Heart of the Country Read online

  She stood up and called reassuringly to Clover. The horse was obviously spooked but he either couldn’t run away or had decided to stay near his master. With careful steps she approached the animal, speaking in soothing tones. Clover nickered again in what Harriet hoped was a call of recognition. She reached out and stroked his neck. He turned his head in her direction and gave a throaty call. He shifted his weight on his legs but he didn’t move away.

  Harriet walked all around him looking for any obvious signs of injury. There were none. The apparatus that attached him to the wagon looked as it should. She reached up and took hold of Clover’s bridle, urging him to follow her in a big arc until they stopped beside Septimus. Clover nickered at his master but there was no response.

  Harrier looked at the man stretched out in the sand at her feet. He wasn’t a fat man but he was taller than her and muscly; there was no way she could get him into the wagon alone.

  Suddenly his hand grabbed her skirt. “Harriet.”

  She dropped down beside him, grateful he was still alive and remembered she was there.

  “I’ve brought the wagon,” she said. “But I can’t lift you on by myself.”

  “Splint the leg first.” His words came out in stilted rasps. “Then I can stand.”

  Harriet looked from his ashen face to the broken leg. What could she make a splint with and, even with that, how would he have the energy to stand?

  Septimus tugged at her skirt. “Hurry.”

  Harriet scoured the creek bed. There were logs and sticks but nothing she could use for a splint. She looked in the wagon. It was nearly empty. Septimus hadn’t made it back to camp to load the trunks and the rest of his camp-kitchen items. Her eyes rested on the shelves he used to display his Royal Remedies. They would do the job but first she had to break them apart. She pulled at them with her hands but couldn’t loosen them. A search of the wagon unearthed a hammer. She wielded it with all her strength and smashed the shelving. Septimus would have to make a new set for his pills and potions.

  Harriet carried the two flat shelves back to Septimus. She took her scissors and the shirt from the bag and made long strips of cloth. She’d never splinted a leg before but she’d seen her father’s handiwork on the leg of a shepherd. She checked Septimus again. His eyes were closed but when she moved his leg he let out a guttural scream.

  Seventeen

  The waves of pain were more bearable now that the wagon had stopped. Septimus had lost all track of time but when he flicked his eyelids he could see it was day. Somehow Harriet had splinted his leg and helped him into the wagon and then had begun the next part of the nightmare. Every jolt of the wagon brought fresh waves of pain.

  Voices approached, then he heard rather than saw the side of the wagon roll up.

  “How’re we going to get him out of there?” a rough male voice asked.

  “Have to lift him between us,” another replied.

  Septimus groaned at the thought of disturbing his leg again.

  “Surely the doctor has a stretcher.” Harriet’s voice was demanding.

  “Look, Miss –”

  “It’s Mrs. Mrs Seth Whitby. My husband has been through enough to get here. You’re not going to drag him from the wagon without care.”

  Septimus thought he was dreaming. Had she said Mrs Whitby?

  “Nothing else for it, missus. We don’t have fancy equipment out here.”

  “But we can improvise, Ned.”

  “Dr Nash.”

  Septimus heard a new and respectful tone in Ned’s voice. He squinted in the direction of the talking. Two burly men stood beside him. The doctor and Harriet were out of his line of sight.

  “What’s happened here?”

  “Thank goodness you’re here, Doctor,” said Harriet. “My husband was thrown from the wagon and broke his leg. I made a splint but it’s been a long night getting him here. I’m worried he may have other injuries.”

  “What’s his name?” The doctor’s voice was close to Septimus now.

  “Seth Whitby.”

  “Mr Whitby?”

  A hand shook his shoulder. Septimus opened his eyes into a squint again.

  “You have a broken leg, Mr Whitby. Do you have pain anywhere else?”

  Septimus would have hit the doctor if he could. Pained raged through him from every quarter. He tried to speak but all that escaped his lips was a groan.

  “I need to get him inside for a proper examination.” The doctor’s voice receded. “Samuel, get the planks we strapped together for that miner the other day. You can carry him on that.”

  “Yes, Dr Nash.”

  “And mind you do it carefully.”

  Septimus felt a gentle hand on his brow.

  “You’ll be taken care of soon.”

  Harriet’s voice was soothing but quickly forgotten as the two men returned and began to slide him onto their rough stretcher. Once again he receded into a fog of pain.

  *

  A terrible smell tugged Septimus from the peace of sleep. He opened his eyes to a gloomy room lit by candlelight. He was lying on a narrow bed. His body ached but the excruciating pain that was his leg had been subdued to a dull throb. The air was close and fetid.

  He wrinkled his nose. He must have vomited, judging by the overpowering smell.

  “Look who’s awake.”

  Septimus turned his head and frowned. Not two feet from him loomed a familiar face.

  “Mr Jones?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  The big man belched. Septimus felt his own stomach clench at the smell.

  “Don’t reckon you were expecting to see me again, were you, Whitby? A fine fool you made of me. Selling me that woman then poisoning me so she could escape.”

  “I didn’t poison you,” Septimus growled.

  “Granted that may have been the muck that bartender fed me but you and that woman … your sister.” Jones spat the words then belched again. “Tricked me, the pair of you, with your fancy story. No doubt you had plans to dupe some other poor soul at the next place but looks like justice caught up with you.”

  “My sister?” Septimus feigned surprise and reached a hand down under the blanket to feel his leg. It was wrapped in some kind of solid casing. He didn’t like his chances of a speedy escape.

  Jones grabbed his shirt. “Don’t think you’re going anywhere soon,” the big man hissed. “I want my money back.”

  Septimus had no idea where his jacket was. He’d been wearing it when he drove the wagon but all he had on now was his shirt. He peered around the gloomy room. There was another crude bed across from him where the Jones fellow had obviously been installed. The blanket had been tossed aside and draped to the ground. Between the beds was a crude table with the candles, a bottle of medicine and beside that was a roll of bandage and a pair of scissors.

  “Where’s my money?” Jones hissed and lowered his face towards Septimus again.

  Septimus shot a hand out. He snatched up the scissors and stabbed them into one of the burly arms that clutched him with as much force as he could muster.

  Jones yelped and flung his arm back, knocking the candles. His sleeve began to smoulder. They both stared as the shirt erupted into flames. Then Jones began to bat at it. One of the dislodged candles rolled to the floor, where it set light to the discarded blanket.

  Another yell brought Septimus’s eyes back to Jones. The big fool must have lifted his arm to his head and his hair was now on fire. He was dancing around on the blanket, which was also burning and before long his trousers were alight.

  “Help me!” Jones’s cry filled the room. Septimus edged away to the end of the bed and tested his feet on the floor. Pain surged up his leg again. The room was full of screaming and the foul smell of burning. Septimus watched Jones clawing at his head and jumping around fanning the flames into life. There was a way to be rid of the unfortunate Mr Jones. Septimus reached for the medicine bottle. He removed the stopper and sniffed the contents. As he had hoped ther
e was alcohol in the mixture. He tugged the blanket from his own bed, poured the liquid over it and tossed it onto the burning blanket. It too quickly caught alight. Then, using the wall to support himself, he hobbled to the door and threw it open.

  Behind him the flames leaped higher and Jones bellowed into the night. A voice called out nearby and others joined it. A man put his arm around Septimus and led him away. The night was full of fire and noise. Septimus turned to watch. The men who were trying to reach Jones were held back by the ferocity of the flames. The screams from within stopped.

  The hut they’d been in stood alone, behind the doctor’s house. He was there as well, standing in his dressing gown. People came from everywhere with buckets. Water was thrown at it. Finally the little hut fell in on itself. The worst of the flames subsided.

  Once it was clear the fire was in no danger of spreading, the doctor wrapped Septimus in a blanket and took him into his home, where questions were asked about the fire. Septimus put on a terrified face and told how he woke to the room ablaze. He spoke in a troubled voice, not difficult when his own leg was giving him so much pain. He told those gathered in the doctor’s front room how he’d tried to smother Jones with his own blanket but the man had pushed him away. They called him heroic and Septimus shook his head.

  “Poor man,” he moaned. “I couldn’t save him.”

  The doctor tut-tutted. He inspected Septimus for burns, listened to his chest as he breathed in and out and took another look at the bandaged leg.

  “You’re lucky you weren’t lost in the fire as well,” the doctor said. “I should never have left Jones unattended. I didn’t realise he was still disoriented.”

  He tucked Septimus up on a padded couch. “There will be more questions in the morning but I want you to rest until then,” the doctor said. “You’ve had enough ordeals for any man in a short time.”

  “Who was that man in the hut with me?” Septimus said.

  “A farmer from out of the town. He was found passed out near his wagon. I diagnosed some kind of food poisoning. Goodness knows what the fellow had eaten. I put him to bed thinking the worst was over and he’d be too weak to go anywhere for a while.” The doctor looked closely at Septimus. “You have no idea what happened?”

  “No. As I’ve already told you, I awoke to the flames.”

  “He must have wandered and knocked the candle.”

  “Where is Har– my wife?” Septimus asked, not wanting to be cross-examined by the doctor any further.

  “There was nothing she could do for you while I worked on your leg so she said she was going back to pack up your camp. She will return for you in the morning. I told her your leg casing should be strong enough for travel by then. She seemed to think you needed to be back in Adelaide urgently.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Try to rest then,” the doctor said. “Morning will be here soon enough.” He nodded and left.

  Septimus smiled. Good on Harriet. She could be of some use to him while his leg was mending. Once she got back they’d be on their way from this place, perhaps never to return, in light of all that had happened. It would be a pity to lose such a lucrative market but there were plenty of other opportunities for a smart salesman like himself. In the current circumstances it appeared he was going to need some help. Having Harriet around for a while would be very beneficial.

  Septimus nestled back on the doctor’s comfortable couch and allowed himself to relax. His smile turned in to a snigger. Twice he’d tried to get rid of the woman and twice she’d come back. Next time he sent Harriet packing the odds would be on his side.

  Eighteen

  “You fell on your feet here, Mr Baker.”

  Thomas turned to see one of the men slip from the shadows beyond the fire. When everyone else had retired for the night, Thomas couldn’t drag himself away. The flames were mesmerising. He knew he would fall asleep in an instant if he went to his bed. The last two weeks had been constant work from sunrise until dusk. The men had built the yards and now they’d started on the shearing shed. He ranged between checking the sheep, marking out plans, finding the right timber and working alongside the builders.

  The man, whose name was Gurr, was a nasty-looking character with a scar under one eye and several teeth missing. Short of stature and with a stooped appearance, he always seemed to be looking over his shoulder. He held his hands to the flames. There could be no mistaking the mockery in his tone when he spoke Thomas’s name.

  Gurr’s equally menacing mate, Platts, appeared beside him. “Nice set up,” he murmured.

  Thomas ignored both men and threw another large bough on the fire. He did not like or trust either of the men; Platts was as unpleasant as Gurr, if not as brazen. Thomas had noticed their shifty behaviour on the first day but his initial dismay had been put to rest when they kept their heads down and got on with their work. Until now they hadn’t spoken to him nor he directly to them but he’d kept his eye on them.

  They both sat and Thomas noticed a small flask slip from Platts’s hand to Gurr’s. They obviously weren’t abiding Captain’s no-drink rule, though neither did they appear inebriated.

  Platts belched. “At least you provide good food here. Better’n the last place. That was terrible tucker, wasn’t it Gurr?”

  “Bloody kangaroo, the same wherever we go.”

  Thomas didn’t care what they thought of the food but he’d certainly enjoyed it tonight. They’d eaten kangaroo courtesy of Captain’s ability with a firearm. The large, hopping animal had been down by the stream. Thomas had mentioned his difficulties managing the weapon and Captain had given him some lessons. Thomas was confident that, once the builders left, he’d be able to shoot a kangaroo for himself. They were in abundance, along with similar-looking smaller creatures. There was no need for a man to live on mutton alone.

  “You got any blacks camped near here?”

  Gurr’s question surprised Thomas. He flicked a look at the man, who was grinning like an idiot. Gurr spat at the fire then took a swig from the flask.

  “No.” He hadn’t given a thought to Gulda and Tarka since Captain and his men had arrived, but he wasn’t going to share any information with these two.

  “You should find out,” Platts said. “Make friends with them.”

  “Gets very lonely way out here with no female company,” Gurr said. He winked at Thomas.

  “The women are very obliging,” Platts added.

  Thomas thought of the three women who had come to pick the red fruit. He felt heat in his cheeks as he recalled their nakedness.

  “Nothing like a bit of black –”

  “You men get to your beds.” Captain’s growl came from the gloom beyond the fire.

  Gurr and Platts jumped.

  “I’ve warned you before,” Captain said. “If you so much as look at a woman while you’re working for me I’ll pack you off back to Adelaide to fend for yourselves. That’s your last chance.” His voice was low. There was no doubting the threat.

  Gurr and Platts muttered, “Yes, Captain.” They both turned away but not before Thomas had seen the hostile look Gurr shot his way.

  “My apologies, Thomas,” Captain said. “Those two have some bad habits which they’ve promised me they won’t nurture if I keep them on. They’re good workers so I’ve been lenient, but I won’t abide interference with local women, black or white.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Captain. I’m sure you’ve noticed there are no women around here.”

  “Perhaps not now but there have been natives camped nearby.”

  “I’ve not seen a camp.”

  “I saw their markings on some rocks further up the creek,” Captain said. “There’s evidence they lived close by, but you’re right, they’ve gone now.”

  That would explain Gulda’s easy appearances and disappearances, Thomas thought. “A couple of the men came and helped me cut the first timber for the yards,” he said. “I didn’t know where they came from. I’ve seen no sign of t
hem since you arrived.”

  “You’ve got a lot of sheep to manage out there.” The big man swung his arm in a wide arc. “In my experience it’s best to leave the natives alone. Don’t encourage them. I’ve had no trouble by following that principle. They keep out of my way and I keep out of theirs, including my men. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must turn in.”

  Thomas acknowledged Captain’s departure with a nod, then eased himself back down by the fire. There were no clouds in the sky and the night had turned: he was cool in spite of the extra log he’d thrown on. He felt edgy. The thought of Gurr and Platts with native women repelled him. A vision of the three naked women played in his head but always there was Captain’s stern face watching him. It made his skin prickle. The man had warned him against working with the natives but Thomas still thought it the sensible thing to do, and he felt guilty he’d not given Gulda and Tarka something in return for their work. Perhaps once the builders left they would come back. One thing was certain, Thomas wouldn’t relax now until Gurr and Platts were gone.

  The business of building a shearing shed took another week of back-breaking work once the drafting yard was finished but finally it was all done. There had been no more talk from anyone about the natives and their women. Captain had even found time to suggest some additions to Thomas’s hut. It now had a verandah across the front and a second room with a fireplace. Thomas would be able to sleep and cook inside during the winter. It was still not a homestead but certainly more useful.

  The last night together around the fire was much noisier than usual. Everyone was happy the work had been completed but none more than Thomas, who was now anxious to begin the huge task of drafting the sheep so they could be shorn. The thought of it no longer overwhelmed him. It seemed a lifetime ago rather than a few months since he’d met AJ and taken on the position.