by Nevil Shute
‘There was silence. Miss Bacon went on calling Eight Easy Victor for a minute, but Mrs Marshall, she knew, was in the habit of feeding the hens at the time of the morning schedule and more usually came in in the evening. She made her statutory number of calls and went on to the next. Eight Nan How, this is Eight Queen Charlie,’ and repeated herself. ‘If you are receiving me, Eight Nan How, will you please come in. Over to you. Over.’
A man’s voice said, ‘Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Nan How. Over.’
Miss Bacon said, ‘Eight Nan How, this is Eight Queen Charlie. I have a telegram for you, Mr Gosling. Have you got a pencil and paper? I can wait just one minute. Only one minute, mind. Call me when you’re ready. Over.’
She waited till he called her back, and then said, ‘Eight Nan How, this is Eight Queen Charlie. Your telegram is from Townsville and it reads Molly had son seven last night eight pounds four ounces both doing fine. And the signature is, Bert. Have you got that, Mr Gosling? Over to you. Over.’
The speaker said, ‘I got that. It’s another boy. Over.’
Miss Bacon said, ‘I am so glad it’s all gone off all right. Give Molly my love when you write, won’t you, Mr Gosling? Have you got anything else for me? Over.’
The speaker said, ‘I’ll think out a reply to this, Jackie, and give it to you on the evening schedule. Over to you. Over.’
She said, ‘Okay, Mr Gosling, I’ll take it then. Now I must sign off from you. Eight Item Yoke, Eight Item Yoke, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Item Yoke.’ She went on with her work.
Twenty minutes later she was still at it. ‘Eight Able George, Eight Able George, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Able George. Eight Able George, if you are receiving Eight Queen Charlie will you come in now. Over.’
The answer came in a sobbing torrent of words, rather impeded by the static of three hundred miles. ‘Oh, Jackie. I’m so glad you’ve come. We’re in such trouble here. Don’s horse came back last night. I heard the horse come in about two o’clock in the morning and I thought, that’s funny, because Don never travels at night because of the trees, you know. And then I thought, that’s funny, because there was only one horse and he had Samson with him so I got up to look and I couldn’t see the horse, my dear, so I got a torch and put my coat on and went out in the rain and, my dear, there it was, Don’s horse, Jubilee, saddled and everything and Don wasn’t there, and I’m so frightened.’ The voice dissolved into a torrent of sobs.
Miss Bacon sat motionless before the microphone, one hand on the transmitter switch, listening to the carrier wave and the low sobbing at the other end, clearly distinguishable through the static. There was nothing to be done until Helen Curtis recovered herself and remembered to switch over to Receive. She glanced quickly at the list before her; she hesitated, and then left her chair and opened the door and called to the fireman on duty, ‘Fred, ring up Mr Barnes and ask him to come down if he can. Something’s happened at Windermere.’
She went back to her chair, and now a heterodyne squeal shrilled out, drowning the sobbing as some sympathetic, foolish woman came in on the same wave saying something unintelligible. She sat patiently waiting for the air to clear; until they remembered their routines she could do nothing for them. The heterodyne stopped and Helen Curtis was still sobbing at the microphone three hundred miles away, beneath the coloured picture of the King and Queen in coronation robes and the picture of their daughter’s wedding group that stood upon the set. Then she said, ‘Jackie, Jackie, are you there? Oh, I forgot. Over.’
Miss Bacon turned her switch and said, ‘All right, Helen, this is Jackie here. Look, everybody, this is Eight Queen Charlie talking to Eight Able George. Will everybody please keep off the air and not transmit. You can stay listening in, but not transmit. I’ll call you if you can do anything. Mrs Curtis, I’ve sent Fred to telephone to Mr Barnes to get him to come down. Now sit down quietly and tell me what happened and I’ll take it down. Remember your routine and switch over when you want me to answer. It’s going to be all right, Helen. Just tell me quietly what happened. Over to you. Over.’
The speaker said, ‘Oh, Jackie, it is good to hear you. I’ve got nobody here except the boongs. Dave’s on holiday and Pete’s in Normanton. What happened was this. Don went up to the Disappointment Creek part of the station three days ago and he took Samson with him and he said he’d be away two days. I wasn’t worried when they didn’t get back because of the rain, you know, and I thought they’d have to go around because the creeks would be up. And then last night Don’s horse came back alone, and no sign of Samson. Samson’s our new Abo stockrider. I’ve got a very good tracker here called Johnnie Walker, and Johnnie went out at dawn to track the horse back. But he came back an hour ago and it wasn’t any good because the rain had washed the tracks out; he could only follow it about three miles and then he lost it, and now I don’t know what to do.’ There was a pause, and then she said, ‘Oh, over.’
Miss Bacon’s pad was covered with rough notes. She turned her switch and said, ‘This is Jackie, Helen. Tell me, what stations are north and south of you? Over.’
‘It’s Carlisle, north of us, Jackie – that’s Eddie Page. It’s Midhurst to the south, and Pelican to the east. Midhurst is Joe Harman and Pelican Len Driver. I don’t think Midhurst’s got a radio, though. Over.’
Miss Bacon said, ‘All right Helen, I’ll call some of them. Stay listening in, because Mr Barnes will want to speak to you when he comes. Now I’m going over to Carlisle. I have telegrams for Eight Dog Sugar and for Eight Jig William, and I will give them as soon as I’m free. Eight Charlie Peter, Eight Charlie Peter, this is Eight Queen Charlie. If you are receiving me, Eight Charlie Peter, will you come in. Over.’
She turned her switch and heard the measured tones of Eddie Page, and sighed with relief. ‘Eight Queen Charlie, this is Eight Charlie Peter. I heard all that Jackie. I’ve got Fred Dawson here, and we’ll go down to Windermere soon as we can. Tell Helen we’ll be with her in about four hours and see what we can do. Will you be keeping a listening watch? Over.’
She said, ’That’s fine, Mr Page. We shall be on watch here till this is squared up listening every hour, from the hour till ten minutes past the hour. ‘Is this Roger? Over.’
He said, ‘Okay Jackie, that’s Roger. I’ll sign off now and go and saddle up. You won’t be able to raise me any more; Olive can’t work it. Out.’
She called Pelican next, but got no answer, so she called Eight Love Mike, the Willstown Mounted Police Station, and got Sergeant Haines at once. He said, ‘Okay Jackie, I’ve heard all of that. I’m sending Phil Duncan and one of my trackers, and we’ll see if any of the boys can come along. I’ll see that someone goes round by Midhurst and tells Joe Harman. Tell Mr Barnes that Constable Duncan will be at Windermere about three or four this afternoon. Your listening watch is Roger. Good girl, Jackie. Out.’
Drama or no drama, the day’s work still remained to be done. Miss Bacon said, ‘Eight Dog Sugar, this is Eight Queen Charlie calling Eight Dog Sugar. I have a telegram for Eight Dog Sugar. If you are receiving Eight Queen Charlie will you please come in. Over.’ She went on with her work.
At Midhurst Jean was measuring up the kitchen with Joe Harman and making a plan on a writing-pad, when they heard a horse approaching about noon. It was still raining, though less fiercely than before. They went to the other side of the house and saw Pete Fletcher handing his horse over to Moonshine; he came up to the veranda. He was wearing his broad ringer’s hat and he was soaked to the skin; his boots squelched as he climbed the steps.
He said, ‘Did you hear the radio?’
‘No. What’s that?’
‘Some kind of trouble up on Windermere,’ the boy said. ‘Don Curtis went up with an Abo ringer to the top end of his station three days ago. Now the horse is back without him.’
‘Tracked the horse back?’ Joe asked at once.
‘Tried that, but it didn’t work. Tracks all washed out.’ The boy sat
down on the edge of the veranda and began taking off his boots to tip the water out of them; a little pool formed round him. ‘Jackie Bacon, the girl on the Cairns radio, she got the news on the morning schedule. She called Sergeant Haines, and he sent Phil Duncan to Windermere. Phil’s on his way there now, with Al Burns. I said I’d come round this way and tell you. Eddie Page is on his way to Windermere from Carlisle, with Fred Dawson.’
Joe asked, ‘Who was the Abo ringer he had with him?’
‘Chap called Samson from the Mitchell River. He’s been with Don about a month.’
‘Do they know where on the station he was going to?’
‘Up by Disappointment Creek.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Joe said. ‘Then I know what he’s been up to.’ Jean, looking at him, saw his mouth set in a hard line.
‘What’s that?’ asked Pete.
‘He’s been at my poddys again,’ said Joe. ‘The mugger’s got a poddy corral up there.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Pete.
‘Found the sod,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll tell you where it is. You know where Disappointment Creek runs into the Fish River?’ The boy nodded. ‘Well, from there you go up Disappointment Creek about four miles and you’ll come to an island and a little bit of a creek running in from the north just by it. Well, go on past that about a mile and you’ll see a lot of thick bush north of the creek with a little bare hill behind. You can’t mistake it. The poddy corral’s round the back of the thick bush, just under the bare hill. If you get up on that hill – it’s only about fifty feet high – you’ll see the poddy corral to the south of you.’ He paused. ‘If you’re going on a search party I’d start off with that.’
‘Thanks, Joe,’ Pete said. ‘I’ll tell them at Windermere.’
‘Aye, you’d better. I don’t suppose Mrs Curtis knows anything about it.’
Jean had been hesitant to break in on a discussion about things that she knew nothing of, but now she said, ‘How did you get to know about it, Joe?’
He turned to her. ‘I was up at the top end just after Christmas with Bourneville, and I thought poddys were a bit scarcer than they ought to be. So then Bourneville got to tracking and the rain hadn’t hardly begun then, so it was easy. The Cartwright River makes the station boundary just there, and we followed the tracks across and on to Windermere. Two horses there were, with a lot of poddys. We found the corral like I said, and there they were; been there two or three days. I let ’em out, of course, and drove them back. Had a cow of a job to get them past the first water, oh my word.’
Pete asked, ‘How many were there, Joe?’
‘Forty-seven.’
‘All cleanskins?’
‘Oh yes.’ Joe was rather shocked at the implied suggestion.
‘Don wouldn’t go and do a thing like that,’ he said.
The boy put on his boots and got up. ‘What’ll you do, Joe? Come along with me?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Joe replied slowly. ‘I think I’ll get up to the top end of my station, where he got those poddys from. Maybe he’s been after some more, and had his accident up there. That’s south of the Cartwright River, and east of the new bore we made. If I can’t see any trace of him on my land, then I’ll follow the way he drove those poddys to his corral. Maybe I’ll meet you around there somewhere tomorrow or the next day.’
Pete nodded. ‘I’ll tell Phil.’
‘Tell him I’ll be taking Bourneville with me, and I’ll start as soon as I’ve run Miss Paget here back into town in the utility.’
Forty miles in the utility in those wet conditions would take the best part of three hours. Jean said, ‘Joe, don’t bother about me. I’ll stay here till you come back. You get off at once.’
He hesitated. ‘I may be away for days.’
‘Well then, I’ll ride into town on Sally. One of the boongs can come with me and bring Sally back.’
‘You could do that,’ he said slowly. ‘Moonshine will be here, and he could go with you. I’ll be taking Bourneville along with me.’
‘Well then,’ she said, ‘that’s perfectly all right. What time’s Dave coming back?’
‘Should be back this afternoon,’ he said. He turned to Pete. ‘I’ve got Jim Lennon on holiday, and Dave’s off visiting a girl, one of the nurses down at Normanton. But he’ll be back today.’
Jean said, ‘I’ll stay here till Dave comes, in case anything crops up, Joe.’
He smiled at her. ‘Well, that would be a help. I don’t like leaving the place with just the boongs. I’ll tell Moonshine he’s to take you into town any time you want to go.’ He turned to Pete. ‘Want another horse?’
‘I don’t think so. ’Bout thirty miles to Windermere from here?’
‘That’s right. Cross over the river here, you know, and you’ll find a track that leads there all the way. It’s not been used much lately. If you miss it, go north to the Gilbert and follow up a mile or two and you’ll find a little hut Jeff Pocock uses when he’s hunting ’gators. There’s a shallow about two miles up from that where you can get across. Go north from there about ten miles and you’ll find their track from the homestead to Willstown. You can’t mistake that.’
‘Okay.’
‘What about some tucker?’
The boy shook his head. ‘Think I’ll get on my way.’
They went down into the yard and saw him saddle up and ride away. The rain had practically stopped, but the clouds were heavy and black overhead. Joe turned to her. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s spoilt our day. You’re sure you don’t mind riding in with Moonshine?’
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘You must get away at once.’
She hurried in to galvanize Palmolive to prepare some lunch and food for them to take with them; down in the yard the men were saddling up. They took their riding horses and one packhorse with them, loaded with a tent and camping gear. She was distressed at the meagre quantity and poor quality of the food Joe seemed to think it necessary to take with them. He took a hunk of horrible black, overcooked meat out of the meat safe and dropped it into a sack with three loaves of bread; he took a couple of handfuls of tea in an old cocoa tin and a couple of handfuls of sugar in another. That was the whole of his provision for a journey of indefinite length. She did not interfere, seeing that he was absorbed in his preparations and not wanting to fuss him, but she stored up the knowledge for her future information.
He kissed her goodbye on the veranda and she went down with him to the yard. ‘Look after yourself, Joe,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘See you in Willstown next week.’ Then he was trotting out of the gate with Bourneville by his side and the packhorse behind on a lead, and she was left alone at Midhurst with the boongs.
It began to rain again, and she went up into the veranda. It was very quiet and empty now that Joe was gone, and Palmolive had retired to her own place. The rain made a steady drumming on the iron roof. It occurred to her that the whole business might be over. Don Curtis might have turned up at Windermere and Joe’s journey might be so much wasted effort. It was absurd that Midhurst had not got a radio transmitter. It was true enough that they were only twenty miles from the hospital and so would hardly need it for their own accidents, but in a case like this it was both difficult and trying not to know what was going on. She made up her mind to have a transmitter at Midhurst when they were married. A cattle station without one in these days was a back number.
She had never been alone in Midhurst before. She wandered through from room to room, slowly, deep in thought, and the wallaby lolloped after her; from time to time she dropped her hand to caress it, and it nibbled her fingers. She spent a long time in his room, touching and fingering the rough gear and clothes that were essentially Joe. He had so few things. Yet it was in this room he had dreamed and planned that fantastic journey to England in search of her, that journey that had ended in Noel Strachan’s office in Chancery Lane. Chancery Lane seemed very far away.
At about three
o’clock Dave Hope arrived. He came riding from Willstown through the rain as Pete Fletcher had come in the morning; he had got a lift up on a truck from Normanton. He had heard all about the Windermere affair in Willstown, which he had left shortly before noon, and he could add further information from the radio. He told her that the Abo ringer, Samson, had returned to the homestead.
‘Seems they were looking for some poddys,’ he said, ‘somewhere up at the Disappointment Creek end of the station. They separated and one went one way, one the other, for some reason; they left the camp standing and were going to meet back in the evening. Don didn’t turn up that evening and of course the Abo couldn’t track him in the dark. When the morning came the whole place was swimming in water, and he couldn’t track him at all. That’s how it seems to be.’
They talked about it for some time on the veranda. Somewhere thirty or forty miles from them a man must be lying injured on the ground; he might be anywhere within a circle thirty miles in diameter. He might be lying under a bush and very probably by that time he would be unconscious; looking for him would be like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay.
‘You’d better go and help, Dave,’ Jean said at last. ‘There’s nothing to do here. I’ll stay here and look after things.’
He was a little doubtful. ‘What did Mr Harman say I was to do?’
‘He didn’t say anything. I said I’d stay here till you got back. He doesn’t want the station left without anyone at all, except the boongs. I’ll stay here Dave, till somebody else comes. You go and join them over at Windermere. That’s the best thing you can do.’
‘It certainly seems crook to stay here doing nothing,’ he admitted.
She got him off in the late afternoon with about two hours of daylight left. He knew Windermere station well, and was quite happy about finishing his journey in the dark. Left to herself, Jean went on with the plan of the kitchen she would have liked to see built, with a view to getting Joe to pull the old one down completely and start again from scratch. Presently Palmolive came in and cooked eggs for her tea, and fed the various animals, and watered the veranda plants.