The trip back to the camp was a long, painful struggle. Jack might not have liked to walk in the midday sun, but he made an exception in this case. Between the heat and the gin from the night before, each hour felt like a dozen to Albert. The only water Jack had was in the canteen that he had given Albert, and that was almost empty before the trip started. There was enough water for only a few sips each hour, and Jack rationed it carefully.
Albert was curious about why Jack had burned down Ponsby Station, but he knew that he needed to keep his mind on making it back to camp. It seemed like all he had done since he left Adelaide was walk. None of those walks had been pleasant, but each one had seemed inevitable. Jack was beginning to teach him about the desert, but Albert knew he had a lot more to learn. It was becoming clear to him that he would soon need to strike out on his own.
Old Australia was certainly different from Adelaide. It was not the place Albert had hoped to find. There were places in this desert that the other animals at the zoo in Adelaide had never even dreamed of, and perhaps somewhere beyond the horizon was a place where he would finally find the home that had been lost to him so many years before.
They arrived at the camp north of Ponsby Station a few hours before the sun went down. Jack had Albert wait in the desert a few hundred yards from the camp and went in alone. He returned shortly.
“No one’s been there, but I don’t know how long that might last.” Jack motioned for Albert to follow him, and they walked back down to the camp.
At the camp Jack was all business. After a few minutes’ rest and a drink of some much-needed water, he hurried Albert into breaking camp.
“Let’s go, Albert. I’ll tell you about the fire when we get a little farther down the road.” Jack shouldered his pack and started walking west. Albert pulled on his rucksack and staggered after Jack, swearing under his breath to never touch another glass of gin as long as he lived.
Jack finally stopped when it got too dark to see the trail ahead. He led Albert off the trail for some distance before he took off his pack. Albert slipped off the straps to his rucksack and let it fall on the ground behind him. He stood for a few minutes, almost too tired to sit, but finally bent his knees and came to rest on the pack.
“I could use some tea.”
Jack shook his head. “Dry camp, Albert. The light of a fire carries a long way at night. It might bring us some unwelcome guests.” He took his pipe out of his pocket and looked at it briefly. “Shouldn’t even smoke.”
He sadly put the pipe back in his pocket and sat down. He fished a couple of tins of sardines out of his pack and tossed one to Albert. “You had a hell of a night.”
“I’ve had a hell of a day, too,” replied Albert. He played with the sardine can for a few moments. “What happened last night? I don’t remember anything after I started playing two-up.”
Jack nodded as he opened his can of fish. “I’m surprised you remember any of it. You and those two bandicoots had a snootful.”
“I’ll never do that again—you have my word on it.” Albert put down the sardine can. “I could use some more water.”
Jack got a canteen out of his pack and passed it to Albert. “I wouldn’t be too hasty about giving up strong drink if I were you, Albert. Drunk, you’re the luckiest two-up player I ever saw.”
“I remember yelling something about being lucky.” Albert took a drink of water. “I don’t feel lucky.”
“You should feel very lucky. You won a lot of money and you didn’t get lynched,” said Jack.
“Lynched? What are you talking about?”
“Are you going to eat those sardines?” Jack asked, pointing at the tin Albert had put down.
“No, and don’t change the subject. What lynching?” Albert demanded.
Jack picked up the new tin of fish, but he paused before opening it. “You won too much money and you’re different than everyone else. That combination, and the wrong crowd, will almost always guarantee a hanging.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong… did I?”
Jack opened the sardine can. “No, Albert, you didn’t do anything wrong, and that’s the sad part about it. If anybody was doing something wrong it was me, but when they saw you flipping those pennies in the air, they forgot all about me.”
“I don’t understand,” Albert interjected.
“When we went into the bar last night, I had that piece of quartz I’d salted with pyrites in my pocket. I figured that I’d let O’Hanlin think he’d gotten me drunk, then I’d flash the rock and let him see those specks of fool’s gold, and then, depending on how the play was going, either sell him part interest in my claim for a few quid or sell him a map to the claim. At one time or another I’ve done both.”
“I’d have to guess it didn’t work out,” Albert thought aloud.
“Too right it didn’t work out,” snorted Jack. “Nobody cares about a gold mine when a two-up player is on a streak—and let me tell you, Albert, I never saw a streak like that.”
Jack separated two sardines that had become stuck together, and he smiled as he ate them individually. “The more I think of it, Albert, the whole evening was a thing of beauty. Too bad you don’t remember it.”
“Maybe I’m lucky I don’t remember it. What about the fire?”
Jack put down his sardines and took the canteen back from Albert. “The fire was a good idea. I just got a little too enthusiastic with the paraffin, that’s all.”
Jack had a drink from the canteen as Albert tried hard to recall the night before. The last thing he remembered seeing was the coins flashing in the light. He could recall the smell of smoke, but nothing more.
“You were standing in the middle of the circle, winning every toss, and taunting the crowd about being losers with pouches.”
Albert sat up straight. “I wouldn’t do anything like that!”
Jack smiled. “Face it, Albert, you’ve got a mean streak.”
Albert was aware of the anger that was always floating in and out of his consciousness, and he tried to keep it in check as much as possible. Obviously alcohol had loosened the reins. “What else did I do?”
“I don’t recall anything else, but I got kind of busy.” Jack continued to sip on the canteen as he talked. “It was clear to me that you were going to win one toss too many, or one of those damn wallabies was eventually going to take exception to being called a loser with a pouch, and when that happened all hell was going to break loose. If we were going to get clear, I figured we were going to need a distraction and we’d need one pretty quickly.”
“The fire!” Albert exclaimed.
“Yes, sir, the fire.” Jack rubbed his forehead, and Albert noticed for the first time that his eyebrows were missing and his mustache was frizzy and quite a bit shorter than it had been yesterday.
“Is that what happened to your mustache?” Albert asked.
Jack nodded. “When no one was looking I grabbed a tin of paraffin that they had been filling the lamps with and sloshed it in a back corner of the mercantile. I threw some rags on top of the paraffin and then started looking for a match. All I wanted to do was make a small fire with a lot of smoke. After checking my pockets, I discovered I was out of matches and I had to go get one from the front of the store. I must have tipped over the paraffin tin, because when I got back the whole corner of the store smelled like paraffin. I should have known better, but the noise from the two-up game was getting louder, and I figured it was then or never, so I tossed a lit match into the corner.” Jack paused for a drink of water.
“What happened next?” Albert insisted.
“Boom, is what happened,” Jack replied. “I got blown back almost to the front door. I never saw paraffin act that way, must have been mixed with some naphtha.” A wry smile came across Jack’s face. “It was the most excitement I’ve had since Muldoon killed that kangaroo in Winslow.”
“Tell me about Muldoon, Jack.”
Jack looked at Albert a moment and then looked away. “As I sai
d, I was lying by the front door, and when I sat up I saw the whole back of the mercantile was on fire. The explosion had gotten everyone’s attention, and there was a run at the front door. I stood up in time not to get trampled by the crowd, but they pushed me through the door so hard I popped out into the night like a champagne cork.”
“And where was I when all this was happening?” Albert was disappointed that Jack wouldn’t tell him about the Famous Muldoon, but he was even more disappointed that he had missed an explosion.
“That’s what I wanted to know,” Jack said. “I thought I might have gotten you killed. I tried to push my way back into the mercantile, but the crowd was pushing too hard the wrong way for me to get back inside. I gave up and ran around to the side of the building. Singed and smoking wallabies and a bandicoot or two were pouring out all the windows of the building, and I knew I didn’t have a chance in hell of getting back inside. Then I noticed a trail of shillings heading toward the mine. I figured it had to be you or at least Roger or Alvin, so I followed the trail. I picked up the coins as I went, didn’t think it was a good idea to have anyone else tag along. The coins stopped at the edge of the tailing dumps, and it took me the rest of the night and most of the morning to find out where you were. If I hadn’t heard snoring coming from that ore cart, I might never have found you.”
“I’m glad you found me, Jack. That’s another one I owe you.”
Jack shook his head. “Nothing good is going to come out of last night, Albert. All said and done, I didn’t do you any favors.”
“You got me out of Ponsby Station—and like you said, I didn’t get lynched,” Albert replied.
“Not yet, anyway, but you have to figure that O’Hanlin and some of his bullyboys are out looking for us right now, and I don’t think he’s the forgiving sort. Even if we manage to give O’Hanlin the slip, the word is going to get around about what happened at Ponsby Station, and you’re the one that is going to get the blame.”
“That’s because I’m a platypus, isn’t it, Jack?” Albert said quietly.
“That’s the short of it, Albert, and there’s not a damn thing either you or I can do about it.” Jack stood up and started pacing up and down. “I shouldn’t have taken you to Ponsby Station. One thing always leads to another, and the next thing I know something like that fire happens.”
Albert let Jack pace for a few moments before he said anything. “You said last night was a thing of beauty.”
Jack stopped pacing. “I did?”
“Not more than a few minutes ago.”
Jack sat down next to Albert and didn’t say anything for a long while. He kept looking out into the desert as if it would give him the answer to some unspoken question. Finally, he turned to Albert and spoke in a low voice.
“Albert, it would be best if I move on by myself in the morning.”
Albert wasn’t quite sure what to say. “You’re the only friend I’ve ever had, Jack.”
“And you’re a friend to me, Albert. But I’ve been here before, and it wasn’t a good thing. I hurt the last friend I had more than you can know. Everyone hopes that they can change, me included. It’s been eight years now and I haven’t changed a damned bit.”
Albert had known that sometime he would have to strike out on his own again and keep looking for the place he left Adelaide to find, but he hadn’t expected to have to do it so soon.
He had become accustomed to small talk and meals not eaten alone. All that would be gone in the morning, and Albert would miss Jack more than he cared to admit. No matter how he felt, there was no point in making Jack feel guilty. Jack had already done more for him than he had any right to expect.
“It’s just as well, Jack. I don’t belong here. If I stay, I’ll never find the place I’m looking for.”
Jack took the pipe out of his pocket again and put it in his mouth without lighting it. “That place probably doesn’t exist, Albert.”
There was a chance that Jack was right, but it didn’t matter to Albert. He had come a long way on a faint hope and would continue on for the same reason.
“It might, and that’s enough for me.”
Albert and Jack said nothing more that evening. A cool wind came up across the desert, and each star in the night sky cast an infinitesimal amount of light on the two small and silent creatures sitting next to one another in a sea of shadows.
7
Alone Again
The next morning Jack started a fire and boiled water for tea. He kept the fire small, and the minute the water boiled he kicked some sand over the embers. Every so often Jack would look back up the trail they had taken the night before.
“We should be all right for a few hours.” Jack threw a pawful of tea leaves in the billycan and after a few minutes poured some tea in Albert’s waiting cup.
There wasn’t much said that morning. They finished the tea and wiped out the cups with sand. Jack took down the tripod and put it and the billycan back in his pack. He pulled out a few cans of sardines and handed them to Albert. “I know these aren’t your favorite, Albert, but you may need them.”
He kept rummaging through his pack. “You have enough water?”
Albert shook his canteen and nodded.
Jack pulled out two boxes of matches and tossed them to Albert. “Might need a fire.” He continued looking through his pack until he found what he was looking for at the very bottom. He pulled out a small, oilcloth-covered packet and gave it to Albert.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a Colt pocket pistol. I keep it as a spare.”
“I don’t know anything about guns, Jack. You should keep it.”
Jack shook his head. “This is hard country, Albert. A gun can get you into trouble and sometimes it can get you out of it. I don’t know what you’re going to find down the road, but it never hurts to go armed. Just pull back the hammer and pull the trigger. The caps are fresh, so it should go off.”
Albert took the packet and put it in his rucksack. He didn’t really want the gun, but it seemed important to Jack that he have it, and Jack was his friend.
Jack closed his pack and tossed it up onto his shoulders. “Hold out your hat, Albert.”
Albert took off his kepi and held it out. Jack reached in the pocket of his drover’s coat, pulled out a large handful of coins, and poured them into Albert’s hat. “Don’t forget your winnings.”
Albert shook his head. “I can’t take this, Jack. I owe you for everything I have.”
Jack shrugged. “I kept enough to keep me going until I sell my rock. Don’t flash that money, Albert. I knew a wallaby or two that were killed for less.”
Both of them stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, not knowing what to say next. Finally, Albert put his coin-filled hat under one arm and held out his paw. “You’ve been a good friend, Jack.”
Jack looked a little embarrassed as he took Albert’s paw and gave it a shake. “I was never one for long good-byes, Albert… I figure to walk back down the trail a little way to see if we were followed, and after that I’m heading as far away as I can get from Ponsby Station. You should do the same.”
“Which way should I go?”
Jack scratched his head and thought a moment. “If I knew where you were going, I might try and give you some advice. But I don’t. If what you’re looking for is out in that desert, you’re the only one who can find it.”
“I’ll find it, Jack. You can bet on it.”
Jack nodded. “You’ll do fine.”
He turned and began walking back up the trail. After about twenty feet, he looked back over his shoulder. “If you ever meet Muldoon, Albert, tell him I’m sorry.”
Jack then increased his stride and moved swiftly away from the campsite.
Albert stood there in the middle of the abandoned campsite and watched Jack become smaller and smaller until he disappeared over the crest of a small rise. He had been alone for most of his life, and the few days he had spent with Jack were the only good memories he
’d had since his mother died.
Finally, Albert forced himself into doing the little tasks that all journeys require regardless of their destination. He packed his rucksack with the money and the sardines that Jack had given him. He held back a gold sovereign that caught his attention and put it in the pocket of his coat, along with Jack’s pistol.
His pack now contained money, food, Jack’s spare blanket, a couple of boxes of strike-anywhere matches, and the soft drink bottle he had carried from Adelaide. Looking at the bottle made Albert realize how far he had come from his days in captivity, and he was glad he’d never gotten the chance to sell it.
A week ago he was, for all intents and purposes, a dead platypus. Now, the zoo was far behind him. He had made friends. He had more food and water than he had when he had left Adelaide, and he was still alive. Each of which was something he had not expected and, when taken together, equaled a small miracle. Cheered by thoughts of his survival, Albert shouldered his rucksack and began walking down the trail away from Jack and what was left of Ponsby Station.
In keeping with what he had learned, Albert walked for a few hours in the coolness of the morning and then found shelter from the midday heat. The county he passed through that morning was similar to that around Ponsby Station: low hills and barren ground. Albert could see another range of mountains far to the east of his position in the hills, and for lack of a better idea he picked the tallest mountain in the range as a point of reference and kept walking toward it.
Albert walked through the late afternoon and into the early evening. The rough trail that had led him from Ponsby Station became more and more faint until he lost sight of it completely in the fading light. He made a cold camp in a depression next to a sandstone outcrop and ate sardines washed down with water from his canteen.
He lay down on his back, using his pack for a pillow, and pulled his blanket over him as the chill of the desert night settled on the sand around him. He looked up at the stars, and for the first time he felt at one with the rocks and sand that had become his home. There was something clean about the desert that reminded him of the river where he had been born. Both the good and the bad were carried by the wind of the desert and currents of the river, and each day brought one or the other or a mixture of both. In doing so, the river and the wind made each day different, and that difference was the salvation of the restless.
Albert of Adelaide Page 5