The Burning Land

by John Fletcher

  It was time.

  ‘God knows where we sleep,’ Matthew said.

  He had had a few drinks, too, but nothing like as many as the others. He was probably the only sober man among them, Aggie thought, and was glad.

  ‘Come,’ she said.

  She picked up the lantern she had ready, took his hand and led him through the camp, past the dying glow of the fire, past the waggon, past the shapes and sounds and smell of the resting herd until they came to the place she had chosen.

  The water in the narrow creek shone silver in the starlight. Frogs chinked like small birds. The air was cool and fresh with the smell of new grass. Aggie had laid out their bed on the open ground. She raised the lantern, showing the place to her husband.

  ‘Here,’ she said.

  She felt him beside her. Physically he made her feel very small but in her heart she knew she was not small. She knew that in the things that mattered she was as big as he was; bigger, perhaps, in some ways. She wanted him to know it too. She wanted him to understand how well suited they were to each other and to the life they had planned together.

  She looked out at the darkness. He put his arm around her without speaking and she knew that he understood why she had brought him here, understood, too, that they were one in the face of what lay ahead.

  She indicated the blankets arranged neatly at their feet. ‘Ours,’ she said. She looked beyond the bed, at what lay in the distance, the future. ‘Ours, too.’

  He said nothing nor, having said all she had wished to say, did she.

  He turned to her, shaken with passion and with love, and she felt his body trembling as he held her close. Her arms went around his neck.

  It flowed, one thing from another, one movement, one response, one totality, the totality infinitely more than the sum of its parts, a flower unfolding. One thing only she remembered. Lying, Matthew sheathed in her at last, bodies sweat-slick, looking up at him and thinking, This is it, then, the circle made whole, knowing that he felt the same. The mingling, the cries upon the air. Silence.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Catriona was in the bedroom with Sarah when the black girl appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Missus …’

  ‘What is it, Cassie?’

  ‘Men come.’

  ‘Men?’ Catriona hurried outside.

  Riders were approaching the house. She watched them as they came cantering across the plain, a small plume of dust marking their passage. There were three of them; as they came closer she saw that one of them was a woman, her long red hair shining in the sun. She felt better about the strangers, knowing one of them was a woman, but still slipped back into the house for the rifle.

  The strangers reached the bottom of the mound and, without pausing or dismounting, rode straight on up the slope. As they neared she saw that they were exhausted, swaying in their saddles. The two men were rough-looking, well armed too. Their condition made her more wary rather than less: men in need could be dangerous.

  However, they began courteously enough.

  The leader took off his hat with an attempt at a flourish. ‘G’day, ma’am. Might I have a word with your husband if he’s available?’

  Hard eyes in a thin and haggard face, dirty black hair hanging about his ears. ‘He’ll be back directly.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He took a long, careful glance across the plain. The ground had dried since the rains and Catriona knew he was seeking the tell-tale plume of dust that would reveal the presence of another rider.

  He grinned at her. ‘Permission to dismount, ma’am?’

  Hospitality was an iron rule. She nodded. ‘I’ll get you something to eat and drink.’

  ‘That would be good,’ the man said.

  The newcomers sat on the bare ground while Catriona and Cassie fetched food: meat, damper, a bowl of bush tea. They ate where they sat, tearing at the food and guzzling the tea like animals. It did not take long before they had finished everything.

  ‘More?’ Catriona asked.

  The man sighed, crumbs clinging to his beard. ‘Best not,’ he said. ‘We ain’t eaten in a while and our stomachs ain’t used to good food.’

  ‘I would ask you to stay overnight,’ Catriona said, ‘but my husband is very particular about strangers. I think it might be best if you were gone before he returned.’

  ‘As you say, ma’am.’ The man got to his feet and turned slowly, eyes once more fixed thoughtfully on the empty plain.

  ‘He is working down at the creek,’ Catriona offered, willing her voice to remain casual. ‘He will be back directly, Mr …?’

  ‘Schultz. I doubt you will have heard of me.’ But his eyes mocked and his voice flourished his name like a banner. They were hard and knowing eyes, bright with confidence, and Catriona’s heart sank as she saw the proprietorial way he looked about the house, the surrounding countryside, herself. She had put down the gun when she fetched the food; now she went and stood close to it but did so without confidence. She knew she was incapable of dealing with these men and, watching Schultz’s derisive smile, saw he knew it, too.

  ‘Perhaps you would like some more food to take with you?’ she suggested. Neither of Schultz’s companions had spoken since they arrived; now she spoke directly to the woman as though contact with another female would help still the panic simmering within her. ‘If you would like to come inside the house and wash …?’

  The woman did not respond, did not even seem to be aware that the offer had been made. Catriona’s words petered out.

  ‘I’ll get something together for you,’ she said.

  She picked up the gun and went into the house, the feel of the wooden stock, the faint smell of oil a reassurance. Behind her the light through the open doorway was blotted out. Cassie gasped. Even as Catriona started to turn she knew it was too late.

  ‘I’ll look after that,’ Schultz said. Effortlessly he removed the rifle from her grasp. ‘Now we’ll wait until this husband of yours turns up.’

  ‘I cannot think what he will do when he finds you holding me at gunpoint.’ Catriona attempted spirit but her words sounded hollow in her ears.

  ‘Got any sense he won’t do mithin.’ Schultz grinned lazily, unconcerned by her words. ‘Man tries to be too clever can get himself hurt.’

  He prowled through the house, found the baby. ‘This yours?’

  ‘Who else’s would she be?’

  The presence of the child made him thoughtful, she saw. He got to his feet and went to the door. ‘Waldo!’

  The second man stood there, vacuous expression and all. ‘Yair?’

  ‘Have a poke around,’ Schultz instructed him. ‘See if you kin find any sign of this husband she claims she’s got.’

  Within minutes Waldo was back. ‘Come and have a look at this.’

  ‘I got to keep an eye on this one,’ Schultz told him impatiently. ‘Tell me what you found.’

  ‘A fresh grave.’

  ‘That so?’ Schultz’s eyes travelled slowly back to her. ‘And whose might that be, I wonder?’

  ‘A passer-by,’ Catriona improvised desperately. ‘We never knew his name.’

  But Schultz’s doubts had been laid to rest. ‘You’re lyin’,’ he said.

  ‘We ain’t farmers,’ Wilma put in. ‘You plannin’ on stayin’ here forever?’

  ‘You kin shut your mouth for a start,’ Schultz told her.

  ‘It ain’t because of the farm you’re thinkin’ of stayin’,’ she accused him.

  For a big man Schultz moved fast. Within a second he had crossed the room and taken Wilma’s long hair tight in his fist. He twisted it slowly, grinning.

  She stared back at him, eyes bold and angry through the tears that filled them.

  He tightened it a further turn, then let it go. ‘Maybe that’ll learn you to keep your mouth shut.’

  Wilma’s expression was spiteful. ‘Remember what I said. You got to sleep. Never forget that.’

  He paused: a dangerous stillness. ‘That supposed to mean
something?’

  She defied him, her temper as red as her hair. ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Waldo!’ Schultz ordered without taking his eyes from Wilma’s face.

  ‘Yair?’

  ‘Take this bitch outside and tie her up.’

  At once Wilma was a screaming termagant of nails, teeth, streaming red hair. ‘Don’ you lay your hands on me, Waldo Cummins!’

  Waldo hesitated, looking at Schultz. He obviously did not relish his task—Who would? Catriona thought—but was not about to defy Schultz either.

  ‘Git on with it,’ Schultz ordered. To Wilma he said, ‘If I have to do it I promise you I’ll tie your damn hands so tight your fingers will drop off.’

  And meant it, Catriona could tell. So could Wilma: she submitted with no more than a baring of her teeth as Waldo led her gingerly out of the house.

  The incident seemed to have put Schultz in a good humour. He smiled genially at Catriona. ‘She’s right. We ain’t farmers.’ His smile broadened. ‘Why do you think I’ve decided to stay here?’

  Catriona’s lips turned cold and stiff. She tried to speak and could not but Schultz was a man who expected his questions to be answered. He scowled. ‘I asked you why.’

  Somehow she managed to squeeze the words past her lips. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I reckon you do,’ he said, ‘but it’ll keep.’ He laughed. ‘Somin for you to look forward to.’

  There was a sudden cursing outside the house, followed by a slap and a screech from Wilma.

  Schultz was at the door. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

  Waldo’s voice. ‘The bitch bit me.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Schultz said, ‘can’t you even do that without making a mess of it?’

  He went outside. Catriona was alone. Baby Sarah had been fed earlier and was now asleep in the bedroom. Cassie had disappeared shortly after Schultz and his companions had arrived. Presumably she had gone back to her people rather than risk facing danger here. The natives would do nothing about Schultz unless he attacked them. A quarrel between whites was none of their business. But if Catriona could take the baby and escape to their camp perhaps they would protect her.

  Giving herself no time to think she jumped to her feet, ran into the bedroom, grabbed the sleeping child, managed somehow, encumbered as she was, to climb through the window and drop to the ground and took off down the slope, running as though the devil were after her.

  Any moment she expected to hear shouts, the sounds of pursuit, but nothing happened. Sarah stirred in her arms and whimpered. Catriona reached the bottom of the mound, stumbled and almost fell over a protruding rock and at last, breath harsh in her throat, heart pounding in her breast, plunged into the new vegetation that had grown up along the banks of the creek since the rains. Frogs chirruped, the head-high rushes plunged and hissed as she forced her way through them, their tangled roots and stems clutched at her feet. She raised her elbows as high as she could to protect the baby from their sharp leaves. It was an awkward way to run and already her arms were heavy; her lungs on fire.

  Still there was no sound behind her. She began to dread the silence. A pursuit she could hear would have frightened her less than this, expecting every minute to feel Schultz’s hand on her shoulder. The rushes seemed endless.

  She placed her foot on a brown branch. It writhed and she jerked back, staring in horror as the big snake slithered away. Exhaustion swept her. The dragging weight of the child kept her going. Sarah must survive. Catriona shut her eyes, screwed up her face and summoned her dwindling strength to force her way through the reeds.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  They were a sorry looking party when they set out, heads hanging on exhausted necks, eyes as red as the sunrise.

  ‘Apart from you and maybe the women, I reckon the only things healthy around here are the cattle,’ Charlton told Matthew as they rode out. He wasn’t feeling too healthy himself but at least he could ride: Hud was prostrate in his waggon, beleaguered for once by a hangover as well as Maggie’s sharp tongue, and one or two of the boys looked almost as bad.

  ‘I reckon that whisky had kerosene in it,’ Charlton complained.

  ‘Didn’t notice you objecting at the time,’ Matthew told him cheerfully. For him the world was wonderful, and the sight of everyone else’s troubles only made him feel better. He trotted off to look for Aggie.

  My wife, he thought. It was hard to believe.

  He found her easily enough, riding along beside Nance’s waggon, and felt his mouth, his whole face, widen into a huge grin at the sight of her.

  She laughed back at him. ‘You look as though you lost a shilling and found a quid,’ she greeted him.

  ‘Maybe I did,’ he said, ‘and maybe I found something better.’

  ‘And what would that be, I wonder?’

  He leant towards her. In a stage whisper he said, ‘A woman.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘A woman?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What sort of woman?’

  He grinned. ‘A young black one. All covered in clay with a bone through her nose.’

  Aggie tossed her head. ‘If that’s what you want …’

  ‘Why not? Nothing much else around here.’ His joy overcame him. He put out his hand and took hers, riding so close their legs bumped against each other. ‘You are the best thing that ever happened to me,’ he told her.

  ‘Poo,’ she said, eyes smiling at him, ‘go back to your black woman.’

  Later that morning they came in sight of a house built on top of a low hill overlooking a creek, a fenced enclosure at the back containing horses.

  Charlton and Matthew, out ahead of the herd, reined in to examine what they had found.

  ‘Lonely sort of place,’ Charlton commented. ‘Likely they’ll welcome visitors. They can’t see too many of them out here.’

  ‘They won’t welcome us if our cattle eat all their new grazing,’ Matthew commented. ‘We’d best keep the herd well away from the buildings. Let’s go and see who they are.’

  The two men put their horses into a canter.

  ‘Notice something?’ Charlton shouted to him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Them tracks we bin following, they head right up here too.’

  They reached the foot of the rise and reined in, looking up at the house. A woman came out of the door and looked down the slope at them. She waved.

  ‘Come on up, strangers.’ Her voice came faintly to them. Her long red hair shone in the sunlight.

  ‘Who’d live out here?’ Nance asked.

  I would, Aggie thought. I will, or somewhere more remote still. Aloud she said, ‘I wonder who they are?’

  ‘Someone who ain’t right in the head.’

  Aggie looked at Nance questioningly. ‘I thought you were thinking of setting up your own place?’

  ‘That was before I saw what it was like, wasn’t it?’

  Nance couldn’t put into words how the outback affected her, the distances without life and feature, the horizons devoid of variation or hope. She had discovered that limitless space could be as oppressive as a tiny room in a slum. The vast sky, the desolate landscape, had a weight that reduced her to insignificance and she hated it.

  Now she had seen the interior Nance had decided she could never be happy here. It was why she had wanted to stay in Fort Bourke, although even that shabby little town had been far removed from her old dreams. That she could live with. What she could not live with was the thought of dragging around the outback for the rest of her life while Git chased cows. Just as bad was the prospect of living out the months in some hick town, waiting for Git to come home, or not, as the case might be.

  Yet what choice do I have? she thought. I am thirty-two. Git will never settle to life in town, even somewhere as small as Fort Bourke. As long as his life lasts he will move on. It ain’t in him to do anything else. I must either accept it or move on myself.

  She had a vision of another town, another hotel, once again hiring a
room … She did not want to go back to that. She was too old. All her life she had held onto her dream of the cottage, the thatched roof, the flowers, the table set with good china. Now she realised that was all it had ever been: a dream. She would be grubbing around cow camps until she died. It was the pattern of her life. Well, she thought with a sudden and unexpected resignation, if that is the way it has to be, I must learn to live with it.

  ‘How do you think things will work out in your life?’ she asked Aggie.

  ‘We’ll run sheep.’ Aggie had the confidence of youth, someone who had known neither failure nor disappointment.

  ‘Ain’t you afraid?’

  Aggie shook her head. ‘I just keep plugging along. That way I don’t have time to be afraid.’

  I was like that once, Nance thought without envy. I always knew things would work out the way I wanted. Now look at me: not married, nor likely to be. Aggie is so young, she thought. There is time for dreams when you’re as young as that.

  Out the back of the house, Schultz had his hand on Waldo’s arm. ‘Git down there,’ he whispered. ‘Find that girl and cut her damn throat. No bullets, mind, I don’ want those jokers on their guard until we’re ready to deal with them.’

  Waldo looked uneasily down the hill. The undergrowth along the creek was taller than a man and ran a long way in both directions. It would be easy to hide down there.

  ‘What if I can’t find her?’

  Schultz scowled. ‘You’d better find her, mate. I’ll be looking for a few answers if you don’t.’

  Wilma was making conversation with the new arrivals. ‘Where are you men headed?’

  ‘Northwest,’ the younger man said. He had black hair with red lights in it and was as big as the side of a house. Wilma thought he would be quite pretty with a bath and change of clothes but she had more on her mind than the man’s looks. She thought Schultz must have gone crazy.