Arthur Upfield - No footprints in the bush

She drank her afternoon tea in her room but could not eat. Her ears ached through straining to register the sound of an aeroplane engine. All she heard was the whine of the light wind in the cane-grass walls. The large clock in the outer room struck the hour of five. After the passing of an eternity, it struck six. Time stood still. Flora sat on the bed waiting, her nerves tortured. The outer clock struck seven.

Then she heard movement in the living-room and could wait no longer. She had to know if the smoke signal had been received. The suspense was no longer to be endured.

In the living-room Tootsey was setting dishes on the table. The aborigine was still guarding the entrance. It may not have been the same man. They looked alike to Flora. And then she was staring in Tootsey’s black eyes and knowing she was deserted by her uncle who loved his station better than her, deserted by Harry and by Bony and Burning Water, deserted by the world and all that was decent and worth living for. For Tootsey was smiling at her like a woman who is jealous.

Like an animal forced from one cage to another, Flora turned back to her room. Whatever should she do? What on earthcould she do? There was only the chair with which to defendherself. Her pistol was gone. A knife! Probably there were knives on the table in the other room. She could hear Rex speaking to Tootsey, and then he called her.

“Come on, Flora! Dinner is served!”

“Go away!” shouted Flora. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t be damned stupid,” Rex called back. “Come on, now! There’s grilled chops and mashed potatoes, a fruit pie and custard made with condensed milk. There’s coffee and biscuits and nuts. I have brought a bottle of brandy to mark the great occasion.”

The great occasion! She was saved. She was going back to the homestead. Her uncle had capitulated to Rex.

Flora ran to the entrance, stopped. She gulped air into her lungs. She patted her hair and squared her shoulders. Then, lifting the curtain, she passed into the living-room.

Her lower jaw almost dropped. Rex was in evening clothes. He looked magnificent. He would not be in evening clothes if he was going to fly her back to the homestead.

Slowly Flora approached the table. There were no knives on the table. She sat down to look at Rex, and Rex lifted a cover to disclose curry and rice. On the table were only spoons. Even the bread was cut. Rex said:

“I’m sorry. I thought it was to be grilled chops. But Ah Ling can make curry, real curry. There’s wild ducks in this one. Will you take a little rice?”

“Thank you,” replied Flora, and her own voice sounded distant. “Didn’t uncle send up the smoke signal?”

“Er-no, dear. He forgot to make it, or he has gone on a journey, or he has even decided to keep his station.”

“Then-then-”

“We meet at last-as husband and wife. You will remember I told you we had been married by the blacks some time ago. You know, dear, I’m not a bit disappointed that father is stubborn. Not a bit. I shall have to apply the pressure in some other way. Water?”

Silently now the girl ate dinner, refusing to speak, to warm to his gay blandishments, armoured by the ice of despair. She accepted his suggestion of a little brandy in her coffee, abruptly determined that she would not submit without fighting. Tootsey came in, summoned by Rex’s clapped hands, and removed the dinner things. Rex spoke to her in the Illprinka tongue and the huge woman nodded her understanding. Then he spoke to the man on guard, and he grunted and vanished beyond the dropped curtain of woven cane-grass.

The alleged husband and wife were alone.

Flora accepted a cigarette, but would take no more coffee.

“Do I really look objectionable?” Rex asked.

“You look nice in evening clothes,” Flora admitted, and knew she spoke the truth.

“Then why can’t we be good friends?” he asked. “Nothing is going to stop me from beinga somebody, nothing at all. I’m not really bad. I’ve been misunderstood, frustrated. I am ambitious. And I am deeply in love with you.”

“I don’t love you.”

“But that should not be sufficient reason.”

“Well, then, because I am not an aboriginal lubra.”

“Nor is that sufficient reason.”

Flora sighed and stood up. She saw the unguarded but curtained entrance. It was dark outside. The guard would certainly be standing outside. She sat down in one of the cane chairs. Rex placed another opposite her and sat down and offered her another cigarette. He began talking of his ambition and his schemes, like a man talking to an audience of many people. He was going to become Australia’s Cattle King, and then he’d work the oracle and get himself knighted and be called Sir Rex. Flora would be called Lady McPherson.

“And so, dear, you will not be tied to a nonentity,” he concluded, and came and sat on the arm of her chair. “You and I are going to besomebodies. We’re going to count in the scheme of things. Your beauty allied to my brains will raise us high. Beautiful Flora! Dear, I love you so, and you must love me.”

“No!” The girl suddenly screamed. She slipped from his hands and stood facing him. “I tell you no! Let me alone. Let me alone, I say! If you touch me I’ll blind you with my finger nails.”

The old Rex flashed uppermost. He laughed and his face broadened until again it resembled the features of an aborigine. Like the fly-catching lizard he sprang to her, knocked down her protecting arms, swept her close to his scented person and, forcing upward her face, kissed her repeatedly.

Flora wanted to scream but could not. The terrible fear was gripping her heart, paralysing her tongue. She fought with all her strength-and knew she was doomed. Then above the torment of her mind she heard the voice she had longed to hear:

“Pardon me! Kindly desist, Mr McPherson.”

Greek Meets Greek

“THANK you, Mr McPherson. Remain quite still,” Bony requested. “The reason why I am refraining from pressing hard on the trigger is not because I have strong views against capital punishment. Thank you, Burning Water. Make very sure that Mr McPherson has no other weapon about his clothes. To continue: I always have great sympathy for the dependants of murdered people, and none whatever for the murderers. I regard the life of a murderer as of no more value than the life of a snake.”

Burning Water had taken from Rex’s hip pocket a dainty but efficient automatic pistol, and now with practised hands he examined the weapon and found it was fully loaded.

“Now, my brother, maintain strict attention to Mr McPherson. I am aware you want to shoot, but don’t forget the inconvenience which might follow the report of a shot,” urged Bony.

“Charming fellows,” sneered Rex.

Bony turned now to Flora who, still breathing rapidly and white-faced, was staring incredulously from Bony to Burning Water and back again to Bony.

“A little sip of brandy, eh, Miss McPherson?” he asked. “Two sips for you: six for me.”

She tried to speak, failed, and began to cry. She was suffering from terrible reaction. Her hands were trembling.

“You will be better in a minute,” Bony predicted. “It is seldom that I touch spirits, but this evening I must take a glass of Mr McPherson’s brandy. I am not so well as usual. Ah, that’s better! Now for a cigarette. Ah, that’s still better. We aren’t out of the bog yet, but you are comparatively safe. You are going home with Burning Water. Tonight you will have to travel far and fast, and you will require all your strength. Will you take another sip or two of brandy?”

Flora shook her head. The trembling of her hands had subsided. There was growing colour in her ashen face.