Arthur Upfield: Death of a Lake

“Bloody ole fool.”

“Lake’s getting low, they say,” Barby remarked, offering no sign of annoyance, or of being conscious of the ‘brat’. The bird proceeded to preen his feathers, andDraffin said:

“Down to three feet. Bit under, accordin ’ to the Boss this morning. She’ll go out like a light when she does throw a seven.”

Barby politely wiped his mouth with a pot rag, and the bird lovingly scraped its beak against his ear.

“Ought to be good money in rabbits,” he said. “And now that Royalty’s taken to fox furs the skins ought to be high come May and June.”

“Yair. But rabbit skins are low now, though. Only three quid a hundred.”

“Quantity would make the dough,” Barby pointed out. There’s quantity enough round that Lake, and when she dies there’ll be more rabbits than could be handled by a thousand trappers. I’m thinking of giving it a go. Whatd’you reckon?”

“Could think about it,” answeredDraffin. “You said anything to the Boss?”

“This morning. Boss said he’d try for another cook. You size up the possible take out at the Lake, and we’ll decide when you come back.” To Bony he said: “You going to work contract?”

“Yes. On a dozen horses to start with.”

The galah screeched, and the noise would have upset a stoic. Barby puffed into its near eye and the bird screeched again, and at once, insulted, proceeded to descend from the shoulder as it had climbed. It fell off the stool to the ground and nipped a cat that spat and fled. Quite unconcerned, Barby said:

“Nice place, Lake Otway. Good tucker. Good quarters. You ought to do well. Tell the women you’re married and got fifteen kids, and you’re hard put to it to buy fag tobacco.”

“I tipped him off,” said RedDraffin.

“I am married, and I have three children,” Bony told them. “I can easily add another twelve. Termites, Red said they are.”

Barby regarded Bony with prolonged scrutiny.

“As I told you, Lake Otway’s a nice place. Best policy is to know nothing, and see everything, and give nothing away. Some of the fellers out there been there too long. You know how it is.”

“I have known a similar set-up,” agreed Bony. “I’m all for the move on.”

“And we’d better get going, too,” saidDraffin, rising.

All went out to the truck… dogs, cats, sheep and galah. Draffin climbed the load to take off stores and a bag of mail and papers. The sheep nudged at Bony’s hip, persisted, and the cook said:

“He wants a pinch of tobacco.”

Bony produced the ‘pinch’ and the sheep daintily accepted it and chewed with evident delight. The galah waddled to his feet and ducked its head and turned over on its back. For the first time Barby smiled. He clicked his tongue and the sheep went to him. He picked up the cats and placed them on the sheep, and the bird he put with the cats, and as the truck rolled away, Bony waved and was always to remember that picture.

When a mile had passed under the wheels, Red said:

“If the Boss wants to shift flocks from the back end of the run where it’s pretty dry already this summer, I can’t see him agreeing to George taking on the rabbits. Cooksain’t that easy to get. If the Boss says no, George might stand by it, but I don’t think so. For a long time now George has had his mind on trapping when the Lake dried out. Funny bloke.”

“How so?” pressed Bony, turning his sea-blue eyes to the driver.

“Well, hedon’t spend and he don’t drink and he don’t go for skirts. Theysez never to trust that kind of bloke, but George is all right even though he’s got a mania for saving money. Now me, I reckon money’s only good for booze. But what does George do? He saves his dough till he’s got enough to buy a goodute and a trapping outfit. Whenfur prices is good he slings in thecookin ’ and goes trapping, and when thetrappin ’ is finished he goes back tocookin ’. No between spell, no guzzle on the honk. Not even a trip down to the city. Why? Search me! Tain’t like he wassavin ’ to buy a pub, or a racehorse or something. Heain’t gotno wife to drain him, neither. Leastways he never owned to one.”

The wind came after the truck and the cabin was hot and fouled with burned gas and oil. Only at Sandy Well had they seen animals on this trip, and the naive would have complained that the land was a desert. Invisible animals hugged the shadows of trees and bush, and deep underground the warrens were packed with rabbits.

They were travelling over a treeless plain extending for twelve miles whenDraffin broke a long silence.

“Crook, the Lakedryin ’ up like she is,” he said as though speaking of one close to him.“Lot of fish in her, too. Cod up to nine pound and brim up to seven.”

“The floods filled it, of course,” encouraged Bony.

“Yair. Record flood what began up yourway. The River got miles wide, and the overflow brought water into the Lake. Nineteen feet of water she took, and with it she took enough fish spawn to feedOrstralia for a year.”

“And now the water has drained from the Lake?”

“No. Evaporation took six or seven feet a year. Thenthere’s the birds. Ruddy thousands of birds from pelicans down to moorhens. And this summer there’s been millions of rabbits drinking at her. Cripes! No lake could stand for that.”

“Do any fishingyourself?”

“Now and then.”

“Boat, of course.”

“There was a boat, but she broke up on the beach one windy day. You hear about the bloke what was drowned? In the Adelaide papers?”

“No, I didn’t read about it. Working for the Station?”

“Yair. Bloke by the name of Ray Gillen. Goes to bed a hot night and then says he’ll go for a swim. Good swimmer, too. Usta go a hell of a way out and muck about before he came in. Boasted he’d swim across the Lake and back. Could swim, all right, but hegot himself drowned. About eleven at night, it was. Full moon. Left the quarters with only his ’jamatrousers on. Never came back.”

Yet another gate stopped them, and after Bony had opened and closed it, and they were moving towards scrub-covered dunes which appeared an impassable barrier, he said:

“The body was recovered?”

“No, it wasn’t,” repliedDraffin. “There was no body come ashore, no ’jamas, nonothink. Ray Gillen just went for a swim and the next morning they wondered wot in hell had happened to him. Got blacks out from the River. Scouted around for a week. They tracked him down to the water but couldn’t track him out again. They nutted out the wind and drift of the tide and such like, and argued Gillen had to come ashore along the west end of the Lake. But he didn’t. He stopped right down on the bottomsomewheres. Funny about that. I always thought there was…”

“What?” Bony softly urged, and it seemed that the noise of the engine prevented the question from reaching the driver. Louder, he added: “What did you think?”

“Well, just between us. Tain’t no good stirring up muddy water, but I’ve always thought there was something funny about that drowning. You see, Ray Gillen wasn’t the sort of bloke to get himself drowned. He was the sort of bloke wot did everything goodo. Fine horseman. Make you giddylookin ’ at himride his motor-bike. Swim like a champion. Goes through Korea withoutbattin ’ an eyelid.”

“And nothing has been heard or found since?”

“Right, Bony. Not a trace. Trick of a bloke, too. Alwayslaughin ’ andteasin ’. Good-lookin’ and a proper skirt chaser. The young bitch out there was eyeing him off andputtin ’ the hooks into him, but I reckon he was too fly for her. Anyhow, badfeelin ’ worked up with the other blokes, and one evening therewas fireworks, Ray andMacLennon getting into holts. I wasn’t there, but Bob Lester told me they hoed into it for half an hour before Mac called it a day.”