Though they had tried to be careful to conceal their movements, word got around that Arthur Bayley and William Ford had left town the next day. Rumour had it that they had taken five horses and provisions for three months, plus equipment for digging, pegging and carrying gold. No-one was particularly surprised, since prospectors were always coming and going – mostly going. Speculation about new finds flared and died as often as their camp fires, but Bayley and Ford would have to keep their wits about them if they did strike colour.
A few days after the picnic, a strange old man came into Southern Cross. He was tall and gaunt with weathered skin and a shaggy beard. His dungaree trousers were tied up at the waist with a faded red scarf. Corks hung from the brim of his hat to keep the flies away. He had a dog with him, which was long-legged and scruffy but seemed healthy enough. We passed in the street and his dog stretched out its nose to sniff me.
‘Here, boy,’ the man muttered, without looking up.
‘It’s all right,’ I told him, putting out my hand to pat the dog. ‘I’m not afraid.’ The man lifted his head and stared at me with piercing grey eyes. Then he staggered on down the street, using the long stick he carried to steady himself.
I finished my errand and went back to the hotel. The same man was now sitting at the bar with two empty beer glasses on the counter and his dog at his feet.
Tom Farren came out to the kitchen to help me put away the new supplies.
‘Who is that man in the bar?’ I asked him.
‘That’s Moondyne Joe, the famous bushranger,’ he told me.
I’d never met a real bushranger, even though I’d heard lots of stories about men like Ned Kelly and Captain Moonlite. Pa told me not to believe everything I heard. Those tales would become more incredible each time they were told, he said, as if each storyteller had to outdo all the others.
True or not, I still liked to imagine myself on a fine black horse leaping over fallen trees, escaping from the police with my haul of gold, travelling all over the world and never wanting for anything ever again.
I leaned across to get a glimpse of the man through the open door. ‘He looks exhausted,’ I said.
‘He’s probably walked into town. His camp is about six miles out,’ Tom said. ‘And he’s not getting any younger.’
A week later I saw Moondyne Joe again. He was sitting in the shade of a tree, resting his back against the trunk. His dog lay stretched out beside him and a group of children clustered around.
‘Hello again,’ I said. The dog opened one eye, but didn’t get up. ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’
A boy with a grubby face moved closer to Joe and I sat down in his place. There were two other children: a girl with a mass of tight curls, and a younger boy who sat in front of Joe. They stared at me curiously.
‘I’m Clara Saunders,’ I said, and held out my hand. ‘I’m Mrs Farren’s sister.’
‘Oh,’ Joe said, ignoring my hand. ‘I suppose they’ve told you all about me then.’
‘Well, no. Not really. In any case I like to make up my own mind about things – no matter what other people tell me.’
Joe said nothing, just stared silently into the distance, until the girl said, ‘Come on, Joe, finish the story.’
‘You know, I’ve never really done any really bad crimes,’ Joe said, looking directly at me.
‘How come you were in gaol, then?’ the girl asked.
‘I’ve never killed or wounded anyone, or ever molested a woman. In my young days I was a lock picker – the best in England. I could pick the tightest lock,’ Joe said proudly, lifting his chin.
‘One day I was in a tavern with three friends. We were drinking together and they made a bet with me. They bet that I couldn’t get into a certain mansion in London. It was a fair amount of money they were offering. I told them they would lose their money.
‘That night I got into the mansion. Right into the lady’s apartment. But I heard someone coming and hid under the bed. Sadly I was discovered and arrested for trespassing.’
‘Did they slap you in irons?’ asked the bigger boy, his eyes lighting up.
‘A lot of people wanted to see me flogged,’ Joe continued. ‘Some said I should be hanged. That made me look bad, but the men who had made the bet, they stood very loyal by me and told the magistrate that it was their idea and that I hadn’t meant to harm anyone or steal anything from the lady.’
The children sat staring at Joe, waiting for more.
‘While the long arm of the law was making up my sentence,’ Joe went on, ‘two men came to me and asked me to open a safe for them. They were well-dressed gentlemen and when I said, “Why don’t you use the key?” they said, “We’ve tried that. We’ve tried duplicate keys as well, but the lock is jammed tight and there are important documents inside. If you open this safe for us we’re sure your other crime will be overlooked.”
‘Well, I was happy to open their safe and recover their documents,’ Joe paused to push his hat back and wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I did escape being put in prison, but I was lagged out to Western Australia instead.’
‘What’s “lagged out”?’ the smaller boy asked. Joe hesitated and looked slightly embarrassed.
‘I believe it means sent out here as a convict,’ I prompted.
‘But not now, I’m not,’ Joe declared fiercely. ‘I got me ticket of leave, I have. I’m a free man.’
‘Tell us about stealing the policeman’s horse,’ demanded the bigger boy.
‘And the way you just kept on escaping from Fremantle Prison,’ the girl laughed.
‘Yeah, tell us!’ the others chorused.
Joe was silent again. He seemed to be thinking deeply about something. His hand went automatically to his dog’s head, as if for reassurance, before he spoke.
‘It embittered me to be called a lag,’ he said. ‘And that policeman, he had it in for me. But he couldn’t catch me. Oh no. No-one could catch me. I hid out in Moondyne Gully. I lived off the land, mostly, but sometimes I got thirsty and stole a few bottles of grog from the trader in Toodyay.’ Joe’s head was nodding and his eyes were closed. I wondered if he was dropping off to sleep, but he straightened his shoulders. ‘That’s where the nickname, Moondyne Joe, comes from.’
‘And when you pinched the horse you took it back to Moondyne Gully and ate it!’ The older boy laughed so much he fell on his back in the dirt.
‘Ah, yes. They got me for that one. But they couldn’t keep me in gaol. They got tired of having to find me and lock me up again, so the Governor of Western Australia says to me, “Joe, if you escape again I swear I’m just going to leave you roaming.”’ Joe gave a gravelly laugh and his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘He didn’t believe anyone could get out of that tiny cell he’d had built specially for me. I’m smarter than that, you know. They couldn’t send me outside the prison walls to work off me sentence. They knew I’d get away, quick smart. So they brought in a pile of rocks for me to split inside the prison walls. Only I split their wall for ’em, instead.’ He laughed heartily at this, slapping his knees and rocking his body. ‘I went about it careful, mind, so they wouldn’t notice. Bit by bit, I made a hole behind the pile of rocks. Then one day I just slipped through. I made up a scarecrow and dressed it in me prison garb so they thought I was still working!’ He was laughing so hard that his eyes watered.
‘After that, I took to the bush. And the new governor, he let me be.’ Joe patted the dog. It raised its eyes.
‘Michael! Paddy!’ A woman’s voice was calling. ‘Come on home, now. Yehs best get yer chores done or yer da’ll be after ye.’ The two boys sprang up and the girl ran after them, even though she hadn’t been called.
‘Bye.’
‘See you later, Joe,’ they shouted, and ran off with the red dust kicking up behind their bare feet.
When they had gone, I turned back to Moondyne Joe. ‘You have certainly had an interesting life,’ I said. ‘I hope you will tell me more about it, next time you come to town.’
He didn’t reply and seemed to have retreated into his own thoughts again. I stroked his dog’s ears and left them both sitting there in the fading light.
I returned to the hotel to find Emily looking for me.
‘At last!’ she said. ‘I was about to take the Finnertys’ dinner tray to them myself.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I was listening to Moondyne Joe.’
‘That explains it,’ Emily said. ‘He’ll tell tales till all the cockies have come in to roost, but who knows if they’re true. Sometimes I think he makes them all up – except the one about being sent out here as a convict. That one seems to stay the same. Here.’ She handed me a tray, already loaded with two plates of food covered by a tea towel, knives and forks wrapped in linen serviettes, a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘Mind how you go.’