The Silent Frontier (28 page)

‘Five of them following us,’ Matthew said, bending to examine one of his horse’s hoofs. ‘The two that came to the camp last night and three others. All are armed. They are being cautious, hanging back so we don’t see them.’

‘Did they see you?’ Lachlan asked.

‘Did you see me when I killed that bastard, Forster?’ Matthew grinned.

‘So you think that they are up to a great mischief?’

‘More than likely, brother.’ Matthew straightened his back and gazed at the great rock pile. ‘I told you this place has bad spirits.’

Lachlan ignored his friend’s observation and walked back to the camp with troubled thoughts. Was he being overcautious or did he have a genuine reason to fear these men? He questioned himself. He was less afraid for himself than for Amanda. The worst any man could do to him was kill him. But five men could do far worse to Amanda before killing her. The odds were not looking good.

TWENTY-SEVEN

L
achlan did not embark on the exploration of the hill that day. Instead he spent much time carefully setting out the camp site. The arrangement soon attracted Sir Percival’s attention. ‘If I did not know better,’ he said, walking the perimeter of the cleared area and beyond, ‘I would say that you are establishing lines of fire around our bivouac.’

Lachlan ceased striding through the scrub to stop and retrieve his pipe. ‘Just normal precautions in this country,’ he said, tamping down a plug of tobacco with his thumb. ‘There is always the danger of some hostile tribesmen launching an attack on the unwary.’

Sir Percival accepted Lachlan’s explanation. After all, the man had once been a soldier in the famed Forest Rangers.

That evening dinner was prepared and eaten in relative silence. Amanda was less weary from travelling that hot day and appeared to be acclimatising to the rigours of the journey.

When she and Sir Percival retired to their tent for the night, Lachlan and Matthew rostered themselves on guard duty.

Lachlan sat away from the camp fire, in the shadows of the night. He regretted that he had not brought dogs on this trip as he had on some of his other explorations. They were the best early warning system he could have and several times had saved his life from prowling tribesmen.

The constellation of the Southern Cross was low on the horizon as Lachlan sat out his watch, his rifle across his knees and his Colt revolver close at hand. All seemed well in the scrub immediately surrounding their camp, but when he looked to the southern horizon he could see the sinister outline of the hill. He suddenly felt uneasy, as if the geological formation was watching them, waiting for them. Lachlan cursed himself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts. It was just a strange formation and nothing else. Lachlan remembered the stories Jupiter had told him of the hill’s creation. One was of a man who had been a cannibal and devoured a popular young chief of the local clan. He had been banished to the surrounding hills but would occasionally sally forth to snatch the unwary. On one of his forays he turned into a goanna to escape his tribe’s wrath but was struck by a bolt of lightning, causing him to explode and shower the earth with burnt rocks. Yet another story told how the creation of the hill came about as a result of two brothers getting into a fight over a girl they both desired. They had rolled huge rocks down the sides of hills until they eventually formed the great pile that was now the mountain.

Jupiter’s last version of the story was somewhat ironic, Lachlan thought. That two men fighting over a woman would create a mountain. No matter how strongly he might feel about Amanda, he was not in a position to fight for her love. She was married. Fate had dealt a cruel hand but he
must accept how things had transpired, even if in his heart he knew he would never forget her. If only matters had turned out differently.

‘Granite,’ Sir Percival said, stroking a huge black boulder.

The previous evening had passed without incident and after breakfast he, Amanda and Lachlan had set out on foot to explore the boulders. Matthew had been more than happy to remain with their camp, as he still eyed the strange rock formation with foreboding.

The great rocks were beginning to warm under the rising sun and a shimmer of heat haze lay over the scrubby hill as the trio scrambled up the first layer of stones. Amanda did so with some difficulty, encumbered by her long dress.

‘That terrible sound,’ Amanda gasped when they stopped for a rest above a crevice. ‘It sounds like someone is moaning.’

Lachlan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He too could hear the faint sounds emanating from deep in the crevices. ‘Could be the wind blowing through the cracks,’ he said. ‘Or it could be bats.’

‘Wind, most probably,’ Sir Percival said, tapping the surface of the boulder he was perched on with a small geological hammer. A hollow, ringing sound echoed around them. ‘No earth to absorb the transmission of a knock,’ he continued.

He was like some schoolboy opening his Christmas presents, Lachlan thought. Amanda cast him an exasperated look at her husband’s seeming indifference to all around them except the hill. Looking down at the crack between the rocks, all Lachlan could see was an infinite darkness. He was about to stand when the popping of gunshots drifted to them on the tropical breeze.

Peering over the sea of low trees, Lachlan could see a tiny wisp of gunsmoke rising above their camp.

‘What the blazes is happening?’ he heard Sir Percival ask from above him.

‘We’re under attack,’ Lachlan said, reaching for his revolver. ‘Get Lady Amanda under cover.’

With a frightened face, Amanda looked from Lachlan to her husband. ‘Get down in the crevice,’ Sir Percival said, reaching for his wife’s hand.

Lachlan scrambled down the rocks, his pistol drawn. When he reached the bottom he pushed through the scrubby trees in the direction of the camp. He could still hear sporadic gunfire. It was obvious that Matthew was fighting an unequal battle and Lachlan had a good idea against whom. He prayed that he would reach his friend in time. But before he could reach the camp he became acutely aware that the gunfire had ceased. It was not a good sign.

Lachlan heard a slight noise behind him and spun with his weapon levelled at its source.

‘I’m coming with you, old chap,’ Sir Percival said quietly, his own small revolver gripped in his hand.

Charles Lightfoot could not sit down. In his agitated state he paced Daniel Duffy’s office, muttering under his breath.

‘It would be easier on yourself,’ Daniel said calmly from behind his desk, ‘if you took a seat and composed yourself, Major Lightfoot.’

Charles ceased pacing and swung on Daniel. ‘Did you know of this?’ he demanded, his eyes almost bulging from his head.

Daniel kept a poker face. If only you knew, he thought, eyeing the former English officer with contempt. He had
been briefed by John MacDonald before he departed for the north. Aware of who Lightfoot was and why John wanted his downfall, Daniel had agreed to assist Nicholas in his clever scheme. ‘I am afraid what we have discovered comes as a shock to me too,’ Daniel said, doing all he could to hide his smugness. ‘But, in business, one has to accept that there is always a gamble involved when investing large sums of money. We only found out today that the property you purchased is being resumed by the government.’

‘They are paying a pittance of compensation compared to what I have outlaid on the purchase,’ Lightfoot said, spitting out his words. ‘I am ruined unless something can be done. The money was nearly the sum total of my brother-in-law’s capital.’

‘Well, at least it was not your money,’ Daniel shrugged. ‘You must be grateful for that.’

Lightfoot stepped to the edge of Daniel’s desk and glared down at him. ‘Sir, I once held the Queen’s commission and thus I was deemed to be an officer and a gentleman. Gentlemen do not throw away a trust granted to them by someone like Sir Percival Sparkes. How can I tell him of the loss?’

‘I am sorry for the situation that you find yourself in,’ Daniel said, trying to sound sincere. ‘But all you can do is take it on the chin, and write off the financial loss to experience. I think you may have been a better soldier than a businessman.’

Lightfoot finally slumped into a chair. ‘Is there nothing I can do to recover even some of the money?’ he pleaded.

‘We could appeal in the courts,’ Daniel offered. ‘But that could take years and a great amount in legal fees.’

‘So, you are saying I would be wasting my time,’ Lightfoot sighed.

‘To be honest,’ Daniel replied, ‘it would be a waste of time, unless you had resources to fight the government.’

‘Why was there no warning of the resumption?’ Lightfoot asked.

‘Just one of those matters lost in the red tape of a colonial government,’ Daniel shrugged. ‘About all I could suggest at this stage is for you to return to your hotel and have a stiff drink. No doubt you will have to contact Sir Percival and inform him of the loss.’

Lightfoot rose wearily from his chair. His demeanour reminded Daniel of the defeated boxer leaving the ring after a terrible beating and he almost felt sorry for him. But Daniel’s tragic family history also had its roots in that bloody day at the Eureka stockade when his uncle, the legendary Patrick Duffy, had stood against the British regiments and goldfields police. This matter was as personal to him as it was to his friends the MacDonald brothers.

As Lightfoot entered the foyer of his hotel a desk clerk waved a telegram at him.

‘It came today,’ the clerk said, handing it to him. ‘All the way, relayed from Cooktown,’ the clerk continued, clearly impressed by the marvels of modern technology.

Lightfoot accepted the telegram without much enthusiasm. If it was from Cooktown, then it had to be from his brother-in-law. He pocketed the envelope and went to his room.

Taking off his coat and top hat, he sat down at a desk. The telegram was indeed from Sir Percival, saying that he and Amanda had arrived safely and were preparing to go on the expedition to the Black Mountain. But what Sir Percival had added chilled Lightfoot. His brother-in-law had been
fortunate in acquiring the services of a well-experienced guide by the name of Lachlan MacDonald. In fact, their guide was a former Forest Ranger, who had served in the same campaign as Lightfoot.

‘Lachlan MacDonald!’ Charles Lightfoot whispered, dropping the telegram to the floor as if it were a poisonous snake. He had tried to dismiss the young Scot from his mind after the unfortunate incident with Forster’s murder trial, which had left him looking like a liar in the eyes of the court. That was besides the impudent scoundrel’s influence over his sister. It had taken a lot of threatening to get Amanda to agree to marry Sir Percival Sparkes on their return from New Zealand and he suspected she still harboured feelings for the young soldier she had loved all those years ago.

What was Lachlan doing acting as a guide for Sir Percival Sparkes? Hadn’t it been Nicholas Busby who recommended the man? The same Nicholas Busby who had recommended such a ‘sound’ financial investment which had now ruined his brother-in-law?

And then the pieces started to fall together in the bitter officer’s mind; Busby & MacDonald – surely it was no coincidence that Nicholas’s business partner shared the same name as the man he held such enmity for? Lightfoot suddenly felt the chill of a conspiracy. He had been set up!

Leaping to his feet, Lightfoot gripped the table, toppling it over in his rage. By God! They would all pay for their devious treachery. He would have his revenge. From a small travelling chest, he took a pistol. He was ruined and had nothing more to lose.

Cautiously, Lachlan and Sir Percival moved through the bush towards the camp. Now they could hear voices and
calculated that they were about a hundred paces from the clearing.

‘The bastard slew Jimmy,’ Lachlan heard one voice raised in anger. ‘Cut the heathen’s throat.’

Spurred by the urgency of getting to his friend, Lachlan burst from the scrub to see three men standing around Matthew, who lay on his back on the ground. Without hesitating, Lachlan raised the pistol and fired into the group. Four shots scattered the startled men, but they had no chance to return fire, so intent were they on seeking the cover of the scrub. Lachlan was reassured when he heard Sir Percival’s revolver providing covering fire.

Matthew raised his head and groped for the shotgun lying a few feet from where he had been felled by a bullet. ‘Get away!’ he shouted at Lachlan. ‘They will shoot you!’

Lachlan sprinted across the camp site and dropped to his knees. Blood was oozing from the big Maori’s chest where a bullet had entered his right side. Lachlan had seen enough of the signs in war to know that his friend was in trouble unless he could get him medical help.

‘They jumped me,’ Matthew rasped in his pain. ‘But I got one of them – over there.’ He nodded in the direction of the tents, where Lachlan could see a young man splayed on the ground, staring with sightless eyes at the sky.

A volley of shots from the scrub nearby and the shouts of men encouraging each other to shoot made Lachlan acutely aware of how vulnerable he was. ‘Take cover, you damned fool man,’ he heard Sir Percival shout to him from the edge of the clearing.

‘I will come back for you,’ Lachlan said, laying Matthew’s head gently on the earth. ‘Just keep your head down.’

Lachlan sprinted to where he had left his rifle and cartridge belt by his saddle. He scooped up both as bullets
plucked the grass around his feet. At least he now had a weapon to hold off the men.

Joining Sir Percival and loading the Snider, Lachlan swung on the scrub where the shots had come from. For a fleeting second he saw a figure blur in the bush and he fired. Luck was with him when he heard the man scream, ‘I’m shot!’ As the gunfire abated, Lachlan guessed that the man’s companions were going to his aid. Five men the day before but now that number had most likely been reduced to three, he calculated.

This time, his opponents were careful not to reveal their presence and Lachlan waited behind a log for a target to reveal itself. The wait was agonising. In front of him was Matthew and behind him he had left Amanda. Were the attackers even now doubling around the camp to go directly to the hill of stones seeking out Amanda? Lachlan moved his head to peer into the shimmering grey scrub. A volley of shots plucked at the trees around him, answering his unspoken question. Then he heard the sound of horses’ hooves thundering away. It seemed that the men had departed.