Bony - 26 - Bony and the White Savage Read online

  “Can’t start without Matt, he’d go crook.”

  When Matt returned they sat at the table under the power­ful pressure lamp suspended from the ceiling, and after them came the scent of flowers and the muted roaring of the Southern Ocean. Emma had gathered her spectacles and Ivanhoe, and opposite her sat Karl, his large face red and placid, his grey eyes holding the excitement of anticipation. In a corner was the radio, silent.

  Emma began to read, and her clear enunciation at once pleased Bony. Then two events occurred to surprise him. A large black and white cat sprang up Karl’s back and settled on a shoulder where it began to purr, and a little black dog laid its head on Bony’s thigh and looked up at him, soulfully. Like the cat, the dog did not subsequently move.

  Sitting at that end of the table opposite the door, he could see nothing beyond it, and realized how clear any one of them would be to a marksman outside. He found his mind wandering from the immortal story and was annoyed by the intruding pictures of a great rock slab, of hauling blackfish from the quiet hole before the tide returned, and of the igloo-shaped tea-tree and the man who had barely escaped being identified. Had Matt been able to do so, much would have been gained.

  He was appalled but not dismayed by this southern coast, and the insuperable difficulties it presented in digging a man from it. There was another problem. The wire grass which had defeated him, after sighting the man who had tried to eavesdrop, wasn’t universal, even along the cliff top. He had seen the prints on the rabbit-worn area, and, the ground inward from the cliff being less salted by the spindrift, bore good cattle-feed, was more open when the tea-tree gave place to shrubs and small scrub-trees. Among the larger scrub and trees of the back areas bordering the Inlet, tracking would be comparatively easy.

  However, he was working under an assumed identity which he wished to maintain for several reasons. To be observed moving about looking for tracks would surely connect him with the wanted Marvin Rhudder, as well as making of himself a fine target for a sniper.

  Although having expressed the doubt whether the man who vanished into a tea-tree clump was Marvin, in lieu of positive identification by Matt, Bony was strongly inclined to think it was; for if not, then what reason could another man, say Luke or Mark Rhudder, have for so acting? The scales weighed in favour of Marvin Rhudder being still in hiding on this coast. Favoured only, because the human tracks on the rabbit-scarred ground did not include the prints of Marvin Rhudder. Having studied prints made by the casts taken by Constable Sasoon, and having seen the line of prints on the mud beside the creek, he was sure of this. The cast prints gave him the man’s foot size and other characteristics, and the mud prints in their relation each with the others gave additional characteristics, so that on crossing Rhudder’s tracks elsewhere he wouldn’t fail to recognize them.

  He would have to proceed slowly and prod gently. He would have to evolve stratagems to conceal his purpose behind apparently normal activity as a visitor. He would have to wait patiently for one of several Mahomets to approach the Marvin Mountain.

  Bony was thinking along these trails when Emma ceased the reading, closed the book and discarded the spectacles. The dog removed its head from Bony’s thigh, and the cat rose and jumped from Karl’s shoulder.

  “Does the cat do that every night?” he asked Karl, and the hired hand smiled broadly before answering.

  “Every night. They like listening, too.”

  “And in winter time when the door’s shut they make a fuss to come in,” added Emma. “We think it’s the drone of my voice.”

  “No drone about that, Missus.”

  “Thank you, Karl. Shall we make a cup of tea? Or shall I . . .?”

  One of the dogs began barking and the small one inside raced out through the doorway. The cat walked on stiff legs to the doorway and stood there with its claws digging into the mat. Other dogs joined the first, and Matt said:

  “Car coming up from the Inlet. Late, too.”

  Bony, unable to hear the sound of a car asked how Matt knew it, and Matt said by the manner in which the dogs barked. It was a full minute before Bony heard it.

  “Wouldn’t be going to Timbertown at this time of night,” avowed Karl. “I’ll see to that cup of tea, Missus.”

  When the car slowed to take the turn-off track, the dogs began to whine their welcome, and Matt rose to pass outside to meet the caller. Bony moved his chair away from the table, withdrawing from the brilliant circle of light. Then they heard Matt shouting to quieten the dogs, and a moment later there came to the silent three, a woman’s voice.

  “Well, I never!” exclaimed Emma. “It’s Sadie Stark. I wonder what she wants this late?”

  Footsteps sounded on the concrete approach, and the woman entered, followed by the polite Matt. Emma greeted her warmly, asking: “What’s to do?” and Matt said: “Sadie’s come for some of your patent cough balsam. Jeff’s took sick and they’ve run out.”

  “Of course, dear,” chirped Emma, beaming. “Sit down while I get a bottle. And meet Mr Nathaniel Bonnar. He won’t mind you calling him Nat. Nat’s a friend of Rose and her Harry.”

  Bony advanced into the light, taking his chair which he placed for the visitor. He was smiling in his easy fashion and saying it was nice to meet someone whom Rose had often mentioned, and the woman appeared to maintain her interest in Karl’s blood-and-gutzer on the table, appeared to because although her face was angled to the book she was glancing upward at him. Faintly nodding, she said she was happy to meet any of Rose’s friends, and sat on Bony’s positioned chair. Bony retreated to obtain another for himself, and Matt gallantly breached a little silence.

  “Sorry to hear old Jeff’s sick again, Sadie. Oughta have that chest of his seen to. What with the sciatica he don’t want nothing else.”

  “He won’t call the doctor, Matt. You know how he is about it,” she said, her voice slow, almost drawling.

  Seated, her face remained inclined to the table edge, but her eyes, directed to Matt, moved to Bony. It was as though the strong light of the lamp was too much for them after the night trip.

  “Are Rose and the children well?” she asked him, and when he said they were, and named each of the children, she smiled for the first time. The smile made her mouth a trifle large, and this might have been the effect of the angle at which she held her head. Her eyes were grey and large and steady, and her hands lay passive on her lap. Her attitude was one of deep meditation. Only her eyes failed to support the assumption.

  Chapter Eight

  A Varied Morning

  AT BREAK of day the next morning Matt rode out and brought in the saddle horses, and, without waiting for breakfast, he and Bony rode to the ridge where Matt had maintained daily surveillance of the Rhudder homestead. At this point the entire Inlet with its major arms extending among the hills was clearly presented for inspection, and aided by the powerful binoculars, the homestead was brought close to the entranced Bony.

  “Who will that be bringing the cows in for the milking?” Bony asked, handing the glasses to Matt.

  “Sadie Stark. She often wears trousers, and does a fair amount of outside work. Sooner be out than do house-chores. I can see Mark in the yard at the milking shed.”

  Accepting the glasses, Bony again studied the rider behind the cows. Distance was too great to detect the girl’s features, and being wiser, he could see it was a woman.

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-nine. Early seventeen when Marvin left.”

  “Has she always looked at people as though the light hurt her eyes?” pressed Bony, gazing at the wide sand-bar damming the Inlet water.

  “Always had that trick. She’ll look at you straight when she gets to know you.” Matt paused for the next question and when it didn’t come, said: “Me and Emma always liked Sadie. When she and the mother came to live with the Rhudders, Sadie was a tot, and was the youngest to play around with the Rhudder boys and our two kids. We thought one time our Ted and Sadie would marry, but n
othing came of it.”

  “When was that?” was Bony’s next question.

  “Oh, about a year before Ted was took by the sea. I remember Emma getting curious about ’em and wanting to know, and Ted said he did ask Sadie and she put him off. Told him there was plenty of time, and she wanted to complete a book on shells. Something like that.”

  “She was collecting shells even then?”

  “Oh yes. Been collecting for years. Took it up after Mar­vin cleared out.”

  The restless glasses halted at the sand-bar.

  “If you lived at that homestead and wanted to take a walk along the cliffs, would you walk across the sand-bar or take the boat?”

  “Take the boat. Shorter and quicker and less work than walking on the deep sand. Why?”

  “Do the Rhudders own the land on the west side? Away over in the low timber that side, I can see what looks like the roof of a shed. What’s there?”

  “Small hut and mustering yards. Yes, they own the land, but soon after Luke went up to town for a job I rented it off ’em. There’s ten square miles of good grazing in that block. On their side, the house side, they got something over fifty square miles of country. It’s as much as Mark and Sadie can work together. Anyway, most of it is timber and grass behind the paddocks.”

  “There’s a woman in the garden and a man crossing the yard to the motor-shed. Check, please.”

  Matt said the woman was Mrs Rhudder and the man her son Luke. The cows were in the milking-shed yard, and Matt who could, of course, see them without the glasses, said that the milk truck would arrive there at about eight-thirty that morning. Bony then switched back to the hut and yards and asked whether there were any cattle in the paddock they served.

  “Too true,” replied Matt. “Got to make the land pay the rent. There’s sixty head in that paddock.”

  After gaining more information concerning distances and types of country, rivers and creeks and streams emptying in the Inlet from west and north, Bony was temporarily satisfied and suggested returning for breakfast. They went down the steep inner slope from the ridge to the tethered horses, and arrived home at seven. Following a leisurely breakfast, Bony operated his line of communication with Senior Constable Sasoon.

  “Sam, what are you doing tonight?” he asked.

  “Whatever you have in mind, is what I’m doing tonight.”

  Bony turned to capture Emma’s attention before con­tinuing.

  “We caught some nice blackfish yesterday, and I thought the wife and you would like to have some. Otherwise according to Emma, we are going to eat fish until we look like fish. What of the suggestion of coming down this even­ing with your wife? I’m sure Emma is dying for a gossip about this, that, and the rest.”

  “Be there about eight. Suit?”

  “I think so. The fish will keep. They’re on the ice.”

  Replacing the receiver, Bony turned back to the smiling Emma, saying diffidently:

  “I have to talk with Sasoon, and we can get more fish, can’t we?”

  “Of course. And I’d like a gossip with Else. Anyway we can co-operate, just tell us, Nat.”

  “Splendid! What are you doing this morning?”

  “Just the chores. And no one told you to make your own bed.”

  “Ah, but I shall help you that you shall help me. Those breakfast things I am going to wash and rinse and dry. You shall do the other chores, and then we’ll both be free.”

  Emma laughed outright, and wanted to know what freedom.

  “Well, I shall be free to sit here and drink tea and smoke cigarettes and ask questions, and you will be free to drink tea and answer the questions. We won’t be interrupted, as Matt is working with Karl. How does that appeal to you?”

  “It should be interesting. But I wash up.”

  “I’m sure you would not like to see my most severe expression.”

  Fifteen minutes later when she saw the low piles of washed crockery, and found Bony spooning tea into the pot, she said gaily:

  “There’s the proof you’ve been well trained.”

  “I’m the tamest lion you’ve ever had in your house. Have you done your jobs yet?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Have you a family album?” Emma nodded. “I could look at that while you’re finishing your work.”

  He watched her open a drawer of a roll-top desk, saw her remove tissue paper from about a handsome leather-covered photo album, and this she brought to the table to place it with care amounting to reverence. She said, her eyes no longer joyous:

  “It’s a record of our Ted, according to the years. All the others are in it, too.”

  “Then I’ll wait until we can look at it together. It sounds like someone coming, anyway.”

  The dogs began to bark, and Emma nodded and returned the album to the drawer. At the doorway Bony could hear the car in the distance, and knew it was coming from the Inlet. He sought the gunny-sack containing the fishing gear, and sat on the outside bench fiddling with line and hooks. A few moments later the chained dogs whined their greeting, and the car turned in off the road and was stopped in the shadow of the great trunk of the karri tree.

  The man who left the driving wheel and came walking to the garden gate was both wide and thick. He rolled slightly like a sailor long at sea, a powerful man close to six feet tall. Hatless, his brown hair was overly long, and on reaching the gate there was a slight smile lighting the heavy face and the small brown eyes. Emma came to the door to welcome him.

  “Why, Luke! Are you off to town?”

  He came in through the small garden before replying that he was and asking did she want anything brought back. Emma then introduced Bony to him.

  “Nat Bonnar! Glad to meet you. Sadie said she met you last night. Oh holiday, eh! Good place for a spell, though I say it myself.”

  They shook hands and his clasp wasn’t weak.

  “Luke lives in Perth,” Emma explained. “You’ll find it hotter up there, Luke.”

  “Clammy, Emma, clammy. Not like home where’s it’s always cool. You’d find the difference from the Murchison, Nat. It is the Murchison? Or is Sadie wrong on that point?”

  “Murchison, all right. Seventy miles east of Mount Magnet.”

  “Phew! Red hot and full of dust this time of year. Staying down long?”

  “Three weeks, unless something goes wrong. Hope not, because I think I shall like it here very much. Good fishing, anyway.”

  “Well, I’d better push on. If you think of anything you want, Emma, ring the store. I’ve got to go there. And if I don’t see you on my way back, Nat, how about running down for a chat. The old dad would like to natter. Bit of an invalid, you know. He asked me to invite you.”

  “I shall be delighted, Luke.”

  “Well, make it soon. Tomorrow, if you care to. I’ll be home then to show you around. Have to go back to the grind on Friday. Cheers!”

  They watched him enter his car, a powerful man in the prime of life, a thrusting man who might go far in a city like Perth. Bony tried to see in his broad back and his height the glimpse of the figure disappearing into the tea-tree clump, and failed. He waved and Emma waved back, and then when on the road he sounded his horn derisively.

  Emma went in and Bony sauntered to the gate and then about the open space, seemingly casual in his examination of Luke Rhudder’s shoe-prints. There was general similarity with those made by Marvin, more especially in the length of stride and the depth of each heel at the extremity. If he had not just seen the man these tracks would tell of youthful vigour and excellent health. The same tracks were on the rabbit warren on the cliff.

  “What are you looking for? Lost something?” Emma asked before he noticed her coming.

  “I am always looking for something,” he told her. “Would Matt have any plaster of Paris, by any chance?”

  “Some in a tin in the shed, I think, Nat. Matt had it to repair a ceiling last month. Shall I get it?”

  “Please. I’ll go with you
. I’ll want a mixing board and water, too.”

  Later she watched him carefully pour the mixture into a selected print, and gently smooth the top surface. He brought a wood case which he placed over the cast to shield until dry. Then:

  “That tea I made is going to be well stewed,” he said. “We’d better go in and see what’s happened to it.”

  After tea and biscuits, Emma again brought the album to the table and was invited to be seated with Bony. She watched covertly this stranger to her home, noting his straight black hair meticulously groomed, observing the line of forehead and cheek and chin, the long dark ringers caressing the leaves of her precious album. She had noted a moment before how carefully he had stubbed his cigarette to prevent ash possibly falling upon it.

  Turning over the pages, history was presented in the appearance first of one baby and then another, and their growing up to small and sturdy children. Bony was in­formed they were Ted and Rose. Ted was dark and his sister fair. Then there were pictures of two gangling girls, the brown haired one taller than Rose and more angular, and named Sadie Stark.

  Three boys entered the record. Two were stocky and giving certitude of the men they were to become, one was thin and looked frail compared with the others. Pictures of the five children were plentiful, and they grew beneath Bony’s page-turning fingers until growth stopped and for long moments Bony studied one group caught on a house veranda. The two girls were now in school uniform. Seated together, Rose Jukes was obviously a pretty girl inclined to plumpness, and Sadie Stark still needed to fill out.

  Behind them stood the three boys, Marvin, Luke and Mark. Mark was dark, and still thin, but as tall as Marvin who was taller than Luke by an inch or two. Superficially they were just a parcel of ordinary out-of-doors country children in their best clothes. Ted Jukes was missing, and Emma explained that Ted took the picture and would be in the next one taken by Marvin.

  Although Bony wasn’t interested in Ted Jukes he pre­tended to be for Emma’s sake, and then went back to the first where Marvin stood with his brothers. Emma said in answer that Marvin would be fifteen years old, and, moving on, every picture of him betrayed the exhibitionist. His hair was carefully combed with the Napoleon quiff pasted into position, and in several ways he looked not unlike the Emperor from the eyebrows upward. He appeared with a flower in his coat lapel; with a book elegantly poised, with a writing-pad on the top of crossed legs, and an expression of intellectual concentration.