* * *
Jim Hawkins woke early as the first signs of dull-grey light began to creep into the cramped quarters of the shanty. It had rained heavily during the night and he knew the Cockle Creek road would be a quagmire. It was going to be a slow journey there and back.
He fumbled for the flint and proceeded to light the fire with the dry twigs that were heaped on the brick hearth. He stared at the tiny red flames as they burst into life and slowly gained momentum. He heaped some larger dry boughs on the now spiraling flames and then he filled the old black-iron kettle with water from the wooden drum outside, which was overflowing with water that had washed off the roof during the night. He could see the puddles of water in the yard through the gloomy light.
Jim peered up into the mottled sky. There were more ominous dark clouds billowing in the distance. Returning to the fire he hung the kettle on the steel hook and then swung it over the fire. He sat quietly for a while enjoying the warmth generated from the flames as they reached up and licked at the base of the kettle. Abe was beginning to stir.
“Did I hear rain last night?” asked Abe, sitting up on the side of his bunk with his clothes still on.
“You certainly did, and I would say that there is more on the way.”
“I don’t envy you going to Cockle Creek today, that road is a bitch at any time, let alone when it has been raining,” Abe said, rummaging around beneath his bunk for his boots. He found them and slipped them on over the well worn and shredded socks. He stood up with his body bent. It always took him some time to adapt to the standing position as his old bones weren’t what they used to be. Abe took hold of the green enamel bowl that was sitting on the top of the small bench at the foot of his bunk, opened the door and threw the waste water out on to the already soaking ground. Then, he filled the bowl with clean-cold water from the drum. “At least we don’t have to go far for water now.” Abe shut the door and put the bowl back down on the table.
“I don’t think we will get any more warm weather,” said Jim, shivering from the cold draft that had just now reached him from when Abe had opened the door. He would have to ask the old skinflint Perkins for extra blankets; they were going to need them.
Abe found the dried up cake of soap and lathered it well as he washed his hands and then his face. “Your turn to cook breakfast, I believe.”
“I don’t mind that chore this morning,” said Jim as he continued to warm himself in front of the fire.
“I’ll go and start feeding the horses. Give me a call when the kettle is boiled,” said Abe, reaching for his old, grey coat hanging on the peg on the back of the door and slipping it on. He had straightened up a little more now.
Jim waited for the water in the kettle to heat up a bit, then, he added some of the warm water to the enamel bowl. He didn’t like washing in cold water. After his wash he retrieved two plain, white bowls from the shelf beneath the bench and tipped some porridge into them. He collected the two tin cups and placed them beside the bowls. Retrieving the tiny blackened teapot from the shelf above the table, he added the tea to the pot. Now, all he had to do was to wait for the water to boil.
“Come and get it,” yelled Jim as he partially opened the door so Abe could hear him.
Jim was just sprinkling some sugar on top of the steaming porridge when Abe arrived.
“Had a leak in the barn roof last night, some of the feed is wet,” muttered Abe as he took the bowl and his cup of hot tea and sat in the rickety bush chair beside his bed.
“Better not tell Perkins. We will have to move the feed away from that spot.”
“The roof will need repairing.”
“Well don’t you try fixing it, you’ll break your bloody neck getting up on the roof,” said Jim as he slurped at his cup of tea. “I’ll see to it tomorrow.”
“Did you find the woman?”
“No, it looks like she fell over a cliff.”
“Dead is she?”
“No, Billy followed her tracks to the river, we lost her there.”
“The abo’s will find her, it’s their country out there, and nothing moves through it without them knowing.”
Jim scraped the last of his porridge from the bowl. “I hope they do find her.”
“Do you know who she was?”
“No, that is why Constable Harrison is coming to Cockle Creek with me on the stage.”
“You had better take the best horses today. It’s not going to be easy on that damn road.”
“I’ll need Blackie again. We might have to do some riding from Cockle Creek.”
Jim was still hitching the horses to the coach when Constable Harrison and Billy arrived. It had taken Jim and Abe a considerable amount of time to shift the damaged feed out of sight so Perkins wouldn’t see it. He would probably dock their wages if he knew about it, as it would be their fault regardless. On top of that, they had to do all the chores. It had been a very busy morning.
“Running late, Jim?” said Constable Harrison as he climbed from his horse.
“Just a mite, shouldn’t be much longer though.”
Constable Harrison looked up at the threatening skies. Huge black clouds were gathering. “More rain on the way by the look of it.”
“You can be certain of that,” replied Jim.
Perkins shuffled from the store with the leather bag containing the mail for Cockle Creek. He carefully avoided the puddles of water, not wanting to dirty his well polished shoes. He passed the bag to Jim who put it in the compartment under the driver’s seat, at the same time he checked to see if his waterproof cape was there, it was.
“Don’t forget, I want you back tonight.”
“We’ll be back tonight, Mr Perkins,” said Jim, as he tied the reins to the brake handle.”
“How are you today, Constable Harrison?”
“Fine, Mr Perkins.”
“Not going to be a very nice day by the look of it.”
Constable Harrison removed his saddle bags from his horse and put them inside the coach. “It would be a good day for staying home in front of the fire, Mr Perkins.”
“All right, we are ready to roll,” said Jim, climbing up into the driver’s seat.
Abe had brought Blackie out from the stable all saddled and ready to go. Billy took the horse from him and tied it to the rear of the stage with the other horses. Then he joined Constable Harrison in the coach.
“Won’t be no tracks about today,” said Billy as he made himself comfortable in the soft leather seats. It wasn’t often that Billy enjoyed the luxury of riding in a coach.
“We will follow other leads today, Billy,” replied Constable Harrison knowing full well that Billy’s tracking ability, when used, was the best available. His powers of observation were sharpened from years of living off the land. He could find things that a white man couldn’t see. Even with all the rain he knew Billy would still see things that he would miss.
As they left town Jim didn’t hurry the horses as they had a long hard day ahead of them. They continued past the Smith’s place, the road from here wasn’t in too bad a condition, and it would be so until they reached the plateau where it leveled out. Jim was driving the horses through the first mud patch when the rain started again. He stopped and slipped on his waterproof coat.
“What does the road look like?” asked Constable Harrison from the security of the coach.
“It’s a bit muddy, but we should be right,” replied Jim as he drove off.
They arrived at Cockle Creek around one o’clock after a slow and slippery passage. Cockle Creek itself only consisted of two rough-timber buildings. One was the general store and post office, which supplied the link for the surrounding farms to the outside world. The other was a barn and livery stable ringed by a few timber corrals. The ground here had turned to mud and as Jim jumped from stage with the mail bag his feet sank up to his ankles. It took all his strength to lift his boots from the suction of the mud as he made his way to the verandah at the front of the store. A small i
ron rake specially designed for cleaning the mud from the soles of one's feet, sat at the side of the red painted door. Jim scraped what mud he could off his boots as did Constable Harrison and Billy.
“I think rain stop soon,” said Billy in his faltering English as he cast his eyes in the direction the rain had been coming from. The clouds looked a lot lighter, not the pitch-black they had been.
“I hope so,” said Constable Harrison, opening the wobbly door and striding over to the counter where Will Johnson stood in his black vest and leather apron. His grey-slanted eyes had a look of surprise in them.
“Constable Harrison, this is an unexpected pleasure.”
“It would be more pleasurable if it wasn’t raining.”
Jim thumped the leather bags down on the counter. “Here’s the mail, Will, I’ll be back in a minute, have to see to the horses.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” said Billy, following him back out the door.
While Will sorted the mail from the bag Constable Harrison backed himself up to the wood stove that sat in the middle of the room, relishing its warmth. Steam whistled freely from the spout of a big black kettle that sat on the stove.
“What brings you to Cockle Creek, Constable?” asked Will with some trepidation as he finished sorting the letters into the boxes up against the wall.
“The day before yesterday you had a young woman join the stage.”
“Yes, Miss Langley from Langley Park. A lovely young woman if I may say so sir,” said Will as he breathed an inward sigh of relief. It seemed Constable Harrison was interested in the young woman, not the supply of illegal rum that he had stored out back.
“How did she seem to you?”
“What do you mean?” asked Will, turning to face Constable Harrison.
“Was she her normal self?”
“Now that you mention it, she was rather quiet. Hardly spoke at all while she was waiting for the coach.”
“I presume her family lives close by, then?”
“Yes, her parents own Langley Park. It is the biggest property around here.”
“I’ve heard of it. Is it far from here?”
“Due north about five miles. If you keep Devil’s Hill in your sights you will come right onto the main house. Has something happened to the young lady?”
“She was taken from the coach by two ruffians. She fled from them and fell over a cliff and seriously injured herself.”
“Is she all right?” asked Will with genuine concern.
“We don’t know. Billy followed tracks to the river then we lost her.”
“The rain has stopped,” said Jim, and as he came inside, took off his wet coat and hung it on the rack at the door. He then walked over to the stove and proceeded to warm his cold hands. “What have you got for lunch, Will?”
“Kangaroo patties with gravy and potatoes.”
“You had better dish up three plates then,” said Jim, sitting down at the well worn and rough-sawn wooden table. “A hot toddy of rum would go down well.”
“I don’t have any liquor on the premises,” said Will, very clearly so that that Constable Harrison could hear.
“It’s all right, Will,” said Constable Harrison as he sat down on the hard, wooden bench seat opposite Jim. “I’ll turn a blind eye on this occasion.”
Billy joined them at the table.
“Better make it three rums,” said Jim, winking at Constable Harrison who was grinning from ear to ear at Will Johnson’s obvious discomfort.
Everyone knew that Will Johnson made his own rum. He was the main supplier in the district. It was tolerated, as his rum wasn’t too bad, and there was a dire shortage of good drinking spirits out here in the bush. Constable Harrison turned a blind eye to the small local trafficking, as long as Will didn’t become too greedy and come under the suspicion of his superiors. Will’s nervousness was showing as he uncorked the large brown enamel jar that he had retrieved from beneath the counter.
“Her name was Lillian Langley,” said Constable Harrison.
“Not one of the Langley’s?” asked Jim with some surprise.
“Apparently so, we will ride out and see them after lunch.”
“Did you ask Will about the men?”
“I was about to when you came back in. Will, do you know a big bloke about six-feet tall around forty years of age with a red beard and an Irish accent?”
“Can’t say I do,” replied Will with no thought at all.
“He could hang around with a small thin man probably in his early twenties.”
“A lot of men come and go here, Constable Harrison, I can’t remember them all.”
Jim looked up into the Constable's eyes. They had both sensed that Will was lying, he knew the men alright. If they were attached to the Langley’s then that would be enough to scare Will. He probably relied on the Langley’s for a lot of his business. His nervousness was even more pronounced as he came over with the three mugs of rum and sat them on the table.
“I will have the wife serve you your meals in a moment.” Will went out into the kitchen.
“Can we have three kangaroo patties, Marge?”
“What is the Constable doing here?” asked Marge as she turned her obese body around to face her husband.
“It’s all right; he’s not here about the rum. It seems Lillian Langley has met with an accident and I fear that Frank O’Connor and that spoiled brat, Robert Langley were involved somehow.”
“Shouldn’t you warn them?” asked Marge.
Will and Robert Langley were partners in the rum trade. Will made the rum, and Robert with all his connections sourced the markets in Hobart Town for him.
“This has nothing to do with us, it’s a family matter. As long as the Constable doesn’t get wind of the fact that we are trading in Hobart, we are in the clear on that score.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Marge as she turned back to the stove.
Jim Hawkins felt a lot warmer with a hot toddy in him and a feed under his belt as he mounted his horse for the ride out to Langley Park. The rain had stopped for the moment, but he knew it would be back again later. Constable Harrison led the way along the muddy track leading away from Cockle Creek. Soon, they were riding through grassy plains with a few scattered gnarled gum trees and firmer ground, so they picked up the pace.