CHAPTER 2
WHO? WHY?
At the bottom corner of the lawn was a gate. Kylie did not pause to open it. Despite her throbbing head and misting vision she vaulted it with all the skill and ease resulting from years of Gymnastics and Ballet. As she landed she glanced back. Still no sign of the men.
With frequent glances over her shoulder she fled down the slope towards the milking shed, all the while hoping to see Uncle Bill; or even one of the dogs. When she was about half way the thin man appeared at the side door of the house and set off after her. Another spasm of fear clutched at Kylie’s heart and she let out a sob.
There was another fence ahead, bordering the muddy lane around the hillside along which the cows came for their twice daily milking. This fence was all barbed wire and steel pickets and the gate was a wire gate. Although she wore shorts and not a skirt Kylie knew it was too risky. No jumping this one. Instead she threw herself on the ground, oblivious of mud and wet manure and scrambled under the bottom strand.
By the time she regained her feet on the other side the thin man was over the first gate. He was yelling angrily at her; horrible threats and swear words. From the house behind him the other man was also yelling, although Kylie could not make out what he was saying.
She dashed across the small concrete-floored holding yard. With a gasp of relief she reached the open exit door of the milking shed. The interior was in darkness but the layout was familiar to her and she found there was enough natural light for her not to trip or collide with things.
“Uncle Bill! Uncle Bill!” she cried, her voice a cross between a croak and a sob.
There was no answer. A glance showed her the milking area was empty. Driven by mounting desperation she wrenched open the door beside her and fled into the room which contained the huge stainless steel storage tanks and the pumping machinery. No-one there either. Her heart turned over with sick realization that the milking shed was not a sanctuary.
Kylie did not stay for more than a second. Biting her lip at the dilemma and at the growing pains in her chest and side she dashed out the far door and along the driveway to the gravel road beyond. Ahead of her was a belt of rainforest through which the road cut its way. Somewhere beyond that was another farm: the Griersons. She had only been there once. How far was it? She could only guess; perhaps a kilometre or more.
‘Can I run that far?’ she wondered, feeling rapidly growing weakness as she ran out of breath and energy. “Have to,” she decided. “Anyway, if I can’t keep running I will take to the jungle and hide.”
With that resolve she turned left and headed down the road, rejecting the uphill option back towards Lamins Hill. As before she frequently glanced back, worry gnawing at her. ‘What if I reach the next farm and there is no-one there?’ she thought.
The rainforest closed in on both sides, dark and damp and gloomy. Its familiar odour of rotting vegetation made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. She did not really like the jungle at all. Now she kept glancing at it, seeing it simultaneously as a dark and menacing tangle which could hide all manner of horrors; and as a possible refuge.
There was movement back at the milking shed, and distant shouting. Kylie looked over her shoulder. It was the thin man: Donk. He had come out onto the road. Once again an agonized sob escaped her, for she was nearly at the end of her wind. A sharp ‘stitch’ had begun to bite into her right side and her breath was coming in hot gasps.
The only good thing was that the man appeared to be no closer. Kylie forced herself to keep running. There was a bend about a hundred metres ahead. ‘If I can reach that I can take to the jungle and he won’t know which side I have gone into,’ she reasoned. The road was no help. It was poorly graded and in places was muddy and soft from the morning dew.
Another glance back made her gasp with relief. Donk had stopped and turned back towards the house. ‘He’s given up!’ she thought incredulously. It seemed too good to be true.
As soon as it was plain that he really had given up the chase Kylie slowed to a jog, then to a fast walk. By then sweat was coursing down her face and into her eyes and she was gasping for breath. She pressed on as fast as she could force herself to go, her body and face a mass of pains and aching numbness.
She rounded the curve and the view changed. A hundred metres ahead sunlight shone on a grassy hillside on the right. Driven by anxiety about her mother and friends she forced herself to jog along to this. The other farm was only a few hundred metres past that. As fast as she could Kylie made her way to the open country. The road curved left at that point. A dirt farm track went off up the slope to her right. Ahead of her loomed a jungle covered shoulder of Bartle Frere, rising from behind the cluster of buildings on a low ridge.
Three painful minutes of running and walking brought her to the entrance to the farm. Kylie had always admired the place from afar, it being clearly visible from Gran’s. The house was a gracious old dwelling set amidst fruit trees and gardens. The road led into a tree-lined enclosure with the house on the left and the other farm buildings on the right.
As she turned in through the gate Kylie looked anxiously back across the valley to Gran’s. The house sat there on the green hillside as it always had, but there was no sign of any movement. ‘Oh God! I hope I’m in time,’ she thought, biting her lip in anxiety.
And there was Mrs Grierson! Kylie let out a cry of relief. A grey haired woman dressed in a work shirt, knee length tartan skirt and rubber ‘gum’ boots, was standing in the entrance to the shed on her right, her eyebrows raised in astonishment.
“Mrs... Mrs Grier..son.. puff! Puff! Mrs Grierson, help!” Kylie croaked. She staggered to a halt facing the woman, whose expression had now changed to concern.
“What is it little girl? Why, I know you. You are one of Mrs Feltham’s grandkids aren’t you?”
Kylie nodded, too puffed to answer for a moment. As soon as she had recovered a fraction she gasped: “Men! Two men. They are holding Gran and Mum and Margaret as prisoners. Phone the police, quick!”
“Men! Prisoners! Good heavens! What ever is going on?”
Mrs Grierson glanced fearfully towards Gran’s house, then put her arm around Kylie’s shoulders and led her towards the house. “Are you alright little girl? Did they do anything to you?”
Kylie was considerably nettled to be referred to as a little girl and she answered with some heat. “No. They just hit me a bit. Quick, call the police!”
Mrs Grierson called out. To Kylie’s added relief Mr Grierson appeared from another shed and came hurrying over. Like his wife he was grey haired but had a look of such solid dependability that she felt immensely re-assured. She allowed herself to be led inside but would not accept any doctoring. As quickly and coherently as she could she blurted out her story and again insisted that they call the police.
Mr Grierson looked out the window. “And you say one of them was chasing you?”
“Yes, but he gave up,” Kylie replied.
“Hmmm.” Mr Grierson muttered as he went into the next room. He returned with a double-barrel shotgun. It looked new and gleamed with oil and good care. The farmer checked it quickly and Kylie had no doubt he both could, and would, use it if need be. The sight of him loading and cocking the gun made her stomach turn over at the realization of how fearsomely real the situation actually was. Terrible things could happen, things which she sensed she would then carry in her memory for the rest of her life. It was very sobering.
By then Mrs Grierson had phoned the Malanda Police station. To Kylie’s frustration the story had to be retold to an incredulous sergeant. Several questions were directed at her and she fumed with impatience. “Oh please hurry! They’ve got Gran and mum and my friends tied up.”
“And you say they have a shotgun?” the policeman asked.
“Yes.”
“Thanks. Now, give the phone to Mr Grierson please,” he ordered. Kylie did as she was told and moved to look out of the kitchen window towards Gran’s.
Even as she focused her e
yes she saw two figures running up the hill behind the farm house. “There they are! Look! They are running away. Oh quick!” she cried.
Even as the Grierson’s joined her the two men went from view through a hedge of tall weeds along a fence line near the top of the low hill.
Mr Grierson grunted, then said: “They are leaving all right. I’ll bet they’ve got a vehicle just over the hill on the other road.” He relayed the information to the police and was again instructed not to go back to Gran’s farm.
Kylie was indignant. “Oh poo to that! They have gone,” she cried. “Come on. They might have hurt someone.”
“You stay here girlie,” Mr Grierson ordered. Kylie barely heard him. She ran to the door and down the garden path with the Griersons following.
As she reached the yard Mr Grierson called to her and pointed to a mud spattered, green Land Rover. “Be quicker and easier if we drive.”
Kylie saw the sense in that and climbed in. Mr Grierson told his wife to drive. “I’ll go in the back so I can use the gun if need be,” he explained.
That was an even more sobering thought. Mrs Grierson did as she was told and they set off. During the drive back through the belt of rain forest Kylie was on the edge of her seat from anxiety and impatience. At any moment she feared they would meet one or both the men. However nothing happened and they rounded the bend near the milking shed.
A hundred metres from the shed, on the edge of the jungle, Mr Grierson banged on the roof and told his wife to stop.
“That’s far enough. I will walk forward to the milking shed. You turn the Rover round in case we need to do a quick getaway,” he instructed.
Kylie went to get out but both adults firmly forbad it. Reluctantly she sat while the vehicle did a three-point turn in the road. Only then was she allowed to get out, so as to be able to look back towards the house, which was just visible beyond the milking shed.
Mr Grierson walked cautiously forward, keeping over against the edge of the jungle, his gun at the ready and his wife biting her knuckles. As he approached the milking shed a figure appeared running down the road from the machinery shed near the house. Kylie let out a little cry of relief.
“It’s Margaret. She’s got free.”
Without waiting for permission Kylie ran forwards to meet her. Mr Grierson stepped out to intercept Margaret, giving her a bad fright for a moment. As Kylie ran up to her Margaret cried out: “They’ve gone. Quick, call the police.”
“Done that,” Mr Grierson replied. “Do they need an ambulance? Is anyone hurt?”
“Not too badly,” Margaret replied. She came to a panting standstill and touched her own cheek where a livid bruise showed. “Oh I’m so glad you are safe,” she said to Kylie.
The two girls embraced and Kylie hugged her friend close. She could feel both their hearts beating and knew she was on the edge of breaking down herself.
Mr Grierson interrupted. “Can you use the phone at the house?”
“No. We tried, but the men tore out the wire,” Margaret replied.
Mr Grierson ran back to the waiting vehicle, spoke quickly to his wife, then returned to the girls. The Land Rover started up and accelerated back towards the Grierson’s farm.
“I’ve sent Mavis to use our phone,” he explained. “Alright, let’s go up to the house.”
The three walked along the road past the milking shed and up to the turn-off at the machinery shed. As they reached it a vehicle came around the crest of the hill from the direction of Lamins Hill. It was a white utility driven by Uncle Bill. Kylie cried with relief.
Uncle Bill was her mother’s brother. He was a solid man in his early forties and had a ruddy, cheerful face and thinning fair hair. He looked at them with astonishment.
“Hello there. Hunting are we?” he asked.
Even as he said it his eyes took in the condition of Kylie’s clothes and battered face and the smile died on his face.
Kylie gestured towards the house. “Two men. They attacked us,” she said.
Instantly concern and anger flared on Uncle Bill’s face. “What happened?”
“Tell you as we go. Quick! Up to the house,” Kylie replied.
Uncle Bill needed no urging. He accelerated along the side track and braked to a halt at the garage door. Before the other three, who had broken into a run, were even past the end of the machinery shed he had vanished inside the house. Two dogs were left chained in the back.
Kylie rushed in ahead of the other two, to be met by her anxious mother who embraced her and cried with relief.
“Oh you poor dear! Are you alright? Oh I was so worried when you ran off,” Mrs Kirk cried.
Gran hobbled over and clasped Kylie, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Oh Kylie dear! That was the bravest thing I have ever seen. You were just wonderful. But oh, I was so frightened that you would be really be hurt,” she said.
“I was scared too Gran,” Kylie replied, hugging the loving grey head to her own. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”
“No, not really dearie. But they certainly gave me a terrible fright.”
After a minute Kylie released her trembling Grandmother. She had spied Allison seated on the lounge looking very pale and drawn. She went to her and took her hand.
“Are you alright Allie?”
Allison nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. How are you?”
The question made Kylie realize just how much she hurt. “Bit battered and bruised,” she said.
Uncle Bill and Mrs Kirk now took control. Uncle Bill insisted they go out onto the back veranda. “Don’t touch anything. The police will want to search for fingerprints,” he explained.
“Oh fiddlesticks to that,” Mrs Kirk snapped. “I need the First Aid kit and these girls need to lie down. Bill, you help Mum to her room. You girls go to the veranda and lie down. Allison, would you please make tea for us like a good girl?”
Only when she lowered herself onto the couch did Kylie realize just how badly she needed to do so. Reaction set in swiftly and she began to shiver and tremble. Her mother quickly wiped her face and her legs and arms, helped by Margaret, who insisted she was alright.
A cup of strong, sweat tea helped to calm her. While they were drinking this there was the sound of vehicles and Uncle Bill went out to investigate. He came back in with two policemen and a paramedic.
The sergeant introduced himself but Kylie did not catch his name. He was nice enough but she was irritated at having to repeat the whole story again. By then Mrs Grierson had also joined them. The sergeant made notes in his notebook and sent the young constable who had come with him out to use the car radio several times.
“You say the two men ran off up the hill behind the house?” he asked.
“Yes. Mr Grierson thought they might have had a vehicle parked there,” Kylie replied.
At that Mrs Kirk interrupted. “I’m sure they did. One of them had a mobile phone on his belt and it rang while he was tying us up. He answered it at once, then ran out the back yelling to his mate that someone was coming and they had better get out. After that he swore at us and ran off out the front. That was the last we saw of them.”
Uncle Bill rubbed his chin. “Come to think of it, I passed a brown Toyota Land Cruiser coming from this direction just after I crossed the creek. It had two men in it and was really boring along. That might have been them.”
“Could have been,” the sergeant agreed. “Can you remember what the men looked like, or its number?”
“Fair go! They just looked like a couple of men,” Uncle Bill expostulated.
A sudden chill gripped Kylie’s skull, then moved to her stomach, making her feel sick again. “There must have been three of them,” she said softly.
“What’s that?” Uncle Bill asked.
“There must have been three of them,” Kylie repeated. “Don’t you see? If someone rang the two here on a mobile phone then that person was watching the road; a lookout. When he saw Uncle Bill coming he rang up and warned them.”
The sergeant looked sceptical. “Then why didn’t he ring up to warn them about you? You claim you surprised them.”
Kylie shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied, feeling slightly foolish.
Uncle Bill frowned. “Where could he have been watching from anyway?” he said. “I didn’t see any vehicle parked beside the road.”
Mrs Kirk looked at him. “There are a few old tracks leading off into the jungle aren’t there?” she suggested.
Uncle Bill nodded. “Yes there are,” he conceded. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I will have a look for tyre tracks as soon as I get a chance. In fact I will go up to the top of the hill now and see where these mongrels parked their vehicle.”
“You take care sir,” the sergeant said. “Go with him constable.”
Uncle Bill stood up to leave. “I’ll take the dogs,” he added.
As he turned another sickening thought came to Kylie. “I know why the lookout didn’t phone when we came along; he knows you by sight and was watching for you.”
Uncle Bill turned back to face her and bit his lip. “That’s a worrying thought. But it makes sense. So it is someone who knows me.”
“Oh Bill! But why?” Mrs Kirk cried.
Uncle Bill shook his head. “I have no idea. I can’t imagine what they wanted. There is nothing of value here, not that would justify their actions.”
Mrs Kirk frowned. “Well they obviously thought there was because they nearly tore the place apart searching.” She turned to Gran. “What were they looking for Gran? Did they say?”
Gran rubbed her arms and muttered to herself for a moment, then replied: “They said they wanted the treasure map.”
“Treasure map!” they echoed.
CHAPTER 3
WHAT MAP?
For several seconds Gran was the focus of a circle of incredulous faces.
“Treasure map! What treasure?” Mrs Kirk cried.
Gran looked uncomfortable; as though she regretted having spoken. Her eyes flicked to the sergeant, then to Mrs Kirk. She gestured irritably then answered: “Oh there isn’t one as far as I know. It is just that old story that has been in the family for generations about the gold mine that your Grandfather is supposed to have found in the jungle way back in the nineteen thirties.”
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