Arthur Upfield - No footprints in the bush

“You ask me what I am going to do aboutRex? Normally I would doubtless retire from the case and leave the police, and possibly the military, to hunt this madman in the open country andeffect either his arrest or destruction. I am beginning to think I ought to do otherwise; that I ought to be a real policeman for once, and go after Rex myself. The police-and no doubt there are many excellent bushmen among them-may well fail to arrest Rex McPherson, because he is living in open country, hundreds and hundreds of square miles of it, protected by wild blacks who, with their cunning bushcraft, would certainly be able to prevent his capture.

“Of course, Rex McPherson would be captured in the end, but before his capture waseffected it is probable that more lives would be taken by him and his blacks, and some taken by the bush itself. Which is why I think I ought, this once, to be a policeman. Burning Water and I could do more than all the outside men, and do it more swiftly.”

The girl sighed audibly. Then:

“It is going to break uncle’s heart. It’s breaking now, I think. It would be a mercy if a star fell on Rex. I wonder what he’ll donext? ”

“I would like to know what he’s contemplating,” Bony said, his smooth brow unusually furrowed. “We’ll have to take precautions. You need not be nervous of a repetition of that early adventure, for I am seeing to it that you will be guarded.”

“Thank you-Bony.”They were silent for a space, and then she said: “I’m not nervous, but I’m terribly, terribly afraid of him. Rex is tall and handsome and his eyes flame at one. In them there’s something which terrifies me.”

“You know,” Bony said, lightly but with conviction, “I can be an excellent policeman when I like. I have told your uncle already today that my Chief says I am a wretchedly poor policeman. I use my adjective, not his. You need not fear Rex McPherson because I am going to arrest him, and hand him to a judge and jury. Meanwhile, you would make my mind easy if you did not go out riding, or leave the homestead. Will you grant me that request?”

She nodded her raven head and raised her eyes to him.

“I expect you have wondered how I, a half-caste, have risen to the rank of inspector in the police force,” he went on, and she knew he was talking to give her time to regain composure. He told her of his mission-rearing, his passage through High School and the University, of the early love affair that went wrong and drove him back to the bush, and of his long career as an investigator.

“Eventually I married a wonderful woman who, too, is a half-caste,” he said in conclusion. “We have three boys, the eldest ofwhom is attending my old University and who is going to be a doctor-missionary. So you see, Miss McPherson, what a jolly fine fellow I am.”

That made her laugh, and partly defeated the depression visible in her eyes.

“I would like to ask you a question,” he said.

Again she nodded her head.

“Are you in love with Doctor Whyte?”

Now her eyes became big. A blush swiftly covered her cheeks.

“Thank you, Miss McPherson,” he said, gravely. “I am glad to know it because I have, in your uncle’s name, asked Doctor Whyte to pay us a visit. Now I must hurry away, and hope you will excuse me. I’ll listen for the morning tea call. I like strong tea, and have observed that you do, too. Aurevoir!”

Bony bowed and left her; left her to listen to the dwindling sound of his footsteps on the termite-nest garden path. Another half-caste! It was singular how she feared one half-caste, and now was so sure she liked this one. Why, he was almost the nicest man she ever had met.

An offshoot of the great Worcair Nation, the Wantella Tribe had never been as numerically strong as the Illprinka Tribe which was an offshoot of the Illiaura Nation. The beginning of the original homestead, and the construction of the first wall across the gully to the west of the house, at once provided for the members of the Wantella Tribe additional supplies of food and water: and it was to prevent a continuance of the pollution of this water supply by the wild blacks that the first McPherson constructed a low wall across a gully to the east of the house to supply what became a permanent camp drawing to the vicinity of the homestead the many groups of individuals comprising the tribe. Each of these groups was governed by the old men whose word was the law; and when the groups came together to perform some important series of ceremonies, or by reason of the reduction of waterholes, caused by drought, there was much quarrelling and fighting and killing, resulting in the splitting again of the tribe into the respective groups.

For twelve years the united tribe remained in a ferment of quarrelling and killing, caused chiefly by the intrigues conducted by the leaders of the groups who struggled for the leadership of the tribe. Then there emerged a man strong enough to unite the groups, subdue the warring elements, remove the more persistent opposition, and gather into a Council of Old Men those who would support him. He was the father of Chief Burning Water.

The son of one of the malcontents was Itcheroo, now elderly and bitter, a man suspected of magic, communicating with the spirits of the Alchuringa, pointing the bone and other nasty practices. He, with others of his ilk, were ready companions for such as Rex McPherson, and only by chance had Itcheroo not been one of the party assisting Rex McPherson in the abduction of Flora. Which is why he was still walking the stage of life.

Itcheroo had often accompanied Rex McPherson on women-hunting expeditions into the country of the Illprinka Tribe, and he was the first to ally himself with Rex McPherson on the return from his exile to take up residence in the land of the Illprinka.

Itcheroo was a traitor to his tribe, and to the man who wisely governed it through Chief Burning Water. For his services Itcheroo expected no reward; his hatred of Chief Burning Water and his intense admiration for the evil Rex McPherson were more than sufficient. He liked to practise magic, not because of any desire to use it for acquiring property, but because of a desire to be feared.

With these two spurs to drive him, he had become proficient in the black art of pointing the bone and, among other things, in the less sinister practice of mental telepathy. He was able to project through space mental pictures to be received by minds open to receive them; and he was able to clean his mind, like a slate is cleaned of writing by a sponge, and so receive thought-pictures projected by a distant mind.

And now Itcheroo squatted on his heels, close to what had become a little, almost smokeless fire. His crossed forearms rested on his knees, and his forehead was resting on his magic churinga stone (which no other human eyes ever had seen) that now was resting on the upper of his crossed arms.

His disciplined mind was astonishingly controlled. Normally it was like that of the white man, or any other man, open to receive impressions and ideas and thoughts, passing in procession so swiftly that much was waste material. Now there was but one thought occupying his mind, one impression, one mental picture, the picture of a small attache case being consumed by the flames of a fire.

Although the actual fire was dying, although his eyes were registering no visual scene, his mind continuously and clearly saw a bright fire consuming a small leather case. The fire in the mental picture did not diedown, neither did the leather case progress into ashes. It was a mind picture stilled, like one of ten thousand pictures comprising a film fixed upon the screen because the projector had ceased to function. And away beyond the horizon of mirage and sand-dune and scrub sat another man, in similar pose, seeing with the eyes of his mind the same, stilled picture.