Arthur Upfield - The bushman who came back

“Leave one of the water-bags on the beach for the girls.”

Yorky nodded and the march proceeded, each man zigzagging in short legs, each tensed to dive for cover at any instant, Yorky also watching the birds and working widely with Bony when the sandbar widened.

An hour before noon, Bony fancied he could see the extremity of the sand, and he was laying odds in favour of the ambusher waiting there, when just ahead of Yorky a pure golden dingo appeared on the top of a sand hump, saw the men, and loped away, followed by four well-grown pups. Bony sighed his relief.

Having decided that Meena and Linda hadn’t halted at the water-bag to eat and leave scraps the crows came on after the men, passing them, and flying on over the dogs. The end of the bar, now clearly seen, was perhaps half a mile distant, when the four crows arrived there, and swept skyward as though from a ground explosion, and at height swirled like black snowdrops. Their cawing came to the men, and the tale was told.

“That’s him sure enough,” shouted Yorky, and converged to Bony. “Wegonna move on like we done in the blasted war?”

“Yes,” agreed Bony. “We can each keep to a beach to gain partial cover. Now for the drill. Although I don’t look it, I’m a law officer. Although you don’t look it, you’re an Australian citizen. Our job is to get that fellow alive, and he isn’t going to be much use to you dead. So, unless you are pushed badly, don’t shoot to kill.”

“Suits me.”

“Back to the beaches,” cried Bony almost gaily.

There they gained two feet of sandbank cover, and yet were able to mark each other’s progress. The crows were circling over the end of the sandbar, their suspicion prolonged by an object lying prone, and their behaviour brought low the two eagles, soaring in gigantic circles, with seldom a wing flap.

It was then that the enemy knew he was sunk, and his nerve, what there was of it, failed. Two men stalking him when they should have been walking blithely into hisgunsights. He could both see and hear the damned crows betraying him to the men, one of whom was reputed to be the finest rifle shot in the back country.

Hastily strapping on his boards, he slithered over the dog pad, watched by the fearful dingo bitch and her curious pups. On Bony and Yorky reaching the end of the sandbar, which was fashioned like a crab’s claw about a small sheet of gleaming water, the mirage had given him stilts.

The disappointed eagles rose to cooler altitudes. The crows were decidedly annoyed. Bony sat down and produced tobacco and papers.

“That your friend?” he asked.

“How do I know?” replied Yorky. “With your rifle I could drop him. Got better range than mine. That particular bastard means nothing to me.”

“To the contrary, he means very much to you,” insisted Bony mildly.

“That bloke’s still in range. He’d have got one of us, and then if he’d got the other he’d have killed the lass and Meena. Gimme that Savage.”

The Winchester was aimed at Bony’s chest, and casually Bony set down the Savage on his far side.

“Meena and Linda would see you shoot me,” Bony explained. “That wouldn’t do, Yorky. Load your pipe instead. I know how you feel on being betrayed by one you trusted. Who is he?”

Yorky shook his head, and the stubborn perversity of his class came out when he said:

“You’re a policeman. I can’t inform to a cop.”

Pinned Like A Specimen

HAVINGRESTEDfor almost an hour, chiefly on account of Linda, Bony led the party on to the mud, the pad clearly marked by the impressions of the boards worn by the retreating ambusher. It was then one o’clock, and Bony pointed out the advisability of reaching land before five, after which hour the westering sun would blind them, but not the man who might decide to stage a battle from the cover of a sand dune.

The child was subdued, but walked a full two miles before complaining. Then Yorky demonstrated that little men are often physically stronger than larger men. He passed his rifle to Meena, took Linda astride his shoulders and carried her as though her weight was identical with that of the weapon. The afternoon was exceedingly hot, completely still, and the surrounding mirage dazzled the eyes and limited shooting visibility to eighty yards.

Having insisted on a lead of two hundred yards from Yorky and the girls, Bony constantly peered ahead, worried by the fact that, as time passed, the sun would place him at increasing disadvantage. The crows had refused to follow the party, preferring no doubt to take shade among the foot-high grass, and now to look to the sky for the eagles was torture to sweat-rimmed eyes. Above and about there was nothing but colourless light.

On reaching an area of hard ground, he waited for Yorky and Meena, and eventually they appeared, first as tufted masts, and then walking on stilts, and became normal only when within yards. Yorky was still carrying Linda, and on setting her to ground, he stumbled to his knees and sprawled forward, wiping his sweat-drenched face on a bare forearm.

Meena poured water over the back of his head, and he told her to stop it, as they had yet five or six miles to reach land. Thereafter they all drank sparingly, and the men smoked little, the terrific heat pressing in from all sides equally with the direct rays of the cosmic sun. Yorky did spare water to saturate the towel which Linda wore for head covering.

“That’ll be better, sweetheart,” he told her gently. “It isn’t far to go now, and when we get to the hut we’ll pour buckets-full of water over each other.” To Bony he said: “On a bit there’s another dog-rest. It’s small and only a couple of miles from the shore. It’ll be there that bloke will be waiting again. After that there’s the shore dunes for him and open spaces for us. Then thefun’ll start. It’ll be all his way with the sun behind him.”

“Maybe not,” Bony said. “I’ll get along. Give me time. I’ll wait on that dog-rest if he isn’t there.”

Yorky brought his wandering eyes to focus on Bony. They were inflamed, and like agates set in beef.

“You forget you’re a copper. Just remember you got a Savage what’ll out-range a Winchester, and remember that we got to get off thisstinkin ’ mud before it bogs us. Thisain’t no time for the ruddy Law and gentlemen policemen.”

“Correct, Yorky.” Bony smiled grimly. “The water under the mud is the boss from here. I’ll be waiting at the next rest.”

The man and the woman and the small child watched the mirage shape grotesquely the departing Bonaparte, and Meena said angrily:

“You shouldn’t of said that. You got us all in this mess, and he knows what he’s doing without you telling him.”

“Had to chiack him,” retorted Yorky, glaring at his daughter. “Me, I can look aftermeself. But we got our little Linda sweetheart. Well, up we come and off we go.”

The heat was relentless and Bony was dismayed by experiencing a slight attack of giddiness. He thought perhaps he had been moving too fast, and slackened his pace a little to recover. He did, until minutes later, when he had another attack that almost sent him down.

It was then he saw it, the slow passing of a mud wave. It caught stronger light along its forward face than along its summit and rear, bringing foreboding of disaster. Half an hour later another mud wave tended to upset equilibrium, and then soon after that a wasp buzzed, and he heard the report which sent him chest-down into the mud, and his eye peering across the sights of his rifle.

“You’ve said it, Yorky. This is no time to be a gentleman,” he remarked. “Let me see this murderous swine that I may prove it.”

The frustrating light was much worse at mud level. He could not determine where the mud horizon met the scintillating atmosphere. Again the wasp fled by, and again came the report loud and sharp. He aimed at the point of the sound and fired, and the report of his rifle seemed to be blanketed about his own ears. It was worse than being blinded by fog. Irritation gave place to dull anger, and anger banished all veneers, leaving a man no longer a gentlemanly copper.