CHAPTER FOUR
Omeo was the first to awaken. He struggled to rise but wisely stayed down when the white men returned. He recognized the footfalls of his mate and daughter among the others but couldn’t open his eyes wide enough to look. The pain in his head was incredible. Gradually, he got up, his head throbbing painfully as he made his way to the rise and watched the white men put the women in among the wagons and head out. It was only then he thought of his son and began to make his way painfully to where Miro lay. He was just coming to after many hours of unconsciousness. Luckily, he woke just in time as the dingoes, drawn to the scent of the dead white man, were out hunting in the early morning hours.
Omeo was pleased by the knife he found in the white man and the fine leather belt he tugged from around the man’s waist. The shirt was ruined with blood, but his pants, boots, and even his stinking socks were useful, so they gathered these and bound them together with the belt. Father and son headed out slowly, following the tracks of the wagons on the winding road and carrying the unfamiliar gathering bags and water urn that were normally carried by the women. They weren’t used to carrying burdens, normally keeping their hands free to hunt and carry their spears. When Miro felt better, Omeo tasked him with most of these items, feeling he was too important to be carrying women’s items as he searched for his wife and daughter. Because they were incapacitated and had to travel on foot, it took them longer to catch up to the wagons.
* * * * *
“We’re being followed,” one of the men reported to George Granger a week later.
“Followed?” he repeated worriedly. Just what he needed, bushrangers—men who had escaped from prison or gone wild—were notorious for stealing from the unwary, but their company was too big and well-armed for bushrangers to bother with the carters.
“Yeah, I think it’s them women’s menfolk.”
George sighed. He thought the men were content now that they had their women on the long trip from the Outback. They were on their way back to Sydney with their full wagons and still had at least a month of travel. Even men he had thought morally incapable had availed themselves of the older woman. Bradley wasn’t sharing his captive, which caused some resentment among the men. The men who captured the older woman were whoring her out, collecting cash money or trinkets in exchange for her favors. One or two of the men wanting to buy her services were borrowing against their future pay in order to have their time with the woman. It was a horrible experience for her, but there was nothing George could do about it, short of putting the men who owned her out of their caravan, and until they were closer to civilization, he didn’t dare consider it. He knew some of the men were dangerous and could become violent if he even risked suggesting it. Until they were closer to civilization, where there were legal repercussions and their violence could be met with justice, he didn’t dare confront them about the women. Besides, he needed them to work, and they could not be replaced out here.
“Chase them off but don’t kill them,” he ordered his outer guards. He later heard gunfire and hoped they were shooting at the Aborigines, just merely trying to scare them. They were limited on their ammunition too, so he didn’t want the guards to waste too much.
Both Alinta and Inala heard the gunfire, and it was frightening as they didn’t understand it. They were barely surviving amidst these men. Inala accepted her body being used, but she worried about her daughter. Keeping her daughter alive was paramount to the older woman. After they had traveled on for weeks, Inala noticed changes in her daughter, changes only someone in tune with their body and nature could fathom. It would be months before it would become obvious, but her daughter’s flow had stopped after just one month of being held captive and being used by the man in the tent.
Having nothing to do all day but sit and wait for the nights when the men would take her, Inala had nothing but time to think and plan. They had tied her so she couldn’t get away, using some of the precious white man’s stone to hold her in a painful vise around her ankles and fashioning a collar as well. Her daughter had a similar set, which chafed her beautiful skin. The man who held her daughter used the animal’s wool to pad the stone and prevent painful sores underneath it, but they didn’t think of doing that for Inala, and her ring was now deeply rooted in her neck and cutting into the skin.
Almost daily, the guards tried to chase off the determined Aborigines who followed them, shooting closer and closer to the man and boy. A ricochet off some stone finally made them disappear into the brush. Omeo and Miro made sure to remain invisible to the men from then on but crept closer and closer at night. Omeo finally managed to free Inala one night after the last man who had taken her cruelly fell asleep next to her, snoring with his mouth open. Omeo pulled her along, taking with him several of the white men’s stones as well as the axe, which was again left haphazardly by the chopped wood as he had observed on his first visit. When Inala would have protested and gone back for Alinta, Omeo refused. To him, his daughter was ruined and was of no further value to him. He had what he had come for. The men’s use of his mate was nothing. It was only as her belly began to swell months later that he reconsidered his decision to rescue her. Still, the white man’s stone was valuable, and he didn’t regret the loss of his only daughter, considering her a fair exchange for the white man’s stone he had taken with him. At one time, Alinta had been valuable to him, but now, she was useless, and he left her behind without another thought. After all, he could have other daughters; he still had his mate.
* * * * *
“Get up! Get up! The woman is gone!” one of the guards called, kicking at a couple of the men to rouse them.
The consternation of the guards was heightened by their embarrassment. They were bewildered that someone—they were sure it was the man who had been following them and had been in their camp—had stolen the woman, their only distraction on this long trip, and had also made off with an axe, a pot, and several odd pieces of metal. Security was tightened and only the fact that Bradley felt he owned Alinta kept her from being ravaged. She had been in their tent together and protected by the brawny man.
“Can anyone sew?” Bradley asked a few days later as they made their way east and a little south, heading for Sydney. Signs of civilization were obvious along the trail as their wagons and carts lumbered along. Occasionally, station owners, their wives, and even their whole families including children came to meet the carters, curious about the news or gossip they might impart. Bradley had been the subject of several obvious stares of disapproval for his ownership of the captured woman. Her state of undress hadn’t bothered him before they passed through Menindee, but they were seeing more signs of settlement the farther east they went, and he was becoming more uncomfortable with it.
Between the men, they came up with a shirt to cover the young woman’s naked frame. It was a bit long, falling below her knees. For the first time since her capture, Alinta took an interest in her surroundings. Her mother’s disappearance had further distressed her, but she knew why her father hadn’t freed her. Her value had been in her virtue, and he had abandoned her now that it was gone. Bereft of her family, she would have faded away, but now, she looked about her and began trying to figure out how she could escape her captor, wondering if she dared try. The shirt pleased her. She’d never felt material like this before, and she knew the shirt hid her nakedness from the men who looked at her with lust in their eyes. Only the fact that Bradley was young, had made his claim, and would apparently back it up with a fight to the death, kept the other men at bay. She had seen how they had used her dam, and the thought of entertaining that many of the men made her shudder.
“What are you going to do with ‘er when we get to Sydney?” George asked Bradley one night by the fire.
“I’ll sell her to a brothel I know. They will like her dusky skin,” he grinned, showing no repentance for his behavior, feeling it was his due. After all, she was only an Aborigine. He was a man, he had needs, and she fulfilled them. He was glad
she didn’t bleed, so he could take her when he felt like it. He did not realize the significance of this fact. Young and virile, he delighted in the envy of his fellow carters over his obvious enjoyment of the young and nubile woman.
Alinta desperately wanted to clean herself of the smells of the white man who used her continually. She didn’t understand his need but accepted it as his male right. She didn’t welcome the invasion of her body and remembered her mother’s advice about enticing this act from her man, but she felt no need to entice him. She was young, and she had healed from his initial invasions. It no longer hurt, and for that she was grateful. She no longer bled after his repeated invasions of her body, but she also wasn’t aware of the significance of her monthly leaving and didn’t recognize the obvious beginning signs of a pregnancy. She was too young for a pregnancy, but her body knew what was needed, and as she was eating regularly now, it took the available nourishment needed to nourish the fetus.
George hid his disgust over the young man’s cavalier treatment of the young woman. He had to shrug it off, feeling it wasn’t any of his business, but he knew he would never hire this young man again. Despite his good looks, his winning attitude around the men not trying to buy time with the woman he had captured, and his brute strength, he was still an ass. He had also cost them the life of one man, unceremoniously claiming that man’s possessions. Hidden in those possessions, Bradley had found a roll of bills, which he secreted away, telling no one about them. Whatever Sam had been into, he had hidden from his fellow carters, and Bradley felt the money was well-earned. The girl was a treat, and he knew he’d also get some good money from the brothel for her. All in all, this trip would be very profitable for the young man.
CHAPTER FIVE
The closer they got to Sydney, the more traffic they encountered. Other carters were going out to collect from wool drayage companies, who in turn took merchandise out to Menindee and other outlying towns and villages as settlements became more common along this track. Stations became more frequent and smaller, and herds of animals crowded the roads on their way to market. It was nice to see people again. Most were friendly, or if they weren’t friendly, at least they ignored each other.
One day as they approached Bathurst, thrilled with how close they were to Sydney, they came across an enormous herd of sheep being taken to the Outback. They had encountered smaller flocks but nothing like this. It was a massive flock, probably ten thousand sheep, and all of them were prime Merino sheep. The sheep were shorn close and had obviously been purchased after their value dropped with the shearing. The men were surprised to learn the owner was an American woman with a dark complexion. She was stunningly beautiful, but they were kept well at bay by her men, called vaqueros, who showed off their expertise with their whips. One of them had a forty-foot-long whip that he expertly cracked above the heads of the sheep, keeping them moving along at a good clip as other men and dogs kept the large herd surging forward. The cavalcade of wagons carrying their wool had pulled into a circle for the night near a large field. They set up camp, their bullocks and horses contained in the center.
“Hello, the camp,” one of the riders, a large dark-haired man, hailed them. “Mind if we camp nearby?” he called with a distinctive American twang.
“Plenty of grass,” George pointed out, the meadow beside their own camp more than large enough to accommodate the huge flock of sheep. It was then he saw the herd of black horses that had been trotting behind the enormous flock. They were magnificent, and he couldn’t remember seeing such fine stock before. All his men stood up from their various positions to watch as the woman, who was obviously in charge, brought the herd in. Her men quickly erected a fold for the sheep using rope and any available brush to enclose them, then spaced men and dogs around the sheep and horses as they bedded them down for the night. The far side of the meadow contained a stream, and they slowly herded smaller groups of sheep to it, so they could drink their fill before being rotated back into the enormous flock. The many wagons and carts of a cartage company that was traveling with them went to one side of the meadow and set up another camp.
“I’m George Granger, and these are my men,” he said by way of introduction to the woman and her men. He stared at her beauty. He was certain she wasn’t an American because her accent was so interesting.
“I am Senora Mary Carmen Valenzuela Pearson,” she stated, giving it the full flavor and inflection of her Spanish heritage while looking at him as though he were an equal, and this surprised him. “These are my men, and this is our friend, Mel Lawrence, who is accompanying us.” She pointed out the men who wore odd, short, little jackets, wide hats, and tight pants. The last one she introduced was a large man riding a different horse from theirs, a former Brumby from what he could tell. The man, who was pulling several packhorses that were also Brumbies, nodded coldly, glancing around the camp as he went to put up his horses. He had been the one asking if they could camp nearby.
“You got a station in the Outback?” George inquired jovially of the owner, hoping to be thought of as charming and curry her favor, if not as a possible suitor, then perhaps as a business connection. With this many sheep, the possibility of hauling supplies and wool was always there.
“I am heading for Twin Station,” she told him, waiting to see if he would react to her admission or if the name of the station elicited a response. He didn’t react.
“I haven’t heard of it,” he admitted, shaking his head. “There’s plenty of ‘em out there,” he gestured towards the land about them, encompassing it all, “and you must have a lot of land to handle a flock like that one.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the sheep that were even now cropping at the grass before laying down and settling in for the night, their legs tucked under their bodies.
“Oh, they aren’t all mine. Half the sheep belong to our neighbor there, Mel Lawrence,” she nodded towards the man who was even now unsaddling his mount and glanced over at hearing his name mentioned.
“You have a station out there?” George called to him, raising his voice to span the distance between them.
Mel shook his head. “No, I’m going out to claim my own space,” he informed him, turning to put his saddle down next to one of the wagons before reaching for the pack saddles on the other horses.
“There’s a lot of land out there for the taking,” George admitted, nodding musingly and wondering at Mel’s American accent. He wondered if the man had a lot of money in order to buy all these sheep but reminded himself again how cheap sheep were right after shearing.
“I’ve convinced Mr. Lawrence to travel with us and take a look at land adjoining our own station,” the woman informed him.
“Sooner know your neighbors, eh?” he asked, wondering if he could convince her to hire him to take them supplies and return with their wool. The company he worked for would appreciate additional convoys of supplies, added men, and the wool.
“Mind if we share your fire? We have our own supplies and foodstuffs,” she said, indicating the wagons and carts that even now were pulling into the far side of the clearing.
“Please do,” he said, delighted.
She got down and a man was there instantly to lead her horse away. He was a fine beast, and George was impressed to realize it was a stallion. Women, in his experience, didn’t ride stallions. Its body was strong, sturdy, and tall, and it looked like he had staying power. The brute quickly established that this was his herd as he acted up for the man holding his bridle, making it difficult for him to control.
As Carmen sat down by the fire, a few of the men got up and tipped their hats as they introduced themselves. Any that didn’t get up in her presence were nudged by their compatriots as they too got up and acknowledged the lady. Mel Lawrence watched knowingly, taking in the manners of the various men and shaking hands with several of them as they introduced themselves. One man especially drew Mel’s gaze. He was behaving in a proprietorial way, holding a chain, which led to a collar around the neck of
an aboriginal woman. Mel noted the additional chains around her ankles as well. She hadn’t seen too much of slavery, although she had traveled in the south of America to New Orleans.
The newcomers took a while to get settled due to the large number of animals and people traveling together, and when they finally settled, dogs and men were scattered to guard their animals. George learned that Senora Pearson was a widow from central California, who had inherited a station in the Outback with her cousins and was making her way there with some new stock intending to resettle her family. He was surprised to meet her three fine sons and daughter. She didn’t look old enough to have so many children.
Mel talked with a few of the Australian carters, who told stories of the long journey from the Outback. He learned they had caught some Aborigines, and this was where the chained woman came from. Bradley saw Mel’s interest and made it clear his woman wasn’t for rent or sale. “Would any of you like to play cards?” Mel suggested blandly, pushing aside any resentment at the man’s immediate assumption that he wanted his woman. Mel pulled a deck of cards from his saddlebags and began to shuffle them, drawing the men’s eyes to them.
Bradley and several of the men eagerly agreed to play, and a few of the vaqueros joined in. Mel sucked on one of the pipes he had bought in Sydney, the delicious aroma from the tobacco leaf eddying in the air as he contemplated his cards. A couple of the men, long without their tobacco, or dundeen as they called it, bought some figs of tobacco from the American. As the cooks brought around their food, players dropped out to eat dinner. Mel ate while coolly playing several hands. He could assess the men and their cards and easily counted them while figuring the odds of what they possibly held in their hands and betting accordingly. Mel could see that Bradley thought himself a decent card player, his good looks and demeanor showing him to be a braggart and a showman. His treatment of the Aborigine showed Mel that his character was not what he presented to others.
Outback Born Page 4
