by Walker, Lucy
Barton assumed the expression of one very shocked person. ‘What a wicked mind you have, Jeckie! I’m ashamed of you.’
‘You don’t own me—so you don’t have to feel anything about me,’ she retorted.
Barton sighed — as he changed his role back to teasing
cousinship. ‘Blood will out, you know. There’s still something of the Ashenden mixed up with the Bennett in you, pet. Why aren’t you watching the train, Jeckie? Look … here comes the tail-end.’
`I am watching the train. I’m wishing I could jump from here on to it and go wherever it is going — two hundred and fifty miles away to the coast — so as to get away from what you, Barton Ashenden, have been thinking. You’re thinking about what I would do with my share — if I one day inherit it — ‘
‘So you want to run away with the ore, out on a carrier ship? Then away across the sea? Just to punish me? My, oh my, Jeckie! You do take things seriously, don’t you?’
She did not answer him.
They watched in silence for a long time as the train raced on through the valley then away through the cutting in the lower hills. The last click-clack was heard, a sound fading in the distance. Then its echo faded too. A strange silence settled over the valley, over the deserted railway line, and over the plain beyond the last of the hills. Mallibee Range sat blue and brooding on the open cuts of its terrible man-gouged wounds.
Jeckie saw now that the mesa-topped range was thrust up from the plain like some primeval foreign body. From this vantage point it had a beginning and an end that could be seen with the naked eye. The far end had been scooped into a gigantic, open-mouthed hollowed gap. Behind this cut-away the range sloped off into the distance in a strange, sad, blue, unfinished way of low hills. Jeckie could see tiny movements down in that great gap now. They could have been ants at work except that the super-giant shovels that scooped away at the mountain were tools beyond ants. They had to be men.
Westerly-Ann, Jeckie thought. That was the mine to which the two men at the airport belonged. No wonder Barton had been barely civil to them. It didn’t bother them to whom the mountain had belonged. It would have been no more than a money-making mountain of iron ore — to them. Yet Jason Bassett had been friendly with them. That, of course, was one of the reasons why Barton had been very perfunctory in greeting Jason! She was beginning to see through the glass daddy of
the family relationships now — she thought. Jason was on friendly terms with the enemy.
The silence that had fallen on the heat-razed land was troubled again. This time it was the sound of a motor vehicle labouring up the side of the valley to their right.
‘Is someone coming up the track, Barton?’
`Yes. You can see the dust plume rising up from the cutting over to the east. He’s through now. Holy smoke, it’s old Clinton from Nimarri Plains!’
`Old Clinton?’
‘A crusty old bachelor. Owns the neighbouring station to the north east of Mallibee. He’s more hopping mad about the iron ore than Ashendens A and B, Jeckie. His land is leasehold and when the mining crowd moved in, he had no control over them whatsoever. They’d actually pegged claims all over his place. The Wardens’ Court —that’s Jason Bassett — okayed their claims. They moved in and scooped out costeans till part of the station looks like a massive game of snakes and ladders.’
Jeckie watched the utility, enveloped in its own dust cloud, zigzagging its way upward between the iron-coloured boulders.
Finally it reached the top, then eased over on to the track where the Land-Rover stood.
The man at the wheel was as brown as the boulders and as dust-covered as the utility. Somewhere under the old wide-brimmed pastoralist’s hat was a wizened face.
‘Hallo there, Bart,’ a croaking voice called. ‘See that rakin’ train go through? That’s a bit of Mallibee on its way, all right!’
‘You don’t have to tell me, Evan. We’ve been watching it.’
‘Daylight robbery when they take that stuff. Make your old grandfather, and his father before him, turn in their graves.’
‘Don’t blame me for it, Evan. I’m not the one who hived-off that stretch of land.’
‘Neither you did. It was that cousin of yours. Say, who’ve you got along with you, eh?’
‘I’m sorry, Jeckie, I was waiting to get a word in — to introduce Evan Clinton to you. Evan, this is another cousin
frorn the south. Miss Jeckie Bennett.’
‘Cripes! Do they all run to girls down there? You had one of them up a few weeks back, didn’t you? Everyone round the district’s been waiting for the wedding bells. Who’s going to marry who, eh? Coupling up the old family together again, eh?’ The old man threw back his head and laughed. Then, in the middle of a hearty guffaw, he stopped dead.
‘Say, Barton, you’re just the one I want. ‘Scusin’, Miss Jeckie-if that’s your name - but could I take Barton off for an hour or two? I’m going across the dip to move some of the latest pegs the Westerly mob have been putting along the boundary line between me and Mallibee. It’s in your interest too, Bart. There’s none of that geologist mob on the watch jes’ now …’
‘I’d like to come, Evan. But I can’t leave my cousin here. She’d never make that track across country to the Turn-Off.’
‘Try me, Barton,’ Jeckie said quickly. ‘I’d love to come with you and Mr Clinton - ‘
`Nope!’ the older man said flatly. `No girls. No accidents that way. Most important - no witnesses. Male or female. This is a job for me an’ Bart on our own - ‘scusin’ me putting it bluntly. Those mining pegs are bordering on my land. We’re about to go in for a spot of legitimate piracy.’
Barton laughed.
‘He’s dead right, Jeckie,’ he said. The old boy’s up to mischief, and the less you know about it the better. You can’t drive a Land-Rover, I suppose?’
‘I haven’t driven one yet, but I’m willing to try.’
Barton opened the Land-Rover’s door as if about to get in.
‘I think it’s no go, Evan,’ he said. ‘Her hand’s not big enough to use, or release, the hand-brake. I can’t leave Jeckie up here from now till when you oblige by calling that job a day. I’d say you won’t stop that re-pegging for night, moonlight or tomorrow’s sun-up.’
‘On my own, Bart, you’re dead right. But with you along it’ll be different. We’ve got a right job of work here, you and me. I’ll tell you what. Leave that Rover where it is. The girl can take my utility. It’s no different driving the ute than any ordinary car.’
`Done. It’s a bargain.’ Barton slammed the door and turned to Jeckie. ‘Come on, lass,’ he said. ‘If you can drive a car, you can drive old man Clinton’s ute. It’s easy enough.’
‘Of course I can drive it,’ Jeckie said coldly. ‘Is there any difference between driving back across that blistering spinifex plain or driving down there with you and Mr Clinton? Why can’t I come? Please —’
‘There’s all the difference in the world. Once through the gully, we’re walking. That light-coloured dress of yours would scream a beacon from here across the Gibson Desert. We have to keep under cover. Otherwise the geologists would be here at sun-up tomorrow, and shift the pegs back again.’
‘I can always take off my dress.’
`Not with Mr Clinton around. He’s old-fashioned. He hasn’t bridged the Generation Gap yet. Come on, Evan. Hand over the keys, will you?’
‘Left them in the lock, Bart.’
`So I have to go back.’ Jeckie sounded almost dejected. ‘Driving Mr Clinton’s car too?’
`Don’t stop for anyone, Jeckie. Specially a stranger. When there’s a mineral search on, the shortest distance between two points is non-stop straight. Anyone’s likely to want to get on our tail, and start re-pegging our re-peggings. Have you got the message, pet? Be a good girl and take off for the store at the Turn-Off. Okay? At the Turn-Off you can eat and drink and rest to your heart’s content. They have a rest room at the side of the store for wea
ry travellers. Specially for the ladies. Magazines provided free. We’ll pick you up some time before sundown.’
Barton shooed Jeckie in the direction of the utility. He held the door open for her and gazed in her eyes with mock regret as he settled her in.
`Such beautiful blue eyes,’ he said regretfully. `So big. So beautiful. Jeckie, when you look at me like that, my resolution weakens. But — men must go about men’s affairs —’
`And Mr Clinton’s company is preferable to mine at the moment? Do you know something, Barton?’ She gazed back unwaveringly into his eyes. ‘You aren’t the first person in my life who’s decided I’m not suitable for
a country-to-country discovery trip. At least … in the other case it was more like a cross-the-sea, long-life swim.’
`Tell me all about it later, honey. Old Man Clinton is calling. But please believe me … it’s not his company that draws me. It’s the chance to move some of those mining pegs — surreptitiously — right oft our boundary. You wouldn’t like to see more of Mallibee carved up, would you?’
No, Jeckie wouldn’t. So she sighed, turned the key in the starter button, and edged Mr Clinton’s utility on to the out-track.
Three quarters of an hour later Jeckie was back at the Turn-Off.
Moving other people’s mining pegs, she supposed, must be a very engaging activity. Barton had forgotten to warn her of ‘the enemy’ — Jason — who just might be pottering round his own property at the Turn-Off. Barton had quite overlooked that danger.
Alas, when she had parked the utility under one of the few shady trees by the petrol station, there was no sign of either Jason Bassett or of his black and tan kelpie dog. The place brooded in an inert hot silence. Even Mrs Stringer, the store’s manager, was not about. There was only a solemn-faced girl who was eating an apple with the help of one hand while she used the feather duster with the other. She was moving dust from shelves that Mrs Stringer had been busily dusting earlier. It must be a way of life, Jeckie thought.
‘I’m afraid I have to put in a few hours here,’ she said aloud. ‘There isn’t anywhere else to wait, is there?’
The girl looked at her thoughtfully, moving a piece of apple from one cheek to the other.
‘s okay,’ she said at length. ‘Everybody does it. It’s a meeting place here. Who’s coming for you?’
`Mr Ashenden from Mallibee. He’ll be coming with a Mr Clinton in a Land-Rover.’
Again the girl nodded, but remained expressionless. “s okay,’ she said again. ‘Mum knows all about it. They came through on the two-way an’ told us. Said to get you some food a bit later.’
‘They did, did they?’ Jeckie asked, surprised. She was glad Barton hadn’t turned out quite so ruthless. She had felt almost low-spirited at the unchivalrous way she had been bundled off. ‘Well … that was nice of them. You see. I didn’t bring any money with me.’
‘That’s what they said. Both of them. They said to book it up — whatever you have — to Mallibee.’
Jeckie was becoming puzzled. The girl’s face was so expressionless. Her voice was toneless enough to be even bored.
‘Both of them? You mean — Mr Clinton too?’
`No. Both the Ashendens. First Barton. I guess Andrew heard him talkin’ on the two-way. We’re hooked up on the same wavelength here. A sort-of general base we are here. So then he, I mean Andrew, came through on the blower, and proper mad he sounded too. Said to look after you. If Barton was all that incapable, he’d look after you himself. That’s what he said all right, miss. They don’t mince any words — those Ashendens. Well, the rest room’s just through that bamboo curtain at the side. I’ll come and see what you want when I’m finished here. Okay?’
‘Okay!’ Jeckie echoed, very bewildered.
Andrew? Look after me himself? There was a kind of wonder in her thoughts.
CHAPTER NINE
Jeckie went through the jingling bamboo curtain into the rest room. It was quite as hot in here as in the outside store, but at least it was under shade. Several well-worn arm-chairs stood about, each with its smoker’s stand beside it. There was a jar of plastic flowers on a small round table in the centre of the room. On a low table against one wall sat a heap of much-thumbed magazines.
Jeckie picked up one of the magazines, then crossed over to the window and sat down in the arm-chair near it.
‘At least a year out of date,’ she said disconsolately as she leafed through the magazine, then let it fall on her lap. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.
It wouldn’t be hard to fall asleep up here in the nor’west — at any time of the day — she thought. The temperature was high and the air was humid and heavy. Yesterday, in the airport, she’d heard those men from Westerly-Ann Mine talking about a cyclone further north off the coast. They had talked of the coastal towns having to batten down in case it moved inland from the sea. Even if it didn’t cross in, there would be heavy, humid weather followed by high winds.
Now, Jeckie thought, she was in the path of this same humid air. She wondered what ‘high winds’ really meant in the language of the north west. Storms?
Her eyelids dropped over her eyes. It would be so easy to fall asleep. One way of passing time was . . to .. . sleep.
Her head drooped on one side. Her body curled itself into a corner of the chair.
She must be more tired than she thought.
Her feet slipped themselves out of their shoes, and one foot, the right, tucked itself up under her as, with one more wriggle, she finally abandoned herself to total sleep.
Sometime later Albie came in with a tray carrying a teapot, cup and saucer, and a miniature paper bag containing sugar resting on the side of the saucer. A small glass jug with a chipped spout held some milk. Beside the teapot was a plate of sandwiches.
‘Well, wouldn’t it?’ Albie said, still expressionless. She stared at Jeckie’s forlorn and sleeping figure curled in the arm-chair. ‘I could have saved myself the trouble,’ she finished.
She turned and carried her burden of tea things back through the bamboo curtains into the nether regions of the store again.
Time passed.
Jeckie’s body curled itself into an even smaller ball in the chair. Both feet were tucked up under her now, and her head was resting on her arms — which in their turn rested themselves, folded, on one arm of the chair. She was fast asleep.
Mrs Stringer, the storekeeper, came in once. She sprayed the room against any bush fly that might have the temerity
to find its way inside. She picked up the jaded magazine, long since dropped to the floor, and put it back on the pile on the table.
She went outside, letting the beads of fine bamboo curtain fall gently, almost musically, back into place behind her.
The shadows under the trees outside were growing a little longer. Here and there down the bush track a kangaroo made its late afternoon excursion towards the grassland. Several emus raced past along the brow of the hill on the far side of the store.
`Do you reckon we ought to take her in something to eat now?’ Albie asked her mother. ‘She’s been there hours. If the Ashendens come in they’ll flick up bobsy-die because we didn’t feed her.’
`Well, Jason’ll handle the Ashendens if he gets back here first. If not, I’ll handle them. They might be almighty and cockadoodle-do out there at Mallibee but not here in this store. They don’t bring their custom this way unless they have to. Like Barton was stuck for oil this morning and had to eat humble pie because there was no place else to go. If Jason weren’t what he is, he’d up and say … “Not on your life, boy. You go and get your mechanics and your petrol an’ oil some place over the range.” He just isn’t that kind — ‘
‘More’s the shame,’ the young girl said in a meaningful way. ‘I guess we’re on Jason’s side whenever there’s a row on in the Shire.’
She walked over to the curtain and held it aside as she peered at Jeckie again.
`Hasn’t moved in an hour and a half
,’ she said. `Do you reckon she’s got sleeping sickness?’
`Nothing of the kind. Here, Albie, hold this tray of drinks while I wipe out the bottom of the freezer. Now, what was I saying? Oh yes. About that young lady sleeping. She made the plane journey up here only yesterday. Then out to Mallibee from the airport. She’d be tired anyway. Then this morning Barton ups and brings her out on this trip before she’s barely got over yesterday. If you ask me, Barton means to get in first with that girl himself. Same as Sheila Bowen seems to be getting fixed up for Andrew. That’s the tally round the stations. That’s what
everyone around about reckons, anyway.’
‘She was a one too,’ said Albie, putting the tray of drinks back in the freezer. ‘Miss Sheila Bowen from Upper-crust in Pepper Tree Bay. All dress and no brains, I’d say. But pretty all the same — ‘
‘Well, don’t you go copying her, that’s what I say. It’s all right for landholders such as the Ashendens to take to people like that Sheila … what did you say was her name?’
‘Bowen,’ Albie said, looking at herself in a wall mirror. ‘Sheila Bowen.’
She poked a stray piece of hair back behind her ear, then preened herself a little. ‘I’d change place with her any time. Could do with her style. Smiles a lot. They said at the dance they had at Nana Bindi when she was up here, she was so dam smart and pretty that you couldn’t see anything but her shoes because the men all crowded round her to catch a dance. Or even a bit of a one. What do they call those change-partners dances?’
`Sort-of barn dances, I expect.’
‘Except it’s held in a wool shed,’ Albie said, still preening. She wriggled a half step here and a half step there, in a wistful, longing way. ‘Just my luck to have a sore throat and miss out that time — ‘
‘Quiet! There’s a car coming. I can hear the hum in the wires along the trees by Jason’s homestead.’
‘Someone for the girl? Do you reckon I ought to wake her?’
