July - The Blotter Magazine

The B l o t t e r“The Precious Dead”; an excerpt from the novel “Message Stick”by Laine CunninghamWhen a man dies in thedesert, he is completely alone. Atthirty-nine, Ian McCabe knew thissimple fact. He had spent most ofhis life working the demandingseasonal jobs that kept Australia’srural towns alive. He had seen aflat tire turn deadly, and knew thatbeauty and danger were the sistersthat bore the land.Ian was not a tall man buta shock of blond hair added inchesto his height. Quick blue eyes anda steady aim were useful in hiscareer as a kangaroo culler. Everynight the slim .22 found its targetbetween the shine of an animal’seyes. On cattle stations hundredsof kilometers wide, engine troubleand the bite of the brown snakeposed constant threats.Ian’s white Land Rover wasnearly twenty years old and it stillran like a lizard drinking—nonstopand practically unstoppable.In the rear a skillet, bedroll and acase of green beans were strappedonto narrow shelves. A bottle ofport nestled in its own paddedcompartment, and a few golf clubswere tied to the wall. Sleep, slurpand sport, he called the collection,everything a man could want inone mobile space.He eased the truck downwww.blotterrag.comthe track. The spur was rough,really a strip of earth scraped cleanof boulders, but it saved nearly halfan hour. Besides, the less traveled aroad was, the happier Ian felt.Cities, he knew, were for suckers.Why squeeze into a rabbit hutchwhen the outback was right nextdoor?This area, so close to theDavenport Ranges, was typical ofthe Northern Territory. Wideplains of twisted mulga treesreached southwest to Alice Springs.A network of creeks and rivers thatran only during the Wet sustainedgum trees taller than most buildings.Cockatoos raised their youngin the hollow trunks, and after arain lorikeets gorged on the nectarin the blossoms.Grass was sparse, edged outby the ubiquitous spinifex that cutflesh as cruelly as broken glass.Only the toughest creatures survivedand half-feral Brahma cattlewere the breed of choice. To arancher beleaguered by droughtand debt, every blade eaten bynative animals robbed them ofbeef. Roo shooters were alwayswelcome. And judging by the sun,Ian would arrive at the stationhouse in time for dinner.A flash of metal caught hiseye. Through binoculars, hewatched a red SUV beetle acrossthe property. The truck stayedbehind the ridges and moved slowlyenough to keep its dust cloudlow. The same stealth kept Ianfrom sight as he followed.Eventually the trespassersparked beside a hill topped by astone pinnacle. Ian stuffed theLand Rover under a mulga treeand watched as a pair of men hikedup the slope. The first, a sturdywhite fellow about thirty years old,clutched a rifle. His legs werebowed so severely he rocked as hemounted the boulders.The other man, anAborigine who might have been inhis sixties, moved steadily upward.He was wiry yet had the grace of apredator. The outback was filledwith men like them, drifters whofound the bush far removed fromthe law.At the top, the elder founda cleft in the rock. From this cachehe retrieved a board nearly as longas his arm. Ian had seen dancersperform with similar objects andknew they were supposed to bemagical. The cubby surrenderedperhaps a dozen other artifacts. Allwould fetch a small fortune on theblack market.While the older manworked steadily, the bowleggedbloke couldn’t keep a properwatch. First he rubbed his nosewith the back of his arm. Then headjusted his shorts. He scanned thelandscape, rifle at ready. Then heswatted a fly. Rubbed sweatthrough his hair. Tugged at hiscrotch. Abruptly he was alertagain, scowling while the gun grewhot in the sun.As they retreated, theAborigine erased his footprintswith a leafy branch. Ian let theSUV jangle out of sight beforepicking up the trail. They traveled