by Di Morrissey
‘Can I borrow your saddle?’ asked Tommy quickly.
‘You think it’s going to make you go faster,’ said Marty and Ian glared at him.
‘Goodnight, fellas. We’ll have that game tomorrow night, okay?’ added Rob.
‘If you catch a big one can we see it later?’ asked Marty.
‘We’ll wake you up, for sure,’ said his father. ‘Might tie it up to the end of your bed. Be careful where you step in the night if you have to take a piss.’ Roaring at his joke he headed down the verandah.
The boys went to get into their pyjamas, and Sally turned to Rob.
‘Are they really going out this late and half shickered?’ she asked. ‘Who’s going with them? It sounds dangerous to me.’
‘Could be. Dougie, Harry and Gloria will go in one boat, John and someone to look out for him in another.’
‘Who’s going to be silly enough to go out in a dinghy with John cockeyed on rum among a bunch of giant crocodiles? Snowy, I suppose.’
‘Me, I’m afraid.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘Snowy’s passed out.’
‘You! What for? You don’t have to do that.’
‘I know, but Lorna would want me to go. Besides, under good conditions, it’s exciting.’
‘What are good conditions?’ asked Sally.
‘Full moon, no wind, sober shooters. And big crocs.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘I know. Say, you want to come?’
‘You must be joking!’
‘Yeah, I am. Another time maybe. It can be quite romantic on the river at night.’
‘Without the crocodiles, thanks.’
‘Well, that’s their territory. We humans are the invaders; you can’t blame them for protecting their turf.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it. What’s the point of this exercise anyway?’
‘Bit of fun for the boys. When the croc hunters come in it’s serious business. The skins are valuable. Ever had a crocodile steak?’
‘No. I’ll stick to beef and lamb. I’ll pass on the snake too.’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing, Sal. See you in the morning. Make sure those boys don’t sneak out of bed.’
‘They gave their word.’
‘Remind them of that. And, Sally,’ he looked at her and was serious again. ‘If you hear any ructions or revelry in the night, ignore it.’
‘Righto. Happy hunting. Be careful.’
‘That’s why I’m going. See you at breakfast.’
Rob walked away from the house hoping Sally would heed his advice. She was impetuous – spontaneous, he grinned to himself and it occurred to him that she might decide to come down to the river to see what was going on. He had been on a few croc hunts and had listened to the croc shooters’ stories around many a campfire. And even separating the exaggerated myth from the truth, danger seemed to be the common thread. The blacks talked of old rogue saltwater crocs living in the quiet upper reaches of the Norman River that were so big they would grab a calf, a dog or a piccaninny.
Croc shooters along with doggers were tough men who made a living from skins and dingo scalps. When they called into Barra Creek to shoot crocs, it was a serious business. The few pounds they got for a good hide seemed little compensation for the risks to life and limb. It was a rough life. If they lost a leg, arm, hand or life, that was part of the business.
At first Rob thought they must be mad men. Yet, more often than not, he found them to be reticent, monosyllabic, careful individuals while they were working. Around a campfire, away from the river, with the rum being passed, they told tales of near escapes, of the hunter being hunted. Some white men savoured well-cooked croc meat, but the smell that seeped from the skin of blacks who feasted on it turned Rob’s stomach. And after his first croc-shooting expedition, he was more convinced than ever that crocodiles were evil. He’d joined several of the croc shooters he trusted who came to the property and he’d watched and learned. He had little choice now but to go and keep a sober eye on the inebriated John Monroe, who considered himself bullet proof no matter what the circumstances.
It was a merry group that unloaded gear and untied the dinghies at the landing on the river. They left the headlights of the Land Rover shining onto the bank as they threw ropes, a harpoon, rifles, wire and heavy spotlight torches into each boat. Gloria insisted on sitting in the rear of a dinghy which sank low to the water beneath her weight.
‘You could get a bite on the bum,’ shouted Monroe.
‘Not from you,’ she retorted.
He muttered under his breath to Rob, ‘That’s for bloody sure.’
‘Since when have you been so picky?’ said Rob, and they both laughed.
Dougie arranged the gear in one boat, John Monroe sipped from a hip flask and watched as Rob loaded their boat. Then they pushed off, talking quietly to each other. Rob and John went ahead, while there was some disagreement between Harry and Dougie, with Gloria arguing from the stern.
The river was sluggish, lit by a pale moon and overshadowed by trees. Some clear stretches of the river bank looked safe enough to pull in a boat. However they all knew better. They paddled slowly past, Dougie in the bow of his boat and Rob rowing the other boat with John standing in the stern peering at the banks. He held his torch ready but for now they were guided by the watery moonlight.
It was Gloria who hissed first. ‘Shit! Over there.’
Harry swung around and saw the two glowing red points.
‘Over there, Dougie. Whaddya reckon?’
‘Not so big. Let’s keep going. He’ll stay around.’
‘Well, how big is big, for Chrissakes?’ hissed Gloria. ‘I want a hide that’ll fetch me boots, bag and bra.’
‘Hard tits and a horny pouch . . . that’d be right,’ muttered Dougie.
‘Who’s gonna skin and tan the bastard? A good skin can fetch a decent price,’ said Harry.
‘Let’s see what we get. Whatever we land, bloody Monroe will want half of it.’
‘So let’s get a fuckin’ big bastard,’ exclaimed Gloria, turning her attention back to the muddy river bank.
Rob and Monroe changed places. John Monroe stroked strongly through the thick water. Rob felt sober and alert watching the dark banks on either side of them. He spotted tiny pinpoints of red but none of the others noticed them so he made no comment.
Slowly, rising to the surface a few yards from the boat, appeared two bright red eyes, gleaming in the torchlight.
Monroe spoke first. ‘Fuck, that’s big.’
‘Yippee, let’s go!’ hollered Gloria.
The second boat was slightly behind Rob and John Monroe and now Harry stroked beside them. ‘So, what do you want t’do?’
‘Hold that light up, shine it straight at him,’ instructed Rob, stepping into the bow, feeling for the harpoon as Monroe drew on the oars.
‘Tell me when, Rob. I’ll shoot him –’
‘If you shoot him now he’ll sink and we’ll never bring him up. We have to get the rope into him.’ He picked up the harpoon with a thick rope attached to the spearhead, which a croc shooter had given John Monroe some time ago.
‘You gotta get it in the right spot. Want me t’do it?’ asked Monroe.
Rob didn’t want to undermine him, but knew he was still swaying from an evening of drinking. ‘I’ll shoot the rope into him when we get him close to the boat again, then put a bullet between the eyes.’
‘What are you blokes doing?’ Gloria’s voice was agitated. ‘That’s a big bastard, longer than the bloody boat. Got t’be a fifteen footer.’
They swung their boat closer.
‘Keep the damned light on him,’ shouted Rob to Dougie. ‘If he thinks he’s outnumbered he’ll take off.’
‘They’re cowards, y’know,’ said John Monroe.
‘Well, I’m not taking any chances.’ Rob took aim as Harry’s torch shone along the broad horny back that was now visible above the inky surface. The massive tail disappeared out of sight. ‘W
atch his tail, don’t get too close or he’ll flip you blokes,’ warned Rob.
Dougie took several quick strokes backward, swinging the dinghy side on so the massive croc was between the two boats.
Rob took aim and plunged the harpoon into the croc and instantly the thick rope spun out of the boat as the water churned around the thrashing crocodile. It dragged Rob and John’s boat behind it as Rob feverishly tried to haul in the rope to get it alongside. Monroe had the .303 rifle cocked.
‘It’s going to hit the other boat!’
‘Pull the bugger in!’ screamed Gloria, who was sitting on the gunwhale watching the heaving animal with jaws that were over two and a half feet long.
‘Shoot the bloody thing,’ panted Rob.
‘Wait, if I don’t get it in the head it’ll be madder than a cut snake.’ Monroe took aim.
At that instant, there was a snap and the rope broke, sending Rob and Monroe to the bottom of the boat and the bullet shooting into a tree on the bank. The crocodile, now unrestrained, lunged at the nearest object in retaliation, a move so swift it was a second or more before the horrible realisation struck them.
Gloria’s scream rang along the river above the slashing tail. Harry saw her look of disbelief as he and Dougie reached forward, knowing the animal would take its prey straight below the surface. He clutched a handful of her hair in a desperate tug of war. The crocodile had her by the buttock and thigh in a precarious grip it seemed, for it opened its jaws to take in the entire width of her body. In the moment it loosened its grip both men pulled Gloria up the side of the boat as another shot rang out.
‘Oh sweet Jesus. Did you get it?’ screamed Harry, as he and Dougie struggled to pull Gloria into the boat. She’d stopped screaming and was a dead weight.
‘Get a light. Shit, how bad is she?’ Rob asked, pulling their boat up alongside.
‘Oh fuck. She’s a goner, has to be, her whole leg’s been ripped off,’ said Monroe.
‘Stop the bleeding, quick, tie something around her,’ snapped Rob. ‘Throw me the tow rope.’
John Monroe pulled hard and fast for the bank, towing the boat while the two men kneeled with the flashlight on a seat. Gloria’s blood flowed over the floorboards as they tied their shirts around the severed leg and missing buttock where the croc had rolled and wrenched, sawing through the soft fat.
She was still unconscious as they lifted her into the Land Rover and John Monroe drove like a mad man towards the homestead, Dougie and Harry taking turns to twist and tighten the blood-soaked shirts.
Rob sprinted from the vehicle to call the emergency channel on the wireless for the Flying Doctor.
Sally was woken by the sound of the speeding truck and, hearing Rob’s urgent tone, came into the dining room.
‘What’s happened? Where’s John?’
‘Gloria. A croc got her. Bad. Real bad.’
Sally’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘What can I do?’
‘Not much unless you’re a surgeon.’ He started to give details to the Flying Doctor base.
Or a nurse, thought Sally, knowing Lorna would be better in this emergency. ‘Where are they?’
‘Outside. Grab a sheet.’
She ran along the verandah, ripping the sheet from the nearest bed, and stepped into the garden. The men had Gloria on the ground in the headlights of the truck. John was giving her mouth to mouth. Dougie was pushing a cloth into the bloodied flesh where her hip and buttock used to be. Sally felt her stomach heave and she thrust the sheet at Harry.
In seconds it too was blood covered. Dougie leaned over and put his ear to her chest. Harry picked up her limp wrist then dropped it. They looked at each other.
Dougie was first to shake his head. Sally fled into the house.
‘It’s too late, Rob. She’s dead.’
Rob relayed the message over the radio.
Sally turned around to find the three boys staring at her with ashen faces. Their father came into the room and they gasped at the sight of his blood-stained clothing and shocked white face.
‘What’d they say?’ he asked Rob.
‘Be here about 6 am. Bloody unbelievable.’ He could feel his knees start to shake with delayed shock and a sense of guilt that they hadn’t checked the rope on the harpoon. It was old and had been rotting in the sun for months.
‘Sally, get the rum,’ snapped John Monroe. He went to his room and ripped off his clothes.
Rob took the decanter from Sally, sloshed it into two glasses and went outside to where Dougie and Harry were sitting on the ground beside the wet, bloodied body of Gloria, her face a ghostly white.
Sally poured herself a drink. ‘Boys, go back to bed please.’
‘Will you tell us what happened?’ whispered Tommy.
‘Yes, later. I don’t know much myself.’ She gulped a mouthful of the rum then her head shot up. ‘What the heck is that noise?’ It was a howling moan that rose to a high wail.
‘The blacks. They know someone’s all finished,’ said Ian.
‘They’ll go on all night,’ added Tommy.
‘Well, go back to bed. I’m going to make a pot of tea.’
‘Can I have a Milo?’ asked Marty. He looked worried.
‘Sure you can. I’ll bring you one in bed. Off you all go. Your father has enough to deal with.’
The boys took the hint. It wasn’t a time to get in his way.
When Sally went back to the verandah she found Marty curled up in her bed. She handed him the mug.
‘Can I sleep with you? I’m scared,’ he whispered.
‘Okay. But don’t be scared. It was an accident. A terrible one.’
‘He’s going to have nightmares,’ said Tommy.
‘Go to sleep. Or at least just stay there. I’ll tell you what’s happening.’ She pulled on her cotton dressing-gown and went back inside.
John Monroe and Rob were slumped in the lounge chairs with the bottle of rum in easy reach.
‘Can I do anything for the two men?’ she asked.
‘Leave them be. They’ll be looked after down at their quarters. Snowy has come to, he’ll handle it.’
Sally didn’t ask where Gloria’s body was. She hoped she wouldn’t see it on the lawn in the morning.
Rob looked at Sally distractedly tightening the belt of her dressing-gown. ‘Go to bed, Sally. The plane will be here at daybreak.’
She nodded and turned away.
The boys had put out the light. She slipped into bed and was grateful for the warmth of Marty curled on his side next to her.
How was Lorna going to take the news, she wondered. Sally tried to sleep but was overcome with feelings of inadequacy. It seemed there’d been nothing but dramas and now tragedy since Lorna had left.
Chapter Ten
BREAKFAST WAS A SUBDUED pot of tea and piece of toast at daybreak before the Flying Doctor was due. They heard the plane land and the boys rushed out onto the verandah in their pyjamas, then came running back inside, agog.
‘There’s blood all over the grass!’
‘Yuk, worse than when we kill a calf!’
‘That’s enough!’ roared John Monroe.
Rob joined them and asked Monroe, ‘Are you going to talk to the Doc? The coroner will have some questions, I imagine.’
‘Yeah. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with,’ John said morosely. ‘Lorna is due back today anyway. She’s in Cloncurry waiting to hook up with Donny.’
‘Do you think she’ll know about the accident yet?’
‘Everybody heard the call last night. It’ll be all over the Cape by now.’
‘We’d better make sure everything around the house is in order,’ said Sally. ‘Are you meeting Lorna’s plane?’
‘I might be tied up. Got to get the men back to work and settle them down. Besides, I don’t want to be the first up for a towelling from Lorna. You go, Sally. Calm her down.’
She glanced at Rob, who raised his eyebrows behind John’s back. What a coward John is, thought Sally.
‘Okay, boys, let’s get cracking. No riding this morning. Clothes, house, kitchen and garden inspection. I don’t want your mother to think we’ve been living like blackfellas while she’s been away. And no kicking clothes under your beds.’ She turned to John Monroe. ‘What about the house girls? I’ll need them up here and working, no moping and wailing about the place.’
‘I’ll get a rocket up their bums when I get down there.’ John rose and left the room.
Rob picked up his plate and cup as there was no one around to clear the table. ‘They’re very superstitious but they’ll also use this accident as an excuse to get out of work. Lorna will give them a dressing down for sure. She knows what it’s like when she’s away. John on the booze, the lubras slacking off.’
As the boys carried their plates into the kitchen Sally said to him softly, ‘I feel guilty I haven’t kept everyone in line. How is Lorna going to take this? I feel so badly the accident happened while she was away.’
‘It was not your fault, Sally. Accidents happen. But she’s bound to have a few choice words to say. She’ll blame the boozing. I’m the one who feels like shit. I was sober. I went along to keep an eye on everyone. Didn’t do much of a job.’
‘Rob, please, don’t feel badly. What could you have done differently? It sounded like it was all so fast.’
‘Bit late for if onlys . . .’
‘I’d better make sure everything is in order, Lorna’s such a neat freak.’ Sally tried to sound brisk and efficient, then she hesitated. ‘Where is she? Gloria.’
‘They took her to the men’s quarters, but the Flying Doctor is taking her now.’ He grabbed his hat and went outside.
The two black women finally shuffled back to the house to clean up, bake bread and do the laundry, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. Fitzi spoke firmly to them in pidgin then disappeared. Sally left the boys working in the school room, spruced up in clean shirts, polished boots and combed hair. None of the children from the camp had appeared.
Sally drove to the plane feeling nervous. She hadn’t seen John Monroe since he’d left to see the Flying Doctor at breakfast. The plane had stayed for over an hour, and John had taken the police officer down to the river.
