Arthur Upfield - No footprints in the bush

His news was serious, for Rex got down from the work platform to question him. Questions and answers passed between them for several minutes. Then the aborigine went out and Rex crossed to Bony who noted his flashing eyes and the dull-red base of his dark skin.

“Loveacre and Whyte have picked up Flora and Burning Water,” he said, savagely. “You’ve won that trick, Mister Napoleon Bonaparte, but I’m going to win the next one. Those fellows think themselves smart, but I’m going to disillusion them. I’ve got an hour or two’s work yet to do, and then I’ll destroy Loveacre’s plane and give the old man ten minutes to make up his mind what he’ll do about the station.”

“How would that forward your schemes?” asked Bony.

“It won’t. But I won’t care once I’m sure the old man refuses to give in. When that happens I’m at war with him and with the world. I’ll go down in the end, I suppose, but it will be a glorious end and I’ll be remembered for many a long year.”

Turning about, Rex almost ran to the aeroplane and sprang to the work-platform, where strangely enough the nervous reflexes of his body subsided and again he moved with the deliberation of the surgeon.

Time passed slowly for Bonaparte. The sun-bars gave him the hours, and when Rex finally completed the engine tuning it must have been after three o’clock. He had worked without lunch, and now he clapped his hands when on his way to the washbasin beside the stretcher bed.

“Now I’m ready for the air again we’ll see what’s doing,” he told Bony. “First a little lunch, then to load the bomb rack and fill the tanks. I should be back inside the hour, and then up you go to six thousand feet. I did think of taking you with me and doing all three jobs on the same flight, but first things first, eh?”

Tootsey came in with a large tray loaded with tea and sandwiches. Seated on the stretcher Rex ate and drank and sometimes paused to describe what he intended doing and how he would wage warfare with the world. He offered Bony neither food nor tea. He did not offer him a cigarette.

To open and pump the cased petrol into the plane’s tanks took quite some time, but his task was presently finished and then he carried his smallthermite bombs from the back of the hangar to load beneath the fuselage. This done he came towards the stand near the stretcher to wash his hands, and his face indicated intense satisfaction.

“Aurevoir, Mister Fool Bonaparte,” he said whilst assuring himself that the ropes were tight and the knots secure. “You’ll do until I get back. Meanwhile pleasant thoughts.”

Rex had donned his flying suit and was adjusting his parachute when Bony felt hands touching his bound wrists.

“It’s me, Burning Water,” he heard a voice say. “I came in by making a hole through the wall. Where’s he going?”

“Where! Why he’s off to bomb Captain Loveacre’s aeroplane and then destroy the homestead,” Bony cried, confident that the running engine would prevent his voice reaching Rex McPherson who was about to climb up into the front compartment of the cockpit.“Quick, Burning Water. Stop him. Shoot him. He’s mad.”

The pressure of ropes vanished from Bony’s body, but he was helpless to move either his arms or his legs.

“Haven’t you got your pistol?” he asked, despairingly. “Didn’t you bring your rifle? He’s loaded the machine with bombs and he’s off to destroy the homestead and perhaps all those there. Stop him! Shoot him, man!”

Rex was in his seat. The engine was accelerated and the plane quivered. The propeller swept dust from under the plane against the rear wall. Tootsey was hauling on cords to roll up the grass blinds from the entrance.

“I can’t shoot him,” Burning Water said, steadily. “It’s not my way. My rifle is beside you. Here’s my pistol. You can easily escape. There’s only the two lubras here. I’ve accounted for the cook and one old Illprinka man.”

The plane was moving to the open entrance when Burning Water raced from the stretcher, reached the tail of the machine and then clambered along its gleaming body to the step insets serving the rear compartment. Tootsey had withdrawn to one side of the entrance and outside. Rex was concentrating his attention on taxi-ingthe plane from the hangar, and besides he was sitting low down behind the front windshield. The tail bar had not left the ground and he neither saw nor felt the additional weight when Burning Water climbed into the rear compartment and slumped down.

“There’s that Illprinka store-house place where we picked up Flora and Burning Water,” Dr Whyte told his pilot by leaning forward in his seat and shouting at the top of his voice.

Whyte continued to use the glasses, searching the sky for the sliver-grey aeroplane. He knew from Flora that the machine was grounded in its hangar, but even she did not know for how long.

From the horizon now emerged a ribbon dark-brown in colour, uniform, unbroken. The aeroplane “drifted” southward to cross the valley whilst it headed for the broadening dark-brown mass slipping beneath them. This was the cane-grass and lantana swamp, and when its nearest edge was but a mile distant the airmen could not see its farther side. Nothing stirred on it or beside it. There was no sign of life. A minute later Loveacre pointed downward and Whyte brought his glasses to bear in the direction.

“He’s just taking off! Byhokey, Loveacre! Now’s our chance. Remember, he’s faster than we are. Get alongside him for only one minute, and leave the rest to me.”

“Hope he hasn’t a gun, too,” Loveacre shouted back. “He’s climbing fast, but he’s headed east. I’m going down now.”

“I’m sure he didn’t have a gun when he bombed my crate,” Whyte asserted and then for the hundredth time manipulated the Lewis gun on its railed mounting.

“He’s fast, all right,” shouted Loveacre, and on his face was a kind of glory. “Like old timesain’t it, comrade? Bust him wide open when we get alongside. We probably won’t get another chance, for if he hasn’t a gun he’ll get away from us. Mind your head!”

Loveacre was beginning to flatten out his machine and to utilize the speed gained by the dive to take it alongside the silver-grey. They could see Rex McPherson looking at them. In another half-minute the machines would be flying side by side and then Whyte could take his gun into action. Then they saw a grey-tufted black head emerge upward from the rear compartment of the cockpit, and Dr Whyte swore and Loveacre shouted:

“Curse it! There’s Burning Water!”

Whyte groaned. In another three seconds he could have sped bullets into the silver-grey’s pilot, and now he was paralysed. Rex saw the gun aimed at him and he shook his gloved fist and turned his ship away. Loveacre’s plane followed, rapidly losing position.

They distinctly saw the astonishment Rex McPherson felt when, on looking back at them, he saw Burning Water occupying the rear seat. They saw him jerk his body forward to reach a weapon. They saw Burning Water raise himself and smash the windshield in front of his compartment and then, against the pressure of the wind, force himself forward to grasp the edge of the front compartment. Now he was almost out of his compartment, hanging with one hand, the other grasping the pilot’s flying suit at the chest. The plane lurched, began to slip to starboard.

Rex fired his automatic pistol but it did not appear that his aim was true because Burning Water now had both hands on the pilot and was pulling him toward himself. Rex was standing and smashing his assailant with the pistol. The plane was slipping down, its wings almost at right angles to the ground. Burning Water had his arms round Rex’s middle, and Loveacre and Whyte could see that the pistol arm was crushed against Rex’s side.