by Lucy Walker
‘You think I was only chasing a shadow when I thought I’d find him, Mrs. Potts? He was very old. He’s dead now ‒ that Gideon Dent I came to find. I discovered it too late.’
‘I think you kind of put a build-up in your mind about him, Miss Katie. That’s what I’m trying to say.’
‘You knew him then?’
Mrs. Potts was suddenly on her guard.
‘I guess I did, in a way. Now don’t go asking me questions about which I maybe haven’t got the right answers. There’s some say his son has come back; but that’s only talk, I can tell you that.’ She paused. ‘All I mean to say is ‒ don’t go building too much on anything. What with all the talk that goes on round the diggings ‒ maybe someone just dreamed him up. You could get a heartbreak out of believing tales.’
Katie was very quiet for a few minutes while she took a cloth to polish the knives and forks before putting them away. She had always polished cutlery at home. She had never been able to bear shining things that did not shine as they were meant to do.
She looked at Mrs. Potts’s tall spare figure with its aura of determination.
‘I don’t want you to be unhappy waiting about here too long,’ Mrs. Potts went on. ‘It’s a good place for a nice quiet holiday: and young Andrew’s enjoying himself plenty with old Secretary. If you ask me, Secretary never had it so good. When you’re fine and rested maybe you would think of going to Pandanning for a while. I heard you mention you’d like to work. There’s plenty going begging there.’ She hesitated, then added: ‘Not a bad place either, to wait against the time Gideon Dent’s son just might come back. Young Andrew could stay here. You wouldn’t be so lonely, see? Plenty of young life around.’
It’s because she works for Bern Malin, Katie thought. She knows Gideon Dent is back; but she won’t give him away ‒ even to me.
‘I think you’ve been trying to tell me a lot of things, Mrs. Potts,’ Katie said quietly. ‘First of all I’m to realise that Bern Malin, if he has a heart at all, has probably given it to Stella Ryde. Jill told me that the first day I came from Malley’s Find.’
Mrs. Potts kept on scouring pots unnecessarily. They were already scoured.
‘Don’t get me wrong, Miss Katie. I’m not that much taken with Miss Stella. It’s Mr. Bern I’m thinking of. I don’t want trouble coming his way. That’s only because too much talk round the diggings about one thing could lead to talk about other things. It’s best for Mr. Bern to keep himself to himself. There’s reasons.’ Mrs. Potts had turned round and was once again looking at Katie.
‘You’ll understand one day,’ she said. ‘I can see behind that mask of yours that you like Mr. Bern all right. Oh, nothing wrong about that. Who doesn’t? After a week or two why don’t you go up to Pandanning ‒ just to see what it’s like ‒ if no more?’
Suddenly Katie realised Mrs. Potts was pleading.
It was the same thing as Mr. Potts had talked about that night in the cabin. Too much talk. Mrs. Potts had opposed her husband then. To-day she took another view. Was it because she sensed, as some women can, the dilemma that was in Katie’s own heart?
‘I have received the message, Mrs. Potts,’ Katie said with a sudden quick smile. ‘You don’t have to draw it on the sand. I understand. Thank you very much for it. It means that ‒ well, we like one another, doesn’t it? Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered to give me advice.’
‘Like? For goodness’ sake, Miss Katie! If you want the solemn truth it was Miss Stella over there at Ryde’s I was mindful of, and the trouble she could cause. Not that I like her: and not that I don’t ‒’
‘Let’s talk about someone else,’ Katie begged. ‘About Secretary. Do you think he minds giving up all that time to Andrew? My brother is like his shadow.’
‘You leave Secretary be, Miss Katie. That’s straight advice and no roundabout meanings to it. Secretary knows what he’s doing more’n anyone else in this territory, bar Mr. Bern, and that includes Mr. Potts too. If you’ve a life to spare give it to Secretary to mind. He’ll mind it all right. Anyway, like I said before, he never had it so good as he has it right now ‒ no trouble to him to keep young Andrew busy, along with grooming the horses.’
Katie did not let herself think of Mrs. Potts’s hidden agenda in that advice while she herself went about her appointed chores ‒ tidying up the homestead, even planning innovations like new curtains and some paintwork on the inner walls.
Irrespective of all advice, she knew what she would soon do. What, in fact, she had to do. Find Gideon Dent as soon as she knew it was safe for both him and her.
For several days the little group in and around the homestead worked happily together. Only Mr. Potts was restive about not being up at the diggings, but his wife managed to keep him placated.
‘You’re getting wages for doing all but nothing,’ she said. ‘Few men’s as lucky as that. Reckon you ought to give Secretary more of a hand with those horses, to fill in time.’
‘You tell Sec’try to take that young pair out and give them some riding, come late afternoon,’ Mr. Potts said over his ceremonial preparation of pipes in the evening. ‘There isn’t room for him and me in those stables. Sec’try gone, I’ll give them stables the best clean-out since the old days.’
‘By which you mean since the days before Mr. Bern came and took over, and started going up the tracks after old Gideon’s surveys?’
‘You know what I mean well enough,’ Mr. Potts said.
‘That I do,’ his wife rejoined.
Mrs. Potts was the directing spirit round the homestead so it was she who passed on the advice to Secretary about taking Katie and Andrew riding. The aborigine needed no second suggestion. Saddles, long unused, were brought out; the leather was softened with as much ceremony as Mr. Potts gave his pipe filling, then polished and refurbished with all the bits and pieces of saddle-bags, rug straps, water-bottle hooks, as could be found in the clutter of Bern’s office and saddle room.
Katie and Andrew had learned all they needed to learn about simple riding on their own smallholding in the Eastern States, so they were delighted to be able to go riding here for pleasure, as against urgent necessity at home.
Secretary showed them horse pads to that haunting inland into which Bern Malin had disappeared; and where were those magic places ‒ the diggings, as different from the abandoned ones on the way to Ryde’s Place. He showed them the tracks where the animals came down from the long dry reaches in the interior for water, and hidden soaks which few but the aborigines and the old-timers knew. Mostly these soaks were covered with stones or an old log to hide them from the vandals who occasionally came into this no-man’s-land.
Riding with Secretary in those days was like exploring a new world.
For the first time that Katie could remember she was no longer haunted by the need of that hourly watch over Andrew. Secretary took him everywhere from sunup to sundown. They spent many hours together on the far side of the stables, both with sticks in their hands; drawing on the ground.
Katie spent her spare time consulting the old books in Gideon Dent’s office. She pored over that old, old survey map and gradually taught herself the directions from the homestead by the rising and setting of the sun, the shifting place of the Southern Cross in the sky each night.
She began to feel sure, even after a week, that she could find her way, for many miles, into the hinterland from Malin’s Outpost.
Two weeks after Bern Malin’s departure, Tom, Stella and Jill Ryde came over to Malin’s outpost in their own jeep.
‘Some feller coming down the track,’ Secretary announced, coming up from the stables. ‘Two miles away now. One, two, three. Altogether the Rydes come. Only the young ones.’
‘How do you know, Secretary?’ Katie asked.
‘Don’t ever ask, it’s waste of breath,’ Mrs. Potts said. ‘They never tell how they know. They just know. It’s born in them.’
‘It’s the birds, Miss Katie,’ Secretary said. ‘They come ‒ this m
any ‒’ He held up both hands, the fingers spread.
‘From that way. That means some come, more’n one. Birds don’t fly away for one, even in jeep: only up, then down again. Mr. Ryde has two fine mares in foal. He wouldn’t leave them. Mrs. Ryde wouldn’t leave Mr. Ryde without his tucker.’
Secretary’s face was wreathed in smiles.
‘The birds say two-three come. Must be Stella and Jill. Mr. Tom likes a young lady’s company so when Stella and Jill come he comes too. Makes three. You understand, Miss Katie?’
‘There you are,’ Katie said with triumph to Mrs. Potts. ‘They do work it out. They don’t just know.’
Mrs. Potts shrugged. ‘Secretary’s civilised,’ she said. ‘He’s different.’
At first Katie did not realise the implication of Secretary’s statement ‒ ‘Mr. Tom likes a young lady’s company.’ This was something she did not think about until Mrs. Potts reminded her of it.
Twenty minutes later they came down the track, through the sparse grove of shade trees and pulled up where Katie, Andrew and Secretary were waiting for them by the slip-rails. Andrew had already lowered the rails to let the jeep through.
Katie felt as if the Rydes were old, old friends; people she had known all her life. She almost danced on her toes as she welcomed them.
All three Rydes, in the front seat of the jeep, seemed to be spilling out of it in their eagerness to arrive too.
Even Stella was as near excited as her pose of calmness would allow.
‘Where’s Bern?’ was her first question. She was dressed in those beguiling slacks and white cotton over-blouse.
‘No luck, Stella!’ Katie said. ‘He’s been gone almost from the day we arrived. I think we have frightened him away ‒ that is, Andrew and I ‒’
Something of a satisfied smile replaced the half-glad one Stella had had a moment before.
‘In that case,’ she said, ‘you haven’t been jumping my claim, Katie. So he ran away from you? Well ‒’ She rocked back on her heels and looked Katie over. ‘You ought to take a visit to Pandanning and do something about yourself, darling. Some new clothes ‒ a hair-do ‒’
‘Don’t be catty, Stella,’ Jill said. ‘Katie has the kind of hair that doesn’t have to have a do. As for Bern, he doesn’t look at anyone twice, as far as I know. If you talk to Katie that way she might take it into her head to fight back ‒ the feminine way ‒ and try charming somebody else’s man. I would.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of Bern. I was thinking of Tom,’ Stella said lazily. ‘What do you think Tom came for to-day? To see Mrs. Potts? Well, hardly!’
Tom was still on the far side of the jeep, talking to Secretary. As usual Secretary had his shadow, Andrew, standing so close to him they nearly touched. The small boy’s face was upturned, taking in every word that was said.
Tom heard his name and came round the nose of the jeep. He had taken off his hat and was twirling it slowly round in his hand. His face had the pleasant friendly grin Katie associated with him every time she thought of him. The grin ‒ the light-blue eyes that were exactly Jill’s eyes ‒ and the straw-coloured hair! There he was, exactly as she had first seen him; and as nice. Her own smile of welcome was full of warmth. Her face was sunny and her eyes danced with pleasure at this onslaught of visitors.
‘Hallo, Katie! How goes it?’
‘Hallo, Tom ‒’
She found herself suddenly blushing. She had wanted to say something more, yet couldn’t. It might have been misleading.
‘There you are!’ said Stella to Jill, not very softly. ‘I told you so. Must have been something at first sight for both of them.’
‘Really, Stella!’ Jill said in exasperation. ‘Do you want to spoil it for them? How tactless can you be?’
If Tom had not thought of it before, clearly Stella had put an idea in his head now, for he had overheard her.
She’s a past master at that, for sure, Mrs. Potts told herself as she neared the group. Stella’s clear voice had carried well in the morning air. Ah, well ‒ could be a better idea than having trouble between Malin’s and Ryde’s. Certainly one way of fixing that young man Tom with a bride.
Mrs. Potts’s thoughts were all on this matter this last week because she was ‒ what she called ‒ downright worried about the situation here at Malin’s.
Miss Katie was always looking up the track, or riding up it a bit away as if she was for ever looking or waiting for someone.
Who could the someone be but Bern Malin, in whatever guise he came?
‘Hallo, Mrs. Potts!’ Stella called. ‘You holding the fort well over here? I bet a gold mine you don’t ever know where to find that nuisance-child Andrew at any given moment.’
She looked around.
‘Where is he now, by the way? No can see. Not down an old shaft, by any chance?’
Anyone, including Andrew, could have heard her but the boy did not remove his head from under the jeep. He was lying prone on the ground entirely hidden by the car, his chin propped in his hand, watching a sand-snake that had been caught and thrown up into the chassis. It was now slowly uncoiling itself from the safety of the sump box.
Secretary joined him, slithering on his stomach under the car.
‘That feller coils like this way,’ he said to Andrew, drawing the snake on the ground. ‘When he’s gone his mark is like this ‒’ He drew tiny marks more like birds’ feet than a snake’s slide.
‘Same as the tiger snake only smaller,’ Andrew said. He drew the tiger snake’s marks in the dust.
Jill went to the jeep, bent down and peered under it.
‘For crying out loud!’ she said. ‘Tom! For heaven’s sake look what this loon of a boy and Secretary are doing. You’d think they were at a tea-party.’
‘I never heard of Secretary at a tea-party,’ Tom said dryly, still not taking his eyes away from Katie, cogitating on what Stella had said and how much it meant.
‘It’s a snake!’ Jill said urgently.
‘Okay. Leave it to Secretary,’ Tom said without much interest. Then, realising exactly what it was Jill had said, he came out of his trance and walked over to the jeep.
‘A snake is a snake,’ he said judicially, giving thought to immediate action if needed.
The sand-snake dropped from the sump box to the ground and quietly slithered away in the direction of the grass.
Tom picked up a stick.
Andrew was out from under the car with a speed no one thought possible in him.
‘Don’t kill it!’ he said. ‘It won’t hurt! It’s only a sandy.’
‘It’ll breed others.’ Tom was stalking the snake warily.
‘It won’t hurt! It’s harmless,’ Andrew cried. He was suddenly very excited. He caught Tom’s arm. ‘Don’t kill it!’
Everyone, including Mrs. Potts, stood quite still and looked in surprise at Andrew. That had been a command, not a plea. The child was ten and Tom was a man on his way to his thirties; yet Tom halted, then lowered his stick. He was no longer looking at the snake but at Andrew.
‘You sounded as if you meant that, young feller,’ he said slowly, eyeing Andrew with a considered interest.
‘I did,’ said Andrew imperiously. His eyes, nearly Katie’s eyes but not so blue, blazed at Tom.
Jill and Stella started to laugh.
‘The little tyrant. He has some spirit after all,’ Stella remarked. ‘Smack him, Tom. I’m sure he deserves it.’
‘Don’t you touch him, Tom,’ cautioned Jill. ‘He’s Katie’s business.’
‘The sand-snake is harmless,’ Katie said calmly. ‘We have lots of them back home. Please leave it alone, Tom. It would upset Andrew dreadfully if you killed it.’
Tom threw the stick into the bushes at the side of the track.
‘If you say so, Katie ‒’
‘Well, I never did!’ Stella exclaimed. ‘Katie, Bern is right. He said you ruin that child. There’s no chance for that boy till he’s weaned away from your apron strings.’
&
nbsp; ‘Did Bern say that?’ Katie asked quietly. Could Bern have said that? Ruin the child? No chance for him until ‒?
Somehow Stella had thrown a barb very deep.
Tom, looking from one to the other, did not approve of this particular form of sparring. They weren’t sisters like Stella and Jill were. He had arrived at the state where he would like to please Katie. He had only seen a few girls but she was the prettiest. Her eyes were so bright a blue, her hair had red lights in it, her face was not exactly round because her chin was just the smallest bit pointed; but it was a nice chin, all the same.
‘Now don’t you go taking sides, Tom,’ Stella said pointedly. ‘The Rydes stick together. Unless of course ‒’
Stella, no longer interested in the ruining of Andrew, had read her brother’s face. She smiled to herself.
The idea of Katie and Tom being attracted to one another had suddenly become a distinct possibility: not just something to joke about.
She would do nothing to spoil that. No jolly fear.
‘You know I’m only teasing, Tom. Why can’t anyone around here take a joke?’
‘Come on, Mrs. Potts,’ Jill said gaily. ‘Lead the way to the kitchen. I bet you slapped a tray in the oven as soon as you heard of a dust cloud bringing the Rydes full pelt.’
Anything to create a diversion, she thought. Stella had been cutting a little too near the bone when she started quoting Bern being critical to Katie.
Mrs. Potts, after tea and hot scones in the kitchen, insisted that she make up a picnic basket. She filled Thermos flasks, cut sandwiches from Katie’s yesterday’s bread, put tins of tomatoes, potato salad and fruits into the vacuum packer, and robbed Bern’s cooler of apples and peaches.
When all was ready the lot was stowed away in the back of the jeep. Those for whom there was no room in the front seat, sat under the canvas hood with the picnic baskets, in the back. Secretary came with them for he was to show them a new soak, near the foot of You-self. None of them had known of it before.
