Blood in the Dust Read online

  Maree could see the man named Rob turning his head back and forth as he considered his position. He must have realised the hopelessness of it, for he uncocked the pistol and tossed it sideways. The moment it landed in the grass, Frank threw himself off the wagonette and swept Rob off his horse in a flying tackle that carried him over his horse’s rump. The horse panicked and tried to run, but Rob’s foot was caught in the stirrup and the animal wheeled about, rearing and plunging until Paddy managed to get hold of a rein.

  Frank wasn’t done yet. He climbed to his feet and kicked Rob in the side so hard that the youth let out a scream of pain. Then Frank leaned down, cocked a fist and punched him hard in the face.

  ‘Point a bloody gun at my daughter, you little shite.’ The fist came back again and again, striking hard until Rob’s face was a bleeding mess. Frank would have kept going, but Maree could hear her daughter’s give a little squeal each time their father’s fist connected.

  ‘Please, Frank. He’s had enough. The girls have witnessed enough violence for one day.’

  Frank paused, the youth’s shirt gripped in one fist and the other poised. He looked up at Maree and then at the bloody mess of Rob’s face.

  ‘Bloody hell, mister! You didn’t have to do that.’ Davey was off his horse. He pushed past Frank and crouched at his friend’s side.

  Frank let go of Rob’s shirt. The youth collapsed backwards onto the ground. ‘The bastard was going to shoot my daughter.’

  ‘He wasn’t going to shoot anyone. Our guns aren’t loaded. We haven’t had any powder or shot for a week.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Toby was there at Frank’s side.

  ‘They aren’t bloody loaded. We weren’t going to hurt anyone. We’re hungry and after some money, that’s all.’

  Toby walked to where Rob’s pistol lay in the grass and picked it up. ‘No cap on the firing nipple.’ He picked up a twig and poked it down the barrel, gauging the depth. ‘He’s telling the truth. It’s not loaded.’

  Frank took a step back, but still held his fists at the ready. ‘I didn’t bloody know that. He said he was going to shoot Betty in the head and he had a gun aimed at her.’

  ‘Don’t feel bad about it, Frank,’ Toby said. ‘The cove got what he deserved.’

  Frank lowered his fists. ‘What do we do with the mongrels?’

  ‘We should fetch a police constable,’ Maree said.

  Toby shook his head. ‘There’s not one for miles. We’d have to take them with us into Ballarat, and I don’t fancy that.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Frank responded, and Maree was glad. She had no desire to be anywhere near the would-be robbers.

  ‘If we let them go, they’ll come after us. Papa gave that one such a beating, they’re sure to come looking for revenge,’ Annie said, the fear evident in her voice.

  Toby prodded the one named Davey with the toe of his boot. ‘Is that what you’re gonna do, matey? You gonna come looking for a little payback if we let you go?’

  Davey looked up at Toby and shook his head. ‘We won’t. I promise. Besides, I think Rob’s nose is broken. You did a good job on him, mister. I need to get him to a doctor.’

  ‘The only doctor I know of is in Bacchus Marsh. That’s about a day’s ride back towards Melbourne,’ Toby said. ‘You take your friend here to the doctor and we continue on our way. You don’t come looking for us and we don’t report you two to the police. How does that sound?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Davey said. ‘Help me get him to his feet and on his horse, will ya?’

  Toby and Frank took an arm each and, with Davey pushing Rob’s backside, they managed to get him up on his horse. Rob swayed a little and his breath hissed through his open mouth, but he didn’t look like he was going to fall off.

  Toby went and collected both bandits’ guns. He found a stick lying on the ground and forced it into the muzzle of the big pistol, hammering it home against the sideboard of the wagonette. Then he snapped the stick off so that the barrel was plugged with wood. He repeated the process with Davey’s weapon. ‘You’ll get the wood out of the barrel eventually,’ he told Davey as he handed the weapons to him.

  Davey tucked the pistols into his belt and took up the reins of Rob’s horse. He touched a finger to the brim of his hat as he led his friend back down the track. Maree watched the pair until they rounded the bend and were out of sight, the knot of panic in her stomach slowly unwinding.

  ‘Paddy?’ Toby looked to where his brother stood with his musket in his hand. ‘Cut back through the bush, matey. Make sure they don’t get any ideas as they pass our wagonette.’

  Paddy nodded, shouldered his musket and trotted into the bush at the side of the track.

  ‘Thank you, Toby,’ Maree said. ‘I don’t like to think what would have happened if you and Paddy hadn’t shown up. It seems you boys are making a habit of rescuing us.’

  ‘Yes,’ Frank said. He stepped over and shook Toby’s hand. ‘Thank you. But how did you know?’

  Toby pointed through the bush in the direction Paddy had gone. ‘We were hanging back a little so we didn’t have to travel in your dust. You can see right through the trees from where the track switches back on itself. Paddy noticed those two coves had you waylaid. We grabbed our guns and ran up here as fast as we could.’

  ‘It’s a good thing you did,’ Annie said from her seat on the wagonette. ‘Those rogues would have taken all Papa’s money. We didn’t know their guns weren’t loaded.’

  ‘No one would have, Annie,’ Toby replied.

  Maree looked down at Toby standing by her husband. He was closer to man than boy, with a few straggly whiskers sprouting from his chin and shadowing his upper lip. He had lost his hat somewhere and a lock of black hair hung over one eye. Like Paddy, his hair hadn’t been cut in a long time and Maree supposed their mother had done it for them when she had been alive. Toby had a strong, square jaw that made him quite handsome and she could see why both her daughters, Annie in particular, were rather smitten with this colonial youth.

  ‘Toby?’

  He looked up at her. ‘Yes, Mrs Hocking?’

  ‘Would you and Paddy join us for dinner tonight when we make camp? I don’t have much in the way of special ingredients, but I think I can throw something together. Just to say thank you to you both.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea, Mama,’ Annie said, and clapped her hands. ‘I want to learn more about the southern stars.’

  Toby pursed his lips as he gave the question a little thought. Maree saw his gaze drift to Annie and knew what the answer would be.

  ‘We’d be delighted to join you. Thank you, Mrs Hocking.’

  Paddy grimaced as the scissors snipped close to his ear. Maree had a hand on his head to steady it as she squinted through one eye to judge her work.

  ‘Hold still, Paddy. Just a couple more cuts.’

  He would have nodded to show he understood, but that might mean losing an ear. He’d hated having his hair cut, even when his mother had done it, lining up their father, Toby and himself on the verandah once a month. Without a voice, it had been hard to object. It had been even harder when his brother had surrendered to his haircut so readily and was now standing by the campfire talking to Annie while she stirred the cooking pot that sat bubbling over the fire. The meal smelled wonderful. Paddy doubted he had eaten anything that smelled this good since the death of his mother.

  ‘There you go. All done, my boy.’ Maree pulled away the bed sheet from around his shoulders and gave it a flick to rid it of loose hair. She produced a pocket mirror and gave it to him.

  Paddy looked at his reflection for a moment, but he didn’t care about his haircut, he was just glad it was over. He handed the mirror back to Maree and gave her a smile of thanks.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she said, and began packing away the scissors.

  Paddy wandered over to the fire where Toby stopped his conversation and ran a critical eye over him.

  ‘You look rather respectable now, Pad.’


  Paddy nodded and picked up a stick to poke at the coals. His stomach growled and he wondered how long it would be before supper was served up.

  They ate sitting in a circle around the fire. There was no wind and the smoke rose straight up through the darkening canopy of trees.

  ‘Of course, leaf springs make for a better ride for a gig or coach,’ Frank responded to one of Toby’s questions. ‘But, for a heavy load, like a wagon or dray, it’s far better to have the weight bear straight down on a good, solid axle.’

  Paddy ate ravenously as he listened. A few questions of his own popped into his mind, but he had no way to ask them without putting down his plate and miming. Usually, this would frustrate him a little. Toby often picked up on this and would take the time to understand what he wanted, but tonight his brother was preoccupied with Frank’s account of wagon construction and with Annie.

  He was the first to finish his meal and went to the back of the Hockings’ wagonette to place his plate in the washing tub. He knew Toby would offer to wash the dishes, so he filled the big kettle from a water bag and carried it back to the fire.

  ‘That for the dishes, Pad?’

  He gave his brother a nod and then mimed drinking from a mug.

  ‘And a cuppa, too. Good work.’ Toby turned to Frank and Maree. ‘Paddy and me will do the dishes, Mrs Hocking.’

  ‘Thank you, Toby, but please, call me Maree.’

  ‘All right. Maree it is.’

  Paddy scrubbed the pots and plates while his brother dried and placed them on the tailboard of the wagonette. When they had finished, they slung the tub between them and carried it out of the circle of firelight, emptying it into the darkness. When they turned back to the campsite, Frank and Maree were in earnest discussion on the far side of the fire, their heads close together. Annie had mugs of steaming tea waiting for them. As they settled onto their seats, Frank looked up.

  ‘Maree and I have been talking, boys. You have shown yourselves to be very resourceful and helpful and I am sure your dear departed parents would be proud of you both. This country and its dangers are new to us, and my family is grateful we made your acquaintance and have your friendship. You boys know how to look after yourselves, and we—’ he swept his hand to encompass Maree, Annie and Betty, ‘—we feel there is strength in numbers. Would you like to join forces with us? We can go to the diggings together. Work our claims as one. Share the work, the expenses and the profits – look after each other.’

  ‘I—I don’t know what to say.’ Toby stammered.

  ‘You and Paddy talk it over,’ Maree said. ‘There’s no pressing rush for an answer.’

  Toby and Paddy stood from the fire and went into the semi-darkness beyond the wagonettes.

  ‘You understand what they’re asking, Pad? They want us to join with them.’

  Paddy moved his head in a slow nod.

  ‘We’d share everything, the costs and the profits – the hard work. That could have its benefits.’

  He nodded again and recalled the way Maree had embraced him when he burst into tears. His mind then jumped to Frank and the story of the ship in the storm. Their parents’ deaths and the loss of the farm had consumed his and Toby’s every waking moment. But, for a short time, while Frank told that story, he had forgotten all about his troubles and the problems ahead. It was a good feeling, and he hoped there could be more like that.

  ‘What do you reckon, Pad?’

  Paddy pointed at his own chest and then at Toby’s. He pushed his index fingers together and looked at his brother’s face, barely visible in the semi-darkness.

  ‘You and me together?’

  Paddy nodded.

  ‘We’ll always be together, Pad. Nothing will change that. After the shootings and Scotchy and Dundas and the business with ’ol man Pelham, I didn’t think there were any decent people left in the world. That family over there have had their fair share of troubles, too. They need us, but I reckon we need them, too. What do you think, Pad?’

  Paddy gave Toby a thumbs up and nodded.

  ‘Well, let’s go and tell them,’ Toby said.

  They walked back into the circle of light and found four anxious faces watching them.

  ‘Paddy and me would like to accept your kind offer. Equal partners?’

  ‘Equal partners,’ Frank confirmed. He stepped forward and shook both brothers’ hands in turn. ‘May the gods of fortune have the good grace to smile on us all.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ said Toby.

  Barramat came to Chilbi in the hours before dawn. Normally, the young warrior would be pleased to see his father through the mists of his mind, for the hand of guidance had not been taken by death. As the oldest of the three survivors, it was only right that he should be the one to whom the tribal elders gave counsel to. At times Barramat offered words of encouragement and Chilbi would feel his spirits uplifted. But this time his father’s voice was wrought with anger. The season had changed and no sacred ceremony had been performed to appease the spirits of their ancestors.

  The dream woke him and he sat alone for a while by the remains of the campfire. Around him, the others slept on, but the weight in Chilbi’s heart would not let sleep come for him, so he gathered his war club and spear and climbed the hill behind their camp. As he climbed, the wind picked up and brought with it a cold chill out of the north-east. His kangaroo-skin cloak flapped about his legs as he stood on the boulder-strewn hilltop. Out to the east the sky was beginning to pale, but overhead the stars still glittered. The young Aborigine lifted his face to follow the great arc of light stretching from one horizon to another.

  It was told in the tribal legends of the Jannjirra that during the Dreaming, Currabin, the great eagle, had swooped down into a mountain stream and seized a fish in his fearsome talons. When he flew back across the sky, droplets of water were thrown from his feathers and had stuck to the heavens to become the stars. The great arc over Chilbi’s head was the path the eagle had taken back to his eyrie.

  As with most tales, he had first been told this one by his mother, and he thought of her disease-ravaged corpse lying in the burial caves in the distant mountains. He turned his face towards those mountains and a deep longing clutched at his soul. He had been too long away from his tribal lands. The homesickness hung in his belly like the dead weight of a mountain boulder.

  A faint noise sounded behind him and he turned to see Yawong and Tarrat climbing to where he stood. As soon as they reached Chilbi’s side they too turned to those same mountains.

  ‘When can we go home, Chilbi?’ Yawong asked. The young warrior had asked this question many times since they had ventured out onto the lowlands.

  ‘We must punish the Djarriba for what they have done to our people. They have taken from us, so we must take from them.’

  ‘What does the Djarriba have that we want?’ Tarrat asked.

  Chilbi pondered the question. The Djarriba possessed many wonderful marvels he had never imagined existed: the thunder-weapons that kill men and animals from afar; the metal-bladed tools with which a man could cut open a kangaroo in but a few moments; even small fire sticks that were kept in a wooden container and could be lit by rubbing the small heads of the sticks on the side. These things fascinated Chilbi, but he had no answer to Tarrat’s question. It was only Warrigal’s desire to kill and take from the Djarriba that kept them from returning home.

  ‘Soon we will go home,’ he said in a non-committal tone. ‘We will find wives from among the surrounding tribes and take them back to the land. From we three will come the seeds to grow a new people of the Jannjirra.’

  ‘Will the Djarriba sickness not come again?’ Yawong asked. ‘It destroyed our whole tribe. There is powerful magic in everything the Djarriba does.’

  ‘Warrigal has said the sickness only comes to a person once. We have survived its evil and it cannot harm us again.’

  Both Tarrat and Yawong were unwilling to take Warrigal’s word on that. They had both watched the terrible cough
ing sickness spread through their entire people. They had seen the pustules on the childrens’ skin, obviously the mark of evil spirits. They had felt the touch of the terrible disease itself. Of a whole tribe of people, only Chilbi, Tarrat and Yawong survived.

  ‘Why does Warrigal take the little yellow grains from the Djarriba we stop on the tracks?’ Tarrat asked. ‘We can’t eat it or use it. He is very happy when he finds little pouches of the yellow grains – and the small pieces of skin with the strange symbols. He takes all that he finds.’

  Chilbi had asked the same question of Warrigal. He had been told that the little grains were called ‘gold’ and the skins were ‘money’ and they could be used to trade for anything the Djarriba possessed. Chilbi did not understand why Warrigal would want to trade when he could take anything he wanted at spear or gunpoint. But the lands below the mountains were strange to him. It was Warrigal who understood the Djarriba ways, so Chilbi was willing to be led over this unknown ground with its strange inhabitants – until they returned to the lands of the Jannjirra. Then he would take his place as a tribal elder and guide them through the rebuilding of the tribe.

  Toby reined the wagonette to a stop beside the track. ‘Bloody hell, Pad. Would you look at that?’ He swept his arm over the vista before them.

  Toiling, sweating men seemed to fill every hill, every hollow and every gully. The clatter of pick and shovel on rock and the coarse voices of thousands of hopeful miners buzzed like a swarm of bees. There hardly seemed to be a piece of ground off the side of the road that did not have a hole sunk into it or a mullock heap piled on it.

  The road twisted its way down into a shallow valley between sparsely wooded hillocks. In places tents were pitched at the very road edge, some with signs proclaiming professional services such as blacksmithing or doctoring could be obtained from within. Side tracks disappeared in every direction, twisting and turning around holes and piles of earth.