The bushman who came back b-22

by Arthur W. Upfield

  Wise in the ways of the bush and its inhabitants, yet Bony was tricked. He had thought it possible that Charlie would be tracking him in company with a mate, but as the hours passed, and as Charlie had evinced no confidence in rescue, Bony dismissed the thought. His mind being intent on manoeuvring Charlie into a mood of co-operation at least, and full confession at most, he was unaware of the stalker.

  And as it turned out, so was Charlie.

  Bony’s task was not an easy one. He could meet a white man and know exactly how to deal with him. He could have met a wild black man and would have known how to deal with him too. In either case, a matter of plain psychology based on the race and character of the subject. Although Charlie was a pure-blooded aborigine, he was a complex being, occupying a place between the wild aborigine and his inhibitions and superstitions, and the fully civilized aborigines who in many districts near the cities of Australia are justly entitled to ‘Mister’ and ‘Missus’.

  Therefore: how much was Charlie influenced by Canute and the Elders supporting the chief, and how much by the Missioner and Mr Wootton and Constable Pierce? Bony believed that by placing Charlie midway between these two groups, then moving him half way to the left towards Canute and his Elders, he would have Charlie correctly positioned.

  “I tell you something, Charlie,” he said, when Charlie gave no sign of co-operation. “Suppose you say you are my friend. Then I can’t tell old Canute how you made a mess of tracking me, and I won’t say anything about that to anyone else. Then all the lubras and the little gins won’t laugh like hell at you. So we say nothing about that, and you tell me why you been tracking me, eh?”

  Charlie mutely shook his head, with a faint sign of reluctance, and Bony added to the bribe.

  “Suppose I tackle old Canute, Charlie. Suppose I tell him I know he and Murtee been pointing the bone, and that I’ll have them put into jail for it. Who did they point the bone at last time?”

  “Dunno,” replied Charlie. “Perhaps it was at old Moses over on Titigi. Perhaps it was up on the Neales. Anyhow, old Moses he died pretty quick.”

  “That’s it,” agreed Bony. “Well, I tell Canute he and Murtee pointed the bone at Moses. Old Moses died. That’s murder, Charlie. So I tell Canute like this. I say: ‘Look you, Canute, old feller, you’re too old to take Meena and Charlie loves Meena, and Meena loves Charlie, and they want to be married by the Missioner, all straight and square.’ Then old Canute he say: ‘You go to hell. I got Meena when she was born. Meena’s my woman.’ And I say: ‘All right, Canute, then you go off to jail for all your life. I know you murdered old Moses by pointing the bone at him, and I’ll tell the white feller judge all about it. Then you’ll be hung.

  “ ‘Now I’ll tell you what, you silly old coot. You let Charlie have Meena, him being a young feller and able to look after her, and I’ll say nothing about you pointing the bone at Moses.’ ” Bony smiled at Charlie, and Charlie was seeing a little of the light of common sense. “Do we trade?”

  “No,” countered someone behind Bony. “You take that thing off Charlie’s wrist. Go on, take it off.”

  Swiftly Bony turned. He found himself looking into the barrel of his own automatic. The barrel was wavering, and the safety catch was still on. Above the hand holding the pistol was the face of Canute’s Meena.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bony’s Guests

  ACCORDINGTOpersons who are brought to trial for murder, guns go off of themselves, and quite often a jury actually believes it. Anyone who has the slightest acquaintance with firearms knows that you must pull the trigger to discharge such a weapon, and to do that you have to curl a finger about the trigger. Still fewer people appear to understand that many types of firearms are fitted with a safety device, and that if the safety catch is in position no amount of trigger-pulling will bring about the desired explosion.

  When Meena pointed the automatic pistol at Bony, it was instantly obvious that either she was ignorant of this type of weapon or had no intention of permitting it to go off of itself and commit murder. Her wide eyes and stern mouth, although presenting a new facet of her dark beauty, warned Bony that he was fortunate that the weapon she held was not a waddy, for waddies are also claimed to rise and fall of themselves, but are much less lethal.

  “Why, Meena!” he exclaimed. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “You loose that Charlie,” she commanded. “Go on! I’ll count three and then…” threatened Meena.

  Lazily Bony turned to one side and took the cuff key from his side pocket. Tossing it to Meena’s feet he said:

  “You loose him. I’m tired.”

  Her left hand went down for the key, and from a crouching position she knelt, and on her knees made the short journey to Charlie. Arrived at the saddle and his imprisoned wrist, she put the pistol on the ground, and the next instant it was whisked away by Bony. Meena was up on her feet enraged and shouting, and the pistol was pointing at her. Her shouting faded to a whimper of fury, when Bony said:

  “You must never place a delicate weapon like a pistol on the dusty ground. Look at all the dust and sand on it. I’ll have to spend half an hour cleaning it. Now you free Charlie, then put more wood on the fire and boil the billy for tea. And don’t let the sand get into those handcuffs. Put them into the pack-bag, and give me the key before you lose it. Women!” Charlie stood perplexed, as was Meena, and Bony went on:

  “Sit down again, Charlie, and roll a cigarette. We have a cook now, remember. She makes the tea.”

  From staring at each other, they stared at Bony, who was squinting down the barrel of the pistol as though the weapon was his most precious possession. Then Charlie grunted and the tableau ended by the man sitting down and the girl looking about for the billycan.

  “Whatd’you think of my plan to tackle old Canute?” nonchalantly inquired Bony. “Ought to make him come to heel and give you Meena. In fact, I’ll guarantee that it does. Or else, Charlie. Or else he goes to jail.”

  Charlie grunted again, and looked at Meena. She had placed the filled billycan against the red fire coals and was standing and gazing at the flames in obvious amazement. Unconsciously she was now Bony’s firm ally in the scheme to soften Charlie. She wore only a pair of shorts, dark blue in colour and an admirable fit. Silhouetted against the firelight, her figure was tantalizing, her naked breasts, her slim neck, her profile and the crown of curly hair all totalling the love call to Man. It stirred even Bony.

  Charlie, although young, possessed wisdom. Negatively he shook his head and winked, thus advising ‘no see’ tactics. The girl continued to watch the flames, and Bony began to hum a tune and apply himself industriously to the pistol-cleaning. The water in the billy boiled, and the girl dropped a handful of leaves into it, then lifting the billy with a short stick under its handle, she set it down to cool, and turned to look at the two men.

  “Charlie, stir yourself and open a tin of meat for Meena,” ordered Bony. “Come and sit down, Meena, and let Charlie look after you. You must be hungry and thirsty.”

  Charlie scrambled off to obey, and Meena sank to the soft earth, sat tailor-wise, and looked at Bony as though he were the man that never was. Carefully, Bony wrapped the pistol in the rag.

  “I should not have left this on the blanket roll behind me. It might have gone off when you picked it up, Meena. I don’t like pistols. Dangerous things to handle. How did you know that Charlie and I were camped here?”

  “Tracked you easy enough,” boasted Meena. “Saw where you caught Charlie just off the flat and made him lead the pack-horse.” She accepted the opened tin of meat from Charlie without looking at him, and when he brought her a pannikin of tea, still she ignored him. “You’re a cunning feller, Mr Bonaparte. You catch Charlie like he was a little gin.”

  “He had bad luck, Meena. You see, he was crossing that flat inside a willi-willi, and just before the willi got to my side it fell apart, and there he was in the open. Very nearly tricked me. I’ve heard of it being done, but not seen it b
efore, and I’ve never tried it. What’s it like, Charlie, inside?”

  “All right,” chuckled Charlie. “Air’s clear. Sand rushing round and round that fast you can just see out. Meena’s done it. I watched her. That time she went along good till the willi went faster and faster, and she run and run to keep with it, and then she fell down, and there she was.”

  “And here she is,” added Bony. “Who were you tracking, Meena? Charlie or me?”

  “Charlie? What for you track Mr Bonaparte? Go on, you tell. I saw you start after him at the homestead, and I said to Sarah I’d find out for why.”

  Charlie was now an ebony image. The firelight on the girl’s face and body was reflected as from gold dust. That she was famished for food and drink was plain, and Bony sought information.

  “You have been on Charlie’s tracks for three days, Meena?”

  She nodded, and continued to glare at Charlie.

  “And no tucker?”

  Still glaring at Charlie, impatiently she shook her head. To her lover she said:

  “You’re a cunning feller, too, but not properly cunning. I heard what Mister Bonaparte said he’d do to Canute about me, and I seen you go all softy-softy thinking about it. You’re going to say what Mister Bonaparte wants, and you’re not going to get me off of Canute for doing it, see?”

  Charlie looked embarrassed, and began pouring sand from one hand to the other. He employed the old, old stratagem of laughing to cover up, and Meena threw the meat tin with deadly aim, the tin smashing into Charlie’s mouth.

  “But Charlie is happy, Meena. He and I were having a little talk before you butted in.”

  Blood showed on the man’s lips where the jagged edge of the tin had connected. He licked off the blood and stood, for now primitive man was set upon his dignity, and primitive woman was to pay forfeit. Perhaps.

  “Before you begin, put more wood on the fire,” Bony requested calmly.

  “I’ll do that,” roared Charlie, and Meena yelled: “And I will, too.”

  “All right, but don’t put all of Yorky’s woodpile on,” Bony shouted.

  They calmed, both panting less from exertion than from consuming anger, and they regarded Bony, who still reclined at ease on the warm earth. The look in his eyes probably reminded them of the Missioner, and something of the Missioner’s teaching, for with downcast eyes Meena dropped her load of wood and returned to sit close to Bony, to torment Charlie, rather than for protection, of which she wished none. The lover flung his wood on the flames, which quickly grew, and sullenly he sat down with his back to the saddle.

  “Now we are together again,” murmured Bony, “let us be at peace and talk friendly. True, Meena, that you tracked Charlie to find out why he tracked me?”

  “That’s right.” From the pocket of her shorts she took a tin, from which she produced tobacco and papers and began making a cigarette. He waited, and then leaned forward to offer the flame. She leaned nearer to bring the cigarette to the match, and smiled provocatively at Charlie.

  “And why have you been tracking me?” Bony hurriedly demanded of Charlie.

  Charlie took refuge in sullenness, and Meena said brightly:

  “That ole Canute feller sent him, I bet.”

  “Like to know, wouldn’t you?” Charlie asked with a feeble imitation of a sneer, and Bony now decided to break up this lovers’ tiff.

  “Now listen, you two. Playing about tracking each other and running around inside willi-willies is over for today. There’s Yorky and Linda Bell. There’s the policeman and Mr Wootton and me. You are supposed to be as anxious as anyone to locate Yorky. Now, Charlie, you answer questions and no more silliness. What we all say to one another goes no farther than the firelight, I promise you. And don’t forget, you two have been playing each other too long. You have to get married by the Missioner, settle down, have children, be happy. I’ll fix Canute, don’t worry. All right, Charlie, why have you been tracking me?”

  “Murtee tell me I track you, I see where you go and what you do,” replied Charlie, still sullen.

  “But you were working for the station.”

  “I told Boss I was sick.”

  “What did Mr Wootton say?”

  “Nothing. But he put Bill Harte on to tracking me, see if I was sick.” Charlie laughed. “Soon lost Bill Harte.”

  “How do you know Mr Wootton put Bill Harte on to you?”

  “I seen Billridin ’ slow-like behind me. He was keeping to cover.”

  “And Mr Wootton told Bill Harte to track you? How do you know that?”

  “Hemusta. Bill never heard me tell Boss I was sick.”

  “All right, leave that. Murtee told you to track me along. Why did he tell you to do that?”

  “Dunno. Murtee Medicine Man.”

  “Has Murtee got Linda’s dolls?”

  The question certainly surprised Charlie, and Meena said:

  “Course not. Linda’s dolls are in her playhouse.”

  “Two of them are. Ole Fren Yorky and Meena are not. They’re gone. Someone took them. Who?”

  “No blackfeller took ’em,” asserted Charlie, and Meena watched him like a suspicious wife. She said:

  “I’ll tell Sarah. Sarah’ll find out. Maybe Mr Wootton, or one of the men took them. Them dolls belonged to Linda.”

  “Too right,” agreed Charlie. “I made ’em.”

  “Where are Yorky and Linda? You tell me.”

  Reaction to this question satisfied Bony for the moment. He put another searcher.

  “How many trucks went up to the Neales for your trackers?”

  “Two. Arnold and Jim Holly from over Wandirna.”

  “You all came back on those trucks?”

  “All the men, and some of the lubras. Meena and Sarah and others.”

  “Well, then, who stayed behind, to walk back?”

  Charlie rolled off a dozen names, including Canute, and further questioning disclosed a doubt in Charlie’s mind that Murtee was in the camp when the trucks came. He had not returned to the homestead on either of the trucks, both Charlie and Meena were sure. They saw Murtee two days afterwards in the camp by the creek. Canute was there, too, and they spent most of every day rubbing churinga stones against their foreheads and squatting over a little fire well apart from the others.

  “When you got back, Meena, what did you do? Go tracking for Yorky, too?”

  “No. Sarah was put to cooking at the homestead, me to help her and look after the house. Plenty of people about then.”

  “You don’t know where Yorky and Linda went?”

  Meena shook her head.

  “Does Sarah know?”

  Again the girl replied negatively.

  “Does Canute know?”

  Shutters fell before her eyes. One moment they were expressive, the next moment they were blank. Charlie was frowning, and when Bony looked his way, the shutters had dropped too. Silence reigned about the fire. Above, the heavy silence was disturbed by the conversation of a wedge of ducks.

  Bony pretended not to notice the fallen shutters, and went on with his questions. At once the shutters were raised and he was again receiving co-operation. He learned that Mr Wootton had not been chasing Mrs Bell. That Arnold hadn’t been making up to her. That William Harte had ‘put it on her’ to marry him, and that Harry Lawton said he was going to push his luck. He learned, too, that Wootton had threatened to sack Harry Lawton if he went on baiting Ole Fren Yorky, imitating his voice and his peculiar manner of walking. Knowing the answer, he asked:

  “Did you see Mrs Bell after she was shot?”

  Both shook their heads vigorously.

  “Wasn’t she shot in the back?”

  Both brightened at being able to answer in the affirmative.

  “Made a nasty mess of her blouse, so Constable Pierce told me.”

  They agreed with Constable Pierce, and nonchalantly, Bony made a mark on the ground-a question mark. On looking at them, his brows raised, they nodded.

  “You ne
ver saw her,” he said. “Howd’you know?”

  And the shutters fell again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Prodding The Enemy

  ONROUSINGfrom an early cat-nap, the Three Sisters told Bony the time was about midnight. There were wild ducks on the bore-created pond, and he was puzzled by what could possibly interest them in water where no weeds could grow, and spent a lazy moment in reaching the conclusion that they were resting. Far away a cow bellowed, and, even farther than the cow, a pack of dingoes broke into a howling chorus.

  The night was still and warm. Nearer him than the fire, Meena lay sleeping on her side, her head resting on an arm. By the pack-saddle, Charlie slept, lying on his back, his head resting on the ground. Bony dozed off again, and when he stirred next time, the Three Sisters said it was five o’clock, and dawn was tinting the east pale sea-green.

  The billy was half full of the last tea brew, and this Bony heated by placing the can on the broken-open fire embers. Sipping the blue-black tea, and chain-smoking what he had the audacity to call cigarettes, he squatted over the red embers as his maternal ancestors had done, feeling about him the influences of five hundred generations ofCanutes andMurtees, and their Charlies andMeenas.

  He was concerned this morning by the points of conversation of the previous evening, for all the points when welded strongly indicated aboriginal participation in what appeared to be a crime in which only white people were involved.

  It could be claimed that no crime committed by a white person on or against another white person in this Lake Eyre Basin could be unknown by the aborigines, for there are many who believe that nothing can happen without aboriginal knowledge, whether it be the death of an eagle or the changed shape of a sand dune. In strong support of this contention was the fact that Canute, blind as he was, saw with the eye of his mind the shape of the bloodstain on the back of the murdered woman. Canute had passed that knowledge to others of his tribe by, or with the assistance of, his dijeridoo, at the same time passing it to Bony, who had been present. Before that moment of receiving the blurred picture, which to others nearer to Canute would be clear as crystal, Bony had seen no photograph of it, nor read a description of it in any report.