A Change for Clancy

by Amanda Doyle

  Clancy gazed abstractedly over to her left, where a moving cloud of dust told her Tamara was coming in from the north end with her mob. What was to be done? How could Clancy possibly make amends for her own ignorant stupidity? She would need to make sure of her facts first. Perhaps her little sister had let her imagination run riot, but somehow Clancy didn’t think so. Anyway, firstly she would need to see the sheep for herself, and then she would know if Tamara was speaking the truth. Jed mustn’t be told until she had some proof. Perhaps, then, she would even be able to catch Johnny Raustmann at whatever game he was playing, but until she knew for sure, she didn’t want to arouse his suspicions, for Clancy still had this dreadful presentiment that Jed might be in danger. She knew she could face up to anything—even Jed’s predilection for that girl in Adelaide—anything except another “accident” to Jed.

  Clancy’s horse plodded on while her mind turned over its plan, until they reached the yards. Jed was there, dust-caked and rather grim, his khaki shirt clinging darkly in places to his powerful back as he ran the sheep through the race. Every now and then, one leapt in the air as it passed him, and then the next two or three following would leap also. No doubt, the saying “as silly as a sheep” had a bit of substance to it, Clancy mused idly, as she leaned forward over her horse’s neck and eased her feet in the stirrups, watching.

  At every count of one hundred, Jed would call “Tally!” and the black stockman squatting on the rail beside him would cut a notch with his knife in a small length of sapling. As the remainder of the mob ran through, Jed would count the notches, add his remainder to the number of “hundreds” snicked in the piece of wood, and enter the result in his notebook. This time, he pushed back his hat, and surveyed Clancy for a moment.

  “Right, boys,” he said. “Smoke-oh. We’ll knock off for lunch. One of you ride over and tell Tamara to come, and leave her dogs to hold them there just now.”

  He walked over as Clancy swung easily from the saddle. His hand came up beneath her elbow as her feet touched the ground. It wasn’t really to help her, she knew that. It was just a sort of gentlemanly reflex action, peculiarly Jed’s own, like the serious manner in which he held open the flyscreen doors for one, or pushed in one’s chair. He took the bridle from her grasp, and looked down at her, blue eyes intent. “Tired, Clancy?” he asked evenly.

  “No, of course not.” She smiled. “Just a bit warm, like the rest of us, I expect.”

  “You’re pale,” he said abruptly. “Go over there to the shade. I’ll bring the bags and gear. And take it easy for a while after, before you go out again,” he called after her retreating back. “I don’t want you girls to knock yourselves up. There’s no need.”

  Clancy felt heartened and exasperated at the same time. It was nice to be fussed over, but she just wished Jed Seaforth wasn’t quite so perceptive sometimes, she thought warily.

  After that, she made an extra effort to brighten up, talked more than usual as she ate her sandwiches and drank scalding black billy-tea from her pannikin, and made sure her step was light and jaunty as she walked her mount over for a drink once he had cooled off for a while. It took the rest of the afternoon for her to bring in her second mob, and riding back towards the homestead in the evening with Tamara and Jed and Rex, she kept her back straight in the saddle, and her head held high, even though she felt like Atlas supporting the whole world on his shoulders.

  From this angle, the Peacock Range was directly behind the homestead, and its fantastic jagged purple outlines were fringed with edges of gilt velvet as the last hot glow of the orange sun faded into dusk. Farther over the plain, a group of horsemen were riding homeward also—that would be Johnny Raustmann and the three station-hands. Tomorrow they would be going farther out, and wouldn’t be returning at night until the muster was finished. Then Jed and Rex would follow them out the following day, after finishing at the Twelve Mile bore. That meant that Clancy only had tomorrow in which to act. Somehow she would need to find an excuse not to go out with Jed and Tamara and Rex in the morning. She’d have to think things out tonight, find-some convincing explanation for staying at home tomorrow.

  The tree-lined creek was ahead of them now, the ragged shapes of the gums ghostly in the waning light. Jed was squinting thoughtfully at the sky.

  “A change of some kind brewing. Could be a windy spell, but I hope not. It’s certainly not going to rain, whatever else it does, though.” He broke off abruptly, and reined in his horse. They all did likewise, as he put up a hand to halt their progress.

  “Sh-h! Keep quiet a moment, girls. Well, Rex?” Clancy, puzzled, intercepted the look exchanged by the elderly black stockman and his grave-faced boss. It took her several moments to realise that something was different, and even then, Tamara had to be the one to say what it was.

  “They—they’ve gone, Jed, haven’t they? They’ve all gone walkabout. Chloe and Jasmine, and Nellie and Sam and Tadpole and Jimmie and everyone. They’re not there any more, are they, Jed?”

  “No, Tammy, they’re not there any more,” Jed agreed quietly.

  Then he spurred his horse forward in the direction of the deserted bark shacks that huddled beside the creek. Tamara gazed down sadly over her horse’s neck at the bleak emptiness around her. A heap of old jam tins gleamed fitfully in the gloom, some dirty bits of sacking lay in one corner on the dirt floor. Strung over a branch was a tattered pink cotton garment, which Tamara recognised as once having been a shirt of Clancy’s. Save for that, there was nothing to tell of a recent habitation, nothing to remind Tamara that here, only this morning, had played her little friends from whom she had learnt all her bushcraft over the years. Although there had, of course, been others before them, these were the only playmates that Tamara could really remember well, and she felt bereft. She blinked back hot tears.

  Jed and Rex were squatting together in the dust some way away, searching the ground. Presently Jed got up and went over to his saddle-bag, withdrew a torch and went back to Rex. Clancy watched the beam sweeping over the hard-baked earth, while the men squatted down and peered closely once more. Then they walked slowly round the huts. Jed’s boot struck an ancient blackened billy, which he kicked savagely out of the way.

  “Reckon that-fella clear out plenty quick, eh, Boss?”

  “I reckon so, Rex. It looks as if they left in a hurry for some reason, hmm? We’ll have a yarn about it later, and see what you make of it. Come, Clancy, Tamara. Up to the house. You must be very tired, both of you, and I’m grateful for your help today.” His own voice sounded tired, too, and he came after them reluctantly, as if he would much prefer to wait there and talk to Rex. What could it all mean anyway? Why should the lubras and children go walkabout when their men were away at the outcamp mustering? They had seemed a settled lot this time, and they knew their men would be back in a week or ten days. Why wait until they had gone if they meant to accompany them? Similarly, why wait until they had gone, and then decide to go walkabout themselves? It wasn’t normal behaviour, and it just didn’t make sense. Clancy’s weary brain balked at further speculation just then, but she felt that, after these last two days, nothing would ever really surprise her again.

  A shower refreshed Clancy physically, but she moved like an automaton as she lit the big range to grill some chops for the evening meal. Strain tautened her features, and gave her a’ fine-boned, haunted look, which she strove to conceal at dinner.

  Perhaps she was successful. At any rate, Jed turned his attention to Johnny, who was chewing noisily as usual.

  “Did you know they’ve all gone walkabout down at the creek?”

  Johnny’s jaws didn’t cease to work for a single moment as he spoke without looking up.

  “That so? Was it your light I saw down there as I rode home, then?”

  “It was. It looks as if they’ve cleared out in a hurry when you take a close bearing on things down there. What do you make of it, Raustmann?”

  Johnny gave a stolid shrug, broke a crust from a hunk
of bread and shoved it into his already overloaded mouth. He looked up at last, straight at Jed Seaforth.

  “What would you like me to make of it? It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last, that the abo goes off without telling someone first.”

  “I just thought you might know something I don’t know, that’s all,” Jed replied mildly.

  “So it’s come to that, has it?” Johnny Raustmann’s voice was rough with sarcasm. “An’ I thought you were sent here to teach me.”

  Jed’s blue gaze never wavered, but his face hardened to granite sternness, although his tone was still deceptively unruffled as he rejoined, “That’s right. And maybe you’ll get your lesson yet, Raustmann.” Clancy couldn’t help seeing the almost triumphant amusement in Johnny’s eyes before he dropped them to his plate once more. She watched him nervously. She felt she couldn’t stand much more mystery about the place, and the ambiguity of this verbal sparring jarred her ragged nerves to twanging-point. She glanced away from Johnny’s ill-shaven countenance to find herself the subject of Jed’s interested contemplation. How long he had been watching her she couldn’t be sure, but his blue eyes were cool and narrowed in thought. Clancy flushed miserably. Could he possibly still think that she and Johnny were conniving together in some way against him? Well, tomorrow she would be able to prove once and for all whose side she was on. She was almost looking forward to it! Anything, anything to free herself from this net of suspicion into which Johnny Raustmann had dragged her. Who, after all, could blame Jed for thinking the most awful things of her after that terrifying windmill affair? Well, tomorrow would put that right, if only she could find some convincing proof that Tamara’s discovery was what she thought it was.

  CHAPTER 12

  “JED, would you mind if I don’t come out today?” It was nearly breakfast time the next morning, and as before, Jed was there, watching as Clancy prepared the lunches, while Tamara turned a sizzling pan of bacon over the stove. Clancy had taken her into her confidence to the extent of telling her that she wished to stay behind to ride out and see where the sheep were hidden. Beyond that she didn’t want the child involved, so Tamara, still sworn to secrecy, had no idea of the intricacies of the situation, and was quite ready to back up her elder sister in what appeared a fairly harmless, and not unexciting, adventure.

  Jed’s eyes seemed to probe right through Clancy, and she shifted her feet uncomfortably.

  “I—I don’t feel awfully well this morning. Nothing much,” she assured him hastily, as she was aware of immediate concern in his face. “It’s just that I’m tired a bit, and I’d be able to have a real rest all by myself —no meals to get, no one about. I’d just laze around all day. It would be heaven.”

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. The necessity for complete and thorough deception gave her the boldness to do that, and the fact that her face was white and pinched with strain and sleeplessness did nothing to detract from the assertion that she was tired.

  Jed agreed. “Do that, Clancy. I’ve wondered for some time if things aren’t a bit much for you. I know you’ve a lot to do, and a lot of responsibility, and I do feel things could be made much easier for you if there were a few modern installations made to save you so much work. I’ve already suggested to the trustees of your estate that you could do with a few labour-saving devices. I hate to see you heaving those great old-fashioned irons about, for instance, and as a matter of fact, I’ve ordered one of the latest electric models already.”

  Clancy was incredibly warmed and touched, so much so that, weary and worried as she was, her eyes filled as she stared at Jed. His voice gentled suddenly, he put a firm hand on her shoulder for the merest second.

  “Yes, you do that, Clancy. Go back to bed when we’ve gone, and have as restful a day as you can. Tammy can stay too, and bring you some tea and a snack later.”

  This wasn’t quite what Clancy wanted. She turned to him pleadingly, while Tamara hovered anxiously. “No, please, Jed, let Tam go mustering with you. She loves it so, and after today, you’ll be off at the camps. I’ll only worry about her if she’s here, wondering what she’s up to, and I would be so much happier knowing she was with you.”

  Jed hesitated a long moment. Tamara’s aptitude for getting into scrapes must have swayed him though, for in the end, he concurred. Clancy hoped her intense relief wasn’t visible. So far, so good.

  It was only later, as she waved goodbye from the veranda, that misgivings and doubts assailed her. Dear, stern, gentle, thoughtful, masterful Jed—he was all those things, and so many more, to Clancy just then. She hated deceiving him like this. And what if it were all a storm in a tea-cup? What if the sheep weren’t theirs? What if there were no sheep at all, and he discovered her duplicity in staying at home?

  Clancy thrust these thoughts behind her. She had to know. She had to find out, because of Jed. It was for Jed’s own sake she wished to be sure about this, she reminded herself firmly, as she went in to clear away the breakfast dishes.

  The sun was well up by the time she had made her own and Tamara’s beds and flicked a duster round the place. The molten waves of heat rose up to beat at her face as she walked quickly down to the cottage. Jed’s room was neat, as always—sheets pulled right back to air his bed, a pair of pale blue poplin pyjama shorts with a darker blue piping down each side folded neatly on the pillow, his array of toilet articles and other masculine impedimenta methodically placed on the dressing-table and shelves. She even caught the faint antiseptic aroma of his shaving lotion as she plumped up the pillow and arranged the coverlet briskly. Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the contrast in Johnny’s room, where a smell of stale tobacco and staler clothing met her at the door. She whisked around, restoring law and order, and then stood thoughtfully in the middle of the room.

  Clancy walked over, and started to open the drawers one by one. She knew she was prying, a thing she had never done in her life before, but the present circumstances were extenuating ones, she excused herself, and if there were no grounds for her suspicions, then no one need ever know, provided she was careful not to disturb things. Socks, shirts, underwear, a tangle of braces and ties in this one, all the normal things. She tackled the first of the three tiny drawers at the top of the bureau. She knew this was where he kept his handkerchiefs—yes, there they were, carelessly crammed in. The middle drawer was locked. Clancy tried to pull it out gently, but it resisted. No. It wouldn’t move. She passed on to its neighbour, opened it to find a pile of papers, notebooks and official-looking documents. Carefully she scrutinised the bundle, and saw that it was all of a personal nature—driving licence, insurance policies, a few shareholder’s certificates in some mining company, a folder of receipts, and some used cheque books. She put them back, and stared frustratedly at the middle drawer again. Although all three had keyholes, it was the only one to be locked.

  She turned away, and went out into the small passage and entered the office. This was really forbidden ground, and she was aware that her hands trembled slightly as she made a swift investigation. She had just opened a deep, narrow drawer which ran along one side of the roll-top desk when she heard a sound outside. Clancy stiffened. She hardly breathed at all, so startled was she. Sh-h! There it was again, like the crunch of a footstep on dried twigs. She waited, transfixed, listening. There were beads of moisture on her upper lip as she stood there, motionless. After another minute or two, she trod softly to the window, and peered cautiously out, up and down the veranda.

  Suddenly her taut shoulders slumped in relief. A lizard! There he was, a big horny fellow, with a frilled collar, mouth agape to show a vivid mustard-yellow throat. He was settling himself down on the hot cement step for a sleep. Clancy’s mouth jerked tremulously into a smile—what a joke on her! She wasn’t cut out for a life of crime, she decided with wry humour. Her nerves just weren’t good enough. She went back to the drawer, groped right down to the very back. Something jangled then beneath her fingers. Keys. A bunch of keys. Little ones, big ones, Some
rusty, some shining silver. It took only a moment to slip back to Johnny’s bedroom, and at her fourth attempt the lock on the middle drawer turned easily. She stared as it opened to her touch, looked a long moment at the red-bound book with its dark green cloth cover—a tally-book, an exact replica of the one she had just seen in the office, the one into which Jed would transfer the counts each day from his notebook.

  She turned the pages slowly. The lambing-drop each year recorded, ewes, wethers, rams, earmarks for the different dates, all the usual data was there in Johnny Raustmann’s figures. But why—why—should there be two tally-books? Why keep one in the office and another locked away in here? Clancy thought she could answer that question herself, but she hadn’t time to think about it now. She was far later than she had intended to be, and if she didn’t hurry, it would be dark before she could possibly ride out, find those sheep, wherever they were, and ride all the way back here again too. Still clutching the green book, she locked the drawer again, put the keys back in the office, and after satisfying herself that she had left things as she had found them, hastened over to her own bedroom. There she thrust the book beneath her humble pile of neatly folded, somewhat shabby clothing, in the chest of drawers she shared with Tamara. Then she retrieved her hat, the linen one this time, and raced over to the kitchen to make a flask of tea. She didn’t want to light even a small fire over in the Peacocks to boil a billy for herself. On a day such as this, the smoke might be seen for miles around.