Arthur Upfield - Man of Two Tribes

Jenks glanced at Riddell as though expecting support. Bony quickly suggested a pannikin in lieu of a golden platter, and emptied half a tin of herrings in tomato sauce into a pannikin for himself, and presented the other half in its tin to Myra, saying:

“At our last camp we still had plates and forks, you will remember. Someone has left them behind. Now we have only our fingers.”

“Which will serve Ted for the rest of his life,” sneered the girl.

“Ain’twegettin ’ snooty, Myra? Next week we’ll beseein ’ Mrs. Myra Thomas, the famous ex-murderess, a-strollin’ down Pitt Street. And no one will bethinkin ’ that the lovely on the prance lived with a lot of men on a Plain where there’s never no bushnor a tree to hide it. Will you betellin ’ your dear public aboutall the terrors you went through?”

“I’ll tell my public all about you, Jenks. About how you eat like the guzzling pig that you are.”

“And how youwas the hen with all the roosters, I suppose. How you fought off the roosters and saved it? And how you bumped off your husband because he found out you’re sexless, like Doc Havant said. I could’ve fixed that. Woman! Caw! Youain’t a woman. You’re all blah and bilk. Why, them ten-bob-a-timers in the back alleys off the water-front is more a woman than you. Youwasn’t even born a female. Wait till I have my little say on the wireless.”

“You won’t. They’re particular about keeping the air clear of microbes.”

“What about calling it a day?” complainedMaddoch. “No one enjoys listening to your polite conversation.”

“Don’t you butt in, Clifford. You know how this cow played us all against each other. You know how she worked us up so that someone bashed poor old Mitski. She could’ve done him in only she was being raped by Mark at the time, wasn’t she, Mark?”

“Don’t drag me into it,” pleaded Brennan. “I’m too leg-weary even to think about it. Give us peace… peace… and more peace. Why thehell were women invented?”

“Lovely liars,”drooled Jenks. “Smooth legs ’n soft beds. I just itch to see ’emagain, nothavin ’ seen a woman for years. I…”

“It will be even more years before any of you again see women, lovely or otherwise, if you forget to obey me when we reach this homestead,” Bony interrupted. “There are white men and white women, and we shall be dependent on them for food, clothes and transport to the railway. You may even recognise someone who was instrumental in your kidnapping, and should you lose your temper and do anyone an injury, then you will surely find yourselves back again in jail to serve the rest of your sentences-plus a little extra.”

“Ah! So youthinks we might meet up with someone we’d like to argue with, do you, Inspector?” Jenkspressed, his voice hard.

“I do. You have never troubled to conceal your hope for revenge, Jenks. To prevent you doing something which would result in Mark and Joe and Clifford being returned to jail, I have half a mind to arrest you now.”

“Don’t you worry, Inspector,” snarled Riddell.

“No, just leave that to me,” added Brennan. “Anyone makes a break stopping me getting back will get a guts full of bash.”

“So be it; d’yousee that star?”

“That red star?” asked Myra. “Low down?”

“That’s the one, Myra. It happens to be a light in a house window. That is the homestead called Mount Singular. Do you think you could walk there, now?”

“Now! I’ll have a damn good try.” She rose to her feet without sign of fatigue, and the others were as agile.

“How fard’you reckon?” asked Brennan.

“About four miles. Hard miles, too, and a hard cliff at the end. I’d like to get there before midnight when most radio stations will be off the air. We’ll walk single file. Mark, you take the rear. No talking. No striking matches.”

Maddoch said, excitement shrilling his voice:

“We won’t have to carry anything, will we?”

“Nothing,” Riddell growled.“Only our ruddy selves.”

Excitement sustained them over the first mile. Then Brennan fell, cursed wildly and lurched to his feet. The girl tripped and had to be assisted, and actually requested a halt and the flare of a match, that she could use her small mirror. The promontory on which Mount Singular was built eventually rose before them like a wall against the starry sky, and the ‘star’ which had beckoned them set like the moon behind a cloud.

As on that night in the long ago when they left the caverns, so now did they follow-my-leader, who had eyes with which to see, and a nose with which to scent. He led them in and out among the boulders and over the shallow gutters to the northern base of the promontory, and then, when bringing the bulk of land against the sky to determine the least difficult ascent, he stopped.

“Can you people smell what I smell?” he asked.

“Kerosene,” replied the girl.

“Petrol,” Brennan decided.

“A garage,” voted Maddoch.

They appeared to be standing on a clear space, and Bony led them forward till stopped by an obstruction. They could just see his raised arms. They saw him stoop, and then heard him knock with a stone, on wood.

“Doors at the entrance to a cave,” he said.“Wooden doors.” He lay on the ground for a second or two.“Oil and petrol on the other side. Doors wide and high enough to admit a helicopter. Now for the final effort. And, for the last time, remember it rests withyourselves whether you go on to life and lights, or back to jail.”

It Could Have Been Worse

THEroom was large, solidly furnished, serviced by two standard lamps. Against the wall opposite thefrench windows a stout redwood table supported the radio transceiver before which now sat Charles Weatherby.

His younger brother, Edgar, was wholly absorbed by an aviation journal. Nearer thefrench windows sat the wives of these two men; one sewing, the other idle, her glance fixed upon a picture her mind did not register. When the older woman spoke, she apparently didn’t hear. Nor was she listening to her brother-in-law, who was saying:

“Yes, Jim. Two hundred fats. They ought to reachKal on the 17th. I got permission to travel ’emthrough Lancefold, where there’s plenty of feed at the back of the run. Will you see the boys through your place and on to town? Over.”

A voice through the speaker said:

“O.K., Charles. I’ll attend to that, and keep in touch with your men through Lancefold. That head stockman of yours in charge? Over.”

“No,” replied Weatherby.“Had to keep him back to muster a mob of stores to take down the line. Having missed that last rain here, our feed will dry off soon. How’s things with you?”

The speaker said ‘things’ were reasonable. Weatherby was talking of feed prospects when the door was silently opened, and a figure appeared which brought his brother to his feet.

The figure looked like a wild aborigine wearing cast-off mission clothes for the first time in his life. Dark hair was over long, and the stubbly whiskers were matted. His feet were bare, and the trouser legs hung from the knees in shreds. This wild man ran across the room to stand beside the transceiver and point an automatic at the senior Weatherby.

“On your feet! Back! Farther back!” he ordered.

The large man obeyed. The wild man’s eyes were hidden in the upper shadows cast by the lamp-shades, but the gun was clear enough.

“Who the hell are you? What the devil…”

“I am Detective-Inspector Bonaparte, alias William Black. There are five expendable cartridges in this weapon. Outside are friends of mine-gentlemen named Clifford Maddoch, Mark Brennan, Edward Jenks, and Joseph Riddell. A Mrs. Myra Thomas is with them. Also your head stockman. Being intelligent men, you will both realise that the situation has the element of danger, for you and your wives. Now contact Kalgoorlie.”