Arthur Upfield - The Bone is Pointed

He opened the wicket gate for her and she hurried on into the house to look to the dinner, the fire, and then to take up airing underclothes and lay them on his bed beside his second best trousers and coat. She was humming a little tune as she passed back again to the kitchen, but the humming gave place to a cry of concern when she saw on John’s throat a wide bluish mark.

“It’s nothing, and it doesn’t hurt,” he quickly told her. “I was riding under a mulga-tree in the dark when a low branch gave me a knock. There’s no damage done, so don’t worry about it or I’ll have to take you in hand and talk to you seriously for being a bad woman. Now, what’s for dinner? I’m hungry. And here’s Jimmy Partner.”

The cloud in her big eyes passed, but she followed him with a bottle ofembrocation, to fuss about him until he applied some of it to the bluish mark.

When they sat down to dinner it was still raining.

The Bush Takes a Man

BILL THE BETTER began his day’s work at seven in the morning when he rode out into the horse paddock to bring in the working hacks for the stockmen stationed at the homestead of the great Karwir cattle station.

He was a shrimp of a man, this Bill the Better. Scanty hair failed to cover a cranium that would have delighted Cesare Lombroso who, it will be remembered, determined criminals by their heads. A long nose appeared to divide the gingery moustache which he constantly pulled down by the ends, and watery blue eyes invariably contained an expression of great hope of a brighter future.

On this morning of the nineteenth of April the alarm clock awoke Bill the Better as it did every weekday, and instantly the quiet of the iron roof announced to him that the rain had ceased and that the horses would be wanted.

Only the two station cooks were astir thus early, and uttering a lurid curse that he was the unfortunate third, Bill the Better set off for the stable, at the side of a maze of cattle and horse yards, for the night horse. It was then he saw the big, jet-black gelding, bridled and saddled, standing beyond the gate spanning the road to Opal Town.

“Crummy!” he said loudly. “That there’s Handerson’s ’orse. Ha! Ha! I might win that two quid off Charlie yet.”

The Karwir groom swerved from the line he was following to the stable to follow another line that brought him to the hardwood gate. There, resting his arms on the top rail, he regarded the horse whilst a smile played over his irregular features. Raising his voice, he said directly to the gelding:

“Ha! Ha! So you didn’t bring Mister Blooming Jeffery Handerson ’ome? So you left ’imsomewhere out there in Green Swamp Paddock, didyer? Well, I’mhopin ’ you broke hisflamin ’ neck, and then I’mhopin ’ you turned back to him and kicked thestuffin ’ outer ’im. Then I wins a coupler quid and does a chortle, rememberin ’ that time that MisterBloomin ’ Jeffery Handerson took to me.”

Turning away from the gate, Bill the Better walked across to that gate in thecanegrass hedge surrounding the big house, washing his hands with invisible soap and blithely whistling. It being a part of his duties to keep tidy the garden within thecanegrass fence, as well as to clean the many windows of the rambling house, he knew the room occupied by Mr Eric Lacy who was known over an enormous area of country as Young Lacy, the son of Old Lacy.

Bill the Better tapped vigorously on the window of Young Lacy’s bedroom until the window was raised and beyond appeared a tousled red head and a pair of keen hazel eyes. Once again the groom was washing his hands with invisible soap, and he said with satisfaction somewhat extraordinary:

“The Black Emperor’s standing outside the Green Swamp gate. Mr Handerson’s saddle and bridle still on ’im. Lunch bag looks empty. No tracks made by Mr Handerson showing as ’owhe left theanimile there and come onacrost to ’is room, or any tracksshowin ’ that ’e came as far as the gate on The Black Emperor’s back.”

The clipped voice of Young Lacy issued from the room.

“Wait there, Bill. I’ll be out in a second.”

It was five seconds and no more when Young Lacy joined Bill the Better. He was arrayed in a wonderful dressing-gown of sky-blue with scarlet facings. His deep red hair wasunbrushed and unruly. Of medium height and yet robust of body, his feet protected by yellow slippers, he did not speak until they were outside the garden gate. Bill the Better was continuing to wash his hands with invisible soap and was still whistling a lively tune.

“Doesn’t it strike you that Mr Handerson may be lying out in Green Swamp Paddock seriously injured?” inquired Young Lacy, deliberately prefixing the name with an aspirate. Some twenty-five years old, he looked a bare nineteen.

“Too right!” replied Bill the Better. “I got a coupler quid on ’imbeing dead, and a quid on ’imbeing that busted up that ’e’sgot to be taken to the hospital at St Albans. As I lost seven and a tray over theflamin ’ rain, I’msorta wanting to make a bit over on Mr Handerson.”

“I suppose you’d bet on your funeral?”

“Yes, any time you like, Mr Lacy. I’m game to bet you a level fiver you dies first outer us two. We can put the money in an envelope wot can be kept in the office safe and handed out to the winner.”

“Tish, man! You’re a ghoul.”

Arrived at the gate giving entry to Green Swamp Paddock and the road to Opal Town, Bill the Better swung it open sufficiently to permit them to pass and then reclosed it. The great black gelding now stared at them with wide, white-rimmed eyes, his ears flattened and his legs iron-stiff, a beautiful horse and yet the devil incarnate. Without hesitation, Young Lacy walked to it and caught up the broken and trailing reins.

“Didn’t The Black Emperor have a neck-rope on him when Mr Handerson left yesterday morning?” asked Young Lacy.

“ ’Angedif I know. Mr Handerson usually put a neck-rope on this little dove.”

Two pairs of expert eyes focused their gaze carefully to examine the horse.

“Only damage I can see is the reins,” said Bill the Better. “ ’Emusta chucked Mr Handerson clear and then, most likely went back to finish ’imorfwith ’is teeth and ’is hoofs. Ah well! Them thatarsts for it generally gits it sooner or later. Betcher a quid, even money, Mr Handerson’s lying quite cold.”

“You don’t like Mr Handerson, do you, Bill?” Young Lacy said it more as a statement of fact than a question. He was looking into the saddle-bag at the folded serviette that had been wrapped about the missing man’s lunch.

“Oh, I like ’imwell enough when I’m liable to make money outer ’im. Other times I don’t feel particular brotherly.”

“Well-no good standing here. You nip out for the horses, Bill. I’ll put The Black Emperor into the yards and then call the boss.”

“Righto, Mr Lacy. Better leave me outer the search party, ’cosif I seen Mr Handerson lying hurt I might pass ’imwith me eyes shut.”

“Pleasant little blighter,” murmured Young Lacy, crossing back to the house after having put the gelding into the yards. He found his father drinking coffee in his room preparatory to dressing and going to meet the men gathered outside the office waiting for their orders. A tall, well-set-up man despite his seventy years, his keen grey eyes bored into those of his son.

“Any sign of Jeff?” he demanded, his voice resonant and containing a faint burr.

“No, but The Black Emperor was found standing outside Green Swamp gate by the groom. I’ve just put him into the yards. He’s undamaged, and so are the saddle and bridle, except the reins which are broken at the buckle end. Jeff isn’t in his room. He must be lying out hurt.”