Arthur Upfield: Sinister Stones

The dogs followed for half a mile, and after they dropped back there was silence save for the whine of the engine and the constant changing of gears. Kimberley sat between the two policemen.

They came to the tall-flat of sugar grass, and the eagles and the crows showed where lay the speared horse. The grass could have hidden a battalion, but was empty. The body of the horse, and the grass either side, gave evidence that other than birds had feasted on the carcass.

“Over the next ridge, you reckon?” Irwin said, and Bony agreed that the next ridge was where the hunted boss stockman and hunting wild men had vanished. And on immediately topping the ridge, other birds revealed the body of Patrick O’Grady.

The back of the blue shirt was blood-stained. The head was smashed. He lay face down in grass several yards off the track.

Bony and Irwin left the truck, the former shouting to his trackers to maintain a sharp look-out, and they covered the body with a tarpaulin and weighted the corners with heavy stones.

After passing the Nine Mile Yards ample proof was given of Constable Irwin’s bushmanship, for the track was entirely wiped out by the hooves of cattle. The previous night he must have driven by the stars and instinct. They passed eventually the terminal bluff of Black Range, named McDonald’s Stand, and there saw the tracks of Wallace’s utility heading for the road to Agar’s Lagoon.

“Ezra always said Jack had no guts,” Kimberley averred. “Until you came yesterday afternoon, Inspector Bonaparte, he didn’t believe the place was in danger. Then when you told us about the desert blacks and Pat O’Grady, he got the wind up and cleared for home and his mother.”

“There could have been two spurs jabbing him, Miss Breen. Fear and a guilty conscience.”

“We’ll soon know. I’ll find out.”

“Is there the possibility that we may pass your brothers without seeing them?”

“No. They’ll keep close to the Wyndham road.”

About two o’clock, they came to a creek marked with white gums, and Kimberley said that was Camp Four. Here they stopped to eat the lunch provided by the homestead cook. Following lunch, and two hours’ driving, they sighted the string of horses, black on the green-grey summit of a ‘bump’, and thereafter lost them, saw them, lost them again, till finally Irwin stopped the truck where the animals, loose and pack-horses, were travelling wide of the track. At their rear were six mounted men. One rode to meet them, and one having a black beard stayed on the far wing.

Irwin slid from his seat. Bony alighted and was followed by Kimberley Breen. The man cantering towards them was a part of the animal he rode. His face and forearms were the colour of the range at noontide, and when he pulled his horse to astand, his eyes were the colour of Scotch granite and as hard. He swung to the ground.

“Good day-ee! ’Day, Kim! Anything wrong?” asked Ezra.

“Plenty. This is Inspector Bonaparte. The wild blacks have speared Pat.”

Kimberley stood with her hands pressed to her hips. Her eyes were as hard and her mouth as grim as the mouth and eyes of the young man facing them. Irwin vented his peculiar chuckle, and it passed unnoticed. No one saw the broad grin slowly spread over his face, or how his legs were slightly bent and all of him poised on his toes. The riders and horses were passing by, parallel with the track and a quarter-mile from it. Bony said deliberately:

“We came to warn you that the wild blacks are probably lying in wait to spear your brother Jasper. They are obsessed by the idea that he and your boss stockman were responsible for the death of Jacky Musgrave.”

Ezra Breen slowly transferred his scowling gaze from his sister.

“UsBreens can look after ourselves,” he said, without heat. “If the wild blacks speared Pat O’Grady, it’s up to you policemen to go after them. That’s what you’re paid for.”

The grey eyes and the blue held their gaze without a waverThe soiled red kerchief about Ezra’s neck enhanced the mahogany-tinted, handsome face, and the short leather gaiters seemed to make his legs much longer than they were. The mild tone of Bony’s voice caused Kimberley to flash a glance at him, but Irwin’s gaze did not move from Ezra Breen’s right hand.

“First things first, Mr Breen. Because the murder of ConstableStenhouse and his tracker come before the killing of your boss stockman, we have first to clear up those murders. I am confident you could assist us, you and Mr Silas Breen.”

“All right, if I can I will. Silas isn’t here. He’s out at the Swamp, s’far as I know.”

“Isn’t that Mr Silas Breen with the horses?”

“No. Jasper.”

“I couldn’t possibly be mistaken.”

Ezra stepped nearer. Irwin again chuckled. Kimberley stared across the intervening horses at the white man riding on the far side.

“You’re not saying I’m a liar, are you?” drawled Ezra, and his hand moved downward to the butt of the holstered revolver. Spurs clinked, and abruptly Ezra’s face was hidden by Kimberley’s gold hair. Her voice was shrill with fury.

“Ezra Breen, don’t you dare touch that gun. Inspector Bonaparte spoke true. You’re a liar, Ezra. That’s Silas over there. Up to tricks, both of you. Smarties, that’s what you are, you and Silas.”

Ezra swept her aside as though she were a straw. He took a step forward, and she struck him with her open hand. The blow might have been a fly alighting on his face for all the effect it produced. He had no need to advance further, for he was confronted by Irwin, whose face was expanded by a smile.

“Pipe down, Ezra,” Irwin said softly, standing on the balls of his feet and his hands flaccid against his thighs. They were a good match: the one gingery and the other blond.

“I said it was Jasper,” Ezra rasped, his lips barely moving.

Irwin chuckled, and his mouth was the only part of him that moved.

“I’ll get him,” cried Kimberley, and it seemed that she was catapulted to the back of Ezra’s horse. Ezra shouted, jumped, was too late to stop her.

Argument was interrupted. The three white men and the two blacks still standing at the back of the utility watched Kimberley Breen racing the horse across the stony country to the widely extended horses and attendant riders. They saw the man on the far side check his mount and sit more uprightly in his saddle, saw his indecision. The girl swept round to the rear of the aborigine stockmen, rode straight to the white rider, and he raised both hands to the back of his head.

Neither Irwin nor Bony looked at Ezra when he said:

“That’s blasted it.”

They watched the girl haul back her horse before the white rider. She pointed accusingly at him, kneed her mount to his side, stretched out her hand, received something. For a minute they talked, then came towards the waiting group at a jog-trot as though the man were the prisoner of the woman.

The blackness of the lower extremity of the man’s face was gone. He was talking to the girl, and she was riding with her eyes to front. Distance dwindled, and Bony recognized the huge Silas Breen who had carried his brother from the crowded bar in Agar’s Lagoon. Distance dwindled still, and he could see the strip of goat’s hide Kimberley was carrying. Then he was looking into the menacing blue eyes, and hearing Silas Breenshout that which he least expected:

“Good day-ee!”

After Sunset the Sunrise

CONTEMPTUOUSLY, the blue eyes passed over the three men, the utility and the trackers beyond them, and returned to Kimberley Breen astride Ezra’s horse and holding the strip of goat’s hide. Bony said coldly:

“I’ve been investigating the death of ConstableStenhouse, Mr Breen, and think you may be able to assist me to clear up one or two quite minor points.”