Wild Lands (33 page)

1838 June – the Hardy farm

The moon rose quickly. It clipped the trees to hang hard and bright, dulling the stars and casting elongated shadows across the ground. Major Shaw linked an arm through Kate's and she slid awkwardly to the ground with a thud. ‘Stay inside.' His tone, although firm, was kind.

Her heart beat quickly. The ride from the men's hut had been delayed by the arrival of Mr Southerland, who'd stopped them midway seeking the youth who'd ridden in. Kate spent the time the two men conversed doubled-up behind James, wishing for George Southerland's departure. Kate was desperate to know of the Major's moves, if he was heading south, and if so, if he would help her return to Sydney, but the chance for such questioning never came. The convict, Gibbs, was the next to delay them, seeking further information and now they were already returned to the kitchen hut, and Kate was feeling helpless, scared and very much alone. There was something solid and familiar about the presence of this man. Kate didn't want him to leave.

‘Major Shaw? James?'

‘This isn't the time, Kate.' His attention was already drawn to the Hardys' hut. The overseer and the other soldier who'd arrived earlier were on the verandah speaking with Mr Hardy.

Kate rested a hand on the warmth of the horse's neck.

‘Everything will be alright.' James surveyed the musket holes in the kitchen wall. ‘Don't forget what you've already endured. Few women would have made the decision you did, Kate Carter. Truly, everything will be fine.'

That was the second time he'd said as much. Once was a comfort, Kate thought, twice was not. ‘How do you know?'

‘Go inside and stay there.' Then, as an afterthought, ‘Are you armed?'

Kate drew the flintlock pistol from the folds of her skirt. He smiled. ‘Point and shoot.'

‘Point and shoot.' She felt a blush come to her windblown cheeks.

‘You'll be safe here.' His mount took a few steps back and forth, the horse nickering in the cold of the night air.

The thought of him leaving sat badly with her. ‘Will I see you in the morning?'

‘Go.' He watched her retreat towards the kitchen hut, pulled on the reins and was about to steer his horse away when he turned back. ‘Yes, I'll see you in the morning, Kate. Keep the door shut and that pistol loaded.' His boots touched the mare's flanks, and they trotted away, disappearing around the corner of the building.

In the empty kitchen, Kate surveyed the mess. A rushed supper had been served in her absence and the dirty plates and platters sat untidily on the table. There was a stench of rancid fat from the slush lamp, around which varying sized insects flew. Pouring hot water from the fire-blackened kettle into a large basin, she began scrubbing the crockery with a brush, intent on keeping her thoughts from that of the Major, from what may be out lurking beyond.

‘There you are.' Mrs Horton arrived carrying an empty tray. ‘And haven't I had a to-do of things tonight what with Mr Hardy calling everyone a bastard after what happened to his sheep and the Missus too ill to leave her bed and then them two soldiers appearing like wraiths. I had a time scratching up food for them, I tell you. Bread and soup was the best I could do. Left it for them, I did. I ain't going outside again this night. It's enough to give a woman a fit of the vapours, it is.' Dumping the tray on the table she sat heavily on a candle-box. ‘Blacks and full moons, gives me the willies. And that lean-to of ours, I never liked the place. Walls as thin as parchment, might as well be half open to the wilds. Not that it matters. I lie awake most of the night wherever I am. But after what happened to them poor sheep, well, I ain't leaving here. Besides the moon's full and I ain't lying outside to be touched by it. There's plenty a person who's gone to sleep under a full moon and woken up a lunatic. And it goes without saying that it'd be worse out here. This moon, well, it's nothing like an English moon. A person can't escape from it here.' The cook scraped the box across the dirt floor closer to the table, one eye fixed on a hole in the wall, as if a moonbeam could strike her at any moment. ‘Well, serve us up a bit of that watery soup and cut us some bread, Kate. Good, now that rendered fat. After what I've been through I don't mind gobbling down more than my share.' Dipping a spoon into the bowl of dripping, she smeared the bread with it and then pushed the bowl towards Kate. ‘Get it into you, girl.' The cook raised an eyebrow. ‘What else do you know? For a chatterer like you, you're being too quiet. You best tell me.'

Where should she begin? It had been a terrible day. ‘Settlers have been attacked and the Superintendent at Lago Station is missing.'

‘It's the moon. Bad things always happen when the moon's fit to bursting, for that's when people move about and the bad ones, well, they don't need no almanac to tell 'em when the moon's on its way.'

An hour or so after they'd eaten, the cook fell asleep, her head lolling back against the wall. Some of the pieces of mud sealing the cracks in the ill-fitting timber had come loose and a cold draught wafted through the stuffy room, stirring the woman's hair as she snored. Outside the brightness of the night unsettled Kate. Deciding against the walk to the privy, she took a few steps from the hut and, lifting her skirts, squatted on the ground. The warmth splashed her shins and she scuffed clean damp shoes, noticing a weak light in the main room of the Hardys' hut. The shuttered window was open and the outline of four men could be seen. The presence of the soldiers was a consolation, especially that of Major Shaw, but it was difficult not to feel abandoned in this place. Betts was right. They shouldn't have come here. This land belonged to others while in contrast the settlers tried to impose their will on a mysterious place and its people. No good could come of such behaviour.

Away from the dwellings the landscape was haloed by light. The familiar call of an owl broke the silence. Movement in the air and the whoosh of wings drew Kate to a scurrying creature on the ground. The owl swooped and then flew off, clutching something between its claws. Trembling, she retreated to the hut, closed the door and drew the latch. Mrs Horton gave a snort in her sleep, as Kate took up a position at the table opposite the door, the loaded pistol before her. Stroking the prettily engraved stock, she began polishing the barrel with a cloth, humming under her breath.
Point and shoot
, she whispered. She'd done murder once, surely, Kate thought, she could again. Eventually she rested her arms on the table and slept.

The slush lamp flickered. The fire spat.

The door creaked.

Kate blinked away sleep as a shaft of moonlight angled onto the dirt floor. She ducked beneath the table, remembering too
late that the pistol was on the table where she'd left it. The slush lamp had burnt itself out, however the moon's glow combined with the flickering fire filled the hut's interior with a hazy light. Her breath caught. A wash of fresh air eddied around the room, displacing the sour scents of the day and lifting the dust. After a minute or so, Kate scolded herself. It was only a welcoming breeze. She must have forgotten to latch the door properly. Gripping the edge of the table she was about to pull herself up when the door swung open.

A black man stood on the threshold, the moonlight accentuating a scarred torso and matted hair, holding a long spear. He wore trousers and an open-checked shirt and a hide cloak. Surveying the room, his gaze fell on the sleeping cook and he muttered a few words in his native tongue, which seemed to be directed towards Mrs Horton. The older woman awoke with a start as the savage lifted his spear. For a moment Kate thought the man only meant to frighten them but as the older woman screamed the spear was aimed and flung in a single movement. The point struck the cook in the chest, slamming the woman against the wall with a deadening thud. As blood gushed from the wound, the cook gave a weak cry. Kate gasped in horror. The black saw her, overturned the table and was on Kate immediately, tugging at her hair, pulling her upwards until his stern face was inches from hers.

‘Please,' she begged.

The savage yanked her outdoors by the hair and began to drag her away from the huts, up the hill. Kate wrapped shaking hands over his, trying to ease the pain of scalp and hair being pulled by the roots. Shots, screaming and the yelp of a dog followed their progress; still the man pulled at her, jerking Kate's body so violently that she tripped and stumbled and fell again and again, and every time she staggered he pulled her upwards, intent on leading her away.

‘Help!' she cried. ‘Help me!'

Further down the hill James and a native were fighting. The Major shot the black and then, although dead, began pounding his head in with the butt of his rifle.

A chorus of yells chased them up the hill. Musket shots rang out. The native halted, swung Kate about as if she were a shield and lifted a throwing stick at the Major and George Southerland, who pursued them. Both men trained their muskets, but neither fired. They couldn't risk hitting Kate. The black began to lead her away again, backwards over the rough ground, the men stalking behind in their wake.

They were past the store shed in the side of the hill, past the halfway mark to where spiky-topped timber crowned the peak. There was such a small space left between the moonlit ground ahead of them and the dark of the trees that Kate realised there was little time for anyone to save her.

‘Stop!'

The voice was loud, firm. Two black men and one white stood between Kate and certain oblivion. The eldest native held a spear aloft, the youngest a pistol and the white … the white lifted his musket and dropped to his knees.

‘Don't move, miss.'

His voice was firm. Kate recognised him immediately as the stranger who'd visited the farm.

Mundara snarled. ‘This is not your fight, Bronzewing. Tell him, Bidjia.'

‘There has been much death already,' the Elder replied.

‘Did you hear me, miss?' the white man called. ‘Don't move an inch.'

Kate gave a shocked nod. She couldn't move, the black had his arm tight about her.

‘You'll never get away, Mundara.'

‘You will be my enemy, Bronzewing,' Mundara shouted. ‘Forever. I will hunt you down like the white dog you are.'

‘Let the woman go,' Bidjia countered.

‘Does the white man let the black woman go?' Kate's captor replied.

Bidjia moved quickly to the left. His younger companion to the right. Their sudden movement distracted Mundara and the instant Kate felt his grip lessen she stomped hard on his foot. The action unbalanced her abductor. Musket fire sounded and the next moment Kate was falling to the ground. She sat up quickly, her finger nails clawing the dirt as she scrambled backwards. When Kate finally looked over her shoulder the black had gone, disappearing into the night. In his place was James Shaw, his hand outstretched. She took it gratefully and huddled against his body as the other men ensured all the attackers had left.

‘Much obliged.' George Southerland was the first to speak as the Major assured himself that Kate was unharmed. ‘What are you men doing here?'

‘Heading north-east.' Adam casually reloaded the musket. ‘Across the mountains to the sea. Are you alright, miss?' He rammed the shot down the barrel.

‘Yes, yes, thank you,' Kate replied shakily, staring at the three men as if they'd appeared in a dream. She'd thought the native would kill her.

‘We've got problems up here, as you can see,' Mr Southerland told them. ‘We could do with a hand.'

Although keen to keep to their own agenda, Mundara's trail had been obvious. The renegade had moved ahead of them and was swift and direct in the path he and his men chose. Had Adam and the others not seen the huts in the distance with their curl of chimney smoke, they never would have diverted from their intended direction but Mundara clearly planned on wreaking more havoc. And knowing the girl may be in danger only hardened Adam's resolve. He spoke quickly with Bidjia and Jardi and then asked the two strangers to step to one side so he could speak to
them out of the woman's hearing. ‘What did the girl do to cause offence?'

Mr Southerland frowned. ‘Offence?'

‘A slight of some sort? A wrongdoing?' Adam persevered.

‘There's nothing that I know of. Why?'

‘I'm Major James Shaw and this is George Southerland. Miss Kate Carter's was here as a companion to Mrs Hardy. There can be no offence.'

‘In that you are wrong,' Bidjia muttered.

‘What did that black say?' the Major asked.

‘Nothing, he said nothing,' Adam replied testily. They'd been right to track Mundara but now they had an officious soldier with an Englishman in tow to contend with. He looked at the girl. She was pale with fright.

A strong smell of smoke carried up the hill. Two buildings below crackled and popped as angry plumes of fire ate at the timber, collapsing a wall as they watched. Part of the Hardy house still stood but the kitchen had caved in on itself and continued to burn. There was no movement below. No people, no yellow dog and no pecking chickens. Only the scaffolding erected to punish Mr Callahan remained untouched, highlighted by the moon's glow.