The Machinery of Justice
NOINTERIORLIGHTINGescaped from the house or the kitchen when Kimberley Breen emerged from the front entrance and accepted the chair Bony placed for her on the veranda. The dogs were silent. At least two were close, for they could be heard scratching at their stick-fast fleas. At a distance a cow bellowed and from distance still greater came the answering bellow of a bull.
“I’ve put the women and children in two rooms,” Kimberley said, and paused as though giving Bony the opportunity to comment. “And I’ve locked the store-room and the living-room.”
“A wise precaution in view of the delicious cake you keep in that hat box under the sofa,” Bony said. “I doubt that many southern women could bake a cake like that you gave Constable Irwin and me the other day.”
“It’s one of my mother’s recipes. I’ve had plenty of time to learn cooking, you know. Jasper’s better at it than I am. Several of the lubras are good cooks, too. I taught them. It wasn’t easy. Do you know who killed ConstableStenhouse and his tracker?”
“Do you?”
The counter was played softly, robbing it of intended significance, and Bony waited for the next move.
“No, I don’t. Wish I did. You coming here with Constable Irwin, and now coming alone, makes me fear… for us. You see, usBreens have always been a happy family. We’ve mostly been content living here among these mountains where we were born, and with aborigines who belong to us as much as the cattle on our country. And now ConstableStenhouse is killed and you come, and the wild desert men are here, so it seems we’re threatened with something we don’t understand. Do you know why ConstableStenhouse was shot?”
“No, could you tell me?”
She did not speak again for a long time, and Bony made no effort to urge her. A meteor blazed like a white rocket and he saw her clearly. She was sitting stiffly upright, her hands resting on her knees, and was gazing directly to the front. When she did speak, her voice was low:
“I think I could, but I’m not sure. Bad begets bad. You can see that in cattle sometimes. You can see it in goats, too. Jasper used to tell me that doing something bad never stopped at that. If you do a bad thing, other bad things will come from it.”
“Jasper. Is he your favourite brother?”
“They’re all my favourites. I never knew Father, and only just remember Mother. Silas was father to me. Very stern and just. Jasper was… I don’t know, but somehow Jasper seems to have been mother to me. I’ve always gone to Jasper to learn things. And Ezra… Ezra was always big brother to me. I used to fight him, and tease him, and be jealous of him, and he always tried to lord it over me, and make me do my lessons. I think they’re the best men on earth.”
The slight emphasis on the personal pronoun gave the impression that Bony might not be in agreement, and not wanting to fall into argument so loved by the Irish, he skipped that and came again to her reply to his last question.
“Why, d’you think, was ConstableStenhouse shot?”
“Because he was a bad man, bad all through. I only met his wife twice. The first time was when we were both little girls. The second time was when she was married to him, in at Agar’s. ConstableStenhouse came here several times when on patrol. No one liked him. Jack Wallace
… Jack loved his sister like my brothers love me.”
“And is that why you think ConstableStenhouse was shot?”
“Yes.”
Bony noted his own reaction to the soft yet decisive affirmative. This woman seated beside him in the dark, male-apparelled and armed, with frightened aborigines huddled in the house behind her, was an exceedingly interesting product of this land of fantasia. Discipline learned from one brother; the facts of life from another brother; elementary education gained through a third brother; and only twice in her life meeting the daughter of their nearest neighbour. Her voice was truly feminine, her enunciation surprisingly good under circumstances and the influence of three bachelor brothers, two of whom he had seen and would not have classified as good companions for a growing girl child.
“Why did Jack Wallace call on you this afternoon?” he asked.
“Came to see Silas. I told him about ourabos and he said he’d stay till Silas came home.”
“Why? Did he know that the desert blacks were here in the mountains?”
“He said he knew from his ownabos there was trouble about.”
“And he came over to be sure you were all right?”
“No. He came to see Silas.”
Her voice was brittle, and Bony was warned and delayed his probing. The dogs remained quiescent, and the darkness continued to be disturbed by the processional meteors. Presently, he said:
“He did intend to stay, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Said he ought to as the boys were away. I told him I could manage ourabos, and the wild blacks, too, come to that.” Kimberley laughed softly, and in its softness was iron.“Wants me to marry him. I’d sooner marry Bingil.”
“The local magic man?”
“Yes. I’ve told Jack he hasn’t a chance. I never told him why.”
“He probably knows why, Miss Breen. Actually he was safer going home in his utility than standing by. The wild men are not after him.”
“Howd’youknow?” she asked swiftly.
“I have talked to Bingil, the magic man. Someone reported the murder of Jacky Musgrave to those western blacks who relayed the news south to the Musgrave blacks. Old Bingil got hold of the broad details somehow from one of the men concerned and he sentanuniniated boy to the western blacks to tell them to smoke-signal the news south as he himself couldn’t do it without discovery.”
“I’ll fix that oldpoisoner,” Kimberley declared, adding, “in the morning.”
“I’ve done it for you, Miss Breen. Leave well alone. Bingil acted in accordance with the alleged rights and privileges of the medicine-man. He knows who killed Jacky Musgrave, but neither you nor I or any living person would succeed in extracting the name from him. Remember, his loyalties reach far beyond his own tribal section. And so he reported the death of Jacky Musgrave and did not name the killer, as that would be the business of Jacky’s relations to find out.”
“Which they’ve done with their stones under the rotting body?”
“Yes… although you and I did agree that their methods are somewhat chancy. Had Jack Wallace’s name been on one of their stones, they would have gone over the Range to find him. They would have gone last night.”
“Then their second victim must be on this side… like O’Grady?”
“I believe so. And yet Jack Wallace could be concerned in some way. Over against the Range not far from Black Well there is a mine shaft. Wallace could have been connected with that shaft. What do you know about it?”
“I know nothing,” she said, and his practised ear did not fail to note her alarm. “Prospectors are always sinking trial shafts. Gold mostly. They prospect the creeks, too, for tin and all sorts of things.”
“Do they ever come here to buy rations?”
“No. The storekeepers tucker them. We couldn’t. Enough bother getting our supplies over the Range as it is.”
“You have never been there, never seen that shaft?”
“No.”
It was her first lie. He sensed thestrain, and her relief when he sheered off the shaft with his next query.
“That day you and Ezra met Sam Laidlaw, what cattle camp did you reach in the evening?”
“Camp Four. The next day Jasper came withStugger and Frypan and Stan, and told Ezra to send us home.”
“And that was the fourth day after leaving the Nine Mile Yards?”
“Yes. First night we camped atClaypan Creek. Next night at the Jump-up. And after that at Camp Four.”
“I suppose you all worked on the big muster?”
“Of course. All hands have to do that.”
“Where were the fats cut out from the main herd you mustered?”
“At the Nine Mile Yards. Not inside the yards, though. Out on the plain.”
“Were all the hands at the cut-out, too?”
“No.” Kimberley faltered. “No.”
“Who wasn’t at the cut-out?”
“Well, Jasper… Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“Jasper wasn’t at the cut-out, and he wasn’t with the cattle until he joined Ezra after you left Camp Four. The boss stockman wasn’t there, either… at the cut-out. Where were Jasper and the boss stockman when the fats were being cut out from the herd?”
“Away mustering. We only wanted four hundred, and when we had them we started for Wyndham.”
“You are quite sure it was Jasper who joined the cattle after Camp Four?”
“Of course I’m sure. You must expect me to know my own brother.”
“Yes, naturally, Miss Kimberley. You were speaking to him, I suppose?”
“No. But I haven’t to speak to him in order to know him.”
“Obviously. Stupid of me. By the position of the Southern Cross it must be well after nine o’clock. Irwin should be here by midnight.”
Neither spoke again for the period during which Bony made and smoked a cigarette, and it was he who broke the silence.
“You see, Miss Kimberley, ConstableStenhouse was found dead in his jeep on the far side of Black Range, and now we know that the body of his tracker was hidden beneath the carcass of a dead horse on this side of the Black Range. The wild men came north hunting for the men who killed Jacky Musgrave, and when they drew near this homestead the boss stockman rode away without any explanation. We wonder why, and we think he ran away because of a guilty conscience.”
“If he killed Jacky Musgrave, who was with ConstableStenhouse, why ask me all these questions about Jasper and Ezra?”
“Merely to find out just where your boss stockman was at the time bothStenhouse and his tracker were shot to death.”
“Then I think you should wait to ask your questions from the boys when they get home. Silas would know about him… Pat O’Grady. So would Jasper.”
Bony sighed as though trying to be patient. Actually, he was now keenly aware that he wasn’t dealing with an unsophisticated miss. Unknowledgeable in many things, this woman beside him could be an inarticulate iceberg or a flaring volcano, when threatened by anything affecting theBreens. That she knew nothing of the death of Jacky Musgrave, or of the death of ConstableStenhouse, he was morally certain, and almost certain that she believedStenhouse had been murdered by Jack Wallace.
“I’m a little worried about your brothers,” he said. “We think thedesert blacks are near us to seize and kill the second man they’re after. I repeat: we think they are near. The dogs are quiet, aren’t they? Suppose the wild men are not here. Suppose they are making their way northward. Suppose they believe their second victim is one of the men returning with Jasper and Ezra. Suppose they believe that the second man they want is Jasper or Ezra.”
Kimberley was silent for minutes before saying grimly:
“If you’re not trying to frighten me, then we must warn them. Pat O’Grady might have intended to do that when the wild blacks got him.”
“He might have left with that intention.” Bony’s voice became faintly stern. “For whom would the boss stockman leave the safety of this homestead to warn of danger from the desert blacks?”
“I don’t know. Stugger, it might be. Or Frypan,” she replied, faintly.
“Or Jasper! No! No, it couldn’t be Jasper. What are you saying? Jasper wouldn’t have killed Jacky Musgrave. Pat O’Grady wouldn’t have ridden north to warn Jasper. Or Ezra. Only to tell them that the wild blacks were afterStugger or Frypan or Stan, or Old Bugle who’s doing the horse-tailing.”
“Have you any idea where they will be camped tonight? They’ll be on the way home now, won’t they?”
“Yes. They should be camped at Salt Creek, thirty miles north of Camp Four. That’s if the Meat Works took the cattle in without delay.”
“You couldn’t contact a homestead by transceiver to send them a warning?”
“No. And the damned bloody truck is useless with a broken axle.”
Bony heard her abrupt movement, and a streaking meteor was bright enough to reveal her standing form. He remained seated, and soothingly he said:
“Don’t worry. Irwin and I will go north early tomorrow. I wonder whyStenhouse was interested in that shaft near Black Well.”
The other chair creaked, and he knew Kimberley had sat down again. He could hear her breathing, irregular and restrained. Presently she said, unevenly:
“Howd’you know ConstableStenhouse was interested in that shaft you tell of?”
“Because that is where he and Jacky Musgrave were shot.”
“But he was shot on the far side of the Range… on the Wyndham track.”
“He was shot at the shaft near Black Well. His body was carried over the Range by a party of four aborigines led by a white man.”
“A white man! Jack Wallace!”
In the dark of the veranda, Bony managed to roll a cigarette, or what served for one. Patiently he waited before striking a match, his confidence in the silent dogs supreme.
“You know, Miss Kimberley, the machinery of justice is a terrible thing,” he said, smoothly. “I am part of the machine, like Irwin, asStenhouse was. Someone commits a crime, and the machine of justice is set in motion. I’ve been a detective for many years, and I am still appalled by the almost frightening irresistible impetus of the machine once started. In this case, ConstableStenhouse was killed, and his tracker withhim, and the machine is put in motion and nothing will stop it until the killers are brought to the bar of justice, or death intervenes. Shooting me won’t stop the machine.”
He leaned forward and took the revolver from her. And in the darkness he heard her crying quietly. His voice was gentle:
“I know how it is… how one does jump to defend those one loves.”