Jessica inspected it before they’d left their last camp.
The horsehair stitches still hold and the wound looks clean enough, though Billy’s leg is badly swollen and he’d winced when she’d dabbed fresh iodine over the area of the stitches, even though she’d applied it very gently. She’s left the original bandage off to give him some relief. The leg has stiffened and Billy is having great difficulty bending his knee, so she’s cut two stout black box saplings the length of his leg and used them as splints, tying one on either side of his damaged leg so that the splints rest on the rail of the sulky’s footrest and Billy’s leg is stretched rigid out over Napoleon’s rump. Under the prevailing circumstances it is the best she can think to do to make the poor bugger feel a mite more comfortable.
The pony seems fresh enough as they continue their journey, and the heat has gone from the air, so Jessica wraps Billy in a blanket and throws one over her own shoulders as well. The surrounding countryside is now ghosted in moonlight, and the only other sounds besides the jangle of Napoleon’s harness and the rattle of wheels are the occasional hoot of an owl or the cry of a nightjar. Billy has long since stopped imitating their cries. The further they travel tonight the more confident Jessica grows that the men have not crossed the river.
It is almost midnight when they finally stop for the night. The river, which has been at some distance from them since crossing the punt, has taken a wide loop of several miles and is now only a hundred yards or so from the track. With water for the pony available, Jessica decides here’s a good spot to camp for the remainder of the night.
They move to a clump of cypress pines growing from sand dunes near the river, which Joe says are the last traces of what was once a great inland sea. The softer sand makes a good bed for their blankets and is an unstable environment for a snake to make its hole.
Jessica has a . lot of trouble getting Billy down from the sulky. And again, once on the ground he finds it impossible to move on his own, so that he has to put his arm about her shoulders to move a few steps. He then holds onto the trunk of a cypress pine while she spreads his blanket for him. He collapses gratefully down on it with his back propped against the trunk of the tree.
‘Sorry, Billy, I’m too tired to make you something to eat or even make a brew. Tell you what, how would you like a smoke?’ Jessica reaches into her pinny pocket for the makings she took from Joe’s bedside and rolls Billy a cigarette. She licks the sticky edge of the cigarette paper and hands him the slim tube of tobacco. Billy brings it to his lips and Jessica lights it for him and goes about the business of setting up for the night.
She unharnesses the pony and lowers the sulky shafts to the ground. Then she reaches for the Winchester and slings it over her left shoulder together with the water bag. A rifle isn’t ideal if she should come upon a snake, but she tells herself it’s better than nothing, though Joe would disagree. ‘If you ain’t got a shotgun use a stick or an axe, girlie. You got Buckley’s of making a head shot with a rifle, even if it’s a repeater.’ But Jessica hasn’t got a stick and thinks about going back for the axe, but decides bugger it, she’s too tired to bother. She keeps a sharp eye out in the bright moonlight, though, as she leads Napoleon down to the river to drink.
On her return she finds that Billy has finished his smoko. His eyes are closed and his lips are moving, and in his hands are his rosary beads, which he pushes along the string awkwardly as he mumbles his prayers. Jessica swallows the lump in her throat as she wonders how it’s all going to end for Billy Simple.
She lets the pony have his nosebag of oats and hobbles him for the night. She pours a mug of water for Billy, then refills the water bag and hangs it from its place at the rear of the sulky so that the condensation through the canvas will cool it overnight. Finally she ties the tucker basket to the highest branch she can reach on a cypress pine in case a fox or a dingo comes sniffing around the camp while they’re asleep and jumps up onto the sulky to steal what’s left of the bacon.
Jessica brings the mug over to Billy, along with their blankets for the night. ‘Here, Billy, drink some water,’ she commands, interrupting his prayers. Billy opens his eyes as though startled to see her, then he takes the tin mug and drinks greedily, water spilling from the sides of his mouth and running down his chin and neck. Finally lie hands the mug back to her.
Jessica sits down beside Billy and wraps the blanket about him. ‘Good night, Billy, sleep tight,’ she says to him, touching him lightly on the cheek with her free hand and then settling herself under the other blanket, the Winchester next to her on the ground.
Billy’s eyes fill suddenly with tears at her touch and he begins to sob quietly, the rosary beads resting in his lap. Jessica wonders to herself how long it’s been since someone has wished Billy Simple goodnight. ‘You’re a good boy, Billy,’ she says quietly and, bending, kisses him lightly on the cheek.
Billy looks up at her from under his hat. He sniffs and then says in a sob, ‘Billy not a good boy! Billy bad boy, Jessie. You shoot him tonight, eh!’
Jessica is horrified at this, and her heart goes out to him. She puts a protective arm around him and Billy moves close to her — it’s probably the first comfort he’s known in years. ‘
You’re all right, Billy,’ she says softly as they lie there in the moonlight by the cypress pines.
‘Jessie look after Billy?’ he asks, gazing up at her.
‘Yes, Billy,’ Jessica replies, a lump in her throat.
‘Thank you, Jessie,’ he croaks, and snuggles against her.
‘Go to sleep now, Billy.’ She points to the rosary beads on his lap. ‘You ask God to keep us both safe.’
The sky is the colour of old pewter when she wakes and Jessica knows at once that it’s less than an hour before sunrise. She rises from her blanket, wiping off the grit that’s blown over her shirt and moleskins during the night. Stiff and sore from all yesterday’s efforts, she walks slowly over to untie Napoleon and leads him to the river for a drink. Then she tethers him to a shrub while she washes her face and arms. She’s annoyed with herself for over-sleeping — they should have been well on their way at least two hours before sunrise.
On her return she fills Napoleon’s nosebag with fresh oats. With the pony now rested, watered and fed, Jessica will try to make the remaining four hours of their journey to Narrandera without stopping. She quickly gathers the few sticks she can find and builds a fire for breakfast.
Then she chops what remains of the bacon into the skillet and waits for the rind fat to grease the pan before breaking eight eggs over it, which she scrambles together. The billy goes on the embers to boil while she hurriedly eats a small portion of the eggs straight from the pan. Jessica adds the last of the bread to the eggs and bacon and she carries the pan over to Billy, then shakes him awake. Placing Billy’s breakfast beside him, she helps him to prop himself up against the cypress pine. ‘Eat your breakfast, Billy, we’ve got to get movin’. I’ll bring you a cuppa in a shake.’
‘Billy gotta piss,’ he moans, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. The cuts on the back of his arms where the dogs have bitten him look nasty.
‘Can’t you do it sitting down? No, I suppose not,’ Jessica says, impatient to get under way. ‘C’mon, lemme help you up. Don’t worry, I’ll turn me back.’
Eventually she gets him to his feet and goes over to make the tea, conscious of the loud plopping noise as Billy’s hot piss hits the dry dust at his feet. She steals a look at his broad back — the poor lad looks like any normal, healthy bloke from this angle — then she turns back to the tea until the noise has stopped. ‘Ready, Jessie,’ Billy calls.
With her mug of tea in her hand, Jessica moves over to help him. As she draws closer Billy half turns, calling out, ‘All done!’ like a small child, and Jessica finds herself staring directly at his gift from Jesus, which hangs, drooping from his open fly, a good eight inches down his trouser leg.
Jessica gasps in surprise then says sharply, ‘Put it away, Billy! Put it away at once!’
Billy, alarmed at her unexpected anger, takes a step backwards and with his leg in splints loses his balance and falls sprawling onto his back, his large member plopping against his moleskins.
Jessica, still holding the mug of hot tea, points down in the direction of his open fly, though with her head now averted.