The Quail Shooters
WITHDWELLERSin the Outback, it is often the rule to wake by habit when the first sign of coming day appears in the sky. Such a bushman was Yorky, who stirred from his bed of sand and added wood to the still red embers of the camp fire. The resultant flame enabled him to see the empty billycan, and he departed for water. On his return he found Bony cleaning the Savage rifle, and while waiting for the water to boil he watched Bony at work on the high-velocity weapon; and neither spoke nor made a move to halt the progress.
Having tossed a handful of tea into the boiling water, Yorky lifted the billycan with a stick, and cut chips from his plug while waiting for the leaves to settle. Thus the day began completely normal.
Having cleaned his rifle, Bony set it carefully against his pack, and nonchalantly strolled away to wash at Linda’s own lake. Meena and the child joined him there, and all returned together. The Savage still reclined against the pack. Yorky hadn’t touched it. Smoking his first pipe of the day, Yorky ambled over to the water, and Bony finished dressing, simply by donning an old coat over the now dry shirt.
They were ready to move before sun-up, by which time Bony had surveyed their immediate surroundings and learned that the tussock-covered sand was barely a hundred yards wide, and in varying width extending as far as he could see to the north and south. The ‘private lake’, enclosed by sand, was about an acre in area, and must be maintained by springs.
They left the soft sand for the narrow beach, where Yorky led the party to the south. An hour later, when he halted for a rest, they were still walking the beach, and still the sandbar was on their one side and the mud on the other. Now well beyond the place of recent occupation the rabbits were fairly numerous, and already two dingoes had been seen.
“How much farther have we of this easy going?” Bony asked.
“About another seven miles,” replied Yorky. “Nearly all them seven miles towards the shore, for this sand takes a turn like the elbow of a boomerang. That leaves only about eleven miles of mud. There’s water at the end of the sand, but not like Linda’s lake. After that no water till we get to the hut. How you going, Linda?”
“All right, Yorky,” replied the child, a trifle doubtfully.
“Expect I’ll have to carry you a ways. Easier on this hard beach than later on over the mud. Mind you, Linda, sweetheart, you’re doing good, but them legs of yours are too short and them Kurdaitcha shoes aren’t much good for the job.”
The shoes Charlie had made were slung about the child’s neck by the leather thongs. They had been fashioned with the bark of a tree to the shape of a boat, or like an Eastern slipper, having a curved toe-cap. They were too long for Linda unless she was also wearing her normal shoes, and, in fact, were not meant to be worn save in play. The yellow comb of a white cockatoo adorned each shoe immediately behind the raised prow. Along the sides of each shoe Charlie had scored aboriginal pictures, and glued to the raised edges were the herring-bone feathers of emus. Toy shoes made for a little girl.
“I shall be glad to be on the mud,” observed Bony. “That friend of yours could have decided to meet us, and could be waiting comfortably behind a clump of tussock grass.”
“Who’s your friend, Yorky?” demanded Meena. “I’m tired of you nottellin ’.” Looking back at Bony, and noting the slight frown of anxiety, she went on: “You wait. Sarah’ll get it out of you. You say you didn’t do it. Bony says you didn’t do it. Bony says your friend did it. Wait till we get back to Sarah, Yorky. She’ll make you talk fast enough.”
“That feller didn’t do it, I keeptellin ’ you,” exploded Yorky. “He’s been pretty decent all through. Only one I could trust, anyhow. And I’m not talking until we’re all facing him. Then we’ll see. I’m not a one to talk behind a friend’s back.”
“All right!” exclaimed Bony impatiently, for he had spent an hour the previous night arguing this point. “But we’re not taking unnecessary risks. I shall walk well ahead, and if he is waiting for us, I’ll try to flush him from cover. You are being extremely foolish, although it isn’t vitally essential that I know the name of your friend at this moment. Nor do I need your cooperation.
“Before leaving the homestead, Yorky, I broadcast my intention of hunting you here, and by now the lake is being patrolled by men waiting for us to make shore. I made no secret of our ability to walk the mud by following the dingo pads. And I let it be known that I do not believe you are guilty of murder.
“Broadly, that was the situation when I left the homestead. The guilty person anticipated that you would be cut off by the flood water, then he would always be safe. Now that he knows he isn’t safe from the consequences of his crime, it is most likely that he’ll attempt to stop us returning. Where better to do that than somewhere along this sandbar? He could drop one of us, and take his chances in a duel with the other man. Better than inevitable arrest. This pal of yours, does he know of this shorter route to the shore?”
Yorky had been staring at his boots, and now he gazed steadily at Bony.
“You done it purposely, drawing the killer out here?”
“I did,” replied Bony. “This rifle is able to out-range any Winchester. I gave him the chance to come here and fight it out because of that, and because I thought I’d have you to back me up. Now that you won’t, then I’ll go ahead and take the risk of being dropped before I can locate him.”
“You said you guessed who done the killing,” argued Yorky, eyes small and hard. “Why didn’t you arrest him before you started?”
“It’s a long road between knowing and proving.”
Again Yorky stared at his boots, and Meena watched, silently, Linda cuddled against her, tired and fearful from this, to her, inexplicable conversation. Abruptly, Yorky stood and, without looking at them, said:
“You got it all over me, but I’mstickin ’ to me guns. I could be ratting on a mate. You andme’ll go on ahead of Meena and Linda. We’ll take equal chances. You’re the Law. But law or no law, anyone starts after Meena and the lass, I shoot and keep onshootin ’. We got to get off thisflamin ’ lake, and quick. She’sstartin ’ to heave already. I can see it.”
Looking over the mud, at first they saw nothing unusual.
“You’re referring to that moving ribbon of reflection, are you?” asked Bony
“Yair, that’s it. I’ve never seen it before, but theabos got a name for it. It’s a low sort of swell, and the sun’s glinting on it along one slope, like a water wave. Old Canute told me about it. The water keeps on pushing into the mud, and instead of running over the top of the mud, it comes up from under.”
Yorky turned to the girls.
“Drop all your traps. Me and theInspector’ll carry ’em. You take the shoes, Inspector. I’ll carry the water-bags. Dump the rest. Meena, you tarry awhile. Give us half a mile lead, then come on.”
“Okee. Don’t worry about us.”
“My dolls!” cried Linda. “I won’t leave my Meena and Ole Fren Yorky.”
“We’ll carry them, Linda,” soothed Meena.
“Keep to the beach,” instructed Bony. “Any firing, crouch down against the sandbank.”
The two men spaced themselves and advanced along the bar, their weapons ready for instant action. They could see for several miles above the grass and the wind-fashioned hummocks of sand, and less than fifty yards ahead into the grass or over a sand hump. It wasn’t dissimilar from stalking quail, but anticipation of action was certainly based on far different conditions.
The good general projects himself into the mind of his opposite number, and Bony tried doing just this. It would be unlikely that the killer of Mrs Bell would delay his first shot one moment after the distance between him and them fell below two hundred yards. The odds were grossly in favour of the ambusher dropping one or other of his adversaries, who were under the compelling urge to get clear of the lake. Just too bad if he manoeuvred himself so that they both passed him before he fired.
Fortunately it was a calm morning, and the stiff tussock grass was still. They held a slight advantage given by the eagles and the rabbits, and by four crows which had followed them from the camp. The crows often flew on ahead, but certainly would behave erratically did they see a man prone on the ground beneath. It was easier to watch them than the eagles, two of which were flying high.
An hour passed. Yorky constantly glanced across at Bony, keeping abreast. The sun was rising to the zenith and the heat was powerful. Bony thought of Linda, argued whether to make a halt or not. On looking back, he could see the upper portion of Meena, and the head of the little girl above the edge of the bank. They were keeping distance very well. He called to Yorky:
“Leave one of the water-bags on the beach for the girls.”
Yorky nodded and the march proceeded, each man zigzagging in short legs, each tensed to dive for cover at any instant, Yorky also watching the birds and working widely with Bony when the sandbar widened.
An hour before noon, Bony fancied he could see the extremity of the sand, and he was laying odds in favour of the ambusher waiting there, when just ahead of Yorky a pure golden dingo appeared on the top of a sand hump, saw the men, and loped away, followed by four well-grown pups. Bony sighed his relief.
Having decided that Meena and Linda hadn’t halted at the water-bag to eat and leave scraps the crows came on after the men, passing them, and flying on over the dogs. The end of the bar, now clearly seen, was perhaps half a mile distant, when the four crows arrived there, and swept skyward as though from a ground explosion, and at height swirled like black snowdrops. Their cawing came to the men, and the tale was told.
“That’s him sure enough,” shouted Yorky, and converged to Bony. “Wegonna move on like we done in the blasted war?”
“Yes,” agreed Bony. “We can each keep to a beach to gain partial cover. Now for the drill. Although I don’t look it, I’m a law officer. Although you don’t look it, you’re an Australian citizen. Our job is to get that fellow alive, and he isn’t going to be much use to you dead. So, unless you are pushed badly, don’t shoot to kill.”
“Suits me.”
“Back to the beaches,” cried Bony almost gaily.
There they gained two feet of sandbank cover, and yet were able to mark each other’s progress. The crows were circling over the end of the sandbar, their suspicion prolonged by an object lying prone, and their behaviour brought low the two eagles, soaring in gigantic circles, with seldom a wing flap.
It was then that the enemy knew he was sunk, and his nerve, what there was of it, failed. Two men stalking him when they should have been walking blithely into hisgunsights. He could both see and hear the damned crows betraying him to the men, one of whom was reputed to be the finest rifle shot in the back country.
Hastily strapping on his boards, he slithered over the dog pad, watched by the fearful dingo bitch and her curious pups. On Bony and Yorky reaching the end of the sandbar, which was fashioned like a crab’s claw about a small sheet of gleaming water, the mirage had given him stilts.
The disappointed eagles rose to cooler altitudes. The crows were decidedly annoyed. Bony sat down and produced tobacco and papers.
“That your friend?” he asked.
“How do I know?” replied Yorky. “With your rifle I could drop him. Got better range than mine. That particular bastard means nothing to me.”
“To the contrary, he means very much to you,” insisted Bony mildly.
“That bloke’s still in range. He’d have got one of us, and then if he’d got the other he’d have killed the lass and Meena. Gimme that Savage.”
The Winchester was aimed at Bony’s chest, and casually Bony set down the Savage on his far side.
“Meena and Linda would see you shoot me,” Bony explained. “That wouldn’t do, Yorky. Load your pipe instead. I know how you feel on being betrayed by one you trusted. Who is he?”
Yorky shook his head, and the stubborn perversity of his class came out when he said:
“You’re a policeman. I can’t inform to a cop.”