The Roving Party by Rohan Wilson

from sight as the clansmen renewed their cries of war.

T HE ROVING PARTY HAD SETTLED ON a piece of rocky mountainside cut across by southerlies as cold as glass, and lit only by the halfmoon affixed above the hills silhouetted in the west. They sat in that subterranean darkness, wrapped in their blankets, with their pieces in hand as they chewed on raw mutton strips. Gunfire had sounded all day along the mountain’s flanks and from fear of an ambush they had made no fire as the night drew down. Pigeon would not take his ease and he strode the edge of the rocks in silent observation, awaiting some sign of the Plindermairhemener. They had fashioned a rope collar for the girl and tied her hands at her back that she might be more easily led and she lay in her skins staring from her one unswollen eye at the Dharug man as he moved back and forth. Her child sat near her, shapeless in the dark but for his white eyes.
    No feature could be told out of that shrouded forest save what shadows were thrown up by the moon and John Batman tossed a small stone at Pigeon and motioned for him to quit.He looked at Batman, drew his blanket around his shoulders and moved off again at his scouting. And despite the savage cold most of them found sleep in whatever positions they held, beside and leaned against one another, and still Pigeon walked the boundary. He had slept not a shade the previous night and would not this night. It was near midnight when a call of cooee cut the silence. Pigeon nudged his countryman Crook and bade him to rise. Batman had chucked off his covers, finding his weapon even before the call had died on the air. The scrub beneath their outlook was a formless black and silver gradient along the mountain’s flanks, and they studied that sweep of country for what little they could make of it. Again came the call and the men in one motion aimed their weapons at the quarter from which it had emanated. John Batman was wary of this ploy and he would not return the cooee as was customary along the frontier. He walked out a short way and stood listening above the insect din. When the call sounded a third time it was followed by some words he could not make out. He turned to Pigeon.
    What do you spose that was?
    Pigeon grinned. Said he found some old cretin.
    Who said?
    Our Billy Black.
    Batman kicked at the ground. Did he? Well call him in then.
    Through his hands Pigeon bellowed out his own cooee and it was returned a moment later. The men stood down, easedback the hammers of their pieces, and before too long the stragglers approached the campsite and wordlessly sat themselves down among the others. Horsehead had fared poorly and was shivering and bleeding. He set his grubby feet upon the stones, and by the moon’s light plucked thorns and tended the various gashes in his soles.
    We believed you lost, said Jimmy Gumm.
    I was, said Horsehead. Now I’m found.
    He worked with great tenderness upon a two-inch score in his foot, probing it for remnants of splinter. I had a time of it with the crows, but.
    Where’s yer piece? said Batman.
    Out bush somewheres.
    Christ almighty.
    Horsehead sipped a mouthful of water and spat into the gash. The pain had him wincing. You see em too, Bill?
    I did. They were tracking Mr. Clarke here.
    And near had me too, by God.
    They mean to raise Cain I reckon, said Batman. We’d do well to watch our backs.
    I saw that chief atheirs, said Horsehead.
    Ugly heathen wretch, aint he? said Batman.
    I had no weapon or I would’ve bagged him meself. Bill there, he shot up a pound-weight of ball and I seen him drop one at least. But not that chief. No. He has some cunning in him, he does.
    We havent the wherewithal to take him. He is beyond us.
    They all looked around at Bill. He said nothing more but merely pushed back the brim of his hat and brought his features into the moonlight and they watched him proceed to pick at the dry scabby cakes of blood spattered up his arms, the blood of dogs, of clansmen, and