Arthur Upfield - Death of a Swagman

Then abruptly Bony froze.

The wooden floor of the stand upon which the tank rested was larger than the tank itself, and coming round into Bony’s view on the edge of the tank flooring was the dark figure of a man. He was holding to the top edge of the open tank as he stepped round the edge of the flooring, to reach the iron ladder leading to the ground. He was halfway down that ladder when Bony left the shadow of the meat house.

Determined to identify this man who released windmills in the middle of the night, Bony’s objective was to get as close as possible to him before he reached the bottom of the ladder down which he came with his face to it. The sand smothered all sound of Bony’s racing feet, and when he was still twenty yards from the tank stand the man stepped down from the bottom rung.

Bony fell forward, scooping a small rampart of sand before him as he did so. In those swift seconds whilst the man was bringing his second foot to the ground and then turned to face towards the mill, Bony’s body was concealed by the sand rampart he had flung up.

The man did not turn fully towards where Bony lay, but began to walk towards the mill. Each of his feet was bound loosely with hessian sacking, and the heart of the foxing half-caste exulted and sent the blood pounding through his arteries. He desired mightily to rush forward and arrest this climber of tank stands, this mover over sand with hessian-covered feet, and it was one of the rare occasions that he lamented an objection to carrying a gun, without which to attempt the arrest of a man so suspect would be folly.

Recognition, possible in the moonlight, was out of the question, for about the fellow’s head was a cloth hood.

He walked to the mill, where he pulled down the lever bar of the control wire and shut off the mill, and, having done that, he left the mill, stepped over a trough line, and set off southward, keeping roughly parallel with the Walls of China.

Bony permitted him to proceed for a hundred yards before he rose to his feet and followed, determined to keep him in sight and to follow him to his abode, confident that he did not carry a rifle, and mindful that shooting with revolver or automatic pistol is at such a range extremely erratic.

The man went through two wire fences; and through those fences went his tracker. Thence onward to the south, hugging the great sand range, illumined by the full moonlight, onward for half a mile when the quarry abruptly stopped and looked back.

Bony had not time to go to ground, but he did have time to freeze into a tree stump, one knee bent and one upraised bent arm, his face partially hidden by the angle of his head, in which position he was just able to watch the man ahead. His quarry was standing quite still as though trying to recall if he had passed a tree stump.

It became obvious that he was uncertain about it. To make sure, he began to retrace his steps, and he had not covered twenty yards towards the motionless detective when Bony saw in the hand of the crooked right arm the glint of metal, a weapon held ready for action.

The aspect of that hooded man whose feet were submerged in flapping strips or sacking was a little unnerving. He came towards Bony like a soundless wraith accompanied by an equally soundless shadow lying from him towards the Walls. The “tree stump” came alive and moved backwards. The man appeared to hesitate, then came on till, eventually, he stopped. Bony stopped… and waited. The distance between them was less than ninety yards.

Bony was in command of the situation. He could follow at a distance dictated byhimself. If the other man returned in an effort to checkmate him, he could retreat and continue to maintain what was reasonable to think was a safe pistol-shooting distance.

The hooded man made another move, coming forward swiftly, and, as quickly, Bony went back towards the mill. Again the hooded man stopped and again Bony stopped. Across the intervening white sand they stared, to one the necessity to throw off his tracker, to the other the determination to continue tracking his quarry. And not far off the new day.

Movement in the hooded man ceased after his two arms seemed to cross in front of his body. Bony instantly broke into movement, for the meaning of those crossed arms was that the pistol hand was brought to rest on the left forearm to gain steadiness. The pistol snapped and the bullet whined past Bony’s left side. The weapon was an automatic, possibly a. 38, and if accuracy at approximately one hundred yards is most difficult, the distance was certainly not beyond the range of the discharged bullet.

Bony’s movements became a crouching dance, and he danced back and back from the hooded man, who was now coming on once more. Again he stopped, rested the weapon on his forearm, and fired.

The noise was carried by the westerly wind towards and over the Walls of China, and he knew that there was no possibility of anyone in Merino hearing the shooting, even if anyone in the township was astir so early in the morning. Nevertheless, he desisted from further shooting and stopped once again.

Bony decided to increase the safety limit before he also stopped.

“Now you’re biting your fingernails, aren’t you, my friend?” he said conversationally. He knew that his voice could not reach the other, but he went on: “You are finding yourself in a bit of a hole, eh? You cannot very well chase me around the country, and you cannot have me chasing you around either. You have to get out of that rig before daylight when someone mounted on a horse might observe with interest this little comedy of ‘I chase you and you chase me’. And to add to the complications is the fact that, despite your footwear, I still can track you… should I lose sight of you… which I won’t.”

Abruptly the quarry turned and again proceeded to walk southward, moving very fast over the white sand; and, maintaining the distance between them, Bony followed.

So far the situation was quite satisfactory to Bony. The moon would not set until after day broke. There would be no period of darkness to give his quarry the chance of slipping away or of hiding up and taking a better-aimed shot at him. Well, well, was he, Bony, not correct when he told Sergeant Marshall that Providence was always kind to detectives? Kind especially to patient detectives!

There now appeared even greater purpose in the quarry’s walking. He was moving diagonally away from the sand range, and if he should continue along that line for two miles he would then reach the timber edge. That was probably not his objective, for had it been he would have turned due west to reach the timber in less than half a mile. And then, suddenly, he vanished into the ground.

Again Bony halted. He could not see it, but he knew that his man had jumped down into a dry water channel coming down from the west to end at the Walls.

Now what? The fellow could adopt one of at least two movements. He could remain in that gutter and defend himself from physical arrest, or he could sneak along the gutter till he reached the timber country, where he would have a much better chance to evade his tracker.

But would he? Come on, Bony, use your brain. He could not stay in that gutter for ever because if he did his tracker would also keep his position. He couldn’t wait even till after day broke, for, like Cinderella, he must get home before daylight revealed his garb to all and sundry. He must be making for the timber. Well, in that case, why not walk to it in the open? Did he want to gain time? Time for what? Ah… time to reach a horse, and, once astride a horse, he could ride his tracker down and shoot him at close range.

The initiative had passed from Bony.

Bony could not be caught out on that open country. Even against a man on a horse, he would be far safer within the timber, for trees balk a horse as well as providing a degree of shelter from pistol bullets. He began to race for the timber.