Effervescence
ANOTHERWEEKWASdevoured by the year, and nothinghappened save that the two aborigines were sent with sheep to Sandy Well and Lester returned to his chores as rouse-about. Now the thermometer registered above the century every day, and the Lake began to look grey and tired.
One still morning an audience waited within the deep shade cast by the pepper tree, an audience comprising nine dogs chained to roughly-made kennels and a young woman dressed in white. Her hair held the sheen of bronze, and her eyes… well, dogs, of course, are colour-blind.
Bony came riding a grey horse, and the girl laughed because the horse trotted. Only once had she seen a horse trotting with a rider up, and that at a Ceremonial Parade in Adelaide. When a hundred yards past the audience, Bony turned and rode back at a canter, and now the girl could but admire the action of the horse and the seat of the rider. They passed for the third time, at a gallop, the red dust springing away from the grey-tipped arrow.
Horse and rider returned again to pose for the audience, the horse standing like a statue. The pose was broken abruptly when Bony fell off the horse and lay on the ground with a foot trapped within a stirrup-iron. The girl became genuinely concerned. The horse remained a statue. Bony twisted his leg in an effort to free the foot, and the girl cried:
“Can I help? Shall I grab his bridle?”
Bony tugged at a thong, and the stirrup-leather parted from the saddle. He stood, smiling at the astonished girl. He returned the stirrup-leather to the saddle, dropped the reins, walked a little way from the horse and pretended to shade his eyes to admire a view. The horse flicked a fly away with an ear-waggle. Bony went back to him, leaned against a shoulder. Nothing happened. He shifted position and leaned hard against the animal’s rump, the toe of one foot resting negligently on the instep of the other. He lit a cigarette, blew smoke elegantly skyward, and asked:
“D’youthinkhe’ll do?”
Joan Fowler’s eyes shone, and Bony was immensely pleased with himself, for he was experiencing one of the lesser triumphs so vitally necessary to the maintenance of the pride which sustained him in the eternal war of the two races fighting for his soul. The feeling of triumph passed, leaving him refreshed.
“He’s not one of the youngsters, is he?” Joan doubted.
“He was a youngster three weeks ago. Too soft yet for real work. Like to ride him sometime?”
“I really would.”
“You shall. But no prolonged gallops.” He smiled and she forgot he was twice her age. “D’youthinkI’ve earned my morning smoko?”
“Of course. It must be time.”
Then we will return this gentleman.”
He removed the saddle, slipped the bridle, and the horse found a sandy patch and went down for a roll.
With the girl beside him, he ignored the horse and walked to the yards, in through the gateway. The horse got up, undecided what to do until he heard Bony’s whistle, whereupon he trotted into the yard and bunted Bony’s back.
“I expect he wants his piece of cake.” Bony produced a handful of crumbly cake from a pocket and, leaving the horse in the yard, they proceeded to the annexe for smoko.
“And Mother’s been thinking you men got down on her cake extra well these last two weeks,” Joan remarked.
“You have no idea how your mother’s cake has been appreciated,” he said gravely, although his eyes twinkled.
“I do now.”
“Keep the secret of training horses… until I’ve trained my last horse at Lake Otway.”
Mrs Fowler was sitting at the men’s table, her dark eyes smouldering, her lips smiling. Joan poured tea for Bony and herself, saying:
“The Boss ought to be here soon. He left at seven; so Mr Martyr told me.”
“You’re not dressed up like that because the Boss is coming,” her mother stated vehemently. “What’s the idea?”
The veneer of sophistication returned to the girl. Her eyes were masked by insolence, and deliberately she baited:
“Don’t be jealous, Mother.”
Faintly perturbed by the expressions on their faces, Bony suavely intervened.
“No quarrelling, now. It’s much too hot. A hundred and nine in the shade.”
“You keep out of it,” snapped the elder woman. “And while I’m on the subject, let me tell you this. You’re only a temporary hand here, and I won’t have you and Joan slinking away and scheming.”
“Mother! That’s enough.”
“That’s what you think. I’mnot blind nor soft.”
“You are both, my dear parent,”sneered the girl.
“And you’re nothing but a brainless clot. You’ve proved that time and again. You’re so full of yourself you think no one can see round corners.” The woman swung back to Bony. “And you’re a bigger fool that you look if you believe anything she tells you.”
The girl attempted to speak, was shouted down. Bony calmly sipped his tea, hoping to learn more about women.
“She’s only using you up,” Mrs Fowler continued, her voice raised and dark eyes blazing. The storm of anger suddenly increased so that her voice shook and syllables slipped. “She’s got you in and she’ll bilk you, like she’s bilked others. Young and luscious, eh? The itch of any man. But I’m warning you she’s more poisonous than a bottle of strychnine. Don’t you…”
“Why don’t you go and jump in the bloody lake?” asked the ‘young and luscious’. “You’ve had your day and can’t take it, that’s what’s wrong with you. Shut up!”
“You…” Mrs Fowler fought for control enough to scream the words. “Youfool, you couldn’t even seduce a sailor.”
“Enough, my lady mother. Let’s have a cup of tea in peace.”
“And I’m not soft,” went on the older woman. “Neither isMacLennon . He’ll stop your slimy tricks. And if you think we don’t know about your little schemes you’re mistaken. You won’t get away with any more. You won’t…”
Joan snatched up the milk jug and dashed its contents against her mother’s face. She held the jug behind her shoulder to throw that, and Bony hastily removed it from her hand before she could resist. The mother gasped and wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron, and the girl turned on Bony.
“Get out and leave me to calm her down.”
There is a time for masculine discretion, and this was it. Bony filled his cup, took another slice of cake, and retreated. The door slammed shut behind him, and he sat on a case and continued his smoko. He had been there less than a minute when Lester appeared, and the watery eyes lit with momentary interest and the sniffle was almost an explosion.
“You chucked out?” he inquired.
“Requested to leave,” corrected Bony.
“Are they at it again?”
“They are at it again. Bob. Pause awhile to give them time to cool. Otherwise you may have the tea-pot thrown at you.”
Lester sniffled and squatted on his spurred heels with admirable dexterity.
“Seems they got things on their minds.”
“What things?”
“Oh, this and that. Could be each of ’emthinks the other’s got something they haven’t.” He stood up, “Well, I’mgoin ’ to chance my luck. I’m dry.”
“Then take my cup in. You might need ammunition.”
Bony chuckled and brought another sniffle, and he left a little hurriedly as Lester made for the door. Glancing back he saw Lester on the step, his hand turning the door-knob, and a look of cunning concentration on his face.
Other than himself and Lester, no other man was in for lunch. The cold meal was set out for them. Neither woman appeared. Throughout, Lester was thoughtful and spoke but little. Witlow came in from his day’s job just before the afternoon smoko, and when they were strolling to the annexe, the Swede joined them. The tea and cake were on the table, but the women were still absent.
Lester was still moody, andWitlow was about to chaff him when the irrepressible Swede cut in with:
“How hot today, Bony? ’Undredand eighty?”
“A hundred and nine.”
“Looks like March won’t seeno water in the Lake,” observedWitlow.
“Pelicans leave soon, I bet,”Helstrom laughed at an undisclosed joke.“P’rapstonight. I bet level pound no pelicans heretomorrer.”
“Keep it,” saidWitlow.
“You not sports, eh?”He stood up and tapped his chest.“Me, I real Australia. Allyous New Australians. Not sports. You too soon in Australia for to be sports.”
“You were, I suppose, born at Snake Gully,” smiled Bony.
“Me! Na! I been in country forty-one year. I real Australia. How long you been in Australia?”
“Forty-one minutes.”
Helstromroared with laughter.
“Ya! Itink now why youspik like Bob Menzies. What place you born, eh? London?”
“Yorkshire.”
“Yorkshire!”The Swede indulged in ponderous thinking. Then he grinned and shouted: “Ya! You got any brass?”
The Swede certainly was one big bright boy, and only Lester failed to appreciate him.
“What’s wrong with Sniffler?”Witlow asked when they were on the veranda, and the rouseabout had saddled a horse and gone for the cows.
“Maybe he’s worried because the women had a fight at morning smoko,” Bony surmised. “They ordered me out, and I told him to give them time, but he would go in and probably had his ears blistered.”
“Ah,” murmuredWitlow, smiling satisfaction.“Working out, eh! Well, you’re going to have it all on your own. Me and Kurt’sshiftin ’ camp in the morning.”
“Oh! Where?”
“Takin’ ewes into the River. Fifty miles is too far to be handy when it happens.”
“When what happens?”Bony asked quickly.
“You took me up on the murder bet.”
“So I did,” Bony drawled. “I shall be collecting four pounds from you.”
“I’ll bet a pound you won’t.”
“Now we’re becoming involved. Straighten out.”
“All right. I lay you four to one there’ll be a murder hereabouts before shearing starts. And I lay you a level pound I win that bet. Sort of a bet behind a bet.”
“It’s as well for me that you are leaving. When were you told?”
“This morning at orders.”
“Sorry about the move?”
“No. Much better on all counts at the River.”
“You will have your cobber with you.”
“Yair. Meand Swede get along. You’regonna be lonely.”
Bony agreed and crossed to the yards, and had been there only a few minutes when a new and large American car brought the large Mr Wallace, owner ofPorchester Station. Wallace must have noticed the dust being kicked up by the horse Bony was handling, for he walked stiffly from the car and hauled himself up to sit on the top rail. There Bony joined him.
“How’s things?” asked Wallace.
“Could wish for a spell of cooler weather,” replied Bony. “The grey there has turned out well. You want him, Martyr said.”
“Yes. Always liked that gelding. My second daughter’s coming home next week. Good enough for her?”
“Should be. Leave him with me for another week.”
“All right.”The large man eyed Bony sideways. “How’s the other business coming along?”
“My interest is being sustained,” replied Bony, and Wallace was astonished to see no smile accompanying the statement. “How long will the Lake last?”
“A week at most if the heat continues. Important?”
“It seems to be,” admitted Bony. “Don’t ask me why. You could perhaps work out a small problem. I understand that KurtHelstrom andWitlow are leaving here tomorrow for the River. You knew of that?”
“I knew that forty-four hundred ewes would begin the move to the river country in the morning.”
“Not that the Swede andWitlow would be taking them?”
“No. I leave the hands at this end of the run to Martyr. Martyr is a good man. The best overseer I’ve had. Always believed in loading responsibility on those who can take it. What’s the problem?”
“I am presented with what is probably a coincidence, and if coincidence or not, I must determine,” Bony said. “It’s a subject I must ask earnestly that you treat confidentially. WhenWitlow and the Swede leave Lake Otway tomorrow, there will remain the seven people who were here when Gillen vanished.”
Wallace produced a pipe and filled it, taking his time, and lighting up before he spoke again.
“Coincidence.”
“But… When didMacLennon and Carney and Lester last go down south on a spell?”
“I must think that one out. The book-keeper will know.”
“Inform me later. I know that these men haven’t taken a holiday since before Gillen vanished fifteen months ago. That applies also to Mrs Fowler and her daughter. What about Martyr? Doesn’t he take annual leave?”
“Yes, of course… What the hell is on your mind? He was due for leave after Christmas, and the Christmas before last he didn’t take it; said he couldn’t afford to as his mother had to undergo an expensive course of treatment for something or other and he was her sole support.”
“Very well. We can leave Barby out as he has a reputation for saving money. You have six people, all here when Gillen vanished. Not one has left even for a holiday. Normally everyone would insist on taking a break from this isolated place. Martyr, you say, selected the Swede andWitlow to move the ewes. Could you invent a reasonable excuse for suggesting to Martyr thatWitlow be retained and one of the others sent?”
“Yes. What’s the point?”
“I want to know if Martyr purposely selected those two men, or if he offered the move to one or two of the older hands and they refused it. Living conditions at your homestead by the River would be superior to those ruling here, don’t you think?”
“Yes, of course. Regular mail. Close to Menindee. Fair amount of traffic passing through. I see what’s on your mind. Any man here ought naturally to want to change to the river homestead.”
“That is so. When anyone doesn’t react naturally, I am elated,” Bony said, beaming at Wallace.