In the barn doorway Goonur dropped her simple archer’s bow and reached out. Bohra twisted and leaped from Meg’s arms to Goonur’s.
From the house, glass shattered. Meg caught sight of the orange flicker in the parlor. How could she possibly reach there in time? The next thing the torch came flying back out through the broken window; then a flurry of motion and out flew a burning window curtain as well. Meg vaguely saw the outline of Marty’s mum inside.
Now a torch had been thrown at the barn! Meg ran to an open back wall of a box stall, where smoky orange flames boiled out. Snatching up a horse rug, she beat at the fire from the stall door. She fell back, seized a pitchfork and forked flaming hay out the big open back side into the rain. Her eyes burned, her lungs burned, her nose burned.
The air was clearing a little. She stamped out the few licks of flame that were left. Another torch had landed on the clean-swept barn floor. She grabbed it up, dumped a nearby bucket of water on the smoking charred spot where it had fallen and stuffed the smoldering torch head into the bucket.
She looked up to see Gimpy Jack come from the back of the barn to the front at his waddling, lumbering run. He swung a shotgun up and blasted at the raiders as they rode back and forth.
Marty and Pearl were running toward the barn doorway now, dragging Mungkala between them. Where was Luke? Meg’s heart panicked; she kept telling herself that Luke was a wise young man who would keep his head down. The two of them left Mungkala leaning against a stanchion. He still clutched his walking stick tightly. Marty took up a position inside the half-burnt box stall, where he could shoot. Close beside him Pearl curled up with her head below window level and shut her eyes.
Goonur cried out. Meg wheeled to stare.
Indirri. Wearing nothing but paint and raw welts and carrying a spear, he appeared from the south side stall doors. Goonur fell upon him, clutching him fiercely, jabbering nonstop. Mungkala yammered to him rapidly. Bohra wailed. Indirri answered them in syllables just as frenetic. And the thunder and the guns continued. Meg thought she’d lose her mind in this whirling madness.
Out by the paddocks she saw dark shadows—Indirri’s friends, no doubt. A spear sailed across the dooryard and struck a rider’s leg.
Marty called, “I’m out of shells! Anybody got shells?”
Jack shouted, “And bring me some shotgun shells!”
Suddenly Indirri knocked Goonur onto the floor. He brushed Mungkala aside and positioned himself in the doorway. He raised his spear, watching, waiting for a solid presence in a sea of chaos. His enemy! One of these raiders was his enemy! He was waiting patiently, prepared to avenge himself of his clan’s destruction.
“No, Indirri!” Luke cried from over by the hospital paddock. He started running toward them, shouting, “There’s a better way! Please trust me! We can get him the whitefeller way!” He was halfway to the barn when a bearded rider came upon him from behind and sent him sprawling, a motionless mass.
Meg’s world turned cold. She didn’t bother listening to guns; she paid no attention to the flying hooves and men. Luke was all she saw, his silence was all she heard. She ran out across the dooryard, through the driving sheets of rain.
She was nowhere near strong enough to budge this tall and gangling fellow, of course. But that was not important. Only his safety was important. She seized his limp hands and began to drag him through the slimy mud toward the barn.
They were nearly there now, nearly safe. She looked over her shoulder. Gimpy Jack lay groaning, clutching his head with both hands.
And Mungkala…! With a whock of his walking stick, he struck Indirri from behind. The warrior dropped like a stone. Mungkala threw his walking stick aside and snatched up the spear in his only good hand. With lurching half steps he yanked himself out into the rain.
The spear poised itself up beside his ear, wavering. Meg kept tugging. Almost there. A large man, the same rider that had struck Luke, was coming back this way. He saw Mungkala and wheeled his horse. Wild-eyed, the horse skidded, nearly losing its balance in the mud.
Indirri was trying to sit up. He screamed and reached out to his crippled cousin, his friend. The spear arched gracefully through the driving rain and lodged in the horse, causing it to fall on its side, kicking and squealing. The big man went down beside his mount. He jerked himself free. Perched on one knee, he fired again and again into Mungkala.
Meg’s legs buckled and she sat down with a thump, too shocked to move. Horror upon horror splashed in waves across her. Marty was at her side now. He clamped his good arm around her and dragged her bodily, still on her knees, into the barn.
“Luke…”
But Pearl had Luke by one arm and with dynamic effort was hauling him faster than Meg could have. They were shouting at someone in the dooryard, “Get inside! Get inside!”
From beyond the dooryard, from the southbound track, came thunder on the hoof. Nearly a thousand cows, all that mob from the south paddock, came storming through. They were aimed right at the barn. A brilliant bolt of lightning struck the huge gum tree by the hospital paddock; it exploded in a flash of flame. The mob veered away from the tree.
Indirri was pulling Goonur and Bohra back behind the stanchions by the tack room. Meg ought to do something; but she was too numb to function. Nothing in all her years in Cork prepared her for the incomprehensible violence and horror of this terrifying moment.
The mob was headed in a new direction now, angling to the northeast—straight toward the house! The front verandah shook, then collapsed upon the sea of horns and bony backs. The dooryard was filled end to end now with galloping, wide-eyed, slavering, frenzied cattle.
A few came bucketing into the barn, tore through the length of the structure, and went smashing out the far end. Luke stirred and struggled. Meg wrapped her arms around him and pressed back against the tack-room wall. It was not until several minutes later that she realized how wildly she was sobbing.
Then it was not just her arms around him; his arms were wrapping around her, too, keeping her close and safe. The chaos in the dooryard dissolved into a few spattering hooves. The rhythm of the hoofbeats changed. The cattle had passed. There were horses in the yard now, not cows; the raiders were back!
No, they weren’t. It was Marty’s father, his cousin Jason, and two strangers. Marty’s father, pistol in hand, danced his horse in circles in the middle of the dooryard, gaping in utter disbelief.
Marty stepped out into the rain, and Luke lurched to his feet to follow. Meg was not about to stay behind. Still clinging, she stumbled along beside him.
Marty’s father rode over to his son and dismounted. Their eyes met and held. From the intensely emotional expressions on their faces, Meg expected them to fall into a warm embrace. Instead, the father took one last look around and said laconically, “Didn’t do your fences much good.”
“Yair. All of them, it appears.” He walked over to the man who had shot Mungkala. He reached down and ripped away a soaked and bloodied beard. He stood erect and looked at his father, who nodded grimly, confirming the identity. The elder Martin turned away.
Meg caught more of a glance than she would ever want of the man. Scores of cattle hooves had…She buried her face in Luke’s breast. His hand pressed her head tightly against him. She could feel him breathing, could feel warmth coming through his muddy, rain-soaked shirt. She twisted around to look the other away.
There lay what remained of the man who tried to murder little Bohra. “It’s over now, isn’t it?” she said, shuddering sobs choking her.
“It’s over.” Luke’s gentle fingers rubbed her temple.
“Mungkala. He knew what was going to happen.”
“I never realized when he wanted to talk about sacrifice that he might have this in mind. Yes, he knew.”
Marty was shaking his head. He had turned away from the body, and the two strangers were now bent low, examining it. “I don’t understand, Pop. He was one of the biggest in the district. What would make him resort to t
his sort of thing?”
His father shrugged. “Power-hungry. I don’t know.”
“More than that.” Pearl stepped in beside Marty. Absently he put an arm around her and drew her in close. Even rain-bedraggled, she was beautiful. “Didn’t you see? He and his people were shooting at the blacks. They were trying to kill all the blacks. He really did try to pull a Herod—kill them all to reach one or two.”
Luke sighed. “And Herod died prematurely, a madman.”
Marty stared at Pearl. “You’re right. They even tried to get Bohra, who couldn’t possibly have been a threat. Which says that he and his crew were guilty of that massacre, or they wouldn’t have gone to these lengths to remove the witnesses.”
His mum and Rosella came running out through the rain. Rosella buried her face in her apron.
Jason stood in the downpour looking all around, his eyes wide. “Crikey. Here I thought I was bringing you some hot news, and we come on this. My news is nothing compared to this.”
“Good to see you. Tell me anyway,” Marty said.
“Your pop and I bumped into each other in the magistrate’s office in Rockhampton. Both had the same notion, so we worked together. Got a writ against Sheldon based on the blackfellers’ accusations and got you a stay of arraignment concerning that duffing charge. All sorts of high-powered legal wrangle.”
Marty’s pop waved an arm. “Detective Inspector Murchison of the Queensland Police and an assistant, Sergeant Melrose. They’re here to conduct an independent investigation all around—including malfeasance in the constable’s office itself.”
Marty shook hands left-handed and introduced everyone. Meg curtsied when mentioned, but her mind was flying.
A few minutes later she was able to draw Marty’s father aside. “Please, sir?” she asked. “How did ye make those cows come charging through?”
“We didn’t. Lightning spooked them. Jason and I and these two officers were just coming up the track when we saw them take off up ahead. Wasn’t half a rush. They were headed right for the station, so we tried to turn them aside.” He wagged his head. “Them cows were so weak and feeble, I wouldn’t have thought they could walk, let alone run like that. Try as we might, we couldn’t catch them. We were behind ’em all the way.”
****
Clouds still blanketed the sky overhead, but the evening sun had slipped beneath them. Soft golden light swam across the ridge to gild the trees and the fresh, stubby grass. What a lovely time of day.
Meg nestled against Luke. Too bad about the verandah. It would be such a pleasant place to sit once Marty rebuilt it. For now they all sat on dining room chairs and kitchen stools where the verandah had once been, beneath a canvas rain fly.
“So once my rifle was empty I simply lay flat on the roof. I knew they’d instantly forget about me. I was safe.” Marty’s uncle completed his portion of the day’s rehearsal.
Pearl came out of the house and settled down beside Marty. “I just looked in on Gimpy Jack. A day or two of rest and he should be fine. He has a hard head. Bullet bounced right off, and I told him so.” She leaned back to look at Marty. “You still smell a little funny when you get rained on. Like a dog.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
She giggled.
Meg smiled to herself. Had Marty popped the question yet? It certainly wasn’t Meg’s business; they’d announce it in due time. Everybody knew, and finally now Marty knew also, that he was going to.
Indirri, Bohra and Goonur came walking across the yard. Fully clothed, he didn’t look the least bit savage. He bore the expression of a man who deserved whipping at the post. Now and then Goonur would glance at him almost reprovingly. He arranged himself self-consciously in front of Marty. His eyes darted everywhere.
He muttered to Goonur, who muttered “apologize” back. He grunted and opened his mouth to speak.
Marty cut him off. “You did well this evening, Indirri, giving your statement to Inspector Murchison. Luke says you did it in English start to finish. Your statement and the one Luke wrote down from Mungkala’s testimony just about wrapped it all up and put a bow around it. Thank you.”
Indirri frowned, speechless. Apparently praise was furthest from what he had anticipated. “I apologize, all the hurt…”
“Apology’s accepted.”
Indirri brightened a bit and shifted his attention to Luke. “Wirinun. Remember Wirinun?”
“No, I…yes, I do, too. He’s the old man who showed his power by breaking the first and greatest drought. Thunderstorm.”
“Big God, same. Him show big power, eh?”
“Big power.”
“Him tell me ’bout Mungkala, all him say today.” He muttered to Goonur and got an answer. “I thank you. Thank you for tell him all last story. ’Bout Jesus good thing, bad thing. All of Him. Is tell me, much big heart in Luke.”
Goonur interrupted. “He’s thanking you for telling him about Mungkala’s last conversation, including the answer to some sort of puzzle from years ago.”
“In my Lord’s name, you’re welcome. It was my privilege. Mungkala was a noble man.”
Marty dipped his head. “Sit down, all of you. Join us. We’re just soaking up a little welcomed silence.”
Luke leaned forward. “Indirri, tell us a story. You know, like you’d tell to Bohra here.”
Indirri’s face relaxed. He pursed his lips a moment. “Law, no big thing. Talk English for him law, no big thing. But story. Story much big thing. I not good talk English. Goonur, him give you the drum.”
He sat down in the rain and the mud and motioned Bohra to sit before him. As Indirri began speaking, Meg watched him change right before her very eyes. Gone was the uncertainty, the hangdog look. Gone was the reserve and the stiffness, replaced by a gracious new dignity. He was a storyteller now, a privileged position he obviously held very dear. His voice purred in the lovely, lilting cadence of a thousand generations. Goonur watched his face carefully, translating as he spoke.
“I will tell you tonight how the first kangaroo and the first wombat came to be, and how good can come from a bad thing.
“Mirram and Wareen were hunters. They ranged together through the hills to the west of the sacred Oobi Oobi Mountain where hunting is good, and they were friends….”
SANDY DENGLER is a freelance writer whose wide range of books have had a strong record in the Christian bookselling market Twenty-six published books over the last nine years include juvenile historical novels, biographies, and adult historical romances. She has a master’s degree in natural sciences and her husband is a national park ranger. They make their home in Ashford, Washington, and their family includes two grown daughters.
Books by Sandy Dengler
AUSTRALIAN DESTINY
Code of Honor
Power of Pinjarra
Taste of Victory
East of Outback
Power of Pinjarra Page 27