The Devil's Eye by Ian Townsend Page B

Sam give him the thumbs-up just before he slid beneath the surface of the bottle-green sea.

CHAPTER 7
North of Cooktown, Wednesday 1 March 1899
    Along the track north from Cooktown the country unfolded, hill after hill, to reveal plains of sharp grasses, thick vine forests, and finally now this thin poor stone country that would accompany Jack Kenny and Walter Roth all the way to Munburra.
    Constable Kenny was struck again by how wide and high the sky, and how heavy the air with insects and heat. Normally he’d relish this ride, the escape from civilisation, but Dr Roth rode beside him like a black cloud and the thread of Kenny’s thoughts was caught on Hope Douglas.
    Roth seemed to sense this.
    After they’d ridden in silence for some time, the doctor had suddenly said, as if hoping to strike up a conversation, ‘So, Jack, your father’s recovered and back home. That must be a blessing for you and your sister. Do you know, I believe that Hope was the tonic. Wouldn’t leave him in peace. Oh, to pass water like a fire pump! He should send a declaration to the papers…’
    ‘Shut up,’ said Kenny.
    Roth, with a look of genuine shock, said, ‘So sorry,’ but Kenny’s mind was now set running along the lines of Hope herself.
    If he’d ridden straight home and not proposed marriage he would have slept better. He’d been plagued through the night with doubts, and then carnal thoughts of Hope: her nape, her lips, her body beneath all that clothing.
    She’d said yes! Had she? Of course; she had kissed him. But why? There was no shortage of men for any single woman in Cooktown, and an officer in the Native Police had less to offer than most. A forced transfer from one outpost to another was their immediate future.
    And he’d have to beg the Police Commissioner for permission to marry. And the Bishop, of course, because Hope was not Catholic. And the formidable John Douglas himself.
    ‘Dear God!’ he said aloud, seeing the impossibility of it all.
    Roth had fallen silent again and now looked across at him, ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter.’
    ‘It clearly does. You can tell me. I’m a doctor.’ He held up a hand. ‘I’ve taken the Hippocratic Oath. I swear by placebo and panacea that I won’t tell a soul.’
    ‘I’m not your patient.’
    ‘Give me two bob then. I’ll prescribe whatever you like.’
    Kenny held his tongue.
    ‘I’m serious Jack. You look exhausted.’ Roth eyed him. ‘There’s no shame. I’ve seen every ailment under this infernal sun.’
    ‘I’m all right.’
    Shortly after, Roth blurted out: ‘My God, you haven’t got the girl in trouble have you?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Is she in the family way?’
    Kenny flinched as if struck this time and once again Sydney skittered sideways down the track. ‘Jesus Christ and all the saints! No.’
    They didn’t say a word for the next two hours, although Roth eventually started humming.
    Kenny ordered a stop for lunch beside a gully where there was a waterhole and the trees were big enough to shade six men and eleven horses.
    The troopers kept wide of him, sensing his fury, as he unpacked the saddlebag and hobbled his horses. How could Roth possibly have guessed at any relationship between himself and Hope? The man must be goading him. He couldn’t possibly know.
    Though Roth had earlier removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, now without the air passing over him he began to redden and the flies came to lap at the sweat on the hair of his arms.
    Kenny felt some satisfaction from Roth’s discomfort, but the doctor refused to complain. He simply stood against the big rough-barked tree and fanned himself with his hat.
    Lunch was arranged with a practised efficiency and a luncheon-meat sandwich was thrust into Roth’s hand, and a tin cup of coffee placed at his feet. The troopers squatted down to eat and Kenny sat with them. Roth came over and squatted beside him.
    ‘I never knew the Native Police ate so well on patrol. Is