Arthur Upfield - The bushman who came back

“No. It was as I said. No one looks at a body unless he has to.”

“That’ll be all for the moment, Pierce. Come out today. Better make it for lunch. I’ll tell Wootton you’ll be here.”

“I’ll be there, sir.”

“Good! And bring those plaster casts.”

Bony left by the window, and, crossing the square, found William Harte on the narrow veranda of the quarters. Harte was attaching a new silk cracker to his stock-whip, and his bright eyes gleamed with shrewd expectancy at Bony’s approach. Having seen Arnold in the open motor shed, and the other two stockmen riding from the yards, Bony knew that he had Harte to himself, and, nodding the day’s greeting, he leaned against the veranda rail, and fell to rolling the inevitable cigarette.

“How long have you been in this Lake Eyre country?” was his opening.

“All me life. Was born away over on Clifton Hills.”

“You must know it well,” conceded Bony. “Is there any shadow of doubt in your mind that those tracks behind the meat-house were made by Yorky?”

The bright eyes became mere dark spots in the leather face.

“If them tracks were imitations, then they were ruddy good, Inspector. You’re raisin’ the doubts, not me. I don’t think…”

“Supposing I told you that those tracks hadn’t been left by Yorky, would you gamble your way?”

Harte took time before replying:

“No, I don’t think I would, Inspector. Not now.”

“Even though Wootton saw Yorky at the blacks’ camp that morning? Knew he was to head this way?”

The slow grin twitching the corners of the man’s mouth supported the shrewdness Bony had already attributed to him.

“I’d say Yorky made ’em, but I wouldn’t do no betting on it. There wasn’t enough of those particular tracks to make me bet my shirt they was made by Yorky.”

“We’ll leave it, Bill. Another matter. You saw Mrs Bell’s body lying on the ground near the house. Can you recall the size and shape of the bloodstain on her blouse?”

“Too right. I won’t forget that ever. The crows had made a mess of her neck and shoulders, but the blouse wasn’t torn.”

Dark brown eyes and deep blue eyes held steady for a long moment.

“Between ourselves,” Bony asked, slowly.

“It’s your hand,” agreed Harte.

“Draw me a picture of that bloodstain.”

Harte crouched to the earth floor of the veranda and with the point of his clasp knife granted the request.

To Run Is To Crawl

CONSTABLEPIERCEcame, lunched with Wootton and Bony, teased Meena and complimented Sarah, and after two hours in conference with Bony, departed for Loaders Springs. The journey homeward seemed to him of short duration, so much was his mind occupied by impressions which confounded all preconceptions of the man he had met.

Bony was waiting in the shade of the ridge pine trees for the men to come in from the duties assigned to them that morning. He could see them, stringing down the background slopes, riding tired and thirsty horses, and he watched them free their mounts to drink or take a sand-bath. In addition to the four white men there were now four aborigines. There was no fraternizing, the aborigines taking buckets to the reservoir tanks and washing in readiness for dinner.

Pierce had left food for thought as well as the plaster casts duplicating those he had sent down to Adelaide. Bony had gathered much to add to the policeman’s tersely written reports, especially material assisting him to fill in mere sketches of people and places.

Now Ole Fren Yorky stood clear to Bony, who had never seen him. Pierce had revealed the man in a light less shadowed than he had been in a report of a murder suspect, for the policeman living in a small community is able to be far less isolated than when he lives in a large community. The few are neighbours; the many animated units.

Pierce had been stationed at Loaders Springs for eleven years. He was able to say that Yorky was well behaved when in town, and this opinion was not affected by Yorky’s weaknesses, one being that although he had a room at the hotel, he could be found sleeping on the bench outside, and on two occasions in winter had been discovered sleeping in a station cell.

Bony was informed of matters he would not without necessity enter into a report. He said that the previous owners of Mount Eden were confident that Meena, Sarah’s daughter, was begotten by Yorky. He said, too, that long before he came to Loaders Springs, Yorky had been a participant in several brawls, and he drew the picture of a man who, although of small physique, had been dynamite in his prime. People are so apt to see a man as he is, and forget what he was.

It is obvious that a man in Pierce’s situation would have opinions and theories which he could not reveal to a superior unless asked to do so. And Bony had seldom found co-operation withheld by such as Constable Pierce, who found pleasure in giving it.

“There’s men who tease Yorky about his height,” Pierce had said. “Tales told about him like this one. Yorky carried a swag bigger than himself, and once when he was walking to Loaders with a swag up, he passed right through the place because he couldn’t see it for the swag! There’s another story of him being in a crowded bar all evening, and towards closing time a feller said to him: ‘Hullo, Yorky! Haven’t seen you in years!’ and Yorky said he’d been standing before him for the last two hours.

“So what have we? A wisp of a man who once could fight his way out from under a heap of he-men, and had become old and conscious of his loss of physical strength. A little man always resentful of chipping about his size. Of late years he had to bottle up what at one time had been released with fists and boots. Gradually he turned more to the aborigines and farther from the whites. He could have resented something Wootton said quite innocently, or something said by the men, even something said or not done by Mrs Bell. They’re allagin ’ him. So he decided to steal something loved by everyone… young Linda. And when Mrs Bell stepped into it, he killed her.”

“Tell me about the men. Anything against them?” Bony had asked, and Pierce had replied:

“Nothing much. Young Lawton’s been in trouble once or twice. Fights over the young lubras, chiefly. The last time Canute complained about him, I told Lawton that if it happened again I would advise Canute to sool all his bucks on to him and compel him to leave the district. Once I had to serve a summons on Bray for not complying with the Taxation Regulation, and Bill Harte took to a couple of roughs passing through town who held him up for money.” Pierce chuckled. “You should have seen them. Crouch had to nurse ’emfor a couple of days before he could turn them loose.”

“Ah! Dr Crouch!”

“Yair. A character. Three-bottles-of-whisky-per-day man. Bets on flies crawling up a window. Tall, powerful man with a grouchagin ’ the Government, no matter what government. And is such a doctor that, did I arrest him, the entire district would set out to tar and feather me.”

“And Wootton, Pierce?”

“Told me he’d been a general storekeeper in New South. Came to Australia forty-odd years ago. Made good. Married and had two sons. Both of them joined the Army, and both were killed in action. That killed the wife. Wootton wanted to be a pastoralist, always wanted to be the big landowner, so he sold his business and bought Mount Eden.”

“And Mrs Bell?”

“Nice little woman. Wootton engaged her through an agency in Adelaide. We found out that her husband had left her a couple of years before. My wife liked her. But then my wife likes everyone. She lets out my prisoners sometimes if they spin a good tale, and I’ve got to go after ’emand bring them in again.”