Chapter 1

Rachel and I went for sushi and seafood over the weekend – we didn't think there'd be much of that sort of food in the desert northwest. We had dinner with my parents on Saturday, largely to reassure mum. Rachel found me a copy of Harold Hunt's Memoirs from the Corner Country and I took it with me on Monday, along with the file.

The flight to an extremely hot Broken Hill was uneventful and only half-full. Thrifty [!] had my GPS-equipped vehicle ready and supplied me with several maps. I bought several bottles of water and set out.

The Silver City highway from Broken Hill to Tibooburra took me aback: the road was quite good. Much of the road was tar with some bits well gravelled. Gravel roads were being graded and new tar was being poured in sections. Other sections looked as if they had been tarred not long ago. The only tough part was keeping my eyes out for cows, kangaroos and emus. The scenery was gorgeous in the heat haze. The GPS reported 335 klicks. It took me just about 4 hours. The Hotel was easy to locate [Tibooburra Hotel was built in 1882 during the gold rush]. Better still, it was air conditioned.

I enquired about the Courthouse and the constable when I registered and was told that the latter was having a deep noser. I looked at my room, washed my face, and went to the bar. Only one table was occupied. There were three blokes sitting at it.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for the constable, I think."

"Only think? Dontcha know?"

"May I sit and explain?"

"No 'reserved' on the seats."

"Thanks." I sat down. "My name's Patrick Hollister. I work for the State in Sydney."

"You get to pay, it's my tax dosh!" said one of the men.

"Get the draft. It's the only cold draft in Tibooburra," added the third.

"We got a letter about some Aborigines living in the Park and I got sent to find out what's up."

"Your day to shovel the shit?"

"I heard there were nigs in the Park."

"Now, Jem, don't talk like that. You go get us four drafts. Patrick'll pay." I nodded. "But no more bad language."

"So you're the constable."

"Smart, too. Yes. I'm all the law there is between Bourke and the Fence and north to Queensland. About 90,000 square klicks. Under a thousand folks. Name's Ted Johnson."

"How do you do, Ted?" I put out my hand and a leather fist took it. I could feel a power. He was nearly two meters tall and about 100 kilos. "Did you write?"

"My name on the letter?"

"Want me to fetch it? Or would you just tell me a story?"

Jem had brought two glasses and gone back for two more.

"About 80 years ago, the Protection Board loaded up some trucks and dumped about six dozen Abos in Bourke. Some of 'em turned up here weeks and months later. We've allus had a few families living on the outskirts of town." I nodded. Ted took a drink. "Am I borin' you?"

"Not at all."

"So, about two-three months ago, I heard there was a band camped inna Park. Now, I don' usually meddle with the Park, 'ceptin' when someone goes lost or there's fire danger." I nodded. But I took a day an' drove in. I headed on the Loop Road, headin' towards Warri Warri Creek, where there'd be water."

"Smart," I said. "More beer, anyone?"

"Small for me," the constable said. The other two just nodded. I waved at Jem.

"Anyways," Ted continued, "I saw a bit of smoke a few klicks from the Creek and, when I got nearer, I could see two utes and several humpies. So I just pulled up an' got out. Minute or so later a bloke walked out. I said 'hello' and said I was the local constable. He said he was glad to meet me and that he hoped I'd keep the bikers away. I tol' him that his group couldn't stay here an' he said they could, 'cause this was their land an' the Europeans had taken it.

"Well, I wasn't gonna get inta no fight, so I told him I'd report to the Ministry and he tol' me to do that. An' I got back in my LandRover an' came back. But as I was leavin' I saw him talkin' into a cell phone. And that's it."

"Good summary," I said. "So you wrote a report and sent it to Sydney."

"Yep."

"And now I'm here. Can I ask a few questions?"

"Shoot."

"Any trouble since then?"

"None."

"Any unusual purchases here?"

"Unusual?"

"Extra food, fuel, other supplies."

"I don't think so. The local abos buy at the store."

"Anything else?"

"Fred the tracker went on walkabout las' month," Jem said.

"Do you know where?"

"He said near Charleville."

"Really?" I was quite curious.

"He said lotsa bands."

"He nearby?"

"Jes' outside town. I seen him yestiddy."

"Could I talk to him tomorrow?"

"Bring him some terbaccy."

"I'll do that. Ted, busy in the morning?"

"I'm supposed to help you, I guess."

"What would be a good time?"

"Fred sleeps in. He tracks in the evenin'."

"Ten? 10:30?" I asked.

"Let's meet on the porch her at ten."

"Fine. And thank you very much, gents."

There was a lot to think about. I went to my room. After calling Rachel and telling her that I was fine, I typed a brief summary onto my laptop. Then I went for a bite and made certain the dozen drinks were on my tab.