Nemarluk Page 12

  “You want to have Charlie always with you,” grinned Chalmer.

  “Yes,” answered Kergutt, as thoughtfully he thumbed the blade. “I want to smell him beside me as I sleep at night.”

  But although Nemarluk was fiercely anxious for a clash with the patrols he had learned to respect the police. He had learned never to take a chance. And now, with so many people around, he chose a safe sleeping place. Amongst the gathering tribes there would be those defiant of Nemarluk now that his Red Band was gone. Besides, the ceaseless vendettas of tribal life would be quietly carried on. No aboriginal is ever quite free of the fear of vendetta. So in the dead of night Nemarluk would glide from all the people, and in a safe place sleep alone.

  In the forest country now the women easily found the dark green stalks and leaves of the big yam. Out on the plains, battalions of brolgas were trumpeting and dancing. All the swamps were alive with noisy waterfowl, with black duck and the whistler, with many other ducks and the black and white geese and the piping geese, with the cackling water-hen, with herons and cranes from the tiny one to the longstepping, solemn giant, tall as a man. In creek bank and lagoon bank were the freshly dug holes of kingfisher, of water-rat and turtle. The big water-rat which sneaks out at night and bites like a fury if cornered, the “dry” land turtle and the Ngart, that big river turtle, and the little Bandak turtle of the orange-striped eye.

  Fat tree snakes slithered among the foliage above, while in the water the small Johnson-river crocodile with many young ones was basking among the water-lilies. The silver perch were fat, all the fish were fat, the fresh-water shell-fish were fat.

  And Nature’s primitive children grew fat on this plentiful game. Day by day now clouds of wildfowl, clouds of shrieking cockatoos and parrots told where the people were hunting. At sundown distant “Yakaing” told of the hunters coming home from all points of the compass, like the birds returning to roost. Away across the big camping grounds many fires then would start up as tribe after tribe came straggling in and made ready for the evening feast. Corroboree songs and dances made happy the nights.

  One night the crowds gathered round to hear a story and stamp in rage at the police. Far away, Chugulla was still leading them a dance. Chugulla and Uninyah had planned to escape, leaving the patrol in the heart of a morass. They were on a chain. All that day, in a land in which water was plentiful, Chugulla had guided the patrol where water was not. A long, tiring, hot march. At sundown the weary patrol camped; men and animals could hardly drag one leg after the other. Tracker Torung was ordered to escort Chugulla and Uninyah away, and find clear water near camp. Sullenly the two prisoners and tracker disappeared among the bushes. The suspicious Bul-bul picked up a spear and quietly followed them. And in a lonely place he saw the two prisoners suddenly wheel around and throw the tracker to the ground. Like tigers they were upon him, throttling the life out of him. Bul-bul leaped straight through the bushes, and jabbed Chugulla with the spear. Then jabbed Uninyah hard. He laughed at them.

  The messenger looked around at the great circle of staring eyes. The people had hung on his every word.

  The warriors snarled; a totem brother of Uninyah chewed his beard in rage. Chugulla’s nephew leaped up, rattling his spears and shrieking. Warriors jumped up to stamp in the vengeance dance as the women chanted blood-curdling song, drumming their thighs. Just let these people lay their hands on Bul-bul and see who would laugh then!

  The dance that night was fast and furious, boiling with the lust for vengeance.

  Nemarluk was in his glory among these tribes of the Wild Lands during these seasonal ceremonies: leader of the hunt among all the people, leader of the ceremonies. It is only the strong and the cunning who can hold power among primitive people. Nemarluk well knew that among all these tribes he really was not nearly so powerful now, because of the loss of his fighting Red Band. But he bluffed this out by boasting what he would do when Tiger’s Mob and Deven’s men joined together, after the ceremonies. He would lead them against the white police. He shouted his threat before them all, in the centre of the circle, before the Council of the Old Men.

  And the people, outlined by the flames of the ceremonial fires, roared approval; squad after squad of tribesmen came stamping into the circle to dance their threat of vengeance.

  But a jealous few squatted quietly watching, saying nothing. They would wait and see.

  And the moon rose to throw silver light on savage dancers, in painted bars of yellow and white on black bodies, bounding into the firelight, stamping and hissing with eyes animal mad and faces distorted in the red light of the flames. Shrieking like devils they leaped through the ceremonial flames and with one great stamp suddenly stood motionless.

  Secure there in the heart of the Wild Lands with hundreds of warriors around him, Nemarluk flung himself into the spirit of the ceremonies and almost forgot the white police.

  He was rudely awakened.

  From a distant crag a smoke signal arose. Tiger had been captured!

  That afternoon as from far and wide the hunting bands came into the main camp, Tiger’s name was on every lip. And every one was watching—Nemarluk! And Tiger’s men, too: Old Alligator and the giant Chalmer, and Chin-amon and Walung and Maru. Low-browed, sullen, they squatted there. Squatted apart around their own fire, in low gutturals talking seriously. Their weapons were close around them, a snarl upon their lips. Just one loose remark from all those people so obviously minding their own business—just one covert sneer—and the spears of these men would fly to their mark.

  They could hardly believe the news. Tiger the cunning, Tiger the fighter, Tiger the unbeaten warrior who so passionately had sworn he would never be taken alive. And they had believed him!

  “Treachery!” hissed Nemarluk. And the eyes of the hunted band glanced around at the black groups of people around many a fire.

  The full moon made beautiful the water-lily swamps lined with their tall, white paper-barks. Pink flames crinkled the water; loaned pink dresses to the trunks of the paper-barks. A possum screeched suddenly, a nankin bird cackled harshly.

  “Treachery!” hissed Nemarluk again.

  “Is the man born who would risk the wrath of Tiger?” grunted Walung.

  “There must be!” snarled Maru. “Otherwise how did the police know he had slipped back to the Daly?”

  “Wadjee is watching us!” hissed Alligator as he bent towards the fire. The morose face of Maru broke into a snarl. They all stared sullenly at the fire except Nemarluk. He glared defiantly around; he would have torn the throat out of the dreaded witch doctor even, had he been sure the cunning terror was intriguing against him.

  Old Wadjee, the witch doctor, squatted by his fire, apart from all, with his painted skull, his bag of charms, his Death Bone beside him.

  But it was not the witch doctor who had betrayed Tiger. It was Tiger’s wife. She hated him; he had been very cruel to her and had driven her away from the tribe. A few days ago she had been wandering with a quaint hill tribe, away back in the mountains. A little outcast tribe this, to which outcasts drifted. The police had raided the camp. Gladly then Tiger’s wife stepped forward and shrieked her betrayal.

  “Tiger has run to the Daly,” she shrieked. “Catch him! Kill him!”

  The patrol travelled fast by night, hid by day then travelled by night again. They caught Tiger and Wadawarry in their full war paint dancing in the madness of a war corroboree. Tiger fought like the tiger he was, but they bore him to earth and snapped the steel upon his wrists. Screaming his fury he bit up into the panting face of Bul-bul. Bul-bul held his throat just out of reach and laughed while Tiger writhed and spat up at him. And that was the news.

  Uneasy days passed by. Away back in the Wild Lands at Meewa swamp, Nemarluk and Tiger’s men held serious council.

  “We must take to the hills!” frowned Nemarluk.

  “Must we for ever run?” sneered Maru.

  “Yes!” answered Nemarluk furiously—“until we are all together.”r />
  “There are enough of us here to eat them,” growled Walung.

  “Yes,” replied Nemarluk, “if only they would bite. They won’t. If I had my Red Band, if Tiger were here, if Deven were here, then all these hundreds would face the guns of the patrol.”

  “Nemarluk is right,” said old Alligator seriously.

  “These corroboree warriors are all wind. If the police came galloping now these brave warriors would run like dingoes from their guns.”

  “You know it,” frowned Nemarluk. “How many times have we tried to face our own tribesmen up to the patrols? Tiger has tried, and all who would back him up were you few men of Tiger’s Mob. Deven has tried, but only Deven’s men backed him up. I have tried, but only my Red Band were prepared to face the guns of the police. We have only one hope now. To collect what are left of Tiger’s Mob then join with Deven. Only then will we have a chance; until then we must run.”

  “The ceremonies are due!” protested Chin-amon. “They may not come. We need not run until they are upon us!”

  “Yes,” said Chalmer eagerly, “let us wait at least until they do come. We can slip away then; they can never catch us.”

  “How often have we said, ‘They will never catch us!’” frowned Nemarluk. “And look what they have caught! Half of the very best of us are gone. They caught me. They have even caught Tiger.”

  “Let us run then,” growled Maru, “but not until they come. If we run now the people here will sneer as soon as our backs are turned. They will say we run from the police; always run, run, run.”

  “That is so,” frowned Nemarluk. “Our enemies grow bolder as we go under. Let us stay then, but stick together; be ready any moment day or night to fly.”

  Uneasily they carried on with preparations to take their part in the ceremonies. .

  One bright morning a shout arose. All stared towards the distant ranges from which smoke signals arose.

  “The white police!” snarled Maru. “They come!”

  “Let us go,” grunted Nemarluk.

  They made for the ranges.

  And the next day Bul-bul was upon their tracks.

  Day by day the big tracker patiently followed those tracks, along valleys and over hills and even over long rocky spurs, then into country impassable for horses. Even after heavy rain he detected the shadowy impression upon wet grass where Chin-amon’s body had lain. Over a patch of hard country covered by rubble pebbles he tracked them. Quite simply. Every here and there he found a loose pebble that had been pushed lightly into the ground. The foot of a heavy man, travelling swiftly, would do that. Yet again, in heavily grassed country his hawk’s eyes noticed where a little grass had been bent over, only just here and there, a hundred yards or so apart. But the foot of a fleeing man had done it.

  Upon the bare rock that in some places lined the crest of a ridge he got the sun behind him in a certain way then squinted down and along the rock, his eyes reading the hard, brown surface. And just here, just there, he detected the shadow moisture left by a bare foot. It is only the very best of trackers that can do that. But it can be done, granted favourable weather conditions and the knowledge of how to do it. An expert tracker may detect that faint, ghostly film which may be left upon the hardened rock by a human foot.

  When he lost their tracks he circled the last track in ever-widening circles until he found a tell-tale mark where they had come out on to softer country.

  It was slow work but Bul-bul worked as sure as fate.

  Days went by and he was still tracking. Then the tracks doubled back towards the open country. Bulbul grinned, knowing that the hunted men thought they had lost their tracks in the ranges. The footwalkers and the horsemen thus joined up again and the patrol rode on through the bush—on the tracks of the wanted men.

  It was a beautiful day, fleecy clouds in a bright sky. The woollybutt blossoms scented the air. Bright-eyed honeysuckers busily dipped curved beaks into the blossoms, shooting their pointed tongues deep to the nectar. Shrieking parrots made gay with colour the flowering trees.

  Squatting in the shade upon a dried-up marsh, Nemarluk and Chin-amon and Maru were eating lily roots and roasted tortoise and water-rats. This shallow little marsh had dried up very quickly, and upon its hard-baked surface fresh holes showed where the wild men had been digging mussels. There was plentiful food here, unlike the rocky ranges. They lay back fullbellied, dozing the morning away.

  Upon a distant little hill away across on the edge of the marsh a black crow squatted. That crow was old Alligator the look-out man. In the warm sunlight he was nearly dozing too. Something made Alligator suspicious. He became an alert black sentinel—too late. With his shrill wail of alarm the thud of galloping hooves startled Nemarluk’s men. They sprang up spears in hand, gazing wildly around. They saw horses charging from the trees as they galloped around the little hill.

  Old Alligator was caught. Alligator who had witnessed the killing of the Japanese; had seen the killing of Cook and Stephens.

  Nemarluk. and Tiger’s men vanished, travelling like the wind.

  Fear chilled Nemarluk’s heart. One by one he had lost his own Red Band. Devon has lost Kummungeegut, Kerinbo, Pooneemillar, and others of his very best men. Pundek was captive. Stockman Jimmy, who had killed the white man Tetlow, was caught. Then Chugulla was caught, and Uninyah; and now Tiger himself. One by one Tiger’s Mob was going as his own Red Band had gone. Wadawarry already caught, and now in all probability Alligator.

  “Are they everywhere?” snarled Maru as they ran. “Do they never sleep? Are they behind every rock, every tree? We think them a hundred miles away and they are right on our very heels. We think we have lost them, and they raid our camp with the dawn.”

  “Bul-bul is on our tracks,” grunted Chin-amon.

  And he was.

  The hunted men snarled at Chin-amon’s remark. They had no time to hide their tracks now, they must first put distance between them and that persistent patrol.

  At sunset they hurried into a big camp of Fitzmaurice men. Angry warriors surrounded them as they told of their flight from the police. There was a rattling of spears, fierce talk of fight, shrill urging by the women. On the cooking stones were fish now nearly cooked and many goose eggs and berries in the hot ashes. After an angry talk they split up into groups around the fires, but had hardly commenced to eat when a shaggy man raised his head inquiringly.

  Instant silence. Every eye stared; every nostril sniffed the air.

  Then the warriors snatched spears, and the whole tribe, warriors, women, children, dogs, vanished into the thickets.

  They had smelt the salty tang of sweating horses. Hardly minutes later the camp was raided.

  Crouched in a dense thicket among all those listening people Nemarluk and his hunted men waited and listened, then planned.

  “They will ride away,” whispered Nemarluk to Maru and Chin-amon and Walung. “Though they ride away they will hide their men in the camp. We are children no longer to fall to such a trick. Towards dawn we will slip away and make for the lily lagoon as if hurrying for the hills. You lose your tracks in the lagoon then make for Wah-wee hill; you can see far over the country from there. I won’t enter the lagoon but will keep straight on as if we have decided to split up. If they follow my tracks signal me later from the hill; if they follow you, signal me; if they split up and follow both you and me, signal also—then lose yourselves. I think they’ll follow me first. I’ll lead them in a chase that will cripple their horses and themselves; take them right back to Victoria River, then double back along the sea. There I’ll lose them, if I can’t at the Victoria, and strike inland to Meewa swamp. I’ll meet you there at the new moon.”

  “A good plan,” grunted Walung. “If they want to catch all of us, we must split up. If they still chase us, we’ll split up again, and yet again.”

  “We’ll have them walking in circles all over the country,” laughed Chin-amon.

  “If only Tiger were here!” snarled Maru.

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nbsp; “If only I had my Red Band,” hissed Nemarluk, “or if only Deven’s men were with us, we could trap them and kill them one by one.”

  “We must strike at them soon,” growled Maru, “or they’ll have us scattered all over the country like flying dingoes.”

  “We dare not strike until we are all together,” snarled Nemarluk. “We must make sure.”

  Before dawn Maru, Walung, and Chin-amon entered the lagoon.

  “Ma-muck!” waved Nemarluk in farewell and strode on into the lightening day.

  Surely enough, several hours later the watchers on Wah-wee hill saw horsemen following the fresh tracks. Bul-bul in the lead leaning over his horse’s neck travelling at a fast walk. The fleeing men had made no attempt to disguise their tracks.

  The patrol halted at the lagoon, Bul-bul pointed out Nemarluk’s tracks leading away. The white policeman ordered him on and the patrol turned, hurrying on the tracks of Nemarluk. Chin-amon laughed.

  “We’ve fooled them,” grunted Walung. “After all, they are easy to fool.”

  “Wah!” frowned Maru. “Yet they are catching us one by one.”

  They squatted there until certain that all the patrol were hot on Nemarluk’s tracks. Then signalled.

  Nemarluk, miles away and heading towards the Victoria saw the smoke arising from Wah-wee hill. He shook his spears at the unseen patrol behind him, then set his mind not to hiding tracks, but to leading the pursuers over the worst country he could find. He set off at a tangent to strike a line of waterless country. Chin-amon, Walung, and Maru hurried down from the hill and made straight back for the Fitzmaurice camp. They were very hungry. The people would be awaiting them, knowing that all were now safe. The patrol now would be twenty miles away, travelling farther away as Nemarluk led them on and on.

  That night by the sleeping fires among their hundred tribesmen Chin-amon, Walung, and Maru slept soundly.

  Just before dawn they awoke to the grip of hands.