Arthur Upfield - Wings above the Diamantina

Whose car? About a mile of water channels and bank islands lay between it and the distant sand-dunes now to be observed beyond the trees and supporting the turquoise rim of the sky. Bony knew, of course, that there they must be at least a mile south of the road crossing. The car would not have floated down to its present position, and the only inference to be drawn was that its driver had been following a little-usedtrack, or no track at all, to reach the eastern side of the river near Coolibah. Was it John Kane’s Bentley? While his assistants were helping Illawalli, Bony ran along the bank and took to the water above the submerged vehicle. Reaching the hood, he gripped it and worked his way round it. He found that it was facing the east. Not without difficulty, he felt with his feet into the driving seat, discovering nothing to prove that the body of the driver was there. Farther round the hood he managed to stand on the engine bonnet, and again feeling with his feet he established that the radiator mascot was the figure of a swan. It was Kane’s Bentley.

Experiencing infinite relief, Bony swam on after the others. So Kane had been caught by the flood water just as they had been. He had been going to Coolibah by a short cut, avoiding the mileage via the road junction, and had he reached Coolibah this way he would have been unopposed, because the doctor and Ted Sharp would be two miles away on the road to Golden Dawn.

The flood was rising with astonishing rapidity. The channel banks were noticeably sinking into the brown water, sliding in vast volume southward to the arid desert of north-eastern South Australia, there to vanish into the earth or to be evaporated by the sun.

The race for life continued. Illawalli had so far recovered from the effects of his debauch as to be able to manage for himself. The four kept together, the first to climb out on to a channel bank waiting to assist the others. No man showed signs of panic; no man swam ahead in a frantic effort to reach dry land, to save his own life, careless of the fate of his companions.

Being the oldest, Illawalli was the first to tire. Then Bony began to feel the effects of the swim. Shuteye maintained his vigour, while Bill Sikes was to prove a tower of strength.

At last they reached a narrow ribbon of dry channel bank. The water could be seen eating into it like ink into blotting paper. Behind them no ground was visible at the foot of the lines of coolibah trees.

Bony was panting for air. Illawalli crouched on the narrowing ribbon of ground. The others turned anxious eyes to the old man and Bony. After a moment ortwo Bony squared himself and gravely addressed Bill Sikes and Shuteye.

“We have a long swim yet. I want you to understand that Illawalli must be taken to Coolibah as quickly as possible. You have to help him and not bother with me. You have to take him to the white feller doctors at Coolibah. Illawalli, my old friend, you have to put up a big fight. When you reach Coolibah tell them who you are. Tell them that you have come to read the mind of the sick white woman. They will take you to her. You will touch her and read out her mind to the white feller doctors what you see there.”

The old and marked face melted into a smile.

“You funny feller, Bony. We go where you go,” Illawalli said.

“Too right!” agreed Shuteye.

“Me, too!” added Bill Sikes. “You blow out, Shuteye he help you. Ole Illawalli blow out, me help him. Too right!”

“Neither of you alone can help Illawalli to reach dry ground. If you don’t do as I say we may all be drowned. No, you both must help Illawalli.”

“Too much talk,” Illawalli pointed out impressively. “Like white feller, we throw ’way too much time. Water-she get higher and highest and she run fast and fastest. Plenty time corroboree talk afterwards, eh?”

“Confound you for staunch fellers,” Bony shouted.

Together they stepped into the water and swam. Careful not to expend energy through fighting the current, they swam steadily.

There was no cease from effort, no respite during which strength might be recuperated. Bony’s arms now were filled with lead. His thighs were aching with cramp. He was being swept into a tree-top bya strength greater than his own, a tree-top rushing at him with traps set beneath and above the water, fashioned by its gnarled branches.

He felt a body beside his own-a body that pushed vigorously. Shuteye cried out:

“Swim, Bony! Swim, Bony! Go on, swim, Bony!”

With the low measure of his failing strength, Bony struck out. Cramp! He was getting cramp in his legs. They felt dreadful. If only he could stop movement and rest. What the devil was Shuteye punching him for?

“Take ’ereasy, Bony,” shouted the fat man from beside him. “Clear water now. On your back! On your back! Ole John Kane, he war perched in tree like a fowl. You hear him screech?”

Bony obeyed. The clear dome of the restful sky met his weary eyes. His mind was dominated by a strange lethargy. He found that existence was quite pleasant: this drifting, this gentle drifting…

“Come on, Bony! Give ’era go! Kickum feet!” implored Shuteye. “Go on! You sleep? Kickumfeet!”

Bony obeyed, finding that the pain had gone, from his legs, but that still the molten lead remained in his bones. Time went on and on. Kick, kick, kick! Always kicking. Why was he always kicking? It was so senseless. He wanted just to rest.

Quite without a period of transition, his mind became clear. He could hear Shuteye’s rasping breathing, and he felt the swirl of water about him created by Shuteye’s legs. And he knew that Shuteye would not abandon him even to save himself.

“Let go!” he shouted weakly.

Turning like an eel, he was swimming beside the gasping Shuteye. Now, so near that their whaleback summits towered above them, a range of sand-dunes, clean of herbage and light red of colour, was sliding northward. Desperately he swam. Someone was yelling, and because it was not Shuteye, he wondered who it could be. Now Shuteye was trying to shout, a gurgle in his voice. Bony was spent. It was now impossible for him to swim. Why swim, anyway? There was neither sense nor reason in swimming when he did not want to. The light went out in a red glare which quickly faded to complete darkness. Someone was still holding him, still punching him. It was not unpleasant, this surcease from action. Then the daylight burst into his open eyes, and he saw the ugly face of Bill Sikes. He smiled at Bill Sikes, and then closed his eyes.

The Miracle

IT WAS LIKE waking in the warm sunlight of early morning. The harsh cries of cockatoos came across the summits of the dunes from a line of bloodwoods behind them. But when Bony stirred and sat up he was violently sick. Beside him was old Illawalli, who took one of his hands.

“I wait, Bony. I know you sleep. Bimeby you be allri ’. You jus’ tired, but bimeby you allri ’.”

A peculiarly exquisite sensation was running up his arm above the hand held by the chief, a feeling that quickly banished the terrible lethargy of all his muscles. It crept all through his body and swept out of his mind the desire to sleep, like a fresh breeze off the ocean. Now, without assistance, he sat up straight. Illawalli continued to hold his hand.

The westering sun hung above the distant lines of coolibah trees ranged beyond the wide stretch of water visibly running past them-water which the circular line of dunes pressed back to the west. Bony and his companion sat within a few feet of the brown flood, while farther along the “shore” Shuteye was working a pointed stick with his hands, and Bill Sikes was determinedly blowing into a little pile of dead and powderedspeargrass among which the stick point was buried. Smoke was rising from the grass pile, and the fat man was urging the other to blow harder.