Then a strange voice says Would you happen to be the Ned that I am waiting for?
I beheld a big fat old Irishman he were seated on a log behind me. Though I never seen his lardy face before it were clear from the particular muscles of his forearm he were a blacksmith. This log he now straddled had been surrounded not 2 days before by bracken which were now all trampled flat. Between the log and creek was a set of bellows and the scattered remains of a forge. All this I noted in a moment also that there were a 2nd log that must of been used as his anvil for it were very burnt. Lastly a great rusty ballast tank with 1/2 its side cut out.
I asked who the hell he were.
He said he were John O’Reilly and he could see I were not happy. He also were unhappy and would remain so until he were paid the transport of the ballast tank plus the steel in the said tank also the cost of his labour for cutting the iron plate to fit the inside of the cabin door. He said he never did nothing on the cross before but THE LITTLE CROPPY BOY had bailed him up at the village of Tatong tempting him with a good plump poddy calf he promised to butcher for him. He were a widower said he and his 7 offspring was staying at present with his sister in Winton all of them was hungry otherwise he would never of give up this ballast tank so cheap. In any case he had seen no cattle since Ryan’s Creek outside Tatong merely a great number of fancy horses in this very camp he noted them most particular.
I told him our stock was legally obtained and he would be paid as promised.
When I started for Steve Hart he anticipated me coming out to meet me offering back my Colt .31.
Now don’t say nothing yet said he.
Holstering the pistol in my belt I told him he had disobeyed my direct order.
No I went a day along the track.
Then?
Then a great opportunity presented itself.
Yes said I the opportunity to betray our camp to this adjectival blacksmith.
Betray you he cried his eyes suddenly brim full. Why I’d rather burn in adjectival Hell than betray you and at this he threw his hat upon the ground. O Jesus you don’t remember who I am.
No I don’t.
When you 1st set eyes on me I were 8 yr. old.
You’re mistaken.
No I aint you was the runner for Harry Power and you brung my da sufficient cash to make the rent o yes you did Ned Kelly then you done it twice more each time when the government was about to seize our land.
I had no memory of this at all.
Near Wangaratta said he then provided a list of all the places he had spied me in the intervening years the race courses the ploughing contests he seen me whip Wild Wright and lately he heard I were stealing horses from under Whitty’s nose.
I come to join your gang. There aint much of me he said but what there is is very good.
I couldnt help but allow myself to admire his pluck.
I’ll help you anyway you wish said he.
There aint no gang son.
You are the Captain you give an order they obey.
Everyone but you it seems.
I would never of come back except I saw a way to assist you and your door is armour plated as a consequence.
But look at that old blacksmith Steven Hart look at his lardy old face and his droopy adjectival eyes then tell me you don’t reckon he won’t be happy to provide my whereabouts to Whitty.
I thought of that so I bound pennies across his eyes. I warrant the old b––––r don’t know where he is.
And his payment?
It is a poddy calf thats all and how I make the payment is my concern not yours.
You ever duff a poddy calf before?
He hesitated.
Killed a beast?
I give him my hand and word said Hart.
I told him he were relieved of this obligation. Joe and me will manage the poddy calf said I and we will butcher and salt it down if that is what your man desires. Then when all is done you fix them pennies on his eyes and see him and his meat home to Winton. Then you can piss off to your beloved da in Wangaratta and the pair of you sing your rebel songs and tell each other stories about Meagher and O’Connell but don’t come back here Steve. There aint no gang.
I would help any way you wish.
I’m obliged.
I could write a coffin letter to Mr Whitty I can make them very edifying.
No.
You think I am a sissy but thats something I can explain.
No you can’t and you must excuse me for I have business to attend to.
Whatever you wish to call it black smoke or yen pok or oyouknow the substance were a tonic for Joe’s character. Grog made him fierce & angry but the smoke turned all his movements as slow and gentle as butter melting in the sun. While he bled the bull calf I went to find a rope to raise it on a gallows for the butchering but when I come back the dead beast were already on its back with a small hole cut into its brisket. Joe winked and fitted a sharpened stick into the hole and lo the creature were neatly propped up leaning a fraction to the side.
No need for rope old man.
In a single long and lazy movement he had the skin off one side then he turned the carcass and propped it on the other to complete the exercise. Then with an axe he sundered the middle of the brisket from whence the tail were slit by a knife. There were never any sign of rush or urgency but within 20 minutes the carcass were cut into 4 pieces and Joe were wandering off to see Aaron about a little bit of THING or so he named it.
I called the younger lads to help deliver the bounty onto the blacksmith’s cart but the old Irishman then announced he never travelled in the dusk for fear of bushrangers. He could not be persuaded out of our camp until morning when Steve & Dan & me must tote tongs & hammers & bellows out along the valley to his abandoned cart we then must line its floor with green leafy gum branches and lay the clean meat on top and cover it with wet bags then we must harness his horses and bind the pennies to his eyes. Even then we was a long way from being quit of him.
I put Steve Hart behind the reins this time I would personally escort the boy away.
Say goodbye I told my brother Dan for you won’t be seeing Mr Hart no more.
It were v. difficult country for a wagon we had a long day getting as far as Tatong. When we begun following the rutted track beside Kilfeera it were only our 2nd morning and already the meat were on the nose. At Hansen’s selection we purchased salt to preserve it as best we could.
At midday we caught sight of a solitary mounted policeman and I immediately commanded the blacksmith to remove his blindfold which he done with great eagerness tho when he seen the copper cantering towards us he tried to tie the pennies on again crying out he would be arrested he had done no wrong. I advised him shut his gob but he were in a panic even as he obeyed.
Steve Hart remained round shouldered and very still on the bench seat I give him my Colt .31 telling him to shoot the blacksmith if he did not behave.
Cons Fitzpatrick approached and begun to circle round my sweaty mare. Whats all this then Kelly?
Sir cried the blacksmith let me answer.
I seen he were waddling urgently back along the track towards us his blindfold pulled back up over his left eye while his right hand clutched the britches he had previously unbuttoned for his comfort.
Fitzpatrick had his back turned to this vision splendid but I seen Steve Hart aim the Colt and heard the hammer strike the nipple thank Jesus I give the boy an empty gun.
He’s shooting me cried the blacksmith.
Shutup said Fitzpatrick turning to ride past Steve Hart who had already slid the useless weapon in his pants. It were the flies that attracted the policeman’s interest they was gathering above the stolen meat as thick as priests at a wedding feast. When Fitzpatrick circled twice around the cart he leaned down to inspect the bumpy hessian bags the flies rose in a cloud to meet him.
At ease said he.
Steve Hart had already done time in prison he put his feet obediently astride his arms behi
nd his back.
Not you cried Fitzpatrick I’m addressing the adjectival flies then he burst out into a great gale of laughter. The blacksmith saw the situation was more complicated than he had imagined he smiled at me uncertainly.
Well done said Fitzpatrick trotting back to me. Blessed if they aint the best turned out flies I ever seen.
That sent him into another laughing fit. Steve Hart were mortified by the joke against him but then it turned more serious and Fitzpatrick loudly announced he wished to interview me about horses stolen from Kilfeera Station and I accompanied him a chain or so away into the shade of a big old river gum while Hart stared nervously in our direction.
I asked Fitzpatrick did he have a warrant and in answer he leant confidentially towards me and tapped his beaky nose.
Theres no adjectival warrant you sap I’m still drunk I spent the night with old McBean now theres a man who can put away the piss.
So where is you headed?
Eleven Mile Creek as chance would have it.
Then you’re going in the wrong direction.
Fitzpatrick removed a compass from a leather pouch but seeming unable to concentrate he tucked it away and smiled at me companion-ably. I am in love said he.
That adjectival blacksmith is listening.
Eff the blacksmith he can’t hear nothing but what do you think of my information. I don’t give a damn what no one says but I still need your particular blessing old man.
Who are you in love with?
I told you.
You did not.
It is your sister Kate as I said its very queer that we should meet out here a 100 mi. from nowhere when I’ve been thinking of you all week long.
But it were even more queer to think of Alex Fitzpatrick laying his sour moustache upon Kate’s 14 yr. old mouth every bit as appetising as seeing Harry Power’s ugly feet sticking out the bottom of my mother’s bed.
Excuse me Sir called the blacksmith if you are arresting this gentleman can I go on now?
O Ned whispered Fitzpatrick she’s so fresh & spirited she has such a pretty set to her neck don’t frown at me old boy you come and see how I behave with her. He pulled out his compass. Aint it north east from here?
It were due north but that were not the point I told him we was heading for Benalla.
At this Fitzpatrick abruptly swung his horse away acting in an officious way towards the blacksmith who he directed to drove his mob of blowflies to wherever they belonged or he would have him on a serious offence.
O thank you said the blacksmith you’re a fine man Sir could I enquire your name?
Eff off said Fitzpatrick.
Yes Sir.
What about me asked Steve Hart.
I’m taking Ned Kelly in to Benalla said Fitzpatrick you may accompany him if you wish.
I tipped Steve the wink but he were not soothed.
What are you effing lagging him for said he Ned Kelly is a better adjectival man than all your family combined.
Do you want to come in with him yes or no? It will be no problem for you to share his cell.
The boy stared back in silent misery.
Then eff off said the Cons.
Hart mounted the buckboard beside the blacksmith he did not look at me but as he flicked the reins his slumped body declared all his shame and the cart slowly pulled away towards the rainclouds in the north.
You won’t come with me to see your sister asked Fitzpatrick.
Not just now mate.
You’re set on Benalla?
I am indeed.
You know you’re an adjectival fool he said peevishly removing his compass once again. You should of consulted me before you fell for that woman.
I could say the same about you and my sister.
Mary aint the girl for you Kelly I know her character I wrote to my brother just yesterday I told him I feared I done you a very bad turn when I made the introduction.
This were all water off a duck’s bum to me I knew it were the ignorance that sort of male is prey to.
You don’t know my character Alex.
You always think yourself top dog said he then waited as if he had asked a question. You think yourself the better horseman he suggested.
When I did not answer the erratic fellow dug his heels into the gelding’s flank and he were off I admit he sat him very nicely there were never daylight seen between him and the saddle though he drove his horse so hard he might of killed him. 3 hr. later I found him waiting near the Broken River bridge the poor animal’s flanks all wet with sweat and blood from his military spurs.
You are an adjectival fool he said then rode away again.
It is a generally accepted fact that a man once lagged by coppers will be abandoned by his mates this is not cowardice but common sense for the traps are always on the hunt for so called KNOWN ASSOCIATES who will be well advised to stay as far from the town as possible. Steve Hart knew this but didnt care and once his blacksmith were delivered to Winton he headed directly to Benalla Police Station. Informed I were not known there he thought them liars so he loitered on the street outside waiting for the time when I would be marched from the lockup to the courthouse.
Meanwhile I were a free man sitting happily with your mother on Mrs Robinson’s veranda the spring had now come on the jasmine tumbling from the front fence in great white fistfuls as fragrant as a young girl’s handkerchief. On Sunday early we went to mass for me it were the 1st time in many years and when the priest heard my sins he said I must get married and I told him I would attend to that immediately. That afternoon I paid 2 quid to rent a fancy sulky from Davis Goodman he were a mighty robber but no one else were doing business on the Sunday then I drove the sulky out to Eleven Mile Creek to show my beloved and her baby to Mother. I had no fears about the meeting were not Mary Irish and Catholic and very agreeable in her manner?
My mother received us inside the hut she made the scones she poured the tea I cannot say there were outright rudeness but that afternoon she repaid me for my behaviour with her beaux. She and George King sat in their chairs stiff as boards they never looked at Mary until she stood to leave.
Very nice to have met you said my mother it were a branding iron laid upon my heart.
On our way back to Benalla I saw the tears flow down Mary’s pretty cheeks when I asked would she marry me she asked What about your mother’s feelings I said my mother could go to Hell.
That night I took my good news to Fitzpatrick at his boardinghouse he said only an adjectival fool would marry Mary Hearn I demanded what he had against her but he dared not say nothing to my face. After I left him Fitzpatrick wrote a long letter to Mary its reason as badly tangled as Blind Freddy’s fishing line but the gist of it were he loved me like a brother and would punish anyone who deceived me.
The following morning when I was sleeping Mary discovered this edict folded inside the handle of the milk billy she were so frightened by what she read she didnt even take the milk inside but gathered up her skirts and rushed down Bridge Street to the police stables. At that hour she saw no one save Steve Hart who were very cold & hungry but still maintaining his watch outside the lockup. Not knowing his connection to me Mary ran past into the stables where she wept and begged Fitzpatrick not to ruin her chance of happiness. What pleasure did it give the so called LADIES’ MAN to see this beautiful woman’s face contorted & wet with tears her lovely milky skin were crumpled like the letter in her hand.
Why are you so cruel to me she cried she could not see his face hidden in the shadow of the horse’s flank. What have I ever done against you?
Tell him the truth Mary.
He will kill someone if I do.
You have my word as an officer Ned Kelly shall not harm you.
Its not me he’ll hurt Fitzy.
This give the b– – – – r pause to chew on his moustache looking Mary up and down. Who will he hurt Mary he finally asked and she turned her clear green eyes directly on himself.
Me?
/> I do not know.
Well girlie if you won’t tell him the situation then I will undertake the duty for you.
Please Fitzy I beg you.
But his eyes was cold as he put his foot in the stirrup. You will tell him what you have hidden from him and I warrant he will take it calmly.
Steve Hart recognized Fitzpatrick as he come galloping out the stables like an adjectival mad thing and it is well known the policeman continued at this rate all the way to Winton where he visited the aforementioned Davis Goodman receiver hawker perjurer and from this lard bucket he purchased a small envelope of white powder and under Fitzpatrick’s instruction Mrs Robinson made a glass of fresh lemonade loading it with honey before stirring in the drug.
Willie wagtails danced on the fence while my slender dark haired Mary give me the lemonade and watched me drink it.
When she took my hand hers were so clammy I asked if she was well. Dear says she I cannot marry you if you do not know the father of the child.
You told me it were a Mr Stuckey.
Mr Stuckey has another name.
O who is that?
He is also known as George King.
I heard the hateful truth but continued talking like a kangaroo will take those extra hops before it falls. Did George King promise he would marry you?
I knew he were married to your mother.
O God I groaned how could you let me take you to visit?
You wished it so much how could I refuse?
O they must of thought me such an effing fool.
They thought us both great fools dear.
Her sweet young face were deathly cold all joy abandoned. My hate for George King were deep and black as hard & cruel as a pike I should of killed him the day I come home from Pentridge he were wearing that yellow pullover my mother knitted I knew him then for what he were.
The chambers of my heart filled with melted steel the truth pushed like fire through my arteries and I roared out loud and jumped up to my feet. The drug had made my legs turn soft as dough.
Sit down dear.
I had no voice but threaded my way through the familiar house all the way to the back veranda where my saddle and bridle was waiting on the rail. I were staggering like a drunk and as I tried to lift my saddle I heard Mary call for Fitzy this made no sense at all.