“A new interest,” Bony said, regarding John with raised brows.
“Yes. I reckon new interests will crowd in now the drought’s busted.” Affection and pride shone in his eyes. “Blood’ll always tell, Bony. His mother was strong-minded, and once Eric makes up his mind there’s nothing wrong with Lake Jane and the country in general, he’ll do well.”
Bony’s nod of agreement was slight, and a moment later Eric appeared with the single oar. Slipping off his boots, he pushed the boat out, climbed in over the bow and, standing, deliberately rocked it. He shouted when it rode perfectly, and, using the oar over the stern and feathering it, he propelled the boat out from the shore.
“Done the job better than I thought, Bony,” murmured John. “Was always particular. Everything always has to be done just right. Yes, good job considering he had only sawn timber and sheet iron to make her with. I showed him how to curve the ribs, and he took it up in a flash.”
That night was the most carefree evening Bony spent at Lake Jane. Eric was almost gay, and his father happy in what seemed to be the son’s rejuvenation after so many severe trials. They played cribbage till midnight.
The next day the truck could never have been driven to L’Albert had it not been for John’s piloting. He displayed an uncanny knowledge of the comparatively hard surfaces, for to have followed the usual track would have meant being bogged time and again. As it was, the twelve miles to L’Albert occupied four hours.
To Bony, L’Albert was never so populated. From a veranda Eve Pointer waved to them, and Robin met them with smiling welcome. Jim Pointer was in conference with a party of aborigines outside the store, the men, women and children dressed as though for church at a mission station.
“Well, it is nice to see you all,” Robin said, looking steadily at Eric still sitting behind the wheel. John wanted to know how much rain had fallen at L’Albert, and was told ten points over ten inches. Eric wanted to know what the party at the store was about, and the shadow in the girl’s eyes passed when she replied:
“The rain-makers have come in for their rewards. And all their dependants. You knew that Dad promised tobacco and jam if they made it rain. And how they made it rain! Well, get out, do. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes.”
“You don’t really believe all that tosh, do you?” asked Eric, mockery in eyes and voice.
“Don’t see why not,” defended Robin. “Bony suggested getting the aborigines to make rain. Dad agreed to give them jam and tobacco if they did. So they dug up their rainstones and rubbed them with their magic stones, and ‘sang’ them in a secret camp. And then it rained.”
“And then it rained, so why the argument?” supported John. “Come on. Let’s get out. I’m cramped sitting here all day. You’re looking fine, Robin. How’s your mother?”
“Better since the rain,” she replied. “We’ve started our garden again, and Mother’s been absorbed by that and forgotten all about her sinus.”
Lunch was a hilarious affair, although the cold mutton was tough and the portion of potatoes for each was very small. Eve Pointer was famous for her pastry, and her pie made of dried apricots earned her sincere compliments from the visitors.
After lunch, old John, with an eye for future labour needs, accompanied Eric and Pointer to the aborigines’ temporary camp, to talk with Nuggety Jack, and, Mrs Pointer having at the moment house-assistance from one of the lubras, Bony sat with Robin on the veranda overlooking the open space bordered by the men’s quarters and outbuildings.
“How did the aborigines come in?” Bony asked, feeling lazy and greatly content. “Walked, I assume.”
“Couldn’t travel any other way, Bony. The girls and the old gins carried their belongings, the lordly masters strutting on ahead of them. I wish I were a man.”
“I ignore your last remark. Did all the aborigines come in from Bore Ten?”
“All bar Tonto. He’s lying up with a bad cold. Why the curiosity?”
“Have to gossip to keep your mind off asking me questions,” Bony told her. “I’ve not forgotten your early threat.”
“Don’t let it worry you, Bony. I’ve a little more respect for you than I had. Dozens of detectives go tramping all over the place for nothing; in a few days you find Brandt’s bicycle and the remains of the swags. What more did you find?”
“Lots. And lots I have still to find, and shall, now that the rain has washed the dust off them. What whisky does your father drink?”
“What ... whisky? Father doesn’t drink whisky. What an extraordinary question.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Spirits are bad for any man. Is the telephone to the main homestead still in order?”
“It was this morning, when Dad was speaking to Mr Long. Go on. I’m liking this, Bony. Ask all your questions and beware of mine.”
Robin’s dark eyes were mischievous. She looked cool and not a little alluring, her black hair short, and the style suited the shape of her head. Were it not for the faint hint of superiority towards the male sex, Bony’s romantic soul might have been warmed by the fire of her challenge. He said:
“One more question, and you may begin on me. Why did you have your hair cut at the time Paul Dickson was found murdered?”
“Because it needed cutting, silly.”
Chapter Eighteen
Fire in Black Opal
BONY WAS given no opportunity to repeat the question, for Robin’s mother appeared and at once began chatting about the changed world, and of the hope it held for everyone. The men returned from the camp, and then old John had to ring Midnight Long and talk rain, ground feed, sheep and prospects of buying when everyone sought to buy. The great news, however, was that the manager would instruct his agent to purchase on the Fort Deakin account six hundred ewes. They would probably arrive with the Fort Deakin sheep from agistment.
When the Downers departed for Lake Jane, Bony requested permission to use the telephone and was conducted to Pointer’s office.
“Sit down, Jim, and let us talk. You have the time?”
“Of course. Go ahead,” Pointer assented readily. “From what we have been told about finding the bike and swag things in a gilgie hole, there seems to be plenty to talk about.”
“The day before the rain came the Downers brought letters from me to post on. I suppose they are still here?”
“No. It happened that a Government bore-inspector went through on his way down to Mindee, and he took the mail. He was to stay the night at Fort Deakin, so I can’t say how soon after that night of storm he got down to Mindee.”
“Then I’d like to contact Sergeant Mawby.”
“Sure. Just ring. Have to raise Mr Long. He’ll put you through to Mindee.”
“Oh, it’s you, Inspector,” exclaimed Midnight across forty-five miles of waterlogged country. “Nice to hear your voice.”
Bony inquired about his letters, and was told they had been taken to Mindee four days back. Long said he would raise Sergeant Mawby and ring back when he made the connection.
“You won’t be busy until the sheep come home, will you?” Bony asked Pointer, and the overseer said he could give all the time Bony desired. His dark eyes were always calm, always without barriers, and Bony now relied on his judgment of Jim Pointer.
“What we say here could be strictly in confidence, Jim?”
“Take it for granted.”
“You ease my load.” Bony lit a cigarette. “You heard from the Downers about the bike and swag remains. There are other matters I have kept to myself, and will continue to do so until there are further developments. I require information as well as assistance. Figuratively, I have reached a junction, and further investigation will take me along one road or the other. Please understand that I cannot see the end of the journey, and therefore asked for your assurance not to repeat our conversation. Now, tell me. Tonto was left at Bore Ten, allegedly with a bad cold. Did none of his relatives stay with him?”
“No. His wife and all came in with Nuggety Jack.”<
br />
“They came in today?”
“Yesterday, late. I let them camp back of the woolshed, as their usual camping place here is under water.”
“This Tonto fellow. Wasn’t it he who was severely manhandled some considerable time ago?”
“The same,” answered Pointer. “Any hospital would have taken him in, but he wouldn’t leave. They’re tough all right.”
“And now he could be sick, or could be recovering from a thrashing I gave him, Jim. That day I found the bike and the remains of what is certainly two swags, I was followed. I was sure of it when the moon came up and Downer’s heeler scented him. We arrived at the Rudder’s gate after dark. I knew it made a row when opened. I made sure it did when I opened it, and again when I closed it. The trailer knew I had passed through.
“Then I waited for him. He didn’t open the gate, but climbed over it. That heeler is well trained. Having been told to keep back, he kept away, and I proceeded to mark my trailer with a length of fencing wire. He could be Tonto.”
“You couldn’t identify him?”
“Not before I branded him. When he had left at full speed, I identified his tracks and with the aid of matches. Blackfeller, without doubt. I could have arrested him, but he wouldn’t have talked. What I intended was to identify him by my marks later on. If it should be proved that he was Tonto, then what was Tonto about, and who put Tonto up to it, and why?”
“We could run out to Bore Ten tomorrow and look Tonto over.”
“He wouldn’t be there when we arrived. No. I have a more subtle plan. We could ... Excuse me.”
Bony lifted the telephone, and Midnight Long said he would switch over to Mindee.
“Day, Mawby; Bonaparte here. Nice rain.”
“Beaut. Should do a lot of good. How are you?” The sergeant’s voice was, as always, deceptively lazy.
“Staying at L’Albert for a few days. No time, I suppose, to have the lab. report of those hair specimens?”
“No. Had to go to Sydney. Could be another three to five days. Rain has delayed road traffic, as you’ll know.”
“Contact me when you have it, please.” Bony idly glanced at Pointer, and for a moment their eyes met. “Reference Number Four in my letter. Period September-October last year. Ascertain date he left Mindee for Broken Hill, and date he returned to Mindee. It’s physically possible that he did not proceed to Broken Hill. Ask your HQ to check on him at all hotels and garages for his truck.”
The sergeant’s voice was not now tired.
“Right, Inspector, I have that.”
“At the same time, Mawby, I want to know if Number Four bought jewellery in Broken Hill. If possible at this late date, I’d like to know if he bought petrol before leaving Mindee, in addition to the usual filling of the petrol tank. That’s all for the present.”
“I’ll check,” came the sergeant’s voice, and he enumerated the instructions. “You getting warm?”
“Merely a slight glow. How’s the wife?”
“Has been worse. Rain seems to have helped her.”
Replacing the instrument, Bony began to roll a cigarette, keeping his gaze on the chore, and Pointer was silent, watching the long brown fingers, and his mind racing here and there and shunning cul-de-sacs. He found himself caught in the net of Bonaparte’s blue eyes. He could not see the lips which framed the word:
“Well?”
“I couldn’t avoid listening and putting two to five,” Pointer said.
“I wanted you to be able to put two to five, and take one away, Jim. Honestly I don’t know where we are going from here. I have investigated stubborn murder cases which have given me the thrill of the hunter. Other cases have provided me with the academic interest of the scientist watching the progress of an experiment. And yet other cases have brought me great sadness. I am beginning to feel that this case will fall into the last category. I am wishing I could walk out on it, and the wish is vain because I cannot walk out. I have become a prisoner of circumstances, as you and yours have become, and the Downers, and, I am thinking, so have Nuggety Jack and his people. How near tonight, in your utility, could you take me to Bore Number Ten?”
“Be lucky to get you half way, the state the track’s in after dark.”
“If we left at sundown, you might be able to take me several miles before darkness made travelling really difficult. There and back is twenty miles. A long walk. Were the track in normal condition, I would not want you to take me right to Bore Ten. Will you try?”
“Yes, of course. Leaving in daylight, we could get within three or four miles of the Bore, perhaps farther, with luck.”
“Good! We’ll do that, and leave without mentioning anything of the trip. Thanks, Jim.”
2
Tonto was a full-blood who had gone to school and could tell you where, for example, Estonia is, and thus was one up on hundreds of white men and women in the Australian cities who would flunk the question. Geography was his strong point, as with all his race; drawing maps on sand is the accomplishment of the infant, and memorizing the outlines of objects comes very early in life. On leaving school he could read well, and could write, even writing love letters to the maiden he married eventually, which she couldn’t read.
Tonto was just the average young aborigine in this era, when much money is spent on their education—and barriers erected to prevent them benefiting from it.
He was of the Dingo Totem, and of late it did seem that the Dog was bringing him bad luck. Even his own dogs had deserted him the previous day, preferring to track his wife, who had departed with the others for L’Albert to collect the reward for making rain. He had performed his part in the early rain-making ceremonies, too, and would have continued had not orders been issued to undertake a certain assignment.
One full day following a long night of loneliness was now getting into Tonto’s hair, of which he had plenty, long and wavy and jet black. Of slightly independent spirit, he was no rebel against the authority of his elders.
Now lean and hungry, he squatted over his small fire amid the pine trees at Bore Ten, his whirlie empty and cold at his back, and beyond the firelight the world hidden behind a black curtain. All about him were the spirits of a thousand generations of forebears, and all of them together were not as powerful as Napoleon Bonaparte; who blew air down his neck and said:
“Careful, Tonto. Don’t move. Feel the gun?”
Tonto did not move. He did feel the round impress of the automatic against his skin covering a kidney. He began breathing hard, overpowered by the respect owed a man who could steal up behind him and blow down his neck.
“Now lean back slowly and lie on your back, with your legs straight.” Tonto obeyed, seeing Bony standing as a giant with the firelight flickering on the metal in his right hand.
“Stay like that. Rest in peace.” Bony, with his feet worked additional wood on to and about the small fire, and soon tall flames rose to push away the encircling wall of night. “You may sit up, but keep your legs straight.”
Tonto sat up and glowered across the fire to the man now squatting on his heels. His mind worked fast on a problem of relative speed: muscular action versus projectile. Finding the solution quite simple, he remained passive, and explored another problem: the relationship of the unarmed citizen who has his rights, whatever that means, and an armed policeman having blazing blue eyes and ferocious mien. He himself wasn’t particularly handsome. A whitish welt extending down his left cheek to the point of his jaw spoiled his looks.
“The day before Nuggety Jack and Dusty made the rain, you followed me all around Rudder’s,” Bony accused. “You put up two kangaroos to prove it. You let a crow see you, and the crow proved it. You let the new wind come from you to my dog, and he proved it. You climbed over the gate at Rudder’s and then I proved it, and branded you. Tonto, I don’t like you.”
In modern phraseology, silently Tonto asked: “So what?”
“You know that I am a top-feller policeman,” Bony proceeded, ho
ping for one tiny grain of information. “You know why I came to L’Albert and why I went over to Lake Jane. I know that you followed me around Rudder’s Paddock, and that you climbed the gate so that I wouldn’t hear you following me, and I know that the brand on your face was done with a length of fence wire so that I would recognize you when I wanted to. We know much about each other, Tonto.”
To sit on the ground with the legs straight and flat quickly becomes acutely uncomfortable for an aborigine accustomed to sitting on his heels, and so Bony granted permission for Tonto to raise his knees and clasp his hands in front of them. Knowing that to put questions direct to an aborigine in a hostile mood is to waste time and achieve no result, Bony continued to make statements, and hoped to gain information through reactions.
“I didn’t mind you trailing me in Rudder’s Paddock. In fact, you could have come with me, and we could have had a bitch about the drought and all that. I didn’t mark you for following me that day. I marked you because I wanted to know who it was that let those dogs at Lake Jane stay chained up, so that they died.”
The firelight glinted whitely at the corners of Tonto’s eyes.
“That was a nasty thing to do, leaving those dogs to die of thirst when you were told to go to Lake Jane and loose them. I don’t blame Nuggety Jack and the others belting into you for that. How would you like someone tying up your dogs till they perished of thirst?”
“Wouldn’t mind,” replied Tonto to this indirect question. “My flaming dogs cleared out and left me. Went after the missus and the kids.”
“Perhaps you don’t mind just now, Tonto. But those Lake Jane dogs didn’t clear out and leave you. They didn’t do anything to you. All you had to do was to let ’em loose.”
Again the betraying flicker of white in the eyes, and Bony was satisfied that he had won a point. He ventured a direct question.
“Well, why didn’t you let ’em loose?”
“I got sick. I got sick in the guts. I give it away.”
Bony and the Black Virgin Page 12
