The Warrior Sheep Down Under (11 page)

Tod and Ida had spent the day waiting at the airport. They'd forgotten there was only one plane a day from Brisbane to Barton's Billabong and it was dark by the time they arrived back.

Tod glanced up at the tower, remembering the light he thought he'd seen there a few nights earlier. But then a really bright beam of light suddenly shone in their eyes, blinding them for a moment.

“Who's there?” demanded a voice. Nat lowered his torch. “Oh, it's only you guys.”

Tod forgot the light in the tower.

“We've been trying to phone my brother,” said Ida. “Is he all right?”

“I dunno,” said Nat. “I've been looking for him all day. He's not in his house. I was just going to call you.”

“Have you asked Mr. Creeply?” said Tod.

Nat nodded. “Yeah. But he never comes out of his office so he's hardly likely to know.” He suddenly patted Ida's arm. “Don't look so worried. I'll bet a fistful of dollars he's had a phone call about an injured joey and gone off to pick it up.”

“Without telling anyone?” asked Ida, disbelievingly.

“Wouldn't be the first time,” replied Nat. “He's not used to having people around, remember.” He gave Ida a brief smile. “If he doesn't turn up in the morning, we'll get the police to go look for him.”

• • •

At daybreak on the Jumpup Trail, Alice was wondering if she dared get out of her swag. She'd lain awake most of the night, too scared to move, but as the darkness gave way to dawn, she knew she had to. There was a long way to go to Jumpup Crossing and her time was running out. She peeped fearfully from her swag. No yellow eyes. No Bunyip.

Alice wriggled out and looked around. Nothing! Just endless nothing. But at least it wasn't dark anymore. She ate her meager emergency rations in one go and tossed the empty rucksack away. Then she looked down at the grubby swag she'd sweated in all night, felt a surge of anger, and kicked it hard. A black, hairy leg, about as long as her longest finger, emerged from inside. Then another leg. Then six more as a humongous spider crawled out. It was black and orange and the size of a dinner plate. It paused for a moment as if blinking in the light, then scuttled straight toward Alice's feet.

Her scream would have terrified a busload of Bunyips.

• • •

The warriors had exceeded their forty winks by several thousand. But they all sprang awake as the human scream shattered the Outback silence.

“Whassat?” Oxo was first to his feet, head raised in readiness.

Then he blinked. The sheep were not alone.

Oxo was staring at the bony knees of a creature that was silently towering over them. Looking up, he saw, on top of the long thin legs, a roundish body covered in shaggy gray feathers. And above that was a long gray neck, topped by a small head from which amber-colored eyes bulged.

The creature made no sound. Then, suddenly, it reached out its neck and jabbed a sharp, yellow beak into Oxo's chest.

“Oi—watch it!” Oxo was so surprised, he took a step backward; something he rarely did.

“Ohmygrass…” whimpered Jaycey, cowering next to Sal. “What kind of bird is
that
?” She was guessing it was a bird. She couldn't think of anything else that had two legs and a beak. Even Wills didn't know.

“The big, ugly kind,” grunted Oxo, recovering from his surprise.

“Ugly? You ever looked in a pool of water, mate?” The creature cocked its head to one side and regarded Oxo with its bright, amber eye. “What are
you
, anyway? Some kind of woolly kangaroo?” Then, without waiting for an answer, it darted forward and prodded Oxo's chest again with its yellow beak. This was fun. The best since it had dared to prod a wombat.

“Oi! I warned you!” Oxo spluttered.

The bird drew its neck back and bobbed its head. “Just curious,” it said. “We get some weird lookin' creatures around here but I never saw one like you before.”

“Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat,” growled Oxo.

“It never killed an emu, though.” The bird fluffed its feathers and ducked its head cheekily, pretending to jab Oxo again.

Oxo glared at it. “Hit me one more time and you'll be the first!”

Links thrust out his curly chest. It was time to give Oxo some support. “You'd better listen to what he says, man. Show some respect. We is warriors.”

The long, gray, feathery neck suddenly shot out and Links felt the iron-hard beak jab into his own shoulder.

“Oops,” tittered the emu. “Sorry.”

“Hey…” Links staggered back a few steps.

“OK, stick legs,” roared Oxo. “If it's a fight you want!” He reversed rapidly for a run-up, lowered his great head, and charged.

The emu skipped out of the way. “Call that a charge?” he inquired, as Oxo skidded past. “I've seen dead dingoes move quicker.”

“I said show some respect, man!” shouted Links, and he too lowered his head.

This was more like it. The emu had them both going now. It darted its head one more time, turned, and waggled its bottom at the sheep. Then ran, bounding away, swiftly and effortlessly, its long legs, with their powerful three-toed feet, covering the ground with huge strides.

Oxo and Links hurtled in pursuit, their heads down, their hooves pounding the dusty dirt track.

Sal, Jaycey, and Wills looked at each other.

“I sometimes wish…” sighed Sal. But there was no time to ask exactly what. If they stayed where they were, they would lose Oxo and Links. They raced after the big rams as fast as they could.

Jumpup wasn't the biggest place in Australia. The trail from Lonely Flats led into it at one end and a dirt road to nowhere in particular led out of it at the other. In between was just one street with a few houses. The ten people who lived there all knew Jon at Lonely Flats and he'd asked them to take a photograph of Alice Barton when she arrived. This was about as exciting as things ever got in Jumpup and everyone was on the lookout.

“I see dust!” someone shouted. “She's coming!”

Two other residents stretched a green ribbon between two small gum trees on either side of the track expectantly.

Tension mounted. Then an emu appeared at speed. Pursued by a bunch of sheep. The emu ducked under the green ribbon, then swerved off the track into the scrubby bush.

“See ya!” it called over its shoulder as it disappeared. “Not bad for a bunch of overweight woolbags.”

“You'd better keep running, mate…” Oxo gasped, his sides heaving. “We're not even up to half speed yet…” He collapsed in a heap. The other warriors flopped beside him.

The watching humans had observed the sheep's arrival with interest.

“Never know what's gonna happen next in Jumpup,” said one.

Everyone agreed. It was too hot to argue. They all settled back in the shade and resumed waiting.

The sheep, having got their breath back, hurried under the green ribbon, then along the street, now earnestly looking for their fairy godtingy. There was no sign of her.

“Maybe we passed her on the track just now,” suggested Wills. “I couldn't see anything for dust.”

“Yeah,” agreed Links. “An' we
was
movin' sheeply quick.”

They wandered down the street until they reached the last house, then gazed in silence at the vast expanse of nothingness beyond. They all felt very tiny.

“Our fairy godtingy is soooo not here!” Jaycey suddenly sobbed. “Sal, I'm frightened…”

“We's one hundred percent lost this time, man,” said Links.

Sal tried to think of something comforting to say but couldn't. “I can't imagine where we went wrong, dears,” she sighed finally.

Wills did a bit better. “Well, this
must
be Jumpup Crossing,” he said positively. “And Boomer told us Barton's Billabong was just a couple of bounces away from here.”

“Yeah, right,” grunted Oxo. “But which way are we s'posed to bounce?”

They all stood in anxious, uncomfortable silence again. Links was the first to raise his head. “Listen up, guys,” he said softly.

They all listened. And way above their heads, they heard a sort of sobbing and sighing and tap tap tapping.

“It's her again, right?” whispered Links. “The maiden in diswhatsit…”

The sheep were standing at the bottom of a tall wooden pole. Beyond it, they could see another pole, then another and another, and another, a straight line of them, stretching into the endless distance. And the sobbing and sighing was growing louder and louder. It became a wail. A heartrending wail.

“Ohmygrass…” whimpered Jaycey. “It
is
her. Tacky Tuftella…She must be very close…”

Sal drew a deep breath. “Thank you, fairy godtingy!” she cried. “Wherever you are. I understand. You have guided us thus far, and now we must go on alone. We will follow the sobbing and sighing until we rescue Tuftella from the clutches of evil. Or perish in the attempt! Onward, warriors!”

“Er, Sal…” Wills didn't want to upset her again but he was worried about the poles. They were joined to each other at the top by wires, just like the telephone poles at home in Eppingham. Surely the moaning and wailing was only the breeze in the wires?

Then, as he turned to face Sal, he noticed a wooden board screwed to the side of the last house in Jumpup. On the board was an arrow pointing in the same direction as the poles. And in peeling paint beneath the arrow were the words: BARTON'S BILLABONG ANIMAL SANCTUARY.

“What is it now, dear?” asked Sal, slightly irritably. “Are you going to tell us the sound we hear is just wind in the wires? As you suggested about the boats at Murkton?”

“No,” said Wills. He grinned. “Everything's fine. I was just going to say we're on the right track.”

“Oh,” said Sal. She beamed. “Excellent.” And she set off at a brisk trot. “Wasn't there something we had to watch out for, dear? Something to do with floods…?”

“Salties,” said Wills. But he still didn't know what they were.

The warriors were well on their way toward Barton's Billabong when Alice finally staggered up to the green ribbon.

The good people of Jumpup greeted her most enthusiastically, cameras at the ready.

“Good on you!” said one of the women, handing her a bottle of water. Alice grabbed it and emptied it in one long swig.

“I guess you're hungry too?” the woman went on. She kept her face straight as she handed a little dish to Alice. “We'd be honored if you'd try one of our traditional delicacies.”

Alice, who was indeed very hungry, grabbed the dish without a thank you, picked up what she thought was a small, white sausage and stuffed it in her mouth. The taste and the texture were odd. She looked at the woman suspiciously.

“Just witchetty grubs!” said the woman with an innocent smile. She showed Alice another one. It squirmed in the palm of her hand.

Alice's eyes bulged. She tried to spit the grub out but it was at the back of her throat and going down. Gulp! She shut her eyes and swallowed.

“
Click…click…click…
” went the cameras.

“Sorry about that,” gurgled the woman. “Just Motte and Bailey's little joke. They used to love witchetties.”

Alice snatched the camera that was held out for her and glanced at the screen. Her face was a picture. Of horror. Again. But this was the final time. The last laugh would not be on her.

She looked up as Norman wheezed into town.

“Oh, well done again, Miss Barton,” said Deidre, leaning out of the truck.

Alice could tell she was trying not to laugh. Still, that was another pleasure to look forward to: giving Deidre Dishcloth the sack.

“Here, poppet,” she said briskly, thrusting the camera at her. “Email this to Mr. Creeply and let's go. Time's running out.”

She climbed into the truck and flopped into a seat. Just a few more hours and success would be hers.

• • •

In the dimly lit office at the base of Maiden Tower, Mr. Creeply's inbox pinged. He smiled at the latest photo and typed a quick reply: “Photo accepted. But I must remind you that the date is November 30 and you must present yourself at Barton's Billabong by sunset today. If you are not here by sunset, the estate will pass to Mr. Frank Smith.”

Mr. Creeply smiled again and placed the deeds of ownership to Barton's Billabong neatly on the desk. He didn't for a moment think they'd be going to Mr. Frank Smith.

• • •

Outside the tower, Tod and Ida had completed another search of the sanctuary. Every cage and shelter. Plus two circuits of the perimeter fence.

“I've phoned the police,” said Nat, hurrying to join them. “I'll tell you what, though—we could try the creek. Frank occasionally goes fishing there.”

He drove them the short distance to the creek in the open-backed van he called an “ute.” The creek was about six yards wide and about a yard deep in the middle, with gently sloping banks on either side.

“I'd better get back to watch out for the police,” Nat said as he helped Ida out of the ute. “Just keep your eyes open for salties, OK? We had floods recently and there may just be one or two about still. Even this far inland.”

Tod's stomach turned over. He knew that salties were saltwater crocodiles: vicious, hungry creatures. And that they were difficult to spot, either in the water or on the bank, because they were the color and texture of the mud and could lie log-still for hours, until something tasty came into range. Then their huge jaws would snap open and their unfortunate victim would be trapped and dragged into the water and held under until it drowned. The biggest salties could easily hold down a small kangaroo or a sheep. Or a human.

Ida felt very sick. Surely Frank couldn't have been dragged in and eaten by a crocodile?

When Nat had driven off, she did something Tod hadn't seen her do for a very long time. She burst into tears.

Tod put his arm around her shoulder.

“Come on, Gran,” he said gently. “Frank's too old and leathery for even the hungriest crocodile to bother with.”

They searched the bank cautiously, but saw no sign that anyone had been dragged into the water by a salty. But there was no sign of Frank, either.

“Let's go back, Gran,” said Tod at last. “The police should have arrived by now.”

But the police were not at the sanctuary when Tod and Ida walked in half an hour later. Nor was Nat. And when Tod tried to telephone the police himself from Frank's house, he found that the wire had been cut.

• • •

And although neither Tod nor Ida had seen a salty, that didn't mean there wasn't one in the creek. Soon after they'd walked away, what they'd imagined to be a large log, lying half submerged in the water, began to move.