Arthur Upfield - Sands of Windee

Bony had made an important step forward. He had obtained evidence-of a sort. It was not conclusive evidence that Marks was murdered, for the partners might havefound the box and contents, and it could be suggested that Marks had cast it from him whilst he aimlessly searched for a path leading to a human habitation and life.

He thought for a while, and then, suddenly smiling, wrapped up the notes again in the cloth and set the parcel aside. The tin box he securely fastened and replaced at the bottom of the hole. Lastly he filled in the hole and smoothed the surface carefully, leaving no trace of the spot having been disturbed.

Taking up the parcel of treasury notes, he looked over the campsite before walking back to the junction of the roads, where he took off the sheepskin sandals and found a fresh hiding-place for them in a hollow tree. The result of his afternoon’s work was highly gratifying to him, for, although it was not conclusive, it was a further proof that Time was on his side.

When he entered his bunk-room, shared with Jack Withers, the cross-eyed man put down a novel he was reading, and, with one eye looking out through the open door and the other fixed at a point several feet above Bony’s head, he drawled: “Ole Noonee bin along looking for you. ’Pears quite upset like. Says Moongallitiet summat wot made ’imfeel like throwing a seven. Wants you to go along and look ’imover.”

“Ah, perhaps someone has been pointing the bone at him,” Bony surmised with a smile.

“ ’Taintlikely, unless it’s the ole blokewot’s just arrived.”

“An old man? Stranger?”

“Yaas. Emblysays ’is name is Illawalli.”

“Indeed!” Bony’s surprise was hidden by blandness. “Have you seen him?”

“Yus-and smelled ’im. ’E’s abouta ’undredand fifty years old, and as ’ighas any black wot ’as offended me nose. Must be old Moongalliti’s great-great-grandfather, come to life from Noah’s Ark.”

Secrets of Ind

AFTER DINNER that evening Bony wandered down the creek to the blacks’ camp, which he found partially deserted, many of the tribe having gone hunting. Several gins vanished inside their rude humpies (huts) at sight of him, and one of them was Runta, apparently fearful that Bony might be suffering from his “sometime now” malady. Gunda, however, came to meet him, and her not bad-looking face betokened curiosity.

“Well, Gunda, ole Moongalliti bad, eh?”Bony said.

“Him plurry crook,” wasGunda’s emphatic answer.

“What’s the matter with him?”

“Him all bad here,” Gunda explained, pressing her hands to that part of her body below her waist; then added naively: “But bimeby him all right. Blackfeller come long way. Ole feller Illawalli, him make Moongalliti good soon.”

“Ah, take me to Moongalliti, Gunda.”

The chief was lying on some old chaff-bags spread out beneath a box-tree; he was groaning deeply and writhing in quite an alarming fashion. Noonee, the mother of Ludbi, was seated at his feet, her body rocking from side to side, and from her lips proceeding long, high-pitched, doleful wails. At Moongalliti’s head was seated a tall, marvellously emaciated patriarch with snow-white hair and a white beard fully a yard long. This person was dressed in new cheap shop-made clothes, which Bony instantly guessed had been provided by the police before he was forwarded on his long journey south. Seeing Bony approach, Illawalli jumped to his feet with astonishing agility and ran to Bony with a joyful yell. His trouser-encased long legs, the light brown jacket, and the pink kerchief about his neck reminded Bony of the time, longgone, when he and several other boys had dressed an emu in an old suit of clothes and let it go.

“Bony! Bony, my son and my father!” Illawalli shouted, and reaching out his skinny arms he clasped the half-caste in an affectionate hug. The warmth of his greeting recompensed the detective for the odour-not of sanctity-the old man emitted, and behind his keen black eyes he saw a hint of amusement which flashed now and then, as though some stupendous joke rivalled the affection. And while Illawalli hugged he said softly:

“Ah, Bony, you want me, eh? You sent police, eh? You ’member ole Illawalli tell you him son and his father. I come! I come on the horse that goes on wheels and I rode on the emu that flies.”

“Were you not afraid, Illawalli?”

“Ya-as. Then I not ’member it. Oh, Bony, Ilaff and Ilaff, ’way up there. I look and see clouds from top.”

“Well, well! You’re a lucky man. Now let us see what’s wrong with Moongalliti.”

“Him all right. Igibbit him blackfeller’s dope make ’imcrook; then Igibbit ’imwhitefeller’sdope make ’imwell. Me great manNor ’ Queensland; now me fine fellerNoo South Wales.”

“Why did you do that?” Bony asked curiously.

“Well, you see, like this. Moongalliti not like poor ole Illawalli. Him thinkI’se be chief here. So I put stomachdebil in ’imtucker; then ’e sing out loud and I fix ’imup. Him all right bimeby.”

Now with gentle firmness Bony put his friend from him, and together they went to the recumbent Moongalliti, who had ceased his groaning and was regarding them with unfeigned interest. Bony seated himself beside him and, taking up one thin wrist, felt the pulse. It was almost normal.

“Bad! Me bin plurry bad,” said the patient shakily.

“You beeneating too much,” Bony told him sternly.

“Naw.”

“Yes, you have. You eat nothing till to-morrow, or you get bad again. You nearly die.” The old gin began to wail louder than ever. “Illawalli, him fine doctor. Hemake you well. Good feller, Illawalli.”

“My plurry oath,” agreed Moongalliti, sitting up. Then with startling suddenness he yelled to the gin: “You’mshut up! Wa ’ for youmake that row?”

Almost as old as Moongalliti, the woman’s fat and ugly face brightened at the now normal tone of her husband. Her black eyes glistened, and about her mouthdawned a tender smile that fascinated Bony’s attention. Moongalliti also saw her expression of tender affection for him; but he was a man, and men must not be weak with women. There was a heavy waddy within his reach, and Bony caught his arm just in time to prevent its being hurled at the wife. Hastily she arose and fled.

“Do you feel stomach-debilnow?” Bony inquired seriously.

“Naw. He bin almost dead.”

“Just so. Almost dead, but he may come to life again,” the half-caste warned the chief. “You goslow now. Don’t you getup. Illawalli and I go hunting for tree-leaf which will kill yourdebil for ever. Now, hear! Don’t get up!”

“Orlright, Bony,” Moongalliti promised, memory of the recent pains still vivid. Then he clasped Bony’s hand in his saying: “You good feller, Bony. You good feller, Illawalli.”

Illawalli grunted. He and Bony got to their feet and strolled off down the creek whilst the box-tree leaves glittered as flakes of gold in the setting sun. They had walked nearly half a mile, and, arriving at the ironstone hillock crowned by the ancient and mysterious pavement of rock squares, they seated themselves at its base and made preparations to smoke. All round them rabbits fed on fallen leaves and scratched small holes in search of grass-roots, and from out its holecrawled a gigantic monarch goanna, six feet in length, moving slowly with deceptive sluggishness.

In the vernacular Bony related to his companion the mystery of Marks’s disappearance, described the blackfellow’s sign, and told what he had learned from Runta.

“Ole Moongalliti, him cunning feller,” Bony went on. “Ludbi, his son, told him he saw a car come through the bush with this whitefeller, Marks, fighting with another whitefeller. I believe Ludbi told Moongalliti who killed Marks and how, and Moongalliti threatens the pointing-bone to any one of his tribe who says a word about it.”