Arthur Upfield: Sinister Stones

“Fell off his horse,” muttered ’Un. “More likely the horse fell on him.”

“Doc in town?” asked Silas of the licensee.

“Yes, but he’s inky-poo. Be out to it till morning. You hurt much, Jasper?”

“No. Bit of a strain and a bruise or two. Nuthin ’ broke.”

“Doc Morleyud better be sober bemornin ’,” Silas threatened with unnecessary vocal strength. “I’ve a mind to pound him sober right now. Youfeelin ’ all right, Jasper, me lad?”

“I’ll do,” boasted his black-bearded brother. “Come on, Ted. Fill ’emup.”

Bony put a pound note on the counter, intending to call for drinks, and ’Un whisked it away and surreptitiously gave it back, whispering:

“Ioughter told you. No oneain’t allowed to shout when theBreens come to town. The pub’s theirs till they leave.”

“Fill ’emup, Ted,” roared Silas. “What’s the matter with you? Tend to business. Gents is perishing.”

A man entered the bar. His nose was long and red, and his nondescript hair draggled in wisps across the partially bald head. His shirt and trousers were not those of a bushman.

“Seen you come in, Silas,” he said, and coughed. “Day, Jasper! I put your mail and parcels under the seat of your truck. Sign for the registers, please.”

Silas squinted at the receipt book, and with slow deliberation wrote his signature, the postmaster at his side looking like the skeleton at the feast.

“What’s yours these days, Dave?” asked Jasper, and the postmaster called for rum.

“What’s up with you, Jasper?” And again Jasper explained.

“Good luck!” Dave saluted his drink and sighed when the glass hit the counter. “Pity Doctor Morley’s on the tank. How’s Ezra and Kimberley?”

“Pretty good. On the hoof with cattle for Wyndham. Got away a week late.”

“Good beasts?”

“Fairish. Usual four hundred. Policeman in town?”

“No. Down south on patrol.” Dave chuckled, and Ramsay said:

“Just as well. Too much haze when everyone’s in town at the same time.”

Silas scowled. Ted Ramsay hastily turned to his bottles. The long grey moustache sweeping away from the mouth of this elder Breen seemed to quiver. He hitched his trousers although his great waist was belted. To the beltwas attached small pouches containing matches, tobacco plug, clasp-knife, and an empty revolver holster, for it is unlawful to bring small arms into the settlements of the North-West.

“Bleedin’corkers, ain’t they?” murmured ’Un admiringly. “Me old mate, Paddy the Bastard, was as big as Silas Breen. Fight! That time Paddy and Silas fought for a week, they started in this bar on aToosdee night, went all round town and ended up again in the bar on the followingMondee morning. Andme and Ezra Breencaperin ’ after them with tucker and whisky to keep ’emgoing.”

“Where was the policeman?” asked the curious Bony, his bright blue eyes filled with laughter.

“The john! Fellerbe the name ofGartside. What could he do, d’you reckon, with two Irishmen like Silas? Just let ’emalone and go on with his job. Only time he got a bit anxious was when Silas and Paddy was looking like fighting all the way through the police station from the front to the back. Me and Ezra had a hell of a job to steer ’emclear!”

“Who won?”

“Neither. Silas began to laugh on theMondee morning, and that finished Paddy. You oughta have seen ’emthen. Butcher’s shops theywas .”

Two men entered, and’Un broke off to greet them. They shouted to theBreens and Jasper roared at the licensee. There was a pile of treasury notes between the brothers. Voices became louder, and Ramsay placed bottles of beer on the counter instead of refilling glasses. The emaciated postmaster gripped a bottle of rum in his left hand and seldom put down the glass held in his right, and whenever Bony took a sip from his glass ’Un hospitably filled it. More men joined the company, and Bony eased on the beer.

Then Silas Breen was yelling for a chair and demanding to know what the hell the place was coming to with no chair for a gent to sit on.’Un was dispatched for the veranda chair, and great was the struggle to pass it from the door through the crush to where Jasper stood. Silas placed the chair for his brother, and on Jasper’s face was anguish as he relaxed into it. That a Breen should be so weak!

Silas handed him his glass, and he raised it high and shouted the usual “Good luck, gents!” The company shouted response. Bony edged nearer to him, and Ted Ramsay sat back on a crate of beer and went to sleep. Someone started to sing, and at once the company roared a ditty detailing the adventures of a lass having long brown hair. And then there arose a yell for ’Un.

’Unclambered to the counter-top, slid round on its liquor-drenched surface and proceeded to serve. Thenceforth, his work was to slip bottles from straw sheaths and set them up, and now and then remove the notes, pushed forward by Silas. He gave no change.

When ordinary men would have fallen senseless, those crowding this small bar were only now warming up to the evening’s debauch. The air was padded with tobacco smoke and Bony’s ears began to ache from the incessant roar.

In the middle of a verse, Silas looked down at Jasper, bent swiftly over him, brushed the black beard with the back of his hand. Withpantherish agility, he straightened and swung round to the company, and for a second his small blue eyes glittered and his mouth was fashioned in a ferocious snarl. Instantly, the expression vanished and he was calling for more whisky, and cursing ’Un for being so slow.

A man lurched between Bony and theBreens, and when next Bony was able to see them, Silas was again bending over Jasper and doing something with what appeared to be a length of dark-green whipcord. No one watched Silas, save Bony, and he watched ‘from the corner of an eye’. The postmaster implored him to take a dash from his rum bottle with his beer. His eyes were standing out like those of a crab. A hairy man of cubic proportions endeavoured to mount the bar counter and was hauled back by another hairy man.

“Come on, Jasper! Your shout!” roared Silas, now with his back to the counter. “Come on, Jasper, ole cock. Never let theBreens down. Gonna shout?”

Jasper Breen was sitting with his head tilted slightly forward. The head nodded in uniformity with the action of Silas Breen’s right leg.

“Good ole Jasper,” shouted Silas.“Jasper’s call, gents.”

“Good ole Jasper,” echoed the crowd.

Twice more Jasper Breen ‘shouted’ at the instigation of his brother, and then Silas was saying they were going home and roaring for passage way. Picking up the chair with his brother still in it, he strode to the door, crashing down men unable to flatten themselves against the rear wall or the bar counter. Bony, who was pressed against the wall, saw Jasper’s face and saw also the end of the green cord tied to Jasper’s beard and which disappeared into the neck of the man’s shirt.

Jasper Breen’s head lolled. He was decidedly out to it.

Silas, carrying his brother outside, followed by the company, put down the chair beside the truck, then lifted Jasper into the driving cabin and arranged him to lean back in the far corner. He turned the truck on the narrow track, shouting to the uproarious crowd, and with thehooter blaring drove out of town.

The Road Block

SAMLAIDLAWhad been driving transports over the Kimberley tracks for five years, and what he could do with fencing wire to effect running repairs to the huge vehicles he commanded would sound unbelievably fantastic to modern garage mechanics. Sam’s job was a fantastic one: the tracks were fantastically tortuous, the ranges were fantastic in shape and colouring, and throughout the night the sky was fantastically streaked with shooting stars.