CHAPTER FOUR

The Capture

It was several days later. Jim Richards stood in the cosy kitchen, warming himself by the pot belly stove and drinking a mug of hot chicken soup. He yawned and had a big, big stretch.

‘Well, Mary, dear,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘I think I’ve convinced that rascal Scarfie that there are no Yowies in the forest. I’ve really worked him hard over the past two days. I’m completely worn out myself, so heaven knows how he’s feeling. Absolutely wrecked, I hope!’ Jim blew lightly onto the soup before taking another sip. ‘He was complaining about blisters on his feet yesterday and this morning he seemed a bit under the weather. Ha! Two days of hunting and all he’s managed to catch is a cold! With a bit of luck, he’ll be leaving the area tomorrow. One thing’s for sure, though—he’s certainly had enough of tracking!’

‘Did you find out why he’s called Scarfie?’ asked Mary.

‘It’s a nickname—to do with that scar on his face. He seems quite proud of it—got it in a fight of some kind. According to him, the man with the blade got off much worse than he did. Well … that’s his version of the story. It’s hard to believe a word the man says. Anyway, I’m glad to be rid of him. The sooner he goes back to Sydney Town the better, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘What about Howie?’

‘Well, he’d better stay in hiding for a while longer. We’ll send Hannah tomorrow morning with a message telling him to stay put until we’re sure it’s safe. It’s not worth taking the risk. That bloke Scarfie is as slippery and slimy as an eel! I’d go myself, but I promised young Joe Maloney I’d have a look at that old cow of his—it’s pretty poorly and you know how fond he is of it.’

Mary nodded. Thank goodness all this would soon be over. She knew how worried Hannah was, and she felt sorry for Howie as well. Hiding from hunters day after day must be terrible for him.

Mary washed up the soup mugs and checked on Hannah before turning down the lamps and following her husband to bed. It had been a long and eventful day.

After breakfast the next morning, Hannah helped her mother pack a small basket of goodies for Howie. There were chocolate-chip cookies, some pieces of fruit and a small bottle of lime cordial. Hannah popped in a couple of picture books for him, too. They discussed the type of message they should send him. As Howie was a very poor reader, Hannah’s mother insisted that the note should be simple but also very clear. They worked on the message together and, when finished, placed it in an envelope marked “HOWIE”. Hannah put the envelope in her basket, gave her mother a quick kiss and a wave goodbye and headed down the track towards the forest.

Her father had come up with a good plan for keeping the Yowie safe thought Hannah, as she clambered over logs and ducked under overhanging branches. As long as there was any risk of being discovered, Howie was to remain hidden during the day and only to come out at night to retrieve messages and food, which would be left in a secret hiding spot. This special place was the hollow stump of the tree that recently had almost claimed her father’s life.

Now, if everything had gone according to plan, things would have turned out fine. Howie would have come out after dark, read the note and returned to his lair.

Unfortunately, it didn’t happen quite like that.

Hannah’s father had been right not to trust Scarfie, but he was wrong in thinking that this man had had enough of tracking. For all his faults, the rascal did not give up quite so easily.

Scarfie was quite suspicious of the timber cutter and his wife. He was sure they were hiding something. He’d noticed several anxious glances passing between them and the wife was forever prattling on about the Blue Mountains and some place in Queensland where supposedly there’d been Yowie sightings. Couldn’t make up her mind, that one! On the one hand she was pushing for him to go and search up there, while on the other hand, she kept insisting there were no such things as Yowies—and certainly none in the Goonoo!

Something was definitely up, he thought, but he didn’t know what that something was! So he decided to keep an eye on the family a bit longer … just in case.

That morning he watched as the timber cutter kissed his wife goodbye and rode off down the road, heading towards the village. Next, the little girl, Hannah, appeared. Carrying a picnic basket over her arm, she skipped off towards the forest.

‘Well, now,’ smirked Scarfie to himself, ‘she’s a real Little Red Riding Hood, isn’t she? Wonder who she’s going off to see. Maybe it’s her grandmother … or maybe it’s the Big Bad Wolf!’

He followed Hannah closely, dodging behind trees and bushes to make sure she didn’t spot him. The girl hurried through the forest and eventually stopped at a tree stump. Here she emptied the contents of her basket, looked around quickly to make sure she hadn’t been seen and then scampered back home again.

Now this is really interesting, thought the hidden watcher. I wonder who’s going to pick up those goodies.

He waited in the bushes all day long, but nobody turned up.

Finally Scarfie could stand it no longer. He was hungry and thirsty and cold. He crept up to the hollow tree stump to find out exactly what was stashed there. He found cookies, cordial and story books. And … an envelope addressed to someone called Howie!

It wasn’t sealed, so he was able to remove the note, which was printed in big letters:

BEWARE! DANGER!
YOWIE HUNTER WITH GUN!
U MUST HIDE

Underneath this message was a sketch of a large hairy monster and a man hiding behind a tree, holding a long black rifle.

There was another sheet of paper folded into the envelope. It was a crayon drawing of a small girl holding hands with a monster! Beneath it were the words:

HOWIE + HANNAH
Friends Forever XXX

Scarfie punched the air excitedly with his fist. Yes! He knew it! So there was a Yowie after all. And they’d been hiding him all this time. Well, well, well.

He replaced the note, thought for a while, and then removed the cork from the bottle of cordial. Thirsty as he was, he chose not to drink. Instead, he took a handful of small, white sleeping pills from his pocket. He dropped them into the liquid, shook the bottle to dissolve the tablets, and replaced the cork. Then, looking around to make sure he was still alone, he returned it to its hiding place. Though the cookies looked very tempting, Scarfie decided he wasn’t hungry any longer. He was much too excited to think about food.

Satisfied with his efforts, he returned to his hiding place and settled down to watch and wait.

It was chilly and damp in the forest. The trees were tall and close together, keeping out the sunshine. Not only that, but it was getting pretty late and soon it would be too dark to see. Scarfie was freezing. He kicked himself for not bringing a warm coat and gloves. He was bound to get a bad dose of the flu out of all this. But it would be worth it, he kept telling himself. It would be well worth it if he finally managed to capture a Yowie, even if he did get pneumonia in the process. Still, something had better happen soon before he turned into a block of ice and couldn’t move at all.

Just when he had given up hope and was about to scramble out from his hiding place to find somewhere warm, he heard something—a shuffling noise. Suddenly, a bulky figure loomed out of the darkness and headed towards the tree stump. Scarfie’s jaw dropped open in amazement.

It was huge! It was hairy! It was a real live Yowie!

Scarfie could hardly believe his luck.

The creature grunted with pleasure as it examined the items the little girl had left. Then, with a contented sigh, the Yowie sat down on a log and began to eat some of the cookies. Next, it opened the bottle of cordial. Scarfie held his breath. He hoped the strong lime flavour would cover the smell and taste of the sleeping pills he had thrown in. But there was no need to worry. The Yowie took a big swig, swallowed another cookie and finally polished off the remaining drink.

It was only then that the creature pulled out the envelope and read the note. It must have decided to return to its hiding place, thought Scarfie, as the monster rose to its hind legs.

Scarfie had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh when he saw what happened next.

As the Yowie tried to stand up, it swayed back and forth and left to right, before finally toppling onto all fours. It crawled a few paces before attempting to stand again. This time its legs gave way completely and it collapsed in a big, hairy heap.

Scarfie rushed over to the limp body. I hope it’s not dead, he thought. A monster like this is worth much more alive than dead. He bent over the Yowie and was able to hear some snuffling breathing noises. Thank goodness for that! The pills had done their job perfectly. The beast would be out of action for many hours, so he’d have plenty of time to carry out the rest of his plan.

He returned to the forest some time later, leading a large horse pulling a cage on wheels—the kind they use to transport circus animals, like lions and tigers. He parked the cage as close as he could to the unconscious Yowie and shone a torch onto its face. Good. The monster was well and truly out of it!

After much huffing and puffing and cursing, Scarfie finally managed to get the beast into the cage. But he wasn’t quite finished. First, he covered the Yowie in a large kangaroo-skin rug. Next, he padlocked the door and put the key into his pocket. Finally, he covered the cage itself with a massive tarpaulin and tied it down with strong rope, to keep people from seeing what was inside. At last he was done!

Exhausted but satisfied, Scarfie mounted his horse, kicked his heels against its flanks, and headed towards town, pulling the cage behind him.

Despite feeling very pleased with himself, Scarfie also felt quite dizzy. At first he thought it was the thrill of capturing the monster, but soon the buzz in his head became a sickening throb.

Now he was aching all over, his head was pounding, and he was finding it difficult to breathe. One moment he was flushed with heat, and the next he was shivering with icy chills. Perhaps he had pneumonia after all!

What he desperately needed was to rest. But Scarfie was far from home and had nowhere to go. He had spent the past few nights sleeping in his swag in the forest, but this was no time for camping. All he wanted was a nice, warm, dry bed where he could sleep it off.

Scarfie racked his brain. The only person who might possibly help him was old Tom Jackson—the town drunk who’d once claimed to have seen the Yowie.

I’ll go there, he decided. I just need to lie down for a bit before I head off to Sydney—where fame and fortune await!