Bony - 26 - Bony and the White Savage by Arthur W. Upfield

Author:Arthur W. Upfield
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-05-21T05:49:37+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The Stalking Sneaker

THE NIGHT was cool and quiet, and the scents of Emma’s flowers and those of the forest behind the homestead were sentient beings vying to enter Bony’s room. A dog growled, and Bony was instantly awake. Another dog barked and the other supported its alarm. They announced the coming of a car from the Inlet.

In green striped pyjamas, Bony slipped from the house and ran the short distance to the track to Timbertown. It was only then that he heard the sound of the vehicle, and was aware it would be travelling at twenty five miles an hour over this unmade road. It was fast enough to cause his haste.

Its headlights shot beams into the faint mist above the trees, then it gilded the top of the karri tree, finally to glare on the trackside tree behind which he had taken cover. The car came on with its engine purring, did not take the turn off to the homestead, passed Bony with the instrument lights switched off. He could not identify the driver, but the silhouette of the car in addition to the rear number-plate proved it to be that owned by Luke Rhudder.

In the living-room he found Matt also in pyjamas.

“Was that Luke? Said he was going home today, didn’t he?”

“It was his car, Matt. Mind me telephoning? Sorry to disturb you. Three o’clock! Must be hoping to get up to Perth before the real heat of the day there.”

“Poor old Sam,” Matt said, and grinned.

“Now what!” said poor old Sam. “That you, Nat?”

“Luke’s car has just passed. Couldn’t see who was driving, or if he had any passengers. Remember he told his wife he’d be coming home today.”

“Yes. Think he’s worth checking?”

“I was going to suggest it,” Bony said mockingly, and Sasoon chuckled and came fully awake. “Don’t report until six. I’m going back to bed.”

“And they say a policeman’s life is all beer and bash.”

Bony went back to bed, and immediately slept. The dogs settled and the many perfumes took over the night. Until half past three when the dawn touched the sky, and a little wind came from the sea. It was then that the birds decided on revenge for being rudely disturbed.

In a cedar-tree just beyond Emma’s detached laundry a cock butcher-bird practised one note several times, before rendering the first of four distinct melodies. It was as though this small imp of a bird knew that Bony had earned a night’s sleep, because he kept at his repertoire until another of his kind entered into competition.

The several magpies in the karri tree began to contribute their warbling to the orchestra, producing the sweetest notes in Nature, each musician playing with all stops out and doing his damnedest. The performance was unique, unforgettable, lovely enough to stir the heart of a goanna. But why, oh why, at half past three in the morning?

Bony clawed the sleep from his eyes and went to the living-room where he filled a kettle and put it on the primus for quick boiling.

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