The Barrakee Mystery

Chapter Thirty-One

The Coming of the Flood

THE MORNING after the day on which the great sweepstake prize came to Barrakee it was seen that the chain of pools along the river bed had been joined by the first freshet presaging what eventually became the greatest flood recorded during the white man’s occupation of the country.

Countless millions of tons of water spread over millions of acres of country in the south-west of Queensland and north-west of New South Wales were rolling slowly but irresistibly southward down the Darling and the Paroo, as well as the dozens of creeks forming the network of tributaries of those rivers. From the vast watersheds the waters converged upon the Darling at Wilcannia.

There is nothing spectacular in these floods. There is no sudden rush of water sweeping everything before it; rather does the water creep, filling first the deep channels, then rising slowly to push its way out into the shallower channels, in a further and final rise sweeping over the flats and low-lying country, submerging ground thought to be above the reach of floods.

One week after the first water appeared at Barrakee it ran fourteen feet deep along those stretches that had been dry. It was the first stirring of a sleeping giant, whose awakening brought disaster, sorrow, and retribution to the people of Barrakee. For, to carry the simile further, when the giant yawned and stretched his sinuous self he took as his own young Ralph Thornton.

Not a soul saw him depart, but in the morning Bony read the story on the ground. Picking up the young man’s tracks at the garden gate opposite the billabong, the half-caste traced him for nearly two miles down the river, past the shearing-shed, past the old hotel site, to a point in a river bend where a boat had been drawn into the bank.

As plainly as though Ralph had told him, Bony knew then whither he was bound and the object of his voyage. The young man had heard a pretty lubra’s voice calling, calling, for ever calling him from down at Three Corner Station, between Wilcannia and Menindee. Throughout long nights and longer days Ralph had heard the call; his heart was being strangled by those influences which no longer puzzled and frightened him, because they had become so felt that it was useless to resist them.

The river had taken him, had claimed him. The bush with its indescribable lure, a lure a million times stronger than that of the sea, had drawn him. Nothing-devoted love of the Little Lady, generous love and pride in him of the squatter, the promise of the prettiest girl in Australia, careful rearing, wide education-not all these together had availed to balance that insistent, insidious, luring call.

His head bowed in thought, Bony walked back to the homestead. He knew the way the lad had taken, he knew why he had taken it, and he knew the victorious force compelling the lad to go without a word to his foster-parents, not even leaving a note in part explanation. Nellie Wanting was the immediate influence, but behind her was a much greater one.

At the shearing-shed he was met by Mr Thornton, whose face was a picture ofanxiety.

“Have you tracked him, Bony?” he demanded when yet several yards separated them.

The detective nodded.

“Great God man! If you have found his body, it will send his mother to her grave,” Thornton burst out.

“Let us go yonder to that heap of building material and talk about it,” suggested Bony, in his wonderful kindly way.

“But have you found him? Is he dead?”

Bony seated himself and gently urged his companion to sit next him.

“It would be better if he were dead,” he said softly.“Much better.”

Thornton stared at him uncomprehendingly:

“Then let me have it, Bony. Don’t keep me waiting.” His face was verywhite, his eyes very brilliant, his lips were trembling. Bony decided that he could not give the full terrible truth of what he knew and what he suspected with such reason. He softened the blow by giving only what he knew, and that, in all conscience, was hard enough. He said:

“Your son walked past here very early this morning, carrying a heavy load. I suspect the load wasa swag and a supply of rations. Going on past the old hotel site, he turned into the bend and there he boarded a boat he had hidden in a patch of fallen tangled gum-suckers.”

“But why? Why? Why?” demanded Thornton.

“It is evident that he has gone down-river,” Bony went on. “Curb your impatience, Mr Thornton, and try to keep calm, I beseech you. Young Ralph had-I should say has-a sweetheart-a secret sweetheart who is not Miss Flinders. He used to meet her every evening at a place between your house and the blacks’ camp.”

Thornton sighed; it sounded like relief. It was a bitter disappointment; it would give deep pain to his wife and his niece; but-it was better, far better than death. Yet Bony…

“But you said that the lad would be better dead. Why?” he asked. Bony looked him straight in the face.

“Because the sweetheart is Nellie Wanting,” he said.

For several seconds Thornton and the half-caste continued to stare at each other. Then suddenly the squatter threw back his head and laughed. The idea of Ralph sweet-hearting with a gin! It was ludicrous. Such a fine lad, well reared, well educated, a fine intelligent youth, engaged to be married to a lovely, a pure, a wonderful white girl. And while he laughed, with a hint of hysterical relief in the timbre of it, Bony slowly averted his face and stared unseeingly at a meat-ant being slowly eaten by a dozen smaller sugar-ants.

“What a joke!” the squatter gasped.

“I never joke,” Bony said quietly. “Life is too full of tragedy for me to joke. I wish it were a joke for your sake, and more so, much more so, for the Little Lady’s sake.”

And then it was that Thornton realized that he had been told the simple truth. The laughter died away and his face became grey and drawn.

“But why-for God’s sake, Bony-why Nellie Wanting?” he managed at last to whisper.

Bony was tempted to tell him of his suspicions, but somehow they and the stunned man at his side did not seem to fit.

“Because, I suppose, he loves her. Listen!” And he related his witnessing the meetings, told in full his interview with the black girl, of the message he had concocted with her consent which was left in the cleft stick, of Nellie Wanting’s departure for Three Corner Station.

“Even now I can’t believe it, Bony. Indeed, I can’t. It seems so utterly at variance with logical human behaviour,” groaned Thornton. “The lad must know the consequence of this. It will break the heart of his mother, who adores every hair on his head; it will make him an outcast; it will bring me to the dust. Dear God! What have my wife and I done to deserve this? Is this to be our reward for lives of endeavour, for our strict obedience to His law: ‘Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you’? My wife-God help her! God help her!”

Bony was moved as rarely his career allowed him to be. To his critical gaze this generous man’s soul was laid bare. Plainly was it to be seen, guiltless of wrongdoing, guiltless even of wrong thinking. Big in all things as in stature, Thornton’s grief and abasement were terrible to behold. Bony held out a straw:

“There may yet be time to stop him,” he pointed out.

“Ah!” Thornton grasped the straw. “I’ll send riders down the river to watch at the points of the big bends. I’ll drive myself down to the Three Mile bend above Wilcannia. Surely he will not have got that far?”

“No, he will not have got that far,” Bony agreed; but added a suggestion:

“Don’t send the riders. The fewer people who know of this the better. Ring up Sergeant Knowles and get him to arrest Nellie Wanting. He’ll do it on any old charge; and, once we have the girl safe out of the way, then we can await your son at Three Corner Station. But first let us phone Mr Hemming to make sure the gin is still in service there.”

“By gad, Bony! We may be able to avert this disaster after all,” Thornton exclaimed, hope revived, despair banished. “If only we can prevent their meeting, I’ll see that the boy doesn’t make a fool of himself, and us, even if I have to chain him to a post at night.”

Bony’s sigh was inaudible. Into his mind flashed the picture of a wise king seated amidst his courtiers at the edge of the ocean. Yet, if King Canute could not stay the tide, they at least might stay, but not avert for ever, the destiny of Ralph Thornton and Nellie Wanting.

When they arrived at the office the bush detective was out of breath. The impatience of Thornton waiting for the connexion with Three Corner Station was nerve-racking. Then:

“That you, Hemming? Yes. Thornton speaking. We got your letter all right. Yes. Is Nellie Wanting still with you? What! Disappeared three days ago! Do I know where she is? I wish to God I did!” And the receiver crashed on the desk.