Jack & Harry (21 page)

‘Gee, Harry, probably a king brown, eh?'

‘Dunno, Jack, but he sure was a biggun. I was worried at first that the snake might have got me or that he was there somewhere but I didn't see him, just his track in the sand headin' outta the gully.'

‘Sure you're OK now?'

‘Yeah, as I said though, a bit stiff and me throat feels really dry. Me tongue's real furry too. Got some water?'

‘Afraid not, mate. Uncle Warri and Reynold should be back with it soon. There's more tea though.'

‘No thanks,' Harry said. ‘Yuk.'

It was nearing eleven o'clock when the two horsemen returned leading the packhorse loaded with bulging bags of water. Harry was still on the swag but had been up once to walk unsteadily to the edge of the camp to relieve himself before wobbling back to lie down again. He sat up when Warri and Reynold rode in.

‘Hey, Harry,' Reynold called to him. ‘Yu still wit' us, mate.'

The two dismounted, unloaded the bags and brought one over to where Harry was resting. ‘Thought yu might laik a bit of this, young Harry.' Warri poured a mug of water and handed it to Harry who gulped it down thirstily. ‘Yu feelin' OK?' Warri asked.

Harry told them he was a bit groggy and that his mouth was dry. Warri explained that it was probably from getting too much sun as well as having nothing to drink. ‘Moisture 'e all gone from yer body. Yu be OK in a day or so, Harry. That medicine I give yu 'e work pretty good.'

Harry sheepishly apologised, going on to explain what had happened but before he could finish Warri said ‘No need for sorry, Harry, yu learn good lesson though, eh? I bet yu never go out alone again not knowin' where to ride. Bet, too, yu be more careful on Dolly.'

‘You're not angry at me, uncle Warri?' Harry had expected a tongue-lashing for his stupidity.

‘Angry at
me
for not warnin' yu boys 'nuff 'bout the danger out there. Not angry wit'
yu
, Harry, for doin' it. Warri jus' 'appy yu OK now. We rest up 'ere for 'nother night then get on the road first light tomorra. People spectin' us at Docker.'

‘I'm OK, uncle Warri, we can leave now if you like.' Harry went to stand but Reynold put his hand on his shoulder.

‘Yu sit back down, Harry, it too late to 'ead out now. Yu 'ave trouble ridin' Dolly laik this anyhow 'n tomorra yu be good laik new, eh?

Warri took a rifle from his pack then walked out from the camp around sundown and they heard two gunshots echo across the desert. He strolled back a short time later carrying two rabbits. Reynold stirred the fire up and when he was satisfied that it was the right temperature he chucked both rabbits into the coals.

‘Aren't ya gonna skin 'em, Reynold?' Jack was surprised that they went on fur and all. They hadn't even been gutted.

‘No need, Jack, they taste real sweet laik this. Best meat yu ever taste, except for maybe bungarra, 'e real good tucker. Anyhow, why waste time skinnin' 'em when there's no need. Keep all the juice in this way too, make 'im real tender.'

The rabbits were delicious and a welcome change from the canned meat and damper they had had the previous nights. Jack had tasted rabbit before but his mum usually either baked them in the oven like chickens or made rabbit stew. To have them cooked in the coals with the subtle taste of wood smoke on the meat was better than he had experienced before. They ate them with their hands, tearing bits off the carcasses. The boys thought how much life had changed for them in just over a week and a half.

‘This is better than me dad's barbecued snags, Harry.'

‘Sure is, Jack. He burns them snags more than these bunnies too' ‘Yeah and he doesn't skin
them
before he chucks 'em on either.'

Both boys laughed, flicking bones to the dogs waiting patiently at the edge of the firelight and licking their fingers noisily. It did not dawn on them that this was the first time since they had left the safety and routine of their well ordered lives in Perth that they had made mention of ‘home' without it emotionally disturbing them.

Harry was indeed ‘good laik new' the next morning as Warri had predicted and Jack could not believe the rapid change in his condition. He determined to find out more about the bush medicine Warri had used but when he asked him again about it the old Aboriginal just shook his head saying it was ‘blackfella medicine.'

Harry needed a bit of a leg up to help him mount Dolly the next morning and was obviously nervous to be back on horseback. Warri suggested that he ride the pony around a bit while they cleared camp so he could restore his confidence before heading off. Reynold explained to Jack how the best thing to do when you fall or get thrown from a horse was to get back on straight away so fear didn't set in. With Harry unconscious it wasn't possible but uncle Warri said that it would only take a couple of hours for him to get used to it again. It wasn't so much the fall from the horse he commented but the fear of being lost again in the desert that was on Harry's mind; something he was sure Harry would avoid ever doing again.

Progress was slow that day as Warri was aware that Harry needed plenty of rest spells. In the middle of the afternoon they had been following a dry creek bed when they came to a waterhole that magically materialised before them like an oasis. Tall, white-trunked gums surrounded it and there was a tranquillity that affected the four of them, so there was little talk as they soaked up the atmosphere and its beauty. The crystal clear water was inviting with a sandy bottom so the three boys stripped and jumped in to cool off. They splashed each other laughing and ducking their heads under while Warri watched from the bank where he squatted in the shade, a cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke lazily wafting around his head in the still air.

‘I tink we camp 'ere tonight, boys, good place.' Warri decided when they came out to dry off in the sun. ‘Tomorra we be in Docker River.'

Although reluctant to leave the waterhole the next morning to ride again through the desert heat, the prospect of being in Docker River at the end of the day beckoned. Mounting up they rode out into the rising sun, the early morning light painting the distant Rawlinson Range to their left varying shades of purple.

Jack and Harry were awed by the changing vibrant hues of the desert hills as the sun travelled through the sky on its journey from morning to night. What they had once believed was a drab featureless landscape became for them now a kaleidoscope of shifting colour.

‘Those hills they called the Petermann Range.' Reynold pointed ahead of them. ‘Not long now 'n we in the Territory. Docker not far over the border.'

Jack looked at Harry riding beside him and there was unspoken communication between them as their eyes met. Not only had they left Perth and the familiarity of home but they were now also leaving Western Australia: the creek, Ashmorton, school, Billy Munse, the bike and their families a lifetime behind them.

Jack Ferguson parked the Holden outside the Elder Smith building in Kalgoorlie. He and Claude Turner went into the office where the receptionist, a blonde woman in her mid twenties with bobbed hair, greeted Jack. He introduced Claude to her as a man dressed in white moleskin trousers and a pale blue checked shirt matched with a brown woollen tie emerged from a side office. He invited them warmly to join him.

Introductions completed, Jack said, ‘thanks, Alan, for taking time to see us, mate.'

‘No problem, Jack … have you heard any news of the boys?'

‘Afraid not other than the letters they sent. They're here, or at least around the district somewhere, but we don't know where.'

‘I've had a few of the boys keeping an eye out, Jack, and I've also asked around but nobody seems to have spotted them. Strange you know, as even though Kal's a pretty big place, a couple of kids around the streets would be sure to be noticed. What have the police come up with?'

‘Nothing, Alan,' Claude answered. ‘The boys have been taken off the missing persons' list and there's no warrant out for them so officially the police haven't been too active. We called in at the station before we came here.'

‘The police here have been talking with the sergeant from home but as they can't do anything officially it's just a matter of them being alert as they go about their normal work,' Jack added.

‘What are your plans then, Jack?' Alan leaned back in his chair. ‘Can I do anything for you?'

‘No, not really. I appreciate you booking the accommodation for us at the pub and if we can use the office here as a base, you know … use the telephone from time to time, it'd be a great help.'

‘Just treat the place as home, Jack. You too, Claude. Must be a bugger not knowing where they are but I'm sure they're OK and they'll turn up sooner or later.'

They thanked Alan for his assistance and left the office, not sure where to start. They agreed to walk the main street at least and check out some of the clothing stores. The boys had mentioned in their letters that they had purchased work gear so one of the store people might have remembered them buying clothes and hats and possibly the boys had given some clue as to what their plans were.

Driving back to Hannan Street they parked the car and split up, deciding to cover one side of the street each to save time, and to meet back at the car in an hour. Their efforts produced no results. Store people just shook their heads sympathetically but could give no positive leads and the photos that they showed drew blank responses. Meeting up back at the car they were discouraged so thought they might as well drive to the hotel that they had been booked into, have a beer then plan their next move.

They backed out carefully from the kerb, unfamiliar with the ‘nose in' parking in Kalgoorlie and turned off the main street, heading for the hotel that Jack knew from previous visits was situated down one of the adjacent streets. Approaching an intersection they came up behind an old battered black Chevrolet sedan stopped before the corner, its bonnet up with a darkly clad figure bent over the motor.

Drawing to a stop alongside the vehicle Claude wound the window down and spoke to the person stooped under the bonnet. ‘G'day, anything we can do to help, mate?'

They were both surprised, when the man withdrew his head from the front of the car and turned to face them to see that he was dressed in clerical garb.

‘Arhh, thank you, gents, but she's a cantankerous old girl she is. Not sure what the problem is you know. Goes well one minute and then decides to stop for no reason. She's a mind of her own and that's for sure.' The priest patted the hood affectionately.

Jack smiled at the priest's obvious fondness for the old vehicle. ‘Can we give you a lift somewhere, Father?'

‘No, but thank you for your kindness. I'm sure with a little patience …' He glanced skyward ‘… and a little assistance from above, that she'll be taking me home soon enough. She does this now and then.'

‘You sure we can't help, Father?' Claude persisted. ‘No trouble you know.'

‘Well maybe if you could be helping me to push her off to the side of the road so I don't block the traffic I'd be appreciating it.'

Jack backed up and parked the Holden. He and Claude stepped from their vehicle and walked up to the Chev. ‘Hop in, Father, we'll give you a push. Maybe that'll get her going for you, never know.'

‘Worth a try I suppose. I've worn the battery down a bit trying to get her started. If I can just get her home I can fiddle with the carburetor; that seems to be the main problem.' The priest looked at the two men and a slight frown creased his face as he examined them closely.

‘Do I know you gents at all; are you from around here?'

‘No, Father, we're from Perth, just arrived today,' Jack replied. ‘I've only been through here a couple of times and it's Claude's first time in Kalgoorlie so I'm sure we haven't met.'

‘Oh well … it must be that I'm getting old like me dear car here.' He jumped behind the wheel, slamming the door shut. ‘I'll put her in second gear, see if she starts.'

‘OK, Father, don't stop if she starts, just keep going, eh'? Claude suggested.

‘I won't, gents, thanks for your help and God bless you for your kindness.'

They pushed the heavy vehicle forward, thankful that there was a slight downhill slope in the road. ‘OK, Father … give her a go!' Jack yelled breathlessly when they gained some speed.

The priest let the clutch out and the old motor coughed, backfired twice but then sprang into life, a cloud of blue smoke enveloping Jack and Claude. The priest waved enthusiastically from the window as the black car frog-hopped down the road a couple of times before turning left at the corner to disappear from view, a pall of smoke left hanging in the air.

Father O'Malley drew up in front of the corrugated iron garage at the rear of the presbytery, thankful that his vehicle had made it home, and decided he must ring the garage to book the old girl in for a service. He stepped from the driver's seat, closed the door and stood for a minute beside the car, his face creased in concentration.
There was something vaguely familiar about those men
,
he thought.
Oh well, you must be getting
senile, Timothy.
He shook his head and walked off toward the presbytery without giving another thought to the two men who were at that time sitting in the bar of the Criterion Hotel, planning the next move they would make in their efforts to track down Jack and Harry.