Arthur Upfield - Sands of Windee

Then he was gone, almost running, and for a little while she stood still, fear that had no foundation writhing in her heart.

Grey Cloud was in a horse-paddock, and it took Bony fully thirty minutes to find and saddle him. Preoccupied, he nodded his thanks for the filled sugar-bag, which he strapped to the pommel of the saddle whilst the gelding fidgeted his surprise at not receiving the usual caresses from the man he had come to trust and love.

A few seconds, and Bony was ready, the embodiment of human resource, dependability, and untiring stamina. Lithe of figure, dressed in white shirt, open-necked and sleeve-rolled, almostskintight grey moleskin trousers, elastic-sided high-heeled riding boots, and wearing on his head nothing but its natural covering, he but increased her wonder at him. And then she saw his dark face light up with his never-to-be-forgotten smile.

“To the west of Windeelies the station owned by Mr Freeman?” he questioned.

“Yes,” Marion answered.

“Did your father say if any of Mr Freeman’s hands were helping him at the fire?”

“He said he was expecting them. Wondered why they had not turned up, as he had telephoned via Mount Lion telling Mr Freeman about the fire.”

“Thank you! I think now I am fully conversant with the situation,” he told her gaily. “Do not worry any more. I shall easily catch up to Dot and Dash, and then we shall be able to put the fairy-tale ending to all this hurry and strife and mystery.” He seemed to float up into the air and come to rest on thegelding’s back with no more shock than a feather. He saw her looking up at him with misty eyes, and laughed down at her with dazzling teeth and gleaming blue orbs. “I saw Runta just now,” he cried. “She looked-well, she looked superb in her new yellow frock with the purple spots.” And then he was gone, wiped out of her vision by a cloud of red dust.

Bony Reaches Carr’s Tank

EXCEPTING TO dismount to tie down the wire of a fence with his belt to permit Grey Cloud to step over, horse and rider did not take a “blow” until they stood on the Range Hut track where it began to dip down and round a hill spur to the flat country where lay Carr’s Tank. There, in the shade of a stunted mulga tree, Bony dropped the reins on the ground, whereupon the gelding would not move, and, seating himself on a flat stone, smoked a cigarette.

Although the fire lay four miles from him at its nearest point, everything beyond two of those miles lay hidden by the smoke, which seemed only to thin into an even, motionless fog but half a mile from the hills. The sting of it made his eyes smart; the faintly sweet smell of it almost rivalled that of his dwindling cigarette.

Mounted again, he rode at a walking pace down the steep hill track, and continued this slow pace when he reached the plain and skirted the south fence of the horse-paddock, which led in a straight line to the hut. Arrived there, he unsaddled, took the horse to one of the water-troughs near the mill, returned, hobbled the animal, and let him loose in the horse-paddock.

Within the hut he found confusion enthroned. The table was littered with used eatingutensils, the fireplace contained a great mound of glowing white ash, with the ruddy gleam of red-hot embers peering through the cracks. A saddle was thrown into one corner, and a man’s rolled swag lay in another. Paper littered the earthen floor, and the story plainly to be read there was of the hurried visits of men for a meal and their hurried departure. Such a visitor came whilst Bony ate cold roast mutton and damper, and drank scalding hot tea.

“Cripes! It’s you, Bony!” Jack Withers exclaimed, wiping his face with a hairy forearm. “Where the ’ell ’aveyou bin? Ole Jeff’scallin ’yous a double-damned quitter, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Very important business detained me,” the smiling Bony said in excuse.

For a seemingly long while Withers regarded the half-caste solemnly. Then slowly his left eyelid closed over the eye that looked out through the door, and his mouth widened in a grin.“ ’Ow’s Runta?” he asked.

“She looked stunning in her new dress,” replied Bony.

“She’d look stunning ’idbe’ind a fig-leaf.”

“I believe she would,” Bony agreed blandly, inwardly wincing. “How is the fire going?”

“Oh, as well as can be expected, Bony. No worsenor better than other fires. We stopped ’erat the fence wot runs west of the well. Me and the Stormbird and Combo Joe is a-battling with it in the south-west corner, butit’s creeping west and north-west against the breeze. Orl the mob an’ Jeffis away north of here, burning breaks east of the roar. They tell me thePardray is boiling thebillies andorf -siding to Alf the Nark.” Withers cuthimself a meal, and with it held in his smoke-grimed hands slid to the floor for a seat and began to eat ravenously. “Me,” he added gravely, “Iain’t never ’ad no religion, but if Father Ryan ever should lead arescuin ’ mob into ’ell, I’ll be game tofoller ’em.”

For a while they ate in silence. Then:

“Dot and Dash get away?” inquired Bony.

Again the slow grin stretched Jack Withers’s mouth.

“Nobodyain’t put up no argument with ’emyet, and to all appearances nobodyain’tgoin ’ to. They left at eight sharp last night, and towards eleven last night the trooper and ole Moon-gallitiand Warn shows up. The trooper came in this ’utfor a feed and the nigs ’ad theirs outside. Me and Combo Joe got together-happened to be ’ere for two hours’ sleep-and when I finds he never giveorl his money to Bumpus, I borrowed two quidorf ’imand a pound ofbaccoorf Ned Swallow, and give the money and thebacco to the nigs to go along up to Father Ryan and tell ’imthey was sent for a pannikin of tea. Out comes the trooper, and there’s no black trackers. He’sgorn man-hunting all on ’is own. Went south. If ’e keepsgoin ’ ’e’ll’it BrokenNill.”

“Perhaps he will find Dot and Dash there.”

“He might theirshadders, but they’ll be sunriseshadders stretching to BrokenNill from Darwin.”

“Any of Freeman’s men come along to lend a hand?”

“Nope. That is, only one bloke sent with a message to old Jeff saying as ’owthey ’avegot a nice little fire of their own.”

“Ah!”

“Yes. Seems to ’avestarted beyond their north-west boundary, andorl Freeman’s men went out to burn a fire-break along there to save the run. If the wind freshens from the west to-morrow morning, their fire will sweep up against ours at its north end and give us a frontage to fight of fifty miles, maybea ’undredmiles, maybe two ’undred. Thereain’t been a better year for a fire since nineteen-nine.”

“I suppose Dot and Dash didn’t say where they were making for?” Bony asked persuasively.

“No, they didn’t. Dot ’udbe too fly for that. ’E is a good bush-man, Dot. But I don’t envy ’emwith these fires about. With a gale of wind to-morrow, starting from the north-west andendin ’ in the south, they’ll be nipped unless mighty careful. What are yougoin ’ to do? Come out and give me an’ the Stormbird an’ Combo a ’and! Ron left us a tank of water and three bags of chaff.”

For a little while Bony was silent. He was acutely conscious of the fact that the partners then had some twenty hours’ start. But he had ridden far that day, and, since Grey Cloud would have many more days of hard riding, it was essential he should be rested and fed. A further point that induced Bony to decide to fall in with Withers’s suggestion was that there remained but an hour and a half of daylight. He could do nothing for six hours at least. By then it would be very dark, for the smoke would blot out the stars. He could not hope to find the partners’ tracks until next day. An hour later he and Withers were riding slowly to join the Stormbird and Combo Joe in the battle with the fire.