Chapter 24. Taking His Medicine; and The Golden Promise
Later that afternoon Cadney wandered over to see his father. He wanted to tell him about the body at Great Northern and see if he had any ideas on the matter. Twofoot would usually be waking from an afternoon nap at about this time, but today Angelica had only just delivered him home from seeing the doctor. He was on the veranda when Cadney arrived at the house, lying on his mattress in the shade.
He was tired, he said, and asked his son to make him some tea. Inside Cadney found the old man’s billycan and the makings for a brew. When the tea was poured he took it out and encouraged his father to drink it.
“I put plenty sugar in and some cold water,” he assured the old man, “so it shouldn’t be too hot.” He sat on the cement floor opposite and leant back against a veranda post, then asked what the doctor had said.
“He said was I taking my medicine? I told him, ‘Yes, I got no chance to let ‘im go with my daughter-in-law chasing me up all the time.’ He said who was my daughter-in-law? When I told him Angelica we had a good laugh.”
Cadney then explained about the drillers finding the body, and to his surprise and consternation his father became quite agitated. Twofoot muttered something Cadney didn’t catch, then sat up and leant back against the brick wall. After a short period of coughing he started to chant quietly.
The song was the Appoota Mbulkara Spirit-legend, but the way the old man was singing it sounded odd. There was a sharpness to his voice that Cadney had not heard before, as if the words were somehow distasteful. Now he just had to wait until Twofoot was ready to explain things.
Eventually the singing ceased. The old man coughed a little and reached for his mug of tea. After a couple of mouthfuls he put it back on the floor.
“I’m getting too old now and proper weak,” he said, coughing again gently. Cadney knew in his heart this was true but told his father it was nonsense.
“Don’t start crying poor-bugger-me again, Dad,” he said. “You’re still as strong as a randy bull camel. I saw those two young Harts Range women sneaking over to see you the other day.”
“They weren’t sneaking. Angelica was busy so Sister got them to bring my coughin’ medicine.”
“Yeah, but they ran away pretty quick, didn’t they. They wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t think you were dangerous.”
The old man gave a chuckle then picked up his mug again and drank a little more. When he put it down he looked back at his son, his expression serious.
“I want you to start looking after Appoota Mbulkara,” he said firmly.
Cadney was taken by surprise. “…What are you talking about, Dad? You’re…”
“Not because I’ll be finish-up soon,” Twofoot continued hastily. “I’m just too weak, see, and there’s something has to be done – proper quick! —My leg’s a little bit lamey, too,” he added, as if the condition were recent and Cadney hadn’t noticed. And before Cadney could think of what to say the old man was singing again.
Succession in itself was no surprise. Ever since his initiation Jack Cadney had known what his job would be when his father died. But the old man was still very much alive, so what was going on? Had the doctor told him something he didn’t want to talk about? —Naah, surely not.
Perhaps it was his cold then, making him feel crook. Well, that and his lameness. Or maybe the reduced mobility was getting to him, making him feel it was all too difficult.
But he could still get about and Uncle Walkabout was helping with the tribal stuff, so what was the issue? —And what was it he’d said? ‘…there was something urgent had to be done.’ What did he mean by that?
Despite these questions Cadney felt a surge of pride, all tempered with apprehension over his ability to handle the job – certainly in any way that would satisfy and honour the old man.
Then another thought occurred to him.
Were Twofoot to hand over completely he’d be in the unusual position of having the old man watching over his shoulder physically, rather than in the spiritual sense. That could prove daunting, he mused, but it also meant his father would be there to give guidance and advice.
And things had changed. These days when bush kids grew up they mostly headed to the bright lights in town. Many abandoned their tribal culture completely or paid only lip service to elements that suited them. Some woke up to themselves one day and returned to their country, but some hit the grog and one day didn’t wake up at all – dead in the creek sand under a gum tree or in a wrecked car somewhere.
With all his heart Cadney wished these things weren’t so, and knew that as a leader he’d have to be strong and dedicated. Preserving their traditions while somehow adapting to the changes would not be easy.
The singing suddenly stopped, then before Cadney could speak Twofoot looked down at his hands and said quietly: “That body they found… It was me that killed him poor bugger. It was McCullock’s mate; the whitefella Wilbur Johns.”
Cadney stared at his father in astonishment. He must have mis-heard, surely. His father a killer? This gentle old man? The idea was laughable. He didn’t know what to say and had no idea what to think. Instead he just sat there, confused, waiting for some sort of clarification.
Eventually Twofoot looked up again. “The second time McCullock came to Marshall Bar – when he took the gold – I didn’t stay behind to walk the families out. I took off after him. That gold was part of our dreamtime legend, see. It had to go back.
“Walkabout knew nothing about it, of course – and still doesn’t, because I’ve never told him. I said they’d stolen some of our special things and I’d be away for a while getting them back.
“‘Take the people to Unka Rockhole,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you there when I’ve made everything all right.’
“Up at Jervois I hid in the bushes and watched everything they did – McCullock and the other two – you know, for a chance to take back the gold.
“Not just because it was gold, though – no question. Grass, gravel or guts-ache bush; it wouldn’t have mattered: what they’d taken from Appoota Mbulkara had to go back.
“Daytime I watched from away a bit, see, dark-time from up close. And I had to be patient. Weeks it took; not just a few days.
“I had to be cunning, too, because whatever I did do to get back the gold would have to leave McCullock absolutely buggered – you know, as to exactly what had happened. The trouble was, someone always stayed at the house when they went out for wood or water. Mostly it was one of the men, in case someone turned up at the house, I suppose. They couldn’t lock it up too good, see.
“Night-time I’d steal water from the drum. I’d get a drink from the siphon hose then fill an empty treacle tin I took from their rubbish heap. Later I’d go back a bit and sleep on the dirt.
“―And talk about hungry. I had no tucker of course, only what I could catch and the food they threw out – old damper and stuff mostly. And there was no chance to steal any. —Well, except for one time.
“Early one morning all three of them went around to the mine for something. That was my chance. Quick as anything I was in their wurlie looking about. Under one of the beds I saw an iron box. I knew that’s where the gold would be. The box was heavy and it was locked.
“In a cupboard was some bully beef and camp pie. I grabbed a couple tins each and got out quick, before they came back.
“Late the next night I was about to lie down when McCullock came outside – barefoot; no lamp. He seemed to be carrying something. That made me jump up properly! I thought they were asleep, see. After their hurricane lamps went out I’d always watch for a while – you know, just to be sure. Then I’d go off somewhere myself.
“Then McCullock went back inside, and just as I tried getting closer to find out what he was doing he came out with more. It was too dark to tell what it was, but when he lit a candle I could see everything.
“Little bags they were, heavy little bags. I knew what was in them. He opened
the big ironstone egg I gave him at Unka Rockhole that time and emptied the bags into it.
“But that wasn’t all. Johns was drunk and snoring and we-two both reckoned he was asleep. But he wasn’t; he was just pretending – so he could see what McCullock was doing.
“I didn’t know that and neither did McCullock. And I didn’t know what McCullock was doing until he walked off with the egg.
“Then I realised; he was going to hide it somewhere.
“He’d put the egg in a wheat bag and carried it off bag and all with a long handled shovel over his shoulder. He had the water bucket from the garden, too, and a yamstick for digging.
“But I never gave Johns a thought. Earlier that day I’d seen them on the rum, see. Full-drunk I reckoned he was, and because of that he caught me by surprise. When he came out of the wurlie I was standing by the water drums – too late to hide.
“Suddenly it went dark. There were clouds, see; one hid the moon and Johns never saw me. And he was concentrating on McCullock. When he came past the drums I was standing like a tree, nearly close enough to touch him.
“I followed them then, a little way behind. Up past Appoota Attut’thurra the two whitefellas went, to where the old-timers were digging in the early days. McCullock buried the ironstone in an old trench there – one down the hill a bit, by itself on the sunup side. Up the far end.”
Twofoot then told how Johns went back to the house before McCullock climbed from the pit, and how he’d waited in the shadows near the hill in case either returned. “—For a long time, too” the old man added. “See I didn’t know what might have happened back at their wurlie. Johns could have fronted McCullock about it, or they might have had an argument or a fight even. They could also have settled on leaving it there, too.
“Whatever had happened, though, I was sure Johns would come back to move it. He’d either wait for McCullock to go to sleep or leave it until the other two went out for water.
“Shifting it would be easy, I thought, whether Johns moved it that night or not. I just had to leave everything same-same like before, so when he or McCullock came back to check on where they’d buried it, everything would look undisturbed.
“But Johns didn’t come. I waited a couple of hours to make sure, then found a stick and started digging. The moon was behind the clouds and a storm was brewing over the ranges. There was plenty of thunder and lightning, too, and I could smell rain.
“I hadn’t got far when a big storm-wind came. Dirt was blowing around as I dug and some got in my eyes. I wasn’t watching out any more either, and because of the wind I didn’t hear the whitefella Johns coming back.
“Then the moon came out and I thought I heard something behind me. When I looked around there he was, running at me flat out and swinging back the shovel.
“I didn’t even think. I just jumped up with a rock and threw it, straight for his head. Down he went poor bugger; dead-finish.”
Twofoot then explained how he’d lifted Johns’ body onto his shoulder and taken him to the trench amongst the bushes on the sundown side of the rise. “And that’s where I buried him; in the hole where the drillers found him. Then I went back to my digging. It was a lot easier with the shovel, too.
“But the ironstone was heavier than I’d thought. I could lift it all right, but without one of their bags I couldn’t have taken it anywhere. I didn’t know Johns had brought one with him, see. I only found his bag when it started getting light. —Anyhow, while I was thinking about what to do I saw the dawn coming; it was too late to move the thing anyway. That meant hiding it again and coming back for it another night.
“But where best to hide it? Somewhere close, that was for sure. And that’s when I got cunning. I dug a new hole in this end of the trench and buried it there. And I put everything back like before, so when McCullock saw Johns’ empty swag and came to check, it would all look the same, just like he’d left it.”
Cadney sat forward. “So that’s why the two whitefellas were digging there!”
Twofoot looked up at him. “What two whitefellas?”
“The two that were here; the pricks that dumped me at Appoota Mbulkara and left me to walk home; Simon Tyler and Mister bloody Watts. The copper and I saw them from the top of Appoota Attut’thurra. We’d heard in Alice Springs that the missing whitefella Sheldon was driving out to Jervois so we went there to see if he’d made it.
“There was no sign of Sheldon or any Nissan tracks but Tyler and Watts’ were there. They’d parked their Toyota near one of the old-timers’ pits and were in the pit digging – taking it in turns.” And suddenly another memory came and Cadney’s blood ran cold.
Black skin and white paint... His Father was a Kadaitcha! —Well, this certainly clarified a few things, he thought shakily. The lengthy unexplained disappearances when he was a weiye, for a start. He should have realised of course. The old man was guardian of Appoota Mbulkara; it probably came with the job.
“But they were digging up the northern end,” he said, trying to keep his voice level, “where McCullock buried the ironstone. From what you just said they wouldn’t have found it anyway.”
Twofoot was scornful. “How could they know? They must have been looking for copper or something.”
“They bloody knew about Appoota Mbulkara,” Cadney reminded him. “And they certainly weren’t digging for copper because there’s bugger all there.”
Twofoot dismissed them with a couple of unsavoury comments and returned to his story. He told Cadney how, eight nights later, when the Moon was full, he’d returned…
…shovel on shoulder, wheat bag in hand, body-painting this time in white. On the western side of the rise he checked to see if the dingoes had picked up the scent of the corpse and exposed it. Satisfied, he walked over to where the ironstone was buried and surveyed the trench briefly. This time all would go well. The rock would be dug out and its contents taken.
Then came disbelief. Someone was approaching!
It was too late to move. And in the walker’s hand was a rifle! Slowly Twofoot squatted down to wait for the other to pass.
But in squatting he dislodged a stone from the brink of the spoil heap. The noise was faint and momentary, yet in the silence its trickling into the pit sounded loud.
The walker stopped and looked about, then stared at the dark hunched-over form.
After a moment Twofoot stood up. But the intruder made no sign of moving so he stepped forward … then hesitated. It was the weiye, Sayd Kaseem, rock rigid with terror.
So what to do? If he turned and walked away the boy might unfreeze and use the rifle – or simply panic and fire it anyway. His paralysis had to be shattered somehow, to get him moving again. ―And so came the most terrifying words the lad would ever hear.
“Pidjay weiye,” whispered Twofoot softly.
Sayd threw down the rifle and ran, the fear of the devil in his heart.
Retrieving the gourd was deferred. McCullock might arrive at any moment to check his treasure and recover the gun. Far better to be patient.
At the base of Reward Hill was a rocky outcrop. Twofoot became one of the boulders near its footing.
But the miner didn’t come...
“And all that hiding in the bushes and starving for tucker had made me weak, see. I was really tired, too; all my wakeup bush had gone and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. And when I did wake up it was too late to do anything. But then I had an idea…”
Back in the trench Twofoot attacked the end McCullock had used. Excavated rubble was hurled far and wide, thrown about ferociously as if his hole had been blasted open. And the end where the ironstone gourd now rested was left undisturbed.
After climbing from the pit Twofoot checked his handiwork, at the same time reflecting on the vagaries of fate and opportunities lost. There was nothing for it now but to return and move the gold later. —And surely, he mused, the chances of being interrupted a third time would have to be impossibly small.
In the meantime the mine
r would come for his gun and, whilst there, would naturally check his trench. And when he found his precious gold gone it would burn in the old bugger’s belly like a bucketful of red hot coals.
And with a grim smile Twofoot Jack the Kadaitcha turned toward the ranges and melted into the night.
“A couple weeks later we moved back to Marshall Bar, and not long after that McCullock came out looking for Appoota Mbulkara again, when he asked me to ride out with them. After that he got crook and the Flying Doctor plane took him to town.
“A few weeks later I went to town myself – with a couple of the miners, on the back of their truck. That’s when I got the polio disease, that time in Alice Springs.”
“Yeah, I remember. You were away so long it seemed like forever, and when you came back you were walking with a stick.”
“That’s right, though at least I was able to come home, not like old McCullock poor bugger. But the polio finished off any ideas I had about getting the gold back to Appoota Mbulkara.
“After that I couldn’t have carried it anywhere, even if I’d emptied it into one of his wheat bags. Instead I decided to leave it for you – not that I had much choice. You could return it when you started looking after these things. And the gold would be safe where it was, I was certain of that.
“I know you’re not ready for the job yet because you still have a lot to learn. But things have changed; this gold business is getting urgent; the drillers have already found where the miner was buried so they could easily dig up the ironstone.
“They’ll know it doesn’t belong as soon as they see it. It’s the wrong sort of rock. Straight away they’ll get a hammer and crack it open.”
Cadney was more concerned about Tyler and Watts’ but didn’t say anything. Explaining about them would have agitated the old man even more and he was already starting to babble.
“You have get there quick,” he was saying. “As soon as you can; before they find it. You can take it back to Appoota Mbulkara later.
“—And don’t start thinking about the gold. It’s not cash-money, you know. This is our heritage, our legend.
“You have to promise me – now! – that you’ll do the right thing.”
Two foot’s mood suddenly changed and he looked hard into Cadney’s eyes. “I knew men who sold tribal business things just to buy grog,” he said with an expression of utter disgust, as if the words themselves were putrid. “And it wasn’t the grog that killed them.
“Everyone thought it was of course, but they knew what was happening. They died from the pelican bone I put in their guts and they died full stand-up sober.”
Cadney shuddered inwardly and tried to shut out the thought. He then assured his father he’d do exactly as he’d been instructed: he would recover the emu-egg rock and he would return it to Appoota Mbulkara.
“Not the emu-egg,” ordered his father. “The gold.”
“Of course, Dad; don’t worry about it; that’s exactly what I mean; I promise.”