by Peter Watt
As he sat at his desk penning the last of his patrol report he felt decidedly uneasy at the sight of two of his troopers marching grim faced towards his tiny office. He moaned and swore when they rapped on his door. Gordon had good reason to feel apprehension. Any serious trouble in the barracks would delay his trip to Kate's house.
‘Trooper Calder, what have you to say about the matter?’ Gordon James asked, as the four men stood in the police barracks. Two European troopers had reported Calder to their commander.
It was hot and stuffy inside the bark and tin hut and Calder sweated even more under the searching interrogation from the young police commander. He stared at the small pile of coins and banknotes on his bed. They had been retrieved from inside the straw filled palliasse of his mattress. ‘I don't know how the money got there,’ he replied.
‘You stole it,’ one of the other two troopers sneered. ‘You low thievin’ bastard. You stole from your own mates!’ The trooper was only a small man and quivered like a fox terrier as he spat his words.
‘Don't know what 'e's talkin’ about, sir,’ Calder replied defensively. ‘They must ′ave set me up.’
‘I don't think so, Trooper Calder,’ Gordon said, as he bent to pick up the money from the bed. ‘This will be held as evidence until an inquiry is held.’ The two troopers who had caught Calder stashing the stolen money appeared disappointed; some of the money was theirs. Gordon noticed their reaction. ‘I don't think the inquiry will take long. Sergeant Rossi will arrange for a hearing at the barracks first thing in the morning. I'm sure we will have an outcome over this matter before midday tomorrow.’
The two troopers brightened but given time on their own with Calder – and a little persuasion – they would have gained a confession from the thieving bastard. To steal from mates was the lowest crime on the frontier!
As Gordon did not like Calder he was not unhappy at the discovery of his crime. The man had boasted that he was going to ‘do the half-caste darkie Duffy in’ when they returned to Cloncurry but had been denied his opportunity. Peter Duffy had simply vanished. ‘Trooper Calder,’ Gordon said. ‘In fairness to your record of service with my troop in the battle against the Kalkadoon, I will only confine you to the barracks until the results of the hearing tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. You are not to leave this building unless with my express permission. Do you understand what I am telling you?’
Calder glared at Gordon. He had no loyalty to the commander who was known to be friendly to the darkie Peter Duffy. Nor had he any intentions of hanging round to face an inquiry that, with no doubt, would find him guilty of stealing. ‘I understand, sir,’ he replied sullenly. ‘And on my word I will remain in the barracks.’
‘Good! Then I accept your word, Trooper Calder.’
The troopers who had confronted Calder in the barracks cast quizzical looks at each other. Was Mister James mad? Gordon indicated to the two troopers to follow him out of the barracks and Calder stood by his bed, watching the three leave the hut. Gordon James was added to the list of those he would one day settle with.
When Gordon and the two troopers were outside the smaller trooper could not contain himself. ‘Sir, with all due respect, Trooper Calder will be gone before you get to your office.’
‘I know,’ Gordon replied calmly, and took the seized cash from his pocket. ‘I respect what you are saying is true,’ he said and handed the money to the man. ‘And I may as well return the money to you now.’
The trooper accepted the money with an expression of disbelief and confusion on his face. ‘But why, sir?’ he asked as he accepted the money. ‘Why let the bastard go?’
‘Do you have enough evidence to say that Calder took the money from you and Trooper Davies?’ Gordon asked quietly. The little trooper frowned and Gordon knew he was right in presuming they did not. But he knew both troopers well, knew that they were men who could be trusted on their words and actions. ‘would rather have Calder out of the Native Mounted than take the chance that an inquiry might find in his favour,’ Gordon added. ‘I trust nothing further will be said on the matter. I hope you are clear on what I am saying.’
The troopers grinned. Their respect for their commanding officer's leadership had just taken a great leap forward. ‘What matter, sir?’ the little trooper queried with a conspiratorial wink.
Gordon smiled. Now he could look forward to dining at Kate Tracy's house that evening – and more importantly to seeing Sarah Duffy so he could tell her the things that were in his heart.
James Calder was gone before nightfall as Gordon knew he would be.
When Gordon came to dinner Sarah Duffy wore the dress her Uncle Michael had bought her as a gift. She tried not to stare across the table at him in any way he might think was forward, especially in front of Gordon's mother Emma who had accompanied her son to dine with herself and Kate.
Emma James could see all the signs of a young woman smitten by her handsome son. ‘I love your dress, Sarah. Is it new?’ she asked politely and Sarah told her how her Uncle Michael had given the dress as a gift.
Emma was one of the few people who knew the true identity of the mysterious Irish-American, Mister Michael O'Flynn. Her husband – Gordon's father – had been killed while serving with him a decade earlier. She felt no ill will towards Kate's brother; Henry had volunteered to join the expedition to hunt down Captain Mort. He had always lived on the edge and the limitless horizons of her husband's adopted country had seduced him with the need to ride ever westward with men like himself.
Sarah's frequent visits to Emma's house to inquire whether Gordon had written left Emma in no doubt of the young woman's interest in her son. It was an interest that she approved of. Sarah had been known to her since her arrival as a child to Kate. When Kate was away on one of her business trips Emma would often take care of the three orphans of Tom and Mondo and in many ways Emma had always enjoyed a special place in Sarah's affections, akin to that of a favoured aunt.
When dinner was over Kate and Emma retired to the living room to fuss over Matthew. Both women had sensed the tension that existed between the young couple and they left Gordon and Sarah on the front verandah.
Alone with Sarah for the first time since his return from Cloncurry, Gordon was at a loss for conversation. He did not want to talk of the battle as the events haunted him. Nor did he want to enter into a conversation that he knew must eventually lead to questions concerning Peter, who was now officially a deserter from the Native Mounted Police.
Sarah sat in a chair while Gordon stood stiffly by the railing, staring out into the evening. ‘What happened between you and my brother?’ she asked, as if reading his thoughts.
‘We seem to have grown apart,’ he answered quietly. ‘Your brother was not sure of his loyalties.’
‘Loyalties? What do you mean by that?’ Sarah asked, with a frown clouding her pretty face. ‘Loyalties to who?’
‘To the Queen.’
‘You mean loyalty to the whitefella,’ she scoffed. ‘So he left because he felt that he was not accepted for being a half-caste darkie. I know all about Peter's so-called desertion.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘The bullockies who come through here stop off at Aunt Kate's store and tell her everything that happens out west,’ she answered. ‘They told her about Peter's desertion from your police and Aunt Kate said he should never have been a trooper in the first place. She said he was too smart to be a trap.’
‘So I am stupid,’ Gordon flared. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘I didn't mean it that way,’ she replied apologetically. ‘The police life suits you. But it was never for my brother. Not after what they did to my parents.’
‘You can't blame the police for what happened to your parents,’ Gordon replied quietly. ‘Your father was a well-known bushranger who knew the risks of the life he led.’
‘And my mother?’ she asked, with a bitter edge to her question. ‘She only stayed with my father because she loved him, d
espite the differences between them. Did she deserve to be shot down for loving him?’
Gordon shifted uncomfortably. The conversation was not going the way he had hoped. He wanted to talk of things that led to love between a man and a woman. ‘Your mother was killed by accident, according to the old reports,’ he said softly in an attempt to diffuse her rising anger. ‘She was not murdered.’
‘I was there, Gordon,’ Sarah said quietly, and stared past him into the velvet blackness of the night. ‘I can never forget the way she lay in the fire and burnt while we watched and could do nothing for her. To me she was murdered and I am glad my brother no longer rides with the same men who would do these things to others, like my mother's people.’ Sarah's gaze returned to linger on his face. ‘I love you, Gordon. I always have,’ she said. ‘And if you love me then you would have to resign your commission and find another job. I could never live with a man whose life is spent with the people who killed my parents. I would not even expect you to marry me. I love you enough to be your woman and ask little else.’
Gordon was stunned by the frank declaration and closed the gap between them by crossing the verandah to kneel by her chair and take her hands in his. ‘I think I have always loved you, Sarah. Even when we were little and you used to follow us around like a real pest,’ he laughed softly. ‘You just got into my life and have never left.’
‘Does that mean you would consider leaving the police and sharing our lives together?’ she asked as she touched his face. ‘Aunt Kate could give you a job working for her company. I know, because I have asked her.’
‘I also know your Aunt Kate would never allow her convent educated niece to live in sin with me,’ he laughed. ‘So I suppose I will have to tender my resignation.’
‘Are you asking me to marry you, Inspector James?’ she said and he nodded.
‘Then I accept,’ she answered softly.
He swept her into his arms and she feebly protested that he was crushing her new dress. He laughed and kissed her protests into silence.
‘You really will resign from the police?’ she gasped when she was eventually free of his kisses.
‘Tomorrow,’ he replied merrily as he swirled her around the verandah in a bear hug. You were wrong, Peter, he thought, as he swirled to a stop. Sarah means more to you than the Mounted Police ever did.
When Gordon had departed with his mother in her buggy, a very excited young woman babbled her news to her beloved Aunt Kate. Kate was overjoyed for her niece's happiness. Gordon was a fine young man. And yes, she did have a position for him in the Eureka Company. The news of the engagement would be released as soon as Gordon resigned.
There were so many arrangements to be made, Kate thought, as she gazed at her niece. Sarah looked as if she was almost exploding with her joy. The priest would have to be consulted on a mixed marriage as Gordon was an Anglican whereas Sarah was a Catholic. So much to do.
When Gordon told his mother on the ride home she congratulated him on his choice of wife. Although her congratulations were warm and well meant, she was disturbed, however, by his news that he was going to leave the Native Mounted Police to please Sarah. It was not a woman's position to tell a man what he should do with his life! She had accepted Gordon's father for the man he was. That her son had taken up his father's calling to be a police trooper was only to be expected and she wondered if her son's leaving the police would make him happy in the long term.
The following day, however, Gordon was true to his promise to Sarah. It had not been easy penning the letter requesting release from his duties as an officer in the Native Mounted Police but Gordon knew he must if he was to prove his love to her. He stood at the entrance of the superintendent's office with the resignation in hand and knocked smartly on the door.
‘Enter!’ a voice boomed.
Gordon stepped inside where he threw a smart salute to the man sitting behind the desk. Superintendent Gales had been a lieutenant in the Native Mounted Police when Gordon's father had been a sergeant. He had first met Henry James when he was sent to Rockhampton to relieve the sergeant of his post at the barracks outside of town. There had been a disturbing rumour that the sergeant and his commanding officer Lieutenant Morrison Mort had come to blows of sorts, as a result of which Mort had informally resigned by deserting his post and leaving the sergeant temporarily in charge. The authorities in Brisbane viewed the matter with a jaundiced opinion of the big English sergeant. Gales had found no fault with the likeable sergeant and was pleased to see the son of the same man calling in on him. He guessed it was to thank him for the commendation of service he had written for the splendid work against the Kalkadoon.
‘Inspector James, good to see you,’ the superintendent said as he rose ponderously from his chair. Time – and the duties of administration – had put a lot of weight on his once slim frame. ‘S'pose you've heard the news about that trooper of yours. What's his name? Ah yes, Trooper Duffy!’
Gordon frowned as the superintendent stretched and shook his hand. He was a jovial man and well liked by his staff. ‘What news is that, sir?’ he asked.
The superintendent held up his hand with a gesture for silence as he bawled out of his office, ‘Get two cups of tea in here, Jack!’
‘Yes, sir, right away!’ a distant voice replied, which Gordon recognised as belonging to Sergeant Jack Ferguson who was the barracks sergeant for Townsville's Mounted Police contingent.
‘What news about Trooper Duffy?’ Gordon asked again politely, and the rotund superintendent blinked at him.
‘You don't know?’ he asked with genuine surprise. ‘I heard about it yesterday meself.’
‘I've been on leave last night, sir,’ Gordon replied. ‘Just came back on duty this morning.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, it seems this Trooper Duffy has joined forces with a man we thought was long dead,’ Gales said as he ambled back to his desk. He stared at a large wall map of the colony behind where he normally sat and shuffled the papers of his office. ‘Had two reports that he has joined up with a blackfella by the name of Wallarie and they have done a couple of robberies whilst under arms. Also an attempted murder of a grog seller on his way west. Here, and here, we've had the reports from,’ he added, pointing to positions on the map south-west of Townsville.
So Wallarie was with Peter! The thought did not come as a surprise to Gordon. Were there predestined events in men's lives? He stared at the points on the wall map. ‘Were they on foot? Or did they have horses, sir?’ he asked.
‘Both mounted and well armed,’ Gales answered. ‘The reports concern me because both men together know the country, which could be a considerable problem in the future. That bloody old Wallarie was around when I was a young officer. He was wanted for murder then. And, if I remember rightly, he rode with this Trooper Duffy's father. What's his name …?’
‘His name was Tom Duffy, sir,’ Gordon replied. ‘My father helped hunt him down in Burkesland years ago.’
‘Yes, I remember now.’ Gales sat down as Sergeant Ferguson delivered two mugs of steaming sweet black tea.
‘Thank you, Jack,’ he said and dismissed the barrack's sergeant. ‘So, bad blood will always out,’ he sighed as he sipped at the tea.
Gordon did not comment on the superintendent's opinion. ‘What do you intend to do, sir?’
Gales fixed Gordon with an appraising stare and said quietly, ‘He was one of your men, Inspector James. What do you think he is up to and where will we find him?’
Gordon walked over to the wall map with his mug of tea in his hand and ran his finger through the two points the superintendent had indicated. He continued in a line until his finger came to rest at a point mid-way down the Colony of Queensland. ‘That's where they are going, sir.’
The superintendent peered at the name written in fine copperplate script. ‘Glen View,’ he read aloud.
‘That's where you will find them both,’ Gordon replied.
‘How can you be so sure, young Gordon?’ Gales asked. ‘The
y could go anywhere in the colony. Just as Wallarie and Tom Duffy did years back.’
‘I make my prediction based on personal knowledge about the Nerambura people,’ Gordon said.
Gales cut across him. ‘Never heard of the Nerambura.’
‘Probably because they were so efficiently dispersed as a clan in my father's day,’ Gordon sighed, ‘that they have virtually ceased to exist. Except for Wallarie, who is the last full-blood, there are only Tom Duffy's kids, as far as I know, who have any Nerambura blood in them. I would say that, from the direction they have taken, Wallarie intends to take Peter Duffy back to the traditional grounds, for something like an initiation ceremony.’
‘Could be,’ Gales mused as he stared at the map behind him. ‘Blackfellas are a bit funny about things like that. Appears your Trooper Duffy was more blackfella than white from what I hear about him.’
‘Appears so,’ Gordon answered in a flat voice. He momentarily reflected on Sarah. She also had the last remnants of Nerambura blood and any children they might have would carry on a bloodline his father had assisted in attempting to wipe out. It was an eerie thought – and one with an uncomfortable echo.
‘ … organise a patrol to ride south to Glen View …’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Gordon replied. ‘I missed what you said.’
‘You recovered from that bang on the head?’ Gales asked in a concerned voice when he noticed the pale, sweating face of his inspector. ‘You look like you have some sort of fever.’
‘I'm all right, sir.’
‘Good! Because I want you to immediately organise a patrol to ride south and see if those two are at Glen View like you think they might be.’
‘Yes, sir, will do so immediately.’
Gordon justified his decision to himself on the grounds that it was better that he should find Peter and Wallarie rather than strangers who could easily shoot first. That afternoon he visited his mother before returning to the barracks to ride out with a seven-man patrol.