It was a hot day and the wind was blowing from the north. It grew stronger and started stirring up dust. It would be very uncomfortable later, but at the moment it was not unpleasant hot, dry, and smelling of the desert.
I rode through the gap and looked about me uneasily. The place looked desolate. Little eddies of dust swirled just above the ground, and I thought: The wind is certainly rising; I’d better get back soon.
“Let’s go home. Wattle,” I said.
Then Wattle behaved in a most extraordinary manner. I urged her to turn so that we could go back through the gap in the hills but she had grown suddenly stubborn and refused to do what I wanted.
What’s wrong. Wattle? ” I asked. She started to move then towards the mine.
“No, Wattle, not that way.”
What had happened to her? She was not going my way but hers.
I pulled on her reins and then Wattle did something which she had never done before. She showed me that I rode her so easily because it was her wish that I should do so. When she changed her mind and decided not to go along with me, I must give way to her. It was a startling discovery.
She began to move forward.
“Wattle!” I cried in a dismayed tone. She ignored me and at that moment I heard two kookaburras laughing. They always seemed to be at hand to witness my discomfiture, but perhaps at other times I heard them without noticing them.
I felt a tingling horror in my spine and that I was in the presence of something uncanny which was quite beyond my powers of understanding.
Very resolutely Wattle was making her way forward.
“Wattle, Wattle,” I coaxed in vain for I could sense her indifference to me. She seemed, indeed, to have forgotten that she carried me on her back. I tried coaxing again and then a little anger; it was no use. She was in control.
What was she going to do? I asked myself. Never before had I been so conscious of the fact that I was a novice with horses. I could ride well enough when all was well, but when this was not so, I was incapable-as Joss had hinted-and at that moment I was at the mercy of Wattle, and I knew that she was aware of something of which I was ignorant. Wasn’t it said that horses and dogs had an extra sense, higher powers of perception in matters which were beyond our comprehension?
I don’t know exactly what I expected, but I should not have been surprised to see the spectre of old Grover rise up from the mine to beckon to Wattle.
I had never been so frightened.
Wattle stopped suddenly; she pawed the ground and started to whinny.
Then she turned from the mine and made her way to the right where the ground was very sandy and a ragged mulga bush was growing.
She pricked up her ears and began wildly pawing at the sand. Then she gave a sudden snort. It was obviously one of distress.
“What’s wrong. Wattle?” I asked.
Then I saw that she had uncovered something. I leaned forward.
“Oh God!” I whispered in horror, for I saw that what she had uncovered was what was left of Ezra Bannock.
He had been shot through the head and someone had thought it safe to bury him there under the mulga bush not far from the mine, where, but for Wattle who had loved him, he might never have been discovered.
There was consternation throughout the community when they brought him in. He was taken to the homestead and the : blacksmith made a coffin for him. Then he was laid to rest in the graveyard on the edge of the town and there was a full day’s holiday so that all might go to the funeral and pay their respects to Ezra.
Joss held a meeting in the Company’s offices which I attended. It was to discuss what had happened and what was to be done about it.
Ezra Bannock had been murdered and his murderer must be discovered.
Crimes of violence must not go unpunished. In a community such as this, certain laws of conduct had to be rigorously observed, so every effort must be made to bring the murderer to justice.
Notices would be printed offering a reward of fifty pounds to anyone who could give information about the murderer. Everyone who had seen Ezra on the day he disappeared was questioned.
It was disclosed that he had ridden over to Peacocks during the morning of that day and he and Joss had been together for an hour or so. Then he had ridden off, presumably to go home. Joss had gone into the town some time later.
A terrible suspicion had come into my mind, for it occurred to me that when Ezra had come over to Peacocks he and Joss might have been quarrelling about Isa. I asked myself whether the true cause of that disagreement they had had some days before in the Company’s offices was indeed about housing one of the gougers and his family. Was it really about Isa and was Ezra putting his foot down at last and saying he would have no more of it? And if so. No, I would not continue with such thoughts. I wished I could stop thinking of Joss and Isa together. I had no doubt that they were lovers. Hadn’t he given her the Harlequin Opal? If she had not been married to Ezra she would have married Joss, and then there would have been no question of his marrying me. They must both have regretted that. Had they decided to do something about it? Isa was free now . but Joss was not. Where were my thoughts leading me?
At the funeral Isa was swathed in black, which became her well. Indeed her widowhood seemed to have added an extra dimension to her charms.
She was mysterious and, I thought, not entirely desolate. Her eyes gleamed like topaz through a fine veil and her tawny hair seemed brighter than ever.
Several of us rode back to the homestead afterwards where ham sandwiches and ale had been prepared by her servants.
I found her beside me. She said she hoped I would come and see her some time. It was comforting to have a woman in the neighbourhood not so far distant I said I would call.
“Poor Ezra. Who would have thought this could happen to him? Who could have done it?”
I shook my head.
“I know so little of what goes on,” I said.
“I’m such a newcomer.”
“He can't nave any enemies, everyone liked him.”
“You don’t think he quarrelled with someone?” I saw the speculative light in her eyes.
“It … could have been,” she admitted.
The most likely theory is that a bushranger took his purse and shot him. “
“His purse was missing,” said Isa.
“And it was full of sovereigns. He liked to carry a good deal of money around with him. He said it made him feel rich and he used to fill his purse every morning. It was one of those leather ones with a ring over the top. You know the kind .. red leather.”
“And that’s missing? It clearly must have been a thief.”
“So he died for a few pounds. Poor Ezra! But perhaps that’s too easy a solution and it was someone who wanted him out of the way.”
“Who could?” I asked.
There might have been someone . ” I could not fathom the expression in her eyes.
“Perhaps,” she went on, ‘you’ll come soon. I want to show you my collection. “
“You have shown me, remember ?”
“I didn’t show you everything. Some day I will.”
Joss came up and she immediately turned from me to him. I heard him tell her that if she needed any help she was to call on him.
No, Isa had not become less attractive because she was a widow.
Joss and I rode back to Peacocks together. Absentmindedly we made our way past the peacocks on the lawn. Later we sat on the terrace to take advantage of the cooler evening air.
“What is your theory ?” I asked tentatively.
“Robbery,” he said.
“What else?”
Things are not always what they seem. Poor Ezra’s was not a very happy existence. “
“On the contrary, I rarely saw a man more pleased with his lot.”