Reynolds stood at the window as they rode into town under a cloud of dust, and even before a single word was spoken or a single shot was fired he knew they would bring trouble. He could see Reilly at the head of the group, a rifle slung across his lap, his hair straggled and gleaming like copper wire in the sun. He knew where they were riding to, and he could guess at what they meant to do. Men like Reilly rarely came to town without trouble riding alongside them.

It was half an hour before Pryce appeared in the doorway, almost enough time for him to forget about the incident. It took a cough to catch his attention, the Constable blocking out the daylight as he slouched against the timber frame.

'Sorry about that, I was just receiving in new stock. What can I do to help? There should be more of that shaving soap you wanted in one of these boxes, if you can wait a couple of minutes.'

'I was wondering if you could spare me some time. Colm's had some trouble out at the farm, I'm gathering the men for a meeting.'

Reynolds remembered Reilly's dramatic entrance half an hour earlier, and the memory brought a frown to his face. 'The cattle stations normally take care of themselves, don't they?'

'Well, this is Police business. I'll see you at the stationhouse in ten minutes, I've got a couple more calls to make. You own a gun?'

'Just a rifle.'

'Bring it with you. See you in ten.'

Pryce vanished from the doorway before he could ask any more questions, the muffled sound of his footsteps drifting slowly through the still heat.

The rifle was propped by the side of the bed, where it always stood as protection against night-time intruders. They'd had no trouble yet but you heard stories of homes broken into, men and women beaten and raped. He had to grope around in one of the bedside drawers to find the old tobacco tin where he kept the bullets. The gun felt cold and unnatural in his hands, so he also found an old sack and tied it around the offending item with some string. The resulting package was bulky but less threatening, and sat comfortably in the crook of his arm. The tobacco tin slipped easily into a shirt pocket.

Before leaving he stepped out the back, to where Beth stood at a basin in the harsh afternoon sun, pushing the laundry under the water with a wooden paddle.

'Constable Pryce has called me up to the stationhouse, I don't know how long I'll be. Are you alright keeping an eye on the front?'

She tutted at the Constable's name then turned away, picking up the paddle and pummelling the sodden clothes. He didn't mention the rifle.

Once he was out the front door Reynolds hurried to Pryce's stationhouse through the dry heat, anxious not to draw attention to himself or the package he was carrying. Some of the men who'd been born around Saxby never stepped outdoors without a rifle or a pistol in their hand, but it was a habit that he hadn't yet acquired.

As the stationhouse came into view, however, he realised that he needn't have taken the precaution. There was already a small crowd gathered in the street, all men, all with firearms slung over their shoulders and sheathed in holsters. Reilly and his entourage were still in the saddle, as was Constable Pryce. He leaned across and whispered something in Reilly's ear. Whatever was said caused the two of them to laugh, the judders sending up a hazy cloud of red dust from Reilly's clothes. They looked relaxed, as if preparing for a jaunt in the countryside.

Reynolds joined the rear of the gathering, the smell of the men's bodies slowly enveloping him. As he watched Reilly turned to one side and spat in the dirt.

'Let's get this show on the road, Constable. Near enough everyone's here.' Reilly turned in his saddle so that he was facing Pryce. 'You want to lead this off or shall I?'

Pryce appeared not to hear him, then he straightened his back and coughed theatrically to focus the crowd's attention. There were still some mutterings from the gathered men, so Reilly casually lifted the rifle from his lap and fired a single shot at the sky, the sudden crack forcing the air from Reynolds' lungs as if he'd been punched in the gut. He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest, his quickening pulse bringing a flush to his cheeks.

'We brought you blokes here for a reason. Shut up and let the Constable speak.'

Pryce cleared his throat again, the gunshot having done nothing to calm his nerves.

'This morning David Evans died at the Reilly station. All of you knew David, and I'm sure you're as shocked by this as I am. It was not a natural death, and it was no accident. Before he died he was able to tell Colm here exactly what happened.' Reilly lifted his head slightly, making eye contact with some of the men in the crowd. 'Shortly after dawn, David came across two native men trying to drag a sheep out of station land. He fired a shot from his rifle, and he believes he wounded one of them. One of the boongs then threw a spear that hit him in the side, knocking him from his horse. The spear was barbed so that it couldn't be withdrawn, and David died during procedures undertaken by Colm to remove it. The two natives have disappeared, no doubt being sheltered by one of the black communities hereabouts. Gentlemen, we will not stand by and allow our best men to be cut down by lawless savages.'

A mutter of agreement rippled through the gathering, and Pryce seemed to gain in confidence. Reynolds clutched his sacking bundle, suddenly uncomfortable with the chaotic emotional charge building around him.

'We've put up with this lawlessness for too long, and I intend to do something about it. The boongs must be taught a lesson that they'll remember. They can't help themselves to our belongings, our cattle, our women. The animal who killed David Evans was wounded in the encounter and should be easy to find. In the eyes of the law those who're sheltering him are equally to blame. If others aren't to follow in their footsteps then we must come down on them with the full weight of the law.' Reynolds saw his eyes flicker briefly across to Reilly. 'I propose that we ride to their camp and deliver as harsh a punishment as possible for David's death. All those in agreement raise your hand.'

Reynolds was surprised to see so many raise their hands skywards without hesitation. What Pryce was proposing sounded barely legal.

'It's decided then. Those of you not yet mounted, fetch your horses. We'll meet just outside town on the western side in five minutes. Come armed with whatever you can spare, we can expect a little resistance. Colm and I will wait for you all, so don't worry about missing out.'

A few men at the front laughed and they began to disperse, the atmosphere charged with a growing excitement. He could smell the horse before he could see it, Reilly steering the animal to block his path. Up close Reynolds could see that he was attempting to grow a beard, the ginger fuzz glowing in the sunlight like a slipped halo.

'I didn't see you raise your hand, John. Is there a problem?'

Reynolds clutched the sacking bundle close to his chest, his hands clasped so tight that he could feel the chill of the metal seeping through to his skin.

'It's just that this seems a bit hasty. Surely Constable Pryce should bring in these two men for questioning, before anything else is done. That's what the law's for.'

'And will the law bring David back? Will it stop these savages stealing more of my livestock? You're not in the city now, John. There's a war going on out here, and like it or not you've got to choose sides. Are you going to side with those black animals? Or are you riding out with us?'

'I'm just concerned that things might get out of hand, that even more people might die.'

'Then we make damned sure that those animals die, not us. Fetch your horse, I'll see you out there with the others in five minutes. And next time you raise your hand with the rest of us.' He wheeled the horse away and Reynolds watched him ride off towards the edge of town.

Reilly was right of course. He persuaded himself that he could see the sense of it as he untied his horse from the post in the back yard, Beth watching with silent disapproval from the rear window. They were outsiders here, what did he know about life away from the city? If they ever wanted to be accepted by the community he had to show a little willing, not be so righteous all the time. Constable Pryce represented the law out here, and the law said that he should ride with them. He was riding to secure their future.

As he unwrapped the sacking from the rifle, however, and laid the cool metal across his lap, he felt something pinch at his heart. With a deep breath he turned the horse and carefully steered him out the gate. He couldn't muster more than a trot as he headed for the rendezvous, and he only started to gallop as he saw the gathered men waiting for him, a dark mass on the western edge of town.

Reilly's eyes flickered across to him, then he raised his rifle in the air and let off his second shot of the day. As they rode out into the heat and the dust Reynolds turned in the saddle to try and watch his home receding into the distance, but all he could see was the haze.


* * *


They heard the creaking first, the sound slowly scratching its way through the early afternoon heat. Alice Turner was in the store at the time, despite the fact that her visits had grown less frequent since Reilly's men had ridden out that day. She dropped her woven shopping bag at her feet and covered her ears with her hands.

'You hearing that, Mr Reynolds? That the spirits coming. They angry with you fellas. They gonna make big trouble for all this town.'

Reynolds slipped out from behind his counter and walked to the door, peering out at the horizon. At first there was nothing to be seen, then out of the heat appeared a solitary figure, the haze blinking him in and out of sight for a few seconds before he solidified. It certainly wasn't a horse rider as the top half was bulkier than the bottom, and at times he appeared to float in the air as his vehicle disappeared.

'It's a bicycle, Mrs Turner. Someone's come all this way out here to see us on a bicycle.' He attempted a disarming smile as he turned back to face her. 'I'm not sure that the spirits have taken to riding bicycles yet, have they?'

She gave a noncommittal grunt and bent down to retrieve her bag. 'We still gonna get trouble for what you fellas did. The spirits, they work in different ways. Maybe they send a fella on a bike to make trouble for you.'

His visit came late in the afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to touch the horizon and Reynolds was clearing the credit book away for the day. This time there was the sound of running feet to herald Pryce's arrival, although he still leaned against the doorframe as he caught his breath. Reynolds waited patiently, watching his dark silhouette as the sun set the horizon on fire.

'We've got a visitor,' Pryce eventually managed, having to steal breaths between words, 'from the city. He's here about what happened the other week, David Evans' murder. He's going to want to interview everyone who rode out with Colm. I thought I ought to warn you, just in case.'

'Is he staying with you at the stationhouse?'

Pryce nodded. 'He's in the bath right now. Crazy idiot cycled all the way from Cairns to here. When he arrived he looked like he was made of dirt, the stuff had covered him from head to toe. I'm running round to see everyone before he finishes.'

'What's his name?'

'Priestley. Gareth, I think. Real self-righteous son of a bitch too.' He coughed, not bothering to cover his mouth as he did so. Reynolds could see two dark spittle marks on the wooden floor. 'Get me some water, will you? I've still got another five to go after you.'

Pryce started to step inside but Reynolds ushered him back.

'Wait here. I'll bring it out to you.'

He splashed a little water on his face and neck before filling a tin cup for Pryce. It wouldn't do the Constable any harm to sweat for a minute. With any luck this Mr Priestley would sniff him out for the weasel that he was.

When he eventually returned with the water Pryce snatched it from him and gulped it down, some of it spilling out onto the floorboards to join his spit. He passed the cup back to Reynolds when he was done, wiping his mouth and his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

'Thanks. I'd better get going, I need to be back before Mr High-and-mighty finishes his bath. You going to be alright talking to him if he calls round tomorrow?'

Reynolds nodded. 'Tell Mr Priestley he should feel free to drop by anytime. I'm here all day anyway.'

Pryce turned his back and muttered a cursory farewell as he left. Reynolds stood where he was until the patter of the Constable's footsteps had faded into the distance.

He'd always known there would be a reckoning someday, that they would be made to pay for the events of that day. In truth, though, he hadn't expected it to come as soon as this. When you were out here it was easy to forget that anyone paid attention to what was happening, that any eyes beyond the town borders were turned this way. Maybe in twenty or thirty years, he'd thought, when he was an old man, someone would come knocking, asking questions, trying to untangle the lies of history. Mr Priestley was a surprise, but not altogether unexpected. He was just thirty years too early.

That evening he spoke briefly with Beth about Pryce's visit, about what might happen. He played it down, of course, but she knew what had happened that day, the same as everyone else around town. He didn't fool her with his impression of calmness.

After he'd finished speaking she laid her hands over his, entwining their fingers together across the tabletop, and looked him directly in the eyes.

'You're a good man, John. You were a good man when I married you, and you're a good man today. I'd hate for you to forget that. I can't tell you to tell the whole truth to this man, I know it's not always as simple as that. But when you speak to him, you make sure that you remember that goodness, and use it to guide you whichever way seems best. The rest you're going to have to learn to live with, so it'll be up to you how much of that you want to bear. I'll still be here for you, whatever happens.'

She lifted her hands from his and gave them a reassuring pat, then she stood up and began to clear away the dinner things. It was plain that she had said all she was going to say on the matter, and it was not discussed again.

The visit from Priestley came just after lunch the following day. Reynolds was killing time waxing the shelves when he arrived, marching swiftly through the door with his hands clasped behind his back.

'Mr Reynolds? Gareth Priestly. I wonder if we might have a few words?'

Priestly was shorter than he'd expected, but solidly built, his face unusually round and congenial. His voice was also a surprise, the accent more like the Sydneysiders he'd known in his youth than the drawl he'd slowly acclimatised to since the move north.

Reynolds wiped his palms on the front of his trousers and shook the hand that Priestley was offering.

'Certainly, if I can help. What can I do for you?'

Priestley laughed, still shaking his hand slowly as he spoke. 'Why is it that everyone around here pretends they know nothing about me? I can't believe you get that many visitors out here, and that idiot Pryce,' he spat the name out with contempt, 'was so out of breath when I emerged from the bath last night that I thought he might have been doing ungodly things to himself. You can all stop worrying, I'm not here to cart you off to jail.' He finally released Reynolds' hand, as if it was a gesture of goodwill. 'I just want to get some facts straight, for the record. Is there somewhere a little more private where we can speak?'

Reynolds did his best to smile, reaching unconsciously to massage the muscles at the back of his neck. 'Of course. My wife can cover out here for us. I'll just call her in, if you want to follow me.'

Priestley gestured with an open palm. 'Lead on, Mr Reynolds.'

By the time Beth had come in from the yard and they'd both settled into chairs at the kitchen table Reynolds' nerves had calmed a little. Priestley seemed more amiable than most of the people in town, and it was refreshing to hear an educated accent again. He was careful not to relax too much in case his guard should slip, but he felt more in control than he'd expected.

'Now,' Priestley began once Beth had gone through to the front of the store, spreading his hands on the tabletop, 'let's start at the beginning, shall we? What do you know about this man who died out at the cattle station, David Evans? He seemed alright to you? Like an ordinary bloke I mean, just another cattle hand?'

'You could say that, yes. I never had any problem with him.'

Priestley leaned back in his chair. 'So how did you feel when you heard about his death? You found out where? At the meeting Constable Pryce called?'

Reynolds nodded, trying to keep his eagerness to please out of the gesture. 'Yes, I found out at the meeting. Pryce told me that Colm Reilly had been having some trouble over at the station, that I should come quickly. I grabbed my rifle from the yard ''

Priestley interrupted him. 'You took your rifle with you? You didn't know what kind of trouble he was talking about, did you?'

'No, but Pryce told me to bring it with me.' Priestley's eyebrows rose a little, but otherwise he showed no reaction. 'Only I'm not used to handling weapons really, and I didn't want to scare the women and kids, so I wrapped it in an old sack.' He felt foolish now that he said it, as if it made him somehow less of a man.

'Sounds like a perfectly reasonable response to me. I think I'd probably do the same. I travel with a pistol, but only because I have to. To be honest, I hate the bloody thing.' Priestley laughed and Reynolds did his best to laugh along with him. 'So how did you feel when you found out? About Evans, I mean.'

He had to pause to gather his thoughts. How had he felt? He'd been so scared of the rifle in his hands, of the atmosphere building at the fringes of the gathering, that he hadn't spared much consideration for Evans.

'It was a terrible thing that happened. We were shocked, obviously. That someone we knew could have been killed so suddenly.'

'Would you say you were angry when you heard?'

'No. No, not really. As I said, I hardly knew him. Perhaps to speak to. That was all.'

'And the others? Reilly, Pryce, the other farm hands? Did they seem angry to you Mr Reynolds?'

'Of course. Their friend had been killed, of course they were angry. They wanted to find the man responsible and punish him. That's why Reilly came to see Constable Pryce. He wanted the law's weight behind him.'

'And the weight of twenty armed men.' Priestley had narrowed his eyes a little as if he was searching for something, trying to read a near-invisible mark on Reynolds' face. 'Why did you ride out with them that day, Mr Reynolds? Why were you there if you hardly knew the man?'

'We've only been here for four years, but they've made us part of the community. I felt it was my duty to go along.'

'And what did you believe that you were riding out to do?'

Reynolds thought back to Pryce's words. He hadn't forgotten them since that day, for as soon as they were spoken he knew what Pryce and Reilly intended.

'They told us that we were riding out to find the two men responsible and punish them.'

'Twenty men sent to punish two?'

'It's what we were told.'

'You didn't think it strange?'

'I was emotional, scared. I didn't think to question it.'

'And are you still emotional, Mr Reynolds? Are you still scared? Or have you had time since that day to reconsider events and reach a different conclusion?'

Priestley had raised his voice and Reynolds had to concentrate on his hands to stop them from shaking. He stood slowly and stepped over to the tap, drawing himself a cup of water. When it was full he took it across to the table and sipped at it as he sat back down, the tin vessel pressed between his palms helping to calm his nerves. During this time Priestley had not taken his eyes off him.

When he eventually managed to vocalise an answer he was surprised at how thin and weak his voice sounded.

'Does it matter? What's done is done. I have to live with what happened that day, Mr Priestley. We all do. It's too late to turn back now. We have to remember that it started with them, with the death of a white man.'

'I know you have to live with it. It's just that some seem to live with it better than others.' Priestley had lowered his voice, and the confrontational tone was gone from his questions. 'Tell me about it. Tell me what happened out there.'

From where he sat Reynolds could see the back of Beth's head as she stood at one of the shelves, straightening a pile of tins. They had built a good life for themselves here, all things considered. He was suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of love for his wife, and he wished she was closer to him so that he might gather her in his arms and hold her.

'When we reached the blackfellas camp we began the search for the man that Evans had wounded. As we searched the camp some of the men began to shout at us. Stones were thrown, then I saw a spear sticking out of one of the horses. Another flew through the air nearby, and then the firing began. I think Constable Pryce had given the order. I fired five rounds myself. I remember because I counted the remaining bullets when I returned home.'

'But the natives attacked first? You're sure?'

'There were certainly stones thrown. And I remember the spears.'

'How come you only fired five shots, Mr Reynolds? The others let off twenty or thirty rounds, and I've heard that the fighting lasted almost ten minutes. Five doesn't sound that many, does it?'

'I'm not very good with guns. I keep it for protection, but it takes me a long time to reload.'

'Did you hit anyone with your five shots?'

'I don't remember.'

But he did remember. He could still hear the screams of the women, the sound of panicked feet scuffing across the dusty earth. Three of his shots had missed their targets, embedding themselves in wooden posts and red dirt. One of the others had struck a man in the shoulder as he raised a hand in a desperate attempt at self-defence, the bullet spinning him off to one side as he fell. The other had hit a small boy, no more than ten years old, his arms and legs stick-thin and malnourished, as he struggled to raise an axe in defiance.

'There were over thirty natives killed that day, Mr Reynolds. No exact figures, but certainly over thirty. If you could tell me anything else you would, wouldn't you? You understand that you're not being accused of anything here, but that others may have committed crimes on that day and should be held to account?'

'I've told you all I can. They attacked us first. There was nothing we could do.'

Priestley attempted a smile and levered himself up from his chair. 'In that case I'll leave you to care for your business. If you do feel that you can tell me any more, though, you know where I'm staying. Most people here won't say more than five words to me, but you strike me as a reasonable man. If you have any more to say just let me know, yes?'

'How long will you be here?'

'Just another day, perhaps two if anything of interest turns up. I'll show myself out.'

Once Priestley was gone Reynolds remained in his seat for a few minutes, his thoughts unsettled and feverish. He brushed absent-mindedly at his knee with his thumb, as if attempting to remove an invisible stain.


* * *


The following afternoon Colm Reilly stepped into the store just as Reynolds was about to close up, his thumbs hooked into the top of his trousers as he swaggered through the doorway. The light fuzz on his chin was slowly struggling to grow into a beard and he scratched at it as he spoke.

'I hear you've got some more of that relish in from the city, or so Pryce tells me. The boys at the station have taken a liking to it.'

'The delivery came in earlier this week. How much would you like?'

'Better make it five jars. You alright? I hear you had a visit yesterday from our new friend, Mr Priestley.'

Reynolds tried to keep his features calm, although he felt sure that he looked guilty of something. He busied himself with the five jars of relish so that he wouldn't have to look Reilly in the eye.

'He came over to ask some questions, yes. I thought he spoke to everyone.'

'Pryce tells me you did well. It's going to go into his official report that the boongs attacked first, that we acted in self-defence. Your conscience can be clear, we did nothing wrong. They'll think twice before laying a hand on a white man again.'

Reynolds nodded, although he knew that Reilly required no response from him. Once he was gone he closed the store and busied himself with the accounting for the rest of the evening, hoping that the work would numb his brain. He knew that some kind of deal had just been closed, but as yet he couldn't see the price.

The creaking sound carried into the store again early the next morning, as if the desert itself was slowly cracking apart at the seams. From where he stood in the doorway Reynolds could only see the dry creek bed at first, but then the lone figure of Gareth Priestley came into view, his bicycle moving swiftly over the dry earth leaving a thin line of raised dust in its wake. As he turned the front wheel away from town he slowed down and stopped briefly, one foot resting on the ground as he turned to face where Reynolds stood watching. He seemed to be waiting for a greeting or a signal, but when none was forthcoming he turned away and began peddling again

It took three minutes for him to disappear completely in the haze, and Reynolds stood and watched until all trace of him was erased from the horizon. Then he turned and walked back into the store, feeling numb and empty inside. With clumsy fingers he set about totalling Colm Reilly's account.

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