LINGER AND DIE

by Neil Brooka

Part five (chapters nine and ten) of my steemit weekly(ish) serial

And for those who came in late, click here and check my blog to start from the start.

CHAPTER NINE – BULLDUST FOR BEST

It was a fine meal indeed, that Lynch had laid out before them on the cramped, splinter ridden table inside the modest shack. As they hacked away at the large leg – of what had turned out to be lamb – and helped themselves to the mound of baked potatoes, Lynch sat patiently at the head of the table for everyone to finish serving themselves, Caesar included. Lynch had insisted Mary and Johnny sit at his left and right hand, leaving McGuire and Caesar to sit at the far end with the giant flagon of spirits to keep company between them. Only after everyone had commenced in earnest to fill their faces with the crispy fat and char-encrusted fluffy white potato flesh, did Lynch dare to spark the conversation his way.

"Fat," he said, cutting a large chunk from the bone. “Salt, and fat, can't be beat.”

"And with a hint of rosemary," said Johnny, adding one of the blackened fronds to his plate. “Can't be beat.”

"Bliss, holy bliss," said McGuire.

"Be sure to scrape the ashes from those tatters, there," said Lynch to Mary. “Now, Mr Johnny, Mr Caesar, my proposition.”

Caesar, head hanging over his plate, only glanced at Lynch before continuing to eat regardless. The dull clacking of mismatched knives and forks on roughly hewn wooden plates, likewise, did not stop for Lynch's words.

"I propose," Lynch began, “that you two strong boys go into business with me.”

Out of respect Johnny reluctantly ceased to fill his gob. Although he had not eaten since the damper he'd had on the dying ashes of their roadside fire, the promise of a job and possible income seemed to him to be much too important a prospect to spoil with poor manners. Caesar only smacked his lips all the harder.

"I have many projects in motion, many indeed," Lynch continued, “and it has come to that awkward time whereby the limitations of the physical world have overtaken me. I'm hoping, to the both of your own advantages, if you might help me in this regard.” He addressed Johnny with his eyes and Caesar with his knife. “You see, I have a feeling about this spot. Located in a fork in the road so as to intercept north, and west, and with fresh roads being rolled for the drovers and more traffic every day ... Why there are even rumours of postal services precipitating upon these parts in time. That said – I foresee –”

"More booze, by the by?" said McGuire to Caesar as he filled his cup with the strong stuff.

"– I foresee great changes coming down upon us here, and I am now reminded of an old proverb:" Lynch straightened himself and looked about the table with great significance. “Wherever sheep tread, the sands are turned to gold.”

At which point Mary broke into a coughing fit, seemingly having choked upon a particularly large chunk of gristle. Only after Caesar had brought a well meaning fist down between her shoulder blades did Lynch regain his thread.

"Do you get my drift?" he said, steering the conversation back to his object.

A set of vacant faces, visibly struggling to second guess the reactions expected of them, glanced their way about the table.

"The golden fleece, of course. Don't you see? It surrounds us. Envelopes us in its lanolin vapours," Lynch flourished. “Opportunity, see? I've seen and heard a lot in my travels, and the rumours that the sheep are turning these sands to gold have got me thinking heavily. The Bush Inn.” He threw a hand out as if grasping at the idea of it. “The Bush Inn is a simple place with a simple purpose, and although it pains me to say, the fact of the matter is that it serves nothing much more than a stables and watering station for bullock drivers on the final leg to Melbourne.”

"Forgive me in jumping to conclusions, Lynch," said McGuire “but are you hinting that me, and these strangers, cut off Mr Best's own endeavours somehow? Why not take up a partnership with him directly?”

"Ah – an awkward matter indeed," replied Lynch. “Have you ever asked the man for work opportunities? How many men have you seen move through his premises asking for prospects and getting nothing more than a sour look in return? The man is a Scott like yourself,” he grabbed Mary's arm, wetting them both with ale, “Mrs Draper, and we can expect nothing more from him in regards to your mutual Scottish stubbornness. And this is where I will ask you again to reconsider –”

"My position, or my provenance?" said Mary.

"Come now, but I'm getting side tracked again by the strange animal magnetism you exude," said Lynch, “back to the point my boys. What would you say to joining me in a brave new venture to transform this small watering hole into a proper crossroads township?”

"Well, I for one would be happy to perform any duties upon your small selection –" Johnny's voice died out mid-sentence.

So did the clatter of knives and forks. As for the way everyone had frozen solid, eyes glinting, ears twitching, they might have been a group of swamp wallabies rudely interrupted in their foraging. Another round of gunfire peppered and popped in the distance.

"Quiet, now," Lynch crooned, placing a hand over Mary's recoiling arm. “It's just boys with their toys.”

Johnny, Mary and Caesar all seemed to relax at once, remembering themselves so violently they might have all shattered on the spot. Father McGuire, slightly put off by everyone’s sudden jack-rabbit fear, slapped the table and said:

"Oh that'd just be the troupers playing again. They're quite fond of letting a few shots loose each night to remind the blackskins who it is that's looking after them."

"Aye, whatever happened to old Paddy?" said Lynch before realizing McGuire was the only one to catch his drift. “Paddy was one of the first troopers 'round these parts that Gipps had installed to protect the blackies. We know he was out this way before us overlanders came, but no one's ever seen a hint of him. Story is he was butchered –”

"I'm afraid," cut in Father McGuire with haste “that there's been trouble brewing in all these tribes since before we got here. There's a devil in the air and it means to see them suffer.”

"Father McGuire has been making the valiant effort of trying to decode the gibberish they prattle – for what deviant purposes I shudder to consider." Lynch winked at McGuire. “Do your vows cover the children of the earth?”

"Please," McGuire cried with a shock of disgust.

"Oh, you know it's the truth, McGuire. Everyone's been up to it, and there's only so many times a man can deflect the advances of the unbecoming gin, or lubra. No sense of moral conduct. Always starting tribal squabble over their slut women. It's a wonder they haven't all died by their own hands already."

A moment of silence passed about the table.

"Well it doesn't help the white man treating them like common animals does it?" said McGuire.

"I'd be interested to know what Caesar thinks of the matter," said Lynch.

Caesar gave such an aggressive snap-grin to Lynch, who was pouring himself another drink, that he lost his trajectory and emptied half a bottle of ale down the side of the table.

"Personally," took up Lynch, diffusing his clumsiness with a laugh, “I myself suspect we'd be doing them a service by putting them out of their mystery. All that poverty teased with the wealth of the white man? It's no wonder they've turned to thievery.”

McGuire threw down his knife. Lynch, seemingly energised by his distress, continued:

"Yes. Exterminate, cull, euthanize – whatever you want to call it. Mercy is what I preach –"

"Mercy is it?" bellowed McGuire.

"Caesar, wait up," called Johnny after Caesar, who had stumbled from the shack to empty his guts upon the fire outside.

In all honesty Johnny thought Caesar had been about to go for Lynch's throat, and as he peered from the door Caesar looked up to him and said:

"I'm going back to the Inn for a room."

"What about Mary?" said Johnny. He had no money of his own and felt a sudden pang of jealousy in the prospect of a bed.

"She's fine with the priest ... Can look after herself." Caesar had already started to veer his way up the track leading out of the small parcel of farmland.

"But where are you lads going?" called Lynch. “The night is young, after-all.”

Prompted by this, a scheme popped into Johnny's head involving manoeuvring a room for himself at Caesar's expense.

"I think Caesar and I ate something bad this afternoon," groaned Johnny holding his belly. The act was not hard to pull off. Lynch's moonshine was so strong that half his face was already numb and his legs seemed to have taken on life of their own. Grabbing a burning stick from the fire, Johnny made to pitch and yaw in the direction Caesar had vanished in.

"What of my proposition?" called Lynch, but there was something in his voice – some curiously deceptive tone – that did not seem disappointed at all.

"Fuck your proposition," barked Caesar from the darkness.

"No, no, no," called Johnny, “I'll come back tomorrow and we can have a proper chat.”

Something changed in Lynch's face now – some sudden truth gleefully releasing itself after having been bottled up under pressure:

"You come back here," he hissed into Johnny's shocked face, glancing back into the hut as if trying to hide this new turn from those within, “I'll blow your fuck'n brains out.”

Johnny stumbled into the night and heard a yelp and a scuffle from Nigger as Lynch booted her in his direction. What a thin skin, he thought to himself, now glad to be rid of the creep. There was something about Lynch, now he came to think of it. Something at the back of Johnny's head that had been nagging at him since coming to this place, struggled for a voice. He would consider the matter in the morning.

While Caesar weaved his way up the moonlit track, Johnny's anger began to rise with the bile at the back of his throat. There was a horrible smell on the wind and it didn't take long to determine its source. The black vacancy of detail that was Nigger trotting beside him seemed strangely front heavy. He soon figured that she had taken whatever it was she'd been gnawing on for the journey back to the Inn. Distancing himself from the faithful hound his thoughts returned to brooding. Fuck Lynch, he thought to himself – and Mary – and McGuire. They were clearly the main focus of whatever scheme was the true purpose of their invitation. Caesar and he had simply been an excuse. Then he remembered that McGuire had come uninvited. It was Mary, then, whom Lynch had really been after.

"Whatchoo sniggering at," came Caesars mournful voice followed by another wretched gut spasm.

"Nothing," said Johnny, immediately feeling unspeakably bad for his filthy thought of Lynch taking Mary, while somehow being grateful for the two of them for bringing her. He giggled again at the stony faced woman who'd been such a snob with him and Caesar – treating them like children all that day. Let Lynch have her, he thought. She can look after herself and good riddance. On the road before him Caesar had fallen to the ground, and so it was that Johnny made his move, blowing on his fingers for luck. He descended upon the drunk negro and tried to remember which pocket it was that Caesar kept his money in.

---

Caesar's hollow voice (for he had thrown up most of the contents of his chest) rang out through night: "Best, where are you?" he demanded at the locked down door of The Bush Inn.

From the movement of light below the door and the creaking of wood, it was clear that Best was around.

"Best, let us in, damn it," cried Johnny, too, slowly rapping at the door.

"Coming –" came a high, slightly sheepish voice from behind the door, followed by scrabbling of the locking beam being removed. “All'righty, she's open.”

"What's the trouble –" Johnny had started up in saying before spotting the source of Best's reluctance to let them in. A young girl, Johnny guessed was no more than thirteen years of age – an aboriginal girl – was already gathering up her things.

"Behind the counter," Best yapped at her, “that's where you'll find your lot.”

The wide eyed girl emerged a second later with a small sack of flour. Berty Best let her out the back way before stomping to the bar. He poured himself a drink:

"A big thirst," he said patting his belly, “for a big man.”

"What's such a big man want with such a small child?" Caesar slurred at him beneath his independently wavering eyelids.

"Bah, you'd have taken her given half a chance," said Best.

Caesar slapped his pockets, indicating with his eyes that a small child was not his idea of a good time, and demanded a room up top. Shoulders bunched up around his head, twisting this way and that like an escape artist, Caesar finally drew out an object that he seemed to be engaged in some inner turmoil over parting with.

"All I've got," he mumbled, “must have missed my moneys in the dark, but this is worth two rooms.”

"Worth enough for a room for me is it?" Johnny blurted out.

Best scoffed, and took the item. Johnny craned up to see that it was a small pocket watch Caesar had handed over.

"Shite, that's worth ten rooms" said Johnny, leering over the watch that Best was turning over in his hands.

Something in the landlord's demeanour seemed to have damped his temper as he looked from the watch to Caesar, to Johnny.

"Shouldn't be a problem," he said.

Before directing them to their rooms, Berty collected a set of roughly folded dusty looking rugs, two washbasins and two pitchers of water, which he handed over to the two men with a disconnected indifference. Johnny took this mood to indicate shame in having been sprung with the girl.

"Hair of the dog?" said Best, either looking for redemption, or to meet the value of the pocket watch.

Caesar swatted the air and stomped off up the stairs, and so Johnny took it upon himself that if he was going to freeload he may as well go the whole hog. He accepted Berty's offer of a nightcap.

"So – you folk come up from Melbourne did ya?" said Best.

Johnny nodded at the landlord, who seemed to be skirting some issue he did not want to address directly.

"Didn't come across many people on your way up did you?"

Johnny rubbed his bristle and tried to guess what Best was getting at. For most of the trip out of Melbourne proper they'd been hidden in the coffins, but thinking back – itwas kind of strange that they hadn’t met anyone coming out of Keilor.

"You referring to the family Lynch said was supposed to have headed into Melbourne yesterday?" Johnny caught the time in the pocket watch that still lay upon the counter. It read one AM. “Sorry, the day before last.”

"No, no, no, that's not what I meant at all," said Best turning pale and swiping the watch from the counter.

"I've had a bit too much to drink so forgive me for missing your drift, but I'm afraid I am not following your question."

"Doesn't matter," said Best swatting a mosquito from his face, “I don't really know what I was saying – ”

"Well I'm off to bed," said Johnny, not giving the strange conversation another thought. “You take it easy, old man, and get some sleep in you too.” Johnny was just about to leave when he turned around to point a severe finger at best, who looked so frozen with fear that he might shatter at a mouse's breath. “And you keep off them girls, there Besty, you filthy animal eh?” Johnny enjoyed this irregular power he seemed to be wielding over the man's nerves. Maybe Best thought him and Johnny to be rangers incognito? He liked the idea. It had a certain advantage over his usually scared and alone escaped convict persona. With another violent twitch in Bests direction (causing the man to jump and squeak at the same time) he, too, stomped up the stairs to find his modest room. What a novelty a mattress would be to rest his weary bones upon to sleep.

After Johnny had gone, Best remained frozen on the spot, occasionally looking from the watch to the door. As heavy snoring wafted down through the gap-toothed boards he seemed to relax a little. Studying the pocket watch with the greatest significance he poured himself another drink, downed it in one and fetched up two thick planks from behind the counter.

With each step Berty took up the creaky steps, the two planks of wood in his hot hands floated with the anticipation of their use. The snores continued and so did he, creeping, pausing and finally standing before the two occupied rooms. Slowly, with the slightest of movements, Best barred the doors – one each with the strong timbers – before stealing away back down stairs.

All through the night and into the morning, Johnny and Caesar slept the sleep of the dead. Only the frightened landlord remained awake, waiting for the return of their lady companion. Waiting for the sun to rise and most of all, for the troopers to emerge from their camp. Best hoped and prayed for this to happen long before Johnny and Caesar might awake to do away with him as they had clearly done away with poor Donny and Margaret Duffy and their two children. He examined the pocket watch again, turning it over to read the small inscription by the winding mechanism.

To my dearest Margy, till death do us part. Your loving husband, Donald Duffy.

---

What a terrible nightmare, thought Johnny, who had only just regained control of the panting he'd been startled to find was coming from his own gaping mouth. The cold water on his face did nothing to appease the spinning room and the rising sick that he was struggling to keep in check.

From the room next door, Caesar's silence didn't do much for Johnny's humour, so when he tried the door and found it stuck fast, the descent into hopeless impotence was more than he could cope with. Of course he assumed he was still too drunk to mange whatever obscure rural mechanism the door worked upon, so instead he opened the tiny window that was barely large enough to get his head through and watched with fascination as his vomit slapped hard into the earth, a story below. Feeling another wave of nausea lapping at his innards he moved to his knees and bowed before the beam of light shining in through the window to warm the back of his head. He would lie here just for a bit. Just for a bit before having a second attempt at the door. But when the time came as a lull in the storm of sickness, he found it was still no use. The door would not budge. He moaned and ran his face around the frame. There was nothing. Supposing there to have been made some mistake he got down on the floor boards once more and peered through the large cracks to see if Berty was anywhere to be found.

From the angle he was at, and from the long streak of light cast across the bar, it was apparent that the front door was open. Maybe Berty had gone out somewhere. After calling a few weak cries for help and not even hearing a grunt in response from Caesar, he decided to wait till he could see Berty, or Caesar in the flesh before calling again.

As if reliving a terrible flashback Johnny heard the voice he recalled belonging to one William 'Tulip' Wright say:

"So where's this woman the crown has had us on this bloody wild goose chase after?"

"Not sure, but the nigger is preparing himself for the scourger," came the voice of Berty Best. “What's Gipps got do with it, anyhow? Shouldn't it be up to Captain Lonsdale –”

But Johnny heard no more as he danced to his feet and his senses. There was no sound coming from Caesar's room – not because he was out cold from drink, but because they had him. The door to his room was locked because they meant to have himself, too.

Holding his hands over his head like a diver, Johnny made for the window. Worming his way through, his desperation somehow defied the small space that would barely let his hips through as he hung upside-down, ten feet from breaking his neck. He didn't care. Wiggling his hips on an angle they finally made it through the frame. He splayed his legs wide so as to hook the lip with his boots to avoid a head first landing. He only had a few fractions of a second before the leather started to slip, but he managed to get his claws into a crack of wood so that when finally his boots came free, his legs fell end over end. Halfway down his hands came free. In mid air he prayed that his tumble would bring him right way up, and so it did, but he was not ready for the impact.

Johnny came slumping down like a sack of potatoes, smashing his chin upon his knees and knocking himself out for just long enough to regain consciousness a second after landing. In a trice, still quite concussed, he jumped to his feet and propelled himself into a sprint that was more horizontal than vertical. He ate dirt once more. Panting and dry heaving with pain and drunken sickness he managed to crawl a few feet before finding himself back to the place of impact by the wall of the building.

Around the corner he heard the voices.

"Morn' lads," a young lad said. “Hah! What the fuck you come as?”

"That's Tulip, sir, keep your voice down," came Best.

Interspersed with all of this was the unmistakable pack shuffling of hooves and the lowing of cattle. This lad then must be a drover.

The boy laughed in disbelief.

"Mr Wright, Chief Constable of Port Phillip District at your service," came the voice Johnny so dreaded, once more.

"What happened to Henry?" said the boy.

"Not been in Melbourne for a long time have you boy." replied Tulip.

"After I unload these cattle and fleece, I intend very much to get reacquainted with her, that's for sure. The Lamb Inn still there?"

"Aye, but there's a lot better places stocked with what you'll be wanting, son."

"So what brings you out here, Mr Tulip sir?"

"Hush lad," came Best.

"Ah just some weird politics is all," said Tulip, ignoring Best. “It seems old Gippsie has some wild hair up his arse to see this lady caught on a forgery rap, and has given me gyp in the resolution of the case. She escaped weeks ago, but Gipps only just heard of her. Well he had a pigeon fly in last night, direct from Sydney. Hell, I thought to me'self, there's naught to be done. She vanished into thin air. That was that, until not long ago.”

"Until what sir?" the gossip hungry drover pleaded.

Johnny strained hard to hear Tulip's reply.

"We got word from an informant ... Right bloody lucky coincidence, too, in its timing. Well ... our man was hired by parties unfortunately unknown, to drive an undertaker's dray up this way, to stop outside of Keilor and then to take a ride back to Melbourne directly. The terms of his service he agreed to was to have no knowledge of the actions or contents of the shipment, but something went wrong. It seems the shipment made itself exposed before he could be off."

"How can a shipment make itself known?" came Best, now clearly just as wrapped up as Johnny in the story.

"It was human traffic, you see, being smuggled out of Melbourne in coffin boxes. Well our man recognised some of the faces and of course viewed the whole affair to be deeply unfair as he wasn't being paid enough to knowingly break the law. So of course he came to me to rid his conscious of this terrible load he had unwittingly been responsible for."

"These folks – what were their particulars?"

"Two convicts known as Johnny and Caesar – and a wolfish looking darling none other than our elusive Mary Draper – the very one forger Gipps was dying to have caught."

Johnny flared himself against the wall. So it wasn't him they were primarily interested in after all. If he could run now there might be a chance they'd go for Mary in preference. And then he remembered the words Berty had said about Caesar just before his jump from the window: 'Preparing himself for the scourger' They were going to whip him, probably to death.

His mind drifted to Mary. So she was a forger. A forger on the run with the authorities dying for her capture. Melbourne was dry of money. Rum was the currency of choice and the idea of forgery struck Johnny as probably being the most lucrative of criminal operations one might carry out in a land such as this. Forging the empire's coin – it was beautiful, he thought. And so a fantasy, fuelled by greed and tickled by atonement, for having left Mary and having stolen from Caesar, formed in his head.

"Well I'll be blowed. We have this Caesar chained up for theft – possible murder of Margaret Duffy, and this Johny character locked in his room is out cold."

"And Mary?"

"I assume she's at Lynch's place – possibly – but Johnny'd know. Don't worry about Caesar. Troopers are ready to whip the truth out of him presently."

Crouched with his head reeling and his heart jumping with the crazy chance, Johnny crept forward to the limb of the building. He heard the door close. There wouldn’t be much time.

---

"Not long now, little Caesar," said the trooper. “Got a special audience for you today. Might even get to see you hang before Ned gets to lay a few lines on your back.”

From where Johnny was hiding he could just make out Caesar's naked back hunched around a great iron-bark tree. The other trooper was nowhere to be seen – presumably off somewhere fetching a whip. It was common in the remote areas to punish crimes by whipping, and Johnny didn't suppose they'd wait up for Tulip's input before getting their teeth into Caesar.

The thick log Johnny had taken from the woodpile came down easily over the trooper's head. He didn't bother check on the boy's health as he stole the thick blue jacket with an afterthought before moving to untie Caesar for the second time in his life.

"I let you go ... and you've to help me out," said Johnny, not bothering to wait for an answer as he explained all that had happened with Tulip's appearance – and Mary's valuable skills. “Don't you think we'd make a crew?” Johnny's eyes burned with a lusty fire while Caesar shook out the welts on his wrists.

"Don't you think that's what Morgan had in mind?" said Caesar as they crept back to The Bush Inn to enact Johnny's plan.

"Fuck Morgan. Why send her out here if she could be used to forge?"

"And what if she doesn't comply with your grand scheme?"

"We'll make her," said Johnny simply. “I want to get back to Ireland, but I need cash. And besides, they'd be good skills to have for men in our position.”

"You think she'd teach us?"

"Look," said Johnny, winding the rope Caesar had been tied with around his arm, “you want to split? Fine, but I need you to help. We'll take two horses and hobble the rest. I'll also need you to jam the back door and to cover the window,” he threw Caesar the trooper's carbine, “to make sure no one creeps out while I fix the horses. I'll take care of the front door. And fetch Nigger would you? I tied her up out back before I went to bed last night.” Caesar nodded and disappeared down the side of The Bush Inn. If Tulip and Berty had left already the plan would be spoiled, but it was a chance they would have to take.

Creeping to the closed double door, Johnny put an ear to the wood. There were voices. He didn't wait to listen as he jammed the door and, for good measure, wound the rope around the two handles. Apparently someone inside heard the commotion, but Johnny didn't have time to worry. Taking the trooper's knife he slashed violently at the horse's legs. One, two, three. Not enough time to kill them properly; he didn't want to bloody himself up by cutting their throats.

"Open this door in the name of the law," came a voice.

"Come out and you'll be shot," screamed Caesar. “We've got the trooper's carbines and we're not afraid to use'em.”

As Johnny climbed up upon his horse, the other trooper was already running up the road from the direction of Lynch's place, face white with horror. He had apparently found a whip afterall. Caesar shot out upon his horse straight for him. The trooper, so full of abject distress in the face of Caesar and Johnny, crouched down, closed his eyes and fired his carbine.

Boom, and the two convicts rode, not looking to see what had become of the bullet. A great roll of thunder broke out behind them and they urged their horses further on. When finally Johnny dared to look back he could see nothing of The Bush Inn. Just a cloud of dust as the bullock team stampeded about in a great vortex.

"Fuck them," snarled Caesar. “Let them eat dirt.”

CHAPTER TEN - THE TWENTY GALLON GANG

"Oh god, god help me," Mary heard the voice say through her dreams. She thought it might have come from McGuire. Through her hazy morning eyes the most she could make out was his smudged form slumped over the table in Lynch's shack.

Somehow, during the previous night, she had crawled up the small ladder steps to a lofty storage space where Lynch told her the Duffy couple had once slept upon a thick lumpy mattress. It now occurred to her how strange it was to sell a house, but to leave a good deal of the domestic furniture in place.

She rolled over and a line of saliva crawled from the corner of her mouth. She turned away from the hazy kitchen scene below. Through the slats on the other side of the mattress, she could see a large pile of firewood. Her eyes wandered their way back up to the wall by her head where she found – with her slowly returning vision – a wooden cross.

"Morning darling."

She raised her head to see Lynch half standing on the step, then kneeling gently upon the mattress. He was wearing a yellowy night shirt and not much more.

"I think father McGuire had rather too much to drink last night," he said, taking a swig from a bottle.

Mary's stomach muscles exploded to get up, but before she could move he had pounced, knees on her thighs, pushing them out and down into the mattress. His palms stabbed down hard into her shoulders. He jumped his upper body, swapping one hand to her throat, the other to swoop around, and down –

"Let's see if I caught you at the right time." He breathed heavily into her ear as his hand burrowed its way through her skirts. “The clockwork of a woman's nature.”

She let it happen and his grip on her throat subsided. Unseen, Mary's hand snaked to the rucked up folds of her dress to grasp the oval shape sewn into its lining.

"Do you think he'll hear us?" said Lynch, grinding himself to excitement.

Bellow, presumably still slumped upon the table, Mary heard a groan from McGuire.

"Do you think he'll linger and let his mind run free as he hears the boards creak?" Lynch continued. “Or do you think he'll stumble home red-faced and cursing his profession?”

She closed her eyes and did her best to squeeze him to the end – to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Oh – you –" protested Lynch. “knew you – filthy –” his body shuddered.

When finally Mary opened her eyes Lynch was staggering back down, arms out stiff, hands clawed up as if having just discarded a burdensome load of unthinkable refuse from his mind and body.

"I think I ought to be going now," muttered Mary, stumbling to her feet and doing her best not to fall from the narrow loft.

"You're not going anywhere," said Lynch, disappearing through the open door.

Picking her way down the steps, Mary eyed a long blade sitting on a bench that ran the length of the wall by the table where McGuire lay groaning. Mary didn't even bother looking at him. There could be no way, she thought, that he hadn't comprehended what had come to pass. He had just remained there – the good for nothing drunkard that he was.

Before she could take the last step down upon the single stride that would take her to the knife, Lynch wobbled back in, dragging a large sack of flour Mary recognized at once.

"Those are mine," she said.

"Mine now," said Lynch, turning and wiping the sweat from his brow and catching her darting glances to the knife upon the table. He picked it up, admiring the blade. “What were you going to do?”

As he used the blade to scrape the sleep from his eye, Mary followed his own smug eyes to where McGuire lay slumped against the table.

Her mind lagged to take in the scene. The shock of it seemed to bring the object – the figure – closer. Father McGuire at first seemed to have a hand up strangely behind his head. But then she found it wasn't his hand at all but the short, thick handle of a tomahawk.

McGuire groaned and Mary stepped forward as if entranced by the horror of it all.

"Fear is a beautiful thing –" said Lynch without the least bit of concern.

Mary grasped the handle, turned her head away toward Lynch and yanked. She heard a strange childlike whimper from the somehow still alive McGuire. Lynch frowned:

"I – I – " he stammered as Mary lifted the axe above her head.

"What?"

The axe came down square between Lynch's eyes. He dropped. Mary strode as quickly as she could outside, not noticing her surroundings fresh in the light of day. She walked over to the dray that had been repositioned by Lynch for plunder and grabbed the pistol that she had stowed in one of her coffins. Marching back into the shack, she aimed the barrel point blank into McGuire's skull:

"Forgive me father, but you'll thank me in heaven."

Even as the smoke was clearing from the shot, Mary heard the rustling by the window.

"What a terrible conclusion," said the trooper, stumbling back, hand over his mouth at the bloody scene.

For a moment they stared at each other. Then the trooper ran.

"WAIT," shouted Mary.

"A terrible conclusion," were the last repeated words she heard as the trooper took off up the narrow bush road.

Mary's hands were already beginning to shake. She grasped the large flour sack Lynch had been appropriating, but had barely dragged it halfway out when she noticed the red matter crawling out before her in a long bloody stain upon the floorboards. Lynch's bloody head had been leaking all manner of gunk into the bottom of the bag. She dropped it and stumbled down over the threshold to land in the soft earth outside.

In the distance a shot echoed out from the clear morning sky. It triggered something and she exploded into action.

---

Johnny kicked his horse. He was half angry with himself for leaving Mary with Lynch and half pleased that he had saved them all from being caught. The delicious new value he had discovered in Mary already had his eyes painted silver. He knew there was a streak of raging independence in the woman, and although he didn't really stand for such things, it did not half surprise him that a protestant lady should be forced into this position through lack of spiritual alliance.

"If we find Lynch," said Caesar's wavering voice behind him as they rode up the farmstead track, “I'm going to put a bullet between his eyes.”

"What's that?" called back Johnny.

"Lynch – he killed that family, I'm sure of it. We'd have passed them on the way here if he was telling the truth about them leaving for Melbourne."

Johnny jumped from his horse. Mary's dray was still here at least.

"Where's the dog? Why haven't you got the dog?" began Johnny, but Caesar hadn’t heard him.

"The lady of the house's pocket watch. I found it in the ashes by the fire – just here," said Caesar, jumping off the horse and crouching down by the still smoldering ashes.

Johnny still couldn't get a grasp upon Caesar's meaning – he was still casting about for the little Jack Russell, but soon even that was forgotten. Out of the shack dashed Mary, nearly jumping from her skin at the sight of them.

"We've got to go," said Johnny. “We thwarted the law, but they'll be after us as soon as they can be rescued to round up a posse.”

"No rush, It's all been taken care of," said Mary, averting here eyes from Johnny's searching glances into the dark interior of the shack.

"They'll be after us," he said. “Heard it with my own ears. The governor, the chief constable – they're all after you ma'am.”

"What are you on about?" she snapped.

"George bloody-governor Gipps himself wants you banged up," said Johnny nosing around the threshold. “I nobbled their horses ... It smells like a slaughterhouse –”

Caesar, having found no more evidence by the fire, strode over to the shack.

"Where's Lynch?" he demanded from Mary.

"What have you done?" came Johnny's voice from the darkness. “My god what has happened?”

"It was Lynch," said Mary, not even bothering to raise her voice.

Now it was Caesar's turn to dash into the house to the terrible scene within. Mary did not follow. Instead she busied herself readying the horses, detaching their feed-bags and rolling a large wooden keg to a well that had appeared by the shack in the morning light.

"She's right. That family that lived here?" she heard Caesar saying from within. “I think their remains are in that fire. A pocket watch I found last night was all that was left of them.”

"But ... I cooked the potatoes in there," said Johnny, stumbling out back into the light, clutching his gut and coughing up what remained of his stomach lining.

"McGuire got it pretty bad," concluded Caesar. “What happened here, Mary?” he said, taking her by the shoulders.

She wrestled him away and continued to pump the cold clear water from the well. This time Caesar held her fast and lifted her like a rag-doll away and around.

"What was he after? How did you get away?" he said. “What has happened to Father McGuire?”

"I can look after myself," she said.

"I believe you."

"Did you pass a trooper on your way here?" said Mary, returning to filling the keg.

"Yeah," yelled Johnny, who was now walking around in small circles rubbing the top of his head, “caused a right stampede he did.”

"I think he might have had the wrong impression," said Mary. “Saw me putting a rivet into McGuire’s head when all's I was doing was putting him out of his misery.”

Caesar pushed Mary away as she struggled to lift the keg and placed it on the dray himself before making to fetch another empty to be filled.

"You want to go back and sort out his memories for good?" said Johnny, glancing up to the woman with a look that told her this was the last thing he himself would want to do.

"We can't risk going back," she said.

"Well I don't know about you two, but I'm out of here quick smart," said Caesar, disappearing into the freak show of a shack, returning moments later with two large flagons of booze, which he loaded upon the dray.

"What happened to Nigger?" said Johnny again.

"What're you doing?" said Mary, “What do I want with that filthy drink? You don't think you're coming with me do you?”

"No," said Johnny, “you're coming with us back to the coast. Say, Caesar, what happened to Nigger, where is she?”

Without so much as a pause Mary jumped into the back of the dray, rummaged around and appeared again with a long rifle pointed directly at Johnny.

"You going to do me in as well?" he said.

Before she could so much as twitch, Caesar had her picked up again and was swinging her out of range. He tore the rifle from her grip as if it were a dead branch.

"You're saying we go back to Melbourne? You're both crazy."

"Never said that," said Johnny. “We'll head south-west down yonder and you'll teach us everything you know about forging coin.”

"Is that what you think I am?" said Mary, calmly as could be under Caesars arm in the air. “I'm no forger. I'm a thief. My amateur impressions are what got me caught up in the first place.”

Caesar dropped her, but still held her fast by the arm.

"I'm heading north see? there's nothing for you boys there. Just quartz and sheep."

"Indeed," said Johnny, “and what might you want with that? There's nothing out there ... and this coffin lark ... I think it's time you told us what you've been playing at.”

Mary struggled as Johnny slid out the crowbar once more to jam it into one of the remaining sealed coffins. Working his way around the cheap wooden construction, he forced the lid with a crack.

"Get away from there."

"You're up to something and I mean to find out what –" the lid popped off. “Yep, just as I thought,” he said extracting a pair of tongs, and a small hand bellows, “there's the makings here of a fine metal worker. You can't fool us, Mrs Draper.”

"Listen. You boys want to head west or back down south that's fine with me. I'm heading north – up past The Black Forest."

"No," said Caesar, “you're not.”

Mary shook off Caesar's grip and clasped her hands together as if grappling with some great problem. After a time like this she began pacing up and down before the horses. Some more time passed and soon even the horses – much like Johnny and Caesar – became agitated with the conflicted tension being exuded by the little lady.

"Problem is," she finally said, “half my stores are soaking up Lynch's brain matter in there, which means I'll not be able to give what I had going its full justice.”

"Well? What is it you have going on?" demanded Johnny, “Because Caesar and I have saved your neck from the law back there and we don't intend on leaving empty handed on a sure thing.”

And now Mary strode up to him whilst fiddling beneath her petticoats. Johnny retreated, not quite sure how to take it, but soon she was shaking something before his face.

"A gold sovereign?" he said, weighing it in his palm.

"Bet it's lead," said Caesar.

"Fools gold," concluded Johnny, gnawing into the wafer and handing it back to Mary.

"Look at it," she said without taking it back. “Look at the sovereign.”

"What?" said Johnny, looking to Caesar for support.

"You see any tooth marks block-head?" She flicked the coin from Johnny's fingers.

"Give me that," said Caesar, intercepting it in the air. He examined the surface closely. “No marks.”

"How's it feel?" said Mary.

"Heavy."

"Why you get the rap then?" said Johnny.

"It's a forgery all right. I made the mold from an original, but mucked it up."

"That's right, but this time it won't work. I've got something in mind that will though."

"Wait, wait, wait. I don't think that's really the point is it?"

"It's gold ain’t it?" said Caesar.

"What's the score?" Johnny said, rubbing the stubble from his face.

"Why d'ya think Gipps is after me?" she said. “The-governor-of-Australia?”

"You steal from him?" said Caesar.

"In a manner of speaking. From him if you look at it one way, from Captain Hutton if you look at it from another – and from the blacks too," replied Mary.

"What are these riddles?" Johnny said. “Buried treasure? Some secret vault?”

Mary began pacing again, but the situation needed to move. Now that she had two murders witnessed by the law on her hands, everything had changed. They needed to move and she had little choice now. Nothing to lose but her life. She looked at Johnny's pathetic figure, twisting his hands together as if it were his first Christmas, and Caesar – who probably wouldn't last much longer in this land and its prejudices than any of its wetched native inhabitants.

"There'll be plenty in the taking for all," said Mary. “You two strong blokes help me get it in half the time – three quarters the time – and I'll let you tag along.” Not that she had any choice.

"What's to stop any of us from slitting your throat and splitting with wat ever loot you're on to?" said Caesar.

"Nothing at all," Mary said to herself. “I think it's time you men decide which way you want to split. With me and to riches – with blood red greed and an entire country on your back as consequence – or to go on your merry way on the lamb. Either way's fine with me.”

Caesar's expression did not change, but Johnny, who was clearly impressed by her words, looked like a dog cottoning on to the prospect of an outing.

"Even if there is a pot at the end of rainbow I wouldn't stand a chance. A nigger weighed down to his knees? I wouldn't make it past my fourth decade." He rubbed his chin. “I guess I'll just do what I always do; pick the bad bits off and make do, although I am tempted just to split here and turn to ranging.”

"Fine. Range, but range with us," said Johnny, his words not inspiring much confidence in Caesar's reaction. “If we stick together I think we might stand a chance at making it off this hell-hole of a continent alive. Don't just throw this away.”

Caesar laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"No one worth ranging to the west is there anyway," he said. “Just a few scrawny shepherd’s, the odd lonely trooper and a handful of stingy station managers who wouldn't die parting with a point's worth of anything.”

Johnny stepped to Caesar and took the coin, turning it this way and that in the midday sun while Mary began to load up the dray again.

"Let's be off, then, if I can't be rid of the two of you," said Mary, “I won't have you holding me up though.”

Caesar began helping her, but Johnny, remembering something, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out out for Nigger to all four points of the compass.

"I left her behind," said Caesar, climbing up aboard.

"What? Why?" said Johnny, stood on the spot like a child while Mary took her seat behind the two freshly watered horses.

"Call me squeamish, but I had no intention of touching her in that state –"

"Too soft to handle a dog?" squawked Johnny as Mary rippled the reigns. “What are you talking about?”

"Get on," said Mary, “You know I'd be quite happy to leave without you.”

"What was wrong with her?" said Johnny, hurt as could be as he jumped up next to Mary.

Caesar had a strange look to him somewhere between disgust and pity.

"I'm not sure you'd want to hear it," he said.

---

"Twenty gallons," screamed Tulip. “When we get back I want word out at all points. Twenty gallons of rum for the three of them together or nothing. Dead or alive.”

The chief constable's red face became illuminated by a crack of light from the door. The trooper that had triggered the stampede with his shot – having finally made it through the ocean of cattle – stood framed in light before them. Somewhere out of sight, little Nigger let off her final few yaps at the settled cattle.

"And that dog," Tulip burst through the door past the trooper. He rounded the corner and loomed up to the mutt, who sat with something long and pale between her paws. “SHUT UP YOU MANGY MUTT,” he bellowed, booting the dog hard in the ribs.

Nigger yelped before springing back upon her prize to drag it beneath a bush, growling fiercely the entire time.

"What the devil – what have you –" gobbed Tulip as it became clear to him what Nigger had been gnawing on. It took a while for the image to make itself into any kind of sense. Tulip bent over in time to see the horrible thing disappear into the shadows of the bush. It had looked like an arm – a human arm from elbow down to hand, half burned with big chunks of flesh missing where the dog had done her work. And the smell –

"What's wrong?" called Berty Best.

William 'Tulip' Wright emptied his guts hard upon the earth as he stumbled away from the dog's horrible prize.

"There's been something terrible come to pass," said the white faced trooper to Tulip, having followed Best to the spot. “I went up to Lynch's shed to fetch a bull-whip – and something horrible –”

Tulip emptied his guts for a second time, clawing his away back up the side of the building away from the smell of the rotting flesh.

"A horrible conclusion." The trooper's pale, pockmarked face turned away in disgust. “A horrible conclusion.”