Cobram
Saturday 24 September, late afternoon
Constable John O’Shea knew his face was red. The burn of anger had clawed over his neck. Haines was in the police station again, and two of his men were standing by him, their faces set, pugnacious and threatening.
Haines was caustic. ‘I don’t want any bastard out there on that property, you hear me?’ He jabbed a finger at John.
‘How the hell am I to stop people wandering around the countryside? And it’s not yours to warn folk off,’ John fired back. ‘I’ve heard your cronies here get up to that sort of thing.’
The finger jabbed again. ‘It’ll be my property soon enough and I don’t want anybody getting ideas about it. You just make sure no one goes out there.’
‘If I find you and your mates here harassing anyone else—’
‘Constable O’Shea.’ Cyril Robinson burst through the door, his eyes squarely on John. ‘You best get out to the Bayley property.’
Haines and his two men turned. O’Shea stared.
‘That new fella, Fitz Morgan. Someone clobbered him, and he’s near drowned at the Bayleys’ place.’ He stopped, breathless, then turned to find Haines was glaring at him, his two men restless. He stopped, mouth open.
‘Near drowned?’ Haines’s face mottled with fury. He stood rigid, glared at his men. One of them backed up a little.
John erupted into action, grabbing a rifle from the wall rack and pocketing a handful of bullets. He snatched his hat off the peg, marching towards Haines. ‘If this has your mark on it,’ he seethed through clenched teeth, his face blanched, ‘I’ll come for you.’ He shouldered Haines out of his way and stepped onto the road.
Robbo followed, throwing himself onto Patto’s back. ‘I’m gonna find the doc, head back out there with him,’ he said.
‘That’s Fitz’s horse,’ John bristled.
Robbo’s face set. ‘I didn’t steal it. Mr Dolan said to take him.’
‘Mr Dolan?’ Then John’s memory tickled. ‘Big fella, black hair?’
Robbo, still wary, nodded.
Dolan, the wheelwright family who lived next door in Ballarat when they were kids. Fitz’s mate. Raff, that’s it. Raff was his mate. What’s going on? ‘The doctor has gone to old Mr Beattie’s,’ he told Robbo. ‘I saw him there earlier. Hurry up.’
Robbo took off. John rubbed his head hard, slapped on his hat. Dolan is out there with Fitz, and a pair of bloody troopers is lookin’ for him. And just now, Haines’s men looking suspicious—
‘You watch yourself, Constable,’ Haines said, pushing past, nudging John aside, his men following. ‘I won’t take your nonsense,’ he puffed, all for show and loud enough for onlookers to hear.
John took no notice; he’d deal with the arrogant bastard after he found Fitz. People were staring. Two ladies had stopped on the street, mid stride, eyes wide. The shopkeeper across the road who’d been brushing down his windows, watched, leaning on his broom. Two men tying up their horses at the next rail found sudden interest in their saddlebags, hats hiding their faces. Three town kids darted in and out, one shouting in a mimic of Haines’s boom, ‘I won’t take your nonsense,’ before John took a swipe at him with his boot.
His rage boiling, he ran to the stables at the back of the station, fitted a bridle to his horse. Wrenched the saddle from the rail, threw it on, buckled the girth, and climbed up. Jesus, what’s Fitz got himself into now? Clobbered, near drowned? Jesus. He shoved his hat into a pocket and kicked his horse into a gallop. Jesus Christ, Fitz.
Never had the run out to a place taken so bloody long. Don’t die, brother, don’t die. He flicked the reins and his mount picked up speed. Damn gelding hadn’t had a run for a while, but he lengthened his stride and the road sped under his hooves. Hang on, Fitzmorgan. Hang on. He rode hard, pushing his horse. Emotion roared up from John’s guts, clawing at his throat. He had to blink hard, and swallow. Good thing the day was too hot, the breeze they made too swift; tears—if there were any—might’ve dried before they landed on his cheeks.
The turn-off was ahead and he slowed up, steering the horse onto the track. Backing off a gallop, he threw the reins away once he saw the hut ahead and clambered off his horse. Stumbling, he got to the door. ‘Fitz,’ he yelled and pounded inside.