Wild Lands

by Nicole Alexander

  Where should she begin? It had been a terrible day. ‘Settlers have been attacked and the Superintendent at Lago Station is missing.’

  ‘It’s the moon. Bad things always happen when the moon’s fit to bursting, for that’s when people move about and the bad ones, well, they don’t need no almanac to tell ’em when the moon’s on its way.’

  An hour or so after they’d eaten, the cook fell asleep, her head lolling back against the wall. Some of the pieces of mud sealing the cracks in the ill-fitting timber had come loose and a cold draught wafted through the stuffy room, stirring the woman’s hair as she snored. Outside the brightness of the night unsettled Kate. Deciding against the walk to the privy, she took a few steps from the hut and, lifting her skirts, squatted on the ground. The warmth splashed her shins and she scuffed clean damp shoes, noticing a weak light in the main room of the Hardys’ hut. The shuttered window was open and the outline of four men could be seen. The presence of the soldiers was a consolation, especially that of Major Shaw, but it was difficult not to feel abandoned in this place. Betts was right. They shouldn’t have come here. This land belonged to others while in contrast the settlers tried to impose their will on a mysterious place and its people. No good could come of such behaviour.

  Away from the dwellings the landscape was haloed by light. The familiar call of an owl broke the silence. Movement in the air and the whoosh of wings drew Kate to a scurrying creature on the ground. The owl swooped and then flew off, clutching something between its claws. Trembling, she retreated to the hut, closed the door and drew the latch. Mrs Horton gave a snort in her sleep, as Kate took up a position at the table opposite the door, the loaded pistol before her. Stroking the prettily engraved stock, she began polishing the barrel with a cloth, humming under her breath. Point and shoot, she whispered. She’d done murder once, surely, Kate thought, she could again. Eventually she rested her arms on the table and slept.

  The slush lamp flickered. The fire spat.

  The door creaked.

  Kate blinked away sleep as a shaft of moonlight angled onto the dirt floor. She ducked beneath the table, remembering too late that the pistol was on the table where she’d left it. The slush lamp had burnt itself out, however the moon’s glow combined with the flickering fire filled the hut’s interior with a hazy light. Her breath caught. A wash of fresh air eddied around the room, displacing the sour scents of the day and lifting the dust. After a minute or so, Kate scolded herself. It was only a welcoming breeze. She must have forgotten to latch the door properly. Gripping the edge of the table she was about to pull herself up when the door swung open.

  A black man stood on the threshold, the moonlight accentuating a scarred torso and matted hair, holding a long spear. He wore trousers and an open-checked shirt and a hide cloak. Surveying the room, his gaze fell on the sleeping cook and he muttered a few words in his native tongue, which seemed to be directed towards Mrs Horton. The older woman awoke with a start as the savage lifted his spear. For a moment Kate thought the man only meant to frighten them but as the older woman screamed the spear was aimed and flung in a single movement. The point struck the cook in the chest, slamming the woman against the wall with a deadening thud. As blood gushed from the wound, the cook gave a weak cry. Kate gasped in horror. The black saw her, overturned the table and was on Kate immediately, tugging at her hair, pulling her upwards until his stern face was inches from hers.

  ‘Please,’ she begged.

  The savage yanked her outdoors by the hair and began to drag her away from the huts, up the hill. Kate wrapped shaking hands over his, trying to ease the pain of scalp and hair being pulled by the roots. Shots, screaming and the yelp of a dog followed their progress; still the man pulled at her, jerking Kate’s body so violently that she tripped and stumbled and fell again and again, and every time she staggered he pulled her upwards, intent on leading her away.

  ‘Help!’ she cried. ‘Help me!’

  Further down the hill James and a native were fighting. The Major shot the black and then, although dead, began pounding his head in with the butt of his rifle.

  A chorus of yells chased them up the hill. Musket shots rang out. The native halted, swung Kate about as if she were a shield and lifted a throwing stick at the Major and George Southerland, who pursued them. Both men trained their muskets, but neither fired. They couldn’t risk hitting Kate. The black began to lead her away again, backwards over the rough ground, the men stalking behind in their wake.

  They were past the store shed in the side of the hill, past the halfway mark to where spiky-topped timber crowned the peak. There was such a small space left between the moonlit ground ahead of them and the dark of the trees that Kate realised there was little time for anyone to save her.

  ‘Stop!’

  The voice was loud, firm. Two black men and one white stood between Kate and certain oblivion. The eldest native held a spear aloft, the youngest a pistol and the white … the white lifted his musket and dropped to his knees.

  ‘Don’t move, miss.’

  His voice was firm. Kate recognised him immediately as the stranger who’d visited the farm.

  Mundara snarled. ‘This is not your fight, Bronzewing. Tell him, Bidjia.’

  ‘There has been much death already,’ the Elder replied.

  ‘Did you hear me, miss?’ the white man called. ‘Don’t move an inch.’

  Kate gave a shocked nod. She couldn’t move, the black had his arm tight about her.

  ‘You’ll never get away, Mundara.’

  ‘You will be my enemy, Bronzewing,’ Mundara shouted. ‘Forever. I will hunt you down like the white dog you are.’

  ‘Let the woman go,’ Bidjia countered.

  ‘Does the white man let the black woman go?’ Kate’s captor replied.

  Bidjia moved quickly to the left. His younger companion to the right. Their sudden movement distracted Mundara and the instant Kate felt his grip lessen she stomped hard on his foot. The action unbalanced her abductor. Musket fire sounded and the next moment Kate was falling to the ground. She sat up quickly, her finger nails clawing the dirt as she scrambled backwards. When Kate finally looked over her shoulder the black had gone, disappearing into the night. In his place was James Shaw, his hand outstretched. She took it gratefully and huddled against his body as the other men ensured all the attackers had left.

  ‘Much obliged.’ George Southerland was the first to speak as the Major assured himself that Kate was unharmed. ‘What are you men doing here?’

  ‘Heading north-east.’ Adam casually reloaded the musket. ‘Across the mountains to the sea. Are you alright, miss?’ He rammed the shot down the barrel.

  ‘Yes, yes, thank you,’ Kate replied shakily, staring at the three men as if they’d appeared in a dream. She’d thought the native would kill her.

  ‘We’ve got problems up here, as you can see,’ Mr Southerland told them. ‘We could do with a hand.’

  Although keen to keep to their own agenda, Mundara’s trail had been obvious. The renegade had moved ahead of them and was swift and direct in the path he and his men chose. Had Adam and the others not seen the huts in the distance with their curl of chimney smoke, they never would have diverted from their intended direction but Mundara clearly planned on wreaking more havoc. And knowing the girl may be in danger only hardened Adam’s resolve. He spoke quickly with Bidjia and Jardi and then asked the two strangers to step to one side so he could speak to them out of the woman’s hearing. ‘What did the girl do to cause offence?’

  Mr Southerland frowned. ‘Offence?’

  ‘A slight of some sort? A wrongdoing?’ Adam persevered.

  ‘There’s nothing that I know of. Why?’

  ‘I’m Major James Shaw and this is George Southerland. Miss Kate Carter’s was here as a companion to Mrs Hardy. There can be no offence.’

  ‘In that you are wrong,’ Bidjia muttered.

  ‘What did that black say?’ the Major asked.

  ‘Nothing, he said
nothing,’ Adam replied testily. They’d been right to track Mundara but now they had an officious soldier with an Englishman in tow to contend with. He looked at the girl. She was pale with fright.

  A strong smell of smoke carried up the hill. Two buildings below crackled and popped as angry plumes of fire ate at the timber, collapsing a wall as they watched. Part of the Hardy house still stood but the kitchen had caved in on itself and continued to burn. There was no movement below. No people, no yellow dog and no pecking chickens. Only the scaffolding erected to punish Mr Callahan remained untouched, highlighted by the moon’s glow.

  ‘Come, we’re walking out of here now,’ Adam told them.

  ‘But it’s pitch black,’ the Major disagreed. ‘Best we make camp in the timber and let Miss Carter rest.’

  ‘Stay if you like,’ Adam glanced around the open position where they argued, ‘but I’d not risk it, not with a renegade on the loose.’

  Mr Southerland rubbed at his beard and looked skyward. ‘A renegade. Do you know that for certain?’

  This time Jardi spoke. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The bastard. It’s not the time to be standing out here then. Come on, Major, he’s right,’ Mr Southerland admitted. ‘Best we keep moving.’

  ‘We can’t leave Mrs Horton, we can’t just walk away.’ Kate turned to George Southerland and James, imploring them to stop. ‘And what of Sophie?’ She gave a sob. ‘What happened to Sophie and Mr and Mrs Hardy?’

  James drew her away, leading Kate roughly over the uneven ground. ‘They were inside the house when it caught alight. I saw them through the window. Sophie wouldn’t leave her mother’s side. George and I tried to get to them …’

  Kate bit her knuckles to stem the horror. Behind them the fires crackled and roared. ‘He killed Mrs Horton!’

  ‘I know, Kate,’ James took her arm more firmly, ‘and the young officer travelling with me. There were four of them, Kate, and they knew what they were doing. Come, you must keep up.’ He was practically dragging her towards the timber, his arm moving to her waist, so that he half-carried her uphill. Kate willed her feet to keep walking.

  Ahead, the two natives and the dark-haired man led them into the night.

  Chapter 23

  1838 June – on the run

  Through the tangle of brush, daylight beckoned. Twigs and leaves caught in Kate’s hair and clothes as she pushed and pulled at the cocoon of a nest that seemed to have been erected around her. With difficulty she crawled free of the hiding spot, brushing dirt away. The sleeping place where she’d collapsed a few hours ago had been made invisible by the careful placement of plants. Her legs were aching and her head and neck pained from last night’s ordeal. Exhausted and thirsty, Kate scanned the area, and realising that she was alone, peered through the woody plants encircling the sheltered spot for any sign of life. To her relief James and Mr Southerland were standing a short distance away. They turned at her approach and then wordlessly resumed their stare. Kate joined the silent companions and followed their line of sight.

  Kate didn’t recognise the land they’d come to. To the east there were strange hills that crisscrossed each other like bell-shaped skirts and forested areas interspersed with open areas. They were in a valley inhabited by kangaroos and a flock of birds who flew overhead in an arrow formation. Smoke hung in the air to the south and south-west. In places it appeared to ring the dense bushland. Kate thought of the Hardys, of all they’d hoped to achieve. A dull pain settled within her. ‘What happened to the other men? To Mr Callahan?’

  ‘They set the men’s hut alight.’ George Southerland passed her a waterbag and Kate drank gratefully. ‘Maybe the others cleared off before the attack. I don’t know.’

  Kate was glad for Gibbs and the rest of the men. ‘And Mr Callahan?’ She handed the water back.

  The overseer shook his head. ‘Unless he managed to crawl out of there.’

  ‘You mean, he’s dead too?’ Mr Southerland didn’t reply. Kate stood quite still, her mind trying to absorb the deaths of the people she’d lived and worked with for nearly a year. Mr Callahan in particular had been so kind to her. ‘He, he was a friend,’ she said quietly. If the old Scotsman had not been so desperate to arm himself and if Mr Hardy were not so intent on instilling order, Mr Callahan might yet be alive. Kate thought of him lying in the hut unable to defend himself. It was too much. All of it was too much.

  ‘With luck the smoke may have got him first,’ the overseer suggested as if reading her mind.

  The thought gave her little comfort. Kate watched numbly as the two blacks and the white man who’d saved her the previous night appeared through the timber and jogged towards them. They moved effortlessly as if at one with the land, small ground-birds fluttering from the grasses as they approached. Kate recalled the stranger she’d met by the creek, his gentle touch and the ease she’d felt in his presence. But when he’d talked of his companions to Mr Hardy, he’d never mentioned that they were natives. ‘Can they be trusted?’

  ‘They saved you, Kate, didn’t they?’ In daylight, the Hardys’ overseer was covered with soot and a nasty burn, red and bubbly, marked one side of his face. ‘And at this point we don’t have much choice.’

  ‘You’re injured, Mr Southerland,’ Kate noted.

  ‘It’ll heal.’ He waved away her concern.

  ‘He followed Mr Hardy into the house to help save the man’s wife and child,’ James explained.

  ‘The bloody building collapsed like a deck of cards.’

  Kate saw the overseer in a new light.

  ‘Nothing,’ Adam shared on arrival. ‘And the horses have been run off.’

  ‘Damn.’ Mr Southerland itched his hairline. ‘Well, there’s still the sheep and the cattle, if they haven’t been rushed.’

  ‘You can’t seriously be thinking of going back?’

  ‘James, I ain’t been paid and I’m not likely to be if I don’t return and see what’s what. If I can get to Stewart’s farm and borrow a horse and some men, I can muster what’s left of the Hardys’ sheep and then walk them to his farm, shear them and get the wool to market. There’s also Kate to be considered. She’d be safe there.’

  ‘But weren’t they one of the places attacked?’ James queried.

  ‘So we were told, but the Stewarts have a big spread and if it’s the same mob of blacks that attacked us last night, then on my reckoning there’s only three of them. Stewart’s got enough men to hold that number at bay.’ He turned to Adam. ‘It’s due south from here, maybe thirty miles. I’d appreciate having you with us as a guide. I’m figuring you know this part of the country, while I don’t.’ He contemplated their surroundings. ‘Nothing’s recognisable to me, and if you’re right about a renegade being involved, we’ll do better if you lot are with us.’

  Kate stared at the white man as he considered Mr Southerland’s request. They didn’t even know his real name although the old black man addressed him as Bronzewing. Kate wondered if she should mention that he’d been to the Hardys’ farm; that Mr Hardy had spoken with him and that the unknown man had never mentioned that he was travelling with natives. It struck her as odd that their fate rested with this man who was named after a pigeon. He didn’t answer Mr Southerland immediately, turning instead to consult with the two blacks as if they were equal.

  The older of the blacks, Bidjia, was unimpressed. ‘We should leave them, walk away from their troubles, they are not ours.’

  ‘We’d be indebted,’ James announced. ‘I gather you’re trackers or stockmen. Who do you work for?’

  ‘No-one,’ Adam answered a little too quickly. He should have known the questioning would begin eventually.

  ‘Where have you come from then?’ the soldier persevered.

  ‘Nowhere in particular.’ Adam dismissed the querying and lowering his voice turned once again to discuss their options with Bidjia and Jardi. He’d made their new friends wary, especially the officer, however they hadn’t journeyed this far to be caught up with a redcoat,
not after everything that had occurred.

  Bidjia wanted to go on and leave these people to make their own way south, but Jardi agreed that it was wrong to leave the white woman, especially if safety was close by.

  ‘But I don’t like the redcoat,’ Jardi spoke quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

  ‘I’d not lend him a knife to cut up a plug of tobacco,’ Adam replied, ‘but I agree the woman should be taken to safety. Mundara seeks revenge for some wrongdoing and she’s his target.’

  ‘You like this woman?’ Jardi asked.

  ‘She’s a darn sight prettier than you.’

  ‘He came to the farm,’ Kate spoke quickly to Major Shaw and Mr Southerland. She was unnerved by these strange men whispering among themselves. ‘The morning the sheep were washed he spoke to Mr Hardy, warning us about the natives. He said he’d spoken with the Superintendent at Lago Station and that his party was on their way to the coast.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Mr Southerland tugged thoughtfully at a wispy bit of beard that appeared to have been singed.

  ‘What’s your name?’ The Major studied the three men, then, as if seized by a revelation, he walked forward and grabbed Adam by the wrist. ‘A shell bracelet, a white man travelling with blacks, one of them named Bidjia? I’ll ask you again, where have you come from? What is your name?’