Blood in the Dust Page 23

  ‘Shoot,’ Anderson yelled at Chilbi and Yawong. ‘Then get into the bush. Reload when you can.’ He emptied his revolver in the direction of the riders. The Aborigines flung their muskets up and fired without taking aim, then ran for the trees. Anderson spurred his horse after them.

  The mounted police opened fire and a volley of shot crashed through the bushes, snapping branches and bringing down a rain of leaves and twigs. A white smear of wood appeared on a tree a yard from Anderson’s head as the carbine ball stripped away bark and whined off in ricochet. He flinched and lowered himself along the horse’s neck, pushing the animal faster.

  The first volley faded into echoes as the police reloaded. Only the puffing, grunting warriors at his sides and the horse beneath him made any sound as they climbed. They were thirty or so paces short of the hilltop when the next gunshots boomed out from behind. The police had entered the trees and spotted the remnants of the gang on the slope above. One or two balls whistled close by, but the rest were wide of the mark. The thunder of the gunshots had not yet died away in the gullies when Anderson and his men topped the ridge and dropped into cover beyond.

  ‘Reload. Reload, now,’ Anderson urged them. He still had the revolver in his hand, but the weapon would take too long to reload. He tucked it into his belt and pulled a musket from the scabbard strapped to the saddle.

  Chilbi finished reloading and crawled to the skyline. ‘Six come on horses,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Another three on foot.’

  ‘Keep moving,’ Anderson screamed at them. ‘To the next ridge line. Run, you little bastards.’

  With reloaded weapons in hand, Chilbi and Yawong slipped into the trees. Anderson raked his heels down the horse’s flanks and descended into the gully. He heard shouting from behind and knew the police had reached the ridgetop. Someone called on him to halt and when he didn’t, they fired. The ball whispered past his ear, ripping leaves from bushes as it tore into the undergrowth. He spurred the gelding to greater speed, ducking and weaving in the saddle to avoid being knocked from his mount by a low branch or tangle of foliage. Another shot sounded as he reached the gully floor, but he couldn’t tell how close the ball had come. He spurred the horse and headed up the ridge, not daring to look back for his pursuers, knowing they would be close.

  As he topped the next ridge he saw Chilbi far to his left, crouched behind a small cluster of boulders. Yawong was lying prone beneath a fallen tree. They fired, and when the thunder died away, Anderson thought he could hear a man screaming in the gully behind him.

  ‘Don’t waste time reloading,’ he called to Chilbi. ‘There are too many of them for us to fight. Don’t try and get back to your horses. We need to get deeper into the bush. Take a stirrup.’

  Chilbi and Yawong each grabbed a stirrup strap and Anderson spurred the horse forward. He brought the animal into a trot, the natives half-running, half being dragged along at his side. They crossed the next ridge and he changed direction, angling north-west, away from the road. After two miles, he changed direction again, back to the south. The police had no native trackers with them, but he wasn’t taking a chance on them returning to the area with one and hunting him down. The sun had set when he finally called a halt to the mad run. They were in a tangle of bracken fern beside a stream. The two Aborigines staggered to the water, dropped to their bellies and drank thirstily.

  Chilbi was the first to stand. His chest still heaved from the exertion of his run and perspiration poured down his face and chest. ‘Tarrat has fallen,’ he said.

  ‘A warrior’s death,’ Anderson said. All afternoon he had cursed himself for losing the strongbox. The thought of failure hung heavily in his belly and brought a hint of anger to his voice. There would be other chances. Gold escorts ran weekly from the various diggings dotted about the colony.

  Next time, he thought. Next time I will be better prepared. One of those strongboxes will be mine.

  ‘The audacity of the man!’

  The governor slammed the report down onto his desk and looked to his aide. ‘He’s gone too far this time, Childers.’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency.’ Childers knew exactly which report had sent his master into a rage.

  ‘Robbing a few miners is one thing. But to try to take a gold shipment under escort is quite another. That gold belongs to Her Majesty. We can’t have any old Tom, Dick or Harry thinking he can just seize it and run off into the wilds. Thank God his plans were foiled.’

  ‘The escort party did well, Your Excellency. One of the brigands was shot dead.’

  ‘One of the natives.’ La Trobe stabbed his index finger onto the report. ‘Pity it wasn’t this scoundrel Anderson. What is the current reward posted against him?’

  Childers, having known this question would come after preparing the governor’s daily correspondence, had already checked the records. ‘Five hundred pounds, sir.’

  ‘Five hundred, you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It was doubled from two hundred and fifty some months ago.’

  The governor seemed to consider his next words carefully. ‘Double it again.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You heard me, man, damn your ears. Double it immediately. And Childers?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Have the superintendent of police report to me at once. I want to hear from him just what is being done to bring this rogue to heel.’

  ‘I shall dispatch a messenger at once, Your Excellency.’

  The governor dismissed his aide and turned to the next report, hoping for good news, something to lighten his sombre mood. He was disappointed. It seemed another ship had been lost while attempting to cross the treacherous bar across the narrow entrance to Port Phillip Bay.

  ‘This colony will be quite the death of me,’ he muttered under his breath.

  The sun had rimmed the horizon by the time Annie gathered enough strength to climb from her bed and begin dressing. She had tried to rise earlier, when the movements of her sister had woken her, but the nausea had only subsided when she lay back and closed her eyes tightly. This time she managed to fasten three buttons of her blouse before she was forced to quickly pull the chamber pot from beneath her cot and vomit into it.

  The sound of her distress brought her mother to the flap of the tent. Maree stooped under the ridge pole and raised one eyebrow as she watched Annie use a handkerchief to wipe bile from her lips.

  Annie carefully folded the handkerchief into her pocket. She noticed her mother’s concerned gaze had drifted to the last buttons of her blouse, to the bulge of material where her once flat stomach now showed a slight curve. Maree said nothing as Annie turned with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Mama.’ She stumbled towards her and Maree stepped into the tent, embracing her tightly.

  ‘How long have you known, child?’

  ‘Three weeks, maybe four,’ she said between snuffles. Annie felt the security a child feels in a mother’s arms and clung to Maree with all her strength. ‘What are we going to tell Papa?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about Papa.’ Maree’s voice was unwavering, reassuring. ‘Have you told Toby?’

  ‘No, not yet. Oh, Mama, I don’t know what to do. Papa will be so angry when he finds out.’

  Her mother broke the embrace and held her at arm’s length so that she could look into her eyes.

  ‘I’ll deal with him. You need to tell Toby so the two of you can make plans. Some arrangements will need to be made over the coming months.’

  ‘Mama, I’m so sorry.’ Annie pushed in against her mother.

  Maree stroked her long, dark hair. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about, my dear. You are going to make me a grandmother, and that makes me very happy indeed.’

  ‘I only hope Toby and Papa are happy too,’ Annie whispered.

  ‘Toby loves you, child. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at you. He will be surprised, and a little scared at first. I’ve never seen your father look so pale as when I told him I was carrying Tom inside me.’


  Toby and Frank sat in their usual places, chewing busily on their breakfasts as Maree led Annie out of the tent. Betty was among the trees, poking a stick at something on the ground. Paddy sat beside a wagonette, knocking dirt out of his boots.

  Toby saw her and smiled broadly. Annie was usually delighted by this silent greeting she received from him every morning. Toby had a way of making her feel so special and beautiful with just a look, but his beaming grin did little to loosen the knot of panic in her stomach. Toby’s smile slipped from his face. He placed his plate on the log beside him and stood, rushing to her side.

  ‘Annie, what’s the matter? Are you ill?’

  ‘She’s fine, lad,’ Maree answered for her. Then she stepped over to Frank and held her hand out to him.

  ‘Walk with me, Frank.’

  Frank cast a glance at Annie and Toby as he stood. He took the proffered hand cautiously before allowing himself to be led away towards the horse yard.

  ‘What’s going on, Annie? What’s the matter?’

  Annie slipped her hand into Toby’s and pivoted on the balls of her feet so she could look into his eyes and gauge his reaction.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  She held his gaze.

  ‘We’re going to have a baby,’ she added simply.

  Annie saw the words dawn on him. Toby’s head went back as if they had hit him square in the forehead. Her mother’s words came back to her. She saw the initial shock transform into a look of sheer terror as his eyes flew wide and the jaw went slack. Then his eyes dropped and Annie self-consciously placed her hands over her belly.

  ‘A baby?’ There was a tremor in his voice and the look of terror remained, but his hands came up and he placed them over hers, carefully, protectively.

  ‘Yes, a baby,’ Annie agreed, the feeling of isolation dissolving with his touch. She stepped through his arms, and they closed around her, shielding her from all the doubts and worries she had harboured over the past weeks. He had accepted the news, if not with joy, then with the sense of togetherness and duty he applied to everything he did. For the first time in many days she began to feel everything was going to be all right.

  Then she heard her father’s yell of rage.

  Frank came bounding down the path on his long legs, his face a deep purple. Maree was close behind him, skirts held high in both hands as she stumbled after her husband.

  Frank hurdled the log at the far side of the fire and landed a pace away from Annie and Toby. She felt Toby’s arms release her and he pushed her gently behind him, placing himself between her and her father. Frank stood staring at them, motionless except for his fists, which were clenching and unclenching.

  ‘Frank, I want you to know that I will do the right thing by Annie.’

  ‘Do the right thing,’ he yelled in Toby’s face. ‘The right bloody thing would’ve been not to get her up the duff in the first bloody place.’ He stepped towards Toby and waved a fist under his nose. ‘I trusted you, O’Rourke. I placed my daughter in your care and you betrayed that trust. But what could I expect from a bloody colonial?’

  At hearing her man insulted so, Annie tried to intervene. ‘Papa, it wasn’t a betrayal of your trust. Toby is an honourable man. We just—’

  ‘I know what you were just doing, young lady. I see the way you look at him whenever he’s around. Then you go off into the countryside with him, rutting like a common harlot.’

  ‘Frank!’ Maree went to place a restraining hand on her husband’s arm, but he shrugged it off.

  Toby waved his fist under Frank’s nose. ‘She is no such thing, Frank. We’re in love.’

  ‘Love?’ Frank spat at him. ‘Love doesn’t put food in a baby’s mouth or protect it from the cold and the dust. Take a look around you. Is this the kind of place where you want a baby to be brought into the world? What kind of father are you?’ He pushed Toby backwards with enough force to send him crashing into Annie. Toby managed to keep his feet, but Annie fell backwards. Maree rushed past Frank and between her and Toby they lifted Annie to her feet.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Toby asked as he dusted the back of her skirts. Annie nodded, and then he rounded on Frank.

  ‘At least I don’t stagger back into camp drunk every other night. I don’t spend our precious money on sly grog when it would be better spent putting food on our plates.’

  Frank swayed as if he had been struck a physical blow. Annie could see the words had shocked him as only the truth can. He looked at Toby across the arm’s length that separated them and drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘You insolent little puppy.’ His right fist came up in a swinging punch that whistled through the air.

  Toby was ready for it. He swung his arm up in an effort to deflect the punch and only partially succeeded. Frank’s fist glanced off the side of his face with a sound like a falling log hitting the ground. Toby’s head snapped over to the right and he buckled at the knees. Annie thought he was going to drop to the ground, but then his knees straightened with a driving force and Toby’s right fist came up in a swing that started at his belt buckle and came up past his chest and face with the speed of a striking snake. Months of hard labour had toned his body into a mass of muscle and sinew that was concentrated into the force of that single punch. The fist made contact with her father’s chin and kept going up, snapping Frank’s head back and sending him backwards so he collapsed in a heap beside the fire.

  Maree ran to Frank’s side and knelt to cradle his head. Frank’s eyes had rolled back in their sockets and it was only the rise and fall of his chest that gave any sign he was alive.

  Annie and Paddy rushed to Toby and each grabbed an arm to restrain him, but Toby had spent his rage and he dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back from the campfire.

  Betty stood by the wagonette, tears rolling down her face. ‘Please don’t fight. Papa, Toby, please don’t fight.’

  Annie went to her sister. ‘Don’t cry, Betty.’ Annie had tears of her own. ‘Don’t cry. It’s all my fault. They won’t fight any more. Will you, Toby?’

  Toby shook his head. He looked to Frank and Maree and shook his head again. Frank sat up and rubbed his chin. He looked as though he was having trouble focusing. He squinted at the people around him, but never once looked at Toby.

  Toby strode past the campfire and stooped into his tent. When he came out he was carrying the Lovell musket and his saddle roll. He went to the wagonette, uncovered his saddle and tack and threw them onto his shoulder. As he turned, he locked eyes with Annie and gestured in the direction of the horse yard.

  ‘You stay here with Paddy,’ Annie told her sister and detached herself from Betty’s arms. She followed Toby up the path and caught up with him as he struggled under his burden.

  ‘Where are you going, Toby?’ she asked, taking the musket from his hand so he could adjust the load on his shoulder. He didn’t slow his pace, but kept on up the hill in long, determined strides. ‘Are you running out on us?’

  He stopped, and Annie could see her words had hurt him. He turned towards her and she could see the beginning of a dark bruise growing on the side of his head. She reached out and touched it tenderly. Toby dropped the saddle, grasped her wrist and pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing it gently.

  ‘No, I’m not running out,’ he said. ‘Your father is right about one thing: we can’t bring the baby into this place. I need to find paying work with a regular wage so we can afford a proper home, not some scrap of canvas stretched over our heads.’ He picked up the saddle and began walking again. Annie had to hurry to keep up with him.

  ‘But—what will you do?’

  ‘Plenty of work out there for a stockman,’ he said without looking at her. ‘It’s high time I got my arse out of that hole in the ground and did something towards our future. I was stupid to think we would find enough gold to buy our place back.’

  Annie caught his arm and dragged him to a stop, turning him to face her. ‘You are many things, Toby O’Rourke, but you are not s
tupid. You are the most wonderful man I have ever met and I love you. As for your place at Bunyong Creek, if it is meant to be, you will get it back.’

  ‘I love you too, but your father is right when he says love won’t put food in the baby’s mouth.’ He turned back up the hill, but this time his pace was slower. Side by side they went to the horse yard. Toby threw the saddle over the rail and unslung the bridle from his shoulder. When his hands were free, he turned to Annie and pulled her to him.

  ‘I said I would never leave you, and I’m not. When I find work I’ll come back and let you know.’

  Tears welled in her eyes and she sniffled softly. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and then hugged her tightly. ‘You have an important job to do as well.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she said, her voice broken.

  ‘You have to stay strong and well so that our child is born fit and healthy. You also have to look after Paddy for me. You’re the only one apart from me who understands his signs and grunts.’

  He released her, kissed her softly on the lips and then Annie felt herself being turned around to face the camp.

  ‘Go back to the camp,’ he said, ‘I’ll see you tonight.’ Annie started away before her heart could break. His voice stopped her at the head of the path.

  ‘I need you to do one more thing, Annie.’

  ‘Yes?’ she said without turning back.

  ‘Tell your papa I’m sorry for hitting him.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said again, and started down the hill as fresh tears ran down her face.

  The foreman at the cattle yards across from Pennyweight Hill scratched the back of his head as he pondered Toby’s question.

  ‘I’ve got all the workers I need here,’ he said, shaking his balding pate. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil from his pocket. ‘If you leave your name and where you can be found, I’ll ask among the drovers who bring in the cattle.’

  Toby wrote down his name and the location of the camp and handed it to the foreman. The foreman shoved the piece of paper into his pocket without looking at it. Toby thanked the man and walked back to where he had tethered Moonlight at the rails.