“Might have been, but it’s pretty hard to see just how an accident like that could happen, unless some short-sighted abo thought he was a kangaroo.”
“But accident or not, I’ve got to unearth the killer. Since that day all the aborigines on both sides of the Fence have been sitting down and doing nothing. They wouldn’t even talk about it among themselves. The subject is taboo, and no amount of examination, even on Gestapo lines, would make them talk.
“I have been presented with similar situations, and not only by aborigine conspiracy,” Bony went on. “When a calculating murderer merely sits and does nothing, he takes a heck of a lot of budging. It is the same when a number of people are concerned. They’re like rabbits in a burrow, and the only method to use in order to shift them is to stir them up into taking action, taking action through fear of the daylight. I want you to do something for me.”
“Name it, Ed.”
“When we get to Quinambie, I want you to drop a sly hint or two that you suspect I’m a detective at work on the Maidstone case, making sure that the blacks hear of it. At the same time do a little boasting for me that shortly I will make an arrest. You work out your approach between now and then.”
“Just give hints?”
“That’s it. The line being that I’m doing little else but talk about the killing and constantly questioning you about this aborigine and that, including Nugget. Make up a sly yarn.”
Newton burst into low laughter, and as abruptly became silent. He was thoughtful for several minutes before pointing out the obvious.
“Mightn’t it be a bit dangerous for you?” he said. “Living like we do they could put a full stop after you. There’s no one here to guard your rear, and another accident could easily happen without stirring up much suspicion.”
“It’s a chance I have to take. I shall not like it, you may depend, but I’ve a job to do beside forking buckbush over your Fence.”
“All right, I’ll start off the rumours, but personally I wouldn’t like having to look over my shoulder a thousand times a day. And what about the nights?”
“Don’t worry about it. Before murder is deliberately done there is a long approach, and it is during the long approach that the threatened person may take counter-action.”
Bony rose to put water into a billy for bedtime tea. The occasional clang of a camel bell told the story that they had finished feeding and were also settling down for the night. A meteor flamed across the sky and a mopoke rendered its funereal cry. After that the night was completely silent, so that when the men arranged their blankets on the ground sheets it was a rustle in the vast stillness.
Commander Joyce was still without a book-keeper, and it was he who served them with the foodstuffs they required from the store. He was told of the plan Bony had arranged with Newton and he liked it no more than Newton had. Later on, when Bony visited the station cook with his meat-bag, Newton dallied in pretence of fixing his gear.
“Good day-ee, Ed!” greeted the cook. “How’s the guts?”
“Recovered by next day. How are things with you?”
“Okay, Ed. Still toiling hard. How did you like the windstorm the other day? When she blows, she blows, eh?” The cook whisked away the cheesecloth covering the side of beef and slashed into it with his butcher’s knife—expertly, too. With about twenty pounds of beef, Bony went back to the camelmen’s camp behind the machinery shed and a moment or so later Newton proceeded to collect his ration of meat. Bony saw Posthole Frankie leave the horse yards and almost follow Newton into the kitchen, and when the overseer did not soon appear, he smiled a little grimly and could imagine Newton “putting over” the sly hints.
Nothing was said on the way out to the cane-grass shed where the camels were freed, and the salting of the major portion of the meat undertaken.
“Frankie didn’t miss a word,” Newton then said. “Looked everywhere but at me and the cook. He got it all right. I told ’em about you when the cook wanted to know how you were shaping on the Fence. Said you was a newchum Fence worker. Said you were as full of questions as a butcher’s dog’s full of meat. Cook says you’re too educated to be a real bush worker, and that gave me another chance to tell ’em it was my opinion and that I’m inclined to bet you’re a policeman in disguise. The cook said he knew the police wouldn’t give up the Maidstone killing all that easy, and that he wouldn’t take my bet if I made one. All that good-oh with you?”
“Excellent,” Bony replied. “Posthole Frankie will go that fast to Moses and his Medicine Man that no one will see him for dust.”
“The cook made it easy for me. I didn’t say about you lookin’ to make an arrest. Didn’t think it was necessary. Think them abos will begin moving?”
“No, not for some time. The elders will have a council meeting over Moses’s little fire, and then Charlie the Nut will go into his act and communicate with his opposite number at Lake Frome. You probably won’t believe it, but it will be done by smoke signal and telepathy. I shall find the future interesting.”
Newton chuckled, saying: “Good word, interesting! I know another good word, alarming!”
“Why call that feller Charlie the Nut?”
“Don’t know. Never thought to ask. White-man’s nickname for someone they don’t understand, probably. I know why Frankie is called Posthole. Because that was his job for a month. Went crook at it, too. Rather ride a horse, like all of ’em, but Joyce told him he could gouge postholes or get off the station; seems no one argues with Joyce.”
They parted the next morning, Newton going south and expecting to meet with Nugget and Company to whom he would say nothing of his suspicions that Ed Bonnay was a detective. Bony returned to routine work on the Fence, but was never far from his rifle.
Two days passed before Moses made his first move. It was a windless morning and Bony, who was working on high ground, saw the smoke signal far beyond Bore Nine. The natives at Lake Frome homestead would see only the top portion of the disjointed smoke column, which would be enough for their Chief or Medicine Man to go into a huddle. Then there would be much talk about two little fires.
Bony fired the first shot, but not at a human being. He was crossing the series of gigantic sand ranges and coming to the summit of one when he saw on the flat beyond a dingo being attacked by two eagles. The dingo was getting the worst of it. A bird flying low along the flat would knock the dog off its feet, and before the animal could stand to run the other eagle swept in to knock it down with a wing pinion. So it went on, each bird taking its turn, sweeping in upon the victim, buffeting with each charge, and never once striking the ground with a claw.
Somewhere in the vicinity would be the eagles’ nest. Built high in the topmost fork of a dead tree, it would permit a landscape view to eyes which could see a bush rat from a couple of miles high. The dog ought not to have been caught in the open in daylight, and should it get out of this situation it would never be caught again. Bony knew, however, that it would never escape these two birds, who would continue their attack until the dog lay dying of sheer exhaustion. Taking aim, Bony mercifully shot it and the birds departed in large, unhurried, upward circles.
The report of the point-44-calibre rifle reverberated along the corridors of the ranges and Bony wondered at what distance it would be heard by man.
Being low in water and his camels edgy from thirst, he left making camp until his return from the bore lake. With the rifle slung across a shoulder, his train passed into South Australia and it had proceeded but half the distance to the bore lake when Old George’s bell warned him the animal had broken away. George seemed determined to get to the lake ahead of Bony, and his bell clanked rapidly as he drew ahead. Bony made no attempt to catch him, for in so doing he would have had to leave Rosie free.
When he reached the lake George was standing with hind legs wide apart and still drinking. He ranged Rosie alongside George and when both had taken their fill, he hooshed them down to chew cud. Then he had to unload George to get a
t the well-nigh empty drums, and after that he got out a roll of line to make a new nose-line for George. He had cut the length of light rope and was affixing to one end the loop of twine to slip about the nose-plug when both animals abruptly stood. Both turned about and away from the lake and Bony had time to notice that Old George stood between him and the rifle leaning against a water-drum.
Coming at high speed was the largest camel Bony had ever seen. The sudden chill that went through Bony only strengthened his sudden realization that this was the Lake Frome Monster!
Chapter Nine
The Monster
THE BEAST ploughed across the sandy desert like a ship in a rough sea. It seemed to have but two legs, when actually it had four. The nearside legs lifted off the ground at the same instant and then down they came and the offside legs lifted clear. The body was dark brown at the summit, light brown near the legs. The head was kept low and the impression was one of extreme viciousness.
Bony attempted to rush around Old George, but George moved, and as he did so prevented him from reaching the rifle. On turning again, the Monster was upon him.
With astonishing alacrity, the beast skidded to a halt to blow its breath into Bony’s face. From it came a long, gurgling, high-pitched moan which seemed to enclose him and his two camels within a barrier beyond which all the world was sunk into slumberous peace. Actuated rather by the instinct of a camelman than by logical thought, Bony flicked the new nose-line over the beast’s snout, caught the opposite end and pulled downward.
“Hoosta! Hoosta!” he shouted, and tugged violently on the line. The Monster drew in its uvula, which had been protruding, and the glare of hate vanished from its eyes. It sank to its knees, went down on its back legs, which it tucked against its belly. Its head jerked up, and up the long neck rose the cud which it masticated almost violently.
Bony heard grunts behind him and knew that his two camels had also obeyed the order to lie down. He felt a reaction which made him tremble, but knew also that fear had fled into the distant mirage.
“Now wasn’t that something?” he asked the Lake Frome Monster. “I’m a lucky man, and so are you because had I been able to get to the rifle you would have been laid out for good. Damn it, I believe all you wanted was society, gentle companionship. You’ve been ill-treated, cast out, shot at, turned into a national Ishmael. Well, we’ll see. You’ve lost your nose-plug so I’ll make you a bridle until I can rope you to a tree to put in another, and you take it for granted that if you play up, go on strike or misbehave, I’ll shoot you for certain sure.”
The Monster continued cud-chewing. He did not move his head when Bony’s deft hands wove the bridle with a length of nose-line rope, and when Bony leaned against his hump his hide didn’t twitch.
Bony lit a cigarette and surveyed the situation. He didn’t need a third camel, and the two he had were good campers until lack of water to moisten cud drove them to seek it. However, this newcomer, unlikely to be owned by anyone, was a strong bullock in its prime, whereas Old George was really too old to carry the load demanded of him. Overseer Newton would probably object to taking another camel on the strength, particularly one with the reputation as a killer that the Monster had rightly or wrongly acquired. However, he might not if the Monster was broken to take a pack saddle. There were many other ifs, but Bony decided to give the Monster a chance.
It was not possible to anticipate how the Monster would behave when the man left him, but Bony had to do that to claim his rifle and load the water-drums on to Old George. He stepped away from the hump, reached the rifle, and the Monster merely continued to chew cud with great content. The drums loaded, Old George was given a new nose-line and ordered to his feet. Rosie got up when he did and the end of George’s nose-line was fastened to the rear of the riding saddle. The Monster got up without haste, still chewing, and the length of nose-line dangling from his bridle was hitched to George’s load. He behaved perfectly all the way to the spot where Bony intended camping for the night.
He put the camels down where he had camped with Needle Kent, unloaded, stood the animals up and hobbled them. He had straps and hobble chains as spares, and with the set he approached the Monster to hobble short his forelegs.
Here was the most dangerous job to do with an unknown animal. It meant stooping low to the ground right at the animal’s large padded feet armed with large toenails. The man would then be at the mercy of the camel, who might strike or bite with crippling effect, and in circumstances which could well prove fatal when in such complete isolation.
The Monster was standing. It was no use hesitating. Bony placed his hand on the animal’s shoulder, then lowered the hand down the foreleg, stooping while doing this until the beast was towering over him. He had to reach behind the nearer leg to put a strap about the farther leg, finally putting the other strap about the nearer. The Monster never moved.
“Well, I must say, you’re a perfect ruddy gentleman,” he observed standing away. “Anyone would think you have been working under a load all day instead of rampaging up and down the eastern half of South Australia for months, perhaps years. But don’t ever forget that should you play up, I’ll lay you out cold.”
The Monster was with his two camels when he went for them, and he followed George back to camp where Bony laid him down against a stout tree for the final indignity. With a pack rope he drew the Monster’s head hard against the tree, and with agile fingers slipped a new nose-plug up inside the nostril and the small end out through the hole punctured to take it. The Monster objected only to the extent of barely showing its uvula, and was then released from the tree.
Now with harness in order and taking the last place on the train, the Monster gave no trouble. As Bony worked on the summits of the sand ranges, he kept an eye on the Monster all that day. Thereafter, he did not worry about him. The Monster appeared to have no designs on his life. It was early in the afternoon while Bony was working on the South Australian side of the Fence that he saw three horsemen approaching, and a minute later he could distinguish that one was white. He introduced himself as Levvey, the manager of Lake Frome Station.
The two aborigines with him had fallen to his rear as he rode up to Bony. His eyes were small but unblinking in their concentration and, as always, a slight smile widened his thick lips.
“Day, Ed. You see any cattle out this way?”
“Not for some time,” Bony replied, and reached for his tobacco tin and papers. Levvey dismounted and followed suit.
“Any at the bore when you were there?”
“Didn’t see any. I was there four days ago.”
“Might be farther south. Want to turn ’em west.” Blue eyes shrewdly looked over the fenceman. “How’s the job going?”
“Not too bad. Plenty to keep me occupied.”
Levvey looked through the wire at the three camels lying down at ease but offered no remark about the third one. He lounged with his back to a fence post, and in appearance was no different from Newton or from Bony. He smiled readily, and seemed to take life easily.
“Still not much of a job barbering this Fence,” he said casually, and Bony waited for what was coming. “Slogging your guts out after every windstorm. The loneliness would drive me screwy. You want a change of job see me. Done much cattle work?”
“Fair bit in my time. As you say the job’s tough after a storm, but the pay is good, and I don’t intend to stay on it long.”
“Think it over, Ed. I got to work with abos, and they get tired too often. I could use a man of your stamp, but don’t tell Newton I said so. What with the Frome Monster, if there is one, which I doubt, and schoolteachers getting themselves murdered, the abos are afraid to move about unless kicked in the backside.”
“Could have been an accident—the schoolteacher, I mean.”
“An accident! Never thought of it like that.” Levvey dropped the butt of his cigarette and rolled another. “How d’you make that out?”
“Well, didn’t an abo nearly
shoot Nugget? Newton told me he almost got it.”
“Yes, so he did. We was talking about it and reckon they can get guns too easy. Come to think of it, they can. I told one of my abos that if he didn’t take care, I’ll take it off him. Careless bastard. Maidstone could have been shot accidentally. Don’t seem no reason to shoot him. Didn’t rob him or anything.”
Levvey did not appear to be in any hurry to go on. Bony said:
“I was in the Hill when it happened. Papers full of it. Police didn’t think it was an accident, but what else could it have been?”
“What else, as you say, Ed. People don’t get murdered without a reason, and there was no reason for that murder. You ever done any police work?”
“Done a bit of tracking for them a couple of times. Could have joined them, but I get itchy feet. The abos didn’t do any good on the murder case, did they?”
“No, they didn’t pick up any tracks of a man about the bore exceptin’ them left by Maidstone. By gee! It could have been an accident. Of course, to be fair the abos didn’t have much time before the wind came and wiped even the cattle tracks out.”
“Interesting subject.”
“Too right,” agreed Levvey. “Well, I’d better get on. When d’you reckon you’ll be seeing Newton again?”
“Can’t rightly say.”
“Of course not, Ed. Anyway, you want a job let me know. Wife’s a good cook. Give you good quarters.” Levvey mounted, nodded, gave a see-you-later, and departed with his two henchmen. Bony had finished work here, and he climbed the Fence, roused his somnolent camels and also departed to the south.
He wondered about Jack Levvey, who conformed to a bush type. Levvey had come up the hard way and would know his work as well as managing a gang of aborigines. He would be able to track as well as they, but whether he had done any tracking at the scene of the murder was not on record. Probably not, as he would avoid losing face with Commander Joyce.
Bony - 29 - The Lake Frome Monster Page 7
