Jack & Harry (16 page)

‘We all right … not 'ungry,' Nigel answered. ‘Neither are we.' Jack avoided using the name
George
.

Without argument George lifted a cardboard box down from the truck cabin and placed it near the fire. He reached in, took a billycan, two tins containing tea and sugar in them and placed them beside the carton then lifted a tea towel wrapped bundle from the box.

‘Just as well the missus always gives me far too much for these trips, I dunno;' he laughed. ‘You'd think I had an army to feed. Just as well you're here to help me eat it though, 'cause she gets pretty upset when I come home with left-overs.'

The last thing out of the box was a large newspaper wrapped parcel that George placed on top of the now empty carton. Removing the paper carefully the boys could see that the inner wrappings were damp and when the paper was off George reached into a cheesecloth bag and took out a large chunk of salted beef.

‘OK, fill the billy from that orange drum on the tray there, Jack, the one with the tap.' He pointed as Jack walked to the truck. ‘Yeah that's the one. You make tea OK, Reynold?'

‘Best darn' billy tea yu ever taste! Me uncle Warri 'e learn me good 'ow to make tea,' Reynold responded proudly, taking the billy from Jack.

‘You slice up some of that corned beef then, Harry, and, Jack …?' George unfolded the tea towel and handed him a dark honey coloured crusted damper. ‘You're the bread man, mate.'

Nigel felt left out standing off to one side until George turned to him. ‘Now, mate, you run over to the cab and behind the seat you'll find a paper bag with a few tomatoes and a coupla onions.'

With the four boys now occupied and involved in preparing lunch George knew that they wouldn't feel it was a handout so he sat back on his haunches, pulled a leather pouch from his shirt pocket and began to roll a cigarette. ‘This is the life,' he said as he watched the lunch preparations. ‘Wish you blokes were with me every trip. Don't have to do too much then, just drive ol' Betsy over there.'

When they had all eaten, George poured the billy dregs onto the coals, kicked sand over them to snuff out the fire and glancing at the low dark clouds gathering on the distant north westerly horizon said, ‘Let's get movin' then.'

They packed the things back in the truck. Reynold and Nigel climbed onto the tray and Jack and Harry jumped into the cabin beside George, as it was their turn to ride up front.

George Fuller took in the new clothes the two boys were wearing and was curious as to what they were up to out here in the outback heading for Warburton but knew not to ask too many questions. Although he had only just met them he felt that they would only tell him what they wanted him to know.

‘You boys ever been out this way before?'

‘No, first time.'

‘You're well kitted out, plan to travel a fair way do you … be out here a while?'

‘Maybe, just see what happens.' Jack was cautious.

‘It's OK, boys, I don't want to know yer plans, it's just that I can see that you're city kids and I thought maybe ya could do with a bit of advice … you know, a few tips on survivin' out here. I know ya haven't got any
family
out here.'

The boys glanced at one another but didn't respond.

‘The thing to do, boys, is hang in with Reynold, he seems like a good bloke … genuine. I've heard of his uncle, Warri, he's a legend out this way having droved stock for many years. He knows the country like the back of his hand and if he takes a likin' to ya he'll take ya under his wing and teach ya lots of things.' He wrestled with the steering wheel guiding the truck around a washed out section of the track and slammed it back a gear. ‘It won't be no picnic boys, life is gonna be hard and the country,' he pointed through the windscreen ‘… is unforgivin'. If ya don't know what yer doin' out here, ya can die easy but I think ya both have the determination that'll stand up through the tough times. Just be like a couple of sponges, soak up everythin' ya can learn, but be wary too, there's blokes out here that'd cut yer throat for a shillin' and not lose a wink of sleep over it either.'

After a couple of hours, George pulled the truck up on the track saying they needed to fill up with petrol. He took a hand pump with a hose attached and, opening a 44-gallon drum roped near the side, filled the truck tank from it using the pump. He was sweating heavily when he finished.

‘Hard work that,' he said. ‘But better than a few years back during the war with petrol rationing when all we had were gas producers. You know … charcoal burners, to fuel the trucks.' He waved his hand at the surrounding desert with its stunted mulga. ‘Used to be more trees out here than yer could poke a stick at but they cut 'em down to make charcoal. They, together with the sandalwood cutters, have depleted thousands of acres of timber so now the sands blow. Further south around Leonora a lot of timber was also felled to fuel the steam trains hauling ore for the mines.'

‘Don't like the look of those clouds, boys.' He stood for a minute looking at the mass of dark grey clouds now much larger than before building menacingly toward them. ‘Get stuck out here in a big wet, we could be here for days.'

‘Little rain maybe.' Reynold looked at the clouds. ‘Tonight, later on but no big rain.'

‘Fair enough, Reynold, but let's get on the track anyhow.'

‘Doesn't look like it ever rains out here.' Jack kicked at the red dust.

‘When there's a low or cyclone off the north west coast they sometimes come inland. Often they turn into rain depressions and can drop heaps of rain on the Kimberley, down through here and into the Goldfields.' George climbed into the driver's seat.

‘If we were stuck out here for days we wouldn't have anythin' to eat.' Harry sounded concerned. ‘

‘Not with Reynold and Nigel around,' George said with a grin. ‘That's what I meant, boys, about learnin' from 'em on how to survive out here.'

It got darker as the clouds intensified late in the afternoon obscuring the lowering sun. A short time before dusk George pulled the truck to a stop once again. There was no need to pull off the track, as there was no other traffic on the lonely stretch of dirt track.

‘Need to pump more petrol in before it gets dark. May as well light a fire and have a cuppa and a bite too 'cause we won't outrun this rain and if it comes a fire'll be impossible …and I do like me cuppa.' George jumped from the cabin glancing at the mass of clouds. ‘We could be in for a long wet drive through the night.'

It started to drizzle as they finished the damper smeared with Golden Syrup washed down with strong, sweet billy tea. ‘Time to hit the track.' George packed the supplies away. ‘There's a spare tarp, small one, up there.' He pointed in the general direction of where the boys had been travelling on the tray. ‘Might keep a bit of rain off.'

‘Where
you
goin?' Jack asked as Reynold and his brother started to climb onto the back of the truck.

‘It gonna rain, Jack, yu 'n Harry yu ride up front. We used to bein' wet.'

Jack reached out and took hold of his arm. ‘Reynold,' he said firmly, ‘a deal's a deal, mate. It's our turn to ride on the back. You and Nigel jump in with George.'

‘But you'se all dressed up 'n stuff …' He was baffled by Jack's way of thinking.

‘We'll have to get wet sometime, Reynold,' Harry added. ‘May as well be now.'

‘Yeah, and besides,' Jack agreed. ‘These clothes look too new anyhow, need a bit of weatherin' in.'

Reynold held Jack's firm gaze for a moment then grinned. ‘Yeah, guess yu do look sorta green don' they, Nigel?' The four boys laughed in the rain.

‘Come on, you blokes, get a bloody move on and make up yer minds.' George's tone was gruff, concealing his thoughts as Jack and Harry clambered up onto the tray and huddled down under the green canvas tarpaulin.
They'll make it
, he smiled to himself.
Looks like my bit of advice
sunk in
. He let the clutch out and drove off into the increasing darkness, wipers sweeping in arks across the windscreen.

The truck lurched on through the night. The rain was intermittent and didn't pose too much of a problem. It wasn't as heavy as George had expected and he shook his head silently in the darkness as he glanced at Reynold across the cab.
How do they do it?
He thought.

The rain did make the trip more hazardous however as George had to reduce speed and engage second gear on many occasions to traverse sandy creek crossings. There hadn't been enough rain for the creeks to run, fortunately, but exiting them was hazardous as the tyres sometimes spun, making the rear slide out.

The truck pulled into Warburton on Monday morning as the sun rose in a now cloudless sky, casting long shadows over the red soil.

George was relieved that, apart from a flat tyre that had wasted an hour and the rain that had slowed them down, the trip was otherwise uneventful.

‘Here we are, boys, Warburton, end of the road.' He thought about Jack and Harry still perched on the back having declined to swap along the way as they said they were more than settled and already wet anyhow.
End of the road for me but just the beginning for those two young blokes on the back, he added to himself.

Alice sat dejectedly at the kitchen table, staring into space. Normally uncluttered, the table was now littered with discarded newspapers. The sink, usually sparkling, still had last night's plates and cooking pots piled on it. Alice, a proud housekeeper had not been able to concentrate on housework over the past few days. Try as she might and even with her husband's positive encouraging comments that the boys would be home soon, she was despondent and missed her son terribly. Not knowing where he was and if he was safe was what nagged her most of all, her imagination painting disturbing pictures of her son and Harry in all sorts of perilous situations. It was now Monday and the fact that there had been no contact from either of them worried her
.
She couldn't understand why they hadn't at least written a note or telephoned
.

The police had turned up no leads other than that the boys had caught the train from Northam to Kalgoorlie, beyond that … nothing. She was even more distressed that a warrant had been issued for their arrest over the theft of the bike. William Munse had insisted that charges be layed, adamant that they had taken his son's bike for a second time and abandoned it by the river.

Jean talked with her every day and they both cried together on and off. Claude and Jack had driven to Merridin and Southern Cross making enquiries in addition to the police efforts but had returned on Sunday, their labours in vain. When Alice had been angry with her husband for not going directly to Kalgoorlie he explained, quite logically, that there was a chance that the boys had left the train en route and as those places were much smaller, it made sense to search them first.

She heard the postman's whistle in her subconscious, as he worked his way along the street delivering mail, but it didn't register. Jack came out from the bathroom after showering. He had slept late that morning, tired from the driving and emotionally drained. He looked haggard, dressed only in grey trousers and a white singlet. He filled the kettle from the rainwater tap over the sink and placed it on the stove, looking up as he heard a knock at the door. Alice jumped at the sound but remained seated, a look of apprehension on her drawn face.

‘I'll get it, dear.' Jack walked quickly to the door.

‘Tom?' Jack was surprised to see the postman standing on the front porch, his bike leaning against the front fence beside the gate.

‘G'day, Jack. Sorry, mate, but I couldn't help thinking you may want to see this as soon as possible.' He handed an envelope to Jack. ‘Figured from the writing it might be from your young Jack.' Tom the postie had been delivering mail to the residents of the suburb for a number of years and knew everyone on his round. He had seen most of the kids grow up.

‘My God it
is
his writing. Alice, Alice …' Jack called excitedly. He went inside, slamming the wire door behind him, forgetting about the postie standing on the porch.

‘What ever is it, Jack? What's the matter?' Alice stood up, alarm in her voice.

‘It's a letter … from Jack.' They stood side by side staring at the envelope with Jack's distinctive juvenile scrawl on its face, both too apprehensive now to open it.

‘Go on, Jack, you open it.' She was shaking, one hand to her mouth.

He picked up a knife from the table and carefully slit the envelope, retrieving the single page of tightly written script Alice started to cry softly and Jack put his arm tenderly around her shoulders as he read.

‘Dear Mum and Dad'

‘By the time you get this letter we will be a long way away. I couldn't stay home and go to jail for something I didn't do and bring shame on you all. I want you to know that we didn't steal that bike, never stole nothing in my life. Billy Munse told us that his dad had witnesses or something that we pinched it but that's a lie.

Sorry to cause you so much trouble but don't worry about us, we'l be alright. We have met some beaut people and are off to make our fortune. Harry is writing to his parents too so they should get a letter about the same time.

Sorry Mum that I lied about the lunch money. We put that with our pocket money and had ten shillings on Comic Court in the cup. It won so thanks Dad for the beaut tip. We been real careful with our money and still have quite a bit left. We bought some work clothes and hats and stuff so are OK.'

‘I will write again soon, don't try to look for us as we don't want to go to jail and don't tell the police that you heard from us. I reckon I'm the luckiest kid in the world to have a mum and dad like you. Sorry again for worrying you so much.

Love Jack xx