Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

  It was then he heard the call – a series of sharp barks, not quite dog-like, coming from somewhere close to the hut. Bear was transformed. He fought against the rope like a wild thing, smashing the bench as he thrashed about, causing the frightened baby devils to dive for cover into Luke’s empty boots.

  For a time the rope held. Bear stopped his struggle for a moment, panting and trembling. Luke tried to soothe him, talking low and soft. The call came again. Bear sprang back like a thing possessed. The knot at his collar unravelled just as the weathered doorpost snapped. With one powerful bound Bear burst from the hut and vanished into the night.

  If ever Luke had doubted Bear’s association with the tigers, those doubts were gone. He hated them for the irresistible hold they had on his dog. He swore and kicked the splintered doorframe. Then a loud cooee sounded from nearby. Luke grabbed his rifle as Scruffy ran through the door.

  The terrier caught the devils’ scent and pounced on Luke’s boots. Muffled squeals and snarls competed with his eager barking and Luke’s frantic yells and curses. Angus pushed open the door just as Luke extracted a wriggling Scruffy from under the broken bench. He tied the terrier to the wall, well away from the devils who boldly emerged from cover to take a closer look at the yapping dog.

  Angus eyed the babies dubiously. ‘They’re vermin. You do know that, don’t you lad? Like overgrown rats, just more vicious. There’s a bounty on their heads.’

  ‘If a bounty makes them vermin, then I suppose I’m vermin too,’ said Luke. ‘And Bear as well. Out here I can’t afford to be choosy and, anyway, they’re good company.’

  Angus grunted, unconvinced. He removed his hat and warmed his hands by the fire. Luke watched him, too scared to ask the question. A long moment passed. At last Angus turned around.

  ‘The job’s yours, Luke. We leave for Binburra in the morning.’

  A broad grin split Luke’s face. He quizzed Angus on every detail of his meeting with Daniel. Angus faithfully reported the day’s events, patiently repeating parts when requested. He frowned as he told of Jim Patterson’s arrival. ‘It wasn’t smart to pinch that bloke’s possums. He’s on the lookout now.’

  Luke was too excited to heed the criticism. ‘Did you see a girl? Daniel has a daughter. Was she there?’

  ‘Aye, the lass was there,’ said Angus. ‘A pretty little thing. On my oath, I swear she’s got a dog the spitting image of yours. When I first seen it, I thought it was yours. A little smaller maybe, but not by much. Apparently hers came all the way from England. I forget what sort of dog they said it was. Where’s your mongrel anyway? Gone walkabout?’

  Angus noticed the rope tied to the broken doorframe. ‘That’s the right idea. Patterson vowed to kill that dog, and them wolves too. He’s not the only trapper about, neither. Next time, tie him up like you mean it.’

  After dinner the two stayed up late into the night again, talking and chuckling at the devils’ antics. How good it was to have a friend like Angus. Somebody to take his mind off tomorrow. Between his excitement over the coming reunion and worrying about Bear, Luke doubted that he’d ever sleep again.

  Out in the shadowy forest, Bear wasted no thought on tomorrow. He was one animal with Luke and quite another with Coorinna. Swiftly he overtook the tigers. The animals greeted each other and continued on the hunt, slipping wraith-like through the trees. The dog’s senses sharpened when he travelled like this. Each indrawn breath painted a picture and his panting tongue tasted the breeze. The fresh passage of an old buck kangaroo, the alarmed flight of a low-roosting mopoke owl, the abandoned hole of a wombat and the nervous scuttle of a marsupial mouse in the leaf litter at his feet – such things he identified with the ease of the tigers. Sounds imperceptible to man rang loud and clear for Bear. The clicking of a beetle on a fern frond, the snap of a land crab’s claw, the quiet, high whisper of a bat’s soft wings, the breeze in the grass. He heard and saw and tasted and smelled and felt the night, tingling with vitality and the deep satisfaction of knowing his place in this world.

  The baying of distant dogs caused Coorinna to hesitate, a snarl on her lips. But this wasn’t the barking of tame dogs, to be sooled by a human master on the prey of his choice. It was the howling of the wild pack. They posed little danger to Coorinna and her cubs while there was an abundance of sheep. Nonetheless, she gave them a wide berth.

  Life was becoming even more difficult in the forest. Farmers felled timber to open up pastures. Sheep carcasses laced with poison appeared along the retreating forest edge. Strong wires attached to cruel baited hooks hung from trees. Coorinna taught Bear to avoid these treacherous offerings. Thylacines were fastidious, intelligent predators who preferred to kill afresh each day. Devils, though, were natural scavengers, and scores died slow, painful deaths from feeding on contaminated corpses.

  Coorinna alerted Bear to other hidden dangers. Several nights past they came across an unfortunate wild dog, caught by her front paw in a steel-jaw trap. The device was concealed along a bush trail, set to indiscriminately mutilate whatever came along. Bear and the tigers skirted the injured dog. She whimpered with pain and blood loss, every movement an agony. Bear whined in sympathy, but was quickly summoned away by an anxious Coorinna. From a faint scent at the scene the animals understood that this was the work of man.

  The pack flushed out a wallaby and gave chase: through gullies, across creeks, along ridges. As the tired wallaby hopped an arc around a rocky outcrop, Bear copied Coorinna’s hunting technique, cutting across its path. Seizing his prey by the tail, he threw it to the ground and swiftly sank his teeth into its soft throat. The kill was over in seconds.

  With full bellies and the night still young, the cubs wanted to visit the tarn in the next valley, one of thousands of little lakes gouged into the landscape by the force of long-vanished glaciers. Pouncing on roosting ducks and swans was their favourite game. But Coorinna led her disappointed young back to their lair, suspicious now even of their home forest.

  The bored cubs roamed around, searching for bettongs or bandicoots to bother. Their irritable mother lay down, snarling at some imagined menace or else staring motionless into the night.

  Bear stayed close by. To amuse the restless cubs, he bowled them over and over again with one huge paw. And while night turned into morning, they played together at the den’s mouth. Dawn came, fading the moon, sending rosy streaks of light to colour the clouds of the eastern sky. The drowsy young tigers retired to sleep and Bear made his customary departure to spend the day at the hut.

  Luke had been waiting and watching for Bear since first light. He yelled with delight as Bear emerged from the trees and trotted to meet him. Dried blood stained his chest. Angus declined to mention it.

  Luke took the dog down to the creek for a scrub. ‘Please be on your best behaviour today.’

  Bear responded by shaking himself, showering Luke in a rainbow of spray. Luke finished the job, washing himself as best he could and then putting on his most presentable clothes. With one final check of the hut, he closed the ill-fitting door and they headed off.

  Their journey seemed to take forever. If they’d made a beeline across country it would have halved their travel time. But Angus wouldn’t follow the direct route, demanding an easy and accessible path for Toro. The mountain slopes were full of beech trees, Angus said. Bushmen called them ‘tanglefoot’. In places, their twisted, intertwined, ground-hugging branches formed impenetrable barriers to foot travel.

  As it was, they compromised and followed the forest boundary south-east towards town for two hours until it intersected with the road to Binburra.

  To begin with, Bear seemed to enjoy himself, padding along at Luke’s side, occasionally dashing after Scruffy to investigate a wombat hole or hollow log. But when they turned onto the Binburra track, he hesitated. Luke took a length of rope from his pocket and tied it to the dog’s collar. It was clear from Bear’s raised head and cautious movements that he was on high alert.

  An hour later they wer
e in sight of the homestead. Luke was quiet, meeting Angus’s attempts at conversation with monosyllabic replies. And then he found himself running ahead, frustrated by Toro’s plodding gait and impatient to come face-to-face with his past.

  CHAPTER 13

  Daniel leaned on the verandah rail, lost in thought. Luke had been a boy of such potential, such promise. To be snatched away like that, unjustly imprisoned, denied any hope of a decent life . . . how devastatingly unfair life could be. Daniel had searched for Luke, but Henry had used his influence to spirit the boy away. It was like he’d dropped off the face of the earth.

  And there was more to this tragedy. Daniel rubbed a hand across his heart. Thomas Tyler had fallen on their frenzied ride home to Hobart to help his son. He could picture it as if it happened yesterday – the wombat hole, the somersaulting horse. Thomas prone on the ground with his neck at an impossible angle.

  Daniel traced a knot in the floorboards with his boot. The scene still haunted him. Did Luke even know of his father’s death? If not, it would fall to Daniel to convey the terrible news. But not straightaway. Luke needed time to grow strong. Time to adjust to his new life, his new identity. Poor Luke. He deserved so much better.

  It was Elizabeth who’d first noticed Luke’s intelligence and zest for knowledge. The boy swiftly learned to read and write and do mathematics. But he didn’t stop there. Luke devoured philosophical tomes, studied art, thrilled at the adventures of Greek and Roman mythology. Homer became a particular favourite. He explored the works of Dickens, Thackeray and George Borrow, and marvelled at the latest scientific theories.

  Luke’s chief passion, though, was the natural world. He’d spend hours reading Darwin, sketching animals, rescuing waifs and strays. There was never a smarter, more compassionate boy, and Daniel had taken particular pride and pleasure in his progress. He scanned the hill below the homestead, impatient for Luke to arrive. Wondering how much the brutality of prison life had changed him.

  It was late morning before Daniel spotted two men and a red-and-white bullock coming up the track. He ran to meet them at the gate. At first he failed to place his former pupil in the figure of this broad-shouldered, tanned young stranger who watched him with penetrating brown eyes. But as Daniel searched Luke’s face there was a shock of recognition. He could see the dearly loved boy in the man, at once familiar and strange.

  For Luke there was no such prevarication. Here stood the rock of his childhood. Sometimes over the last few years he’d wondered if his life in Hobart was merely a dream, whether that first day of imprisonment marked his birth. But Daniel, in the flesh-and-blood, standing before him, confirmed the reality of Luke’s past. This was the sweetest experience of his life. His troubled face relaxed into a smile.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, sir.’ His voice was low and charged with emotion.

  Daniel strode forward and wrapped him in a joyful embrace. ‘Welcome, Luke.’

  Bear bristled and growled, the snarl dying in the animal’s throat only when Luke stroked his head, reassuring him with hands and voice.

  ‘My goodness, Luke. Wherever did you find such a treasure?’

  ‘Bear’s a runaway pit dog, sir. We were both on our own out there so we sort of teamed up.’

  ‘Pit dog, my foot! He’s the finest example of the Newfoundland breed I’ve ever seen. You don’t just find a dog like this out in the bush. It’s not possible.’

  ‘What breed did you say he is, sir?’

  ‘A Newfoundland. Considered by many to be the noblest of all dogs. “One who possesses beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man without his vices.” So said Lord Byron about his Newfoundland, Boatswain.’

  Luke was intrigued. The words described Bear perfectly.

  ‘You’ll have to tell me all about him,’ said Daniel, laying an affectionate hand on Luke’s shoulder. ‘But first I must hear all about you. Although that story is for my ears alone. Despite the injustice of it, the fact remains that you’re a fugitive from the law. My daughter, Isabelle, won’t be told who you are. Your appearance is different enough to maintain the pretence. We’ll introduce you as Adam McLeod, Angus’s nephew. The ploy protects you too. It removes the possibility of Belle inadvertently giving the game away.’ Daniel inspected Luke’s face. ‘Can you keep up the charade, for all our sakes?’

  Luke swallowed hard. It felt wrong, disloyal even, to forsake his name. And lying to Belle? That would be unbearable. But . . . ‘You have my word.’

  Daniel shook his hand. ‘Excellent. Now we must reacquaint you with my wife. To further the sham, please address us formally whenever Belle or others are about. In private you may call me Daniel.’ Luke nodded. It would be unwise to slip between forms of address, but he was still deeply moved by the offer. ‘Well, Luke, I mean Adam, let’s get on with it.’

  Belle galloped down the waterfall track. Her ride up the mountain had been wonderful. So many interesting things to see: nesting lorikeets, dancing egrets, hatching tadpoles. She was late home as usual. Hours late. She’d missed lunch again, and her mother would be cross. When would Mama stop treating her like a baby? She rode Whisky round to the stable, and spotted the bullock tethered below the house. It had been here before, only yesterday. She’d fed it some milk thistles. Why was it back?

  As Belle passed the house she stopped dead, seeing double. How could it be? Her dog Sasha lay on the verandah, but also followed obediently at her horse’s heels. Belle trotted closer. Bear stood and barked in loud alarm. Sasha surged on ahead and the two seemingly identical black dogs circled each other, stiff-legged. After a few moments they waved their graceful tails in unison, a gesture of acceptance and welcome.

  Belle squealed with excitement, scarcely believing the evidence of her eyes. Somehow her father had procured a mate for Sasha. She jumped off Whisky and approached Bear slowly, sensitive to his body language, careful neither to startle nor threaten. Soon she sat between the two enormous dogs, gladly submitting to their great licks, while little Scruffy frolicked on and off her knee. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed inside to find her father. He and her mother were in the dining room, presiding over an extravagant afternoon tea. The only guests appeared to be Angus McLeod, whom she’d met the previous day, and a rough young man.

  ‘Belle.’ Why did Mama seem so tense? ‘This is Adam McLeod, Angus’s nephew and our new station hand.’

  Belle took in his wild look and filthy clothes. What was going on? Why on earth were these men being wined and dined like this? For once in her life Belle was speechless.

  It didn’t last long. She rushed over to her father, threw her arms around his neck and planted a long kiss on his cheek. ‘Oh thank you, Papa. He’s beautiful. Where did you get him? How on earth did you keep it a surprise? Does he have a name? Sasha already adores him.’

  Daniel gently disengaged himself from his daughter. ‘Whatever are you talking about, Belle?’

  ‘Don’t play games, Papa,’ Belle scolded. ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. My new dog, of course.’

  ‘He’s not your dog, my darling,’ said Daniel. ‘He belongs to Adam here.’

  Belle gave Luke a disbelieving glare.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true, dear,’ added her mother. ‘But I do agree he’s beautiful. How lovely that he and Sasha have made friends.’

  Belle was too shocked for words. Again she looked over at Luke, only to find him openly gazing back – a brazen, full eye-contact stare. Such insolence. Belle left the room to hide her disappointment, teeming with unanswered questions. At the top of the list was how on earth a farmhand could afford to own an animal worth a hundred pounds or more.

  Out on the verandah she took a second look at the new dog. He was nothing short of magnificent. But his coat was matted and tangled and full of burrs. If Adam couldn’t care for him properly, then he didn’t deserve to own him. Belle stroked his great head and fondled his ears. Such a perfect mate for Sasha. She would ge
t her father to buy him. One way or another, this marvellous dog would be hers.

  CHAPTER 14

  For Luke the next few weeks passed in a happy blur. Each morning, as soon as Bear arrived home at the hut, the pair headed off across country to Binburra. It involved bushwhacking through rugged terrain, but was a much shorter route than the Binburra track, taking little more than an hour. And with the help of a machete, each trip saw the trail grow broader and more accessible.

  Although Luke’s days were ostensibly spent doing odd jobs, in reality he spent most of his time assisting Daniel. Lewis, the station manager, soon gave up asking him to mend fences or re-roof the sheds.

  ‘Not now, Lewis,’ Daniel would say. ‘Adam and I are busy.’

  Lewis then looked to Davey, the stable boy. This did not go down well with Davey, who complained to Daniel. ‘It’s not fair, sir. Why should I have to do Adam’s jobs as well as my own?’

  ‘It can’t be helped,’ said Daniel. ‘I need Adam with me.’

  Luke learned how to catalogue new material in Binburra’s extensive private library. The natural history section housed one of the finest collections in Tasmania. He tended the native seedlings being propagated in glasshouses, studying the names and growth requirements of hundreds of indigenous plant species. His favourite task was assisting on day-long field trips, collecting seeds, cuttings and specimens. If only Belle would come along. It would be like the old days.

  ‘Come with us today,’ said Daniel one morning as Belle trotted past on her palomino filly. ‘We’re inspecting the platypus burrows you showed me. Bring your paints.’

  Luke stopped stowing collecting jars in the pack. Would she say yes?

  ‘You’ll love it,’ said Daniel, ‘and so will Sasha. It’s been weeks since you came with me up the mountain.’

  Belle’s lovely face creased in anger. ‘That’s because you no longer ask me. You always ask Adam.’