by Tony McKenna
Pots and pans secured on wire hooks along each side of the dray clanged noisily together as the wheels bounced over the uneven terrain. A large tawny-coated dog ambling behind it sensed their presence and began yapping as they approached.
‘Whoa there!’ The driver seated on a wooden bench reined the horses to a halt as they rode up beside him. ‘Well, if it ain’t Warri! G’day, ol’ mate.’ There was a slight twang to his accent that reminded the boys a little of Paddy O’Brien. ‘Who’s this you have with you then, Warri?’
‘G’day, Toffy, yu still cookin’ I sees. This ’e’s Jack ’this one ’called Harry.’ He pointed to them in turn. ‘This is Mick Duffy but we all calls ’Toffy.’
Toffy had a round cleanly shaven chubby face, a ruddy complexion and small wire-ramed glasses perched on a button nose. They could see reddish grey hair escaping from under his battered hat and he was wearing a longsleeved check shirt but the thing that astounded the boys was that the man wore a large green bow tie. It looked so incongruous with the rest of his drover’s attire that they couldn’t understand why anyone would wear something so impractical out in the bush where the heat was so intense.
‘G’day to ya, lads,’ Toffy geeted them. ‘There’s a waterhole up a bit yonder, Warri. You blokes ride on ahead and get a fire started so we can have a cuppa before we set up camp, eh?’
Leaving the wagon they rode on ahead. ‘Why’s he called Toffy if his name’s Mick, uncle Warri?’
‘Don’ yu see, Harry?’ Warri chuckled. ‘When ’e first come out lotta year ago, ’e dressed laik a gen’leman ’n everyone tink ’e some kinda lord or somethin’ from Inglan’ but ’e jus’ normal bloke that look funny. Not long ’n everyone call ’im The Toff. Then it get short to jus’ Toffy. Don’ dress funny no more ceptin’ ’e still wear that bow tie. Toffy ’e good fella … good cook too.’
‘Bet he’s not as good a cook as you are though, uncle Warri?’ Jack winked at Harry.
Warri didn’t reply immediately but looked at him for a few seconds then grinned. ‘Yu learn pretty quick, Jack. Yu keep learnin’ new ting each day then by time you ol’ laik me you almos’ know as much as Warri.’ He kicked his horse into a canter with a laugh. ‘Come on, yu bloke … keep up.’
They found the waterhole that Toffy had mentioned where Warri settled under a shade tree while the two boys collected a stack of wood to set a fire. ‘Make ’im a biggun, lotta fella sit ’round ’im tonight. Toffy need to cook on ’im too.’ Warri instructed.
When they had the fire set Warri took his rifle, a battered but well oiled five-shot Lithgow .22 repeater from the leather scabbard strapped on his saddle. ‘Yu boys ever shoot a gun?’
‘No,’ Jack answered.
‘I shot a few times at the show in Perth once at the shootin’ gallery,’ Harry said.
‘What’s a shootin’ gall’rey, Harry?’ Warri was mystified.
‘Well, you pay for say ten shots at these little tin ducks that travel along on a belt. Not with a gun like yours though but with a Daisy air rifle.
‘Tin duck eh? Bet ’e don’ taste too good this tin duck.’
‘You don’t eat ’em, uncle Warri, you shoot at ’em to win a prize like a furry monkey on a string or somethin’. It’s real good fun.’ Harry explained.
‘Warri only shoot for tucker or maybe kill a snake now ’n then. Besides it’s wastin’ bullets jus’ to shoot for fun. Yu ever win this monkey prize, Harry?’
‘Err … no! Got close though.’
‘Bout time yu bloke learn to shoot wit’ a proper gun. We gotta bit a time till Toffy gets ’ere.’ Warri walked off along the billabong holding the .22 in the crook of his arm, the barrel pointed down at the ground. ‘We find good target ’n I learn you ’bout guns. Good thing to know in the bush.’
Warri searched around in a clump of dry grass knowing from previous trips that there was a rubbish tip where drovers had thrown litter. Retrieving three rusty tins from the pile half-covered with sand, he walked about thirty paces to a fallen log where he lined the tins up in a row then returned to where Jack and Harry were waiting.
‘Now, yu gotta learn respect for this fella.’ He held the gun out. ‘A rifle ’e a good friend in the bush but ’e also a bad friend if ’e not handle right. Never walk wit’ no bullet in ’im ’n never get on a ’orse wit’ a loaded gun in your ’and, too dangerous. If yu get shot out ’ere ’n the bullet don’ kill ya, lead poisonin’ will. Warri learn you more ’bout handlin’ gun in a little bit, first thing though is ’ow to shoot ’im.’
Warri explained about lining up the target with the front sight that looked like a little upside down ‘exclamation’ mark at the tip of the barrel, with the ‘vee’ of the back sight. He showed them how to hold the gun steady and fire. ‘Don’ jerk ’im now, jus’ squeeze,’ he instructed.
The crack of the rifle reverberated through the trees echoing back from the distant hills as a flock of cockatoos screeched in raucous fear from the trees to circle in terrified wheels of white above their heads. One tin flew from the log with a dull metallic thud. ‘Who gonna go first?’ Warri held the gun out, its barrel pointed away toward the target area.
Harry volunteered. Sighting along the barrel he fired but the tins didn’t move. Trying a second shot, a chip of bark flicked from the log about two inches to the right of the target.
‘I know now why yu never win no monkey prize, Harry. Yu close yer eyes when yu pull ’im trigger. Yu only close one eye though, not two! Try again, then it Jack turn.’
Harry’s third shot never even hit the log but raised a puff of dust some distance past the target. ‘That OK, Harry, it take lotta practice to get good. Let Jack ’ave a go then yu take ’nother turn.’ Warri reloaded the magazine and clipped it back in place. He gave Jack some basic instruction on how to hold the weapon.
Jack’s first shot chipped bark from the log just beneath the target. His second shot clipped the edge of a jam tin toppling it sideways from the log. Warri was obviously pleased and told him to ‘Knock that other one flyin’, Jack … take yer time now … steady.’
Jack was elated when his third shot hit the can dead centre exploding it backward from the log. ‘Wow!’ he said, ‘Did I do all right, uncle Warri?’
‘Not bad, Jack, but yu miss with that first shot ’n them can they pretty close. Harry yu try ’im again.’ Warri took the rifle and slid more bullets in the clip.
Harry’s next shot was closer, thudding into the wood just below the target. His second missed completely but the third try, after careful sighting and with his breath held, took the can cleanly from the log.
Harry replaced the tins in a row while Warri showed Jack how to reload the magazine and when he had his second round of shots he took two out of three cans from the log. Warri said that that was enough and that they would do it again the next day. Harry was obviously disappointed with his effort particularly in light of Jack’s success.
Warri sensed Harry’s frustration. ‘Funny eh?’ He said. Some fellas good at one ting, others good at ’nother. Jack ’e good shot wit’ that rifle. Bit more practice ’n ’e nearly as good as Warri,’ he laughed. Yu, Harry, I bin watchin’ yu on Dolly ’n yu a natural on a ’orse. Yu sure you not learn ridin’ before?’
The flock of birds cautiously returned to the trees as they walked back to where the fire was set. They could see Toffy’s wagon approaching the campsite with him no doubt wondering what all the gunfire was about.
Chapter Twenty
For tea that night Toffy served beef stew with potatoes in thick gravy from a large steaming iron pot. After basic food on the ride over, Jack and Harry devoured the meal quickly, smacking their lips and saying …‘hhmm, this is good,’ between mouthfuls. Toffy was pleased at the compliments, something that was rare from men on a drove and offered them seconds that they devoured with equal relish. There was fresh damper to soak up the gravy and Toffy also had a doughy cake with raisins that they could only manage one slice of each, washed down with th
e inevitable mug of sweet black tea.
His meal finished, Warri rolled a smoke and moved off to the side with Tom Cooper where they sat and talked privately for some time.
When he returned, Warri called the boys aside. ‘Now I bin talkin’ wit’ Tom Cooper ’n ’e say yu bloke gotta work on the trip. I tell ’im yu work good ’n ’e say, OK.’ We talk for a bit more ’bout yu bloke ’n it decided that yu, Harry, will work ’longside Wandoo as yu ride pretty good already ’n you crack a whip good too.’ Harry was elated at the praise and the chance to work with the mob.
‘Jack, yu ride OK but not good laik Harry so yu ride wit’ me mos’ of the day ’n I learn yu more ’bout shootin’ ’n other stuff. Then in the afternoon yu go ’head ’n ’elp Toffy set up camp laik we do tonight. That OK, Jack?’
‘Whatever you reckon is best, uncle Warri.’ He was somewhat deflated.
‘I tell Tom Cooper yu good shot ’n ’e say yu can ’elp out by huntin’ some roo ’n rabbit for the pot. Now I gotta learn yu ’ow to skin ‘’im, ’n a bit more ‘’bout that old rifle but I learn yu quick ’n when yu right wit’ that rifle I let yu keep ’im to look after, but treat ’im good, Jack.’ Jack sparked up at the prospect of learning more about shooting and wondered what Warri meant by ‘other stuff.’
Both boys turned in that night exhausted from the day’s activities, full from too much stew and looking forward to what lay in store for them tomorrow as they embarked on more adventure, Harry droving stock and Jack learning to hunt. They were soon asleep, not moving until they heard Toffy clanging the cowbell announcing it was time to be up, breakfasted and on the job. They noticed the stars were still very visible as they climbed from the swags but didn’t bother to check the time on their watches. It was cold in the morning darkness so they went quickly to the fire to let the flames warm stiffness from their bones, wrapping their hands around the mug of welcome tea that not only heated them inside but also thawed the chill from their fingers.
Over the next week they soaked up instruction like dry sponges, remembering Paddy’s advice way back on the train. Jack became very proficient with the rifle, hardly missing a shot, while Harry shone on horseback. Even Tom Cooper was impressed by his ability as Wandoo stretched him by leading him out to round up strays, particularly one big, wickedly horned steer with wild eyes that broke from the mob at every chance.
‘Trouble, that steer.’ Wandoo told Harry after they had headed off one of his wild escape bids. ‘Gotta watch ’im, ’e bad fella, tell by ’is eye.’
One evening, after they had eaten, Tom Cooper said to Warri that Harry needed a better horse under him. ‘Not that Dolly isn’t a good horse, Warri,’ he added quickly noticing the old man’s expression. ‘But she’s getting on now, like us, and that Harry’s showing good promise. If he’s gonna keep up with Wandoo he needs a younger more spirited horse.’
‘S’pose ’e could ’andle somethin’ more lively than ol’ Dolly. Rennol learn that Harry to ride, did good job, eh?’
‘I suppose you taught Reynold all he knows about riding and droving, Warri?’ He kept a straight face.
‘Rennol ’e me sister’s boy, I raise ’im from little fella. I learn ’im good that Rennol.’ Warri failed to notice that Tom Cooper was baiting him good-naturedly. ‘Yu got any ’orse in mind ,Tom?’
‘Has to be one of the spares, Warri. I was thinking about that young colt, looks good stock to me.’
‘Where yu get ’im, Tom?’
‘We were bored waiting for you to arrive, old timer, so went out and rounded up a few brumbies.’ Tom couldn’t help the jibe. ‘He was the pick of ’em though.’
‘Bin broke in?’ Warri didn’t rise to the bait.
‘Not by us but he’s certainly been handled before. Could’ve been broken in too. Won’t know till we throw a saddle on him. My bet is he was broken in then got away somehow, went back to the mob.’
‘If ’e bin broke before it only take little bit to bring ’im in line ’gain.’
‘You’re too bloody old to do it, Warri. Couldn’t have you all busted up. Got anyone in mind?’
‘I could ride ’im, Tom, no worry ’bout that but maybe I let one a them young bloke ’ave a go, eh? That Rennol, ’e can do it.’
‘Think he could handle him, Warri?’ Tom asked, already knowing Warri’s response.
‘I learn that Rennol to ride, Tom, ’course ’e can ’andle ’im.’
Father O’Malley finished morning mass and after changing out of his vestments went to the office where the day’s mail had been placed on his desk. Leafing through the envelopes there were the usual bills, a letter from the Bishop and some personal mail, one postmarked Ireland that would be from his sister but the one that caught his attention was a thick, somewhat grimy envelope with his name scrawled in pencil on the face.
He opened the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper, two folded envelopes and a ten shilling note. He noticed there was no date or return address on the note.
Dear Father,’
‘We are well and enjoying our trip although Harry got lost in the desert for a day and almost died from no water but he’s OK now. It’s real exciting and we are learning lots about horses and the bush and stuff. Harry and me want to thank you for looking after us and taking us to Mt Margaret. We are camped one day out from Angas Downs station in the Northern Territory and we hope to get this mailed to you from there. We are on our way to meet up with a big mob of cattle and drive them down into South Australia. We are not sure where the mob is headed but wherever it is we are getting closer to Coober Pedy.’
Could you please post the letters for Harry and me and don’t forget the promise you made about not telling where we are. We’ll keep writing if you can mail them on. Say hello to Paddy if you see him. We have put ten bob in to pay for the stamps.
It had two signatures at the bottom and a ‘PS’ added below it. ‘ Reynold is well.’
The priest leaned back in his chair and concentrated on lighting a pipe, his eyes squinted to avoid the clouds of smoke. His thoughts centred on Jack and Harry who, only weeks before, were frightened and confused little boys, but who now seemed, from the tone of the letter, to be more confident and somehow more like young men. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Harry lost without water and felt the good Lord must have had an eye on him as he was slightly built and had appeared somewhat fragile to the priest. Jack on the other hand was a strapping lad already showing the promise of being a solidly muscled young man. He smiled to himself at the simple phrase in the sentence saying that Harry nearly died, ‘but he’s OK now.’
There was conflict in the priest’s mind. His head told him he should alert the parents to the whereabouts of the boys and where they were headed but his heart argued that these two young lads would be fine. He believed they would grow into two responsible, independent, young men in a very short time. There was also the matter of the promise he had made to them. They had agreed that they would continue to write to their parents using him as a go between while he in turn would not divulge their plans. The boys were keeping their end of the bargain so Father O’Malley felt morally obliged to keep his commitment to them.
His thoughts wandered to where they might be now as it would have taken many days for the letter to get to him from the remote station in the Territory. What an adventure they must be experiencing, out there in the remote outback with a droving team made up primarily of Aboriginal stockmen!
He thought to himself how he must tell Paddy next time he turned up at the presbytery that he had heard from them. Paddy was a frequent, if not regular, visitor for a meal, a bed and of course a ‘drop of the doins.’ He was constantly asking if the boys had been in touch. ‘Have ye heard from me boys, Timothy?’ was the first thing Paddy always asked. Mrs Lacey also enquired now and then while pretending to show little interest. Each time Father O’Malley said that he hadn’t heard from them she would busy herself in the kitchen. ‘That’d be right,’ she would say,
‘we’ll never hear from those two again, I’ll wager.’ She always asked again though.
He read the note a second time, placed the two envelopes in the ‘out tray’ for posting after he stamped them and opened the top drawer of his desk taking out a large brown folder across which was written ‘Jack and Harry’. Intuition told him this folder would one day be bulging though all it contained at this time was a newspaper clipping from the West Australian newspaper and now this one page letter. He also slipped the ten shilling note into the envelope before he placed it back in the desk drawer. He relit the pipe and said a little prayer asking God to look after the boys wherever they were. Forgive me if I’ve made the wrong decision in helping them.
At the time the priest sat in his comfortable chair surrounded by leather-bound books and tobacco smoke there was much excitement around the Cooper campsite in the Territory. The ‘boss’ had announced to all the crew after breakfast that they were going to rest up for the day. It was a good waterhole they were camped at with plenty of feed for the herd, he told them, and they were making good time so deserved a rest day. They would only have to run a couple of riders out to ensure no cattle strayed too far, so they could take it in turn, by pairs, to check the mob.
He also stated that Reynold was going to provide some entertainment by riding the black colt. This was greeted by lots of loud hoots and handclaps but when Tom went on to say they would also use the day to kill a beast for the camp larder it was received by wild cheers. The last statement meant the traditional beef ribs roasted on the coals that night and choice steaks for tea the next night. Although roo or rabbit, now Jack’s role to provide, was often on the menu to supplement the staple diet of salted meat, the change to fresh beef, even if for only a couple of meals, was a luxury.
Anyone with knowledge of horseflesh could recognise the breeding in the colt’s confirmation and stance. He tossed his head defiantly, black mane flying when he was led to a clearing Warri had selected a short way from the campsite, rearing on his hind legs and pawing the air in challenge as Reynold walked to him. The colt had been docile enough on the journey, content to be led but he sensed this was different, responding with spirited boldness.