The Lean Years, Page 2

  MY STORY (Later)

  My eyes were full of sand the spring had thrown up in my face. My right hand, firmly caught in the trap, was hurting like hell. At age seven most kids would howl the house down, but there was no house handy, nor humans in earshot, even of my great foghorn. In a big family you need a loud voice.

  At that age I was not heavy enough to spring the trap with just my body weight. I needed a lever, and a log to hold down the short end. There were plenty of deadfall trees about and broken branches for levers, but none within reach and the peg, attached by chain to the trap, was firmly driven into the earth. I tugged hard with my left hand. I needed both but the right was imprisoned.

  Eventually, with the help of the little hoe used by trappers, I worked the peg out, walked to the nearest log, used a broken branch to spring the trap and used it again to reset. This time I pocketed my pride and used a stick of wood to lock the trap instead of my finger while covering it with earth. That is what my father had told me to do, but he used his finger. Maybe being older made him safer. I did as he told me only when I considered it prudent. Mostly I did as he did.

  With five growing kids my parents needed meat and it was running short, just a couple of chunks of the last bullock we killed and salted. The question of vegetarianism never entered our heads. Money was even shorter. All the suitable poultry had been killed off. There was still the underground mutton: baked rabbit, rabbit stew, and rabbit pie. We had not yet started eating it raw. Now I think of it, we ate meat three meals a day. We were hard workers.

  A whistle-like squeal came from my back trail. One of my earlier traps had scored. That poor creature was in worse pain than I had been and his future bleaker. His leg would be broken and his neck would follow. ‘Sorry mate but we need the meat.’

  Most of the sand had been rubbed out of my eyes. The trauma of the trap was hurting a good deal less. Mother examined the half-dozen pathetic corpses. ‘I’ll stuff and bake those two young bucks. That tough old one will make soup for the littlies.’ She sniffed. ‘You can give the rest to the dogs. They’ll eat anything.’

  I had set all my traps on dunghills well away from burrows. Near burrows is where you catch kittens and mother does. That’s where the breeding takes place, but it starts off at the dunghills. I thought that mother must have been a hog for punishment. Well, she was no good to me either. Her meat was inedible and her skin useless. Their fur falls out to line their nests. The other skins would bring a few pence each when the buyer called. The other two old dry does had saleable skins and their meat was good enough for the dogs.

  Hunters throughout history have found that mating animals are your likeliest game. They are less intent on staying alive and their bodies always in best condition.

  That episode reminded me of a time I saw a boy about eight or nine take a nasty fall from a tree. He looked around, did not spot me in the scrub, trotted off home, and then set up a wail to wake the dead. Showed some sort of sense, I thought.

  Dawn of Manhood

  ‘

  ‘He’s sure shaking off the dust,’ Hal muttered. ‘Soon the only thing he’ll have left on will be the old man himself.’

  Poddy shook his head. ‘He’ll never buck him off.’ The Campbell colt was having his first experience of a man on his back and he didn’t seem to like it much. The man floated like a cloud while all Hell broke loose underneath. But the cloud got the occasional jolt. Harry’s pipe went flying to the right, a box of matches was followed at close range by a pocket knife. A handkerchief shook loose. Hal noticed it and wondered how long he had been using it. He’d never known him to carry one before.

  The colt was losing his wind. No horse could keep this up for more than a few seconds. He finished with two feeble pigroots and stood blowing dust below his hanging head. Harry slid off the beaten animal, shortened up the stirrup leathers for the boy and handed him the reins, grunting ‘Don’t let ‘im rest too long.’

  He proceeded to locate his fallen pipe, checked that it had enough dark plug still in it for a couple of draws. He kicked around, located his handkerchief, matches and at last the knife. He would need that to cut some plug to fill his pipe before long. He lit up, coughed violently, and spat into the dust. In time he would have trouble with that chest. Well doctors gotta live too. And undertakers.

  Hal took the reins and led the colt out of the way so the ‘old man’ could collect his treasures. Poddy had already mounted his quiet little pony. Anyone riding a partly broken horse might need someone who could help or get help if the horse should happen to win a round. The humans always won in the end; the horse just had to find that out. They had only to go down to bring up the cows, no more than a couple of miles and the colt had to get accustomed to being useful, so Hal was riding him instead of his own personal transport.

  Poddy was his usual unhappy self. His father had caught him with his arms folded and fetched him a backhander that sent him staggering. None of those men would tolerate their sons with hands in pockets, behind their backs or their arms folded. Hands should be fully occupied, or at least ready for immediate use. ‘We shouldn’t be treated like that.’

  ‘They’re rough.’

  ‘It makes me so wild.’

  ‘Kill someone. You’ll feel miles better.’

  ‘Grow up n’ kill ‘im some day.’

  The colt was starting to recover his wind. The newly broken horse did not have much idea of what was expected of him but took his cues from his experienced companion. Hal was keeping a close watch on the colt. If he got his strength back he might duck his head again. Hal could handle it but he wasn’t yet as good as the old man, and this was a rough one.

  Ma had collected the early eggs and stood leaning on the back gate a moment as the horses passed. She daren’t let herself worry about her boy. This was something men had to do, and women just had to learn to bear it. She set about her work; she had a big day ahead. She always had. The girls hurried to help. Margaret was almost seven and beginning to be quite useful to have around the place. She was glad to have her elder brother at school. She needed that sheltered feeling until she got properly started. Jill, just five, had a bit to learn, and school was yet a year or two off for her.

  The colt was getting a bit stroppy, dancing and tossing his head. ‘Kick yours along a bit,’ said Hal.

  Poddy heeled his pony into a canter, the colt broke into a clumsy lope, using up some of his spare energy, he would learn. It takes a horse time to get the feel of a rider on his back without throwing his own balance out of kilter. After about half a mile they slowed down, the colt was quieter. Hal spoke with confidence. ‘I think he’ll settle down soon enough.’

  Poddy nodded. ‘If he don’t you git yer old man back on ‘im again.’

  ‘For a while it looked as if he didn’t like him up there.’

  The colt was in for a new experience, herding cattle. He’d seen them around, but this was the first time he was going to have to do anything about them. He would have to round them up. There were the Halloran’s six and Nolan’s four, and two they were bringing up for Mrs Lainey, a widow with two daughters. They had no man of their own, so Hal and Poddy helped out. The least they could do was bring up the cows for them.

  One food everyone had plenty of was milk. And they needed it. Most of them had frequent falls from horses and a brittle skeleton wouldn’t have done. The Great Depression had set in. There was enough meat, eggs, and vegetables but anything that cost money was scarce. The Hallorans had had it easy breaking Kimber ponies for the flash city pony clubs. Kimber bred them gentle and easy to train, but both Kimber and Halloran were out of luck now. The city mugs were tightening their belts. Halloran had to break real horses for Cutabri Station, and Kimber started running cattle. Depression and all, the people had to have beef. Cutabri needed strong horses for hard work and it took strong men to train them.

  The sun was beginning to show. Ma was ready with the buckets to help with the milking. With all hands at the bails it
didn’t take long to fill the buckets. Ma was soon busy with breakfast. As soon as that was over she would set the milk and next day skim off the cream. After that she would churn it to butter. They couldn’t afford to buy that. Years later they would buy a separator and avoid the messy setting of milk.

  An old half-starved swaggie came by looking for a handout. Ma set him down to breakfast with the family and filled him up with his first solid meal in days. ‘Never know when you will be there yourself,’ she would say.

  When Hal had turned the colt loose he had given him a slice of his mother’s homemade bread. The animal had to get used to some kindness too. Soon, whenever he saw the boy he would trot up to meet him and receive his due. He was likely to meet with some disappointment when he finally went back to the station to begin work. But the Hallorans would have him for a while yet.

  That colt had had a pretty rough morning and would need to rest for a while. Harry would work him for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Hal would have some time off. There were some things he wanted to check up on. He had somewhat neglected Stinjer lately. He was showing the usual signs of an active dog left idle. The dog was bored. And Captain had been starting to gallop around the paddock making a fool of himself. Horses need to be kept busy too. He turned the colt loose and went after Captain.

  The day had got warm. Balmy, one would call it. Captain had needed only the lightest touch of the rein to come to a stand. Stinjer, trotting ahead suddenly realized that the troops weren’t following. He trotted back and decided that it was only just a piece of laziness. He decided to join them and lay down. Hal examined the quandong tree. Quandongs are sour at best. These would need another month. His mother would make tasty pies when he brought them in. They need a lot of sugar, though, and sugar cost money. The canny Ma had caught on to the idea of countering the acid with soda. Then it took less sugar to sweeten the mix. There were lots of things in the bush that mothers and others learned to use. An hour later they stopped under a bee tree he had been watching.

  When they decided it was ready the men would get together to rob it. Hal could tell. He knew most things about the bush that were any use. He climbed to his feet and stood on his horse’s rump to get a closer look. He wouldn’t like to try it with that new colt. Captain stood rock-steady for him. He always seemed to know when his mate wanted him to be especially sober. An obliging bloke was Captain. Yes. The bees were working well. He watched a while as the workers came and went, and the guards flew watchfully in their circles. The Yellow Box was in full bloom. By the time the flowers faded the honey should be ready.

  As he climbed back to his saddle he noticed that Captain’s ears had cocked. The horse lifted his head. Of the three partners, the horse was always the first to hear anything interesting. His ears were well forward, and now Stinjer could hear it. He was all ears and eyes. Even his nose was twitching. And now Hal could hear the rapid calockidy-dock of a fast horse being ridden at his best. Only one horse could travel like that and only one horseman would be up. It was a time when the fastest way to get a message to anywhere was by a big fast horse carrying a small light rider. The crows, who had been silent a moment, decided that whatever made that noise was not poised for attack, not yet edible, and was no threat to their young. They returned to their squabbles. Some apostle birds livened the air over to Hal’s left. They let everyone know that they were watching too.

  That was Hercules, Tom Clancy’s big Thoroughbred stallion. And little Tommy Clancy was up there shoving him on. He was thundering along the newly formed road up past the old sawmill and he wasn’t waiting around for the grass to grow. The beat changed as they turned off the graded road onto the old bush track. They were still coming well. A short while later the cloppity softened as they turned onto the bridle path and in hardly any time at all a sweating hurricane came tearing up to a hoof-sliding stop right beside him.

  Hal had slid down to take the big stallion’s head. With his blood up he took some holding. He had done a fast five miles, lightly loaded, and enjoyed the trip. Now they wanted him to stop. It just wouldn’t do. Tommy slid down to the ground while Hal held onto the big fellow’s head. ‘Hey, Hal. There’s some mad city kid got lost over to the Rocky Soak. Mad coots, they shouldn’t let ‘em out here.’ It was beyond the belief of the eight-year-old that anyone could get lost in a few thousand square miles of dense forest. And a male of the species was what he found most disgusting.

  ‘Isn’t old Banya Billarny living over there these days?’

  Tommy nodded. ‘Yes, still in that old humpy on Proctor’s place. Proctor sent him straight out. He didn’t last long. Didn’t like the mother.’

  ‘Not his fancy?’ Said Hal.

  ‘She pulled out a roll of notes.’ He patted the big stallion. ‘Would have been enough to buy Hercky here.’

  Hal shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t buy anything Banya’s got in stock. Where’d you find all this out?’

  ‘Janey was in town. Talked to Proctor on the phone. She brought the word out.’

  Janey, Tommy’s elder sister had been in town on a fast pony, and Janey would have that pony kicking bits of Australia behind at a hurried pace.

  ‘Looks like they got old Banya wrong. He’ll give and take, but he won’t trade.’

  ‘ He’s no paid servant.’ Little Tommy understood the blackfellow’s pride

  What time this kid get lost?’

  ‘Saw him last at the soak ten o’clock. Got to Proctor’s and rang about eleven.’

  Hal looked up at the sun. ‘An hour ago. What kept you?’

  He jabbed his thumb. ‘Him! I had to catch him first.’

  Hal nodded. ‘That’s a stallion for you. They get playful.’

  ‘I’ll give him play if he does it again,’ threatened Tommy. ‘Dad said to take him. He’ll get you there faster.’

  ‘No, I’ll go over the mountain.’ He pointed north. ‘Old Tom would shoot me dead at dawn if I took his prize stallion over that.’

  ‘Well, your nag ain’t so much but he’s too good to take over there. It’ll kill y’ both,’ Tommy said with small-boy gravity.

  ‘’No trouble to him, he’s half-bred mountain goat.’

  ‘You know they don’t even let the goats up there.’ Tommy gave him one of his ‘I’m clever’ grins.

  Hal legged his little cobber up. ‘Tell Ma.’

  ‘Right mate.’ But Hercules was already at full gallop.

  He would tell Ma all right. Ma would fill him up with sweets she kept in a bucket down the well. He would stuff himself with cool jellies and then his mother would be worrying because he wouldn’t want his tea. The Clancies were all a bit on the small side. Mrs Clancy worried her heart out trying to make them bigger. They were just little and lively. But yes, Ma would be told and she would expect him home when she saw him coming.

  Captain went carefully up the narrow track. Small animals had made it while travelling between feed and water. It was never made for horses. He stepped over a rock, made sure of his footing before he trusted it with his weight. Hal did not hurry him. No matter how urgent the cause, breaking your neck would be no help.

  Half an hour later he was doing the same thing but he was nearer the top of the first ridge. Hal had been over here before. He remembered this as the worst bit on this side. Coming down the other was the real test. As they topped, a curlew called. The Aborigines thought a curlew call in daytime to bring bad luck. He crossed his fingers. At a time like this you needed any decent luck you could get.

  The short steep downward pinch wasn’t too bad. Occasionally a few pebbles gave under the hooves but each time the horse quickly recovered and soon they reached bottom and started upwards again. A long easy climb knocked a bit out of the day but the sun was still well up. Just over the ridge and all the rest was downhill.

  The short, easy bit was done. They were nearly to the scree. A rabbit jumped from between Captain’s legs. He should have shied mightily, but this was no time for horsing around. Hal dismount
ed to help. ‘Maybe I ought to carry you for a change.’ No doubt the horse would have agreed if he’d known how.

  Hal went ahead. If the horse should slip he could kill the boy and cripple himself. But with a ready boot Hal might be able to arrest a slip before it got too serious. Foot by foot, Captain placed them, tested them, got his master’s approval and applied his weight. Stones slipped on other stones, iron shoes slipped on stones. Every slip had to be arrested before it got too late. After every arrest there had to be a recovery. And after every recovery it took a moment or two to regain your wits and steady yourself. The dog had no trouble. No doubt he wondered what all the fuss was about. Even if he fell he wouldn’t hurt himself. Stinjer had his troubles to come and he was at work getting his nose into practice. He was going to need it. He sniffed up the slightest of scents and recorded them in his database. He noticed where an owl had killed a mouse some nights ago. A butterfly had rested a moment. He may have even noted that a rabbit had scratched there last month. And yet the vilest smell you can imagine will not daunt him. A dog’s nose is a fine piece of work.

  They had slipped on their last rock. Captain’s right fore-hoof found soft earth and the others followed. Soon, he was cantering serenely along a bridle path. They had been so busy they failed to notice the storm coming until thunder was rumbling round their ears. Hal took note. It was not going to improve matters. That was for sure. Captain had better rattle his trotters if they were to get there before the rain washed out all sign.

  Hal really needed a feed. He’d had nothing since breakfast. He had food with him in a saddle bag. Ma would see to that even if he forgot. He was always too busy to think about food. Then, Captain had had nothing since morning either and he was doing all the work. Stinjer was all right. A dog will eat if he finds anything edible, if not he goes without. But he never passes up an opportunity to dine.

  That flash of lightning was so vivid it blazed back from the car in the broad daylight. They had arrived. The heavyset man was gasping for his breath. He’d heard the horse coming and run from the car to meet them. Lucky it was Captain and not that colt. Even a city mug should know better than to run at a horse like that. Hal dismounted, removed the bit from the horse’s mouth, secured it to the throat lash out of the way, and secured the reins about the neck. The horse had done his bit. He could graze; go to water, or whatever else he liked. The rest was up to the dog.

  Stinjer did not yet know what scent he had to follow, but was already sniffing about to see what was there. Hal walked past the dejected woman to the man now sitting on a fallen log, still trying to recover his breath. ‘I wouldn’t sit there, boss. Logs round here are full of bullants. And this thunder will stir them up.’ The gasping man, now being assisted by his wife, looked as if he was not going to make it, but the first bull-ant bites helped. If the car had not been close Hal was sure he would have had a fatal heart attack on his hands. The flustered woman was soon back. ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘Just show me where you last saw him. I will put Stinjer on the scent. Should soon track him down.’ He had already noticed that the couple had mounted a search of their own and left their tracks, mostly obliterating those of the lost boy. Then, before the woman could show him anything he came onto Banya’s sign. He left the woman standing and was off with the dog scampering ahead. Banya had known who would take up the search and left a handover.

  Hal pointed out the spoor. Stinjer took a long careful sniff at it then another brief one and was off. A few hundred yards brought him to a halt. Hal caught up. The distressed woman laboured far behind. Hal noted what was bothering the dog. The boy had stopped to pee. The idea had caught on. It seemed a good plan to Stinjer. Hal would have followed suit but thought it might be rude in front of a lady. She had just arrived. The boy had walked twice round in a circle and the dog would have made both laps if Hal had not noticed and put him back on the scent a little father on. Time was precious.

  The child had made another stop. Stinjer wasn’t the best tracking dog in the world. He was merely very good. And mainly he was on hand. One of his faults was that if the subject had stopped a while, Stinjer’s timer was apt to have to run out too. The boy had stopped to pick a flower. A little farther on he had stopped to thoroughly destroy it, carefully distributing the parts in little groups along his track. Stinjer would have spent the same amount of time on the scene it had taken his quarry to conduct this industry. Hal corrected the error. Or was it error? From the dog’s point of view it would be the boss’s error. But Stinjer was amenable. The boss was always the boss.

  They came to a patch of Prickly Moses. The boy had stopped to try to pick one of the fluffy little yellow balls and pricked his finger. He had turned to look back, no doubt for his mother, and found himself lost. He had tried to return the way he had come but had forgotten some of the turns he had made. The result was a total course of about forty degrees from his original. The worrying mother had come upon the spot of blood left from the pricked finger, pointed by Stinjer sniffing at it. Perhaps whoever they had running things up there thought there was not trouble enough. Hal was not at all religious, but he fell to the odd superstition.

  Mrs Manton, he didn’t remember how he came by the name; he’d been too busy, looked aghast at the blood. She said nothing. This poor busy lad could not help it. Hal looked up to see the woman headed toward the rough. ‘Wouldn’t go in there Missus. Prickly stuff. Tear you to pieces.’

  ‘But Connie’s in there.’ He later found out she had named her boy Constantine.

  ‘I hope not.’ The dog had turned away from the tracks of the child, crossed over the original route, and was sampling savours there. The woman looked about questioningly, fretfully, wonderingly. Her face said plainly, ‘I hope this child knows what he is doing with his dog.’ Then she remembered the last tracker she had questioned. She kept her mouth tightly shut. Stinjer’s face had brightened. The dog was onto something. He had a definite scent. Hal crossed over. There it was. The boy had found the Moses too prickly.

  He had sensibly altered course for fairer pastures, a low-lying stretch dotted with Darling Pea. The beautiful pea-flowers, shaded from pink to blue had looked better to him than the little yellow puffballs in their wiry bramble. Hal hoped that he didn’t start chewing them. Some call it Loco Weed. But it is intensely bitter. There was no need to mention it. The woman was worried enough. He had stopped crying and trotted along more or less serenely. Hal had noticed that when the child cried he had moved forward on his feet, no doubt with head down, stooping with hands up to his eyes.

  Here, as he left the hollow to climb into the scrub higher up. Hal felt a touch of relief. That thunder and lightning might mean that the rain could be falling on the mountain. It wasn’t falling on him just yet but if enough of it fell on the upper levels, it would soon be coming down that creek onto the lower ground. If that happened the boy would best be on the highest ground he could find. Stinjer soon found where the child had suddenly balked, hesitated, made a slight alteration to his course, and run eagerly towards a big clump of Waratah. Those big red blooms had caught his eye.

  Hal nodded and raised a finger. ‘One thing we know at least.’

  The woman gave him a questioning look.

  ‘We should find him among some flowers, somewhere.’

  The woman sighed. ‘Oh! He loves flowers.’

  ‘Well, they don’t love him. They got him lost.’

  The dog was casting about amongst the Waratahs, but there was clearly no child in there. Hal scouted round outside. With the last of the light he picked up a spoor. He called the dog. Stinjer seemed to be happy where he was. Hal raised his voice. The dog liked to please his master, but he also liked to please himself. It took a few moments, but the master won.

  Stinjer was one of those rare red cattle dogs, the same breed as the blue heeler, but a bit hard to see in moonlight. It would be a while yet before the moon would be any use. He was hard to see now but Hal could hear him snuffing and blowing. Mr
s Manton’s ears were in working order too, and she was beginning to catch onto this idea of tracking with a dog. Most of the time, if you followed the dog you followed your lost child. A mother can learn pretty fast when her child is involved. Hal had watched mother cows a few times.

  Mrs Manton laboured along. Her left stocking hung at half-mast. The right had half of it hanging from her shoe, the other half was somewhere back along the track. One side of her skirt hung below her knee. The other had ridden up beginning to show her slip. It had all collected plenty of stains from brushing against bushes. Hal wondered what her mother would think of her now. But you could say for her that she was game. Her erect and positive stance would have befitted a sergeant major. She would need to raid a dispensary to treat those legs as soon as she got home. There was plenty of blood and some bruises scattered about them; some cuts and scratches too. Bushies pretty soon learn to avoid the thorns and brambles.

  Captain came up to see what was doing. He stood at a respectful distance to look on. Hal remembered. The horse would be hungry. He’d browsed a bit but there wasn’t a lot about. It had been well grazed. He needed the nosebag. Hal kept his ear to the dog while he went over, unstrapped the little bag from the saddle, poured some oats into his hat, and held it for the horse. The woman stood near looking lost. Hal turned the hat toward her. ‘Could you just hold this for him while he eats? I’ll get back to the dog.’

  The woman took hold of the hat. The horse followed, took a tentative sniff at her breast, and went to work on the oats. Mrs Manton giggled and nervously grasped the brim of the hat. ‘A funny idea, feeding him from your hat.’

  ‘They like the smell of you. It improves their appetite.’

  She giggled again. ‘His appetite does not seem to need improvement.’ Captain was tucking in with a will. She gave him an inexpert pat on the face. The dog had stopped again. Hal hurried to get him back to work. Feeding the horse gave her something to do and she seemed to like doing it. The dog had seen the boss coming and got back to work. The child had left the Waratahs. Tracks could now only be seen during the flashes of lightning. He was surprised to see so much of it and no rain falling. Even bad luck had to run short sometime. The tracks did not seem to run straight. The child had wobbled all over the place. The woman trotted over, gave him a slight curtsy, and handed back his hat. In a voice breathy with femininity she said, ‘Your hat, sir.’ He relocated the item. Feeding the horse had brought her back to life.

  Stinjer would find the scent, sample it, and leave it. He would cast about until he could find it again farther on. He was wasting energy, rushing about like that, but at least he was making progress. Hal could hear him off to his left, another change of course. The dog led him onto a track just as a flash of lightning lit it up. The child was walking confidently, leaving a clear bold impression. Panic would have been bad. If he’d been panicking he’d have been more up on his toes. He might have been more up on his toes if he had been crying but then he would have dragged his feet a bit more. He had the bold spoor of a kid with a bit of decent stuff in him.

  It began to look as though a pattern was developing, one often followed by the lost. Yes, the dog had gone part way round a circle. If the boy completed the circle you could bet he would follow that circle until he dropped. Then all you had to do was to follow until you found the spot where he chose to accomplish that end. Hal was confident that he had found the lost child but he still had to deliver the goods. Stinjer showed no excitement. He plodded along like a good ploughhorse. At a half circle it looked promising.

  Hal walked over to where the mother was standing. ‘He’s gone in a circle. If you wait here he should come back to you. ‘We’ll go and follow him. If you want to you can sit on a log now. Bullants only sting of a day.’

  Hal headed off into the bush wishing the child had chosen a smaller circle on which to plot his course. With lasting brilliance a flash lit up the sky. The dog showed plainly to his right. A startled bird flapped a wing to get back his balance. Hal saw as much as he could while he was able, and that was the end of his night-sight for a while. It would be some time before useful night vision returned.

  Hal could hear Captain cropping at a tussock the stock had missed. He was going to be glad to get back home to a good bin of wheaten chaff. The little oats they had brought would only serve to sharpen his appetite. Well, he’d been hungry before and hadn’t died of it.

  The dog was almost back to where the woman waited and had not yet located any lost children. Hal couldn’t be wrong. He was never wrong. He had never learned to use the word. Had the wee bairn been turned into a toad? Maybe he ought to keep an eye out for a duck, or maybe a goat. An ass? He had already been an ass to get lost.

  Mrs Manton sat on a log. The dog was in sight and casting about for scent. Hal wasn’t far behind. Soon they were all together. The nonplussed scout had no explanation. He sat on the log beside the lady. Her anxiety was rising. He shook his head. ‘Don’t panic yet.’ He pointed a finger at the dense stand of pines. ‘He’s somewhere in there. I am sure of it.’ He turned and patted the dog soundly on his ribs. ‘And so are you, aren’t you mate.’

  Mrs Manton cried quietly into her handkerchief. ‘Oh stop that, Ann.’ She snapped at herself. ‘You have to forgive us silly females. That’s the fool way we’re made.’

  He sat dumb. How can a half-grown boy comfort a mature woman in distress? He didn’t dare even to touch her. ‘They told us about that Flying Dutchman at school.’

  She looked puzzled. Then remembered her own schooling. ‘He would round the Horn if it took him till Doomsday.’ She burst into loud laughter. He thought she was going into hysterics. She sobered and almost hugged him. She noticed his flinch just in time. ‘Would you stay here with me until Doomsday?’

  He nodded. ‘If I have to.’ He thought a moment. A crash of thunder brought him out of it. ‘Every stormy night some old bushie will see us here and rush off to the pub to tell his mates.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll swear off.’

  Stinjer had gone off to see what was about. He hadn’t given up. He was giving his nose a change from the hard work demanded by his boss. He sampled anything he pleased. Any forest has plenty of smells. A dog that wants to can pick and choose. Hal looked up. The only success working that way would have to be luck, and the kind they had been having lately was not likely to help.

  A boom of thunder followed a flash of lightning almost immediately. That was getting close. Heavy rain now would wash out a lot of sign. But they had already done all they could with signs and scents. Or was there more?

  What would old Banya have done if he had not walked out? What would Eliza Elizabeth, who gave you a blank stare if you tried to shorten her name… What would she have done? It would depend on her mood. If she particularly wanted him right now, she would march out, pick up his track, and ten minutes later would have hold of one of his ears. Most likely she would take a pull at her flagon and have a sleep until he got hungry. He would come home then.

  Eliza Elizabeth, a full-blood Aboriginal, had ‘adopted’ Barney’s religion, married him with some pomp, and raised the biggest, toughest, and wildest family south of the Equator. But there wasn’t one in them who was not an immediate angel at sight of the priest. That was except the old girl herself. She still walked softly around the Rainbow Serpent. She bore her children, one each year, as if on advance order, and all delivered hale, bold and protesting on due date. Bearing young was so natural to her it barely affected her other activities. Hal was talking one day to old Tom Stevens. Tom removed his pipe and pointed the stem toward Hal. ‘They’ll never get them all in one yard to count ‘em.’

  There came a flash and a crash together. That one brought the rain, a freezing rain well mixed with hail. Hughie really sent ‘er down. This brought the squall of a child followed by a running, crying woman’s wail. A mother had been reunited with her son. When she was finished almost destroying the small body with her violent hugs she started on the bigger
boy. She ignored his protests and hugged him with gusto. He found it not too bad as long as no one was looking. In the middle of her fiercest hug the storm passed on. That unique docility of the Australian bush after one of her tirades was largely lost on the city mugs.

  Back at their luxury Buick, the lady, still tattered and dishevelled, wet and bedraggled, but no longer beaten, brought out food such as Hal had never before seen. If the dog did not choke he would gorge himself to death. And Hal would have to take care of his waistline. She wanted to know what she could give the horse. Hal told her they like a slice of bread from your hand. She gave him a whole loaf and stood there to feed him a slice at a time.

  Mr Manton had had some tablets and a short sleep. He hugged the boy’s shoulder. ‘A boy of your quality ought to be given a better education than you could find here. Anything you want to do I will pay for, college, university, just name it and it’s yours.’

  Captain had cleaned the last of the oats from the hat. Hal raised it. ‘Could do with a new one, but Captain mightn’t like the smell of it.’ There were to be more offers later. Old Harry would decline them all. City people would never understand how good a bush worker’s life can be.

  Hal was very thoughtful. He had almost destroyed his reputation. The child had gone round a circle, then started round again, got tired, decided to lie down, found the ground too hard, altered course to find a softer spot, found it and lay down to have a sleep. It seemed such a natural thing to do that Hal would never understand why he could not work that out for himself. And Stinjer had missed the vital clue. Getting old. Might have to trade him in. Hal decided he was not going to fall for that a second time.

  CRIME AND PUNISHMENT