Man of Two Tribes. Arthur W. Upfield
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Bony gazed at his feet, then glanced up and past the big man’s eyes.
“Have to give it a burl, Mr. Weatherby. Make a try just to say I did. I take the track out past the blacks’ camp for three miles, then leave the track and follow one going on due west to hit the bore. That right?”
“That’s right. And twelve miles on from the bore to hit the Splinter. There’s no permanent water beyond the bore.”
“I’ll give it a burl, anyhow.”
“If you must.”
Careful to the last, Bony kicked at the dust, gazed about the homestead as though sad at leaving it, essayed a shy smile, and said:
“Reckon I’ll give a day out from the bore lookin’ for them traps, and then I’ll make south down to Rawlinna.”
“Good idea. Waste of time looking for them, Black.”
Bony urged the camels to their feet. He tied the end of Curley’s halter line to the riding-saddle, took up Millie’s noseline and proceeded to lead the string of two away from the homestead, out by the motor shed, past the men’s quarters, which appeared wholly unoccupied, and then skirted the aborigines’ camp, comprising bag humpies, lean-tos and smoking camp-fires about which squatted men, women and children, silent, watchful and interested in the departing strange man from the Diamantina.
Ten minutes later Bony was still walking, the noseline hung from the crook of an arm. Millie was resignedly chewing cud. Curley continued to moan. Lucy ran on ahead, constantly looking back.
And so began the search for Lonergan’s last trap-line, that camp he named Big Claypan, from which he had seen the unknown helicopter, the search for a dust mote in a vacuum.
Chapter Six
Lonergan’s Pals
It is not pleasant to know you are being followed. Footsteps behind, that alter their rhythm when you do, have a peculiarly sinister import, especially when the night is dark and street lighting inadequate. Bony could not hear footsteps behind his short camel train, for the winding track was soft underfoot, but his suspicion was born of expectancy, and steadily nurtured by the birds.
The track was like a snake’s trail, meandering through clumps of gimlet trees, skirting an occasional rock knob, crossing shallow depressions bearing thick waitabit and jamwoods.
When they had travelled more than a mile, Lucy ran off into the scrub and waited for them to follow her lead.
Neither pausing nor calling to her, Bony continued right ahead, and at once Millie began to tug gently against the noseline and softly moan objection to going forward. Curley was even more reluctant. He bellowed and walked sidewise, pranced and tucked his hind quarters under his load, hopeful of it becoming unbalanced and falling from him.
Careful not to betray any curiosity in that turn off, Bony determinedly continued along the track, compelled by Curley’s behaviour to glance constantly backward, and at the same time seeking for a hint of an unknown follower.
There are two causes for camel rebellion: leaving the home paddock, and travelling over country not recently visited, if at all. Like the dog, they wanted to take that turn-off—merely a pad now washed out by the rain—because that was the way old Lonergan had previously taken them. To the northward, not to this westward country of salt-pans.
Outwardly the camels were resigned when the track branched, the main branch continuing away to the south. Bony followed the lesser track which would take him to the bore, six miles farther on, and decided to continue walking as he would have better command over the camels who, although now docile, still had fire in their eyes.
Now and then he stopped to test the ropes on Curley’s pack, pretending nervousness of the balance of the load, the while he listened to the birds whose persistent warning of the presence of someone back along the track convinced him that the follower’s job was to be certain that he did head for the bore.
Why this interest? The head stockman had said the dogs were working to the north of the homestead, then, in support of the Weatherbys, that the dogs were numerous to the westward. And, further, that an aborigine had seen the tracks of Lonergan’s camels westward of a rock upthrust, called the Splinter.
Why this effort to prevent him, William Black, from going northward? It was to the north of the homestead that Lonergan had his trap-line. Lucy and the camels plainly said so. Gold! Was gold behind the conspiracy to get William Black out of this country and back to Rawlinna? Old Patsy could have been on to gold. He could have mentioned his ‘find’ to the Weatherbys, although it was most unlikely he would divulge the locality. Or were they, despite the normalcy of their homestead, associated with that mysterious helicopter?
They had never mentioned to Easter that Lonergan had seen this helicopter. A tit-bit of bush news, it was most likely he had spoken of it, and for reasons of their own they had decided to let the subject die with the old man, unaware of the diary he kept.
Anyway, he, William Black, was being seen off the premises. That was now certain, because although some birds are arrant liars in matters concerning their own affairs, they never lie to each other concerning the activities of bipeds, and quadrupeds like dogs and foxes.
The birds told Bony that the follower gave up when about three miles from the bore, but there remained the necessity of leaving proof on the track that he and the camels actually did reach the bore, and proceed beyond it. And so, all the way the camels left proof on the sandy top-soil.
It was past two o’clock when he reached the bore of the non-flowing type, necessitating a pump and windmill to work it. It was not pretty country, being semi-arid, drab in colouring, the scrub stunted and almost useless for stock. There was water in the line of troughing, but no wild dogs had visited this place since the rain of a week or two back, and none of their tracks were on the road from the homestead.
After a meal and an hour’s rest for the camels, Bony led them directly to the west. There was now no road and the farther he proceeded the poorer became the country. Despite the recent rain, there was no surface water.
Six miles beyond the bore, Bony decided to camp for the night at the edge of a depression, and unloaded the animals amid the low scrub and took them to the saltbush where he hobbled and belled them.
As customary, they stood facing each other and conversed with their eyes, clearly exchanging views about this new master, this ugly country which might spring nasty surprises on them, and the general cussedness of life. Lucy squatted beside Bony’s fire and watched them and, when the conference was over, both camels pretended contentment until they thought the man had forgotten them, whereupon both abruptly headed eastward for the homestead paddock, making for low scrub where they could be detected only by the dwindling sound of the bells.
A loaded camel will walk all day at two miles and a half to the hour. A hobbled camel will travel one mile in an hour when controlled by the insatiable urge to return to some place or other. Here is a land where distance is measured by the hour, where only the initiated can hope to move from one point to another, and where only the bush masters can find water. There were no landmarks, just dun-coloured scrub with an occasional green-black tree growing a little taller. There were no rabbits, and, Bony was convinced, the dogs and foxes had deserted a long time since.
Before sundown, Bony went after the camels and brought them to camp, where he tied them to stout scrub trees for the night. The slight westerly wind dropped, and only the occasional clank of a bell disturbed the complete silence. This land was deserted, even by the birds.
They left camp the next morning before sunrise, both camels still resentful. In case anyone at the homestead might determine to track William Black as far as his first night camp, Bony led the animals directly to the south-east and towards far distant Rawlinna, thus registering his decision to abandon search for the traps and to return to Norseman. Two miles he proceeded on this course before again turning to the west, and following another mile, turned to the north to begin a giant curve which would bring him to the Nullarbor Plain some