CHAPTER FIVE

The Unveiling

Old Tom was quite happy to give him a bed for the night, but was curious about the cage.

‘Never you mind,’ was the angry reply. ‘Just mind your own business and keep your trap shut.’ Then, realising that he shouldn’t offend the only person likely to help him, Scarfie added, ‘Here, take this money and go have a drink at the pub. I’ll just have some shut-eye and take off in the morning when I’m feeling better.’

Tom scuttled off to the local tavern. He had seldom had so much money to spend. He felt like a king!

Jim Richards and his mate Joe Maloney were sitting in a corner of the tavern discussing business when Tom burst in. Rushing over to them, flourishing a handful of bank notes, he announced grandly, ‘I’m shouting. What would you like to drink?’

‘Nothing for me, thanks,’ answered Jim as he stood up. ‘I’m just about to get on home. It’s much too late for me already. I’ve had a big couple of days.’

‘Yeah, I heard you were out Yowie-hunting. Didn’t have any luck, did ya?’

‘Nope. Never expected I would. There are no Yowies in the Goonoo.’

‘Well,’ said Tom knowingly, ‘you’re gunna look pretty foolish when everybody sees what Scarfie’s got in his cage.’

Jim sat down again. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ said Tom in a hushed tone, ‘I’m not s’posed to say nothin’, but Scarfie turned up at my place this arvo with one of them circus-animal cages. Mate, there’s somethin’ inside—I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it breathing! He’s got the whole darn contraption covered over with a tarp!’ Seeing the looks on their faces, he added triumphantly, ‘I bet you any money it’s a Yowie! Then everybody in this darn tootin’ town will have to say sorry to me, seein’ as how no one ever believed me afore this.’

Jim stood up again. He took his leave of old Tom Jackson and turned to his mate Joe.

‘How about you walk a short way with me, Joe—there’s something I want to ask you.’

When old Tom finally staggered back to his cottage that night, he found his house guest Scarfie delirious with fever. He sent for the doctor.

‘He’s been rantin’ and ravin’ all night long about savage beasts, bearded ladies … all kinds of queer things!’ he explained.

The doctor scratched his head and thought for a moment.

‘I’d say he’s probably got the flu. Just give him a couple of doses of this tonic, and he should be okay in a couple of days.’

But the doctor (who was really a “horse” doctor, and not a “people” doctor) was wrong. The patient died that night.

Tom Jackson was not a bit upset. If anything, he was delighted. As far as he was concerned, the cage holding the Yowie now belonged to him. He would take the beast to Sydney and sell it to the highest bidder. Or, better still, maybe he could travel around the countryside, charging people to have a look. But first things first, he thought. Now was his chance to show the townsfolk how wrong they had been.

At the tavern the next night, Tom boasted how he had captured a Yowie and would show them all the following morning. Their laughter at this announcement infuriated him. ‘Fine,’ he said, jamming his hat onto his head and stalking angrily out the door. ‘Be at the town square tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh!’

A huge crowd gathered at the town square the next morning. Everyone was there. Young and old, the wealthy and the poor—all turned up bright and early to see the unveiling. Some were even beginning to believe old Tom.

Perhaps he really had caught a Yowie after all!

Tom Jackson, bursting with pride, strutted up and down beside the covered cage. He had dug out his best shirt and was even wearing a necktie for the occasion. For the first time in his life, he had the whole town’s attention and was planning to make the most of it. He started off with a lecture about Yowies generally—their habits, what they ate, and so on. What he didn’t know, he simply made up. He told gory stories of cannibalism and baby stealing, and by the time he had finished, a hushed silence had fallen over the crowd.

Suddenly one of the children piped up, ‘Boy, oh boy, them Yowies sure do stink, don’t they?’

‘Of course they do, boy,’ said Tom. ‘Everyone knows it. That’s how you can tell when there’s Yowies around—by the terrible stench.’

The crowd sniffed the air. They all agreed. Yowies really stank!

An impatient onlooker yelled, ‘Cut out the yakking will ya, we haven’t got all day! Give us a look, then!’

Old Tom took a knife from his pocket and raised it ceremoniously. Everybody gasped. But no, it was just to cut the ropes holding down the tarp that covered the cage. Next, he pulled off the tarpaulin itself, and there, lying on the floor of the cage, was a large beast of some kind, covered by a huge kangaroo-skin rug.

The watching crowd gasped in amazement.

Old Tom opened the cage door and stepped inside. Holding his nose with one hand, he used the other to grasp one corner of the rug. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, bowing to the audience, ‘may I present … The YOWIE!!!’ and with a flourish he threw the covering aside to expose the beast beneath.

At first there was complete silence.

Then came a trickle of sniggers and giggles.

These grew into waves of hysterical laughter that quickly echoed through the crowd until it seemed that the whole town had exploded with mirth—some laughing so hard that tears ran down their cheeks, while others held on to their sides as if they would split wide open.

What lay dead and decaying at the bottom of the cage was not a Yowie.

It was Joe Maloney’s dead cow, Bessie.