreaded taking a fall from their horse with night coming on. They feared being devoured alive in the darkness. But Daniel, like Belle, thought them charming and worthy of protection. This was an unpopular view, and more than one parent had told his teacher so, accusing him of filling their child’s head with nonsense. At one time even Luke had had his doubts.

  But now he was proud of the little marsupial carnivores known nowhere else on earth. How Belle would love these orphan babies. The thought triggered a crushing wave of loneliness. Luke went to bed, listening to the little devils’ yelps and snarls, and the sound of things being knocked over. Sleep was a long time coming.

  When Luke woke in the morning, Bear was dozing before the fireplace, the little devils curled up asleep between his huge paws. Luke smiled. He was certainly collecting an odd lot of companions. His mouth watered as he thought about a breakfast of billy tea, damper and jam. How his luck had changed.

  CHAPTER 11

  Angus breathed hard, trudging along the steep, tree-lined drive to the Binburra homestead. The two-storeyed house nestled in a semicircle of peppermint gums halfway up the hillside. The usual sheds and stockyards stood to its left, but in other respects
it was quite different to other grand homes in the district. There were no conifer-dotted lawns, no serpentine paths. Instead of the usual collection of roses and lavender, wild bush gardens of boronias and bottlebrush spilled untidily into the paddocks. A fine-boned palomino filly paced impatiently up and down the rails by an old shearing shed. Dappled-grey coach horses and a few jersey cows grazed in a front paddock, failing to make much of an impression on the lush grass. Scattered gum and wattle tree saplings sprouted unchecked all through the pasture. The forest seemed intent upon reclaiming the land.

  Angus reached the front gate and looked around, fearful that the station dogs might take a dislike to Scruffy. He heard no barking. All was quiet. He opened the heavy timber gate and secured it behind him. He tied Toro to a stout post, allowing him sufficient rope to pick at the spring grass. Then he advanced to the front door, hat in hand and Scruffy in tow. As he was about to knock, a tall, distinguished man opened the door. Early forties, clean-shaven, greying hair and piercing blue eyes. The pair regarded each other for a few moments, taking measure. Angus was first to speak and came straight to the point.

  ‘You be Mr Daniel Campbell, sir? Then I’d appreciate it if I could talk to you in confidence, on behalf of a young fella I know. A friend of both me and yourself, as he tells it. Luke Tyler.’

  The man before him looked stunned. There was no doubt that he recognised the name.

  ‘You know him, then?’ said Angus. ‘Young Luke?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘Yes, indeed. Why, it must be more than four years now since Luke was gaoled. Spirited away so none could find him. Just a boy, and a more shameful travesty of justice I’ve not seen before or since. Tell me, man, have you news of him?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I do. Angus McLeod and very pleased to meet you.’

  Angus offered his hand, wondering if it was presumptuous, but Daniel grasped it warmly with both of his own and urged Angus to continue his story.

  Angus considered his words carefully, reluctant to compromise Luke’s safety by giving away too much. However, he considered himself a reasonable judge of character and a gut feeling told him to trust this man. ‘The truth is . . . Luke’s done a runner. He’s living rough in the hills not too far from here. A fine lad that deserves better than he got. Anyway, he won’t come into town for work and he can’t go on as he is . . .’ Angus hesitated, wanting his request to come out just right. ‘He speaks very highly of you, sir. I got to thinking that perhaps you might see fit to offer the lad a job, seeing as you’re after a handyman?’

  ‘Of course. Come inside while I fetch my wife. She’ll be as thrilled as I am by this news.’

  Angus declined Daniel’s invitation and stayed respectfully out on the verandah. While he waited, Scruffy began to yap and growl. Turning to look down the drive, Angus saw a rider on a piebald mare approaching, with a packhorse following. A black kelpie dog trotted at their heels. Angus watched the newcomer dismount and hitch his horses to a rail. Scruffy ran to play with the kelpie.

  From the looks of him, the stranger was a possum scalper, pack saddle piled high with skins. He introduced himself as Jim Patterson and joined Angus on the verandah. The two men made small talk. Jim said he was on his way into Hills End to sell his hides. He’d decided to make the detour to Binburra after overhearing some interesting news at a musterer’s camp a few nights back. All the talk there was of a pack of native tigers led by a huge wild dog. Their killing spree was causing carnage among the high country flocks. The story was drawing hunters from miles around as tigers were rare enough these days. In Jim’s opinion the rogue pack might be holed up somewhere at Binburra, and he’d come for permission to trap there.

  Angus could just imagine what Daniel would think of that. His ears pricked up when Jim complained of raided snares. ‘Cut straight through they was, about six miles due west of here. When I catch the bastard he’ll be sorry.’

  Angus frowned. It was foolish of Luke to betray his presence like that. Why couldn’t he just do his own hunting? Jim came across as a shrewd opportunist and it was good to know that Daniel was sure to send the man packing. He didn’t fancy Luke’s chances should Jim stumble across him.

  Daniel returned and beckoned Angus inside, but stopped short when he saw the trapper. When Jim politely made his request, Daniel sent him away with an angry gesture. ‘There’ll be no trapping or hunting here. Not now, not ever.’

  Again Daniel beckoned Angus inside. Jim pressed his point, trying to explain about the sheep-killing tigers and his hunch that they were using Binburra as a base.

  Daniel turned on him. ‘Get the hell off my land! I don’t care a jot about any damned sheep. Are you too stupid to realise it’s wild dogs killing the stock? A pack of tigers led by a dog? It’s ludicrous. Go peddle your ridiculous rumours elsewhere.’

  The two men glared at each other. Then Jim tipped his hat, unhitched his horses, whistled his dog and rode off.

  This time, Angus accepted Daniel’s invitation to go inside. He followed his host to a small parlour left of the entrance hall. A beautiful woman stood by the window, stylish with a graceful presence, her blonde hair worn up in a deft French twist. Although wearing a simple day dress, she presented a picture of easy elegance. Daniel introduced his wife as Elizabeth. Angus was suddenly acutely conscious of his soiled, smelly clothes and dirty boots.

  Elizabeth seemed to sense his discomfort. She smiled and shushed him when he tried to apologise. ‘Now, now, sir. Think no more of it. Apparently we’ve important things to discuss. My husband tells me you bring good news to us of Luke?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Then this is cause for celebration. I’ll ask our housekeeper, Mrs Scott, to bring us some tea and cake. Unless you’d prefer a drop of whisky?’

  ‘Lizzie, tea and cake can wait. Do you recall talk a while ago of a prisoner escaped from the work camp? Well, according to Angus here, that was Luke. Apparently he’s safe and hiding out in the hills just west of here. He needs our help, Lizzie. What do you say?’

  Elizabeth’s mouth turned down a little at the corners. Here was trouble. ‘To aid him would put us at odds with the law, would it not?’ she said. ‘We must take account of that, Daniel, no matter how grave Luke’s predicament. We have Belle to consider.’

  ‘Pardon my speaking out of turn, ma’am,’ said Angus. ‘But it seems to me that you might give the lad a job under a false name. If he gets nicked, who’s to say that you good folks knew who he was or that he was on the run?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Daniel. ‘We must help Luke, Lizzie. Our risk is slight at best. We’ll invent a new name for the boy. Adam. Adam McLeod, your nephew, Angus. And you must bring him to us as soon as possible.’ He pressed several pounds into Angus’s palm. ‘Take this for your trouble.’ He turned to his wife. ‘My dear?’

  At last Elizabeth nodded her assent. ‘Yes, Mr McLeod. We look forward to your return.’

  As Angus turned to go, a pretty girl dressed rather like a boy came in, followed by Luke’s rogue dog, right there in the parlour. Angus stood speechless and confused. His stare was mistaken for admiration.

  ‘I see you’re intrigued by Belle’s dog,’ said Daniel. ‘Isn’t she a beauty? Most people have never seen one quite like her before.’

  Angus took a closer look and observed that the dog was slightly smaller than Bear and possessed of a finer head. But the overall appearance and expression was identical.

  ‘What sort of dog is that?’

  ‘Sasha is a Newfoundland,’ said Belle.

  ‘That’s a fine animal, miss,’ said Angus, trying to hide his surprise.

  ‘Indeed she is,’ agreed Daniel. ‘Six specimens of the breed were imported this year from England, and we were fortunate to acquire this bitch for my daughter. She cost me an arm and a leg, but Belle’s had her heart set on one since she was a child.’

  ‘That reminds me, sir. I’d best let you know that Lu— ah, that Adam’s gone and found himself a dog for company. He and that mut
t are nigh on inseparable.’ Angus hesitated a moment. ‘It’s friendly enough, so I expect there won’t be a problem with the little lady’s dog. But Luke and him are a package deal.’

  ‘Of course Adam may bring his dog. It will be company for Sasha.’ At the mention of her name, Sasha looked up and wagged her tail. Daniel patted her fondly. Angus imagined their amazement when Luke showed up with Bear. ‘When can we expect to see you both?’

  ‘All going well we could be here by lunchtime tomorrow. Would that suit you, Mr Campbell?’

  Daniel shook Angus’s hand. ‘Indeed it would.’

  ‘And thank you again for all you’ve done, Mr McLeod,’ added Elizabeth.

  Angus saw Belle shoot her mother a curious look, as he followed Daniel onto the verandah, glad to be back outside. He untied Toro, whistled up Scruffy and, with a friendly wave, started down the drive, anxious to tell Luke the good news.

  CHAPTER 12

  Luke and Bear lay on the grass outside the hut as the afternoon shadows lengthened. Angus had been gone for a week now. Surely he’d be back soon. What if Bear was on walkabout when he returned? Tonight he’d better tie the dog up.

  Luke attached a stout rope to Bear’s collar and fastened it to the doorpost. He laid his own blanket down and tempted Bear to settle there with a bribe of wallaby stew, but the dog was restless and wouldn’t eat, unhappy with the new arrangement. Afternoon wore into evening. A breeze blew up, whistling down the chimney, as the first stars pricked through the roof of the night sky.

  Bear could feel the tug of the darkening forest. When he rose to leave, Luke stroked and talked to him. He loved the smell of this man and the comforting sound of his voice, but as each hour passed his agitation grew. Ignoring a command to stay he padded to the door, only to be stopped short by the rope. He whined and lay down again, ears cocked towards the night.