Blood in the Dust Page 22

  Annie moved carefully down the rocks to the pool. She bent and scooped up a handful of water to drink, the droplets flying from her hand like sparks in the warm sunshine.

  ‘Sweet,’ she said, flicking the last drops into Toby’s face with a mischievous grin. ‘This is far better than the creek water upstream from the diggings. We should have brought the water casks to fill.’

  ‘The poor horses would expire before we ever reached the diggings if we tried to carry those heavy casks all the way back from here.’

  ‘It looks so cool and clean, Toby. Do you think we can spare a little time to bathe in the pool?’

  The urge to get on with the possum hunt evaporated from Toby’s mind. Everything seemed so perfect sitting beside the pool with Annie. He nodded his head eagerly and began to take his boots off.

  Annie unlaced her boots and stuffed her socks into them. She turned to the water and picked her way carefully down the rocks before dipping one foot in up to her ankle. ‘Chilly, but nice,’ she grinned back at him, then stepped out into the pool. Water swirled up around her waist and she dipped both hands into it and splashed her face, giggling with exhilaration. Reaching back with one hand she untied the ribbon that held her hair up, shaking it out so that her tresses fell down between her shoulder blades. She sat down in the water, her hair floating about her shoulders like a dark halo. Only then did she turn back towards the rocks where Toby was standing, eyes fixed on her.

  ‘C’mon, silly. Don’t just stand there. Come in and have a wash. It won’t hurt to get some of that miner’s dirt out of your pores.’

  Toby unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it off and tossed it onto the rock. Then he stepped into the pool and waded out to Annie.

  They stayed in the water for the rest of the morning, frolicking and splashing about. At noon they climbed onto the rock, their clothes dripping and clinging to their bodies. Annie unpacked some food from the saddlebags and they ate hungrily, sprawled in the sun. Toby gathered up some small sticks and lit a fire on the rock to boil a billy of water.

  After their meal, they lay back in the sunshine, their clothes drying on their bodies. Annie talked while Toby idled beside her and wondered about the feel of her body in his arms as he let his eyes rove over her prone form. He had no desire to leave this wonderful place and the magical moments it held for them. He gave no thought to the consequences of their returning to camp with only one possum. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes and listened to Annie’s voice as she chatted, offering a grunt of acknowledgment every now and then.

  ‘Toby? Do you think we could reach that rock in the pond where the rainbow is?’

  Toby rolled onto an elbow and looked at her. Annie was sitting up and looking out across the pool to where the waterfall splashed down onto a jumble of boulders. The spray dissolved the sunlight into a broad arc of colour that terminated on a flat rock where the water thundered into the pool.

  ‘All right.’

  Annie clapped her hands with glee and sprang to her feet. Without the slightest show of modesty she undid the narrow leather belt that secured her borrowed trousers and let them fall to her feet. Underneath she wore a pair of frilly white bloomers that hung to her knees. She shrugged off the Crimea shirt and tossed it onto the rock beside her trousers as she stepped out of them. The white cotton shift she wore was still damp in places and clung to her narrow waist as she strode into the water.

  Toby sprang to his feet, sprinted to the water’s edge and launched into mid-air. He hit the water hard and flat, his momentum carrying him out to where Annie waded steadily towards the rock. A few strokes brought him up beside her.

  Toby climbed onto the rock, then took Annie’s hands and pulled her up beside him in one fluid movement. She sprawled back and Toby would have sat beside her, but he noticed the wet cotton of her shift was all but transparent. He could see the dark circles of areola surrounding her nipples which pushed up proudly against the thin cotton. He started guiltily as he realised she was watching the direction of his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry—’ he began lamely, but she quieted his words with a press of her finger against his lips. Her hand moved to his and, taking it firmly in her own, guided it gently beneath the damp cotton. He could feel the coolness of the wet material on the back of his hand and the fire of her body against his palm. Then his hand enveloped her breast and he was surprised that something that looked so firm could be so soft and pliable.

  Annie moaned softly at Toby’s first tentative touches. She threw her arms about his neck and pulled him down to her. He opened his mouth and took her mouth on his, pressing so hard that their teeth touched. Toby was the first to break off the kiss. He lifted Annie up onto a higher rock and she gasped at the beauty of their surroundings. The sunlight refracted off the mist, splitting into a thousand rainbows.

  She took a moment to take in the wonder. Then she pulled Toby to her and reached for the belt securing his trousers. Through the myopic mists of lust Toby had a vision of Frank Hocking standing before him.

  ‘I can’t. I promised your pa I would look after you.’

  ‘You are looking after me,’ she answered huskily. ‘You are my man. You will look after me forever, and I you.’

  With her words still echoing in his mind, Toby resisted no longer. He let Annie pull him down to her and he took her body against his own. Once more their lips met and Toby shut out all else from his mind.

  It was late in the afternoon when they climbed arm in arm up onto the rock where they had discarded their clothes and the saddlebags.

  The horses were tethered to a nearby tree and Toby felt a pang of guilt that they had stood for hours still saddled and bridled. He gave Moonlight an apologetic rub down the flank as he re-secured the saddlebags.

  ‘Sorry, fella,’ he murmured. ‘I got a little sidetracked.’

  After they dressed, he helped Annie into the saddle, swung onto Moonlight and turned back the way they had come. The shadows were long and Toby had a look of concern on his face, which was echoed by Annie’s words.

  ‘Papa will have a fit if we come back with only one possum.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ Toby grunted. He pulled the musket from its scabbard and searched the branches, but it was a vain hope. He and Paddy had hunted out this area over the past weeks.

  ‘Maybe he will go off drinking. Your ma won’t tell him we came back without any possums.’

  Annie shook her head sharply. ‘Papa had a bee in his bonnet about us going off together right from the start. He will be back in plenty of time to make sure we’re home.’

  They rode on, heading back towards Ballarat to meet the curfew Frank had given Toby.

  ‘Where did you learn the trick with the possum fur on the tree trunk?’ Annie’s voice carried a hint of tension.

  ‘It’s an old Aborigine trick,’ Toby said. ‘They use it all the time when out hunting possums.’ He was quiet for a moment and then added, ‘Of course! I’m an idiot!’

  Annie gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You are not an idiot, Toby. What are you on about?’

  ‘I know where we can get some possum skins.’ And he turned his head to grin back at her.

  Frank Hocking sat by the fire, strategically placed so that he faced the direction of the horse yard.

  ‘G’day,’ Toby said, as he deposited the riding tack on the wagonette and pulled a tarpaulin over it. He walked in under the tarpaulin shelter and dropped a bundle of possum skins on the ground.

  Maree was stirring a pot that sat over the coals. Betty ran up to Annie, took her by the hand and fired a string of questions at her about riding the horses. Paddy was out of bed. He sat beside Frank, who was showing him how to sharpen the blade from a spokeshave on a whetstone.

  ‘Have a good day, you two?’ Maree stood up and placed both hands on the small of her back. ‘I’d give my right eye for a proper stove,’ she added. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can keep cooking at ground level.’

  ‘It was wonderful, Mama. The countr
yside is so beautiful once you get away from all the mud and smell of the diggings.’

  ‘You’ve been busy,’ Frank said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Toby shot a look at him.

  Frank pulled his pipe from his mouth and used the stem to point at the skins. ‘Must be at least twenty hides in that lot, already skinned an’ all,’ he said.

  Toby patted the pile of skins, a broad grin on his face. ‘We didn’t muck around.’

  After dinner, Paddy and Betty shuffled off to their beds, but the fire had died to glowing embers before Maree and Frank finally bid good night and wandered towards their tent.

  ‘Don’t sit up too late, you two. It’s back to work tomorrow,’ Maree warned as she ducked under the ridge pole and drew the flap closed.

  Annie and Toby climbed up onto the wagonette seat, a nightly routine for the lovers. Toby placed his arm about Annie’s shoulders and pulled her close. She seemed to melt into the side of his body and rested her head lightly on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke, lost in their own thoughts, relishing the closeness of the other. It was Annie who finally broke the silence.

  ‘That was a wonderful idea to buy some skins off the Aborigines,’ she whispered. ‘Papa doesn’t suspect a thing.’

  ‘Don’t talk too loudly. He might hear.’

  She was silent for a moment and he let his thoughts wander, but she brought him back to her with her next statement.

  ‘It’s a big land, isn’t it, Toby?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘We will always be together, won’t we?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘I get so scared.’

  ‘What are you scared of?’

  ‘I’m scared this huge land will swallow you up one day. It will take you and keep you for itself and I will never see you again.’

  ‘That will never happen.’ Toby gave a little chuckle, but regretted it when he realised she was serious. ‘I will always find my way back to you.’

  ‘How will you do that if you are lost out in the wilderness?’ Her words were almost a sob.

  ‘Remember how I showed you to find south by using the Southern Cross?’

  ‘Yes,’ Annie said. She lifted her free hand to trace the outline of the constellation, drawing an imaginary line through its longest axis to meet a line from the Pointers and then dropping her finger to the horizon. ‘South,’ she said. Toby applauded her efforts.

  ‘If we are ever apart, for any reason, I will use the Southern Cross to find my way back home.’

  There was such conviction in his voice that Annie did not doubt a word of it. She placed her hand in his lap and let his rough, callused hand close about hers. They sat that way for some time, in silence once again. Then a brief but insistent cough from her parents’ tent ended their time together.

  It had once been a rather grand vehicle, painted gloss-black with yellow trim, but was now battered and scratched from years of service on ill-formed colonial roads. A four-horse team drew the carriage at a trot. The driver, a trooper, sat on the seat above the front wheels. Another trooper was perched beside him, his carbine held loosely across his lap. The windows of the carriage were obscured by canvas flaps, a barrier to the dust which swirled in the vehicle’s wake, but Anderson knew there were at least four more armed men inside.

  As the carriage straightened onto the incline, he signalled to Yawong and the warrior swung the axe into the tree where they had partly cut through already. He worked the handle back and forth, released the blade and then swung again, the muscles of his bare back knotted tight with effort. At the second swing the tree shuddered, but still remained upright. Anderson looked to the carriage, which would pass by in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Put your back into it, you little black bastard, or they’ll get clean away.’

  Yawong worked frantically to free the axe. It came away with a jerk, and he continued the momentum into a back swing. If he grunted during the effort of the stroke it was lost amidst the yelling of the driver and the groan and snort of horses. The blade sunk a full two inches into the fibre of the tree. For a moment it appeared it still wouldn’t fall. The trunk shuddered and a few leaves drifted down from the canopy. A loud ‘pop’ sounded and the angle of the trunk changed almost imperceptibly. Another ‘pop’ followed the first, then came a whole series of snapping reports like a string of Chinese crackers as the tree fell across the road barely forty paces in front of the rushing team.

  The driver saw the tree coming down and pulled on the reins, his foot pushing on the brake to prevent the carriage from overrunning the horses. The trooper beside him held tight to the back of the seat with one hand, the other keeping a tenuous grip on his carbine. The lead horses, left without enough room to pull up, turned across the road to where Anderson and Chilbi were concealed. Here, they finally stopped, tossing and rearing in the traces.

  Anderson spurred his mount forward and cocked his revolver at the same time. He reined to a stop beside a pale-faced trooper, the muzzle of the weapon under the man’s nose.

  ‘Bail up!’ he screamed at the top of his voice. ‘Bail up, you bastards!’

  Chilbi sprinted in behind Anderson and aimed his musket up at the door as one of the occupants swung it open. A walrus-moustached man with sergeant chevrons on his sleeves swung out onto the step. He had a single-shot pistol in his right hand, but the weapon was uncocked. The sergeant saw at a glance that he’d been too slow and reluctantly lowered the weapon as he stared down the barrel of Chilbi’s musket. Yawong was behind Chilbi with his own weapon aimed up into the coach.

  ‘Everyone out,’ Anderson growled, climbing off his horse. ‘If I see anything but open hands, it’ll be a ball in the head.’ He gestured at the ground beside the coach. ‘You two as well.’ He waved the pistol at the driver and trooper on the seat. The trooper placed his carbine on the footboard and followed the driver down. Four uniformed men climbed out of the coach and joined them. Chilbi and Yawong had been through this routine many times, and they shoved the men into a rough line without uttering a word.

  One of the troopers glanced nervously back up the road. He turned to the sergeant and muttered, ‘Sarge, what happened to—?’

  ‘Shut up, you fool! Do you want to be shot?’ the sergeant snapped.

  ‘Inside the coach.’ Anderson pointed with the revolver. ‘The large box – drag it out.’

  Chilbi and Yawong climbed through the open door and emerged a few moments later with an iron-bound, hardwood box slung between them. They struggled to lift it from the floor of the coach and onto the ground. It dropped into the dust with a thump and Anderson was unable to prevent his gaze flicking towards it as he wondered at the treasure it might contain.

  ‘You seem to be the senior man here, Sergeant. I’ll thank you for the key.’

  ‘I don’t have the key. There is one key with the gold commissioner in Mount Alexander and another in Melbourne.’ The barest hint of a smile crossed the sergeant’s face.

  ‘I’ll put a ball in your brain and have one of my men search your body.’ The menace in Anderson’s tone made the sergeant flinch. He nodded and opened his jacket, fumbling through an inner pocket on first the left side, then the right. The sergeant shrugged apologetically and then set about searching the pockets of his trousers.

  ‘I know I put it here some—’

  The barrel of the revolver came down hard, splitting his scalp open to the bone and knocking him to the ground. Anderson stooped and grabbed the sergeant’s tunic, lifting him to his feet. Holding the man’s face barely an inch from his own he said, ‘If I don’t see that key in two seconds I’m going to kill you.’

  Before he could make good his threat an urgent shout came from where Tarrat kept lookout. The young warrior yelled something in Jannjirra.

  Anderson glanced at Chilbi. ‘What the hell is he yelling about?’

  Chilbi cocked his head and listened to the excited words. ‘Many blue men on horses. Coming fast.’

  ‘I should hazard a gu
ess your lookout has spotted a detachment of mounted police,’ the sergeant said, confirming Anderson’s fears. Blood ran down the side of the sergeant’s face and into his right eye, but the man managed a smile. ‘They were right with us all the way from the diggings. I don’t know how the blighters got so far behind.’

  Anderson cursed, shoved the sergeant to the ground and took aim at the man’s head.

  ‘I wouldn’t waste a shot on me, old boy. I dare say you’ll need every one you have in the next few moments.’

  Anderson could see the sergeant was right. He swung back into the saddle. ‘Leave the strongbox. Recall Tarrat and get into the bush, get away from here,’ he told Chilbi and Yawong.

  Chilbi cupped a hand to his mouth and mimicked the warbling of a magpie, the recall signal. Down at a grove of trees overlooking the approach, Tarrat heard the recall and broke cover. He sprinted towards the coach, his musket held loosely in his right hand.

  Anderson caught a flash of movement in the trees behind the running warrior and six uniformed horsemen galloped into view. They saw the coach pulled up, the escort party lined up on the side of the road, and each pulled a pistol. Spurring their horses into a gallop, they charged up the hill, yelling and screaming as they came.

  Tarrat had covered half the distance from the grove to the coach. He looked back at the fast-approaching riders and realised he wasn’t going to make it. Turning to face his enemy, he lifted the musket to his shoulder as the mounted police thundered towards him, six dark shapes running ahead of their own column of dust. A spurt of gun smoke erupted from the weapon of the lead rider and Tarrat was flung backwards as the ball hit him. The musket flew from his hands and the young warrior was lost from view as the riders galloped past.

  Anderson fired three shots in quick succession. It was extreme range for his weapon, and all missed their mark. However, the riders checked their reckless charge. They reined to a halt and pulled carbines from scabbards, prepared to shoot it out from a distance.