East of Outback (22 page)

“Oh,” she giggled. “Steak! Haven’t had steak in ages, have we, Colin. I’ll order mine. Is there room here for me?”

“Always, lass.” Pot drained the last of his glass.

She ran off to ask the bartender for another steak.

Joe reached over and poked him. “Put the turps aside awhile, Pot. You’ve had more’n enough.”

Jackie Jump grinned at Colin. “That’s why his name, you see. Least little drop makes him drunk. A man who gets drunk so easy, they call him a two-pot screamer. Pot, here, for short.”

“Oh.” Colin had it all wrong. He’d assumed the nickname
Pot
meant the man could hold his alcohol. For a bit there he had felt as if he were one with this crew, and now suddenly he felt quite naive again and out of place.

Joe bolted to his feet and lunged for the bar. Colin jumped in surprise. Now Pot roared and leaped to the fray. A leering, laughing larrikin at the bar had wrapped an arm around Hannah’s shoulders. She was squirming to release herself from his embrace. In no time half the men in the hot, stuffy room were on their feet and shouting at once.

Colin’s heart jammed itself into his throat. What now? What could he do? Before his eyes the whole pub erupted into a melee such as only the legends record. Men were pushing and shoving and roaring at one other, as if the least provocation was all they needed. The bartender bellowed for a halt to the nonsense.

Decrepit, paunchy, profane old Horace could still fight a tiger to a standstill, and Curtis Carew, weighing in at no more than a hundred and ten pounds, was tough as fencing wire. Every man in the pub was as strong as these shearers or stronger. Colin was no match for the least of them.

As nearly as Colin could tell. Pot started it. He punched the fellow with Hannah in the face, and a man with slicked-back hair turned on Pot and slugged him. Hannah!
Where is she? Colin’s brain screamed. She’s still trapped in this mess
.

Jackie Jump disappeared into the mad rush along with every other man Colin knew by name. Suddenly, a face Colin had never seen before loomed directly in front of him, swinging. Colin didn’t even feel the blow connect; he simply sprawled numb and confused in the wreckage of the table, glasses and ale, contemplating the water stains on the ceiling as pandemonium burgeoned elsewhere.

Then the whole side of his face began to burn with pain. His brain woke up.
Hannah!
He struggled to sit up, leaned too hard on a shattered table leg, and fell back when it rolled out from under him.
Hannah!
He regained strength in his knees and tottered to his feet.

Suddenly a hole opened in the churning mass of belligerents. Colin froze, openmouthed. Jackie Jump, like the axle of a wheel, rotated in the middle of the hole, creating it as he moved. He swung a huge slab bench in rapid circles, parting the waters, mowing down the opposition. He was working his way toward the door. Beneath the spinning bench, Hannah crawled on her hands and knees, safe in the eye of the storm.

“Run, lass!” Jackie cried.

Hannah bolted for the door. From nowhere a grizzled drover seized her arm, yanking her to a halt. Above the thunder of the brawl Colin heard his snarling speech. “Slut!”

Colin lurched forward and grabbed the blackguard by the nearest appendage—his ear. He jerked the warrigal back, slamming the man in the side, and connecting solidly with a punch in the face. Before the fellow hit the floor, Colin had his arm around Hannah, dragging her out the door.

The cool night air hit his sweaty face with a jolt. He latched on to a porch post and hung there gasping, still gripping Hannah, as his lungs worked to catch up.

The constable and his assistant stood by the window, billies in hand, peering in cautiously. “What you think, Chester?” asked the assistant. “Looks a bit wild yet, eh?”

“Duty-sworn to protect the public we are, but it appears the only two left to protect have just escaped the melee—the lad and lass here. What’s the hurry to rush in?”

“Couldn’t agree more, constable. Coo! Lookit that king hit, willya!”

Hannah sobbed bitterly on Colin’s shoulder. He drew her closer. What could he say? He had no idea what words to speak to a terrified little girl.

The whole side of his face throbbed, and Colin couldn’t help thinking what Papa would have done in such a situation. The real question was why he should
care
what Papa would do. He had left home a full year ago; what Papa might have done should be the farthest thing from his mind. It no longer interested him. He was done with Papa, and with trying to please the man. Or was he?

He patted Hannah’s shoulder. “You’re safe now. It’s all right.”

But her weeping continued unabated.

“You don’t have to be frightened anymore, Hannah. It’s over.”

“I’m not,” she wailed. “And I wasn’t.” Her dark head shook. Her voice stammered, riddled with sobs. “I was never frightened with you and Joe there. When I was crawling, I tore my new dress!”

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

R
ATS
!

Hannah huddled in closer against Colin. They were pressed deep in the doorway of a butcher shop, trying in vain to escape the predawn chill.

It’s curious
, thought Hannah,
how much warmer a Sydney spring morn is than this in Bendigo
. Never in Sydney had she felt such damp, penetrating cold. She began to muse about her warm, soft bed at home. How she wished she were in it! She missed Mum and Papa and Edan and Mary Aileen. She even missed Smoke. But she couldn’t tell Colin, not in a million years. He’d have more reason than ever to make her go home.

In a way, she wished this adventuring would go on and on. In another way she wanted to be safe at home. You
can’t eat your cake and have it, too
, Mum always said. This must be what she meant.

Out in the street Max’s Lady dozed, her nose nearly touching ground, her hind foot cocked in its peculiar way. Max lay curled against the shop wall ten feet away. When would the butcher arrive for work? Hannah was beginning to despair.

At last, as the sky grew gray with the creeping dawn, he came. He wore a flat straw hat and clean white shirt that shone in the semi-darkness. A frighteningly large man, he appeared as wide as he was tall. He frowned at Colin, then Hannah, but said nothing. Hannah stood up straight, and looked to Colin to do the talking.

“Good morning, sir.” Colin tipped his head as he removed his battered hat. “My sister and I have a favor to ask of you. Two favors, really.”

“What makes you think I’m running a special on favors today?” The man turned his back to them and unlocked the door.

Undaunted, Colin pressed his request. “Our dog Max here hasn’t eaten for quite awhile and we’re hoping you might have a bone for him, maybe some scraps.”

“That ugly dog?” The man stared at Max.

“Too right, sir. Bad tempered, too.”

The man’s eyes flitted to Colin. Did they twinkle? A smile seemed to creep to his lips. “I think I might have a bone. Is that one of your favors?”

“Yes, sir. The other is employment. We’re willing to do any work you might have available.”

“No work. Come in; I’ll give you some scraps.” The man pushed the door open and twisted the electric light switch.

Hannah yelped. “Rats! A rat just ran across the floor!”

The man shrugged. “Butcher shops and rats. They’re made for each other.”

A blue streak whipped past Hannah’s knees. In a stroke, Max crossed the open floor and seized the brown furry creature in his mouth. He shook his head wildly and tossed it aside. Hannah felt her stomach turn over. His nose to the floor, Max set off in search of more.

The butcher stared at the dog in disbelief. “You know, I don’t have work for you two, but maybe for that dog, I do. Good ratter, he is.”

Colin smiled. “I’m very happy to hear that, sir. I never could see the worth of the mutt, until now. He’s tried the same with sheep.”

“Doesn’t make the shepherd very happy, I’ll wager.” The man seemed friendlier now. He disappeared into a back room and emerged with a bulging hessian sack.

Hannah’s mind raced as she watched Max explore a rathole in the baseboard. It was the fourth hole he’d found in just minutes. “Sir, how much would you hire Max for?”

“What?” The man laughed. “How would he sign for his pay?”

“You said you may have work for him. Perhaps. . . .” She paused. “I know! You could pay a sum for each rat caught in your shop. You could lock him in here at night and let him work.”

“Lock a dog in a meat market?” The man guffawed.

But Colin had caught the vision. “Sir, the evening before last, some very good personal friends were involved in a . . . er, an altercation. We spent the last of our shearing wage helping them pay their fines. But if you’ll advance us the money for food today and some bricks, we’ll set Max to catching rats for you. And you can pay per head.”

The butcher studied Colin a few moments. “A shilling for each dozen rats and scraps for the dog.”

Hannah licked her lips. “That’s a lot of rats, sir.”

Colin didn’t seem the least worried about the number. He nodded. “How about twelve rats per shilling for the first hundred—no! For the first ninety-six—and eight rats a shilling for any over ninety-six?”

The man chuckled. “Shrewd lad. A deal it is. And the money for—for bricks, did you say?—is an advance against wages, not a gift.”

“Agreed, sir!”

Hannah’s breastbone tickled. Now, what were they getting into? At least with their five-shilling advance they could eat breakfast. Colin fed Max from the hessian sack of scraps; Hannah had never seen the sullen old dog so near ecstasy. The blue-brindled curmudgeon even wagged his tail once. For him, that single flap of the tail was a paroxysm of delight.

They rode double-dink down to the pottery after breakfast. Colin turned Max’s Lady into a vacant lot nearby to graze. For a few pence he bought broken bricks and potsherds as Hannah wandered about marveling at the stolid old buildings, the ancient kilns. Then Colin scooped dirt from the lot into the hessian sack, explaining his plan to Hannah. While the horse tried to fill up on the sparse grass, they chose several stout sticks to serve as clubs.

Their next stop was a small inn on a back street near a livery stable where they took two rooms. Hannah already looked forward to a good night’s sleep on a real bed.

By closing time they had returned to the butcher shop. The stout man locked his door and began the daily task of counting his till. ‘This I gotta see,” he kept saying.

As Max located the ratholes, Colin and Hannah plugged them with bricks and sherds. It took them nearly an hour before they were satisfied only one hole remained, just one way for the rats to enter the shop from beneath the floor or within the walls—a hole beside the wrapping counter. Colin poised the hessian sack of dirt on the counter edge above the hole and ran the mare’s long leadline from the sack to the door. When the line proved five feet short he begged some twine from the butcher to complete the trap. Then he strewed the last of the scraps from Max’s breakfast, and everyone stepped outside—the butcher closing the door behind them.

“Colin?” Hannah was curious. “How can you be sure there are so many rats about?”

“Remember Clyde Armbruster? No, I guess you wouldn’t. You were too small yet when he died. Anyway, he said once if you see one rat in daytime, there’s a hundred hiding.”

“So, you really think your plan will work?”

“I really think so. I wouldn’t waste my time if I didn’t. Here’s a bob. Go buy a loaf of bread for supper.”

Hannah didn’t need any coaxing. She ran down to the bakery, ravenous. No one lauding the life of exploration and discovery had ever mentioned that a large part of adventuring is going hungry.

Then they waited, watching, hovering by the door of the shop until past eight. “Now,” Colin whispered, and just in time; Hannah could wait no longer. Carefully Colin inched the door open, his cudgel poised at ready. He yanked on the leadline. The hessian sack went
thwuck!
in the blackness.

Then he slipped through the door with Hannah close behind, and twisted the light switch. Hannah shut the door and squealed. Rats—dozens of them, scores of them—poured across the floor in every direction, headed for the plugged holes. And Max! The brindled beast went mad with delight, seizing rats then worrying them, tossing them aside to chase the next.

Rats scampered up the walls. They scurried along the overhead bars from which the butcher hung carcasses and sides. They teetered like acrobats, balancing as their tails whipped in wide circles. Eyes glinted red from every dark corner. Hannah’s excitement was matched only by revulsion.
Rats! What could be more gruesome?

Colin clubbed the creatures that ran overhead, while Hannah only flailed at them. She never could quite hit them. Maybe it was because with every swing she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. The frenzy slowed. Max ran back and forth, still seeking any movement.

Instinctively, the dog stuffed his nose under the hessian sack. A slim brown rat bolted out from beneath it and zipped across the room. Max made a lunge for it. Without slowing, the furry creature darted up the closest haven of safety—Colin’s pant leg!

Colin jumped and howled. Grabbing his pant leg above the knee with both hands, he tried to keep the rat from climbing further.

“I’ll get it!” Hannah swung her club at the wiggling bulge.

Colin yelled; she’d missed. Her second blow dislodged the rat and Max completed the task.

“We did it, Colin!” Carefully, squeamishly, Hannah picked up a dead rat by its bony tail. The bristly, furless appendage felt differently than she would have imagined—and it was cold. Gleefully she stacked rats in piles of ten. “Two hundred thirty-eight! Colin, how much is that?”

Colin studied the floor a moment, muttering and wiggling his fingers. “One pound, six.” His serious expression broke into a happy grin. “Over a pound for one night’s work!”

Exhausted, Hannah plopped down beside her brother in the middle of the floor. “Look at your poor leg. Hope that won’t happen every night. Maybe you should tie butcher’s twine around your pant legs, though!”