Arthur Upfield - Sands of Windee

Swallow’s chief anxiety was the rapidly falling darkness. His dog, he knew, would not fail. It would shepherd the great flock it was sent to shepherd all night long, and not one animal would break. He, a mere man, would be less efficient than the dog. His limited eyesight would be a handicap that all his knowledge of sheep and all his bushcraft could not overcome. He would be unable to see a sheep break away, and unable, therefore, to block it and turn it back.

Along half the section of the northern horizon flickered a ruddy glow, dark red for long periods and here and there suddenly brightening into vivid scarlet, silhouetting the tops of the outstanding trees. A beam of light, brilliant and yellow, moved up and down as a searchlight on a warship, and told the anxious guardian that the car was crossing the many water-gutters that cut the track at the foot of the hills.

Presently the beam grew steady, became pointed at him as a single star of hope, a star that magically grew in size and brightness to first-magnitude dimensions, and told Swallow that the car was at last on the open plain and would reach him in a few minutes.

The plaintive baaing from the tens of hundreds of sheep drowned the roar of the racing engine, but by the continuous sound Swallow knew he still had his flock in hand.

Then he saw a star of the fifteenth magnitude burst into sight just below the edge of the blackest shadow that denoted the hills. It winked, disappeared, shone, disappeared, shone, and faded time after time, but always sinking lower to the plain. A second star of the fifteenth magnitude flashed into being, to pass through the same evolutions as the first; and Swallow wanted to shout, would have shouted, had he dared risk stampeding the sheep, for he rightly guessed that these two far-away stars were the head-lights of motor-cycles.

The lights of the car began to fall on the milling sheep, swing away, return, ever more distinctly revealing them and the dust column rising above them. Alertly Swallow watched and slowly trotted to and fro in the arc that hemmed in the flock to the fence. He saw the car pull up beside the hut. He heard then, above the chorus of complaining sheep, the low hum of the engine, and knew when the engine had been shut off to permit the occupants to listen.

Of all the men whom Swallow thought might reach him first, the very last to be thought of, if at all, were Dot and Dash. Yet it was they who reached Carr’s Tank first. Their hurried plan to escape the law had been formulated before the sun had set, and before they had reached the eastern slopes of the hills. Arrived at the summit of the hill road when dusk was deepening, Dash almost wrecked the truck against a giant boulder when he saw to the north the great whirling cloud of black smoke set on a crimson base.

“Itkinda looks as if we’re infer a rough passage,” Dot gave out as his opinion.

“If we can get to Quaker’s Swamp before the fire sweeps south and blocks us, it will certainly block for a while the police and their trackers, Dot.”

“I guess youis right, old son,” Dot agreed. “Still, wegotta keep going like greased lightning if we want to keep ahead of them trackers. Me, I’m not afraid of the bulls, nor was I ever feared of Sheriff Dawlish back in oleArizonee, but Ikinda shiver at theseyere Australian black trackers. Blood’oundsain’t in it. Injuns are blind men compared with ’em.”

“Still, with two good horses, which I am sure Ned will not see us take, we’ve a good chance,” countered Dash cheerfully. “Besides, you’ve been right up into the Northern Territory this way twice before, and know the location of the water-holes.”

“You’re right there, ole feller. Still, I maintain that if we ’ad gone on to Windee and said ’ow-de-do to Sergeant Morris, ’e could have done little but bark if we kept our mugs shut. Providin ’, that is, ’e wants us to tell ’imif we seen Marks that day.”

“My dear Dot,” Dash said, returning to his grandiloquent mode of speech, “I am not in the slightest degree perturbed as to that affair. We finalized it-as one would say in the quartermaster’s office-most satisfactorily. The only fly in our ointment is the Third Person. As I pointed out to you before, our bolting as we do lays the scent, no matter how faint, to us and away from him. Believe me, our actions have been dictated by pure altruism, and no man has made a greater sacrifice than I.”

“ ’Xactly!” Dot said with sudden warmth. “You make me feel as I did when the lady missionary came to our city at home and held revival meetings which Four-Eyed Brady bet me ten dollars I wouldn’t sit out. Hm! Don’t see no light in Ned’s comfortable Main Street residence-four bed, tworecep., kitchen and bath h. and c., thirty-two dollars per month. Must be out.”

“May be after the sheep.”

“Some job if he is.”

Pulling up beside the unlighted hut, both men got out, whereupon Dot shouted for Ned Swallow. Just then Dash thought he heard the voice of many sheep and shut off the engine to hear the better. In the sudden following silence the sound of the two great flocks reached them as a great wave. For half a minute both men listened. The direction of the sound did not vary.

“He’s caught the sheep when they came in to water, and evidently is holding them till help arrives,” pronounced Dash with conviction.

“Sure thing, by the sound of it. Looks as if help or thebulls isgonna arrive quick.”

In the reflected glow of the headlights Dash saw his partner gazing back towards the hills, and, looking back too, saw the wide-spaced glowing stars of the two motor-cycle headlamps. As Dot had said, it meant either the police or help for Ned Swallow-Ned Swallow alone out there in the dark, working to hold six thousand sheep.

“What’s what?” demanded Dot succinctly.

For a moment of twoDash was silent. Then:

“The odds are against the police,” he drawled coolly. “As we cannot muster Ned’s loose horses without his hack, which he is sure to be riding, we had better join him, lend a hand with the sheep, and get a horse apiece when they are mustered.”

“But if it is the police?” objected Dot.

“Well, there will be only two of them, and we are, I fondly hope, two grown men.”

“I should say! Come on! Ned mustkinda be getting weary. Bet yew a leveldollar ’tain’t the police?”

“No takers, Dot. You’re on almost a dead certainty.”

“The PlaceFer Us”

NED SWALLOW’S surprise was complete when out of the darkness two figures emerged, one of which hailed cheerfully:

“How are you enjoyingyer holiday, Ned?”

“Nicely, thank you,” Swallow replied with studied politeness.“Was thinking of you drinking pints in Mount Lion. What about running your truck out hereabouts and throwing your lights on this ruddy mob? Afraid they’ll break in the darkness. Anyways, what blows you out here?”

“Explain, Dot, while I go for the truck,” requested Dash.

Whereupon the little American told Swallow that the police wanted them, but what the hell for they weren’t wise, and didn’t much care. They planned to get away up into the Northern Territory, if only for the sake of annoying Sergeant Morris. It might be he wanted them because they had failed to return Income Tax statements. As though he, of all men, would pay money to the Government so that politicians could go a-gallivantin’ around the world.

“Hear, hear!” Ned agreed heartily. “What kin I do?”

“You can lend usa ’orseeach, Ned.”

“You can takeyer pick.”

“We knew that, which was why we headed this way,” Dot said emphatically. “We can’t go on for ever on the truck, ’coswe can’t make gas outer mulga scrub. And ole Jeff, ’e’llget our returns for the last load of kangaroo skins, which’ll pay ’imfor the ’orses.”