Читать книгу Through the Devil’s Eye - C.R. Cummings - Страница 8

Chapter 2

AN INTERESTING PLACE

As the first limestone ridge grew rapidly closer Willy gripped his seat and held his breath. But he was then ashamed of himself as he saw that they were actually several hundred feet higher than it and floated over quite safely. As they did the turbulence thrust the aircraft upwards and then just as quickly dumped them in a frightening and sickening swoop. Mr Drew struggled with the controls and Willy saw that he was biting his lip and looking very anxious. He then stared down through the side window and muttered.

Willy looked down through his own window and saw that they were over a small valley. A small dry creek snaked along the bottom of the valley. He scanned the valley for a possible landing area but there looked to be too many trees. The wings would hit at least one for sure, he thought. So he looked ahead again.

As Willy did his eyes were attracted by the wink of sunlight off to his right. He saw that it was caused by reflection from a corrugated iron roof. As he focused on the shine he noted that it was among a cluster of buildings set among trees along a river bank about two kilometres to starboard. But even more obvious was a long, wide open area running parallel to the buildings. Along the centre of the open area was a reddish coloured area of soil that Willy saw could only be an airstrip.

“There’s an airfield at that station,” he said, pointing towards it.

Mr Drew nodded. “I see it. We should make it alright.” With that he eased the aircraft gently around, explaining as he did that a sharp turn could cause a greater loss of altitude through side slip. “Always try to keep things steady, except in a real emergency,” Mr Drew added.

“This isn’t a real emergency?” Willy managed to joke as he anxiously studied the distance still to be covered.

Mr Drew gave a short laugh and shook his head. “No, only if we’d had to crash land among the trees back there. Now, what did you say was the name of this place?” he said.

“Whetstone Station,” Willy replied after checking his map. “But there is no airfield or landing ground marked.”

“Looks new,” Mr Drew commented. “But still, it should have been listed in NOTAMS (Notices to Airmen and Mariners).” He then radioed the Race Control and reported where they were trying to land.

As they glided towards the airstrip Willy was able to study it better. He saw that it looked very new, lots of bare, graded gravel with short strips of bitumen at each end. There was even a bright new windsock and a shiny shed near the homestead.

“Definitely new,” he agreed.

Willy studied the area, noting open paddocks and then the river beyond the end of the airstrip. Dirt roads led off to the west and north from that point. Beyond the river was a line of hills in which the angular slopes of Mt Whetstone stood out in stark silhouette.

As Mr Drew turned the aircraft into line with the strip Willy studied the buildings. The airstrip was set among savannah woodland with the usual fences and vehicle tracks he associated with cattle properties. On the left, between the river and the airfield and at the far end of the strip were the buildings, a dozen at least, but they also appeared quite normal to Willy. He had seen a dozen such places that day and they had all looked like a village with sheds and stables and houses and storerooms.

“It looks a nice place,” he commented, noting a large L-shaped homestead beyond the shiny new hangar and store sheds. Beyond them was a line of buildings snuggled into the trees on top of the river bank. The glint of water led his eye to note a weir or dam with an obvious pump house off to the left. Several other sheds and stables extended along a street to the right of the homestead. Horses stood in a set of yards behind the last of the buildings. A few cattle dotted the paddocks off to the right.

Willy then turned his attention back to the landing as they swept in over the boundary fence of the strip. Mr Drew said, “At least it’s fenced and there aren’t cattle all over it.”

Willy managed a smile but could only agree, noting the shiny new fence running parallel to the strip. He also saw that the bitumen touch down at the end of the strip was shiny and black and the white painted piano keys had hardly a wheel mark on them. Mr Drew gently eased the aircraft onto this. A moment later the wheels kissed the tarmac and began humming. So smooth was the landing that Willy was quite impressed. He wanted to express his appreciation of Mr Drew’s skill but could not think of what to say beyond, “That was good!”

Mr Drew grunted with apparent satisfaction and then smiled. For a moment his eye met Willy’s. “Good! Now, let’s hope the locals are friendly.”

He steered the aircraft straight along the centre of the strip, not using the brakes at all. As he did he called Race Control to report they were safely down and asked them to inform the Air Traffic Control in Cairns.

By the time he had done this the aircraft had rolled to a standstill on the gravel a few hundred metres from the nearest building. Almost as soon as the wheels stopped rolling the heat seemed to engulf them. It was so hot that the buildings now appeared lost in shimmer. Mr Drew unclipped his safety harness and opened his door. “Let’s hop out then and see if we can get some help.”

Willy did likewise and eased himself down to the gravel. For a few moments he stood in the shade of the wing, holding the wing brace and trying to tell himself that the shaking in his legs was just the easing of cramped muscles. But he had to admit that he was very glad to be down safely and to have his boots firmly on the ground!

Mr Drew called to him and said, “Grab hold. We will push the kite off the strip, just in case some other poor bugger needs to land on it.”

Pushing such a small aircraft was easy and between them they had it on the grass verge within two minutes. That done they both stood for a minute or so, wiping perspiration and staring into the heat haze at the buildings. At last Mr Drew reached into the cabin and took out a cap. Pulling this firmly on he said, “Oh well, looks like we walk.”

The pair set of on foot. It was only half a kilometre but the air temperature was pushing forty degrees Celcius and Willy was soon sweating profusely. As he walked he looked around, noting the new fence on his left and some beef cattle standing in the shade of the straggly iron barks in the paddock beyond.

Electrified fence, he noted. Having once tried to climb over one without realizing what it was he was painfully aware of the sharp bite they could inflict. Good idea to keep the cattle and kangaroos off the runway, he thought.

“Good airstrip this,” Mr Drew commented. “Must be at least a kilometre long.”

“Maybe they have big planes land here,” Willy suggested.

Mr Drew looked thoughtful. “That’s what I was thinking. Must have cost a packet so I suppose they must plan to use it a fair bit.”

“Perhaps they fly beef to market or something?” Willy suggested.

“Hmm. Doubt it. That wouldn’t pay. Uh, at last! Here comes someone.”

Willy looked and saw a brown 4WD ute speeding along the airstrip towards them. Seeing the speed at which it was travelling sent a tiny spurt of anxiety through him but Mr Drew just expressed relief that they would not have to walk.

The 4WD braked to a halt in a cloud of dust and both doors flew open. Men climbed out, a big, red-faced, fair-haired man from the driver’s seat and a thin faced man with longish brown hair from the other. Both were dressed in typical stockman’s clothes: elastic sided riding boots, soiled long trousers, long-sleeve shirts rolled above the elbows, battered and greasy broad brimmed hats.

The red-faced man smiled and pushed his hat back. “Bit of trouble eh?”

Mr Drew held out his hand. “Yes. Engine overheated. I’m Wally Drew from NQ Aviation.”

“Wilson Carter,” replied the other, taking the offered hand and shaking it. “This is Barry.”

Mr Drew shook hands with Barry and then Willy was introduced. He felt very shy at shaking hands with grown men but did so. As he did he got the distinct impression that Mr Carter was not very friendly and Barry’s eyes certainly did not give that impression.

Mr Drew did not seem to notice. “Can we use a few tools? I reckon it’s only an oil blockage.”

Mr Carter gestured towards the buildings. “Sure. There will be some in the hangar. Do you need a tow or something?”

“That would be nice,” Mr Drew agreed.

The vehicle was manoeuvred to a position in front of the aircraft. A tow line was quickly attached to the aircraft and to the vehicle’s tow ball. Mr Carter then said, “Barry, you and the boy travel in the back to keep an eye on the towline. Thump on the roof if I go too fast or if there is a problem. Is that alright sir?”

Mr Drew agreed and Willy clambered into the tray of the utility. Mr Drew climbed back into the aircraft to steer it and Mr Carter climbed in the front of the vehicle and started the engine. He then gently eased forward until the towline was taut. Only then did he slowly and carefully increase speed. It was obvious to Willy that the man understood how to tow and he relaxed somewhat. From carefully studying the tow rope and aircraft he switched his attention to the vehicle.

It was a typical station vehicle with an assortment of tools, coils of barbed wire and fencing wire, ropes and odd pieces of equipment. Willy looked through the window in the back of the cab and noted a shotgun and a bolt action rifle in brackets across the back of the cab. This was such a common arrangement in the country that he did not give it another thought. But he did note that Mr Carter was holding a radio microphone in his left hand. As most vehicles in the bush had a UHF radio this did not surprise him either.

As they travelled along Barry turned to him. “How is that youse come to be flyin’ over this bit of country?” he asked.

Willy explained the air race and how they had turned towards the nearest airfield when they developed engine trouble. “We only landed here because the engine had stopped and we were gliding down looking for a safe place to land. Then we saw this strip and only just made it,” he explained.

“Lucky for you,” Barry commented.

Willy nodded. “My word yes! This strip isn’t even marked on our map.”

“No. It’s too new,” Barry agreed.

It was only a few minutes before they came to a stop in front of the large shed which Willy now saw really was a hangar. Inside were the usual assortment of tools and boxes along the walls. A new bitumen apron led in to the concrete floor of the hangar.

Willy jumped down and helped push the aircraft into the shade of the hangar. Mr Carter pointed to the tools and machines along the side wall. “Help yourselves. I will go and let the missus know you are here. Do you need to phone your people?”

Mr Drew shook his head. “No thanks. I have radioed them. But we will use your tools thank you.”

“That’s alright. Always willing to help. I will send over some refreshments while you are at it. Barry, come with me and organize that.”

“Sure boss,” Barry replied. He and Mr Carter then left the hangar, Barry doing most of the talking.

Mr Drew told Willy to open up the engine cowling. While Willy did this, Mr Drew dug out his own tool kit and unrolled it, then set to work checking the lubrication. As he worked Mr Drew explained what he was doing and why and Willy paid careful attention and helped as much as he could.

They had been working for about twenty minutes when Willy realized he badly need a pee. He explained this to Mr Drew who shrugged and said, “Bound to be a dunny somewhere. Go and take the weight off your mind. I’ll be alright on my own. I’m used to doing this.”

Feeling somewhat embarrassed Willy hurried to the open front of the hangar and looked out. Off to his right was a shed that was clearly labelled as being the fuel store so he went left. To his left were the other buildings of the station. For a few moments he stood and studied them. He had been expecting to see a typical country dunny—a small corrugated iron hut with one door but instead he saw that closest to him was a long, low concrete block building that looked brand new. It had a door in the end nearest to the hangar and next to the door was a small window and a chimney in the roof that seemed to indicate it was a toilet.

I’ll try that, he thought, walking towards it.

As he crossed the fifty paces of short dry grass Willy scanned the other buildings. To the left of the building he was heading for was obviously the homestead, a rambling single story building set in its own fenced garden and surrounded by lawns, trees and shrubs. A gate in the homestead fence opened into the garden from near the end of the building he was heading for. Only part of the house was visible but it also looked new. He realized he was looking at the side and back of the homestead but that didn’t surprise him.

The landowner would build it facing the river, he thought.

A garden shed stood in the back corner of the homestead yard and beyond it to the right were at least ten other buildings. The function of some was immediately apparent. Across the garden from the house was a large garage under which were parked a tractor, a small bulldozer, a cattle truck and two white 4WDs. Next was a large shed that looked like a workshop and then further along a low timber building with a veranda and half a dozen doors and windows. A set of yards and a long stable building lay to the right of that. Beyond these buildings, under the trees along the river bank, were several more houses and sheds.

Head stockman’s house and so on, Willy decided.

The thing that puzzled him slightly was that there were no other people in sight. Then he shrugged and turned the knob on the door and pushed it. The door swung open to reveal a corridor running the length of the building. On both sides were doorways, five on each side, and there was a large room at the far end.

A dormitory or barracks, Willy thought. That didn’t surprise him either as most big properties had single men’s quarters.

On his right was an open door and he was relieved to see that it was what he was looking for—a toilet. He hurried in and closed the door and quickly relieved himself. Feeling much better he unlocked the door and walked across the corridor and through another open door into a bathroom. Here he bent to the sink to wash first his hands and then to rinse his sweaty face.

As he straightened up, feeling very refreshed, Willy heard voices outside. He glanced through the partly open window and saw two men walking across the back lawn of the homestead towards the gate at his end of the building. One was Barry and the other was a sun-tanned, hawk-faced man with black hair and dark eyes. As the men went past Willy heard the dark-faced man say in a foreign accent, “But why da boss not just get rid of zem, eh?”

“Use your loaf, Zoltan,” replied Barry. “If we act friendly they won’t get suspicious. We don’t want them to go away and tell everyone the people at Whetstone are unfriendly do we.”

“It not good zey here,” Zoltan replied. “Zey first visitors we ever had. Zey might see something.”

Hearing that caused Willy’s interest to prick up. He could just see the man called Zoltan through the partly open window as the two men had stopped at the end of the building. Not wishing to be seen to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations he moved slightly away from the window.

Barry answered. “Don’t worry. The boss knows what he’s doin’. Now you just go about your business and make sure those others are kept out of sight.”

Zoltan shook his head but turned away and walked back across the lawn towards the homestead, muttering as he went.

A nasty piece of work, Willy decided, watching the man’s retreating back. Then a stab of anxiety made him worry that Barry might come in and find him there. There is something suspicious going on here. If Barry sees me he will realize I have overheard him and that Zoltan fellow and then there might be trouble. Oh, I hope not!