Almost three weeks passed before Luke spotted Angus and his heavily laden bullock coming back up the mountain trail. So many futile hours watching and hoping meant he’d almost given up on them. His swag was already packed with his meagre belongings. Soon he and Angus would be gone from Abbott land, exploring far and wide, scouring the ranges for gold. What an adventure. He might just find his fortune.
Bear uttered a deep growl. Scruffy pricked his ears at the sound and, with impudent daring, ran on ahead, yapping wildly. Bear ignored the little terrier, but Angus was something else again. The dog had learned to trust Luke, but this trust did not extend to strangers. He pressed protectively against Luke’s leg, hackles raised and a rumble rising in his throat.
Scruffy leapt into Luke’s arms, squirming with delight. Angus halted Toro at a safe distance. ‘What’ve you got there then, lad?’
Luke put down the wriggling terrier and spoke to Bear. He walked off, stiff-legged and lay down a few yards away. Luke told Angus about the dog’s mysterious appearance at the hut.
‘So, this is the hound that helped you escape, eh? A fugitive from the law too, I’ll wager. There’s talk in town of a rogue black dog leading a pack of them native wolves. A demon dog, they’re saying, as big as a lion and twice as vicious. Him and his wolves’ve been killing sheep a dozen at a time. There ain’t likely to be two dogs of that size and description hereabouts. Nope. There’s your killer, all right. One and the same.’
Luke looked at Bear with a sinking feeling. Could this be true? Bear did disappear every night without fail, announcing his departure with a single bark and trotting northwards into the forest, leaving Luke to spend the long hours of darkness alone. He returned each morning at first light.
Luke already knew the dog was hunting his own food. Caked blood on his ruff told the story, and he was never hungry for breakfast. But leading a pack of native tigers to attack sheep? It seemed preposterous. Then Luke remembered the odd pug marks he’d seen alongside Bear’s paw prints on his second day of freedom. Daniel had taught him to recognise tiger tracks. What was the distinction between tiger and dog prints? Luke thought hard. In thylacine paws, two grooves ran down the pad. These lines were absent in a dog’s print. He tried to visualise the tracks and saw furrows running from heel to toe. Tigers. Improbable as Angus’s story sounded, Bear’s nocturnal wanderings, combined with the sightings and tracks, seemed to confirm it.
‘You can’t take that dog with you when you go into town,’ said Angus. ‘He’ll be recognised faster than you.’
‘Why would I be going into town?’
‘That’s what I’ve come to tell you, you daft lad. There’s jobs in town down the mine, just going begging. I’ve told the foreman me nephew needs work and he’s happy enough to have you. We’ll need to change your name, of course. Sir Henry’s posted a fair bounty on your head, but I’ve done some quiet asking about and that work camp you was in ain’t there no more. They moved those poor fellas back to Hobart not two weeks past, and the coppers have given up looking for you. You’ll have to leave the dog, though. What do you say?’
‘No.’
‘What sort of a damn fool answer is that? I go out of me way to save your sorry hide and find you honest work and you turn me down flat? What’s the flaming matter with you?’
‘Sorry Angus, I won’t leave Bear.’
The dog jumped up and licked his face, as if in thanks. On hind legs, Bear matched Luke’s six-foot frame. Still weak from illness, Luke was knocked flat on his back. Angus reached for his rifle, watching Bear warily. Scruffy joined in the game, jumping on Luke’s chest, making him howl with laughter.
Angus lowered his weapon. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’
Still laughing, Luke pushed the animals aside, climbed to his feet and brushed dirt and leaves from his clothes. He hugged the dogs and half-heartedly reprimanded Bear, who continued to eye Angus in a hungry way.
The old man snorted and led Toro behind the hut, unloading some items from the bullock’s pack and picketing him on a juicy patch of grass.
‘Can you stay for dinner?’ Luke asked.
‘Aye. On condition that great mongrel of yours doesn’t think I am dinner.’
Bear chose that moment to give his customary goodbye bark. Then he disappeared at speed into the forest. Scruffy chased after him for a while, but the little terrier’s legs couldn’t keep up.
Before long, wallaby steaks sizzled on the fire. Angus smoked his pipe and watched Luke stoke the flames. ‘Your mind’s made up then?’ he said. ‘You’ll not come with me to town?’
‘Not without Bear.’
‘You’re making a big mistake,’ said Angus. ‘Think about it. If you won’t leave the dog, and the dog can’t go to town, that leaves you well and truly stuck out here in no-man’s-land.’
‘It’s not no-man’s-land, though, is it?’ said Luke, throwing a stick on the fire. ‘It belongs to that bastard Abbott. I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.’ A long silence followed, interrupted only by the hiss and spatter of fat in the pan. ‘And stop calling Abbott, Sir Henry,’ Luke continued. ‘He has no claim to the title.’
‘Is that so?’ said Angus. ‘He sure acts lordly enough.’ Another long silence. ‘How’s your shoulder?’
Luke told him of his bout of fever, and Angus checked the wound, pronouncing it healed.
‘What did you do while you were away?’ asked Luke.
‘Sold my skins and some gold – for a good price too. I’ve rented a room from a widow in town. Damned fine woman is Molly Swift. I might take that job in the mine meself, seeing as you ain’t interested. Settle down for a bit. I tell you what, these old bones sure do appreciate a soft bed. I might even consider marrying up with her, if she’ll have me.’
‘She’d have to be pretty hard up,’ said Luke with a grin.
‘Well, that’s gratitude for you.’ Angus snorted. ‘I didn’t traipse all the way up this goddamned mountain for me own pleasure. And all I get back is insults. So, if you’re too clever to take me advice, tell me, what do you plan to do?’
‘We could go fossicking. Bear could come with us.’
‘I ain’t going fossicking. I done told you that already. I’m fixing to court Widow Swift. Sorry, son. I know I said we’d go prospecting up the mountain, but me plans’ve changed.’ Angus took off his battered old hat and wrung it in his hands. ‘Stop staring at me, will you? All hopeful like.’
Luke silently served up the steaks with boiled potatoes. After their meal, as they sipped billy tea, Angus’s expression brightened. ‘Here’s a thought. There’s a fella that owns a run not far from here. I hear he’s looking for an odd-job man. Fixing gates, a bit of fencing, cutting shingles. Do you reckon you could make a go of something like that?’
Luke nodded.
‘His place ain’t more than a few hour’s walk due east of here. You could earn yourself some money without showing your ugly mug in town. He might even let you bring your lousy dog, so long as it behaves itself. He’s a funny sort of bloke. Hasn’t got any stock, save a few cows and horses, so there’s no fear of that mongrel of yours killing his sheep.’
‘What’s he do with his land?’
‘He just keeps the place natural-like.’ Angus frowned. ‘Even puts trees back into perfectly good paddocks. Got more money than sense, I guess. Still, I’ve never heard a word spoken against him by any honest man. He runs some sort of school for poor kiddies in Hobart. Apparently you couldn’t meet a nicer fella.’
Luke’s fork hovered in mid-air. ‘What’s this bloke’s name then?’
‘Daniel Campbell.’
The news left Luke choking on a piece of potato. Angus eyed him curiously. ‘I went to that school,’ Luke managed at last. ‘Daniel Campbell was my teacher.’
‘Was he now? That’s a stroke of luck. Did you two get on?’
‘Yes, we got on.’ Luke marvelled at the understatement. After his parents, Daniel had been the most profound influence of his life: mentor, counsellor, confidante. Memories of his teacher had kept him sane so often throughout his long incarceration.
And Belle. Might he see Belle again? She’d be almost seventeen now. A wash of emotion left him trembling. He had Bear to thank for another miracle. If not for the dog, he might have gone to town with Angus, might have gone down the mine, risking life and limb, and for what? To line Abbott’s pocket, that’s what.
Angus peered at him. ‘Taken a shine to the idea, have you, lad?’
Luke nodded, still a little tongue-tied.
‘Righto, leave it to me. I’ll swing it for you, nothing’s surer. Happy to help.’ Angus beamed. ‘I’d appreciate it if Scruff and me could stay here tonight and have a bit more of a yarn. That’s if you won’t mind and Widow Swift won’t miss me too much, of course.’
Luke snorted and Angus clouted him over the head with his hat.
Late into the night they chatted about their lives. Luke’s childhood in Hobart, Daniel Campbell, Becky . . . Angus had lost his wife and son to typhoid fever some years back. ‘If me own boy had lived, he would’ve been close to your age.’ The fire burned low before they turned in. With Angus snoring in a swag nearby, Luke was happier than he could remember. Scruffy snuggled contentedly beside him.
The night wore on. Luke lay awake, too excited to sleep, and marauding doubts began to steal his happiness. He wished Bear was beside him as well as the little terrier. Fears about Bear and the dangers he faced in the forest set in. Old worries about his family. How was Becky? How was his mother? His father. He missed him with a fierceness that four years hadn’t managed to dull. Why wasn’t his father in court on that last day? And what about the forthcoming reunion with Daniel? After all, Luke was one of his many students. Perhaps he’d overestimated his significance. Perhaps Daniel wouldn’t even remember him?
Luke went over and over the past, reliving memory after memory. Trying to put himself in his teacher’s place, trying to judge how important their connection really was. It wasn’t until Bear crept into the hut along with the faint light of piccaninny dawn that Luke fell into a blessed, dreamless sleep.
The sun sailed high above the peaks when Luke finally stirred. Angus handed him a plate piled high with fried damper and bacon. Luke hadn’t eaten such a fine breakfast in years. With wagging tails, the dogs scrounged for the scraps Angus threw them. Bear didn’t look like a bloodthirsty killer. He even tolerated Angus patting his head in return for a piece of rind.
After breakfast, Angus saddled Toro and packed his kit while Luke took pot shots at trees with stones. He’d been counting on heading off with Angus. Now he faced being alone again.
‘Cheer up, lad. I’ll not be gone long, you’ll see. A week or two at most. Time enough to pay me humble respects to Widow Swift, pay me rent and see your teacher for you. Be back for you before you know it.’
‘Are you really going to take a job down the mine?’ asked Luke.
‘I don’t know, lad. Honest labour it might be, but it’s heavy and punishing work. Perilous too. They say you never can tell when them treacherous shafts will flood. No, I think that’s work more fit for a man of your vintage. Perhaps I’ll start up a store instead. Molly, Mrs Swift to you, says as how she’d like a store. Grand ideas she has, that one. Wants to sell everything from hams to hats and all manner of goods in between.’ Angus chuckled to himself, fondness written wide across his leathery features. Then he fetched two sacks from his pack and gestured for Luke to join him in the hut. ‘Here’s your supplies.’
He tipped a veritable treasure trove of goodies onto the floor: a round of cheese, flour, jam, salt, candles, rope, a small bag of sugar and potatoes, even some boiled lollies. Another parcel contained two new blue serge shirts, a hat and a used pair of leather boots. Luke could hardly believe his eyes.
‘I can’t thank you en—’
The two dogs chose this moment to tumble, mock-fighting, in through the door. Bear made for the cheese before Luke snatched it up. ‘Leave off.’ The big dog obediently lay in the corner, tail patting the floor, brown eyes beseeching Luke for forgiveness.
‘He sure don’t seem like no killer to me,’ admitted Angus. ‘But I’m afraid folks’ve already made up their minds. If he shows up in town they’ll shoot him on sight. Remember that, lad, won’t you?’
Luke nodded, scrambling to save his lollies from Scruffy.
‘Take care then, Luke . . . and one last thing.’
Angus pulled a long cloth-wrapped parcel from his pack saddle. Luke whistled through his teeth. A rifle.
‘How can I ever —’
‘Pay me back once you’re on your feet.’
When Angus was out of sight, Luke set to work storing the provisions and washing breakfast dishes. How good it felt to be excited about the future again. He wasn’t going to mope around this time, waiting for Angus to return. With a rifle he could go hunting. Perhaps a good feed of meat would keep Bear from wandering.
Luke and Bear spent the rest of the day exploring, following the creek upstream, where waratahs and leatherwoods bloomed in the gullies, and grass-tree spikes were bright with flowers. Spinebills and lorikeets foraged in yellow-gums, and the scented air droned with bees. A sparkling day. No wallabies though. Nothing larger than an echidna demolishing a bull-ant nest.
The steep slope levelled out to an open stringybark woodland. Bear stopped and sniffed the ground. Boot prints lay in the damp earth, a day or so old. Luke took cover and unslung his rifle, scanning the forest for movement. All was still – wait. What was that? Something dangled from a tree up ahead.
He crept forward to investigate. A dead possum swung from a noose. There was another, and another. A lucrative trade existed in possum skins, and fur trappers made good livings. Possums tended to take the easiest route to the ground. Whoever set these snares had taken cruel advantage of this, leaning poles against trees, and setting looped wire snares halfway along their length. Unsuspecting possums clambered headfirst down the poles, straight into the noose. Luke took the possum down and secured it to his belt. It made more sense to steal this trapper’s catch than to waste bullets of his own, and he never enjoyed killing.
He noticed the strangled devil as he cut down another possum: a squat, powerfully built animal with short legs, large jaws and a white blaze across its black rump and chest. It must have had the same idea as Luke, becoming trapped as it descended with its stolen possum meal.
Luke took a closer look and made an unexpected discovery – three shivering baby devils holding fast to their dead mother. Curious, Bear inspected the babies as Luke pried them loose. They wriggled wildly and Luke, reluctant to hold the tiny creatures too tightly, lost his grip. They fell as a tightly huddled mass, landing on the broad, warm back of the dog. Immediately they snuggled down into Bear’s thick black fur and clung tight.
Luke grinned. ‘Looks like you’re Mother Bear now.’
He gathered half-a-dozen more possums and started for home. They took a convoluted course and Luke was careful to disguise his trail. It bothered him that a trapper was working so close to the shack. It bothered him even more that Bear might run into this stranger one night. The dog followed carefully after Luke, mindful of his precious passengers, occasionally stopping to nose the babies. His tenderness was touching.
Back at the hut, Luke examined the little devils. They had fat tails, heads that seemed too large for their bodies, and sweet whiskery black faces with drowsy eyes. Two bore their mother’s white blaze, but the smallest one was completely black. Bear lay down. The tired little devils snuggled into his coat and went to sleep.
Luke skinned the possums and pegged out the hides, planning to slow-cook any surplus meat on a smoky fire to preserve it. He fashioned a snug pouch from hessian, and filled it with dry grass to form a cosy nest. Then one by one he peeled the babies from Bear’s back and placed them in their new home. ‘There.’ Luke stroked the dog’s soft muzzle. ‘At least if you disappear up the mountain tonight, you won’t have passengers.’
Now what to feed them? He’d discovered to his cost that the little devils had sharp teeth. Perhaps they were old enough to wean. Luke painstakingly diced possum pieces into a fine mince. Bear gobbled up any bits of gristle or bone tossed his way, although he’d already eaten two skinned carcasses.
Luke grew more and more hopeful that Bear might stay. But just when it looked like the dog had settled for the night, he padded to the door and disappeared. Damn. These overnight adventures were far too dangerous.
Caring for the three little orphans soon took his mind off Bear. Luke made a thin slurry of possum mince and cold tea, practising funnelling it through a large hollow reed. With a bit of prodding, the concoction flowed without too much trouble. As the last rays of light fled the sky, Luke grew impatient for the babies to wake. He could use the company.
After dinner he lit one of his few candles. He swept the floor and made his makeshift bed, preparing for his visitors. And, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the bush retreated into gloom, the devils woke up. He prepared a pot of warm meat slurry and filled the thick reed, pinching the bottom to prevent leaks. Plucking a baby from the hessian pouch, he sat the shy little creature in the broad palm of his hand and manoeuvred the reed into its mouth.
To Luke’s delight it sat up, clasped the reed with tiny hands and lapped up the mixture. The others followed suit. Afterwards, Luke washed their dirty faces and watched them wrestle and play. They were endlessly entertaining and Luke couldn’t wait to show them to Daniel – and to Belle.
After native tigers, devils were Belle’s favourite animals. Most people thought them stupid and vicious. Bush myths abounded. Lone drovers dreaded taking a fall from their horse with night coming on. They feared being devoured alive in the darkness. But Daniel, like Belle, thought them charming and worthy of protection. This was an unpopular view, and more than one parent had told his teacher so, accusing him of filling their child’s head with nonsense. At one time even Luke had had his doubts.
But now he was proud of the little marsupial carnivores known nowhere else on earth. How Belle would love these orphan babies. The thought triggered a crushing wave of loneliness. Luke went to bed, listening to the little devils’ yelps and snarls, and the sound of things being knocked over. Sleep was a long time coming.
When Luke woke in the morning, Bear was dozing before the fireplace, the little devils curled up asleep between his huge paws. Luke smiled. He was certainly collecting an odd lot of companions. His mouth watered as he thought about a breakfast of billy tea, damper and jam. How his luck had changed.