A Far Country

by John Fletcher

  She slept. When she woke it was still dark. At her side Blake breathed in his sleep. She remembered what until now she had forgotten: she had followed Blake through the bush to his meeting with Dawkins and hidden from him as he walked back. A sergeant of troopers, she thought. The few snippets of conversation that she had managed to overhear floated in her mind. She could make nothing of them. What had Blake wanted with him?

  The next morning, somewhat stronger, she managed to walk unaided to the outhouse. When she got back Blake was just going out. ‘What did you talk to Dawkins about?’ she asked.

  He stared down at her. ‘None o’ your business what we talked about.’ An unpleasant grin. ‘But I don’ mind tellin’ you. Sortin’ out a few problems, tha’s what we was doin’.’ He nodded significantly and walked out into the sunlight.

  She had no idea what he meant.

  The soreness in her legs lingered. The skin, bright red where the liquid had scalded it, blistered. For a day she ran a fever. She spent it in bed, hugging herself to keep warm, shaking with repeated bouts of ague, then it passed, leaving her drained but with her brain as clear as water. She inspected herself. Her breast was black but that was nothing. The legs were the problem. The blisters had joined together to cover large patches of skin. One or two had broken and oozed a clear liquid but at least there was no sign of infection.

  Another night. In the middle of it she awoke. Her brain, suddenly alert, was alive with memories: of Jason telling her of his escape from prison; of Blake talking furtively with Dawkins. Fragments of conversation came back to her. She mulled over them, trying to discover …

  Jason’s name had been mentioned. Then Dawkins had said that something would take him three days. She had heard the name Burra Burra. And now Dawkins was gone.

  The fragments fell into place. Dawkins had gone to Burra Burra to check up on Jason. In three days, he had said, he could be back. And today was the third day. Wasn’t it? She tried to work it out. The day she was scalded. The day of fever. The day after. Today. Three days.

  Terror flooded through her. She had to warn Jason before it was too late but knew that as long as Blake stayed close to the buildings she could do nothing. Even if he left her it would be difficult. With her legs the way they were it didn’t seem possible for her to ride, yet there was no other way.

  It was still dark when Blake woke her. She could not bear the weight of the covers upon her legs so was lying outside them. He brought the lamp close so that he could inspect her legs. He looked up and caught her watching him.

  ‘How you feeling?’

  She was surprised he was interested enough to ask but still did not trust him. ‘Bad,’ she said.

  ‘Then you won’t be goin’ nowhere, will you?’

  It was frightening, the way he had apparently read her mind. ‘Where should I go?’

  His bared teeth threatened her. ‘Time we got a few things sorted out, my girl.’ He leant closer and she smelt his body. ‘Any more fun an’ games an’ I’ll kill you, ’ear me? And anyone else who’s stupid enough to get in my way.’ At the door he turned. ‘I’m goin’ to the other side of the run,’ he said. ‘Make sure you’re still ’ere when I get back, eh.’

  He went out; the door closed behind him. A few minutes and Alison heard the sound of Sceptre’s hooves, diminishing in the dawn’s faint light. She got up at once. She massaged cooking fat into her legs, tore up some cloths and bound them as tightly as she could. The burns were agonising. When she touched them the pain brought tears to her eyes. ‘Never mind,’ she told herself, ‘you can put up with that,’ knowing that it would be worse when she was riding but knowing, too, that she had no choice.

  She went out to the paddock, somehow managed to saddle her mare, somehow managed to haul herself into the saddle. The pain lacerated her, bringing sweat to her forehead. She clicked her tongue and slowly, very slowly, she rode north.

  THIRTY

  Nightmare. She had never imagined such agony. With every mile it grew worse. It wrenched at her, driving every thought and emotion out of her head. Before she was halfway she was sobbing helplessly but still she rode on. It never occurred to her to do anything else; she knew that, once dismounted, she would be unable to get back into the saddle.

  By the time she reached Whitby Downs she was reeling, barely conscious, broken words and phrases emerging meaninglessly from lips bitten until they bled.

  From the shearing shed Asta saw Alison arrive, realised that something was amiss, came to her at a run.

  ‘My God, Alison, what is the matter with you?’

  ‘My legs,’ Alison managed to say before half-slipping, half-falling from the saddle.

  Frightened, Asta helped her indoors, got her to lie down and with care unwound the cloths covering her legs. What she saw drained the blood from her face.

  Alison looked at her through half-closed eyes. Somehow she managed a tremulous smile. ‘A mess?’

  The legs were indeed a mess, of blood and broken skin. Asta was frightened even to touch them. Where Alison had found the courage to ride here with legs like this she could not imagine.

  She took a hold of herself. ‘Nothing we can’t cure,’ she promised her robustly. ‘But why are you here? What’s happened?’

  ‘Jason,’ Alison whispered.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He must get away. Blake has been plotting something with Sergeant Dawkins. I don’t know what, exactly, but Blake is fit to kill Jason, he’s so jealous, and somehow I think he’s found out we’ve been meeting.’

  ‘But what happened to you?’

  ‘Dropped a pot with broth in it.’ The ghost of a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll live.’

  Asta was not so sure of that. If infection set in … But that would have to wait. Her first concern was for Jason.

  ‘What did Blake arrange with Dawkins?’

  ‘They said something about the Burra Burra mine and Dawkins going to check up.’

  Asta took a deep breath, her face grim. If Dawkins checked at Burra Burra he would be sure to learn of Jason’s escape. He would be back with a troop of men to arrest him.

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Three days ago. That’s why I’m here. Dawkins said he could be back in three days and with these legs I couldn’t get here any earlier.’

  Three days. Swiftly Asta calculated times, distances. Dawkins was right. If he had ridden straight to Burra Burra he could be almost here by now. Alison was right, too. Jason must get away at once.

  ‘Jason is at the mine,’ she said. ‘Joshua needed him. He should be back soon. We’ll have to wait.’

  It was no good but it would have to do. If she went to look for him she might miss him on the way.

  Alison struggled to sit up. ‘You must tell him,’ she said, ‘I’m not going to be able to wait.’

  Asta stared at her. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Not with legs like that.’

  ‘I’ve got to. If Blake finds out I’ve come here he’ll be right behind me. The mood he’s in, he’ll be looking to kill the lot of us.’

  ‘I can take care of Blake,’ Asta said contemptuously.

  Alison shook her head impatiently. ‘No, you can’t. The way he is at the moment, no-one can handle him. I must get back before he finds out.’

  Asta looked at the ruined legs. ‘You can’t.’

  Alison smiled. ‘I can do a lot of things I used to think I couldn’t.’

  Asta was awed by the girl’s courage. She had always seemed weak; now she was like steel, tempered in the fire. Asta knew that she would not be able to stop this new Alison from riding back to Bungaree.

  ‘Let me at least bind your legs,’ she said.

  Half an hour later she stood at the door of the house, watching as Alison clawed her way painfully into the saddle. God knows how she’ll manage the ride back, she thought.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t be better to stay?’ she asked.

  ‘I would only hold Jason up if he sees me,’ Ali
son said. ‘It’s better this way. Besides, you never know what you can do ’til you try.’ She looked at Asta. ‘Tell Jason to find somewhere for us,’ she said. ‘As soon as he lets me know I’ll come to him. Tell him that. And tell him I love him.’

  Asta nodded, her throat tight with tears.

  She watched as Alison rode slowly away. She was not sure she had done the right thing in letting her go but Alison had been determined and her arguments made sense, of a sort. Above all, Asta had finally met someone with a will to match her own; that the person was Alison made her immensely proud.

  ‘Blake has made you grow up,’ she said softly as the departing figure disappeared from view. ‘Let us hope the experience does not kill you.’

  She went back to the shearing shed. Now she could do nothing but wait.

  It was almost midday by the time Jason arrived.

  She heard him come clattering into the yard and hurried out to meet him. ‘You must get away at once,’ she told him.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  She explained as quickly as she could. ‘If Dawkins has been asking questions at Burra Burra—’

  Impatiently Jason interrupted her. ‘What about Alison?’

  ‘She came to warn you but her legs are very bad. She shouldn’t have been riding at all.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her legs?’

  She explained, watching his face darken as she spoke.

  ‘And you let her ride back again?’

  ‘She was afraid what Blake might do if she didn’t.’

  ‘Why should he?’

  ‘Alison thinks he’s found out about the two of you.’

  ‘Then I must go after her and get her away from him before he does anything else.’

  ‘Jason, listen to me,’ Asta said. ‘That girl rode all this way to save you. Her legs are in ribbons. How she managed it I shall never know. And then to go all the way back again … You know why she did it, don’t you? Out of love of you! And you intend to repay her by going back there? You think she will thank you?’

  ‘You should never have let her go back.’

  ‘She was afraid she’d be a burden to you if she stayed. That was all she was thinking about, getting you away before the troopers came.’

  ‘Blake,’ Jason said through clenched teeth. ‘It’s time for a reckoning with Blake.’

  ‘No! You must get away before Dawkins gets back!’

  He glared at her. ‘I told you … I won’t leave her there with that animal.’ He ran towards his horse, then hesitated and turned back. He took her hands in his. ‘I’ve never told you what you’ve meant to me. I know I should have managed it but somehow I never had the words. I haven’t got them now but I wanted you to know, that’s all.’

  Asta needed all her willpower to keep her voice steady. ‘You get along. Find Alison if you must. Get her away from here as quick as you can.’ She hesitated. ‘Goodbye,’ she said.

  ‘Not goodbye yet. We’ll pass through here on our way north. We’ll stop and see you then.’

  More than anything she wanted it but could not allow him to do it. ‘Don’t do that. Ride around. You don’t know who may be here by then.’

  He thought about it, then nodded. ‘Right. We’ll let you know where we are.’

  Her eyes were blurred with tears. All she could see was his outline. ‘Of course you will,’ she said.

  He ran and swung up into the saddle.

  ‘Don’t kill him,’ she called to him, ‘not unless you have to.’

  He nodded, face grim, and put heels to his horse.

  Asta watched him go. The sound of the galloping hooves died. The dust drifted slowly down. She went back into the shed.

  Two hours later Asta heard the sound of horses. She straightened, hands on her aching back.

  Hector Gallagher looked at her. ‘Who is it this time?’

  ‘Troopers,’ she said and went out into the sunlight.

  She was right. Sergeant Dawkins and four black troopers, all well mounted, all very smart and military-looking. In the saddle holsters the butts of the rifles shone with oil. Each man carried a pistol with cross-belts of ammunition strapped across his body.

  She eyed the sergeant in unfriendly fashion. ‘Have you come back to sell us more whisky?’

  ‘We have come to arrest Jason Hallam,’ Dawkins said.

  ‘What do you want him for?’

  ‘That is none of your concern—’ Dawkins began pompously.

  Asta interrupted him. ‘It is if you want my co-operation. Not that I am promising anything, mind you.’

  ‘We have reason to believe he escaped from the Burra Burra prison.’

  ‘On what charge?’ Every minute she could delay them would help Jason to get clear.

  ‘Attempted murder.’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘It is a very serious crime—’

  ‘I do not care if he has killed the Pope,’ Asta said. ‘He is not here.’

  ‘We shall search the buildings,’ Dawkins threatened.

  ‘Please go ahead.’

  They searched, found nothing.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘At the mine.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’

  Dawkins gave sharp orders to his men, turned to Asta again. ‘If he ain’t there we’ll be back.’

  They cantered away, dust puffing behind their horses’ hooves. Asta waited until they were out of sight, then ran into the shearing shed.

  Hector Gallagher threw a fleece on the table while the freed animal clattered awkwardly away down the chute. ‘What did they want?’

  ‘Jason. He had some trouble at Burra Burra. They had him in the gaol but he escaped.’

  His eyes were pools of shadow. ‘How’d they know to find ’im ’ere?’

  ‘Blake told them.’

  ‘Blake?’ His face winced.

  ‘I am going to Bungaree to warn him.’

  Hector did not ask what Jason was doing at Bungaree, knew without asking, perhaps. ‘I’m comin’ with you.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do. You stay here, get on with the shearing. I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

  She ran to the paddock to fetch her horse. Within minutes she was on her way.

  Dawkins rode at the head of his troop through the scrub. He thought, This is all too easy. I thought I’d have to beat it out of her and she came right out and said it.

  At the mine.

  I reckon she’s lying.

  He raised his hand and the troop came to a halt.

  ‘You three go on,’ he ordered. ‘If he’s there arrest him and bring him back.’ He turned to the fourth trooper. ‘You come wi’ me.’

  They retraced their steps, pausing at the edge of the bush that surrounded the Whitby Downs buildings.

  ‘We ain’t bin more’n a few minutes,’ Dawkins said, ‘I don’ reckon she’s had time to get away yet.’

  Almost immediately they saw Asta come out of the shearing shed and hurry across to the paddock where the horses were. She quickly saddled a horse, mounted and headed south.

  ‘Bungaree,’ Dawkins said with satisfaction. ‘That’s where ’e is. Bungaree.’

  They followed her, keeping to the bush. When they caught sight of her dust they settled down to trail her.

  From the way Asta had spoken of Alison’s condition Jason had half-expected to catch up with her along the way but by the time the Bungaree buildings came in sight he had still not found her. He reined in, checked that his rifle was primed and loaded, then rode slowly forward through the last of the trees.

  The buildings baked in the hot sun. On the slope of the hill sheep grazed but down here nothing moved. He rode on, step by step. His spine itched between his shoulders and he twisted in the saddle to look behind him, but there was nothing. The door of the barn stood open. He swung himself down from his saddle. Three quick steps. He peered inside. Nothing. His eyes went to the horse paddock behind the house. Su
re enough, Alison’s horse was there, the saddle still on its back. She was home, then.

  Once again he looked carefully about him. No sign of Blake. No sign of anyone at all. He crossed to the house and went in.

  ‘Alison?’

  He went into the inner room. Alison lay on the bed. Her eyes were closed. She was so still he thought she was dead and for a moment his heart froze in his chest. He bent over her, saw the faint rise and fall of her breathing. She was sleeping or unconscious but he could not wait until she woke naturally. He put his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. ‘Alison …’

  It took some time but eventually her eyes opened and he saw pain flood into them. ‘What are you doing here? The troopers—’

  ‘I came to take you away.’

  ‘I can’t. My legs—’

  ‘I won’t go without you.’

  ‘But I’ll hold you up.’

  ‘Can’t help that. When’s Blake due back?’

  ‘Before dark.’

  ‘We haven’t got long, then.’

  She shook her head weakly. ‘I can’t.’ Tears were running down her face.

  Jason saw that she had indeed reached the end of her strength but for either of them to stay now was unthinkable. ‘We won’t go far tonight, just enough to stop him finding us. In the morning we’ll push on. Perhaps I’ll be able to get a cart or something from Whitby Downs. That’ll make things easier for you until your legs are better. The important thing is to get away from here now.’

  He helped her, taking off the cloths that Asta had used. Alison’s legs were terrible. He tried to bathe them but she could not bear him to touch them and he had to stop. If the legs became infected it would be very serious. She might die but if Blake came back and caught them here they were also likely to die. There was no help for it; they had to get out of here as fast as they could.

  ‘As soon as we can find a doctor we’ll get him to look at those legs,’ he told her. ‘Then you’ll be right.’

  She told him where he could find more cloths. He wrapped her legs in them, tightening them as much as she could bear. She tried to stand but could not.

  ‘It’s no use. I can’t do it.’

  ‘Is there any kind of cart we can use?’