Arthur Upfield - The Mountains have a Secret

“Another girl was with her, I understand,” Bony said.

“Yes, that’s so. Her name was Beryl Carson.”

“After you arrived in Australia, did you contact the police?”

“No. After I had a talk with Mavis’s pa I had the idea that if Mavis and her friend hadn’t really been lost in the bush I wouldn’t want the cops butting in. Are you a cop?”

“Assuming that your girl friend and her friend were not actually lost in the bush, that something quite different happened to them, what then?”

The American’s face was a pale oval against the rock. It was so dark that his eyes looked black. When he spoke the attractive drawl was absent.

“Pa always said never to spoil a private war by yelling for the cops.”

Bony relaxed a trifle.

“Where have you left your swag?” he asked.

“Down the creek a bit. Say, are you a cop?”

Bony stood up, and without command Shannon rose with him.

“Not cop enough to spoil a private war.”

He pocketed his pistol and proffered the other to its owner, saying:

“We will climb down out of that tree you spoke of. Get your swag and come to my camp. That bread will be baked too hard if it’s not taken from the ashes.”

He watched the tall, almost shambling figure merge into the black and featureless background of the scrub, confident that the American would return. He felt that Shannon knew much more about the Simpsons than he himself had learned, for Shannon had been employed at the hotel for several months and his tracks told of much activity. Then the figure appeared and advanced, carrying a hiker’s pack from which dangled a quart-pot and a rabbit.

Without speaking Bony turned and entered the rough passage, groping forward in the darkness, the sound of boots on rock chips informing him of Shannon’s presence behind him. At the short turn-off passage Shannon was told to wait. He saw a match being struck and flame mount from dry bark to feed on sticks that the Australian was placing one by one. When by invitation he entered the chamber, Bony was raking from the ashes his damper loaf.

“Where did you obtain that pistol-and the silencer fitted to it?” Bony asked, and Shannon set down his pack and sat on it.

“Fellain Melbourne sold me the gun for a hundred bucks. The silencer I bought from anotherfella who charged three hundred bucks. If I could bring a thousand pistols into this country I’d make a lot of money. The silencer isn’t very efficient. Some day somebody’sgoin ’ to invent a real silencer, and then it’sgoin ’ to be bad for a lot of other guys and the cops. Can I cook a feed on your fire?”

“Of course. Get busy. Let me have your quart-pot and I’ll take it with my billy to the creek. The firelight is safe enough. I’ve made sure of that. But we must talk softly because sound carries a long way and I don’t wish to be located.”

“By who?” Shannon asked, looking up from delving into his pack.

“The other side, of course. I find myself annoyed that you saw me this evening. I don’t want to be further annoyed by gross carelessness.”

“Pa used to say that carelessness made dead men. He was never careless, and he’s still going strong.”

Evidently Shannon’s Pa had been tough, and Bony wondered about him and this son of his as he made his way to the creek where he washed before returning with the filled receptacles. The American spoke like an unsophisticated country boy, but there was plenty of sophistication about that silencer and those throwing knives.

Shannon had the pistol apart and was cleaning it with a rag.

“I got coffee,” he said. “And a piece or two of grilled chicken. No bread, though. Can’t get the knack ofbakin ’ flapjacks on the coals. You show me some day?”

Bony promised that he would, noting the warmth in the pleasant voice and doubting no longer that the American’s actions were truly motivated by his self-imposed mission. Shannon withdrew from the pack a paper parcel, opened it beside the fire to reveal what would be a chef’s nightmare and which was described as grilled chicken. Observing Bony’s frozen eyes, he grinned sheepishly, saying:

“Guess I’m no cook. Never had much of a chance to learn, what with Ma and the sisters to look after Pa and us kids. I can fry things in a pan and boil things in a can, but plain fire sort of frustrates me.”

“I regret I cannot offer you a dinner,” Bony said politely. “Had I known that you were calling, I would have saved a portion of my grilled rabbit. I can offer you, however, the remainder of yesterday’s bread to assist you to eat that-er-”

“Fowl. One of Simpson’s. Thanks for the bread. Pa used to say that a real man’s grub should always be plain steak just singed and washed down withlikker. Thelikker sort of loosens up the steak fibres in the stomach, and that’s very good for the eyesight.”

Bony brewed tea for them both and pensively smoked whilst the American ate ravenously. Now and then he caught Shannon looking at him with steady calculation. The tension was still in the boy; suspicion was still alive despite the acts of obvious friendship. The return of his pistol placed him at a disadvantage in this little game of wits, and he was feeling it.

“Scoop a hole in the sand and bury the bones,” Bony said. They were squatted before the fire in the space between wall boulders, and Shannon cast a swift glance over his shoulder, then grinned and nodded, and with a hand made a hole and covered over the cleaned chicken bones. A little later Bony brought his swag and set it on the ground farther back from the fire and himself sat with the swag as a back-rest.

Shannon lit a cigarette with a fire stick and turned his body slightly so that he could face the detective-inspector.

“Well, do we begin?” he asked.

“Yes, if you’re ready,” Bony agreed. “I think our best course is to join forces. If we can agree to do that, then the next good thing to do would be for both to lay all his cards face up.”

“Depends on how much of a cop you are. Suppose you tell me about that.”

“Being a cop, suppose you tell me more of yourself. I am an officer of the law in this country. You are an alien and, moreover, in possession of a concealable weapon which is unregistered and for which you have not a licence. And in addition, your remarks about conducting a private war indicate your intention, in the near future, of committing a breach of the peace. How was it that you obtained employment at the hotel?”

“That’s easy. I wasstayin ’ over at Dunkeld and washavin ’ a few drinks with a couple offellas when in came James Simpson. One of the others said I waswantin ’ work, and Simpson looked me over, asked a few questions, and then offered me the job of yardman and general man. Suited me.”

“And how did you come to leave the hotel-in such a hurry?”

Shannon grinned and dropped another stick on to the fire.

“Perhaps for the same reason that you did,” he replied. “Simpson said he didn’t want me any more as there weren’t any guests coming till Easter. I reckon he wasn’t too pleased about me stopping that guy from twisting you inside out. Said he didn’t approve of knife-throwing in his saloon. Told you to go too, didn’t he?”

“How do you know that?”

“Ferris told me. I got along all right with Ferris. She knew something was doing that night, and she slipped out of the cupboard to have me at hand. She reckons that not everything in the garden is lovely, the ugliest thing being her brother.”

“So she knew those men, eh?”

“Yes, she knew ’em, or rather two of ’em. I knew ’em, too, when I saw them, and that was when I was in the cupboard, Ferris having called me in. Those two guys, not the wrestler, came to the saloon six or seven weeks back. They insulted a woman who was staying, an artist woman. Used to get around a lot. Too much for Simpson, looks like. That night, as well, Simpson was out of the way, and the next morning when the woman complained to him he told her to go, saying he’d heard a different story. Seems like those guys are Simpson’s plug-uglies. Question I ask myself is what Simpson has to hide that he don’t like women artists and sheepmen on holiday poking around. Answer is, my girl and her pal. What you think?”