Free The Roving Party by Rohan Wilson Page A

wade out among the dogs. Glancing around at each other the assigned men watched him go, but they did not seem to understand his purpose so they leaned back against the blue gums and closed their eyes for some sleep. The dogs stood off from Bill and watched him as he drew alongside them. Making as if he held food he called a few to him and let them sniff his empty palm. Then he raised the fowling piece to his hip and fired into the head of an earthcoloured bitch.
    A tremendous clap went up and the assigned men jumped at the sound. The dog spun a wild circle and folded upon itself.It lay in a welter of blood, its head mostly removed. The pack had sprung off and now waited uneasily at a distance. As Bill repacked the barrel the little native child began to bawl.
    The dogs dropped their ears. He approached close to a tall lean whippet and levelled the barrel near its neck. The fowler thundered and the dog burst in a bloody mess of fur and flesh as if detonated from the inside. The report cannoned along the mountainside away and away. Bill calmly repacked. The boy retrieved his weapon and came to lend his aid and they coralled more dogs into a confine between the temma where the animals huddled in fear. They both fired into that gathering and one fell plainly dead and another dragged itself through the dirt whining until it was brained with a stock.
    The tang of sulfur and burnt hair hung upon the campsite. Batman looked at Baxter and at Gumm where they sat watching the grim spectacle with the ease of gents.
    Well? said Batman.
    Well what?
    Get to it.
    Baxter buttoned up his meagre coat and reached for his piece. This is niggers’ work, he said under his breath.
    Make sure you do the bitches especially, said Batman. He stood looking down at Jimmy Gumm but Gumm did not move. He was feeling the contusions on his head where the boy had taken to him.
    You hopin to get yerself shot? said Batman.
    Gumm lifted his eyes. No sir.
    Batman drew his belt pistol and thumbed back the hammer. Take heed, he said.
    Gumm scrambled to his feet.
    By now a good few carcasses lay about on the dirt, and blood and bits of bone and innards covered the ground. The dying raised their heads out of that grime and cried and Pigeon walked among them brandishing a discarded waddy, bringing the club down across their snouts with such force that blood sprayed and rained down, staining his hat and shirt. They hauled the carcasses two at a time to the bonfires; their internals stringing out and steaming in the cold, gathering the leaf litter. Their hamcoloured tongues lolling from their mouths. Once alight the revolting smoke set the assignees gagging but they piled dogs up until the flames licked the boughs of the trees arching above. The washing of fire exposed jawbones and knuckled teeth and ribcages. The boy slapped his sticky hands against his trousers.
    Black Bill looked him over. It’s done.
    The boy nodded. His shadow flickered in torn flaps of firelight. What do you think that means? he said.
    He indicated the place where John Batman and Pigeon and Crook were gathered in discussion. Crook was gesturing down the mountainside at the primeval forest mantling the valley. On the ground beside him lay a freshly rolled firestick and Batman spat into his hands, rubbing them over before hepicked it up. He blew into the embers and a little flame took hold which he pinched out to make a smoulder. He seemed to be preparing himself for another push into the backblocks.
    Means more walking, said Bill.
    I reckoned as much. The boy unbound his feet, shook the mud off the rags and set to retying them.
    Bill walked over to join Batman and the Dharugs.
    Down valley there you find some buggers, said Pigeon.
    They’ll be like fleas in bloody dog’s fur down there, said Batman.
    Bill surveyed the phantasmal hills beyond. We have the girl.
    One young gin and one old storyteller dont justify what the Governor has outlaid on this. He wont pay us.
    We need us some of the menfolk