The Bone is Pointed. Arthur W. Upfield
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channels culminating at a swamp backed on the east and north by sand-dunes. To the south of Green Swamp Paddock is the Karwir homestead. To the east of it is Mount Lester Station. To the north of it is Meena Station.
“Let us begin with the people at Karwir. Describe to me the Lacys. Then the Gordons, and then the Mackays. Give a rough outline of their history.”
Not until he was satisfied that his pipe was drawing properly did Blake comply, and it was evident that he intended to choose his words carefully.
“I’ll begin with Old Lacy,” he said. “For many years and over a wide area, he has been known only as Old Lacy. He created Karwir in the eighties, and for years didn’t do much with it, since he hadn’t much money and was forced to make a living bullock and camel driving. Then he married a woman who had a little money, and he settled down to the cattle business. He’s rough, tough and just according to his lights. Today, though he’s more than seventy, he looks and acts like a man of fifty. It is whispered that he must be worth a million, and if you want to see him riled just hint that he ought to retire and live in a city.
“Every week he comes to town and sits on the bench. His fellow justices simply don’t count. Old Lacy fines everyone presented at the flat rate of two pounds, no matter if the fine ought to be five shillings or fifty pounds. You’ll like him. We all do.
“He’s got two children. Eric is twenty-five and probably the most popular man in the district. Old Lacy dotes on him, gives him lashings of money, but the young fellow has kept his balance. He learned to fly a plane several years ago, but was dished somehow for the Air Force. Flies his own plane about here now and keeps the station books. Diana, the daughter, is just twenty years old. She’s been back from school two years and now runs the homestead. If you’ve got an eye for beauty she’ll make you happy.
“So much for the Lacys. About the time Old Lacy took up Karwir, a John Gordon made a station north of it that he named Meena, the homestead being situated on the east shore of a fine lake of water. This year it’s bone dry. He and Old Lacy had a struggle for the possession of Green Swamp, and when Old Lacy got it, the first Gordon was embittered for life. His son carried on after him until twelve years ago when he was killed by his horse. The son’s wife, a fine type of woman, then carried on the place until their son, the present John Gordon, was old enough to take his father’s place. They are respected people. They don’t mix much with local people, but they have maintained a kind of tradition begun by the original Gordon who made himself a protector of the blacks out there, the Kalchut tribe, an off-shoot of the Worgia nation. They will have no interference with the blacks, and because Meena is at the end of the road, and a desert lies beyond it, they and their aborigines are most favoured.
“The Mackays are different from either the Lacys or the Gordons. Their place is about the size of Meena, only three hundred thousand acres, but their land is much poorer. Mackay himself was stricken with paralysis fifteen years ago, and his wife died four years ago. There are three boys and two girls in the family, ranging from twenty-five to sixteen. The boys are wild and they seem always to have more money than the place could provide them with. That’s about all I can tell you, I think.”
“Quite good, Sergeant. Now we have the background against which Anderson lived. Tell me about him.”
“All right. When Anderson disappeared he was about thirty-five years old. He came to Karwir to jackeroo when he was fifteen or sixteen, and he’s been a jackeroo ever since. Old Lacy was always a bit hard on him, and he gave him his biggest knock in refusing to promote him to the overseership a few years ago when the overseer left. When Young Lacy came home it was expected that the old man would sack Anderson, but he didn’t.
“Anderson was a wonderful horseman, a big, fine-looking man spoiled by a vicious temper and a cruel disposition. The first trouble with him was over a young aboriginal whom Mrs Lacy employed as maid. There was hell to pay over that. The present Gordon’s father and Mrs Gordon created ructions, and refused to permit any female aboriginal to tread on Karwir ground. Then followed another trouble when Anderson beat up an employee named Wilson, known as Bill the Better. Wilson was in the hospital for nine months. Old Lacy paid all the expenses, paid compensation to Wilson, and when the money had been spent, took him again into his employment. Bill the Better is the Karwir groom to-day.
“There was an affair concerning a horse that had to be destroyed, but I never got the rights of it and it was hushed up. Then came an ugly business concerning a blackfellow named Inky Boy. It happened two years back. Inky Boy was employed to look after the Karwir rams. For years Karwir has been running sheep as well as cattle, Anderson one day found half the rams perished in a fence corner, and Inky Boy asleep in his hut. He took Inky Boy out to a tree, tied him to it, and flogged him with his stockwhip until he was almost dead.
“No report of this affair reached me until it was all settled up. Young Lacy was sent to St Albans in his plane to bring out the doctor. The Gordons went over and demanded the carcass, and after the doctor had done what he could they took Inky Boy to Meena and nursed him back to normal. After that no black was allowed by them to work on Karwir.
“You see, the Gordons were just as keen to keep this affair from me as were the Lacys. They feared that if it leaked out the busybodies down in the cities, who think they know all that’s to be known about our blacks, would agitate for official interference with the Kalchut tribe, probably to the extent of having them moved to strange country on some reserve or other.
“And so Anderson got off scot free. As Inky Boy made no complaint to me, and as I didn’t get to know of it until months after, I decided to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“In those circumstances, my dear Blake, you acted wisely,” Bony interjected. “Proceed, please.”
“Well, as I said, Anderson was a fine horseman, a good cattleman, and a passable sheepman. As far as his job was concerned, he knew it. But—Old Lacy knew him. Besides being a good horseman, Anderson was a wizard with a stockwhip. He used it to satisfy his sadistic lust, to give and to witness paid. No one in the district liked him. No one could understand why Old Lacy allowed him to stay on Karwir. After the miss over the vacant overseership, Anderson became sullen, and drank more than was good for him or any man.”
“What is your private opinion about Anderson?” Bony asked.
“Well, as the man is probably dead—”
“I appreciate your reluctance, Blake, to answer my question; but we have to get down to the foundation. Character if often a pointer.”
Still Blake hesitated, filling his pipe and lighting it before replying. Then:
“I think that had life been easier for Anderson he might have turned out differently. From what I’ve heard from time to time, I think that Old Lacy was always too hard with him. Anderson had the right to expect promotion when the overseer left, and, after it was refused, he followed the downward road. When a big man, as Anderson was, becomes governed by passion he is an ugly proposition. I never liked to see him come to town; I always liked to see him leave it. He never gave us any trouble, and that is about all I can say in his favour.”
“He must, then, have had many enemies?”
“That’s so,” Blake replied. “But I’ve never heard of any threats against his life, and I haven’t seen the finger pointing to any particular person who might have engineered his death.”
Abruptly Bony left his chair again to study the wall map. On returning to his seat, he manufactured one of his badly made cigarettes, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and said:
“You mentioned in your report that on the morning of the nineteenth of April you discovered that your tracker had gone back to the tribe. Also that it was learned that he had accompanied the tribe to Deep Well where an aged lubra was dying. Did she die?”
“No. She got better. Still alive and now with the tribe at Meena Lake.”
“About what time did you, or one of the constables, last see the tracker the previous day?”
“I saw him at ten o’clock on the evening of the eighteenth, the day Anderson