TJ picked up the bullet mould and used the ladle handle to knock off the sprue. He opened the mould and let a pistol ball fall out on the bandana. He closed the mould and used the ladle to fill the mould again.
“Actually, I was off the coast of somewhere I’d never seen before. But I didn’t care. I knew I didn’t belong on the damned ship. I jumped overboard and swam in—lost my pistol in the surf, but at least I didn’t drown.”
TJ continued to cast pistol balls and drop them on the bandana. “I walked inland looking for fresh water. It was harder to find than I thought, and if it hadn’t been for Muldoon, I would have died for sure.” TJ picked up one of the bullets and examined it in the firelight. He grunted in satisfaction. “I was always better at making bullets than I was at cooking.”
“Muldoon?” Albert blurted out.
TJ dropped the bullet back on the bandana. “Strange creature, Muldoon. I felt a little sorry for him.”
“I heard about Muldoon from a friend of mine. He wanted me to give him a message,” Albert said excitedly.
“Muldoon is long gone, Albert. He doesn’t like company much.” TJ used the edge of the sack to protect his paw from the heat and lifted the lead pot off the coals. “I walked into the desert through a cut in the mountains along the coast. I was three days without water when I saw his tent.”
“A tent?”
“Muldoon lives in an old circus tent with yellow-and-red stripes. It kind of stands out.”
“What’s he like? My friend Jack didn’t talk about him very much.”
“Well, he was an animal I’d never seen before, but that’s true about everyone I’ve met since I got here. He looked like he had seen better days, that’s for sure. He kept to himself and didn’t seem much interested in conversation.”
TJ put the bullet mould and the cast bullets in the cotton sack. “I doubt he was handsome when he was young, and now he’s blind in one eye and covered with scars. Ugly as he is, he was there when I needed him, and I owe him. He gave me water and led me to this valley. He told me about the dingoes and the Gates of Hell.”
“Where did he go?” Albert asked.
“I don’t know. He just brought me to the trail that leads up here and then walked away. I never really got a chance to thank him. He only asked me one thing the two days we were together.” TJ stood up. “I’m going to call it a night.”
Albert looked up from the fire. “What did he ask?”
“He asked me if I had any sardines.”
13
Bushrangers
Stand and deliver,” said TJ, and cocked his pistol for emphasis.
The wallaby looked confused.
“Put your paws in the air,” Albert added.
“Oh, it’s robbery,” the wallaby said, and raised his arms.
“It’s not an ice-cream social, bunny.” TJ pushed his pistol into the wallaby’s nose.
“Actually, the name’s Ralph,” said the wallaby.
“Don’t get smart with me, Ralph. Where I come from, anyone with a snout like yours is a rabbit.” TJ squinted at Ralph’s nose.
“What’s a rabbit?” asked the wallaby.
“Damn it! If I’d wanted to be paid by the hour, I would have gone to work for the railroad. Now, let’s get down to it. You got five seconds. Fork over the cash or your next hop will be on the far side of the pearly gates.”
Albert could tell that TJ was becoming impatient. The wallaby was their third victim in as many days, and so far they had managed to steal a worn blanket and a bag of rock candy.
Ralph put his paws down and pulled a small coin purse from the pocket of his waistcoat. As he snapped open the purse, he cocked his head and looked at Albert.
“You’re Albert the Platypus, aren’t you?”
Albert wasn’t quite sure what to say. “It depends on who’s asking.”
“I knew it. I can’t wait to tell the wife.”
TJ shook his head disgustedly and took his pistol out of Ralph’s nose. He uncocked it and put it back in the pocket of his pants. “I’m glad my mother didn’t live to see this,” he muttered. Then he walked over to a large rock by the trail and sat down.
“I’ve never been robbed by anybody famous before,” Ralph continued as he pulled a small coin out of the coin purse and extended it to Albert. “I recognized you immediately.”
Albert took the coin. Not knowing what else to do, he reached into his pocket and took out the paper sack of rock candy he and TJ had taken from a sugar glider the day before. He held out the sack. “Have some candy, Ralph.”
The wallaby closed his coin purse and put it back in his waistcoat. He reached into the paper sack. “The minute I saw the reward poster, I said to myself, Any creature, marsupial or not, that burned down Ponsby Station can’t be all bad. The place had a less than stellar reputation.” Ralph took a piece of candy and put it in his pocket next to his coin purse. “If you’re finished with the robbery, I really must be off. The wife hates it when I’m late for supper.”
The wallaby tipped his bowler to Albert and started down the trail, being careful to give TJ a wide berth.
After much discussion, TJ had decided to stage a few robberies before trying to even his score with Bertram. It would give Albert time to learn the trade and provide them with needed supplies and maybe a little cash. Muldoon had told TJ that there was a series of small towns and mining camps that circled the desert between the distant mountain and the Gates of Hell. Trails and small roads linked the towns around the desert, and TJ thought ambushing travelers on one of the roads might prove profitable.
Albert wasn’t keen on being a thief, but during his time in the desert, almost everyone he had met had made their living by stealing, cheating, gambling, or burning things down. Now that he had been labeled a cheat and an arsonist, it was only a small step to theft and a life of crime, an occupation that seemed to be much favored in the region. Jack and TJ made their living by dishonest means, but they were his friends, and thieves and killers like Bertram and Theodore weren’t. Albert had come to the conclusion that another key to survival in Old Australia was in picking a criminal element you liked and sticking with it.
Also, Albert wasn’t sure if he had the makings of a good thief. So far his life of crime had consisted of standing around while TJ did most of the work. He hadn’t gotten a chance to draw his pistol, and wearing a mask seemed a little silly given the bill that stuck out in front of his face.
After Ralph disappeared down the road, Albert walked over to TJ, who had calmed down and now looked more disgusted than angry.
“How much did we get?”
Albert looked at the coin in his paw. “A tuppence.”
TJ took off his hat and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his long johns. “If there is a sorrier place than this for honest robbery, I don’t know of one. We’re going to have to think of something else.” He looked up at the sun. “We’ve got a few hours before dark. Let’s try and get a little sleep before we head back.”
Albert and TJ had crossed the desert from the water hole two nights before and had been making a cold camp in the hills above the road. It was too dangerous to cross the desert during the day, and even a night crossing had brought them too close for comfort to one of the packs of dingoes that roamed that part of the Outback. The only advantage they had was TJ’s night vision, and it had seen them safely across the desert one more time.
TJ stood up and walked out of sight of the road and around some large rocks to where they had left what few possessions they had. Albert followed him off the road.
“You can have the blanket.” TJ sat down with his back to one of the rocks that had been warmed by the sun and tipped his hat over his eyes.
Albert took a drink from his canteen and then carried the stolen blanket to a sandy spot that was shaded from the afternoon sun. He lay down in the sand. The quiet of the afternoon was disturbed by the buzz of an occasional fly, but the insects were a normal part of life on the desert and Albert had
learned to ignore them. He knew that he and TJ would have a long and dangerous trek back to the water hole that night and that getting a few hours’ rest was a good idea. Still, it was hard for him to fall asleep.
Albert had gotten as far as he had with only bits and pieces of information. It had started with the rumors and fantasies about Old Australia he had heard at the zoo, and continued with Jack’s stories about how animals got to this part of Old Australia. Jack had told him that Muldoon thought everyone that walked far enough ended up here, but TJ had gotten here by boat and Albert had gotten here with the help of the South Australia railway. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme nor reason as to why some animals got to Old Australia and some didn’t. Muldoon might have some answers, but it was unlikely that Albert would find him anytime soon.
TJ hadn’t been able to tell Albert much about Muldoon, except that he had been badly hurt sometime in the past and didn’t like the company of other animals. Muldoon had referred to the desert between the Gates of Hell and the distant mountain as Hell itself and had told TJ that most animals from that part of Old Australia never came there. Those that did didn’t survive very long.
Albert wanted to know how Muldoon had survived in Hell for so long, but TJ didn’t have an answer. Albert also wanted to know what had happened between Jack and Muldoon and why Jack wouldn’t talk about it. He fell asleep still wondering.
He began to dream, and those dreams became a kaleidoscope of his time in Old Australia: bottles of beer flying from train windows, Theodore screaming “Zoo!” Jack singing off-key, sand blowing so hard he couldn’t see; the taste of gin, the flash of pistol shots, coins flying in the lamplight of Ponsby Station, and the yelling of the crowd.
The yelling woke Albert up. Albert opened his eyes and saw that TJ had disappeared. The sounds of a struggle were coming from the road beyond the rocks. Albert jumped to his feet, pulled his pistol, and ran around the rocks onto the road.
TJ was standing in the middle of the road holding a bandicoot by the throat with his left paw and trying to pistol-whip it with the gun in his right paw. Another bandicoot had TJ around the neck and was hanging off his back, biting TJ’s ear hard enough to draw blood. TJ’s hat lay on the side of the road next to an old Enfield carbine and a couple of jute bags.
Albert fired his pistol into the middle of the road, and the yelling stopped. The fighters froze and looked over at where Albert was standing and then they all started yelling again.
“Hit this one in the head!” TJ yelled as he flung the bandicoot with his left paw in Albert’s direction.
The bandicoot on TJ’s back spit the ear out of his mouth and yelled, “Albert! It’s us!”
At the mention of Albert’s name the fighting stopped again. Albert looked down at the bandicoot that had just landed in front of him.
“Roger?”
“Too right,” said the bandicoot as he stood up and started brushing himself off.
Alvin dropped off TJ’s back and ran over to where Albert and Roger were standing.
“It’s good to see you, mate,” said Alvin as he grabbed Albert’s paw and started shaking it.
“We’ve come to sign up,” Roger joined in. “We want to be bushrangers.”
Before Albert could say anything, both bandicoots began talking at once.
“We heard you were around here. A sugar glider showed up at Ponsby Station and said he’d been robbed by a platypus on the road to Barton Springs,” Alvin said excitedly.
“I said, ‘That’s our old mate, Albert,’ ” Roger interrupted.
Alvin nodded. “That’s what he said for a fact.”
“And Alvin said, ‘Let’s go have a drink with Albert,’ ” Roger continued.
“We grabbed our swag and came straightaway,” Alvin joined in.
“The wallaby up the road said you were close by. When we got here, we were set on by that bloody foreigner.” Roger pointed over to where TJ was picking up his hat.
TJ put on his hat and, from the look on his face, was considering shooting both bandicoots in the back. “Those rodents better be good friends of yours, Albert. If not, I’m going to have their guts for garters.”
Both Alvin and Roger bristled.
“Fat bloody chance,” said Alvin.
“Before you showed up, Albert, we had him cold,” added Roger.
“Fair dinkum, and we can do it again.” Alvin spit in both his paws and started toward TJ.
Albert grabbed Alvin by the back of his collar. “Who else was at Ponsby Station when the sugar glider showed up?”
“O’Hanlin and his bullyboys. They’re trying to rebuild the mercantile with the help of some of the miners.”
Albert looked over at TJ. “Do you think that might be a problem?”
14
Last Stand of the Fusiliers
Albert heard another shot from the Enfield, followed by the rattle of musketry. The shooting was getting closer, and darkness was still a half an hour away. Albert led Alvin and Roger out of the hills and onto the flats of Hell.
There hadn’t been much time. O’Hanlin and the Ponsby Station Fusiliers had been only minutes behind the bandicoots. Albert and TJ had just retrieved their gear when the first kangaroo appeared on the road. TJ had grabbed the carbine from Roger and fired a shot in the general direction of the scout.
TJ’s shot delayed the pursuit long enough for them to herd the bandicoots off the road and into the hills. TJ thought that the Fusiliers wouldn’t follow them any farther than the edge of Hell because of the dingoes. They just needed time to get there. They agreed that Albert and the bandicoots would head directly through the desert toward the water hole, while TJ would try to slow down the pursuers. TJ took a handful of paper cartridges from Roger’s bag and disappeared into the brush above the trail.
That had been an hour ago, and Albert and the bandicoots had been on the run the whole time. Roger and Alvin were not in the best of shape, and Albert was now carrying both bags of their gear. The bandicoots were panting continuously and occasionally missed their footing.
“Be a mate, Albert. Let’s give it a rest.” Roger was sweating, and his sweat smelled of cheap gin.
“It’s not much farther—you can make it.” Albert slowed his pace, but the bandicoots still had difficulty keeping up. Alvin and Roger couldn’t keep going much longer, but he also knew that the deeper they went into the desert, the better chance they would have to see the next morning.
Albert felt sorry for Roger and Alvin, but sympathy wasn’t of much use in desperate circumstances. TJ was doing his job, and it was up to Albert to do his. Albert needed to get the bandicoots to cover somewhere in the flats of Hell and somewhere beyond rifle shot of the hills behind him. Albert wasn’t sure how far a rifle could shoot, so the farther the better.
For the first time in his life, Albert was responsible for the lives of others, and the effect of that responsibility surprised him. He had ceased thinking of the bandicoots as friends. They had become objects that he was duty-bound to deliver safely. Friendship and sympathy had no place in the equation. All he could do was to keep pushing them to their destination regardless of the pain and discomfort it might cause them. Alvin and Roger had stood by him when friends had been in short supply, and he would stand by them now. If they didn’t make it to safety, it wouldn’t be because Albert hadn’t given everything he had.
He eventually paused to allow each of the bandicoots a small drink of water. The shooting had stopped, and all he could hear was the sound of the wind blowing across the flats of Hell.
Low hills lay behind and to the left of them. The top of the distant mountain rose from beyond the far horizon. Termite mounds and scattered scrub covered the desert floor all the way to a stand of stunted red river gum trees growing along a dry creekbed at the base of the hills to their left. Except for the distant mountain, Albert didn’t recognize any other landmarks. He knew that if he kept the hills on his left and the mountain ahead of him, he would eventually come to the trail
that led up the cliff walls.
Albert had just started moving toward the creek when he heard a whistle, and he turned to see TJ running toward them across the flats. His hat was hanging from his neck by the chinstrap, and he had a bandana tied around his head. TJ was carrying the Enfield in his right paw, and his face was streaked with powder residue from the rifle.
“They’re not stopping,” TJ said as he slowed to a walk next to Albert.
“I was heading over there.” Albert pointed to the gum trees.
TJ shook his head. “You haven’t got enough time. Go another hundred yards and fort up behind a termite mound. When it gets dark, move down the creek and into the trees. Be quiet and wait for me there.” Without another word TJ started running toward the trees.
Alvin started jogging toward a clump of termite mounds that lay at an oblique angle from the grove of trees. As he trotted on, he could hear the rattled breath of the bandicoots behind him. Albert had just reached the mounds when he heard Alvin squeak. He looked back to see Roger lying on the ground. Albert dropped the sacks behind one of the mounds and ran back to where Alvin was trying to drag Roger to his feet.
Roger’s breathing was ragged and shallow. It was obvious that Roger had reached the end of his run. Albert grabbed the back of Roger’s overalls and dragged him across the ground to where he had left the sacks. Alvin hovered behind them.
With a final rush of adrenaline, Albert got Roger behind the termite mound and let go of his overalls.
Alvin sat down next to Roger. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine, just tired,” Albert whispered. He poured some water on Roger’s head and neck, and Roger began to breathe a little easier.
“Lie down. Don’t talk and don’t move. If Roger starts to moan, put your paw over his mouth.”
Albert handed the canteen to Alvin and lay down behind the termite mound. It wasn’t five minutes before the wind carried the sound of voices to where they were. The voices got louder, and Albert pulled himself up on the base of the mound and looked back across the desert.
Albert of Adelaide Page 9