Sydney – Port Jackson – Picture from Australia’s Heritage Magazine 1969

Published: 10 Jun 2019

There was a change in the weather and not one they may have wished for. There was some rain but only light and not enough to sink into the earth, enough to encourage germination but the unusual late hot weather soon dried out the new growth until the seedlings withered.

The bucket brigade had become a constant, while with the warm weather the vegetable patch flourished with more than enough produce for their local usage and to sell at the market, also an abundance of eggs, with newly hatched chickens doing well and quickly turning from chickens to pullets.

Both Edward and Hamish were running the bucket brigade with Sam somewhere in the top paddock, kicking dry dust away from withered crop and cursing the god’s of rain. Edward dipping his bucket into the creek quickly stood to upright and gazed incessantly into the scrub on the far bank.

“What’s the problem?” Hamish enquired as he dipped his bucket.

“Do you ever get the feeling you are being watched?” Edward asked. His eyes still captured by the hazy scrub on the far bank as it shimmered in the afternoon heat.

“I guess I have had but it is usually only imagination, or some woman wanting my body.”

“No seriously Hamish this feels real, you have a look can you see anything?”

“Where?”

“Look directly across to the front,” Edward subtly nodded in the desired direction.

Hamish followed his friend’s line of sight. “I see nothing but scrub and a kangaroo a little up the creek.”

“It must have been the ‘roo, but I don’t know. I’ve also had it in the top paddock of late, yet when I raise my head there is nothing.”

“Could it be your mate Bahloo checking on you?”

“I much doubt it, he would approach and talk.”

“We betta’ get this watering done.”

“Sure but I’m still not satisfied it was the kangaroo.”

Halfway up the slope towards the vegetable garden Hamish spoke, “have you thought any more about your grant?”

“I have,”

“What have you decided?”

“Since going into partnership with Sam with the eggs, I’ve been saving my money to purchase sheep.”

“So it’s still on?”

“Yes why?”

“No matter, have you spoken to Sam?”

Not as yet and that’s worrying me, I don’t know how to do so.”

“Using simply words would be the way but don’t leave it until you are leaving.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

With the watering completed the two met with Sam as he returned from the field, “almost afternoon smoko time, some of that cake you made Hamish would be a right treat,”

“I’ll go ahead and put the billy on.” Hamish hastened towards the hut.

“Edward if you don’t mind, I left that good hoe in the top paddock, would you fetch it for me?”

“Sure,”

Edward proceeded to where Sam had suggested he left the hoe. At first he could not locate the hoe then spied it leaning against a fencepost at the boundary line. He retrieved the hoe and commenced down paddock but something made him quickly turn. A slight movement, little more and out of the corner of his eye but on scanning the forest there was nothing.

“Is that you Bahloo?” he called loudly but no answer.

“Bahloo come on don’t play games.”

Silence, not even the flutter of bird wings.

“I’m spooking myself – settle down you goose.”

Edward entered into the hut. “Did you find the hoe?”

“I did and put it with the others.”

“The tea is ready,” Sam passed Edward a slice of cake.

“What’s up you are unusually quiet?” Hamish asked.

“As before Hamish, I feel someone is watching me, this time from the forest.”

“Ha, water imps in the creek, elves in the forest.”

“Yes Hamish imps and elves.”

“I’m sure it is nothing but an over active mind.” Sam poured the tea.

“I guess so Sam but I’ve always had a sort of sixth sense, I get it from my Ma.”

“What she thought she was being watched as well,” Hamish laughed as he plied his hunger with a large slice of cake.

“That’s not what I mean,” Edward snapped. It was true Edward’s mother did appear to realise events before having knowledge of them, as when her sister Iris passed away, she spoke of it long before the knock came to the door and there were others but best kept to his memory, especially with two sceptics in the likes of Hamish and Sam smirking at his telling.

“Can you therefore tell us when it’s going to rain?” Sam suggested.

“It’s not like that Sam, I can’t put the feeling into words but it does exist.”

“I knew this fellow once,” Sam said.

“And,” Hamish was now interested as he had a slight belief in things unexplained, or to point stories relating to them.

“Doesn’t matter, come on you two there is work to be done.”

Some days passed and Edward had forgotten his spy in the woods, his spy across the creek. The first day both he and Hamish were working on an extension to the chicken run, then as usual the remainder of the day on the bucket brigade. On the third there was a visit from Henry Watson, a new man fresh from the old country, taking up a plot near the elbow and wishing to become acquainted with his neighbours by throwing a party, with roasted pig and lamb on the spit and a copious amount of alcohol.

Hamish and Edward eagerly accepted the invitation but Sam had declined.

“What do you think?” Hamish asked as the two walked towards the branch creek elbow.

“About what Hamish?” the late afternoon sun was warm on their backs as they slowly followed the creek path towards the elbow property.

“About Sam he is becoming somewhat lethargic. How old is Sam?”

“He is a little past thirty-one why?”

“Only what I said. Isn’t he a little young to be slowing.” They reached the farm gate.

“I guess hard work takes it out of him and as you know Sam only has one speed and he would rather do the work himself rather than ask for help.”

“He does worry me,” Hamish continued.

“True and of late he has been wheezing somewhat.”

“Could be dust, he said he has a problem with dust.”

“Umm,”

Henry Watson met the boys at the gate and with a deal of excitement guided them along the path to his newly built house. Surprisingly not a hut but erected by professional tradesmen, using weathered timber and boasting a fine verandah, a separate kitchen from the dining area and floor boards, not the harden earth floor as was the design of Sam’s simple abode. It was the flooring that most impressed the boys.

Already a number of neighbours had arrived and a pit fire built in the front yard with the pig wrapped in wet bags and scented leaves buried deep beneath the coals, while the lamb was being slowly turned by a young man, who appeared to be over concentrating on the work at hand.

A woman with a girl in her late youthful years hovered about preparing vegetables while keeping an eye on the supply of grog.

“I guess you know most,” Watson suggested waving a hand across those gathered. The boys agreed. “The young fellow turning the lamb is Roger my eldest and over at the trestle table is my good woman Rose with Elsie my youngest.

“Anyone for beer?” A voice came from behind and without agreement passed the boys a pot of brew.

“Where is Mr. Wilcox?” Wilson asked as they settled into their meal.

“I’m afraid he’s not feeling well Mr. Watson.”

“’The name is Henry fellers – I hope he isn’t ailing.”

“No I should think he has been overdoing the work of late, he should be fine come the morning.”

“I wished to enquire from him if I could purchase some laying hens.”

“I can answer that,” Hamish freely spoke, “how many would you be wanting?”

“A dozen should do the trick and a rooster.”

“That could be arranged but they won’t be old enough for a few weeks yet.”

“Fine, I should mingle.”

Henry Watson excused himself and moved on to do the circle of guests, leaving the boys to their own entertainment.

“She’s a right looker,” Hamish made comment of the farmer’s daughter.

“She is too young and innocent for you Hamish.”

“No I don’t mean a romp in the barn but settling material.” Hamish couldn’t extract his stare, “how old do you reckon she is?”

“Seventeen maybe, dunno’ I’m not good guessing girl’s ages. So you are thinking of settling down but don’t you think you should build a nest before you go clucky.” Edward gave a wide grin although in his belief Hamish had been heading in that direction for some time.

“First things first but in the future I can see room for a good woman, don’t you ever think of furthering the Buckley line?”

“I have brothers who can do so.”

“True but it isn’t the same, man was designed to have sons and watch them grow and follow his design.” Hamish was most serious, while his gaze remained on the young woman.

“Until now I never thought of having children, part of me is thankful I am the way I am, as I won’t bring another into my misery.”

“Misery Edward?” Hamish curiously asked.

“Past misery I guess but even so.”

“Tis a shame my friend, I believe you would make a grand father, possibly one day an uncle to my boys.” Hamish broke away his gaze towards Elsie.

“What are your plans Hamish?” Edward asked realising his friend had remained quite ambivalent on future matters.

“That depends on others,” Hamish answered.

“Who?”

“Hey wouldn’t you like a bout in the bed with young Roger?”

“Hamish you can be quite sordid at times.”

“Only speak my mind, like others don’t.”

Edward took a second glance towards the young man but felt nothing. Much too young, inexperienced and as it was often said, probably not of his sexual leaning, besides you should never get your meat where you get your bread, as it was much too close to home to consider and Henry Watson didn’t appear to be the manner of man who would take kindly towards discovering his boy, his pride, in romp with a neighbour, even if by some obscure chance the lad was inclined to do so.

Once again such a thought brought Edward back to that day in the barn with James. How they had planned their escape, only to be foiled hours before it was instigated. How he almost lost his life for simply loving a man in a way society could not accept. He shuddered as he visioned a noose upon his inward eye, and the number of bolters hanged in Parramatta to have their bodies tarred and left swinging for weeks as a deterrent, until gravity and rot dislodged their joints, bringing them to the ground. He sighed and moved away from such thoughts and as far as possible from Hamish’s suggestion on young Roger. Henry Wilson returned.

“So when does the rain come in these parts?” Henry asked not yet understanding the local climate or putting his first crop in the ground.

“I’m afraid when it wants Henry, there doesn’t appear to be a set pattern,” Edward admitted.

“Not like the old country then. By your accent you are from Devon?”

“That is so,”

“And Hamish is it Berwick or the likes of?”

“And definitely not a Scottie,” Hamish quickly placed.

“I knew a man from Berwick; we were in the army together.” Wilson admitted and was about to enquire how the two came by this strange new country but was called away.

“That was close,” Edward said.

“What?”

“He was about to become personal.”

“You concern too much Edward; two thirds the population or there about, are either convicts or emancipists, it’s bound to become conversation.”

“Not so much that but why,”

“It’s been so long I don’t think anyone except Sam and I know, so best lighten up.”

“I guess so. I notice Elsie looking you way.” Edward nodded towards the girl.

“Don’t worry I’ve already noticed.”

Sam felt fine. He said it may have been a touch of sun but that was but a ploy for not wishing to dampen the boy’s social entertainment at the party. Hamish related Watson’s wish for laying hens and that he had agreed as the price seemed fair, Sam approved his business sentiment but did have a slight concern they may be selling off their future business. “It will happen anyway Sam,” Hamish explained.

“What is your meaning?”

“If you don’t supply Henry he will have them elsewhere, we can’t hold monopoly over the pullets as others will supply as they did for us.”

“True as usual, market day tomorrow but I wish to start on the top field to have it ready for the next planting. Would you and Edward go in to Parramatta without me?”

“Sure that’s fine by me,” Hamish turned to Edward, “and I could call into the Cock and Hen for a beer while we are there.”

“Only for a beer Hamish?” Edward asked.

“I didn’t think they served beer at the brothel Hamish?” Sam laughed.

“Who said that was my plan?” Hamish protested.

“You are most transparent Hamish.”

“I may have a beer first, thirsty work is humping.”

Parramatta was decked in its finest. It was the village’s foundation day and games were to be had, with a number of street stalls set along the high street. Many from the outlying arears had come to town with their product, while their women folk had stitched and weaved all manner of items for barter or sale.

Being late arrivals the boys set up their stall towards the far end of the street but because of their abundance of eggs and late season vegetables found folk were more than willing to walk the extra distance. During a slow period Hamish gave a cheeky grin. “Do you mind?” he asked and was moving away before Edward answered.

“Go on by the look of you your almost busting anyway.”

“Shouldn’t take long I’ve been saving it.”

Edward shook his head in disbelief of his friend’s sexual focus, even during their work in the field Hamish would often disappear into the scrub, returning minutes later appearing most satisfied.

“Hey Hamish,” Edward called as his friend quickly made a beeline towards the back streets.

“What?” Hamish called back without a pause.

“Ain’t you somewhat old for all this kids stuff?”

“You’re never too old mate, and if so you should be in a box.” He laughed and was gone down a walkway between two buildings, with a skip of expectancy in his step.

The last of the eggs were sold, leaving only some of the less inviting vegetables and a number of pumpkins that were on the turn which Edward would give to the orphanage. Hamish had not yet returned and seeing there wasn’t much more to offer, Edward commenced to tidy the cart. As he did so he quickly turned. Eyes were burning into the back of his head. Although he discovered no one, he could almost feel hatred pierce deeply into his skull like a wave of warm air. Again he spun on his heels but all he perceived was a group of local women their baskets in hand, merrily discussed the day’s events as they slowly walked along the dusty street. Hamish returned.

“It happened again,” Edward admitted.

“What happened?”

“There was someone watching me. I know it and it isn’t imagination.”

“Did you actually see someone?”

“No but the feeling was so strong I could almost feel his breath on the back of my head.”

“His?”

“Umm that slipped out, it is possible I did see someone without registering.”

“What do you wish to do about it?” Hamish asked as he rearranged his trousers, displaying a dribble stain to the front. He attempted to disguise it.

“There isn’t anything I can do about it,” Edward’s eyes were drawn to the stain. He laughed.

“What,”

“Doesn’t matter, I suppose we should be on our way.”

“Sold those last pumpkins?”

“No I gave them to Betty Chambers at the orphanage.”

“Then what are you waiting for get going, I’ve had my entertainment.”

“Did you enjoy?”

“Always mate but never made the brothel, some lady accosted me in the lane, had her against the bakery wall.”

“So the stain,” Edward assumed.

“When it’s free mate no need to remove the trousers.”

“You don’t mind an audience then?”

“No audience it’s as dark as a dog’s arse down there.”

The eastern sky looked promising for rain and old Joe, his family name was never known, who lived in a shack by the junction said there was rain on the way, he could feel it in his aging bones and smell it in the air but after two days the dark blemish on the horizon dissipated. It will come, he promised, my bones are never wrong.

The warm clear morning gave a spring in Edward’s step as he met Hamish coming from his early morning wash in the creek, “your turn,” Hamish suggest and pushed past at the door.

“Later,”

“Where is Sam?”

“I’m not sure he was up early and out before first light.” As the words were spoken Sam also arrived.

“Nothing to do?” Sam asked.

“I’m about to put breakfast on,” Hamish admitted and stoked the morning fire.

“Eggs?” Sam said.

“Always eggs Sam and plenty of them. We could kill one of the old girls for a feed of chicken tonight.” Hamish suggested.

“Right-o good idea.”

“What do you reckon Sam?” Edward languorously asked; his gaze beyond the hut door, past the tall eucalyptus trees to the blue haze of the mountains. His thoughts well beyond to that elusive plot of land he had registered as his claim. He imagined the tall brown grass, now would be fresh and green with the new season and could almost count his flock.

“About what Edward?”

“Have you ever thought of moving from here and taking on something larger, somewhere with more fertile land and less rocks?”

“I believe I know where this is coming from,” Sam answered.

“Like what?”

“That grant of yours is eating away at your heart.”

“Sorta’ but I wouldn’t -”

“No, I know neither of you would and I appreciate your loyalty but this small plot can’t keep the two of you satisfied forever,” Sam turned to Hamish, “I also know you want more and I think the two of you should strive for it.”

“I’ve never said anything,” Hamish protested as he broke nine large eggs into a greasy pan.

“You don’t have to as it is attached to every sigh you release, every gaze you make towards the mountains.”

“Eventually Sam,” Hamish loosely agreed and turned his eyes towards Edward for further comment.

“I’m not ready as yet,” Edward admitted.

“Then when you both are, it will be with my blessing and without sorrow, all I want is for the two of you to do well, you deserve so.”

“What about you Sam, if I did take up the grant would you come as well?” Edward genuinely asked, feeling somewhat relieved Sam brought the matter to head and not him.

“No I’m more than satisfied with what I have, but I’m positive Hamish would join you at a bounce. It’s been on his mind ever since you chose your spread.”

Edward turned to Hamish, “would you?”

“That I would and will but I am surprised with you Sam how could you tell?”

“An old head knows these things.”

“You are turning yourself old before time Sam,” Edward scalded.

“Possibly so:”

“How did you know I registered a grant?” Edward showed surprise as he came away from the hut door and his gaze towards the mountains.

“You do realise I am well acquainted with Gregory Blaxland and he with Macquarie, even if they are always at loggerhead.”

“And you said nothing after all this time.” Edward asked.

“I knew you would tell me in your own good time.”

After breakfast there was a light air about the hut and more than usual banter between Edward and Hamish. Eventually Sam broke up their play with suggestion of work to be done.

“I’m off to the buckets,” Hamish said.

“And I to the top field to continue on removal of rocks,” Edward projected without pleasure for the task ahead. It was his belief they all could collect rocks for a dozen years and still find more, such was the quality of Sam’s claim.

“I’ll join you later Edward, there are a number of jobs needed doing here first, tell you what you work on the rocks and come down for lunch and we will return together.”

Edward slowly made his way to the top field, his thoughts on his grant and the happy feeling he received with Hamish’s wishing to join him. There was also sadness in the knowledge Sam would not join their venture but with the improvement of Cox’s road the distance was not great and the new postal system would mean contact would be only a matter of days, besides in time Sam may have a change of mind.

Edward came close to the fence line where he had been working previously and felt the warm sun on his face. He heard the sweet sound of songbirds as they gave their last tune before heading north for warmer climate. With Sam’s blessing and Hamish’s admittance he was feeling on top of the world and while collecting rocks and placing them at the fence line he commenced to mentally divide his savings by the cost of a single sheep. “Still not enough,” he admitted loudly, “but getting there.”

Walking away from the fence a noise behind made Edward turn quickly to perceive the dark looming body of a man approaching him at haste, his heart jumped. It was the blacksmith. “Mr. Ingles,” Edward gasped and as fright turned to flight the man grabbed at him.

“What do you want Mr. Ingles, I have nothing for you.” Edward gasped but remained without answer. Ingles took control of the lad and forcefully dragged him towards a copse of Wattle using it as cover from the hut.

“Shadup’ the man growled close by Edward’s ear, Shadup’ if you know what’s good for ya’.” Ingles twisted Edward about while ripping the clothes from his body, one large hand controlling Edward at the throat and so tightly a single ounce more of pressure may have snuffed out his life-force.

Although Edward could not see what the man was doing, by sound he knew he was lowering his trousers and with that action came the sickening stench of stale sweat, faeces and semen. It was then he felt the blunt pressure against his sphincter and knew well what was to follow. Ingles placed both hands around Edward’s throat and commenced to squeeze the life from the lad as his sphincter muscles gave and took full entry from the attack. Once again the fire burnt deeply and Edward felt his stomach heave. Then the blacksmith gave one almighty shriek and fell away upon the ground, supporting a native spear through the middle of his huge back. Edward fell to the ground beside the dying blacksmith and passed out, while his last recollection was that of a youthful black face looking down on him.

“Did you hear something?” Hamish asked as a shuffling sound came to the hut door

“I did,” Both quickly went to the door where they found the slight body of Bahloo carrying Edward and by his state in some great bother.

“Bahloo what has happened?” Sam demanded while Hamish took charge of Edward’s limp body.

“Bad Gubba he attack Edwa, Bahloo kill Gubba,” Bahloo answered and pointed to the top paddock.

“Who?” Sam demanded.

“Gubba attack Edwa,”

“Wait there Bahloo,” Sam directed as they carried Edward to his cot. Edward commenced to come around.

“What happened?” He asked still in a daze.

“It appears you were attacked and Bahloo killed someone.”

Hamish came with water, “here drink this,”

“I remember it was the blacksmith, he raped me, then he fell…”

“Don’t concern it’s all over now and thanks to Bahloo he won’t be worrying anyone anymore,” Sam turned to Hamish, “you stay here with Edward I’ll go and have a look at Bahloo’s handiwork.” Bahloo followed close behind without uttering a word.

It was fact the blacksmith was truly dead, flat on his face with his trousers around his ankles and one very large spear protruding from his back.

“So you did this Bahloo?” Sam was more than surprised such a small lad could use so much force and then carry Edward to the hut.

“He hurt Edwa.”

“I think it would be best if you go back to your own people now and don’t mention this to anyone,” Sam suggested but the lad remained steadfast.

“Do you understand me Bahloo?”

“Yes,”

“If you say anything or remain here, the Gubba will hunt you down.”

“Edwa,” Bahloo quietly said.

“We will look after Edward and he will come and visit you when he is well, you go now and don’t come around here until Edward calls on you – understand?”

“Yes,”

“Remember not a word to anyone.”

“Bahloo understands.” The lad lowered his head and slowly melted away into the late morning forest.

Once back at the hut Sam found Edward was coherent. His throat hurt and he was covered in scratches from being dragged into the stand of wattle trees, otherwise shaken but alive.

“Where’s Bahloo,” Edward asked his voice gravelled.

“I’ve sent him back to his people and told him not to speak of it to anyone; I said you would visit him when it is all over.”

“I thought I was a goner’, Ingles had me around the throat and was choking the life out of me.”

“Bahloo explained everything, it appears he has been watching your blacksmith stalking you for some time and kept close to be sure you were safe.

“What should we do about the body?” Edward asked as Ingles was on their property.

“Leave it where it is, I’ve already rearranged the blacksmith’s clothing and Hamish, you take the horse and go into Parramatta and get the constable.”

“It’s my problem I’ll go.” Edward corrected while attempting to rise but with the motion a thumping came to his head as he fell back to the cot.

“No you will likely say more than necessary. Hamish all you have to say, you were walking across the top paddock and found him there. Nothing about seeing or hearing natives around, definitely don’t admit knowing the man.”

“Actually I don’t,” Hamish admitted.

“Even better;”

Hamish returned from Parramatta the following morning without the constable as he had been out of town on business not returning before sunup. Once O’Brien heard the news he promised to call sometime in the afternoon but first as he hadn’t yet been to bed he needed some shut-eye and seeing the Wilcox farm’s interloper was already deceased he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Did he ask many questions?” Sam asked of Hamish as soon as he was inside the hut.

“Some but I said you found the body and I didn’t know much more.”

“Did he appear satisfied?”

“No but what I know of Pat O’Brien he’s never satisfied about anything.”

“Right Edward I want you out of here for the day, take some vegetables over to Henry Watson and make some excuse to stay for the afternoon.”

It was well past noon when the Chief Constable arrived finding both Sam and Hamish carting water.

“Hoy Mr. Wilcox,” the constable called from the gate. Sam put down his bucket and approached, “so where is this body young Hamish is on about?”

“Top field Mr. O’Brien.”

“Lead on,” the constable dismounted, passing Hamish the reins he commenced to follow Sam, he turned, “you watch that mare she bites and kicks, don’t get too close.”

The body could be seen from some distance, also the spear protruding from its back. Closer in the flies had already blown the wound and the body bloated to bursting in the hot sun.

“He sure is dead Mr. Wilcox I can positively say that,” the constable dryly commented.

“And how is more than obvious,” the constable continued.

“Do you know the man?” He asked.

Sam answered in the negative as the constable turned the head for recognition.

“I do, it’s the new blacksmith apprentice Mr. Ingles, what would he be doing out here?”

“I couldn’t say Mr. O’Brien.”

“Blacks eh, had any problem with them of late Mr. Wilcox.”

“None at all, I haven’t seen any since the military turned on the camp.”

“Where is young Edward Buckley?” the constable asked as he removed the spear from the blacksmith’s body, releasing a bone crunching sound as it broke free.

“He is delivering some produce to the Watson family down at the elbow, would you like me to send Hamish for him?”

“No need. You say you don’t know the man.”

“Not at all Pat.”

“What about Hamish or Edward would they know him?” the constable was fishing and by his tone knew more than he was ready to share.

“If it is the blacksmith named Ingles who went across the mountains with Blaxland, then I guess Edward would know him.”

“Yes I thought that, there has been some bother with the blacksmith of late, he had been asking questions about your Mr. Buckley.”

“Oh,”

“Mr. Ingles is quite insane you know and we expect, yet can’t prove anything but it is more than possible, he is responsible for the death of two local lads.”

“Oh,” Sam once more answered not knowing what else he could add, except Edward was fortunate Bahloo was about.

“Our blacksmith must have been out here hunting for Edward and run into some natives, he also had an obsession with the blacks,” the man pulled a grimace and continued, “no I don’t think there is any necessity to speak with your Mr. Buckley, I believe I have most of the story anyway. Let’s put it down to Ingles trying something ordinary with the blacks and failed.”

O’Brien removed his hat and whipped the sweat from his forehead. “From what I am told, your Mr. Buckley has been lucky in more ways than one, and in truth I’m not exactly satisfied with all this – but.”

The constable gazed about as if searching for clues. Except for the body and the spear he found little. There were naked footprints in the freshly ploughed soil from the fence line towards the hut, back to the scene of the crime and once again through the fence towards the scrub. O’Brien found them confusing but said nothing. “The man was heading for the gallows anyway, it was only a matter of time and I was almost onto him. Whoever has done this may have saved us all a lot of bother.”

The constable replaced his hat and collected the spear and after one more scrutiny of the scene and more thought on those naked footprints he commenced to walk back down towards the hut. He paused. “Strange, it appears someone was carrying something heavy down hill,” the policeman pointed to the footprints. Sam remained silent. “Look Mr. Wilcox, they fall heavier in the soil on the way down than they do on the return.”

“That appear to be so,” Sam admitted while holding his composure.

“You say there hasn’t been any trouble with the blacks of late?”

“Not of late but they do pass this way occasionally.” Sam assured.

“I guess so,”

“What more is to be done Mr. O’Brien?” Sam asked, his tone as incidental as was possible while giving a side glance to ascertain the policeman’s intention. As usual O’Brien expression was stony, only displaying a slight pull to the mouth brought on from what may be a developing stomach ulcer.

“Bury the body and draw a line under it all, a very red line but I don’t think you will be hearing more on the matter.”

“Well bury him in the morning.”

“Tell your Mr. Buckley he is lucky in more ways than one,” The policeman repeated.

“What about the blacks?” Sam asked while ignoring the policeman’s warning on Edward’s fortune.

“The one who made the spear or the one who used it; as I said the matter is closed. For now you can grub me up some tucker, I’m starving.”

From an English prison colony to one of the Great Nations of today. This how it started. Let Gary know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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