As waves of pain shot up his arm he moaned and muttered and fluttered his hand in the air. It was just starting to get light and he could see the shapes of the others.
“You OK Roger?” Stephen asked.
“Yeah. Just that bloody stinging tree.”
The others were sympathetic but there was nothing they could do to help. Roger sat on his pack and held the sore hand as the pain slowly subsided. Graham removed a boot, powdered his foot and placed on a clean sock.
“Phew! What a pong!” Peter chided.
“Washing day if we pass a creek,” Graham replied. He sniffed at his shirt. Roger noted that his own sweat soaked uniform had a definite reek to it.
After seating himself on his pack Roger took out his stove and a tin of steak and kidney. It was still quite gloomy so the flare of the match and the flicker of flames cheered him up. The smell of sulphur and then of hexamine made him instantly feel hungry and happy. ‘Things aren’t so bad after all,’ he thought. In fact, apart from his sore hand and a few scratches, aches and pains, he felt OK.
As he opened the can and emptied it into a mess tin they discussed the events of the previous afternoon and night. This re-awakened Roger’s interest.
“I’m just bursting to know what those blokes are looking for,” he said.
“Is that what it is? I just thought you ate too much,” Stephen replied. He looked tired and grumpy.
The jibe hurt but Roger ignored it. “I wonder if they’ve dug the treasure up yet. Do you think we should go and look? I thought two of us could stay and watch while the other two went to phone the police,” he suggested.
Graham looked up from his cooking. “Fair go Rog. You took an awful risk yesterday. Besides we’ve got our hike to get on with. Don’t you want to do that?”
“Not particularly,” Roger replied.
Stephen looked up from his cooking. “Then why the bloody hell did you come with us? You’ve been a bloody drag right from the start, moaning and dropping behind. You’re too bloody fat and unfit and ...”
Graham cut in. “That’ll do Steve. Let’s not fight among ourselves, and keep your voice down or those blokes might hear us,” he said.
“Bugger them!” Stephen snapped back. “I don’t care about them. They won’t bother us if we mind our own business.”
“We shall, once we contact the police. That will be the end of it,” Graham replied.
Peter stopped drinking coffee and spoke up for the first time. “Should we phone the OC at the same time? He told us to keep out of trouble remember.”
Graham shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. We haven’t been in trouble yet. We’ve just been delayed,” he replied.
It was fully light by this and a brightness through the leaves to the east heralded the sunrise. A kookaburra woke the echoes with its laugh. Then cockatoos began screeching down the ridge. Roger had just placed a mess tin of water on his stove and picked up the other mess tin to start to eat. He paused, spoon half way to his mouth.
“Hear those cockatoos? I’ll bet those men have just woken up.”
“If they’re still there,” Stephen said.
“We didn’t hear them leave,” Peter said. In the distance there was the sound of a sharp but unmistakable ‘crack’.
“Gunshot!” Graham said.
They listened for a moment. The screeching of the cockatoos grew louder, then rose and fell indicating the birds had taken flight. Then the awful racket receded as the birds flew away southwards.
“One of those blokes took a pot shot at the cockatoos I reckon,” Peter said.
Roger was indignant. “But it’s against the law to shoot in a State Forest. And cockatoos are ‘protected’,” Roger said indignantly.
Graham gave a dry laugh. “So are men. I reckon if you’ve murdered a bloke, you wouldn’t be too worried about shooting a few birds.”
Stephen pushed his glasses up and looked up. “Give it a break Graham! You’re as bad as Roger. We don’t know those blokes are murderers. We’ve no proof. They might be just pinching orchids,” he suggested.
Peter laughed softly. “Orchids grow in trees Steve. Why are they digging that hole?”
Stephen didn’t answer. The conversation lapsed while they finished their breakfast. Graham kept looking at his watch and Roger knew he was going to start urging them to move. He wiped his mess tins and packed them and the stove. Then he stood and cleaned his teeth. While the others shaved Roger put a layer of polish on his boots. Then he turned his back on the others and unbuttoned his shirt and the waistband of his trousers. For the next two minutes he searched himself for ticks and leeches. He was appalled at all the bruises and chafing he found but there were no ticks.
After that he combed his hair and gave his face a rinse. Taking care, he wiped a smear of tick repellent around the openings in his clothing. Then he was ready to go. The others soon finished their packing. Graham checked his watch again. “Nearly seven o’clock. Everyone ready? Then let’s move.”
Reluctantly Roger swung on his webbing and pack, causing the stinging to start in his hand again. The friends stood for a minute adjusting their gear and settling it comfortably. Stephen bent and picked up his hat.
“Aaargh!” he cried, throwing the hat down.
The others turned in surprise.
“A spider!” Stephen said. “A bloody great spider in my hat.”
“Spider!” Roger snorted. He was closest so he bent and picked the hat up and looked inside it. Then he turned it over. If there had been one he couldn’t see it. “It’s gone now,” he said, handing the hat to Stephen. The incident gave him malicious pleasure, which he instantly regretted.
Graham gave a wry smile then turned and started walking.
CHAPTER 12
THE MORNINGS WALK
Graham began walking and they followed him. He went back the way they had come up the previous afternoon, walking along the old road then turning off to go down the slope through the rainforest.
Half way down the hill the sound of a motor starting up made them stop.
“Is that them? Or just a car on the road?” Peter asked.
Roger listened, then cried, “Them for sure. Come on! Let’s get down closer to the road so we can see.” He started walking around Stephen.
“They’re on the move early,” Stephen commented.
“They must have dug up the treasure and are getting away, quick!” Roger replied. He tried to run but kept getting snagged by trees and vines. Then his right foot caught and he almost tripped, only saving himself by clutching at a vine. The result was that he stumbled and cannoned into a tree, bruising his right shoulder. The others came pushing down through the jungle behind him.
Graham called, “Slow down Roger, you’ll break something.”
But Roger didn’t. ‘I have to know,’ he told himself. Regardless of bumps and scratches he went on blundering down the slope. He heard the engine noise change, then die away, then increase in volume, then die and rise several more times. It was the 4WD and it was on the move. He began to get glimpses of the road below him but he was too far from the turnoff to see that. ‘If the vehicle goes back towards Danbulla we won’t see it,’ he thought.
When Roger was only about twenty paces from the road, the engine noise abruptly grew in volume and the vehicle came into view around the bend to his right. Roger stopped behind a tree and watched. He could just see through gaps in the jungle.
It was the men in black alright. Roger saw the hawk-faced old man sitting in the passenger seat as the 4WD went past. It was followed almost at once by the black car with the blond haired man driving. Bruno sat beside him. The men were still all dressed in black. The men in the vehicles did not look up into the rainforest and both vehicles quickly vanished from sight heading downhill to the east.
“They’ve got away!” Roger wailed.
“Doesn’t matter. The cops will pick them up,” Graham replied.
“They might not,” Peter suggested. “They co
uld go down the Gillies Highway and be in Cairns in less than two hours. They could go the International Airport and fly out of the country in three hours - say by ten o’clock. We’d be hard pressed to reach a phone before then.”
“We will hitch a ride with the first car that comes along,” Graham replied. They went on down the slope and stepped out onto the road.
“I want to see what they dug up,” Roger said.
Graham gave a wry grin. “They’ll have it with them Roger,” he replied dryly.
“Yes I know, but I still want to see.”
Stephen wasn’t amused. “Don’t be bloody silly Roger. It will waste half an hour while we walk back there,” he said irritably.
“I still want to see,” said Roger stubbornly.
Graham looked at his watch. “We can’t afford the time.”
Roger was adamant. “You go on. I’ll catch up. I’m going back to look.”
Stephen sneered. “You! Catch up!” he cried.
Roger ignored him. He swung off his pack and, forgetful of his sore hand, dumped it in the bushes beside the road.
Stephen swore and said. “This is bloody ridiculous! We’ll never finish this bloody hike. I’m going on. Bugger Roger!” He looked at the other two. Peter shrugged.
Graham took off his hat and ruffled his hair, then shrugged and said, “You two go on ahead. We will catch you up.”
Graham’s pack joined Roger’s in the weeds and he strode off after him. Peter shook his head and Stephen started to criticise Roger and then Graham for allowing Roger to come.
Roger did not look back. He walked as quickly as he could, unhappily aware that he had caused friction.
“I can’t help it. I’ve got to know!” he told himself. It was further back to the turnoff than he realised, at least three hundred metres and several bends. He heard footsteps behind him and glanced back to see Graham. Seeing him gave Roger a spurt of gratitude and affection.
When the two friends reached the track junction they paused for a moment to listen. Roger was puffing and sweating and the excitement seemed to press against the sides of his head and narrow his vision. All he could focus on was the old timber track. He began walking along it as fast as he could.
Only when he rounded the bend near where the vehicles had been parked did he slow down. There was no-one there, but a litter of empty food cans and other refuse marked where the men had eaten a meal. The sight of such anti-social leftovers roused Roger’s ire. ‘Bloody grubs!’ he thought angrily. He turned to Graham and said, “Bloody poor guests these. Just walk in and turn the place into a pig sty!”
Hoping to find a clue Roger bent to look at a tin but it was only a normal can of ham purchased locally, nothing foreign about it. Even so he carefully picked it up.
“Are you going to tidy up?” Graham asked.
“No. I thought it might be useful for fingerprints,” Roger replied. He extracted a plastic bag from his basic pouch and slid the can into it.
“The cops can come here and get this stuff,” Graham pointed out.
“Yeah, I know, but you never know,” Roger replied. He looked around the area where the vehicles had been parked but saw nothing else of interest. Then he led the way past the track junction to the fallen tree.
“That’s where Stephen and I hid,” he said, pointing down the slope. The memory made him get goose bumps as awareness of what an appalling risk they had taken sunk in.
They made their way past the fallen tree, over the low rise and down into the overgrown clearing. Roger walked straight to the newly dug hole. Even before he reached it he could see they would find nothing and his disappointment was strong.
The hole was less than a metre deep and about two metres in diameter. Around it the clay was spread and trampled. A scattering of cigarette butts marked where the old man had stood watching.
Graham frowned. “Well this doesn’t look very exciting,” he said flatly.
“It doesn’t look finished,” Roger replied. “It looks like they just stopped and left it.” He scanned the disturbed soil for some sign of regularity which might have indicated where a box or container had been prised out but there was none.
“So what was it?” Graham asked as they discussed this.
“Search me,” Roger replied. “But it looks to me as though they didn’t find anything.”
“Or if they did, it wasn’t very big, and now they’ve got it and gone on. Let’s get going ourselves,” Graham said. He turned and walked back the way they had come.
Roger turned regretfully and followed, his eyes searching the shrubbery for any clue. Seeing nothing he sped up to catch up to Graham, who was striding along.
In less than ten minutes they were back where they had dumped their packs. Peter and Stephen sat there waiting for them.
Stephen gave Roger a sour look and muttered. “Bloody waste of time and energy. You’ll be complaining you can’t walk any further in a few minutes Roger.”
Graham snapped at him. “That’ll do Steve. I wanted to look too. It’s only just after seven thirty so we haven’t lost much time.”
“Twenty minutes,” Stephen replied angrily. He got up and pulled on his pack.
The boys set off in silence with Stephen in the lead, then Peter, Graham and Roger. It was another cloudless day and they passed through patches of sunlight and dappled shade as they walked. The road went steadily downhill and had several tight bends in it.
After about ten minutes rapid walking Roger spoke up. “We are going the same way as those men went. What do we do if we see them again?”
“For Christ’s sake Roger! Give it bloody rest,” Stephen retorted.
“Calm down Steve,” Graham interjected. “It’s a fair question. We just act normal and say we camped up a side track, which we did.”
Stephen muttered something and conversation lapsed again. Roger’s feelings were already depressed when he also realised his body hurt. Stephen had been right. He did feel as though he didn’t want to walk any further. He bit his lip and hitched his pack up; then gritted his teeth as pain shot through his left hand. Once again he’d forgotten his stinging tree. Determined not to give Stephen another chance to imply anything he forced himself to keep up and tried looking around to take his mind off the pain. In a bar of sunlight he noted several butterflies whose wings were a brilliant blue. He saw a bright green caterpillar on a leaf. Beside the road he noted strangler vines, lawyer vines and assorted dangling lianas.
He managed to keep up.
After a while the walking became mechanical and the various pains blurred into a dull overall ache. The road went on downhill, winding through dense rainforest along the side of the ridge. There was no view other than along the road. The jungle hid everything else. Roger became bored with it.
The road turned north, crossed a small creek down which water gushed noisily; then it curved right to a clearing where there was a car park and a National Park sign.
MOBO CREEK CRATER it said. Roger pulled out his map and located it. It was obviously another of the extinct volcanic craters which dotted the Tablelands. Having seen several he wasn’t particularly interested in this one. A walking track led off down steps into the rainforest.
“I’m going to have a look,” Peter said.
“We haven’t got time,” Graham replied.
“If we have time to walk back to look at a little hole dug by treasure hunters we have time to look at a big hole dug by nature,” Peter replied evenly. He turned off and headed for the walking track. The others came to a stop. Roger stood, chest heaving, wondering if he should drop his pack.
Peter dumped his so Roger did likewise and followed the others.
All four went down the walking track and Roger had to agree with Peter that the detour was worth the effort. The track led down to a most delightful pool with a crystal clear jungle stream flowing in from the left under a little footbridge. Another stream plunged over a waterfall into the pool on the far side.
The cadets was
hed their faces and had a drink.
“I vote we have a swim,” Graham said.
“No. Too cold and take too long,” Stephen replied.
“What about washing clothes?” Peter asked.
“No!” Stephen answered. “We’ve all got a spare set. We can’t keep stopping like this. We’ve only come three kilometres. We are a whole day behind.”
“We still need to change and I think we should have a bath,” Graham persisted.
“And I don’t,” Stephen snapped.
“We do pong a bit,” Peter said mildly.
Stephen glared at him but said nothing. Peter turned to Roger. “What do you think Roger?”
“Well, I, er,” Roger stammered. He didn’t want to cause more problems with Stephen. Hoping to find an excuse he looked back up the hill. “Somebody might come,” he said at last.
“We will go downstream a bit,” Graham said, pointing that way.
“Our packs are at the top,” Roger said. He didn’t want to take sides against Stephen.
“Oh! So what? It’s only a hundred paces,” Peter said in exasperation.
“Anyway I’m going to have a wash. You others can go on and I’ll catch you up,” Graham said. He set off back up the track.
The others followed in silence. The track with its numerous steps got Roger’s heart really pounding and despite the cool of the jungle shade he started to sweat profusely. At the top Graham grabbed his pack and set off down at once. Peter followed. Roger picked up his pack but Stephen kicked viciously at the gravel, swore and sat down.
Roger hesitated, then asked in a conciliatory tone, “You coming down Steve?”
“Bloody swim! This is stupid! Here we are half way through the third day and all we can do is stop at every excuse. We have only just covered one good day’s walk and we keep wasting time!”
Roger stood uncertain whether to stay or go. He wasn’t sure what to say so he said nothing. Stephen looked up and their eyes met.
“Go and have your bloody swim!” Stephen spat.
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