A Far Country

by John Fletcher

  Ten yards. Already it was too close for comfort.

  ‘We’re not looking for trouble.’ The stranger was a European, then.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To talk.’

  Ian hesitated. ‘Tell the abo to put his spears on the ground, then.’

  The white youth—Ian could see now that he was little more than a boy—turned and spoke. The black man protested angrily but the youth persisted. Eventually, with obvious reluctance, the native laid his spears carefully on the ground and stood erect.

  ‘Come closer.’ Ian gestured with the muzzle of the rifle. ‘Slowly, now …’

  They came forward. Ten yards, five yards, three …

  ‘Stop there.’ Ian was conscious of Alison behind him, eyes bigger than her face. From the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes from the strangers, he said, ‘Get into the house.’

  Mary was in the doorway, fingers as tight as claws on the frame. The three of them stared at the newcomers, at the black face and the brown.

  Ian addressed the youth. ‘What are you doing with this bloke?’

  ‘I was shipwrecked, months ago. Been here long, have you?’

  ‘Three months. Give or take.’

  Jason’s eyes checked the buildings, the fenced paddocks, the flocks on the slopes of the higher ground. ‘Got yourself well settled in‚’ he said.

  ‘A lot still to do, though.’

  The words marched awkwardly between them. A white man living with natives like he was part of the tribe … Ian found that hard to take.

  ‘The clan won’t like it.’

  Ian bristled at once. ‘Planning to do something about it, are they?’

  Jason shook his head. ‘They don’t want trouble.’

  ‘Try messing with me, it’s what they’ll get.’

  ‘If you stay, where’s the clan supposed to go?’

  ‘Anywhere they like. So long as they stay well away from me and my sheep. Tell your mate this‚’ he said, beginning to bully, ‘they start stealing my sheep or bothering my shepherds, anything like that, I’ll come after ’em.’

  Mary murmured behind his shoulder. ‘Ask him if he’d like some buttermilk.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’ The idea affronted him.

  ‘He’s white, isn’t he?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So perhaps you can get him to tell you what they plan to do about things.’

  ‘There’s nothing they can do.’ But it made sense, he supposed.

  He sensed Mary go back into the house. Alison was still there. He didn’t like her seeing the naked black body although the native hardly counted as a man, he supposed. ‘Go with your mother‚’ he instructed her.

  ‘You heard her‚’ he said to the white youth. ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘It’s not up to me what they do.’

  The three men stared at each other in spiky silence until Mary came back with a jug, some mugs.

  ‘Sit down.’ Ian gestured at the ground between them.

  ‘What is it?’ the white youth asked curiously.

  ‘Buttermilk. You must know it, surely?’

  ‘I never had it.’

  But sat, all the same. After a moment’s hesitation the black man followed his lead.

  They looked at the jug, the mugs. Suspicion curdled the air.

  ‘Come on‚’ Ian said. ‘Help yourselves.’

  Geniality fitted Ian as uneasily as the apron around the waist of the young stranger. He leant forward, poured milk into a mug, drank it down with ostentatious pleasure. Perhaps now they would accept that it wasn’t poisoned.

  ‘Can always try it, I suppose.’ The white youth poured and drank.

  His eyes widened. He wiped his mouth. ‘Good‚’ he said.

  He turned to his companion and talked, gesturing. The black man drank, too, with difficulty—not used to drinking mugs, Ian saw—and smiled like a child. He looked curiously at the buildings, the chickens chuckling about the door, the sheep on the hill’s shoulder.

  ‘You say it’s not up to you. Tell me what your mate wants, then.’

  Jason, sitting cross-legged on the ground, watched the man. He was tall with a bold, assertive face, eyes that missed little. He was certainly here to stay, Jason saw, would expand when he could and fight to keep what he had taken. For the moment he seemed friendly enough but his hand never strayed far from his rifle.

  ‘These are their lands‚’ Jason said. ‘As far as the clan is concerned, you’ve got no rights here.’

  Ian Matlock lifted the rifle a few inches. ‘This is the only right I need. Don’t think I won’t use it if I have to.’

  Jason could see that he would indeed use it without hesitation, possibly even with enjoyment.

  ‘Face it,’ Ian said. ‘These friends of yours … Their day’s gone.’

  ‘Perhaps they don’t think so.’

  ‘Who cares what they think? This one’s the chief, is he?’

  ‘They don’t have chiefs.’

  ‘Tell him, anyway. This land is mine. I’m not looking for trouble, either, but if I get any I shall repay it ten times over. It’s not just me, remember. There’s others coming will make me seem a right softie, by comparison.’

  ‘You’re saying there’s no place for them in their own land.’

  Ian glared: shut face, shut mind. ‘I’ll tell you one last time, I am the master here now. They get in my way, I’ll kill them.’

  ‘You talk as though the clan is helpless.’ Jason stood. Recognising the anger in his voice, Nantariltarra stood too, his face glowering. ‘This is their home. If I tell this man what you just said they’ll likely kill you first, before the rest of your people get here.’

  Ian said, ‘The ones who come after me will wipe them out, they try that.’

  ‘Won’t help you, though, will it?’

  ‘Get out!’ Ian’s face was brick red with anger. He thumbed back the hammer of the rifle. ‘Before I use this.’

  Jason was determined to have the last word. ‘You’re not the only one, remember. You’ve got women here, too.’

  Jason turned. With Nantariltarra following, he stalked away across the open ground towards the shelter of the bush.

  TEN

  Gavin Matlock and Hector Gallagher were inspecting a ram with suspected foot rot when Ian burst out of the undergrowth and rode furiously up the slope towards them.

  They ran towards him as he brought his mount skidding to a halt.

  ‘What’s up?’ Gavin demanded.

  ‘Blacks are what’s up.’ Breath coming in great gusts after his furious ride, Ian dismounted and told them about the visit he had received an hour earlier.

  ‘Where are Alison and Mary?’

  ‘Back at the run.’ Ian saw Gavin frown. ‘We decided they’d better stay. Mary’s got the rifle. If the blacks saw us all leaving together they might burn the buildings.’

  ‘They stul might‚’ Gavin said grimly. He turned to Hector Gallagher. ‘Fetch the shepherds and get over to Ian’s house, quick as you can. Take Blake with you. I’m leaving now. I’ll meet you there.’

  At least he needn’t ask if Gallagher was armed. The overseer was the sort to take his rifle with him to the outhouse; he wouldn’t be without it now. Not one to waste time talking, either. Gallagher ran to his horse, swung himself into the saddle and within seconds was galloping across the grassy plain, the reins rising and falling as he lashed the horse’s neck.

  Gavin ran towards the house. Asta came out to meet him.

  ‘What is the trouble?’

  ‘Blacks over at Ian’s place.’

  He pushed past her into the house, scooped up his rifle and began to fill the big cartridge belts with bullets.

  ‘Blacks?’ Asta repeated. ‘What have they done? Are Mary and Alison all right?’

  ‘As far as I know they’ve done nothing yet.’ He pushed the last cartridge into its retaining loop and slipped the straps across his shoulders, buckling the belt about his
waist.

  ‘Ian left Mary and Alison behind?’ Asta was indignant.

  ‘It was either that or risk losing the farm.’ He cinched the gun belt tight and headed for the door. ‘Mary’s got the rifle. She’ll be all right.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. Are you going over there?’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Gavin barely hesitated. ‘Hurry, then. I’m not waiting around.’

  His big body darkened the doorway as he went out into the sunlight. Asta snatched her own gun from its place beside the door and ran after him, pulling the door shut behind her, knowing that if it came to a fight she might never see her home again.

  Gavin was already mounted, the big bay wheeling.

  A pang of doubt as she put her foot into the stirrup. ‘What if they come here while we’re away?’

  ‘We’ll have to chance it.’

  She nodded, swung herself into the saddle and gathered the reins in her hands.

  ‘Let us go, then,’ she said.

  The three of them rode fast, Ian and Gavin in front, Asta right behind them. They reached the house to find everything as Ian had left it.

  ‘Thank God‚’ Asta said.

  ‘There could be an army hiding out there and we wouldn’t see them.’ Gavin watched the undergrowth but all was quiet. Hopefully it had been a false alarm, after all.

  White-faced, Mary came out of the house to meet them, rifle in her hand.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Ian demanded.

  ‘Fine.’ But swayed as she said it.

  Asta went to her at once. ‘Let me take this …’

  She eased the rifle out of Mary’s stiff fingers. Alison’s scared face stared from the shadows inside the house. Asta turned to her. ‘Your mother would like some hot tea to drink,’ she told her. ‘Make it for her, please.’

  ‘This isn’t a tea party, you know.’ Ian’s voice was rough behind her.

  She ignored him. ‘Quickly now,’ she told Alison’s back as the girl disappeared into the house. ‘Put in plenty of sugar if you have it.’

  ‘I’m going to have a look round,’ Gavin said.

  ‘Be careful,’ Asta admonished. ‘They probably have spears.’

  ‘That white kid may have a gun, for all we know,’ Ian said.

  Asta frowned. ‘White kid?’

  Ian explained what there had been no time to explain before.

  Asta stared at Ian. ‘You let him go back with them? A European boy?’

  ‘He threatened to kill my wife and child. You think I was going to take him in after that?’

  ‘And you didn’t threaten him, I suppose?’ Tartly, her dislike gleaming momentarily in her words.

  ‘I didn’t do anything. He asked what we were doing here and I told him, that was all.’

  ‘You threatened them, all right.’ Asta knew Ian too well.

  ‘All that’s beside the point‚’ Gavin said. ‘Now we’ve got to make sure they don’t kill the lot of us.’

  At her side Asta felt Mary’s body grow taut, tremors running like ague through her limbs. She went to the open door, calling inside to Alison. ‘Is that tea ready yet?’

  ‘Coming …’

  Asta put her arm around Mary’s shoulders. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘We shall go inside.’

  The contents of the mug were steaming, almost stiff with sugar. ‘That is very good, Alison,’ Asta congratulated her. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Mary, coaxing her. ‘Drink it now. Quick as you can.’

  Mary tried, made a face. ‘It’s too hot.’

  ‘Never mind. Drink it so. It is good for you. Good for the nerves.’

  Mary tried a smile. ‘What nerves?’ Her teeth rattled on the rim of the mug.

  Outside the house Gavin prowled, Ian at his side. Fingers taut around their rifle triggers, their eyes watched the undergrowth but there was no movement, no sign of the blacks at all.

  Ian said, ‘I didn’t imagine it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  Gavin shook his head. ‘I’m thankful we got here in time.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Wait until Hector arrives with the rest of the men.’

  ‘And then?’ Ian was insistent. He had been frightened, for all his bravado, and now was thirsty for action.

  Gavin would not be drawn. He suspected the blacks had come peacefully and Ian had sent them away with a flea in their ear: that would be his style. It was a pity they hadn’t come to him first but it was too late to think about that.

  ‘It’ll be dark soon,’ he said. ‘We’ll be safe enough then.’ It was well known that the aborigines did not like to fight after dark.

  Ian was unconvinced. ‘With that white renegade leading them I wouldn’t bet on that.’

  ‘Renegade? I thought you said he was a kid?’

  ‘He was leading them, all right. Threatening Mary and Alison like that …’ Ian burst out angrily. ‘I should have shot him there and then.’

  ‘Thank God you didn’t‚’ Gavin said. ‘There’d have been hell to pay if you’d done that.’

  A drumming of hooves as Hector Gallagher and his men rode up.

  There were five of them: Hector, Blake and the three shepherds, Luke, Cato and Sinbad. Hector was a good man in a crisis; Blake would be the same, Gavin thought, even though he was so young. The shepherds should be fine, too, even though one of them was black. Men who worked in outlying places knew the risks.

  ‘What you want us to do?’ Hector asked.

  Gavin said, ‘We’ve two runs to defend and a couple of thousand sheep. We can’t be everywhere at once whereas they can hit us anywhere.’

  ‘We should get in first,’ Blake said. ‘Shoot some of ’em, the rest’ll do a bunk and we won’ ’ave no more trouble.’ He grinned cockily at the faces around him, enjoying their attention.

  ‘When we want your opinion we’ll ask for it,’ Hector told him. To Gavin he said, ‘The boy’s got a point, though. Why wait for ’em to attack us? Makes sense for us to move first, don’t it?’

  ‘They’ve done nothing to us so far.’

  Ian was having none of that. ‘You call threatening to murder us nothing?’ He turned to the shepherds. ‘You’re the ones they’ll kill first if there’s trouble. What do you think about it?’

  ‘Reckon Blake’s right,’ Cato Brown said. ‘Knock off a few of ’em, the rest’ll take the hint and move on.’

  ‘You’d better be sure he’s right,’ Gavin said. ‘You’re a softer target out there than we are.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s a softer target still,’ Hector said. ‘The blamed sheep, that’s what.’

  Silence as they thought about that. The flocks were scattered across miles of countryside; if the blacks wanted to attack them they could do a tremendous amount of damage with little or no risk to themselves. Wiping out the flocks would be a blow almost as damaging as killing the humans who guarded them.

  ‘All the more reason to sort ’em out first,’ Blake said.

  Gavin considered. It made a lot of sense. And the men were thirsty for action. Very well. He would give them action.

  He said, ‘We’ll move against them tonight.’

  *

  ‘How will you know where to find them?’ Asta stood in the little shed that would be their bedroom for the night. ‘And what is to stop them attacking us here while you are gone?’

  ‘They don’t move at night. They are frightened of the dark.’

  ‘And this white boy? Is he also frightened of the dark?’

  ‘How am I supposed to know?’ Asta’s questions exasperated Gavin, as always. ‘I’ve never seen him, even.’

  ‘Ian spoke to you about him, though.’ Asta was fascinated by the idea of the white boy. ‘Tell me what he said …’

  ‘He said he was young, dressed in some kind of kilt. Spoke good English. Said he’d been with them for months—’

  ‘He must have come from the sea,’ Asta said. ‘There is no other way
for him to be here.’

  ‘Ian said something about a shipwreck.’

  There was a long silence between them.

  ‘And now you intend to kill him.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something, girl. If he’d threatened you the way he did Mary and Alison I’d have shot him myself.’

  Asta shook her head. ‘You must not kill him.’

  ‘I may have no choice.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why not?’

  She ignored the question. ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Ian didn’t say. Does it matter?’

  Again Asta did not answer. She walked to the open door and stared out towards the invisible sea.

  Gavin watched her, troubled. She had such strange ideas. Perhaps it was coming from Norway that did it. Mostly he never thought about her background but whenever there was trouble he saw at once that her brain worked quite differently from his own. This sense of difference had been one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place but nowadays there were times when it made him uneasy.

  ‘There’ll be bullets flying about,’ he pointed out. ‘There’s always a chance he might get in the way of one.’

  ‘Tell the others they must not shoot him.’

  ‘I say that, like as not Blake will do it deliberately.’

  ‘Blake is a mad dog,’ she said.

  ‘Happen he is. That’s why I can’t promise.’

  ‘You will promise me one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You will never abandon me, the way Ian did Mary.’

  ‘I would hardly call it that—’ Awkwardly.

  ‘Oh? What would you call it?’

  ‘He had to think about the farm—’

  ‘Which of course is much more important than his wife and daughter. It certainly makes it plain where we women stand.’

  He was irritated, having to defend the indefensible. ‘It was a situation that called for an immediate decision. And as it happened they were perfectly all right.’

  ‘As it happened.’

  ‘No-one came near them. I am not prepared to judge him—’

  ‘No? Well, I am. I have.’

  ‘I see you have.’

  ‘I am glad you see.’ Her anger flared. ‘Do not let me delay you. I am sure that butchering aborigines is far more important than wasting time with your wife. Who is, after all, expendable.’