Bony and the Mouse Page 19

  The ‘mouse’ squeaked and flicked himself back to his rocks. Now, however, the rocks withdrew the illusion of security, and the following night he spent with his back against a tree trunk.

  On the morning of the fifth day he was walking to find the rocks and that rock hole where the water lay dark and deep and cool. He heard himself sobbing, and one part of his mind said he was a fool, because he wasn’t sobbing. How could he hear, when he would never hear anything again? He saw the tracks of naked feet and halted to gaze stupidly at them until the lucid part of his mind understood their significance.

  The tracks sent him running over virgin ground, presently to be halted again by another trail made by naked feet. He veered away and kept on running, and then it seemed that no matter which direction he took, he came to the prints of naked feet.

  Out of this damn forest! He must get out of it. No more could he stand it. He was indeed out of the mulgas, stumbling over uneven ground which bore tussock grass and salt-bush. Was that a crow he heard? Never, never would he shoot another crow. And there were men sitting on the ground, three of them, looking at him as he stumbled up the slope. There was George Harmon. And Iriti. And the barman was sitting in the middle.

  “George!” he screamed. “Say something! Say something!”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Repletion

  AS MELODY Sam was often to recall, it was a wonderful day for the Irish. Assisted by his barman-yardman, he served free drinks for an hour. The manager of his general store was instructed to entertain the children with sweets, soft drinks and fruit until the stock ran out. And Tony killed the fattest beast on hand for the aborigines to cart off to their cooking fires.

  At five o’clock Melody Sam ordered everyone from his hotel. At six o’clock Bony was seated with Constable Harmon in the police office, the desk littered with documents all signed and witnessed by Justice of the Peace Les Thurley. Harmon was tired yet elated.

  “Fred Joyce won’t get out of this lot,” he said, waving to the litter. “He signed all my transcribed notes of what he told us on coming out of the forest. You know, Nat, I don’t think any killer so completely damned himself by giving dates and events, plus conversations and persons who can testify against him.”

  “When these cold and calculating men break, they don’t half do it,” Bony said firmly. “They build themselves high on vanity, and once vanity evaporates, they’re like an unset jelly.”

  “A wonderful job, Nat.”

  “We all did a good job together, including Iriti and his people.”

  “Yes, Iriti did too. What about that abo murder? You doing anything about that?”

  “I’ll tell you the facts.” Bony rolled what might be called a cigarette, and Harmon waited patiently. “This time last year Janet Elder and other girls were out with the aboriginal lubras, and Janet persuaded Mary to return home straight through the forest. They came to the ceremonial ground, and Mary skirted wide out from it, and Janet walked through it.

  “On the following day or the day after, a black-feller named Wintarri, or something like that, was in the forest and saw the girl’s tracks. He was a nasty fellow who had been secretly pursuing the reluctant Mary. There were a lot of cross trails like wrong totems and such, but the point is clear that Wintarri reported that it was Mary who had crossed the ceremonial ground, not Janet Elder, knowing that this false information would result in Mary’s execution.

  “He wasn’t a young man. He possessed influence in the tribe. His lying statement was worth something, and there was temporary disagreement when the elders of the tribe decided to send a man to kill Mary in Daybreak. On being assured by me that it was the white girl who crossed the ground, not Mary, Iriti sent for the unsuccessful pursuer of the maiden and sentenced him to run from death. He received a little more than an hour’s start. The avengers Iriti sent after him did not overtake him until the next day. So you see, Harmon, there wouldn’t be much sense in going further into the matter. Now would there?”

  “As if I haven’t enough on my back. You were saying you’d like to leave with me for Laverton tonight.”

  “Better have someone with you and the prisoner. He might slip the handcuffs!”

  Harmon grinned. “Yes, he might. Like young Tony, eh? That’s a yarn I have still to listen to. Shall we make it seven o’clock to pull out?”

  “I’ve been working hard, too, Nat,” claimed Esther Harmon happily when her brother and the ‘yardman’ were eating her well-cooked dinner. “I tackled Melody Sam about giving Tony a job, and he said he’d take him on as barman. I told him that wouldn’t do. I said I couldn’t have Tony working in any hotel. He shouted and I shouted.” Esther’s dark eyes were actually illumined by her happiness. “In the end he agreed to do what I suggested. He’ll have Mrs Joyce in to look after him and his hotel, and he will hand over the butchering business to Tony the day he marries Joy Elder.”

  “That’s fine, Esther, and you will permit me to call you Esther after all this? What did you arrange for George?”

  “Oh, he’s to stay here at Daybreak, aren’t you, George?”

  “Don’t know about that,” grumbled George.

  “Oh yes, you do. You told me lots of times you’d never leave Daybreak because there’s no one here to train the kids properly.”

  “You appear to have managed everyone very well, Esther,” Bony told her appreciatively. “I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have found the son you have always wanted. Remember me to Tony and his bride-to-be.”

  He found Sister Jenks sitting outside her house. The east wind was coming over the summit of Bulow’s Range, and, after many quiet days, the music it played in the pepper trees was pleasing to the ear. Sister Jenks congratulated him, and expressed regret for having spoken so bluntly at their first meeting. Months later, when on holiday in Perth, she remembered what he then said to her.

  “The circumstances were unusual, Sister. Whatever it was you said I don’t remember. I had too much on my mind. Au revoir! And thanks for being my magnifying-glass.”

  To part from Melody Sam was the most difficult of all. Sam had implored Nat the yardman to stay on with him, and now when Bony had packed his swag and handed in the horse gear to Constable Harmon, he found Melody Sam down in the cellar under the bar, and the trap bolted.

  Sam was playing his violin, and for a moment or two Bony stood quietly listening. The aborigines have a saying: “It’s hard for the old men to dig for water, but thirst gives them strength.” The music stopped and up through the boards came the remembered first line:

  ‘Oh, come to me arms, me darlin’.’

  “You come up here, Sam,” called Bony, and after a period of reflection, Sam shouted:

  “Go away, Nat. Go back to your policemen. I wanted to give you a permanent job. I went as far as to say I’d give you the flaming pub. And you turned me down. Go away.”

  “Not until you come up and say goodbye, Sam.”

  “If you don’t clear out, I’ll blow you up, pub and all.”

  “You can’t, Sam.”

  “Can’t I? I got a case of gelly down here, and a detonator and fuse all set for a match.”

  “I tricked you this time, Sam,” Bony declared. “I took all the gelly out and put rubbish in. Look into the case and see.”

  Sounds of activity reached Bony. Then the steps to the trap creaked. The bolt was shot back, and the trap was flung upward. There arose Melody Sam, to stand straight and steady and seemingly everlasting, like those broad-leafed mulgas.

  Slowly he advanced, both gnarled hands outstretched. His white hair was ruffled, his white moustache needed to be clipped. It wasn’t whisky which made his eyes abnormally bright.

  “Goodbye, Nat. I’m a bit tired. I must be getting old. Can’t take it like I used to. No kick in it any more. My last bender was that time you come to Daybreak and acted lovers with Kat. And now Kat’s gone and you’re going. So long, Nat. The best of luck.” His voice sank to a whisper. “Get out of my pub, Na
t. Go on; get out!”