Arthur Upfield - Sands of Windee

Bony’s Dilemma

DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR Napoleon Bonaparte was helping to load rations from the store on the second truck when he saw Marion Stanton standing nearby watching the operation. With Bonywas the driver and a second man. Mr Roberts remained within the store. It was whilst the driver was busily engaged in arranging and stacking the load and the second man was inside that Marion gave Bony a note, before walking away. Not until the loading was finished did Bony get a moment of time to read the message unobserved.

“I want to see you before you go. Come to the north end of the house.”

The opportunity to slip away presented itself immediately afterwards, and he found the girl waiting for him in the doorway giving entry to the north veranda. Without speaking, she beckoned him to follow, and led him into the house and to a room that in furnishing was between a drawing-room and a study. It was her own sitting-room, which no one ever entered excepting when invited. She herself closed the door.

“Sit down, Bony. I want to talk to you,” she said.

Bony sat down. He saw that the girl’s face was very pale, and there was emphatic evidence that she had been crying. Her voice was tremulous, and because he saw that she was hurt the half-caste detective’s sympathy at once went out to her. Patiently he waited for her to speak again, his face revealing the sympathy he felt. Then:

“Someone told me-I forget if it was you or my father-that you are an expert tracker. Are you really?”

Wondering, Bony acknowledged it. “In Queensland I have shown aptitude in that direction,” he murmured.

For what seemed to him a long time she gazed at him with disconcerting steadiness. It was a silence which he broke.

“If you want me to do any tracking for you, Miss Stanton,” he said quietly, “I shall be very happy indeed to serve you.”

“Why?”

“Why?” For a moment Bony was nonplussed. Then with complete frankness he answered: “Because you, who are the daughter of a millionaire, a white woman and lovely, have been kind, not condescendingly kind, but with the kindness of an equal, to me, a-a-a nigger. Because you are the one white woman who has been kind to me that way there is nothing I would not do to show my great appreciation of it.”

For a further many seconds she regarded him in silence. Bony again wondered, but veiled from his eyes the alertness of his mind to meet a second shock. It did not come-yet.

“Remembering the incidents of this afternoon, you know how the trooper set off on horseback with Moongalliti and Warn to arrest Dot and Dash,” she said slowly and utterly without passion. “Have you any idea what kind of trackers those two are?”

Bony began to wonder what lay behind this fresh turn. Without hesitation, however, he replied:

“I have only the faintest idea, based on the fact that these two men were present at the search for the missing man Marks, and that it appeared then that their tracking ability was poor. But, they having gone after Dot and Dash, what are they to do with-us?”

To this counter-question Marion made no immediate answer. Watching her intently, Bony saw that she was making up her mind to say that for which she had brought him there, and thinking carefully the words she would use. Before him he saw a very resolute woman-saw, too, how like she was to old Jeff Stanton when he stood outside his office and addressed the whilom strikers.

“Supposing Moongalliti and Warn failed to find and keep on the tracks of Dot and Dash, they might ask you to do the tracking; in which, of course, you would succeed?”

“I should be astounded were I to fail,” he said, a victim to his vanity. It brought to her face a ghost of a smile, and seeing it he added: “Both Moongalliti and Warn are full-blooded aboriginals, Miss Stanton. It is well to remember that, and also to remember that I am a half-caste. The aboriginals are clever trackers. Individual feats of tracking by them are amazing. Nevertheless, the aboriginal’s intelligence is not very high, and in him imagination is almost non-existent. He will follow what his eyes reveal to him. From my mother I have inherited the black man’s vision and the black man’s passion for the chase, as well as his bushcraft. From my father, however, I have inherited imagination and reasoning power. When there is nothing which a black man’s eyes can see he comes to a halt. I go on, because I reason this and imagine that, and presently come again on the tracks which were lost. I have followed tracks three months old.”

“Then, were you asked to find Dot and Dash, you would find them?” was her question, spoken with a shade of anxiety.

“I have no doubt about that,” he said simply, and this time there was no hint of vanity in his voice. He spoke as he would if stating his belief that the sun would rise on the morrow. He added that which brought a flash of fear into her eyes. “Do you wish me to track Dot and Dash?”

“Bony-” He saw her bite her nether lip. His question had broughther to the point which had been responsible for this conversation. “Bony-oh, Bony!-can I trust you? Can I?”

For a moment he failed to respond. The appeal in her face made his pulses jump into a racing throb. It occurred to him that he had never seen her look so lovely, and the vision wiped from his mind memory of what and who he was. He forgot entirely that he was a half-caste, that his skin was ruddy black, and that he was also a detective-inspector of the Queensland Police. His own voice sounded strange in his ears. It seemed as though another man was speaking. The voice held a tone of hauteur.

“I might remind you that just now I said there is nothing I would not do for you. Now permit me to repeat the word ‘nothing’ with emphasis.”

“Thank you, Bony; you make my task easier.”

“Forget that it is a task, Miss Stanton, and command,” urged this extraordinary man grandly. He saw her smile, and thrilled to the loveliness of her. Her words came in a rush.

“I want you to volunteer to track Dot and Dash, or in some way to prevent Moongalliti and Warn from getting them.”

“That will be easy. I shall not fail to bring them in.”

“But I don’t want them brought in. I want them to get away, and I want you to volunteer to track them, so that you can make it possible for them to get clear, even if you have to mislead the police.”

It was then that Bony stared at her, subconsciously noting how her lips remained partly separated, as though she was frightened by the words she had uttered. He remembered then who he was, and what he was. He remembered that he it was who had ordered the apprehension of these men. For seconds he was mentally stunned by her appeal. And then his old command of himself returned. Into his mind came flooding back all the alertness and all the cunning which so largely made up this man Bony.

“Why do you wish this?” he asked coolly.

She sensed the change in him, but, seeing she had gone too far to withdraw, proceeded to fight on as her sire would have done.

“That is a question I would rather not answer,” she told him. He felt the stiffening in her attitude. “You said you would do anything for me. Do this without questioning. Please, Bony!”

“The circumstances are unique, Miss Stanton. Knowing your position in life, and knowing, too, that of Dot and Dash, you must excuse my feeling some surprise. Wait, please! In Queensland I have by no means a poor reputation at tracking-a reputation of which I may be excused for feeling proud, as I have never yet failed in tracking-work set me to do. You decline to give me a reason for asking me to do what would destroy my reputation, what would cause the finger of scorn to be pointed at me. I feel sure when you understand how much you want of me that you will give me the reason why you wish it.”