Flight of the Eagle (61 page)

Granville smiled patronisingly at Mary. ‘I must confess that up until a short time ago, I might have shared your belief, Missus Cameron,’ he said. ‘But today I visited the source of my fears and found nothing but a hill. And not a very impressive one at that. It was in confronting the unknown that I was able to realise that superstitious fear is born out of ignorance. I stood out there exposed to whatever demons might haunt the hills. But nothing jumped out to hurt me. I now realise that the only thing to fear is our imagination inflamed by the things we have not confronted. As you can see, the hill holds no fear for me as I am here dining on this excellent beef, hale and hearty.’

‘Not all curses effect their power in direct and spectacular ways, Mister White,’ Mary warned. ‘Sometimes they are less direct, but certainly as dangerous.’

‘If a bolt of lightning suddenly comes through the roof of the house and strikes me down now, I will believe you,’ he said with a laugh.

‘As you say, Mister White,’ she agreed with grudging humour, and was about to continue with her argument from a different angle when Matilda appeared in the doorway of the dining room. She caught Duncan's eye and he excused himself and rose from the table.

‘What is it, girl?’ he asked Matilda, who appeared to be in a rather flustered state.

‘A man has come to the door. He says he must talk to the boss.’

‘What man?’

‘A young man,’ Matilda replied. ‘He says a man called Inspector James is hurt bad.’

‘I'll talk to him,’ Duncan growled, hurrying to the door where he saw Willie Harris standing on the verandah.

‘You the boss here?’ Willie asked.

‘I am,’ Duncan replied, appraising the young man who was drenched to the skin and shivering from the cold. His skin had the blanched look of being in water too long. ‘My name is Duncan Cameron.’

‘There is a man, Inspector James, up in a big cave in the hills about an hour's hard ride from here. He's hurt pretty bad. Had his foot blown off by lightning. He's going to need a doctor.’

‘How do you know this?’ Cameron asked suspiciously. ‘Have you been camped out up in the hills?’

Willie dropped his gaze. ‘Doesn't matter about that for now, Mister Cameron,’ he mumbled. ‘More important Inspector James gets help pretty quick.’

‘Matilda!’ Angus roared back into the house. ‘Get over to the stockmen's quarters and tell them to organise a party to go up to the Nerambura hills. Now! Tell them to take the buggy. When you've done that organise a meal for this young man, and lots of hot tea.’

Duncan's urgent call to Matilda reached Mary and Granville sitting at the table and when he joined them to apologise for the interruption to the meal, Granville said he understood. The meal was terminated as the homestead stirred into life for the rescue mission. Stockmen threw saddles on horses and a buggy was also prepared, although the rain had eased to intermittent showers and there were even occasional flashes of stars through the breaks in the clouds.

One of the stockmen volunteered that he had been told that a medical doctor was staying at the Balaclava homestead overnight and Duncan immediately singled out his best rider to gallop to Balaclava to fetch him.

Matilda led Willie to the kitchen where she sat him down at a table. She sensed his uneasiness. He sat poised in the kitchen as if ready to spring out the door at the slightest alarm. No doubt a fugitive from the authorities.

She poured him a steaming cup of sweet black tea and sliced slabs of beef from a joint. The boy wolfed down the meat and swallowed the tea without much consideration for the temperature of the hot liquid.

Duncan finally came to the kitchen when he was satisfied his men were ready to ride out. He stood in the kitchen with Willie who continued to stuff his mouth with bread and gravy. ‘You ready to ride with us?’ Duncan asked Willie who ceased eating to look up at the manager standing over him.

‘I reckon you know where the cave is, Mister Cameron,’ he replied quietly with a knowing look.

‘You won't need me to show you where the Inspector is.’

‘You're Willie Harris, aren't you?’ Duncan stated calmly. ‘I heard you might be hiding out in these parts. One of my blackfellas spotted your tracks not far from the hills and that's how you know about the cave.’

‘What if I was Willie Harris?’ the young man asked quietly. ‘Would you turn me over to the traps?’

The manager fixed the young man with his eyes. ‘That would depend on whether I was able to detain you,’ he said in a deceptively soft voice. ‘Wouldn't it?’ Willie understood his meaning and drew a small pepper box pistol from under his coat.

‘I'm sorry to do this to you, Mister Cameron,’ he said as he pointed the small multi-barrelled derringer at Duncan. ‘But I've done my bit for Mister James and now it's my turn to look after myself.’

‘You ought to take the meat with you. And maybe some tea and sugar,’ Duncan said, with just the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Willie blinked in his confusion. But then the realisation dawned on him and he returned the smile gratefully.

‘Get a sack for the young man to put some things in, Matilda,’ Cameron said casually to the young woman who gaped at the sight of the gun. ‘He might decide to take some flour as well.’

‘I don't know why you are doing this, Mister Cameron,’ Willie said as Matilda rummaged through the kitchen pantry for the items requested.

‘Let's say that what you did by coming here to save Inspector James's life makes up for a lot of things. I suspect that you are not as bad as the others the police caught up with at Barcaldine.’

‘I was there, Mister Cameron. And I'm guilty of being in the company of bad men. But I didn't do those things to Mister and Missus Halpin at Cloncurry. I swear on my mother's grave that if I'd known what they were going to do I would have shot the bastards myself.’

Duncan nodded. Willie's passionately delivered defence of his character and the risks he'd taken coming to Glen View had proved the boy had character. He might have strayed on the wrong side of the law but he was a boy any man might be proud to call son.

As soon as Matilda had piled into an empty flour sack the items that would give Willie a start on his trip to wherever he was bound, he took it from her with a grateful thanks. He turned and walked towards the kitchen door. The room seemed to suddenly explode, as if lightning had struck.

Willie pitched forward and the sack of provisions spilled along the floor as he lay crumpled on the kitchen floor, groaning in his pain. The acrid smell of a heavy charge of gunpowder filled the room. Matilda's scream swamped Duncan's explosive curse.

Granville stood with his arm extended towards the badly wounded young man on the floor. Smoke curled from the twin barrels of the carriage pistol. Its heavy load of lead shot had peppered Willie's back with bloody blotches which were staining the young man's coat.

‘I got the young bastard!’ Granville snarled triumphantly. ‘That will teach him a lesson to come here and try to rob the place.’

He glanced at Duncan Cameron, puzzled by the expression of fury etched in the station manager's face. Not that it mattered anyway. What a story he would have to boast around his club when he returned to Sydney. He now understood the ultimate power of taking a man's life and experienced the rush he often felt when mounting the young girls at his brothel.

With a smirk he shifted his attention to the young man who lay at his feet in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. Whoever whelped the boy, he thought with grim satisfaction, would forever rue the name of Granville White.

SIXTY-SIX

T
he stockmen returned with Gordon James just before dawn. His condition was critical and Doctor Blayney did not have to carry out a lengthy examination to ascertain that he would have to amputate the inspector's right leg below the knee. The massive discharge of electricity in the lightning strike had destroyed the nerves and what remained of his foot was little more than a charred stump. Mary Cameron stood by the doctor's elbow to assist.

They lay Gordon gently on his back on the cleared kitchen table. He was semi-conscious and lost in a world of red waves that swept over him as a terrible wash of agonising pain. Doctor Blayney wondered at the man's courageous self-control. He had seen men with lesser injuries screaming in pain when he had been a surgeon with the British army, but the young man sweated tears rather than cry out.

In a guest bedroom of the homestead Willie Harris lay bleeding his life away. Doctor Blayney had examined him first while he waited for the Glen View employees to bring in the inspector from the hill. There was nothing that could be done for him except to sit by his bed and hold his hand. The lead shot had penetrated the young man's lungs and he was slowly drowning in his own blood.

Matilda had volunteered to provide comfort to Willie in his last hours and she sat stroking the young man's forehead with a gentle hand and with soothing words for his spirit. Willie struggled to speak as tears ran down his cheeks. They were not tears of self-pity, but a frustration for an unfinished mission in his short life. Willie had a dying need to tell another soul about a terrible wrong that must not be forgotten by the living. And as he revealed his story to Matilda her eyes widened with shock. His words confirmed for her the terrible and awesome powers of the Dreaming.
Surely there could be no other explanation!

In the kitchen the doctor called for the two Aboriginal troopers who had ridden with him and explained that they would have to hold down their boss when he started cutting the leg. He had no anaesthetic and his surgical saw would be cutting through live nerves.

They nodded and took a firm hold of the inspector whilst Mary ensured that there was plenty of hot water at hand. She was used to seeing animals slaughtered and prepared for butchering but the sight of the doctor poised with his knives and saw made her feel faint. This was a human who was to be cut and the pain would be excruciating.

‘We will need something for the Inspector to bite on, Missus Cameron,’ Doctor Blayney said quietly ‘A small but solid stick, or similar, would suffice.’

‘The handle on a wooden spoon, Doctor?’

‘I hope so,’ he replied as Mary retrieved one of the large wooden spoons from a cupboard in the kitchen. She handed the spoon to the doctor who bent over Gordon and said, ‘Clamp this between your teeth, old chap. I think you know why.’

Gordon nodded his understanding. His eyes were wide with fear but dulled by pain. He wanted the amputation to be over with.

‘Sarah?’ Gordon asked before he took the handle of the spoon.

‘She is well enough,’ the doctor replied. ‘There has been no change in her condition since I last saw her a few hours ago.’

Blayney placed the handle between Gordon's teeth and straightened his back. He satisfied himself that the two troopers had a firm grip on the patient and cast Mary Cameron a questioning look. She nodded. ‘I will stay, Doctor,’ she said softly. ‘You may need me.’

‘It will not be a very pretty sight, Missus Cameron,’ he cautioned. ‘You do not have to remain during the operation.’

‘Thank you, Doctor, for your concern. But I do expect the worst.’

‘Very well,’ he said, as he selected a sharp knife from the array of surgical tools that lay on a clean sheet of cotton on a sideboard.

When the first cut was made Gordon bit through the wooden handle of the spoon as if it had been no more than a thin twig and his drawn out scream of agony was heard at the stockmen's quarters.

Mary wavered for just a brief moment but regained her composure as the blood spurted in a red stream from the severed artery. With a deft expertise acquired on the battlefields of imperial England's colonial wars, Doctor Blayney clamped the severed artery. The former surgeon major of Queen Victoria's army had performed countless amputations and Gordon was fortunate to have a man with his experience undertaking die surgery. It was a small blessing, but still one that the inspector seemed slow to appreciate as the doctor went to work sawing through bone, cartilage and nerve endings.

Granville White also heard the scream as he sat on the verandah of the homestead puffing on a cigar. The rain had gone and the early morning was perfect. Butcher birds sang the sweetest song of the bush as they revelled in the beauty of a land that would soon come alive with flowers and green grasses. A magpie also warbled its song to die golden glow of the mornings light.

The scream brought a frightened but temporary hush to the songs of the bush birds and caused Granville to twitch with a start. He would be more than happy to see the last of the damned place! The stock and station agent who had accompanied him to Glen View was due to pick him up within the hour and he hoped that the man might be early.

The damned manager had reacted in a most unexpected manner to his shooting of the young man. He had since learned that the would-be robber was wanted for questioning on a murder anyway! One would have expected gratitude! Instead, he had received a torrent of enraged abuse! Cameron should have been grateful that he had happened to overhear the hold-up being carried out on him and grateful for the fact that he was able to get the better of the bushranger. He had certainly destroyed any aspirations he might have had for future prospects of employment as a station manager in the colony. Granville was determined that the man's surly manner would not be rewarded with any recommendation or references. No, the man could go to hell if he thought he could stand and abuse his employer in the manner that he had so insolently done. And he could take his damned wife with him!

The amputated leg fell from the table and hit the kitchen floor with a dull thud. Gordon was panting like a woman in labour. All through the operation he had remained conscious because he feared that in an unconscious state he might once again face Peter Duffy as he had in the cave.

‘It's finished,’ Mary whispered in his ear as she swabbed down his brow with a damp cloth. ‘The doctor has done a grand job.’

‘Please,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘have my leg buried next to Peter Duffy's grave out there.’