“On the Evidence”
THE headlights illuminated the winding, uneven track, pencilling sharply the twin depressions made by car and truck wheels and along which Flora McPherson drove the single-seater. The lights merged into a searchlight sweeping from side to side. Grey, formless things became stark tree trunks: formless mounds became carved white sentinels, the old-man saltbush; declivities in the road became chasms waiting to engulf the car until at the last moment when their promise of destruction was changed into gentle invitation to follow the road.
Flora had been driving for twenty minutes in a silence and now she asked, imploringly:
“Well, what did you see? What did you find?”
“I read only the first chapters of a first-class story,” he told her. “Believe me, I have no wish to appear to be mysterious, but I would like to read further, another instalment, before telling you the story up to a point which could be said to conclude Book One. How many books there are going to be written before the story ends I am unable to state, even toguess. ”
“I am very curious-and anxious,” Flora said.
“Of course! I can understand that,” he said, quickly. “I will tell you one thing now, and you must be satisfied with it. Your uncle drove from Watson’s bore to where we stopped the car just now. He was there some time, probably mending the wire break, and then he turned his car and drove like we are now doing towards Watson’s Bore. It is not unlikely that he will be there when we arrive.”
They talked of other matters, disjointedly and spaced by periods of silence, for something like an hour when Flora said she thought they were approaching the hut at Watson’s Bore. Then they appeared to be crossing a vast desert, and a moment later the beam of the headlamps angled downward to reveal a belt of scrub waiting to accept the car.
The bush rushed to meet them, and passed on either side like white water passing a ship. It vanished, and again it seemed that they were crossing a stony desert which actually was plain country studded with annual saltbush. The air was cool but not cold. The stars were unwinking and yet sleepy. Quite abruptly before them was the ghostly hut silhouetted against black velvet.
No light gleamed through the single window. No spiralling smoke rose from the round iron chimney. No dogs barked a welcome. No one came from the doorway to shout a cheery “good night” when the girl braked the car to a gentle stop.
Bony called:
“Hullo, there! Any one at home?”
His reward was the friendly mewing of a cat, and the cat stalked with erect tail into the lamps’ pathway.
“They’ve all gone away,” said Flora.
“Every one is out, evidently,” agreed Bony. “They haven’t long been gone, however, for the cat is neither hungry nor thirsty and looks well fed and contented. Burning Water! Go into the hut, please, and light the slush-lamps. Itcheroo-stay where you are.”
They saw Burning Water’s tall body outlined in the door frame when he struck a match before entering. They saw him pass inside, and then interior light was born and grew to become strong as he applied fire to the fat-lamps.
“Itcheroo! Go now into the hut,” ordered Bony.
“You sounded severe when you spoke to Itcheroo,” Flora commented.
“Possibly. My impression of Itcheroo is not good. Ah! is that not the front of a car peeping from round the corner of the hut?”
“I don’t know. It may be. Your eyes are sharp, Bony. Let’s see.”
He was round to her side of the single-seater before she could open the door, and although self-dependent and liking independence, his gallantry pleased her. Together they walked to the hut corner.
“It’s uncle’s car all right.”
Bony halted to look swiftly over its outlines and its position.
“Deliberately parked here without doubt,” he said. “I’ll examine it more closely later. Let us go inside.”
They found Burning Water standing with his back to the large open fireplace. Itcheroo was sitting on an up-ended petrol case. The place shouted a hasty departure, for on the table were ration bags and tinned jam, packets of matches and even plugs of tobacco. Sugar was spilled and mixed with spilled tea. There was a wash basin containing traces of a dark green paste. Strips of unbleached calico lay on the floor, here and there on floor, table and forms were lengths of white thread some still passed through the eyes of needles.
“Sit down, please, for a moment, Miss McPherson,” requested Bony.
She and the two aborigines watched him as though he were a conjurer about to exhibit a trick. With a boot toe he kicked at the blankets left in a mound on the floor. He picked up a card-board carton and saw that it had contained one hundred soft-nosed, steel-jacketed bullets used in high-powered rifles. From the edges of the mound of still hot ashes in the fireplace he found pieces of three similar cartons and charred portions of the black oiled paper used in the interior wrapping. Lastly he picked up the basin containing the residue the dark-green paste which he touched and sniffed.
“I will not keep you long,” he said, and passed outside where he remained for nearly ten minutes. On returning he sat down beside the girl and began rolling a cigarette.
“I hardly like to offer you one of my own made cigarettes, Miss McPherson,” he said, calmly, giving no indication of what he had found or seen or done outside. “Would you like to try to make one for yourself?”
“No thanks. I don’t want to smoke now. What have you-”
She felt his boot toe press gently on her foot and stopped what she was going to say. Just beyond the far side of the table sat Itcheroo, his eyes black discs encircled with white. Burning Water was about to speak when Bony cut in.
“You were camped here when the two stockmen were killed and the cattle stolen, eh Itcheroo?”
“No fear, boss,” asserted Itcheroo, vigorously. “That time I camped back at station feller homestead.”
“Oh yes, so you were. It was Mit-ji who was out here then, wasn’t it, Itcheroo?”
“Too right, boss. Sergeant he took Mit-ji in his car to Shaw’s Lagoon.”
“And,” Bony continued, “waskilled when the sergeant was killed in his car. Mit-ji was all burned up, like the sergeant. Mit-ji he no more sit down along little fire and send mulga wire to Illprinka man who run and tell Rex McPherson. Mit-ji no more tell sergeant about Rex McPherson, eh? He cunning feller that Rex McPherson. He put fire to sergeant’s car and burn Mit-ji all up ’coshe think Mit-ji tell-um sergeant all about him. What say I take you in car to lock-up feller in Shaw’s Lagoon? Rex McPherson he come longquick and put fire to car, eh?”
Itcheroo blanched.
“You tell this feller boss where Rex McPherson camps all time, eh?” pressed Bony. “Then I not take you to lock-up at Shaw’s Lagoon and then Rex McPherson he not put fire to car and burn you all up.”
Itcheroo rose to his feet, and Burning Watertautened his leg muscles to spring. Itcheroo stood glaring down at Bony, and Bony stared steadily at him. The half-caste wished to travel only to a point along a particular road. He waited for Itcheroo to speak. And Itcheroo became sullen and sat down. He didn’t laugh it off, as he would have laughed to turn aside an awkward question put to him by a tourist who then would have retired with the conviction that he was “very primitive.” No. He stared with frightened eyes at a man he knew was as close to him mentally as was Burning Water.
“You cunning feller, eh?”Bony told him, and rose from the form.
He knew quite well it would be but waste of time to threaten or question further. It was more than likely that Itcheroo would not know where Rex McPherson had his headquarters, for that young man would prohibit his mentaltelegraphists from broadcasting the information. He had hardly hoped to obtain such valuable information so easily, and the purpose of his questioning was primarily to upset Itcheroo’s mind and thus confuse it to the extent of failing to put two to two. “Come! We’ll go home,” he said.
“But-” Flora began to object.
“The puzzle we can work out over a cup of coffee. Shall I drive?”
Offering no objection, the girl followed him out to the car into the passenger’s seat to which he gallantly handed her. Itcheroo appeared with Burning Water after the fat-lamps had been puffed out.
“Not a word until the coffee is steaming fragrance before me,” Bony said to Flora when the car had been parked in the shed. “I am tired with thinking but very much awake. I would like you to come with us, Burning Water. You can send Itcheroo back to camp.”
“You shall have the coffee within ten minutes, Bony. The kitchen fire will still be in, but the cook will have gone to bed. What will you have, Burning Water? Coffee or tea?”
“As you will be making it, coffee certainly,” was the answer. “It is now more than two years since you made coffee for me.”
“Is it that long? It’s your own fault, Burning Water. Where, are we going to have supper?”
“I suggest the office,” Bony said. “I promised Nevin I would tell him the results of our trip.” Flora went on towards the house, and Bony whispered to Burning Water: “Go with her. Never let her walk alone in the dark. Say you’d like to help her with the coffee and things. I still am like the dingo who feels danger from down wind.”
He was slumped into the swivel chair beneath the hanging oil lamp in the office when Flora entered, followed by Burning Water carrying a large tray; and, on his feet in the instant, he made room on the table desk for the tray and stood waiting for the girl to be seated. He closed the door then, and asked Burning Water to shut the window.
Flora McPherson sat in her uncle’s office chair set to the long side of the table desk, and proceeded to dispense coffee and sandwiches to a half-caste who sat at one end of the table and to a full-blooded aborigine chieftain who graced the other end.
Truly no Australian woman ever before served two such men. Glancing covertly at Bonaparte, she noted his neat appearance, his wavy hair ruffled by the wind, his slim body and hands having the fingers of the surgeon, fingers now so expertly busy rolling cigarettes, his keen-featured face tilted downwards towards his task. She glanced at Burning Water, Chief of the Wantella Tribe, noted his massive torso, ebony black in the light of the lamp, the arm bands of human hair, the dillybag slung from his neck with human hair and containing among other things a small automatic pistol which could leap into a hand at will. She noted the forehead band of white birds’ down, and the tall tufted grey hair lifted high above it. Burning Water saw her looking at him and he smiled.
“The McPherson is a great man,” he reminded her. “And Jack Johnson and Tich are good men, too.”
“I know, I can’t help worrying, and thinking that uncle is acting wrongly. I am just aching to know what happened.”
“Ah!”sighed Bony, and setting down his cup he regarded Chief Burning Water. “I’ll tell a story and when I have finished you can tell me where I told it wrongly. These sandwiches are delicious, Miss McPherson, and the merest dash of brandy in the coffee- Thank you.
“On the evidence found at the site of the telephone wire break, and from what we discovered at the hut at Watson’sBore added to the information Nevin has given us, the story runs something like this. I am sure of the general outline, but I may be in error regarding one or two of the details,” Bony said in preface.
“The McPherson left here this morning intending to carry out a plan of action he had evolved against Rex. Rex had threatened to strike at him again, and he decided to get in the first blow.
“Arrived at the hut, something cropped up to cause him to go on to the out-station. It might have been that he wanted calico with which to make ration bags, or needles and thread he might have forgotten, for he had determined to carry out a raid into the Illprinka country, where his party would have to travel light and yet not be able to delay for the catching of food. Armed with rifles, they would not dare to fire them at game as secrecy of movement would be important. Even the horses would be left at the boundary of the Illprinka country, for horses require attention and a guard, and they make very plain tracks.
“Soon after The McPherson left here, Itcheroo lit a little fire and squatted beside it and flashed the news of the squatter’s departure to his opposite number in the Illprinka country. Rex therefore quickly learned of his father’s departure on what he would assume was a normal routine trip.
“Arrived at Watson’s BoreThe McPherson unloaded the rations if nothing else. As I have said, he may have forgotten calico or needles or thread, or he may have been persuaded to strengthen his party with the addition of two aborigines named Iting and Jack Johnson, both of whom are exceptionally clever in the bush. At the out-station he was told that Iting was away with Nevin who, with his men, was moving cattle away from the Illprinka country. So sure was he that Rex would strike again at the cattle, or even go to the length of attacking and destroying the homestead out there, he wrote a letter to Nevin and left five hundred cartridges for Nevin’s rifles.
“And so, having warned Nevin of probable trouble, having told him to gather all the aborigines camped about the place to the outhouses and sheds about the house, he drove back to Watson’s Bore, taking with him Jack Johnson and gear for two riding horses. On the way, he decided to slip back here and get Burning Water to go with them in the place of the absent Iting.
“You ask, perhaps, why he didn’t take Burning Water with him this morning. There is, however, a slight barrier between him and his life-long friend, and only after consideration did he alter his first decision. Your uncle, Miss McPherson, has for some time beenwanting to stamp out a dangerous fire, and Burning Water says it is not his place to do so. When a fire becomes dangerous an aborigine calls a lubra to put it out, and in this case Burning Water regards himself as the lubra.
“Meanwhile, Rex, knowing his father had gone outback in the car, and having failed to see any surrender signal, swiftly planned a counter move. With five of his bucks he travelled to the station road where it is crossed by the telephone line. The McPherson came along in his car, saw the break, and stopped to repair it, the wire having been cut, of course, by Rex.
“We know that Rex wants his father to retire from the station and hand the property over to him, and it seems probable that he saw the opportunity of personally persuading his father to accept the transfer. Markyou, I say it is probable, not certain. Rex had with him a portable telephone, and he might have had the intention of compelling his father to call up the homestead office and ask either Miss McPherson or myself to go out to him as his car had broken down.
“Anyway, whatever it was Rex wanted his father to do The McPherson refused to do it. I have the evidence to prove how determined is this young man. He obtained stalks of cane-grass and made fine splinters which he thrust under his father’s fingernails.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Flora, her face white and anguished.
“This method of torture is never practised by the aborigines,” Bony went on. “In fact, the aborigines are not given to torture of any kind. Rex, however, is allied to the white race which, with other races, has indulged with energy in the art of inflicting pain. We know how long it takes to breed vice out of animals, even to breed out physical defects, so that the strange personality called Rex McPherson cannot be attributed to his mother or his mother’s people.
“His objective when forcing The McPherson to use the portable telephone was to get me into his power or, which seems more likely, to get Miss McPherson into his power when he could use her as a powerful lever for his blackmail.”
“But-” interrupted Flora.
“One moment, please. The McPherson refused to accede to his son’s demands and so submitted to torture. Blood drops on the ground and the cane-grass splinters illustrate the method of torture. Failing to achieve his desire, Rex and his blacks returned to their country.
“The McPherson revealed wonderful stoicism when he managed to mend the cut telephone wire, and then drove his car back to Watson’s Bore, for there are blood stains on the wire and on the steering wheel of his car.
“At Watson’s Bore the aborigines concocted a medicament for his wounded fingers by pulverizing gum leaves on a nardoo stone and mixing the paste with beef fat. Then, with his hands bandaged, The McPherson instructed each of them to take a quantity of flour in a calico bag, those of them best able to use a rifle were given a weapon and cartridges, and the expedition set out whilst we were examining the scene where the telephone wire was cut.
“The McPherson, to my way of reasoning, has gone off on a fruitless errand. He and the aborigines with him saw those Illprinka smoke signals and accepted their intelligence that a corroboree was to be held at Duck Lake and all Illprinka men were going back to Duck Lake. He probably has the idea of destroying Rex’s headquarters which he believes are situated at Duck Lake, to destroy the aeroplane and then if Rex escapes to hunt him down and destroy him. I think that those smoke signals form a part of Rex McPherson’s newest plan to obtain the station, and therefore should be disregarded. We must not forget that Duck Lake is far away and that the surrounding country does not offer the wonderful camouflage that that great area of cane-grass does at the western end of the plain.
“The McPherson may succeed. I doubt it. He sees no farther than visible smoke signals: I try to see into the mind of-”
Bony was stopped by the sharp ringing of the telephone bell. He rose without comment and placed the receiver to his ear. The others sat quite still, waiting, listening, trying to ascertain from Bony’s replies who was calling. Whilst speaking he kept his back to them. Then he replaced the receiver and turned to them, eyes sparkling andface smiling.
“That was Constable Price,” he said. “Doctor Whyte has just passed over the township. He dropped a message asking them to tell us to have the landing ground here illuminated for his landing. He’ll be here in twenty minutes or half an hour. Burning Water! Race to the camp and bring all your people.”