Jack & Harry

by Tony McKenna

  When they returned to the floor of the gorge beside the waterhole Jack looked up to where they had been but all he could see was a sheer rock wall, so well concealed was the cave and its treasures.

  ‘Thanks, uncle Warri.’ Jack felt he should say more for the privilege that had just been extended to him but no expressive words came to him.

  ‘Yu good fella, Jack. Yu learn quick ’n Warri know yu ’ave respect for our people ‘’n our ways. We keep this secret little bit, eh?’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone about it, uncle Warri, not even Harry.’

  ‘It all right if yu tell Harry ’bout it but not ’ow to find ’im. Now Warri better learn yu more ’bout huntin’ or else we go ’ungry. Yu think yu can track some roo for tea?’

  Jack knew the subject of the cave with its ancient paintings was closed and would not be spoken of again. He also decided that he wouldn’t tell Harry out of respect for Warri and the people who, from the dawn of time, had recorded their history and left it concealed in a cave deep in the heart of central Australia.

  ‘Hard to imagine what we used to be like back in Perth isn’t it, Harry?’ Jack said one night after they had eaten their fill. They were seated on a tree stump away from the body of the camp with a mug of tea.

  ‘Yeah, Jack. Seems like it was years ago.’ ‘Do you miss it … home?’

  ‘No … I don’t think so,’ He said thoughtfully. ‘I miss Mum and Dad but, and the family … not the place though. I certainly don’t miss school,’ he added with a grin.

  ‘Me neither,’ Jack agreed, ‘life has certainly changed for us, Harry.’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind a chocolate bar now and then though or some fish ’n chips.’

  ‘Too right! How about icecream with strawberry sauce?’

  ‘Yeah, or caramel, eh?’ Harry smacked his lips. ‘Be good to go to the pictures sometime as well.’

  ‘We’re sort of livin’ a picture aren’t we, Harry? The life we have now seems to have more adventure than any of the pictures I ever seen back home.’

  They were silent for a time listening to the night sounds, the herd settling for the night with only an occasional bellow, horses hobbled nearby softly whinnying to each other and snorting as they fed, and the hollow tinkling of bells around their necks. The odd coughs and murmur of voices from the men around the campfire and a dog barking drifted to them in the evening air. Sometimes the call of a night bird hunting on the wing for small rodents, or a dingo howling in the distance, could be heard but generally, though, there was just the desert silence with a gentle whisper of wind through the mulga.

  Jack noticed one morning and commented to Harry that the young Aboriginal boys, normally vibrant and laughing were unusually sober. ‘They say anything to you, Harry?’ He asked.

  ‘No. Come to think of it though they weren’t as noisy around the fire last night either.’

  Wandoo was also unusually quiet as he rode with Harry carrying out their normal duties on the wing but when Harry asked if anything was wrong, Wandoo just shrugged his shoulders without replying.

  Jack returned late in the afternoon with a kangaroo slung over the packhorse and three pair of rabbits tied to his saddle. Dumping the carcases near the wagon where Toffy was setting up the fire ready to prepare tea he walked up to him. ‘Why’s everyone so quiet, Toffy?’

  ‘You noticed did you, lad?’

  ‘Can’t help it! There’s hardly been a ‘whoop’ or a laugh all day. Those blokes are normally full of life. What’s goin’ on?’

  ‘Tonight’s a special night for them boys, Jack. Happens on every trip when we have a bunch of young bucks with us.’ He went about his tasks without commenting further.

  ‘What sort of special night, Toffy?’ Jack persisted, his curiosity aroused.

  ‘Well, I don’t know the ins and outs of it, Jack, as I never really worried much about it but there comes a time when the young blokes go through an initiation to become men. They head off into the scrub to some sacred spot where the elders perform a ritual on them. They go out boys and come back men, according the Aboriginals anyhow.’

  ‘What’s the ritual, Toffy?’

  ‘Don’t know for sure, never seen one. You’d have to ask Warri or maybe Reynold as he went up last time we were on a drove. Don’t think they’ll tell you much though. It’s very secret.’

  Jack waited impatiently for the day to end, skinning the roo before slicing steaks off it for Toffy, then filling in time by running a cleaning rag through the rifle. When he saw the riders coming into camp he went to meet them. Singling Harry out he asked him if he knew what was going on or if Wandoo had talked at all.

  ‘No, Jack, he was very quiet, all day.’

  Jack repeated what Toffy had told him so they decided to speak with Reynold and when they got a chance they drew him aside.

  ‘Reynold, the boys have been real quiet today, what’s goin’ on?’

  ‘Not much, why?’ Reynold seemed evasive.

  ‘Toffy says there’s an initiation or somethin’ on tonight somewhere. We were wonderin’ about it that’s all.’

  ‘It blackfella stuff, Harry,’ he said, as if that concluded the conversation.

  ‘Reynold,’ Jack joined in, ‘if you don’t want to talk about it that’s all right, mate, we were just wonderin’ that’s all. Everyone seems on edge.’

  Reynold looked about him to make sure they were some distance from anyone else before speaking. ‘It jus’ for blackfella, Jack, not for white men to know.’

  ‘We just want to know what it’s about,’ he persisted. ‘Toffy told us it’s some sort of initiation where the young blokes become men.’

  ‘Us boys come to a age where we go ’long to special place up there.’ He waved his arm vaguely toward the distant purple-clad hills. ‘Elders they get sacred stones out ’n talk wit’ the spirits then ’ave ceremony so we no longer boys but men.’

  ‘What sort of ceremony, Reynold?’ Jack was fascinated.

  ‘Can’t say, Jack, it secret stuff.’ Reynold glanced uneasily around him making sure they were out of earshot of the other men. ‘We Aboriginal people ’ave many ceremony. They very special for us. All ’cross this land where Aboriginal people live we ’ave special ceremony for blackfella only. Womens don’ even get to go to most of ’em, only men. Old grandfathers they tell me that some ceremony bit diff’rent place to place but mos’ly they same. Can’t tell you no more now.’

  ‘Can we come up too … to this ceremony?’ Harry asked.

  ‘No!’ He was emphatic. ‘I tell you already. It fer blackfella only, no whites.’ He eyes narrowed. ‘Don’ ask no more question, eh? I can’t tell you ’bout it.’ He started to walk away when Jack called him back.

  ‘Reynold, we’re sorry, mate. We didn’t mean to get you angry … honest.’

  ‘OK, Jack.’ He relaxed a little, a tentative smile etching his lips. ‘We’s mates for sure ’n I’d tell yu if I could. Do yu bloke ’ave initiation where you come from?’ Reynold made an attempt to show he wasn’t too offended by their questions.

  ‘No, Reynold, not really,’ Jack replied.

  ‘Some churches have what they call ‘confirmation’,’ Harry added.

  ‘Confirmation ’e lot diff’rent, eh? We ave ’im too … at the mission.’ Reynold left them, walking over to where the Aboriginal boys and stockmen were grouped around Warri.

  Around dusk all the Aboriginal men and boys rode out toward the hills in a group with Warri leading.

  ‘Save on tucker tonight,’ Toffy said with a grin.

  Tom Cooper noticed that Jack and Harry were subdued that evening around the campfire so he moved close to them, the almost mandatory mug of tea in his hand, half-smoked cigarette drooping from his lips. He squatted beside the boys and stared into the coals, his eyes squinted from the cigarette smoke curling from the butt in his mouth.

  ‘Funny thing this initiation ritual,’ Tom spoke to no-one in particular. ‘Doesn’t mean much to us blokes but to them it’s very importan
t.’ He flicked the butt into the ashes. ‘The young fellas are considered boys regardless of what they can do, how well they ride or how good they hunt until they go through some special ceremony.’

  The two boys looked at him but didn’t speak.

  ‘Not the same as us, where a man is judged on what he can do, what sort of bloke he is …regardless of his age.’

  ‘What happens, Mister Cooper?’ Jack asked, ‘what do they do that makes them men?’

  ‘It’s not what they do Jack it’s what’s done to them.’ He took the makings from his shirt pocket, stuck the corner of a cigarette paper in his lips and began to roll a small ball of tobacco in his palms. ‘Lots of cultures have rites and customs. The Jewish people, for instance, have circumcision of boys at around the same age as these fellas.’ He pointed into the darkness at the direction the riders had gone, ‘that’s a sign to them that the boys are now of age. Same sort of thing goes on with the Aboriginal people. I understand there are lots of stages the boys go through before initiation as men.’

  ‘You ever seen an initiation, Mister Cooper?’ Harry queried.

  ‘Me?’ Cooper shook his head and licked the rolled cigarette. ‘No. I don’t know of any white bloke that’s actually seen one. It’s a very secret ceremony, been going on for thousands of years. Sometimes they circumcise the boys or knock a tooth out with a rock or stick, or give ’em tribal markings where they make cuts on their arms or chests and rub ashes into them. Pretty painful I’d reckon, but it doesn’t seem to affect ’em too much. Just goes to show how tough these young fellas are.’

  ‘Gee!’ Harry shuddered. ‘Sounds awful. Glad I don’t have to get initiated.’

  ‘In a way you do, Harry … get initiated that is.’ Copper stood up and stretched. ‘We don’t knock a tooth out or nothing like that,’ he laughed, ‘but you’re initiated by being watched to see how you handle the things you’re expected to do.’ He swigged the last of his tea from the mug then tossed the dregs into the fire.

  ‘Reckon by watching you two blokes over the past coupla weeks you’ve tackled everything like two men anyhow. As far as we’re concerned, me and Toffy, you fellas are initiated.’ He walked off into the darkness.

  Tom Cooper was usually first in the saddle each morning, up well before dawn and inspecting the herd as the first rays of sun crept over the horizon. The herd was big so he obviously didn’t know every beast individually but he had the drover’s uncanny ability of being able to know if any were missing.

  Casting his eyes over the cattle one morning he knew intuitively that something was wrong. The big, wide-horned steer, that led Wandoo and Harry on many a wild dash through the scrub with his bids for freedom, was gone. Standing in the stirrups he searched the bush but could see no sign of him. He did find tracks in the sand leading away from the mob and guessed there were about fifteen head of stock that had made a break with the steer. If it had just been the steer alone he might have let him go, as he was a troublemaker, but fifteen or so head had to be found. He did decide, though, that the big red steer would end up as ribs on the fire the next time they needed meat.

  On his way back to camp he met Harry riding with Wandoo.

  He told them of his discovery. ‘Better get cracking and round ’em up before they get too far.’ He pointed in the direction the tracks led. ‘You can track ’em easy but they’ve got a bit of a head start, not sure what time last night they bolted.’

  ‘OK, boss,’ Harry said, ‘Wandoo and me’ll find ’em.’ He nudged Brumby into action.

  Tom Cooper was confident they would find the rogue steer as he watched Harry and Wandoo spur their horses across the dunes into the desert. Could be a while though, he thought to himself. Those cattle could be a long way off by now.

  They were. The tracks were easy to follow most of the time but they had to slow up occasionally when they crossed hard stony ground, the tracks almost invisible to Harry but not to Wandoo. Wandoo knew the small mob was heading for water and they found them around nine o’clock in the morning camped beside a small waterhole. Splitting up, the two riders circled around coming in from ahead of the herd, hoping that if they broke away it would be in the direction they had come from rather than further out into the desert.

  When the rogue steer saw the riders he raised his head in surprise, flicked his tail a few times, then made a run for it. The rest of the cattle just moved off from the waterhole a hundred yards or so, watching Harry and Wandoo take off after the breakaway.

  Wandoo yelled out a ‘yehaah’ and kicked his horse into a gallop, intent on heading the beast off to turn him back to the waterhole, with Harry on Brumby riding neck and neck beside him. They closed on the steer and Harry eased back to let Wandoo take the lead. They had played this game with the same rogue beast many times before, taking it in turns to be the one to head him off.

  Wandoo, feet straight in the stirrups, was stretched over his mount’s neck as he drew alongside the steer. The beast tried to turn right but Wandoo leaned his horse against it, shouldering the beast back. Anticipating the next move, he reined back slightly, crossed behind the steer then spurred his mount up to the left of it, leaning in again. The steer propped suddenly and Wandoo shot past, but wheeled his mount and at full gallop quickly caught up again.

  Without warning, Wandoo’s horse fell, catapulting tail over head, dust and sand flying while the steer continued its flight for freedom. Harry watched in horror as Wandoo hurtled like a rag doll through the air landing with a sickening thud where he lay motionless in the sand.

  Reining Brumby to a halt, Harry leapt from the saddle and ran to where his friend lay, fearful of what he would find. Wandoo was face down in the sand so Harry carefully turned him on his back and wiped the dirt from his mouth and nose. Wandoo didn’t move so Harry pressed his ear to Wandoo’s nose but could hear no breathing so was convinced he was dead.

  In a shocked panic he stood and looked around unsure of what to do. The steer was nowhere to be seen and Wandoo’s horse lay close by. It tried to stand but whinnying in pain it stopped struggling and collapsed back on the sand. Harry knew then that its leg was broken. It must have stepped in a hole, possibly a rabbit burrow, which had caused the fall and snapped the mare’s front leg.

  Then he remembered to check Wandoo’s pulse as he had seen his mother do when he or his father had been sick. He pressed Wandoo’s wrist with his fingers feeling nothing at first but then when he moved his fingers slightly there was a small flutter beneath his touch. Pressing at various points on the wrist he located the artery, reassured to find that there was a regular beat. Wandoo was just unconscious but what injuries he had suffered he didn’t want to think about.

  Harry knew he had to get Wandoo to shelter somehow as the sun, already a fireball, was climbing the cloudless sky. Harry put his hands under Wandoo’s arms and began to drag him to a nearby clump of stunted mulga conscious that he might be damaging his friend further but aware he would surely die if left in the intense heat on the sand.

  Jack saddled Brehardie just after lunchtime, slipped the rifle into the scabbard and, leading Dolly, rode out to see what game he could bag for the pot. He had been out an hour scouting through the hills when he noticed hawks in the distance circling on the thermals like leaves in a willy-willy, tiny dots in the sky. Paying no particular attention to them he continued to look for signs of kangaroos or emus but the circling birds niggled at the edge of his mind so he decided, curiosity aroused, to investigate.

  Led by the birds he rode toward low hills backed by distant peaks. A cairn of stones he passed indicated that a waterhole was ahead and he wondered what was sick or already dead that had drawn the birds.

  Coming on the waterhole he saw a number of cattle but the birds circled some distance beyond it. He saw the two horses first, Brumby close to a clump of mulga and Wandoo’s bay mare on its side in the sand. Jack spurred Brehardie forward, noticing slight movement below the trees. As he neared the trees Harry ran from the shade calling out to him
, his arms waving frantically to attract attention.

  ‘What happened, Harry?’ He jumped from the saddle letting the reins drop and ran to his friend. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah, Jack. Thank God you found us, mate. It’s Wandoo. His horse fell … broke its leg I think.’ He pointed to the bay mare. ‘Wandoo’s out to it and I can’t get any sign of life from him.’ There were tears of concern in his eyes and fear in his voice. ‘What’re we gonna do, Jack?’

  ‘Gee, Harry, you sure he’s not dead?’ Jack looked at Wandoo’s still form then glanced at Harry, remembering the time when he thought he was dead.

  ‘He’s got a pulse, I checked,’ Harry assured Jack. ‘I dragged him over here into the shade and I’ve been sprinklin’ water on his face to keep him cool.’

  ‘We gotta get him back to camp somehow, Harry.’ Jack stood deep in thought, his brow furrowed in concentration. ‘We got Dolly, if we can get him on her we can lead him back.’

  ‘Guess so, Jack.’ Harry was reluctant to move Wandoo, frightened that any movement might injure him further or even kill him, but knew there was no alternative. He had to be taken back to camp.

  ‘What about her?’ Harry pointed to the bay mare that was now sitting up on its haunches but unable to stand.

  ‘Gotta shoot her, Harry. Horse’s no good with a broken leg.’ Jack sounded like a seasoned bushman, well beyond his years. He walked to Brehardie then taking the rifle from his saddle he slowly moved to the injured animal.

  Harry turned away as Jack placed the barrel close to the mare’s head. When the sound of the shot had faded and Jack returned they didn’t speak for some time until Harry asked, ‘do you know where the camp is, Jack? I’ve got a general idea but was relyin’ on Wandoo to lead us back.’

  ‘Not exactly, as they would’ve moved on through the day. I do know where we were camped last night though so that’d put ’em about twenty mile or more due east of there. We’ll have to wait till it’s cooler though … let the sun get down a bit.’ He glanced up at the blistering orb, checking his pocket watch.